The Shelter of His Arms (Harlequin Heartwarming) (13 page)

Of course, Hank had assured him their people would be here. But actually spotting two of them started him breathing a little more easily.

No matter how many times he reminded himself the Ice Man would probably never try anything in a place like this, “probably” was no guarantee. And if he
did
come here...

Man, if he did show, wouldn’t there be
something
that would tell them who he was?

Travis mentally shook his head, knowing that wasn’t likely. The sleazoid would undoubtedly look like Everyman. And he’d be careful not to do anything that would make him stick out from the crowd.

But maybe, with luck... Travis forced himself to lean back and scan each newcomer.

As promised, Evan Reese eventually appeared. He stared straight at Travis without the slightest sign of recognition, then took a seat near the front.

Travis felt like going up there and checking the jerk for a concealed weapon just to upset him. However, common sense prevailed.

As Hank had said, they’d be stupid to do anything that could be construed as harassment. And he knew Reese wasn’t the Ice Man. Nothing added up to that.

A few more people wandered in, among them Jill Flores and Beth Winston.

A couple of minutes later, Celeste’s estranged husband appeared. Hank had given Travis a definitive description, so there was little doubt the man standing in the doorway was Bryce Wayland.

Not very tall, maybe five-foot-nine at the outside, yet a man most women would probably consider good-looking. His short brown hair was well styled, his dark-rimmed glasses lent him an aura of intelligence and his suit was expensive and definitely not off the rack.

Travis hated him on sight.

Well, actually, he’d been hating him for days now—ever since he’d realized it almost had to be Bryce who was behind that contract.

Pausing at the back of the chapel, Bryce slowly checked out the gathering. Finally, he walked partway to the front and sat down beside an attractive woman he obviously knew.

A friend of Celeste’s, Travis guessed. Another blonde, like her.

For a split second, he wondered if Bryce was one of those guys who had a thing about blondes. Then the photograph of Donna flashed into his mind. She was a brunette.

That picture in his head started him wondering whether she’d surfaced yet. But if Hank had heard anything new, he’d have mentioned it. And surely Mrs. Schoenberg would have let him know if her daughter had been in touch. So...

Travis sat gazing at Bryce Wayland’s back, thinking that if Donna turned up dead his apartment was going to be swarming with cops. By then, though, it might be too late to find evidence that would incriminate him.

He briefly let his mind wander down that road, then warned himself that he was doing too much hypothesizing based on too little solid evidence.

Oh, he realized it was because he was involved with Celeste, because he so desperately wanted this case wrapped up. But having a reason didn’t make it right. He knew better than to start considering things as facts until he was certain that was what they were.

Donna was missing. Fact. Donna was dead. Pure speculation. If, as Bryce had suggested to Hank, she was a few pages short of a script, she really might have vanished simply to make people wonder what had happened to her.

There was also a chance, he made himself admit, that he was wrong about Bryce being behind the contract. Not
much
of a chance. Still, until they had something more damning than merely the terms of Adele Langley’s will...

A door near the front of the chapel opened, and his thoughts about the case evaporated as Steve Parker’s relatives somberly filed in. When he saw Celeste, her sorrowful expression tugged at his heart.

Hank was on one side of her, an older woman he knew had to be her aunt on the other. Fleetingly, he wished once more that he could be right there with her. Then he slowly glanced around the chapel again, searching for anything that didn’t seem quite right.

He saw nothing but people who were apparently exactly where they belonged. Come to pay their final respects to Dr. Steve Parker.

As the minister began to speak, Travis’s gaze returned to Celeste. Against the black fabric of her dress, her hair and skin seemed even more pale than usual. And she looked utterly vulnerable.

Uneasily, he forced his eyes from her and checked out the others in the chapel one more time. Because she
was
utterly vulnerable. And there was no way in the world he could let anything happen to her.

He loved her. And if he couldn’t keep the woman he loved from harm, what kind of man was he?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Saturday, October 9, 11:53 a.m.

T
HERE
WAS
A
RECEPTION
upstairs following the service.

At Hank’s insistence, Celeste didn’t circulate. She simply stood in one corner with him, back to the wall, accepting condolences from those who sought her out. And all the while, she did her best to keep her eyes off Travis.

Only Hank and Evan Reese were aware she knew him. Ideally, no one else should pick up on the fact. Yet as hard as she was trying not to, she found herself constantly checking to see where he was.

“He wouldn’t have the nerve,” Hank muttered. “Not after yesterday.”

When she glanced in the direction he was looking, she saw that Reese had started across the room toward her. Then he hesitated—before finally turning away and saying something to a man standing nearby.

“You were right. He
didn’t
have the nerve,” she murmured. But she’d bet he would have if Hank hadn’t been right beside her, glaring at him.

She eyed Reese for long enough to convince herself he really was going to leave her alone. The next thing she knew, she was gazing at Travis once more. She could tell he was surreptitiously watching her. And watching everyone who came near her.

As emotionally wrung out as she was, his concern still made her feel good—or as close to good as was possible at the moment. He was doing everything he could to help her out of this potential disaster she was in, and—

“Celeste.”

She hadn’t noticed Bryce approaching, and the sound of his voice made her jump.

“And Detective Ballantyne,” he added to Hank.

Normally, Bryce excelled at concealing his thoughts. But not right now. He was clearly wondering what Hank was doing here with her in the first place, let alone sticking to her like a burr to a dog.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“All things considered.”

After giving her a sympathetic nod, he said, “I’d like to speak to you for a minute.”

He glanced pointedly at Hank—who completely ignored the implied message.

“Alone?” he elaborated, giving Hank a longer look.

Celeste nervously licked her lips. She didn’t want to talk to him, yet she had a feeling she’d better. Maybe he’d say something that...

She really had no idea what he might say. But listening had to be a smart idea.

“Excuse us for a minute?” she said to Hank.

He didn’t seem happy, but he moved off a few feet.

“Why is he with you?” Bryce demanded.

“It’s a long story. And it’s not what you wanted to talk about.”

“No. But...you aren’t involved with him, are you?”

She shook her head.

“Then...Celeste...you know, I’ve been awfully worried about you. All the stress you’ve been under. First our breakup. Then your mother. Now Steve. I can’t help thinking...”

“Thinking what?”

“That you shouldn’t have to go through this alone,” he said quietly. “And that I miss you.”

His words took her aback for a moment. Then she could feel anger starting to build.

“Are you trying to say you’ve been lonely since Donna left?” she asked, not even attempting to hide her sarcasm.

“She didn’t
leave—
I told her to go. And he had no business saying anything about it to you,” he added, nodding almost imperceptibly toward Hank.

“He didn’t.”

“Then who did?”

“That hardly matters, does it.”

She could see how badly Bryce wanted a direct answer, and could almost hear him warning himself not to press her.

Finally, he said, “Celeste...”

He paused, raking his fingers through his hair, a clear sign that he didn’t feel as in control of the situation as he’d like to.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” he added at last. “About us.”

“Bryce, there
is
no us. There hasn’t been for a long time.”

“And that’s my fault. Entirely. I...being apart from you has made me realize just how badly I screwed up. But...we’re still legally married.”

She let that pass and simply waited. Obvious as it seemed, she couldn’t quite believe where he was heading.

“I know this isn’t the time or place,” he continued. “But we’ve got to sit down somewhere, just the two of us, and have a long talk.”

Just the two of them? She shivered inside. Was his idea to get her alone so the Ice Man...

“We really don’t have anything to talk about,” she managed to say evenly. “Unless you mean a divorce, and I’d prefer to have my lawyer handle that discussion.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want a divorce. I want us to give our marriage another try.”

* * *

C
ELESTE
HUGGED
her cousins and Aunt Nancy goodbye, then started down the stairs with Hank.

“What about Travis?” she asked, glancing back toward the reception room. He was still in there, one of the few remaining people.

“He’s watching to see if anyone heads after us. We’ll hook up with him later.”

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Hank took her arm and steered her to a rear exit. Outside, a cargo van was waiting.

The driver nodded to them and started the engine. They climbed into the back and an instant later were on their way.

The van was comfortable enough, with bench seats along the sides, but the interior of the cargo section was dim. The only window was a small one in the door—which Hank immediately commandeered.

He sat wordlessly staring out of it for a few minutes, then said, “I think we’re okay. No sign of anyone following us.”

“So we’re going to Travis’s apartment?”

“Not directly. We’re taking a little detour to be safe.”

He leaned back on the bench and glanced across at her. “I couldn’t ask you in there, but my curiosity was killing me. What did Bryce want?”

“I’m not sure. He
said
he wanted to give our marriage another try.”

“Really.”

She nodded. “He also suggested we get together,
just the two of us,
to discuss it.”

“And you told him?”

“Not much. I was afraid of saying the wrong thing, so I told him I was going back to my friend’s in Connecticut, and I’d call him in a day or two. We left it at that.”

“Did he ask you for your friend’s name and number?”

“Yes, but I said it would be better if I called him.”

“Good.”

She waited, hoping Hank would tell her what he was thinking.

When he didn’t, she asked, “Do you figure he’s trying to set me up for the Ice Man? That the plan’s to convince me to meet him somewhere, and when I get there...” She stopped speaking, her throat suddenly so tight she couldn’t go on.

Hank said, “Celeste, keep in mind that we’ve got a major advantage.”

“Which is?”

“We know about the contract. And neither the Ice Man nor Bryce—or
whoever’s
behind it—knows we do.”

“Ah.” She considered that, unable to figure out why knowing a hit man had been paid to kill her was a major advantage.

If Hank believed it was, though, she had to be missing something. Unless he only thought he could make her feel better.

She almost asked if that was it, but decided not to. If they
didn’t
actually have an advantage, she’d just as soon delude herself.

Trying to force every thought of the hit man from her mind, she said, “Travis told me you have a little boy.”

“Yeah, Robbie. He’s almost three this month.” He dug out his wallet and showed her a picture.

“Oh, Hank, he’s gorgeous. And he looks like you, doesn’t he. Has your dark hair and eyes.”

“Well...actually, he’s adopted.”

“Oh?” The instant the word slipped out, she hoped he wouldn’t think she was prying.

“My wife...my ex-wife...couldn’t have children. And she decided that was what was missing from our marriage. So...well, when Robbie was only a few months old, his parents were killed in an earthquake. In Guatemala. A lot of the children who were orphaned by it were adopted in the U.S., and Robbie ended up with us.

“But instead of making Jane happy, having him only made things worse for her.”

Hank gazed at the picture for a moment, then put his wallet back in his pocket and shrugged. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? She was the one who pressed for the adoption, but I’m the one who ended up being crazy about Robbie. He’s just the greatest kid.”

Celeste smiled. She had a feeling that even with his awful hours, Hank was a first-rate father.

“We’re here,” he said.

Through the little window, she could see that they were entering a parking garage.

“This is Manhattan North’s garage,” he explained. “If anyone is following us, they’ll assume I brought you to the precinct to talk about your brother—and wait on the street so they won’t miss you leaving. But Travis left his car in here and there’s a back way out.”

The van driver had obviously been told where Travis’s Mustang was parked, because he dropped them off right at it. Not five minutes later, Travis arrived, driving a dark blue Dodge that might as well have been wearing a sign reading Unmarked Police Car.

“Everything okay?” he said, climbing out.

“No sign of anyone,” Hank told him.

“Nobody paid any attention when you left the reception, either.”

“Which has to mean the Ice Man didn’t show.”

“I wonder why not,” Travis said—almost to himself. “He’d have been certain she’d be there. So why
wouldn’t
he decide to follow her? See where she’s staying?” Celeste could feel anxiety gnawing at her insides. Despite what he’d told her, Travis had really expected the hit man to be there. “It just seemed an obvious move,” he added, slowly shaking his head.

“Maybe he hasn’t realized she’s not in her own apartment,” Hank suggested.

“Maybe.”

Travis didn’t sound convinced, which made Celeste even more anxious. “You don’t think he already knows I’m at your place, do you?” she asked.

He merely shook his head again.

“Well, look, I’ve got to go in and play catch-up for a while,” Hank told them. “If there’ve been any new developments, I’ll let you know.”

Travis nodded, then focused on Celeste, quietly asking, “How did you make out at the service? You okay?”

“I’m better since
you
arrived.”

Smiling, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

She rested her cheek against his chest, breathing in his scent. She hadn’t realized she’d been cold, but she gradually became aware that his body heat was warming her.

“You know,” she whispered at last, “just being with you like this makes me feel... Oh, I can’t even think of the word I want.”

“You can’t? What kind of an editor
are
you?” he teased.

“The kind who’s being
extremely
affected by a handsome man.”

“Handsome, huh?” He kissed the top of her head.

“Definitely. A ten on the scale.” She snuggled even closer, thinking she’d be happy to stay right here in his arms for ever and a day.

But it was only a few moments before he said, “Let’s go home.”

Home. With him. That sounded like an even better plan.

* * *

T
RAVIS
SHIFTED
the Mustang into drive, dying to know what Bryce Wayland had had to say—but telling himself not to start bombarding Celeste with questions before they even got out of the garage.

He’d give her a little breathing space. Count to a hundred, then ask her.

By the time they reached the back exit, he was at twenty-two. After taking a good long look in each direction, he started for Chelsea, keeping one eye on the rearview mirror, even though he seriously doubted anyone would be on his tail.

Just as he was silently saying “ninety-seven,” his cell phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket and answered.

“It’s me,” Hank said. “Figured you’d like to know that we finally caught up with the lowlifes Steve Parker blew the whistle on. A couple of our fellows questioned them last night.”

“And?”

“They’ve got an alibi. They were in a bar at the time of the murder. Came in around eight and didn’t leave until the place shut down.”

“Witnesses?”

“Uh-huh. The bartender remembers them because they were complaining about the TV channel he had on.”

“And they were both there the whole time?”

“As far as he noticed. He’s got some regular customers, and we’re in the midst of following up with them. But unless one of them says something different, those two are pretty much in the clear.”

“Doesn’t leave us with many suspects, does it?”

“Uh-uh. There’s Celeste’s husband, who we know
doesn’t
have an alibi, and our mystery woman in the hall—whose identity we’re no closer to having than we were when we started.”

“What about the lab results?”

Usually, the crime-scene techs came up with at least
something
that helped the investigators. And every now and then, there was a “something” that blew a case wide open.

“Haven’t heard a thing,” Hank was saying. “But they’ve got a ton of work, so it could still be a while. How about Wayland, though? I assume Celeste’s filled you in on their conversation?”

“Not yet. I was just getting to that.”

“Yeah, well, give me a call later and let me know what you think. Because I’m trying to decide whether it’s time to bring him in for questioning.”

“Have you turned up
anything
on him?”

“Nothing that helps. As far as we can determine, he’s not at all desperate for money. Earns a good buck at his law firm. No major legitimate debts, and no sign that he’s a gambler or into drugs. And he’s not licensed to own a firearm.”

“Well, we both know how easily he could have gotten a gun on the street. And how carefully he’d have disposed of it if he
did
kill Parker.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But the bottom line is we’ve still got nothing solid. So I’ve been thinking I shouldn’t tip my hand too soon. That as long as he doesn’t realize he’s a suspect I should sit tight until I get those lab results. Just keep hoping something in them points at him.”