“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.
At least he knew what to do with them.
“Hey,” she greeted with a shaky smile. Eyes narrowing, Caleb saw the strain on her face. Her makeup was all smudged and drippy, as if she’d been crying.
Yeah, a strung-out dude pointing a loaded .45 at his face would definitely be easier.
But not as important, he admitted to himself, heaving a heavy sigh.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Do you mind if I come in?”
Yes.
He stepped aside anyway.
And tortured himself by breathing deep as she walked past, inhaling her spicy fragrance and wishing he could bury his face in the curve of her neck and see if she tasted as good as she smelled.
Stupid.
Totally freaking stupid.
Because he knew damn well she tasted delicious.
“Are you okay?” he asked after a few seconds of indulging himself by staring at her as she wandered the room. She shouldn’t be here. But he couldn’t kick her out. Whatever her part in this, even if it wasn’t purely innocent, he wanted—needed—this time with her.
“I’m…” She stopped by the window, giving him a pained look over her shoulder. “I had a blowup with my mother. Now I guess I’m confused.”
“Parents have that effect,” he observed. Finally giving in to the fact that running down the hall to avoid confronting her would be blatantly chickenshit, Caleb shut the door. He didn’t cross the room, though. Instead, he leaned his hip against the dresser and watched.
“I know you’re probably busy. You’re not expecting me. But, well, I thought about going by Kathy’s, but her family is in town and it’ll be really crowded and loud there. And I just wanted to see if, you know, maybe…”
She trailed off, offering a wincing sort of shrug as she wandered the room nervously.
What was he going to do? Kick her out? Grill her when she was already upset? Yes, he knew that both were perfectly solid methods to deal with a potential drug-dealing mastermind. But, dammit, this was Pandora. And she was upset.
So he’d stay and comfort her. After all, he could be a chickenshit here in his room, too.
“What happened?”
“Confrontations and ugly words and painful truths,” she confessed, trailing her fingers over the glossy knotty pine of one of the four posts of the large, quilt-covered bed.
“Sounds like a family reunion to me.” Although he and his father had skipped over that part of reunioning. Instead, the old man had watched with laser-sharp eyes as Caleb had stepped to the side of the window so as not to be seen while the drug deal went down. Tobias hadn’t said a word, though. He’d just arched one brow and given a jaunty salute when it was over and Caleb had said he had to go.
All that cordial silence had creeped him out.
“Not my family,” Pandora said with a stiff smile. “Usually my mother is dramatic, I’m quiet and we both pretend everything is peachy keen.”
She needed to talk. He could see it on her face, hear it in her tone. The previous night she’d needed sex, a little laughter and a chance to forget about everything else.
Caleb sighed, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on him all of a sudden. The sex was probably off-limits while she was a suspect, and the laughter was beyond him.
Dammit, that left talking.
He sucked at talking.
As Pandora poked a finger between the balcony curtains, closed against the night, he sighed again.
Fine.
“Want to have a seat?” he invited.
Her face brightening, she looked around. The choices were the bed or one of two club chairs next to the small table holding the laptop.
He really didn’t want her near, either.
“I would, thanks,” she said, taking a second to shrug off her thick white coat, laying it and her purse and scarf over one of the chairs. She hesitated, glancing at the bed, then back at his face. Then she squished into the chair alongside her coat.
Caleb walked over, picked up the laptop and moved it to the dresser, then sat across from her.
“So why’s it a big deal that you tossed a few truths at your mother?”
“Because she tossed a few right back at me,” she said with a wince.
He grinned for the first time in hours. “Don’t you hate it when that happens?”
“I do. I had no idea the truth could be so painful. I think it was easier when she blithely pretended to go along with my claims that I was happy with my life.”
“Pretending is never good.”
“Sure, that’s easy for you to say. You’re confident enough to say screw you to everyone who doesn’t accept you exactly as you are,” she said with a rueful sort of laugh.
Cringing, Caleb’s gaze shifted toward the door.
Was he? He didn’t even know who he was, so how could he expect anyone to accept him at face value? For his entire adult life, hell, most of his life as a whole, he’d played a part.
“I admire that,” she continued. She gave him a shy sort of smile and traced designs on her scarf with her finger. “I wish I were more like you. Only, not, you know. Because I really, really like being a girl with you.”
He wasn’t an expert on this talking thing, but he knew when someone was trying to sidestep to get out of delving into the deeper emotional stuff. And he shouldn’t let her get away with it. She was hurting, and she probably should get it all out, talk and vent and spew and whatever the hell else women did to heal.
Miserably uncomfortable now, Caleb wished he’d paid more attention to Maya when she’d done this kind of thing growing up. That girl had always been talking.