Abigail gave him one of her direct stares. “Are we going to sit here playing chicken or are you going to escort me into my home?”
“You win for now,” he said. “But we’re heading to town first thing tomorrow morning.”
She didn’t agree but she didn’t argue either.
Dylan had a feeling this tug-of-war wasn’t over, however.
He knew stubborn.
Because he was stubborn himself.
There was a fine line between being stubborn and being reckless and he knew where to draw that line. Or at least he had before he’d met the enticing Abigail Wheaton.
This woman would probably test his mettle over and over.
When he came around the vehicle to help her out, she tried to hand back his handkerchief.
“Keep it,” he said with a grin.
“At least I know what to give you for Christmas,” she retorted, her tone gaining strength.
She dropped his handkerchief into her purse and clung to the folded flag as he and the other escorts guided her toward the rambling farmhouse.
While Dylan scanned the distant trees and hills and prayed he wouldn’t regret letting her stay here tonight.
* * *
Abigail stood in her private sitting room, her gaze moving over the antique furnishings and the family portraits hanging over the old fireplace. After her mother had died when she was still in her teens, her dad told Abigail he wanted to redo her wing of the big, rambling house.
You’re almost grown now, Abigail. I thought you might like a bigger bedroom and your own little den. I know how you females like closet space and lots of nooks and crannies.
He hired a designer and let Abigail pick out all the colors. Her father had always known how to cheer her up, no matter how brokenhearted she might be.
She’d redone this set of rooms twice since then and now her suite was all soft blues and rich wood, a little bit of modern mixed in with a lot of tradition. White accessories accented the blue, making Abigail feel as if she were floating on clouds.
A spacious bathroom and a deep closet accompanied the bedroom. Outside the double doors of that room, a sitting room next to the fireplace begged her to find a good book and make herself a cup of tea. She’d do that once she’d settled in for the night.
But it was past noon now and she should try to take a nap. Only she was still too wound up and in shock from this turn of events that held her captive in her own home.
Her dear, sweet, kind father was dead.
Abigail went to the fire someone had made earlier and held her hands out, seeking warmth. Why did she feel so cold?
She stared up at the picture of her parents she kept on the mantel, no matter how many times she changed the decor of this room. Their wedding picture, so many years ago. They’d been young and in love and ready to take on the world. Her parents both had a heart for service.
“I tried to follow you on that path,” she said now. “I know you’re up there together now because you both fought the good fight.”
And yet, she held a gut-wrenching bitterness inside her heart because her father had died such a horrible death.
The images she’d seen on television stayed in her mind, greedily erasing all the good she wanted to remember.
“I hope they punish the people who did this, Dad.”
A knock at her door caused Abigail to whirl, her fingers brushing at burning tears.
When she opened the door, she found Dylan Ralsey standing there with Tico. He held up a tray. “CiCi and Mrs. Sutton thought you might like some hot tea. You didn’t eat much lunch, so Mrs. Sutton and Louis put together some tea cakes and a couple of little sandwiches to go with it.”
Abigail waved him in. “That was considerate. I could have come to the kitchen. Poppy—Mrs. Sutton—likes to spoil me, I’m afraid. They all do.”
“You need your privacy,” he said, setting the silver tray on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.
He glanced around the room much in the same way he’d done earlier when he refused to let her enter any room, especially this one, without him clearing it first. “Cozy,” he said.
He headed back toward the door but the big dog sat staring up at Abigail. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked Dylan.
“I don’t think so,” he said, his dark eyes too deep and rich to tell any secrets.
“Your partner?” She pointed toward Tico.
“Oh, he’s staying here with you.”
Surprised, Abigail glanced down at the big animal. “I see.” Then she turned to Dylan. “Has there been another threat? Is that why you brought my tea?”
He didn’t confirm or deny that question. “Tico goes wherever you go. Until I say differently.”
Then he turned, walked out of the room and shut the door behind him.
THREE
Abigail rushed after him, the dog right on her heels.
“Wait,” she said, calling to Dylan. She tried to step out of the room, but the dog managed to block the door. When she shot the animal a daring glance that suggested he move out of her way, Tico returned her look with his own daring doggie-eyed stare.
“I’ve been tag-teamed,” she mumbled while she watched Dylan hurrying back toward her.
He stopped outside the door. “Yes, ma’am?”
“I’d like to talk to you,” Abigail said, wondering why she suddenly felt the need to have a chat with the K-9 officer. And wishing he’d stop being so polite.
Dylan moved back into the room and looked around, Tico matching him step per step. “Is something wrong?”
Abigail motioned him to the chair across from the couch. “No, nothing. I don’t like to take tea alone.” She shrugged and felt foolish because she always preferred to take tea alone. But not today. “Would you like to stay for a few minutes?”
He brushed a hand over his hair before stepping inside the room. “Oh, do you want some company?”
“Do you mind?” She didn’t want company so much as she wanted to ask him questions regarding the information he might have on these threats that were holding her hostage with an unnamed dread. Abigail wasn’t used to being told what she could and couldn’t do.
“No, not at all.” He checked the door for propriety’s sake, left it open and sat down in the dainty velvet-covered white side chair. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No.” She poured herself some tea from the pot on the tray. “Would you like a cup? I can call CiCi to bring an extra mug.”
“I don’t...uh...drink tea,” he admitted, his expression of distaste almost comical.
“Coffee then?”
“I’m fine.” His gaze bounced around like a lost tennis ball. “Nice place. Your home is beautiful.”
Abigail nodded. “Sandwich?”
His smile escaped before he could hide it. “If you want to call that a sandwich.” But he leaned forward and took one of the trim strips of dark pumpernickel bread filled with cream cheese and black cherry jam. “I am hungry.”
“Poppy and Louie will feed everyone something more substantial than sandwiches for dinner. She’s an excellent cook so they sometimes butt heads. But they are both so devoted to my—to me.”
“Has this particular staff been with your family long?”
He should know. Abigail felt sure he’d had anyone here vetted and researched, including her. “Since I was a young girl. Poppy came right after my mother passed away and she hired Louie and Sam later.”
He finally relaxed back in the chair, his dark eyes centered on Abigail. “Are you holding up okay?”
Abigail stirred lemon and honey into the china cup full of her favorite green tea. “It’s hard to answer that question. I’m fine but I’m so angry. My father didn’t have to die t
his way. He served this country with pride and diplomacy. I...I wanted to ask you if you have any leads on the terrorist group that claimed responsibility for this.”
Dylan sat up, his whole expression turning cautious and stoic. “I can’t discuss that with you.”
“For my own protection?”
“That and...well...we have to be careful.” He put a finger to his lip, a gesture that made Abigail’s heart twist inside her chest.
She glanced around, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “Even here?”
“Especially here,” he replied. “This house has sat empty for months now, so we don’t know what kind of activity could have gone on here while it was closed down.”
Abigail set down her cup and saucer. “But your team did a sweep when I returned here, correct?”
He nodded, one hand touching his chin. “We’re trying to do a sweep every couple of hours.”
“Even now?”
“Until we know you’re safe.”
Abigail realized she’d placed him in a sticky situation by demanding to stay here instead of in the city. “I’m sorry, Officer Ralsey. I should have cooperated better.”
“Dylan,” he reminded her. “We’ll make sure you’re safe, no matter where you land.” He rubbed a hand against the patina of the chair arm. “It’s part of life these days. We think we know who caused that explosion and car wreck but...it’s better if you don’t have any of that information. The less you know, the better we can protect you.”
She smiled at that. “Rather than chastise me for my inconsiderate demands, you’ll work harder at your job.”
“That’s what I’m supposed to do,” he said.
He looked so big and out of place sitting in the Louis XIV library chair that Abigail wondered why she’d asked him to stay. Dylan wouldn’t divulge anything he knew. That was part of his job, too. He studied the windows and then finally got up to stare out at the tree-laden back garden.
“Is there something wrong?” Abigail asked, worried about being here for the first time since they’d arrived back at the house. Would the last ounce of her resolve and fortitude be driven away by irrational fears?
“Just checking.” He walked from one paned window to the next. “We have guards patrolling the perimeters of this place but it’s hard to cover the woods beyond the tree line.”
“We don’t have many close neighbors,” she said, watching him with a fascination that took her mind off her grief and her concerns for a while. “There’s another farmstead about ten miles to the east but whoever lives there tends to keep to themselves.”
“Yes, we’ve checked out all the neighbors, distant or otherwise, but it’s hard to cover every angle.”
“I can understand that,” she said, studying him while he wasn’t watching her.
Dylan Ralsey was a handsome man. Stern and quiet with dark eyes and hair and an olive-skinned tan that spoke more of his possible heritage than of his hours in the sun. She wondered what his story was but knew now wasn’t the time to ask about that.
He was here because of her. To protect her from some unknown faction. She’d do well to focus on that and not how he made her feel. She was overreacting from the stress of losing her father and traveling halfway around the world to attend his funeral. Jet lag and grief. That had to be it.
“That’s what worries me,” he said after her comment about not having neighbors nearby. “You’re way too isolated out here.”
Abigail could tell that his duty was weighing heavily on his mind. “We can leave first thing tomorrow.”
“I plan on that,” he said in a tone that didn’t allow for protest. Then he turned, his suit coat open and his tie loosened. “I’d better let you get some rest.”
Did he want to be away from her that much? Or did he feel the need to check and recheck this house and grounds? Probably both. She obviously made Officer Ralsey uncomfortable.
“Of course.” She stood and brushed at her dress. “I might take a nap and then I have some calls to make. Orson Benison, my father’s attorney, is advising me on what to do next. But I insist on sharing dinner in the kitchen with you and your men.”
“That’s your choice. Make sure you let one of us come to escort you across the house.” He stopped. “And jot down anyone you call so we have a record.”
He went back to the window that faced the pond and the woods beyond it, apparently taking one more glance outside before the sun went down. The dog, ever watchful, stayed by Abigail and kept his eyes on her while his partner blocked the sun with an imposing silhouette.
Abigail waited, her mind twirling with questions. “Is it okay if I go online to check on my blog?”
“No.” He didn’t turn but he held up a hand, his index finger pointing in the air. Tico sensed something was up and stood. “No phone calls except to your lawyer and no computer. You could be tracked.”
“I guess it’s an old-fashioned hardback book then,” she replied, trying to lighten the mood.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he grabbed the curtain and then pulled out his phone. The dog followed his actions, alert to this man’s every mood. “A flash, out behind the east edge of the pond. Could be one of ours but send someone to check it out.”
Then he turned back to Abigail. “I think I’ll sit here with you a little while longer, if you don’t mind.”
Abigail held a breath and pushed at the fear threatening her. “No, not at all. I’d feel better if you did.”
He stayed by the window, watching. “And I’ll feel better once we get you back into a more populated area.”
Abigail had to admit, so would she.
Because as scared as she might be of who could be in those woods, she was even more afraid of this man and how he made her feel. Dylan Ralsey brought out all her feminine longings and gave her a sense of security, in spite of everything.
And that was something she had not expected at all.
FOUR
“All clear,” Dylan told her thirty minutes later. “We checked the woods but no sign of anyone. We’ll keep a patrol near the tree line.” He closed the drapes. “Keep the curtains shut, okay?”
Abigail nodded. He’d told her to stay away from the windows and to sit only in the chair by the fireplace that backed against a solid wall. And that’s where she’d been parked, fascinated with watching Dylan and his furry partner because she was too terrified to think about anything else. Was someone out in the trees watching her?
“Hunters move through those woods,” she said, trying to rationalize her fears away. “It’s that time of year.”
“Makes our job tough,” he retorted. “Anyone can put on an orange jacket and produce a hunting license. A good cover, but bad for us.”
Abigail’s guilt weighed heavy with her grief, making her tired. So tired. “So you didn’t find anyone?”
“Not this time.”
That implied there would be another time.
He checked his phone, checked the windows in all of the rooms and then checked on her. “I’m going to talk to the security team again but Tico will stay here with you. If he alerts and starts barking, you stay with him. Don’t leave this room.”
She nodded, that growing fatigue moving over her. “That won’t be a problem. I think, as my mother used to say, I’m having a sinking spell. Everything is finally catching up with me. I’m exhausted.”
“Nerves and grief. You need your rest,” he said, pivoting around. “So I’ll leave you but keep your phone nearby. And remember, don’t leave this room. Tico will protect you if anyone tries to breach your suite.”
“Got it.” She stood to follow him to the door. “Thank you, Dylan.”
His head came up when she called him by his first name, a slight surprise brightening his dark eyes. Along with a spark that practically sizzled. �
�You’re welcome.”
His gaze held hers for a second too long and then he shut the door and left the room decidedly empty. And her decidedly lonely.
* * *
Dylan hadn’t told Abigail everything.
They’d found footprints. Heavy and deep. Probably hiking boots or work boots. A few snapped twigs here and there showed a path back toward a nearby stream. The dogs tracked a scent to the water and lost it. John Forrester and his German shepherd, Samson, had taken the lead, along with Elizabeth Carter and her border collie, Lady. Lady was trained to track anything that moved and she’d done her job today.
Dylan wanted to find out what was beyond that stream so they’d sent a couple of people out to search even deeper into the woods. But once they’d reached the big wire fence between Wheaton land and the next farm, they’d lost track. No footprints and no noticeable scents.
“We sent in photos of the shoeprints,” John told Dylan after they’d gathered in a small den near the kitchen to assess the situation. “Might be able to identify the type of boot and narrow it down to one brand.”
“That’s a long shot.” Dylan drank down his coffee and jotted notes on his phone app. “Could have been hunters or even paparazzi. The media is trying to get a statement from Miss Wheaton so I wouldn’t put it past any reporters to at least try to get a shot of this house or her.”
“The kind of shot that doesn’t kill but still can do damage,” Elizabeth said with her cheeky attitude intact. Her big brown eyes looked like milk chocolate. “Those tabloids make up stuff to go with the pictures.”
“We have to keep at it since the graveside shooter didn’t give up much in the autopsy report.”
John rubbed a hand down his chin. “His background is peppered with petty crimes and work-for-hire with some definitely unscrupulous people. So far, no connection to any sleeper cells yet but we’re still digging since he did have Middle Eastern ties.”
Capitol K-9 Unit Christmas: Protecting VirginiaGuarding Abigail Page 11