Her Zen shot all to hell, Pandora just shrugged. She knew she was pouting like a brat, but she didn’t want to face her mother yet. She’d been happily distracted by Caleb. Incredible sex and the realization that she was falling in love was enough for any girl to handle for one morning, wasn’t it?

“Darling, don’t be in a snit. You came home for a reason, didn’t you?” As soon as Pandora opened her mouth to say that yes, she’d come home because she needed a job, Cassiopeia waved her hand. “And it had nothing to do with that drama you’d fallen into. That was just an excuse. A crossroads, if you’d like. It was time for you to face your destiny, and fate obviously felt you needed a nudge to get you to do so.”

“Right. Being under police suspicion, used by the man I was sleeping with and then fired from my job were all the work of fate,” Pandora snipped.

“Of course not. Those were all the result of your choices, dear. Not bad or good choices, mind you. Simply ones you made without stopping to listen to your intuition. Fate just used them to move you along.”

“Mom, stop,” Pandora barked, perilously close to tears again. Was anyone on earth as frustrating as her mother? “I obviously have no intuition. So will you please let it go? I’m never going to be what you’d like. I wish you’d just accept that I’m a failure as an Easton so we can both relax.”

Stepping back so fast her rust-and-hunter-green caftan caught on the corner of the counter, Cassiopeia gave a shocked gasp and slapped her hand over her heart. Even though her shoulders were tense with anger and her stomach was tight with stress, Pandora almost giggled. Nobody did the drama show quite like her momma.

“A failure? That’s ridiculous,” Cassiopeia snapped. She lifted her chin so her red curls swept over her shoulders, and crossed her arms over her chest in the same gesture Pandora herself used when she was upset. “Let’s not confuse things here, young lady. You’re not angry with me.”

“No? Care to bet on that?”

“You’re angry with yourself. And with good reason. You can’t blame me for your choices, Pandora. Or for your inability to step up and accept responsibility for making them.”

Pandora felt as if she’d just been punched in the gut and couldn’t find her own breath. Yes, she’d made a mistake. But the mistake was that she’d trusted the wrong person. That she’d fallen in love with the idea of love, and overlooked the warning signs. Blinking tears away, she wanted to yell that she wasn’t irresponsible. But her throat was too tight to get the words out.

“Until you trust yourself, you’ll never see what’s right in front of you,” Cassiopeia said with a regal toss of her curls. “You’re too busy being scared, running and doubting. And, sadly, placing blame instead of having faith in yourself.”

“You have no idea what it’s like,” Pandora snapped. Fury was red, hazing her vision and letting truths fly that she’d spent most of her life hiding from. “I grew up in the shadow of your reputation.”

“And you have a problem with my reputation?” Behind the haughtily raised brows and arch tone, Pandora heard a hint of hurt. But the words were already tumbling off her tongue and she couldn’t quite figure out how to grab them back.

“I couldn’t live up to your reputation, Mother. Nobody could. Especially not with everyone in town poking and judging me, and you always prodding me to find something that we both know damn well doesn’t exist.”

Cassiopeia sagged. As though someone had let the air out of her, her shoulders, face and chin drooped. She gave a huge sigh, then shook her head as if defeated.

“I can’t do this again, Pandora. You refuse to hear me. You snub my guidance while hiding behind your insecurities.” She swept a hand through her hair, leaving the curls a messy tangle around a face that suddenly looked older than her years. “Perhaps it’s my fault. Not, as you seem to think, for being myself. I see nothing wrong with being the best I can and embracing my strengths. But I must have gone wrong somewhere if you’re so afraid of life that you have to blame me.”

Guilt was so bitter on Pandora’s tongue she couldn’t get any words past it. Just as well, since she had no idea what the words would be.

“I’m going home,” her mother declared. “When you’re ready to talk…if you’re ready to talk, I’ll be there for you.”

Pandora didn’t know if she wanted to call her back, to try to fix the mess they’d left splattered between them. Or if she wanted a little time and distance, at least until she figured out what she wanted to say.

But, as usual, it wasn’t up to her. Her mother swept from the room, taking all the choices with her.


“SO WHAT’S THE DEAL? You’re finally willing to talk? Or are you just stopping by to check out the bikes?”

Hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans, Caleb grimaced at his father’s words. He looked around the showroom of the bike shop, noting the gleaming chrome of the custom hogs and a few Indians and shrugged. “They are pretty sweet-looking bikes.”

“Yeah, they are,” Tobias agreed. He patted the diamond-tucked leather of one seat and nodded. “Best game in town, too. I get the parts dirt cheap, Lucas puts them together for a song and I sell them at a profit of about one, one-fifty percent.”

“Sounds like a legit business to me.”

“I told you, son. I’ve gone straight.”

“Why do I find that hard to believe?” He wanted to. He’d spent most of his childhood wishing and hoping to hear his dad say those words. Hell, the last thing he’d told his old man before he’d left for college was that he wasn’t coming home until the guy was clean. But when Tobias had called two years back with that same claim, Caleb hadn’t bought it.

And now?

“There’s plenty of challenge in making this place turn a profit. Between figuring out how to lure in the gullible and get them to open their wallets for a custom bike, special maintenance plans, yearly trade-ins and upgrades, I’m finding plenty to do.”

“As challenging as scamming the head of a national bank out of five hundred large? How does customer service stack against selling bridge investments?” Caleb looked around the shop, noting that like everything his father owned, it was pristine, upscale and just a little edgy. “Does monthly inventory give you the same thrill as selling a fake Renoir to a reclusive art buff?”

Tobias’s grin, so much like Caleb’s own, flashed as he dropped onto a long, glittery red Naugahyde bench that spanned the center of the showroom. “Those were good times, I have to admit. But these are, too. The key to anything in life is to have fun with it, Caleb. If you’re enjoying what you do, you’ll live a happy, fulfilled life.”

One of the pearls of wisdom Tobias had shared many a time with his children over the years. And frustratingly enough, the one that had been ricocheting around Caleb’s head for the least year as he’d fought burnout and disenchantment.

“So tell me the truth, son. Why are you really here?”

“To see your shop.” Caleb sidestepped. Then he shoved his hands into his pockets and sighed. Or to figure out who he really was, or some stupid touchy-feely thing like that.

Pulling his face in consideration, Tobias gave a slow nod. He got to his feet and walked over, patting Caleb on the shoulder before stepping around him and heading toward the back room.

Since that’s the part of the shop Caleb really wanted to see, he followed.

The room was huge, with a mechanic’s bench against one wall, toolboxes and an air compressor along another. He noted an open door leading to a bathroom.

“Here, have a cookie,” Tobias invited, gesturing to a tray as he sat down at a small table. “The pretty little gal across the alley made them. Supposed to do wonders for your sex drive.”

“I hear yours is doing wonders on its own. Isn’t dating a woman your daughter’s age something of a cliché?”

Tobias’s grin was wide and wicked. He tilted his chair back, balancing on two spindle legs and considered the cookie in his hand as if he’d find the answer in one of the chocolate chips.

“Now, why are you really here? You’re ready to quit that misguided cop job?”

Caleb realized that he didn’t even feel surprise at Tobias’s insight. The man was an expert. At reading people, at twisting situations, at understanding human nature. And as much as Caleb might have wished otherwise over the past thirty years, the old guy was his father.

“I think I’m done,” he heard himself admit. Grimacing, he took a cookie. Maybe chewing would give him time to censor his mouth.

“I followed your career, son. You did yourself, and me, proud. Whatever you do next, I’m sure you’ll be just as good.”

Overcome with an emotion he couldn’t quite identify, Caleb looked away. How odd was it that he’d just realized that no matter what his choices, no matter what he’d done in his life, his father had always believed in him.

He didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

Before he could figure it out, something outside the small, barred window overlooking the alley caught his eye. Caleb ambled over, looking out just in time to watch two dirtbags exchange a fat wad of cash for several large pill bottles. He’d been right. This was the main drop spot. But why here?

“Do you have storage in the back?” he asked over his shoulder.

Tobias took his time selecting another cookie before he met Caleb’s eyes. “Nope. But the pretty little gal does.”

Son of a bitch. Pain, fury and disappointment all pounded through Caleb. Son of a freaking bitch.

How could it be Pandora? He felt like scum just thinking of her and drugs in the same thought. But this? They were using her storage unit, her store. Did she have a clue? Whether she did or not, this was going to be a major problem for her.

Caleb dropped his head against the window and closed his eyes, fury and despair ripping through him.

He’d reluctantly come home to clear his father’s dubious name. But he didn’t want to do it at the expense of the woman he loved.

11

CALEB CLICKED OPEN the file of mug shots Hunter had emailed. Impressed, despite himself, he had to admit the FBI had better toys than he’d had access to with the DEA. Within an hour of calling Hunter with a report of what he’d seen, a laptop had been delivered to his hotel, access codes had been texted to his cell phone and he’d had the files of eight guys who fit the description of both dudes he’d seen selling behind Pandora’s store.

Throw in Russ, whose identity didn’t match the info on his job application, and Caleb figured he’d nailed down the drug ring’s middle-management team.

What he didn’t have yet was the person calling the shots.

He took a drink of coffee, letting the flavor mingle with the rest of the bitterness he’d been tasting since he realized that the woman he was crazy for might be a criminal.

He’d been so sure she was clean. Just as he’d been sure Tobias was clean. He’d only dug into her computer files so he could tell Hunter that he’d done a thorough job.

Then he’d read the files Hunter had emailed detailing the illegal activities of her drug-dispensing ex and her part in his little prescription ring. And the note Hunter had attached warning Caleb not to do anything stupid.

What a pal.

Caleb considered pounding his head on the wall a few times, but figured he couldn’t afford the possible loss of more brain cells.

Instead, he was going to ID the two guys, round them up and scare the crap out of them. Sooner or later, someone would spill a name. Or the boss would come looking for them.

Just as he started scrolling through the faces, there was a knock on his door.

He considered ignoring it. He wanted to ID this guy while the face was still fresh in his head. Then, he wanted to hit something-anything-hard, until it broke into a million pieces and left his knuckles bloody and raw.

But whoever was at the door might have another package from Hunter. And Caleb was definitely curious to see what other toys his old friend had to offer.

As a precaution, he closed the file, shut down the program and turned off the laptop. It was a secure machine, requiring two passwords, his own and the one Hunter had provided, to start it or pull it out of the hibernation it’d enter if left idle for more than thirty seconds. But still, it paid to be cautious.

He strode over and pulled the door open.

Well, well.

Not a toy from Hunter, but a toy all the same.

“Pandora,” he greeted with a stiff smile.

For a brief second, he missed the old days when he’d opened the door to gun-toting, drugged-out, murdering dealers looking to take him out.