Jill Shalvis - The Detective’s Undoing

Delia was a tall woman, but he was much taller, so that her gaze fell directly on his wide, generous mouth, his square jaw, which at this moment was hard with anger.

Anger for her, she realized with some surprise and an odd little shiver.

“I don’t know if your father knew who you were,” he said, his tone intense. “Or even if he was Constance’s son Ethan Freeman, but I swear we’ll find out. For once and for all, you’ll know your past. You won’t have to wonder anymore.”

It would be a double-edged sword, the knowing. Her past would no longer be a mystery. And if her father turned out to be the no-good drifter, liar, user, Ethan Freeman, then she would have gotten what she needed-the inheritance necessary to get Jacob.

She’d know her own gene pool-and the fact she’d come from two complete losers.

“Are you sure?” he whispered. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.”

In Cade’s opinion, Los Angeles was a chameleon. Whatever one desired, it could be had, whether it was fun or serious, whether you were rich or poor.

A place to succeed or merely survive.

The heat was oppressive, unusually heavy and sticky. They drove to a seedy subdivision, long past its prime.

Delia looked shocked when he pulled up to a run-down apartment complex with neglected palm trees drooping in front of a wrought-iron gate half-fallen down.

“My mother lived here? Are you sure?”

“It’s her last known address, according to her D.M.V. records.” He hated knowing he was destroying whatever positive memories Delia had managed to retain, but to learn the truth about her father, it had to be done. “It’s been over twenty years. Things change.”

“Yes.”

She looked out of place as she got out of the car: tall, willowy, coolly beautiful. She wore a fitted sundress the color of a ripe peach, which looked elegant and sophisticated. Hard to imagine her fitting into this life, but Cade knew that was exactly what would have happened if her mother hadn’t taken her to the foster home.

She would have grown up here.

He wondered if Delia, staring at the building with an unreadable expression on her face, was thinking the same thing.

Then he remembered he wasn’t supposed to care what the hell she thought. “Come on,” he said gruffly, and led the way. “Let’s go get your answers.”

The main door was unlocked. They entered and moved down the hall. When they knocked on the door, a woman answered. Her clothes were rumpled, her hair disheveled. On her face was at least day-old makeup. That hard prematurely aged face twisted into a frown at the sight of them. “What do you want?” she asked.

“Dottie?” Cade gave her a smile.

“Yeah.” She looked him over. “So?”

“Cade McKnight. I spoke with you on the phone regarding Evelyn Scanlon.”

Dottie glanced at Delia, then did a comical double take. “Lord, girl, you look just like your momma.”

Delia didn’t so much as blink, not the cool unflappable Delia, but Cade knew that bit of news had rocked her to the core.

“It’s like going back in time,” Dottie said, awed, shaking her head. “Just like her.”

“Can we ask you some questions?”

Dottie’s gaze slid back to Cade. “You a cop?”

“No, ma’am, a private investigator. Like I told you, we’re trying to locate Ms. Scanlon’s father.”

Dottie snorted indelicately. “Good luck.”

Delia broke her silence. “You knew him?”

“No one knew him.”

“Are you certain?”

“As certain as I am that I’m standing here wasting my time. He was a selfish pig. What do you want to know about him for?”

“Just for…me,” Delia said. “Thank you for your help.” Her voice was steady. Totally in control.

Cade knew a lot about hiding feelings. When Lisa and Tommy had first died, he’d hidden everything, not just from others, but from himself. All sadness, all grief, all fury at the injustice of it, everything. It had nearly destroyed him. Before he’d realized it, he was dead inside. A bad thing for an attorney, and a high-powered one at that. He’d walked away from his cases, had turned away from his family and friends. He’d not been satisfied until nothing of his former life remained. Now, years later, he didn’t bother to hide his feelings anymore. He didn’t have to. He hardly had any.

Or he hadn’t, until Delia. Beautiful stoic hurting Delia. So cool, so calm. He wondered how long she could sustain it. She’d been doing this for what…over twenty years now? When did she allow herself to break? To need someone?

Dammit, she was just a case to him. Nothing more.

As soon as he was done here, he was leaving, going back to his unfeeling self. He’d start with New York. He needed the big city, needed to get lost in it. He had another case with a lead that led there, so he would enjoy himself and take his time.

After that, he thought Florida might suit him.

He’d have to check on Constance’s inheritance and the ranch, but he could do that by phone, as well as any follow-up required.

As soon as this business was finished. “On the phone,” he said, “you hinted you might be able to give us some insight as to Delia’s father’s whereabouts.”

“Did I?” Dottie straightened away from the door and eyed their clothing with disdain. “Seems anyone that dresses as fancy as you two should be able to pay for whatever they want.”

Cade wasn’t wearing anything other than casual khaki pants and a tucked-in polo shirt, but he was clean and neat and, he supposed, far cleaner and neater than Dottie. Combined with Delia’s unmistakable presence, which she would have exuded even in a potato sack, he could see why Dottie felt they’d come from a different world.

With an outward smile and an inward sigh, he pulled out his wallet.

Dottie brightened considerably. “That’s right,” she said, rubbing her palms on her thighs, nearly drooling in the process. “Make me an offer.”

“Cade…”

Cade shook his head at Delia and offered Dottie several bills. She stuffed them down her top and smiled warmly. “What exactly was it you wanted to know?”

“For starters, his name,” Cade said. “Delia’s birth certificate doesn’t list him.”

“A name doesn’t mean anything.”

“It would be a start,” Cade said patiently.

“I’m not certain I can remember.” Dottie smiled, crossed her arms.

Cade stared at her, then took out his wallet once more and handed her another bill.

“Cade…”

Again he shook his head, holding eye contact with Dottie. Unfortunately he knew the type. Only money, and maybe intimidation, could reach her.

“I think it was…Eddie,” she said. “Eddie something. Eddie Kitze?”

She spelled it for him, and Cade wrote it down. “He said he was a cop. With which department?”

“Never said.”

“Never?”

“Just said so, didn’t I?”

“Tell us about him.”

Dottie rolled her eyes, popped her gum. “Delia’s mother was only staying here with friends on and off-she didn’t live here. She had a rich daddy, but he was real strict, always kept her on a short leash that she was forever tugging at, you know?”

“You mean she’d run away?”

“No, she wasn’t stupid. She snuck out. She enjoyed slumming around.”

“Slumming?” Delia repeated, her voice still perfectly even, so much so that Cade narrowed his eyes at her.

It wasn’t natural to hide all that emotion.

“Slumming,” Dottie said again. “She liked fast cars and faster men. This Eddie, he’d led her to believe he was a real somebody, but when she got herself knocked up, he took off. Never saw him again.”

From inside the apartment, a rough male voice called out Dottie’s name.