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  “Eve Masterson is missing.”

  Eve Masterson. Locating the beautiful television star was a job Matt Ross would once have jumped at, but now he had more important issues to handle—like a young daughter, a new partnership, a difficult exwife…and the upcoming Christmas holiday.

  As if reading Matt’s mind, his cousin—and partner—added, “Eve’s parents are freaking out because nobody’s heard from her or been able to reach her for months—ever since she left for Atlanta.”

  “Listen, Eve Masterson is a TV personality,” Matt told Bo. Lowering his voice, he added, “Doesn’t this sound like something a television personality would do for publicity?”

  “I don’t think so. The Eve I used to know wouldn’t let her family and friends worry—if she could help it.”

  Matt glanced at his calendar—December. The only notation was “Dec. 25: Ashley with me.” Which meant he’d pick up his daughter around twelve and drive to his parents’ home, where they’d have delayed their celebration to include him and Ashley. God, he hated the holidays!

  “Okay, I’ll go. But I have to be back by Christmas Eve.”

  “Cool. Shouldn’t take you more than a couple of hours. Fly in. Find her place. See what the hell’s up. Read her the riot act if needed, then fly home.”

  Matt rolled his eyes. Something told him nothing concerning Eve Masterson would be that easy.

  Dear Reader,

  I knew very little about Matt and Eve, the main characters of this book, when I stared writing the first story in this trilogy, His Daddy’s Eyes. Eve was a beautiful but aloof ex-girlfriend. Matt didn’t come into focus until Bo, my hero of the second book, Back in Kansas, needed his cousin’s help. All I knew going into this story was that Eve was missing and Matt was the only one who could rescue her.

  In writing this book, I discovered that Matt was lost, too. An accident had changed everything in his life: career, marriage, his sense of identity. Locating Eve—a woman he knew only by her glamorous image—is Matt’s first step on the road to reclaiming his life.

  My thanks to Jim Brisco and Lorry Allen for sharing with me their beautiful, romantic Yucatan home called Casa Rosa. I couldn’t think of a more appropriate spot for Eve and Matt to fall in love. It’s where my husband and I spent our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.

  To my friend and future sister-in-law, Karryn, I thank you for sharing your medical knowledge with me and for helping me understand the subtle nuances of adoption—I will always remember Dottie with a smile. I thank my friends and fellow writers, Susan Floyd and Melinda Wooten, for helping me tie up all the loose “endings.” And my sister, Jan O’Brien, for liking all the “beginnings”—no matter how many times they change.

  I love hearing from readers. Please write me at P.O. Box 322, Cathey’s Valley, CA, 95306. Or e-mail me at either www.superauthors.com or through the authors’ alcove at eHarlequin.com. Happy reading!

  Debra

  Something About Eve

  Debra Salonen

  To Zilla—

  your insight and patience help me shine.

  And, of course, Paul—

  I couldn’t do this without you.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  MATT ROSS PRETENDED to dribble the basketball-shaped tangle of twinkle lights in his hands as he walked to his couch. He sat down with a sigh. He’d turned down tickets to the Knicks game to spend time with Ashley. He didn’t regret missing the game, but he had hoped to avoid the Christmas issue altogether.

  “You have to decorate for Christmas, Daddy,” she’d insisted, dragging him to the storage room for two battered and dusty boxes marked Xmas. “Christmas is next week. You can’t pretend it isn’t happening.”

  Can if I want, he’d almost blurted out, remembering at the last second that he was thirty-six, not twelve.

  “Where do you want the reindeer candles, Dad?” Ashley asked.

  Reindeer candles? I have reindeer candles?

  He looked up from the rat’s nest of wires in his lap to watch his slim daughter parade from window to window. She moved with a leggy grace that made him start humming a Dan Fogelberg song about running for the roses. In her outstretched hands were a pair of molded brass candleholders, which seemed vaguely familiar. No doubt a hand-me-down from his mother. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to him to lobby for holiday decor when he and Sonya split up three years ago.

  “You pick,” he said with a shrug. “You have a better eye for that kind of thing than me.”

  “Ha!” she cried triumphantly. She spun around to face him, a reindeer at each hip. “That’s right. I do. Which means you should trust me to hang the Picasso. Right?”

  Matt rolled his eyes. She’d been bugging him for a week to hang the lithograph. He’d put it off—reluctant to get too comfortable in his new digs. “Okay. But only if I don’t have to buy a tree,” he bargained.

  Ashley’s narrow, auburn eyebrows scrunched together the way his did when he was frustrated. “Fine,” she said, her bottom lip pouting. She dumped the wobbly reindeer on the closest window ledge then dashed away. Matt could hear her rummaging in the kitchen for a hammer. Matt was sure he heard her mutter something about a grinch.

  Smiling, he concentrated on separating another couple of inches of green plastic-coated strands. He couldn’t believe he’d put them in the box that way. What did they do all summer? Mate? “Oh, hell,” he muttered a minute later. “Maybe she won’t notice if there aren’t any lights.”Fat chance, buster.

  Ashley materialized at his side. “I found the perfect spot. Come see.”

  Matt set his task aside and followed her to the foyer. While not huge, the three-bedroom/two-bath loft occupied a choice corner of a majestic old building. Creatively arranged, the rooms on the main floor were angled as if making up the tip of an arrow. A short wall directly opposite the entrance diverted traffic to either the guest-bedroom wing or the living-room and kitchen area.

  “Perfect,” Matt said, seeing her choice. “Where were you when I was decorating my old place?”

  She gave him a droll look. “I was nine when you and Mom split up. Nobody thinks a nine-year-old can do anything.”

  Together, they collaborated on the proper height and center point, then Matt handed Ashley the hammer and a nail. Concentrating, she sucked in her bottom lip as she carefully pounded the nail into the ivory plaster. For all her professed worldliness, Ashley’s occasional childlike gestures made Matt all the more aware of how fast time was passing and how much he’d missed of his little girl’s formative years.

  As she stretched to place the hammer on the floor, Matt could see that she was growing up…and fast.

  “This is going to look so cool here, Dad. Way better than where you had it hanging before.”

  She reached for the painting, but Matt beat her to it. As he hoisted the print to eye level, he said, “You seem pretty excited about this apartment, Ash. How come?”

  She gave him an arched look—so adult it made him gulp. “Dad, this place is practically uptown. It’s awesome. I’ll be able to go shopping without you hovering like some mother hen. Right?”

  No comment. Matt pretended to concentrate on snagging the wire at the back of the painting. She went on, “It’s safe in this neighborhood—if you play it smart. I know the
risks, Dad. It comes from having a cop for a dad.”

  He bit down on a smile. He’d taught her well, but he also knew you were never one hundred percent safe no matter how smart you were. Even a cop with nearly twenty years under his belt could wind up in the hospital without any warning.

  “I can’t wait to explore all the cool places around here.” She rubbed her hands together as if preparing to dig in to a meal. “That bookstore down the street looks awesome. And the antiques store next door has the coolest jewelry in the window. And I’m dying to go back to that Thai restaurant we went to when Uncle Bo was here from California last week.”

  She ducked under his arm to stick her hand behind the painting to help guide the wire over the small hook. “There,” she said triumphantly.

  Matt stepped back so he could level the colorful abstract. His gaze fell to the name penciled in the bottom corner—Marina Picasso, the artist’s granddaughter. The print was Matt’s single windfall while employed by the New York Police Department. He’d helped recover the shipment of lithographs that had been hijacked and held for ransom. As a thank-you, he’d been offered the opportunity to buy a print at a very discounted price. The piece had become a major source of contention during the divorce.

  “You know this place is only temporary, honey,” Matt said, walking back to his spot on the sofa—a butter-soft leather number that his cousin hadn’t wanted to risk in storage. “I can’t afford to buy it.” The loft belonged to Matt’s uncle, Robert B. Lester, who was in a rehabilitation center recovering from a severe concussion. His wife, Matt’s aunt Ruth, and son, Bo, had suggested Matt rent it so that he could set up a home office there.

  Ashley shook her head. “That’s not what I heard Aunt Ruth tell Grandma.” The twinkle in her eyes was too appealing to make him scold her for eavesdropping. “Aunt Ruth said she was through with Uncle Robert’s philandering and if he got back the use of his you-know-what, she was going to make sure he kept it at home. He wouldn’t be needing the loft.”

  A strangled hoot escaped his lips. His daughter was his one source of joy; he just wished their time together wasn’t so sporadic. I’ve got to talk to Sonya about keeping a regular schedule—no more last-minute cancellations.

  “Anything else you want help with, Daddy?” Ashley asked, poking through his box of decorations. “I still think you need a Christmas tree.”

  He’d considered buying a tree for Ashley’s sake but couldn’t see spending sixty bucks for one day of Christmas spirit. Splitting holidays was the worst part of being a part-time dad.

  “I’ll think about it. I’ve got a whole week to decide, don’t I?” Matt picked up the ball of lights and gave it an overhand toss. It swished cleanly into the box.

  Ashley shook her head. “Does the word bah-humbug mean anything to you?”

  Matt chuckled. “So should I take back those gifts I’ve already bought?”

  She made a face and held up her hands. “Only kidding.”

  Matt rose and walked into the kitchen to put away the hammer. Ashley followed but kept walking to the bank of windows in the living room and peered out.

  “I can’t believe the snow is all gone already,” Ashley said. “The arena’s going to be a real mud pit.”

  The equestrian arena. Matt frowned. He’d have to drive Ashley home soon. Sonya insisted Ashley sleep in her own bed the night before riding lessons—unless, of course, she was invited to a sleepover with friends, Matt thought caustically.

  “Do you want to cancel?” he asked, cringing at his hopeful tone. “We could get some Thai food and watch another movie.” How pathetic that his big event of the week was staying home with his daughter! His old friends on the force would get a big kick out of that. Not that he saw much of them anymore. Something had changed after his accident, and Matt felt it every time he walked through the precinct door.

  She shook her head. Her light brown hair danced across her slim shoulders. At twelve she seemed more poised than a girl her age should be. Did the divorce do that? he wondered.

  “I can’t. Miss Wheaten said she’d cut our privileges if any of us missed again. She said people always get busy during the holidays and the horses suffer.” Ashley smiled—her lips curling awkwardly over the new metal wires in her mouth. Just the uppers so far but more braces were coming he’d been told.

  “You’d better hope that cousin of yours can keep you busy,” Sonya had admonished last week, referring to the job Bo had offered him. A partnership in RBL Investigations. “Braces don’t come cheap, you know.”

  Matt flinched from the spurt of acid that hit his stomach. Lately, Sonya had seemed increasingly contentious, and Matt didn’t understand why.

  Or maybe it’s that she’s moved on with her life and I’m still in limbo.

  “Do you like Miss Wheaten?” he asked, refocusing his thoughts.

  “She’s okay most of the time, but sometimes she gets really bossy and put out over trivial things. I mean, we treat our horses good—it’s all the other stuff she makes us do that’s a drag—cleaning stalls, moving feed, grooming other people’s horses besides our own.”

  “Oughta be a law against making kids work for their fun,” he teased.

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a grown-up.”

  Matt, who was on his way back to the couch, pretended to be wounded and flopped theatrically into the soft cushions. His gasping sounds made her laugh. “Daddy,” she said in mock outrage.

  The phone on the wall above the kitchen counter rang. Ashley dived for it, but hesitated, waiting for a second ring to confirm which line was ringing. “It’s your personal line, should I get it?” she asked.

  “Of course. It’s probably for you.”

  “Ross residence. Ashley speaking,” she said formally.

  Something about the simple phrase caught him off guard. He turned away to keep his emotional reaction private, but when he put his weight on his right knee, it suddenly gave out. He grabbed the arm of the sofa for support.

  “Daddy’s right here, Uncle Bo. Hang on a sec.”

  Matt could tell by her little-girl tone that she’d seen his near tumble. He waggled his knee to get proper alignment and walked gingerly across the room. The doctor had predicted a full recovery with this rebuilt knee, but in the twenty months since his accident, Matt still couldn’t count on it one hundred percent. Which was one reason he’d let his cousin talk him into joining him in the private-eye business instead of returning to a desk job with the city.

  Matt took the phone from his daughter, pausing to pull her into a quick hug—even though Sonya had told him young girls didn’t like open displays of affection.

  Matt put one hand over the receiver and said, “You left your CDs upstairs, hon. Better gather up your stuff.”

  She sprinted away, gangly legs in clunky shoes that made a loud clanging sound on the metal rungs of the spiral staircase. Matt had considered making his bedroom on the first floor instead of the loft, but Bo had insisted he use one room for an office, the other for Ashley. “Sadist,” Matt had grumbled, eyeing the corkscrew steps.

  Bo had shrugged. “Better you than a client.”

  Matt couldn’t argue with that logic, so his bedroom now occupied the upper level of the two-story loft. His king-size bed was positioned like a tongue in an open mouth, facing the ninety-degree wall of windows. It had taken him a week to dislodge the image of his uncle and some young beauty making love in this ideal bachelor pad. Somehow, Matt couldn’t picture himself playing the part, even though he was what his mother termed in the prime of his life. At thirty-six he was single, not bad-looking and healthy—except for the knee. The rest of him worked fine—just not very often.

  “Hey, cuz, what’s up?”

  A muffled sound preceded Bo’s somewhat strangled “Funny you should ask.” There was another sound—a sultry female laugh. “Claudie, stop it. I have to talk to Matt.”

  Matt couldn’t help grinning, picturing Bo’s fiancée, Claudine St. James. Matt had been pr
ivy to his cousin’s rather unusual courtship—in fact, he’d used his computer skills to track Claudie to Kansas when she’d disappeared on a self-imposed mission to rescue her younger sister.

  “Tell my future cousin-in-law hi for me,” Matt said.

  Bo’s sigh was a mixture of laughter and frustration. “She’s going to be the death of me, but what a way to go.”

  Envy gnawed at him. Matt had known the same kind of happiness when he’d first fallen in love with Sonya, but he no longer trusted those emotions. Which was why he’d ended his relationship with Karen, the physiotherapist he’d dated six months ago. She’d wanted more than he could give. He told himself he wouldn’t mind a sexual relationship with the right woman, but he’d had it with love. Period. “What’s going on? This is a little after hours, you know.”

  “That’s what Claudie said. She thought you might have a hot date. I told her she’d confused you with someone who had a life.”

  Matt held his sigh. This theme had come up more than once since Bo’s return to Sacramento. For some reason his cousin seemed to think that since he was in love, everyone ought to be—starting with Matt.

  “Listen, I’m glad you’re happy, but leave my sex life out of it. I’ve got a full plate right now, thank you.” A new partnership. A daughter. An ex-wife. The blanking holidays.

  “Okay,” Bo said. “If that’s the way you want it.” He paused, then said, “The reason I’m calling is I just got off the phone with Ren. He and Sara are really worried about Eve.”

  Eve Masterson. Matt knew Eve had once been engaged to Bo’s friend, Judge Lawrence Bishop. Her name had come up a dozen times in the past two weeks. Locating the missing beauty was a job Matt would once have jumped at, but now he had more important issues to handle.

  As if reading his mind, Bo added, “I know you decided to put it off until after the holidays, but Sara just talked to Eve’s parents and they’re freaking out because they haven’t been able to contact her. It’s Christmas, Matt.”