“What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped.

  Waiting with his hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket, Niall raised his eyebrows and grinned. Duncan glared at him and briefly covered the mouthpiece of the phone. “What do you want?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jane asked, sounding incensed.

  “I wasn’t talking to you. My brother’s decided to drop in on me.” With a grimace, he stepped to the side and let Niall in. He closed the door and started for the kitchen. “Jane, you know I can’t have Tito. So what’s this ‘with reason’?”

  “You love Tito. That makes you a threat to Hector. An understandable one.”

  “It’s bad that I’m spending time with the boy?” he asked incredulously.

  “No. Of course not. I didn’t mean that. Only that I can see why Hector is afraid.”

  Aware of his brother watching him, Duncan pinched the bridge of his nose and momentarily closed his eyes. “I don’t love him,” he muttered.

  “Are you sure?” Her voice had softened. “Sometimes we can’t help ourselves.” After a momentary silence, she added more briskly, “It doesn’t matter, anyway. Hector needs to concentrate on his own behavior. His relationship with his son. That’s what he doesn’t quite get.”

  “Quite? Understatement.”

  “I was blunt. I can be.”

  Suddenly he was smiling, something he hadn’t felt like doing all day. “I won’t argue with that.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Some of her spirit had returned. “I’ll call when I hear from Hector. Okay?”

  “Okay.” The smile hadn’t lasted long. Duncan found he was frowning. “Jane? Be careful.”

  “I will. But Hector’s not like that. All he was doing today was venting.”

  Duncan ended the call feeling uneasy. Whatever she said to the contrary, he was betting Hector Ortez had scared her today. She should be scared when she confronted a pissed-off guy who’d barely gotten out of prison for having killed someone. Hector wasn’t a big man, not a lot taller than Jane, but he outweighed her by fifty pounds or more, and a whole lot of muscle.

  Better yet, she shouldn’t be confronting someone like that.

  It had been daylight, he reminded himself. It sounded as if she’d met Hector at Lupe’s apartment house, which meant there had been other people around. And sharp as Jane could be, he’d also seen her exude warmth. Hector had seemed initially to like her.

  She was probably right. Sober, Hector wasn’t stupid enough to act out his rage.

  Perturbed, Duncan realized he wasn’t as reassured as he’d like to be. It was a good thing that he’d be there most of the time to deflect Hector’s anger. She wouldn’t like knowing he felt protective—he wasn’t sure he liked knowing that he did—but there it was.

  “This about the kid you’ve been hanging out with?” Niall asked. He’d peeled off his leather bomber jacket and gone to the refrigerator. He emerged with two beers in his hand.

  Duncan took one. “How do you know I’ve been hanging out with a kid?”

  Niall shrugged. “People talk.”

  “Goddamn it. What are they saying?”

  “Not much. That there’s a kid. Somebody thought you might have signed up for Big Brothers.” Niall didn’t smile. “I found that…unlikely.”

  Duncan studied Niall, three years younger than him. They weren’t what you’d call close. They spoke. Occasionally one of them stopped by the other’s house for a beer or they sat side by side on stools at the bar one block from the police station. Niall was on the force, too, a detective in major crimes. People were aware they were related, but they didn’t have much to do with each other on the job, even though Duncan was, several rungs up the ladder, Niall’s boss. He was still frequently bemused by the knowledge that his little brother, with a juvenile record as long as his arm, had become a cop. A good one, too. Probably because of his experience on the other side of the fence.

  They were of a similar height and build, but Niall had their father’s red hair. Auburn, in his case. He’d had freckles as a boy that were no longer visible. His gray eyes were often as cool as Duncan’s.

  “The kid’s name is Tito Ortez. He broke into the house one night.” Duncan told his brother the story, including recent events.

  To his surprise, Niall said, “I remember the killing.” He took a long swallow of beer. “I was close to an arrest on the guy who died. A real scumbag. Meant all that time I’d spent building a case was wasted. Down the tubes. On the other hand—” his quick grin flashed “—I didn’t have to testify in court.”

  Duncan could identify with that. “Ortez claimed self-defense.”

  Niall waggled the hand that wasn’t holding a beer. Sign language for “Could have been, but maybe not.” That had been Duncan’s conclusion, too. After catching glimpses of the anger Hector barely kept in check, Duncan was leaning more toward “maybe not.”

  “This Jane,” Niall said, watching his brother.

  “This Jane nothing. She’s a pain in the ass.”

  “You smiled.”

  “I’ve been known to.”

  “On historic occasions.” When Duncan said nothing, Niall let it go. “Conall called.”

  Duncan swallowed some beer, careful not to show any reaction. “Did he.”

  “He’s involved in bringing down a drug cartel in Baja. Says he’s getting a great tan.”

  The youngest MacLachlan brother, Conall, had always been hot-blooded and reckless. After their mother walked out of their lives, Niall had surrendered to Duncan’s authority after a good scare—administered by Duncan. Conall, in contrast, had fought long and hard. He hated Duncan to this day. But so what? Duncan hadn’t been trying to win his brothers’ unstinting love and devotion. He’d been determined to save them from their father’s path, and he had. Ironically, Conall, too, had become a cop, although in his case with the Drug Enforcement Agency. He surfaced from undercover occasionally to stay in touch with Niall.

  Duncan wondered sometimes if he’d even recognize Conall if they came face-to-face.

  Niall finished his beer and crushed the can. He let it fly and pumped his fist when it dropped unerringly into the recycling container. Duncan had a flash of memory: the two of them out shooting baskets at the school, dusk making it hard to see, but both of them reluctant to stop. They’d never talked much, only played. Communicated with body checks, high fives, grunts and laughs. Time on the court had been the best they’d spent together.

  He’d been trying to re-create it with Tito, Duncan realized with a minor shock. Okay, he’d known in one way that he was, in a deliberate sense, but not that there had been an emotional component for him.

  You love Tito.

  He still shook off Jane’s accusation. Of course he didn’t. But…hell. He’d maybe wanted to go back. Have a redo.

  Impossible.

  “I’m taking off,” Niall said, heading for the door. “I’ve got a date.”

  “Did you actually want something?”

  Niall grinned. “Nope. Checking out the rumors, that’s all.”

  Duncan shook his head in disgust, but walked his brother to the door. Night was settling. He stood on the porch and watched as Niall kicked his Harley to life and rode it away down the street. Duncan was already thinking about Jane.

  Probably because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a date.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  YOU BITCH.

  Keys clutched tightly in her hand, Jane stared at the two words spray-painted on the back door of her store. The garish red paint was fresh enough to still be dripping. She had no doubt whatsoever that the nasty accusation was aimed at her. She had one full-time employee and a couple part-time clerks, but she opened the store herself almost every day.

  Her mind leaped to her newest Guardian ad Litem case. The father and the grandmother were being particularly hostile. Jane wasn’t done with her interviews, but she was already leaning toward recommending the mother have custody. She at least occasionally seemed to remember that the welfare of the two kids should be paramount.

  After a moment Jane’s mouth firmed and she unlocked the door. Thank goodness nobody else was here yet. Unless she was willing to share present and past cases—which she couldn’t—calling the police wouldn’t do any good.

  Sticks and stones, she told herself. She’d been called worse, most of the time face-to-face. A couple of times, she’d received really ugly, anonymous phone calls. She’d shrugged them off, and spray paint on the door wasn’t any worse than hearing the words, was it?

  She let herself into Dance Dreams, dropped her purse into a drawer in her office, then filled a bucket with hot, sudsy water and went outside to scrub away the ugly words. She tossed the water into a weedy strip behind a garbage Dumpster, inspected the now-clean door with satisfaction then went inside to open the cash register.

  A moment later she popped back out. What if the vandal had been dumb enough to toss the paint can in the Dumpster, complete with fingerprints? But when she clanged the lid open she saw that it was empty. The garbage had been picked up yesterday, and nothing had been dropped in there in the meantime.

  Hector called midday and asked to spend much of the day with his son tomorrow, Saturday. Jane, wondering when she’d next have time to do any serious housecleaning, agreed that she could be available. Since she had no customers in the store at that moment, she called Duncan’s cell phone and left a message telling him the time and place.

  He returned her call in the late afternoon, asking without preamble, “Was he a jackass again?”

  “Huh?”

  “There was something in your voice.”

  That made her blink. It was possible that when she’d left him the message she’d still been feeling stressed because of the nasty message spray-painted on the door. But how was it possible that Duncan had read her tone that accurately?

  Knowing that he had, and that there had been a kind of gruff concern in his original question, momentarily weakened her. And that unnerved her. She had to do quick battle with the temptation to tell him what had actually upset her. Fortunately, she was strong enough to win. Of course she wasn’t going to make a looming mountain out of a molehill, and that’s exactly what would happen if she involved the police in something so essentially meaningless. Duncan was not the man to listen sympathetically. Nope, he’d launch a full-scale investigation.

  “You’re imagining things,” she told him. Lied. “Hector and I had a civil conversation.”

  He apparently accepted her answer, which made her feel a little bit guilty. “He wants to take Tito to Camano Island State Park? What’s he doing, packing a picnic?”

  “Apparently. And they plan to go to the beach. He says there’s supposed to be an especially low tide. He thought Tito would enjoy the tide pools.”

  There was silence.

  She felt compelled to say, “I actually thought it was a really nice idea.”

  Duncan sighed. “Yeah. It’s just…Camano Island?”

  It would be at least an hour’s drive each way. She didn’t suppose his life was any less stressful than hers.

  “You don’t have to go,” she said without any real hope. Hope of what? Jane asked herself in the next second. That he wouldn’t come? Or that he would?

  Without hesitation, he asked, “Do you want to bring the picnic, or shall I?”

  “I will. You’d probably try to poison me.”

  “It’s really my turn. You bought the pizza.”

  She almost laughed at his lack of enthusiasm for the idea of bringing their picnic lunch. “I don’t mind. Do you have any major likes or dislikes?”

  They discussed food tastes briefly, agreeing that they both hated coleslaw and would agree to disagree on pickles. Considering she hadn’t had time to do a grocery shop all week, Jane decided to go to a favorite deli in the morning before she picked up Tito.

  “Why don’t I drive?” Duncan suggested. “Does Tito go with you or Hector?”

  “Me, this time. I need to make a point.”

  “Good,” he said. “Where do I pick you up?”

  “Home,” she said and gave him the address. They agreed on eleven o’clock.

  She hung up feeling slightly giddy. As if she had a date with Duncan MacLachlan. A real date.

  JANE LAID OUT THE LUNCH she’d brought on a rough-hewn table in the picnic area set among old-growth cedars and Douglas firs, preserved when the land was set aside to be a state park.

  As Duncan sat across from her, he said, “I knew an old lady whose mother told her that the whole island was once forested like this. She said the trees were so big, you could drive a buggy from one end of the island to the other beneath the canopy. There wasn’t any of the scrubby undergrowth in those days.”

  “Really?” She looked around, her face showing pleasure and less tension than usual. Despite the presence of Hector and Tito, a short distance away at their own picnic table, Jane had relaxed a little.

  He was a little surprised to realize how relaxed he’d begun to feel, too. Maybe this outing hadn’t been such a bad idea. Tito had chattered excitedly the whole way. He remembered going to the beach when he was a little kid, he said, but it had been a long time ago. Duncan felt bad that he hadn’t thought of something like this. No kid should live in a county that, while landlocked, was only a short drive from Puget Sound, and never make it to the beach. The trouble was, they didn’t have a good public one much closer than this.

  Camano Island was long and narrow, linked to the mainland by a bridge. The state park occupied land on the west side, looking across Saratoga Passage to Whidbey Island and, beyond that, the Olympic Mountains. Duncan knew that gray whales and occasionally orcas were seen in Saratoga Passage. He imagined what a thrill seeing a whale would be for Tito.

  “Great potato salad,” he said, and Jane smiled.

  “I’d take credit, but, uh…”

  “Snow Goose Deli?”

  “Yep.”

  “Thought I recognized it.” Apparently he and Jane had something in common besides detesting coleslaw. “I’m surprised Hector thought of this,” he said after a minute.

  “Me, too.” She sneaked a glance at the pair at the adjoining table. “He’s made some effort to be pleasant today, too.”

  “You must have scared him.”

  “Gee, thanks. Maybe it was my gentle ways that persuaded him cooperation beat butting heads.”

  Duncan was in a good enough mood to say, “Could be.”

  She finished her sandwich and took a drink of her diet cola. “Hector says hello when he calls. Goodbye, too,” she said in a thoughtful voice.

  Duncan grinned. “Huh.”

  Imagining what Niall would say to see his brother smiling—again!—was almost enough to wipe the grin from his mouth, but not quite.

  “He doesn’t assume I know who’s calling, either. He’s been known to say, Ms. Brooks, this is Hector Ortez.”

  “A considerate man.”

  “Occasionally even a gentleman,” she agreed, a dimple in one cheek betraying her effort not to smile.

  The teasing light in her eyes did something to Duncan that he was quite sure she didn’t intend. She might irritate him now and again, but he wanted her in a way he hadn’t wanted any woman in a long time. Maybe, he thought, disconcerted, ever. All that fire and stubbornness wouldn’t be easy to live with, but taking it to bed was another story.

  He moved uncomfortably now that his jeans had a tighter fit. “Should I be reading something into this?” he asked blandly.

  The smile was definitely appearing now, but she managed to add a hint of doubt to her voice. “I feel sure you know how to be a gentleman, too.”

  Did he? He’d grown up determined to survive. To escape. Maybe his mother had tried to teach her sons manners. If so, he didn’t remember.

  “Why are you frowning?” Jane asked. “Did I hit too close to home?”

  Was he frowning? Yeah, damn it.

  “Sorry. You got me thinking about something.”

  “Something?” Her head was tilted to one side.

  “My mother.” Strange, because he so rarely let himself think about her. “I was trying to remember whether she tried very hard to teach us manners, or whether she gave up early on.”

  “Us? Oh. You said something about a brother.”

  “I have two.”

  “You sound like your mother is dead,” Jane said tentatively.

  Usually he shut people down who asked about his family. For some reason he didn’t want to do that with her. Their relationship had so far been abrasive but also honest. Maybe opening up some was a way of testing her.

  He didn’t let himself think about what the test results would mean.

  “No. She walked out on us when I was eighteen. I haven’t seen her since.”

  Her mouth opened in shock. “That’s awful!”

  “Yeah, it pretty well sucked,” he heard himself admitting.

  Eyes big and drenched with color, she studied him. “At least you were, well, an adult.”

  “I was,” he agreed.

  Had she heard the subtle emphasis on I? He saw immediately that she had.

  “Your brothers?”

  “Were twelve and fifteen.”

  “Surely you had a father.”

  Nope, he was in the slammer.

  Time to cut off this line of questioning. He’d said enough already.

  “No,” he said briefly, wadding the paper that had wrapped his sandwich. “I was an adult. We managed.”

  “Dear Lord,” she murmured.

  He couldn’t help the sardonic twist to his mouth. The dear Lord hadn’t been around to help, that he could see.

  “You raised them.”

  “Yes.”

  This time his answer was curt enough to send a signal. She stiffened slightly. After a moment, she carefully rewrapped the half of her sandwich that she hadn’t eaten.

  She took a bag of scones out of the basket she’d used to carry their lunches. “Cranberry orange.”