“We don’t know that-we don’t even know if she’s willing to see him.” Pinpricks of blood welled where he’d removed the tiny thorns, shiny beads of bright red. “He’s doing it behind his adoptive parents’ backs, following his own crazy trail like some vigilante, seeing his mother in every woman’s face. He’s even got me jumpy.”

Pulling the last prickles out of her thumb, he shifted his attention to the few still in her palm. “You want to hear something funny? For a few minutes today I even thought you might be a candidate.”

Her insides lurched. “That is funny,” she managed to say.

Devin lifted her hand higher and examined it closely. “I think that’s all of them.”

A teardrop splashed onto her open palm, then another. Rachel couldn’t hold them back. For long seconds, they watched the tears trickle along the heart line, then Devin lifted his head, his expression one of shock.

“Or not funny,” she said.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“MY PARENTS WANTED ME to keep the baby.”

Devin watched as Rachel’s hands fluttered like wounded birds before she linked them in a viselike grip. Holding herself together.

“Everyone said how wonderful Mom and Dad were through the whole pregnancy, that it was so like them to turn the other cheek.” Her voice was slightly winded, as though she needed more oxygen than her lungs could produce. “I became a pariah when I insisted on adoption.”

“Rachel,” he said helplessly. She was in agony and he didn’t know how to help her. And after her first crying jag, when she’d let him hold her, she’d pulled away. He’d already made such a mess of this he didn’t want to force the issue.

It had grown dark in the intervening hour. They’d moved inside and he’d made her hot tea, piling in the sugar. Now they were in the family room, Devin on the couch and Rachel standing in front of the mantel. Her tea sat untouched.

“What about the father…did the boy deny paternity?”

“Oh, no.” She gave him a tight little smile. “He and his parents offered to pay for the abortion. And made it clear that keeping the baby made it solely my responsibility.”

Devin said softly, “But your parents were supportive?”

“We ended up parting ways over it.”

At seventeen? And he’d assumed her upbringing was sheltered. “Did you have anybody on your side?”

“A good social worker.” Restlessly, Rachel moved things around on the mantel-two gilded candlesticks, an antique clock, a small bowl of potpourri. “So, don’t you want to ask me why I gave up my baby?”

There was a brittle quality in her voice.

“No.” Devin waited until she looked at him. “I already know your reason was a good one.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Thank you,” she whispered.

From the couch, Devin held out a hand. “Come here.”

She shook her head, returned to straightening the mantel ornaments. “I’m okay.”

“I’m sure when Mark finds out-”

Her head jerked up. “Promise me you won’t say anything.”

“Rachel, you have to tell him,” Devin said gently.

“I will, only…” She swallowed. “And this will sound silly, but I want him to like me first.”

Not silly, heartrending. For a moment Devin couldn’t speak. “Of course he likes you.”

“As your friend or Trixie’s.” She stirred the potpourri with her index finger, round and round, completely unaware of what she was doing. Faintly, Devin smelled orange peel and cloves. “If I spend a little more time with him, build a rapport, he’ll be more inclined to listen to my reasons for giving him up.”

“You’re scared,” Devin said. “That’s understandable. But waiting isn’t going to make it easier.

She pounced on him. “So you do expect fallout.”

“I don’t know how Mark will react,” he said honestly. “But I do think he’s more likely to read some conspiracy into a delay.”

Stubbornly, Rachel shook her head. “It’s my decision to make, Devin.”

“Not if you’re asking me to be monkey in the middle. I have a friendship to protect here, too, remember?”

“Obviously not ours.”

His own temper flared. “It’s because I care about you that I’m trying to get you to see sense, you obstinate woman!”

Rachel snapped on a lamp. Light flooded the room and illuminated the angry color in her cheeks, but her voice was level. “I don’t need you to care about me. I need you to butt out of what’s none of your damn business.”

Incredulous, he stared at her. “We just slept together. I’m a mentor to your son. Of course it’s my damn business.”

“Exactly. We just slept together.” She waved a finger at him, an intensely annoying gesture. “Now you’re trying to muscle in on my life. I should sue you for misrepresentation.”

“Oh, I get it.” Devin stood up. “I’m okay to fool around with, but God forbid we achieve any real connection.”

Rachel snorted. “Says the guy with two ex-wives.”

“At least I got that far.” He pointed his own finger to see how she liked it. “You balk before you get to the altar. And you think you don’t need advice on relationships?”

They glared at each other. “I know you’ve destroyed a lot of brain cells,” said Rachel, “so I’ll say this slowly and clearly. If you tell Mark, I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Here’s a better idea.” Devin flicked his gaze over her, as cutting as rawhide. “Never speak to me again and I won’t tell Mark.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Deal!”

“Deal.” This time he was the one who slammed the door.

Devin took the 8:00 p.m. car ferry back to Waiheke in a blistering rage.

As he found a seat inside the lounge he decided he was glad Rachel had clarified where they stood before he made a fool of himself. To think that this afternoon he’d understood the allure of a relationship with a normal woman. He snorted. Rachel normal? “Ha!”

The old guy sitting opposite glanced cautiously over his newspaper, then got up and found another booth. Devin barely noticed. The librarian had more baggage than Paris Hilton.

When the boat moored he was first off, opening the throttle on the Harley as soon as he hit the island’s back-roads. He still couldn’t get his head around the fact that she was Mark’s mother. What had driven her to give him up? It had to be something bad.

Devin shook off the thought as irritably as a dog with fleas. It wasn’t his problem. The librarian had spelled that out loud and clear. Like he’d welcome this kind of complication in his life, anyway, when he’d just got things back on an even keel.

In his vast empty house, Devin turned on all the lights, then stripped to his boxers and pummeled the punching bag in the gym until his arms ached. Mixed with his sweat was Rachel’s perfume.

He took a shower and scrubbed himself with vicious thoroughness. It didn’t help. Hauling on clean clothes, he settled down to a class assignment, but shoved it aside within minutes and opened the final report from his forensic accountant. Devin read it and his mood grew even blacker.

Checking his watch, he saw it was four in the morning in L.A. Too bad. Devin dialed Zander’s cell and was again routed straight through to Message.

“Hey, brother,” he said pleasantly. “Just reminding you it’s Mom’s birthday next weekend and it would be nice if you called her. Oh, and I’ve had the results back on an independent audit of the band. Seems you owe me about five million bucks in royalties on four of our early hits.”

He opened the sliding door and walked out onto the deck, bracing himself against the buffeting wind. “My lawyers suggest I sue, but I figure there’s a rational explanation.” Far below the glass balustrade, white water boiled and broke over the jagged rocks. Gripping the rail with his free hand, Devin looked down until he’d conquered his vertigo. “I mean, only a lowlife would screw over his baby brother, right, Zand?”

Devin dropped the amiability from his tone. “You’ve got five days to make contact before I release the hounds.”