Second Shot

SECOND SHOT CINDY DEES www.kensingtonbooks.com Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 22 CHAPTER 23 CHAPTER 24 CHAPTER 25 CHAPTER 26 CHAPTER 27 CHAPTER 28 CHAPTER 29 CHAPTER 30 Teaser chapter This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book. KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018 Copyright © 2023 by Cindy Dees All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews. The K logo with book logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM. Off. Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2023930886 ISBN: 978-1-4967-3975-9 First Kensington Hardcover Edition: June 2023 ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-3976-6 (ebook) CHAPTER 1 HELEN WARWICK STARED AT THE GLOSSY BLACK DOOR WITH ITS period-accurate brass knocker and kickplate. It was as carefully understated as every other door in this upscale Georgetown neighborhood and screamed of wealth and privilege. Since when did her middle child become all of this? For that matter, when did Peter grow up? One minute he’d been a bright, charming child with no talent for sports but a discerning eye for everything and everyone around him, and the next he was an upwardly mobile Gen Whatever-they-were up-to-now’er with a live-in boyfriend, an art collection, a prestigious address, and a puppy. It was her fault, of course, that she’d missed so much of his childhood. She’d missed far too much of all her children’s lives. But, at long last, this was her chance to make up for it in some small measure. Retirement. Motherhood. She could do this. She lifted the knocker and let it fall. Liang—Li to the family—opened the door immediately. “Mrs. Warwick. So good of you to puppysit for us tonight.” She air-kissed him on both cheeks and held out a slightly singed apple pie balanced in her left hand. “Housewarming gift.” “Did you bake this?” he asked in genuine surprise, taking the pie as she set her purse down on the impeccable Louis XV credenza. “I did. Eat it at your own peril.” He laughed warmly and led her into the kitchen where a small Renoir pastel casually filled a wall beside the refrigerator. It was the study for part of a more famous piece, but still a work of art in its own right. Where the boys got the money for such things, she didn’t know and didn’t ask. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Peter was an art dealer in an auction house that sold antiques and fine art. But still. Renoir? “Don’t you look nice tonight, Mother,” Peter said coolly, sweeping into the kitchen with all the style he usually did. He wore a crisply tailored black suit that was just shy of being a tuxedo. She’d agonized in her own closet for longer than she cared to admit, pondering what to wear to a puppysitting date. What clothing struck a tone of apology, commitment to building a relationship, and motherly love without sacrificing the cool sophistication she knew Peter cherished in all things? She’d settled on black wool slacks, a simple cashmere sweater, and a pair of black, Italian leather, stiletto-heeled bootlets that had to have cost more than her car. Thank God the agency had footed the bill for them as part of a disguise she’d worn a few years back at an Italian opera house. “You look dashing as always, darling,” she murmured, air-kissing him as well. When did her children stop actually hugging her, anyway? Probably too many parental mistakes ago for her to remember. “Your mother baked us a pie,” Li announced to fill the silence already filling the chasm yawning between her and her offspring. “You bake?” Peter asked blankly. “Shocking. I know. Who’d have guessed I was capable of mastering the domestic arts?” When Peter pulled a skeptical face, she added, “Don’t answer that.” The silence crept forward again. “So, where’s this new granddog of mine?” she asked with cheer she hoped didn’t sound forced. “He’s having a time-out at the moment,” Li supplied, gesturing toward a custom wood crate with sliding screen front doors that looked like a piece of furniture. A small Calder sculpture was displayed on top of the . . . puppy cabinet. Peter added, in complete seriousness, “We got a little rambunctious earlier and refused to poop after our supper.” “Is that a group activity in your house?” she asked dryly. Peter rolled his eyes as Li opened the large crate and scooped out a roly-poly blond furball that was possibly the cutest creature she’d ever seen. She cooed in genuine adoration of the twelve-week-old golden retriever. “Have you boys settled on a name for your progeny?” Li and Peter smiled at each other and said together, “Biscuit.” “Too cute.” She reached out. “May I?” Li passed her the squirming pup, who had a fat pink tummy, sharp little claws, huge, bright brown eyes, and a black button nose. She held him up to gaze into his eyes. The little scamp stuck out his tiny pink tongue and licked the tip of her nose. “I’m officially in love,” she declared. “Gee. If that was all it took, I’d have licked your nose years ago,” Peter muttered. “Be nice,” Li murmured. She