“It’s the truth. I swear to God.” Raven laughed again and Sara found herself warming to the woman.
“Okay, I believe you.” Sara shifted her gaze to Crow. “But don’t even try to tell me Crow is your real name.”
He exchanged a glance with Raven before answering. “It may not have come from my mother, but it has been my name for more years than I care to remember.”
Sara studied him for a long moment.
“Would you like something to drink?” The waiter who’d been standing off to the side casting admiring glances at Raven took advantage of the break in conversation.
“Won’t you join us?” Sara put aside the name issue and gestured to a chair. Lunching with Raven could be interesting. There was no telling what little tidbits about Crow the woman might let slip.
The same thought must have crossed Crow’s mind because the look he shot Raven was anything but inviting.
Raven shook her head regretfully. “I’d love to, I really would. But I’m meeting a friend for lunch.”
Her eyes narrowed and she waved across the room at a thin blond woman with wire-rimmed glasses. “In fact, there she is now. I’ve got to run.”
They said quick goodbyes, but Sara noticed that Raven still took a moment to give Crow another hug before she left.
His gaze followed her across the room before he took his seat opposite Sara.
“She seems nice.” Sara smoothed the linen napkin on her lap. “You said she’s an old friend?”
“Known her forever,” Crow said, taking a hard roll from the basket. “It’s a long story. I’d rather talk about you. Tell me, how’d you get started in the music business anyway?”
Sara took a bread stick, broke it in half and chewed thoughtfully, buying herself time. She didn’t want to talk about her past.
Although she’d told her story to the media often enough, she still hesitated. All these years she’d been able to gloss over some events and leave others out entirely.
“Sara?” Crow pressed. “How did you get started?”
She suspected Crow would keep at her until he got all the details. But he wouldn’t get all the details. She’d see to that.
Sara lifted her chin. She had her secrets and that’s what they’d stay.
Her secrets.
Her past.
God had forgiven her. Maybe one day she’d forgive herself.
Crow had never been a patient man. When he asked a question, he expected an immediate answer. Normally people complied.
Whether it was because of what others told him was a menacing scowl or an intimidating manner, he didn’t know. But most knew better than to mess with him.
Only a few had openly defied him. And he could count those on one hand: his mother, his sister and his old partner on the force, Angel Weston. But now Sara seemed inclined to resist answering one simple question. Could he be losing his touch? Getting soft?
His frown deepened. “I asked—”
“—how I got started. I know,” Sara said with a resigned sigh. “Believe me, it’s not that interesting. I mean I didn’t wait tables for years struggling to make ends meet. It just all sort of fell into place. It’s really quite boring.”
Crow waved aside her protests. “Start at the beginning.”
Sara didn’t start at the beginning. She began when she was sixteen, in foster care and “utterly miserable.”
“I didn’t do much except go to school, come home and listen to music.” She brushed back a strand of honey-colored hair with the tips of her fingers. “Then one day, in a weak moment, I agreed to go to a church picnic with my foster parents.”
“A weak moment?” Crow raised a brow.
Sara chuckled. “That was my thought at the time. Up to then I’d resisted all their invitations to be involved in church activities. But that day I was bored out of my mind and decided it would be better than doing nothing.”
“What happened?”
“I had fun.” The smile lit up her face. “The kids were warm and accepting and, crazy as it sounds, I felt like I was home.”
He could picture the scene. His parents were both active in the church and he’d been heavily involved in church functions his whole life. That is, until he’d gone undercover and assumed the identity of Crow.
Crow who couldn’t—who wouldn’t—be caught dead in a church. Over time his newfound cynicism had battered against the teachings of his youth. And his faith had floundered. “I used to feel that way.”
“Used to?” A curious glint filled her gaze.
He cursed himself. They were discussing her life, not his. Crow ignored the question and attempted to steer the conversation back to her past. “What happened after the picnic? You had a good time and then…?”
“I started going to church, joined the choir—and the rest is history.”
Like a neat and tidy bundle, she’d tied up the past in a single sentence. Crow knew there had to be more to it than that. “Tell me about the choir.”
Though he saw she hid it well, Crow could tell she was irritated by his questions.
“We had a great group of singers and it wasn’t long before we started getting a lot of recognition. Our choir director, Mr. Marcus, believed we witnessed every time we sang and so he rarely said no when someone asked us to perform.”
“And?” Crow tried to follow her lead and not let his impatience show. But she was wearing him down by making him fish for every detail.
“At one of the events I had a solo. A music producer heard me and—”
“The rest is history?”
She smiled. “Exactly.”
“How old were you?”
“When?” Sara took a long sip of iced tea and gazed up at him innocently through lowered lashes.
He was sure of it now. The woman was trying to drive him stark raving mad. He heaved an exasperated sigh. “When you got your record deal.”
“Twenty-one.” Sara leaned back in her chair.
He waited for her to elaborate.
She remained silent.
“You said you were sixteen when you joined the choir. What happened between sixteen and twenty-one?”
“Nothing much.” Sara crumbled the last of her bread stick into little pieces on her plate and shrugged. “I graduated from high school. Then I went to Washington University and got a degree in Music and Performing Arts.”
Though she downplayed her accomplishments, he couldn’t help but be impressed. Washington University had a good reputation. Though the private liberal arts school in St. Louis wasn’t tremendously expensive, it certainly cost more than a state-supported college. “That school isn’t cheap.”
“I was lucky enough to get a few grants and scholarships,” Sara said simply.
“I thought maybe your parents helped you.” Crow said, keeping his gaze fixed in an attempt to gauge her response.
“I never knew my father.” Sara’s words were so carefully measured, Crow had no doubt he was being given her pat response. “My mother relinquished me to foster care when I was fifteen.”
“Why would she do that?” Crow asked bluntly.
“I think she wanted to give me a better life.” Sara kept her gaze down. She took an extraordinary amount of time spooning dressing onto the already-saturated salad.