Family Matters (4 page)

Footsteps rang out on the front steps. She dropped quickly to a crouch, bent over the splattered eggs and attempted to concentrate on the messy cleanup.

“Almost done?” Matt asked.

“No, they're still runny.”

He let loose a chuckle, briefer than his laugh but packing just as much punch. Keeping her head down, she wiped the floor and fought for a distraction.

Why had she made that remark, anyway?

Because she couldn't help herself. Because she'd hoped for the result she had gotten. Because she wanted to hear that deep, sexy laugh again.

Furious, she scrubbed at a floor tile, as if that would obliterate her thoughts.

“I've got your bags in the Jeep,” he said from over her shoulder. “We'd better get on the road before it gets too congested.”

She stopped scrubbing and stared at the floor, now cleaner than she'd had time to get it in weeks. Her car wouldn't be ready until Monday—by which time Uncle Bren could be scrubbing floors in some prison, if the man standing a yard away from her had his way.

Reluctantly, she rose to her feet. “I'll be with you in a minute.”

“Good.”

“But I'll need to make a stop on the way out of town.”

He frowned. “How long of a stop?”

“Not very.”

“Because the I-57 in late afternoon is no place to be.”

Neither was sitting trapped on the highway in a moving vehicle beside this man for three solid hours. Or more, if they didn't get out of town soon. He'd called it right about the congestion.

Even if they did outrun rush hour traffic, she felt sure this afternoon's trip would be the longest ride of her life.

Know your enemies from their incisors out,
one of Matt's law school professors had taught him.
Know your opponents in legal matters even better.

The woman sitting next to him, her red curls bouncing in the breeze from the open window, didn't look like either one—but was, in actuality, both.

No problem.

Prosecutors and his fellow defense attorneys alike agreed upon only one thing: to get answers to his questions, Matt Lawrence could charm, cajole or coerce words out of a department store mannequin.

No rush now, though. They had just half an hour of their ride behind them and a long time left ahead. And the only thing they had in common was the one subject they couldn't discuss.

It was going to be an interesting trip.

They'd already made the detour she'd requested, to a section of the city he wouldn't normally visit. He'd insisted on going into the rundown apartment building with her. When he had seen the beer-toting guy in the sweat-stained undershirt who answered her knock on the battered door, he'd felt doubly glad he'd gone along.

To her credit, when the guy had promptly responded to her question regarding the whereabouts of “J.J.” by scowling,
muttering, “The bum ain't here,” and slamming the door closed, she turned on her heel and stalked down the stairs and outside to the Jeep without a word.

“Tough luck,” he'd said, “not finding your friend home.”

Probably annoyed with him for insisting on going with her, she hadn't bothered to respond to his subtle play for info.

He wouldn't push it. For now. His curiosity about her interesting friends would keep. He had enough to worry about with her family. “Too breezy with the top down?” he asked. “I can raise it again and put the AC on.”

“No, thanks. Sunshine and fresh air feel good for a change. I work indoors all day long.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“Teach.”

“At the elementary level?”

“High school.”

“Really?” He chuckled. She shifted abruptly in her seat. “The kids must tower over you.”

“Not all of them,” she snapped.

Sensitive about her height, then. Touchy where her family was concerned. It
was
going to be an interesting afternoon.

“You like the job?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her shrug.

Body language speaks volumes,
that wise professor had told them.

Obviously, Kerry MacBride's actions said she spent far too much time around teenagers.

Matt could read the twitch of an arm or the blink of an eye as well as any lawyer. But he couldn't spend time staring at her—as easy as that job would be—and get them safely to Lakeside during early rush hour. Right now, verbal responses from her would have to do.

Again, no problem.

Kerry couldn't have known it, but the dead-eyed, deadpan
expression he turned on her had left witnesses on the stand quaking in fear, knowing he'd zeroed in for the kill. “You wanted to make a difference?” he said offhandedly. “Change a few lives? Save a few souls?”

“What's wrong with that?” She turned to look at him, her entire body shifting sideways as far as the seat belt would allow. “Why did you become a lawyer? To wear three-piece suits? Find a captive audience? Act out your aggression?”

Bull's-eye. And quick, too.

He gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. Not that any of her wild suppositions had hit the mark, but the leading question had shot home. Why he had become a lawyer was nothing he planned to share with her.

When the witness catches on, change your tactics.

With an effort, he loosened his grasp on the wheel for a second and raised his hands in the air in surrender before putting them back in place. “Let's try this again, why don't we. Teaching's an honorable profession, and I'm sure there are as many reasons for going into it as there are teachers.”

Slowly, she leaned back again. A crosscurrent of air swept through the Jeep, tumbling her curls in even wilder confusion around her face and shoulders.

This time, Matt was the one to shift abruptly in his seat.

“You teach art?” he asked, hazarding a guess as he recalled the black portfolio he'd put into the rear seat.

“Yes.”

“And you're an artist yourself?”

“Trying to be. It's a tough profession.”

“I'd imagine it's about as challenging as being a teacher but more competitive?”

To his surprise, she laughed, low and restrained, as if she hadn't meant to let it slip. “Some days, I'm not so sure.”

“What made you decide to go into teaching?” Another
surprise—the question had come out of a genuine desire to know.

“You can't live off your art, not until you make a name for yourself. Meanwhile, you need some income. For me, that's teaching, which fulfills other parts of my creative life.”

“Why high school?”

“I like working with advanced-level students, watching their talent develop.” Her face softened at the words. She cared.

“Found any Michelangelos yet?”

He'd barely completed the question before she'd bounced into her squared-shoulder position again. If they'd been standing outside instead of sitting in a moving vehicle, she'd have been toe-to-toe with him. But nowhere near eye-to-eye. The thought almost made him smile, but that wouldn't match what he planned to say. Or what he was trying to do. “Hey, I'm serious.”

She eased back.

He never typecast people, but she sure had the temper of a redhead.

“One promising student, maybe,” she said grudgingly.

“Good?”

“Better than that. J.J.'s got talent, real talent.”

J.J. The person they'd stopped to see was actually a kid she taught at school.

After a quick glance at her, he returned his gaze to the road. Did she know how her expression changed when she talked about her students? Or maybe her love of art brought about the reaction. For a moment, he wished…for something he had no business thinking about with this woman. He had no time in his life right now for anything other than work. And looking out for his mom's best interest, of course.

Know your enemies…

“So, J.J.'s promising,” he said.

“His craft's still crude,” she admitted, “and his knowledge isn't as extensive as it could be.”

“The masters have to start out somewhere. They don't all begin by painting ceilings, right?”

She chuckled. “Some of them, like J.J., start by painting ceilings, walls, mailboxes, anything that will stand still.”

“Graffiti's illegal.”

“Yes, Counselor.” He didn't look but knew without a doubt she had rolled her eyes at his obvious statement. “But, done in the right places, it's both legal and a method of artistic expression.”

He snorted, then hoped the traffic noise had drowned out the sound.

“And,” she added loudly, probably indicating she'd heard, “sometimes, it's a way of communicating with the world.”

“Communication? As in, defacing public property—often to the tune of hundreds of thousands of dollars in the manpower and materials needed to clean it up?”

“As in, reaching out in the only way some of these kids know how.”

He shook his head.

She exhaled an exasperated breath. “Just because you grew up in comfort—and continue to have all the advantages in life—doesn't mean all kids do.”

“I didn't—” He clamped his jaw down on the words. Again, she'd come close to pushing one of his hot buttons.

“Yes, I know.” Her voice had suddenly grown flat, drained of all energy. “You didn't mean to imply anything negative. You know those kids are disadvantaged. You know they need help. I've heard it all before. From people who don't believe—or intend to follow through on—a single thing they say.”

“You don't know enough about me to know what I believe and what I don't.”

“Actions speak louder than words.”

“I've heard the cliché. What's your justification for quoting it here?”

She exhaled twice as forcefully as before. “It'll be justifiable homicide here in a minute,” she muttered.

Despite his anger, he had to swallow a smile.

“Observe the evidence,” she said in a louder, slower tone, the words spaced as if he had trouble with multiple syllables. “Look at what you did yesterday. Threatened a man old enough to be your father—and for no reason.”

“What?”
Forget the smile. He glared at her, then looked back at the highway. All right, he'd gone over the top the day before. But he'd definitely had his reasons.

“Then,” Kerry continued, indignant, “you libeled him to his own niece by calling him a con artist.”

“Libel is written. That would be slander—”

“Whatever.”

“—
if
the comment weren't true.”

“You see? There you go again,” she said, sounding smug. Ten to one, she'd used the wrong word on purpose. “And to paraphrase your argument back at you,” she added icily, “you don't know enough about Uncle Bren to determine what he is and what he isn't.”

She grabbed a floppy-brimmed straw hat and plopped it on her head. The gesture lost a level of its drama when the hat trapped some of her wildly flying hair in front of her face.

He didn't know whether to laugh or pull over and let her out on the side of the road.

A cell phone rang, and after a moment fighting with her hair, she dove into the canvas bag she had thrown onto the floorboard.

“Hello…? Nice to hear from you, Professor…. Yes, I'm looking forward to it
very
much….”

Matt eavesdropped without blinking an eye. In these close
confines, he could hardly avoid doing so. The icy tone she'd used with him had disappeared entirely.

“Oh, that would be wonderful. I'm honored to be included.”

She kept her voice level, her words professional, but when he shot a look toward her, he could see the unrestrained excitement filling her face. “Cute” Kerry Anne had suddenly become beautiful. Breathing deeply, he jerked his attention back to the road.

“Yes, I'm sure I could change my flight…
Oh.
”

The word plummeted like a parachutist with a defective rip cord.

“I didn't realize it meant coming so much earlier…. Yes, of course. But I can't get away this weekend…. Yes, I know—he makes appearances so rarely…. No, it's a family matter. I can't leave this soon.”

He risked another look. The excited expression had faded.

“Yes, I'm very sorry, too…. Yes, I'll be there as planned. Goodbye.”

She clicked off the cell phone and sat staring at it, her eyes downcast, her face brooding.

Matt gripped the steering wheel to keep from reaching out to her. “A problem?” he asked.

“No.” She dropped the cell phone into her bag. “I'm taking a nap. Wake me up when we get to Lakeside.” She sat back against the seat and closed her eyes. “Please,” she added, the word sounding anything but polite.

She'd reverted to the icy tone she had used with him before her phone call.

He bit his tongue.

So much for charming, cajoling and coercing the opposition. If any of his partners had eavesdropped on their conver
sation the way he'd listened in on her phone call, he'd have never lived it down.

He spent a minute wondering why she'd looked so disappointed over that conversation. And why she wanted to see her law-breaking student, J.J. Then curiosity about her situation gave way to irritation. Kerry Anne and her conniving relations had given him problems of his own to worry about.

First, by putting his mother's financial security in serious jeopardy.

Second, after barely an hour, by having come within inches of upsetting his famous equilibrium. Of making him blurt out things he never said.

To anyone.

A space opened in the lane beside theirs. After a glance in the side mirror, he slid into the gap.

With luck, traffic would let up after they'd passed the next major exit, then he could finally get the Jeep moving within range of the legal speed limit.

The sooner he took care of this investment fiasco—and got away from Kerry and her family—the better. But before he drove away from Lakeside again, he'd make damn sure he left secure in the knowledge that he'd done right by his
own
family.

 

S
TANDING FROZEN IN THE
doorway of Lakeside Village's game room, Kerry felt all too aware of Matt Lawrence breathing down her neck. When she had seen Uncle Bren's car outside the clubhouse and asked to get out of the Jeep there, she'd never dreamed Matt would follow her inside.

Never imagined the chaos they would find.

The room looked as if a twister had swept through it. Twice. Boxes and bags and unidentifiable objects balanced on the edges of the pool tables, leaned up against the walls, and littered almost every inch of floor space.

On the far side of the room, Uncle Bren stood behind one of the pool tables, staring at them.

Taking hold of her shoulders, Matt gently moved her aside. The warmth of his hands seeped through the fabric of her worn T-shirt. Distracted by the momentary pleasure, she didn't realize he planned to cross the room until it was too late.

By the time she kicked into gear, he had his hands braced on the pool table, giving the impression of a hunter who had cornered his prey. From the look of wide-eyed panic on her uncle's face, he agreed.

“What is all this, MacBride?” Matt asked, his voice gentle.

Gentle
and
Matt
made a dangerous combination.

Kerry rushed to join them.

Uncle Bren frowned, as if seeing everything around him for the first time. “Supplies. For the park.”