“What will you do to me?” he asked with barely contained delight
Unfortunately Mara didn’t have any threat at all, let alone a good one.
So she merely stood her ground and said, “This had just better be what you’re saying it is.”
“Careful, I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with.”
“Careful yourself, or you might end up cut off at the knees.”
Mara didn’t know where that had come from or how she’d managed to make it sound as ominous as she had. She also didn’t know what she would possibly do if he pushed it. But still she stared him down—navy blue eyes locked unwaveringly with ice-blue.
Until he blinked.
Not because she’d won the stare-down, but because he couldn’t laugh without breaking it.
Then he said, “Relax, Mama Bear, I only came to help your cub.” He sauntered to the door, opened it and then added, “I’ll be in touch,” before he walked out and closed the door behind him.
Mara deflated, realizing that meeting Jared Perry had had its own impact on her as it rippled through her like an aftershock.
An aftershock that brought with it something a little tingly.
Something a little tingly and, surprisingly, somehow exciting.
Chapter Two
Jared Perry was out of bed at 5:00 a.m. Monday morning and on the phone to his assistant in New York by 5:05. That made it 7:05 a.m. New York time so he knew Lloyd was answering at home. It didn’t matter. Lloyd was used to Jared calling him at all hours.
After rattling off questions concerning his newest takeover—a sporting-goods business in Colorado—and giving Lloyd instructions for the day, Jared took a shower, shaved, did some paperwork, phoned his man in charge of the revamp of an international electronics firm based in London and watched the clock until the more reasonable hour of 8:30 a.m. That was when he called Stephanie to see what kind of headway she was making with the postponement of Celeste’s questioning.
The news was not what he had been hoping for.
Authorities had already delayed the interrogation in order to gather and organize their information, Celeste had a public defender appointed to her so she was represented, and there was no reason for officials to put off her questioning any longer. The fact that Celeste had had a last-minute change of mind regarding representation was Celeste’s—and Stephanie’s—problem. The stage was set, investigators and the district attorney had made travel arrangements to Northbridge, and they were firm in their determination that today be the day.
“That’s it then? It’s happening without you?” Jared asked.
“I spoke to the public defender and he’ll still be there, only now as my proxy while I participate through a conference call. I’m sorry, J., but that’s all I can do on such short notice. I have a death penalty hearing today and tomorrow and I can’t leave until it’s over.”
“I’m worried that if you’re not here to coach her, Celeste might say something she shouldn’t.”
“I’ll call her in an hour or so and talk to her, do what coaching needs to be done that way. But all that’s really expected of her today is that she tell her story. Of course there will be questions, but to some extent, at this point, investigators and even the D.A. are still on a fact-finding mission.”
“It looks like more than that to me when they have a guard posted outside her apartment.”
“That’s because there’s been some concern that she might flee. After all she’s managed to keep under the radar for over forty years, which is why there’s been talk of arresting her just to hang on to her. But the local cops have successfully kept that from happening and I don’t expect that there will be an arrest today either. I think what the feds, the state guys and the D.A. will do is hear out Celeste, take whatever information she gives them back to their own corners, go over it, compare it to the facts and figures and decide where to go from here. If they do opt to arrest her it won’t be for a day or two and by then I’ll be in Montana to handle whatever comes up.”
Jared knew that questioning whether or not Stephanie had done her best was unnecessary, so he ended the conversation with a thank-you.
“You know I’d do anything for you, even if you are a hard-ass,” the criminal defense attorney responded, teasing him affectionately.
Jared merely chuckled and said he’d see her on Wednesday.
Which left him having to call his grandmother to warn her that the questioning would go on as planned.
He stared at the cell phone in his hand, thinking about placing the call, about who might answer it, wondering if Mara Pratt was staying with Celeste or had only been there the night before as the keeper of the gate until Celeste went to sleep. Would she be back again this early?
If she was staying there or if she’d left and returned already, it was possible she might answer the phone. In fact, it was likely, since she’d announced that no one got to Celeste without going through her first.
And he liked the thought that he might get to talk to Mara Pratt again.
Inexplicable but true.
Not that he objected to speaking to Celeste—he was glad to have discovered his long-lost grandmother, glad for the chance to get to know her, and willing to help her out of the mess he blamed completely on the grandfather he didn’t care if he ever saw again.
But what if Mara Pratt picked up the phone rather than Celeste? The possibility gave him a rush and he didn’t understand why.
Mara Pratt was what he’d always considered an everyday sort of woman. The kind of woman he connected with Northbridge: wholesome, down-home, salt of the earth. Exactly what he hadn’t wanted growing up in the small town.
His fantasies then—fantasies he’d made realities as an adult—had run toward tall, long-legged, sultry, breathtaking blondes. The urbane, well-bred, polished and frequently moneyed women he now encountered in the course of work or play. Women like Stephanie.
And yet, despite the fact that Mara Pratt was nothing at all like Stephanie or like any of his early fantasies and current realities of women, there was something about her that had rung his bell.
Not instantly, he admitted, but Mara Pratt’s appeal had definitely sneaked up on him in increments.
He’d been waiting for Celeste, wondering if he’d remember her from his childhood in Northbridge when Mara Pratt had rejoined him in the living room and he’d thought she had incredible eyes. The darkest blue eyes he’d ever seen.
He’d been asking about her brothers when it had occurred to him that her hair was the color of Belgian chocolate, and so shiny and silky he’d had the urge to run his fingers through it.
He’d taken his first—and last—sip of the worst brandy he’d ever tasted just before realizing that Mara Pratt had skin like cream, and a pert nose that was slightly quirky. Then he realized she also had a soft, inviting mouth with an
