* * *
Tamara had no idea what she was doing. Not really. Not deep down where it mattered. She’d told her parents, over a quiet Thanksgiving dinner the day before, that she’d befriended Flint for the purpose of spying on him for her father.
Neither of them had been thrilled with the news.
When she’d added that she liked him, and was struggling because of it, they’d looked at each other and frowned.
Her father had asked if that was how she’d known about the offshore bank account and, when she’d affirmed it, he’d asked her not to use a friendship to get any more information on his behalf.
He hadn’t asked her not to be friends with Flint, although she figured from the concern on his face, and the hesitation in his tone, that he wanted to.
Instead, when she left, her parents had both implored her to be careful. They’d hugged her tight and sh
e could almost physically feel their worry palpitating through them.
At no point during the day, not in a single conversation, had any of them mentioned a baby. Any baby.
And now here she was, sitting in Flint’s car on the way to a holiday celebration, dressed in black leggings with black boots and a festive long black sweater with Christmas-tree embroidery. She wore Santa Claus earrings. Flint in his black pants and red sweater looked equally festive and she caught a glimpse of the baby’s red knit hat when he’d loaded her carrier into the back seat. They resembled the stereotypical American family out to enjoy the season.
So not what they were.
It wasn’t supposed to drop below forty degrees, but she’d dressed warmly.
At the moment she was sweating.
She hadn’t turned around in the front seat, but she knew the baby was right behind her. Kept waiting for her to wake up. To need attention while Flint was driving...
“I have something to tell you.” Flint’s words brought her back to sanity fast. Was he going to confess that he’d siphoned money from his boss?
If he had, she needed to know. Needed all of this to be over.
And yet she didn’t want it to end.
She felt trapped, with no way out. Or no way that would let her be happy when she got out.
For someone who had something to say, Flint was far too quiet. Maybe he wasn’t ready?
“I have to be in court next Thursday to defend myself.”
Everything stopped. It was far worse than she’d expected. He hadn’t just stolen from her father? Someone else had pressed charges?
Where were her feelings of validation for her dad? Her rage?
All she could find was cold fear.
Disbelief.
“I told you about Stella—how I didn’t tell her about my background...” He was continuing in the same calm tone. It took Tamara a second or two to catch up. There was an innocent baby right behind her. One who’d never have her own mom or dad, since her mother died without naming him, but had a brother who loved her as much as any parent could have.
“...she’s taken out a restraining order against me. My attorney’s been trying for two weeks to get her to sign a mutual stay away agreement, but she’s more of a barracuda than I realized.”
Focusing on the traffic along the freeway, taking herself outside something she wasn’t handling well, Tamara juggled her thoughts.
“Stella claims you hurt her? That she fears for her safety?” She knew what restraining orders were for. Steve’s sister’d had to get one against an ex-boyfriend.
Heaven help her, but there was no way she could believe Flint had threatened anyone, let alone a woman. He didn’t deal with anger by attacking. He sucked it up.
She didn’t have to see how livid he was to know that. She just had to listen to him, to see his tenderness, his unending patience with a crying child. And to know he’d given the mother who’d made his life hell a funeral, even though—as she’d later found out when she’d asked—he’d been the only one in attendance.