man in a lot of ways—probably too attractive to her under the circumstances, she acknowledged with a grim twist of her lips.
He was still a stranger, after all. Anyone could adopt a polite, conscientious, ingratiating manner for the short time necessary to get a foot in the door of a trusting woman. How he behaved toward her, and toward Will, on a day-to-day basis would reveal much more about the true nature of his character.
In the meantime, however, there was no harm in being glad that he seemed to want to work with her. After all the months of hurt and fear and loneliness she’d endured, she realized she was as much in need of companionship as any other living, breathing human being would have been. And she couldn’t see any harm in cautiously enjoying Evan Graham’s company.
“We’re ready,” Will announced, joining her by the window.
He’d put on his rain jacket and had a towel clutched in his arms. Beside him, Nellie wriggled excitedly.
“Let’s go then,” Hannah said as she moved away from the window.
Slipping into her jacket, as well, she savored for a long moment the sense of an adventure about to begin—small, and perhaps silly, as it might be.
Chapter Two
Evan took his rain jacket from the backseat of the Jeep and put in on slowly, giving himself a little time to organize his thoughts. Not an easy task, he admitted, considering his current state of confusion.
He had rarely been as disconcerted by anyone’s appearance or behavior as he’d been by that of Hannah James. She hadn’t been anything like the kind of woman Randall James had described to him less than a week ago. With her long, dark hair pulled back in a single, simple, neatly twined braid and not an ounce of makeup on her face, there had been no outer artifice about her at all. And although the jeans, red sweater and low-heeled, ankle-high boots she wore hadn’t been new, they were most certainly neat and clean.
Nor had Hannah acted in any way like the evil, avaricious and unfeeling person her former father-in-law had accused her of being. For someone who had supposedly allowed her husband to die in order to collect money from his life insurance policy, she seemed to live a very simple, very quiet life.
Either Hannah James had magically transformed herself into a warm, kind, honest, loving mother, her home into a serene and orderly haven and her son into a normal, happy, healthy five-year-old, or his client had lied to him point-blank.
Years of working as a police officer and then as a private investigator had honed Evan’s ability to read people. He was successful enough to choose his clients, and he did so based largely on his belief that they were being honest with him.
He rarely missed the signs that someone was lying to him. In fact, he couldn’t recall one time that he’d taken on a new client only to discover that he’d been grossly and very likely intentionally misled.
Granted, there were always two sides to any story. People seldom viewed the same situation in exactly the same way, and when the people involved were also adversaries, there was an even greater chance of disparity between them. Evan had learned that accusations could sometimes be wrapped in exaggeration.
A lonely, insecure wife would paint her friendly, mildly flirtatious, desperate-to-meet-a-deadline-at-the-office husband as a carousing ladies’ man who cheated on her regularly. The owner of a small company, upon seeing an occasionally rabble-rousing employee driving an expensive new car, would assume the employee was stealing from him in some way.
Or a wealthy man who had recently lost his only son would insist without the slightest hesitation that his grandson’s life was being endangered by a scheming, psychotic mother who insisted on forcing the child to live in poverty, isolation and quite possibly even degradation.
Evan had talked to Randall James first by telephone and then face-to-face when he had met with the man at his office in Charlotte. Evan had asked questions and Randall had answered in a seemingly forthright manner, his gaze direct, hands resting quietly on the arms of his chair. Not once had he resorted to histrionics. Yet Randall’s concern had been more than evident, and understandable, as well, to Evan.
Quite understandable, in fact, considering the kind of childhood he’d had, living in debilitating poverty in the so-called care of a mother who had been anything but loving and protective, especially when she was busy drinking herself into oblivion. Rescuing children from similar circumstances involving parental abuse had been a top priority of Evan’s for many years.
But Hannah and her son weren’t living in debilitating poverty. Her home was warm and inviting, as well as sturdy and secure, not some run-down shack barely providing a roof over her head. He wondered if Randall James had ever actually been there, then decided he couldn’t possibly have been and still describe the place in such a derogatory way.
Nor had Evan been able to detect the slightest sign of either scheming or psychosis in Hannah James. She had seemed a little shy, but in an endearing kind of way. And she’d been wary of him, of course, as any woman living on her own with any sense at all would be wary of a strange man, no matter how presentable he appeared to be.
She would have to take some chances in order to find the help she needed, though. That she seemed interested in taking a chance on him certainly worked in his favor.
But if Randall James had lied to him about Hannah, was there really any need for him to sign on with her in the guise of hired help?
Evan still found it hard to believe that he had been fooled so completely by the man. Had his usually sharp and savvy instincts taken a temporary powder during his meeting with Randall James? Or was Hannah James a highly skilled actress, masterfully hiding her conniving and her craziness behind a mask of normalcy edged with sweetness and light?
It would take a huge amount of talent to pull off such a performance for more than a few days—a week at the most. Though why she would feel the need to impress the likes of him Evan couldn’t say. She knew him only as a man in search of a job and a place to live. And forcing a five-year-old child to appear happy when he wasn’t had to be almost impossible to do.
Seeing Hannah, Will and Nellie the dog step out of the house onto the porch, Evan hesitated a moment longer, eyeing the threesome thoughtfully, trying to decide whether to stay or to go. When Hannah caught sight of him, raised her hand and waved to him, he finished fastening the snaps down the front of his jacket, his decision finally made.
He could see no immediate harm in investigating Hannah James a little further. She had been living with the boy in relative isolation, not only according to Randall, but also according to the few people he’d managed to question in Boone, and that did cause Evan some concern. There was also the fact that she wouldn’t be able to hide her true nature from him for long, living in the house with her, as he’d be. It wouldn’t cost him anything except a week of his time, and Randall James was paying him quite handsomely for that already.
Though Evan wasn’t choosing to continue his charade awhile longer out of any sense of duty to the man. Instead he felt a responsibility toward young Will to determine whether he really was a happy, healthy child, safe and secure in his widowed mother’s care.
Pulling up the hood of his jacket to fend off the heavy mist in the mountain air as Hannah and Will had done, Evan joined them at the foot of the porch steps. Nellie wriggled up to him, poked her cold nose into the palm of his hand, snuffled a moment, then loped off along an overgrown stone path that led around the far side of the house. Will took off after her, as well, calling her name to no apparent
