Molly O'Keefe – Family at Stake (страница 6)

His eyes were the same. Blue as the palest part of the sky and growing confused.

“I’m sorry.” He flashed his lopsided grin with the dimple, and Rachel felt her heart start again with a painful double lurch. “Are you Amanda’s tutor?”

“No.” She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head, and stood revealed and naked in front of him.

Recognition and painful disbelief twisted his face.

“Rach?” he breathed.

She was going to cry. Her eyes burned and her nose became watery. She looked at her shoes, a habit she had spent the better part of her life trying to break.

“Rachel?” His voice was strong but sharp at the end, and she couldn’t bear to look at him. You have a job to do, Rachel. Get it together. She sniffed and glanced up, meeting Mac’s gaze.

“Hi, Mac.”

He put one foot on the stairs and his hand gripped the banister, as if he wanted it dead. His knuckles turned white as he squeezed the wood. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice strangled.

She was hoping for a different beginning to this conversation. I suppose a hug is too much to ask for.

Sarcasm was her convenient crutch. She knew that about herself, but didn’t have the power to do this without a few crutches.

She opened her mouth to explain herself, but a blond girl appeared at the top of the second-floor stairs and electricity charged the air in the house.

The hair on Rachel’s arms stood on end.

“Sorry, Dad, just went to the bathroom.” The girl’s voice was quiet and thin. Amanda was so skinny, Rachel’s heart heaved.

Something is seriously wrong.

Amanda floated soundlessly down the stairs, carefully stepping on the edges of the steps.

She’s a ghost, Rachel thought, painfully mesmerized by the girl wearing a pair of cutoff shorts and a long-sleeved red T-shirt with the name of a local swim team on it.

Amanda caught sight of Rachel standing in the doorway and her passive face transformed into a hostile mask of suspicion. Her eyes turned hard and old. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Rachel.

Ah, there she is. That’s the girl from the picture.

“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Amanda.” Mac put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder, a gesture of unity and warmth, but at the same time Rachel knew he was telling his daughter to relax. “This is—” Mac swallowed “—an old friend of mine, Rachel…” He trailed off, obviously waiting for her to supply her married name.

“Rachel Filmore,” Rachel said. She held out her hand, but Amanda hesitated until Mac elbowed her in the back, a little poke that said “Mind your manners.” Nothing serious.

“Hi.” Amanda barely touched Rachel’s hand. “Can I go up to my room until the tutor comes?” she asked Mac, but she didn’t take her narrowed eyes off Rachel.

“Sure,” he agreed, and Amanda took off like a shot back up the stairs, her long hair a banner behind her. Rachel watched her go, then turned to face Mac, whose tension she could feel like pinpricks along her skin.

He wasn’t happy to see her and it was only going to get worse.

“What are you doing here, Rachel?” he asked slowly in his low voice. He crossed his arms over his lean chest and tilted his head—familiar gestures that tugged at the lock on her memories.

“Mac, I am a counselor with Santa Barbara DCFS.” The words weren’t even out of her mouth before he turned around and paced away from her. His boots clunked heavily on the hardwood floor.

“Mac?”

“I’m listening,” he said, his voice cold and angry. He grabbed the plate with the crumbs on it and walked over to the kitchen sink. “I’m all ears, Rachel.”

Apparently she wasn’t the only one with a sarcastic crutch. She was surprised by how much it hurt to be on the receiving end of that scathing bitterness.

“Frank Monroe, who initially—”

“Oh, I remember Frank.” The plate clattered into the sink.

“He’s retired now and I am taking over the file for Amand—” Mac picked up the plate and threw it back into the sink where it shattered. Rachel flinched and Mac braced his hands against the counter. He swore under his breath.

“Mac, you must know the gravity of what you and Amanda are facing.” Rachel took another step onto the small landing. Just do the right thing here, Mac, she silently urged him. “I am not against you.”

Mac turned and leaned against the counter. A muscle flexed in his jaw and his eyes were hot with frustrated rage. “That’s really funny, Rachel, because that is exactly what Frank told me right before he said he was going to take my daughter away.”

“Look…” Rachel stepped down onto the first step and knew that her decision was made. She didn’t know when exactly it had happened—the moment she opened the file, the second she saw Mac, she wasn’t sure—but she couldn’t turn this case over to someone else. She knew she would be breaking the rules, but Amanda and Mac Edwards were going to be her responsibility. “I can help you—”

“He said that, too.” Mac scrubbed his hands over his face and seemed to be in the process of reining himself in. “I’m not going to lose my daughter.”

“Then you have to work with me.”

“I thought this was over. I haven’t heard from Frank or from anyone in your office in weeks. I thought…” His voice trailed off.

“We’ve been shuffling things around. Sometimes it takes a while.”

He laughed once, a hollow bark. “How the hell…” He shook his head again before looking back at her. “You? Of all the people in the world, you end up on my door?” The way he said the word you, told her clearly what remained of his feelings for her. Nothing.

“I think it’s a good thing,” she said in a soft but firm voice. “I can help you.”

“Optimism?” he asked bitterly. “From Rachel Filmore?”

Suddenly the past surrounded them, tied them together with the ribbons of their shared, emotionally tragic history. She saw him standing in his kitchen, the sunlight casting halos around his blond hair, but she also saw him as he had been thirteen years ago, heartbreaking in the moonlight and asking her to marry him.

She didn’t like where he was pushing her. She didn’t want to talk about the past.

She shrugged. “That used to be your trademark.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Wonder what happened to it.” Mac took a deep breath and pushed away from the counter. “So, what are you going to do? You try to take Amanda away, and I will fight you, Rachel.”

Rachel didn’t doubt him for a moment. “I think it’s best if I review the case first.”

Mac snorted in derision.

“What?” Rachel asked.

“The case.” His eyes burned her with his cold disdain. “I just love it when you guys call us that. Makes me feel warm and fuzzy.”

She wasn’t going to let him bait her. She was used to the people she bent over backward to help being angry with her. The fact that it was Mac shouldn’t bother her any more.

But, of course, it did. So, she buried her heart feelings in the cold regulations of her job.

“I think it’s best if I start from scratch. We’re going to need to—” She paused before taking the last step into the room. She wasn’t invited, she definitely wasn’t wanted. And while she did need to force her way into the family, she wasn’t going to force her way into his living room.

“Please,” he said after he caught on to her hesitation. He spread his arms and smiled with scathing fake bonhomie. “Come right on in. Can I offer you a cookie?” He shoved the plate of cookies across the counter toward her, the stoneware grating against the tiles. She tried not to flinch.

“No, thanks.” Her cool, professional tone pleased her. “I know that you have already been through the interview process, but I would like to spend some time with you and your daughter.”

“Fine.” Mac nodded.

“Would it be possible for you to come into the city?” It was a selfish request, she knew it, and from the look in his eyes, he knew it, too.

“Too tough for you to drive across the mountains?” he asked, and the sarcasm that coated the question sent her spine upright. “Maybe you’d like to meet down at the Main Street Café. I think your mom still works there.”

She sucked in a breath, reeling from the emotional slap.

“I can meet you here.” She dug her calendar out of her purse.

“Rachel.” The tone of his voice was different. Sorry. “I can meet you in the—”

“It’s fine.” She continued to dig through her bag.

“Rachel.”

“You’ve made your point, Mac.” She looked up and met his eyes straight on. She was a different woman from the girl she had been. Tougher. Stronger. “I would like to set up weekly meetings. What days work best for you?”