Risky Business by Nora Roberts Page B

wouldn’t change. “I told you I would.”
    He took the paper from her to study it. He’d shaved, she noticed, and wore a casually chic jacket over bone-colored slacks. But the smoothness and gloss didn’t mesh with the toughness around his mouth and in his eyes. “Do you know these places?”
    â€œI’ve been to a couple of them. I don’t really have a lot of time for bar-or club-hopping.”
    He glanced up and his curt answer slipped away. The shadesbehind her were up as she preferred them, but the light coming through the windows was pink with early evening. Though she’d buttoned the shirt high over her throat, her hair was brushed back, away from her face. She’d dawdled over the makeup, but her hand was always conservative. Her lashes were darkened, the lids lightly touched with shadow. She’d brushed some color over her cheeks but not her lips.
    â€œYou should be careful what you do to your eyes,” Jonas murmured, absently running his thumb along the top curve of her cheek. “They’re a problem.”
    She felt the quick, involuntary tug but stood still. “A problem?”
    â€œMy problem.” Uneasy, he tucked the paper in his pocket and glanced around the room. “Are you ready?”
    â€œI need my shoes.”
    He didn’t leave her as she’d expected, instead wandering around her room. It was, as was the rest of the house, furnished simply but with jarring color. The spicy scent he’d noticed before came from a wide green bowl filled with potpourri. On the wall were two colored sketches, one of a sunset very much like the quietly brilliant one outside the window, and another of a storm-tossed beach. One was all serenity, the other all violence. He wondered how much of each were inside Elizabeth Palmer. Prominent next to the bed was a framed photograph of a young girl.
    She was all smiles in a flowered blouse tucked at the shoulders. Her hair came to a curve at her jawline, black and shiny. A tooth was missing, adding charm to an oval, tanned face. If it hadn’t been for the eyes, Jonas would never have connected the child with Liz. They were richly, deeply brown, slightly tilted. Still, they laughed out of the photo, open and trusting, holding none of the secrets of her mother’s.
    â€œThis is your daughter.”
    â€œYes.” Liz slipped on the second shoe before taking the photo out of Jonas’s hand and setting it down again.
    â€œHow old is she?”
    â€œTen. Can we get started? I don’t want to be out late.”
    â€œTen?” A bit stunned, Jonas stopped her with a look. He’d assumed Faith was half that age, a product of a relationship Liz had fallen into while on the island. “You can’t have a ten-year-old child.”
    Liz glanced down at the picture of her daughter. “I do have a ten-year-old child.”
    â€œYou’d have been a child yourself.”
    â€œNo. No, I wasn’t.” She started to leave again, and again he stopped her.
    â€œWas she born before you came here?”
    Liz gave him a long, neutral look. “She was born six months after I moved to Cozumel. If you want my help, Jonas, we go now. Answering questions about Faith isn’t part of our arrangement.”
    But he didn’t let go of her hand. As it could become so unexpectedly, his voice was gentle. “He was a bastard, wasn’t he?”
    She met his eyes without wavering. Her lips curved, but not with humor. “Yes. Oh yes, he was.”
    Without knowing why he was compelled to, Jonas bent and just brushed her lips with his. “Your daughter’s lovely, Elizabeth. She has your eyes.”
    She felt herself softening again, too much, too quickly. There was understanding in his voice without pity. Nothing could weaken her more. In defense she took a step back. “Thank you. Now we have to go. I have to be up early tomorrow.”
    Â 
    The first club they hit was