“Sorry, Abby,” Megan said, once we were halfway to the foyer. “But I worry the more she sees you, the more likely she is to ask questions about our friendship.”
Travis squeezed Megan’s shoulder as we walked. “Meg, you know she’s bound to find out.”
“But not now,” Megan said. “I don’t know what she’d do if she found out right now.”
We passed a stripped-clean dining room and stopped in the foyer. Megan and I looked up at Travis. Great-looking guy, I thought. He was clean shaven with deep brown eyes and bed-head hair. But the way he stared at Megan revealed the most about him. I saw a vulnerability in his expression, the kind only love creates.
Travis placed his palm on Megan’s cheek. “You worry so much about everyone else. You need to take care of yourself.”
“He’s right, Megan,” I said. “I’m thinking I should put the investigation on hold. It’s too much to deal with right now.”
“No, it’s not,” Megan said, all her stubbornness showing in her jutting chin. “I’ll keep my mother focused these next few days, and that will help us both. Meanwhile, you do what you can. Do you need more money? I know Mr. Molina gets a percentage, so—”
“Slow down.” I took her hand between both of mine. “You’re talking fast enough to confuse God.”
Travis smiled. “Wait until she really gets going.”
She punched his arm playfully. “Shut up, you.”
He bent and gave her a quick kiss. “I will when you do.”
She grinned, and then it was as if she decided she had no right to be happy even for a second. Her eyes filled and Travis read her distress instantly and brought her to him, pressed her head to his heart.
“I do need one thing if you’re certain you want me to continue the job,” I said.
Megan pulled away from Travis and produced a crumpled tissue from her jeans pocket. She wiped under her eyes and said, “Sure.”
“Can I trouble you for the original copy of your birth certificate?”
Her brow furrowed. “But you scanned it. I saw you.”
“Humor me. I need the state-issued one.”
She cocked her head. “Okay.” She hurried through the foyer and up the right-hand staircase.
When she was gone, Travis said, “Wish she’d do as you suggested and put this mother search on the back burner.”
“Have you known all along about Megan’s adoption hunt?” I asked.
“Nope. She told me Friday night after I asked her why she picked you to help out. I mean, no one, including me, knew about your friendship.”
“I think Megan wanted me to meet the family.”
He smiled. “You got that right. She hoped you’d see exactly why she wanted to find her mother. She and her father were pretty close, but it’s been hard for her with the others. She rarely sees her cousins, and Sylvia has a big heart but—”
“I did notice a distance between Megan and Sylvia,” I said.
“Megan denies it, but I think that’s because she always felt guilty for favoring her dad over her mother. Megan was a daddy’s girl, and though she and James never shared blood, she’s as tough as him underneath that beautiful skin.”
I nodded. “She needs that strength now. A murder investigation is not like on television, over in an hour. It will take its toll.”
We turned at the sound of a door closing off the balcony and seconds later Megan appeared, rushed down the stairs, and handed me an envelope.
“Here it is,” she said. “And I’ll call you once we have all this funeral and legal stuff under control.” Her eyes still glistened with tears. “I hope you don’t think I was rude dragging you out of the kitchen. I am so grateful for—”
I pulled her close and hugged her. “No need for explanations. Call me anytime. I mean that.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
Travis put a protective arm around her as I opened the door and left.
I picked up a Subway sandwich on my way home and then ate in front of the television. I spent the rest of the evening in the living room unpacking boxes of knickknacks and pictures while the complete Beatles collection provided musical accompaniment. I used the remote to skip my least favorite song, the one about how all you need is love. There are lies and there are damn lies. That song was a damn lie.
Diva and I had just settled into bed around eleven when I heard Jeff’s truck pull into the driveway. I tensed. Things had shifted between us as they inevitably do in relationships, my jealousy having created the tipping point. My fault. How I hated when things were my fault.
So make this right, idiot. Apologize for being such a twit on the way home yesterday.
I lifted the quilt and sat, slipped my feet into my slippers, then couldn’t seem to move. I leaned forward, palms over my face, my heart beating double time. I took a few deep breaths to get control of my emotions. How dumb is this, Abby? You’re thirty years old.... You’ve been married before, and yet you’re acting like—
“Hi,” Jeff said from the bedroom doorway.
I raised my head, met his gaze. He had loosened his burgundy tie and held his tweed sports jacket over his shoulder.
“Hi,” I said quietly.
“Can we talk?” he said.
Now those are words guaranteed to make any woman go liquid, especially coming from a guy who could make me melt just by licking his lips. I kicked off the slippers, sat crossed-legged on the bed, and patted the space next to me. “Do you even know what we need to talk about?”
“No, but I sure as hell hope to find out.” He tossed the jacket on the chair in the corner, carefully removed his gun and badge and placed them on the tall dresser. After plumping a pillow against the head-board, he sat down beside me. “What’s got you so upset?”
“You and your damn girlfriend,” I said.
“My girlfriend? I think that’s you, last time I checked.”
“You’ve slept with her, haven’t you?”
We both looked straight ahead and a long silence followed.
“That obvious, huh?” he finally said.
“I can read you with one eye tied behind my back,” I said.
“You’re scary.”
“No. I’m a good detective.”
“So you are. Anyway, it was a long time ago. Ten years. Big mistake. Back then all that mattered to me was what a girl looked like. I’d just started in Homicide and though lots of guys turn to booze after they’ve worked a year of scenes, I turned to women. I met Quinn through her dad—he was chief of police in Seacliff and—”
“I know that, too.”
“That I’d worked with her dad?”
“No. Knew he was police chief. Go on.”
“Did you research Quinn on the Internet or something?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you how I found out about him later. Right now, we have more important stuff to discuss.”
“Okay.” He took a deep breath and reached for the gum in his shirt pocket. He had two sticks of Big Red working before he went on. “I met her when I gave some expert help on a manslaughter case in Seacliff. Quinn’s father told me his daughter wanted to get into the academy, asked me if I could pull some strings.”
“And then pretty soon you were pulling her strings,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s about right.”
“I can understand your interest. She’s... very attractive.”
“On the outside. And like I said, back then that’s all that mattered. Anyway, I broke it off after a couple months. She was too intense for me, not to mention too young.”
“You broke it off? How did that go over?”
“Not so good.” He chewed his gum faster. “Let’s say she didn’t let go easily.”
“You two seemed to have forgotten about all that from what I saw yesterday.”
“It’s old business, Abby,” he said. “She has a job to do and isn’t afraid to ask for help, which means she’s matured.”
“I’m not afraid to ask for help, either. But when I asked what you discussed with her, you wouldn’t tell me.”
He moved in front of me, mirrored my cross-legged position, now chewing far more languidly. “So this isn’t just about Abby being jealous. This is about Abby’s insatiable need to know everything and maybe dip her toes in some dangerous water.”