Dad In Blue. Shelley Cooper

nodded.

      “The answer is no. When I was your age, I was built just like you. I’ve been lifting weights since I was eighteen. It took a lot of work to get to the point where I am now.”

      Carlo hadn’t been to the gym for his daily workout since he’d taken his leave of absence. Though he’d wanted to, he simply hadn’t been able to summon the energy to go. Surprisingly, given his idleness, he still had a good deal of muscle tone.

      “Can I lift, too?” Jeffrey asked.

      “Anyone can lift. You just have to make sure to use proper form so that you don’t injure yourself. When you’re old enough, you can join a gym.”

      Jeffrey frowned. “I don’t want to wait till I’m older. I want to lift now.”

      Why not? Carlo thought. The day was still young, and he wanted to give Samantha as much rest as possible. Besides, this was the most he’d heard Jeffrey speak. If this was what it took to reach him, Carlo was all for it.

      “Would you like to see the gym where I work out?” he asked.

      The light in Jeffrey’s eyes was all the answer he needed.

      “Hey, Carlo,” Pete Loring, the owner of Fit Bodies, greeted when they walked through the door. “Long time no see.”

      “I’ve been busy,” Carlo replied guardedly.

      Typical of Pete, he didn’t pry any further. “Who’s your young friend?”

      “A prospective client.”

      Carlo watched Jeffrey’s eyes go round at the sight of the giant man who wrestled professionally under the name of Killer. Never had a title been a greater misnomer. Though fierce-looking, when not beating his competition to a pulp in the ring, Pete Loring was one of the gentlest men Carlo had ever met.

      Pete’s smile broadened. “A prospective client, eh? Well, then, we’ll have to see that he receives the star treatment, won’t we?”

      “I know you,” Jeffrey said with the first real excitement Carlo had seen him exhibit. “You’re Killer.”

      “You a SCWA fan?” Pete asked, obviously pleased.

      Eyes shining, Jeffrey nodded. “You’re my favorite wrestler.”

      “Ah,” Pete said, settling a meaty hand around Jeffrey’s shoulders. “A fan. For a fan, not only will I give you the star treatment, but I will also roll out the red carpet. Ready for a tour?”

      Carlo stood off to one side while Pete showed a star-struck Jeffrey around the gym and patiently explained the purpose of each machine and exercise. The crowded room was filled with grunts of effort and the sound of weights clanking as men and women alike stared at the mirror-lined walls to ensure they were using proper form. Though they came in all shapes and sizes, they all had one thing in common: their bodies gleamed with the sheen of perspiration that could only be brought on by hard work.

      There was a time when the sights, sounds and smells of this room had thrilled him, a time when he’d lived for that hour or two each day when he could lose himself in the sheer joy of pushing his body to its limits. A time when, the minute he walked into this room, his fingers would itch to lift a barbell or to do repetitions on one of the machines. Carlo looked down at the hands hanging limply at his sides. No itch.

      He gazed around him with a curious detachment. He’d worked so hard to build and maintain his physique, especially after his injuries, and now he no longer cared if he ever lifted another weight. There were so many things he no longer cared about. And he didn’t even care that he didn’t care. Intellectually, he knew that should worry him, that he wouldn’t be able to resume even the semblance of his former life until he could care.

      At the moment, though, the only things he seemed able to work up any feeling for were an emotionally scarred little boy and his sick mother.

      When his gaze found Jeffrey again, Carlo saw that Pete had finished the tour and had left the boy to complete a workout of his choosing. The grimness and determination on Jeffrey’s face as he lifted weights with a purposefulness that was far older than his years startled Carlo out of his reverie.

      “Whoa, slugger, slow down,” he cautioned, moving to the boy’s side. “You don’t want to overdo it your first time out. What are you preparing for? Battle?”

      Jeffrey kept pumping iron. “When I grow up,” he said in a fierce voice, “I’m going to be big and strong like you and Killer. And then I’m going to find the man who killed my dad and kill him.”

      Dismayed, Carlo didn’t know what to say. After all, Jeffrey wouldn’t have to look far. The man who had killed his father was standing right beside him.

      There was no answer when, darkness rapidly falling, Carlo pressed the doorbell of the Underwood home. At his side, Jeffrey held the autographed T-shirt Pete had given him and the set of weights Carlo had bought so that Jeffrey could continue his workouts at home.

      Frowning, Carlo pressed the doorbell again. Still no answer. Inside, no lights shone in any of the windows.

      She was probably still sleeping, he told himself, refusing to succumb to the feeling of dread that had his heart suddenly racing. Four hours was a long time for anyone, unless they were desperately ill, to sleep.

      “Do you have a key?” he asked Jeffrey.

      Jeffrey placed the weights and the T-shirt on the porch floor so that he could rummage through his pants pockets. He pulled out a crumpled pack of gum, a battered toy soldier, the yo-yo and three marbles before finally producing a key. When he slid it into the lock, the door swung silently inward.

      “Why don’t you run upstairs, put your things away and wash up, while I go check on your mom.” Carlo needed to get the boy safely out of the way, just in case something really was wrong with Samantha. “It’s important that you wash your hands and arms thoroughly, because you might have picked up some germs at the gym. Since your mom’s sick, you want to be careful not to pass them on to her.”

      His reluctance obvious, Jeffrey slowly mounted the stairs. When he reached the top, Carlo headed for the den.

      It was hard to see in the dimness, but he definitely glimpsed the outline of her body beneath the blanket. It looked as though she hadn’t moved since he’d left with Jeffrey.

      He hated to wake her. But he couldn’t leave until he knew she was alert and able to care for her son.

      “Samantha?” he said, switching on a light. She didn’t answer, and he called louder. “Samantha?”

      “What?” She sounded groggy as she opened her eyes and blinked against the brightness. “Oh, you’re back. Did you have a nice time?”

      “I think it went well.” Except for Jeffrey’s startling revelation about his plans for vengeance. “How are you feeling?”

      “Thirsty.”

      He poured her a glass of water and helped her to a sitting position. “Better?” he asked, when she’d drained every drop.

      “Much. What time is it?”

      “Five o’clock.”

      Her eyes widened. For a woman who’d slept the afternoon away, she looked anything but rested.

      “Already? It feels like I just closed my eyes.”

      “That’s because you’re sick.” A lot sicker than she wanted to let on. Leaning down, he rested his hand against her forehead. While still not into dangerous territory, her temperature had definitely risen.

      He knew then what he had to do. It was the last thing he wanted. But he would be less than heartless to leave an eight-year-old and a defenseless sick woman to their own devices.

      “That settles it,” he said. “I’m staying.”