Sherryl Woods - About That Man

The inside was tended with just as much care. Walker couldn’t help wondering how long some of Daisy’s expensive porcelain knickknacks would last with a rambunctious boy around. Apparently she wasn’t all that concerned, because she hadn’t hidden them. That raised her a notch in his estimation.

“Why don’t you and I sit down and get to know each other before I get Tommy?” she suggested.

She said it in a way that set off a whole lot of wicked images Walker was sure she hadn’t intended. Even so, he frowned. No wonder Frances had kept her questions to a minimum. Apparently she intended to let this woman do her job for her. Walker had other ideas.

“Ms. Spencer, as much as I would love to get to know you better,” he said, giving her a thorough once-over that brought a blush to her peaches-and-cream complexion, “I’m here to meet my nephew. You and I can go a few rounds another time. Which way’s the kitchen? Through here?”

He was already heading in that direction when she caught up with him, snagging his arm with a surprisingly firm grip. He glanced down at the pale fingers with their neat, unpolished nails against his thick, tanned forearm and felt an unexpected slam of desire. He swallowed hard and stepped away, but without making any further move toward the kitchen.

“Detective, perhaps you can bully suspects in Washington, but around here, we have ways of conducting ourselves that meet a higher standard.”

Walker stared down into those flashing eyes, admiring again that startling shade of amethyst and the fringe of dark lashes. A man could forget himself and his intentions pondering the mysteries of eyes like that. He sincerely regretted that he didn’t have the time to spare. It was getting late, and he wanted to hit the road before dark.

“Ms. Spencer, you are the second person today to suggest that I’m uncivilized.” He leveled a hard look at her that usually worked quite well during an interrogation. “I’m beginning to take offense.”

Not so much as an eyelash flickered. “Then prove me wrong.”

“How?”

“Talk to me. Tell me about yourself and the life you’re prepared to offer Tommy.”

He shook his head. “You’re not going to be satisfied till we play Twenty Questions, are you?”

“Not a chance,” she agreed cheerfully.

“Then by all means, let’s talk.”

He followed her into the living room, settled back in a chintz-covered easy chair and kept his gaze pinned to hers. She perched on the edge of the sofa, kept her own gaze perfectly level with his, and began a litany of questions that suggested she’d made a list before his arrival. She started by asking about his parents, where he’d gone to elementary school, what his favorite subjects had been, whether he’d liked sports.

He grinned at her. “Ms. Spencer, at this rate, it’ll be midnight and we won’t even get to my college years.”

Her expression brightened. “You went to college, then?”

“I didn’t think to bring along a copy of my diploma, but yes, I graduated from the University of Virginia.”

“A fine school,” she said approvingly.

“Are we finished now?”

“Not quite. Are you married, Detective Ames?”

“Not anymore.”

“I see.” Her mouth pursed ever so slightly. “Any children?”

“Two boys.”

“And they live with you?”

“No, they live with their mother in North Carolina.”

“I see.”

There was no question about the disapproval in her eyes now. She flashed a quick look at the social worker, whose expression was carefully neutral.

“Anything else?” he asked. “Are you interested in my favorite colors? Maybe whether I wear jockey shorts or boxers?”

Color flamed in her cheeks. “Of course not.”

“Then I’d like to see my nephew.”

Unfortunately, Walker was soon to discover, while they’d been wasting time on all those ridiculous questions, Tommy had vanished into thin air. When Daisy at last led them to the kitchen, they found it empty, and there was no sign of Tommy anywhere else in the house or yard.

Walker cursed his own stupidity. He should have guessed that the woman was stalling so his nephew could make a break for it, though why she should do that was beyond him. It was a diversionary tactic that he’d seen used often enough in his career. Still, he was surprised that Daisy Spencer would flat-out try to thwart this reunion that Frances Jackson was so dead-set on bringing about. Maybe they’d gotten their signals crossed.

It seemed Frances’ thoughts were running parallel to his own. “Oh, Daisy, what have you gone and done?” she asked, dismay written all over her face.

“Me?” Daisy said, regarding her incredulously. “You think I hid him?”

“I know you want him to stay here, but this is not the way,” the social worker said.

Walker regarded the two women intently. “Are you saying she is deliberately keeping the boy from me?” he asked, surprised to have his own suspicions confirmed so openly.

Frances looked flustered, but Daisy was quick to respond. “That is exactly what she’s saying and, to tell you the truth, I’m insulted.” She frowned at the social worker. “We’ve known each other for years. I would have expected better of you, Frances.”

“And I, you,” Frances retorted tartly.

Patches of color once again flamed on Daisy’s cheeks, spurred no doubt by the indignation Walker could see flashing in her eyes.

“Blast it all, I’m as shocked as you are that he’s not where I left him,” she snapped. Quickly she amended, “No, I take that back. I’m not shocked at all. The boy’s life has been a shambles since his mother died. He hasn’t felt as if he truly belonged anywhere. It’s little wonder that he doesn’t trust a single adult to keep a promise, not even me.”

“Exactly what did you promise him?” Walker asked.

“That no one would take him away from here unless we all decided it was for the best, him included.”

“Daisy, he’s just a boy,” Frances said with a dismayed sigh. “Why would you make him a promise you knew you couldn’t possibly keep?”

“I intended to keep it,” Ms. Spencer shot back.

“Maybe we should just focus on finding him,” Walker suggested. “We can work out the rest of this later.”

“I agree,” the social worker said at once. “I think we’d better get Tucker over here.”

“Who’s Tucker?” Walker asked, grasping at last that there was a whole lot more going on here than he could begin to fathom. Unfortunately there was no time to ask the right questions or to try to sort out the clues.

“My brother,” Daisy answered, just as Frances said, “The sheriff.”

“Then, by all means, let’s get him over here,” Walker agreed, just as two men came strolling around the corner of the house, one of them carrying what looked to be a foil-covered pie.

“Tucker, Tommy’s vanished,” Daisy said, automatically taking the dish from his hands. “You have to do something.”

“What do you mean, he’s vanished?”

“While your sister kept me occupied in her living room with an endless barrage of questions, my nephew bolted,” Walker explained succinctly. “I’m Walker Ames, by the way. Detective Walker Ames.”

“He’s a D.C. policeman,” Daisy said derisively. “One who apparently likes to make unfounded accusations. I did not deliberately try to assist Tommy in making a getaway. Not that I blame him. He’s had far too much disruption in his life lately. He’s just beginning to feel secure again.”

“In a few days with you?” Walker asked.

She gave him a defiant look. “Exactly. Because he knows I care about him. He doesn’t even know who you are. Why would you expect him to choose you over me?”