Money.
Sara’s smile faded. In the excitement she’d almost forgotten she’d decided to call her mother. Regardless of what Crow said, Sara was still not sure how her call would be received.
“Sara?” James’s brows drew together. “What’s the matter?”
She swallowed hard at the kindness in his tone. “My mother wants to see me.”
“Your mother?” If she’d have told him Dr. E. wanted her to sing with him on his next rap album, James couldn’t have looked more surprised. “Why?”
“Mend fences.” Sara forced a light tone, wishing it were only that simple. “Do the mother-daughter reconciliation thing.”
“I don’t think it would be a good idea,” he said.
“Why do you say that?” Sara fought to keep her tone civil, though it irritated her that he could dismiss the possibility with less thought than it took for him to select a tie.
“She’s not the type of woman I think you should be associating with.”
“James, think what you’re saying,” she said. “This is not just some random woman. This is my mother.”
“I realize that,” he said smoothly, using a tone usually reserved for a recalcitrant child. “But from what you’ve told me, you two are as different as night and day. And you’ve never been particularly close.”
She had no reason to be irritated. After all, he was only parroting what she’d told him. What she’d in fact believed until she’d taken time last night to look back on her childhood with a more open mind.
“I want to see her,” Sara said.
“I can’t stop you,” he said.
“No, you can’t.” She lifted her chin.
“I’m not the enemy, Sara.” James’s gaze met hers.
She could see the sincerity and caring in his eyes. Somehow that hurt even more. “Please understand. I have to do it, James.”
“I won’t give you my blessing,” he said.
“I don’t need your blessing.” Sara thought about what Crow had said. About doing what God would want. “I’ve already got the only blessing I need.”
Chapter Seventeen
Crow smiled as he dropped his sack of garbage in the dumpster behind his building. Even the grey skies couldn’t dampen his good mood. Reading all those articles had been well worth his time. They’d led him to Christine and he’d solved the mystery of who’d been writing the notes.
Dusting off his hands, he headed back up the three flights of stairs. He should be relieved but instead he was on edge. His normally infallible intuition told him something was not right and, try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the feeling.
At the top of the stairs Crow turned the corner. He stopped short at the sight of the dark-haired woman outside his door.
“Raven?”
She shoved a piece of paper and a pen back into her purse. “Oh, Sal. I was just going to leave you a note.”
“Two visits in one week?” He raised a brow. “Should I feel honored?”
“You can if you want,” she said. “But in the meantime, could you open the door? I’d rather talk inside.”
She glanced around, an uneasy expression on her face. It was as if she expected someone to leap out at her any second.
His gaze followed hers and he saw the place through her eyes; from the bare light bulb that cast an eerie dim yellow glow to the scarred walls and the frayed carpet. It only confirmed that his recent decision to move was the right one.
Crow opened the door and let her enter in front of him. Once inside he automatically locked and dead-bolted the door behind him.
“Have a seat.” He gestured to the couch.
Raven’s gaze slid around the room. “I must say I’m impressed. The place looks one hundred percent better than last week.”
“Better watch it.” Crow smiled and plopped into a chair. “I might decide not to move.”
Her eyes brightened and he could almost see her ears perk up. “Move? Surely I didn’t hear you correctly?”
“I’ve decided to take a look at that house in Hazelwood you told me about,” he said. “Unless you think I’d be a fool to let this impressive apartment go.”
“Puh-leeze.” Raven rolled her eyes. “You’d be a fool to stay. I think I’ve got that Realtor’s number in my purse.”
She searched her bag, and just when he was about to tell her to not bother, she pulled out a piece of paper that included not only the name and phone number of the listing agent but a picture of the house and the room dimensions.
He took it from her, unable to believe his luck. It was like a sign from heaven.
“It’s got a picket fence.” He stared in disbelief. “I never thought I’d find a house with one.”
Raven stared curiously. “I never knew you were a picket-fence fan.”
“I’m not,” he said, folding the paper and shoving it into his pocket for safekeeping. “Sara is.”
Raven’s eyes widened and her lips curved upward. “Are you telling me you two are…?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” he said quickly. “We’re not anything…yet.”
“But maybe in the future?”
He shrugged. “I hope.”
“Sal,” she squealed, and popped out of the chair flinging her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy for you.”
He peeled her arms off his neck and stood, wondering if he should have said anything. He moved to the window and stared unseeing at the brick wall of the building next door.
Crow never talked with anyone—much less his sister—about his personal life or feelings. But he found himself in need of womanly advice, and Raven knew Sara. Plus, by the way her eyes were gleaming, she was anxious to help.
“I love her,” he said matter-of-factly. “I think she loves me, too. But for some reason she’s holding back. At first, I thought she was just mad because I hadn’t told her I was an undercover cop.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” Raven said with a smug expression. “Women don’t like to be lied to. I’m surprised—”
“Raven.” He put a stop to her I-told-you-so ramblings before she really picked up steam. “Can we stick to my question please?”
A puzzled frown furrowed her brow. “What question is that?”
He smiled to himself. Even as a child she’d been easy to distract. “Her mother says she’s always had a problem with long hair. But my hair is who I am.”
Her gaze turned sharp and assessing. “Are you sure?”
“What do you mean?”
“If I remember correctly, you only adopted that look so you’d fit in with the drug dealers and junkies.”
“That’s true.” He thought for a moment. “But still, she needs to love me for who I am.”
“Maybe.” Raven shrugged. “But is that who you really are, Sal? If not, why hold on to that image?”
“Who says I want to?” he growled.
“I still see the long hair,” she said.
“I got it cut.”