She swallowed, swiped at the tears that coursed down her cheeks. "I should have listened to her."
"What happened?" he asked, gently brushing her hair away from her face.
"He got served with the order, and he went ballistic." She shook her head. "Denise called me, the night they were killed. He was at the house, banging on the door, yelling and swearing at her. She called me—not the police—me. I don't know what she thought I could do. I'm just a lawyer, for christ's sake. But she trusted me, because I'd told her that a damn piece of paper could protect her and her child. And I was wrong."
She grabbed a tissue to wipe her nose. "Brian must have unlocked the door while she was still on the phone with me. Because the next thing I heard was a gunshot." She squeezed her eyes shut, and he knew she was reliving it again. "Then I heard Brian crying, and another gunshot. Then another. Then silence.
"He killed them," Arden said. "He shot his wife and his child, then he turned the gun on himself."
"It wasn't your fault," Shaun said.
"Wasn't it?"
"Of course not. How can you take this upon yourself?"
"Somebody has to be held responsible for what happened."
"How about the man who pulled the trigger?" he suggested.
She shrugged, and he knew that no matter what he said, she would always carry the guilt with her. He couldn't imagine the horror of what she'd gone through, listening to the sound of gunshots over the phone while some psycho executed his wife and child. Unable to do anything to help.
No wonder she'd fallen apart the day of the funeral. He couldn't believe she'd managed to hold it together as long as she had, and that she'd recovered as well as she had. He wished he could have been there for her, was determined to be there for her now.
"There was nothing you could have done," he said gently.
She nodded. "That doesn't make it any easier to accept."
He knew she was right, and he didn't know what else he could say or do to ease her mind. So he kissed her softly.
"Make love to me, Shaun. Help me to forget for a little while."
He couldn't refuse her request. He didn't want to.
He knew she wanted to lose herself in passion, that she was looking for an outlet for her frustration. He was determined to give her that, and so much more. He was going to make her forget the nightmares, and he was going to make her realize that she could count on him.
Always.
* * *
When three weeks passed without another letter, Arden began to allow herself to hope that her anonymous pen pal had given up. She knew that Lieutenant Creighton believed there was a connection between the fire in her apartment and the letters, but the police had no evidence to support his theory and no suspects in either case. If it was the letter writer who had torched her building, maybe that destruction had satisfied his thirst for vengeance. She still didn't know why he was seeking revenge, but she was willing to believe that his personal vendetta may have been satisfied.
When Marcy paged Arden at the courthouse just before the start of a trial Wednesday morning, she was convinced otherwise.
"A bomb?" she repeated Marcy's words into the phone, certain she must have misunderstood.
"I came in early and found the alarm had been disconnected. I called the police right away," Marcy explained. "They found the bomb."
Arden slumped against the wall and closed her eyes, wondering what was the purpose in having an alarm system if it could be so easily circumvented. "What kind of a bomb?"
"A homemade explosive device on a timer. It was in a box on your desk."
"Are the police still there?"
"Yeah. They brought the dogs in to sniff around, to make sure they haven't missed anything. And Lieutenant Creighton wants to see you."
"Now?" She glanced at her watch. Court was scheduled to start in ten minutes.
"Now," Marcy confirmed.
Arden hung up the phone and went to adjourn her trial.
As she walked back to the office, she thought that her day couldn't possibly get any worse. She should have known better.
By the time she arrived on the scene, the local media were there. She cursed under her breath. If this incident made the news, she'd have no choice but to tell Nikki about the threats.
"Ms. Doherty," a reporter shoved a microphone in Arden's face as she tried to sidestep the cameras. "Is it true that this is the second attempt on your life within the past two weeks?"
"I hardly think this could be considered an attempt on my life when I wasn't even here," Arden said evenly.
"Are you denying that there have been threats made against you?"
"No comment." She forced a smile and pushed her way through the throng of people and into her office.
Arden called Nikki as soon as she was finished with Lieutenant Creighton. After she'd spent the better part of half an hour trying to alleviate her cousin's fears, she phoned Shaun's office. She knew he'd be annoyed if he heard the news from anyone else. But he wasn't in his office, and he hadn't returned her call by the time she was ready to leave for the day.
* * *
"I saw you on the news," Shaun said when he got home from work later.
"My two minutes of fame," Arden said dryly, as she continued sprinkling breadcrumbs over the top of something that looked like a casserole. It was, he remembered, her night to cook, but that usually meant some kind of takeout. She shoved the casserole pan into the oven, then turned to face him. "They have a suspect in custody."
He knew that, too. "Simon Granger. An out-of-towner with a criminal record for two previous arsons and a reputation as a torch for hire. Do you know him?"
Arden shook her head. "The police don't believe he's responsible for the letters. It's more likely he was hired by whoever is, and they're hoping they can get that information from him."
"I don't think they'll get very far."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because he started shouting for his lawyer as soon as they arrested him."
Arden shrugged. "That doesn't surprise me."
"Yeah, well, this might," he warned.
"What?" she asked warily.
"When they asked who his lawyer was, he named me."
"What … why?"
"I don't know."
She backed away from him, her eyes clouded with confusion. "He asked for you by name?"
"Yes."
"How does he know you?"
"He doesn't." Shaun raked his hands through his hair. "I think he was given my name by whoever hired him, to cast suspicion in my direction."
Arden didn't respond. She only continued to stare at him, wide-eyed and wary.
"And it worked, didn't it?"
"I don't know."
It was an effort to remain calm. He shouldn't blame her for being suspicious of everyone and everything after all that had happened over the past several weeks, but he couldn't help feeling disappointed that she didn't trust him. "What possible reason would I have for tormenting you like this?"
"I don't know," she said again. "I can't think of a reason for anyone to be doing this."
"But you believe I could be responsible?"
"No." She looked away again, shrugged. "Maybe."
Her lack of faith in him, in their relationship, combined with his own frustration at the situation, were too much. "Dammit, Arden." He slammed his fist down on the counter.
She flinched as if he'd struck her, and all trace of color drained from her cheeks.
Her reaction only infuriated him more. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh. "Don't look at me like you think I'm capable of something like this."
"I've seen too much of what I didn't want to believe someone was capable of," she told him, her voice trembling slightly.
"You know me, Arden."
"All I know is that someone started a fire in my apartment, and you're the only person besides myself who had a key."
He dropped his hands. "
1 never asked for the damn key."
"But you took it."
"Because I wanted to get your bookshelves done and you were never there."
She shrugged.
"Don't you know I'd die before I'd hurt you, Arden?" He softened his tone, pleading with her for faith and understanding.
"I don't know anything anymore," she said miserably.
* * *
Arden slept alone that night.
She hadn't really expected that he'd join her in the bed they'd shared every night for the past couple of weeks. After their confrontation in the kitchen, he seemed intent on avoiding her for the rest of the evening. Not that she could blame him. She'd been wrong to doubt him, and her mistrust had hurt him.
Lying alone in the big empty bed, she realized that she'd baited him. She'd practically dared him to fight back, to lash out at her. But he hadn't. He'd been upset and hurt and angry, but he hadn't taken his frustration out on her. He hadn't hit her.
She hadn't consciously been testing him; it was more that she'd been testing herself. She knew only too well how the cycle of violence perpetuated itself, and she'd been so afraid that she wouldn't break free from that cycle. Her stepfather had had a quick temper, quicker fists. Shaun might be quick to anger, but he wouldn't hurt her. She knew that now.
Relief washed over her, followed quickly by a wave of guilt. She'd pushed him, provoked him, then turned away from him. She was surprised he hadn't walked out on her. She certainly wouldn't have blamed him if he had.
Had she wanted him to walk out? Had she hoped he'd abandon her—as her father had done, as Brad had done? It would have proven she had reason to distrust him. It would have justified her desire to maintain an emotional distance.
But he hadn't walked out; he hadn't abandoned her. And she realized that maybe he was different. Maybe she could trust him to stand by her.
She found him in his den the next morning, looking as miserable and exhausted as she felt.
"What do you want, Arden?"
She stepped farther into the room. "I wanted to—" she cleared her throat "—to apologize."
"For what?"
"The things I said last night."
He shrugged as if it didn't matter. But she knew that it did.
"I am sorry," she said. "I know you aren't responsible for any of what's happened."
He looked at her now, really looked at her for the first time since she'd stepped into the room. "Do you?"
"Yes."
He hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
"Okay?" She chewed on her bottom lip, wondering why, if it was okay, he still hadn't made a move toward her.
Finally he pushed away from his desk and stood up. He held out his arms, and she went into them. She laid her head against his chest, took comfort in the strong and steady beat of his heart, in the warm strength of his arms around her.
"Why don't we go away for a while?" he suggested.
"Why?"
"To give the police a chance to find this guy."
She pulled out of his arms, wishing they could have had more of a reprieve before the next round of battle. "I have obligations, Shaun. I can't just take off."
"You won't be any good to your clients if you're dead," he said bluntly.
She swallowed. "Are you trying to scare me?"
"You should be scared. Someone's trying to kill you."
"You don't know that for sure."
"Why else would someone plant a bomb in your office?"
"I don't know." And it was that not knowing that terrified her. "Maybe there's some kind of evidence in my office that they wanted to destroy."
"If he got into your office to plant the bomb, why not just take the evidence?"
She shook her head. "I don't know," she said again.
"You might be willing to take chances with your life, but I'm not."
"If I run away, I let him win."
Shaun sighed. "Did you know that they released Granger?"
She hadn't known, and the revelation hit her like a sucker punch to the gut. She took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. "You—" she swallowed "—you got him bail?"
"Christ, Arden. Do you really think I'd represent the man who's accused of planting a bomb in your office and who may be responsible for burning down your apartment?" He shook his head before she could respond. "Forget it. I don't want you to answer that. No, I didn't get him bail. Blake released him."
"Why?"
"The only evidence they had was that of an old man who saw the suspect vehicle parked outside your office at four o'clock in the morning. They wanted him to come in to pick Granger out of a lineup, but they can't find him."
"The witness?"
Shaun nodded grimly. "Without him, the prosecution's whole case falls apart. There are no prints on the box with the bomb, none in your office, none in the vehicle—which was apparently stolen from somewhere in Arizona three days earlier."
Arizona. Arden shook off the feeling of unease. It could only be a coincidence. Nothing more. She had enough problems in her present without worrying about ghosts from her past.
"Blake wouldn't tell me anything else," he continued, "but I spoke briefly to Creighton and he said that they're continuing to investigate. If they manage to find the witness, or any new evidence, they'll bring Granger back in and refile charges."
In the meantime Arden somehow had to get through day after day never knowing when or where her stalker might strike again. And he would strike again. She couldn't say how she knew for sure, but she did. He was still out there, waiting for the right moment. She shuddered.
Shaun wrapped his arms around her, dropped a kiss on the top of her forehead. "I got a preliminary report from Logan yesterday."
"A report on what?"
"Blake."
"Warren?"
"Yes, Warren."
She pulled out of his arms, stunned. "You had an assistant district attorney investigated?"
Shaun shrugged. "I simply asked Logan to look into his background."
"Why?"
"Because I don't trust him."
"You don't like him," Arden corrected.
"That, too," he agreed. "But I wouldn't have had him checked out without reason."
"And your reason is?"
"Did he ever tell you that he was married?" Shaun asked.
Arden frowned. "No."
"It seems he hasn't told anyone about his ill-fated marriage."
"It's not a crime to be divorced," Arden said.
"He's not divorced. He's widowed."
"Is that why you had him investigated?" This wasn't making any sense to her.
"Greg Madison," Shaun named his law partner, "was at Blake's wedding about six years ago."
Arden waited, with what she thought of as infinite patience, for Shaun to get to the point.
"He married a woman by the name of Angela Edwards, right here in Fairweather.
"Greg and Angela had been good friends in high school, and they kept in touch after graduation. Even when Angela moved out to California to study art at Berkeley."
"What happened to her?" Arden asked.
"She was killed in a motor vehicle accident a couple of years ago."
"Maybe Warren doesn't talk about it because he's still mourning her."
"It's not just that he never mentioned having been married, but that he never mentioned any connection to Fairweather. That's something that should have come up in conversation.
"And," Shaun continued, "Greg told me that Angela contacted him just a few months before she died, wanting a recommendation for a divorce attorney in California."
Arden rubbed at her temple. "What are you suggesting now—that Blake had his wife killed?"
"It might have been an unfortunate accident," Shaun agreed. "But the affidavit she filed with the court when she petitioned to end her marriage included allegations of abuse."
"Allegations," she repeated.
"Come on, Arden. You've dedicated your life to working with ab
used women. Have you ever had a client who lied about being battered?"
"No," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean it couldn't happen."
"Why are you defending him?"
"I'm not defending him. But even if he abused his wife—and that's still just an 'if'—I still don't understand why you felt it necessary to dig into his background."
"I think Blake could be connected to the threats you've been getting."
"That's ridiculous."
"Why are you so unwilling to consider the possibility that he might be responsible for the letters when last night you practically accused me of being your stalker?"
"I apologized for last night," she reminded him. "I wasn't thinking clearly."
"But you're thinking clearly now," Shaun countered, "and you need to consider all possibilities."
"What possible motive could he have for wanting to harm me?"
"You're a powerful voice for abused women. A threat to the men who hurt them."
"Warren Blake lived in California until a few months ago. Even if his wife grew up in Pennsylvania, I never met her."
But she could tell by the determined expression on Shaun's face that he wasn't prepared to let go of his theory.
"You're grasping at straws," she said gently.
He sighed. "Maybe I am. Because at this point it's all we've got."
She shook her head, frustrated that he was right, terrified to think of what other straws he might find to grasp at. "I want you to call off the investigation. Please. Let the police handle it."
"I can't." He was adamant.
She was frantic. "Why not?"
"Because I love you."
* * *
Chapter 15
« ^ »
It wasn't the way Shaun had planned to tell her. When he finally got around to saying the words he'd carried for so long in his heart, he'd thought there would be candlelight and soft music. He hadn't expected to blurt them out in a moment of frustration. But he had, and now Arden just stared at him, pale and stunned.
"Okay," he said, trying to lighten the moment, hoping to ease the tight band around his heart. "I guess you weren't quite ready to hear that, but it's true. It's how I feel, Arden."
"We—" she cleared her throat, wrapped her arms around herself "—we haven't even been dating two months."
"I didn't realize there was a term requirement on falling in love," he said dryly.
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