Danger in a Red Dress

by Christina Dodd

  Roberto looked behind them. “You lost them. People certainly stare in this town, don’t they?”

  “When you drive like maniacs, they do!” Hannah said.

  “Maniacs is such an extreme word.” Mac slowed to five miles above the speed limit.

  “And there are our wives, too. Not pregnant, but they went to such trouble, and when they don’t get their way, they’re unhappy.” Dev grimaced.

  They were back to that.

  “And when they’re unhappy—” Roberto began.

  “We’re unhappy,” Mac finished. “Not that you should feel any obligation because we got you off on the federal charges and out of the courthouse without having to deal with the news reporters.”

  Hannah couldn’t tell whether she was exasperated or charmed. “You guys are not only pussy-whipped—you’re experts at ladling on the guilt.”

  “We don’t like to call it pussy-whipped,” Dev said. “We like to call it Trained in Compromise and Negotiation .” He laid his hand, palm up, across the seat.

  Mac slapped it in congratulations. “As for being experts at ladling on the guilt—desperation will have its way. And here we are!” He pulled up in front of a charming early-twentieth-century bungalow with the shingles placed in waves across the roof and an exterior painted various shades of soft pink and light blue.

  The men actually shuddered when they looked at it, as if the lace curtains in the windows threatened their manhood.

  Hey, at least Hannah was now certain Gabriel was nowhere inside.

  Dev got out and opened her door.

  She slid out and realized Roberto and Mac were standing on the brick walk, waiting to escort her inside. But first—

  Roberto hugged her and kissed each of her cheeks. “It was an honor to represent you today, cara.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate all that you—”

  Mac pushed Roberto to the side. “Yeah, yeah, he’s a great lawyer. I’m a great driver.”

  “Thank you for driving,” she said.

  He embraced her, too, very gently, as if he feared he might break her.

  Dev waited his turn to hug her. “And I’m the great navigator. They call me the Grand Homing Pigeon.”

  “We could have used the GPS,” Mac said from the corner of his mouth.

  Dev didn’t even turn around to answer. “Not at the speed you were going.” He smiled kindly at her. “Good to meet you, Hannah. We’ve heard so much about you. Looks like it’s all true.”

  “Well . . . thank you.” She wanted to ask if that was a good thing or not, but decided against it. She looked up at the blue front door, painted with pink roses, and took a breath. She climbed the stairs and put her hand on the knob, and looked back at the guys.

  They all smiled.

  Mac made little shooing motions.

  Fine. But she would rather have faced an entire room full of federal prosecutors than Gabriel’s sisters.

  She opened the door and stepped inside.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  A lady in a ruffled apron and cap waited for Hannah. “Are you here for the Prescott party?”

  “I guess.” She glanced out the window.

  The guys were standing on the sidewalk, waiting, like military officers ready to stop a retreat.

  She was so stuck.

  “This way,” the hostess said.

  Hannah’s first thought when she stepped into the room of chattering women was that she was glad she’d worn a good suit. These women all looked great—and they were all total strangers. Except for the pregnant lady. That must be Nessa.

  The chattering stopped. Every eye turned to her.

  Six. There were six of them.

  The following outcry made her jump.

  “Hannah!”

  “So glad you came!”

  “So glad the guys got it right!”

  “So glad that prosecutor got what he deserved!”

  They lined up in a female imitation of the guy lineup outside.

  A smiling lady with brown hair and big, blue eyes hugged her and said, “I’m Hope. These are my sisters, Pepper and Kate. We’re the Prescott sisters.”

  Hannah embraced each of them, wondering what the sisters thought of her and her relationship with Gabriel, thinking she’d never felt so socially awkward in her life.

  Hope continued, “This is Brandi Bartolini. Her husband was your lawyer.” Brandi had to lean down to hug Hannah—the woman was tall, built, and gorgeous.

  Scary.

  “Meadow Fitzwilliam.” A pretty woman with a merry face whose husband was the Grand Homing Pigeon.

  “Nessa MacNaught.” Mac’s wife.

  Nessa had to lean forward over her belly to hug Hannah, and her sweetly accented Southern voice murmured, “Sorry if little Mac kicks you. It’s been a very active day.”

  “It’s okay.” Hannah had never felt so unprepared, so alien, in her life.

  Hope hooked her hand through Hannah’s arm. “We’ve ordered a formal tea: scones, clotted cream, cucumber-and-watercress sandwiches, and lemon curd. We can’t wait to celebrate your win.”

  “In court, you mean,” Hannah said.

  “That, too.” Pepper grinned.

  “Mostly for lassoing Gabriel,” Kate said.

  Hannah stiffened. “I did not lasso Gabriel.”

  “You ought to be bragging.” Meadow clapped Hannah on the shoulder. “We didn’t think anyone could make him yearn and ponder, but you did it.”

  Hannah let them place her at the head of a long table, and no one heard her ask, “He . . . yearned?”

  At least, no one seemed to hear her.

  Hope sat on one side of Hannah. Brandi sat on the other. The other women took their places with a surety that told Hannah the arrangement had been discussed in advance.

  The waitress placed three-tiered plates with artfully placed pastries and sandwiches.

  “First.” Hope placed a photo album on the table at Hannah’s elbow. “We thought you’d like some pictures of Gabriel.”

  Hannah slid her gaze toward the album, then back up to Hope’s face.

  Pepper leaned forward and fixed Hannah with her gaze. “We’ve got a few photos from when he was a teenager—we lost most of those when we lost our parents—but we included several shots of him in his twenties, and when he bought the ranch, and the ones where he was given an award from the Texas governor.”

  Hannah pulled the napkin off the table and onto her lap, deliberately not touching the album.

  “There’re a couple in his headquarters in Houston, with Daniel and some of his staff.” Brandi smiled at Hannah. “You know, he’s created the most successful security firm in the U.S., but he’s got other thriving concerns.”

  “He’s got the ranch near Hobart, Texas. That’s the town where Hope, Pepper, and I were born,” Kate said.

  “It’s a working ranch, too. Of course he has the cattle concerns leased to a neighbor, and the oil wells are pumping.” Pepper beamed with pride.

  “Don’t forget to mention the place he bought near us in South Carolina.” Meadow poured tea into her flowered china cup and passed the pot. “It’s lovely. Small but so comfortable and the kids love to go there and play on the beach.”

  “He bought the penthouse in Houston, too, which is convenient for his work,” Nessa said.

  “I’ve been there.” Hannah bit off the words.

  Nessa fixed Hannah with her gaze. “He has all these places to relax, and he knows how, but at the same time, he’s a real hands-on boss. He works with his security guys. He likes the physical demands of getting out in the field. It’s dangerous sometimes, so we’re looking to you to rein him in.”

  The conversation came to a halt.

  Everyone looked at Hannah and waited.

  But she knew better. She was not going to let any one of his relatives, no matter how charming, bully her into speaking to Gabriel Prescott. Instead, she fixed Kate with her gaze. “So. I think I’ve seen you reporting on GMA?”

&
nbsp; “That’s right,” Kate said. “I do the occasional political reporting for the network, but most of my work is in Texas.”

  Determinedly, Hannah led the conversation to less personal topics.

  The women followed her more or less willingly. Only Meadow had to be restrained, in a low-voiced discussion with Brandi, from questioning Hannah about her intentions.

  The sandwiches had been consumed, the scones exclaimed over, and all the social niceties dragged out, when at last Nessa unhurriedly got to her feet. She stood with the flat of her hand pressed to her back, and spoke to the whole group. “I hate to break up this lovely gathering, but Mac’s here to pick me up. It’s time for my nap.” She walked to Hannah and took her hand. “It has been such a pleasure to meet you. I hope we meet again.”

  Hannah stood and accepted another embrace. “It has been a pleasure. Thank you for your kindness.”

  “That’s my ride, too,” Brandi said.

  “I’ve got a plane to catch.” Pepper grimaced and confided to Hannah, “I live in Idaho, and trying to get there from anywhere is more difficult than you can imagine.”

  A general exodus followed, with each lady telling Hannah of her pleasure in meeting her, then taking her leave. When the dust had settled, only Hope remained, sitting beside Hannah.

  One look at her expression, and Hannah had the same sick feeling she’d had in third grade when she’d been told to stay behind after class. She sank down in the chair, grabbed the bull by the horns, and said, “I’m not interested in Gabriel’s money. I’m not interested in his businesses. If and when I get involved with a man, I want to know a couple of things right off the bat. I want to know he’s not going to lie to me, and I want to know he’s not going to use me. I want to know he’s going to stick around, and most of all, I want to know he’s not going to sic his family on me to persuade me to marry him.”

  Hope fixed Hannah in her level gaze. “He didn’t sic us on you. We came on our own.”

  “Oh, come on.” Did Hope really expect Hannah to believe that?

  “He doesn’t know we’re here.”

  Yes. It did appear Hope expected Hannah to believe this. Hope couldn’t have looked more sincere—or more severe. “Oh,” Hannah said with considerably less heat.

  Hope continued. “We came because we love him, and because he’s miserable.”

  “He’s miserable?” Hannah reflected for a moment. “Good.”

  “We agree. He told us what he did to you, and he deserves to be miserable. Just . . . not forever.” Hope leaned across the table. “I’ve known Gabriel since my mother brought him home, looking like a starving stray dog, and he’s a good man.”

  “He told you what he did to me, and you still say he’s a good man?”

  “I didn’t say he always gets it right. He is, after all, a man.” Hannah could scarcely argue with that. “But he tries. If he has a failing, it is too much loyalty to his friends and family—and Carrick was his family.”

  “I hope he rots,” Hannah muttered.

  “Carrick?” Hope asked.

  Resentment built in Hannah. Resentment that Hope would imagine she meant anything else, and that she dared to question her. “Yes. Carrick.”

  Hope relaxed against the chair. “I suspect Carrick will rot, although in an asylum rather than in prison. His encounter with his father did not come out well.”

  Hannah smiled tightly. That had been the best part of watching the news, seeing the replay of Carrick’s rescue from the meat locker, his wild-eyed babbling, and the realization that Mrs. Manly had become a recluse to protect her secret—she hadn’t let her husband leave her, after all. When he tried, she had locked him in the freezer. His body had been in Balfour House all the time.

  “Gabriel will do anything for the people he loves. When my family was separated, he used all his resources to search for Pepper and Kate, and we would never have been reunited without his expertise. He helped get Meadow and Dev together, and Ness and Mac, and his greatest happiness is when we’re all together at his ranch for a barbecue.” Hope viewed Hannah sternly. “He’s had a rough life.”

  Hannah faced Hope without flinching. “Welcome to the club.”

  “Yes, it’s true.” Hope half smiled. “We’ve all had our rough beginnings. In Gabriel’s case, it’s made him both kinder than usual, to us, and more suspicious than normal . . . of you. I’m sorry for that, but like you, he’s seen the worst side of life. The worst side of humanity. His strength is that he’s a man who knows what he wants—a home and a family with the woman he loves.”

  “That is so touching.” Hannah didn’t try to temper her sarcasm. “Do you know what he said before he collapsed in the basement of Balfour House?”

  “Oh, no.” Hope put her hand to her forehead. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  “He said, Of course you love me. You threw yourself in front of a bullet for me.”

  “He actually told you you loved him of course?”

  “That’s right.” Hannah leaned back, sure that at last Hope understood.

  And she seemed to. She took a long, exasperated breath. “As I said—he doesn’t always get it right. But it’s funny. With most of his girlfriends, he’s very accomplished, very suave, and there aren’t enough O’s in smooooth to describe him. It’s obvious that if he’s putting his foot so wrong with you, you’re different. The one woman that matters to him.” Hope stood and offered her hand. “We, all of us, would like him to have the life he desires. I hope to meet you again someday very soon.”

  Hannah took her hand and shook it. “That would be lovely.”

  “There’ll be a car waiting for you when you wish to leave.” Hope smiled kindly. “Goodbye, Hannah.”

  “Goodbye.” Hannah watched Hope’s exit. Then . . . she couldn’t stand it anymore. She called, “His wound . . . has he had any more trouble with it?”

  Hope came back. “He limps a little, but assures me it’s getting better every day.”

  “Okay.”

  Hope took a step forward. “You know, if you marry Gabriel, you’ll get his whole family as part of the package deal. For someone who has no one, that might make it worth grabbing him.”

  “Do you really think that’s a good thing for your brother? That he marry a woman who only wants him for his family?”

  “I never said I thought you only wanted him for his family. I just thought it would be a convenient excuse for you.” Hope smiled like a woman who understood face-saving gestures. “Certainly it’s something to think about.”

  Hannah waited until Hope left, until the outer door opened and closed, until she knew without a doubt she was alone.

  Then she seated herself. She wiped her suddenly sweating palms on the linen napkin. She took a deep, quivering breath. Pulling the photo album toward her, she opened it to the first page . . . and looked into a young Gabriel’s deep green eyes.

  THIRTY-NINE

  “I think you’ll want to see this.” Gabriel’s secretary placed a letter on his desk under his nose.

  He glanced at the header, then looked up at Mrs. Martinez. “Why would I want to read some plea for money from the University of Texas?”

  “It’s not a plea for money. It’s a request for a personal recommendation for one of their students.”

  He frowned. “A recommendation? For who?”

  “Read it and see.” Mrs. Martinez, normally stern and unsmiling, almost danced with glee. “This clever young lady has applied and been accepted to their master’s program to become a physician’s assistant.”

  Picking up the letter, he read. The words made sense, but he didn’t dare believe the truth. So he read again. And for the first time in months, he took a full, deep breath. He looked up at his administrative assistant, a woman who had been with him for six years, who was old enough to be his grandmother, who had kept him on the straight and narrow for the last four months. With an intensity he usually reserved for difficult security situations, he said, “If you can tell m
e where she is right now, I’ll double your salary.”

  “As I understand it, Miss Grey is moving into the Archwood Apartments on South Braeswood.”

  “Thank you.” Standing, he whirled Mrs. Martinez in a wide circle, kissed her on both cheeks, grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, and walked out the door. “Thank you!”

  Hannah read the scrawl of the black Magic Marker—kitchen—took the moving box into the tiny efficiency, placed it on the counter, then headed back toward the truck parked downstairs at the curb. She’d been working for over an hour, wondering if she was doing the right thing, coming back to Houston, wondering whether Gabriel had received the letter from UT, wondering whether he’d even notice or if she’d have to actually screw up her courage, go to his office, and explain that he might be right, she might love him, but that it was unattractive for a man to take a thing like that for granted. . . .

  Some guy was coming up the stairs, his face half hidden by the box in his arms.

  She stopped. Stepped aside. Let him pass. Watched him climb. And realized that was her box, and he looked very familiar. Very familiar. Very dear. And very . . . hers.

  So he’d received the letter, and this was his response. Thank God.

  “Gabriel!” She followed him back up. “What are you doing here?”

  “Helping you move in.” He pushed her door open with his foot and headed into her apartment.

  She stood in the doorway and lifted her chin at him, although he couldn’t see her.

  He looked good. Healthy. Really good.

  He put the box down on the coffee table and started to turn toward her.

  And she realized she was not ready for this confrontation yet. Not that she was a coward, but she needed a few minutes to gather her thoughts.

  She turned and hurried back down to the truck. True, she had had months to gather her thoughts, but now that he was here, she was . . . not scared, exactly, but jumpy. Excited. Filled with hope when for so long, hope had been an expense she didn’t dare purchase. Carrying boxes filled with her stuff had to be a better idea than racing up the stairs and kissing him until all she knew was his scent, his touch, the feel of his skin under her fingertips, the thrust of his body on hers. . . .