Risking Trust (5 page)

Roxann snapped her fingers in front of his face. “
Hello?
Are you in there?”

He cleared his throat and sat up. “Sorry. Thinking.”

She rolled her eyes. “You were
gone
.”

He grinned. “I was mesmerized by your hair.”

If only she knew how true that statement was.

She snorted. “Oh, shut up.”

He did an imitation of her eye roll. “A minute ago you were yelling at me for not talking. Since when are you fickle?”

“Excuse me? I am probably the unficklest—if that’s even a word—of all females. There’s not a fickle bone in my body.”

Michael grabbed his wine glass and held it up. “Which is why I came to you. I knew you’d think this to death and if you agreed to it, maybe I’d be able to clear myself. You have amazing instincts. Always have.”

She threw her shoulders back.
Here we go
. He complimented her. Big deal. Did she have to get tense about it?

“Let’s hope my instincts are right this time.”

“They are. You can trust me on this one.”

Roxann’s gaze burned into his. “I’d love to trust you, but I don’t even know you anymore. Smart women don’t put their trust in men they haven’t seen in twelve years. Men who left them without an explanation. Don’t you agree?”

And there it is
. The eight-hundred-pound gorilla finally out to play. It came as no surprise, but he didn’t have one decent response. He shrugged. “It’s reasonable.”

“Well, thank you for that.” She fiddled with the table cloth again. “I’m seeing an opportunity here that might benefit all parties, but believe me, if I start feeling this won’t work, I’ll pull the
Banner
out of this. The newspaper is my priority. Don’t disappoint me.”

“Again?”

“What does that mean?”

“What you wanted to say was don’t disappoint me
again
.”

Michael’s cell phone vibrated, but he ignored it. Whoever it was could wait. He had to gain her trust and dumping her for a phone call wouldn’t fly. Plus, it would be damned rude.

Roxann stuck her chin in the air. “If that’s what I meant, I would have said it.”

“Okay, are we arguing? It feels like we’re arguing.”

“We’re having a discussion.”

“Good. I don’t want to fight with you, and I don’t want us sniping either. You’re still pissed at me for what happened twelve years ago. I get that, but let’s put it behind us.”

The waiter, of course, stepped up to offer dessert. Did waiters receive special training on the worst possible moment to approach?

Roxann ordered a decaf, double something or other.

“I’ll have coffee.”

“Espresso or cappuccino?” the waiter asked.

Jesus H. Christ.
Michael shot him a look. “Just a plain cup of Joe. No fancy stuff.”

The waiter huffed off. “You didn’t need to get nasty,” Roxann said, but Michael swore she might have been hiding a smile.

“I wasn’t nasty. I said I wanted coffee. Can’t a guy just get a cup of Maxwell House? Why does it have to be double damned lattes all the time?”

She rolled her eyes. He hated that irritating habit of hers, but somehow found it settling. Like returning home after a long absence.

“Anyway,” she said, her voice not packing such an edge this time, “I don’t think discussing our past relationship will help this situation. We’re business partners and that’s how it should stay.”

Business partners? Was she kidding? There was enough of a charge between them to light up the entire city. “Please. We both know, no matter what we call it, there’s a lot between us, good and bad, and if we don’t deal with it soon, one of us will go off.”

The waiter stepped up and handed him a message. Someone was looking for him in a bad way. He read the note and the immediate punch of having ignored the first call blasted him. “I’m sorry. I have to call my sister. I’ll be right back.”

Gina tracking him down at a restaurant brought on a not so distant memory of his baby sister screaming into the telephone that her husband was dead, and Michael quickened his steps while he dialed.

Roxann tap-tap-tapped her spoon while she waited for Michael to return. The sick, twisted part of her that loved verbal combat had enjoyed their sparring session and the rush streaming through her couldn’t be denied. She hated a man she could push around and Michael never allowed himself to be pushed.

She reached for her wine glass and caught the woman at the next table staring at her. All evening she’d been dealing with people eyeing them. Even if she couldn’t catch them doing it, from somewhere deep inside, she knew it and found it atrocious. She’d sat alone in restaurants hundreds, thousands of times, but never had the feeling of being stripped naked. Not that she’d put up with it. She made eye contact with the woman, who immediately shifted away.

Nosy.

Michael slid into his chair, his short hair rumpled with the evidence of fingers plowing through it. “Sorry.”

“Everything all right?”

He sat back. Took a breath. “I’m sorry, I need to cut our evening short. Gina and Matt had a fight and he took off.”

“Is she okay?”

Michael pulled his wallet to pay the check. “She’s upset. It’s late, he’s fifteen and looking to blow off steam.”

The waiter cruised by and grabbed the credit card and check. Michael turned to her. “Can we finish this another night?”

She nodded. “We were almost done anyway. Don’t worry about it. You need to find Mattie.”

“Matt. He wants to be called Matt now.”

She had to smile. She understood how the kid felt. She’d tried for years to get those close to her to stop calling her Roxi and finally gave up. She’d learned to accept it as an endearment, but only from certain people. “I’ll remember that. Are you going to look for him?”

Michael signed the sales slip and nodded. “He has some hot spots I’ll check out. This isn’t the first time he’s taken off. Matt’s an angry young man. Can’t say I blame him after his father got crushed under ten tons of concrete.” He set the pen down and gazed at it for a moment. “You wanna ride along? We can finish our conversation and I’ll bring you back here later for your car.”

She should say no. The devil Roxann urged her on, but the angel insisted she beg off.

Devil: they’d talk business while he searched for his nephew.

Angel: she’d be alone in a car with a man suspected of killing his wife.

Devil: she had loved him once.

Angel: she never got over him.

Back and forth it went until Michael waved a hand in front of her face.

“It’s late,” she said. “I should go home. Unless you need help.”

He flashed the smile. The one that always slayed her. “I could tell you I need help, but with Vic already out looking, that’d be a lie. I just want you around.”

Roxann held her breath and let the words settle. As much as she wanted to give in to that girly part of her that loved hearing an attractive male enjoyed her company, she wouldn’t. Not after the damage this man had inflicted. “Knock it off.”

“Crossed a line?”

I think so.
“Yes. Anyway, I should head home.”

He rose from his chair. “Whatever you want, Rox.”

If only she knew what that was.

They stood in front of the restaurant waiting for the valet to bring his car. The late March wind had forced the temperature down a notch. Michael slid Roxann’s wrap over her shoulders and wondered how he called Chicago home and still couldn’t adjust to temperatures that dropped forty degrees by nightfall.

“What’s next on the case?” he asked.

“I’ll talk to Phil Dawson tomorrow and see what he has. I’ll have him ask around the P.D. He has a source there.”

“How reliable of a source?”

“Rock solid reliable. To his consternation, Max doesn’t even know who it is. Phil’s sources are his business. He’s old school and doesn’t reveal them.”

The perfect answer. “Let me know what he needs from me.”

“I will.”

“Tell him not to take too long. I’m a hunted man here.”

The wind knocked a strand of her hair loose and, ignoring the urge to resist, he tucked it behind her ear. Touching her again, feeling her so close, sent a jolt of heat through him and before he could pull his hand away, she shocked the hell out of him and tilted her head into his hand. The movement, so small anyone would have missed it, might have been the best thing that had happened to him in years. His phone vibrated and Roxann snapped her head up, reminding him that maybe he should fucking concentrate on Matt being missing. He pulled the phone from his belt and glanced at the screen. Vic. He punched the button. “What’s up?”

“I found him.”

“Where is he?” The valet pulled up and the second attendant held the passenger door open for Roxann.

“No,” Michael said to the kid, but Roxann held up her hand.

“I changed my mind.”

She slid into the car and he stepped up before the valet closed the door. “You sure?” He kept his eyes locked on hers, hoping he’d hear the answer he wanted.

“No, but it’s okay. In some ways I’m sure and that’s what I’m going with.”

The strength in those words gave him a boost. Maybe she didn’t trust him completely, but she’d get into a car alone with him. Progress.

He shut the door and went back to Vic. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” Vic said. “He’s skateboarding at that old freight yard off Fullerton.”

“The freight yard? He’s begging to get rolled.”

“The stupid shit,” Vic said.

“You found him fast.”

“He was in the office last week and told me some kids put together a makeshift skate park down here. Figured I’d take a shot, and here he is. He doesn’t know I’m here. You want me to grab him?”

“No. Watch him. I’ll talk to him when I get there.”

“Roger that.”

Michael jumped into the driver’s side, threw the phone on the dashboard and a curling mass of relief and outrage settled in his neck. Matt didn’t have a fucking clue what kind of degenerate drug dealers and thieves would be hanging around a freight yard at night. Michael should kick his ass for being stupid.

At least Michael was around to take care of this stuff because his own father wouldn’t be any good at it. Frank had grown too old and cranky to deal with his fifteen-year-old grandson and the reality of that gave Michael pause. If he went to jail, Vic would be the one helping with the kids.

“He found him?” Roxann asked.

Michael turned to her, stared a sec. Somehow he’d forgotten she was beside him. “He’s okay. At least until I get my hands on him.”

“Son of a gun,” Michael said as they pulled into the abandoned freight yard and parked next to Vic’s Tahoe.

Roxann stared out the windshield wondering how long Matt had been in this darkened freight yard with its old, broken down trains and stacked cargo containers. The useless, sporadically placed lamp posts threw hardly enough light for anyone, much less a fifteen-year-old, to be skateboarding on homemade steel ramps. Only a teenager would be naïve enough to feel safe here.

An urgent need to check the door locks flooded Roxann. “This is quite a place.”

Vic got out of his car, jumped into the backseat of Michael’s.

“Hey, Roxann,” he said as if her presence was normal.

Michael glanced at Vic in the rearview. “If you were a woman, I’d kiss you.”

Seeing the opportunity for some levity, she perked up. “You want me to kiss him?”

Vic shoved his adorable, albeit scruffy, face between the bucket seats and puckered up, only to receive a shove from Michael. At least she’d gotten Michael to laugh. He’d spent the last fifteen minutes in a brooding silence that left her guessing if he were mad, worried or both. She realized now it had been worry.

Vic gestured toward Matt. “He spotted me right after I called you, but he hasn’t come over.”

“He was probably crapping his pants until he realized it was you. I can’t believe kids are hanging out here.” Michael rested his head on the steering wheel. “Did I just say that? When the hell did I become a grown up? And I forgot to call Gina.”

He dialed the phone and muttered to himself about being a moron.

“Hey, G. We found him…I won’t…Right…I
won’t
yell at him.” He punched a button and tossed the phone onto the dash. “Lunatic.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and watched his nephew for a moment. “I’ll be back.”

“I gotta ask you,” Vic said after Michael got out of the car, “have you ever seen such a nutty bunch? I mean these people are postal. And I’ve seen postal.” Before Roxann could respond, he said, “Watch this.”

She turned to him. “I guess you’ve done this before?”

“Yeah, I’m part of the hunting party. We’re getting good at it. We rendezvous at Mike’s parents’ house afterward. His ma’s usually got a good meal ready. It’s late now though. This is the first nighttime run the kid has tried. He’s getting brave.”

Michael leaned on the front of the car. “What’s he waiting for?”

“Matt’ll come over. He knows he’s busted.”

But Matt was busy doing board tricks and seemed unfazed by his uncle’s presence. The boy wore tattered jeans that hung to his knees, a phenomenon she would never understand, and a long sleeved T-shirt. No jacket.
Must be freezing.
He’d gotten tall since Roxann had seen him last, over four years ago.

She couldn’t see his features in the dark, but he had his father’s broad build. His dead father. The agonizing squeeze of loss settled in her chest. This boy had been eleven when his father died. She was thirty-five and couldn’t figure out how to deal with the grief. How was a teenager supposed to do it?

She watched as Michael stood, hands in pockets, waiting for Matt to come to him.

“I’m just not believing this.”

The old Michael would have stomped over, grabbed Matt by the shirt and thrown him into the car regardless of the humiliation he’d have inflicted.

“It’s the kinder, gentler Mike Taylor,” Vic cracked. “Don’t tell anybody.”

Eventually, with all the enthusiasm of a man going to the electric chair, Matt made his way over. Michael talked. No yelling. No arms flapping or veins bulging. Amazing. Matt listened, said something, shuffled his feet, then turned away and wiped his eyes. Crying. Poor kid.