Jeanie London - Love In Plain Sight

She quickly masked her reaction with a smile. “Good morning, sunshine.” Grabbing a mug from the drain board, she headed toward the coffeepot. “We have company.”

“There’s a surprise,” he shot back, deadpan.

Moving into the kitchen, he found their guest standing over the table chopping vegetables on a cutting board.

She met his gaze with gray eyes so clear they were almost startling. Or maybe it was the onions she was chopping that made her eyes seem so bright. He could smell them from here.

“Hola, Mac’s sister.”

“Hi, Marc,” was all she said, her smile forced.

“You remember Courtney,” his mother prompted, narrowing her gaze so he knew she didn’t like his rudeness.

Courtney Gerard was more than one of his mother’s strays. Courtney had a family connection—not blood but close enough that he should have known her name.

He remembered a lot more than her name.

Courtney was Marc’s Bathsheba. The exact type of woman who managed to catch his eye whether he was interested in her or not. Everything about her was long, from her willowy body and shapely legs to the glossy hair that flowed in an inky wave down her back. He remembered her all right, and it annoyed the hell out of him every time he saw her.

Which was every time he came home.

His mother pressed a mug of coffee into his hands, and he thanked her, leaning against the archway. He wouldn’t give the ladies a show by sitting down. Not when he wasn’t staying. The stairs were looking a helluva lot better than this kitchen right now. Half draining the mug in one swallow, he savored the heat that seared his throat.

His mother arched an eyebrow but didn’t comment. She also didn’t return the coffeepot.

He held the mug out. “You’re an angel, love.”

She topped him off, and he sipped again to make more room. He had to drink his fill now because he couldn’t make it up the stairs with the mug.

“Would you like something to eat? Anthony brought doughnuts from Nicola’s before church. There are still a few left.”

“Doughnuts can’t possibly touch whatever it is you’re cooking over there. I’ll wait until dinner.”

That pleased her. All the sharp edges smoothed from her expression. All the disapproval gone as fast as it had shown up. Like a good Italian mama, feeding people always made her day.

She retrieved a colander hanging from the rack on the wall and brought it to the table, where Courtney cleared onions off the cutting board. “We’ve been chatting about Courtney’s work,” his mother said. “I’d like you to weigh in.”

Marc could smell the setup from a mile away. He could sense it before Courtney even opened her mouth, a full mouth with dusky pink lips that made him think of kissing. And sex.

This woman needed to go home.

Or he needed to get back to Colorado.

“Wish I could, but I’ve really got to shower. I’m off to a late start if you want me for dinner.”

His mother frowned, and in two quick steps, she was at the counter again, grabbing the coffeepot.

“Finish this up, so I can brew a fresh pot.” She cut him off at the pass, wedging herself between him and the doorway.

“Won’t take long, Marc. I promise.” Courtney’s voice was as crystal clear as her gaze, direct and to the point, yet still somehow smoky. Like sex. A voice that would sound good in the dark. “I’d like to get your input if you don’t mind.”

He did mind. She was suddenly twitchy, almost urgent. Then she opened that pretty mouth and launched into a sob story about missing kids and a federal investigation.

Marc wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but if he had been guessing, this train wreck of a situation wouldn’t have even made the list.

Marc was sure he’d once heard what she did for a living, because he remembered thinking she had the luxury of making herself feel good by trying to save the world. Great in theory, but he knew too many people who empowered themselves at the expense of others. He didn’t respect the motivation.

Or maybe he just didn’t like Courtney.

He damn sure didn’t like her brother or the way he had used his money to steal Anthony’s longtime girlfriend, Harley.

Or maybe Marc didn’t like how he noticed Courtney. She looked like everything he wanted, but she wasn’t anything he was interested in. He was honest enough to admit that to himself.

Whatever the reason, he had his own no-win situation to deal with right now.

“No matter how I spin it, the outlook is grim,” he said, hoping to put a swift end to this interrogation. “If this kid hasn’t surfaced in eight years, the chances of finding her alive are not good.”

“But you do think it is possible to track her down, Marc, so at least we’d know what happened to her?”

God, he shouldn’t feel anything, but that look on her face... She was desperate, and he couldn’t offer much hope. “No one vanishes into thin air, but with kids, there is the unforeseeable luck factor. Freaks and traffickers prey on them. Or some random wacko may have taken a liking to her, and she wound up a nut job’s thrill. The FBI will find your Jane Doe, just a matter of time, but no one may ever know what happened to your other girl.”

To Courtney’s credit, she took reality standing. No drama. No tears. No pleas for him to sugarcoat the truth. Just that lovely face growing brittle around the edges as she struggled to cling to a last bit of hope, no matter how unrealistic.

“Wish I had a better opinion. Good luck.” He tried to make his escape.

But by the time he’d set down the cup and gotten halfway to the door, he heard Courtney say, “Even so, Marc, I have to look. Please tell me where to start.”

The plea in her voice stopped him. “You start by figuring out when your real girl was last seen. Until you figure that out, you can’t unravel where she might have gone.”

“Okay.” Her clear gaze clung to him, so eager, but the frown forming on her smooth brow convinced him that she didn’t have any idea how to proceed.

He wasn’t surprised. “I can tell you where to look, but I can’t magically give you the instinct to know what to look for. I can’t help you. You’ll have to take my word.”

This time, he was out the door before she could stop him with another question.

CHAPTER THREE

IF MARC HAD not been starving, he would have stayed in his room until the house had emptied after dinner. Too many drugs, too many stairs and the effort of taking a shower had kicked his ass all over again.

He wasn’t in the mood for people and wanted to sleep off the drug hangover. Unfortunately, between the smells of his mother’s cooking and the noise level that told him how good the food was, he had no choice. He made a mental note to keep protein bars in his room for the duration of this visit so he could avoid family gatherings altogether.

Against his better judgment, he made his way downstairs again. The thumping of his cane must have announced his arrival because Damon said, “Guess who’s gracing us with his presence.”

Caffeine and a shower hadn’t taken the edge off. If Marc had been thinking clearly, he would have used his phone and a twenty to bribe his niece Violet into bringing a plate upstairs.

“To what do we owe this honor?” Damon asked.

There were a few laughs from around the table, but Marc ignored his brother, which was easy to do since the kitchen looked like Bourbon Street on Fat Tuesday. He noticed Courtney immediately, seated beside his mother, quiet in the midst of all the noise, so beautiful. Sad, too, he decided. That was probably his fault. He should probably feel bad.

He didn’t want to draw any more attention to himself when he still had to get to the counter, and make it to the table with a plate and silverware while maneuvering through the obstacle course of people crowding the food. Then he’d have to get to his seat.