Crime and Passion Read Online Free PDF Page B

his son, one of two, and always would be no matter what his age. Being a father meant being concerned. Rose would have wanted it that way.
    He studied his younger son closely now. His instincts, rather than mellow, had only grown sharper with age. “Something eating at you, Clay?”
    Yes, something was eating at him, Clay thought. And had been ever since he’d seen Ilene this morning. It had only increased while he’d watched her at the park with her son. Seeing her playing with the boy, laughing, had created an incredible ache in his chest, one he didn’t know how to handle.
    But he wasn’t about to talk about it, at least not until he worked it through in his system. “You mean other than those spicy meatballs?”
    Clay nodded toward the large tray of browned meatballs that were still waiting to be plucked up from their perch. The bartender’s wife, Greta, had made them. They smelled a great deal better than they tasted, at least to those who were accustomed to better fare.
    “The woman tried her best,” Andrew said, then grinned. “Can’t hold a candle to mine, can they?”
    “Nope.” Clay watched his father do further justice to the beer he was holding. “And might I add that your modesty is blinding.”
    “No reason for modesty.” Finished, Andrew set down the mug on a nearby table already littered with empty mugs. “Just the facts.”
    About to comment, Clay held his finger up, stopping his father from continuing. His cell phone was vibrating in his back pocket.
    “Hold it, Dad, I’m getting a call, Dad.”
    Andrew sighed, waving him away to take the call. “No getting away from technology these days, is there?”
    “Price you pay for progress.” Clay made his way out of the bar to take the call.
    “See you at breakfast,” Andrew called after him before turning back to the party and the very inebriated guest of honor.
    While Callie and Shaw dropped by the house for breakfast with a fair amount of regularity, Clay, like his twin sister Teri and Rayne, had only to come down the stairs. He’d moved out of the family house with fanfare at twenty-one and grudgingly moved back in approximately six months ago. Circumstances had necessitated it.
    The apartment he’d been subletting had been reclaimed by its owner who’d decided to come back to Aurora in order to pursue his career. That left Clay pursuing apartments, not an easy task for a police detective on call most of his days and nights. Especially when his funds were of the limited variety.
    Clay was always being generous with his money, an easy touch for friends, or even acquaintances, who found themselves down on their luck. That left him with little money to spend on the things that were important to his own life. Like shelter.
    But every weekend found him sitting down with the newspaper, determined to find an apartment that suited his purposes and his pocket, and every Monday found him still home, much to his father’s secret contentment.
    Though he wouldn’t admit it, they all knew that Andrew missed the sound of another male voice in the house. And another male set of hands he could commandeer whenever the whim moved him to undertake yet another remodeling of the house or another much-needed repair project. Unwilling to accept any money from his son in exchange for food and shelter, Andrew took it out in trade. Clay called it slave labor. Both men seemed to be happy with the arrangement, knowing it was only temporary and would change all too soon.
    Stepping outside the bar, Clay turned his collar up as the air swirled around him. In contrast to the almost hot atmosphere inside, it was downright cold out here. Standing under the streetlamp, he flipped open his phone. “Cavanaugh.”
    “Clay?”
    Even though the person on the other end had only uttered his name, he knew who it was. Her voice was never far from the recesses of his mind.
    And right now he could hear fear echoing in it. “Ilene?”
    He heard her sharp intake of breath.