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Ellen finally shook off the weirdness of the situation and found her spine. She pulled her hand back hard, trying to twist it out of his grasp. “Let go of me.”
He did. Clenching his fingers into fists, Richard stuck them in his pockets straight-armed and rocked back on his heels, a Bob Dylanish affectation that had always gotten on her nerves. “Why don’t you hear me out?”
“Ellen, seriously, now,” Carly said, with another tug.
Ellen took a clumsy step away from Richard and reached back to stroke Henry’s bare leg, whether to reassure herself or him, she wasn’t sure. “I don’t think so.”
Three more steps. Five. And then a Camelot Security SUV pulled around the corner, and a man beckoned them to the vehicle.
Only as she walked away from Richard did it occur to her that she hadn’t said never. She hadn’t told her ex-husband to fuck off.
She wondered if that small failure—that momentary tip of the hat to a lifetime’s training in politeness—would be all the invitation he needed to turn her life inside out.
Chapter Seven
With a happy shriek, Henry streaked into the front hallway wearing nothing but a diaper. When he spotted Caleb standing behind the screen door, about to knock, he did an abrupt about-face and ran back to his mother, hiding his face against her thigh.
Caleb pulled the door open and leaned his shoulder against the jamb. “Still breathing this morning, I see.”
“Yep. The Huns must be waiting to invade some other night.” Ellen’s lighthearted joke matched his attempt at humor, but her eyes flashed defiance. No soft Ellen this morning. She was ticked.
Welcome to the club, sweetheart.
When he’d pulled into Carly’s driveway only to find both houses empty, he’d been mad enough to punch something—mad at Ellen and Carly for not taking the situation seriously, and furious with himself for not anticipating that they would do something like this.
But the fury had burned off quickly. In security, the
re was next to no such thing as a perfectly submissive client. Nobody enjoyed feeling powerless, and the result was a hundred different kinds of sabotage. He should have guessed Carly and Ellen would leave without telling him. What better way to thumb their noses at the whole situation?
Bring them back, he’d ordered when Sean had called to say he’d spotted them outside the bookstore, and Sean had done it. He’d reported that there had been a man with Ellen, touching her. A disagreement. There had also been a photographer. Sean had given Caleb the plate number, but Caleb didn’t need to run it. He’d already had Katie do that first thing this morning.
All Caleb had needed to do after he talked to Sean was make a couple of calls.
Ellen lifted Henry onto her hip.
“You going to introduce us?” Caleb asked.
“This is Mr. Clark,” she said to Henry. “Can you say hello?”
The boy buried his face in his mother’s neck. “No.”
“Figures,” Ellen said.
“He can call me ‘Caleb.’ ”
“I’ll be surprised if he calls you anything at all. He’s kind of shy around new people. Is that a bag full of unpickable locks?” The question was casual, the tone anything but. She was performing for Henry.
“There’s no such thing as an unpickable lock. This is a bag full of locks that are going to be a big improvement on the ones you’ve got. You planning to tell me what happened downtown?”
“No.”
As much as he wanted to press, he knew that if he did, Ellen would kick him out. She had every right to. It was her house. Plus, he’d deserve it if he questioned her judgment in front of her son.
“Nice place,” he said instead.
It was. What he could see of it, anyway. Too comfortable to be called fancy, Ellen’s home had vaulted ceilings and an airiness that made his Prairie-style ranch seem cramped and small by comparison. Like the yard, she kept it clean and tidy—no small feat considering she had a toddler.
“Nice try.”
