Cassidy blinked. “And just how did he know that?”
“No idea.”
“Have you looked them up?”
“No.” His mouth twisted again. “No phone, remember? But we stopped at their office on the way here. Pretty impressive setup. They’ve even got a helicopter, and apparently a small plane at the local airfield.”
“Fancy place?”
“No, not at all. Kind of hidden in the trees, not even a sign. Rafe says they work mostly by word of mouth. And lately, the dog.” She laughed. Jace shrugged. “Yeah. Sounds crazy, but here I am.”
A sudden warmth filled her. Yes, he was. She’d called, and he’d come. Just like he’d promised. “You’re still a good guy, Jace Robinson.”
He’d been looking at the new phone, but now his head came up sharply. “Not Robinson. Not anymore.”
Cassidy blinked. “What?”
“I don’t use...his name anymore.”
For a moment she just stared at him, unsure what, if anything, she should say to that. She’d always known he and his father didn’t get along and suspected from some things both her parents and Cory had said that he wasn’t a pleasant guy. And then Jace had started taking judo lessons with Cory, and she’d wondered again if there was more to it than just a guy’s fascination with martial arts. But then he’d started winning competitions, and he rarely mentioned his father anyway, so she’d kind of forgotten.
“Okay,” she finally said, knowing she sounded rather lame but unable to think of anything else to say.
“That’s it? ‘Okay’?” He looked at her steadily, as if daring her to question him.
She kept her voice even. “I assume you had good reason. From what little I knew of your father, I think I understand.”
He let out a breath, relaxing a little, and she wondered what others had assumed. That he was some career criminal looking for a new start, or some victim of media overreach looking for anonymity?
“I had it legally changed when my mom went back to her maiden name, Cahill.”
“So you’re Jace Cahill now?”
He nodded.
“Sounds good together,” she said, meaning it. She left it at that. “By whatever name, thank you for coming. I feel a little silly now. It sounds so crazy when I say it to someone else—” She stopped when he held up a hand.
“I’m sure most stalking victims think it sounds crazy until they find out it’s true. And better you take steps and it turns out not to be anything than not and it does. Or something.” He gave her that crooked smile that had always sent her pulse racing. It still did, and she looked down, a little embarrassed that after all this time he could have this effect on her.
She supposed she shouldn’t be. He had the same bright blue eyes and that same sweetly crooked smile. His body was still tall and lean, and he still had that way of shoving one hand in his jeans pocket that made her hyperaware of the lean maleness of his hips. The fact that he looked older now, a bit older even than she knew he was, only made him more attractive. True, he looked a bit careworn, his hair longer and a bit shaggy, his jeans frayed and faded, his jacket torn on one side, his boots worn and with what looked like a strip of duct tape across one toe. Then again, people paid lots of money for just that look in a futile effort to appear cool.
But that kind of guy didn’t travel over a thousand miles to keep a silly promise to look out for his friend’s younger sister.
“Let’s get you settled in,” she said, making an effort at sounding brisk and efficient, and succeeding somewhat. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved,” he admitted with a rueful twist of his mouth.
“Then aren’t you lucky I made spaghetti sauce yesterday,” she said lightly.
As if on cue his stomach growled. And it made his protest that she didn’t have to do that sound like exactly what it was, a token.
“You came all this way to help me, the least I can do is feed you.” She led him down the hall. He glanced at a doorway as they passed—Cory’s old room. “It’s still Cory’s,” she said, “not that he uses it anymore. He just stores a lot of junk in there. I can’t get him to clean it out.”
“I still remember those bunk beds your dad built. I always thought that was so cool. Not just the beds, but that he built them himself.”
He had always liked them, she remembered. And she remembered his reaction when he’d first looked at the footboards her father had carved. Hey, wings! Cory had looked at him blankly, even her father had seemed puzzled, but she had seen what he meant—the angle of the design did look like seagull wings.
“He was a very handy guy,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry,” Jace said. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”
“They’re not painful,” she assured him quickly. “I love that people remember him like that. Most people don’t talk about them, and it feels like they’ve forgotten they ever existed.”
They’d reached the door to the guest room. “I moved into the master,” she said. “After a year or so. It seemed silly not to, if I was going to keep the place.”
Funny, when she’d decided to move back into this house after her parents had been killed in that accident, she’d thought she would find it too big, too full of memories for her to ever relax. And yet she’d found it strangely comforting.
“Only makes sense,” he said. “And you’ve made it yours.”
“I’ve tried.” She had redone many things, added her own touch.
“Besides, it’s not like being somewhere else is going to stop the memories. They’re in you. Places just trigger them.”
She stared at him. “Yes. Exactly.”
It wasn’t that she was surprised; Jace had always had depth to him. One of those memories he’d just mentioned flashed into her mind, of her sixteen-year-old self saying to her mother how much more mature—that was a popular word to her then—he seemed than Cory.
“He is,” her mother had said, a touch of sadness in her voice. “His father is...a difficult man.”
She had wondered for an instant if the sadness was for Jace or that Cory wasn’t as mature. Decided it had to be for Jace, because she was sure Cory would eventually catch up. She’d been wrong about that, but at the time she’d been certain.
“But his mom’s so sweet,” she’d said.
“Yes. Which makes it even more difficult.”
She hadn’t understood then. But when her father had come home with the news that Jace and his mother had moved away because his father had left them, she thought she did.
“Can I ask you something?” she said when they were in the guest room, he’d dropped his worn pack on the bed and she’d shown him where clean towels were.
“You can always ask,” he said.
Doesn’t mean I’ll answer. She heard what he didn’t say but went ahead. “When your mom moved away, you were... eighteen.” He nodded, giving her a curious look. “I was just wondering...you had that job at the lumberyard, and your friends here...” She trailed off awkwardly.
“You mean why did I go with her?”
“Yes.”
He leaned against the small dresser, crossing his ankles and his arms. Defensively? she wondered. “Thinking I was a mama’s boy who couldn’t