Home At Last

“Well, that, and the kindergarten needs Adam and Eric in by August first. If they’re going to be in separate classrooms instead of together, I have to—” She broke off, sounding suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, that’s mom stuff. And here I didn’t even ask…how have you been?”

The question startled him, coming over the phone on which no one had ever asked such a thing. “Uh, fine,” he said, gripping the receiver a little tighter as he scanned the list of private investigators he recommended to parents seeking children sucked into the world of drugs. “I’m moving to Chicago in a few weeks.”

“Chicago! What will you be doing there?”

“Narcotics task force. I got the call last month.” He’d been elated at getting into a department where the work would be more demanding, more challenging, more of a chance to make a difference. More opportunity to keep addicts and dealers from inflicting on anyone the kind of childhood he’d endured. “Same kind of thing I’m doing here, but a bigger city. With better pizza.”

He could almost hear her smile at that last comment. “You always wanted to travel,” she observed, surprising him with how much she remembered of the dreams he’d never shared until that one summer. “It’s wonderful you’re getting the chance.”

She sounded a lot happier for him than anyone else had. Not that he’d told many people—just the captain, a few of the guys he worked with and the manager at his apartment complex.

“Well, thanks.” It was typical of Kirsten, he recalled, to show such genuine pleasure in a friend’s good fortune. Although he couldn’t exactly call himself a friend, not after the way he’d failed to warn her about Brad’s bar talk. “I’ve still got two weeks here, but there’s not much left to do. So I’ll find you a P.I. right away.”

“I really appreciate it,” she said again. “What shall I do besides make that list? And should I—do you know how much they charge?”

He couldn’t let her pay for his mistake, J.D. knew. It was partly his fault that she’d lost her kids, although he couldn’t quite bring himself to confess it…especially when she was already hurting. Somehow he’d have to make things right for Kirsten without letting her know that both members of her old trio had let her down.

“Depends on who you get,” he began. “But the thing is…I mean, if that’s a problem—”

“No, of course not!” The indignation in her voice startled him—Brad had said she’d refused anything beyond a single large settlement in exchange for his promise to stay involved with the kids—but apparently money was of no importance when it came to her children. “I’ve still got my grandmother’s trust fund, and my parents can always help. It’s not a problem.”

Did her parents still think Brad Laurence was the best thing that could happen to their daughter? J.D. wondered. Not that it mattered—the whole issue had been settled a long time ago, and in fact he’d agreed with their opinion—but he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of curiosity.

“All right,” he said, deliberately squelching it and returning his gaze to the list of investigators. He owed her a lot more than a P.I.’s name, but what else could he offer without explaining how badly he’d failed her? And while he deserved her condemnation, she didn’t deserve to hear about yet another betrayal. “I’ll phone some people and get right back to you. It shouldn’t take long.”

“I’ll wait right by the phone,” she promised.

“No, I meant, it shouldn’t take long for someone to find them.” Especially with his list of all the places Brad had mentioned. He could handle the search himself, if only he had the freedom to—

The freedom…

He could do this for her. For the woman he had loved, the woman he’d vowed never to hurt. The woman he had failed to protect.

J.D. took the Freedom Form from its stack and stared at the vacation-refusal box he’d marked. “Tell you what, Kirs,” he said slowly, scratching out his initials and inking a heavier X in the opposite box. “I can be in Tucson in three hours. You get those photos ready…and I’ll find your kids myself.”

Chapter Two

In ten more minutes, she’d be face-to-face with J.D. Ryder. Kirsten cast another glance around her half-decorated living room, knowing she shouldn’t care how it looked right now, and moved her carefully selected photos and list from the still-empty bookshelf to the Mexican-glass coffee table.

Then back again.

It was silly to feel nervous. There was no reason for her heart to be jumping around this way. Although meeting a detective would probably make anyone nervous, at least anyone who needed help in finding their children….

How on earth, she wondered through another rush of anguish, could she have let this happen? What kind of mother could lose track of her children? Especially to a father who’d never been all that excited about parenting before, who had once forgotten to retrieve them from a hotel sitter until two in the morning.

She should have taken steps to make sure this could never happen, Kirsten knew, twisting her fingers together around the drapery cord. She should have phoned five times a day from the moment they arrived in Seattle, the way she used to before admitting it wasn’t fair to keep intruding on the children’s rare opportunities to see their father. She should have stayed in constant contact, never mind interrupting their time with Brad, because now he was—

Take a deep breath.

She could still hear the command J.D. had given her three hours ago, and she’d been following it ever since. Emotions, anger, fury at Brad wouldn’t help her children now. And unless she wanted them to view their father as a horrible person, she couldn’t allow herself to feel this kind of rage at him…because it would surely slip out at the wrong moment.

So take another breath.

This whole situation, she reminded herself as she took a series of deep breaths and resumed her pacing, called for the kind of steady control she had always admired in J.D. Ryder. The kind of control she hadn’t learned early enough. The kind she’d seldom had the chance to practice…until now.

But now it was silly to be nervous. J.D. would find the children, exactly as he’d promised. It was even more silly to wish she had a mirror in here, in the first living room she’d ever decorated without bowing to her parents’ or Brad’s wishes. She didn’t need to check her reflection again, didn’t need to make sure her yellow cotton sweater fell smoothly to her waist, because this wasn’t a visit from someone who cared about what she looked like. This was a matter of business, nothing more….

He didn’t want you, remember?

She remembered. All too well.

This might be his way of making up for that long-ago wound, although she had no reason for believing she knew how J.D.’s mind worked. But if he’d ever suspected how much his departure had hurt her, he might very well want to make amends. There was a fundamental decency about the man…although no one but Brad and herself had ever recognized that.

Maybe because he’d never shown it to anyone else.

He’d shown everyone else exactly what they expected from the delinquent son of a drunken brawler. From a newcomer living on an outlying piece of land in a condemned trailer that only Brad had managed to visit…and only once. Through the entire three years he’d spent at Tubac High, J.D. had shown the kind of smoldering darkness that made teachers stiffen their posture whenever he shifted in his seat. But he’d also shown intriguing flashes of wry humor—and, occasionally, of genuine, searing compassion beneath the stark and gritty defiance he wore like an impenetrable shell.

A shell he probably still wore. And that was fine, Kirsten told herself. She didn’t need to know what lay inside J.D. Ryder. All she needed was his professional expertise, nothing more. There would be no reminiscing, no sharing the kind of confidences she’d shared so trustingly before he shot out of her life.

Leaving her reeling. Leaving her lost.

Leaving her with no one to turn to but Brad.

Yet she couldn’t regret her marriage to Brad, in spite of how it had turned out, because of the children. The children who brightened her world beyond measure, who deserved all the love and security and happiness she could give them…no matter how much effort it took when their father viewed them with such indifference. She’d vowed, from the day she first held Lindsay in her arms, to give her children a life as comfortable, as nurturing and as perfect as she could possibly make it.

And here she’d sent them off without ever imagining an outcome like this….

But—please, God—with J.D.’s help, she would have them safe at home soon.

Seven more minutes, Kirsten noted, glancing at her platinum bracelet watch again. He might not be exactly on time, of course; there was no accounting for traffic and navigation delays. But during the worst of rush hour he would’ve been on that empty stretch of desert freeway between Phoenix and Tucson, and her new house off Ina Road shouldn’t be too hard to find.

At least not for J.D. Ryder, who had always been good with directions. She remembered him pointing out the distant constellations, that night of the desert bonfire, and how matter-of-factly he’d directed Brad’s attention to the North Star. How easily he’d guided them home from that hike in Aravaipa, the one time her parents had let her spend a Saturday with the boys. That was back when all three of them were friends, before she and Brad had become a couple, before J.D. had gone his own way….

The chime of the doorbell sent a jolt of shock radiating through her. She moved to the front window, hoping for a glimpse of him before he turned and saw her, then caught her breath in amazement.

J.D. Ryder hadn’t changed. At least not that she could see. He looked older, yes, but that darkly compelling aura of focused strength still glimmered in his cool demeanor, his watchful stance. He still gave the impression of banked fires beneath a deceptively relaxed exterior, of the ability to strike without warning and retreat without moving.

But when he saw her at the window, his eyes reflected the same astonishment she’d felt at the sight of him. For a moment he hesitated, staring at her as if he couldn’t quite believe Kirsten Laurence was waiting for J.D. Ryder, and she saw his guarded expression grow warmer. Then, when she flung open the carved wood door, he gave her the slow, almost challenging smile of greeting she remembered from eight years ago.

“Kirsten,” he said simply.

“You haven’t changed,” she blurted. It shouldn’t be such a surprise—eight years wasn’t all that long—and yet somehow she had never imagined that J.D. Ryder could still exude such solitary strength.

“Neither have you,” he murmured, moving past her into the foyer as if he needed all the space around him he could get…and setting off another familiar chord of recognition. The man seemed to command the very air around him, and Kirsten felt her breath coming a little faster as she turned away to close the door. Which made no sense, she reminded herself hastily. This was an old friend, nothing more.

And she’d better remember that.

“I’m glad you could come,” she told him, wondering whether he’d spent the day testifying at a trial or something. It was hard to picture J.D. choosing such a flawlessly cut summer-weight suit to complement his deep brown eyes and close-cropped black hair, but she had the impression of a catalog model…except, again, for that ever-present sense of smoldering darkness.