Mad, Bad and Blonde - Cathie Linz [74]
Vince was practically drooling at the thought of having West Investigations’ reputation stomped on, which would happen if Caine could prove his dad was innocent after all. That’s why Vince didn’t mind that Caine was spending so much time on his dad’s case. Yes, Caine was putting in extra hours to work on additional cases, but his main focus was his dad’s case.
Your dad’s case and Faith, his conscience taunted him. You’ve focused on both.
Yeah, that was a problem Caine didn’t know how to solve. Faith seemed genuine in her quest to discover the truth, but he wondered how long that would last once they proved her dad was wrong. What would she do then?
Would she still kiss him with wild abandon then? Trap his hand between her legs after he gave her an orgasm? Give him that sexy smile of hers?
Caine doubted it.
He was a warrior. He knew all about the need to fortify perimeters so they were well-protected. Yet he’d been unable to strengthen his defenses so that Faith couldn’t get past them. Why? Was she deliberately trying to distract him so he couldn’t stay focused on the case?
His gut told him no. But then his gut was close to another part of his anatomy that ached to have sex with her. Was he guilty of thinking with his dick?
In Positano he’d worried about that. Worried that she’d gotten to him. Weakened him. Since then, his attraction for her had only grown more powerful.
“You’re staring at that Guinness as if it holds the secrets of the Holy Grail,” Buddy said. “You thinking of that gal of yours?”
“She’s not my gal,” Caine said curtly before adding, “sir.”
“Stop calling me sir. Makes me feel old. And don’t you be telling me I am old.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“But you were dreaming of Faith.”
“Not dreaming, no.”
“What then?”
“Analyzing.”
Buddy shook his head. “Boyo, men have been trying to analyze women since Adam and Eve. Don’t waste your time. It can’t be done.”
“Whenever someone tells me something can’t be done, that makes me more determined to prove them wrong.”
“That’s a Marine thing,” Buddy said.
Caine didn’t deny it.
“What did your dad think of you joining the Marines?” Buddy asked.
“He was okay with it.”
“Just okay? Not bursting with pride?”
“He was a chemist not a warrior.”
“Did he want you to follow in his footsteps and become a chemist too?”
“No, he let me do my own thing.”
“From what I’ve heard, he was pretty torn up after your mom passed.”
“He never recovered from her death.”
“Do you think he committed suicide to be with her?”
That possibility ate at Caine. “I don’t know.”
“His suicide was only a few days after the anniversary of your mother’s death.” At Caine’s look, Buddy added, “I do my research.”
Caine’s throat tightened. “I can’t say what he was thinking.”
“Did he write you anything that could give a clue?”
“He sent e-mails.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much. He’d tell a joke or two. Say work was keeping him busy, that sort of thing. No details.”
“Did you keep the e-mails?”
Caine shook his head. He wished he had. Hindsight was twenty-twenty.
He’d only kept one e-mail, the final one his dad sent. It had simply said “I’m sorry. I can’t go on.”
By the time Caine returned from a recon mission and got to read the e-mail, his father was already gone.
Caine had been trained to serve his country first and foremost. He’d done everything the United States Marine Corps had asked of him. Now it was time to put his father first—even if it was too little, too late.
“You know what I missed when I was in the army?” Buddy said. “Sliders. How about you?”
“What did I miss? Being able to walk outside without body armor and a helmet. Being cool. In Iraq it got as hot as a hundred and forty-five degrees Fahrenheit, and then add the body armor.” Caine shook his head as if trying to dislodge bad memories. “I missed driving a car without looking around at people and everything suspiciously. Those are just some things.