and alarmed, making him wonder how feral his expression had become.
He rose to his feet. Time to get out of here and do his job, not hang around wishing for the impossible.
“If I have more questions, I’ll be in touch, Ms. Stavig. Thank you for your help.”
“You’re welcome.” She almost sounded as if she meant it. He felt her gaze on his back as he left her classroom.
He headed for the office, where the principal would have students called to talk to him one at a time, starting with Lucy Carlson, the girl who had suggested Tracy tell all to Mariah in the first place. He wasn’t halfway when it occurred to Connor that he’d committed more than foolishness in lusting after a woman who hated him.
He’d committed a sin. He had to have lusted after her three years ago, when she was married and he was investigating her husband. Why else would he have remembered her face so well? Noticed her gloriously long legs in snug jeans to the point where he could still close his eyes and picture her walking away from him?
He might not have acknowledged his attraction, but what if it had affected his judgment, his objectivity? Looking back, he knew it had increased his abhorrence and animosity for Simon Stavig. Question was, had his peripheral but powerful awareness of Stavig’s beautiful, puzzled, hurt wife changed the way he’d conducted the investigation? Had he done something differently, because he’d disliked the son of a bitch for wounding his wife?
He growled in his throat.
Did it matter what he’d felt for Simon Stavig, when lately he’d begun to wonder whether his reasons for going into this line of work in the first place had prejudiced him beyond hope? Hell, wasn’t he already afraid he’d become a sort of avenger rather than a dispassionate investigator?
What was one more small sin added to the weight on his conscience?
Shoving through the double doors to let himself outside, Connor told himself it was time he found another job.
One that let him sleep at night.
CHAPTER FOUR
ZIPPING THE SMALL pink-and-purple suitcase, Mariah called, “Zofie, Daddy will be here any minute. Are you ready?”
Her six-year-old daughter appeared in the bedroom doorway, her small face set in a pout. “Do I hafta go?”
Mariah felt a familiar mix of potent emotions. Petty exultation—she loves me best—swirled with fear—is she afraid of him?—and finally a parent’s familiar impatience.
“You know you do.” She hesitated and added carefully, “You can always talk to me about Daddy and anything he says or does when you’re with him. Sometimes there are reasons kids can’t visit their parents, but as long as you don’t have a special reason besides missing Renee’s birthday party, you do have to go. Your dad loves you and wants to spend time with you, too.”
Her daughter hung her head. “It’s not just Renee’s party. It’s…sometimes Daddy…”
Mariah’s heart jerked as if she’d touched a live wire. She fought to keep her voice calm. “Sometimes what?”
“Sometimes he’s boring.” The first-grader sighed heavily. “He doesn’t do stuff with me.”
Mariah sagged. Of course Zofie would have told her if Simon had touched her like that. She had to quit scaring herself by reading something into nothing!
“I can’t always do stuff with you, either,” she pointed out, her voice only slightly shaky.
“Yeah, but then I can go to a friend’s house or something,” Zofie argued. “Or I have my toys.”
“I know perfectly well you have toys at his house, too.” Mariah raised her eyebrows and nodded at the bag in the hall. “Not to mention everything you just packed.”
Zofie squirmed. “Yeah, but…” She flung herself at her mother and hugged her hard. “I like being with you!”
Mariah dropped to her knees on the throw rug in front of her daughter’s bed and hugged back. Tears stinging her eyes, she said, “Oh, sweetie, you know I like being with you, too.”
Zofie sniffed and nodded hard. “But Dad loves me, too,” she mumbled.
“That’s right.” Mariah hoped and prayed Simon did, that he would always put the child they shared first.
One more sniff, and her petite daughter straightened, lifted her chin and said with resolution, “I’m okay.”
Mariah smiled, hoping her tears didn’t show. “Good.”
Zofie cocked her head. “Is that Daddy? Did you hear a knock?”
“No, but let’s go see.” Mariah grabbed the child’s suitcase from the bed and hurried with Zofie to the front door.
Opening it, her daughter cried, “Daddy!” with complete delight, as if she hadn’t just been bemoaning the necessity of seeing him.
Mariah stood back watching as he bent and lifted Zofie into his arms, a grin warming his saturnine face. For a moment he was the handsome man she had married, his dark hair tousled, his thin nose and wonderful cheekbones making him movie-star handsome. She had the jarring sensation of a temporal shift, as if this was once-upon-a-time, and he was just coming home from work, and he’d be looking up and smiling at her any minute…
Instead, over Zofie’s dark curls, his cold gaze met hers. “I take it she’s ready?”
Mariah forced a smile. “Yup. Zofie’s all packed.”
“Wait!” She wriggled in his arms. “I’ve got stuff to play with. I left it in the hall.”
“Run and get it.” He let her down and bent to pick up her suitcase.
The silence felt uncomfortable. Trying to sound friendly, Mariah asked, “Do you have any plans this weekend?”
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