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Your valentine: Justin
WON'T YOU
BE MINE?
Will you be my Daddy?
Mommy wishes you were….
Katy
My Secret Valentine
Marilyn Pappano
MARILYN PAPPANO
brings impeccable credentials to her career—a lifelong habit of gazing out windows, not paying attention in class, daydreaming and spinning tales for her own entertainment. The sale of her first book brought great relief to her family, proving that she wasn’t crazy but was, instead, creative. Since then, she’s sold more than forty others, and she loves almost everything about writing, except that she would like a more reasonable boss to work for, which is pretty sad, since she works for herself.
She writes in an office nestled among the oaks that surround her home. In winter she stays inside with her husband and their four dogs, and in summer she mows the yard that never stops growing and daydreams about grass that never gets taller than two inches. You can write to her at P.O. Box 643, Sapulpa, OK 74067-0643.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 1
It was ten minutes after two when Justin Reed slipped into his seat at the weekly squad meeting and opened the file in front of him. Though his supervisor didn’t look up or miss a beat in his conversation, there was no doubt he knew that Justin had been late—again—and no doubt he would have something to say about it—again. He’d intended to be on time this afternoon—in fact, had started to leave his office five minutes early—but as he was walking out the door, the phone had rung. He could have left anyway, but he’d been playing phone tag with people all week and he wasn’t about to miss the chance to actually connect with someone.
And so he was late. Again.
At least he wouldn’t be put on the hot seat. His current caseload was nothing special, and everything was progressing steadily. Of course, there would be the perpetual question—Anything new on the Watkins case?—and the usual answer. No, nothing. One of these days, he’d promised himself, he was going to have an entirely different answer. Yes, sir, we apprehended Patrick Watkins this week.
Hey, a man could dream, couldn’t he?
His boss worked his way around the table, reviewing cases, asking for reports. He’d made it halfway when the door opened and his secretary stepped inside. “Excuse me, sir. Special Agent Reed has an emergency call.”
All eyes turned his way as his boss nodded toward the door. The muscles in his stomach tightening, Justin left the conference room and followed the secretary to her desk down the hall. The Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms wasn’t quite like the police. They didn’t get many emergency calls. Maybe Patrick Watkins had struck again, or something had happened to his mother in London or his father in Paris. That was about the extent of what he would consider an emergency in his life.
Picking up the phone, he tersely said, “This is Special Agent Reed.”
“Mr. Reed—Special Agent Reed, this is Roger Markham. I’m an attorney in Grand Springs, Colorado.”
Justin’s stomach knotted, and his fingers clutched the receiver so tightly his knuckles turned white. He had only two connections to Grand Springs, Colorado, and he didn’t want to hear bad news about either of them. He wished he could hang up, walk away and forget the call had ever been made, but of course he couldn’t. All he could do was take an unsteady breath and ask, “What can I do for you, Mr. Markham?”
“I’m calling about your aunt, Golda Reed. She— I’m sorry, Mr. Reed, but she died a short while ago. As far as the doctors can tell, her heart gave out on her. She fell asleep and just didn’t wake up. I’m sorry.”
So was Justin, sorry and filled with regret. He hadn’t been the best nephew Golda could have had, though he had been her favorite. He’d visited her a few times and called her when he thought about it, but…well, after his last visit nearly six years ago, there had been complications that made maintaining the relationship difficult.
His smile was thin and bitter. Complications. Yes, that was a good word to describe Fiona Lake and the way she’d made him feel. Trouble, decked out with red hair, hazel eyes, a sprinkling of freckles across her perfect little nose and a passion that could make a man weak.
Although he sometimes had trouble remembering. Had he been at his weakest with Fiona? Or when he’d dumped her?
“Mr. Reed?”
Giving a shake of his head, he focused his attention on the conversation. “I’m here. I just… Had she been sick?”
“The usual aches and pains you’d expect in a woman her age. But she was prepared for it. She had her funeral planned right down to the songs and the singers, and she reviewed her will regularly. The service is scheduled for Friday afternoon. Will you or anyone else from the family be able to attend?”
Justin gave a moment’s thought to his caseload, though it wouldn’t have changed his answer. “I’ll be there, and I’ll notify the rest of the family.”
“Good. If you’d like, we can go over her will on Saturday. Golda always impressed upon me what a busy young man you are.”
Yeah, sure, too busy to spend time with her. Too busy—and too afraid of running into Fiona. And if he’d gone to Grand Springs, he would have undoubtedly run into Fiona. After all, she lived right next door to Golda. They chatted on their porches in the evenings and shared flowers from their gardens.
At least, they used to.
“Of course, you’re welcome to stay in Golda’s house while you’re here, or, if you’d prefer, we could make reservations for you at one of the local hotels.”
“I’ll—I’ll figure that out before I get there.” Stay in Golda’s house without Golda? With Fiona next door? With powerful memories and more powerful guilt for company? An anonymous hotel would suit him just fine.
“I’m looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Reed, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances. If you need anything between now and Friday, feel free to call me.” The lawyer gave his number, then hung up.
After a long, still moment, Justin hung up, too, and found the secretary watching him sympathetically. “I’m sorry about your aunt,” she murmured, then explained. “When I told Mr. Markham you were in a meeting, he told me why he was calling.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I do anything for you?”
His first impulse was to refuse. On second thought, he asked, “Could you get me round-trip reservations to Grand Springs, Colorado? I need to get in by noon Friday and leave late Saturday night.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
He didn’t return to the meeting but went to his office instead. He’d been sitting there, numbly