had been telling her to dress more attractively.
Ryan cleared his throat. “So listen. Have you given any more thought to us driving over to San Antonio? I hear there’s a great seafood restaurant on the River Walk.”
“Ryan, we practically work together,” she said, hating that her stomach felt squirmy. She wished he weren’t interested in her. That way, she could have just enjoyed his company without feeling on edge all the time.
“That doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Not in Cuervo. We’ll always be friends, won’t we? Even if we decided not to pursue…things.”
Things. Even the word made her queasy. She twisted her class ring on her finger and wondered if maybe there was something wrong with her. As the first member of her family to graduate college, she’d always assumed her lack of interest in dating stemmed from a rock-solid commitment to education. There was no reason in the world she shouldn’t be attracted to Ryan Murphy.
April glanced at him. She kind of was. Did that count?
A burst of static on the police radio saved her from having to answer any questions. It was the dispatcher calling, which saved her from having to answer any questions. She clasped her hands on her lap and gazed out the window again, thinking about her upcoming visit with Matthew Barrett. There was no such thing as a bad kid, of course. He needed someone to go to bat for him. Someone like her. What pain caused his cry for help?
The road was lined with old-timey creosote telephone poles. She watched as one arcing power line, crowded with birds, led to another. In the far distance, a handful of clapboard sharecroppers’ houses stood in an open field.
As they got closer, April felt an odd sense of nervousness, like a horse scenting smoke on the wind.
Ryan parked the cruiser in front of a paint-peeled wood frame house that might have been white once. A magnolia tree cast little shade over a yard full of crabgrass and hard-packed dirt. When April got out of the car, she was almost overwhelmed by the sickly sweet smell of magnolia blossoms. The house wasn’t fancy, but there weren’t any cars up on cinder blocks. Gauzy curtains fluttered from an open window.
There was a stillness about the place that made her feel as though she were dreaming.
“You don’t need to come in unless you want to,” April said to Ryan. “If anything happens, I can always scream.” She smiled to show she was joking. Kind of.
“The hell you say.” He went up the three steps to the porch and then knocked on the door. She followed, her handbag pressed against her side and the case file clutched against her chest. The porch had a swing on it that creaked gently. There was also a bicycle pump, a bug zapper and a piece of nylon rope. Boy things.
When no one answered the door, Ryan said, “Let’s check around back.”
April hesitated. If she were Matthew Barrett and saw a police car coming, where would she hide? “Why don’t you go around back and I’ll take the garage?” she suggested.
The garage was situated about thirty yards from the house, so April started walking. The drone of cicadas rose and fell. Sun devils shimmered over cotton fields. It felt good to be outside, away from the mechanical chugging of the copier and the ping of the breakroom microwave.
She rounded a corner of the garage and found a man on his back, stripped to the waist, working on a Harley. The motorcycle was a beast, all black leather and gleaming chrome. But the man lying beneath it using a torque wrench made her halt in her tracks. She was suddenly aware of how bad she looked in khaki. She could feel the blood quicken in her veins.
He turned his head and saw her.
Dimly, she realized he was taking her in, slowly, starting at the bottom and working his way up. By the time his cool assessing gaze got to her face, her cheeks were on fire.
The men she knew didn’t look at a woman like that. It felt as though she didn’t have any clothes on.
“Who’re you?” he asked in a surprisingly low voice.
“April Roby. I’m with Raymond County Child Protective Services.” Ordinarily, she would show her identification, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t hold any water here. “Are you Brandon McBride?”
He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t deny it either. Brandon ducked his head under the bike again. Muscle rippled beneath his smooth tanned skin as he reapplied the torque wrench to a rear axle nut. April knew all about cars and motorcycles because she had practically been raised in her dad’s garage.
She realized she was staring and hastily averted her eyes. This was crazy. She was supposed to be advocating for Matthew Barrett, not standing here like a dummy. What was wrong with her?
“If you’re here about Matthew, I don’t know what to tell you,” Brandon said.
“He’s been absent thirty-six days in the last seven months,” she replied, baffled by his lack of concern. “If you can’t make him go to school, Mr. McBride, this could become a legal matter.”
Usually she didn’t have to threaten legal action on a truancy call. What kind of man didn’t want his brother going to school? Despite her shyness, she lifted her chin to show she meant business.
Brandon got to his feet and slowly walked over to her. He moved with the lazy dangerous grace of a jungle cat. His eyes were the same clear green as a bottle filled with ocean water. They studied her with a curious mixture of coldness and suspicion, which made her muscles tense. She liked it better when he was ten feet away.
Besides, she was the one who had a million reasons to be suspicious. He’d put some kind of spell on her. He was a terrible role model who was setting his brother up for a lifetime of failure.
“Was that a sad attempt to play hardball with me, April?” he asked softly.
“It’s not a sad anything,” she replied. “Where’s Matthew? I want to talk to him.”
Brandon went to a tool chest that stood in one corner of the garage, examining and then discarding tools. April tried not to keep darting glances at him, but it was impossible. She’d never met a man like him before. The smallest movement made muscles bulge in his broad shoulders. His dark hair was just long enough for him to tie it back with a leather string. His jeans hung so low on his narrow hips, when he turned around she saw the deep V-cut of his chiseled abs.
She was burning up out here in the hot sun. Her purse was an anvil hanging off her shoulder.
“I don’t know where Matthew is,” he said. “But if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you.”
“Your attitude isn’t helping, Mr. McBride,” she shot back. “If you want to continue in the capacity of his guardian, I suggest—”
“You suggest what?” He strolled toward her again, not angry, but with a look in his eyes that she would never describe as friendly. “Go home, Princess. You’re wasting my time.”
April’s mouth flew open. Who talked to people this way? She was a child welfare specialist. She was here to help his brother.
Then Ryan appeared with his hand on the shoulder of a sullen-looking kid who was a dead ringer for Brandon. Same look of cool defiance, but still gangly and boy enough to
