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With Tommy’s skepticism ringing in her ears, she went to do battle with the man she was already inclined to think of as the enemy.
Walker wasn’t sure what he’d expected in terms of age or appearance when Frances Jackson had told him that his nephew was being cared for by the daughter of one of the town’s leading citizens. He’d simply dismissed her as some small-town society do-gooder without giving her another thought.
And maybe that was precisely what Daisy Spencer was, but she also happened to be years younger than he’d anticipated–no more than thirty, he guessed–and so beautiful it took him a full sixty seconds to catch his breath and accept her outstretched hand. She had the kind of beauty that came from incredible genes and a classy upbringing. Walker was rarely left speechless, nor did he tend to get poetic…but she inspired both. Her skin was flawless, her eyes the color of spring violets.
“Detective,” she said oh-so-politely, then acknowledged the woman with him with a curt nod and an unmistakable hint of betrayal in her voice. “Frances.”
Walker had the feeling it was more good manners than Southern hospitality that had her inviting them in. Daisy Spencer was studying him warily, as if she feared he might rob the place if she turned her back. He was used to being regarded with distrust, but that was usually by the bad guys, not by an upstanding citizen. The woman was uptight as hell about something, but darned if he could figure out what it was. Shouldn’t she be relieved that he was coming to see his nephew, that she’d most likely be off the hook if Frances Jackson had her way? Surely all these small-town do-gooders were of the same mind–foist Tommy off on him and end their involvement.
“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Ms. Spencer asked. Again, her voice was measured, with just a teasing hint of a drawl.
“That would be lovely,” the social worker said.
Frances might be content to follow some sort of local protocol, but Walker was impatient to get the reason for the visit out of the way. He had reluctantly agreed to meet Tommy today, see how they did together. Beyond that he’d remained neutral, refusing to commit to anything, despite Mrs. Jackson’s evident expectations. Now that he was here, he just wanted to get the awkward moment over with. He was still shaken by that visit to the cemetery and the finality of seeing a headstone with Beth’s name on it.
“Where is he?” he asked bluntly, ignoring the offer of tea.
The question drew a disapproving frown from the woman currently caring for his nephew. Which, in turn, drew attention to a mouth so kissable it made him forget for an instant why he was here. His gaze traveled from that tempting mouth to curves that were barely disguised by a prim white cotton blouse and linen slacks. Discreet gold jewelry flashed at her wrists, and a delicate diamond and sapphire ring winked on one slender finger. Not an engagement ring, he noted with an odd sense of relief. Wrong hand.
“If you’re referring to Tommy, he’s in the kitchen finishing his supper,” she told him, gesturing vaguely to another part of the small but tastefully furnished house.
The house hadn’t been exactly what he’d expected, either, given her reported status in town. It was little more than a cottage, really, painted a cheerful yellow, with old-fashioned white Victorian trim. It came complete with a white picket fence, all of it the epitome of a young girl’s dream. Hell, it was on Primrose Lane–how quaint could you get? The tiny front yard was a riot of flowers, even though it was still early spring. Neighboring houses were bigger, more imposing, but none had been cared for more lovingly.
The inside was tended with just as much care. Walker couldn’t help wondering how long some of Daisy’s expensive porcelain knickknacks would last with a rambunctious boy around. Apparently she wasn’t all that concerned, because she hadn’t hidden them. That raised her a notch in his estimation.
“Why don’t you and I sit down and get to know each other before I get Tommy?” she suggested.
She said it in a way that set off a whole lot of wicked images Walker was sure she hadn’t intended. Even so, he frowned. No wonder Frances had kept her questions to a minimum. Apparently she intended to let this woman do her job for her. Walker had other ideas.
“Ms. Spencer, as much as I would love to get to know you better,” he said, giving her a thorough once-over that brought a blush to her peaches-and-cream complexion, “I’m here to meet my nephew. You and I can go a few rounds another time. Which way’s the kitchen? Through here?”
He was already heading in that direction when she caught up with him, snagging his arm with a surprisingly firm grip. He glanced down at the pale fingers with their neat, unpolished nails against his thick, tanned forearm and felt an unexpected slam of desire. He swallowed hard and stepped away, but without making any further move toward the kitchen.
“Detective, perhaps you can bully suspects in Washington, but around here, we have ways of conducting ourselves that meet a higher standard.”
Walker stared down into those flashing eyes, admiring again that startling shade of amethyst and the fringe of dark lashes. A man could forget himself and his intentions pondering the mysteries of eyes like that. He sincerely regretted that he didn’t have the time to spare. It was getting late, and he wanted to hit the road before dark.
“Ms. Spencer, you are the second person today to suggest that I’m uncivilized.” He leveled a hard look at her that usually worked quite well during an interrogation. “I’m beginning to take offense.”
Not so much as an eyelash flickered. “Then prove me wrong.”
“How?”
“Talk to me. Tell me about yourself and the life you’re prepared to offer Tommy.”
He shook his head. “You’re not going to be satisfied till we play Twenty Questions, are you?”
“Not a chance,” she agreed cheerfully.
“Then by all means, let’s talk.”
He followed her into the living room, settled back in a chintz-covered easy chair and kept his gaze pinned to hers. She perched on the edge of the sofa, kept her own gaze perfectly level with his, and began a litany of questions that suggested she’d made a list before his arrival. She started by asking about his parents, where he’d gone to elementary school, what his favorite subjects had been, whether he’d liked sports.
He grinned at her. “Ms. Spencer, at this rate, it’ll be midnight and we won’t even get to my college years.”
Her expression brightened. “You went to college, then?”
“I didn’t think to bring along a copy of my diploma, but yes, I graduated from the University of Virginia.”
“A fine school,” she said approvingly.
“Are we finished now?”
“Not quite. Are you married, Detective Ames?”
“Not anymore.”
“I see.” Her mouth pursed ever so slightly. “Any children?”
“Two boys.”
“And they live with you?”
“No, they live with their mother in North Carolina.”
“I see.”
There was no question about the disapproval in her eyes now. She flashed a quick look at the social worker, whose expression was carefully neutral.
“Anything else?” he asked. “Are you interested in my favorite colors? Maybe whether I wear jockey shorts or boxers?”
Color flamed in her cheeks. “Of course not.”
“Then I’d like to see my nephew.”
Unfortunately, Walker was soon to discover, while they’d been wasting time on all those ridiculous questions, Tommy had vanished into thin air. When Daisy at last led them to the kitchen, they found it empty, and there was no sign of Tommy anywhere else in the house or yard.
Walker cursed his own stupidity. He should have guessed that the woman was stalling so his nephew could make a break for it, though why she should do that was beyond him. It was a diversionary tactic that he’d seen used often enough in his career. Still, he was surprised that Daisy Spencer would flat-out try to thwart this reunion that Frances Jackson was so dead-set on bringing about. Maybe they’d gotten their signals crossed.
It seemed Frances’ thoughts were running parallel to his own. “Oh, Daisy, what have you gone and done?” she asked, dismay written all over her face.
“Me?” Daisy said, regarding her incredulously. “You think I hid him?”
“I know you want him to stay here, but this is not the way,” the social worker said.
Walker regarded the two women intently. “Are you saying she is deliberately keeping the boy from me?” he asked, surprised to have his own suspicions confirmed so openly.
Frances looked flustered, but Daisy was quick to respond. “That is exactly what she’s saying and, to tell you the truth, I’m insulted.” She frowned at the social worker. “We’ve known each other for years. I would have expected better of you, Frances.”
“And I, you,” Frances retorted tartly.
Patches of color once again flamed on Daisy’s cheeks, spurred no doubt by the indignation Walker could see flashing in her eyes.
“Blast it all, I’m as shocked as you are that he’s not where I left him,” she snapped. Quickly she amended, “No, I take that back. I’m not shocked at all. The boy’s life has been a shambles since his mother died. He hasn’t felt as if he truly belonged anywhere. It’s little wonder that he doesn’t trust a single adult to keep a promise, not even me.”
“Exactly what did you promise him?” Walker asked.
“That no one would take him away from here unless we all decided it was for the best, him included.”
“Daisy, he’s just a boy,” Frances said with a dismayed sigh. “Why would you make him a promise you knew you couldn’t possibly keep?”
“I intended to keep it,” Ms. Spencer shot back.
“Maybe we should just focus on finding him,” Walker suggested. “We can work out the rest of this later.”
“I agree,” the social worker said at once. “I think we’d better get Tucker over here.”
“Who’s Tucker?” Walker asked, grasping at last that there was a whole lot more going on here than he could begin to fathom. Unfortunately there was no time to ask the right questions or to try to sort out the clues.
“My brother,” Daisy answered, just as Frances said, “The sheriff.”
“Then, by all means, let’s get him over here,” Walker agreed, just as two men came strolling around the corner of the house, one of them carrying what looked to be a foil-covered pie.
“Tucker, Tommy’s vanished,” Daisy said, automatically taking the dish from his hands. “You have to do something.”
“What do you mean, he’s vanished?”
“While your sister kept me occupied in her living room with an endless barrage of questions, my nephew bolted,” Walker explained succinctly. “I’m Walker Ames, by the way. Detective Walker Ames.”
“He’s a D.C. policeman,” Daisy said derisively. “One who apparently likes to make unfounded accusations. I did not deliberately try to assist Tommy in making a getaway. Not that I blame him. He’s had far too much disruption in his life lately. He’s just beginning to feel secure again.”
“In a few days with you?” Walker asked.
She gave him a defiant look. “Exactly. Because he knows I care about him. He doesn’t even know who you are. Why would you expect him to choose you over me?”
“I guess the gloves are off,” the other newcomer observed with a sigh. “Sis, you’re not helping matters.”
Walker grinned as she whirled on the other man.
“Bobby Spencer, you’re supposed to be on my side,” she said indignantly.
“I am, always,” he insisted. “And right now you need to keep your mouth shut.”
Fury danced in her eyes. “I most certainly will not.”
Walker grinned. “Don’t shut her up. I’m finding her comments enlightening.”
“Enough,” Tucker said firmly. “Let’s all settle down and establish what we know. Daisy, when was the last time you saw Tommy?”
“He was finishing his supper when his uncle and Frances arrived. I left him in the kitchen. That was around six.”
“And it’s nearly seven now. Why the delay?”
“I had a few questions,” Daisy said defensively.
Bobby rolled his eyes and shot a sympathetic look at Walker.
“How did Tommy feel about meeting his uncle?” the sheriff asked.
“I’ve already told you. He wasn’t happy about it,” she said.
“And I’m sure you did everything you could to see that he felt that way,” Walker said, surprised by the depth of his anger that someone who didn’t even know him would try to turn his own nephew against him.
“I did not. I told him he had to give you a chance, that I was sure there was an explanation for why he’d never even heard of you or why you’d never been to visit.”
“Phrased like that, I can see why he’d be anxious to meet me,” Walker snapped.
Daisy Spencer looked exactly the way he imagined a mother tiger would look right before it took on a predator threatening her young. Despite his exasperation with the woman, he couldn’t help admiring her fierce protectiveness when it came to Tommy. A part of him was glad that his nephew had someone like that in his corner.
“Shouldn’t we stop wasting time hurling accusations and look for Tommy?” Frances suggested mildly. “It’ll be dark soon, and I don’t like the idea of him being outside all alone once the temperature starts to drop. It gets cold along the river this time of year. And there are the cliffs…” Her voice trailed off, leaving the dire implication unspoken.
“Absolutely,” Tucker agreed. “Frances, you stay right here in case Tommy shows up. Bobby, you go search along the river. I’ll go door-to-door here in town. Walker, you and Daisy can drive up and down the streets and along the highway.”
“Together?” Daisy asked as if she’d rather eat worms.
“Yes,” Tucker said in a tone that didn’t permit an argument. “Walker doesn’t know his way around the area.”
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m driving.”
“Whatever,” Walker agreed, following her to a nice, sedate little sedan that suited her perfectly. No flash and dazzle for this woman. She probably never drove the car over the speed limit.
Her agitation was plain as she started the car, grinding the engine in the process. She threw it into reverse and shot out of her driveway in a way that had even a veteran of high-speed chases clinging to the armrest with a white-knuckled grip. It was the second time today he’d misjudged a woman in this town.
“Don’t take out your frustration with me on the car,” he suggested quietly as she skidded around the corner onto another tree-lined street. “Getting us killed won’t help anyone, least of all Tommy.”
“Oh, go to hell,” she snapped. “This is all your fault.”
“You’ll have to explain that one to me.”
“It just is.”
Walker bit back a grin. “Now there’s a rational bit of logic. How very female.”
She slammed on the brakes so hard, he almost banged his head on the windshield. When he’d recovered, he turned to find her staring straight ahead with what might have been tears glistening on her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear her.
“What? I thought I heard you apologizing.”
