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“Hi, Daddy! I wove you!” Kitty shouted, mugging for the camera again.
Jack watched the rest of that tape and the next one and the next, but long before the last one ended, he knew he had to face some hard truths he hadn’t wanted to see because they meant he was failing Kitty.
Dammit, Ms. Walsh was right. He hadn’t wanted her to be right about anything, because he couldn’t bear the thought of watching Kitty suffer in therapy the way she had before. That was why he’d found Ms. Walsh so irritating, why he didn’t want Kitty to like her so much, why he’d fought accepting her suggestions the way he should have done.
He’d been doing his best with Kitty, but his best wasn’t good enough. Not even close.
She didn’t look or act like the same child anymore, and the change had nothing to do with the age difference. The adorable, funny, happy child in the videotapes was the real Kitty, not the pale, skinny, tired little girl he’d come home to tonight. His Kitty was the one who shouted, “I wove you, Daddy,” and held out her little arms for a huge hug.
Jack leaned forward and put his face in his hands. Dear God, he wanted her back. He wanted her to be noisy and laugh and run around like a demented creature. He wanted her to wear him out with her demands of “Do it again, Daddy,” the way she had that day at the lake when he’d kept tossing her into the water until she was breathless and his arms had ached.
How on earth had he let things come to this?
“Aw, dammit, Gina,” he swore, swiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I’m doing it all wrong, and I don’t know how to make it right.”
He turned off the TV and VCR, then sat there in the quiet of the family room with his burning eyes shut and his head pounding with questions he couldn’t answer. What was he supposed to do now?
Gina had always done what was right for Kitty. So what would she do for their daughter in this situation? “Come on, Gina, tell me what to do,” he whispered, burying his face in his hands and trying to form a mental picture of his wife.
Unfortunately, the image that appeared in his mind was all wrong. Instead of Gina’s short black hair and loving dark eyes, Ms. Walsh’s blond ponytail and accusing green eyes appeared before him. Her steady gaze held pity for him, but if the image could speak, he suspected it would call him an idiot or worse.
He knew what he had to do, but his gut knotted and an automatic protest sprang to his lips. Ask Ms. Walsh for help? No way. Even the idea made him shudder, but he had no other choice.
His number-one priority was taking care of Kitty. No matter how much he hated doing it, it wouldn’t kill him to swallow his pride. He’d call Ms. Walsh first thing on Monday morning.
If you wait, certainly you’ll find a way to justify not calling her.
Muttering “All right, all right,” Jack looked up Ms. Walsh’s phone number and dialed it. The phone rang three times, and only then did he think to look at the clock. Damn. It was after midnight. Just as he was about to hang up, she answered.
“Hello?”
He felt like a jerk, but since he had her on the line, he might as well get this done. “Ms. Walsh, this is Jack Granger.”
“What time is it?” Her voice was soft and slurry with sleep, and it had an unnerving, surprisingly sexy rasp to it.
“I didn’t realize it was so late,” he said quickly. “I’ll call back in the morning.”
“Don’t do that,” she said with a prodigious yawn. “I’m awake now. Just give me a second.”
He heard a rustling sound and found himself wondering what she wore to bed. Cotton? Silk? Nothing? Oh, jeez. Before he could ask himself why he was even thinking about Ms. Walsh in that context, she came back on the line.
“All right. What do you want, Mr. Granger?”
Thank God she didn’t know how loaded that question sounded at the moment. “You were right.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” he grumbled, scowling at the squeak of surprise in her voice. “You were right about Kitty. Meet me at the school tomorrow. One o’clock.”
Abby blinked. Unable to believe what he’d just said and the dictatorial tone in which he’d said it, she held the receiver away from her ear and silently counted to ten before speaking again—slowly and distinctly. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”
“So?” he snapped. “Don’t you teachers ever work on weekends?”
“No. We don’t.” She shifted into the same bright tone she used with first graders. “But you know, if I didn’t have plans for tomorrow and you had phrased that as a request instead of an order, I might have been willing to think about making an exception for you.”
There was no way he could misunderstand that message. She grinned at the stunned silence on the other end of the line. Oh, she’d give a month’s salary to see his face right now. She heard him take a deep breath.
“Ms. Walsh, please—” he said.
He sounded as if his teeth might be gritted.
“—I would sincerely appreciate it if you could find it in your heart to change your plans and meet me in your classroom tomorrow.”
“That’s much better,” she said.
“Then you’ll meet with me?”
Hoo-boy, he really sounded steamed. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m signed up for a fun run at Manito Park, and then—”
“Fun run?”
He had a bad habit of interrupting her. “Yes. And I don’t intend to miss it.”
“What about after the fun run?”
“I’m baby-sitting for the rest of the weekend—not that it’s any of your business.” It was the price she’d had to pay for Erin’s expert opinion about Kitty. “I’m free after school on Monday.”
After another long silence, he replied in such a grudging tone that she had to bite her lower lip to stop herself from laughing out loud.
“All right. I’ll meet you at the school on Monday afternoon. Say, four o’clock?”
“Fine. Try to be on time. Good night, Mr. Granger.”
Without waiting for his reply, she hung up and flopped back on her bed, giggling. Oh, dear, this had to be a difficult time for him but he most definitely did not “play well with others.” He really needed to learn that he couldn’t run roughshod over other people, including his daughter and his daughter’s teacher.
But thank God, he’d finally agreed to get Kitty the help she needed. Now she could let Erin take over, gracefully bow out of the Grangers’ lives at the end of the school year and get on with earning her doctorate.
Jack spent the night fitfully rolling around in his bed, rehashing his conversations with Ms. Walsh and worrying about Kitty. By sunrise he gave up all hope of sleeping and dragged himself down to the kitchen. After putting on the coffee, he walked out to the road for the paper, scanning the front page on his way back to the house.
In the lower-right corner he spotted a teaser for a five-mile run to promote women’s health programs. He’d bet his next conviction that Ms. Walsh would be there. And so would he. Now that he knew Kitty needed help, he wanted to get on with the process. The sooner the better.
After leaving Kitty with his brother Dan, Jack arrived at Manito Park and made his way to the duck pond, the most logical place to put the finish line. Sure enough, there it was, complete with a big digital clock and a race official calling out individual runner’s times as they ran past him.
The jovial atmosphere took him back to his high school and college days when he’d been on the cross-country team. He felt a moment’s envy of the participants who were in good enough shape to run an eight-minute mile. It had been a long time since he’d found the time and energy to go for a run. Too long.
Hands in the front pockets of his khakis, he prepared to wait however long it took for Ms. Walsh to straggle in after running five miles. If she actually could run that far.
“Look, there she is,” shouted a little boy standing in front of Jack. “Way to go, Ms. Walsh!”
“Thirty-nine minutes and thirty-six seconds,” the official called.
Startled, Jack looked at the woman charging toward him and found himself doing a double-take. Her hair was plastered to her head with perspiration and pulled back in the usual ponytail, which was now puffed out in a mass of springy curls. Her face was red and glowing. She wore a white mesh singlet over a black sports bra, a red sweatband across her forehead, purple running shorts that showed off the sexiest pair of legs he’d ever seen and a worn pair of running shoes that proclaimed her to be a dedicated runner.
Man, did she ever look trim and fit. Still, teachers were like nuns and mothers. They weren’t supposed to have sexy legs like that, or slim, toned arms. Ms. Walsh ran past him, and he nearly swallowed his tongue. Teachers, mothers and nuns weren’t supposed to have tight, round little bottoms that made a man’s hands itch, either. He felt like a pervert for even thinking such thoughts about his daughter’s teacher, but he’d have to be dead not to react to seeing her showing that much skin. And it sure didn’t stop him from liking what he saw.
Ms. Walsh looked so…healthy. So full of life. So damn sexy, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Who would’ve guessed that under her long, flowing skirts and soft, colorful blouses was a body like that? Oh, boy, he had to stop staring at her, stop trying to envision what she might look like completely naked. She already disliked him intensely. If she ever realized he thought she was…hot—oh, he didn’t want to go there.
Slowing to a trot, she grabbed a paper cup of water from a volunteer, downed it in one gulp, then took another. She tossed the cups in a trash barrel and ran slowly toward the parking area. Jack called her name and waved one arm.
She glanced around, jogging in place until she spotted him. Ignoring her immediate frown, he hustled to join her. “Nice race,” he said when he reached her.
“What are you doing here, Mr. Granger?” she asked, still jogging in place.
“I want to talk to you about Kitty.”
“We have an appointment on Monday. Right now, I need to cool down.”
With that, she took off, maintaining a steady pace. Cursing under his breath, he went after her. He’d already wasted too much of his time this morning to let her get away from him now. His legs were so much longer than hers, he kept up with her by walking fast.
“Come on,” he said. “You’ve been after me to get Kitty into counseling for a long time. I’m finally ready to do it, and you’re not willing to help?”
“Not today,” she said. “If you want to help Kitty this weekend, take her out somewhere and have some fun. I’ll see you Monday afternoon.”
Veering off to the right, she gave him a jaunty wave and ran back toward the duck pond. Jack stood there watching her, anger and confusion warring inside him. And there was something else he couldn’t deny—a dose of lust. It was a hell of a time for his damn libido to wake up.
“I am not attracted to that woman,” he muttered to himself all the way back across town. When he arrived at his brother’s duplex, he found Dan, who was three years his junior, out in the garage working on his pickup. Dan wore jeans, hiking boots and a Spokane Police Department T-shirt.
He looked up when Jack entered the garage, showing a smudge of grease on his forehead. “That didn’t take long.”
Jack shrugged. “Where’s Kitty?”
Dan tilted his head toward his neighbor’s half of the building. “Marla took the kids to a movie and invited Kitty to go along. They’ll be back soon. Did you find Kitty’s teacher?”
“Yeah,” Jack grumbled, walking around to the front of the truck. “What’re you doing?”
“Changing spark plugs.” Dan shoved a droplight into Jack’s hands and ducked in under the hood. “A little more to the right— Yeah, that’s it. So, what happened at the race?”
“That woman wouldn’t even talk to me.” Jack gave his brother an edited description of his recent encounter with Ms. Walsh. Instead of garnering him the sympathy he expected, the story made his dumb brother burst out laughing.
“Good for her,” Dan said. “It’s about time.”
“About time for what?” Jack demanded.
“For somebody to treat you like you’re normal.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Dan ducked back under the hood. “Everybody’s been walking on eggshells around you since Gina died.”
“No way,” Jack protested.
Dan snorted. “Oh, big time, bro. Everybody felt terrible for you and Kitty. When you were impatient and irritable, we made allowances for you, but it’s past time somebody made you mind your manners.” He straightened away from the pickup and met Jack’s gaze head-on. “That’s all Ms. Walsh did, you know.”
Jack stared at his brother in slack-jawed disbelief. “You’re full of it, Danny. I have excellent manners.”
“Not anymore,” Dan told him. “You act like you’re the only one with a busy schedule and your time is more valuable than anyone else’s.”
“Well, maybe it is,” Jack said. “I know you don’t always think so, but my job happens to be damn important.”
“Yeah, it’s important.” Dan grabbed another spark plug and leaned over the engine again. “But it’s still just a job.”
“So, it really doesn’t matter that much if I let a few killers and sex offenders slip through the system. Who cares if they’re back out on the streets?”
“See? There you go. That’s exactly what I mean. You act like it’s this big mission and only Jack Granger can—”
“Give me a break.”
Dan raised up abruptly, banging his head on the underside of the hood. Cursing, he rubbed the sore spot. “You’ve had enough breaks. If you don’t watch yourself, your ego is going to get completely out of control.”
“Cut it out. I’m not like that.”
Dan pointed his socket wrench at Jack. “If you believe that, you’d better stop and take a long look at yourself, bro.”
“So what are you saying?” Jack tossed his free hand up beside his head. “I shouldn’t do my job?”
“Hell, no. You just have to remember you’re not the only prosecutor in this county, and you can’t be responsible for every conviction. Face it, no matter how many killers you put away, you’ll never be able to get the one you really want.”
Jack stiffened at the veiled reference to their father. “That’s enough.”
“Says who? I admire the hell out of that teacher for not putting up with your bull. You’re real good at making people back off from touchy subjects, but you need to hear the truth about these things, even if you don’t want to. Especially if you don’t want to.”
“And where did you get your Psych degree? The Police Academy?”
Dan grabbed the last spark plug. “I don’t need a Psych degree to figure out any of us. Mark and I are cops because of Dad, and you’re a prosecutor because of Dad’s killer. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, ever since Gina died you’ve buried yourself in your job. It’s not good for you and it’s not good for Kitty. And your manners stink.”
“What did I ever do to you?” Jack asked. “Give me an example.”
“That’s easy. When you called this morning, you didn’t ask me to take care of Kitty for you—you told me to. I didn’t have anything more interesting going on this morning, so I didn’t mind helping you out this time.”
“But you have at other times?”
