Love

a bank. Well, it was in a cookie jar actually.”
“Which means when Sammy turned larcenous—or hungered for chocolate chip cookies—all he had to do was lift the lid.”
“Okay, it was stupid,” she admitted, abandoning her hair to fiddle with a napkin. Little strips piled up in front of her. Her gaze rose to clash with his. “It didn’t seem to make much sense to go to all the bother of opening an account for a couple hundred bucks. I have a checking account to pay the bills, but this was just savings. If I’d put the money in the checking account, I’d have used it to pay the rent or the electric or something.”
Jason didn’t like the picture he was getting of a woman struggling to make ends meet, only to be taken advantage of by her no-good kid brother. Where were her parents? Why weren’t they disciplining the brat? He barely resisted the urge to reach in his pocket and replace the missing money. But he figured that was the surest way he knew to get another punch in the mouth.
“Where do I fit in?” he asked. “What makes you think Sammy gave me your money?”
“I found this VCR in his room. He told me he bought it.”
“From a store?”
She regarded him accusingly again. “No, from some man he met on the streets. He was supposed to see the guy again today. The guy offered him a deal on all sorts of fancy things—stereos, computers, who knows what else—if Sammy would go in with him.”
Incredulous, Jason was beginning to get the whole ugly picture. “What the hell are you suggesting?” he demanded indignantly. “Surely you didn’t think I was dealing in stolen property and recruiting your brother to help?”
He could see from her expression that that was exactly what she’d thought. It was the last straw.
He leaned in close and lowered his voice. “You’ve made a mistake, okay? If you leave quietly, right now, we’ll forget this ever happened.”
“I have no intention of staying quiet about this, mister. You won’t get away with it. Men like you are a blight on society, a disgrace to decent people.”
“Men like me?” Jason repeated. Now his voice was climbing to the fishmonger level of hers. “Men like me! What the hell would you know about me?”
“I know that you were willing to use my brother, that you played on a kid hungry for a little money and attention.”
Jason raked his hand through his hair and tried to control his temper. Another five minutes of listening to this woman’s outrageous accusations and he might forget all the rules of propriety and…and what? Hit her? Hardly. Give her a stern talking to? That would certainly terrify her. He faced the fact that he was stymied, unless he could get to the bottom of this story.
“Maybe we should start at the beginning,” he said very slowly. He was gritting his teeth. “Why did you assume that I knew your brother?”
“You were right where Sammy said you’d be,” she said defensively. “You stood on the corner down the block, right under the old clock. You had another one of those VCRs. The exact same model. It said so on the box. It was obvious you were waiting for someone, so don’t even bother trying to deny it.”
Jason prayed for patience. “I bought that VCR less than an hour ago. I can show you the sales slip.” He got it out of his pocket and waved it under her nose. She didn’t look impressed.
“And I was waiting for someone—my grandfather. We’re meeting at noon for lunch and I was early. I thought about waiting outside, but it was too damned cold.” He shook his head at the ridiculousness of her mistake. “Can I give you a bit of advice? Next time be sure of your facts before you attack some stranger in a bar. Otherwise, you’re likely to land yourself in jail or worse.”
She regarded him defiantly. “What makes you think I’m not sure of my facts now?”
Jason realized that she was absolutely serious. He hadn’t convinced her of a thing. On a day when he’d decided nothing would ever surprise him again, the idea of being considered shady and dangerous held a certain insane appeal. “You honestly think I’m a thief?”
She shrugged. “You could be. Just because you’re wearing fancy clothes and talk smooth doesn’t mean you’re honest. Some of the biggest crooks I know spend a bundle on clothes.”
“And the sales slip?”
“If you’re any good as a thief, you can probably forge that.”
“You’re very cynical.”
“I’ve had to be.”
To his utter astonishment, Jason found that he wanted to ask why. He wanted to spend the next twelve hours talking to this woman, finding out what made her tick, explaining that a kid who’d knowingly bought a stolen VCR probably couldn’t be counted on to lead her to the thief. He wanted to discover the source of all that fierce determination and protectiveness, because one thing was perfectly clear—she didn’t blame Sammy for his crime. She blamed the man who’d lured him into it. He wondered if anyone stood up for her the way she stood up for her brother. He wondered about parents and lovers. He wondered a lot about lovers and cursed the notion that there might be one.
He dragged a hand through his hair. It was obvious he was every bit as nuts as she was.
She was sitting perfectly still beside him, as alert as a predatory jungle creature waiting for a chance to spring on some unsuspecting prey. Jason looked up and then caught sight of his grandfather striding across the tavern. Even though his hair had gone silver and his shoulders were slightly stooped, at sixty-eight he was an impressive man. No one could mistake Brandon Halloran for anything less than the distinguished, legitimate businessman he was.
Hallorans had been held in high esteem in Boston since the first one had made his way over in the 1800s. Brandon had done his part