Debra Salonen - His Daddy's Eyes

She glanced from Bo to Ren. “Umm…yes.”

Ren regretted causing her added disquiet. “My friend’s not a big reader,” he said, picking up a book. “I can’t tell you how great it is that you’ve been such a positive influence on him.”

One slender brow lifted. “Bo may not read a lot, but he must like books. He’s been here pretty often.”

“Oh?” Ren asked.

She nodded. “In fact, the first time he came in was to ask about a rare book for a friend.” She clapped her hand over her lips, a blush claiming her cheeks. “This is your friend, isn’t it. The rare book collector. I’ve ruined the surprise, haven’t I?”

Bo seemed momentarily taken aback, but he recovered. “Actually, this is that friend, but since I’m not sure he deserves a Christmas gift this year, don’t lose any sleep over it, okay?”

She was obviously puzzled by Bo’s response, but chose not to question him. Instead, she smiled. “My sister used to tell me I was notorious for speaking before my brain could catch up with my mouth.”

The word sister caught Ren by surprise, and he almost missed a step as he followed her to the counter. Now would be the perfect time to segue into that subject, but he found himself mute. So, apparently, was his private investigator.

While Bo paid for his new book, Ren studied the child sleeping so peacefully in the playpen behind Sara’s desk. The little boy had turned slightly, curled protectively around a stuffed elephant he’d somehow found in his sleep. This image, as much as the one of Sara rocking the baby, wrapped itself around Ren’s heart and squeezed.

“What’s the baby’s name?” he asked, not having known he was going to.

“Brady,” Sara answered guilelessly.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. Ren, who was studying her face, saw something that had been missing from her photographs, even the ones from Sunday afternoon. A luminous quality that enhanced Sara Carsten’s quiet beauty.

“Brady,” he repeated. “That’s…different.”

She flashed him a grin that made him blink. “You’re very diplomatic. Of course, that probably comes with the job. My sister, Brady’s mother, had the name picked out even before she knew she was having a boy, but she could never decide on a middle name.”

The duplicity of his inquiry made his throat dry and his jaw ache. “You’re his aunt,” he said, as if not framing it as a question could absolve the guilt he was going to feel if he took this inquiry forward. Since Armory, his lawyer, wasn’t due back from Hawaii until tomorrow night, Ren had put off formulating a legal strategy.

Her lovely face changed. In sorrow it became vulnerable. “My sister died,” Sara said simply. “She was killed in an accident, but she left me Brady.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. Hazel, not temptress-green, but beautiful nonetheless. And I thought she was plain.

When she looked down to count Bo’s change, Bo shot Ren a dark look. It hadn’t been easy convincing Bo to stay on the job, but Ren’s promise to approach the matter slowly had helped. His impulsive decision tonight might have jeopardized things.

“Well, there you go,” she said, tucking the book in a sack. “Thanks, Bo. I’m glad you came. And it was…um, interesting talking with you…”

“Ren Bishop,” he added. “It’s Lawrence, actually, but only my mother calls me that.”

He held out his hand, and she took it, just a trifle reluctantly. Her hand was small, her grip slightly reserved. “Sara Carsten,” she said, dropping his hand to reach for a card from a plastic basket beside the cash register. Her blush told him she’d used that as an excuse not to touch him any longer.

Ren took the card she offered. “I don’t carry first editions,” she said. “But I might be able to help if you tell me what you’re looking for.”

Ren was within a heartbeat of telling her the whole sordid story when the sound of men’s voices indicated the readers’ group was over. “We gotta go,” Bo said, starting away.

As Ren followed his friend out of the store, he glanced back once and was surprised to find Sara’s gaze still on him. She had a puzzled expression on her face. He lifted his hand to wave goodbye, but Bo grabbed his arm in one plate-sized fist and dragged him bodily out the door.

“You bastard,” Bo muttered, stalking off down the sidewalk. “There’s a right way and a wrong way to do this.”

Downtown’s daytime hustle and bustle had given way to an empty-theater kind of quiet. Miniature lights peeked through the new-growth foliage of the well-pruned trees. A gold-hued street lamp spotlighted Ren’s Lexus while ignoring Bo’s Mazda one space ahead of it. The two cars seemed a metaphor for the contrast between their owners.

Ren stopped beside the Mazda. “This wasn’t planned, Bo. It probably wasn’t smart. But I needed to see him.” I held him—the child that might be my child.

Suddenly Ren’s knees felt disconnected from his body. He reached out to steady himself on the blistered hood of the car. “Is there a bar around here? I really could use a drink.”

Ren’s response seemed to take some of the heat out of Bo’s anger. “Around the corner,” he muttered, leading the way.

Bo didn’t speak again until they were seated at a small table. After the waitress delivered a light beer and a cola, Bo said, “Okay, suppose you explain to me what happened tonight. I thought I was the inside guy, and you were going to let the suits make contact when we all decided the time was right.”

Ren took a long draw on his beer. “I was in my office looking at the pictures…the ones you took Sunday.” He paused, knowing there was no way to explain the sense of urgency that had been building in him ever since Bo had delivered the color photos of Sara and the child. Yes, he saw a resemblance in some of the shots, but this need to connect went deeper than that.

He shrugged. “It had to happen sometime, right?”

Bo took a sip of cola. “This means you’re going forward with the paternity suit, doesn’t it?”

Ren couldn’t meet Bo’s gaze. He didn’t want his friend to guess the truth: that deep down, Ren wanted the child to be his. He needed the child to be his. As much as he loved Eve, Ren knew her career was her primary focus. It might be years before she was ready to have children, if ever. Ren was ready for fatherhood now.

“Do I have any choice, Bo? Would you walk away? Live the rest of your life wondering?”

Bo looked ready to argue, but in the end shook his head. “I guess not, but what about Sara?”

Ren’s heart lifted, then fell oddly. He hadn’t expected to like her, but he did.

“She’s a good person and a wonderful mother,” Bo said. “She doesn’t deserve what this is going to do to her. It’s bound to get messy. If she’s smart, she’ll scream bloody murder and hire some media shark like Steve Hamlin to make you squirm. Even if you ultimately win, you’ll be scarred for life.”

Ren took another swallow of beer. Bo’s prediction threw him, but he pretended to shrug it off. “I wouldn’t blame her for going on the offensive. She obviously loves the child, and I saw what mentioning her sister did to her.” Ren’s voice faltered; Sara’s unshed tears had touched him deeply. “I don’t want to hurt her, Bo, but I have to know. What if he’s my kid?”

Ren didn’t really expect Bo to understand. Bo’s relationship with his own father was practically nonexistent. Ren doubted they’d exchanged more than a dozen words in the past year.

“Yeah, I get it. My old man may be a well-dressed rat, but I know he’d give his last dime to help me out,” Bo said, surprising Ren with his insight.

Before Ren could respond, a voice said, “Don’t tell me you actually have a friend.”

To Ren’s surprise, a woman in tight purple leggings and a blousy shirt pulled a chair from a neighboring table and straddled it, dropping her chin to the arched metal back. Her unsteady gaze flicked from Ren to Bo.

Bo groaned. “Go away, girl. Didn’t you give me enough trouble earlier?”

“That’s why I came over. To apologize.” Her words were slightly slurred.

“Apologize for breaking my balls for nothing?”

Her eyelashes fluttered coquettishly. “Did I have my hand on your balls? I must have missed that.”

This has to be one of the hookers. Claudie? And she’s been drinking.

She turned her attention to Ren. “Oh, my, aren’t you hunky—”

“You’re off duty tonight, remember?” Bo barked.

“Working girls never pass up an opportunity to…work.”

A sad little smile crossed her lips, and Ren was reminded of Sara’s words. How can you know the person behind the crime? If Claudie were brought before him, what would he see?

“Not tonight, Claudie. Besides, he’s taken,” Bo told her.

“You could still introduce us. I don’t bite. Well, I do, but it costs extra.”

Ren put out his hand. “Ren Bishop.”

“Claudine St. James. My friends call me Claudie,” she said, giving him a suggestive look that came off totally fake. Ren decided he liked her pluckiness.

Bo coughed. “So what’s the apology for, Claudie?”

She drew herself up fairly straight and said solemnly, “I told Keneesha what I told you, and she called me a dumb f—person. She said Sara would never forgive me if she found out, and I’d better tell you myself or she would.”

Ren couldn’t keep from asking. “Told him what?”

She shot him a poisonous look. “This is private. Just between the cookbook man ’n me.”

“It’s okay. Just say what you want to say.” Bo brushed her arm with his fingertips.

Her automatic flinch made Ren’s stomach clench. Men probably weren’t very nice to her. He had heard his fair share of horror stories in the last two years; hers was probably no different.

“I lied,” she said soberly—her intense scowl obviously a ruse to keep tears at bay. “Sara’s not gay. I made that up.”

“Hell, I knew that,” Bo said gruffly. “I never believed you for a minute. You’re a terrible liar.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. And when you’re that bad of a liar, it’s like it never happened, so just forget it.” Bo rose and motioned for Ren to follow.

She stood, catching the edge of the table as if her equilibrium had been shaken. “You know, cookbook man, you’re not that bad, after all.”

“Cookbook man?” Ren asked, as they exited the bar. He inhaled deeply, the brisk delta breeze a welcome change from the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke.

Bo growled. “When I was taking your damn pictures the first time, the best view was from the cookbook aisle.”

Ren studied his friend in the light from the neon Budweiser sign. Bo was a successful investigator who traveled all over the world, but in his private life he was a recluse who favored fishing and satellite TV over dating. Obviously, these women had somehow touched him. Ren didn’t question his friend’s loyalty, but he wondered if his decision to pursue the paternity issue would change their friendship.

They walked in silence. Ren used his remote to unlock his car. The double beep-beep pierced the quiet. “Bo, this isn’t malicious,” he said somberly. “I wish there were some other way, but I sure as hell don’t know what it is.”

Bo looked skyward. “Yeah, I know.”

Ren waited a minute, then asked, “Do you have that background information on Sara yet? I’d like to read it before I see Armory on Friday morning.”

Bo unlocked his car the old-fashioned way. The door gave an unhappy groan when he opened it. “It’s at home. I wasn’t expecting your surprise appearance tonight, remember?”