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  Coby stood with her glass in hand, speechless.

  “I am a bitch, aren’t I?” Annette said without a bit of remorse. “Maybe the real me is just coming out now.” She eyed Coby speculatively. “I’ve always played by the rules, and it’s exhausting! I’m giving myself a pass, starting today. I know you’re supposed to keep up a facade, ignore the elephant in the room, sometimes, for the sake of being a nice person or something. Half the time, I just don’t know why I should even care.” She shrugged. “Anyway, to hell with what everybody else thinks. I don’t give a flying fuck anymore.”

  Dave returned with several more bottles of red from a wine rack in the dining room and, catching the end of her words, appeared embarrassed. Sliding him a look, Annette finished with, “But what do I know? I’m just a kid.”

  “You’re not a kid,” Dave said on a sigh.

  Annette snorted and, with her drink in hand, headed into the living room, where Coby heard a male voice greet her. Her father, Jean-Claude.

  “She’s kind of on this new kick,” Dave said to Coby with a shake of his head. “I think something happened at the hotel. Somebody convinced her that she wasn’t leading a ‘real’ life unless she was brutally honest. Comes off as rudeness, though.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for her. I don’t like keeping secrets, either,” Coby said, “but sometimes it’s a better plan.” She couldn’t help thinking back to the night of the campout and felt herself blush as she remembered what she’d said about her own father.

  From beyond the kitchen Annette and Jean-Claude had entered into an animated conversation, and by mutual, unspoken agreement, Dave and Coby moved to the living room as well. As if the previous conversation hadn’t even occurred, Annette turned an animated face from Jean-Claude and asked Coby, “What would you think about having a little brother or sister?”

  Coby automatically shot a look at her father. “Wow.”

  Dave groaned, but Jean-Claude grinned, his George Clooney good looks engaging. “Oh, don’t worry. Annette just loves to fool around. She’s kidding, Coby. Not that I would mind being a grandfather again.” He had the faintest accent, which only increased his appeal. Coby’s father had said on more than one occasion that it was Jean-Claude’s charm that got Lovejoy’s name on the map. He was the face of the hotel, which was really a renovated, older apartment building turned into suites and a first-floor bistro that served tea and coffee by day, wine by night.

  Dave stated, “Annette’s not pregnant.”

  “No, I’m not,” Annette agreed on a sigh. “At least not yet.” She shot Dave a mischievous look.

  Jean-Claude’s teeth flashed white again. “You’re making Coby uncomfortable. Try to not be so shocking, my dear.” To Coby he said, “All my daughters are smart and beautiful, but a little tweaked, eh?”

  “Oh, shut up,” Annette told him fondly.

  “But you’re seriously thinking about having a baby?” Coby asked, feeling breathless. A half sister or brother? Jean-Claude was right: Coby was definitely uncomfortable.

  “You don’t even like babies,” Dave reminded his wife. “You’ve told me enough times.”

  “That’s not true. I just don’t know jack shit about them,” Annette admitted. “People try to hand me their baby and I practically freak out. It feels like I’m going to break them. So I keep telling Dave we need to have our own so I won’t be such a spaz, but, well, he’s not into it. Says he’s too old. But it’s not about the sperm, is it? It’s the egg that counts, and mine are ripe!”

  She laughed and leaned into him, giving him a big kiss, her earlier tension dissolved.

  “You look a little struck,” Annette observed a moment later, her knowing gaze on Coby, her arm still around Dave’s waist.

  Coby was pretty certain this was territory she really didn’t want to travel. Sure, she’d wondered more than a few times if her dad might start another family, especially given Annette’s age, but truthfully, the thought kind of horrified her. “I don’t know how to feel about that,” she admitted. Then, to her dad, though she knew perfectly well, “How old are you again?”

  “Too old. Way, way too old. Diapers and babysitters and all those years of school. College . . .” He smiled at her. “Your mom and I used to take turns driving you and your sister around when you were babies to get you to go to sleep.”

  “Ooh, no. Reminiscing.” Annette gave him a slap on the butt. “It’s my birthday, so quit it.”

  “Is Joe coming on his own?” Dave asked Coby, clearly taking Annette’s advice and changing the subject.

  Coby thought often ways she could answer him, then settled for the unvarnished truth. “Joe and I aren’t together anymore. We called it quits based on mutual apathy. This last year had been . . . a slow ride downhill.”

  Joe was Joseph Hamlin, a member of the firm whom Coby worked with often, the member, in fact, who was Shannon Pontifica’s lawyer and had set up the meeting between Coby and Shannon for earlier that afternoon. Joe was driven to make partner above all else. He was ten years older than Coby. Divorced. No children. Not looking for any. Coby wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted for herself in the future, but she knew she needed to keep her options open and, well, Joe didn’t care about options. It was his way or the highway. Early last month she’d chosen the highway, and he’d pretty much shrugged and said have a nice trip.

  So much for the power of passion and true love.

  She’d worried a little that after their breakup, since they worked at the same firm, things would become awkward and weird. But Joe treated Coby just the same as before they’d dated, and she took a page from his book and treated him the same way. She and Joe just didn’t go out for drinks alone anymore, or make plans for dinner, or stay over at each other’s places. They saw each other at work every day and smiled and joked and generally kept on keepin’ on and that was it.

  It was so damned civilized it sometimes made Coby sad.

  But if she were really, really honest with herself, she could admit her emotions had never been fully engaged with Joe. She’d been three-quarters of the way there, but she couldn’t quite make that final turn. Sometimes she’d asked herself what she was waiting for. True love? Like, oh, sure. That was going to happen.

  And then, if she were really, really, really honest with herself . . . and if she dug deep into her own secret self and examined her feelings closely, she could admit that she’d never loved Joe. She’d been in love only once with, of all people, Danner Lockwood, her high school crush. She’d had a teen fantasy about Lucas Moore, but she’d had an actual relationship with Danner during her college years, making her one-time dream a reality. And things between them even kinda worked for a while. She’d been thrilled and surprised to actually be with him as a lover and a friend. It was glorious. Absolutely glorious. She loved him and he . . . liked her just fine.

  Just. Fine.

  And it wasn’t enough.

  “I’m sorry about Joe,” Dave said now, unhappily. “I really liked him.”

  “Everybody likes Joe,” Coby said. “Joe likes Joe pretty well, too,” she added with a faint smile.

  “Bitchiness,” Annette observed with amusement. “I love it.”

  That made Coby laugh, which surprised all of them. Coby determined that maybe, with enough wine, she might actually have a pretty decent time.

  “Well, I’m totally bummed,” Annette said on a sigh. “I had it all planned out that you would marry Joe and we would have some kids and then you would have some kids and we’d all hang out together.”

  “Some things are not meant to be,” Coby said. This baby thing was much on Annette’s mind, apparently. “I’m picking up some vibes here . . . like maybe you are pregnant and just don’t want to tell me yet.”

  “Oh, I wanna be. I so wanna be.” Annette stared straight at Dave. “I’ve tried to be, actually. But somebody’s not totally on board yet.”

  Jean-Claude eyed his friend and partner and said to Dave, “You’re not getti
ng any younger, my friend.”

  “Maybe for my next birthday?” Annette tilted up her chin and gazed at Dave pleadingly.

  “I’ll be fifty-four,” Dave protested.

  “One more reason to start today! There. I’ve said it. I want a baby and I want it now.” She turned to Coby. “That’s probably more than you ever wanted to know about us.”

  Coby lifted her hands in surrender.

  “Bug, are you sure?” Dave asked her seriously. “I mean, really?”

  So they were testing the waters with her, staring at her intently, and though she could tell her father was drag, drag, dragging his feet, it looked like the matter had already been decided. “I don’t need to tell you, this isn’t about me,” Coby said. “Or Faith. Or even Mom. It’s about you two.”

  “Thanks for nothing,” Dave said with a faint smile.

  “Hey, I’m Switzerland. Totally neutral,” Coby responded.

  “Sounds like Coby might really like a little brother or sister,” Annette suggested.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Switzerland,” Coby reminded her.

  “Don’t push, my dear,” Jean-Claude told his daughter. “I think you’ve won this battle.”

  “More wine?” Coby asked, holding up her empty glass.

  “I’ll get it.” Annette scooped up Coby’s glass and headed into the kitchen.

  “You’re sure it’s over with Joe?” her father asked her again.

  “Pretty sure.”

  Coby heard Annette open the oven door, and the scent of warm bread and cheese and baking mushrooms wafted into the living room. There was a moment or two of awkward silence as they all tried to figure out what the conversation would be next.

  Finally, her father asked her, “So, how’s work?”

  “Fine. How’s the hotel doing?”

  Jean-Claude answered, “Humming along. I would like to get rid of the tearoom completely and just have a wine bar, but people love it.”

  Dave said with pride, “Annette practically runs the place, though Juliet and Suzette do a nice job running the tearoom and wine bar.”

  “I’ll have to stop by,” Coby said, wondering how long it had been. She had a tendency to avoid situations that put her together with her father and Annette.

  “Any interesting cases?” Dave asked, looking toward the kitchen as if he already missed his wife. Coby embarked on a story about an acrimonious divorce—no names given—where the wife had run off with her lover and the husband was asking for full custody of the two elementary-school-age children. Coby’s firm was representing the wife, and it was a sticky wicket, no doubt. Even Coby had trouble sympathizing with the woman, whose self-involvement was damn near record-breaking, even among Jacoby, Jacoby, and Rosenthal’s wealthy and powerful clients. She finished with, “The children want to stay with their dad. He wants the kids and the wife talks like she does, but I don’t think her heart’s really in it. He’ll get the kids and she’ll probably win in the alimony department.”

  “So the kids are merely a bargaining chip for more money. Too bad,” Dave said.

  Jean-Claude had wandered back to the den and now he returned to catch the last bit. “I should not speak ill of my ex, but she did the same. Wanted my money more than our girls.” He shrugged. “But they got the better parent: me.”

  Annette brought Coby a new glass of wine, then headed toward the front door as they heard voices outside. But the door opened before she could reach it, letting in a cold rush of wind. A moment later Juliet and Yvette Deneuve and a boy of around twelve came into view: Yvette’s son. Benedict. Coby smiled a greeting at the sallow-skinned and dark-eyed youth who looked a lot like his mother.

  Yvette took one look at Coby and instantly headed her way. She still wore her hair in a ponytail, but her face had grown thinner over the years. She was also wearing jeans, which made Coby feel instantly better.

  “Hey,” Yvette greeted her, sizing her up. She was a little taller than Annette, a little more voluptuous, and there was a line drawn between her eyes, as if she spent a lot of time scowling.

  “Hi, Yvette.” Coby greeted her with another forced smile. They’d never been close friends, and that last year of high school had been difficult. No one knew whether to be happy for Yvette and her pregnancy, and Yvette wasn’t one to let anyone be close to her.

  “You want to meet my son?” Yvette said now. Then, “Benedict, get over here.” Dutifully the boy walked over to stand in front of his mother and stare at Coby with a certain amount of suspicion. His eyes were big and round like Yvette’s but more hazel than brown. His skin was lighter and his hair was medium brown. Coby found herself trying to see Lucas Moore in him, but it was impossible to say.

  “This is Uncle Dave’s daughter Coby. She and I used to be friends . . . sort of,” Yvette said.

  “Hi,” Benedict said, sticking out his hand.

  Coby bent down and shook it. “Hi, yourself.”

  “He’s not,” Yvette said in an expressionless voice.

  “What?” Coby looked at her as she straightened and Benedict walked away to plop himself in front of the television.

  “He’s not Lucas’s.”

  Yvette was nothing if not direct. “I didn’t say he was,” Coby pointed out.

  “I read your mind.” Her smile was cool. “It’s what you thought. It’s what you all thought senior year. Probably still do.”

  “Well . . . yeah . . . I suppose you’re right.” This was the kind of thing Coby wanted to avoid. Exactly this. She’d known it was going to be tough seeing Annette and her father fawn all over each other, but she really hadn’t wanted to relive the night Lucas died with her old classmates, and yet, here it was.

  Yvette was challenging her, and Coby did not want to be challenged.

  With a glance toward Benedict, who was absorbed in a video game on the TV, Coby moved closer to Yvette and said in an undertone, “You told us the day we found Lucas that you and he were an item. That he wasn’t into Rhiannon and he never had been. That you and he were together, in love, secret boyfriend and girlfriend. You made a point of it. So, yeah, we got the impression Benedict might be Lucas’s, but you gave that impression to us. On purpose, I might add. Loudly and insistently.”

  “Whoa.” Yvette’s brows lifted in surprise. She clearly hadn’t expected Coby to be so forthright.

  “Yeah.” Coby left her then, clomping across the wood floor in her cowboy boots back toward the kitchen. She was irked and angry. Yvette was just one of those people who liked to be a pain in the ass, and Coby, with a glance outside at the bad weather, thought she might like to spend the night at the beach after all, maybe book a hotel in Cannon Beach or Tillamook, because as the night wore on she sure as hell felt like getting drunk.

  Chapter 4

  If there was one thing Danner Lockwood hated above all else, it was small talk.

  Small. Talk.

  All right. That was a bit of hyperbole. There were far, far worse things in this world he hated more. Things worthy of serious hate. Like intent to cause pain, killing for personal gain, abuse of the weak and dependent. He’d seen more than his share of all of that.

  But he did hate small talk. Hated listening to it. Hated acting like he knew how to respond to it. Hated being polite.

  What he’d like right now was to be having a beer with his homicide partner, Detective Elaine Metzger, mid-forties or fifties, built like a tank, language as salty as the briny sea. Elaine made all the crap of the job seem insignificant. She had gallows humor that kept the worst parts of being a cop bearable and made the best parts enjoyable. She’d survived two marriages and as many divorces and she was all about work, which was fine by Danner, as he was a lot the same way. But she’d just left on two weeks’ vacation and it had left him a bit rootless and dissatisfied. In this funk he’d accepted an invitation with his “date,” now seated across from him, and he could already tell it was a huge mistake.

  Had he really thought this would work?

  He s
miled at her. She was a nice woman. Someone he’d gone to school with. He watched her mouth and tried to concentrate on her words. The weather? Politics? God, he hoped not. Whether the latest celebrity marriage would end in divorce before or after they had children?

  His ears seemed incapable of listening, yet he listened every day to information that would help him solve serious crimes. Just that morning he’d interviewed a man suspected in multiple gang shootings and had learned some key information that had led to the discovery of a cache of guns and ammunition that could put the bastard away for several lifetimes.

  But for now, on this late Saturday afternoon, he was seated at a café table in Cannon Beach under a covered porch, thank God, because the rain was streaking from a black sky, the wind was winding up from a low moan to a building shriek, and the approaching storm had sent all but him and his date scurrying inside.

  She suddenly looked at him expectantly and he quickly reran her last words through his mind, praying he would remember the gist of her conversation.

  Aware of his distraction, she asked, “What’d I just say?”

  “Something about your family?”

  “Uh-huh. What was it?”

  She always talked about her family. There were issues among them that she considered to be a lot bigger than they were. He could have told her he’d seen a lot of families with a whole hell of a lot worse problems, but she wasn’t much of a listener, either, so he let it go. “You wish your mother would stop interfering in your affairs.”