The Cabin

by Carla Neggers

  "Ellen's right," Maggie said. "He's a lot edgier."

  But Susanna didn't need her daughters telling her what her husband was like. She knew. Edgier or not, he wouldn't take well to her midnight voice mail—he'd take even less well to Alice Parker cozying up to Gran and the girls. He would see dire motives, conspiracies, all the awful, deadly, nasty possibilities, because that was his training and his nature.

  No, she thought, because that was what circumstances would lead anyone to think. She was thinking the same thing, and she hated it. If nothing else, it meant that fleeing to Boston with her daughters hadn't made her safe—Alice Parker was here.

  She'd tossed and turned most of last night, considering the same motives, conspiracies and possibilities Jack would—and maybe then some. She didn't care what Alice said, or how small and cute she was with her newly dyed hair and feminine look. The woman had no business showing up in Somerville.

  Susanna dumped the last of her coffee and ducked into an upscale sporting goods store. She hoped when they all returned from their week in the Adirondacks, they'd discover Alice Parker had moved on.

  She debated buying snowshoe poles for a few minutes, then gave up and headed back to her office. She enjoyed the walk through the crowded marketplace, through Government Center and onto Beacon Street, heading up toward Boston Common and the gold-domed Massachusetts State House.

  Despite the longer days and moderating temperatures, it was still very much winter. She wore her black cashmere coat, black gloves and boots, but, because of Jim Haviland and Davey Ahearn's comments about the Wicked Witch of the East, she'd bought herself a deep scarlet scarf. She was unapologetic about her black gabardine wool pantsuit. She was a professional in a conservative business—people trusted her with their money. She couldn't wear bangles and tight little pastel sweaters like Alice Parker.

  She paused at a store window, pulling her scarf over her head as a sharp gust of wind hit her. She glanced up the street out of the corner of her eye, and her breath caught. She spun around, convinced she'd made a mistake, but she hadn't.

  Jack stood at the entrance to her nineteenth-century building with his hand on the head of one of the marble gargoyles.

  Susanna didn't move. His dark eyes were on her. He had on his white cowboy hat, a suede jacket, jeans and cowboy boots, and she thought he was the sexiest man on the planet.

  But she fought a visceral, inexplicable urge to bolt. Not that she'd get far if her husband meant to talk to her, but this was her office, her city, her space. His presence felt like an invasion—yet it was what she'd wanted. For months, she'd dreamed of him coming to Boston, telling her he wanted her back in his life. Wooing her, Maggie and Ellen would call it. But that wasn't it. She wanted to know she mattered to him. She wanted him to tell her. She wanted him to ask her to tell him all her secrets, one by one, to understand all of them. To admit his own fears and secrets, finally, she thought. To talk.

  Well, sometimes that was what she wanted. Other times she didn't have a clue, except a certainty that something had gone wrong between her and the man she loved.

  Of course, none of that was why Jack was here. He was here because of her phone call last night. Because of Alice Parker.

  Susanna made sure her legs were steady under her before she resumed walking up the street. She peeled off her gloves, stuffing them in her coat pockets. "Hello, Jack," she said calmly. "Have you been waiting long?"

  "Thirty minutes." His Texas drawl was slow and not at all casual, curling up her spine, oozing in like smoke. She felt self-conscious, aware. He kept his gaze pinned on her, revealing nothing of what he felt. "Your doorman wouldn't let me in."

  "Smart doorman."

  "An unarmed doorman and a couple of ugly gargoyles. That's not much security."

  "I don't need much security."

  He moved off from the gargoyle. If she wanted to get into her building, she'd have to go around him, not just past him. Her opportunity to do an about-face and get out of there had evaporated, if it had ever existed. He tilted his head, taking her in with those trained eyes, more Texas Ranger right now than husband. But then he said, "Your nose is red."

  "I've been out walking." She pulled off her scarlet scarf, aware of him watching her hair fall. "I had meetings this morning. I was taking a break."

  "Sam said I should tell you he tried to get me to call ahead."

  "I've always liked Sam." The wind gusted again, but it didn't feel as cold this time. "You're here because of Alice Parker."

  He kept any reaction tightly under control. "I'm here because of you."

  "Because you're annoyed at me."

  He took a step closer, close enough that she could feel the heat and warmth of him. "Very."

  "I've wondered what it would take to get you on a plane." She cleared her throat, wishing she could control her response to him. Twenty years of sleeping with him hadn't done a thing to dampen her desire for him. And it had been so long since she'd had him next to her, loving her. "Um—there's a coffee shop down the street. We can talk there."

  He smiled knowingly. "What's the matter, Susanna, you don't want to be alone with me?" He skimmed a finger across her cold cheek and along the curve of her jaw, sending warm currents through her. "It doesn't matter. I can kiss you right out here on Beacon Street."

  "Jesus, Jack," she breathed, "you could be more neutral."

  His dark gaze stayed on her. "Not where you're concerned."

  "All right," she said briskly, furious with herself for wanting him to kiss her—right now, right there on a cold, busy street in downtown Boston. "We can go up to my office. It's on the fourth floor."

  "I'd like to see it," he said simply, and her throat caught, because maybe it was true. Maybe he did want to see her office.

  The lobby was small, elegant with its marble floors, brass trim and dark, rich woods. A curving staircase led up to the second floor. There was a tiny, cramped, old elevator, but Susanna had a sudden image of it getting stuck between floors with just her and Jack in there. She started up the stairs, leading the way, feeling his eyes on her as she moved quickly, unbuttoning her coat. She was hot, self-conscious, trying to regroup. He'd had time to get used to the idea of seeing her—to plot his strategy, the approach he'd take. She'd been caught off guard. It was her own damn fault. She should have known that message would get him on a plane.

  She took off her coat on the second flight and slung it over one arm, her scarf falling on the step. Jack scooped it up, tucking it back in with her coat. Every nerve ending she had seemed to be on fire. She picked up her pace, rushing up the third flight of stairs. She could hear his boots click as he maintained a steady pace behind her.

  She couldn't get a decent breath. She staggered down the hall to her office, disgusted with herself. She did the stairs all the time. She ran, she lifted weights, she did yoga and tai chi. She was in good shape. It wasn't the exertion that had left her breathless—it was having her husband on her heels.

  "This is it," she said, as casually as she could manage, and unlocked her office door, pushing it open. She motioned for him to go in ahead of her. "After you."

  He gave her one of his quick, professional scans, but the twitch at the corners of his mouth was disconcertingly unprofessional. He was reading her breathlessness for what it was—him. But there was something else in his eyes, a hardness she hadn't noticed before. He walked into her office, and she shut the door behind her.

  It was quiet, everything in place. Tess Haviland could come in here and notice that her friend's life was out of balance, but Jack wouldn't. He wouldn't know what to look for, not here.

  "I can take your coat," Susanna said.

  "No." He looked back at her. "I won't be staying long."

  He was angry. She could see it now. On the one hand, she felt guilty because, really, she shouldn't have left that message last night. On the other hand—an angry Jack wouldn't want to tear her clothes off and make love to her on her new leather couch.

 
Not necessarily, anyway.

  She groaned silently at herself. What was the matter with her? She flung her coat over a chair and adjusted her suit jacket, making sure her blouse wasn't askew or her lacy silk camisole showing.

  Jack set his bag on the wood floor, placed his hat on top of it and walked over to the windows. He glanced down at the cemetery. "You like working with a bunch of dead people at your feet?"

  "John Hancock's buried down there. You know, hero of the American Revolution, former governor of Massachusetts. Paul Revere, Sam Adams. Benjamin Franklin's parents are down there, too. The victims of the Boston Massacre." She pushed her hair back with both hands, finally catching her breath. "Mother Goose."

  "You and I visited Old Granary when we were in college." He glanced back at her, nothing about his expression softening. "In the fall."

  "I remember. And we took the girls when they were in kindergarten and we were up visiting Gran over spring break."

  He didn't respond. She wondered if he was remembering that day with the girls skipping out ahead of them amidst the shaded gravestones, or an earlier day, when they were students, madly in love—or neither day. Maybe he was just seething over her midnight call about Alice Parker.

  "I didn't want to wake you," she said, knowing he'd follow her train of thought. "That's why I left a message on your voice mail. It was late—"

  "When did you find out about Alice?"

  "Last night. Jack, I called you as soon as I could—"

  "What time?"

  She walked over to her desk and sat at her computer. It was in sleep mode, the screen blank. She hit the space bar. "Before midnight. It took a while for it all to sink in. Alice Parker has been here for weeks. I imagine she got here around the time you told me she'd been released. She and Gran have seen each other two or three times a week—Gran had her over to the house one morning." Susanna watched her monitor come to life. "I had no idea. I was stunned. It was a lot to absorb, and I had to talk to her and the girls."

  Jack wasn't relenting. "Did you?"

  She nodded, still not looking back at him. "I told them to stay away from Alice Parker."

  "And Alice?"

  "I told her to stay away from all of us."

  "So that's it," he said. "It's done as far as you're concerned. You've handled it."

  "That's not what I meant."

  She swiveled around to face him, calmer now that she'd had a little time to adjust to his presence. But she couldn't fathom what had possessed her not to call him at home. Had she known, deep down, it would bring him to Boston? Had she wanted it to?

  No. She'd wanted to avoid having to tell him about Beau McGarrity and Alice, about that day in her kitchen. Having him guess. Was that why Alice had come to Boston? Because of McGarrity? Susanna felt a rush of panic, wondering if she'd missed something that day with Beau McGarrity. Something Jack would have caught if she'd told him.

  She was so sure there was nothing he or Alice, the prosecutors, anyone could use to help them solve Rachel McGarrity's murder. But what if she was wrong?

  "I'm sorry, Jack," Susanna said simply. "It was asinine to leave that message last night. I knew what I was doing."

  "You always know what you're doing."

  She eased to her feet and stood next to him at the window. "You must have been really ticked off to jump on a plane first thing this morning."

  His eyes softened for half an instant. "Stick to the present tense."

  "Okay, so you're still mad." She sighed, staring down at the snow-covered graveyard. "I didn't think about your voice mail giving the bloody time I called."

  "Susanna…"

  "I should have been more vigilant. You warned me about Alice. I should have investigated when Gran told me she had a new friend at the pub." She drew a shallow breath, swallowing as she felt him leaning in close to her. She kept her gaze on the gravestones. "I didn't want to believe it was Alice Parker."

  "I know."

  He took her hand, and she let her fingers intertwine with his, then turned to him as he drew her closer. He touched her lips, threaded his fingers through her hair, his dark eyes on her, the hardness gone, the fury dissipated. She didn't know what he saw in her eyes, but he kissed her softly, lightly, as if anything more would be too much after so many months apart. "It's good to see you," he whispered.

  She placed her palm flat on his chest and sank her forehead against his shoulder, feeling his arms come around her. Tears welled in her eyes, and she thought of Alice Parker changing her name and befriending her eighty-two-year-old grandmother. There was no escaping that Jack's work had touched their lives in a new way. Susanna didn't know what to do. Didn't know what he'd do if he thought his family was threatened by anyone, never mind by someone he'd put in prison.

  "Let me help," he said softly.

  He wasn't ordering her, and he never pleaded. He was, Susanna knew, simply telling her what he could do. He was a lieutenant with the Texas Rangers. He could help. He wanted to help. She lifted her head off his shoulder and saw his self-control drop into place, the experienced law enforcement officer back on the case. "Jack, it's us this time—Gran, the girls, me. We're the ones with the creepy stuff going on. I hope it won't amount to anything and that Alice was honest with me, but it's not just you this time. It's not strangers."

  His eyes darkened. "Why the hell do you think I'm here?"

  She stepped back from his embrace. "How long do you plan to stay?" she asked, fighting for a little self-control of her own.

  "I have time coming to me. I can stay as long as I need to."

  "We're leaving for the Adirondacks in the morning—"

  He managed a half smile. "What about my open invitation?"

  Her heartbeat quickened. She pictured him up there in the mountains with her. Was that what she wanted? "Jack, I really think I can handle this situation myself. I don't want to mess up your vacation time."

  His expression was unreadable, whatever he was feeling tamped down somewhere deep and inaccessible. "I'm not here because I don't think you can't handle the situation. You have local law enforcement you can call. I'm here because I want to help."

  "The hell you are," she said abruptly, dropping onto her chair, studying this intelligent, independent man she'd loved for half her life. "This is payback for me trying to do an end run on you."

  "Whatever it is, Susanna, I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere until I've talked to Alice Parker myself. Make the best of it." He grabbed his hat and bag and started for the door, stopping halfway and turning back to her. His eyes were very dark. She tended to forget how intimidating he could look—except she'd never been intimidated by Jack Galway. Never. He pointed his hat at her. "If you'd called me at six o'clock this morning, I'd still have come. Alice Parker has no business being anywhere near my family."

  "I know that, but you said yourself there's not a damn thing either of us can do about it unless she breaks the law—"

  "Susanna," he said, "tell me you're not relieved I'm here."

  Her mouth snapped shut. She couldn't say a word.

  He grinned as if he had his answer and pulled open the door. He gave her office another appraising scan. "It's nice. You've done well for yourself."

  "Thanks." Her throat was still tight, her nerves frayed from seeing him. No one could see through her defenses to her vulnerabilities better than her husband could. She tried to take in a decent breath. "Where are you going now?"

  "Subway station."

  In other words, he had no intention of answering to her. He'd do as he damn well pleased. Relieved. Oh, yeah, she was relieved he was here.

  But part of her was relieved, and that just added to her jumble of emotions.

  She tilted back in her chair, raking both hands through her hair, and she gave him as casual a look she could manage. "Should I expect you for dinner? Um— should I make up the bed in the guest room?"

  "Now we get to the crux of matter. Where does the husband sleep tonight?" He put on his cowboy hat and
winked at her, sexily. "Don't worry, darlin'. I'll let you know."

  He left, shutting the door softly behind him—as if to tell her he was in total control of what he was doing. Susanna banged a few keys on her computer and counted to ten. Or tried to. She got to seven and jumped up, charging across her office and out into the hall.

  She leaned over the stair rail. He was on the bottom step.

  "Don't you think you've put me on the defensive," she yelled down to him, "because you haven't. I want you to keep me informed. I won't have you tearing around in my city—"

  He kept walking, his footsteps echoing in the stairwell. She thought of the other people in the building, wondered if they thought she was a lunatic. Most didn't know she was married to a Texas Ranger. That didn't fit their profile of a successful Boston financial planner.

  "Jack!" She pounded the railing in frustration. He knew every way there was to get under her skin.

  Still no answer.

  "Fine," she muttered. "Have it your way, Lieutenant Galway."

  She swooped back into her office, slammed the door and flopped onto her leather couch. She touched her lips where he'd kissed her and swore silently, not because of the kiss, but because of her reaction to it. He was an overwhelming presence, her husband. It would be so easy to sit back and let him take control of everything, except she'd never done any such thing in all the years they'd been together. He wouldn't respect her if she did. But it would be so easy.

  Well, he was not coming to the Adirondacks. She'd only bought snowshoes for herself and the girls. She didn't have room for him. There was no guest room in her cabin, not if Gran came, and with Alice Parker in town, Susanna had no intention of leaving her grandmother alone.

  As she calmed down, she realized she was getting way ahead of herself. Jack had come to Boston because of Alice Parker. Never mind that he wasn't wearing his badge and carrying his weapon, he was here because of his work.

  It was something she needed to remember.

  Seven