one of the marshals would have found it.”
“Nobody else has ever seen this stuff,” she admitted.
The pounding in his head increased. If anyone familiar with his father’s murder case had looked at her records, they would have figured it out. They would have recognized that one of her sources knew too much about the murder scene, things that only the killer would have known. She never would have had to go into hiding, never would have had to keep his child from him. “Why the hell not?”
She lifted her chin with pride. “My dad taught me young to respect the code.”
“What code?”
“The journalist code,” she said. “A true journalist never reveals a source.”
Ignoring the pain, he shook his head with disgust. “After the attempts on your life, I think Stanley Jessup would have understood.”
She chuckled. “You don’t know my dad.”
“No,” he said, “you never introduced me. I was your dirty little secret.”
“He would have been mad,” she admitted. “He wouldn’t have wanted me anywhere near you, given your reputation.”
“Good,” Brendan said. He’d worried that the man had put her up to it, to getting close to him for a story. “And if he cared that much for your safety, he would have understood you breaking the code.”
She nodded. “Probably. But I didn’t think so back then. Back then, I figured he would have been happier for me to die than reveal a source.”
“Josie!” He reached for her, to offer assurance. He knew what it was like to feel like a disappointment to one’s father. But when his arms closed around her, he wanted to offer more than sympathy. He wanted her...as he always did.
“But I realized that he wouldn’t have cared about the code. He would have cared only about keeping me safe when I had CJ,” she said. “CJ!”
She said his name with guilt and alarm, as if something bad had happened to their child.
“What? What about CJ?”
* * *
PULLING HIM OFF her, leaving him, had killed her earlier. She hated disappointing her child. So she’d kept her promise and had brought Brendan with her to pick up their son.
And for the entire day they had acted like a normal family. CJ had proudly showed Brendan all his toys and books, which the rumored mob boss had patiently played with and read to the three-year-old boy. Brendan had also looked through all the photos of their son, seeing in pictures every milestone that had been stolen from him.
Through no fault of his own. It was her fault for not trusting him. But she’d felt then that he had been keeping secrets from her. And she had imagined the worst.
As Brendan, with CJ sitting on his lap, continued to flip through the photo albums, she felt every emotion that flickered across his handsome face, the loss, the regret and the awe. He loved their son.
Could he ever love her?
Or had her lies and mistrust destroyed whatever he might have been able to feel for her? If only she’d known then what that damn story would wind up costing her...
The only man she would ever love.
He glanced up and caught her watching them, and his beautiful eyes darkened. With anger? Was he mad at her?
She couldn’t blame him. She was mad at herself for all that she had denied him and her son. So today she’d tried making it up to them. She’d made all CJ’s favorite foods, played all his favorite games, and she’d pretended that last night had never happened.
The gunfire. The explosion.
She was actually almost able to forget those. It was making love with Brendan that wouldn’t leave her mind. She could almost feel his lips on hers, his hands on her body.
Feel him inside her...
She shivered.
“Why don’t you take a shower,” he said. “Warm up.”
God, did she still look like hell?
“It’s getting late,” she said. “CJ should go to bed, too.” The little boy had already had his bath. Brendan had helped give it to him. His rolled-up shirtsleeves were still damp from playing with the ducks and boats in the tub.
“I’ll put him to bed,” Brendan offered, as if he didn’t want to waste a minute of the time he had with his son.
She had longed to clean up, so she agreed with a silent nod. But knowing that her little boy had to be tired, she leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Good night, sweetheart.”
Over the red curls of their son, she met Brendan’s gaze. His eyes were dark, but not with