Father and Child Reunion

“Rio.” His name was little more than a whisper. “I didn’t expect you.”

“I don’t imagine you did. May I come in?”

Another jolt of panic sliced through her at the question, her glance darting to her watch. Realizing that Molly wasn’t due to return for half an hour, her next breath came a little easier. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

She pushed open the screen, than backed to the center of the large maroon-and-blue Aubusson rug when he stepped in and closed the door. In the space of seconds, he’d scanned the high-ceilinged foyer, the perimeter of polished wood floor and the mirror reflecting the matching Ming-style vases on the long entry table.

“I’m working on a story for the Herald about your mother’s murder.” His voice, smoky and deep, held a cool edge of professionalism as he studied his surroundings. He clearly had a purpose. Yet, he didn’t seem interested in knowing why she’d disappeared from his life without a word. Or why she’d refused to return his calls. When he turned to face her again, six years of silence screaming between them, he was all business. The look in his eyes as he noted the redness in hers seemed no less impersonal.

“I’m interviewing everyone who may have had any contact with her that last day,” he added, making it clear he hadn’t singled her out. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you. Just so you know, I’m not willing to jeopardize finding whoever’s guilty for the sake of a story. Anything you tell me stays confidential until the police investigation breaks.”

He was here because of his job. Not because of their past. Eve slowly expelled the breath that had locked itself in her lungs. She knew she should feel relieved. Yet, even though she’d always known that he had mattered far more to her than she had to him, she didn’t know what to make of his indifference.

Preferring it to the questions he could have asked, her glance fell to the length of crimson silk wadded in her fist. “I don’t know what I could possibly tell you. I have no idea who would have wanted to kill my mother. Or why.” She paused, her voice losing its steadiness as she drew the scarf through her fingers and held it up. Red had always been her mother’s favorite color. “I was packing Mom’s things. You wouldn’t think cleaning out drawers would be that hard, would you?”

She tried to smile. Pretty sure the effort didn’t match the result, she turned away, heading into the living room with its dark, polished woods and rich blue-and-burgundy fabrics. She could feel him watching her, assessing the way she moved, the tilt of her head. Yet, were she to face him, she doubted his expression would reveal anything that he didn’t want her to see.

Given the way she was feeling just then, a little lost, a lot uncertain, she’d barter everything short of her soul for that ability.

She could hear him moving behind her, his footfall slow and measured. There was caution in the sound. Or maybe it was reluctance. When he stopped beside a navy barrel chair, that hesitation had entered his voice.

“I’m really sorry about your mother, Eve. Considering how close you were, I’m sure you must miss her.”

She was right. Though some of the coolness had left his voice, his expression was still guarded.

“Thank you,” she returned. “I do miss her. Sometimes so much that I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it. But I’m getting by.” She managed the smile this time, even though it was a little shaky at the edges. “A lot of other people miss her, too. I think half the town attended her funeral.”

“I’m sure more would have been there if some of the roads hadn’t still been blocked.” His glance skimmed her face, but the unwilling concern in his eyes vanished as he looked away. “I was on an assignment on the other side of town, or I’d have been there myself.”

He couldn’t possibly know how relieved she was that he hadn’t been. The entire city had been affected by the mud slides that had taken out electrical power, roads and water lines. Though utilities had been restored for the most part and the roads cleared, like aftershocks of an earthquake, the effects of that fateful storm were still being felt. It was one that would go down in the history books. Which, she reminded herself, was the only reason Rio was here now.

“This investigation you’re doing,” she said, hurrying past the silence suddenly straining their conversation. “Have you found out anything yet?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Looking very much as if there was something else he wanted to say, he took a step closer. He must have changed his mind about whatever it was. That same step brought him right back to business.

“Nothing that leads anywhere specific. Since your brother is the council’s liaison with the police, he has an inside line to what’s going on. I’m sure you have as much information as I do. Maybe more.”

“Actually,” she replied, the hope he might know something fading to disappointment, “I know very little.”

That didn’t seem to be the response he’d hoped for. A frown slashed his forehead.

“So what has Hal told you?”

“Only that they’re working on it. He said he’d let me know if anything comes up.”

“That’s all?”

“We really don’t talk that much. Hal’s been awfully busy since he took over Mom’s mayoral duties.” The explanation sounded like an excuse. She knew that, but it was the truth, as far as it went. “I’ve talked to one of the detectives a couple of times, and he’s mentioned one theory they’re following. Something about strip miners and some lease renewal Mom was opposed to. But I hate to keep bugging him.” The hope sprang back, refusing to die. “If there’s anything you know…”

“Why isn’t Hal talking to you?”

His eyes searching hers, he moved closer still. He was a reporter, Eve reminded herself. He wanted a story. Yet, even though she knew that, even though Rio couldn’t have made it any more obvious that he was there only because he had to be, the edge in his voice had softened. Something that sounded suspiciously like the concern she’d so briefly glimpsed moments ago had stripped it away.

It made no sense at all to Eve, but if he suddenly turned nice on her, she didn’t know if she’d be able to handle it.

She drew a quick, steadying breath. At least, to Rio, it seemed she was seeking some sort of control just then. All he really knew was that he hadn’t expected to see her this way. More than that, he hadn’t expected her to matter.

Not anymore.

He had stopped an arm’s length from her, forcing her to tip her head back to look up at him. He could tell she’d been crying. Or trying to avoid it. Yet, even with the telltale pink tinting her sky blue eyes, there was no denying how lovely she had become. She was no longer the girl he remembered, but she was still as small and slight as a fawn. Her pale blond hair looked shot with sunlight, and though the stylish, sophisticated cut was far too short for his taste, it framed a face of fragile beauty; a face that revealed far more than he wanted to see.

Between the grief she so bravely held in check and her obvious hunger for anything she could learn about her mother’s murderer, she looked desperately in need of a pair of arms. Realizing that he was actually thinking about easing her into his, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Even if he could get past what she’d done to him, his touch could well be unwelcome.

“Are we on the record, or off?”

“None of what you say to me is going anywhere right now. I already told you that.”

“But this doesn’t have anything to do with your story.”

“This isn’t about the story. It’s about why your brother has cut you out of the loop.”

His words seemed to magnify the distress in her eyes. She already looked far too vulnerable. Far too alone.

Balling his hands into fists, Rio took a mental step back, regrouping, reassessing. Any investigative reporter worth his byline knew how important it was to remain objective. And he had been so sure his objectivity was in place where Eve was concerned. Obviously, he’d overestimated himself. With anyone else under such circumstances, he would never have barged in with the steamroller routine. But with her, all he’d wanted to do was get in, get the information he wanted, and get out. All the way across town, he’d reminded himself that whatever it was they’d once shared had ceased to matter the day she’d run off without so much as a goodbye, good luck or go to hell. The visit today was strictly business.

He reminded himself of that again, wanting to believe it this time, and watched her cross her arms. The bright slash of red scarf tangled from elbow to wrist.

“Eve,” he said, his tone quiet. “Why isn’t he talking to you?”

He spoke her name the same way she remembered his saying it when he knew something was on her mind. As if he was prepared to patiently drag it out of her if he had to.

He’d never had to try very hard.

“He’s upset because Mom named me the executor of her estate instead of him. We haven’t agreed on much of anything since we found her will.” She paused, just short of adding that she thought Hal’s feelings were hurt.

“So he’s punishing you by not giving you information?”

It sounded so juvenile when he put it that way.

“Grief affects people in many different ways,” she said defensively, thinking that someone who covered the trials and traumas of life for a living should certainly know that. Her older brother’s pain was as deep as her own. “But it’s not like Mom cut Hal out of the will. All she did was change her executor.”

“When did she do this?”

“Just a few months ago. Her attorney said he was talking to her about some other matters and she brought it up, almost as an afterthought.”

“She never hinted she was thinking about it?”

“She never said a word to me. I keep thinking that she planned to mention it and just didn’t get the chance. There was always so much going on with her, and with Hal’s wedding and everything, it just wasn’t a priority.”