“Okay,” he said.
Silence descended on the room. He fought not to squirm.
“Zack . . .” His mother‟s voice was brittle and unhappy.
His hands tightened on the arms of the chair. He knew she was only trying to help. But she didn‟t understand. Nobody
understood.
But just for a second, meeting the eyes of the man who claimed to be his father, he‟d felt a flicker of something. Not hope.
Recognition.
He swallowed hard and looked at the cop. “If I promise to talk to them, can we go?”
The cop regarded him until Zack‟s mouth went dry and his palms stuck to the arms of the chair.
“For now,” the cop said at last. “I‟ve got no cause to hold you. I‟m going to ask around, see whose catch is missing. We‟re
not finished with this by a long shot.”
“No,” the man in black agreed softly. “I would say we were just beginning.”
6
THEY WALKED OUT OF THE POLICE STATION TOGETHER, Liz holding on to Emily‟s hand and Zack with his
shoulders up around his ears and Morgan stalking behind. Like a unit. Like a family.
Liz hated it.
He was crowding her. She felt him on the back of her neck and in the pit of her stomach, a tickle like lust or alarm. She
stopped abruptly and turned.
Her breath caught. Too damn close. “You‟re not coming with us.”
Morgan looked down at her, his face as cool and unimpressionable as marble, and a chill chased the tickle up her spine. He
was not a man she could boss around, which made him dangerous. And far too attractive.
She shook her head to rid it of that thought. “I need to talk to Zack alone.”
“So must I.”
“Not alone.”
“Very well,” he agreed so promptly she wondered if she‟d been set up. “Then we will talk to him together.”
She frowned. “No, I . . .” She couldn‟t think with him standing so close. She took a step back, still gripping Emily‟s hand,
and bumped into her car. “It‟s my responsibility.”
“And you are always responsible.”
Was he mocking her?
Her lips set. “Yes.”
“Responsible and . . .” The pad of his thumb hovered at the corner of her eye where the skin was thin and sensitive. “Tired.
Let me help.”
The unexpectedness of his feather contact robbed her of breath. Of speech. He traced a line from cheek to jaw, making her
throat constrict. For one weak moment, she was tempted to close her eyes and lean into his hand, to absorb the warmth and
strength of his touch.
Self-preservation straightened her spine. She was not a woman who leaned on anybody.
“I‟m not tired,” she said, ice in her voice. “I‟m frustrated.”
Unholy laughter gleamed in his eyes. “I could help you with that, too.”
Her jaw cracked. She was not swapping innuendos with this man in full view of the town and within earshot of her kids.
“No, you can‟t. Go away.”
“After I talk with the boy.”
“Not here. Not now. When you talk to my son, it will be on my terms and my turf.”
“Fine. When and where?”
“I . . .”
Their eyes locked.
Trapped, she realized, her heart knocking against her ribs. Emily leaned into her side, watching them with wide, anxious