Her Sister's Children

A dark Mustang pulled to a stop under the yard light. Claire blinked, refocused her thoughts. Residual adrenaline and fear had to be taking their toll. Nothing else could explain her unexpectedly sensual thoughts and the ridiculous longing that now sped through her veins.

Back to business, she reminded herself sharply. Standing straighter, she watched the occupants of the car climb out and converse at the end of the sidewalk. More guests. She turned away from the window. “Jason, I need to take a quick look at that ankle.”

Crossing the kitchen, she knelt beside him, gently propped his foot in her lap and started on his wet, tightly knotted shoelaces. From the corner of her eye, she saw Logan rise and finish his coffee in one long, slow swallow, then turn to leave.

“Don’t worry, my ankle’s okay,” Jason mumbled. “Mr. Matthews gave me an ice pack, and called some doctor.”

Claire looked at Logan. “You talked to a doctor?”

He shrugged. “He didn’t sound too concerned, but a trip to the ER wouldn’t be a bad idea, just to make sure.”

He paused at the door and gave her a brief smile, then scanned the room, as if memorizing each detail. The lights shadowed the angles of his lean face and sparked gold highlights in his hair, while his navy ski jacket emphasized the bulk of his shoulders and narrow waist.

A ripple of deepening awareness started low in Claire’s belly and unfurled into something akin to desire, a stunning echo of the errant thoughts she’d banished moments ago.

And something more—she felt a sudden longing to know him much better.

This is simple physical attraction, she sternly told herself. Nothing more. If she repeated it often enough, surely she would begin to believe it. She had to—there was too much at stake.

His hand on the doorknob, Logan glanced back at Jason. “Take it easy, kid. And listen to your mom from now on, okay?”

Jason’s quick grin faded at the word mom. “Yeah, sure.”

A tentative knock sounded at the door. Logan pulled it open, revealing a middle-aged man and woman whose faces were sallow beneath the bright porch light.

“I need to register,” the man wheezed. He lifted an inhaler to his bushy mustache and looked expectantly at Logan through the screen door. “We have reservations. The Sweeneys?”

Logan ushered them inside, then drew close to Claire and lowered his voice so only she could hear. “Country clubs back home, or this? Ought to be an easy choice.” With a smile at the couple hovering in the doorway, Logan left.

So they were back to that—opposing camps, with opposing goals. Claire gave the newcomers a bright smile of welcome. “I’m Claire, the manager,” she said in a ringing tone, extending her hand. “I know you’ll enjoy your stay. I can’t imagine ever living anywhere else!”

The Sweeneys smiled in response. Through the screen door, she saw Logan continue down the stairs, though one of his shoulders twitched.

Sorry, fella, she said under her breath. There isn’t a person on earth who could make me leave.

THE OLD PRIMER-GRAY Chevy was perfect. Parked a couple dozen feet off the road between some pines, it blended invisibly into the shadows.

Drumming his fingers on the cracked dashboard, the driver eyed the house and then shifted his gaze back to the hulking passenger sitting next to him. The guy wasn’t very bright, but he had the muscle and skills of a back-alley street fighter. And he had just as much to lose. “Ain’t gonna be hard. Once the lights go out, we can get in and be real quiet.”

“But—”

“We’ve got to find the invoices and that tape.”

“But they’re home.”

“That woman and her kids are always home, dammit. We don’t have much more time.”

“They’ve got a dog.”

“It must be deaf. It didn’t bark when we went through the shed last night,” Hank snapped.

“What if that deputy comes back?”

“He didn’t see us.” Hank uttered a foul curse. “Just do what I say and shut up.”

At a sudden motion on the porch they both froze, and watched as a tall, powerfully built man strode down the sidewalk, then drove off.

“Who the hell was that?” Hank muttered. If he was the woman’s boyfriend, he might be back. Damn. “C’mon, Buzz, show time. Let’s check the back windows. I want to know how we’ll get in later.”

He eased his car door open and slid out. Buzz shoved his own door open and followed him toward the house.

Voices reached them from an open kitchen window, barely distinguishable over the sound of waves hitting the shore.

“Am not!”

“Yes, you are, Jason.”

“Not! I won’t go!”

Silence. And then, “There’ll be a bigger scene if the ambulance comes here to pick you up.”

“Ambulance!” A long pause, then a sullen, “You wouldn’t.”

“Want to bet? We need to make sure you’re okay. That bump on your head—”

“It’s nothing!”

“I want a doctor to check your ankle.”

Come on, kid. Cooperate. Hank stopped abruptly, thrust a hand against Buzz’s chest. A middle-aged couple strolled into view at the far end of the lane. Damn.

A few minutes later the woman and all three kids came out of the house, then climbed into a minivan parked in the driveway. Maybe things were looking up after all. An emergency room meant hours of waiting.

And hours of freedom to search the house.

“Let’s go,” Hank growled. “If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to scare her off, or force her into cooperating and risk being identified.”

“But—”

“You want one of our old pals coming after us? Or for her to go to the cops with Brooke’s evidence? What’s better—death or prison?”

At the look of naked fear on Buzz’s face, Hank gave a harsh laugh. “That’s what I thought.” Motioning to him, Hank slipped through the shadows to the back door of the house.

Three hours later, as they heard the minivan return and pull to a stop outside the house, Hank punched a fist against an attic wall and swore. Nothing.

Time was running out. Had the Worth woman already found the evidence? Hidden it? With a jerk of his chin, he signaled Buzz. They both sped silently down the stairs and out the back door.

They’d have to return another night. If she was real lucky, she wouldn’t get in the way.