Ren took a long draw on his beer. “I was in my office looking at the pictures…the ones you took Sunday.” He paused, knowing there was no way to explain the sense of urgency that had been building in him ever since Bo had delivered the color photos of Sara and the child. Yes, he saw a resemblance in some of the shots, but this need to connect went deeper than that.

He shrugged. “It had to happen sometime, right?”

Bo took a sip of cola. “This means you’re going forward with the paternity suit, doesn’t it?”

Ren couldn’t meet Bo’s gaze. He didn’t want his friend to guess the truth: that deep down, Ren wanted the child to be his. He needed the child to be his. As much as he loved Eve, Ren knew her career was her primary focus. It might be years before she was ready to have children, if ever. Ren was ready for fatherhood now.

“Do I have any choice, Bo? Would you walk away? Live the rest of your life wondering?”

Bo looked ready to argue, but in the end shook his head. “I guess not, but what about Sara?”

Ren’s heart lifted, then fell oddly. He hadn’t expected to like her, but he did.

“She’s a good person and a wonderful mother,” Bo said. “She doesn’t deserve what this is going to do to her. It’s bound to get messy. If she’s smart, she’ll scream bloody murder and hire some media shark like Steve Hamlin to make you squirm. Even if you ultimately win, you’ll be scarred for life.”

Ren took another swallow of beer. Bo’s prediction threw him, but he pretended to shrug it off. “I wouldn’t blame her for going on the offensive. She obviously loves the child, and I saw what mentioning her sister did to her.” Ren’s voice faltered; Sara’s unshed tears had touched him deeply. “I don’t want to hurt her, Bo, but I have to know. What if he’s my kid?”

Ren didn’t really expect Bo to understand. Bo’s relationship with his own father was practically nonexistent. Ren doubted they’d exchanged more than a dozen words in the past year.

“Yeah, I get it. My old man may be a well-dressed rat, but I know he’d give his last dime to help me out,” Bo said, surprising Ren with his insight.

Before Ren could respond, a voice said, “Don’t tell me you actually have a friend.”

To Ren’s surprise, a woman in tight purple leggings and a blousy shirt pulled a chair from a neighboring table and straddled it, dropping her chin to the arched metal back. Her unsteady gaze flicked from Ren to Bo.

Bo groaned. “Go away, girl. Didn’t you give me enough trouble earlier?”

“That’s why I came over. To apologize.” Her words were slightly slurred.

“Apologize for breaking my balls for nothing?”

Her eyelashes fluttered coquettishly. “Did I have my hand on your balls? I must have missed that.”

This has to be one of the hookers. Claudie? And she’s been drinking.

She turned her attention to Ren. “Oh, my, aren’t you hunky—”

“You’re off duty tonight, remember?” Bo barked.

“Working girls never pass up an opportunity to…work.”

A sad little smile crossed her lips, and Ren was reminded of Sara’s words. How can you know the person behind the crime? If Claudie were brought before him, what would he see?

“Not tonight, Claudie. Besides, he’s taken,” Bo told her.

“You could still introduce us. I don’t bite. Well, I do, but it costs extra.”

Ren put out his hand. “Ren Bishop.”

“Claudine St. James. My friends call me Claudie,” she said, giving him a suggestive look that came off totally fake. Ren decided he liked her pluckiness.

Bo coughed. “So what’s the apology for, Claudie?”

She drew herself up fairly straight and said solemnly, “I told Keneesha what I told you, and she called me a dumb f—person. She said Sara would never forgive me if she found out, and I’d better tell you myself or she would.”

Ren couldn’t keep from asking. “Told him what?”

She shot him a poisonous look. “This is private. Just between the cookbook man ’n me.”

“It’s okay. Just say what you want to say.” Bo brushed her arm with his fingertips.

Her automatic flinch made Ren’s stomach clench. Men probably weren’t very nice to her. He had heard his fair share of horror stories in the last two years; hers was probably no different.

“I lied,” she said soberly—her intense scowl obviously a ruse to keep tears at bay. “Sara’s not gay. I made that up.”

“Hell, I knew that,” Bo said gruffly. “I never believed you for a minute. You’re a terrible liar.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. And when you’re that bad of a liar, it’s like it never happened, so just forget it.” Bo rose and motioned for Ren to follow.

She stood, catching the edge of the table as if her equilibrium had been shaken. “You know, cookbook man, you’re not that bad, after all.”

“Cookbook man?” Ren asked, as they exited the bar. He inhaled deeply, the brisk delta breeze a welcome change from the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke.

Bo growled. “When I was taking your damn pictures the first time, the best view was from the cookbook aisle.”

Ren studied his friend in the light from the neon Budweiser sign. Bo was a successful investigator who traveled all over the world, but in his private life he was a recluse who favored fishing and satellite TV over dating. Obviously, these women had somehow touched him. Ren didn’t question his friend’s loyalty, but he wondered if his decision to pursue the paternity issue would change their friendship.

They walked in silence. Ren used his remote to unlock his car. The double beep-beep pierced the quiet. “Bo, this isn’t malicious,” he said somberly. “I wish there were some other way, but I sure as hell don’t know what it is.”

Bo looked skyward. “Yeah, I know.”

Ren waited a minute, then asked, “Do you have that background information on Sara yet? I’d like to read it before I see Armory on Friday morning.”

Bo unlocked his car the old-fashioned way. The door gave an unhappy groan when he opened it. “It’s at home. I wasn’t expecting your surprise appearance tonight, remember?”

Before Ren could reply, Bo climbed into his car. Ren watched him start it and pull away. Obviously, Bo didn’t understand the primal urge that had pulled Ren through the bookstore door. Ren wasn’t sure he understood it himself.

He glanced up the street. A yellow glow spilled from the windows of the bookstore. Why is she still there? She should be home, tucking Brady in bed. Ren longed to walk back to the store to make sure she was okay, but the lawyer in him warned against it. You’re poised to change her life forever. And she’s never going to forgive you.

SARA EASED BRADY’S sleeping form to her left shoulder to better manipulate the key. She’d waited as long as she could for Claudie to return, but still had a long drive ahead of her.

“I’ll do that,” someone said behind her.

Sara recognized her friend’s voice and immediately gave a huge sigh of relief. “Thank God, you’re okay! I was worried about you,” she said, giving the younger woman a quick, one-armed squeeze. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke made her recoil. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

Claudie kept her head down as she took the key and finished locking up. “Yeah, I’m fine. Had one too many at Jake’s, is all.”

Sara’s brows went up. “How come? You never drink.”

Claudie handed her the keys with a look of profound weariness. “I drink. Just not when you’re around. How else do you think someone like me lives with all this shit?” The last word was part whisper.

Sara put her arm around her friend’s slim shoulders. “I didn’t mean to sound condemning. I was just surprised. I know you’re doing the best you can—so am I. That’s why we’re friends, remember?”

The two walked down the dark alley toward the employee parking lot. “Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” Sara asked.

Claudie held her tongue until Sara had Brady strapped in his car seat in the back seat of her Toyota wagon. When Sara closed the door, Claudie melted to the curb like a marshmallow over an open flame. “I suck, big time,” she wailed.