Behind her Luke changed his voice to smooth-as-silk. “What can I do for you, Ms…?”
His voice drifted off and Abigail couldn’t hear the woman’s reply, but wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t ask him to take her home and have his way with her.
Disgusted, Abigail put her bags in the back seat, taking a moment to look at the scene near the house, her mind taking quick snapshots. There must be five news crews. She looked across the road at the spectators watching the police and reporters. Old and young alike. Had they known Brianna or were they just out to see the macabre sideshow?
With a sigh, she settled in the passenger side to watch Luke’s performance with the lady reporter. After a few minutes they were both laughing, and with his hand on the small of the woman’s back he propelled her toward Brianna’s condo and away from the BMW.
“If we wanted to keep a low profile, we put the wrong person in a disguise,” Abigail muttered.
Five years ago, she’d watched him flirt the same way with every woman in their training class and any female training officer he came into contact with for nearly six months. She had to admit, he hadn’t been the one doing the pursuing. The man seemed to attract women like rednecks to beer.
Everyone but her.
From the moment they’d met they’d managed to act like flint on stone, sparks flying every time they were within ten feet of each other. For some reason he’d decided she had no business training for field work, and she’d been determined to follow her goals no matter how much he’d tried to goad her into quitting.
Out on the lawn, he disengaged himself from the crowd and was sauntering back toward the car. As he moved toward her in the dark, she felt her pulse quicken. No matter how much he irritated her, something about him set her blood to boil. Just being near him heightened her senses. Her skin still tingled where he’d gripped her arm.
She sighed and looked away.
No use wanting what you can’t have, Abigail. You threw yourself at him once and he turned you down. No matter how tempting the man, she wasn’t into humiliation and wouldn’t go there again.
The sisters had been right. She was a plain woman and might as well accept that. No matter what Luke believed, she was as safe as could be. Even in a crowd of two, she was invisible.
Abigail gave herself a mental shake. Enough self-pity. She needed to concentrate on the problem at hand—Brianna was counting on her.
With resolve she shoved images of Luke and memories from the past back into her filing cabinet mind. Then she lay her head back on the seat, closed her eyes, opened another drawer in that mental storage unit and pulled out the first image she’d seen in her friend’s home.
Just like a crime scene photograph she could see every detail in cold clarity. The rust stains on the tile floor had a tread in them. Probably some sort of soft-soled shoe. Which means they carried Brianna out and stepped in her blood. Possibly two of them. Smearing the blood as they walked.
“Is she still alive?”
“Probably.”
Abigail slammed the mental picture of the hallway back into its drawer and sat straight in her seat. She hadn’t realized she’d been talking out loud or that Luke had gotten into the driver’s seat. “Excuse me?”
He turned in his seat, set her friend’s framed picture into her lap and studied her with those hazel-colored eyes of his. “Until we know otherwise, let’s just go with the assumption your friend is still alive, okay sweetheart?”
Surprised by the actual tenderness in his words, Abigail could only nod. He started the car and she swung her gaze out into the night, blinking at the fresh tears stinging at her eyes.
After a few minutes she felt she could speak. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”
He laughed. “That’s my Abby. All guts and spirit.”
“I’m not your Abby, or anything else for that matter. Just get me to a hotel, and I’ll take care of myself.”
“You’re doing a great job so far,” he muttered as he turned onto the main thoroughfare.
Abigail ignored the sarcasm in his voice and stared out into the dark night.
She already knew his opinion of her. He didn’t think she could do this job, that she belonged behind a desk far away. Well, that was too damn bad. He could stick his opinion in his…tailpipe. Brianna didn’t call him, she’d called her. Short of the second coming, nothing and no one was keeping her from helping her friend—especially not Luke Edgars.
They traveled in silence until they came to The Compton Inn—a modest, three-story hotel just a few miles from Brianna’s home. The whole area retained an upscale appearance.
Luke pulled into the eave-covered entrance. Abigail waited until he’d put the car in park before hopping out, still hugging Brianna’s picture to her chest. Luke lazily exited the driver’s side then came around to get her bags from the backseat.
She claimed them from him, pulling her laptop carrier onto her shoulder, then held out her hand. “Thank you. I appreciate the lift.”
He shook her hand, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half grin, as if he thought her words amusing. “No problem.”
Hefting her overnight bag, Abigail turned and marched through the lobby’s front sliding glass doors to the reservation desk. “I’d like a room.”
The gangly African-American man, probably a grad student working the night shift, tugged at his grey vest and started clicking the keys to his computer terminal. “And how long will you be staying with us, ma’am?”
“A week.”
“Make it two rooms,” came the all-too-familiar sound of Luke’s voice from behind her.
She glared over her shoulder at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you. Getting a room.”
“Why don’t you go home?”
“That would be a bit inconvenient, since the three-hour commute from Columbus is a real killer.”
The desk clerk snickered.
Abigail swung her glare at him a moment. “I’d like a room before breakfast, if possible.”
The kid swallowed his grin and once more fixed his eyes on the computer screen.
“Make it two rooms, with connecting doors, and I’ll throw in a twenty dollar tip.” Luke set down his own travel bag, pulled out his wallet and handed the kid the bribe.
The desk clerk smiled, took the money and typed faster.
Abigail counted to ten again before speaking. “I do not want a connecting room with you. I don’t want to even be in the same hotel.”
“Too bad, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me until you decide to give up this crazy idea of yours and head home.” He reached over and stroked her cheek with his knuckles, holding her gaze with his for a moment.
Lost in the heat of his nearness, Abigail’s pulse jumped. Then she realized what he was doing. He was intentionally giving the impression they were a couple having a spat, instead of working colleagues—a very loosely fitting term for their relationship.
She tried to kill him with her stare. “I’m not going back until I’ve finished my job.”
“Fine. And I’ll be at your side the entire way.” He pulled out a credit card, flipped it to the desk clerk. “Two rooms, connecting doors, put them both on this card, and list them only in my name.”
Abigail set down her bags and reached for her own wallet. “I’ll pay for my own room, thank you.”
Luke gripped her arm while her hand remained inside the big black bag, and dragged her out of hearing distance of their audience. Moving closer until barely any space existed between them, he fixed her with a commanding stare of his own and lowered his voice to a tight whisper. “You want to stay, then you stay. But we play by my rules. I want your name so far off the radar you’ll look like a stealth bomber. Got it?”
Abigail nodded.
“Good girl,” he said, then winked at her and returned to the registration desk.
Oh, she so wanted to take him down a few pegs. However, the kid behind the desk now watched them with complet
e fascination. If she made any more of a scene, he’d tell everyone he knew. Seeing as how she also wanted to stay, as Luke put it, off the radar, she’d let the arrogant lout have his way—for now.
* * * * *
“Home, sweet home,” Luke muttered as he set his overnight bag on the bed closest to the door, looking around at the standard two double beds, cheap veneer desk, semi-comfortable chair, television and DVD set-up of his hotel room. The same room, complete with English fox-hunt picture, could be found in countless hotels across the North American continent. He should know. In the past few years he’d seen more than his fair share in one way or another.
His stomach rumbled. He glanced at the clock. Almost midnight. Too late to order pizza, and he was too damn tired to drive out and go get a burger. They’d passed a pancake house on the way to the hotel. Now he wished they’d stopped to eat before getting rooms.
No use thinking about it after the fact. At the time all he’d wanted to do was get Abby away from the crime scene and into a safe place for the night. Somehow, he needed to convince her to let him and the local police take over the investigation. It was only a matter of time before someone leaked the information that her friend had contacted Abby before she’d been abducted.
He kicked off his shoes and walked to the window.
Abducted. Like hell.
To keep her thinking on the positive side, he’d told Abby they’d work as if her friend were still alive, but they both could read the evidence. Given that much blood loss, if her friend wasn’t dead already, she probably wouldn’t last out the night.
With a frustrated groan he pushed himself away from the window and strode over to the connecting door. Dammit, he couldn’t send Abby away. There was only one person who had any useful knowledge as to what happened to Brianna Mathews and she sat in the other room.
He opened his door, and knocked on Abby’s side.
No answer.
Why wasn’t she answering?
He pounded on the door.
Still no answer.
Panic rising inside him, he raised his fist to really pound on the damn door. Suddenly it opened.
“What?” She stood there, her hair hanging wet about her face, dressed in a T-shirt that gave just the impression of her breasts and a pair of flannel pajama shorts. Her long, shapely legs seemed to go on forever. Her feet were bare and her toenails were a shiny, deep crimson.
He swallowed hard. He couldn’t help it. She looked—sexy. Sad and cute, but sexy nonetheless.
“Why were you pounding on the door?” She gazed at him with a curious look in her eyes.
Struggling to keep his mind off her long legs, he cleared his throat. “You didn’t answer when I knocked.”
“I was in the shower. Did you want something?”
Yes, those legs wrapped around my hips. He shook off the image of a wet, naked Abby in his arms and focused on the question. What had he wanted?
“I wanted to ask you some questions about your friend.” He pushed his way into her room and sat on the edge of the nearest bed. When she walked past him, her breasts bounced slightly beneath the T-shirt. He nearly groaned.
“Ask away. I don’t know what I can tell you that will help.” She sat on the other bed, drawing her legs up and wrapping her arms around them. “Before yesterday, we hadn’t talked in nearly six months.”
“What did she do at Hollister-Klein?”
“She was the assistant to the Chief Financial Officer.”
“So she was a secretary.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “No. She handled accounting duties same as the other members of her department. I already told you that. And since I work for the Treasury Department, I assumed her phone call had something to do with some sort of government fraud.”
“What do you know about Hollister-Klein?” He loved the game of twenty questions. You discovered the most interesting details when you played it—like how Abby curled her toes when she was thinking.
“Just that they’re a major importer and exporter and have defense contracts to move equipment throughout the world.”
Standard public information anyone could glean from the news or internet. He reached for the television remote, tracing his fingers over the keys. “And your friend gave you no hint what the irregularities she found might pertain to?”
“She told me something didn’t add up on a new project she was working on.” Abby yawned.
“I don’t suppose I could talk you into going home and letting me handle this?”
She shook her head. “No. Brianna called me. She and I have known each other since the day she came to the orphanage. I want to help her.”
“You were in an orphanage?” He couldn’t hide his surprise. He’d never thought of Abby’s past, but he’d assumed it was like his—mother, father, siblings.
“My mother died when I was three and I went to live at the Sisters of the Sacred Heart orphanage. Brianna came along about a year later, and we became friends. Even after she’d been adopted a few years later, she always wrote me.”
“I thought you said she was your college roommate.”
“We stayed in touch all through school. When it was time to go to college, we planned it together and ended up at MIT, me on scholarship, her on her adoptive parents’ Money. Brianna is the nearest thing I have to a sister.” Tears formed in Abby’s eyes, and she blinked hard at them. “So, no. I’m not going home until I find her or find out what happened to her.”
Uncomfortable with her pain, Luke pushed himself off the bed. “Then get some sleep. We’ll start searching for answers in the morning.”
He stopped at the connecting door. “Leave this open. Just in case.”
“I’m a big girl, Luke. I don’t need the door open just to feel safe.”
He grinned at her. “Maybe it will make me feel safer.”
* * * * *
The two men relaxed in leather chairs opposite each other across the polished mahogany desk in the century-old library. They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their cognac. Smoke rings from their cigars wafted above their heads, filling the room with a spicy Indonesian aroma. The firelight in the river-stone fireplace flickered off the dark panels of the walls.
“Did she tell you where it was?” The gray-haired man asked.
“No. I’m afraid our men were a little too enthusiastic in their efforts.” The younger man took a sip from his crystal snifter. “All she mumbled before passing out was something about it being with an Abby.”
He pulled out his phone and played the recording he’d made of her interrogation.
“Tell us what you did with it, bitch.”
Smack.
“I don’t know what you want.”
“The flash drive. We know you made one.”
Smack. Thud. Crack.
“Uhm,” she moaned.
“That’s when they broke her nose,” Dylan interpreted the sound before her moans started.
“Tell us and we’ll stop. Don’t and I can do this all night.”
“Sister Compassionatta,” she whispered.
“A Sister? You left it with a nun?”
Another thud as fist met flesh. More cracks as they’d broken her cheek and eye socket.
“Abby, Sister.”
Then nothing as she’d passed out.
“An Abbey.” The first man swirled the golden liquid in his snifter and studied the fire for a moment. “Did she go near a church after she left the office?”
The other man shook his head then ran his fingers through his dark hair. “We tailed her from the minute she left the building until she got to her condo. She made two stops along the way, the dry cleaners and the grocers, then home.”
“See if there are any Catholic churches near those businesses she might’ve dropped the information off at when we weren’t looking.” The older man held up his hand to stave off any protest and fixed his lieutenant with a cold stare. “Have them check out the businesses, too. This time, insist
they leave no trace we’ve been there. Her disappearance in tomorrow’s news will be bad enough.”
The younger man swallowed hard, but didn’t let his gaze drop. He’d gotten this far by being cool in a crisis and thinking ahead. “Once I realized she didn’t have the item with her, I sent someone to watch the condo to see if anyone had arrived to contact her.”
“And was there?”
“They reported the police and news crews were already there, but I’ve instructed to continue their surveillance until further notice.”
“Good.”
“And the woman? She is quite a beauty.”
“When she ceases to be of use to us, make her disappear in whatever manner you see fit.”
CHAPTER THREE
A light snoring came from the other room.
Abigail lay in her bed, curled on her side, her heart pounding in her ears as she waited in the dark to be sure the snoring continued. For the past half hour she’d resisted turning on the light. She could hardly breathe in a dark room, much less sleep, but she’d never give Luke the satisfaction of knowing how scared she was of the dark.
What kind of field agent would she make if every time she needed to work in the dark she had to spend half the time fighting off panic attacks?
If Luke knew that information, he’d have her on the first plane back to Washington.
She sighed, then strained to listen to the sounds from the other room. The snoring sounded steady.
Thank goodness. Her hands shook as she clicked on her light and took a deep breath.
Great. It would be hours before she calmed down enough to sleep. Might as well get some work done.
She retrieved her laptop from the desk then scooted back under her covers to stay warm in the cold, drafty room. Sitting with her back against the headboard, she bent her knees and used them as a prop for her laptop. Before she started, she listened once more for sounds from Luke’s room.
Still snoring.
Some bodyguard. If someone slipped into the room, he’d never hear it.
Then her gaze drifted to the hallway door. A chill ran over her skin. She reached beneath her pillow and pulled her service weapon out from where she’d hid it for the night and set it next to her right hip.
VANISHED, A Romantic Suspense Novel (Edgars Family Novel) Page 3