by Peggy Jaeger
Abby watched her go, then walked over to him.
“Pretty impressive, Counselor.” He reached down and took her briefcase from her hand. “I think the judge is gonna rule in your client’s favor. If it was up to me, I know I would.”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s not up to you, and I’m not so sure he will. If he had been he would have ruled today instead of making us wait another week, which tells me he’s seriously considering Gillespie’s potential job change. If that happens any time before we convene again, it will weigh heavily in his favor and joint custody will be granted.”
While she’d been talking, she’d removed her cell phone from her jacket pocket and begun scrolling through her messages.
“I’ve missed calls from Tony and Verna.” She closed her eyes and murmured, “Mental coin toss. Tony first.”
Rick grinned and listened while she called the detective.
“They found Genocardi’s car?” he asked when she disconnected a few minutes later.
“At the Canadian border. Two state troopers spotted it, empty and abandoned in a Walmart parking lot. They think he’s going to try to cross the border, but he doesn’t have a passport. Michael doesn’t either.”
“You know that for sure?”
“Yes. I made certain of it when Lila first came to me. I was afraid Genocardi would bolt with the boy once he knew about Lila’s plan to leave him.”
“Why?”
She nailed him with a hard glare. “Experience.”
Which told him an awful lot about the clients she represented.
“Lots of ways to cross without papers,” he told her. “He doesn’t necessarily have to enter through Customs.”
“That sounds suspiciously like experience talking.”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist. It’s not,” he added when she frowned at him. “He could know someone who’ll help him gain entry illegally is all I’m saying.”
“Let’s hope not, because if he does, this becomes an international case, and I don’t know how he’ll be caught, then.” She muttered, “What a mess,” before dialing her office. “Hey, Verna. What’s up?”
Rick shifted her briefcase from one hand to the other and glanced around. The long hallway was empty, save for the two of them, so when Abby exclaimed, “What?” the word bounced and echoed off the walls surrounding them.
Instinctively, he shot his hand out to grab her arm.
“When?”
Rick squeezed her arm, took a step closer. She pulled out of his hold and started walking down the hallway.
He followed.
“Oh, my God. Was anyone with him?…Mary. Jesus, Mary? Is she…No…no. I’m heading back to the office now…no. Okay.”
Not much fazed Rick. Not being shot at. Not walking into an ambush. Not even hearing his best friend was going to marry one of the most famous women in the food world. But when Abigail Laine bent at the waist, a strangling sob pushing between her lips, Rick’s heart all but stopped.
Yanking her up, not mindful of being careful with her at all, he demanded, “What happened?”
If the shock of her doubling over wasn’t enough to terrify him, the wave of pain drowning in her eyes was. Her color had gone from a healthy, rosy pink, to ash.
He dropped her briefcase and slipped his arms around her. The staccato tremors wracking her body made him tighten his grip.
“Sweetheart, talk to me. Why are you so upset? Is it Kandy? The baby—” Jesus. He didn’t want to even think about that.
“N-no. No. They’re fine.” The words muffled against his shirt. Rick kept her body against his as he ran one hand gingerly down her trembling back.
“Tell me. Talk to me.”
She sniffed, then shifted away from him a bit. The sight of her lips quivering had him wondering if she was going into shock.
“It’s not Kandy,” she told him, pushing back further from his hold.
Rick wouldn’t let her go. “Tell me.”
“It’s Marty Fields. He’s…he’s dead.”
Okay, not family, but close enough. “How?”
“Verna said he was mugged on his way home last night. Stabbed and…left. Oh, my God!”
Fresh falling snow had more color than her skin. Her eyes rolled, and her hands loosened on his arms. Right before he feared she’d faint, he scooped her up and carried her to a visitor bench stationed against one of the hallway walls.
“Breathe,” he commanded after shoving her onto it and guided her head between her legs. He gripped the back of her neck and held her there as her hair billowed around her face.
“Breathe, sweetheart. Slowly. In. Out. That’s right. Again.”
After a few moments, she pushed against his fingers. “I’m okay.” Her voice, small and weak, sounded anything but.
Rick crouched in front of her and removed his hand. “You sure?”
She rose, slowly, and pushed her hair back from her face. The waxen hue in her cheeks was gradually brightening to pink again. “Yeah. I’m sure.” She dragged in a breath and fluttered her eyes closed. When she opened them again, she peered straight at him. “I’m okay.”
He slipped one of her hands into his. Eyes widening, she glanced down at where he’d twined his fingers with hers and then back up to him. He’d think later about who was more surprised by the gesture.
“Tell me what you know,” he said.
“Marty’s secretary, Ashley, called this morning to ask if I’d heard the news. Verna told her I was in court. Ashley said Marty’d left the office late last night. Apparently, he’s got a big trial coming up soon. He’s been working ridiculous hours prepping.” She pushed an errant swatch of hair behind her ear. “Marty never takes car service. He always made sure we did if we worked past a certain hour, but he never allowed himself the same luxury. He always said riding the subway late at night helped him think. He was standing, waiting for the train when…”
He squeezed her hand and moved closer.
Abby’s voice warbled. “Someone came up to him on the platform. St-stabbed him…and then…ran away.”
Something didn’t sit right with that description. “You said he was mugged?”
“Yes.”
“So the person took his wallet? His personal belongings? Cell phone, whatever?”
She cocked her head and squinted at him. “Verna didn’t say. I assume he was robbed. I mean, why wouldn’t he be? If you’re going to stab him, incapacitate him, why wouldn’t you rob him?”
Rick stayed silent.
Abby stared down at her cell phone. “I can’t believe this happened. We spoke just last month. He called me, heard about one of my cases and wanted to congratulate me on the win. Told me he was…so…proud of me.” She shook her head. “That’s Marty. Always a word of praise for everyone.” She sighed again. “I want to get back to the office. I’ve got a client this afternoon, and I want to call Mary, Marty’s wife. See if I can…do…anything. Help in anyway.”
Rick grabbed her briefcase from where he’d dropped it, then stood. “Come on, then.”
It wasn’t until they reached his car he realized he’d held her hand the entire way from the courthouse to the parking garage.
****
The nagging headache jiggling for birth while in court had blossomed into a conga line complete with bongo drums and a ten piece brass band by the time she arrived back at her office. Two cups of calming tea had done nothing to quell the hammering and she was loathe to take anything medicinal while at work, so she’d let the afternoon pass without garnering relief.
After calling her old office and speaking with the grief-stricken secretary, Abby’d then met with two clients, left a message on Tony Pecorrini’s voicemail, and at the end of the day had trekked back to the hospital to check on Lila. There’d been no apparent change in her status, but the nurse in charge had offered some hope, telling her Lila’s vital signs were improving hourly.
Rick had silently followed behind her, acting as chauffeur and b
riefcase carrier, holding doors and listening when she’d shared memories of working for Marty.
Abby had to admit having him at the courthouse with her had been a godsend. She’d been so overcome by the news, had she been alone she truthfully didn’t know how she’d have handled it. Rick’s calm presence helped ease the emotional bite of the tragic news. Having him with her the rest of the day had proven beneficial as well.
As she was putting her key in the lock, the apartment door next to hers flew open.
“Oh, Abby. Good. I’m glad I caught you.”
Abby smiled, despite the headache pounding behind her eyes. “Hi, Mrs. Carney.”
Her neighbor’s gaze bounced off Rick, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead in a question.
“This is my…friend. Rick.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
Mrs. Carney’s smile was broad and welcoming. “My, aren’t you tall.”
He smiled down at her.
“What’s up?” Abby asked.
“I wanted to tell you Danielle made honor roll.”
“That’s wonderful.” She gave the woman a hug. “Tell her I’m proud of her.”
“Will do. If it wasn’t for all your help, well, I don’t know how to thank you. Dani’s thriving, and she’s been so happy.” The woman’s eyes filled. “I won’t keep you,” she said, dabbing at the corners with a tissue, “but I wanted to make sure you knew.”
“If I can be of any more help, please let me know.”
“Oh, you’ve done so much already, Abby. Truly.”
Abby reached out and squeezed the woman’s hand.
As soon as they were through her door, Rick asked, “What did you do for her?”
Abby bent and picked up a meowing Moonlight. While she walked with her into the kitchen, she said, “Her daughter ran off to Vegas for a weekend that turned into a month and left her twelve-year-old daughter all alone in their apartment, and not for the first time. When Mrs. Carney found out, she asked me how she could petition the courts to gain custody of Danielle. I pointed her in the right direction.” She poured food into a bowl and put it and Moonlight down on the floor.
“And now she lives with Grandma?”
“Yeah.” The headache made itself known, loudly. It burst hot and bright from within her, pushing up from her shoulder blades straight to the top of her head. She had to relent and take something because she knew if she didn’t, her vision would soon start to blur, and she still needed to get some reading done before tomorrow. Plus, she needed to call Mary Fields and offer whatever help she could. And then there was Lila Genocardi and her missing son and husband to think about.
When had her life turned into this stressful jumble?
Abby grabbed the bottle of extra-strength pain reliever she kept in her kitchen junk drawer, shook out three tablets, and swallowed them with a small glass of tap water.
“Head that bad?” Rick asked from behind her.
“I let it go too long.” She rolled her neck, massaged a muscle where it connected with her shoulder. “I should have gotten in front of it right when it started in court. But I don’t like to take anything when I’m working. The pills make me fuzzyheaded.“
Rick reached around her and grabbed the bottle from the counter. “These are plain over-the-counter tablets. I’d think you’d have something stronger, something prescribed, for when the pain gets this bad. I can see the headache all over your face and shoulders. You’re wearing the pain like you’d wear makeup.”
“You can’t know what a boost to my fragile ego having you here is, Bannerman.”
“Your ego is fine,” he said, moving a step closer.
Her kitchen was huge by Manhattan standards. She could have four people stand in it and still have room to cook around them. Not so when Rick was with her. Sure, he was tall, but so were her brothers-in-law. They never made her feel like her personal space was so congested when they were visiting, though.
“Turn around,” he said.
“What?”
“You heard me. Turn around, Abigail.”
“Bossy, much?”
The low, deep rumble of his chuckle sent the tiny hairs on her neck up to attention.
“When I have to be,” he said. “Believe me, for once you’ll be glad you listened.”
“Doubtful,” she murmured. Reluctantly, she presented him with her back.
“Take a breath,” he told her. “A deep one. And hold it for a few seconds.”
She did.
“Now let it out, slowly. Count to five in your head while you do.”
“What is this, Bannerman? Some Vulcan mind-trick cure for a headache? Because if it is, it’s not—oh! Oh…my.” The last word scattered out in one long exhale.
“Told you you’d be glad you listened.”
The pressure of his thumbs on either side of her shoulders, a hair below the collar of her blouse as they kneaded, pressed, and drew little circles around her constricted muscles, shot a wave of intense pleasure straight down the length of her spine.
Abby closed her eyes and sighed. “Oh, good Lord. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”
“Your neck is so tight, I’m surprised your spine doesn’t snap when you walk in those stilts you love so much. It’s a wonder you can move at all with any kind of flexibility.”
“Practice.” She all but purred like her cat when his thumbs sank into her flesh. “And motivation. That feels…amazeballs.”
She swore she could hear his grin. He replaced his thumbs with the pads of his first and second fingers, pressed in deep, released, and then did it again.
“Amazeballs, Abigail? How old are you?”
“Oh! I’ll be any age you want me to be, but don’t stop…please.”
His chuckle turned to a laugh. “I can’t tell you how much I like hearing you beg. Take another deep breath.”
Obediently, since she now knew the benefits of being so, she did. “Oh. My. God.”
He’d wound his long, strong fingers up under her hairline. While he flexed them, massaging every bit of her skull, a thousand jolts of electricity bounded down her back. Her legs turned liquid. She needed to sit down before she fell flat to the floor.
“Stop wiggling. Try to hold still,” he said, dangerously close to her ear. The warmth of his breath as it whispered over her neck delightfully singed her skin. “There’s one pressure point I haven’t gotten to yet.”
“I can’t feel my feet.” Good Lord. Did that moan come from her?
“Good. Then this is working. Give me another minute.”
“You can have all night, Bannerman. As long as you want. Just don’t stop.”
For the briefest of moments, so brief she might have imagined it, he stopped kneading, a swift inhale ringing around her. Then, in a heartbeat, he started his ministrations again. For the first time Abby noticed their bodies were touching, the middle of her back pressed along his torso.
While his fingers skimmed up to her temples, she tilted backward, bumping her head against his chest. He was as solid as a block of concrete.
Rick inhaled a jagged breath when the rest of her body pressed into him.
He had the pads of three fingers against her temples now, the concentric circles he pressed and released over them drawing out little mewing noises from the back of her throat. When his pinkies joined their brothers, all four fingers of each hand now splayed along her skin, feathered into her hairline, Abby rolled her neck back and opened her eyes a fraction. Upside down, she saw the edge of Rick’s jaw, watched—fascinated—as his throat bobbed up and down while he continued attending to her.
“I’m almost done. Hold on for another sec.”
She let her eyes drift closed again. Rick moved his hands so they cupped the back of her neck, then, slowly, he brought her head away from his chest to an upright position, leaving his palms flattened across her shoulder blades.
“Take a breath and lift your shoulders,” he commanded.
&nbs
p; Abby did, then rolled her head front to back.
“How’s the headache now?”
She opened her eyes and blinked. “Gone.” She whirled around to face him. “Completely gone.”
He nodded and flexed his fingers as if working out his own kinks. “Good. I’m glad it worked.”
“Where did you learn how to do that?” She slid a hand along one side of her neck, tilted her head, then moved it in the opposite direction. “I don’t think my shoulders have been this loose since, well, fourth grade.”
“You spend a lot of time hunched over.” He opened her fridge and pulled out two bottled waters. “Computer. Legal briefs. It’s no wonder your shoulders are tight and you’re susceptible to migraines.”
“How did you know I had migraines?” She took a swig of the water. “I mean, as opposed to regular bad headaches?”
“You wear the pain on your face. It’s obvious to anyone who knows what to look for.”
“And you do?”
He nodded. “Drink the whole bottle and then you need to eat. You haven’t had anything all day. It’s a wonder you aren’t dropping.”
He bent and peeked into the refrigerator. Sipping her water, she took the opportunity to stare at his butt.
“What’s this?” he asked, standing upright and holding a filled glass container.
“Vegetable soup. Kandy made a batch the other day. She knows I don’t like to eat too heavy if I’ve been working late.”
“Where are your pots?”
Abby cocked her head. “Why?”
“You’d rather eat cold soup?”
“Eww. No, of course not.”
He started opening the cabinets under the kitchen counter. When he pulled out a pot and lid, he pushed passed her to the stove.
“Go sit down,” he told her. “I’ll bring you a bowl when it’s heated.”
Abby blinked a few times as he ladled the soup into the pot. “Who are you and what have you done with Rick Bannerman, the king of takeout?”
He ignored her.
“Do you even know how to turn the stove on?”
“Yes.” The word practically growled from him. “I’m not completely lame when it comes to food prep. I simply like the convenience of takeout. Now go sit down.”