Someone Like You

“Sure. Go ahead and pick one.”



He heard the thunder of little feet as his daughter raced across the room to her bookshelf.



“This could take a minute,” he said.



“That’s okay. We don’t have any firm plans. Maybe hang out on the beach, catch a movie. That kind of stuff.”



“She’ll enjoy it. She’s missed you.”



Carly nodded. “I’ve missed her, too. The house is quiet without her.”



“I know.”



His ex-wife squeezed his fingers. “How are things going with the social worker?”



“Hollis?” Mac felt his jaw clench. “He’s a prick.”



“As long as you’re playing nice.”



“I try. He thinks all cops make lousy fathers.”



She frowned. “That’s crazy. I’m sorry, Mac. I didn’t want to make this more difficult for you.”



He shook his head. “Don’t sweat it. I’m the one who screwed up, not you. You gave me plenty of chances. Now I have to prove myself. I’m more than up to the task.”



“I appreciate that, but if this Hollis guy gets unreasonable, let me know. I’ll set him straight.”



He released her hand. “I don’t need you to fight my battles.”



“You never did. You were always so self-sufficient.” She folded her arms on the table. “That guy I’m seeing? It’s getting serious.”



Mac nodded, then braced himself for a physical reaction to the news. There wasn’t any, except for some jealousy that if Carly married the guy, he would get to see Em on a daily basis.



“Is he one of the good guys?” he asked.



She nodded. “He’s terrific. I’m going to tell Em about him. Just casually. But I wanted you to know—in case she’s upset.” She glanced at him, then down at the table. “We’re not getting married or anything. It’s too soon to talk about that, but I wanted you to know.”



“I appreciate the heads-up.” He touched her chin so she had to look at him. “I’m fine with it.”



“I knew you would be. It’s not as if we were a great love affair.”



Mac knew she was right. What had started out as a casual relationship had turned serious when Carly had gotten pregnant. Mac had done the right thing and pro posed. Together they’d done their best to form a family, but neither of them had ever been in love with the other.



“I cared about you,” he said.



“I know. You were willing to be a husband and a father. I thanked you for that, didn’t I?”



“Yeah. A lot. You didn’t have to. I wanted to marry you.”



“Because of Emily.”



“Does it matter why?”



She smiled. “No. It doesn’t. I’m glad I have her and I’m glad we were together. I hope you’ll find someone to make you happy. It wouldn’t kill you to settle down—fall in love, get married again.”



He held up both hands. “Not this week. I have a full schedule already.”



“Then soon.”



“Maybe.”



Her gaze narrowed. “You’re still punishing yourself, aren’t you? Jeez, Mac, you need to let it go.”



He thought maybe she was right, but this wasn’t the time to have that conversation.



“Am I going to have to come back in a couple of months and give you a stern talking-to?” she asked.



“If it makes you happy.”



“It just might.”



“Then have at it.”



JILL WALKED into her office shortly after ten in the morning. As it was Saturday, she hadn’t planned to come in at all, but she’d felt too restless to stay home and watch time crawl by. Her glow from her fabulous interview in San Diego had faded. There was plenty to keep her busy. It wasn’t as if Tina did anything like filing or even organizing paperwork.



So she would take the morning to catch up, while waiting for Mac’s “all clear” phone call, at which point she would dash over to his house and indulge in a couple of hours of very exciting, very hot lovemaking.



While the logical part of her brain was happy that he felt comfortable enough with Emily to let her spend the day with her mother, her hormones and pretty much every part of her covered with skin was delighted to have another chance at a close encounter with a man who could take her clear to another dimension.



Anticipation added a little spring to her step and made her hum as she sorted through files. At this point, she doubted she would much mind doing research on the dog-sperm case.



She paused, file folder in hand. “Scratch that,” she said aloud. “I do mind about the dog sperm. It’s just too weird.”



She could understand if the woman wanted Bob to pay support for the puppies, but she didn’t. Who cared if Buck had donated sperm? He wasn’t a prizewinner. Besides, it sounded to her as if Buck had enjoyed his time with the in-heat dog. Was he complaining?



“Not my decision to make,” she reminded herself. “If the client wants to sue, then I need to take the case seriously.”



She winced as she pictured herself in court, arguing the case, and had a momentary wish that she hadn’t been fair and levelheaded when it came to the property settlement with Lyle.



She’d nearly finished with the filing when the phone rang. Thinking it might be Mac telling her it was time, she reached over Tina’s desk and grabbed it after one ring.



“Law offices,” she said in what she hoped was a sexy voice.



“Oh, good. Someone’s there. Hi. I’m looking for Mr. Dixon.”



The official-sounding woman on the other end of the phone didn’t sound the least bit like Mac. Darn and double darn, Jill thought.



“Do you wish to speak to him regarding a legal matter or is this personal?” Jill asked.



“Legal. I’m calling on behalf of one of his clients.”



Good. Not a long-lost family member looking for a favorite uncle or godfather. “I’m afraid Mr. Dixon passed away about three months ago. I’m Jill Strathern. I’m handling his practice.” For now…on a very temporary basis. “If you would like I can help you or I can collect the information and send it on to another attorney.”



“Oh.” The woman sounded flummoxed. “I can’t imagine needing another attorney. I assume you can handle a will and any probate.”



“Of course.”



“Good. Then I’m phoning to inform you that Donovan Whitefield has died. Just this morning.”



Jill walked around the desk and sank onto Tina’s chair. Old man Whitefield? Riley Whitefield’s rich uncle?



“I’m sorry. Are you a member of the family?”



“No,” the woman said. “I’m Mr. Whitefield’s housekeeper. The family will have to be notified.” She sighed. “Actually there’s only Mr. Whitefield’s nephew. Everyone else is gone.”



“I can get in touch with him right away. Have arrangements been made?”



“They’re all in the will. I need you to tell me what they are so I can take care of things. There’s no one else.”



No one but paid staff? Jill grimaced. “I’ll get right on it and get back to you. Give me a couple of hours.”



“Yes, of course.”



Jill took the woman’s name and number, then hung up. Old man Whitefield dead. It didn’t seem possible. He was as much an institution in this town as the bank he owned. And Riley was his only living relative.



Not good, she thought as she rose and headed upstairs for the files in storage. From what she remembered, Riley and the old man had never been close. They’d become estranged years ago and she didn’t think he’d been back since. Had Donovan left everything to his nephew, or some charity?



Jill searched for a few minutes before she found the right files, then she carried everything downstairs. She carefully read the letters, Dixon’s notes and then the will itself. When she’d finished, she leaned back in her chair and stared at the fish on the far side of the room.



“I don’t even know what to say,” she admitted. “It’s a whole lot of money and a whole lot of strings. A man could strangle on them all.”



She thought about what she remembered about Riley. Gracie had loved him for years. He’d been good friends with Mac until they’d had a falling-out. Together they’d ruled high school—two young gods, one dark, one light, both bad to the bone.



Mac had changed, she reminded herself. Maybe Riley had, too. Maybe he wasn’t the brooding, dark-haired loner who could cause a woman to go up in flames with a single glance. Maybe he’d become respectable—even boring. Maybe he was married with three kids, a dog and an SUV.



She looked at the phone number handwritten on the inside of the file and shook her head. Looked like she was about to find out.



MAC DROVE toward Jill’s office. He’d received her note that she would be at her office until he was ready. Well, Em had left with her mother, Mac had cleared up a few problems at his desk at work and now he was ready. More than ready, he thought with a grin. Parts of him were damn impatient.



He checked his watch. Carly had promised to have Em home by seven-thirty, which meant even leaving an hour as a buffer, he and Jill had eight hours together. While it didn’t sound like nearly enough time to do all he had planned, it was a start. With a little luck, by this time tomorrow they would both be grinning like fools and walking funny.



He stopped at the corner and checked before cruising into the intersection. A car turned left in front of him into the barbershop parking lot. Mac kept going straight about twenty feet, then he pulled to the side of the road.



The sixth sense that kept cops alive had just twitched to life. The barbershop parking lot had been full. It was Saturday. Artie, the barber, never worked on weekends. Instead he stayed open late two nights a week.



Mac swore under his breath, then checked the mirrors before hanging a U-turn and heading back the way he’d come. He pulled into the crowded parking lot behind the building and watched as two men took the back stairs up to the second floor.



Mac knew what was there—a big empty room where a couple of the smaller lodges met. The place could also be rented for parties and civic functions.



He told himself it was probably nothing. Just a meeting he hadn’t been told about. Jill was waiting—his dick was hard. This wasn’t the time to go investigate. Still, he found himself parking, then climbing out of his truck and heading up the stairs. Telling himself it was nothing didn’t make that damn twitching go away.



He pushed open the door and felt his temper explode. Tables had been set up at the far end of the room. An equal number of men and women sat playing cards. A makeshift bar did a steady business in the back. The current racing odds covered a dry-erase board up front, there was an honest-to-God roulette wheel spinning away in the center of the room and a craps table next to it.



He didn’t want this to be happening. Dammit all to hell, he hated being right.



“Morning,” he said loudly into the crowd. A few folks glanced up. Several swore. In three seconds, he had the whole room’s attention.



He strolled toward the bar and nodded at the man behind it. “I don’t suppose you can show me a liquor license.”



“Uh, I don’t have it with me.”



“Of course not.”



He glanced around and didn’t see Rudy. Had he called in a few employees to handle things here? A small-time gambling operation wouldn’t be much fun for a man of Rudy’s talents.



“Who’s in charge?” Mac asked as several of his citizens began to quietly collect their winnings and stand.



“Me.” A small man in a dark suit approached. “Hello, Sheriff. Good to see you. Can I get you something?”



Mac reached for his radio. “Wilma, we’ve got ourselves a situation.”