Daddy Warlock (4 page)

A beefy woman appeared on camera, holding a boy who looked large for a first grader. His forehead sported a purple bruise.

“Suspending my son is unfair, and that's why I called the press!” bellowed the mother. “How dare they say Johnny threw the fork, when he's obviously the victim! Nobody with any brains believes in magic! What are they teaching our children, anyway?”

“A teacher claims she saw the fork change course in the air, but did she?” the reporter asked the camera. “The teacher refused to speak on camera, but let's talk to the other mom.”

The picture cut to a tall, slender woman trying to steer a boy down the front steps. Chance's breath caught in his throat

It was his lady. There was no mistaking the short, willful brown hair or those wide-set olive eyes.

“Mrs. Blayne?” asked the announcer, and Chance's heart sank. Apparently she was married. But then, wasn't that obvious, since she had a child?

“Yes?” Her troubled gaze met the camera.

“What do you think of the claim that your son has mental powers?”

“Harry's a normal kid,” she snapped, shielding the small, dark-haired figure from the camera. “He probably stuck his hand up and batted the fork back.”

“Do you think he should have been suspended?”

Maternal fury flashed from the TV screen. “For defending himself? Absolutely not! Now, please excuse us. I think everyone is making too much of this.”

As she led the little boy away, he glanced back, and for the first time Chance saw the child's face. It was small and impish, not unlike the mother's, except for his eyes.

They had a slight, exotic tilt. As the TV lights reflected into them, they appeared for an instant to turn silver.

Chance sat bolt upright. Impossible. Unthinkable. Without weighing the consequences, he forced the camera
filming the episode to rewind and play again in slow motion.

This time, the effect was unmistakable. The child looked up, the lights glimmered, the eyes turned silver. There was no mistaking the resemblance to Chance.

From the TV, an offscreen voice said, “I'm sorry, we seem to be experiencing some technical difficulties.”

With a start, he released the camera, and watched the lady of his dreams hurry down the steps with his son. There was still a slightly coltish air to her, an appealing youthfulness despite what she must have gone through these past several years.

She'd borne him a son. Regret and guilt lumped inside Chance's stomach. It had never occurred to him that his lady might be pregnant.

Had she tried to find him? He doubted it, knowing that her memories of that evening must be blurred. Besides, Chance was hardly a reclusive figure in Los Angeles, even guesting on local talk shows to provide expert commentary about changes in the stock market. It was possible the lady had seen him and not even recognized the father of her son.

Mrs. Blayne. Or Ms. Blayne, more likely. At least he knew her name, or part of it. Not that he needed to. Now that he had learned of the existence of a son, Chance would have no trouble finding either of them.

And find them he must. The boy was headed for trouble if he didn't learn to harness his abilities. Heaven knew what the future held, if he was already showing talent so early. Usually it didn't develop until adolescence.

There was an even greater danger: that Raymond Powers, or someone like him, would see this newscast and recognize the boy's potential. Chance doubted that Ms.
Blayne, despite her maternal fierceness, would be able to protect her son against such sophisticated exploiters.

Anxiously, he flipped from channel to channel, but if any other newscast aired a similar segment, he didn't see it. This time, the boy might have escaped Ray's notice, although Chance's unthinking trick of replaying the tape had certainly pointed a finger.

For one soul-searching moment, he forced himself to consider whether his motives might be selfish. The sight of Ms. Blayne had aroused a pervasive sensual awareness and a deep-rooted yearning to see her again. Furthermore, in Chance's family, the greatest powers were inherited by the firstborn. Any subsequent children might be gifted, but none so much as—as—Harry, wasn't that his son's name?

This was going to be a tricky business. Ethics required Chance to tell the woman the truth, but he doubted she would believe him. If he put matters too bluntly, she was likely to flee in alarm, perhaps even get a court order keeping him away.

He would have to be subtle. He would have to guide Ms. Blayne until she reached the point where she could absorb the truth.

“Something's got to turn up soon” Denise transferred a third slice of pepperoni pizza onto Harry's plate. They were sitting on Tara's living room floor on a blanket, having an impromptu substitute for the picnic that had just been rained out.

“You'd think so, wouldn't you?” Tara hated to give in to negative feelings, especially in front of her son. But the rent was due soon and her two weeks of job searching had led nowhere.

Her son, newly reinstated in school, began regaling Denise with stories of his rivalry with the class bully. A couple of times he stopped himself in midsentence, and Tara suspected the boy was hiding something.

She had a good idea what it must be. She'd forbidden Harry to use his tricks, but he was probably doing it when he didn't think any adults could see. In a way, she was glad it was spring vacation so she could keep a closer eye on him.

Surely he wasn't
really
doing magic. He had to be faking it in some clever way. If she weren't so stressedout about unemployment, she would have gotten to the bottom of this by now.

Outside, rain pelted the window. The downpour suited her mood.

Government economists kept announcing that new jobs were being created by the bushel. Maybe so, but job seekers must be springing up even faster, because everywhere Tara applied, she found herself in a long line of applicants.

There had been two offers, but one involved a beginner's salary too low to support her son, and the other required working weekends and nights. If she had a family to help her, maybe she could have managed such a difficult schedule, but Tara was alone.

On Saturday, she'd broken down and called her father in Louisville to ask if he would help her find a job there. A bank executive, he might know of openings for which Tara was qualified. All she asked was information and a place to stay while she sought work.

Through some cousins, she knew that her father had remarried a woman with a teenage daughter. They owned a large house with guest quarters.

He had coldly informed Tara that he considered her and her illegitimate child a bad example for his stepdaughter. As far as he was concerned, her problems were her own fault.

This icy rejection, after her attempt to patch years of estrangement, was the final straw. Tara would never turn to him again.

For one brief moment, she measured what her life might have been had she not become pregnant. She would have earned a business degree, perhaps qualified for an executive position and put in the long hours necessary for advancement. By now, at age twenty-nine, she ought to be earning a healthy salary.

Then her gaze alit on Harry, his face gleeful as he told
Denise how he'd won the first-grade spelling bee last week and earned an ice-cream party for his class. Even the bully had been grateful.

What was the point in trying to imagine life without him? From the moment she'd learned she was pregnant, Tara had known her life would revolve around her child.

But being a responsible parent meant providing for him. This afternoon, while he played, she would answer the ads she'd circled in the newspaper this morning. Denise had been a great sport, offering to take Harry to the beauty shop with her whenever Tara landed an interview.

The ringing of the phone startled her. Whenever she heard it, Tara couldn't help leaping to her feet and running to answer, hoping it might be a job offer.

“Hello?” She hoped she didn't sound out of breath. “I mean, this is Tara Blayne.”

“Ms. Blayne? Chance Powers here.” The caller had a rich baritone voice, commanding but gentle as it vibrated across the phone lines. “President of Powers Financial Corporation. You responded to my ad for a personal assistant. Are you still available?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

She didn't remember applying to Powers Financial Corporation, but she had sent several résumés in response to “blind” ads that simply listed post office boxes. She did recognize the name of his company, which was known for its expertise in investments.

With her experience managing an office, she would have preferred a higher position than that of personal assistant. However, if it paid decently and offered benefits, she'd be glad to get it.

Also, she'd heard Chance Powers referred to as the “Wall Street Wizard of the West.” It would be intriguing to work for someone so dynamic.

“I was wondering if you were free this afternoon for an interview. Unless the rain poses a problem, of course” He sounded almost nervous, but then, some people hated conducting interviews.

Actually, the timing was perfect, since Denise had Mondays off and could stay with Harry. “Today would be fine. Is there any further information you need about me?”

“If you could bring another copy of your résumé, that would help,” the man said. “My secretary seems to have misplaced the one you sent.”

They set the time at 3:00 p.m. and he gave her directions. After she hung up, Tara had the inexplicable sense that more had transpired between them than a phone conversation about employment. But that must be a result of her anxiety.

C
HANCE STARED
at the clock on the wall. Slowly the hands edged toward 3:00. Annoyed, he returned them to the 2:45 position.

There were definite disadvantages to being able to move objects, particularly when you didn't intend to. It was too bad his abilities didn't extend to speeding time itself.

After seeing Tara on television, he'd tracked her easily through the computer. His impulse was to contact her at once, but when he learned of her layoff, he realized it offered a perfect opportunity.

Eager as he was to get close to Harry, Chance needed to proceed slowly enough to win Tara's trust. Only then would she allow him to help guide the boy's future.

Besides, what would he say?
Hi, I'm the man who seduced and abandoned you. Sorry I didn't know about the kid, but here I am, so let's share custody.
Yeah, right.

Chance had laid the groundwork. He'd announced to his staff that he needed help outside normal business hours, which was true. Besides, working weekends and evenings together would require Tara to spend time at his home office, and he planned to invite her to bring her son along.

Then he'd placed a blind ad. She hadn't responded, but he doubted she would realize that. He'd had to finesse the part about losing her résumé, but she'd bought it.

It was sheer good luck that she hadn't found another position during the past two weeks, but the sluggish economy had worked in Chance's favor. Now he just had to persuade her to take the position.

“Mr. Powers?” came his secretary's voice on the intercom. “Miss Blayne is here.”

Rushing out to greet her might look suspicious. It would also make his secretary suspect he'd taken leave of his senses. With forced calmness, Chance said, “Send her in.”

Then he assumed an air of detachment and stood to greet the newcomer.

P
OWERS
Financial Corporation occupied a low-key, palm-shaded building along a side street in Beverly Hills. From the moment she stepped into its flower-filled entryway, Tara felt at home.

Pausing in front of a mirrored wall, she straightened the skirt of her rose-colored suit. The high collar of the tan blouse flattered her long neck, and, with more than a little help from Denise, her hair was behaving itself for a change.

She felt ready to go back to work, and this would be an ideal environment. Now if only Mr. Chance Powers didn't turn out to be an ogre.

After an elevator ride to the second story, Tara pushed aside the double glass doors bearing the name of the firm. A receptionist directed her to an office suite, where the secretary buzzed her boss.

Tara wondered where a personal assistant would fit in, and what her duties might be. Was the man seeking a potential executive or did he want a coffeemaker and gofer?

She braced herself for whatever might come. There would be other job possibilities, she told herself. But whether it was because Mr. Powers himself had called her or due to the pleasantness of the surroundings, this one felt right.

“Go on in,” said the secretary.

“Thanks.” Fighting the instinct to check her hand mirror one last time, Tara stepped through the inner door.

Her first impression was of vast space, soothing light and gleaming wooden surfaces, but this was merely the setting. Behind a large desk stood a figure who dominated the room.

What was it about the man that gave him such an aura of authority? He was tall and muscular, his dark hair slightly overgrown. A suppleness in his gray suit hinted of silk, but there was nothing soft about the planes of his face.

“I'm Tara Blayne.” Crossing the room, she thrust out her hand, and found it seized in a firm grip. As they touched, a sense of dislocation came over her, and for one disconcerting moment she imagined she could see herself from his perspective: skin flushed, tan blouse drawn snugly across her breasts, lips slightly parted.

Then, as if a door had slammed shut, the connection broke. At his gesture to be seated, Tara chose a hardbacked
chair, barely remembering to place the copy of her résumé on his desk before she sat.

What was wrong with her? She didn't usually respond to men this way, especially not in an employment situation. In fact, she had found men uninteresting these past years since she'd become a mother. Further, she knew that allowing any hint of sexuality in an office relationship was flirting with danger.

Chance Powers settled back, regarding her dubiously. At least, she guessed that doubts might be what caused the coldness in his expression. She wondered if he had guessed her response and was offended.

She decided to seize the initiative. “As you can see, I have six years of office experience, including managerial background. I've studied accounting, and my computer skills are up-to-date.”

“Know anything about the stock market?” he asked.

There hadn't been time to brush up since his phone call a few hours earlier. “Not much,” Tara admitted. “Good.” The Wall Street Wizard leaned forward, elbows on the desk. His eyes had a faint slant that struck her as familiar, until she realized that he looked a little like her son. The similarity was disturbing, and she thrust it from her mind. “I have my own way of analyzing and forecasting trends. I prefer not to be hampered by preconceived ideas.”

“Could you provide me with a specific job description?” Tara wanted to be as forthright as possible. It helped keep her from getting intimidated, and, judging by his brisk way of speaking, the man was accustomed to directness. “A personal assistant could be almost anything.”

His speculative look caught her by surprise. She had
the impression he was trying to figure out what to say to win her over, but why would he do that?

“Frankly, it's the first time I've employed anyone in this capacity, so I'm still defining the job duties,” he said at last. “Running a company like this requires putting in long hours. I have to keep tabs on developments all over the world, and the world never sleeps.”

A knot formed in Tara's stomach. She hoped this wasn't going to be another job that required working evenings and weekends, but it sure sounded like it.

“My regular employees aren't always available when I need them,” Powers went on, watching her closely. “Also, sometimes I'll start a project in the off-hours, which spills over into the regular work week. It wastes time if I have to start someone from scratch. I need an assistant who can be available on a flexible basis. With a full-time salary, of course.”

The knot in her stomach tightened. “Mr. Powers, I'd love to work for you and I'd love to learn more about the financial field. But I'm a single mother. There's no one to watch my son at odd hours.”

Picking up her résumé, he glanced over it. Was he looking for some mention of a child? Tara hadn't cited her parental status, suspecting that some employers might be deterred.

“The truth is, in some ways you're overqualified for the position,” he said.

She had heard those words before, with variations. Overqualified, overexperienced, too high a salary. Why couldn't employers understand that she was willing to take a step backward if she had to?

“I'm willing to start lower down the ladder if it's with the right company,” she said. “I could arrange to work
some
off-hours. It's just…well, finding baby-sitters isn't
easy. And I hate to leave my son with anyone I don't know well.”

His mouth tightened and he glanced away. Tara caught the impression that her words had somehow made him feel guilty. Perhaps he hated to turn down a single mother because she needed the job so badly.

“As I said, I'm still working out the details of this position.” When the man folded his hands in front of him, the knuckles gleamed white. He
was
tense, but why? “I need someone absolutely reliable, who will be discreet about my clients' information and who comes with the highest recommendation. Someone, in short, who's overqualified to be a personal assistant. You fit that description better than anyone else who answered our ad.”

Tara pressed her lips together, confused. Her résumé cited references on request, so he hadn't seen them. How could he know she came with the highest recommendation? But then, she reflected, he could have called her former boss.

“I wish I knew how to resolve this problem with the hours,” she said. “My girlfriend is willing to baby-sit occasionally, but—”

“If you're willing, you could do some of the work at your apartment,” Chance said. “Or bring your son to my house—” He paused as if mulling an idea. “You know, it might work.”

“What might?”

“It occurs to me,” he said, “that the best solution might be for you and your son to move into my house.”

Why would he want them to live with him? Was he expecting her to serve as a maid? “I'm not sure what you mean,” she said.