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Sniffling, Casey grabbed onto Zane’s leg. “It’s Uncle Richard. He saw.”
The man jerked the hem of his charcoal designer suit jacket straight. “How many times have I told you not to run away from the ball? Serves you right to get hit. And you’re still throwing like a girl. Put your shoulder into it.”
Once again, unwanted memories of Stoneheart’s relentless criticism slammed Zane, and his pulse kicked into a staccato. He looked down at the child. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
The little boy smiled. “I know. It wasn’t on purpose. I’m okay, really, it doesn’t hurt, Zane.”
The trust in Casey’s gaze rocked him to the core. He swallowed the aching lump lodged in his throat, and ruffled Casey’s dark silky hair, warm from the sun. “You did good.” His voice emerged graveled. “You worked hard today. Why don’t you go ask your aunt for a cookie and some juice?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
The little boy bolted across the lawn, and Richard shook his head, disgust twisting his mouth. “That’s what happens when a woman raises a boy without a father. When I was his age—”
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Zane interrupted before he lost it and punched the jackhole’s teeth down his throat. “Special Agent Zane Wolfe, FBI.”
Richard’s hazel eyes darkened. “So you’re the one. Exactly what kind of scam are you and that harebrained, so-called ‘guardian’ trying to pull, anyway?”
The screen door bounced open, and Jillian hurried onto the porch. “Hello, Richard.” She sounded breathless. “Casey said you were here.”
“Since you didn’t return any of my calls this morning, I came in person.” Richard thrust his hand inside his jacket and Zane automatically reached for his gun.
When Richard tugged out a folded sheet of paper, Zane dropped his empty hand to his side.
Frowning, Richard waved the paper at Jillian. “What are you doing with this stat DNA report on Casey?”
She jogged down the porch steps, ran across the grass. Stopping in front of Richard, she snatched the paper. “How did you get this?”
Richard lunged in an attempt to grab it back, but Zane stepped between them.
Richard scowled. “As Casey’s next-of-kin, I have his medical records flagged in the hospital’s computer. Any activity involving him alerts me. What kind of angle are you running here, Jillian?”
She slipped out from behind Zane, and he raised his arm to block her from stepping any closer to Richard. She wisely stayed at his side. “You’ve read the results. The DNA test confirms that Zane is Casey’s father.”
“Convenient timing,” Richard snarled. “Biological father didn’t want anything to do with the kid. But now, with everything at stake—” Richard stabbed Zane’s chest with his index finger. “The sperm donor is suddenly a devoted daddy?”
Zane looked down at Richard’s finger, then leveled his gaze on the other man. “Careful. I’m not a scared five-year-old.”
Richard dropped his hand and sidled backward. “Last-minute legal contortions won’t do you any good, Wolfe. You’ve ignored Casey’s existence all his life, and no court in the world will grant you custody. My sister botched the job, but Brooke and I will raise that child right. Since Deborah took the coward’s way out of her predicament, I have the responsibility to make a real man out of him.”
Zane’s pulse thundered in his ears. A red haze blinded him, and his hands fisted, clinging to the slippery edge of control as he battled to keep both the pastandthe present at bay.
He skated within a millimeter of letting go … and succumbing to the brutal inheritance he’d worked so hard to overcome.
Then he inhaled deeply. Channeled his rage into icy self-discipline. “Get off Ms. Ramsay’s property,” he warned with quiet intent and a stare that should’ve flash-frozen Stuart’s balls. “And don’t come back here, or harass her at the Center again. Or you and I are going to have a serious problem.”
“Did you just threaten me?”
“Believe me, Dick,” Zane said in a falsely pleasant tone. “If I threaten someone, they don’t need to ask for clarification.” He crossed his arms. “For instance, I might say something like, ‘if anyone tried to harass or hurt Jillian or Casey, I’d rip his liver out through his nostrils, and cram it up his ass. Piece by bloody piece.’”
Richard hastily retreated, fumbling with the Porsche’s door handle before scrambling inside. The engine rumbled to life, and then the window slid down. “You crude lowlife. My lawyer will rake you over the coals.” The window slid up. The Porsche backed down the driveway, and roared away in a flash of gleaming white.
In the sudden silence, Jillian gulped.
Zane glanced at her. She’d gone pale, and in spite of the sun’s warmth, her body trembled.
“Are you all right?”
“S-sure. But you do come across ... intense.”
