Then he grabbed a jacket from the closet in the hall, pulled it on and shoved the flashlight into one of the pockets. He stepped outside. Moments later, spotlights blazed around the house’s perimeter, and shortly after that, he came back inside, chuckling.
He set the gun and flashlight on the end table in the great room. “Grab your jacket and put something on your feet. You need to see this.”
“What’s out there?”
“Bears. Two of them. I guess hibernation’s over. They’re in the pavilion, knocking the grill around and licking up syrup spills.”
Sending him a wary look, Abbie took her jacket from the entryway closet and wiggled into her sneakers. “Okay, but I’m not leaving your porch.”
“Chicken.”
“And not ashamed of it. How did they find it so fast?”
He tapped his nose, then opened the door for her. “Black bears have an amazing sense of smell.”
They were amazing, period, Abbie decided, smiling as Jace turned off the spotlights close to the house, and let those near the pavilion burn. The bears couldn’t have cared less. As she and Jace stood watching from the far end of his porch, the furry interlopers continued to lick and bang around on the grates, hoping to find more sweets.
“I haven’t seen anything like this in a long time,” she murmured. A breeze kicked up, and she pulled the sides of her jacket together. “One spring when I was little my mom and I picked wild strawberries—you know, for shortcake and homemade jam.”
“No, I don’t know. But go on.”
No matter how casually he’d said the words, Abbie sensed his underlying hurt, and once again she felt a stab of remorse for the child he’d been. “When we were finished cleaning the berries, we tossed the leaves and stems into the wastebasket, but of course, they ended up in the trash can outside.”
“And the bears did, too,” Jace guessed.
“Did they ever. I was scared, my mom was thrilled and my dad was furious because they made such a mess.”
After pausing for a moment, she glanced over her shoulder at Jace and spoke hesitantly. “I guess there was no homemade jam or strawberry shortcake at your house.”
He slipped his arms around her to shelter her from the wind. Or maybe…maybe he just needed to hold someone. His low voice burred near her ear. “Nope. Not until Ty and I moved in with the Parrishes. Jillie wasn’t much for cooking. She could handle the easy stuff—macaroni and cheese, hot dogs, French fries in the oven—basically, anything we could make ourselves, and generally did. But the closest we got to homemade strawberry shortcake was store-brand jelly on our toast.”
Abbie squeezed his big hands. “I’m sorry.”
He squeezed hers back. “No need to be sorry. I didn’t tell you that because I was looking for sympathy. It’s just the way it was.”
“Even so, it had to be hard, living that way.”
“Not as hard as it was not living that way.”
A lump rose in her throat. He couldn’t say the words, but his meaning was clear. He’d loved and missed his mother. That was something the two of them had in common. But unlike Jace, she’d been born to money and their cupboards had always been filled with good things to eat. She turned in the circle of his arms. “Jace, I wish…” She faltered. “I wish your life had been different.”
Shrugging, he met her gaze in the white moonlight. “So do I, but who knows? Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Everything in life shapes us. You had a controlling father, and that made you work hard for your independence. In my case, Jillie—and a couple of other people—gave me the incentive I needed to get where I am today. Now I can buy as much homemade strawberry shortcake as I want.”
Once again, he’d spoken carelessly, but thinking of him buying homemade things—and knowing she and her father were the other people he referred to—tightened her throat even more. No matter how many times she apologized, nothing would heal the soul-deep cuts of that night.
Easing up on tiptoe, she kissed him softly. It was remorse for something she couldn’t fix, but it was also a plea to forgive and move on.
“I don’t want your pity,” he said.
“It wasn’t pity.”
He searched her eyes. “Then why?”
“Because you showed me the bears,” she whispered. “And because you’re a good man, and I wanted to kiss you.”
He didn’t nod. He didn’t smile. He didn’t even tighten his arms around her. He merely lowered his head, gently kissed her back, and Abbie felt a chunk of her heart tear away.
They stood there for a time when it ended, feeling the March air cool their lips and ruffle their hair, last night’s memories curling in their bellies and imaginations. Then Jace’s gaze dropped to her mouth again.
Somewhere far away a voice whispered that this was another mistake Abbie would regret. But it drifted off like morning fog the second his lips found hers again.
Chapter 9
Jace unzipped her jacket and smoothed his hands down her sides, then moved lower to find the hem of her dorm shirt. Slipping beneath it, he gently cupped her bottom and coaxed her to him.
Then soft gray cotton stoked silk and lace until the thudding between them became too much, and with enormous difficulty, Abbie broke from the kiss. They were headed for trouble again. What was it about this man that made her forget every promise she’d made to herself?
Exhaling, Jace touched his forehead to hers. “Maybe coming out here wasn’t such a good idea.”
“Maybe not,” she repeated. But that hadn’t made it any easier to stop when all she’d wanted was to keep feeling, keep tasting. How naive they’d been to think they could settle for only one bite of the apple.
A crash, bang and ting of metal shocked the night’s stillness.
Springing apart, they looked toward the pavilion as the bears ran from the heavy grates and the toppled concrete blocks. A shower of sparks burst from the few remaining coals as the second grate fell.
Exhaling, Jace brought his gaze back to her. “I think that was a sign.” With obvious reluctance, he pulled her jacket closed, then sent her a bleak look and nodded toward the front door. “We’d better get some sleep. It’s late, and I have to be at the mill early tomorrow.”
Abbie nodded, grateful for bears—and Jace’s good sense.
Last night she’d said she didn’t want to be a convenience. Tonight, she’d nearly offered herself to him on his front porch.
She was dead to the world the next morning when Jace called her name from the doorway. It took her several blinks to see that he was dressed and ready for work.
Pulling herself up on her elbows, she spoke groggily. “What time is it?”
He smiled. “Daytime. Stay here and get some sleep. I’ll lock up and call you later.”
She didn’t have the strength to argue. Between the syrup-licking bears they’d watched from the porch, and the thoughts she hadn’t been able to ignore when they’d returned to their own beds, she couldn’t have had more than a few hours’ sleep. “Have a good morning.”
“You, too.”
The next sound she heard was his car starting.
Sighing, Abbie eased back on her pillow and brushed her hair from her eyes.
It would be so easy to fall for him again. And not just because her blood caught fire whenever he got within twenty feet of her. He was everything Collin hadn’t been.
Jace was kinder, more attuned to people’s needs. Collin would’ve made her feel guilty for sleeping in. And when it came to lending a hand or throwing money at a problem, Collin would always choose the latter.
He certainly wouldn’t have given up a half hour’s sleep to watch foraging bears lick syrup off a grill grate. No, Collin’s joy came from sampling a good bottle of wine or going to a Los Angeles Lakers game. The things Jace cared about were simpler, more solid, more straightforward.
Better.
Just after midnight, Danny flicked on the light and carried his things inside the small motel room, then toss
ed everything on the red plaid bedspread and locked the door. He was bleary-eyed and dizzy after driving for so many hours, but he’d had to put some distance between him and the dead girls in Springfield and St. Louis. St. Louis had been a near-masterpiece, even though the bartender at the roadhouse almost caught him when he stepped into the alley to throw out some trash. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard that door open.
Danny paused uncertainly for a moment, his mind suddenly fuzzy on the event. Then he remembered the roaring in his ears. That’s why he hadn’t heard the guy. Funny. Since Springfield, the noise had gotten a lot louder.
Calculating the hours between Eastern Standard and Pacific Time, he flopped down on the bed beside his duffel, bag of snack food and the open Pennsylvania map. Then he pulled his track phone from his pocket. He was beat, but he had to talk to Eddie—make sure the druggie was still wearing that red baseball cap and showing up at Danny’s apartment. Make sure he got the hundred bucks Danny’d put in the mail a few days ago.
Three minutes later, Danny was in a rage listening to Eddie’s rat-faced girlfriend Leticia sobbing out a story Danny didn’t want to hear.
“He got some bad stuff,” she wailed. “He got this money in the mail, and he wanted to celebrate last night, but I didn’t want to on account of I had to work at the Cheese Barn, and he just…died.” She sobbed again, then sniffed and said, “Who is this, anyway?”
Danny cut the connection. He got up and paced, felt sweat bead his upper lip and worry make it hard to breathe. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. But…maybe it would be okay. He still had Donnie helping him fool the cops into believing he was in L.A.
Quickly tapping in a second number, he sank back down on the bed and listened as a different track phone rang, this one in Donnie Fieldhouser’s third-floor walk-up. Donnie wouldn’t be gone after ten o’clock L.A. time on a Thursday night—or any other night, for that matter. Donnie was a loner.
Not many of the employees at the market where they’d worked had bothered with the big awkward kid, but Danny had always liked him. Donnie was one of the innocents. He was slow, but he was bright enough to live on his own and pack groceries without crushing the bread. He’d also been the only one who’d spoken to Danny after the trial when he’d come in to pick up his last paycheck—and his lousy pink slip. Despite his acquittal, Old Man Gannon had decided Danny wasn’t good for business.
On the fifth ring, Donnie picked up the phone Danny had given him. “Hello,” he mumbled sleepily, “this is Donald Fieldhouser speaking.”
Danny felt a softening in his chest. “Hey, Dastardly Don, how’re they hangin’?”
Donnie’s embarrassed laughter carried across the miles. “Izzat you, Danny?”
“You know it. It’s Dandy Dan, the shorter half of the Dandy Dan and Dastardly Don Super Stud Lady Killer Society. Who else calls you on this phone?”
Donnie seemed to grow uneasy—didn’t laugh the way he usually did when Danny talked about their “secret club.”
“Hey, Danny,” he said morosely, “that don’t seem funny anymore, you know, because of Maryanne.”
Danny was instantly and sincerely apologetic. “You’re right, big guy. We should change the name of our club.”
“I think we should, too, Danny. Maybe we could call ourselves the—”
“But right now,” Danny cut in, “I need to ask you something. Did you do what I told you to do in the letter I sent?”
Excitement returned to his voice. “Yeah, I did, Danny.”
“Good. Tell me exactly what you did.”
“I took the hundred dollar bill to Mazie at the store and told her I needed a hundred dollars worth of quarters for the arcade, just like you said. Then she called the manager, and Mr. Gannon sneered at me and said, ‘Donnie, where would you get a hundred dollar bill?’ And I said, ‘Danny gave it to me for the arcade because we’re friends.’”
“Great.” Danny’s pulse quickened. “Now think hard. Did you say I gave it to you or I sent it to you?”
“I said gave, just like you told me. And when Mr. Gannon asked me where I was when you gave me the money, I told him I couldn’t remember—someplace near my house. Then he called the cops, just like you said, and they asked me the same thing. But I told them I couldn’t remember, too. Did I do good, Danny? Did I help you?”
“You sure did, buddy. Thank you.”
“When are you really going to come and see me, Danny?”
“Soon, Donnie. As soon as I clear my name. Some people still think I hurt Maryanne.”
“Yeah, I know,” he replied sadly. He switched gears suddenly. “I still got the card in the plastic bag.”
Danny exhaled a soft breath. “Good, because that’s the other reason I called. I want you to mail it tonight. After everybody has gone to sleep, I want you to sneak out of your apartment and walk as far as you can, then put the card in a mailbox, okay? But don’t touch it. Just shake it out of the plastic bag into the box. You know that Miss Winslow is a lawyer, right? And all the lawyers in the country have their mail checked for fingerprints every day—even their junk mail. It’s a big law.”
“It is?”
“Yeah, and I don’t want Miss Winslow to think you sent her the surprise birthday card. I just want her to know it came from me, and how grateful I am because she got me off.”
“Okay, Danny, I’ll do it tonight.”
“Super.” Danny smiled, feeling better, his gaze straying outside his window where the distant light from the Bradford Airport swiped the night sky. “So, did you blow them away at the arcade, buddy? Did you show ’em who the king was?”
“Not so much,” Donnie mumbled. “But I still got thirty dollars left.”
“That’s okay,” Danny returned. “If you promise to keep being my friend and not tell anybody about the card, I’ll send you some more money in a little while. Remember what I always used to tell you?”
“Practice makes perfect?”
“You bet.” Danny felt his blood warm, felt it swell as he stroked the chains he wore beneath his hoodie, cupped the bumpy trophies taped to his chest. “The more we practice…the better we get at what we do.” Dragging the map onto his lap, he located the tiny blue letters that spelled out Laurel Ridge, then twisted his fingernail into the paper until he’d bored a hole through it. “You take care, buddy. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Danny set the map and phone aside, then slowly eased back on a pillow, feeling his dizziness return. He heard that roaring again—distant this time, but Danny knew it was practicing for the big event.
He’d stay here a day or two—had to stay, in fact. He needed time for the card to be delivered and handed over to the police, then time for them to convince her she was safe. After that…justice. Last night he’d visited another Internet coffee shop and checked out her hometown newspaper again. She was alone in the house. Her rich daddy was on his honeymoon cruise.
Suddenly Danny gritted his teeth in anger, felt the fire of righteousness flame in his belly. He would get her! He would get her good for betraying him!
But for now… He felt himself fade as his mood swung the other way again and his eyes drifted closed. For now, he needed to sleep.
On Saturday afternoon, Jace was in his carpentry shop working off some tension after walking in on Abbie’s Pilates session when he noticed the red light above his cordless wall phone flashing. Shutting off the noisy router and removing his ear protection, he dusted his hands on his jeans and walked to the still-ringing phone. The light stopped blinking when he picked up the handset. “This is Jace.”
The voice on the line was older, male and a little hesitant. “My name is Stuart McMillain, and I’m trying to reach Abbie Winslow. Perhaps I’ve misdialed.”
Surprised that she’d given her boss his number, Jace replied, “No, this is the right number. She’s in the house. I’ll get her for you.”
“Thank you, but apparently she’s indisposed because she didn’t answer her cell phone. I’ll just le
ave a message for her, Mister…?”
“Rogan. I’m a friend.”
“Good. She can use a few of those. Please ask her to phone me when she has a moment. I’ll be at my home.”
Jace couldn’t help himself. He was concerned and he wanted to know what was going on. “Mr. McMillain, I know all about her trouble in L.A. Is there anything you can tell me?”
When he hesitated, Jace pushed harder. “Look, if she’s staying here, she obviously trusts me. Now, if you have information I need to keep her safe, you need to tell me that right now.”
A smile crept into the older man’s voice. “Are you a tough guy, Mr. Rogan?”
“When I need to be. What’s going on?”
When Jace walked into Abbie’s quarters a few minutes later, she was still wearing black spandex tights and a long pink tied-at-the-hip tank top. But instead of doing those slow bends and stretches that had driven him out of the house twenty minutes ago, she was doing some sort of…weird martial arts exercises? Short wisps of hair fuzzed around her face and headset, and exertion had her classic features damp and glowing.
He sighed, seeing the TV tuned to the All News channel again, and realized what had sparked the new exercises. He waved a hand to get her attention. She was upset again.
With an embarrassed look, Abbie slipped off her headset, the springy plastic band circling her neck and trapping her long auburn ponytail. The pumping beat coming from the black foam earpieces ceased when she turned off the tiny CD player clipped to her waistband.
“What’s with the kung fu moves?”
She averted her gaze. “There’ve been more murders. Missouri this time. And it’s not kung fu. They’re self-defense moves I saw in a Sandra Bullock film once. I thought I’d give them a try.” Briefly, her gaze slid to the TV set, then back to him. “Apparently, if a mugger approaches from behind, the best thing to do is elbow him in solar plexus, stamp on his instep, smash his nose with the heel of your hand and jam a knee into his groin.”
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