His Daddy's Eyes. Debra Salonen

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СКАЧАТЬ found himself mute. So, apparently, was his private investigator.

      While Bo paid for his new book, Ren studied the child sleeping so peacefully in the playpen behind Sara’s desk. The little boy had turned slightly, curled protectively around a stuffed elephant he’d somehow found in his sleep. This image, as much as the one of Sara rocking the baby, wrapped itself around Ren’s heart and squeezed.

      “What’s the baby’s name?” he asked, not having known he was going to.

      “Brady,” Sara answered guilelessly.

      She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. Ren, who was studying her face, saw something that had been missing from her photographs, even the ones from Sunday afternoon. A luminous quality that enhanced Sara Carsten’s quiet beauty.

      “Brady,” he repeated. “That’s…different.”

      She flashed him a grin that made him blink. “You’re very diplomatic. Of course, that probably comes with the job. My sister, Brady’s mother, had the name picked out even before she knew she was having a boy, but she could never decide on a middle name.”

      The duplicity of his inquiry made his throat dry and his jaw ache. “You’re his aunt,” he said, as if not framing it as a question could absolve the guilt he was going to feel if he took this inquiry forward. Since Armory, his lawyer, wasn’t due back from Hawaii until tomorrow night, Ren had put off formulating a legal strategy.

      Her lovely face changed. In sorrow it became vulnerable. “My sister died,” Sara said simply. “She was killed in an accident, but she left me Brady.”

      Tears glistened in her eyes. Hazel, not temptress-green, but beautiful nonetheless. And I thought she was plain.

      When she looked down to count Bo’s change, Bo shot Ren a dark look. It hadn’t been easy convincing Bo to stay on the job, but Ren’s promise to approach the matter slowly had helped. His impulsive decision tonight might have jeopardized things.

      “Well, there you go,” she said, tucking the book in a sack. “Thanks, Bo. I’m glad you came. And it was…um, interesting talking with you…”

      “Ren Bishop,” he added. “It’s Lawrence, actually, but only my mother calls me that.”

      He held out his hand, and she took it, just a trifle reluctantly. Her hand was small, her grip slightly reserved. “Sara Carsten,” she said, dropping his hand to reach for a card from a plastic basket beside the cash register. Her blush told him she’d used that as an excuse not to touch him any longer.

      Ren took the card she offered. “I don’t carry first editions,” she said. “But I might be able to help if you tell me what you’re looking for.”

      Ren was within a heartbeat of telling her the whole sordid story when the sound of men’s voices indicated the readers’ group was over. “We gotta go,” Bo said, starting away.

      As Ren followed his friend out of the store, he glanced back once and was surprised to find Sara’s gaze still on him. She had a puzzled expression on her face. He lifted his hand to wave goodbye, but Bo grabbed his arm in one plate-sized fist and dragged him bodily out the door.

      “You bastard,” Bo muttered, stalking off down the sidewalk. “There’s a right way and a wrong way to do this.”

      Downtown’s daytime hustle and bustle had given way to an empty-theater kind of quiet. Miniature lights peeked through the new-growth foliage of the well-pruned trees. A gold-hued street lamp spotlighted Ren’s Lexus while ignoring Bo’s Mazda one space ahead of it. The two cars seemed a metaphor for the contrast between their owners.

      Ren stopped beside the Mazda. “This wasn’t planned, Bo. It probably wasn’t smart. But I needed to see him.” I held him—the child that might be my child.

      Suddenly Ren’s knees felt disconnected from his body. He reached out to steady himself on the blistered hood of the car. “Is there a bar around here? I really could use a drink.”

      Ren’s response seemed to take some of the heat out of Bo’s anger. “Around the corner,” he muttered, leading the way.

      Bo didn’t speak again until they were seated at a small table. After the waitress delivered a light beer and a cola, Bo said, “Okay, suppose you explain to me what happened tonight. I thought I was the inside guy, and you were going to let the suits make contact when we all decided the time was right.”

      Ren took a long draw on his beer. “I was in my office looking at the pictures…the ones you took Sunday.” He paused, knowing there was no way to explain the sense of urgency that had been building in him ever since Bo had delivered the color photos of Sara and the child. Yes, he saw a resemblance in some of the shots, but this need to connect went deeper than that.

      He shrugged. “It had to happen sometime, right?”

      Bo took a sip of cola. “This means you’re going forward with the paternity suit, doesn’t it?”

      Ren couldn’t meet Bo’s gaze. He didn’t want his friend to guess the truth: that deep down, Ren wanted the child to be his. He needed the child to be his. As much as he loved Eve, Ren knew her career was her primary focus. It might be years before she was ready to have children, if ever. Ren was ready for fatherhood now.

      “Do I have any choice, Bo? Would you walk away? Live the rest of your life wondering?”

      Bo looked ready to argue, but in the end shook his head. “I guess not, but what about Sara?”

      Ren’s heart lifted, then fell oddly. He hadn’t expected to like her, but he did.

      “She’s a good person and a wonderful mother,” Bo said. “She doesn’t deserve what this is going to do to her. It’s bound to get messy. If she’s smart, she’ll scream bloody murder and hire some media shark like Steve Hamlin to make you squirm. Even if you ultimately win, you’ll be scarred for life.”

      Ren took another swallow of beer. Bo’s prediction threw him, but he pretended to shrug it off. “I wouldn’t blame her for going on the offensive. She obviously loves the child, and I saw what mentioning her sister did to her.” Ren’s voice faltered; Sara’s unshed tears had touched him deeply. “I don’t want to hurt her, Bo, but I have to know. What if he’s my kid?”

      Ren didn’t really expect Bo to understand. Bo’s relationship with his own father was practically nonexistent. Ren doubted they’d exchanged more than a dozen words in the past year.

      “Yeah, I get it. My old man may be a well-dressed rat, but I know he’d give his last dime to help me out,” Bo said, surprising Ren with his insight.

      Before Ren could respond, a voice said, “Don’t tell me you actually have a friend.”

      To Ren’s surprise, a woman in tight purple leggings and a blousy shirt pulled a chair from a neighboring table and straddled it, dropping her chin to the arched metal back. Her unsteady gaze flicked from Ren to Bo.

      Bo groaned. “Go away, girl. Didn’t you give me enough trouble earlier?”

      “That’s why I came over. To apologize.” Her words were slightly slurred.

      “Apologize for breaking my balls for nothing?”

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