“You have to feel a loss to understand one, Gillian. I know your intentions are good, but I just hope you haven’t raised their expectations for nothing. Someone was always offering us bits of hope, not knowing that each time the hope wasn’t fulfilled it just made things worse.”
“I see you haven’t gotten over the misconception that you alone have suffered a loss.”
Brad heard an unexpected edge to her voice. “Are you mad at me?”
“Why should I be mad at you?”
“Classic response of an angry woman. Okay, I’m sorry. For whatever it is. Truce?”
“I told you I’m not mad.”
“Ouch. It’s worse than I thought. Let’s see. I didn’t have onions on my hot dog at lunch. I don’t kick dogs or pet rocks….”
“Pet rocks?” Surprise lifted the edges of her lips.
“Ah, so you can still smile.” He was glad to see the change but still wondered what had upset her. “Why don’t we grab a quick dinner?”
“I’m not all that hungry,” she replied. “I had a late lunch with Teri.”
“Then what if we swing by Baskin-Robbins? I haven’t had a banana split in…well, too long.”
“I don’t know—”
“You aren’t going to make me eat there by myself, are you? Nothing’s sadder than a guy sitting alone at one of those tables for two. Take pity on me, Gilly Bean.”
She glanced up, startled by his use of the pet name he’d given her.
He took advantage of her silence. “Great. You up for two or three scoops?”
Unable to choose just one flavor, she did agree to two scoops. Since they were the only ones in the ice cream parlor they took a table near the back.
“I wonder where all the kids are,” Gillian mused, digging into her ice cream. The huge mound of whipped cream atop the sliced bananas started to slide.
Brad used his spoon to avert catastrophe, but ended up with most of the cream.
They were both laughing as he held the spoon up to her lips.
He wasn’t sure when the laughter faded and her pupils dilated.
Her gaze went from his eyes to the spoon, then back again.
Slowly he retracted the spoon, all the while wishing he could lean across the table and kiss the sweet cream from her mouth, to whisper familiar words against them, as well.
She ducked her head, pretending great interest in the banana split. But neither of them seemed quite as enthusiastic.
Brad couldn’t stand filling the silence with inane small talk. What had passed between them demanded more.
They were quiet as they left the store. When they reached the turn to her complex, Gillian glanced at him, looking puzzled. “I appreciate the ride, but we forgot to pick up my car.”
“No sense driving back to the other side of town until morning.”
“Excuse me?”
“Gillian, you really don’t think I’m going to let you stay here alone after the break-in last night.”
Something more than gratitude warmed her. “Oh?”
He reached into the back seat and withdrew a gym bag. “Besides, I like your couch.”
She bit her lip. “If I call Teri or my parents and let them know what happened, they’ll worry themselves sick.”
“So would your brothers.”
As they approached her place, Brad scanned the surrounding area. He noticed that Gillian did, too.
This time the gate was securely in place. It wasn’t particularly reassuring.
The courtyard was quiet, seemingly undisturbed. As a precaution, Brad dropped his gym bag on the patio table so his hands could be free. Gillian put her purse there, as well.
He checked the need to be the one who opened the door, reminding himself that Gillian was also a cop, and it was her apartment.
She turned the handle on the French door, but it didn’t turn. “It’s still locked.”
Brad admired her resilience. “Hmm.”
She put the key in the lock. “Pessimist.”
Brad watched intently as Gillian pushed open the door. The interior was quiet, still.
Gillian stepped in ahead of him. With his hand resting on his gun, Brad followed. A quick search told them they were alone.
“Do you see anything out of place?” he asked, inspecting the locks on the living room windows, seeing they were intact.
When Gillian didn’t answer, he turned to her.
She stood next to the desk, staring at the surface.
“Gillian?” He went to her side. “What is it?”
“The diary,” she said.
His gaze shot to the desk. Her diary was positioned at a slight angle beneath the banker’s lamp.
They both knew not to touch it. Gillian couldn’t seem to take her eyes from the leather journal.
“There’s something else,” Brad guessed.
She nodded. “The diary’s in the exact position it was before it was taken. If I hadn’t noticed that it was gone last night, I wouldn’t have guessed it had been disturbed.”
Brad felt a chill that wasn’t at all professional. As a cop he’d seen threats far, far worse than this. But this was directed at Gillian, and that unnerved him.
“I’ll call the bureau.” Gillian finally moved, heading toward the doors. “Why don’t we wait in the courtyard?”
He agreed, not especially wanting to stay in the apartment. And neither of them wanted to further disturb any evidence before the crime unit arrived.
As they had the previous evening, the unit arrived quickly and worked with efficient precision.
When they were through, Brad noticed that Gillian looked exhausted. Having one’s space violated did that.
The apartment seemed both empty and eerie to Brad. “Did they check to make sure the windows were locked?”
She nodded. “The guy’s a real pro. He picked the exterior lock. I’ll have to have a security system installed.”
“Good idea. But for now, you’d better pack a bag.”
“What?”
“I could sack out on your couch, but we both need to get some sleep. And that’s not going to happen here. We’ll go to my apartment.”
She shook her head. “No, no. Not necessary.”
“Completely necessary. Unless you want to call someone in your family and stay with one of them.”
“I can’t do that. They’d never stop worrying, even once the case is over.” She glanced around the living room. “I still haven’t figured out how things got so out of control.”
Brad hated to see her look defeated. “This guy’s sinister. If he is our perp, he’s stolen two children that we know of. Which means he’ll stop at nothing, Gillian. We have to get you out of his line of fire.”
“I know. But I hate it.”
“You should. It keeps you alert.”
She smiled weakly. “Now, that’s a pep talk if ever I heard one.”
“Do you need any help packing?”
“No. I’ll grab my overnight bag.”
“Gillian, better pack enough for a few days.”
Her eyes were sober, but she nodded.
As she gathered her belongings, Brad roamed the living room, looking at all her personal touches. Uniquely framed pictures of her nieces and nephews perched on a golden Bombay chest. They were obvious indications of how much she loved her family.
Gillian stepped from the bedroom, looking a trifle forlorn as she clutched her suitcase. “I guess I’m ready.”
Crossing the room, Brad reached for her bag. “Do you have everything you need?”
“I think so. It’s weird. I feel like I’m escaping my own home.”
“Then don’t think so much,” he replied, hating to see her so disturbed. “It’s only temporary, Gillian. We’ll catch this guy and you’ll have your apartment back.”
As they walked to the door, she turned and glanced back one more time. “I need to believe that.”
Belief. That was something he had left behind so long ago he could sca
rcely remember the emotion. But he masked the thought, seeing that Gillian needed confirmation. And at least, for tonight, he was going to make sure she had everything she wanted.
GILLIAN FELT BRUISED as she entered Brad’s apartment. It had been such a roller coaster of a day. And she couldn’t imagine what had possessed her to stay at his place.
“Have a seat,” Brad told her, carrying her suitcase off to what she guessed was the bedroom.
Glancing around, she saw that the apartment looked utilitarian. There was little trace of Brad.
“Wine?” Brad asked as he returned.
“That sounds good.”
He flipped on the CD player, filling the room with soothing music, then retrieved a bottle of wine and two glasses.
She sipped the wine, glad for its gradual warming effect. Despite the heat of the summer evening, she’d been unable to shake the chill she’d felt since realizing both her home and private thoughts had been violated. And to know the intruder was toying with her simply compounded that feeling. “It’s warming me up a bit.”
Brad leaned forward. “Are you cold?”
“It’s probably more mental than physical.”
Yet he rose from the couch, adjusting the thermostat. “I’m gone so much I never think to check the temperature.”
“Guess the whole thing creeped me out more than I want to admit.”
“Because you’re smart. We’ve both seen people who blind themselves to the truth, then suffer the consequences.”
She fiddled with her glass. “Do you think he’s been following the investigation?”
“Might fit. The efficiency of the abductions would correlate with a perp who wants to control every aspect of what’s happening, perhaps following what’s been released to the media.”
“I think we should use my apartment as a trap for him.”
Brad frowned. “We could try, but it won’t do much good since he’s on to us. He returned the diary because it put him in the power seat. I’m guessing he did it because he wants to see your reaction, enjoys being the hunter. But we could install hidden video cameras. If he breaks in again, we’ll have him on tape.”
“The FBI has strict guidelines on any type of tapping, including video. It could blow a conviction.”
“I’m not FBI. And I’d rather find Katie Johnson and Tamara Holland alive even if it means a tougher time convicting.”
“Agreed.”
Gillian sipped her wine, then shivered despite her resolve.
“You’re still cold.”
She tried to smile. “Just my bones.” Standing, she sought a way to shake away her disturbing thoughts. “Do you mind if I wander?”
“Not at all. But I’m afraid there’s not much to see.”
He was right. Even when they were married, he hadn’t been one to display family photos. It was as though all those reminders were still too painful to face.
She sighed, again wishing that he’d been able to make peace with his past. Idly, she walked to the window. But she paused before judging the view. Carefully arranged on a slim table were half a dozen pieces of art glass.
Gillian turned to Brad in surprise. “This is the collection you mentioned.”
“Yes.”
She remembered the beautiful glass paperweight he’d given her father. Apparently the collection was something he treasured. Incredibly touched, she reached out to pick up the smallest piece. Although made of glass, it resembled tortoiseshell. The piece was unique, eye-catching, intriguing.
“This is exquisite. Which one did you get first?”
“The one you’re holding.”
So the piece had drawn him instantly, as well. “Any particular reason?”
When he didn’t reply, she pulled her gaze from the paperweight to study his expression. “What?”
He shrugged. “It reminded me of you.”
Stunned and touched, she felt the glass warming in her hand. “Me?” she croaked in a voice unfamiliar to even her.
“Don’t you see it?”
Battling a dozen conflicting emotions, she cleared her throat. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“The dark brown in the pattern is the same shade as your eyes.” He reached out, touching the lighter golden color of the tortoiseshell design. “And this…this made me think of your personality, all sunshine and light.” His fingers strayed over hers as he spoke.
Gillian wanted to give into the awareness that sprang to life at his touch, to bend to the warmth of his embrace. But that would be too temporal, the regret too lasting.
Still, she couldn’t drag her gaze from his. There was so much history between them. Their marriage hadn’t been long, but so much had been packed into that short time. Brad Mitchell was the love of her life, the man who consumed her heart, the man she’d nearly given up her dreams for.
And for that one reason she drew her hand back.
The disappointment on Brad’s face mirrored what she was feeling, but he didn’t try to recapture it.
Instead he retrieved the wine bottle. “Would you like some more wine?”
She nodded, uncertain how steady her voice would be.
He refilled her goblet, then brought it to her. “Will you be all right for a few minutes?”
Although she found her voice, it was strained. “Sure.”
When he left she turned to stare at the beautiful glass. Gillian was amazed that a man who didn’t have any other sentimental token on display had chosen to collect something so symbolic.
For the next several minutes, she sipped a little more wine, but it didn’t relieve the coldness she felt.
When Brad returned, Gillian studied him uncertainly, wishing they could banish the awkwardness.
“Are you still cold?”
She rubbed her elbows. “A little.”
“I think I have a cure. I drew a hot bath for you.”
She blinked, hardly able to believe the words. “What?”
“I thought a hot bath might warm you up, help work out the kinks.”
Incredibly touched, she gripped the stem of her goblet tightly. “That’s so…so sweet.”
His very male face took on a wry grimace. “Not the words we big, brave men live to hear.”
Unexpectedly she smiled. “Darn sweet.”
“Come on, you ungrateful wench, before it cools off.”
She trailed behind him to the bedroom, seeing that her suitcase had been placed on the bed.
He pointed to an open door. “Bathroom’s right there. Take all the time you want. I’ll try to scrounge up something to eat.”
“Maybe our mothers are right—perhaps we can’t feed ourselves yet.”
He pretended mock injury. “At least let me cook it before you insult my food.”
She appreciated his attempt to dissipate some of the tension. “Deal.”
Once he was gone, she retrieved her robe from the suitcase and stepped into the bathroom. Suddenly a hot bath sounded like the most inviting thing in the world. And the luxury of having someone else prepare it seemed wonderfully indulgent.
Stretching out in the tub, Gillian closed her eyes. The water was heavenly. She hadn’t thought she could relax. But Brad was right. The tension in her muscles seeped away in the heat.
Gillian didn’t know how many minutes had passed before she regretfully left the cooling water. Brad had provided fresh, thick towels. Feeling terribly spoiled, she slipped into her gown and robe.
As she entered the living room, Gillian felt unexpectedly shy. Immediately she was struck by the fire Brad had built while she was bathing. Considering it was a typically warm Houston night, it touched her that he would heat the apartment.
He glanced up, seeing her. “Do you feel better after your bath?”
“Incredibly better. You were right. It was just what I needed.”
“That and a light supper.”
“Can I help?”
“The kitchen’s barely big enough for one person.” He gestured to the bar st
ools. The counter had been set with two places. “Have a seat.”
“You know, I could get used to this princess treatment.”
His eyes darkened as their gazes connected.
Realizing it was a thoughtless, loaded comment, Gillian regretted it. “But one night of pampering should last me,” she added, hoping to smooth over her gaffe. The look in his eyes told her she’d just made it worse.
“I don’t have any tea or other hot drink, just coffee.”
“That’s okay.” Wishing she could erase the words, Gillian settled herself on a stool. “I didn’t think I was hungry, but that smells so good I feel my appetite making a comeback.”
“Good.” He reached for a plate, then slid the food from the pan on to it. “I hope you still like jalapeño omelettes.”
“Absolutely.” She tasted the omelette. “It’s delicious.”
“Think our mothers would approve?”
Gillian dangled her bare feet over the cross bars of the stool. “Only if jalapeños count as vegetables.”
He laughed, a deep sound in the otherwise quiet room. Then he filled his own plate and took the stool next to her.
They ate in companionable silence. Gillian hadn’t thought she was hungry, but the familiar food was comfortingly warm and filling.
With her plate nearly empty, Gillian turned to Brad. “I know you don’t want me to say it, but it’s great of you to go to all this trouble. The fire, the bath, dinner. Thank you.”
As he sat next to her, his gaze was even more intense. “You’re welcome.”
She fiddled with the remaining bits of egg, pushing the jalapeños into a line. “You’re sure I’m not in the way?”
Looking genuinely surprised, he glanced over at her. “Of what?”
“Well, you know, your social life.”
His brow wrinkled. “Ah. My social life. I don’t have any pressing engagements.”
The line of peppers became a circle. “I don’t want to get in your way.”
“Tell you what, Gilly Bean. When you’re in the way, I’ll let you know.”
The pet name did more to warm her insides than the fire, bath and dinner combined. “Okay.”
After they’d finished eating, Brad waved away her offer to help clean up, and Gillian strolled to the hearth. Glancing to one side she saw that the flames accentuated his brilliant glass collection. The tortoiseshell piece seemed to glow. Had Brad developed a sentimental streak? It hardly seemed possible, but then everything about the evening seemed improbable.
Vanished (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 9