Tara Quinn - In Plain Sight

A widowed mother in Sedona, check. An unmarried salesman brother, right. No ex-husbands. No cousins or aunts or uncles or grandparents. No friends he knew of, with or without children.

The woman worked. Took care of her mother. Her home. Was friendly to her neighbors. And talked to him a few minutes every day.

She waved and Simon could feel the heat under his skin, a rare occurrence for someone who didn’t care enough about anything to get embarrassed. He waved back and continued on to his driveway, but stopped just over the curb and got out.

Jan was down at the mailbox, letters in hand, just standing. Almost as if she was waiting for him.

Not good. Not good at all.

He walked over, even though he knew it was a big mistake to do so. The woman, her welfare, her guests, didn’t matter to him, other than for the distant role she played in the passing of his days.

“Hey, neighbor,” he greeted her, including the girl in his grin. About seven, he’d guess, based on her size. And it’d been a hard seven years. The awareness in those eyes, the chin that held back expression rather than softening in response to a friendly smile—they told a familiar story.

“Simon, I wanted Hailey to meet you.” Jan’s voice was higher than it usually was. She was too perceptive to be humoring this child with false cheer. Which told him she was tense about something.

“Hi, Hailey.” He held out his hand. Her grip was tiny, but firm.

“Hi.”

“How old are you?” Wasn’t that what you said to kids you weren’t rescuing from hell—or arresting?

“Eight.”

A year off. Not bad for a guy who’d been off the streets for almost a decade.

“Hailey and I are in the process of becoming a family.” Jan moved a bit closer to the girl.

“She’s trying to adopt me, but I keep telling her they won’t let it happen,” the child said.

“Hailey’s a little short on faith at the moment, and I thought I’d bring her to see her new home so she can start visualizing our future together.”

Simon slid his hands into the pockets of the sweats he’d changed into after his locker-room shower. Jan with a child? The idea threw him. And that didn’t happen often.

Why should it matter to him if she wanted to take on the responsibility, the guaranteed heartache of parenthood?

Why would picturing her as a mother affect him at all?

It didn’t. He was just suffering a bit of an adrenaline letdown after the morning’s workout. Mixed with a little altitude adjustment.

“Are you a cop?”

While he swallowed the need to choke, Jan chuckled. “Simon writes schoolbooks, sweetie.”

Those shrewd, knowing eight-year-old eyes studied him—whether in assessment or disbelief, he didn’t know. Simon smiled, slouching, completely alert.

“Nope, just a writer,” he told her, his voice more relaxed than the rest of him.

“You sure you aren’t a cop?” Hailey frowned. “’Cause my mom taught me to spot ’em.” Her curly hair was almost in her eyes as she peered up at him. “She says you can always tell a cop by the way his eyes see everything going on, when most people just see what they’re staring at. Your eyes look all over. They don’t stare.”

Observation duly noted. How had he survived years undercover, if he was that obvious? he wondered wryly.

“Sounds like your mom was a smart lady,” he said, cognizant of the fact that the little girl had obviously lost the woman prematurely. “And I’m sorry to disappoint you, but rather than running around the streets catching bad guys I just sit home all day and type stuff that college kids read for class.”

“I’m not disappointed,” Hailey said, nodding. “I don’t know if I’d like living next door to a cop. I’d have to worry about him finding out that I’m not good.”

Simon did choke, then. And glanced up in time to catch the pained look on Jan’s face. There was a lot going on here that he didn’t understand. And that was fine by him.

Except for that small, curious part of him that wanted all the answers.

“Hailey Miller, you are good,” Jan said firmly, sounding much more like the woman he’d been meeting at the mailbox. “And I’m glad to hear that you’re planning to live next door to Simon, because I’m pretty determined on this matter and once I set my mind to something I make it happen.”

The white supremacist she was attempting to prosecute crossed his mind. And left him feeling tense.

“Do you have a court date?” he asked, still smiling as he glanced from one to the other.

“October 23rd,” they said together. Hailey studied Jan for a long moment, one that Simon witnessed with an inexplicable pull, and then the little girl slid her hand into Jan’s. “It was nice meeting you, Simon,” she said.

“Nice meeting you, too, Hailey. I look forward to living next door to you.”

“Thank you.”

“See ya,” Jan said, grinning at him as she turned with her charge’s hand still firmly locked in hers.

Simon stood there watching them go.

Hailey looked over her shoulder. “Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“My mom’s stupid.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so it was fine that they didn’t wait for him to figure it out.

So much for his ability to assess and conquer. Simon watched until they were inside Jan’s house and then walked slowly into his own, to spend the rest of the day doing what he did best. Huddled in front of the computer, bored enough to write ten pages of a book that was supposed to be his nine-to-five job during the week.

“Hey, boss, you got a minute?”

Jan looked up from her computer. It was Monday, mid-morning. She’d had another nightmare at three in the morning and hadn’t slept since. “Of course,” she told her assistant. “Come in.”

Andrew, dressed impeccably as always, took one of the two seats in front of her desk.

“I heard you met with Ruple over the weekend.”

She’d figured word would get around. Flagstaff was a small town and Macy’s was a busy place. Or maybe Danny Ruple had said something.

“I did, yes.”

“Is he going to testify?”

The fact that she even had to remind herself that this was Andrew, her handpicked professional soul mate, bothered her. She had to be careful, true, but a complete lack of trust wasn’t healthy.

“I don’t know,” she said, slipping into the navy jacket she’d thrown off earlier. She had some footwork to do over lunch—recreating as much of the Zeidel file as she could, just in case. The only key witness, a roommate, was still in town and had agreed to talk to her. “He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no.”

Frowning, Andrew shook his head and said, “I’m just sick about the missing file. You know I’ll do anything I can to help you rebuild the case, if he accepts your offer.”

“Thanks.” Jan’s smile was almost genuine and her shoulders lightened. “I know your own caseload is heavy right now, and I promised you’d have time to be a father when the baby came…”

“I’m always here for you, Jan. You know that.”

A life that had gone a bit out of control started to make sense again. She had to remember what she knew—not lose herself in emotions that weren’t always accurate. Or trustworthy.

“I think you’re about the only one who doesn’t think I’m crazy for going after Hall.”

“I admire the hell out of you for it.” The truth of his words was reflected in his open gaze. “I hope to be just like you when I grow up.”

“Hold it, buddy,” she chuckled. “I’m only five years older than you. You’re making me sound ancient.”

“Sorry.” Andrew was grinning, too. “But I mean it. You’re the only one I know who consistently applies the ethics they taught us in law school to everyday life. You work for justice, not politics.”