Debra Salonen - His Daddy's Eyes

There was a pause. “You hate cell phones. Ren, are you okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“I didn’t sleep well,” he admitted. A guilty conscience had a way of conjuring up the worst scenarios. For instance, what if the reason Julia’s husband had driven into a rock pile was that he’d found out the child wasn’t his? What if Ren was to blame for his son’s mother’s death? Would the little boy wind up hating him when he was old enough to understand?

“Maybe you need vitamins. Boyd did a piece on male vitality last Wednesday—did you see it?” Eve asked.

“Nope. Missed it.”

“Do you ever watch my show?” she asked, her voice suddenly vulnerable.

“Yours is the only news program I watch, you know that. I just happened to be with Bo that night,” he said in partial honesty. After Bo had brought him the news about Julia and the baby, Ren had driven to the American River and walked along the jogging trail until dark. It was either that, or do something utterly stupid like visit the aunt’s bookstore and check out the kid for himself.

Eve’s dismissive snort brought Ren back to reality. “I wish I knew what you see in that man. He’s such a boor.”

Ren grinned. He’d never figured out why the two people he cared for most couldn’t stand to be in the same room together. “Bo did a little research job for me and brought me the results. He’s the best in the business, you know.”

“So you say, but…” The sound of squealing tires broke her line of thought. “I’d better go, sweets. I’m meeting Marcella this morning. We still have to go over my ’96 and ’97 tapes. You wouldn’t believe what a fanatic this woman is. She makes me look laid-back.”

Her musical laugh brought an odd pang to Ren’s chest. He loved this bright, beautiful woman, but he had a feeling she wasn’t going to be overly thrilled at his news.

“So are we on for tonight?” he asked when he found his voice.

“Maybe. Marcella is only in town for another four days. She flies back to New York on Wednesday. Would you mind if she joins us?” Ren and Eve had a standing reservation at Hooligan’s. Since she worked weeknights, Saturday and Sunday were their only nights to dine together. Usually, they ate out on Saturday, and he cooked on Sunday.

“Naturally I’d prefer to have you all to myself,” he said, hoping his tone was more romantic than peeved. “Let’s leave it open for now. Call me later, and we’ll figure something out. Maybe we could ask Bo to join us so we’d have a foursome.”

Ren grinned, picturing Eve’s face at the idea of introducing her famous New York agent to the Sacramento PI. “You’re right,” she said. “We’d better hang loose until I have a better scope on my time. See you later, sweetheart. I love you.”

She hung up before Ren could tell her the same thing.

“Exactly what kind of foursome did you have in mind?” a voice said from the doorway.

Ren spun around, nearly dropping the phone. “Goddammit, Lester,” he shouted. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

Bo shrugged. His sloppy green-and-gold plaid shirt wasn’t tucked into his pants, making him look as if he’d come straight from the bowling alley. Brown double-knit pants barely cleared a disreputable pair of saddle shoes, which he wore without socks. His flattened-out hat was the kind that snapped to the brim.

“I looked for you on the golf course. Your partner said this was the first time on record that you were a no-show. He even thought about calling the paramedics, but didn’t want to miss his tee time.” Bo’s lips curled wryly. “Notice your real friend dropped everything and rushed right over to check on you.”

Ren hung up the receiver and sat down. “Thank you for your concern, but I overslept.” He took a sip of coffee, then frowned. “Did I give you a key?”

Bo ambled to the coffeepot, took a mug from the white oak cupboard and poured himself a cup. He added two scoops of sugar from the bowl on the counter, then carried it to the microwave. “Nope. I picked the lock. Gotta keep in practice, you know.”

Ren doubted that. More likely he’d forgotten to set the alarm. He’d been doing a lot of irresponsible things lately.

“You got anything to eat?” Bo asked, poking his head into the refrigerator. “Oh, Lordy, Revelda’s apple pie,” he said, referring to Ren’s part-time housekeeper. “I swear I’d marry that woman if she’d have me.”

“She wouldn’t. She’d have a heart attack if she saw that floating hovel you call home.”

“Actually,” Bo said, talking through a mouthful of pie, “I found a lady to come in and clean for me a couple of times a month. Works great now that I’ve moved my computers to the office. Speaking of computers—” He pulled a manila envelope from his waistband and tossed it on the table.

Ren’s gulp of coffee lodged in his throat. He strove for nonchalance as he opened the envelope and withdrew a half-dozen black-and-white photographs and a single sheet of paper.

He picked up the computer printout first, but his gaze was drawn to the photos. “Is this her? This can’t be her.”

Bo’s mouth was full. “Uh-huh,” he grunted.

Ren shook his head, his gaze darting from one photograph to the next. “There’s no way this woman is Jewel’s sister. She’s so…plain.”

Bo’s muffled expletive made Ren drop the printed page and pick up a photo. Leaning forward, he studied it closely. While the image was a trifle blurred, it showed a woman whom, though nice looking, he wouldn’t have looked at twice. How could he reconcile this image with the one he held of her sister, an Aphrodite with flaming red hair, lush curves and flashing green eyes?

Feeling a bit let down, like a child at Christmas who’d expected a bike and got a book instead, he sighed. “Her hair’s straight, her dress looks like a discount store special and her figure…” Ren frowned, squinting. “Well, I can’t tell much because of the dress, but she looks like a librarian.”

Bo made a low, snarling sound and helped himself to a second piece of pie. “Close—she owns a bookstore.”

“Owns it or runs it?”

“I didn’t hack her bank records, but her business card says, Sara Carsten, Owner.”

“She’s pretty young to own a business,” Ren said, mentally adding a point in her favor.

“The guy down the block said she’s worked there since high school. In fact, she’s turned it around from near-bankruptcy. The old man who owned it left it to her. She’s kept up with the times—added a coffee bar and two Internet stations. And she’s got a couple of book clubs that meet there.” Bo made a sardonic sound. “The men’s group is called The Unturned Gentlemen.”

Ren added another point in her favor—literacy was a pet project of his. “Okay, she’s a good person and a decent businesswoman, but I still can’t believe she’s Jewel’s sister.”

Bo scowled. Ren ignored him and rocked back, holding the photo. In the light from the window behind, he could see things he hadn’t noticed before. Her smile, for one. It was a kind, gentle smile that made him inclined to smile back.

Ren focused on her eyes. Jewel’s had been bright green, full of flashing sauciness and humor. If he squinted, Ren thought he could see humor in this woman’s eyes, too. “What color are her eyes?”

“How the hell should I know?”

The downright angry tone could not be overlooked. “What is your problem?”

“You, man. You are my problem,” Bo said, marching to the table. He ripped the photograph out of Ren’s hand. “Here you are, poised to destroy this woman’s life, and you don’t think she’s pretty. Well, f—”

Ren raised his hand in warning. He studied his friend as he might a criminal with a gun. Keeping his tone calm, Ren said, “I was just surprised that I couldn’t see any similarities between the sisters.”