Trust by Design (Colorado Trust 2)

The tension in his shoulders deflated. “Sonofabitch.”

“Yeah.” Mike drained his bottle and thumped it on the bar hard enough to be heard over the music. “What do you want to do now?”

He sighed and considered their options. “Catching them red-handed was probably a long-shot anyway. I guess we go home and get back to work so we can make sure we beat Brady to the finish line this time.”

“We means you, buddy. Until you finish the programming, I can’t do much from the sidelines other than offer moral support.”

“Fine, then I’ll go home and get to work. You go do…” He waved a hand. “Whatever it is you want to do.”

Mike signaled for another beer. “I think I’ll hang around and see if I can score my own kiss.”

“Good luck with that.”

He shrugged. “If it can happen to you, it can happen to me.”

“I was being sincere. I hope you meet the love of your life tonight.”

“Heck, these days, I’d settle for a one night stand.”

Dean rolled his eyes as he turned to leave.

“Hey. Don’t forget your slipper.”

He turned back around and got a face full of heavenly-scented sweater. An instinctive grab kept it from falling to the ground before he walked away from Mike’s laugh.

Halfway to his vehicle, his phone rang. At nine-thirty at night, he was only mildly surprised by the ringtone, and he smiled as he answered. “Hello, Mom.”

“Hello, my dear son. How have you been?”

“Good.” He kept his smile in place, even as his stomach clenched at the thought that his stepdad may have revealed his current precarious position. He prayed Wesley had kept his promise not to worry his mother. “What do you want?”

“Can’t I just be calling to see how you are?”

Her false offense made his smile feel more genuine. “Not when you call me dear son. It’s a dead giveaway.”

“I’ll have to remember that in the future.”

“You do that. In the meantime, what can I do for you, dear mother?”

She laughed. “I am calling to ask a favor. Do you by chance remember Maria Clark?”

Tension subsided a tiny bit at her question. He searched his memory as he dug his keys from his pocket and thumbed the button to unlock his SUV. “The name vaguely rings a bell.”

“We worked for the same cleaning company before she got a permanent position as a live-in. Just before I met Wesley. Remember, I used to talk about her all the time.”

“This was back when we lived in Detroit.”

“Yes.”

“Which was twenty years ago, Mom.” He tossed the maroon sweater into the passenger seat, then got into his vehicle and shut the door against the spring night air raising goose bumps on his bare arms. “Anyway, what about her?”

“Well, we’ve stayed in touch, and her daughter is—”

He leaned his head back, groaning loud enough to drown out her words. “Nope. No more set-ups, Mom. You can nag me for grandchildren when I’m single and forty-eight, not twenty-eight.”

“That’s not what this is,” she protested.

“Right. So tell me, what is her daughter? Beautiful? Smart? Funny?”