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My Secret Valentine
Marilyn Pappano
For six years Fiona Lake had been haunted by Justin Reed, the man who loved her–and left her secretly carrying his child. Now the brawny special agent was back and had discovered the truth.Would knowing his daughter turn him into father material, or would he walk away from her, too? Yet when an explosion ripped through their lives, the help he offered their little girl revealed a side of Justin that Fiona had thought was gone. She could believe he cared–as long as she protected her heart. But when fate intervened again, love was put to the ultimate test….
Your valentine: Justin
WON'T YOU
BE MINE?
Will you be my Daddy?
Mommy wishes you were….
Katy
My Secret Valentine
Marilyn Pappano
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MARILYN PAPPANO
brings impeccable credentials to her career—a lifelong habit of gazing out windows, not paying attention in class, daydreaming and spinning tales for her own entertainment. The sale of her first book brought great relief to her family, proving that she wasn’t crazy but was, instead, creative. Since then, she’s sold more than forty others, and she loves almost everything about writing, except that she would like a more reasonable boss to work for, which is pretty sad, since she works for herself.
She writes in an office nestled among the oaks that surround her home. In winter she stays inside with her husband and their four dogs, and in summer she mows the yard that never stops growing and daydreams about grass that never gets taller than two inches. You can write to her at P.O. Box 643, Sapulpa, OK 74067-0643.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 1
It was ten minutes after two when Justin Reed slipped into his seat at the weekly squad meeting and opened the file in front of him. Though his supervisor didn’t look up or miss a beat in his conversation, there was no doubt he knew that Justin had been late—again—and no doubt he would have something to say about it—again. He’d intended to be on time this afternoon—in fact, had started to leave his office five minutes early—but as he was walking out the door, the phone had rung. He could have left anyway, but he’d been playing phone tag with people all week and he wasn’t about to miss the chance to actually connect with someone.
And so he was late. Again.
At least he wouldn’t be put on the hot seat. His current caseload was nothing special, and everything was progressing steadily. Of course, there would be the perpetual question—Anything new on the Watkins case?—and the usual answer. No, nothing. One of these days, he’d promised himself, he was going to have an entirely different answer. Yes, sir, we apprehended Patrick Watkins this week.
Hey, a man could dream, couldn’t he?
His boss worked his way around the table, reviewing cases, asking for reports. He’d made it halfway when the door opened and his secretary stepped inside. “Excuse me, sir. Special Agent Reed has an emergency call.”
All eyes turned his way as his boss nodded toward the door. The muscles in his stomach tightening, Justin left the conference room and followed the secretary to her desk down the hall. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms wasn’t quite like the police. They didn’t get many emergency calls. Maybe Patrick Watkins had struck again, or something had happened to his mother in London or his father in Paris. That was about the extent of what he would consider an emergency in his life.
Picking up the phone, he tersely said, “This is Special Agent Reed.”
“Mr. Reed—Special Agent Reed, this is Roger Markham. I’m an attorney in Grand Springs, Colorado.”
Justin’s stomach knotted, and his fingers clutched the receiver so tightly his knuckles turned white. He had only two connections to Grand Springs, Colorado, and he didn’t want to hear bad news about either of them. He wished he could hang up, walk away and forget the call had ever been made, but of course he couldn’t. All he could do was take an unsteady breath and ask, “What can I do for you, Mr. Markham?”
“I’m calling about your aunt, Golda Reed. She— I’m sorry, Mr. Reed, but she died a short while ago. As far as the doctors can tell, her heart gave out on her. She fell asleep and just didn’t wake up. I’m sorry.”
So was Justin, sorry and filled with regret. He hadn’t been the best nephew Golda could have had, though he had been her favorite. He’d visited her a few times and called her when he thought about it, but…well, after his last visit nearly six years ago, there had been complications that made maintaining the relationship difficult.
His smile was thin and bitter. Complications. Yes, that was a good word to describe Fiona Lake and the way she’d made him feel. Trouble, decked out with red hair, hazel eyes, a sprinkling of freckles across her perfect little nose and a passion that could make a man weak.
Although he sometimes had trouble remembering. Had he been at his weakest with Fiona? Or when he’d dumped her?
“Mr. Reed?”
Giving a shake of his head, he focused his attention on the conversation. “I’m here. I just… Had she been sick?”
“The usual aches and pains you’d expect in a woman her age. But she was prepared for it. She had her funeral planned right down to the songs and the singers, and she reviewed her will regularly. The service is scheduled for Friday afternoon. Will you or anyone else from the family be able to attend?”
Justin gave a moment’s thought to his caseload, though it wouldn’t have changed his answer. “I’ll be there, and I’ll notify the rest of the family.”
“Good. If you’d like, we can go over her will on Saturday. Golda always impressed upon me what a busy young man you are.”
Yeah, sure, too busy to spend time with her. Too busy—and too afraid of running into Fiona. And if he’d gone to Grand Springs, he would have undoubtedly run into Fiona. After all, she lived right next door to Golda. They chatted on their porches in the evenings and shared flowers from their gardens.
At least, they used to.
“Of course, you’re welcome to stay in Golda’s house while you’re here, or, if you’d prefer, we could make reservations for you at one of the local hotels.”
“I’ll—I’ll figure that out before I get there.” Stay in Golda’s house without Golda? With Fiona next door? With powerful memories and more powerful guilt for company? An anonymous hotel would suit him just fine.
“I’m looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Reed, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. If you need anything between now and Friday, feel free to call me.” The lawyer gave his number, then hung up.
After a long, still moment, Justin hung up, too, and found the secretary watching him sympathetically. “I’m sorry about your aunt,” she murmured, then explained. “When I told Mr. Markham you were in a meeting, he told me why he was calling.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I do anything for you?”
His first impulse was to refuse. On second thought, he asked, “Could you get me round-trip reservations to Grand Springs, Colorado? I need to get in by noon Friday and leave late Saturday night.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
He didn’t return to the meeting but went to his office instead. He’d been sitting there, numbly staring out at the city, for some time when his supervisor knocked at the door, then came in.
George Wallace had been with the ATF since Justin was a kid. He’d sought a job in law enforcement because he figured carrying a gun and a badge might stop the endless teasing his name subjected him to, or so he claimed. He knew more about explosives and the people who tended to use them than all the other agents on their squad combined, and he wasn’t at all shy about sharing his knowledge.
He sat down in front of Justin’s desk. “The secretary told me about your aunt. I’m sorry.”
Justin acknowledged him with a nod.
“You need some time off?”
“Just a day. The funeral’s Friday afternoon, the reading of the will Saturday. I’ll come back that night.”
“You can take a couple extra days.”
“There’s no need to.” Golda had told him many times that she was leaving the bulk of her estate to him, but he couldn’t do anything with it until the will had been probated. That would give him at least a few weeks to consider it.
“Were you close to her?”
“She was my dad’s sister, older by about eighteen years. She helped raise him. After my folks split up, she helped raise me, too. I didn’t see her as often as I should have, but I liked her. I liked her a lot.”
“Why don’t you go on home? You must have people to notify.”
There was his mother in London, who would be too busy playing hostess to her latest husband the earl to feel much more than a twinge of regret. His father, living in Paris with his latest spouse—a twenty-something poster girl for eating disorders—probably wouldn’t even feel a twinge. He might have better luck with his father’s two older brothers, their wives and children, though he wouldn’t swear to it. With little chance of being included in Golda’s will, there was little chance they would care she was dead.
The Reeds were nothing if not greedy, he thought with a cynical smile.
Fiona would care. Whether she profited or not, she would be sorry that Golda was gone. She would miss her, and know life was poorer without the old lady in it.
“Justin?”
He gave George a weak smile. “Yeah, I need to call the family. It’s already evening in London and Paris. If I don’t get my mother and father before they go out, I may not get them.”
“Go on home. Take tomorrow off if you need it. And if you want a few extra days when you get there…”
“Thanks.” As his boss left, Justin packed the papers he wanted to take home in his briefcase, then signed out. By the time he got to the apartment he called home, the news had sunk in, and he was feeling less dazed and more regretful. He should have been a better nephew, should have made more of an effort to keep in touch with Golda. He never should have let fear compromise the one healthy lifelong relationship he had.
But it was too late for regrets now.
When he reached his mother in London, she was dressing for a party. She said all the right words, but, as usual, they lacked sincerity. And she wondered why her marriages never lasted.
It was 10:00 p.m. in Paris and his father, surprisingly, was in. He said the right words, too, but when Justin asked if he would return for the funeral, he sounded genuinely perplexed. “It’s a hell of a long flight to Colorado, and what would be the point?”
“I don’t know, Dad. What would be the point of showing up for your only sister’s funeral? Maybe showing that you cared about her? That you respected her? That at least you were grateful for everything she’d done for you?”
“What did she do for me?”
Justin bit back an obscenity. “Forget I even asked. I’ve got to go—”
“Don’t you want to say hello to Monique? Talk about respect… Calling halfway across the world, then hanging up without even saying hello to your stepmother is a fine way to show your respect for her.”
“Give her my best. I’ll talk to you soon.” Justin hung up before his father could say anything else, before he could blurt out what he really wanted to say—that Monique wasn’t even old enough for him to lust after, so she for damn sure wasn’t old enough to be his stepmother. That he felt little respect for her and none for his father. That with Golda gone, so was the Reed family’s last chance at decency, generosity and humanity.
Without Golda, the entire rest of the family was nothing but a bunch of coldhearted, self-absorbed bastards.
Himself included.
Next he talked to his uncles and five of his six cousins, leaving a message for the last one. There might have been one or two genuine I’m sorrys in their responses, but he couldn’t say for sure.
After the last call, he took a beer from the refrigerator and went to stand at the balcony door. As the sky darkened and lights came on across the city, he lifted the bottle in a salute to the west. “The family’s gonna let you down again, Aunt Golda. But that doesn’t surprise you, does it? We always disappointed you while you were alive. Why should it be any different now that you’re dead?”
Unexpectedly his throat tightened with more emotion than he’d felt in years. “I’m sorry, Aunt Golda,” he murmured as his eyes grew damp. “I loved you…and I’m so damned sorry.”
“He’s coming back.”
Fiona Lake looked up from the table she was polishing to meet her mother’s gaze. Delores looked both regretful and triumphant. The triumph came from her success in finding the answer to the question that had haunted them both since learning of Golda’s death two days ago. Her regret came from the answer itself.
So Justin was coming to Golda’s funeral.
He had every right to be there. He was her nephew, and she’d loved him like a son. It was only fitting that he honor her one last time by being present for her funeral. If he hadn’t come, Fiona would have hated him for it.
Oh, but she didn’t want to see him!
“How did you find out?” Fiona asked as if it wasn’t important.
“I asked Roger Markham. He was Golda’s attorney, you know. He called Justin at work Wednesday to tell him that she’d passed, and Justin said he would be here.”
How many times had Fiona tried to call Justin at his Washington office six years ago? Eight? Ten? And yet he’d always been conveniently out. Now she knew she should have asked Roger to call for her—or anybody else in the world whose name wasn’t Lake.
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. I’m going to Golda’s funeral, and I’m going to pretend that Justin and I have never met.”
Delores snorted. “Oh, yes, I can see you pulling that off. And what about after the funeral? When you go home and he’s right there next door?”
“I’ll be home. He’ll be next door.”
“What about Katy?”
