Beck And Call by Abby Gordon

by
    the time I was born. He called me his special angel,” she
    smiled softly. “I could talk him into things that no one
    else could.”
    “Did your father resent that?”
    “Maybe,” she shrugged. “When Grandpa got sick
    three years ago, I talked him into seeing a doctor when
    he came to visit me. He never left. My father and his
    brothers came down to see him but couldn’t accept the
    diagnosis of dementia and then cancer. It was too hard
    to see their father ill and weak.”
    Keith could read between the lines. She’d been on
    her own to deal with it.
    “And when he died?”
    “I took him home to bury him next to my
    grandmother,” she said simply.
    But Keith had a feeling it wasn’t that simple. There
    was too much tension in her voice and in her face when
    he glanced at her. Taking care of her grandfather had
    driven a wedge between her and her family.
    “What do your parents think about you living in
    New York City?”
    The pinched expression appeared before his poised
    assistant lifted her chin.
    “They worry about me in the big city, of course,” she
    replied. “I think all parents worry about their children
    regardless of their age.”
    “Some do.”
    “What about your parents?” she asked, trying to
    remember if she’d interacted with the senior
    MacLauren beyond a five-second phone conversation.
    She’d met Keith’s mother once, but no one else in his
    family beyond Penny. “Are you close to either of them?”
    “My mother,” he said shortly.
    “Mm,” she murmured. “From what I’ve read, your
    father doesn’t strike me as the type who tucked you in
    with a bedtime story or played catch with you.”
    Keith gave her droll look.
    “My father probably thinks Mother Goose is a type
    of vodka and he certainly has never played catch with
    anyone. Except to ‘catch’ a bargain of a failing
    company.” He made a right turn. “Your father read you
    stories?”
    “Yes, he did. He didn’t go for fairy tales or Mother
    Goose,” she smiled at the idea. “He read us nature
    stories or biographies or something like that.”
    “At least that’s something.”
    “Yes,” she nodded, voice quiet. “I’ve realized that
    however much I might wish my father had been more
    demonstrative growing up, he did what he could. I have
    never doubted that he loved me.” She paid attention to
    where they were going. “It’s the next block.”
    He pulled up and peered at the entrance.
    “How secure is it?”
    “You have to have a key or be buzzed in,” she told
    him. “The super has an apartment near the front door.
    I have to remember to tell him we’re ordering pizza so
    he’ll let him in”
    “Cameras?”
    She glanced at him in surprise.
    “I… I’m not sure. I don’t think so. Maybe outside
    the doors, but not inside.”
    He nodded, keeping his expression blank. That
    security lapse would help him considerably when he
    went to her. Claire and Debbie being down the hall
    would also make him more cautious. Running into one
    of them would ruin his plans.
    “I’ll wait here until you’re inside,” he told her.
    Nodding, and thrown off balance as his personality
    shifted again, she put her hand on the latch.
    “Thank you for the ride,” she smiled. “It was my
    first ride in a Mercedes.”
    “You’re welcome,” he nodded.
    Ignoring the horn of the car behind him, he didn’t
    budge until the building’s door closed behind her.
    Glancing in the rearview mirror, he smiled. The
    delivery truck was coming around the corner. Perfect.
    Going around the block, he headed back downtown and
    in minutes was parking his car and going into his
    private elevator next to the one he and Serena had
    used. Punching in the access code, he stepped in and
    stripped his gloves off as the car rose.
    Serena hung her coat up and glanced at the clock.
    Thirty minutes until Claire and Debbie came over. Did
    she dare try to squeeze in a work-out? The day had
    been a rollercoaster and her muscles were