Strangers When We Married. Carla Cassidy
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Название: Strangers When We Married
Автор: Carla Cassidy
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные детективы
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To her relief, he seemed to accept her explanation at its face value. He picked up a set of chopsticks and grabbed the carton of chow mein. “I don’t think anyone has to worry about Seth contacting you. Not only do I remember the crime of the century, but I also remember your and Seth’s parting as the divorce of the century.”
“Please, don’t remind me.” Meghan set the note aside and tried to keep the nervous tremble of her hand under control.
“I wish somebody would send me to the Condor for about a month of rest and relaxation.” Mark stuck a mouthful of chow mein into his mouth. “I guess Seth isn’t into vacations.”
“I’m sure Jonah is just checking with all of Seth’s past acquaintances within the organization.” At least that’s what she hoped.
She drew in a deep breath to steady herself. She didn’t like subterfuge of any kind. Damn Seth for getting her involved in this.
Still, she’d been with the agency long enough to know that this note from Jonah indicated a low-priority concern. If Jonah was truly troubled by Seth’s defection from the resort, he wouldn’t be contacting people with notes in food that could be easily tossed away. She would have received a phone call from the man himself.
She relaxed somewhat, certain that Jonah had no idea Seth was presently hiding out in her home. But the note from Jonah filled her with apprehension.
She had to find what Seth needed as quickly as possible. The last thing she’d want to happen was to lose her job because she’d chosen loyalty for a man she’d once believed she’d loved over loyalty to SPEAR.
She’d already lost enough to Seth…. She was determined not to lose anything else because of him.
Chapter 4
Seth stirred the pot of spaghetti sauce that bubbled on the stove, hoping Meghan would be home from work any time. It had been a lousy day. He’d paced the confines of the house like a prisoner in a jail cell, his thoughts his only companion. And his thoughts were not particularly pleasant.
The faces of the men who’d died in the L.A. sting operation haunted him. The scent of smoke and gun-fire lingered in his head, and in that memory, another memory shoved through. It was the distant echo of a tragedy from years before…memories he’d consciously shoved away for almost half his life.
He realized that since the sting, it was as much his distant past haunting him as the more recent catastrophe and he didn’t know why.
He’d spent part of the day in Kirk’s room, running his hand over the blankets that covered his son at night, touching the toys and stuffed animals that were neatly lined up on the shelves of a colorful bookcase.
Maybe Meghan was right. Maybe the best thing he could do for his son was stay out of his life. Who needed a father who was plagued by visions of death, who spent his time dealing with criminal minds and activity? What kind of a father would he be?
His thoughts would carry him down that path, then go full circle and once again he would find himself vowing to be a part of Kirk’s life, telling himself that every little boy needed his father. But no matter how many times he told himself he would be a good father, the doubts returned, niggling in the back of his mind.
He’d finally decided to make dinner, grateful for any activity that momentarily took possession of his mind, keeping troubling thoughts away.
A salad was made and waiting in the refrigerator, the pasta had been boiled—all he needed was for Meghan and Kirk to get home.
He sat at the table, wondering if she’d managed to discover any information for him today. If anyone could pick up signs of Simon’s whereabouts, Meghan could do it. She was incredibly bright and superior at her job.
He stood as he heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. He left the kitchen and met Meghan in the entry hall. Her cheeks were flushed a charming pink from the cold and like the day before, Kirk was snuggled against her chest sound asleep.
“You want me to take him for you?” he offered.
“No. I can handle him,” she replied. She moved past him down the hallway to the nursery.
She didn’t even want him putting the kid to bed. He hadn’t returned here to become a parent, so why was that so much on his mind?
She reappeared a moment later and shrugged out of her coat.
“Here, I’ll take it.” She’d give him her coat, but didn’t trust him with his son, he thought as he hung her garment in the hall closet.
“Something smells good,” she said as they walked to the kitchen.
“Spaghetti sauce.” He gestured her into a chair at the table, then went to the refrigerator and withdrew a bottle of wine.
He knew her routine, knew she wouldn’t eat a bite until she had a glass of wine and unwound a little. He poured them each a glass, then joined her at the table. “Does Kirk always nap at this time?”
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