BRENT WILLIAMS
"You know what."
"Ah. You mean I plucked your eyeballs out of your head and pointed them toward my tits?"
"You might as well have," he said, once again feeling embarrassed, but he wasn't letting her get away with pretending she was Miss Innocent. "You can't use your breasts to encourage a guy to look, then blame it all on him when he does what you want."
Lillian laughed. "You're right. I'm sorry." She paused. "Why didn't you answer my question?"
"Why did you ask it?"
She shrugged and relaxed into her chair. "You're a suspicious sort. Are you a spy or a hit man?"
"Neither."
"I wouldn't think so." The delicious kiss-me smile flitted across her lips. "Because you're too easily distracted to do a good job as either one."
Damn.Why was that curving mouth so familiar?
"So what do you do?"
"I'm a counselor at the TeenCenter."
"Admirable."
"What do you do? Are you an actress?"
Surprise lit her gaze. "Why on earth would you think that?"
"You're damned beautiful for one thing. For another, you look familiar."
Her expression blanked. "You're mistaken." She laughed—a sharp, bitter sound that startled him. "You might say, Brent, I've had to be a very good actress these past few years, but I've never been filmed."
Her vulnerability sliced through him. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Yes. But I can't." She sipped her drink, turned to look at the memorabilia hanging on the restaurant's walls, her gaze troubled. "Just ignore me. I guess I'm tense because I've been looking for a job and can't find one. I've got enough money for one more month of rent and then...who knows."
"What do you do?"
"This and that. My best attribute is my housecleaning skills." Her gaze settled on him again. "I don't suppose you need a housekeeper?"
"Yes," said Brent. "I do." At least he would when Dane and Marissa left with their new brood. He grinned. "Do you like animals?"
***|***|***|***|***
GEOFFREY
GEOFFREY SNEEZED. HE wiped his nose then buried his face into the nearby pillow. The darkened bedroom and the delicate sound of Enya's voice were supposed to lull him to sleep. Instead, worry gnawed at his gut and the supposed short-term viral infection continued to attack his body, and after seven dreadful days, his will to live.
The phone rang. He didn't bother trying to raise his head. He just reached out and grabbed the first solid plastic thing he touched. "Hello?"
The phone rang again. Geoffrey flipped onto his back and looked at the object in his hand. "Bugger." He put down the stapler and grabbed the receiver from its base on the nightstand.
"Hullo. Vanderson residence." His eyes widened and he straightened when he heard the voice. "Dear heavens! It's about time you called."
"I found her."
"You did?"
"The guy she left the Paradise Club with is the brother of the club's owner." A soft laugh escaped. "It took some convincing, but he finally relented and gave me the information I wanted."
"Where is she?"
"Not important."
"It's important to me." He sighed. He knew from experience that Millie would not tell him anything else. "I'm worried. We have very little time. Alan and Fiona return late Friday night. Saturday is Gillian's birthday. The family always does a memorial for her. There is the...other matter." He cleared his throat. "Can you handle that, too?"
"Him again? Did you tell him anything?"
"What could I tell him? There's a beauty consultant with a gun and an attitude chasing a serial killer?"
"Very funny, G. Your eyes are too sharp. How could I have fooled her, but not you?"
"As if you need to ask. Achoo!" Geoffrey sneezed and grabbed a tissue to wipe his nose. "Your gentleman friend is very persistent."
"Kade is not my friend. Don't talk to him again. I'll take care of everything."
"Okay, but—"
The dial tone met his protest. "Doesn't even say a proper good-bye," he muttered as he replaced the receiver. He pulled the covers up and nestled into the bed, then closed his eyes and tried to sleep.
***|***|***|***|***
DANE SINCLAIR
"SO YOU GONNA leave her up there cryin' her eyes out?"
Dane looked at Tuesday. They both sat in the living room, surrounded by furry, sleeping bodies. He figured the kid must have noticed him casting worried looks at the stairs. Tuesday aimed the remote control at the big-screen television and started flipping channels.
"How do you know she's crying?" asked Dane.
"I've got good hearing."
"She's not crying." Dane plucked the kitten off his lap and stood. He gestured at the ceiling. "She's probably taking a nap."
"Yeah. Sleeping sounds just like sobbing." Tuesday continued to flip channels.
"What did you say to her?"
"I've been watching you, man. You like her, but you don't want to like her. You snap at her all the time and she does nothing about it." Tuesday's lips formed a mutinous line. "She's too busy trying to figure you out to give your sorry ass the kick it deserves. That got enough proper grammar in it for you?"
"It's none of your business."
"I'm making it my business." Tuesday stood and walked to Dane, getting nose-to-nose with him. He thumped Dane's chest with the remote control. "You don't deserve her, man."
Dane recognized Tuesday's aggression for what it really was—concern for Marissa—but he still felt anger flare. He quelled his emotions and backed up a couple of
"The girl don't want you to stay away from her. You ever think that she has a right to make up her own mind?"
"And I don't?"
Tuesday shook his head. "Man, you are stupid. Beautiful woman wants you and you dis her." He plopped on the couch and returned his attention to the television. "You want to go upstairs or you want me to go?"
"I'll go."
Dane climbed the stairs and entered the hall. All the doors were open except one. He knocked on it. "Marissa? It's Dane. I...uh...maybe we should discuss the list." He grimaced at the lack of reply. "Maybe you'd like to go get something to eat. Are you hungry?" Silence met his second inquiry, too.
Frustration nibbled at him. If she'd just talk to him, they could work out what was bothering her. He grasped the knob and turned; the door opened. "Please, let's just talk—damn it!"
The bedroom was empty.