Hidden. Tara Quinn Taylor
across his face, an unusual display of weakness. Revealing emotion, especially negative emotion, was something he almost never did. A Whitehead kept up appearances at all costs. In his world, that rule had been the most important condition for sustaining life. Breathing came in a close second.
“No,” he said, looking up at his attorney and closest friend. “I don’t believe that.” His voice broke and he stopped a moment to calm himself. “Kate and I…we—”
“I understand, buddy.” Douglas’s hand on his shoulder kept him from making even more of an idiot of himself.
“Sorry,” he said, standing. The ability to detach himself had always served him well—in the courtroom and in life. He wouldn’t lose it again.
“Hey, Thomas, this is me. No need to apologize.” Douglas rounded the desk, shoving the folder back in his hand-tooled leather briefcase. “Frankly, man,” he continued, his voice a little muffled as he bent over the chair in front of Thomas’s desk, latching his case, “I don’t know how you do it. If it were me and I’d lost Kate—let alone the baby—they’d have had to pull me out of the river. And now Leah. It’s…unsettling, you know?”
“I know.” Arms crossed over his chest, Thomas stood beside his desk, nodding slowly.
Douglas straightened, stared at him for a long silent minute. “Yeah, I guess you do. Listen, you want to hit the club tonight? I could use a drink.”
“Maybe.” He’d be drinking, that was for sure. “As long as Mother’s okay.”
“What’s it been, six months now since your father died?”
Thomas nodded.
“How’s she doing?”
“Like the rest of us, I guess. She has good days and bad ones. Nights are the hardest.”
Shaking his head, Douglas moved to the door. “You guys have had it rough lately, but you know what that means.”
“What?”
“That your turn’s coming for something really big.”
Thomas was counting on that.
Scott’s four days off made it difficult for Tricia to get to the paper every morning, but that didn’t stop her from driving herself crazy until she had the most recent edition of the San Francisco Gazette in her hands. She hated lying to Scott, hated being impatient with him when he accompanied her and Taylor on their morning walks, and then suggested going to the Grape Street dog park so the little boy could run and play with the animals. For some reason, her son was smitten with dogs. She’d never had a pet in her life and she’d certainly never considered having one that not only lived in the house but shed, drooled and didn’t wipe after it went to the bathroom. But watching Scott and Taylor with the unleashed pets in the park, she couldn’t help laughing.
And wishing that life was different—that she had a place where she felt secure enough to buy her son a puppy.
Still, she made excuses every day to get out of the house on her own. Thread she’d suddenly run out of. A quick trip to the grocery. A rush job that she’d forgotten had to be delivered.
He’d raised his eyebrows at that one, but had said nothing.
Which was pretty much what she got from the San Francisco Gazette. Nothing. Senator Thomas Whitehead had returned from an annual fishing trip. He’d stopped by the precinct the moment he’d heard about the heiress’s disappearance and no arrest had been made.
He was in the clear. Again.
On Saturday, the last day of his off-rotation, Scott stood in the doorway of the smallest bedroom in his modest three-bedroom home, watching the woman he thought of far too often for his own good. She sat there, some kind of dark garment in her hand, doing nothing.
He always wondered where she went when she did that. But he didn’t ask. The answer could very well take him into territory they’d agreed not to travel.
“You almost done?”
She jumped, bent her head for a second, and then turned to him, her ready smile in evidence. “Almost, why?”
Whatever had been on her mind, she wasn’t sharing it with him. Not that it mattered. He had no business knowing what made her jump in the middle of the night—or in the middle of the day when her lover spoke to her from a doorway in their home.
Soon after Tricia had moved in with him—which had been right after he’d met her, six months pregnant, in a bar where he used to hang out with the guys on his shift—he’d given Tricia this room for her sewing. He didn’t know anything about what she did, since he’d never seen his mother or his cousins so much as hold a needle, but even he could tell she was skilled at it.
He didn’t mind giving up his office/weight room for the sewing machine the dry cleaner had lent her so she could work at home while her baby was young. In the almost two years that followed, they’d added a cabinet from the flea market to hold her growing collection of materials, threads, scissors and tape measures, buttons and fasteners.
And she’d painted the room yellow with white trim. Not his style, but around her it looked good.
“The little guy’ll be up from his nap soon. How about a trip over to Coronado?”
As far as he could tell, it was her favorite place in the world—or at least in the San Diego area.
“To walk on the beach?” Her smile didn’t grow, it relaxed. She was back with him.
“Sure. And maybe get a burger downtown. I promised Taylor some French fries.”
“Can you give me fifteen minutes to finish these?” She held up the dark garment—a pair of women’s slacks. They were creased where she’d been holding them. “They’re the last of an order, and we can drop them off while we’re there.”
She looked so damned cute sitting there with minimal makeup on her flawless light skin, her long silky hair hanging down the white button-up shirt she was wearing over a pair of faded jeans. Compelled by something other than his own thoughts, Scott moved closer, catching and holding her gaze. Accepting the invitation he read in those deep blue eyes. He’d never seen such blue eyes on a brunette.
Or at least that was the reason he gave himself for the way they caught—and held—his attention even after nearly two years of living with her. Sleeping with her. Waking up beside her.
“Sounds good.” He finally uttered the words that were waiting to be said. He couldn’t quite remember the question he was answering.
His lips lowered, touching hers as, eyes slowly closing, she lifted her chin and nodded. Adrenaline shot through him, a streak of energy igniting every nerve in his body on the way through. Her lips were so soft, almost innocent, and so intent on passion he shook with it. She was moist and fresh and burning him all at once.
“Oh, God, woman, what you do to me,” he mumbled against her mouth, falling down to his knees between her legs, pulling her head with him. Tricia’s hands slid up his shoulders, pressing into him, her touch sending chills across his skin.
“How long did you say it would be before he woke up?” Her voice was ragged, as was the chuckle that accompanied it.
He had no idea. Couldn’t remember when he’d put Taylor down. Or what time he’d interrupted her.
“Ten minutes. Twenty if we’re lucky.”
Hands on her waistband, Tricia raised her bottom off the chair, and slid the jeans, with panties inside, down over her bare feet. “Let’s get lucky,” she said, her blue eyes glowing as she grinned up at him, her unsteady fingers meeting his at the button on his jeans.
He’d never known a woman whose hunger matched his. And that made him even hungrier. They’d done this in bed a few hours ago. It should have been enough.
“Hurry,”