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“Wherever he is, I don’t think he regrets making that decision. Most adults would have made the same one.”
“But you’re a good swimmer,” she argued.
“Sure, I probably could have battled my way out of the river. But something could happen another time.” He groped for illustrations. “I might have to step out onto a ledge I know won’t support my weight so I can throw a little girl to safety before it gives way. Run out into traffic on the freeway to save a child, even when the chances are good that the cars won’t be able to stop and I’ll be hit.” He paused. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Would Mommy do that, too?”
“Of course she would,” he said, hugging Molly harder, even though he really didn’t know. For Molly, yes—whatever Sonja’s flaws, she loved her daughter. Otherwise? He hated that he even had to wonder.
“I wish...”
“I know, punkin, I know.” He rested his cheek on the top of Molly’s head. She’d talked to him. Thank God, for the first time in a long while she’d opened up.
Now he was left with that unfinished sentence. What had Sonja been doing while her daughter slipped away?
And what about the kids who’d lost their father? The woman who lost her husband? Every time he remembered that moment, her grief becoming horror when she realized who he was, the claws of guilt sank deeper into his flesh.
* * *
A MONTH LATER, Anna trotted down the sidewalk toward the nearest park. Wanting to stay aware of traffic, she hadn’t yet turned on her iPod. There was a time she’d exercised when Kyle was home with the kids. Now, she had to pay Mrs. Schaub to watch Jenna for even this brief escape. Today she was killing two birds with one stone—awful saying that it was—because a real estate agent was showing her house. She knew he actually was, because she hadn’t gone a block when she’d heard an engine and glanced back to see a gleaming silver sedan turning into her driveway.
If there wasn’t an offer soon, she’d have to go to the bank that held the mortgage and explain why she couldn’t make her payments. She prayed they’d give her some time although, of course, the unmade payments, and presumably a penalty, too, would then come out of the already too-skimpy proceeds when the house did sell.
Running was supposed to be a time when she could zone out, but no more.
At least the park lay just ahead. The trail was packed dirt, easier on her knees. Reaching the last crosswalk, she scanned automatically for traffic, seeing only parked cars.
She’d stepped off the curb when alarm zinged through her. There’d been an odd glint of light, as if... Was that a camera pointing at her? Continuing across the street, she looked.
A man sat in a black SUV, the driver’s side window rolled down, and, yes, he was still pointing a camera with a huge lens at her.
The camera disappeared fast when he realized she’d seen him. When she broke into a run diagonally across the street toward the SUV, his window slid up. With the glass tinted, she couldn’t make out his face.
Maneuvering out of the parking spot was taking him too long, though. Maybe this was stupid, but Anna harbored so much anger atop her fear these days, she didn’t care if this was dangerous. She flung herself at the driver’s door and hammered on the window, yelling “Stop!”
He edged forward. She leaped in front of his bumper, forcing him to brake or hit her. He braked. When she pulled her phone from the cuff on her upper arm, the window slid down.
She took a quick picture of the license plate before she confronted him. Taking courage from the presence of a couple across the street who’d started to get into their own car but were now gaping, instead, Anna glared. “Who are you, and why were you photographing me?”
Late thirties, early forties, the man was thin, pleasant-looking. Nondescript, really. “I’m a private investigator,” he admitted. “Ah, your insurance claim...”
“I made no insurance claim. I want to see your license.”
He produced it. His name was Darren Smith, and his employer was Moonrise Investigations.
“Smith? Really?” She handed it back.
Without a word, he tugged a wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open to show his driver’s license.
“Fine,” she snapped. And, crap, the couple were now getting into their car, believing the drama to be over. The busy playground was too far away for any of the parents to notice her. “I’m calling the police. You’ll have to run me over to get away.”
She tapped in 911. Before she could push Send, he swore and said, “Don’t do that. I’ll tell you.”
Anna let her thumb hover over her phone. “Talk.”
“I was hired by a Mr. Nathan Kendrick.”
The name hit her like a sledgehammer.
“He wanted to know what’s going on with you, that’s all. Be sure you and the kids are okay.”
Fury burned through her. “You’ve been taking pictures of my children without my permission?”
“Ah...”
“You son of a bitch,” she said bitingly. “I bet your employer won’t be thrilled when I file a lawsuit. With a little luck, you can kiss that license goodbye!”
Unable to look at him for another second, she ran up the street until she could easily dodge into the park. If she’d had the house to herself, she’d have gone straight home. Jogging held zero appeal, but she grimly started in on her laps through the park, anyway.
Once free to go home and shower, she would pay a visit to Nate Kendrick, the man whose own ex-wife blamed for Kyle’s death.
CHAPTER THREE (#u26416ed5-13a2-5021-9a99-72c96c0505e0)
DESPITE A FRACTURED ability to focus, Nate was doing his best to work through email when his desk intercom buzzed.
His assistant, Kim Pualani, said apologetically, “A woman is here to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment, but says you’ll know who she is.”
He braced himself. “Her name?”
“Ah...Ms. Grainger. Anna Grainger.”
Kim knew what had happened and must have guessed this visit had to do with the tragedy.
“Send her in,” he agreed, although talking to Kyle Grainger’s widow was the last thing he wanted to do after taking the call from the PI.
“She’s on the warpath,” Smith had warned.
But Nate didn’t see an alternative to letting her lay into him. He couldn’t guess whether she’d accept an apology or anything else from him, but he had to try.
The door swung open, allowing him a glimpse of the woman he’d seen so briefly that day in the hospital. He rose to his feet as she walked in and Kim closed the door behind her. At least now, past the shock, Mrs. Grainger was vitally alive, if also furious. The red spots on her cheeks would have told him that much, even without the PI’s warning.
Nate had the uncomfortable realization that he could be attracted to this woman, long and sleek, honey-blond hair captured smoothly in some arrangement he couldn’t see, her dark blue eyes snapping with the same anger that accented high, perfectly honed cheekbones.
He didn’t even want to imagine how she’d react if she guessed her effect on him.
“Mrs. Grainger,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here. I’d intended to stop soon at your house to speak to you. Please, have a seat.”
She marched forward until his desk blocked her. Obviously, sitting down for a civil conversation wasn’t on her agenda. “Once you’d compiled your photographic record of every step I’ve taken? Every step my children have taken?”
“I didn’t ask—”
Anna Grainger talked right over him. “Do you have any idea how violated I feel? How enraged I am to discover someone has been spying on me? While he was at it, did your PI capture some suggestive pictures through a crack in my blinds? Or one of the kids undressing for bed? Which do you prefer, Mr. Kendrick, little girls or little boys?”
His own temper sparked, but with practiced calm he said, “You must guess why I hired a PI firm to monitor how you’re doing. I didn’t ask for photographs, and I haven’t seen any. All I’ve been given are verbal or written reports.”
Vibrating with fury, she snapped, “Then please explain why I caught that...that creep photographing me when I went for a run? Did you need to know I was getting my exercise? Should I reassure you I’m taking my vitamins?”
This wasn’t going anywhere good.
“Mrs. Grainger. All I wanted was to know how you and the kids were. Whether your husband had left you provided for.”
Unfortunately, part of the initial report provided the disturbing answer. Anna Grainger was close to destitute. Her husband had apparently lost all their money and then some in ill-judged investments. He seemed to have had a genius for making terrible decisions. It was possible they’d shared that genius, except her name hadn’t been on any of the paperwork Smith had been able to trace.
“That is none of your business,” she said. “I am none of your business. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you, and I disagree. A series of circumstances led to your husband losing his life to save my child’s life. That places me deeply in your debt.”
She laughed, a caustic sound. “Then I absolve you. I do not want anything from you.”
“I can’t accept that.”
Her head tipped. “What are you offering? Have you put a suitable price on Kyle’s head?”
Nate winced. He had considered offering her money, which she needed as much or more than having her wastrel husband back. He hadn’t thought of it that way, and now that he did, knew an offer would be ill-received. Still...
“If you sued me or my ex-wife, a court would determine a suitable settlement.”
“Blood money.”
He didn’t say anything.
“That, Mr. Kendrick, is why I won’t be suing you. When I caught your PI spying on me, I had every intention of suing his ass, and yours, too. But then everyone would think I was just trying to soak you for money in recompense.”
“You care what everyone else thinks?”
She stiffened. “I care what I think of myself. Butt out, Mr. Kendrick. One more hint that you’re stalking me and I’ll call the cops.”
Crap. He hadn’t thought of what he was doing that way, either.
“Will you listen to my offer first?” Not money. He’d had one other, wild idea, which he’d go with.
“Oh, by all means.”
“I’m guessing that you’re applying for jobs.”
Her shift of expression told him he was right.
“Let me offer you one. We have a large staff at K & L Ventures. Large enough that there are nearly always openings.”
“For a janitor, perhaps? Or do you run a day care down in some alcove in the garage? Well, probably not that, since you’d be depositing your own daughter in it, wouldn’t you?”
He opened his mouth, but she didn’t pause.
“What is it you think I can do, Mr. Kendrick? I have a teaching certificate, but my only classroom experience is student teaching. I’m not a whiz on a computer. Corporate finance? Well, no.” She abandoned sarcasm. “I don’t need your pity or charity. I don’t want anything from you. Is that clear?”
“You’re entitled to compensation for your loss.”
Anna Grainger snorted and stormed out of his office.
* * *
HER REAL ESTATE agent cleared his throat. “The house has only been on the market for six weeks, Mrs. Grainger. That’s not a long time.”
Usually, Alan Lang glowed with energy and enthusiasm. However, he had the kind of mobile face that he could rearrange at will. Right now, he was projecting encouragement and understanding.
Unfortunately, he probably understood her situation all too well. In his business, he’d know desperation when he saw it.
They sat in her living room, freshly painted, decluttered and as clean as she could make it. She’d become a tyrant about making both kids put everything away the second they were done with it. With kids the ages of hers, it took constant vigilance to be sure the house was ready to show at any time of the day or night. Not a dirty cup was left in the sink, a toothpaste smear on a bathroom countertop, a bed unmade or the lawn a quarter of an inch too long.
She’d been astonished to discover how often the doorbell rang during the dinner hour. Invariably, she’d find an apologetic agent on the doorstep asking if she’d mind if potential buyers just took a quick look.
“Of course not,” she’d say with a gracious smile. Like she could afford to say no.
She and her children were currently living an unreal life. A model family living in a model house, except she and the house both were unacceptably shabby.
This afternoon, Alan had stopped by ostensibly to pick up the business cards left by all the agents who’d showed the house. Anna knew he always followed up with a call to find out what the clients had thought. When he’d suggested they sit down and talk, a chill of apprehension had made her wish she had a sweater or sweatshirt at hand.
“When we bought this place, most houses were snapped up within twenty-four hours of being listed.” We. The very word gave Anna a pang that she had to shake off. “To buy one, you had to be in the right place at the right time.”
“With even a slight downturn in prices, the market favors buyers. I’m sorry to say that’s what we’re facing right now.”
“Okay,” she said cautiously. “But people are looking.”
“They are. Which I found encouraging at first.” He cleared his throat. “But now... We haven’t had so much as a nibble. The message I’m hearing from other agents is that the property is overpriced given the need for updates.”
Anna’s heart sank. He had set the price for her house higher than he’d liked in the first place at her insistence. She’d wanted to give herself room to negotiate. “You think we need to lower what we’re asking.”
“I suggest a twenty-thousand-dollar drop.”
She closed her eyes. Twenty thousand dollars—and offers would likely come in ten to twenty thousand dollars lower yet.
A couple calming breaths later, Anna met his eyes. As with so much else these days, she had no choice. She had to get out from under the mortgage, even if she walked away with nothing.
“Go for it,” she agreed, and saw his relief. He probably hadn’t expected her to be sensible.
A minute later, as she was showing him out, he commented, “You’ve kept the place looking good despite, er...” His cheeks reddened.
“Having a four-year-old and a seven-year-old living here?” She knew he wasn’t married and had no children yet. Even though he was probably close to her age, twenty-nine, Anna felt like a stodgy matron in comparison, their life experiences so vastly different. “You have no idea,” she said ruefully.
