He had a sudden vision of the three of them on a picnic, like a scene out of a TV movie. Or maybe they could just spend the day quietly at home.

Cynthia sat across from him and smiled. As she picked up her cup of coffee, her shirt tightened slightly, outlining her breasts. The need to pull her close and kiss her nearly overwhelmed him. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman before. Even though she was off limits and completely wrong for him. Or maybe those were the reasons why she appealed. Because she was different. Because with her at least one of them could possibly give a damn about what was happening.

The realization that he might want Cynthia to care about him drove him to his feet. He lived alone. That was how he preferred it. No one got in the way; no one got close.

He thrust Colton at her across the table. “I’m not interested in playing house with you,” he said cruelly. “I want you to do your job, nothing more.”

He walked out of the dining room, then out of the house. He decided to go to work because he couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.

But once at the office, he found he couldn’t concentrate. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t get lost in spreadsheets and projections. The words and numbers were meaningless. All he could see was the hurt in Cynthia’s eyes and the way she’d flinched from his words.

“I warned her,” he muttered to himself, but the phrase didn’t help. Nor did telling himself she would get over it.

He’d never allowed himself to play with anyone out of his league. He was careful to choose companions who understood, women like Martha Jean Porter. Slick, experienced and as coldly calculating as himself. His date with her was in less than a week. At least then he could take care of the ache that filled him. It was just an itch, he told himself, and she was the exact woman to scratch it.

Cynthia brushed away the tears on her cheeks and told herself she was a fool for crying over Jonathan Steele. “He’s your client, nothing else,” she reminded herself. They didn’t have a personal relationship.

But it had felt personal when he’d kissed her and again last night when he’d laughed and joked with her family. It had felt good and right and she’d allowed herself to make-believe that all this was real.

“But it’s not, is it?” she asked softly.

Colton gurgled, then reached for a loose strand of hair. She eased the lock from the baby’s grip and tried not to give in to more tears. “You’re not mine,” she said, holding the sweet-smelling baby close. “This is work and I mustn’t let myself care about you too much. Jonathan is going to get a permanent nanny and then I’ll be gone.”

But as she held the now-familiar weight of the happy child, she had a bad feeling that it was too late for this lecture to help much. Since moving into Jonathan’s house she’d been so caught up by the man himself, so concerned about the temptation to get close that she hadn’t thought to keep her heart safe from either him or his nephew. Now she was in danger of falling in love with both of them. To be honest, she didn’t know who it would be harder to leave.

The smart thing would be to walk away. She had several nannies working for her and any one of them would be a qualified replacement. Except her mother hadn’t raised her to be a quitter.

I’m not interested in playing house.

Jonathan’s words cut through her like a knife. She replayed them again and again in her mind wondering how he’d known that’s what she was doing. Pretending that she really belonged here, that he cared about her and that Colton was the baby they would raise together. A foolish dream.

Humiliation washed over her and with it a resolve that she wouldn’t act that way again. She wasn’t going to let him catch her daydreaming again. She would do what was expected and nothing more. When the time was up, she would walk away with her head held high.

As for her heart and its attachment to both of the Steele men…there was nothing she could do about that now. The damage was done. When she was gone she would have plenty of time to figure out how to put her life back together.

Chapter 9

Jack Stryker cradled his cup of coffee as he sat in one of the leather chairs on the opposite side of Jonathan’s desk.

“The FBI is being closedmouthed about what they’re doing,” Stryker was saying. “The fact that they’re involved means David was dealing with some interesting people.”

“Any news about the two cars that went tearing out of the hotel parking lot that night?”

“Nothing concrete. The first guy-probably the shooter-got away. The second guy crashed. He’s pretty beat-up and doesn’t remember who he is.”

Jonathan considered the information. Was the second man an accomplice or law enforcement? Obviously Stryker didn’t know either.

“So they don’t know who shot David and Lisa?”

Stryker shrugged. “If they’ve figured it out, they’re not telling me. They’ve expanded the scope of their investigation, which means the illegal activities reaches past Grand Springs.” He took a sip of coffee. “Not a big surprise there.”

Jonathan tried to imagine how David had gotten involved with people who would eventually kill him.

“The good news is you’re going to get your money back,” Stryker said. “At least all that we can find. The rough estimate is about eighty percent.”

It took Jonathan a couple of seconds to figure out what the other man was talking about. “The money David embezzled?”

The detective nodded. “He hadn’t taken that out in cash. Instead it was put in several of his accounts. We’ve got our police accountants tracing it right now. Like I said, we’re guessing we’re going to recover most of it.”

“Great,” Jonathan said, trying to get excited. But the truth was, the money wasn’t all that important to him. He didn’t need it to keep the company running. What he wanted was answers. Who had killed his brother and sister-in-law and why?

Stryker set his coffee cup on the edge of Jonathan’s desk. “That about does it for me, unless you have any other questions.”

“None that you can answer.”

The two men rose and shook hands, then Jonathan walked the detective to the door.

“We’ll be in touch,” Stryker told him.

When he was alone again, Jonathan walked to the expanse of window behind his desk. From his high-rise office, he had a view of downtown Grand Springs, such as it was. The town wasn’t very big and more than once he’d considered moving the corporate headquarters to a larger city. But he never had. To him, this was home.

But thinking about home was a mistake. It made him remember his conversation with Cynthia the previous day, when he’d told her he wasn’t interested in playing house and had walked out angry. Although he’d been back, he hadn’t seen her last evening. Mostly because he’d stayed in his office, not sure what he was supposed to say.

He knew that his words had hurt her-something he’d wanted to avoid if possible. But she was so damn innocent and he couldn’t figure out what she wanted from him. Whatever it was, he had a reasonable suspicion that he was going to fail at delivering it. She thought he was some kind of saint while he knew the truth. He was a sorry excuse for a man and he didn’t have a prayer of being even half of what she expected.

He told himself it didn’t matter. That her good opinion was meaningless. He told himself that she would be out of his life in a matter of weeks, and then he would never have to see her again. That wanting her was simply a physical reaction to a long period of celibacy and that once he did the wild thing with Martha Jean this weekend, all the aching would fade.

But it wasn’t just about sex, he realized, even though he didn’t want to admit it to himself. Cynthia intrigued him on multiple levels. Her innate ability to see the best in people, despite evidence to the contrary. Her affection and ease with Colton. Her fearlessness. She stood up to him, saying things no one had ever dared. It was as if she believed her convictions would keep her safe.

Without knowing why he was doing it or what he hoped to accomplish, Jonathan left his office. His stunned secretary stood in the hallway reading from his busy schedule.

“Cancel all my meetings for the rest of the day,” he told her as the elevator doors closed behind him.

Thirty minutes later he walked into his house and upstairs to the baby’s room. He found Cynthia and Colton sitting on a blanket in a patch of sunshine. There were piles of brightly colored plastic blocks around them. Colton was on his stomach, raised up on his arms. He smiled when he saw Jonathan.

Cynthia looked up. “We were discussing dinner,” she said lightly. “It’s about time to start introducing him to solid foods. We’ve spent a bit of the last four days getting used to sitting in a high chair. I suggested a menu of rice cereal but Colton is leaning toward a fruit or vegetable baby food. You want to cast the deciding vote?”

The words sounded fine, but he saw the hint of pain still lurking in her eyes.

He looked around the room. What once had been a generic guest room was now baby paradise. Lucinda had arranged for a border print of teddy bears in a marching band. She’d told him that she would pick out something with cars when Colton got older. Soft, pastel stuffed animals sat on a shelf across from the window. There was a crib in the center of the room, a changing table against a wall. A child lived here. A child who was his responsibility. How the hell had that happened?

He turned to Cynthia who still sat on the floor. She wore her usual uniform of jeans and a sweatshirt, while Colton had on a bright blue one-piece romper.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, then motioned to the room. “Isn’t providing this enough?”

“I don’t want anything,” she said. “This isn’t about me, it’s about Colton.”

She was both lying and telling the truth, he thought. They had two issues with each other. Their relationship, if that’s what anyone would call it, and his nephew. Jonathan decided it would be a whole lot easier to talk about the latter.

“I’ve taken care of Colton,” he said. “He has a home, someone to see to his needs.”

“You have a responsibility to do more than pay the bills,” she said, scrambling to her feet.

She’d pulled her long blond hair back into a ponytail and hadn’t bothered with any makeup. She looked young and impossibly out of her league, yet she didn’t act intimidated or afraid. Instead she moved closer to him.

“Colton is family,” she said. “Your family. From what I can tell, he’s the only family you have left. But do you respect that or act like it matters? No. You ignore him.”

“He’s a baby. We’re hardly going to have a meaningful discussion about world peace.”

“Agreed. But that’s no reason not to develop a relationship with him.”

He waved a hand at her. “I’m not interested in this.”

“So what?” She moved closer and placed her hands on her hips. “We all have to do things that might not be our first choice. It’s called being an adult and dealing with our responsibilities. Right now Colton is one of your responsibilities. This isn’t about business or some annoying social obligation. We’re discussing the life of a child. How dare you dismiss the importance of that?”

Anger flared in her hazel-green eyes. Her breath came in sharp gasps as if she hung onto her control by a thread.

“Quit being so damn selfish,” she said, poking his chest with her finger. “Yes, you had a lousy relationship with your own father. Yes, your brother was the favorite. So what? Get over it. You have a wonderful life now. One of your own making. You have many accomplishments that have brought you prestige and great wealth. But none of those matter. If you don’t get your act together you’re going to do to Colton exactly what your father did to you.”

Her words slammed into him, ripping through his façade of calm civility and anchoring in still-open wounds. He didn’t want to be like his father.

But that wasn’t what he was doing, he told himself. It couldn’t be. He might not care about Colton, but he didn’t actively dislike the child. His feelings were more neutral. He made sure that Colton had everything he could need.

As his father had done with him, a small voice whispered in his head.

Cynthia seemed to sense the battle being waged within him. But rather than backing off, she moved in for the kill. “What kind of legacy are you going to leave, Jonathan Steele? A hundred years from now you’ll be dead. Will anyone at Steele Enterprises remember the man you were? I don’t think so. But Colton’s children will know. What do you want your nephew to say about you? That you were a great man, stern and honest, yet always available and filled with a giving heart? Or that you were a distant relative who gave him up to the hired help to raise?”