"So would I," Rachel said.
Abby pressed her lips together in a tight line. "I don't think—"
"Come on, Abby." Rachel nudged her with her toes. "It couldn't hurt. Ethan can sleep in the guest room." She gave him a winning smile. "I'll make blueberry waffles in the morning."
"Why would I turn down an offer like that?"
Abby felt herself losing control of the situation. She made one more play for the upper hand. "If you have to catch an early flight in the morning, don't you have to go back to your hotel and check out?"
"I think we should talk about that." His voice held a hint of steely determination she knew spelled trouble. "If I'm going back to San Francisco tomorrow, then I want you to consider coming with me."
Abby's mouth dropped open. Rachel sat up on the couch with a cry of delight. "Oh, wow! Could we?"
Ethan nodded. "Considering what happened tonight, I think it's an excellent idea."
Abby shook her head. "I can't. You know I can't."
He glanced at the window. "Abby, I know you're not going to like this, but I don't think this is the last you'll hear from this guy."
"It's impossible," Abby insisted.
"Why?" Rachel asked. She was already firmly on his side. "I only have two weeks of school left. And I finished exams. It's no big deal if I skip."
Abby sighed in frustration. "It's not just school, Rach."
"I can reschedule my lesson with Monsieur Billaud."
"There are other considerations." Considerations like the time Abby needed to figure out what to do about the playing card in that envelope. And the time she needed to sort out the facts. And because she couldn't imagine herself running off to California with Ethan Maddux. "There's everything going on at the office right now. I have the fund-raiser—"
Ethan cut in smoothly. "I'll give you an office to work out of."
She gritted her teeth. "And my files? My staff?"
"We've got teleconferencing capabilities. And I'll provide you with an assistant."
Abby pressed her fingers to her temples. "What about Deirdre?"
Rachel groaned. "Now there’s an incentive to get out of town."
Ethan chuckled. "She's got a point, Abby."
Abby set her mug down on the table. "We're not going," she declared with careful precision. "I'm not running away." She couldn't possibly hope to make him understand this—not without telling him things she wasn't ready to reveal. She looked at her sister. "I think you should go to bed, Rachel. It's late, and we aren't going to settle this tonight."
Rachel frowned. "Why can't I—"
"I don't want to talk about it now."
Rachel glared at her and surged to her feet. "Like always, you mean. When do you ever want to talk about anything I want?"
Abby recoiled. "Don't talk to me like that."
"Why not? You're not my mother, you know."
The charge cut deep. Abby nodded. "I know."
"You can't run my life forever."
"I can right now," she shot back.
"Oh!" Rachel slammed her mug down on the table. "I'm not a baby!"
"Then stop acting like one."
Her sister rolled her eyes. "Oh, just forget it. Like I have any say in anything anyway." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked at Ethan. "Thanks for coming over."
He nodded. "Of course."
Abby was already regretting losing her temper. "Rachel, I didn't mean—"
"Yeah. Whatever." She stalked toward the stairs. When she was out of earshot, Abby winced and looked at Ethan. "Sorry for the scene."
"Are you kidding?" he asked, his eyes devilish. "I'm related to the Montgomerys. I live for scenes."
She shook her head. "I'm sure this is more than you bargained for."
He reached across the table and took her hand in both of his. "In more ways than you can imagine." Stroking her wrist where the sleeve of her robe ended, he added, "Are you going to tell me now what all this is about?"
"Am I allowed to say no?"
"I could torture it out of you."
She searched his features. "Would you?" she asked quietly.
"Are you ready to tell me?"
Abby shivered. "It's not that I'm not ready. It's—I can't."
"I'm going to find out, Abby."
"Can't you just give me a little time?"
"I could, but I'm not going to leave you here alone if you're in trouble."
"We're not," she assured him.
"How can you know that?"
"There was a reason that man left that playing card," she admitted. "But he didn't do it to scare us. He did it to warn us."
Ethan rose from his chair and moved the short distance between them. When he cupped her face in both his hands, the warmth of his fingers sent goose bumps skittering along her skin. His eyes showed a host of conflicting emotions, and she sensed the struggle in him to keep them in check.
"Abby." He kissed her gently, then pulled her to her feet so he could embrace her. "Whatever is going on…" He touched her temple with his lips. "You can trust me. I swear you can trust me."
Did he know how desperately she wanted to? Could he imagine what it had been like to carry these secrets for the past ten years and have no one to share them with? For a few moments she fought a silent war with herself. Ethan placed one hand at the small of her back, his warmth radiating up her spine. He cupped the back of her head with his other hand and lifted her chin so he could meet her gaze.
He let her look into his eyes for long, silent seconds. It was a shockingly intimate sensation. With her body nestled against his, and his gaze open and revealing, she felt simultaneously protected and exposed. "Ethan—"
"Not now," he whispered as he lowered his head. "When you're ready." He covered her lips in a kiss rife with meaning and intent. As his mouth glided over hers, Abby sensed that the emotion she'd seen shimmering just beneath his surface had poured out and rushed into her. This was not a practiced seduction or even a moment of sexual hunger; this was a demand to be heeded and answered. Fervor was spiking inside him, and she could almost feel the internal battle he waged. For reasons she didn't fully understand, he kept that side of himself rigidly controlled. The calm, implacable façade he showed the world was stripped away in the heat of his kiss. In its place was a breathtaking fervor, and in the tremors of his hands, the depth of his kiss, the sheer intensity of the moment, she could feel him wrestling with it, struggling to tame it.
The realization surprised her, as did the knowledge that she felt in the middle of the storm. With a flash of insight, Abby understood that Ethan needed to feel safe there too. The boy who'd lost his mother and struggled with a bitter and distant father needed to know that intense emotion didn't pave the way to his destruction—it alone could set him free. Abby wrapped her hand around his nape and pressed him closer. She could show him that.
Ethan groaned low in his throat and toppled them onto the couch. "Abby…" He tore his mouth from hers and glided it along the curve of her jaw. "God, Abby."
She stroked the back of his head, gasping slightly when he nipped her earlobe. She had to stop him soon, her brain warned. Soon, or she wouldn't be able to. Ethan's hand slid inside her robe to caress her through the navy satin of her nightgown. A shudder raced through him when his fingers found the hammering pulse in the hollow of her throat.
Abby summoned the shreds of her willpower and covered his hand with her own. "Rachel," she whispered.
He stilled. His head dropped to the curve of her neck and he sucked in great breaths of air. Every one of her senses seemed to be on fire. She could feel each individual silken hair on his head splayed against the flesh of her shoulder. She heard the clock on the mantel ticking, and smelled the uniquely masculine combination of shampoo and soap.
He placed a soft kiss on her throat. "Sorry," he muttered.
"Don't be."
Ethan raised his head. The stark emotion was gone from his gaze. In its place was a chiding humor. "I should
n't have started something I can't finish." He swept her hair back from her face. "You'll think I'm a tease."
That made her laugh. "I'm sure all the girls say that about you."
A sensuous smile curved his lips. "Actually, I've been told that I'm quite good at fulfilling."
A spark of heat ricocheted off her nerve endings. "I can imagine."
He nuzzled her nose. "You won't have to much longer, Abby." He gave her another brief kiss, then sat up straight. He pulled her up with him. "Now, where can I find a pillow and a blanket? We both need some rest."
"You don't have to stay the night."
His frown was censorious. "No arguments, Abby. You couldn't throw me out of here if you tried."
"But your flight—"
"I own the plane, and the pilot's on my payroll. He's not going to take off without me, I assure you."
Abby hesitated for a moment longer. Ethan squeezed her shoulder. "Humor me," he urged her. "I'd never sleep if I had to go back to my hotel."
"Me either," she admitted.
"How are you doing today, Carter?" Abby asked Colonel Jameson the following afternoon. With the Memorial Day event behind them, Abby had stopped for a follow-up meeting with the center's administrator. Carter's eyes looked a little brighter than usual, she observed with envy. She imagined she looked like a wrung-out dishrag.
He reached for her hand. "I'm doing fine," he said with almost uncharacteristic energy. "What about you?"
"Good." Abby gave him a bright smile and took the seat next to him. Unable to sleep even after Ethan had settled in the guest room, she'd spent the small hours of the morning reviewing the events of the night.
The jack of spades in that envelope had continued to taunt her long after the dark shadows had passed. Someone knew something that had never been revealed about her parents' murder. She'd never doubted that. Because Jack Lee's poker buddies had routinely called him Jack Spades, her father's restaurant had been cluttered with the playing-card motif. Friends had frequently given him things that featured his signature playing card in the design.
It had seemed odd to no one, then, that a jack of spades was found near Jack's body when he died. It could easily have been knocked off the wall, or dropped when the thief made his escape. No one, that is, except Abby. Though the police had eventually decided that her parents had been victims of a random robbery gone horribly wrong, Abby knew better. She'd tried to persuade the police, but the colder the trail had gotten, the less success she'd had.
But someone had left the jack of spades at the scene of the crime for a reason. Someone knew the truth. And, for reasons she couldn't begin to understand, was warning her now not to pursue it. Abby shook off the grim thought and concentrated on Carter. "Something going on I should know about, Colonel? You've got that twinkle in your eye that says you're up to no good."
His expression was pure mischief. She couldn't remember ever seeing him look so animated. "I'm up to something, all right," he confessed. "But there's plenty of good in it."
General Standen spotted them from across the room and waved at Abby with his cane. He made his way toward them with a steady gait and, she noted, a slightly taller posture. Was it her imagination, or was there a renewed energy about the place today? Maybe Rachel's cookies were having some miraculous medicinal effect.
"Abigail," he said. "Good to see you, darling."
"You too, General. What's the news?"
He chuckled and placed both hands on his cane. Leaning toward her, he said, "Well, nothing mobilizes a bunch of old soldiers like a new mission."
"A new mission?" She saw the glances that passed between the general and Carter. "Somebody want to tell me what's going on around here?"
"Can't say right now," Carter answered. "We've got orders."
"Orders?"
The general nodded. "Just something we're looking into. Nothing for you to worry about."
Abby raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"
"Yep," he assured her. "And you couldn't beat it out of us anyway."
"If you say so."
Carter squeezed her hand. "You look a little tired today, Abby. You been sleeping all right?"
Abby managed a slight laugh. "Now, Carter, since when did you start interrogating me? It's usually the other way around."
"I was just wondering if something, or someone, was maybe keeping you up late." His expression turned knowing.
"Are you trying to pry into my personal life?"
General Standen sat on the opposite side of her. " 'Course we are. What else do you think we do for fun around here?"
"Checkers gets old," Carter told her.
"And we got to sneak around to play poker," the general added.
"So we mostly just fight over who's going to ask you out," Carter said.
The general snorted. "Only we can't go out—so we just fight over it."
Abby held up her hands with a chuckle. "All right, all right. I surrender. I don't know what's gotten into the two of you, but I'm no match for it."
"Then you'll tell us all about this Ethan fellow?" Carter asked. "We got bets riding on how long you're going to string him along."
"I'm not stringing him along."
"Abigail," Carter said patiently, "one thing men our age know a lot about is the wiles of women."
"I don't have wiles."
"Hah." He folded his hands over his chest. "All women have wiles. Isn't that right, General?"
John Standen nodded. "Definitely right."
"And all women know how to use 'em," Carter continued. "Whether they admit it or not." His eyes twinkled. "Are you chasing this fellow or is he chasing you?"
The general grunted. "Now come on, Carter. What kind of question is that? You and I both know that man is footing it after Abby."
"That's what my money's on," Carter assured her.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," she said dryly.
"But what I want to know is," he continued, undaunted, "when are you going to let him catch you?"
"I'd like to know when he plans to get his hair cut," General Standen added.
Carter pinned her with a shrewd look. "And when's he coming back to Chicago?"
"Do you think I need a haircut?" Ethan asked Jack Iverson. He was in his San Francisco office, awaiting a phone call from Hansen Wells, the man he'd asked Jack to find and who he hoped could give him some crucial information about Jack Lee. He'd come straight to the office from the airport and had just finished changing his shirt when he asked Edna to summon Jack. Ethan was standing in the private bathroom off his office suite, tying his tie.
Jack was seated across from Ethan's desk. "I'm not in the habit of studying your hair," he pointed out.
Ethan frowned at his reflection. The dark waves had started to look shaggy. He'd forgotten that during the two years he'd dated Pamela, she'd taken care of things like his personal appointments. He cinched the knot to his throat, then joined Jack in the office. "Who's your barber?" he asked him as he sat at his desk.
Jack's eyebrows rose. "I have a stylist," he replied. "It's considered more chic."
Ethan snorted and hit a button on his telephone. "I want a haircut, not a lifestyle."
"Yes?" Edna's voice came through the intercom.
"Edna, can you make me an appointment to get my hair cut this afternoon?"
"Sure. Any particular place?"
Ethan thought about the glass-and-neon shop Pamela had frequented and dismissed it. "Where does your husband get his hair cut?" he asked his secretary.
"Joe's Barber Shop on Geary. I don't think it's your kind of place."
"It's fine. See if they can take me at three."
"Ethan"—her tone was pure amusement— "Joe's Barber Shop doesn't make appointments. It's a first-come, first-served type of place."
"Does Joe do shaves too?"
"Yes. That takes longer."
His gaze flicked to the calendar open on his computer screen. "Fine. Have a car ready for me at two-thirty. I'll go ov
er there and wait."
"If you say so."
He punched the button to end the call. Jack was watching him curiously. "You're acting weird," he announced.
Ethan shrugged. "Didn't get much sleep over the weekend."
"Really? Anything to do with Abby Lee?"
That made Ethan frown. "Not the way you think." He took out a piece of paper from his briefcase and handed it to Jack. It was the e-mail he'd received that morning from Charlie Blevins about his investigation of Abby Lee. "Tell me what you make of this."
Jack glanced at the address line on the e-mail. "You're having her investigated?"
"No. I'm having the situation investigated. I'm starting to believe that Harrison knows something about Jack Lee's murder."
Jack scanned the contents of the report. "He can't find anything other than birth records for Abby or her sister prior to the murder?"
"That's what he says."
"Didn't her father run a successful business in the downtown area?"
"A restaurant."
"Hmm." Jack continued to read. "Must have been fairly fanatical about his privacy. No Chamber of Commerce memberships, civic organizations. Nothing." He tapped the report with his finger. "The police determined that the murder was a random robbery."
"Yes."
"But you don't think so?"
"I'm not sure."
"What do you think Harrison knows about it?"
"I'm not sure about that either, but I find it odd that Charlie interviewed half a dozen people who supposedly knew the Lees very well and none of them remember him having daughters."
"What do you make of that?"
"I'm wondering if they knew the Lees at all, or if someone had an interest in creating a new circle of friends for Abby's parents after the murder."
Jack set the e-mail message aside and frowned at Ethan. "Who'd possibly have the motivation to do something like that?"
"Someone who wanted to keep anyone who knew a lot about Jack Lee and his past from talking to the police—or to anyone else."
"You think Lee was hiding something?"
"I think when a man runs a public business and has no public life, there's a reason." Ethan reached for a file folder, sifted the contents, and produced another piece of paper for Jack. "Look at this."
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