The Detective's Undoing

Her lips tightened, but it was as if the veil of control lifted for that one second, and he suddenly saw the truth.

She didn’t believe herself worthy.

Distance. Lord, he sorely needed it, but there was none coming, not when she was standing there pretending to be so strong and fierce when inside she was incredibly vulnerable, so much so that he ached to hold her. “Delia…you’ll get him.”

She just shrugged.

He was leaving Idaho soon. Wanted to be leaving. Couldn’t wait to be leaving.

So why, then, did his heart contract just from looking at her struggling with pride, rigid with the effort to be strong for everyone?

Who was strong for her?

“You’re leaving for Los Angeles in a few days,” he said slowly. “To meet Jacob.”

“Yes.”

“I have a case there. I could come with you, try to help—”

“No,” she said quickly. “I’ll do this alone.”

He watched her gather her supplies, watched her move away from him, and with everything he had, he wanted to let it go. Wanted to let her go.

“Hell,” he muttered, knowing he couldn’t let her go alone. Knowing also that it was far more than mere friendly concern.

Chapter 3 (#ulink_0a9034ed-d688-5937-abea-43272fa6d3d3)

Delia got on the plane, found her window seat, then buckled in and straightened her skirt to avoid wrinkles.

First impressions were everything, and she intended to make a good one on Scott Felton, Jacob’s social worker. He’d known Jacob for six years, ever since Jacob’s father had died. He was close to Jacob, perhaps closer than anyone at this point, and his approval or nonapproval could make or break her case.

“Excuse me, dear.” An elderly woman stood in the aisle, wearing eye-popping chartreuse sweats, high-top tennis shoes and a ski cap.

Delia willed her to keep moving—not that she had anything against old women, but this one looked like a talker and it was a long flight.

“Sadie,” the woman informed Delia, as if she’d asked for her name. “Sadie Walkins. Howdy.” Her arms were completely loaded and she proceeded to stuff the overhead bin with two large shopping bags. Then she plopped into the middle seat, directly next to Delia, and smiled.

“Whew, those things are darned heavy. It’s no wonder they wanted me to check them. I refused, though, because I like to keep my stuff with me, don’t you? Though I have to say, I don’t think they’re too happy with me about now.” Pushing at the glasses slipping down her nose, the woman shifted around, bumping Delia’s arms and legs until at last she was apparently comfortable. “Oh, aren’t you lovely?” she said to Delia, staring at her.

“Thank you,” Delia murmured. She didn’t have to glance in a mirror or notice the looks she’d been getting from the male passengers to know she looked good. The woman who’d taken her ticket had complimented her on her outfit, and Delia knew she’d have been shocked to know it was handmade. Nearly every stitch of clothing Delia owned had been made with her own hands. It was a throwback to the years she and her sisters had gone without enough money for anything as frivolous as clothes, but somewhere along the line she’d learned to love the freedom of designing and sewing her own stuff, anyway.

Yet it wasn’t the woman next to her she wanted to impress, but the man who was standing in the way of her future with Jacob.

Maybe she should have worn a suit. A power suit, her great little red one…

God, she hated this all-encompassing fear of not being good enough, because that was exactly what this silly obsessing about her clothes came down to—her inadequacy and the certainty that Scott would see it.

“I’m going to visit my grandkids,” Sadie offered next. “Though why anyone would want to live in Los Angeles is beyond me.”

Delia loved Los Angeles, so she didn’t respond and just stared out the window. Jacob lived there. He was a city boy, too, how would he feel about the Triple M?

Idaho and its distinct majestic landscape stared back at her, silent.

“It’s so…dirty,” Sadie said. “Filth.”

All Delia had ever known was the hustling, bustling, teeming, crowded, glorious Los Angeles. She hadn’t been back since they’d left early last summer, and she wondered if it was as wonderful as she remembered. The people, the sights, the smells…yeah, it would be the same.

But was she?

Sighing, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

“Excuse me,” came a deep male voice. “Can I get you anything?”

What? They hadn’t even taken off yet, and it wasn’t as if she sat in first class—

Wait. She knew that voice.

Opening her eyes she looked over Sadie’s head and into the grinning gaze of Cade McKnight. “You,” she said.

He winked. “Me.”

He stood there as if he didn’t have a care in the world, looking annoyingly good, smiling easily and effortlessly, altering her pulse. He wore khaki pants and a soft-looking white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. His dark hair fell to that collar in reckless waves that Delia imagined a less-disciplined woman would have a hard time keeping her fingers off.

Good thing she was especially disciplined. Still, from deep inside her came a strong tingling, which she ruthlessly told herself must be hunger because she’d skipped breakfast again. It had nothing, absolutely nothing, do to with the tall rangy wanderlust-driven man standing there. “Go home, Cade.”

“Ah, but you assume I’m here for you.”

That actually made her blush, because of course, he was right. She had a feeling Cade was always right. “You’re flying to Los Angeles for your business?”

“Yes.”

So what, then, was that undeniable intensity beneath his casual charm? An intensity aimed at her. “Go home, Cade. Wherever that may be.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Of course you can. You just turn around and—”

“Is this your fiancé?” the older woman asked Delia, watching with delight as the too-big Cade tried to squeeze himself against the seat to let others by, his broad shoulders hunched, one long leg bent at an awkward position. He apologized to each and every person forced to pass him, but he didn’t budge.

“Oh, how sweet and polite he is,” Sadie said. “And so handsome. What a catch, my dear.”

Some catch. The man might be a full-time private investigator, but he suffered from the strongest sense of restlessness she’d ever seen. He globe-hopped from case to case and loved it, which Delia, to whom roots and home meant everything, couldn’t imagine. Zoe said he was gorgeous enough for a woman to forget such inconveniences, but gorgeous didn’t count for much in Delia’s book. “He’s not my—”

“Men are so much handsomer now than in my day,” Sadie announced, adjusting her ski cap.

From overhead came the drone of the stewardess’s voice, reminding them this was a full plane. Everyone was asked to please take their seats.

With an obedience that made Delia narrow her eyes—she had a feeling he never followed the rules unless they suited him—Cade slipped into the still-empty aisle seat, and smiled with innocent charm at Sadie.