“I’ll never get over her, son. It’d scare me to death if I thought I would. That doesn’t mean I’m some pitiful old fool, it just means that nothing’s ever going to take away what your mother and I had, no matter what I do from here.”
But he never remarried. He wouldn’t. He’d had the one great love of his life, and that was all for him.
Jeremiah headed back inside, rinsed his glass, and walked down the short hall to Mollie’s room. He stood in the doorway, listening to her rhythmic breathing. His throat was tight, his body coiled with a tension that seemed to grip his soul, too. He didn’t know what the hell he was feeling, even what he was thinking. Had his father known what he’d had before he lost it?
Slowly, not making a sound, he peeled off his shorts and shirt and slipped under the light covers. Mollie rolled over, throwing one arm over him as naturally as if they’d been sleeping together for years. He kissed her hair, and he closed his eyes, not giving a damn if he slept again tonight.
Jeremiah rolled out of bed to the melodic sounds of a flute concerto and the smell of coffee. Mollie’s side of the bed was empty, cool to the touch, which meant she’d been up for a while. He found his shorts on the floor, slipped them on, and took a quick shower. Last night had settled things for him. He knew exactly where he stood. He would find the truth about Croc, the jewel thief, Mollie’s role in whatever was going on. And he’d find it, he thought, not because he was a reporter, but because he was involved. Croc was his friend, and Mollie was—
He flipped off the shower. Mollie was whatever she was.
She was dressed for business, hair shining and pulled back, coffee mug and a bright yellow file folder on the table in front of her. “You’ve got ten minutes before Griffen and Deegan get here.”
“I should make the sofa bed look slept in?”
“You should get dressed. They won’t know what to do finding a half-clothed man in my apartment.” She smiled over the rim of her mug. “Not that you’d be easy to hide. And as you pointed out last night, my deep, dark secret’s out anyway.”
“Regrets?”
“None.”
She watched him pour coffee. He didn’t hurry. It wasn’t as if he was indecent. He sipped the hot, strong coffee, then set his mug on the counter. “You’re sure? Two nights in a row, Mollie.”
“I’m aware of that.” She grinned at him. “You’re no dream, Tabak, but I suppose you’re no nightmare, either. You’re just…here.”
“So I am.”
“Trust me, okay? Even if you prove to be an utter snake in the grass and slither off after we’ve settled who’s behind what regarding Croc and the jewel thief, I will not for one single, solitary second regret the past two nights.”
“Will you wish me time in a fiery hell?”
Her bottomless eyes sparked with sudden, irreverent humor. “An eternity.”
By the time Griffen and Deegan arrived to pull together the cocktail party that evening, Jeremiah was fully dressed and at the table, drinking his second cup of coffee. Mollie didn’t explain his presence. Her friend and intern took their raised eyebrows into her living room office.
“You see, Jeremiah,” Mollie whispered in his ear, “I’m not what most people would regard as your type. Publicist, flutist, goddaughter of a world-famous tenor. You’re a reporter who keeps reptiles on his kitchen table.”
“You have your oddities, sweet pea.”
She winked, enjoying herself. “You’re one of them. Off to the hospital?”
He nodded. “And I’ll check in at the paper. Helen Samuel’s going to want a full report.”
“You’re invited tonight, of course.”
“Ah. I’ll check my calendar.”
“I’ve seen your desk, Jeremiah. You don’t keep a calendar.”
He shrugged, finished off the last of his coffee, and got to his feet. “My life’s not that complicated.”
“It’s not planned. It’s plenty complicated.”
Before he left, he popped into the living room, already a whir of activity. Deegan glanced at Jeremiah and seemed to read his mind. “I checked in on my brother this morning. He’s doing well, all considered. His doctors think he can be released today.”
“Isn’t that soon?”
He shrugged. He was dressed casually, expensively, a contrast to his older brother’s ragged, threadbare clothes and general scraggliness. “Hospitals don’t like to keep you hanging around these days. He doesn’t need surgery, and he’s off intravenous.”
“Where will he go?”
Deegan’s expression was unreadable. “My parents were still arguing that question this morning. My father wants him home. Mother doesn’t. She’s suggesting they put him up in an apartment and hire a home nurse until he’s back on his feet.”
“Then what?”
“Up to him. She’s not a monster—she’s just trying to establish proper boundaries.”
“And your father?”