“Rebecca?” he said, his tone coaxing.
“Hello, Luke,” she managed to say, surprised that her voice sounded so steady. “What...what are you doing here?”
Purposefully Luke plopped his rain-soaked hat beside him on the carpet and raked one hand through his hair. She looked so forlorn, like a lost kitten, and it was the most natural thing to want to wrap her in his embrace and protect her from whatever the hell was wrong. All things considered—things like his timing, and the fact that they weren’t alone—he reluctantly decided on a more formal approach.
“My apologies for dropping by unannounced, but I—”
He fired a glance at the police officer, who was watching them with open interest, then back to Rebecca’s worried face. Concern won out over formality, and he cut to the point.
“Somebody want to tell me what the devil is going on? I heard something about a boy being missing.”
“That’s correct,” the policeman replied, in a tone tinged with an arrogance that rankled Luke. Arms folded across his chest, the man leaned one shoulder against the white marble mantel.
Luke reined in his infamously short temper and said, “And the boy is...”
“My son,” Rebecca supplied, so softly he might not have heard if he hadn’t been looking straight at her.
Holy sh—
Luke sank back on his heels, his slicker pouching out around his knees. Becky had a child, a son. All these years he’d never thought of her having a child. He’d known she had married. He’d also learned her husband had died last year. That was part of the reason he’d taken this assignment.
“Aw, hell, Becky, I’m sorry,” he said, with real sincerity. And that need to protect prompted him to cover her hands with his, his thumb rubbing intimately over her knuckles. Her skin was ice-cold, and he felt her tremble. “Is the boy your only child?” he asked, as much from curiosity as from concern.
Rebecca’s heart seemed to still in her chest, then took off like a frightened bird. A surprising reaction. She was not given to flights of fancy, and Luke Scanlin was definitely a fantasy—a young girl’s fantasy. “Don’t, Luke.” She slipped her hands free and stood. “Yes, Andrew is my only child.” She moved clear of him, survival instincts finally coming to the fore. “What are you doing here?”
He mirrored her stance, thinking it was such a simple question. Up until five minutes ago he’d been sure he knew exactly why he was here—to see her, talk to her and, yes, convince himself that she was merely one of many women he’d known.
Trouble was, five minutes ago he hadn’t seen her, hadn’t touched her, hadn’t looked into those liquid blue eyes of hers, the ones that were making his breathing a little unsteady.
Faster than ice dissolves when touched by a flame, his reasons vanished, and he told her honestly, “I came to see you.”
“Why?” she asked, and instantly regretted the question. It didn’t matter why—or did it?
“I came because—” his voice dropped to a husky timbre “—because I couldn’t stay away any longer.”
His voice, his closeness, it was all too much, and she felt cornered. Moreover, she didn’t like the feeling, not one bit. In fact, she resented Luke for making her feel this way. She feigned thoughtfulness as she took refuge behind the settee. “I have no time, Luke. My son’s missing, and I have business with Captain Brody here. So another time, perhaps.”
He recognized the dismissal. Oh, it was formal and polite, but it was a dismissal all the same. Luke wasn’t buying. He was here and he was going to stay, though he still wasn’t quite sure why. Missing children were hardly his line of work, not unless they held up a bank along the way. Maybe it was his lawman’s curiosity. Maybe it was that the policeman annoyed the royal hell out of him. Maybe it was that he wanted to see her smile, once, for him. Whatever it was, he said simply, “I prefer now.” He unfastened the buttons on his slicker and tossed it on the floor near his hat.
Brody spoke up. “Mrs. Tinsdale, would you like me to show him out?”
Luke straightened. A slow smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, pulled up one corner of his mouth. “Captain, you couldn’t if you tried.”
Brody shifted away from the mantel and took a threatening half step in Luke’s direction. Luke did likewise. Who the hell did this son of a bitch think he was?
“Stop it!” Rebecca ordered hotly. “I won’t have this in my house!”
Luke turned on her. Anger flashed in his black eyes. That short temper of his had shot up faster than a bullet, and he wasn’t used to backing down. But this was her house, and—
“All right,” Luke muttered, with a slight shake of his head to dispel the anger.
Brody, too, gave a curt nod and retreated to his place by the hearth.
Luke dropped down on the settee, making clear his intention to stay, in case there was still some doubt in someone’s mind. “Okay, someone tell me what happened.”
He was arrogant and self-involved as ever, Rebecca thought, her own temper moving up a notch. Looking at him sitting casually on her sofa, for the briefest moment she was tempted to recant and let Brody escort Luke out.
Who did she think she was kidding? Brody throw Luke out? Not hardly. Not without a scene. There was only one way to make him budge, and that was to give him what he wanted.
“My son disappeared yesterday,” she told him flatly. And it’s all my fault. She wasn’t sure how, but she knew it must be. Her guilt added to her anguish.
“What time?” Luke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
Her mind wandered back to the terrible moment when she’d realized he was really gone. Disbelief had turned to shock, then fear. It was the fear that was twisting noose-tight in her stomach as the minutes slipped past. “What? Oh...” She began to pace again, her hem brushing the carpet as she walked. “Luke, I’ve already gone over this with Captain Brody.” She nodded in Brody’s direction, and he responded with a smug sort of nod.
“Well, tell me, then we’ll all know,” he said, his tone a mix of sarcasm and demand.
She was so astounded by his firm tone that she was more surprised than angry. And maybe that was the best thing. People made mistakes, said things better left unsaid, when they were angry. She needed all her wits about her when dealing with Luke.
She halted by the grand piano and looked out through the lace-curtained window. Rain sheeted on the glass, the lawn and the street beyond, casting blurred shadows, dark and menacing as the vivid fears she had for her son.
With sightless eyes, she continued to stare out as she spoke. “It was about four in the afternoon. I’d let him play in on the porch until dinner was ready. When I went to check on him, he was gone.”
“Any sign of a struggle, of any...injury?”
She turned sharply. “What do you mean, injury?”
“Blood?”
“Dear God, no!”
“Could he have run off?” he countered quickly, not wanting to upset her more than necessary. “Maybe he’s gone somewhere he isn’t supposed to go? Boys have a way of doing that sort of thing. Maybe he’s afraid to come home.”
“No.” She shook her head adamantly. “Andrew’s