My One And Only (18 page)

Abby waved a hand in his direction. "Ethan is from out of town. He's a—friend."

That seemed to satisfy the detective. Ethan stared at the window, studying the jagged shape of the hole and fighting another surge of rage. A streak of blood smeared the glass where the intruder had cut himself. At a sudden break in the clouds, moonlight spilled onto the porch and reflected off shards that littered the weathered boards. Ethan saw a flash of white and frowned.

He glanced at Abby and saw her telling Detective Garrison her story. The other detective was watching Ethan. Ethan made a subtle gesture with his head, and the policeman excused himself to
join Ethan at the window. Ethan pointed to where a small envelope lay amid the broken glass on the porch. The detective frowned and pulled a flashlight from his pocket. He shone it on the envelope, "Bill?" he called his partner.

"Yeah, Nick?"

"Come take a look at this."

Garrison and Abby hurried to the window. Abby was barefoot, so Ethan took a step toward her to halt her progress. "Glass," he explained when she frowned at him.

She looked down in consternation. Ethan wrapped his arm around her waist and lifted her easily onto the cotton rug he'd placed over the mess. Detective Krestyanov indicated the envelope with a flick of the flashlight. "Looks like we have a calling card."

Garrison took a latex glove from his jacket pocket. "I'll get it."

Abby looked at Ethan. "Do you think—"

"I think it wasn't a routine break-in," he told her.

Krestyanov nodded. "That would be my guess." He pointed to the window. "This isn't the work of a pro, and amateurs usually work during the day. Whoever did this was coming to tell you something."

Garrison returned with the envelope. Abby reached for it, but the detective shook his head. "It's evidence, Ms. Lee. If it's got fingerprints, I don't want to muddy them."

"What's in it?" Abby asked.

He gingerly opened the envelope and withdrew a flat playing card from inside. He frowned. "A jack of spades." He turned it over. "No writing."

Detective Krestyanov said, "Do you have any idea what this means, Ms. Lee?"

Abby stared at the card. Her face, Ethan noted, was even whiter than when he'd arrived, but she shook her head and replied, in a voice so calm it made him shiver, "I have no idea, Detective."

Ethan studied her through narrowed eyes. Detective Garrison glanced at him. "Anything, Mr. Maddux?"

"No," he said slowly. "Not that I can think of."

"All right." The policeman shrugged and dropped the card and the envelope into a plastic bag, which he slid into the pocket of his jacket. "We'll take it to the lab and see what they come up with."

Detective Krestyanov pulled two business cards from his wallet. "We'll do what we can, Ms. Lee, but to be honest, nothing was stolen and nobody got hurt." He handed Abby a card.

She accepted it with a nod. "I know. We're not a high priority when your resources are already overextended."

"It's not a matter of priorities," he said, handing the other card to Ethan, "it's practical. If you can come up with something, anything that might
help us, we can investigate this more seriously. But unless we turn up fingerprints on that card—"

"You aren't going to dust the rest of the window?" Ethan asked.

The detective shook his head. "No point." He took the flashlight
out of his pocket again and di
rected its beam at the blood smear on the broken glass. Snagged on the sharpest edge of the glass was a piece of dark wool. He pointed to the fiber. "Gloves," he said. "And sure, if this were a murder, we'd collect that."

His partner's smile was affable. "People watch a lot of television," he explained. "They have an interesting concept of what we do."

"Mostly what we do," Krestyanov added, "is arrest the people victims help us catch. But what we have here is an attempted break-in."

"We're not making light of this, Ms. Lee," the other detective said. "But unless you can give us something more
…
"

"I understand." Abby was clutching the business card so tightly it had crumpled between her fingers.

"If you need anything else," Krestyanov told her, "please call us."

Ethan stepped away from the window and swung Abby free of the glass. She walked with the two detectives toward the door. Ethan used the opportunity to shut the storm window against the elements.

Garrison shook Abby's hand. "And if you can think of anything else, it would be a big help."

"I'll remember. Thank you, Detective."

"Any time, Ms. Lee."

Krestyanov gave Ethan a final glance, then nodded to Abby. "If we discover anything from that envelope, we'll let you know."

She shut the door behind them and momentarily leaned her head against it. Rachel came through the swinging door of the kitchen with a tray on which stood a pot of tea and three mugs. "Are they gone?"

"Yes," Ethan told her. "Have you been hiding in there?"

She put the tray on the coffee table with a slight shrug. "My hair looks crappy. And that tall one was really cute." She glanced at Abby. "I figure we'll be seeing a lot of them later. I can make a better impression."

Abby reset the alarm, then turned to look at Rachel. "We'll probably never see them again, Rach."

Rachel frowned. "But last time—"

Ethan's eyebrows rose. "Last time?"

Abby swept the fall of her hair behind her shoulder and padded across the living room. "The murder," she explained. "The police came and went for days." To Rachel she said, "Honey, I had no idea you remembered that."

Rachel poured tea into one of the mugs. She
wouldn't meet Abby's gaze. "It went on for a really long time."

"Yes." Abby waited while Ethan took the seat across from her. "Several months."

Rachel handed her a mug. "It seemed longer."

"You were practically a baby. I can see why it would."

Ethan reached for his mug while Rachel filled the third. "It's not
a big deal, Abby,"
she said. She picked up her mug and tumbled next to her sister on the couch. "I just don't remember any of them being really cute."

Abby tenderly brushed Rachel's hair away from her face. "They weren't," she assured her. "You didn't miss anything."

Ethan watched the exchange between the two sisters and realized that the impact of the evening had been harder on Rachel than he'd previously thought. She was curled against Abby while Abby gently untangled strands of her hair. In his association with them, he'd never seen Rachel allow, much less seek, physical comfort from her sister. For her part, Abby looked lost in a world of her own.

"Won't they have to come back," Rachel asked after several minutes, "to tell us what they found in that envelope?"

Abby tensed. "Did you hear that?"

"I was listening through the kitchen door," Rachel confessed.

"They'll probably just call," Abby said.

Rachel leaned back and regarded her curiously. "But it was the jack of spades, Abby. Why didn't you tell them it had something to do with Mama and Dad's murder?"

eleven

A
bby's heart skipped a beat. She felt her breath catch as several flashbacks played through her mind. "Rachel," she said carefully, "what do you remember about that?"

Rachel's eyebrows drew together in concentration. "I told you before, I don't really remember anything. I only know about the jack of spades because you told me about it."

"When?"

"You know—that time I was doing the report for school on Dad's military service. You told me it was kind of a thing with him and his buddies. They called him a jack-of-all-trades, which got shortened to 'Jack Spades' when they started playing poker together."

Abby sagged against the couch in relief. "Oh."

She wasn't ready to get into a discussion with her sister, or with
Ethan, about the night her par
ents were killed, or about her interpretation of the playing card's significance.

Jack Lee's nickname had been one of those silly, almost unaccountable things that came about in times of duress and togetherness. He'd picked it up somewhere in Vietnam during a late-night poker game that took place amid mortar fire and shelling. The stories had varied slightly regarding who had first pinned him with it, but it had stuck. The nickname had become so common, it wasn't unusual for people not to have known Jack's real last name.

Rachel hugged her knees to her chest. "So do you think the card meant anything?" she asked.

Abby could feel Ethan's eyes watching her, probing her. She had to struggle not to look at him. She shook her head. "I don't know, sweetie. But the police are handling it now. There's nothing to worry about."

That answer seemed to satisfy her sister. Abby wished she could convince herself as easily. Rachel tipped her head against the couch. "Do you think they'll find anything this time?"

"I don't know. I hope so."

"Are you worried?" her sister persisted.

"I'm just worn out," Abby said evasively. "It's been a long night."

Rachel nodded. "Can I stay home from school tomorrow?"

"You can at least go in late," Abby promised. "We'll see how it goes from there."

"Okay." Rachel looked at Ethan. "Are you staying the night?"

Abby heard the slightly wistful note in her sister's voice and moved to head off the conversation. "He can't. He's supposed to go back to California in the morning."

"Actually," Ethan said, "I was supposed to leave tonight. Those thunderstorms we had earlier changed my plans."

"Are you leaving tomorrow?" Rachel asked. "Really?"

"I was considering it," he replied.

"But you might stay?" she persisted.

Abby glared at him. "There's no need."

He gave her a knowing look. "I'm not so sure."

She bit back her frustration. What she needed was time to think about what had happened tonight and what it meant. Ethan was too shrewd and too persistent to let her off as easily as Rachel had. No way would he accept a simple explanation about the significance of the jack of spades in that envelope. Rachel might have dismissed the entire business, but Ethan would hound her until he got the truth. "The alarm is set. I'm sure he's not coming back. We're perfectly safe."

Ethan steepled his fingers beneath his chin. She saw absolute determination in his gaze. "Still," he said softly, "I'd feel better if I stayed."

"So would I," Rachel said.

Abby pressed her lips together in a tight line. "I don't think—"

"Come on, Abby." Rachel nudged her with her toes. "It couldn't hurt. Ethan can sleep in the guest room." She gave him a winning smile. "I'll make blueberry waffles in the morning."

"Why would I turn down an offer like that?"

Abby felt herself losing control of the situation. She made one more play for the upper hand. "If you have to catch an early flight in the morning, don't you have to go back to your hotel and check out?"

"I think we should talk about that." His voice held a hint of steely determination she knew spelled trouble. "If I'm going back to San Francisco tomorrow, then I want you to consider coming with me."

Abby's mouth dropped open. Rachel sat up on the couch with a cry of delight. "Oh, wow! Could we?"

Ethan nodded. "Considering what happened tonight, I think it's an excellent idea."

Abby shook her head. "I can't. You know I
can
'
t.
"

He glanced at the window. "Abby, I know you're not going to like this, but I don't think this is the last you'll hear from this guy."

"It's impossible," Abby insisted.

"Why?" Rachel asked. She was already firmly
on his side. "I only have two weeks of school left. And I finished exams. It's no big deal if I skip."

Abby sighed in frustration. "It's not just school, Rach."

"I can reschedule my lesson with Monsieur Billaud."

"There are other considerations." Considerations like the time Abby needed to figure out what to do about the playing card in that envelope. And the time she needed to sort out the facts. And because she couldn't imagine herself running off to California with Ethan Maddux. "There's everything going on at the office right now. I have the fund-raiser—"

Ethan cut in smoothly. "I'll give you an office to work out of."

She gritted her teeth. "And my files? My staff?"

"We've got teleconferencing capabilities. And I'll provide you with an assistant."

Abby pressed her fingers to her temples. "What about Deirdre?"

Rachel groaned. "Now
there’s
an incentive to get out of town."

Ethan chuckled. "She's got a point, Abby."

Abby set her mug down on the table. "We're not going," she declared with careful precision. "I'm not running away." She couldn't possibly hope to make him understand this—not without telling him things she wasn't ready to reveal. She looked at her sister. "I think you should go to bed,
Rachel. It's late, and w
e aren't going to settle this
tonight."

Rachel frowned. "Why can't I—"

"I don't want to talk about it now."

Rachel glared at her and surged to her feet. "Like always, you mean. When do you ever want to talk about anything I want?"

Abby recoiled. "Don't talk to me like that."

"Why not? You're not my mother, you know."

The charge cut deep. Abby nodded. "I know."

"You can't run my life forever."

"I can right now," she shot back.

"Oh!" Rachel slammed her mug down on the table. "I'm not a baby!"

"Then stop acting like one."

Her sister rolled her eyes. "Oh, just forget it. Like I have any say in anything anyway." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked at Ethan. "Thanks for coming over."

He nodded. "Of course."

Abby was already regretting losing her temper. "Rachel, I didn't mean—"

"Yeah. Whatever." She stalked toward the stairs. When she was out of earshot, Abby winced and looked at Ethan. "Sorry for the scene."

"Are you kidding?" he asked, his eyes devilish. "I'm related to the Montgomerys. I live for scenes."

She shook her head. "I'm sure this is more than you bargained for."

He reached across the table and took her hand in both of his.
"In more ways than you can imag
ine." Stroking her wrist where the sleeve of her robe ended, he added, "Are you going to tell me now what all this is about?"

"Am I allowed to say no?"

"I could torture it out of you."

She searched his features. "Would you?" she asked quietly.

"Are you ready to tell me?"

Abby shivered. "It's not that I'm not ready. It's—I can't."

"I'm going to find out, Abby."

"Can't you just give me a little time?"

"I could, but I'm not going to leave you here alone if you're in trouble."

"We're not," she assured him.

"How can you know that?"

"There was a reason that man left that playing card," she admitted. "But he didn't do it to scare us. He did it to warn us."

Ethan rose from his chair and moved the short distance between them. When he cupped her face in both his hands, the warmth of his fingers sent goose bumps skittering along her skin. His eyes showed a host of conflicting emotions, and she sensed the struggle in him to keep them in check.

"Abby." He kissed her gently, then pulled her
to her feet so he could embrace her. "Whatever is going
on
…
"
He touched her temple with his lips. "You can trust me. I swear you can trust
me.
"

Did he know how desperately she wanted to? Could he imagine what it had been like to carry these secrets for the past ten years and have no one to share them with? For a few moments she fought a silent war with herself. Ethan placed one hand at the small of her back, his warmth radiating up her spine. He cupped the back of her head with his other hand and lifted her chin so he could meet her gaze.

He let her look into his eyes for long, silent seconds. It was a shockingly intimate sensation. With her body nestled against his, and his gaze open and revealing, she felt simultaneously protected and exposed. "Ethan—"

"Not now," he whispered as he lowered his head. "When you're ready." He covered her lips in a kiss rife with meaning and intent. As his mouth glided over hers, Abby sensed that the emotion she'd seen shimmering just beneath his surface had poured out and rushed into her. This was not a practiced seduction or even a moment of sexual hunger; this was a demand to be heeded and answered. Fervor was spiking inside him, and she could almost feel the internal battle he waged. For reasons she didn't fully understand, he kept that side of himself rigidly
controlled. The calm, implacable
façade
he showed the world was stripped away in the heat of his kiss. In its place was a breathtaking fervor, and in the tremors of his hands, the depth of his kiss, the sheer intensity of the moment, she could feel him wrestling with it, struggling to tame it.

The realization surprised her, as did the knowledge that she felt in the middle of the storm. With a flash of insight, Abby understood that Ethan needed to feel safe there too. The boy who'd lost his mother and struggled with a bitter and distant father needed to know that intense emotion didn't pave the way to his destruction—it alone could set him free. Abby wrapped her hand around his nape and pressed him closer. She could show him that.

Ethan groaned low in his throat and toppled them onto the couch.
"Abby…
"
He tore his mouth from hers and glided it along the curve of her jaw. "God, Abby."

She stroked the back of his head, gasping slightly when he nipped her earlobe. She had to stop him soon, her brain warned. Soon, or she wouldn't be able to. Ethan's hand slid inside her robe to caress her through the navy satin of her nightgown. A shudder raced through him when his fingers found the hammering pulse in the hollow of her throat.

Abby summoned the shreds of her willpower
and covered his hand with her own. "Rachel," she whispered.

He stilled. His head dropped to the curve of her neck and he sucked in great breaths of air. Every one of her senses seemed to be on fire. She could feel each individual silken hair on his head splayed against the flesh of her shoulder. She heard the clock on the mantel ticking, and smelled the uniquely masculine combination of shampoo and soap.

He placed a soft kiss on her throat. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be."

Ethan raised his head. The stark emotion was gone from his gaze
. In its place was a chiding hu
mor. "I shouldn't have started something I can't finish." He swept her hair back from her face. "You'll think I'm a tease."

That made her laugh. "I'm sure all the girls say that about you."

A sensuous smile curved his lips. "Actually, I've been told that I'm quite good at fulfilling."

A spark of heat ricocheted off her nerve endings. "I can imagine."

He nuzzled her nose. "You w
on't have to much longer, Abby.
"
He gav
e her another brief kiss, then
sat up straight. He pulled her up with him. "Now, where can I find a pillow and a blanket? We both need some rest."

"You don't have to stay the night."

His frown was censorious. "No arguments, Abby. You couldn't throw me out of here if you tried."

"But your flight—"

"I own the plane, and the pilot's on my payroll. He's not going to take off without me, I assure you."

Abby hesitated for a moment longer. Ethan squeezed her shoulder. "Humor me," he urged her. "I'd never sleep if I had to go back to my hotel."

"Me either," she admitted.

"
H
ow are you doing today, Carter?" Abby asked Colonel Jameson the following afternoon. With the Memorial Day event behind them, Abby had stopped for a follow-up meeting with the center's administrator. Carter's eyes looked a little brighter than usual, she observed with envy. She imagined she looked like a wrung-out dishrag.