Colton's Secret Investigation Page 3

  “Have you encountered the dragon yet?” Daria asked the boy conversationally as they walked toward the kitchen. Stefan followed, suddenly feeling like a bystander in his own house.

  “Not yet,” Samuel said.

  “Ohhhh, you wiiill,” she said in an over-the-top creepy voice that made Samuel laugh. Stefan was gaping now; he hadn’t seen his son laugh since he’d been here.

  Then the boy looked at her curiously. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Daria. I’m working with your dad for a while.”

  The boy’s expression changed, became something wary. “Oh.”

  “You don’t like that,” Daria said. “Why?”

  “My mom worked with someone. An’ he doesn’t like me. So she sent me away. Now I’m stuck here.”

  Daria glanced at Stefan, and he felt his jaw tighten involuntarily.

  “Well, I like you, so no problem,” she said to Samuel cheerfully. “What do you want to eat?”

  The wariness faded from the boy’s expression. And Stefan had the niggling thought that he should be paying attention.

  “I don’t know,” Samuel said. “There’s never anything good here.”

  “Really? Nothing?”

  “It’s all this fancy stuff.”

  “Not even a good burger, huh?” Daria sympathized.

  “No.”

  “Maybe we should just look and see if there’s anything we can make edible.”

  “What’s edi—ed...what you said?”

  “It means you can eat it without gagging,” she said in a loud whisper.

  And again the boy laughed. Stefan gave a slow, wondering shake of his head. I should definitely be paying attention here. How does she do that?

  Daria was looking at him questioningly. He realized she was seeking some reaction from him, probably to her taking over. “Don’t stop now,” he muttered.

  And then she was in his kitchen. Looking in the refrigerator. She ignored the leftover Szechuan takeout he’d had last night and figured they would eat later while working, and if she noticed the six-pack of beer—well, five-pack, now—on the top shelf, she ignored it. She poked into the deli drawer, then looked over her shoulder at him.

  “Bread?” she asked.

  Afraid to say anything for fear of setting Samuel off again, he walked over to the small pantry and got out the half loaf that was in there.

  “Good,” she said. “Samuel, do you know where a skillet is?”

  Stefan blinked, since it was hanging on a rack practically in front of her, opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again.

  “Silly, it’s right there,” Samuel said, grinning and pointing.

  “Why, so it is. Good eyes, my friend.”

  She’d done it on purpose, Stefan realized. She was bringing Samuel into the conversation in a way he never would have thought of. And the boy was responding, right before his eyes.

  “Now if only we had some butter, we could have a mega grilled cheese sandwich.”

  Looking intrigued, Samuel trotted into the kitchen and pointed at a covered dish on the counter. He was tall for his age, but not quite tall enough to reach it. “It’s in there.”

  “Then we’re a go.” She reached up for the skillet, unhooked it and handed it to the boy, who looked beyond startled. “Go set that on a front burner for me, will you? Don’t turn it on yet, though. I have to get the stuff ready.”

  “’Kay.”

  With exquisite care, Samuel carried the skillet over and set it down as she’d instructed. Stefan was leaning against the opposite kitchen counter now, watching in complete fascination.

  “Good job,” Daria said. “But do you see a problem?”

  “No.”

  “Back up a little.” The boy did so. “Now walk toward me.”

  He started to do as she’d said. Then, suddenly, just before his face would have collided with the protruding skillet handle, he yelped, “Oh!” Samuel reached and moved the skillet so the handle wasn’t sticking out.

  “Wow, you figured that out quick,” Daria said. And Stefan felt the strangest sensation somewhere in his chest as his son beamed at her. He’d been wrestling with the boy for a month now, and she had charmed him in fifteen minutes flat.

  Not only that, but when she’d finished preparing the thick, melted cheese sandwich, the boy gobbled it down, along with a big glass of the milk Samuel had looked at scornfully when Stefan had offered it to him.

  “Now, let’s get you to bed, so you can be all rested up to attack tomorrow.”

  The boy seemed to like the way she put it and happily headed into the bathroom next to his bedroom to brush his teeth. Daria stood in the doorway, saying, “Look at you—you don’t even need a step stool, you’re so tall. Are you sure you’re not six or seven?”

  Samuel gave her a toothpaste-laden grin. And just to further emphasize the difference, he jumped into bed happily. Daria pulled the covers up over him as she said, “Kind of a big bed, huh?”

  “Too big,” Samuel muttered, so low Stefan almost couldn’t hear it. He frowned. A bed was a bed, wasn’t it? If you fit in it, what did it matter how big it was?

  Well, unless you had someone like Daria in it with you.

  He could feel the pressure on his teeth telling him just how hard he was clenching his jaw to make sure he didn’t say anything even vaguely like what he had just thought.

  “I see you’ve got some fun books there,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed as she gestured at the two colorful books on the nightstand.

  “They’re dumb,” Samuel pronounced. “For babies. Teacher reads it to us. ‘The cat chased the mouse.’ What kind of story is that?”

  “I see. I guess you’d better learn to read yourself in a hurry so you can get into the good stuff.”

  For the first time, Samuel glanced at his father. “You mean like the boring stuff he reads?”

  Daria didn’t look at Stefan. She was fixated on his son as if he were the most interesting person in her life. “Boring, huh? What doesn’t it have that it should?”

  Samuel thought, his brow furrowed. “Dragons. Maybe spaceships. Or a cool dog, not a silly cat.”

  “Hmm,” Daria said, and she pulled out her phone. “I might just be able to help you there.”

  Stefan couldn’t see what she was doing from here, but he was afraid to move from the doorway and shatter the mood. Plus, he was feeling decidedly extraneous, unnecessary. Add to that the realization that was dawning that he’d never quite thought of his son as a person with opinions and ideas of his own, and he was feeling like a complete failure. Again.

  He watched as Daria held out her phone for Samuel to see. “Maybe a dog like that?”

  “Yeah!”

  “Well, I just happen to have his story right here. Want to hear how it starts?” The boy nodded excitedly. “Okay,” Daria said. “But you have to listen with your eyes closed, so you can imagine the story in your mind better.”

  Obediently, Samuel’s dark eyes closed.

  She swiped a finger across the screen, obviously opening what was a reading app. And then she began to read in a low, pleasant voice. But when she got to dialogue, her voice took on a different tone for each character, making it come even more alive.

  Stefan found even he was caught up in the story of a lost dog looking for home. And when she stopped what seemed like a very short time later, he realized he was waiting for Daria to begin again. But instead she brushed her fingers gently over Samuel’s cheek, stood up and stuffed her phone back into her pocket. Only then did Stefan realize his son was fast asleep.

  “You’re a miracle worker,” he said softly when she had crossed the room to the doorway.

  “It didn’t take that much.”

  More than I’ve got, apparently.

  He backed out into the hallway and st
ood there, still a little in shock, as Daria pulled the door closed behind her. Well, almost closed; she left it open about an inch. When he reached for the knob to close it the rest of the way, she looked at him curiously.

  “Don’t you leave it open a little so you can hear him in the night, if he needs anything?”

  In fact, he had not. It had never occurred to him. He had looked upon the closing of that door as a sign they had survived another day, and usually felt a sense of relief that made him also feel guilty.

  “I...didn’t think of it. We used to, when he was a baby, but I didn’t think—Damn, I suck at this,” he muttered.

  Turning away, he headed down the hall, embarrassed that she’d seen him at his most...ineffective. She followed him into the den, where he powered up the laptop and began to set it up to mirror onto the flat screen that was actually bigger than the one at the office.

  “The first time you shot for a score, was it perfect?”

  He stopped, wondering where that had come from. Looked over his shoulder at her. “Of course not. I’d never shot at a target before.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t expect to be a crack shot the first time, so why expect to be dad of the year when you’ve only just jumped back into the parenting pool?”

  He blinked. “I...never thought of it like that. I mean, he’s five, and...”

  “You said you hadn’t had much contact since the divorce?”

  “No. And what we had was...strained.”

  “And you’ve been on your own for a couple of years now, so in essence, you’re starting over. Building from scratch, and that takes time.”

  Stefan looked at his watch, not realizing why until the thought formed in his head. In the space of less than half an hour, Daria Bloom had both charmed his son and made Stefan himself feel so much better in the process.

  “Miracle worker,” he said, “doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

  Chapter 4

  Daria tried to focus on the screen as they laboriously went through the security video as promised, frame by frame, but her mind kept drifting back down the hall to where a little boy slept. He was a sweet kid who was just feeling helpless right now, ripped out of the life he knew and plunged into another world. A world that clearly hadn’t ever had him in mind. No wonder he was snarly. It was self-preservation. Especially if what he’d said was true—that some man in his mother’s life didn’t like him and so he was discarded. At least her own mother had had no choice. She couldn’t imagine what it would have felt like to know she just hadn’t wanted her child.

  And even more disconcerting, she kept looking up and finding Stefan watching her. Something in his eyes unsettled her.

  “Problem?” she finally asked.

  “Sorry,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “I just can’t get over how you handled Sam. Samuel.” He said it in the tone of a self-correction. When she gave him a curious look, he shrugged. “His mother insists on Samuel.”

  “What does he want to be called?”

  Stefan glanced toward the hallway, then said rather sheepishly, “I don’t know. I never asked him.” He gave another, more definite shake of his head. “I never thought to talk to him the way you did.”

  “I gathered. Talk to him, Stefan, not at him. And more important, listen to what he says. He needs to know he’s got your full attention, and not only when you’re correcting him. He needs to believe he matters to you.”

  “Of course he matters.” He ran a hand over his head. And let out a long, weary breath. “I remember when he was born. I was going to be the greatest dad ever. I’d had my own father for an example, you know?”

  She smiled at him. “Siblings?” she asked.

  “Three.” His mouth quirked. “All sisters, after me.”

  “Oh, lucky them,” she teased, but also meaning it. “A strapping big brother to look out for them.”

  He gave her an odd look. “That’s exactly what my dad said when I hit about twelve. That it was my job, too, to watch out for them.”

  “You’re close, you and your dad?”

  He looked sad again. “We were. But... I couldn’t...” Another long breath. “My folks have been married for thirty-five years. And they’re still crazy about each other. They live in Florida now. My dad still treats my mom like a queen, and she thinks he hung the moon. But I couldn’t even keep that going for five years, let alone thirty-five.”

  The moment he finished, she could tell he regretted saying all that. Essentially admitting that he felt like a failure for the destruction of his marriage. In the weeks they’d worked together, he’d rarely spoken of anything personal, so this was a switch. She wondered if he shared those feelings with anyone. And if, as she guessed, he didn’t, what it must feel like to keep all that bottled up inside.

  Asks the woman who has plenty of secrets of her own to keep?

  “What about Sam? Does he have any contact with them?”

  “Not much.” He grimaced. “My ex saw to that.”

  “Well, I guess you can fix that now, can’t you?” He gave her a startled look, as if he hadn’t thought of that. “Your mom sounds like the kind of grandmother any boy would love. They’d probably both welcome the chance to help if you sent up a flare.”

  “I...you’re right. Two of my sisters have kids, and they’re really close to them.”

  “So there’s some help.” She frowned. “Who’s the guy who didn’t like him?”

  Stefan’s expression hardened. “His mother’s fiancé.”

  “Oh. Ouch.”

  “And he doesn’t just not like him, he hates him. Gave her an ultimatum. Get rid of him or the wedding’s off.”

  Daria’s eyes widened as she looked at him in utter astonishment. “His mother is marrying someone who would make an outrageous demand like that, and who feels that way about her own child?”

  “Yeah, well, Leah’s always had a...calculating streak.”

  “What is he, rich?” Daria asked.

  “And connected. She’s an event organizer, and he moves in all the right circles.”

  “No wonder your son is angry. He has every right to be.”

  He stared at her for a moment. And then he closed his eyes and shook his head. “I never thought of it like that, either. From his point of view.”

  “You probably haven’t had time,” she said, trying to be understanding. “Just trying to organize childcare is a pain, with this case ongoing. And you had to get him into school in a rush, so it’s no wonder you haven’t had a chance to fix up his room or connect with other parents.”

  He blinked. “What? What’s wrong with his room?”

  “It’s fine...for a grown-up. But a kid needs his own stuff, needs things he likes around him, so he feels at home. And,” she added, “a smaller bed.”

  Something flashed in those striking light brown eyes, something that made her wonder what he was thinking. But he only said, “I heard you say that. What difference does it make?”

  “The difference between feeling lost in a place too big for you and safe in your own little shelter.”

  It was a moment before he leaned back in the desk chair he sat in. She’d noticed early on he had the seat set a good three inches higher than a normal seat, to accommodate his height. Her feet probably wouldn’t even touch the floor.

  “How do you know all this? You said you’d never had kids.”

  She felt the old, painful pang. “No. Nor will I ever, biologically. Doctors told me that long ago.” She’d had years to get used to the idea, but that didn’t stop her from feeling sad about it now and then.

  “I’m sorry. You’re obviously great with them,” he said, and there was a note of genuineness in his voice that she appreciated.

  “I have friends with kids,” she answered evenly. “In fa
ct, my best friend has three boys, including twins about Sam’s age.” She purposely chose the name the boy’s mother didn’t like, felt a small pleasure in doing it and didn’t care at the moment if it was petty. “I’ve been around them and babysat them since they were born.”

  “So...tell me what all I need to do. Besides a smaller bed.”

  “You might not like it.”

  “I just want him to like it.”

  She heard the undertone of desperation in his voice. He did truly love his son—he just didn’t know him. And she doubted she or anyone could have done much better under the circumstances.

  “All right,” she said. “You want my opinion? There’s no place for a kid here, not even a yard, and it’s obvious. It looks like the proverbial bachelor pad.”

  His gaze darted away, and he said uncomfortably, “Yeah, I was kind of going for that, after the divorce.”

  “Do you still like it?”

  “Actually... I never really did. I was kind of reeling, and it was just...”

  “A declaration?”

  His mouth quirked. “I guess.”

  “You need furniture a kid can get on, even climb on, without being afraid of hurting it or getting it dirty. He needs books, toys, maybe a stuffed animal to hug at night, although he’d probably deny it. And more playing room—another reason for the smaller bed—and pictures of what he likes.”

  Again he ran a hand over his head. “I don’t even know what he likes.”

  “He likes that video game. Find some stuff about it—it’s everywhere. He likes grilled cheese sandwiches, like most kids, and I’m sure your Szechuan is way too spicy for him. Kids have simple tastes at that age. Peanut butter and jelly isn’t just a cliché. And,” she added with a grin, “he likes dogs better than cats.”

  “Well, we’re in agreement there,” Stefan said with a wry laugh.

  “Think about that, then.”

  “What?”

  “A dog.”

  Stefan blinked. “You mean...get one? I don’t even have time to take care of Samuel, and you want to add a dog into the mix?”