Marilyn Pappano - My Secret Valentine

And the woman wondered how much truer it would be if the man wasn’t married to her friend and the closest thing she’d ever had to a brother.

If it was someone like Justin.

Speak of the devil… Once more the door swung open, and Justin made it halfway to the bed before abruptly stopping. He looked from her to Steve, and a curiously frosty look came into his eyes. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, though clearly he wasn’t. He offered her purse to her across the bed. “I locked up your house when we finished there this afternoon. I forgot to bring this in earlier. Your keys are inside.”

“Thank you.” Feeling something oddly like guilt, she moved out of Steve’s embrace to take her bag. “Steve Wilson, this is Special Agent Reed with the ATF.”

The chill in his eyes dropped a few more degrees as he extended his hand. “Justin.”

“Golda’s nephew. I’m very sorry about your aunt. I was one of her doctors and one of her admirers.” Steve nodded toward Katy. “I hope you catch the man who did this.”

“I intend to.”

He’d always been so damned confident, and he’d always had reason before. Fiona hoped he did this time, too. She hoped he was the best damn special agent the ATF had ever seen and that he buried the man responsible for hurting Katy under the tallest mountain in the state.

After a moment, Steve broke the strained silence that had settled. “I’m heading home, Fiona. Rebecca’s waiting for me. If anything comes up, don’t hesitate to call. And eat the meal they bring you. You can’t live on nerves alone. Justin, nice to meet you.”

“Thanks, Steve.” Fiona watched him go, then turned to put her purse on the nightstand.

The silence settled again, heavy, tense. It crawled along her skin and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She was on the verge of snapping at Justin to say something or get out when he spoke. “A married man. I’m surprised. I never figured you for that type.”

“We both know what ‘type’ you figured me for, don’t we?” The easy type. The love-her-and-leave-her type. The gullible believe-all-the-sweet-lies type.

He ignored her comment. He was so damned good at ignoring anything he didn’t want to notice. “Is that why you wouldn’t tell me Katy’s father’s name? Because he’s married?”

Too angry to face him, she went to the corner to move the recliner closer to the bed. Unfortunately, even angry, she didn’t budge it more than a few inches.

Justin came across the room and easily slid the chair exactly where she wanted it, where she could lean back and still touch her daughter. “No answer prepared, Fiona?”

Her fingers gripped the back edges of the chair tightly. Her voice was equally tight when she spoke. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, Steve isn’t Katy’s father. He’s a very good friend. I’m sure that’s a concept you don’t understand, but it’s true all the same. I don’t tell anyone Katy’s father’s name because I’d rather forget he exists, just as he forgot we existed.”

Forgot her, her annoying little voice whispered. Never knew about Katy.

She took a few deep breaths to ease the panic rising in her chest, to control the emotion in her voice. “I appreciate your bringing my purse and keys. Now I’d appreciate it if you would leave.” And not come back. She bit back the words, but he looked as if he heard them anyway.

Lines bracketed his mouth, and tension gave his face a hard, shuttered look. “I’ll be around.”

Was that a promise? she wanted to call out as the door closed behind him.

Or a threat?

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