Deadline (Sandra Brown)

anyone chooses to vanish. To escape trouble. Or the law. To start another life as someone else.”
    “Okay, say that’s right. Why wouldn’t he go far, far away from here? Why would he stay in this vicinity and risk being recognized? Faking your death is a crime, isn’t it? Wouldn’t he be afraid of getting caught? If he was going to disappear, why would he hang around and spy on me?”
    “To make you anxious and afraid as punishment for leaving him.”
    She gave a hard shake of her head. “He didn’t care that I left. By the time our divorce was final, he no longer loved me, only the boys. They were all he wanted.” Realizing what she’d said, she sucked in a sharp breath and jerked her head up to look into Dawson’s incisive gaze.
    He gave a slow nod of his head.
    “No,” she said, her voice little more than a fearful whimper.
    “This has occurred to you, Amelia. I know it has.”
    She wet her lips and rapidly formed an argument. “If Jeremy wanted the boys, he could have snatched them at any time. Before he ever met Willard and Darlene Strong.”
    “He could have. But in all probability he would have been caught and charged with kidnapping. If they were snatched now, no one would suspect a dead man of taking them.”
    She felt it was imperative that she argue fiercely against that logic. “You’re only trying to frighten me.”
    “Why would I do that?”
    “To get me to say things that’ll make your story more intriguing, lend it an air of mystery.”
    “You know that’s not true.”
    “Then why are you here? I told you that I wouldn’t cooperate with any story you intend to write. Why don’t you just go away and leave us alone? You weren’t even all that interested in the story of Jeremy Wesson. You said you were about to reject it and move on to something else more interesting. Why didn’t you?”
    “Fair enough. You want to know why?”
    He slid his hands under her hair behind her neck and drew her forward until her body was flush against his, his legs sandwiching hers, their faces not quite touching. “Why didn’t I leave this goddamn story alone?” He brushed his thumbs across her lower lip. “Because you walked into that courtroom.”
    He held her there for several beats, his hot gaze moving over the features of her face as though he was trying to decide which to kiss first. Then he swore under his breath and abruptly released her.
    Before she had time to fully recover her senses, he was gone, and she was alone.

Chapter 9
    T he next day, rainy weather kept everyone indoors. In their confinement, the boys became restless, bored, and whiney. None of the pastimes Stef suggested were greeted with enthusiasm. Worst of all, the cable went out, so watching television wasn’t an option.
    Lunchtime turned into a battle royal over who was responsible for Grant’s spilled milk. Each blamed the other, arguing over who had bumped whom. To prevent a full-blown sibling feud, Stef offered to take them outside during a lull between showers.
    “I would appreciate it,” Amelia told her. “Just long enough for them to burn off some energy.”
    As they were putting on their tennis shoes, Hunter asked if they could invite Dawson to come out and play.
    “No. Definitely not.”
    “How come?”
    “I don’t think he’s at home.”
    “He is. His car is there.”
    “That piece-of-crap car.”
    “Grant! Where did you hear that?”
    “Hunter said it.”
    “I did not!”
    “Okay, okay. Whoever said it, it’s inappropriate language. Don’t say it again. And stay away from Mr. Scott’s house.”
    “Why? He likes us.”
    “He’s probably working.”
    “But, Mom—”
    “Hunter, I said no.” As she escorted them through the front door, she said to Stef in an undertone, “If he comes out, bring them inside.”
    “Okay,” Stef grumbled. “I don’t get it, but okay.”
    Amelia didn’t have a single ally in her camp, but she was still the commander of this little band, so the rest of them could like it or not, they were having nothing more to do with their neighbor.
    In the utility room, she attacked the piles of clean laundry waiting to be folded, realizing that in a week, she would be packing up their clothes to move back into Savannah. She didn’t look forward to it. The boys disliked the apartment into which they’d moved after leaving the Jones Street townhouse, but her encounter with Willard Strong had made it impossible for her to continue living there.
    Hunter and Grant