Lois Richer - Past Secrets, Present Love

Kelly fell silent, the cup still clasped between her hands though her mind was obviously on just such a case. Ross fidgeted, wished he could think of something to change the subject.

“Was there something specific that made you leave?” she asked several moments later. “I’ve heard that it usually takes a life-altering event for a police officer to move away from that line of work.”

“Private investigation isn’t that far off,” he murmured and sighed at her expectant gaze. “But yes, I did have a reason to get out. I almost killed a kid.”

He waited for the shock and horror those words always induced. Kelly Young displayed none of that. She simply sat in her chair, legs curled under her, watching him as if she knew there was more to the story.

Why was he telling her this when he’d kept it to himself for so long? Ross didn’t know but he blamed it on the fire and the intimacy it brought.

“He was strung out—crack, heroin, I don’t know which. Didn’t really matter. All of fifteen years old and he looked thirty.” He dragged a hand through his hair as his stomach knotted into a hard lump of anger. “He’d robbed a convenience store, assaulted the owner and taken his gun. When I got there the kid was strutting his stuff in the street, waving that gun like it was Excalibur and he was Arthur.”

Ross closed his eyes, relived the moment.

“I tried to talk him down, tried reason, control, everything I could think of. He was too high. A little girl came around the corner. He grabbed her, pointed the gun at her head.” He stared at Kelly, prayed she’d understand. “I had to take my best shot. I couldn’t let another innocent die. I couldn’t stand there and let it happen.”

“Of course you couldn’t. I understand that.” She leaned forward, her hair slanting over her smooth pale cheek as she set her untouched drink on the table. Then she reached out to touch his knee. “You did your job, Ross.”

“Yeah, I did.” He pinched his lips together. Some job. Shooting a fifteen-year-old addict. “It was the third drug call that night, all of them violent. By the time I got back to the station I knew I couldn’t do it anymore. So I handed in my notice, worked my time and left.”

It was a little more complicated than that, but she didn’t need to know.

“And came to Richmond.” A soft sweet smile tilted up her lips. “That was when?”

“Two years ago.”

“And you’ve never gone back?”

“A couple of times.” He did not want to get into this now.

“I suppose you miss your friends from the precinct. Or is it the fast pace of the work?”

“Neither.” He swallowed, sucked in a breath. “I went to see my mother. And my sister, Trista.”

“That’s nice. Your mother must love having you back to spoil.” The look in her eyes told him she’d shared a lot of happy times with her adoptive mother.

“Hardly. I doubt she even knew if I was there. She has Alzheimer’s. Most of the time she doesn’t even know who I am.” Ross couldn’t stop the rush of words. He’d have to get out more often. Maybe that would help him get control of his tongue.

Something, possibly pity, washed over Kelly’s face. He hated seeing it, didn’t want her to offer him that. Ross blurted out the first thing that came into his head.

“When are you going to see Sandra?”

Kelly’s alabaster skin lost some of the faint glow it had begun to regain and stretched a little tighter. “I don’t know.”

“Soon?”

“I told you, I don’t know when. Too much has happened, I haven’t had a chance to really think about it.” She stared at her hands, fingers threaded together. “I suppose after the holidays.”

“This is after the holidays. Tomorrow?” he persisted, knowing she hated being pressed but he was worried on Sandra’s behalf. She’d waited so long for that special moment when she’d finally meet her long-lost child. Surely Kelly could understand that.

Kelly shook her head. “I can’t tomorrow. I told you, we’re having a church social. We usually spend the afternoon at the ski hill. After that we go to the Morrow mansion. Lindsay Morrow—do you know her?”

“Know of her.” He nodded. “The mayor’s wife.”

“Yes. Around here she’s known for her big society events. Remember the Christmas tree lighting and reception? Well, every year she hosts a second event at her home a few days after the festive season is finished—to celebrate the New Year, she claims. It’s always a big deal, casual, but something we all talk about for weeks to come.”

“Talk about, why?” He couldn’t fathom what that odd little note in her voice alluded to.

“I guess you’d have to know Mrs. Morrow to understand.” Kelly nibbled on her fingernail, her smooth forehead furrowed. “They go to our church sometimes, but…well, she’s not a joiner. She’s more high society than most of us, moves in a different circle.”

“There are circles in little old Chestnut Grove?” he teased, then watched her cheeks flush a warm clear rose.

“Sort of. People like the Morrows belong to the country club set. You know, the wealthy, perfect people. I mean, have you ever looked at Lindsay Morrow? She could have been a model with that rail-thin body of hers. Makes the rest of us envious.”

“Really?” He thought Kelly was far more attractive. Judging by tonight, he’d found her comfortable to be around, friendly, the kind of person you could easily talk to. She was also gorgeous; the whole package was perfect. By contrast, Mrs. Morrow, whenever he’d met her, seemed cold, standoffish. “I guess she looks okay, but—”

“Okay?” Kelly laughed. “Lindsay Morrow is pure glam. The way her glossy black hair swoops across that aristocratic jaw, never a hair out of place. Those deep, dark midnight eyes, the straight confident set of her shoulders—she’s regal. Her clothes only reinforce her image—nothing but designer labels.”

“Huh.” He mulled it over. “Ambitious, powerful, privileged. It’s intimidating. She’s the opposite of Sandra, I guess. I think I’d feel like an overgrown oaf around Mrs. Morrow, but Sandra always makes me feel welcome. She gets this look, kind of a shy smile that makes you glad you came to see her.”

“Really?” The temperature of Kelly’s voice dropped several degrees.

“Really.” Ross frowned. “Why do you hate her?”

“Me? I don’t hate Sandra Lange. Not at all.” Bright red spots of color appeared in her cheeks. To hide it, she fiddled with her mug of hot chocolate, then rose to her feet with some excuse about cookies and rushed out of the room. When Kelly finally came back she carried a dish of gingersnaps and a glass of milk.

She held out the plate.

“These used to be my dad’s favorite,” she murmured, then froze, her eyes flying to his. “My adoptive father,” she corrected. She took a deep breath, met his gaze head on. “I just realized—if you know who my birth mother is, you must know who my biological father is as well?”

He hated lying to her, hated the secretiveness Sandra had insisted upon. But the secret was not his to share.

“You’ll have to ask Sandra,” he murmured. “It’s something she should tell you.”

“Of course.” She stared at the big round cookie, took a bite. After a moment she pointed to the bowl. “Help yourself.”

He moved to take one, then realized that the luscious piece of chocolate cake still sat on the plate on the table in front of him.

“I’d rather eat this,” he told her with a grin. “What’s with that glass of milk?”

“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t feel like hot chocolate tonight. Too much of a good thing at Christmas, I guess. Anyway, Dad always said gingersnaps and milk were made to go together.”