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Stephen worried his lip for a second, then shrugged, as if he didn’t care one way or the other. “Okay. Mom’s down at the police station.”
“Why?”
“Dunno,” he mumbled, obviously lying. “I just got stuck babysitting.”
“I’m not a baby!” Christina dashed down the stairs on her chubby legs. The blue-black curls bounced, and her eyes were wide with wonder.
“You’re here alone?” he asked.
“Ellie’s downstairs.” Christina dashed across the hall and through a swinging door leading into the kitchen.
“Who’s Ellie?”
“Mrs. Ellingsworth.” Stephen shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “She lives in one of the apartments downstairs, and when Mom has to work, Ellie looks after Chrissie.”
“And you?”
Stephen’s spine stiffened. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
This was getting him nowhere fast. J.D. set his bag and briefcase on to the floor. “So…when will your mom be back?” Something was up—something the kid didn’t want him to know about.
“Dunno. Soon, I guess.” Stephen was prickly but must have heard the rudeness in his voice, because he added, “You can, uh, wait for her here or in the parlor, if ya want...or—”
Christina barreled out of the kitchen and ran to one of the narrow, beveled-glass windows flanking the front door. “Mommy!” she cried with delight. She threw open the door and raced down the steps.
J.D. turned and saw Tiffany climbing out of a sedan she’d parked in the shaded driveway.
Tall and slim, with shoulder-length black hair that framed an oval face, she was more than attractive; she was downright gorgeous, the kind of woman who expected and received more than her share of male attention.
“A male magnet,” his mother used to say.
Folding some papers into an oversize bag, she looked up, saw Christina flying across the yard and offered her daughter a smile that froze as her gaze landed directly on J.D. Her eyes, a gold color J.D. had always found disturbing, hardened, and the skin stretched taut over her high cheekbones was suddenly suffused with color. “Hi, honey!” she said to her daughter as she scooped the three-year-old up from the ground.
“Lookie who’s here.”
“I see.” She seemed to steel herself in her sleeveless white blouse, still crisply pressed and stark against her tanned skin. She walked toward the front door, and the slit in her khaki-colored skirt moved enough to show off her long, well-muscled legs.
Yep. There was a reason his divorced brother had fallen so hard and fast for Tiffany Nesbitt. The same reason that had nearly done J.D. in. Nearly.
From the foyer, Stephen cleared his throat. His voice cracked again. “Mom... Er, Mom, Uncle J.D. is here.”
“So I see.” She lifted a finely arched brow. White lines of irritation bracketed her lips. “Jay.”
“Tiff.” His damned pulse elevated a fraction.
“Looks like your timing is impeccable as always,” she said with more than a trace of sarcasm.
“What’s going on here?” J.D. asked.
Still carrying her daughter, she walked into the house and shut the door. “A misunderstanding.”
“With the police?”
“The juvenile authorities,” she corrected, her gaze skating to her son for an instant before returning to J.D. She flashed him a look that warned him not to dive too deeply into these murky waters. Whatever was going on, it was serious. Christina wriggled, and Tiffany set her daughter on the floor. “You know, J.D., of all the people I expected to run into today, you’re the last.”
“I should have called.”
She lifted a shoulder as if she didn’t give a damn, but barely restrained fury snapped in her eyes. “Not your style.”
