Debra Salonen - His Daddy's Eyes

“You have some information, don’t you?” Ren asked, feeling as if he were swimming in shark-infested waters.

Bo shifted positions, hunching forward to rest his elbows on his knees so he could face Ren eye-to-eye. Ren found the posture ominous.

“You found Jewel.” Ren’s comment was a statement, not a question.

Bo nodded.

“Where?”

“Here.”

Damn. A worst-case scenario. He and Bo had discussed this possibility from day one. As long as Jewel lived somewhere outside the Sacramento area, Ren wouldn’t feel any need to contact her. He could stay out of her life, as—so far—she’d stayed out of his.

But now that option was gone. This was a town that lived and breathed political scandal. What would happen to Ren’s career if Jewel decided to embarrass—or even blackmail—him? His mother’s hopes and dreams would be destroyed. Babe would kill him if she found out. And Eve…Ren didn’t dare think what his future bride would do to him. But he could be sure that whatever form her retaliation took, it would probably wind up on the six o’clock report. Eve Masterson was the popular anchor of the Channel 8 news team.

Bo rapped his knuckles on Ren’s desk. “Don’t get too far ahead of me on this, old friend. That’s only part of the news.”

Ren sat back and took a deep breath. His friend knew him well. “So tell me.” Ren was pleased his voice didn’t betray the fierce humming in his chest.

“Well, I’ve got bad news, and even worse news. Which do you want first?”

“Cut the crap, Lester, just tell me.”

Bo’s wiry brows waggled, but his smile faded as he took a folded piece of paper from the breast pocket of his wrinkled cotton shirt. He slowly opened it. “First off, the name she gave you—Jewel—was pretty close. Does the name Julia Noelle Carsten ring a bell?”

Ren’s heart thudded against his ribs. Jewel had a full name. His gorgeous sex goddess, his first-and-only one-night stand, had a name. Julia. Such a pretty, innocent name for someone with a body like hers.

“Julia Carsten,” Ren repeated aloud. He searched his memory, which included a long list of miscreants. “Nope. Never heard of her.”

Bo smoothed the paper across one knee, out of Ren’s line of sight. “Her married name was Hovant,” he added casually.

“Married?” Ren croaked, lurching to his feet. His chair crashed backward into the bookcase behind his desk.

Of course. Why else would she disappear without so much as a word? Ren retrieved his chair and sat down, feeling both relieved—Jewel couldn’t very well resort to blackmail when her own reputation was at risk—and yet, let down.

Ren looked at Bo. The man who’d just simplified Ren’s life and eased his guilty conscience wasn’t looking very pleased about it.

“Oh, God,” Ren groaned. “What else?”

“She’s dead.”

An invisible weight of some extraordinary measure pressed on Ren’s chest making it impossible to draw a breath.

“She can’t be dead. She’s too young.” Even as he said the words, Ren knew they made no sense.

Bo passed him the paper, which Ren saw was a copy of an obituary. Four inches of tiny print. A four-inch lifetime.

“How?” he asked hoarsely, trying to comprehend the unthinkable.

Bo cleared his throat. Ren felt himself tensing.

“The inquest called it—”

“Inquest? Why was there an inquest?” Ren asked sharply.

“Fancy speedboat. Too much power, not enough lake. Rammed an exposed rock and burst into flames—”

Ren shuddered at the graphic image.

“—the inquest ruled it an accident, but the investigating officer told me Dr. Hovant was known for his temper. Some people think he might have let that temper run away with him.”

“Murder-suicide?” Ren asked, almost choking on the words.

“Something like that, but no way to prove it.”

Ren tried to digest the information, but it wouldn’t stay down. “Her husband was a doctor? What kind?” he asked, as if it mattered.

Bo shrugged. “A specialist with a whole bunch of letters after his name. Julia had been a nurse before she became Mrs. Hovant.”

Questions percolated in Ren’s head like toxic runoff, but Bo didn’t give him time to sort through them.

“It happened last July. I asked around the marina. Everybody remembered the crash. One guy said the boat blew up like a grenade.” Bo shook his head. “You could ask your fiancée. They probably have it on tape. The media eats up this kind of thing.”

As usual, Bo didn’t bother hiding his disdain for Eve or her job, but Ren ignored the jibe. “Why do they think it was intentional?”

Bo shrugged. “I guess that’s what happens when you air your dirty laundry in public. According to my source, the Hovants were known to get into shouting matches. Seems their marriage had been rocky for the past few years—which, I guess, might explain why Jewel-slash-Julia did what she did with you.”

“This obituary says she was survived by her son, Brady. Stepson, right?” Ren asked, looking up. “The woman I made love to was nobody’s mother.”

His comment seemed to startle Bo, who frowned and tugged a small wire notebook from his hip pocket. After flipping through half-a-dozen pages, he looked up. “You’re right. She didn’t have the kid when you were together. He was born later.”

Ren froze. “How much later?”

Bo fumbled with the notepad. “October? November?”

Ren and Julia’s tryst had taken place the Friday after Valentine’s Day. February, March, April…he mentally counted. “I repeat—how much later?”

Bo flipped pages. “Bingo! Brady Hovant. No middle name. Born November twelfth. Eight pounds ten ounces. I forgot to mention the aunt. I talked to her, too.”

“What aunt?”

“The kid’s aunt. Julia’s sister. Sara Jayne Carsten, age thirty-one. Runs a bookstore near the K-Street mall. She’s got custody of the kid.”

Ren frowned, trying to wade through a river of swirling emotions.

Bo sat forward. “Hey, man, this doesn’t mean anything. Think about it. Julia obviously slept around. And she was married. There’s no reason to think…I mean, you didn’t…hell, man, this is the age of AIDS—tell me you didn’t have unprotected sex.”

“Of course not.” Ren glared at his friend. “I used a condom.” He frowned, trying to remember. Not that it was hard to recall with photographic—some might say pornographic—clarity the night in question. “All three times.”

“My, my, aren’t you the stud.”

“Shut up. She’s extraordinary.” Was. Jewel is dead.

Ren picked up his phone and pushed a button. “Mr. Justis, court is over for the day. We’ll reconvene tomorrow morning.”

Bo looked at him, frowning. “This has rocked you.”

Resting his elbows on the desk, Ren put his head in his hands. “I never met anybody like her, Bo. Cool and direct on the outside, steamy and wild on the inside. Damn. She was incredible.”

“You fell hard, didn’t you?”

Ren looked up. “If you mean, was I in love with her?—no. Not even close. Love and sex are not synonymous, my friend. She was gorgeous, wild and hot, and I can definitely say I’ve never had sex like that before or since.” Bo’s hoot made Ren scowl. “That was not meant to demean my fiancée in any way. You don’t marry a woman like Jewel.”

“Dr. Hovant did,” Bo said, rising. “Fat lot of good it did him. If the rumor mill is right, all they did is fight—right up to the moment he drove his boat into a rock.”

Bo crammed his notebook into the back pocket of his rumpled canvas slacks. “Well, looks like your secret’s safe. Bullet dodged. Case closed.”

Ren picked up a pen and made a series of hatch marks on his blotter. Nine of them. “Are you sure?”