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She was damned if she’d retreat even a step. She met his angry stare with one as bland as she could make it. “I don’t believe that any man’s character is determined by a single act. I understand that you see enough of those single acts to…” She sought the right word. “To sour you. The fact remains, Hector Ortez has served his debt to society. He deserves a fair chance, and for Tito’s sake I’m going to help make sure he gets one.”
His eyes glittered with fury, surely out of proportion to their discussion. “For Tito’s sake? Fairness to Hector has nothing to do with his kid! Tito needs someone who sticks to the straight and narrow. Someone who doesn’t lash out every time he gets pissed. Someone who can set a good example and hold him accountable if he screws up.”
She thrust her chin out a little farther. “Hold him accountable? Like you did? You cut him a break instead. Isn’t that what you said?”
Plainly, he didn’t like that. His shoulders went rigid. “You think what I did was wrong.”
“Actually, no, I don’t. I think what you did shows heart. You didn’t judge Tito by one act. So why can’t you do the same for his father?”
“Tito did something stupid. Hector murdered a man in cold blood.”
“A man who was trying to kill him.”
“Who had threatened him,” he corrected. “You can’t tell me there weren’t alternatives. Would you have grabbed a knife and stabbed the guy if you’d been in that spot?”
Of course she wouldn’t have. “His judgment was affected by alcohol.”
His face was inches from hers now, his lips drawn back to show his teeth. “Hector hasn’t had a drink in three years because he couldn’t get one. You trying to tell me you have faith he won’t drink at home? That he’ll always be sober when he’s dealing with Tito? Have you ever seen what a kid looks like after his drunken father beats on him?”
She swallowed, then knew immediately he saw it as a sign of weakness. Of course she’d seen the aftereffects of parental abuse, but no, she didn’t see the children until later, when the outward bruises had healed. But did he really think she didn’t weigh risks? Damn it, she couldn’t let him bully her; she couldn’t.
“I don’t think anyone is perfect,” she said, and felt weariness. If only she could feel shining faith in someone. Anyone. “I do believe Tito’s father is his best hope.”
MacLachlan swore and finally—finally!—swung away from her. She held herself straight, resisting the temptation to sag with relief. He swung around as quickly to face her, but this time he was five or six feet away.
“Expect company, Ms. Brooks, when you supervise those visits. You want your solution to work. I don’t trust you to recognize that it isn’t. I’ll expect to be kept apprised of each and every appointment. Is that clear?”
Anger rolled over her, starting with a hot glow beneath her breastbone and spreading with stunning speed. “Certainly,” she said. “If Judge Lehman instructs me to include you, I’ll do so. Otherwise… If Tito doesn’t invite you, it isn’t happening. Is that clear?”
They glared at each other. After a moment, she gave a sharp nod, turned and walked out of the courthouse, refusing to hurry.
She was a little surprised, as she unlocked her car, to hear herself growl. A passing man, carrying a briefcase, gave her a startled glance. She was probably blushing as she got into her car and bent to rest her forehead on the steering wheel.
She couldn’t remember when anyone had made her as mad as he did.
The only gratification that she could find—and it was tiny, barely a seed of pleasure—was a suspicion that she made him as mad,and that the experience was no more common or welcome for him than it was for her.
THREE DAYS LATER, Duncan found himself stalking along in the wake of Hector and Tito Ortez and Jane Brooks. Jane was chattering to Hector as if they were best friends. Hector responded occasionally with a nod or comment. Tito, to his credit, was the only one who seemed aware of the weirdness of the situation. Slinking along, trailing his father by a step or two, he was halfheartedly kicking his soccer ball. His head was bent, his thin shoulders hunched. He had, earlier, given Duncan one desperate glance and nod.
He and his father were apparently going to play soccer in the field at the middle school. Duncan didn’t like anything about this father/son happening. He especially didn’t like the father. He was annoyed that Hector had chosen an activity that was one of the things Duncan usually did with Tito.
Most of all, he did not want to be physically aware of Jane Brooks. In the three days since the court hearing, Duncan had made up his mind that he wouldn’t be. She was attractive. So what? She irritated him. He didn’t like her. Dislike trumped a pair of great legs or breasts that would nestle like small birds in his hands. A throat so long and pure he could only imagine how it would taste to his open mouth. An elegant back and subtle curve of hip. A perfect ass…
He tore his gaze from just that and let loose a string of silent profanities. He didn’t make a habit of letting his dick do his thinking and he wasn’t going to start now. The fact that he was semiaroused because he was following her from the middle school parking lot and she walked like a dream was no excuse.
When they reached the sideline, Jane stopped, letting Tito and his dad go on toward the soccer goal and well-worn ground in front of it. Gaze fixed grimly on the duo, Duncan stopped a few feet from her.
Hector stole the ball from his son, raced ten yards and kicked it resoundingly into the goal. His teeth flashed white as he grinned at Tito, who was staring in astonishment. Hector gesticulated; Tito said something, maybe asked a question. Within minutes they were talking, then playing in earnest.
Without even looking at him, Jane said, “Lighten up.”
“What?”
“I can feel you. You’re a thundercloud.”
“I can think of things I’d rather be doing this morning.”
“Then do them,” she said tartly. “Please.”
“I told you I’d be here.”
She made a huffing sound. “Do you really think I’m going to let anything bad happen to Tito? I may not carry a gun—” she aimed a pointed look at the one he conspicuously wore at his waist “—but I am quite capable of chaperoning, I assure you.”
Duncan crossed his arms. “Cheering them on, you mean.”
Tito whisked the ball by his father and scored a goal. Evidently delighted by the timing, Jane clapped and whistled. Her sidelong glance met a glower. Duncan clenched his jaw.
“Haven’t you been playing soccer with him?” she said cheerfully. “You should be proud of him. Why aren’t you cheering, too?”
Because I should be playing with him, not his father. Duncan believed that, but was also discomposed by the realization that he was feeling a pang of jealousy. He sure as hell wasn’t admitting that to Jane Brooks.
“How often are we going to be doing this?” he asked, sounding grumpy even to his own ears.
“We? I will be doing this as often as I can. We’ve agreed to aim for twice a week, and Hector will be having dinner with Tito, Lupe and her kids a couple of additional evenings. I understand Tito’s big brother, Diego, is around for a few weeks, too.”
Duncan grunted. Tito had told him as much. The boy had sounded…wistful. He loved Diego and perhaps felt slightly in awe of him, but had said enough for Duncan, reading between the lines, to guess that Tito was also disappointed that his brother wasn’t making more money or doing something important. Duncan had let the conversation drift so that the connection wasn’t obvious before talking about how important Tito’s grades in school were.
“You’ll never get a really good job without going to college or getting training in a trade,” he’d said with a shrug. “No employer wants to hire a screwup. Someone who can’t finish what they start.”
Tito had looked thoughtful, for what that was worth. He was only twelve, not an age when he was likely to deeply contemplate life choices. Duncan knew that he was unusual in having set his eyes on his goal by the time he was ten or eleven. He had known he wanted success, respect, authority. He’d been determined to make good money so life wasn’t uncertain. He’d been willing to sacrifice to get where he wanted. So it was possible. Tito probably didn’t like feeling insecure, not knowing what the future would bring, any more than Duncan had at that age.
“I should have brought a lawn chair,” Jane remarked. “I’ll have to think of myself as a soccer mom. Snacks wouldn’t be a bad thing, would they?” She pursed her lips. “A book, maybe.”
She couldn’t seem to resist needling him. Duncan said sardonically, “I thought you were being paid to keep your eyes on the father/son bonding process.”
“I try to keep some distance when I do this kind of court-ordered supervision. I’m here, but not intruding on their time together. Fortunately, I’m really good at doing two things at once.” Her smile was like a glint of sunlight catching a gun sight, serving as the same kind of warning. “I’ve been known to do three or four things at a time. I’ve read that women tend to be better at that. Probably because we’re biologically programmed to watch the kids even while we’ve got dinner simmering on the fire and we’re hanging the laundry out on the bushes to dry. Men, apparently, have tunnel vision in comparison. The studies are interesting, don’t you think?”
“I can chew gum and walk at the same time, Ms. Brooks.”
“Do you?”
At his fulminating stare, she widened her eyes innocently. “Chew gum, I mean. I hardly ever see adults chewing on gum.”
What an unbelievably aggravating woman. “No,” he said. “I admit I don’t. I was speaking metaphorically.”
“Oh.” This smile was even sunnier. “And I had the loveliest picture of you in your uniform blowing a great big pink bubble.”
He actually wanted to laugh. Duncan managed to focus instead on the soccer players; at the very moment Hector swept his laughing son into a hug. Any desire to laugh died.
“I’m going to sit,” Jane announced, and lowered herself gracefully to the ground. She crossed her legs and bent to pluck blades of grass.
Duncan found himself wondering if she could do the splits. The way her knees relaxed open as she leaned forward made him suspect she could. Not many women in their late twenties or early thirties remained that flexible. Had she been a gymnast rather than a dancer?
He moved uncomfortably. He didn’t think he’d ever made love to a woman as limber as this one. He imagined lifting her legs over his shoulders as he…
Oh, hell. In self-defense, he walked away from her along the sideline, pacing almost to the end of the field before he turned and came back. She was watching him, he saw, although he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. By the time he reached her, she’d turned her head and appeared to have put him out of her mind as she stuck her two middle fingers in her mouth and whistled her approval of something Tito had done with the soccer ball. Damn it, even that was sexy. How many women could whistle like that?
Spending time with Jane was not a good idea, Duncan was forced to realize. Annoying as she was, he did want her. But he was a man who lived by the rules he’d set for himself, and one of them was to make sure to never get involved with a woman whom he’d have to keep seeing when they were done. Jane’s involvement with the court definitely put her on the other side of the line. But the alternative to spending time with her in the coming weeks was giving up on Tito, and he wasn’t prepared to do that.
He could move ten feet away and pretend she wasn’t there.
And look like a socially maladroit idiot, he thought ruefully.
With a sigh, he dropped to the ground a few feet from Jane and sat with one leg outstretched, the other knee bent.
“The kid’s not bad, is he?”
“No, and neither is his father. Hector was telling me that he kept playing at Monroe. He says he was on his village team when he was growing up. He was good, but not quite good enough to go professional, to his regret.”
“Tito and I have played more basketball than soccer.” Man, did that sound defensive. Like he didn’t have the guts to compete head-to-head with Hector. Angry with himself, Duncan continued, “I think maybe they’re spending more time on basketball in phys ed. Tito obviously felt lacking.”
She wrinkled her nose. “He’s awfully short.”
Duncan made a sound of agreement. “He’s taken to shooting baskets for hours every evening. He’s got determination, I’ll give him that.”
“It’s a good sign.”
“Yes.”
Without turning his head, he could feel her gaze. He was reluctant to meet it. Sitting this close, he didn’t like to think how he’d react to the rich, deep blue of her eyes.
“Why a dance shop?” he asked abruptly. “If you weren’t a dancer.”
She turned her head, began plucking grass again so that her shiny brown hair swung down to shield her face. Duncan waited patiently. It had to be a full minute before she said, “Because I wanted to be one.”
“Then why weren’t you?”
Jane straightened and tucked her hair behind her ear. If she’d been feeling something she didn’t want him to see, she’d hidden it now. “Not all kids have those kinds of opportunities. I doubt Tito’s sisters did, for example.”
Was she saying her parents hadn’t had the money to pay for classes? Duncan supposed that made sense. Those kind of extras were undeniably a luxury for a lot of families.
“By the time I was…free to do it on my own, I was too old for dance to be anything but a hobby.” There was a tinge of something that he couldn’t quite read in her voice. Regret? Or was it more acid? Bitterness? “I actually take classes now,” she admitted, and this time she sounded a little shy. “For fun. And for exercise, of course.”
“What kind of classes?”
“I started with ballet. Now I continue that at home. I have mirrors, a bar and mats. So I take other stuff. Jazz. Tap. Modern dance. Even belly dance.”
Duncan heard the air escape his throat. He really wished she hadn’t told him that.
“Although I’m not exactly the sultry type.” She gave a one-sided shrug. “I guess I’m too skinny. And, well, not what you’d call exotic. I’m more girl-next-door.”
“You?” He gave her an incredulous look. “I never had any girls next door that looked like you.”
She blinked. Her eyes really were beautiful, emphasized by long, thick lashes only slightly darker than her hair. Which meant she hadn’t had to use mascara.
“I… Thank you?” she said hesitantly. “If that was a compliment?”
“It was.” He had to clear his throat to relieve the gruffness.
“Oh. Well.” There was a pause before she murmured, “Who’d have thunk?”
Once again, he almost laughed. She’d had to ruin the touching moment between them.
“I’m full of surprises,” he agreed.
Her smile was merry and less…sharp than the earlier ones. “Yes, you are. So tell me, Captain MacLachlan, what do you do for fun?”
Fun. He had to think for a minute. How often did he do anything that he could call “fun”?
“I play basketball.” Suddenly he was smiling. “I gave Judge Lehman a bloody nose with my elbow in one of our last games of the season.”
Jane chuckled. “And you had the nerve to appear in his courtroom.”
“He repaid me with an elbow to the gut. I dropped to my knees retching.”
Her full-bodied laugh rang out.
“Like that image, do you?”
“I’m embarrassed to admit how much I do.”
He was still smiling, something he hadn’t expected to do in her company. She was irritating, all right, but also not as unlikable as he’d wanted to believe. Smart, edgy, amusing. He might enjoy spending time with her if he wasn’t so attracted to her. The combination was too threatening to a man who knew his limitations.
“Oh, it looks like they’re done.” She scrambled to her feet.
For an instant, Duncan had no idea what she was talking about. He was too busy taking in the sight of her long legs looking coltish even as she rose with the same grace she did everything. Skinny? No, she was willowy, slender, but definitely not skinny, which implied bony. Her curves were perfect, feminine.
Tito and Hector. That’s who she was talking about. Duncan’s head turned sharply and he saw the man and boy walking toward them. Tito had regained some reserve with his father, but not as much as when they arrived at the field. There was visible warmth between them, Duncan saw with narrowed eyes.
And he’d done a piss-poor job of observing them. He’d been too busy lusting after Tito’s Guardian ad Litem, the woman who’d decided a murderer was a fine and dandy father for a boy already flirting with trouble.
Damn, Duncan thought in shock. Maybe she was right. He was known for his intense focus. Maybe he couldn’t do two things at once.
CHAPTER FOUR
DUNCAN CALLED IN THE LATE afternoon a couple of days later to let Jane know he couldn’t make it to Hector and Tito’s second outing. She was disappointed, she knew, only because the whole thing was so ridiculously awkward. With Duncan there, her position felt less awkward. He was a distraction. Without him, she was left lurking like some kind of Peeping Jane.
Hector had taken Tito to a game arcade, which had the boy really excited. Hanging around the arcade, as noisy as it was, pretending she was interested in other people playing games while really keeping an eye on her targets, pretty much sucked as an evening’s entertainment. She so didn’t fit in. Plus, she’d been on her feet all day, and now for close to two additional hours, and she was beat and hungry and getting grouchy.
Finally she saw the two heading toward her. “You’re still here?” Hector said, when they reached her.
She knew darn well he’d been aware of her presence. “Of course I am,” she said with a smile that felt fake.
He rolled his eyes, letting her know what he thought. He appeared oblivious of the anxious look his son gave him. “We’re going for pizza now.”
“Where?”
He told her, then walked out with Tito. Technically the boy should ride in her car, not with his father, but she was willing to give them the three minutes or so it would take to get to the pizza parlor. She saw them get into a battered pickup truck, then jumped into her own car and followed them out of the parking lot. Her cell phone rang as she turned into the pizza place behind the pickup.
She groped for the phone.
“This is Duncan,” he said brusquely. “Is Tito still with his father?”
“Yes, we’re going out for pizza now.”
“I’ll join you. Where are you?”
She rolled her eyes and probably looked as adolescent as Hector had, but she was conscious of relief, too, as she told Duncan where to find them. She hadn’t been looking forward to sitting in a booth by herself. Maybe, she thought optimistically, Hector would invite her to join them. He’d already had time alone with Tito. If he wanted to impress her, he’d be a little friendlier.
But no. Father and son walked into the pizza parlor without even giving her the courtesy of a glance. She trudged after them. They had a spirited consultation and ordered, neither apparently interested in the salad bar. Then they headed for a booth, leaving her to order her own food.
Would Duncan be hungry? Would he want to share with her if he was? Who knew? She decided to be gracious and order a pizza large enough for both of them. If he didn’t want any, she’d take the leftovers home.
She’d gotten her salad and drink and plopped herself into the booth right next to Tito and Hector’s when she saw Duncan come in. He swept the room with a glance and homed in first on Tito and then her like a heat-seeking missile.
Jane waved him over. “I ordered a pizza. It’s got pretty much everything on it. If you want to share, you’re welcome. Anything else, you’re on your own.”
“Fair enough.” He went to the counter, and soon returned with a salad, as well, and a drink. He slid into the booth across from her.
Jane had decided to let him sit facing the other booth in hopes he wouldn’t be close enough to eavesdrop. She’d been trying, but was frustrated by the rapid-fire Spanish father and son were speaking.
Duncan was as intimidating as ever. Today he must have been wearing a suit, although he’d left the coat in the car and had pulled his tie loose and unbuttoned the top button on his white shirt, which was rumpled. She was a little surprised to see that he looked tired. His hair was disheveled and his eyes bloodshot. He let out a breath that was almost a sigh as he leaned back in the booth.
“Bad day?” she asked.
“Average to lousy.”
“Which part was lousy?”
His eyes met hers. “Do you really want to hear about my day?”
“We have to talk about something,” she pointed out.
He grunted, displaying his excellent male communication skills. “What are they talking about?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed, keeping her voice low. “Well, I’m getting the gist of it, but they’re talking fast.”
“In Spanish,” he realized.
“Yes.”
“You speak it.”
“Yes, but not well enough to keep up when somebody is chattering away at full speed.”
His eyes narrowed. “Which makes you a lousy chaperone.”
“There’s no requirement that I have to hear every word they exchange.”
With clear disapproval, Duncan said, “He shouldn’t be talking to Tito in Spanish. He needs to improve his English.”
Jane sympathized, but felt compelled to argue. “Spanish is their native language.”
“Which Tito can’t use in school.”
Suddenly tired herself, Jane pushed her half-eaten salad away. “Should I turn around and demand they switch languages so we can understand them?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
She studied him in fascination. “You’re grinding your teeth. That can’t be good for you.”
He quit grinding and clenched instead. Strong muscles flexed in his jaw. Finally he set down his fork. “Thank you for pointing out the obvious to me.”
Jane smiled. “I take it I’m not the first.”
“No.”
“Oh, well. I guess we all need a bad habit.”
His expression relaxed and she thought she saw a glint of humor in his eyes. “What’s yours?”
“Oh, I’m sure I have dozens.” But did she want to admit any of them to Police Captain MacLachlan? “Ice cream.”
One of those fascinating half smiles curved his mouth. “In large quantity?”
“When I’m in a bad mood, a pint of mint chocolate chip makes me feel way better.”
“Since it’s obviously not going to your hips, that doesn’t sound like a bad habit. Only a habit.”
“I suck on my hair.”
He stifled a laugh. She loved what that did to his face. “You what?”
Oh, why had she told him? Resigned, she lifted the hank, a little bit stiff and clumped together, that provided her with comfort. As a kid, it had been the tail end of her braid.
The laugh burst out of him, low and deep. “Now that I have to see.”
“I only do it when I’m by myself,” she said with fraying dignity.
“That’s worse than grinding your teeth.”
“No, it isn’t. I’m, well, soothing myself. It’s like cracking your knuckles or nibbling on your fingernails. It’s a nervous habit. I’m not suppressing an overflow of anger or hostility like you are.” So there.
“If you had my job, you too might have some hostility that needs suppressing.” Apparently unperturbed, he ate hungrily.
A number was called and Tito hopped up.
Duncan laid down his fork and said, “Hey, kid.”
Tito looked embarrassed. “Hola, I mean hi.”
Jane was aware that, behind her, Hector had turned to watch his son.
“Your pizza ready?” Duncan asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.” All amusement had left the wintry gray eyes when they apparently met Hector’s over Jane’s shoulder. “I hope ours will be soon. I’m starved.”