“Truce?”
“I don’t want a beer, and there’s no need for a truce. I’m not interested enough to have a fight with you, therefore, a truce is moot.”
“Not like you to turn down a free beer at the end of the day.”
“You’re right.” She snagged one, then booted the door. It would have slammed satisfactorily in his face, but he’d always been quick.
“Hey. Trying to be friendly here.”
“Go be friendly with someone else. You’re good at it.”
“Ah, that sounds like interested enough to fight to me.”
“Get lost, Graystone. I’m not in the mood.” She turned her back on him and spotted her wedding ring on the dresser. Shit. Perfect. She stalked over, laid a hand over it and drew the chain into her fist.
“The Callie Dunbrook we all know and love is always in the mood to fight.” He sauntered toward the bed as she jammed the ring and chain into her pocket. “What’s this? Looking at family pictures?”
She spun around and went pale as ice. “Why do you say that?”
“Because they’re on the bed. Who’s this? Your grandmother? Never met her, did I? Then again, we didn’t spend a lot of time getting chummy with each other’s families.”
“It’s not my grandmother.” She tore the photo out of his hand. “Get out.”
“Hold on.” He tapped his knuckles on her cheek, an oldhabit that had tears burning the back of her throat. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is I’d like to have some goddamn privacy.”
“Babe, I know that face. You’re not pissed off at me, you’re upset. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She wanted to. Wanted to pull the cork and let it all pour out. “It’s none of your business. I have a life without you. I don’t need you.”
His eyes went cold, went hard. “You never did. I’ll get out of your way. I’ve had a hell of a lot of practice getting out of your way.”
He walked to the door. He glanced at the cello case in the corner, the sandalwood candle burning on the dresser, the laptop on the bed and the open bag of DoubleStuf Oreos beside the phone.
“Same old Callie,” he muttered.
“Jake?” She stepped to the door, nearly touched him. Nearly gave in to the urge to put a hand on his arm and pull him back. “Thanks for the beer,” she said and closed the door, gently at least, in his face.
Four
S he felt like a thief. It hardly mattered that she had a key to the front door, that she knew every sound and scent of the neighborhood, every corner and closet of the big brick house in Mount Holly.
She was still sneaking in at two in the morning.
Callie hadn’t been able to settle after Suzanne Cullen’s visit. She hadn’t been able to eat, or sleep or lose herself in work.
And she had realized she’d go crazy sitting around a dumpy motel room obsessing about a stranger’s lost baby.
Not that she believed she’d been that baby. Not for a minute.
But she was a scientist, a seeker, and until she had answers she knew she’d pick at the puzzle like a scab until it was uncovered.
Leo wasn’t happy with her, she thought as she pulled into the driveway of her parents’ suburban home. He’d blustered and complained and asked questions she couldn’t answer when she’d called to tell him she was taking the next day off.
But she’d had to come.
Along the drive from Maryland to Philadelphia she’d convinced herself she was doing the only logical thing. Even if that meant going into her parents’ house when they were away, even if it meant searching their files and papers for some proof of what she already knew.
She was Callie Ann Dunbrook.
The elegant neighborhood was quiet as a church. Though she shut her car door gently, the sound of it echoed like a shot and set a neighbor’s dog to barking.
The house was dark but for a faint gleam in the second-story window of her mother’s sitting room. Her parents would have set the security system, putting the lights on a changing pattern of time and location while they were in
“I don’t want a beer, and there’s no need for a truce. I’m not interested enough to have a fight with you, therefore, a truce is moot.”
“Not like you to turn down a free beer at the end of the day.”
“You’re right.” She snagged one, then booted the door. It would have slammed satisfactorily in his face, but he’d always been quick.
“Hey. Trying to be friendly here.”
“Go be friendly with someone else. You’re good at it.”
“Ah, that sounds like interested enough to fight to me.”
“Get lost, Graystone. I’m not in the mood.” She turned her back on him and spotted her wedding ring on the dresser. Shit. Perfect. She stalked over, laid a hand over it and drew the chain into her fist.
“The Callie Dunbrook we all know and love is always in the mood to fight.” He sauntered toward the bed as she jammed the ring and chain into her pocket. “What’s this? Looking at family pictures?”
She spun around and went pale as ice. “Why do you say that?”
“Because they’re on the bed. Who’s this? Your grandmother? Never met her, did I? Then again, we didn’t spend a lot of time getting chummy with each other’s families.”
“It’s not my grandmother.” She tore the photo out of his hand. “Get out.”
“Hold on.” He tapped his knuckles on her cheek, an oldhabit that had tears burning the back of her throat. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong is I’d like to have some goddamn privacy.”
“Babe, I know that face. You’re not pissed off at me, you’re upset. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She wanted to. Wanted to pull the cork and let it all pour out. “It’s none of your business. I have a life without you. I don’t need you.”
His eyes went cold, went hard. “You never did. I’ll get out of your way. I’ve had a hell of a lot of practice getting out of your way.”
He walked to the door. He glanced at the cello case in the corner, the sandalwood candle burning on the dresser, the laptop on the bed and the open bag of DoubleStuf Oreos beside the phone.
“Same old Callie,” he muttered.
“Jake?” She stepped to the door, nearly touched him. Nearly gave in to the urge to put a hand on his arm and pull him back. “Thanks for the beer,” she said and closed the door, gently at least, in his face.
Four
S he felt like a thief. It hardly mattered that she had a key to the front door, that she knew every sound and scent of the neighborhood, every corner and closet of the big brick house in Mount Holly.
She was still sneaking in at two in the morning.
Callie hadn’t been able to settle after Suzanne Cullen’s visit. She hadn’t been able to eat, or sleep or lose herself in work.
And she had realized she’d go crazy sitting around a dumpy motel room obsessing about a stranger’s lost baby.
Not that she believed she’d been that baby. Not for a minute.
But she was a scientist, a seeker, and until she had answers she knew she’d pick at the puzzle like a scab until it was uncovered.
Leo wasn’t happy with her, she thought as she pulled into the driveway of her parents’ suburban home. He’d blustered and complained and asked questions she couldn’t answer when she’d called to tell him she was taking the next day off.
But she’d had to come.
Along the drive from Maryland to Philadelphia she’d convinced herself she was doing the only logical thing. Even if that meant going into her parents’ house when they were away, even if it meant searching their files and papers for some proof of what she already knew.
She was Callie Ann Dunbrook.
The elegant neighborhood was quiet as a church. Though she shut her car door gently, the sound of it echoed like a shot and set a neighbor’s dog to barking.
The house was dark but for a faint gleam in the second-story window of her mother’s sitting room. Her parents would have set the security system, putting the lights on a changing pattern of time and location while they were in
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