Parker’s Price (10 page)

“You’re an angel,” Parker said emphatically. “I’ll let you run wild in the sample room next week. Anything you want is yours. I’ll even help you carry them home.”

Deidre’s face lit up, like she’d just won the lottery. “Oh, sweetie, you just made my Christmas.”

Her expression dimmed as she waved a hand at Parker’s front door. “Your place isn’t habitable, especially with the broken lock. You can stay with me until everything gets put to rights. It’ll be—”

“She’ll be staying with me,” interjected Dean.

Parker felt warmth blossom on her cheeks as one of her neighbor’s expertly plucked eyebrows rose, then lowered. “I think I’ll go get that business card for you,” murmured Deidre. “Be right back.”

She returned shortly and held out the card. Dean took it and pocketed it.

“Call me if you need me, sweetie.” She fluttered her fingers at them, the stones in her rings winking, and disappeared back inside her unit in a swirl of glittering fabric.

Keeping Parker behind him, Dean silently opened her front door and went in first. As a faint sense of déjà vu swept over her, cold air wafted through the doorway, around his frame, and hit her. Whoever had violated her home had also broken her windows. Deidre wouldn’t have left them open.

Dean deliberately blocked the doorway with his body for several moments, his body tensing more with each, then flipped on a light switch and stood aside to let her enter. Despite having braced herself, Parker wasn’t able to smother her gasp of dismay. Her living room looked like two giant hands had picked it up, shaken it and put it down again. Furniture was overturned and vandalized. Her sofa was on its back, its cushions ripped open, exposing white batting, and flung across the room. Her slipper chair and ottoman-cum-coffee table both suffered the same fate. Like a sleepwalker, she shuffled deeper inside. Glass crunched under her shoes. She glanced down. It was the remains of the Tiffany lamp she kept on the side table.

Parker shivered as fear congealed in her stomach. This wasn’t a simple robbery motivated by greed. Whoever was responsible for all this destruction had been enraged, dangerously so.
Oh, God.
Who hated her to such a passionate and disturbing degree?

Parker stood still, afraid to move, afraid to see the fate of her kitchen, the fate of her bedroom.

A hand landed on her shoulder. “Let’s go. You don’t need to see anymore.”

She blinked, then took a quivering breath. “Yes, I do,” she countered, her voice surprisingly steady.
Kitchen first,
she thought, and forced her feet to move in that direction. In the dim lighting, it didn’t look nearly as bad as the living room. She turned on the overhead lights, and promptly wished she hadn’t. The glass top of the stove was a spider web of cracks, the cupboards were empty, and the walls marked with dents and holes that would require a lot of polyfill.

She brushed by an ominously silent Dean as she headed for the bedroom. The door creaked as she gave it a little shove and it swung inward. By rote, she turned on the lights.

Parker heard Dean’s vehement curse as if he was a great distance away while she took in the scene of her bedroom. Was there a single item still intact? Did she have a single wearable garment left? As her gaze swept from the torn bed to the walk-in closet, taking in the ripped clothes strewn between, she doubted it.

Who would do this?

“Moore,” Dean bit off, making her realize she’d asked the question aloud. “I’ll make sure the police take him in for questioning.”

Parker shook her head slowly. “He’s childish, not criminal.”

“Are you sure?”

She started to nod, then stopped mid-motion. “How do you know Tyler’s last name? I don’t recall ever mentioning it to you.”

He shrugged. “My sister is a fount of information that rivals the CIA. And I wanted to know how I stacked up against your exes.”

“Oh.” With his arrogance, she didn’t think he would even give a thought to any other man in her life, past or present. Didn’t he assume all other men would pale in comparison to him? Especially, if she were to be brutally honest with herself, since it was the truth?

Christ, I don’t need this right now,
Parker thought, and shook her head to clear it.

“I broke up with Tyler over a month ago. He’s never done anything like this before. He throws temper tantrums, but he’s not destructive. Whenever he got angry, he’d yell for a bit, then just give me the silent treatment.”

“And yet you still got involved with him.”

“He didn’t come with a warning label,” she said, a bit testy. “As soon as I saw what was underneath his good looks, I ended it. He didn’t like it because it hurt his pride to be the dumpee and not the dumper, but he never did anything more than make a nuisance of himself.”

“But you didn’t get involved with anyone else until me.”

“Maybe it’s about you. Maybe you have a psycho ex somewhere in your closet who doesn’t want you to be with anyone else.”

She was grasping at straws and Dean knew it. He caught her hand and drew her from the room. “Let’s go.”

Parker let him lead her to the front door, then stopped. “Your place?”

He faced her, his expression neutral. “Yes.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Where then?”

“My mother’s place. It’s in Jersey.”

“You want to put your mother, your sister and your niece in danger? Whoever did this might decide to go after you while you’re staying with them.”

She pressed a fist to her middle. “God, no,” she said, shaking her head. “A hotel, then.”

The neutrality faded. “Where security is probably even worse than here. I have a doorman and an apartment suite only my cardkey can access. The elevator won’t even go to my floor unless you have the cardkey. You’ll be safe there.”

“But what about you?”

The words were low, barely audible, but Dean heard them and they sliced through the fear that had gripped him since they’d reached the brownstone, when she’d begun distancing herself from him.

Gently, he pushed back the hair he’d convinced her to leave loose. “I’ll be fine. I don’t take stupid risks.”

“You wanted to go in here before we knew it was empty,” she reminded him sharply, looking like she was about to get upset over it again.

“Parker, I didn’t hire Gordon just for his pretty face. And I’m no slouch on the mats, either.”

Her cheeks reddened and her lashes lowered. In a flash, he knew her memories weren’t of him taking his frustrations out on the punching bag. Arousal stirred, hardening his body.

“If you go to a hotel, I’ll only go with you.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips over her temple. “I’m not going to take any risks with your safety.”

She swayed, her body coming nearer.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll take care of you,” he coaxed.

Her eyes closed. “How do you do this to me?” she said rhetorically, not sounding happy.

Quietly, he said, “You do the same to me.”

Her head turned away from him, but she didn’t resist when he started forward. They left the brownstone, with Dean carrying out Parker’s suitcase and tote. He summarized the situation for Gordon, who cursed rather colorfully, apologized to Parker for his language, and drove them to the Upper East Side. Remarkably, Parker managed to doze during the short drive and Dean reluctantly prodded her awake when they neared a prewar limestone building at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Sixty-third Street. Gordon dropped them off at the canopied entrance, which was flanked by a lot of greenery and bronze lanterns, and went to park the Maybach at a nearby garage.

Dean hustled Parker through the front entrance, the door held open by the uniformed doorman, across the lobby and up to the twelfth-floor penthouse. The apartment, which took up the entire floor like all the units in the building, had four guest bedrooms, but he dropped her suitcase and tote on the floor of the master bedroom. He wasn’t about to let her take two steps back from him. When he turned around, he found her using the doorframe to remain upright.

“Food or sleep?” he asked.

“Sleep.” She ran a hand through her hair and made a face. “But shower first.”

He caught her wrist and, as he tugged her into the en suite bathroom, she yawned behind her hand.

“You really don’t fly well.”

“No,” she agreed, “I like terra firma under my feet. When I have to cover shows overseas, I always head over a day or two early so I don’t look like one of the ugly stepsisters when I stand next to all those supermodels.”

“You could never be ugly,” he said, shutting the bathroom door behind him with his foot and enclosing them in the navy and white room.

She leaned back against the vanity counter. “Sometimes you say the nicest things.”

“Only sometimes?” He closed the distance between them and planted his hands on the marble counter on either side of her.

“Uh huh. You’re not exactly the smoothest operator.”

“Are you complaining?”

“No.” Her lashes lowered, but it wasn’t a coy move. “I’m done with smooth operators.”

His muscles tightened as anger shot through him. “Moore.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to think about that right now.”

He gathered the hem of her top and carefully pulled it over her head. She was braless and he couldn’t resist tasting the velvety nipple that topped her small, plump breast. At the first swipe of his tongue, her fingers tunneled through his hair and she sighed his name.

The next morning, Dean had breakfast and the NYPD waiting for her. The detectives, Wade and Harris, looking bland and interchangeable in black shoes, dark trousers and worn suit jackets, asked questions, took notes and promised to send a tech team to her residence to gather evidence and to chat with Tyler Moore themselves.

Parker stood on the balustraded balcony, dressed warmly in blue jeans and a black wool sweater she’d borrowed from Dean’s closet. Owen had packed garments for a tropical island, so she was limited in the clothing department. The sweater hung down to her thighs and the sleeves were ridiculously long, but it was warm and—she pressed her nose into the thick, soft fabric and inhaled—it smelled like him.

The balcony door opened behind her. Without taking her eyes off of the sprawl of Central Park, breathtaking with its dense fall foliage and sunlight sparkling off the Pond, she remarked, “They’re not going to be able to do much, if anything.”

Dean came up behind her, slid an arm just underneath her breasts and pulled her back against him.

“Moore won’t get away with it.”

She glanced up at him. “Please don’t do anything rash. Tyler was never violent when we were together.”

The arm around her tightened. “Maybe he was better at hiding it.”

“As difficult as it may be to believe, he’s a very successful corporate attorney; he’s not stupid. I just don’t buy that he would do something like this.”

“He’s jealous, pissed off and unstable.”

“And you’re not making me feel any better with your attitude.”

“It’s hard to be rational when I think of what could’ve happened had you been at home when he broke in.”

Parker froze, then shook as chills ran down her spine. Dean curved his body around hers, as if he could enclose her entirely and make the tremors cease. She had tried very hard to keep those kinds of thoughts at bay. Last night, between the jet lag, shock and sex, it had been so easy. In the cold light of day, reality felt heavy and harsh.

When warmth finally returned to her flesh, Parker said, “I can’t stay here all day.”

“Why not?”

“Too much to do. I have to contact my insurance agent, hire a cleaning crew and contractors—”

“Give your insurance information to me. I’ll get my admin assistant on it and the cleaning crew and contractors. I don’t want you going back there.”

“I’m sure that’s not in your admin’s job description,” she remarked dryly.

“Considering the bonus Katie gets every year, she’s not going to disagree with me.”

“I also need clothes.”

“Tell her your size and she’ll pick out whatever you need.”

“I don’t want a perfect stranger picking out my underwear.”

A beat of silence. “I can personally help you out with that.”

“You’re only interested in helping me out
of
them,” she muttered under her breath.

“That, too,” he said, his body telling her he was currently very interested in the latter. His hand slid under her sweater.

“I can’t,” she said softly, despite her heated core. “I’m too sore.”

His lips found the crook of her neck and his voice turned husky. “I can use my mouth.”

Her breath hitched and Parker was surprised she hadn’t melted into a puddle of lust at his feet. It was oh, so tempting;
he
was oh, so tempting.

“No.” She angled herself out of his arms, only to end up cornered against the stone railing. “I can’t let you distract me.”

“What else is on your to-do list?”

“Brenda.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment.

“I have to go see her before Savannah gets out from pre-school and before my mother finishes work.”

“We’ll leave within the hour.”

“I want to go alone.”

His voice hardened. “This involves me. I’m the one she claims to be the father of her daughter.”

“It’ll be easier if I talk to her by myself.”

“Easier for whom? You or her?”

“Both.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight, not while Moore is still running around loose. And,” he added before she could protest, “even if it’s not him, there’s still someone who wants to hurt you.”

“I don’t want to disrupt your life like this.”

His hands went around her waist and met at the small of her back. “It’s too late to go back.”

She blew out a breath. “I’d really rather talk to my sister alone.”

“I’ll stay in another room.”

“And I don’t want you to say anything about the break-ins. I don’t want to worry them any more than necessary.”

“They need to know so they can be prepared.”

“I’ll give them an edited version,” she said even as her stomach lurched. “Do you really think they might be in danger?”

“I don’t know. We can consult a psychiatrist and get a profile.”

He was perfectly serious, Parker realized. Her presence in his life was turning it upside down and inside out, but not once did he complain. If anything, he kept going out of his way to ensure her safety and comfort. It was nice to be able to rely on someone else, but Parker had to keep reminding herself it was only temporary.

“Parker?”

“Have I thanked you, yet?”

A small smile touched his mouth. “You did last night. And probably will again tonight.”

Parker saw her niece’s influence on the Quinns’ modest, two-storey house in the Heights: it was all set for Halloween, like a few others on the block. Large, orange trash bags with a jack-o’-lantern print stuffed with fallen leaves sat on the lawn; an emerald-skinned witch flew across a fat moon in the living room window; tissue paper ghosts danced on strings tied to branches on the oak tree; and a pumpkin, which was three times the size of her head and not yet carved, sat on the porch.

As she stood on the front porch with Dean, Parker wondered if their nieces shared the same favorite holiday.

She took a breath, silently told herself to stop stalling and pressed the doorbell. She heard the chimes sound on the other side of the door, followed by approaching footsteps. The door opened.

“Parker!” Brenda exclaimed, automatically stepping back to let her sister enter. Her gaze went to Dean, a polite smile curved her lips, and her attention returned to Parker. “You so owe me for making me lie to Mom.”

Her expression turned quizzical when neither Parker nor Dean moved. Hazel eyes went from Parker to Dean, back to Parker, back to Dean—and remained there. Parker watched her sister’s eyes widen and her face go pale as blood drained from it.

“Brenda,” Parker began softly, “we need to talk.”

Parker watched her sister take three steps away from her before spinning around to face her. They were alone in the backyard, which was enclosed by a six-foot-tall wooden fence on all three sides. It still felt less confining than the house.

“Why did you bring him here?” demanded Brenda, sounding as agitated as she looked. “How could you do that?”

Parker ignored the pang of guilt in her chest. “He didn’t leave me much choice.” Her gaze steady on her sister’s, she said, “Dean claims he’s not Savannah’s father.”

“Well, he would, wouldn’t he?” Brenda shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Brenda,” Parker said sharply, the warning in her tone very clear. “Have you lived with the lie for so long that you believe it, too?”

“You would take his word over your own sister’s?” Brenda asked incredulously, her voice going higher with each subsequent word.

Parker mentally sighed. Since Savannah’s birth, Brenda had matured, so why was she taking so many steps backward right now?

“Dean offered to submit to a DNA test.”

Brenda’s eyes shimmered with tears. She blinked once, then several more times in rapid succession. Her body tensed and her head swiveled from side to side, as if she was looking for an escape route.

“Bren, I’m not doing this to hurt you. I just want to hear the truth from you.” She shuffled forward a foot, careful not to startle her sister with any sudden movements. “I
need
to hear it from you.”

Brenda looked up, as if hoping for divine intervention. When it was apparent help wasn’t forthcoming from that quarter, she sighed. The tension drained from her frame as she met Parker’s gaze. “You went away with him. He’s the one who was with you on the island.”

The accusatory tone made her flinch, but Parker merely set her jaw. As a teenager, Brenda’s favorite tactic had been to attack the person reprimanding her. It had frustrated their mother to no end.

“Yes, but that’s not up for discussion.”

“And why not?” she demanded, taking an aggressive step toward Parker. “I think it’s pretty damn relevant.”

“No, it’s not,” Parker insisted firmly, crossing her own arms and tucking her tight fists in the crook of each elbow as her patience wore thin. “You’re just using it to keep from answering my question. Why is it so hard for you to tell me what really happened four years ago? To tell me who’s Savannah’s real biological father?”

“I can’t tell you because
I don’t know!
” shouted Brenda as she flung out her arms, hands balled into white-knuckled fists. Parker froze, her eyes locked on her sister. She could see Brenda’s chest rise and fall with each harsh, audible breath. Suddenly, as if just realizing what she’d said, Brenda’s eyes widened. She covered her mouth with her fingers and spun around, giving Parker her back. Her shoulders shook.

Snapping out of her numb state, Parker quickly approached her sister and laid a hand on her shoulder. She pulled Brenda toward her and, with a broken sob, her sister fell into her arms. A curious mix of relief and dull pain moved through her.

As Parker murmured soothing sounds and stroked Brenda’s back, she realized that while her baby sister was several inches taller than her, Brenda still sought comfort by burying her face in the crook of Parker’s neck.

When Brenda gathered her composure and drew back, her eyes were wet and red rimmed and her nose pink. By tacit agreement, they went back to the porch and settled on the swing, with Brenda resting her head on Parker’s shoulder. They stared at the apple tree in the far corner of the yard because it was easier to speak without looking at each other.

“It’s not easy,” began Brenda, “being your sister.”

Why?
Parker wanted to demand but held her tongue.

“Perfect grades in school, you never acted out, you and Mom never clashed—”

“Were we living in the same house?” Parker asked in a dry tone.

Brenda rolled her head back just enough to get a glimpse of Parker. “It was never serious and she never stayed upset with you for long. When it came to you, she was always the first to extend the olive branch.” A beat of hesitation. “You’re her favorite because you and she are so much alike.”

“And Mom and I butt heads because of that.
And
you’re remembering everything through the eyes of a rebellious teenager; your memory’s editing out a lot of details.”

“Maybe,” murmured Brenda as she settled back into a more comfortable position. “But she never gets angry with you like she does with me.”

Parker took a moment to carefully choose her next words. “Mom and I
are
a lot alike. We’re good with numbers and stubborn; we both like getting our way maybe a little too much—don’t roll your eyes at me, Bren—and we don’t trust easily. But you share traits with her that I don’t. I’m anti-social, but you two aren’t. You both like being the center of attention. You’re both creative, while I, as you often like to say, am a Philistine.

“We both have bits and pieces of her.” Parker absentmindedly played with a lock of her sister’s hair. “But she worries about you more because you inherited her impulsiveness and she was afraid you’d make the same mistakes she did.”

Brenda sighed softly. “And I did.”

“But your mistake gave all of us Savannah.”

Brenda sucked in an uneven breath, but remained silent for a moment that stretched out for so long Parker didn’t think she would say anything.

“I don’t even know his name,” Brenda said finally, her voice barely a notch above a whisper. “And I can barely remember his face.” She shifted a little higher against Parker and pressed in closer. “I was at a house party on Long Island, he brought me a few drinks, we talked, we went upstairs to find an empty room, and I never saw him again.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that at the beginning?”

“I was scared and because I didn’t want you and Mom to judge me, to look at me like you used to. I had a steady, well-paying job and I was finally pulling my own weight in our household. I thought having an affair with the CEO of a company would be more acceptable than a quickie with some anonymous guy in a bathroom. He wasn’t even very good.”

That last comment startled a short amused sound out of Parker.

“But it didn’t matter because you and Mom were disappointed anyway and I was back to being a burden. Mom cried for two days.”

Anger at herself made Parker’s voice tight. “You were—and are—not a burden,” she said, her lips barely moving. But had she inadvertently made Brenda feel like one? The anger dissipated, replaced with a heaviness that weighed down on her neck and shoulders. “And I’m not perfect. Far from it. While Mom was crying and you were scared, I was being self-centered. All I could think about was how you being pregnant would affect me. How I would have to find a new place for us to live because the apartment wouldn’t be big enough. How my commute would be hell because anything big enough in Manhattan would be out of our price range. How I could kiss my sleep goodbye if the baby was a night owl. How I would have to start setting aside even more money every month for a college fund because by the time the baby started post-secondary education, tuition would cost more than this house.”

Brenda sat up and stared at her sister with wide eyes. “You started a college fund for Savannah?”

Parker nodded. “I opened the account during her first month.”

“You never told me.”

“You had enough on your plate dealing with a new baby.”

“Does Mom know?”

“No,” Parker replied, shaking her head. “I don’t want her to contribute to it. Her monthly paycheck is just enough to cover the expenses for this house.”