by Mary Birk
“Later.” Rafe got up. “I’ll get dressed. You’ll take me in?”
“I will.”
*****
Reid recounted the details of Rafe Kensington’s arrest as Anne dressed, taking clothes from her closet in their new room.
“What a sad story.”
“Indeed.”
“Do you really think we should still go to Peter and Claudia’s? After what happened last night?”
“I do.”
“I liked Rodney.”
“As did I.”
“I don’t feel like going out.”
“You’ll feel better once you’re there, and I think it will be good for Meg to get out.”
“Terrence?”
“Yes?”
She leaned over to put on her shoes. “Did you talk to Andrew?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“We’ve come to an understanding.”
She didn’t look at him. “Can you tell me what it is?”
“I told him as you’re my wife and we’re together, I’d appreciate it if he didn’t try to contact you behind my back. I also told him I understood his wanting to be friends with you, but I doubted that just your friendship would ever be enough for him, and that it makes me uncomfortable to have a man who’s in love with my wife spending time with her. Consequently, it probably would be a good idea if he were to try to resign himself to that, so we can all go on with our lives. We talked about some other things as well, but that was the gist of it.”
Reid watched as she absorbed what he’d said. He felt his stomach tighten when moments passed without her saying anything. He knew they’d never be able to get their marriage back on track with Andrew Grainger hovering over Anne.
When several minutes went by and Anne still didn’t speak, he went over to her. He took her face in his hands, eased it back, and kissed her. “Do you have any problem with anything I said to him, lassie?”
“I guess not.” He heard the hesitancy in her voice, but in the tradition of cowardly men through the ages, he decided not to probe any further. Some things were better left unsaid.
“Then let’s go to Mass. Afterward, we’ll drop by the MacTavishes.”
“Okay. But let’s not stay long.” She put her arms around him and he pulled her close.
“Agreed.”
“I just couldn’t let him kill you, Terrence.”
He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the sweet, clean fragrance. “Thank you, lassie.”
The female Golden Eagle, he remembered, was much more ferocious than the male. And he expected the male Golden Eagles were as grateful as he was.
JANUARY 3, SUNDAY
Chapter 71
ANNE’S HEAD snapped up from her design for the perennial garden when Terrence strode into the kitchen.
“We’ve got him, girl.”
“Von Zandt?” She swirled her stool around from the kitchen island in order to see him better.
“Indeed, or at least we have the arrest warrant.”
“For the money laundering?”
“Not that, yet, but we’ve got him solid on the hedge fund fraud. MacTavish came through with enough information to get us started, and things just fell together. The German officials have agreed to pick him up for us as soon as they can. His accounts and properties are being seized even as we speak—here and internationally, as well. And with the accounts, we’ll get him on the money laundering and terrorism charges, or Harry’s hair’s not flaming ginger.” He picked her up from her stool and swung her around, kissing her.
She laughed. “Happy New Year.”
“Happy New Year to you, my brilliant and beautiful wife. This calls for a celebration. What would you like to do?”
She slanted her eyes at him. “What do you think?”
He kissed her neck, patted her bottom. “Not yet. How about if we bundle up the boy when he wakes up and I’ll take you to an early dinner?”
“Let’s stay home and watch a movie and eat popcorn.”
“Sounds good. We’ll order dinner in.”
“Don’t you like my cooking?”
“I’m not sure. Every time you’re going to cook for me, something disastrous happens and I never get to try it.”
“That’s not true. I made spaghetti last spring and nothing disastrous happened.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Well, not right away. And you did get to eat it.”
“It was delicious.”
“Tonight I’ll make spaghetti again and nothing disastrous will happen. Oh, I forgot to tell you, Meg called.”
“She arrived home safely?”
“Yes, and she’ll have my things from the condo shipped here. I wish she hadn’t had to leave so soon.”
“She needs to move on with her own life.”
“I guess so, but I’ll miss her. I have a lot of things to do myself. I have to find a housekeeper in the next few days, before Mrs. Paulson comes to train her. I’m not sure where to start with that. Do you think there’s time for an advertisement in the paper or should I just go to an agency?”
He put his arms around her. “I hope you don’t mind, love, but I already took care of that. We have a housekeeper starting tomorrow.”
She felt relieved, but thought she should protest. “Honestly, Terrence. That was my job. I was going to work on that next. I’ve just been busy.”
“I know, my love. But I wanted us to get someone with particular qualifications, so I decided it might be best if I handled it.”
She made a face. “You have a preference in housekeepers? You better not have gotten one that’s beautiful.”
“That would be for you to say. I think I can safely say there is no danger of me being attracted to this candidate.”
She narrowed her eyes. “How old?”
“Thirty, I’d say?”
“Fat?”
“No. Top form.”
“That’s not making me feel very good. You may think you’re immune, but she may not be. I don’t want the housekeeper falling in love with you.”
“He won’t. I’m sure of that.”
The laugh rushed out of her. “A man? For a housekeeper?”
“He’s been trained in bodyguard protection, kidnap prevention, and he has experience running a household. Besides that, he can cook.”
“Oh.” She put a finger to her lips, pretending to think. “Maybe I’ll fall in love with him.”
Terrence furrowed his eyebrows. “You will not. I’m all you can handle.”
She sighed, feigning exhaustion. “That’s true. You do keep me busy. When do I meet him?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“What is Mrs. P going to say?” She collapsed into giggles at the thought.
“I thought I’d tell her you chose him. Seems safest. Americans are known for having strange ideas.”
“You will not.”
“It was worth a try.”
“Don’t get any ideas about picking the nanny.”
He put his hands up in surrender. “I promise you can pick the nanny.”
“I’m holding you to that.” She frowned. “Have you seen the newspaper this morning? I’ve been waiting for it all morning. Usually it’s here by now.”
Terrence mumbled something she couldn’t understand.
“What?”
“There was nothing in it so I binned it.”
She pulled away from him, shaking her head all the way to the recycle bin neatly concealed behind a cupboard door. “You’re really something, Terrence. You’re just going to have to get used to living with someone else who might just possibly want to make her own decision on that. I like reading the newspaper. Besides, I need it to check for nanny advertisements.”
He stopped her hand just as she reached in to retrieve the newspaper. “You don’t want to take things out of the rubbish bin. It’s not sanitary.”
“Sanitary?” She didn’t even try to hide her exasperation. “Don’t be ridicu
lous. It’s the recycle bin.”
He kept her hand in his, stopping her from reaching the paper. “You don’t need to bother with that. Let’s use an agency. Why don’t you give Claudia a call, see who she uses?”
“Cut it out. I want to look at the newspaper.” She enunciated her words clearly and slowly, trying to let him know in no uncertain terms that he’d crossed the line with her. “You are not in charge of picking the nanny, I am. And if I want to look in the paper, I will.” She pulled her hand out of his and snatched up the newspaper.
“Anne.” There was something in his voice that made her stop. Studying his face, she felt dread pool in her stomach.
“There’s something in here you don’t want me to see, isn’t there?” When he didn’t say anything, she took the paper over to the kitchen island and sat down. Spreading the paper out, she saw immediately what he hadn’t wanted her to read.
“Damn it all to hell. Not again.” That the press wouldn’t put what had happened together with what happened last year in California had been too much to hope for. She’d been avoiding watching the television, and had assumed the papers would have been finished reporting on the incident by yesterday, forgetting that all over the world the Sunday newspaper was where stories got the biggest play. Anne calculated their story filled almost two full pages of today’s paper, starting with Lenore Grainger’s kidnapping and ending with her killing Rodney Greene. “I’m a magnet for trouble.”
“Don’t think that way.” He sat down on one of the chairs across from her and took her hand. “This was in no way your fault.”
“Maybe not, but here we are again. Is this going to hurt you at work?” Had they ever had a policeman with a wife who got this much attention from the press, she wondered.
“Not at all. You did what you had to do.” He went around to where she sat, pulled her up and into his arms. “You saved my life.”
“Maybe. He was a lousy shot.”
Terrence laughed. “No one’s a lousy shot at that close of range.”
“It’s like a photo history of my disastrous life.”
“At least you photograph well. You are very pretty, Anne.”
“I can’t believe you can joke about this. It’s just brought everything up again. And now they have a picture of Andrew’s painting.” She slid a glance up at him, trying to ascertain his reaction.
“It’s a great painting.”
“You’ve seen it?
“I looked it up online.”
“When?”
“When we were at Dunbaryn.”
“Making sure I had clothes on?”
“I knew you had clothes on. You told me. I was making sure you had enough clothes on.” He pressed his lips to her neck.
“I can’t believe you’re taking this so lightly.” She arched back so he could kiss more of her neck. He started moving his hand over her shirt. Anne closed her eyes and let herself feel every bit of his touch. God, when was that doctor appointment? Thursday? Maybe she could get in earlier. “Terrence, about the painting—why I let him paint me.”
“Yes?”
“I told Andrew I would sit for it if the proceeds went to the foundation he set up in Lenore’s memory. I still feel so guilty about the alarm not being set because I was there that night.”
Her husband’s mouth went up to her ear. His voice was gruff but tender. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Still, it’s hard to live with, especially when we’ve been so blessed to have Michael. I still cry about Lenore. I wish you had known her. She was such a wonderful little girl.”
“She must have been.”
Her tears came softly and wet both her cheeks and his. “I’m so sorry about the publicity, Terrence.”
“Don’t even think about it. Compared to what we’ve been through, this is nothing, and none of this was your fault.” His hands started up underneath her shirt, and she knew he was trying to distract her.
“Easy for you to talk. The stories about you are great. You look like a saint.”
He laughed gently. “And you look like an angel. A sweet protecting angel.” He reached her bra and unhooked it, continuing his exploration. His hands kept moving and she put her arms around him and laid her head on his chest.
“You’re driving me crazy.” Anne slid her hands down, unfastened the fly of his jeans, and slipped her fingers inside. What could a few days hurt?
Then she heard the baby cry. She blew out a breath in frustration. “That child has no mercy and no sense of romance.” She closed her eyes. “Will you get him, please? I don’t think I can move. I may stay right here until Thursday when you can finish what you’ve started.”
Her husband laughed. “I’ll get the little tyrant.” He kissed her on the mouth then started to straighten up. He paused. “But you’ll have to let me go, my love.”
She eased her hands away. “I’m so tired of waiting.”
“You’re on my dance card as soon as the doctor says you can. Bloody hell, you are now and forever, my entire dance card.” He pulled her to him, kissing her once more before he headed for the stairs, refastening his jeans and whistling as he went.
*****
Anne glanced down at the newspaper still lying on the counter, took a deep breath, and started to read the story’s details. She needed to know exactly what had been written. She knew the reporter, Carolyn Caspary, was one of Terrence’s resources, someone he worked with when he needed press cooperation, so hopefully the reporter hadn’t been too harsh on them.
At the end of the article, she caught her breath—then read the lines again.
“The portrait of Lady Anne has been donated to the Scottish National Gallery of Art by Lord Reid. Reports are Lord Reid purchased the portrait upon an agreement with the artist that the proceeds go in Lady Anne’s name to the Lenore Grainger Foundation, which was created in memory of Andrew Grainger’s young daughter who was murdered last year.
Lord Reid was quoted as saying, “Our hearts, our love, and our prayers will forever be with him and his beloved daughter, Lenore. Heaven is blessed with her presence, but Earth and all of those who loved her, are saddened by her loss.”
Anne began to cry with wrenching, unrelenting waves of tears. Her husband, returning downstairs, placed their child in her arms, encircled her with his own arms. He held her until her tears stopped, and she felt the deep ache of grief and guilt begin to ease.
He held her to him tightly. “Call him, Anne. Just don’t leave me for him.”
THE END
About the Author
Mary Birk lives in Colorado. Before embarking on writing fiction, she authored the Colorado Pretrial Handbook, published in 2008, and reissued in 2011 by Bradford Publishing Co.
This is the third book in the Terrence Reid/Anne Michaels series. The second book in the Terrence Reid/Anne Michaels series, The First Cut, won the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Colorado Gold Award in the mystery/suspense category in 2014. The first book in the Terrence Reid/Anne Michaels series, Mermaids of Bodega Bay, was a finalist for the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers Colorado Gold award in 2013, and was named a SELF-e Top Book of the Year for 2016 by Library Journal.
Mary Birk on Social Media:
http://marybirk.com
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Terrence Reid Series
Mermaids of Bodega Bay, Book 1 of the Terrence Reid Mystery Series
**LIBRARY JOURNAL BEST BOOK OF 2016 SELF-e SELECTION**
Suspecting that his estranged wife is having an affair with a famous artist from a renowned American art dynasty, Scottish Police Superintendent Terrence Reid, heir to a whiskey fortune and Scottish title, travels to the small California seaside town of Bodega Bay to try to win her back—only to discover that her lover’s six-year-old daughter has just been kidnapped.
Anne, a talented historic garden designer, doesn’t know whether to bless or curse the luck that had he
r husband show up on her doorstep just as disaster strikes the Grainger Art Colony. Moving on after he left her was hard, but she’d done it with Andrew Grainger’s help. When Anne and her lover become the FBI’s chief suspects, Reid, compelled to exonerate the woman he still loves, steps in to investigate—and in the process, uncovers a shocking web of deceit and danger.
The First Cut, Book 2 of the Terrence Reid Mystery Series
**RMFW COLORADO 2014 GOLD WINNER – MYSTERY **
Cover Design by: JT Lindroos
Scottish Police Superintendent Terrence Reid’s race to derail the money pipeline fueling a string of deadly terrorist attacks suffers a devastating setback when his informant is brutally murdered. Reid’s chief suspect, a ruthless financier, always seems to be one step ahead of him. After one of his men is murdered, Reid suspects he’s got a traitor in own camp. When Reid’s beautiful young wife becomes deeply embroiled in the investigation, things get dangerously personal.
Less Than A Treason, Book 3 of the Terrence Reid Mystery Series
Cover Design by: JT Lindroos
Cover Photos by: citizenthom and Tony Hisgett
Reid tears himself away from a murder investigation in Glasgow to return to his family’s ancestral home in the Highlands for a Christmas house party. Dunbaryn Castle is all decked out for Christmas, but in spite of the elegant trappings, ominous elements vibrate below the house party’s surface. When the murder investigation Reid thought he left behind in Glasgow follows him to the Highlands and a murderer strikes again, this time close to home, his holiday gets cut short. Drawn deep into a labyrinth of family scandals and greed, Reid is forced to confront shattering secrets better left buried.
Coming Soon:
“Most Gracious Advocate,” Book 4 of the Terrence Reid Mystery Series will be available in the winter of 2017.