by Karen Rose
Aidan’s gaze shifted to Kristen and she could feel his cold blue eyes critically assessing her. “So I see,” he said. “You’re ASA Mayhew.”
Kristen wasn’t sure he considered that a good thing, but stuck out her hand. “Kristen.”
He shook it. “Aidan.” His eyes, so like Abe’s, narrowed. “Why are you here?”
“Aidan.” Becca’s mouth bent in a disapproving frown. “What’s gotten into you?”
“I’m sorry,” Aidan replied, but it was clear from the taut clench of his jaw and his expression of disdain that he was anything but.
“Aidan.”
Kristen turned instinctively to the sound of Abe’s voice behind her. He filled the doorway to the living room and just the sight of him made her breath catch, made her lips tingle anew from the kiss he’d given her on returning from Angelo Conti’s grave. He still wore a suit, but his tie was loosened and his shirt unbuttoned, revealing a strong throat and just the hint of dense chest hair. He stepped forward, a cautious look in his eye. “What’s wrong?”
Aidan looked at Abe, then back at Kristen, disbelief mixing in with the disdain and Kristen wondered if she wore the fragile relationship with Abe on her chest like a scarlet letter. “No way,” Aidan spat.
Rachel perked up. “No way what?”
“Be quiet, Rachel,” Aidan snapped. “Tell me it isn’t true, Abe.”
Abe considered him evenly. “You’ve never been impolite to a guest. What happened?”
“Oh, nothing. Just that my partner and three other cops in our precinct got called into IA yesterday. Seems the SA’s office is investigating cops for the murders of those lowlifes that deserved to be fried the first time around.” Aidan glared at Kristen. “They’re good men and good cops who wouldn’t murder any man, even ones you guys were too inept to keep in jail.”
Kristen wanted to deny it, but a look from Abe had her closing her mouth tightly.
“And now you have the nerve to bring her here?” Aidan sneered. “I’m gone.”
“Don’t you move one inch.” Becca inserted herself between the brothers. “You aren’t going anywhere, Aidan. Not until you’ve first apologized to Rachel’s guest.”
Aidan’s eyes widened and he looked at Abe. “I thought—”
Abe’s lips twitched. “I guess she’s technically Rachel’s guest.” He let Aidan stew a moment, then added, “But next time she’ll be mine.”
Delighted, Becca and Rachel stared at Kristen, whose cheeks heated. Deliberately she ignored them and looked up at Aidan. “I’m sorry your friends were hassled, but anybody who’s had any contact with those cases has had to account for their whereabouts on the nights of the murders. Everybody in the SA’s office is getting questioned, even me. If they have alibis, we’ll take them off the list. If not, they’ll have to stay there a little longer.” She lifted her hands, let them fall. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
Aidan hesitated, then inclined his head in a single nod. “All right then.”
“If we make her eat out on the back porch, can she stay for dinner?” Rachel asked dryly.
Aidan rolled his eyes. “Give me my hat, you smart-ass.”
“Aidan!” Becca snapped. “Don’t curse in my kitchen.”
“Go in the living room and curse with Dad,” Rachel said with a grin and after a moment Aidan grinned back, quickly checking the grin when his eyes met Kristen’s.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “My partner was very upset after being called into IA. We’re all afraid this is going to turn into a witch-hunt.”
“Not on my watch,” Kristen vowed and Aidan pursed his lips, considering.
“All right then.” He lifted one black brow. “I guess you can stay.”
Sunday, February 22, 8:00 P.M.
She’d held her own, Abe thought proudly. Kristen had survived a Sunday dinner with the Reagans. The ham was culinary history and everyone who remained gathered in the living room to watch a movie, so like old times it made his throat thicken. Sean sat on the sofa, while Ruth sat on the floor with their new baby, her back up against Sean’s knees. For a long time after Debra’s death Abe hadn’t been able to watch Sean and Ruth together. It wasn’t just that Ruth looked so much like Debra, because she did. They’d been cousins after all, their mothers were sisters. It was more the happiness Sean and Ruth exuded every time they were in the same room that was the hardest to bear. But over the years, Abe had become accustomed to the sharp pang of loss. It was a given. Just one of those things. Seeing Sean and Ruth together made his heart hurt.
Until today. Today he hadn’t been alone. Today he’d brought Kristen to his family and she’d melded right in, as if she’d known them all her life. Now she and Rachel sat on the love seat watching the Steve Martin comedy Sean had rented. From his seat on the couch Abe could watch her face as she truly relaxed for the first time in five days.
She was intent on the movie when Rachel leaned over and whispered something in her ear. It must have been classic Rachel, irreverent and funny, because Kristen threw back her head and laughed that wonderful husky laugh that made him feel like he’d taken a kick to the gut. Looking back, he should have known he wouldn’t be the only one to feel that way. Ruth twisted to stare, her face slack with shock. His parents also turned, pained.
Abe wanted to put the whole scene on freeze-frame and whisk Kristen out of the room before she noticed the family’s reaction. But of course it was too late for that. Her smile at Rachel’s witticism disappeared like mist in sunlight.
Her green eyes shot to his, wary once more. “What?” she asked.
“My God,” Ruth breathed, then shook her head hard. “I’m so sorry, Kristen, I didn’t mean to be rude, but…you sounded like someone I once knew.”
Kristen grew very still, her eyes still on Abe’s. “Debra?”
He’d seen fear and courage in her eyes, vulnerability and sadness. Now he saw hurt as she jumped to her own conclusions and it sliced at him like a knife. “Kristen—”
She held up her hand, a smile on her lips. “It’s okay.” But he could see it wasn’t. She turned back to the television. “Can we rewind a bit, Sean? We missed the last minute or two.”
Sean complied. Ruth sent Abe a silent message of acute apology. The movie went on, but Steve Martin just didn’t seem as funny after that.
Sunday, February 22, 10:00 P.M.
Abe pulled past the cruiser in the street and into her driveway. She’d sincerely thanked his parents for dinner, wished Sean and Ruth congratulations on their new baby, and crossed her fingers for Rachel’s good grade on the interview. But once in his SUV, she’d grown quiet and with every mile to her house, his heart grew heavier. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind and desperately wished she’d say something. Anything. Finally, she did.
“It’s okay, Reagan,” she said. He winced at the formality. Her eyes wouldn’t meet his, focusing instead on her darkened windows with their new curtains. “I understand.”
He put his hand on hers. “What do you understand?”
“I understood before tonight that you needed to take care of me, to keep me safe. Because you didn’t keep Debra safe. Even though that wasn’t your fault. I guess I didn’t think that I was a substitute in every other way, though.” She swallowed and looked out the window. “That hurt the old ego a little,” she added wryly.
“You’re not a substitute for Debra. Dammit, Kristen, look at me.”
She shook her head firmly and opened the door. “Thank you. Really. I had a lovely time and you have a wonderful family. Call me tomorrow if you want to meet on the case. I’ve got Officer Truman here tonight. I’ll be fine.”
And she would be, Kristen thought. She’d been through a hell of a lot worse than this, after all. She slammed the SUV door, half-expecting him to follow her. She told herself she wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t. He backed out of her driveway with an engine roar that would most certainly make her neighbors complain. She entered her kitchen, not think
ing about the fact it was the first time she’d entered her own house alone in the past five days. Not thinking about the kiss they’d shared over by her teapot. Not thinking about him at all.
It wasn’t a bad outcome all in all. She’d discovered that she could tolerate, even anticipate feeling strong arms around her. That she could kiss a man without throwing up, that she could even yearn for the feel of his lips on hers. So it wasn’t a total loss.
She dropped her coat on the kitchen chair. Bypassed the teapot. She didn’t think she could stomach tea tonight. At least he wouldn’t be able to peep in her windows anymore. Heavy curtains covered the glass.
She closed the door to her bedroom, not thinking about Abe Reagan at all.
But it was his name she screamed when the hand came out of the darkness to clamp over her mouth, muffling her scream, yanking her back against a large, hard body. She struggled violently, her nails raking against skin. A strangled cry met her ears and the hand left her mouth, an iron arm locking hard across her breasts, immobilizing her. She screamed again, kicking, her heel catching something hard. Then her body went still when cold, hard metal touched her temple. I’m going to die.
Lips grazed her ear and she swallowed back the bile. “That’s better,” a raspy voice declared. “Now, who is he?”
Sunday, February 22, 10:05 P.M.
She had a right to be hurt, Abe thought, pulling away from her house. A smart woman like Kristen had put two and two together. Unfortunately she got five. She was not a substitute for Debra. Was she? He thought about her walking into her house alone, all alone. I should have followed her in, checked her closet. But Charlie Truman was there, watching.
Abe went still, while every hair on his neck seemed to stand on end. Wasn’t he? He’d seen the cruiser, but had he seen Truman?
Panic closed his throat and he turned a one-eighty in the middle of the road. A car blew its horn, but Abe was already halfway up the block. He brought the SUV to a screeching halt next to the cruiser. Jumped out to peer in the window. The cruiser was dark and empty. He yanked at the cruiser’s door, but it was locked. Truman was gone.
Kristen.
“Dammit.” Abe ran up the driveway, his feet slipping on the ice. He fell and pulled himself back up to his feet, already running again. She’d locked her kitchen door. He pounded with his fists. “Kristen!”
He rounded the house to the back. The basement door was less secure. He could break it down. He threw himself at the door, again and again, until the frame cracked and he was inside. Mindlessly he took the stairs four at a time until he was stumbling into her bedroom, his weapon drawn and his heart hammering.
She knelt on the floor, her head down, gasping, the cordless phone from her nightstand in her hand. He went down on one knee, pulled her chin up. Her eyes were wide and glassy.
She looked at him, then looked at the phone in her hand and ironically his cell phone started to trill in his pocket. “I was calling you,” she said, her voice oddly distant. “He’s gone. Out the window.”
Abe made it to the window in time to see a figure all in black against the snowy white of the backyard. The man took the back fence like a hurdle and sprinted away.
“Dammit,” Abe snarled. He might have caught him had he stayed outside. But then again, his breaking in was probably what made the bastard flee. He turned to find Kristen struggling to her feet. In two long strides he was lifting her into his arms. He sank down onto her bed, holding her tight, feeling her body quake. She curled herself against him, her hands clutching the lapels of his coat. Her breath came fast, too fast, and he rocked her gently.
“It’s okay. I’m here.” He cradled her, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. Oh, God, oh, God. I got here in time. He drew a deep breath, realizing his own breathing was nearly as erratic as hers. He fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone and dialed Dispatch. “Officer Truman is missing.”
The operator was calm. “Officer Truman called in a disturbance ten minutes ago. A young girl approached his vehicle to report her grandfather had fallen and was unconscious in her backyard. He went to help her. What’s happened, Detective?”
“The woman he was supposed to be guarding was just attacked in her own bedroom,” Abe bit out. “Radio him to return immediately.” He hung up and dialed Mia. She picked up on the first ring.
“What is it?”
“Kristen’s been attacked.”
He could hear Mia moving around, drawers slamming. “Is she all right?”
“Don’t know. Call Jack. I want a CSU team here ASAP. I’ll call Spinnelli.”
“Will do. Where’s the uniform assigned to her?”
“Took another call. He’ll be back soon. Get here as fast as you can.”
He hung up and, his hand shaking, tossed the cell phone onto her bed. She hadn’t said a single word since he’d picked her up. “Kristen, Kristen, honey, you need to concentrate. Listen to me, honey. Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head hard against his chest and he drew a breath of relief. Let it out. Started to feel his heart return to normal. “Okay, good. Did he say anything to you?”
She nodded.
“What, honey? What did he say?”
Her response was mumbled against his coat. He gently pulled her away from his chest and she valiantly attempted to control her breathing. “Who…is he?”
Shit. “He wanted to know who the killer was?”
She nodded, her eyes sliding closed. “He had…a gun. Cold. He … put it … to my head … said … he’d blow …” She shuddered and gathered fistfuls of his coat in her hands. “Said he’d… blow… brains out. Mine. He said…I was… getting letters. So…I… had to…had to… know him. Maybe… hired him.”
Abe uttered a foul curse regarding Zoe Richardson and, unbelievably Kristen smiled. “Such… chivalry,” she said, taking even breaths through her nose.
Abe brought her close again, holding her tight. “What else did he say?”
“Said if I didn’t know… I’d better figure it out…Or people I cared about… would die.”
A siren sounded in the distance, growing closer with each second. Abe gently settled her on the bed. “I’ve got to check the perimeter. Maybe he dropped something on his way in or out.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“No. Stay here. I’ll be back.”
“Abe.”
He turned at the doorway to find her staring down at her hands, her breath still hitching. “Send one of… Jack’s guys in here to… scrape my nails.” She looked up, her mouth set in a satisfied line. “I… got his face.”
Abe smiled grimly. “That’s my girl.”
Monday, February 23, 12:30 P.M.
It was over now. All the police and CSU were gone. The only people left in her house were herself and Abe Reagan. They faced each other in her living room and he held out his hand. She walked into his arms.
“How did you know to come back?” she asked, her cheek pressed hard into his solid chest. A heartbeat later she was swung up into his arms and he settled on the sofa, holding her on his lap like she was a baby. To protest never entered her mind.
He pulled the pins from her hair with quick, efficient movements and she sighed as the pressure on her head disappeared and her curls sprang free. “I remembered I hadn’t actually seen Truman in the cruiser.” He shrugged. “I just knew.”
“Thank you.” One corner of her mouth lifted. “Either I’m getting good at playing the damsel in distress or you’re getting good at playing the white knight.”
He massaged her head with his big hand. “Do they have to be mutually exclusive?”
She closed her eyes and simply enjoyed the feel of his hand. “No. I called you again.”
“Before you called 9-1-1,” he said sternly and she just smiled.
“I guess I did. I knew you’d come.” She sighed. “Thanks. For taking care of me.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “You were lucky tonight.”
She
didn’t want to think about it. “Will Officer Truman get into any trouble?”
Abe shook his head and Kristen felt relieved. Officer Truman looked as upset as she’d felt when he’d returned mere minutes after Abe had broken down the door to save her. “No. He did everything right. How was he to know he was being lured away from you by a false report? The girl who approached his vehicle seemed sincerely frantic.”
“Who was she?”
“Truman will give a description to the sketch artists, but I’m not counting on anything. After he thought about it, he couldn’t even say for certain she was a teenager. She told him her grandfather had gone out to walk the dog, that it was a while before she even realized he was gone. That she’d found her grandfather facedown in the snow, and he was unconscious. He chalked up her not calling 9-1-1 to the panic of a kid. Of course, there was no old man.”
“Why didn’t he take the cruiser to the girl’s house?”
“She told him it would be faster to cross the backyards, that it was only a few houses away. She was crying and hysterical. Then she was gone. Disappeared into thin air when he’d turned his back to search for the old man. By the time he realized he’d been set up, I was here.”
Kristen nuzzled her cheek against the crisp cotton of his shirt and once again his hand threaded through her curls, massaging the back of her head. She could feel the tension lessen by slow degrees. “Well, it’s done and over and we’re both all right. What a day.”
His hand stilled, his palm cradling her head. “Kristen, I’m sorry.”
She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, his eyes desolate. “Why?”
“Because I made you feel bad in front of my family. Yes, you sound like Debra. But I swear to you, you are not a substitute for my dead wife.”
She looked at his face, felt his strong arms around her. Remembered how it had felt when she heard him banging on the basement door. He’d come back. “It’s okay.”
His eyes widened. “It is?”
She nodded. “Abe, you’ve come every time I’ve called. You made me feel things I never thought I’d ever feel. I’m grateful for that. In the grand scheme of life, whether I sound like Debra or not really isn’t that important.” She narrowed her eyes. “Now if you want me to wear her clothes or wear my hair like her, I may start to get a little weirded out.”