One Night in Weaver... Read online

  She swallowed the plea for him to stay that she instinctively knew would prove pointless.

  She wasn’t a teenager caught making out in her parents’ basement. She was a grown woman entitled to a life of her own and was going to act like it if it killed her. So she kept her focus on Tristan and his companion and raised her eyebrows slightly.

  “When Cole stopped off here in Weaver to see Jason’s status for himself, I thought it would be a good opportunity for him to meet you,” Tristan explained in answer to her nonverbal query.

  Hayley managed a smile she was miles away from feeling. “This is one of those times when a phone call in advance might have saved everyone some awkwardness.” She lifted the violin out of Coleman Black’s hands and placed it back on the shelf. The instrument had belonged to Casey’s grandmother, and several months ago, Vivian had assisted in getting it repaired when it had been damaged.

  Hayley didn’t like seeing Coleman Black handle it.

  And now he knew it.

  She gestured toward the living room. “Have a seat,” she suggested. “I’ll just put on something more appropriate and be with you in a moment.” She didn’t wait for a response but sailed out of the kitchen.

  As soon as she was out of sight, she tore up the stairs to the guest room, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste.

  Moose was snoring in the middle of the bed, his head lying on top of her tennis shoe. Seth’s clothes were gone from the floor. She didn’t make the mistake of thinking he had just gone to take that shower.

  He had just gone, period.

  She couldn’t let herself think about the possible meanings behind that. Not yet. Not when she still had two other men downstairs to be dealt with first.

  She pulled on her jeans and a sweater, twisted her hair back into a knot, stuffed her feet into leather loafers and went back down to do just that.

  Rather than availing themselves of Casey and Jane’s highly comfortable couch or chairs, the two men were sitting at the dining room table. That worked as far as Hayley was concerned. It made her think about the conference room at her office where she often conducted group sessions and meetings.

  With that in mind, she pulled out the chair at the head of the table. Then she sat down with her hands folded together on top of it. Just because they were in authority where Seth and Hollins-Winword were concerned didn’t mean they were in charge of her. Taking the position of power at the table might not matter to them, but it mattered to her.

  Keeping a pleasant expression on her face, she focused on the newcomer. “Are you in town for long, Mr. Black?”

  His aging, sun-weathered face creased in the faintest of smiles. Possibly amusement. Possibly appreciation for her unsubtle tactic. “I’m never anywhere for long, Dr. Templeton.”

  She wasn’t sure if that was a warning or a simple statement of fact and decided that it really didn’t matter. “Then I won’t waste time here. If you’re expecting me to break my patient’s confidentiality and report on anything Mr. McGregor has said during our sessions, you’re going to be disappointed.” She let her gaze take in Tristan. “As I’ve already informed Tristan, it’s my professional opinion that Mr. McGregor is not feigning his memory loss. I am happy to continue working with him, but unless or until he divulges that he has committed a crime—” she eyed them steadily “—which he hasn’t even been charged with, or I believe he intends to bring harm to himself or others, my responsibility is to my patient. Ethically, I am bound to respect his right of privacy. With everyone,” she added pointedly. “Not just you, but those in my...personal life.”

  “Your stance is commendable, Dr. Templeton.” Coleman’s voice was low. Gravelly. As if he smoked a lot, and perhaps that was his coping method given the responsibility of the position he held. “But there are other factors at work of which you may not be aware.”

  “Does it involve actual criminal charges being brought against my patient?” She caught the look that passed between the two men. “I’ll take that as a no.” She unfolded her hands, pressed her palms against the table and rose. “Then I believe we’re done.” She smiled calmly even though inside she was shaking. “I’ll show you out.”

  And that’s what she did.

  She led the way to the front door, opened it and ushered them out onto the porch. “Safe travels, Mr. Black. Tristan, I’m sure we’ll be talking again soon.” She turned on her heel, went inside and closed the door on them.

  And locked it.

  Only then did she lean back against the wood panel and shudder.

  * * *

  “She just dismissed us,” Cole murmured when he and Tristan found themselves standing on the porch in the chilly evening. He pulled a cigar out of his lapel pocket, stuck it between his teeth and started patting his other pockets for a light as they walked away from the house. “When’s the last time you remember that happening?”

  Tristan pursed his lips. He was pretty sure that, even back in the old days, such a thing had never occurred. Not with Cole, at any rate. “How much time have we got left before they yank Jason out of our hands?”

  “A week.” Cole seemed to give up on finding a match. “Maybe two, tops, if I pull in a few more favors.” He tucked the cigar back in his pocket. “You didn’t tell the good doctor that she had a time limit.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I didn’t think McGregor would hold out this long.” Tristan exhaled a low oath. “He really can’t remember. He was a good field agent. I don’t want to believe he turned. And I don’t want him to disappear into some black hole created by the Feds because one of our cases crept too close to one of theirs.”

  “It’s a messy business,” Cole agreed. They’d reached Tristan’s SUV parked on the street. “What about this business with Banyon? He know how closely we’re being watched on this one?”

  “He will,” Tristan said heavily. He didn’t look forward to the task of disciplining Seth when—unlike Cole—he’d always been a proponent of allowing their agents to actually have a personal life. But it was more than clear that Seth’s self-control where the psychologist was concerned was nonexistent. Seth had admitted it himself when Tristan and Cole had shown up to see Hayley, only to catch the younger man looking really comfortable.

  Tristan glanced back at the farmhouse owned by his nephew. Casey had been the analyst in charge of monitoring McGregor and his partners during their op and had taken their deaths hard. Even though he’d just married his perfect match and was happier than Tristan had ever seen him, his nephew was still struggling with his part in their undercover world. “You ever think that it’s time we got out of the game?”

  Cole snorted, his craggy face actually breaking out into a rare smile. He pulled open the passenger-side door. “Even after all these years, you’re still green behind the ears if you actually think the game would ever let us.”

  * * *

  Hayley eyed the door to Seth’s apartment and blew out a breath. She’d tried calling him several times between her appointments that day, but he’d never answered. Nor had he made any attempt at returning the messages she’d left.

  The last words he’d spoken to her had been about McGregor.

  Now it was evening. And late because her Tuesday night group had gone longer than usual.

  She chewed the inside of her cheek, balled up her knuckles and rapped on the apartment door. And when he didn’t answer, she knocked harder.

  “He’s not there, honey,” a voice said from nearby, and she looked down below Seth’s apartment to see a skinny woman with fluorescent yellow hair watering her planters. “Saw him leave last night, bags and all.”

  Hayley’s mouth dried. She clutched the wrought-iron railing. “Are you Mrs. Carson?” She remembered him once mentioning his observant neighbor.

  “I am.” The woman’s head bobbed, weirdly reminiscent of a pecki
ng chicken. “Three of ’em,” she continued. “Suitcases, that is.” She peered up at Hayley. “You was here before.”

  Hayley smiled weakly. “Several months ago.”

  “Eh.” The woman waved her hand, dismissing that. “Only one I ever saw him bring here. Makes ya’ easy to remember. He didn’t tell ya’ he was leavin’?” Thankfully, she didn’t wait for an answer. “Same way George left me.” Her lip curled and she dumped the rest of the water in her watering can on her plants. “Never figured Seth for the type, but men are men, I always say.” She looked up again and wrinkled her nose. “Three suitcases is a lot of clothes. Don’t waste your time waitin’ on him to come back. That’s my advice.” Her head bobbed a few more times before she disappeared through her front door.

  Hayley was still standing there, feeling numb, when she saw the curtains in Mrs. Carson’s front window twitch.

  She looked away and carefully made her way down the steps and back to her car, parked on the street in front of the small apartment building.

  Don’t trust me.

  Seth’s words circled inside her head. For all of his talk about relationships, he’d still told her that.

  Twice.

  Don’t trust me.

  She’d believed he was referring to McGregor. That Seth was warning her not to accidentally divulge anything about her patient that would jeopardize a possible case against Jason.

  But maybe Seth had meant something different.

  Her eyes burned as she climbed into her car.

  Something very, very different.

  Aching inside, she slowly put the car in motion, only remembering that she was supposed to be house sitting for Jane and Casey when she found herself parked in her own driveway and not theirs.

  She shook her head sharply, scrubbed her palms down her cheeks and got out. She was here. She might as well say hello to her grandmother.

  But when she let herself into the house, there was no sign of Vivian, either.

  Oh, her clothes were definitely still there. Hayley was so upset that she checked. Vivian, for all of her idiosyncrasies, hadn’t just left as it appeared Seth had.

  “Is there a problem?” Her voice sounded thin in the silent house. Her lips twisted.

  Yeah. There was a problem, all right.

  She just didn’t know how to recognize a one-night stand when it was staring her in the face. She was guilty of the same mistake so many others had made before her. Creating forever-afters out of molehills.

  Shoving her hand through her hair, she left a note for Vivian that she’d dropped by and returned to Casey and Jane’s place. Moving like an automaton, she clipped Moose to his lead and took him for a walk around the block. She did what she advised so many others to do.

  She did the normal thing. The mundane and usual.

  Because that’s what it took, sometimes, to get through a breaking heart.

  * * *

  Her dad was mowing the lawn.

  For as long as Hayley could remember, when the weather was good, that’s what Carter Templeton did on a Saturday morning. Mowed the lawn.

  And as strained as their relationship had been since Vivian’s arrival, that one simple act reminded Hayley that some things, at least, remained steady and true.

  She didn’t bother pushing the image of Seth out of her mind. By trying so hard not to think about him, all she’d succeeded in doing for the past week had been imagining him around every corner, just out of her sight. Hovering like some ghost. So she’d stopped trying. And she was still hoping her common sense would put those flights of fancy to rest, once and for all.

  She picked up one of the two boxes sitting beside her that were still wrapped gaily in red and green Christmas paper and got out of the car she’d parked at the curb in front of her parents’ house. She headed across the grass and stopped in the middle of an unmowed patch where Carter would be forced to stop and acknowledge her if he wanted to finish his routine.

  She knew he wouldn’t leave the job unfinished. That wasn’t her father’s way. And after another five minutes or so of standing in the surprisingly warm April sunshine with the spring-sweet smell of fresh grass clippings making her want to sneeze, he finally stopped pushing the mower, letting the motor die.

  At fifty-eight, Carter Templeton was still a good-looking man. His dark hair was liberally shot with gray, but it sprang back from his square forehead as thick as ever. Even though his time in the army was more than thirty years past, his tall, spare body still possessed a military bearing. The familiar posture cheered her as much as his habitual weekly mowing.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she greeted.

  His eyes were dark brown like hers and they narrowed as he took his time studying her. “You look like hell,” he finally said.

  Deflated, she pressed Vivian’s Christmas album to her chest. “Well, gee, Dad. Thanks ever so much.”

  His lips thinned. “You have circles under your eyes. It’s your grandmother’s doing. I warned you about her, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  “The circles aren’t because of Vivian,” she replied. “They have nothing whatsoever to do with her.” Because she’d come to Braden determined to make one part of her life feel less of a failure, she stepped around the lawn mower and reached up to kiss his cheek. “I love you, Dad. Just want to get that in there in case you make me forget later.”

  His brows lowered. “I love you, too,” he returned gruffly. “That’s why I can’t understand what you’re doing with her. Skunks don’t change their stripes, missy.”

  “Vivian’s not a skunk.” A dirty pickup truck noisily chugged down the street and Hayley absently watched it turn the corner. “Finish the lawn,” she suggested. “I’m going inside to say hello to Mom.”

  “Early for Christmas presents, isn’t it?”

  She patted the box. “Not early. Late. Four months late.” She headed for the house. “I’ll see you inside when you’re done.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. Just went through the front door and found her mother in the kitchen, where she was stirring the contents of a big pot at the stove. The radio was on and Meredith’s bare feet were moving in time to the music. She was six years younger than Carter and as bohemian as he was conventional. Her glossy black hair streamed down her narrow back in ringlets and the bracelet around one of her ankles tinkled with the sound of small bells.

  “What concoction are you boiling up now?”

  Meredith whirled, her wildly colorful skirt flaring around her calves. “Hayley!” She left the long-handled spoon sticking out of the big pot and wrapped her arms around her, squeezing her hard. “I told Carter that today was going to be a beautiful day, and here you are!” She pushed away, looking up at Hayley with bright blue eyes. “Don’t you look like a ray of sunshine?”

  Hayley grimaced and set the box on the table by the window. “Daddy told me I looked like hell.”

  “Oh.” Meredith swished her hand in the air dismissively. “Ignore him. He needs more prunes in his diet.”

  It was the first time Hayley had felt like laughing all week. Ever since Mrs. Carson had told her about Seth and his three—count ’em, three—suitcases. “You’re too good for him.” She repeated the words that she’d grown up hearing her father say, time and time again. “How’re the Trips?”

  “Busy as usual.” Meredith went back to stirring her pot. “Ali’s riding with another new partner. Greer’s on night court and Maddie’s still on adult probation.”

  “Only you would have a cop, a public defender and a social worker for daughters,” Hayley said with a laugh. “I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to talk with them lately. And Rosalind?”

  “Still working for her father’s legal firm in Cheyenne.” Meredith shrugged. “She really is too good for them.”

  Hayley squeezed Mer
edith’s shoulders, knowing how hard her stepmother worked to maintain a relationship with her eldest daughter. “Any of them dating? Or is that still Arch’s domain?” Last she’d checked, her older brother had a revolving door when it came to the opposite sex.

  “Greer’s been seeing someone for a few weeks. Haven’t met him yet. What about you? Anyone special?”

  Seth’s ever-present image swam inside her head. “I thought there was.” She went quiet for a moment. “Really special.”

  Meredith tsked. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “So am I.” Truer words she’d never spoken. Then she frowned as she looked into the unappealing, smelly muck inside the pot. “What is that?”

  “Soap.”

  “Her latest hobby,” Carter said, coming into the kitchen. He grabbed a coffee mug and filled it to the brim before pulling out one of the chairs and sitting at the table. “Smells like doody, if you ask me.”

  Hayley’s smile felt wooden. Was “doody” the word former military men reserved for use around the women in their lives?

  Of course, as she’d just indicated with Meredith, Hayley wasn’t in Seth’s life.

  “It’s lavender and olive oil.” Meredith set an apple on the table next to Carter’s coffee.

  “Still stinks.” But he gave her a fond pat on the rump as she danced her way back to the stove.

  Hayley pulled out another chair and sat across from her dad. She pushed the gift toward him. “It’s for you. I have another one in my car for Uncle David.”

  Carter immediately shook his head. “Then it’s from the Queen of the Damned. No, thank you.”

  “Don’t call your mother that,” Meredith chided. “She gave birth to you.”

  “It’s a wonder she didn’t eat her young.”

  “Come on, Dad. Vivian Archer Templeton. You named Arch after her!”