Secrets of Paternity. Susan Crosby

      “I’ll investigate it,” James told him.

      “You don’t sound like you believe me.”

      “I believe you knew your dad better than anyone, except your mom, probably. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

      “Are you good?”

      “Yes.”

      Kevin stared at him. Wariness dulled his eyes, and he looked ready to flee at any moment. Finally he moved his shoulders, more an involuntary gesture of relief than an adolescent I-don’t-care shrug. James figured he cared a whole lot.

      “I’ll need a little more information,” James said, standing. “Let me get a pad of paper. Can I get you something to eat or drink while I’m up?”

      “Not hungry.”

      The doorbell rang. James ignored it, assuming it was trick-or-treaters. He grabbed a pad from his office, convinced Kevin to sit down, then James wrote down more details—exactly where and when the accident occurred. Which police agencies were involved. More exact descriptions of Paul’s out-of-character behavior.

      “I can start with this,” James said. “Give me a couple of days to do some preliminary digging. Do you want me to call you?”

      Kevin swallowed hard then nodded.

      James pretended not to see how much his help meant to Kevin. “What’s your phone number and address?”

      Kevin gave him a telephone number only. “It’s my cell.”

      It was twice in a week that someone was afraid to give James personal information. An image of the Harley wrecker flashed in his mind. She’d had the same sort of wariness in her eyes as Kevin.

      “I gotta go,” Kevin said, pushing himself up. He hadn’t taken off his jacket, and now he dropped his sunglasses back into place—before he headed out into the night.

      James didn’t want him to go, but he understood that if he wanted a relationship with this young man, he’d better take it slowly. He’d been handed a golden opportunity to get to know Kevin. He wouldn’t squander it because he rushed it.

      James extended his hand. Kevin clasped it. “Thanks,” he mumbled, then he headed for the door, his strides long and quick. The door shut behind him with a rattle of glass. His footsteps down the stairs were heavy and fast, drifting out of earshot within seconds.

      Silence crash landed louder than ever before in the big house James loved. He hadn’t realized just how empty it was, not truly. It made him hunger to fill it up now. Right now.

      He grabbed a beer and headed into his office. He would look up newspaper articles about Paul’s death first. But when he pulled up a chair to the computer, he just sat there, thinking about Paul, about how they met, and what had happened between them to make James indebted to him.

      He needed to tell someone. Not his mother, not yet. Not until the relationship settled. Quinn was in Los Angeles helping the other ARC owners on a big case. That left Cassie. He called her home number and got her answering machine. He hung up, debating whether to call her cell, which would be on, but he didn’t want to interrupt her night with her fiancé. They weren’t at home, so they must be out having fun somewhere.

      The doorbell rang. As before, he ignored it. It rang again. Fifteen seconds later, again. Irritated he headed to the front door. When he was a kid, an unlit porch light meant “do not disturb.” He didn’t have candy left to give out.

      He yanked open the door, intending to give an etiquette lesson to the trick-or-treater. No costumed kid stood there, however, but the Harley wrecker, not decked out in a costume but in blue jeans and a red sweater.

      “Am I interrupting something?” she asked, looking ready to flee, probably because he was scowling.

      “No.” He was surprised by the jolt of reaction that whipped through him. “No, please. Come in.”

      “Um. No, thank you. I’m sorry for dropping by so late, but I saw your light on. I just wanted to know about the estimate on the repairs. If I owe you more money.”

      Maybe it was because he was already high on adrenaline from meeting Kevin that his heart started beating louder. That was part of it, he supposed, but more likely it was because he found her appealing. He liked that she was a woman of her word, that she’d shown up when she said she would, proving that such people did exist. He also liked the wary look in her eyes, similar, in fact, to Kevin’s expression, even the same shade of blue—

      “Mr. Paladin?” she said, taking a step back, her expression even warier.

      “Would you like to have dinner?” he asked. He needed to talk to someone about what had just happened. He had a feeling she would sympathize or cheer or give him good advice on how to handle the situation. Maybe she even had teenagers herself.

      “With you?” she asked.

      He smiled at the shock in her voice. “I can’t really invite you to go out with anyone else, can I?”

      “No, thank you,” she said firmly. “Do I owe you more money?”

      He was disappointed but not surprised at her turndown. “My mechanic hasn’t given me an answer. If you’ll leave your name and number this time, I’ll give you a call when I know.”

      “I’ll come back.” She went down the stairs.

      James watched her until she was out of sight, admiring the sway of her rear in her formfitting jeans. Although slender, she wasn’t lacking curves in all the right places.

      He wondered why he found her so intriguing, especially since she didn’t flirt, and talked to him only as a person intent on doing business. In fact she’d looked at him at one point as if he’d had the plague. Physically she tempted him, but that wasn’t all there was to it.

      Deciding to ignore his disappointment, he fastened on his leather chaps, changed his shoes to boots, grabbed his jacket and helmet and headed out of the house. He needed company and he wanted a drink. He would find both—and do a little work at the same time.

      Her nerves shot, Caryn sat in her car to unwind. About the time she would’ve driven away, she saw James come down the stairs, get on the motorcycle parked out front—his loaner, she guessed—and take off.

      She followed him. She wasn’t even sure why, except that she was leaving at the same time and—

      No. That wasn’t the truth. The truth was that she was fascinated by him. He’d obviously done well for himself, if his house was any indicator. He looked really good dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, too. Like a normal person—except for the scruffy beard. Not like a biker, a risk taker, an adventurer. Like Paul.

      Caryn wished she could show James a picture of Kevin, to talk about her wonderful son, to thank the man for his generosity in making Kevin’s life possible. To ask why he’d done it. But she couldn’t. Kevin had to make the overture, and he didn’t seem inclined to do so yet.

      She’d been tempted—too tempted—to go to dinner with James. She was already withholding information from him—for good reason—but anything more could be interpreted as lies. If Kevin ever contacted him, and she and James met officially, it could be disastrous with lies between them. So far everything she’d done was forgivable, under the circumstances.

      She let a car get between hers and his motorcycle, hoping he hadn’t spotted her. She wanted to know where he was headed after she’d turned him down.

      The adventure of following him revved her up. She smiled at the excitement clamoring inside her. It was the last thing she needed, really, this adrenaline rush, this risky scenario. She’d just gotten her life together after Paul’s death. She didn’t need this kind of complication.

      If only James didn’t push so many of her hot buttons—like the fantasy of finally meeting him, and the deep-down wish for Kevin to have a father again,