“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “I let my mom down not that long ago.” He looked away from her for a moment. “She gave me hell for it.”
“What did you do?”
“She turned sixty-five. Dad had planned a special evening. Family, good friends. It was supposed to be a surprise.” He thought about that. “I guess it was. Especially the part where her son didn’t show up.”
Her lips parted. “Where were you instead?”
“A couple of friends had invited me to spend the weekend on a sailboat in the San Juan Islands.” He felt like scum, remembering his thoughtlessness. “I forgot my mother’s birthday party. Until the Sunday morning afterward, when I woke up and remembered.”
“Oh, no,” Ella murmured.
“You know that stupid saying, about how you don’t have to say you’re sorry to people who love you? I’m here to tell you, you say the damn words anyway, and they’re so inadequate you’re left with a taste like acid in your mouth.”
She didn’t immediately respond, which he appreciated. Quick platitudes were useless. What she finally did say was, “At least she was alive to hear your apology. And you have time to convince her she really does matter to you.”
“Yeah,” he said roughly. “You’re right. Relatively speaking, my screwup doesn’t hold much weight, does it?”
She looked at him in alarm. “What do you mean?”
“Compared to whatever’s bothering you.”
“That’s not what I meant...” she replied quickly.
“The difference is, you were a fourteen-year-old kid. I’m thirty-three. Old enough to have grown out of self-centeredness, you’d think.” He said it harshly.
He hadn’t realized that his hand had knotted into a fist on his thigh until she covered it with hers and gave it a squeeze. He stared down at her hand, long-fingered and slender, with short, unpainted nails, and felt a completely unfamiliar clutch of pleasure/pain.
He focused ahead. “Damn. We’re both at the same red light. I could run up there and drag the son of a bitch out of your car. If I’m going to do it, it has to be now.”
CHAPTER THREE
ALMOST PARALYZED by temptation, Ella stared ahead.
“Surely he’ll have the doors locked. What would we do? Hammer at the windows?”
Beside her, Brett made an impatient movement. “Dammit. We’d be left flat-footed when the light changed.” The next moment he reached for the door handle. “What the hell. We’ll catch up.”
Ella grabbed his arm. “But...what if he has a gun?” She was prepared to do almost anything to get back the quilt, but she wouldn’t be able to live with Brett getting hurt.
Right this second, though, she didn’t care so much if she got hurt.
She fought with the seat-belt release and opened her door. Swearing, Brett grabbed for her, but he was too late.
So was she. The light turned green as she stood. The driver behind them leaned on his horn and she spun to glare at him before jumping into the Corvette again.
Without a word, Brett accelerated. When she turned her head, though, his jaw was clenched. He was mad.
“The quilt’s on the floor of the passenger side. I thought, if that side wasn’t locked...”
“Use your head,” he snapped. “Why would it be unlocked? He’d have broken in on the driver’s side.”
“Don’t tell me to use my head!” she flared. “You were about to charge up there, too!”
He had a few forceful things to say, the gist being that he was big and brawny—read male—and she wasn’t.
They didn’t speak for quite a while after that.
In the absence of conversation, Ella called 911 again and this time stayed on the line for ages, to no avail. The Subaru bolted onto the freeway, then off at Roanoke. With construction happening on Eastlake, they almost lost him altogether.
Once a visual had been regained, Ella stole a few looks at Brett. She supposed she’d impugned his masculinity—not so smart when she was depending on his sense of chivalry. It was also possible that she’d really scared him. Worse yet, she was embarrassed to realize that he was right. Of course the car thief wouldn’t have unlocked the passenger-side door.
She opened her mouth and tried to make herself say, You were right, but absolutely could not force the words out.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked. There, open communication, she congratulated herself. This was better anyway.
It was a minute before he answered, and then it sounded reluctant. “Attorney.” There was a long pause. “What about you?”
Since his voice had relaxed, she told him about her art, answered a few questions and asked her own, learning that he was a criminal defense attorney. He admitted to having lost at trial only this morning.
“My fault.” His hands squeezed rhythmically on the wheel. He’d wear out the leather wrap if he kept venting his stress that way. “The partners seem sure.”
“Was your client innocent?”
“Innocent?” Lines gathered on his forehead. “I can’t let myself think of them that way—guilty or innocent.”
“You defend them no matter what.” She’d always struggled with that concept.
“Every person should be entitled to that much.” He sounded stiff. “It’s one of the rights that makes America what it is.”
Ella considered him. “You don’t sound as if you really believe that.”
“I do.” Furrows gathered on his forehead, and he rolled his shoulders. “I have my moments, that’s all.”
Moments? Ella sensed it was more than that. Nonetheless, she nodded, accepting his unwillingness to say more. He hadn’t pushed that much when she’d balked earlier.
“I defend some real scum,” he said, surprising her. “Mostly rich scum. Get some of them off, too.” His mouth crooked up. “Most of them. I’m good at what I do.”
Why was it she felt certain his renewed cocky good humor was put-on and not real?
As if anxious to leave the subject behind, he talked about his family. He had followed in his father’s footsteps, although his father was now a judge. “Fortunately, not a court I would normally appear in, anyway. Unfortunately, he’s good friends with a partner in my firm.”
“Did he help you get the job?” she asked, then regretted the question.
Brett shot her an unreadable sidelong look. “I graduated at the top of my class and had the pick of jobs.”
“I’m sorry...”
He shook his head. “I don’t blame you for wondering. I did join the same firm where my father was partner until he went on the bench. Family tradition.”
She tried to apologize again. He shook it off.
“Listen—I don’t know where this chase is getting us. What if we drop back a little, make this guy believe he’s gotten away? Then he might go home to roost.”
“Or run out of gas.”
“I’m the one who is in danger of that. A sports car doesn’t get the mileage a Subaru does. If you had as much in the tank as you think...”
She pictured it—the Corvette slowing to a stop, her Subaru disappearing into the distance.
“Yes, all right.”
After falling behind, the pursuit was trickier. They caught only occasional glimpses of red. The ruse seemed to work, though, because the route became less winding, as if the thief was no longer just fleeing, but was on his way somewhere. Eventually, she realized they were heading for Ballard or... No, they continued over the narrow strait that connected saltwater Lake Union to Puget Sound. Then the Subaru disappeared.
“Magnolia?” Sounding incredulous, Brett made the turn.
Did the thief hope he could lose them in this neighborhood of steep hills and winding streets? It was a strange choice, though, because Magnolia was essenti
ally an island, connected to the mainland of the city by only a few roads. She called 911 again.
But the Subaru dodged a couple of times, and when Brett crested another hill, he saw absolutely no sign of their prey.
Tension built in Ella again as he cruised up and down streets, even risking his Corvette’s suspension by bumping down rutted alleys. Nothing.
The marked Seattle P.D. car finally located them. Brett pulled to the curb and Ella erupted onto the sidewalk. “We’ve been begging for help for hours! Why couldn’t we get it? Now my car is gone.” For the first time, tears threatened.
“I apologize, ma’am,” the officer said stiffly. “We have to prioritize. We’ll probably find your car in the next few days, you know. If it was a newer one, I’d have guessed this was a professional job. But a ’95... Could be a teenager.” He looked apologetic. “With luck it won’t have suffered much damage.”
Brett came up behind Ella and wrapped an arm around her. Shaking, she let herself lean a little into his solid warmth. “It’s not the car. It’s what was in it.”
When she explained, she saw something like pity on the officer’s face. “Depends on who stole it. Unfortunately, no matter what, there’s less of a chance we’ll recover contents than the vehicle itself.”
He took down all the information and then drove away. Ella stood, stunned, thinking, It was all for nothing. The quilt’s gone.
Oh, dear lord, she’d have to tell Rachel and Jo about her failure. Ella moaned and bent forward, wrapping her arms around her stomach.
* * *
JUST DOWN THE block from Brett’s condominium was a Thai restaurant that delivered. When the doorbell rang, he paid for the food, accepted the containers and took them to the dining table.
Ella had argued about coming to his condo for dinner, but after one look at her, white-faced and miserable, he’d refused to drop her off at her place, as she wanted. His condominium in the upscale Belltown neighborhood was closer anyway.
She hadn’t even assessed it the way she had his car. He’d have liked to see disdain, a pursing of the lips that told him she was judging, bachelor pad. But no. All she did was plop down where he pointed her, and keep saying some variation of, “I don’t believe it,” before stumbling all over herself to thank him because, really, she was incredibly grateful. She knew he’d tried. The word made him sick to his stomach. So much for redeeming himself. Tried was a weak-ass word. He hadn’t come through for her, any more than he’d come through for anyone else lately.
Despite his own frustration, he concentrated on Ella. Feeling sorry for himself wouldn’t do her any good, and she was the one really hit by their failure.
No, he wasn’t going to let himself off that easy. By his failure.
A glass of wine reduced the misery on her face, but initially she gazed without interest at the food he laid out. Finally, though, she served herself a spring roll and eyed the entrees he’d bought.
He tried to distract her with conversation while they ate—courtroom anecdotes he hoped would make her laugh. Her face was expressive, once he knew to watch for the subtle signs. They talked about their favorite foods, recent movies they’d watched, good books. Here and there, Brett hoped maybe she actually forgot about today’s disaster for a few moments.
Or maybe not. At a pause while he refilled his plate, she said, “I locked it. I know I did.”
“Windows rolled all the way up?” It had been a warm day.
He felt as if he’d hit her when he saw her expression. “No. Oh, God. I left them cracked. So the interior wouldn’t be so hot. I don’t—” She swallowed. “Didn’t have air-conditioning.”
“Hot-wiring a car doesn’t take that long. Who pays attention to someone fiddling under the hood for a minute? You think, Poor sucker, car that won’t start, not, Hey, I wonder if he’s trying to steal that car.”
Ella moaned.
At that moment, Brett had the strangest sensation, as if an alien spirit had possessed him. Or maybe it was simpler than that. He had the flicker of a memory, the cop saying, “We have to prioritize.”
And he realized that his priorities had undergone a tectonic shift. No conscious decision on his part. The fault line had been there for a while, but this day with Ella had set off the quake. He wanted his life to be different, and he’d start the changes with her.
“Nothing says we have to quit searching,” he said, amazed that it had taken him this long to realize that a setback didn’t mean they were done for.
Ella gaped at him. “What do you mean?” she finally asked, carefully.
He set down his wineglass. “We know, more or less, where he went to ground. The chances are good that he lives in the area. There were a lot of apartment houses and rentals right there.”
She nodded.
“If he doesn’t get rid of the car right away, we can still find it.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yeah.” He let her see on his face how serious he was. “I don’t like failing.”
Except that wasn’t his entire motivation. It was more complicated than that. He hadn’t liked being dismissed as “undependable” by his ex. Being told his star was dimming at the law firm had stung, even if he was willing to admit his heart hadn’t been in his work lately. Maybe most of all, though, he hated that he’d hurt his mother and disappointed his father. He was better than that, wasn’t he?
“Let me help, Ella,” he said.
She gave a small, dry sob, and pressed her fingers to her mouth. “You’d do this for me.”
Brett found himself smiling. He was a knight-errant who’d taken on a solemn quest. Here was a chance to redeem himself. All he had to do was fix the really important thing that had gone wrong in Ella Torrence’s life.
And prove to himself that he didn’t always screw up.
Not to mention that, damn, the glow on her face made him feel good.
During the stress of the earlier chase, he’d been all too aware of her emotions, but he had stopped himself from consciously acknowledging that he was attracted to her.
And yet, sometime during this bizarre day, attraction had morphed into something a lot stronger. So strong, he figured it might be smart to think at least twice before he made a move on her. Yeah, he would love to peel that dress off her and find out whether she went for practical or sexy lingerie. Then he wanted to dispose of the lingerie, too. As far as he was concerned, she had the perfect body. He liked sleek lines and curves that were feminine without being voluptuous. He liked firm mattresses, too. Sinking into something too soft wasn’t his thing.
Ella Torrence was just right.
“You asked why it mattered so much.” She wasn’t looking at him. “After Mom died, I decided in my melodramatic way that I didn’t deserve the love of people who’d loved her. So when they wrote, I didn’t answer. Eventually, they mostly gave up. Now...having another chance...” Her voice shook, and she came to a stop.
Oh, man, he thought. Ella Torrence wasn’t only sexy. Beneath a smart, assertive surface, she was also complicated, wounded, vulnerable. He tried never to get involved with women who could be hurt too easily. She rang every warning bell.
She also, God help him, made him want to heal her, protect her, understand her. And, man, did that freak him out.
Even so, he had to ask. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
She shook her head. Hard. Vehemently. He accepted that.
Ella refused his offer of leftovers, and Brett put the food in the refrigerator before they left for her place. Her house turned out to be a 1920s-era bungalow in West Seattle. She didn’t invite him in, hopping out of his car the minute he stopped at the curb.
“One o’clock tomorrow?” he prompted. “I’ll pick you up here.”
One hand on the car door, leaning down to meet his gaze, she hesi
tated. “I’ll probably rent a car in the morning. You know, I can do this myself. You have to work.”
He shook his head. “I don’t want you hunting for that bastard by yourself.”
Her chin jutted in automatic repudiation of his chauvinism.
“Let me do this, Ella.”
Their eyes locked and held. “Okay,” she said after a moment, softly. “One o’clock.”
He waited until she disappeared inside, at which point he was disconcerted to discover that he was grinning like a fool.
Because if Ella Torrence had a guy in her life who meant anything to her, she’d have wanted him with her while she tried to recover the quilt. Brett had itched to ask today if she was single, but now he was pretty sure he didn’t have to bother.
So much for thinking at least twice before he threw himself off the cliff.
CHAPTER FOUR
NOT HAVING A TELEPHONE was crippling, Ella discovered first thing in the morning. She really needed to call her insurance agent, she needed to rent a car, she needed to buy a new phone. For one thing, how else were the police to reach her if, miraculously, they located her car?
After knocking on several doors, she found a neighbor who was home and willing to let her make some calls. Two hours later, a rental car was delivered to her door. She checked her watch and decided she just had time to race to the Verizon store. There, she winced at the price of a new smartphone but bought it anyway. Things could be worse, she consoled herself—at least she’d had her driver’s license and debit card as well as her car and house keys tucked in the velcro-closed pocket of a wristband she’d originally bought for when she jogged.
For some reason, she realized that she was nervous about Brett’s arrival. She didn’t understand why. After the hours they’d spent together yesterday, she couldn’t exactly call him a stranger. But she wasn’t sure she could trust her reactions yesterday or her perception of him. How could she, as upset as she’d been?
When she heard the Corvette pull up, she stood by the window and watched him get out and stretch. The sight was all it took to make her belly cramp. Maybe she shouldn’t have discounted his physique because it was likely the product of a health club. Those were very nice muscles—much more apparent today with him wearing a gray T-shirt and faded jeans that she would swear were Levis, not some high-priced, rich-boy brand. And, oh my, did they fit well.
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