Renegade

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She almost giggled. The next suggestion was the coup de grâce. “The motorcycle.”

His eyes grew serious. “What about it?”

“It doesn’t mesh with a professional appearance, and it would remind most folks of your renegade tendencies.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What else?”

She leaned in and spoke softly. “Watch what you do. Word gets around, even in a town the size of Kirkwood. But you know that.”

His eyes bored into hers, and she recognized her friend.

She also recognized the pain of betrayal, but she wasn’t sure whose—his or hers.

She hopped off the chair and started pacing. “Attending a few civic events wouldn’t be a bad idea,” she said. “And start looking for pet charities.”

“Sure,” he said, causing her to stop walking and study his face. He sounded too agreeable. “Is that all?”

Tracy noted the angled grin. The laughing eyes. The rise and fall of that muscled chest. She sighed. Some things, she wouldn’t ask him to change. “For now.”

“I can do every single thing you named, except one,” he said as he stood and tipped the trash upright.

“What’s that?”

“I won’t lose the bike.”

She shrugged. “Is it worth having affluent members of the community avoid your business because they think you’re a member of some biker gang?”

“Absolutely.”

She opened her mouth, prepared to argue, but he didn’t give her time.

“I could show you why I want to ride it,” he said.

She laughed. He’d sounded just like the boy who had been her constant companion through childhood. Until he’d reached puberty and discovered other girls.

And then her sister.

Tracy’s smile tightened until her cheeks hurt. “That’s not necessary,” she said, wincing at her prim tone.

Her place in Riley’s adult life was professional, at best. She couldn’t allow herself to feel close to him.

And she needed to get out of here.

She barely had the brainpower to further her plan, but she knew it’d be wise to continue her show of acceptance. As if it were base in a childhood game of tag, she backed up to the purple door and put her hand on the knob. “I’ll send over a fee schedule,” she said as she scanned the room for her car keys. “And give you the weekend to think about it.”

Procrastinating again, but it was the only option she had. Since the office visit hadn’t provided her with a clue to Riley’s motives, she’d have to exhaust a few sources from home. She’d do an Internet search and make a phone call or two, then on Monday morning she could hand Booker a list of all the reasons she couldn’t take the job. Maybe he would take pity on her and do the consultation himself.

Or better yet, maybe Riley would have gotten into trouble by then and left.

The keys were nowhere. Tracy remembered that she’d transferred them to her briefcase after she parked. The same case that was now around front on the light table.

So much for Ms. Superefficient.

“You’d need to know what sort of expenses you would incur by using me,” she said. As Tracy heard the mischosen words fall out of her mouth, she cringed, waiting for the corners of Riley’s mouth to lift.

She wasn’t disappointed. He had his mischievous smile down to a science. “I’m sure you’re worth any price.”

She didn’t return the smile. “Although it does seem as though you could benefit from help with organization, I’m not sure it would be wise for the two of us to team up.”

At his questioning expression, she explained, “This is a big job for an inexperienced organizer.”

He shook his head. “The gold-star girl could have organized this office at fifteen.”

The cornflakes fluttered as Tracy stared out at the clutter of Riley’s front office. He was right. That was the sort of turmoil she could handle. Her fingers were practically itching to sort through binders, revamp the filing system and map out the most efficient use of space.

She offered him a brisk smile. “I’m going back around front to retrieve my briefcase, but you don’t need to walk me out. Will you be here Monday?”

He nodded.

“I’ll call you then,” she promised.

Finally she turned the door handle and stepped outside. Before the door closed between them, she couldn’t resist a final look back.

Her heart quickened at the too-long hair and wickedly handsome expression—just as she’d known it would. And when he winked at her, she felt a definite pang of desire.

Which was exactly the sort of turmoil she couldn’t handle.

Chapter Four

Tracy stared out at the quiet street in front of the duplex. The midevening surge of vehicles and pedestrians on the through street had died down. Most of the neighborhood residents must have returned from their dinners and soccer games and would now be tucked away inside preparing for work or school tomorrow.

Inside the duplex, things weren’t so serene. Oh, Hannah was happy enough. She was in her room listening to music and coloring with a new set of markers. Tracy had brought them out from her secret stash of emergency toys in a ploy to keep Hannah entertained, and it was working beautifully.

Nothing else was. Tracy’s computer search had been useless. Every one of her checks had panned out. R. Collins had been listed in Berkeley’s engineering-course catalog for a two-year stretch; Collins Engineering had been listed as an Oakland Chamber of Commerce member for the past four.

Riley must be on the up-and-up.

And Tracy’s list of pros for taking the job was much longer than her list of cons. That side had only one item, really: he was dangerous.

But if her reason for denying the work was only personal, Booker would never understand. Tracy couldn’t tell her boss that the potential client was too sexy or that her sister had run off with him thirteen years ago. Booker would tell her to go home and put a cool cloth to her head.

Scooping Claus off the printer stand, Tracy nestled him on her lap and stroked his back. The cat’s purr made his pleasure obvious, but Tracy was no less agitated. Unless she came up with a scheme of her own, she was going to spend the next little while working with Riley Collins.

There had to be some other out. If she feigned a sudden and chronic illness, Tracy could call in sick every day until Booker finished the job or hired someone else to do it. But she had only three personal-leave days left. When they ran out, she wouldn’t be paid. Bills would pile up, and she and Hannah could wind up on the street.

Claus jumped down with a thud, and Tracy realized she had stopped petting and was clicking a thumbnail between her teeth. She pulled it away and watched the cat jump back up on the printer stand. Before he crawled into his favorite cubbyhole, he bobbed his head curiously at the cell phone Tracy had set next to the printer.

“You’re right,” Tracy murmured to Claus. “One phone call could provide my excuse. I’ll call Karen.”

Though Tracy’s sister hadn’t been Riley’s girlfriend for long, she’d been close enough to be able to hazard a guess about his motives. Besides, she must have cared a lot for Riley back then. If this new association provoked a single hurt feeling in her sister, Tracy would turn down the job. If Booker wanted to penalize her for protecting a family member, then so be it. She’d keep plodding along at the job she already had.

Listening intently, Tracy heard Hannah singing along to her audiotape. The timing was good. After punching in the string of numbers that would ring Karen’s posh apartment in San Diego, Tracy listened to the phone ring twice and hoped the time difference would put Alan, her brother-in-law, on his after-work jog.

Karen’s voice came on the line, offering a cool hello.

“Hi, Karen. Is this a good time to talk?”

“It’s a great time.” Her sister’s voice warmed.

“Is Alan out running?”

“No, he’s working late.” Karen chuckled. “I’m lounging on the sofa with a glass of wine and a gossip magazine.”

“Sounds relaxing.”

“Yes.” In one syllable, her sister’s voice cooled again. Tracy knew her sister was still nervous about this marriage. Alan provided well for Karen, but he could be controlling. Although Karen seemed willing to comply with his rigid demands for dinner at a specified time, a spotless house and careful upkeep of their clothing, Tracy wondered if her older sister was truly happy. Picturing the handsome but stern man she’d met only once, Tracy asked the question she worried about often: “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. How’s Mom?”

“Better every day.” Tracy carried the phone to her night table in the opposite corner of the bedroom. “She has a new neighb—”

“Hang on,” her sister interrupted.

Tracy heard the closing of a door, followed by a man’s deep voice. Alan must have arrived home. If Tracy guessed correctly, Karen had stuffed her magazine under the sofa cushion and was rushing to the door for a kiss and her husband’s approval.

Tracy stretched across her bed to wait. Evening light slanted across the foot of the bed, illuminating a scattering of stuffed animals Hannah had left there earlier. Alan probably wouldn’t allow a child to play in his room, but Tracy enjoyed her daughter’s company. She was reminded of the main reason she was a single mom. Finding the right man seemed a formidable task. Too many women settled for good enough and hung on despite a lasting discontent. Others, like her sister, kept starting over.

Tracy had given up her prerogative to make that sort of mistake when she’d adopted a child. Hannah deserved a stable home. Tracy wouldn’t upset the precarious balance of their everyday life until she knew the risk was worth taking. And so, men who were clearly wrong were turned down graciously but immediately. These were the men who were too drunk, too dreary, too married or too anything else. The obvious won’t-works. Every once in a while, Tracy went through a hopeful cycle. An exceptional man would have entered her life and made her care enough to think future thoughts—until something happened to move him down to won’t-work status.