In A Heartbeat

“I didn’t ask—”

Anna Grainger talked right over him. “Do you have any idea how violated I feel? How enraged I am to discover someone has been spying on me? While he was at it, did your PI capture some suggestive pictures through a crack in my blinds? Or one of the kids undressing for bed? Which do you prefer, Mr. Kendrick, little girls or little boys?”

His own temper sparked, but with practiced calm he said, “You must guess why I hired a PI firm to monitor how you’re doing. I didn’t ask for photographs, and I haven’t seen any. All I’ve been given are verbal or written reports.”

Vibrating with fury, she snapped, “Then please explain why I caught that...that creep photographing me when I went for a run? Did you need to know I was getting my exercise? Should I reassure you I’m taking my vitamins?”

This wasn’t going anywhere good.

“Mrs. Grainger. All I wanted was to know how you and the kids were. Whether your husband had left you provided for.”

Unfortunately, part of the initial report provided the disturbing answer. Anna Grainger was close to destitute. Her husband had apparently lost all their money and then some in ill-judged investments. He seemed to have had a genius for making terrible decisions. It was possible they’d shared that genius, except her name hadn’t been on any of the paperwork Smith had been able to trace.

“That is none of your business,” she said. “I am none of your business. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you, and I disagree. A series of circumstances led to your husband losing his life to save my child’s life. That places me deeply in your debt.”

She laughed, a caustic sound. “Then I absolve you. I do not want anything from you.”

“I can’t accept that.”

Her head tipped. “What are you offering? Have you put a suitable price on Kyle’s head?”

Nate winced. He had considered offering her money, which she needed as much or more than having her wastrel husband back. He hadn’t thought of it that way, and now that he did, knew an offer would be ill-received. Still...

“If you sued me or my ex-wife, a court would determine a suitable settlement.”

“Blood money.”

He didn’t say anything.

“That, Mr. Kendrick, is why I won’t be suing you. When I caught your PI spying on me, I had every intention of suing his ass, and yours, too. But then everyone would think I was just trying to soak you for money in recompense.”

“You care what everyone else thinks?”

She stiffened. “I care what I think of myself. Butt out, Mr. Kendrick. One more hint that you’re stalking me and I’ll call the cops.”

Crap. He hadn’t thought of what he was doing that way, either.

“Will you listen to my offer first?” Not money. He’d had one other, wild idea, which he’d go with.

“Oh, by all means.”

“I’m guessing that you’re applying for jobs.”

Her shift of expression told him he was right.

“Let me offer you one. We have a large staff at K & L Ventures. Large enough that there are nearly always openings.”

“For a janitor, perhaps? Or do you run a day care down in some alcove in the garage? Well, probably not that, since you’d be depositing your own daughter in it, wouldn’t you?”

He opened his mouth, but she didn’t pause.

“What is it you think I can do, Mr. Kendrick? I have a teaching certificate, but my only classroom experience is student teaching. I’m not a whiz on a computer. Corporate finance? Well, no.” She abandoned sarcasm. “I don’t need your pity or charity. I don’t want anything from you. Is that clear?”

“You’re entitled to compensation for your loss.”

Anna Grainger snorted and stormed out of his office.

* * *

HER REAL ESTATE agent cleared his throat. “The house has only been on the market for six weeks, Mrs. Grainger. That’s not a long time.”

Usually, Alan Lang glowed with energy and enthusiasm. However, he had the kind of mobile face that he could rearrange at will. Right now, he was projecting encouragement and understanding.

Unfortunately, he probably understood her situation all too well. In his business, he’d know desperation when he saw it.

They sat in her living room, freshly painted, decluttered and as clean as she could make it. She’d become a tyrant about making both kids put everything away the second they were done with it. With kids the ages of hers, it took constant vigilance to be sure the house was ready to show at any time of the day or night. Not a dirty cup was left in the sink, a toothpaste smear on a bathroom countertop, a bed unmade or the lawn a quarter of an inch too long.

She’d been astonished to discover how often the doorbell rang during the dinner hour. Invariably, she’d find an apologetic agent on the doorstep asking if she’d mind if potential buyers just took a quick look.

“Of course not,” she’d say with a gracious smile. Like she could afford to say no.

She and her children were currently living an unreal life. A model family living in a model house, except she and the house both were unacceptably shabby.

This afternoon, Alan had stopped by ostensibly to pick up the business cards left by all the agents who’d showed the house. Anna knew he always followed up with a call to find out what the clients had thought. When he’d suggested they sit down and talk, a chill of apprehension had made her wish she had a sweater or sweatshirt at hand.

“When we bought this place, most houses were snapped up within twenty-four hours of being listed.” We. The very word gave Anna a pang that she had to shake off. “To buy one, you had to be in the right place at the right time.”

“With even a slight downturn in prices, the market favors buyers. I’m sorry to say that’s what we’re facing right now.”

“Okay,” she said cautiously. “But people are looking.”

“They are. Which I found encouraging at first.” He cleared his throat. “But now... We haven’t had so much as a nibble. The message I’m hearing from other agents is that the property is overpriced given the need for updates.”

Anna’s heart sank. He had set the price for her house higher than he’d liked in the first place at her insistence. She’d wanted to give herself room to negotiate. “You think we need to lower what we’re asking.”

“I suggest a twenty-thousand-dollar drop.”

She closed her eyes. Twenty thousand dollars—and offers would likely come in ten to twenty thousand dollars lower yet.

A couple calming breaths later, Anna met his eyes. As with so much else these days, she had no choice. She had to get out from under the mortgage, even if she walked away with nothing.

“Go for it,” she agreed, and saw his relief. He probably hadn’t expected her to be sensible.

A minute later, as she was showing him out, he commented, “You’ve kept the place looking good despite, er...” His cheeks reddened.

“Having a four-year-old and a seven-year-old living here?” She knew he wasn’t married and had no children yet. Even though he was probably close to her age, twenty-nine, Anna felt like a stodgy matron in comparison, their life experiences so vastly different. “You have no idea,” she said ruefully.