REN EYED THE BOOK in his friend’s hand, damn glad it wasn’t a gun. Prudently, he backed up a step, which also afforded a better view of Sara as she hurried toward a doorway marked Employees Only. His gaze followed the lithe form in the pale green dress. She moved quickly but with grace, back straight. Bo’s last photos showed her to possess a very shapely body with sleek calves and a trim derriere, but her business dress was of Shaker simplicity.

“What the hell is this about?” Bo growled, taking a step closer.

Ren raised his hand defensively—not that it would have done any good if Bo Lester took it in his head to beat him senseless. Ren had seen him in action more than once during Bo’s drinking years. “Pure impulse. I can’t explain it. I guess I needed to get it over with.”

“You could have warned me.”

Ren shook his head. “I didn’t know myself. I was supposed to meet Eve for dinner—she took the day off to drive her agent to the San Francisco airport, but she called from her car. Some big toxic spill up near Lake Shasta. I started home, then changed my mind.”

Ren had only intended to peek inside the store, but something had come over him the instant he saw Sara Carsten—eyes closed, lips whispering a lullaby, rocking the sleeping child. The image was so ecumenical, so Madonna-like, that he felt drawn inside as if propelled by a force outside his body.

And then Ren took the biggest leap of faith in his life. He’d picked up the baby. A child that could be his own flesh and blood. It was an idea so staggering and life-altering that he should have run in the other direction, but holding that compact little body seemed the most natural thing in the world.

“Let’s get one thing straight. You hurt her and you’ll regret it.” The threat was so serious, so unexpected, all Ren could do was nod, as Sara hurried to join them, a cardboard box in her arms.

“Sorry ’bout the wait. I’ve been hoarding these so long I couldn’t remember where I put them.” As she neared, she faltered a step as if sensing the primitive, masculine energy between them.

She set the carton on a display table and picked up one small paperback. “The title is A.P.B. It’s a little police procedural—the first in a series. The rest of the group voted for something light this time.”

Bo put out his hand. “I like crime novels. The good guys always win. The bad guys either end up dead or in jail. Right?” He shot a pointed look at Ren.

She glanced from Bo to Ren. “Umm…yes.”

Ren regretted causing her added disquiet. “My friend’s not a big reader,” he said, picking up a book. “I can’t tell you how great it is that you’ve been such a positive influence on him.”

One slender brow lifted. “Bo may not read a lot, but he must like books. He’s been here pretty often.”

“Oh?” Ren asked.

She nodded. “In fact, the first time he came in was to ask about a rare book for a friend.” She clapped her hand over her lips, a blush claiming her cheeks. “This is your friend, isn’t it. The rare book collector. I’ve ruined the surprise, haven’t I?”

Bo seemed momentarily taken aback, but he recovered. “Actually, this is that friend, but since I’m not sure he deserves a Christmas gift this year, don’t lose any sleep over it, okay?”

She was obviously puzzled by Bo’s response, but chose not to question him. Instead, she smiled. “My sister used to tell me I was notorious for speaking before my brain could catch up with my mouth.”

The word sister caught Ren by surprise, and he almost missed a step as he followed her to the counter. Now would be the perfect time to segue into that subject, but he found himself mute. So, apparently, was his private investigator.

While Bo paid for his new book, Ren studied the child sleeping so peacefully in the playpen behind Sara’s desk. The little boy had turned slightly, curled protectively around a stuffed elephant he’d somehow found in his sleep. This image, as much as the one of Sara rocking the baby, wrapped itself around Ren’s heart and squeezed.

“What’s the baby’s name?” he asked, not having known he was going to.

“Brady,” Sara answered guilelessly.

She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. Ren, who was studying her face, saw something that had been missing from her photographs, even the ones from Sunday afternoon. A luminous quality that enhanced Sara Carsten’s quiet beauty.

“Brady,” he repeated. “That’s…different.”

She flashed him a grin that made him blink. “You’re very diplomatic. Of course, that probably comes with the job. My sister, Brady’s mother, had the name picked out even before she knew she was having a boy, but she could never decide on a middle name.”

The duplicity of his inquiry made his throat dry and his jaw ache. “You’re his aunt,” he said, as if not framing it as a question could absolve the guilt he was going to feel if he took this inquiry forward. Since Armory, his lawyer, wasn’t due back from Hawaii until tomorrow night, Ren had put off formulating a legal strategy.

Her lovely face changed. In sorrow it became vulnerable. “My sister died,” Sara said simply. “She was killed in an accident, but she left me Brady.”

Tears glistened in her eyes. Hazel, not temptress-green, but beautiful nonetheless. And I thought she was plain.

When she looked down to count Bo’s change, Bo shot Ren a dark look. It hadn’t been easy convincing Bo to stay on the job, but Ren’s promise to approach the matter slowly had helped. His impulsive decision tonight might have jeopardized things.

“Well, there you go,” she said, tucking the book in a sack. “Thanks, Bo. I’m glad you came. And it was…um, interesting talking with you…”

“Ren Bishop,” he added. “It’s Lawrence, actually, but only my mother calls me that.”

He held out his hand, and she took it, just a trifle reluctantly. Her hand was small, her grip slightly reserved. “Sara Carsten,” she said, dropping his hand to reach for a card from a plastic basket beside the cash register. Her blush told him she’d used that as an excuse not to touch him any longer.

Ren took the card she offered. “I don’t carry first editions,” she said. “But I might be able to help if you tell me what you’re looking for.”

Ren was within a heartbeat of telling her the whole sordid story when the sound of men’s voices indicated the readers’ group was over. “We gotta go,” Bo said, starting away.

As Ren followed his friend out of the store, he glanced back once and was surprised to find Sara’s gaze still on him. She had a puzzled expression on her face. He lifted his hand to wave goodbye, but Bo grabbed his arm in one plate-sized fist and dragged him bodily out the door.

“You bastard,” Bo muttered, stalking off down the sidewalk. “There’s a right way and a wrong way to do this.”

Downtown’s daytime hustle and bustle had given way to an empty-theater kind of quiet. Miniature lights peeked through the new-growth foliage of the well-pruned trees. A gold-hued street lamp spotlighted Ren’s Lexus while ignoring Bo’s Mazda one space ahead of it. The two cars seemed a metaphor for the contrast between their owners.

Ren stopped beside the Mazda. “This wasn’t planned, Bo. It probably wasn’t smart. But I needed to see him.” I held him—the child that might be my child.

Suddenly Ren’s knees felt disconnected from his body. He reached out to steady himself on the blistered hood of the car. “Is there a bar around here? I really could use a drink.”

Ren’s response seemed to take some of the heat out of Bo’s anger. “Around the corner,” he muttered, leading the way.

Bo didn’t speak again until they were seated at a small table. After the waitress delivered a light beer and a cola, Bo said, “Okay, suppose you explain to me what happened tonight. I thought I was the inside guy, and you were going to let the suits make contact when we all decided the time was right.”