Jill Shalvis - Aussie Rules

A ghost of a smile curved his lips as she appeared at his side. “Hey.”

“I have a question.”

“About…?”

He expected her to ask about Sally, about Eddie. About the future. Anything other than what she did ask.

“About your mother,” she said softly.

He felt himself tense. “What about her?”

“You’re…not close.”

He choked out a laugh and turned back to the computer screen, speaking the understatement of the century. “No. Not close.”

“Yeah.” She nodded. Kicked at the floor. Shoved her hands farther into her pockets.

And didn’t go away.

Finally, he sighed and leaned back. “What?”

“I’m not close to my mother, either.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re both so screwed up.”

“She left you.”

It wasn’t worded as a question, but it was definitely a fishing expedition. “No. Eddie took me.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t want to. But she was staring at him, he could feel it. He played on the computer for a moment, but then she put her hands on his chair and turned him to face her, so he saw the exact second she got it. “She hurt you,” she breathed. “But not by leaving. She physically hurt you. Oh, Bo.”

At the tone, at the fucking pity, he surged out of the chair, and stalked to the window.

“Bo-”

“Don’t,” he said, staring hard at a Douglas in maintenance. God, don’t. “It was a long time ago.” Then, because he was an idiot, he looked at her.

Her heart sat in her eyes, a big welling of sorrow and empathy, making him sorry he’d said a word. “Why didn’t Eddie take you sooner-”

“They separated before I was even born.” He lifted his shoulder again. “She moved around, making it difficult for him to find us unless she needed money. Finally, she showed her hand, and by that I mean put bruises on me where they could be seen, and he got me. End of story.”

“And you were eight?”

“Yeah.”

“Bo.”

She seemed shaken and again he turned away.

“Look, I’m really busy here-”

As if to prove it, Char radioed that he had a call. It was a customer and, his back to Mel, he stretched the phone conversation out, until finally, he heard her boots move away.

Leaving him alone, extremely alone.

Just as he’d wanted.

He waited to make sure everyone had left before going to the storage hangar. As he had before, he helped himself to the boxes there, all old records. The next time he looked up, it was dark outside. There was only one more row of boxes to check, and he shifted those aside so tomorrow night he could remember where he left off, and then stared down at a door in the floor he’d just revealed.

A basement storage area. The trap door was locked. It took him five long moments to run to maintenance and find a crowbar, then five more to pry open the door.

Inside it was pitch black.

Yet another five minutes was lost finding a flashlight, but then he was back. He climbed down the ladder and shined his light over…more boxes.

Shit. He reached for the first one, dated the year he’d first come here, and memories rose up and gripped him by the throat.

His father telling him how much he was going to love the States. How he’d fallen for Sally, and that Bo would, too. How they were all going to be so happy. Together.

Bo had believed it, too. He hadn’t suspected a damn thing. Sally had gotten past his eighteen-year-old radar, and that still burned.

God, he missed Eddie, so damned much. With a sigh, he opened the box-and hit jackpot: old accounting journals undoubtedly dating from the days when records had been kept by hand. Pages of bank statements, receipts, bills…and an unmarked general ledger, which Bo would be willing to bet his last dollar didn’t belong with the “official” books of North Beach, because those books were upstairs. He’d seen them.

Two sets of books had been kept.

And possibly still were. Not uncommon, certainly, but what intrigued him most was the list of large deposits.

Deposits unaccounted for, no explanation, not matched to any customer, adding up to close to a million dollars.

A million dollars. Staggering, really. Where had the money come from? Where had it gone? And the biggie-did Mel know?

Given that the dates of the deposits ran from before Sally had met Bo’s father until right up until the time of Eddie’s death, the money could have come from anywhere, but Bo would bet his suddenly highly coveted deed to North Beach that Sally had conned it from someone else’s pocket.

Some of it Eddie’s.

What would Mel say? Would she look at the records, and still stand up for Sally? Or would she begin to see that maybe things weren’t always as they seemed?

That people weren’t always who they seemed?

He gathered some of his find and stepped outside the hangar, onto the tarmac. He eyed Mel’s Cessna, the Cessna she worked so hard to buy on her own, and wondered why he cared what she thought. Wondered, even as he was afraid he knew the answer.

But he hadn’t come here to the States for her. He’d come to claim back what was rightfully his father’s. His now. And as Mel’s plans were in the way of that, he’d be smart to steer clear of her.

Yeah.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t always smart…

Mel had a simple plan for the evening-relaxation. After a two-mile run on the beach, she called for Chinese to be delivered in an hour, then stripped, stepped into her bathtub, and let out a long sigh. Ah, the power of hot, hot water and bubble bath. She shampooed her hair, added a desperately needed ten-minute deep conditioner, then stuffed her hair beneath a shower cap. She lathered up a leg to shave, and the doorbell rang.

Naturally.

The Chinese food was early. Grumbling, she got out of the tub with one leg still lathered, wrapped her torso in a towel and went to the door. “Thanks,” she said as she pulled the door open a crack, then froze.

Not Chinese.

Bo stood there in loose black jeans and a snug black T-shirt, looking darker than sin and just as tempting, a fat file tucked beneath one arm, a look on his face that…Well, she couldn’t miss the temper, but she could have resisted it. But she couldn’t miss or resist the sadness.

She reminded herself that she didn’t care. She even tried to shut the door on him but as she already knew, he had the reflexes of a cat, and he simply reached out and slapped a hand on the wood. With heart-stopping trouble in his gaze, he looked her over. “Is it Halloween?”

“What?”

He touched the cap on her head and she remembered. Naked except for her towel and the lovely plastic shower cap on her head.

“Sexy,” he said.

She shifted her gaze to the ceiling. Dear God, are you listening? I know it’s been awhile, but if you could open up a huge hole and swallow me up, I’d appreciate it.

But no big hole gobbled her up. “I’m conditioning my hair.”

“Ah,” he said with a little smile.

Shaving gel plopped from her unshaved leg to the ground.

Bo raised a brow.

“And I’m shaving,” she said through her teeth. “Actually, I’m bathing, so if you’ll-”

He continued to hold the door open, looking her over slowly, making her squirm. Why was it that this man always managed to see her at her most absolute worst?

“You should see your face,” he said, amused.

Yep, this was how she looked while planning murder. His.

“Let me in, darlin’.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What if I said I have something you’re going to want to see?”

“There is nothing of yours I want to see.”

That had his grin spreading, the rat fink bastard. “You are such a liar.”

Unfortunately true. She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but his smile had faded, and there was something about his expression now, an utter solemnity, a knowledge…