Deadly Illusions by Brenda Joyce

earnestly, eyes wide. Like Joel, he had midnight-black hair and the dark eyes to match.
    â€œGood job,” Evan said softly, pulling him close for a moment. Then he felt Maggie come to stand behind him and his entire body tensed. Slowly, he released the boy and turned, uncertain now of why he reacted to her so. He felt somewhat breathless.
    â€œI’ll put up some tea. Lizzie just went to sleep and Joel is out,” Maggie said, her eyes wide and riveted on him.
    He gave up. There was something so pretty about her, andwhy deny it? That meant nothing, of course, as he was very involved with Bartolla, whom he would probably one day marry. And Bartolla was the kind of woman he was insanely attracted to—gorgeous, bold and far from innocent. But Maggie was lovely and he had always had an eye for attractive women, so of course he would notice her. But there was something else about her, something he could not put his finger on. In a way, she was like a ray of the purest light.
    However, Maggie and he were from different worlds. They both knew it. The gulf of class and economy that separated them was as wide as the Atlantic Ocean. So even if Francesca was right—which she was not—any feelings on his part, other than the noble ones of admiration, respect and friendship, were entirely inappropriate.
    â€œThank you,” he said very quietly. He was uncharacteristically shaken.
    â€œJoel and your sister are on a case,” Maggie said, hovering over the kettle she had just set to boil.
    He stared for a moment at her slim back. Most women who had had four children had long since gone to fat. Maggie remained slender. Not for the first time, he thought her a touch too thin. But then, he knew her rather well now and he knew she gave the best of everything, including their meals, to her children. He saw a pot on the stove. Now curious, he wandered over.
    She whirled and they were face-to-face, mere inches separating them, her back to the stove.
    For one moment, he did not move, impossibly aware of her, realizing that she wore the faintest scent, floral and sweet. Then he stepped aside. “I beg your pardon,” he murmured, glancing into the pot. She was making a stew, a few potatoes and onions simmering with some bones. There was no meat to be seen.
    Maggie had scurried to the kitchen table and grasped the back of a chair. “Have you had supper?” she said very breathlessly. “I mean, we do not have much, but you are welcome to dine with us.”
    He knew he had made her nervous and he hated that she was so skittish around him. Maybe she sensed his admiration could have been something more, if the circumstances had been different. Suddenly, he wished that the circumstances were different.
    Confusion stunned him.
    â€œMr. Cahill?” she asked.
    He leaped away from the stove, smiling. But he remained shaken. “I’d like to take you and the children to supper,” he said.
    Her eyes widened.
    Now that he had spoken, he liked the idea. He’d put a huge meal into them all.
    â€œYou want to take us to supper? You mean, to a restaurant?”
    â€œYes, that is what I mean. We should wait for Joel,” he decided.
    Maggie hugged herself. “I can’t accept.”
    His smile vanished. “Mag—Mrs. Kennedy, please. I’m hungry, and not in the mood for soup. A nice beef roast would do.” He smiled encouragingly now and could almost feel her mouth water.
    â€œSurely you did not come all this way to take my family to dinner?”
    He became sober. “Francesca told me about your neighbor.” Then he glanced at the children. “I’d like to find a private moment to discuss this with you.”
    She bit her lip, also glancing at the two boys, who were playing with some toy soldiers, all in Confederate gray. “It is very unsettling,” she whispered.
    He walked directly to her and took her hand. He also lowered his voice. “Two doors