Secrets of Paternity

Kevin picked up a piece of yellow quartz that sat on the mantel and examined it. “It did.”

“Maybe I was out of the country. Where’d you live?”

“In Southern California, in the Valley. Near Sylmar. We had a small ranch.”

“With horses?”

“Yeah. Can’t be an all-around stuntman if you can’t ride.” His tone of voice implied that James was being stupid for asking.

“I suppose not. You ride?”

“Of course.”

Of course. “Your mom, too?”

Kevin faced him squarely. “Will you help me?”

So, no more chitchat. Kevin didn’t care about James beyond what he could do for him, but it was enough for now. “Tell me what you know.”

The boy drew himself up. Obviously, even a year later, he had trouble talking about the accident.

“Dad was riding his bike down the canyon road. It was raining. He and the bike went over the side.”

“Why do you think it was intentional?”

“My dad was careful. Supercareful. He checked every stunt ten times. And he knew every inch of that road. No way that could’ve happened. No way.”

“Even though it was raining?”

“He would’ve been supercautious.”

The determination in his voice was convincing. “Yet the police think otherwise.”

“The police didn’t know my dad.” He planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Look, if you don’t want to help me, just say so.”

“Had he been acting differently, Kevin? Do you have something concrete to go on?”

“Yes. Different. I don’t know how to describe it. Just different.”

“In what way?”

He closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Not there. I know that doesn’t make sense. He was there, around, but he wasn’t there. Like he was distracted all the time.”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“Sort of. I asked him if something was wrong, but he said no. He was just tired.”

“You didn’t believe him?”

Kevin shook his head. “I let it go, because I thought I would just give him some time. He told me everything. I figured he’d tell me this, too.”

Not everything, apparently. Layered over the boy’s obvious grief was belligerence, probably to hide how much he hurt. James’s decision was easy. He would help Kevin—because if he didn’t, Kevin would probably disappear from his life as quickly as he’d come into it, but also because James needed to help Kevin end his pain, or find a way to live with it, if he could. If Kevin would let him.

James also understood Kevin’s urgency for justice.

“I’ll investigate it,” James told him.

“You don’t sound like you believe me.”

“I believe you knew your dad better than anyone, except your mom, probably. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

“Are you good?”

“Yes.”

Kevin stared at him. Wariness dulled his eyes, and he looked ready to flee at any moment. Finally he moved his shoulders, more an involuntary gesture of relief than an adolescent I-don’t-care shrug. James figured he cared a whole lot.

“I’ll need a little more information,” James said, standing. “Let me get a pad of paper. Can I get you something to eat or drink while I’m up?”

“Not hungry.”

The doorbell rang. James ignored it, assuming it was trick-or-treaters. He grabbed a pad from his office, convinced Kevin to sit down, then James wrote down more details—exactly where and when the accident occurred. Which police agencies were involved. More exact descriptions of Paul’s out-of-character behavior.

“I can start with this,” James said. “Give me a couple of days to do some preliminary digging. Do you want me to call you?”

Kevin swallowed hard then nodded.

James pretended not to see how much his help meant to Kevin. “What’s your phone number and address?”

Kevin gave him a telephone number only. “It’s my cell.”

It was twice in a week that someone was afraid to give James personal information. An image of the Harley wrecker flashed in his mind. She’d had the same sort of wariness in her eyes as Kevin.

“I gotta go,” Kevin said, pushing himself up. He hadn’t taken off his jacket, and now he dropped his sunglasses back into place—before he headed out into the night.

James didn’t want him to go, but he understood that if he wanted a relationship with this young man, he’d better take it slowly. He’d been handed a golden opportunity to get to know Kevin. He wouldn’t squander it because he rushed it.

James extended his hand. Kevin clasped it. “Thanks,” he mumbled, then he headed for the door, his strides long and quick. The door shut behind him with a rattle of glass. His footsteps down the stairs were heavy and fast, drifting out of earshot within seconds.

Silence crash landed louder than ever before in the big house James loved. He hadn’t realized just how empty it was, not truly. It made him hunger to fill it up now. Right now.

He grabbed a beer and headed into his office. He would look up newspaper articles about Paul’s death first. But when he pulled up a chair to the computer, he just sat there, thinking about Paul, about how they met, and what had happened between them to make James indebted to him.

He needed to tell someone. Not his mother, not yet. Not until the relationship settled. Quinn was in Los Angeles helping the other ARC owners on a big case. That left Cassie. He called her home number and got her answering machine. He hung up, debating whether to call her cell, which would be on, but he didn’t want to interrupt her night with her fiancé. They weren’t at home, so they must be out having fun somewhere.

The doorbell rang. As before, he ignored it. It rang again. Fifteen seconds later, again. Irritated he headed to the front door. When he was a kid, an unlit porch light meant “do not disturb.” He didn’t have candy left to give out.

He yanked open the door, intending to give an etiquette lesson to the trick-or-treater. No costumed kid stood there, however, but the Harley wrecker, not decked out in a costume but in blue jeans and a red sweater.