Liar's Moon by Heather Graham

determined to sleep.
     
     
    L eif quickly discovered that neither Liz nor Tracy was in his and Jamie’s suite; he naturally assumed that Liz had Blake in Tracy’s suite.
    Naturally, the door was locked, and Leif found himself staring down at the street again as he crawled from balcony to balcony once again wondering if they weren’t all crazy.
    He was startled and experienced just a bit of panic when he opened the first bedroom door and saw that his sister was sound asleep—without Blake. He softly closed her door, then hurried on to the next, his heart beating a little erratically. In the next room, however, he did find his son—sweetly sleeping with his thumb in his mouth and his little rump curled next to the woman beside him.
    Tracy.
    Leif moved quietly across the room, staring down at the two of them. Tracy had an arm around Blake’s tummy, and Blake was very contentedly clinging to it with one hand. There was something entirely innocent and entirely endearing about the two of them. Tracy’s silky dark hair feathering across the pillow, her encompassing flannel gown adding to the innocence. Blake, golden, small against her, so trusting.
    Leif eased himself down to sit on the side of the bed— it was a massive thing, plenty of room. For a moment he smiled, entranced by the sight of the two of them. He looked at Tracy’s face, at her skin, so smooth and clear, at the elegant lines and planes of her features. Her lips, full and sweet and slightly parted as she breathed.
    Then his jaw twisted and hardened as he began to think. He had to make her talk. One way or the other. He knew that she didn’t ever intend to tell him anything— but if he didn’t have just a little more to go on, he couldn’t pursue the accusations he intended to make. He believed with all his heart that she knew nothing about his suspicions.
    And if he was right? What would she feel then about her mother, grandfather, and stepfather? If she realized what they had done to her, mightn’t she be willing to accept the fact that one of them had most probably conspired to murder her father.
    He sighed softly, thinking that he could be wrong.
    No—he wasn’t wrong. It had taken him years to realize the truth—but then, it took years for children to grow and change, and he hadn’t been in the temperament to suspect anything at first.
    He closed his eyes tightly, fighting back the urge to reach over his son’s body, grasp her shoulders in fury, and shake her awake—to demand to know the truth.
    Chills settled over him. Maybe she knew the truth. Maybe that was why it was so easy for her to be here now, asleep beside his son, so tenderly, so naturally.
    She stirred slightly and he sensed that she was about to waken—and that she’d probably scream, finding a man in her bedroom. He placed his palm over her mouth just as her eyes opened and then widened in alarm.
    “It’s just me!” he whispered.
    She didn’t scream; she shook off the touch of his palm with annoyance. “ ‘Just you’ can get out of here!” she whispered vehemently.
    “I came for Blake.”
    “Why? He’s fast asleep—he’s fine.”
    The light reflecting from the bathroom touched upon her eyes; they were so very blue, deep and stunning. She was wearing her hair a little shorter now; there was still an abundance of it, thick, rich, and dark against the pillow. He swallowed quickly, and he swallowed down pain. How bitterly he had resented her for what she had done. He’d felt such a miserable tangle of emotions; horror that he had fallen prey to a seventeen-year-old, and that girl the daughter of his best friend. Anger at the absolute fool he had been; fury—against her, for having used him.
    And still … the caring.
    Love was something that began in caring and grew. They had been passionately involved, totally committed to one another for that fantasy interlude.
    Admittedly, he hadn’t been much of a bargain in his twenties. He’d lived in the fast lane and he’d