by JoAnn Ross
Was this merely a case of random vandalism? Or had her caller escalated his threats? Whichever, she’d have to worry about the situation later.
Work, Tess reminded herself as she wove her way through the crowd of media people packing the hallway outside her courtroom. The Kagan and Schiff trials. Vasilyev’s appeal. That’s what she should be thinking of. Not a man who believed in ghosts.
“He’s going to make me as crazy as he is,” she muttered as she sat down at the prosecutor’s table. Even being here in the courtroom reminded her of him.
Rick Barber, the attorney assisting her on the Schiff case, overheard her. Rick was new to the district attorney’s office, coming directly from law school, as she, herself, had five years ago.
“Don’t worry,” he said, mistakenly thinking that she was referring to the bigamist. “This one’ll be a cinch. You haven’t left a single loophole for the snake to slither through.”
His enthusiasm reminded Tess of a time, not so long ago, when she, too, had been a wide-eyed optimist, believing that every case rested solely on its merits. Experience had taught her differently. And if she happened to forget that the law, like life, wasn’t always fair, there were always cases like the Kagan trial to remind her.
Despite weeks of painstaking preparation, despite an exemplary joint investigation by the PPB and the FBI, despite what she knew to be a solid presentation, she was going to lose the Kagan trial. Tess knew she was.
* * *
The depressing gray clouds that had settled over the city matched Tess’s mood as she sat in the back of the cab inching its way forward in the late-afternoon rush-hour traffic. If there was one thing you could depend on from a jury, it was that they could prove completely undependable.
Her ominous feeling about the Kagan jury had been right on the money. They had gone for acquittal, which had her thinking of something she’d heard in law school: one downside of litigation was trusting your fate to jury members who weren’t smart enough to get out of jury duty.
The cab pulled up behind her Audi, which was parked where she’d left it this morning, at the same time as a slicker-clad delivery boy. Tipping the bike rider generously, she took the package he’d pulled from a waterproof bag into the house.
As she placed the brown cardboard box on her kitchen countertop, her anonymous caller’s muffled, purposely altered voice from last night’s call came back to her.
“Some friends of Grigori Vasilyev are concerned about his hearing,” the voice had whispered in her ear. “Those friends would be very unhappy if anyone’s testimony kept him from getting out of prison.”
“Is that who you are?” she’d demanded. “A friend of Vasilyev’s?”
“You’d better be careful, lady. You never know when you’re going to have an accident.”
The call had ended, leaving her listening to dead air.
Feeling silly for letting the memory of last night’s call unsettle her, and admittedly more unnerved by the fact that someone had slashed her tire while she’d been upstairs in bed, she picked up the telephone and called Donovan.
“Don’t be foolish. You’re right not to take chances,” the detective interrupted as Tess apologized for bothering him after explaining about the package. “We’ve had the department shrink work up a profile on this guy.”
Tess’s mouth went dry. She swallowed. “And?”
“And the doc doesn’t think he’s kidding.” His tone turned encouraging. “Though this is probably nothing, maybe something you ordered online, then forgot, we can’t discount that it could be from your caller.”
And didn’t that strike a nerve? Looking at the box on the counter, she said, “I wish I’d had time to order anything online.”
“I’m headed out the door. I’m also sending the bomb squad to check it out just in case.”
“Are you sure that’s necessary?”
“What I’m sure of is that we don’t want to take any chances,” he said. “I’ll turn on the flashers and be there in ten minutes. Oh, and Tess, put the box out in the front yard, okay?”
His suggestion did nothing to calm her. “You don’t really think—”
“It’s probably nothing,” Donovan said quickly, reassuringly. “But there’s no harm in being careful.”
If she’d felt foolish calling Donovan in the first place, Tess felt like a paranoid idiot when two members of the bomb squad, clad in heavy protective gear, arrived at her front door. Having apparently broken every speed limit on the way, the detective arrived two minutes later and as he entered the house, appeared prepared to throw his body over hers if necessary.
The only thing missing from his full cop mode was the suit or dark sportcoat and tie, that, except for his days on patrol and working vice, he’d always worn on the job. In a city known for its culturally fashion-forward warriors, Donovan Quinn steadfastly stuck with tradition. Something, she’d always suspected, he’d learned from her father.
As she saw the lace curtains in the house across the street move, she realized that her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Kael, was keenly watching events unfold. Terrific. Nothing like providing fodder for neighborhood gossip.
Staying inside as instructed, Tess watched as the small robot unwrapped the package beneath the lights they’d set up to shine on it.
Her hands, clasped behind her back, were like ice, and sometime during the lengthy operation Tess realized she was holding her breath as the flaps of the cardboard box were folded back.
Nothing happened.
Moving slowly forward, the men looked inside, then ran some sort of portable scanner over the contents, which had every muscle in her body tense. Then she let out a long breath as they threw back their heads and appeared to be laughing.
“What is it?” she asked, going out onto the porch.
“You’re not going to believe this one,” the leader of the two chortled, yanking off his helmet.
“Believe what?”
“This.”
Tess could only stare, speechless, as he pulled out a dark-haired female bobblehead doll holding a lawbook. “What on earth?”
“There’s a note,” the younger man pointed out. After running the same scanner over the envelope, he held it up to one of the portable floodlights they’d set up, studied the flap, then, for good measure, sniffed it. “Don’t worry, it’s not a letter bomb.”
A letter bomb had, originally, been the furthest thing from her mind. In truth, the minute she’d seen the doll, Tess was afraid of something entirely different. Something far more personal and a great deal more dangerous.
“I knew it,” she murmured, noting the scrawl at the bottom of the page before reading the accompanying message. Only Nate Breslin would be crazy enough to send a grown woman a bobblehead lawyer. The doll had dark hair, a gray suit that looked depressingly like the contents of her closet, and was holding a lawbook. What on earth was she going to do with the man?
I was going to wait until I got back to give this to you but thought you might need it more today. I hope it makes you laugh. Bummer about the Kagan verdict. See you soon. Nate.
Tess didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. In the end, she did neither. “I’m so sorry to get you out here for nothing.”
The man who’d given her the note shrugged. “Hey, it’s our job. Besides, it’s always a plus when we don’t find something.”
She smiled her appreciation. “Thank you, but I feel so foolish. I should have just opened the box myself.”
“I don’t think that would’ve been such a good idea, Ms. Lombardi,” the older of the two bomb squad guys said soberly.
“I overreacted,” she insisted.
“Not with that guy who’s threatening you. Who knows what a weirdo like that might do?”
“You know?”
“It’s kinda hard to keep something like that a secret,” he mumbled, glancing over at Donovan. “What with the wiretap and who you are and all.”
“We all really admire your dad, Ms. Lombardi,” the
younger man offered. “He was a heck of a good cop.”
“The best,” the older man put in.
“The best,” Tess agreed. She offered them coffee, which they declined, saying they had to get back to the station. Donovan, who’d also turned the offer down, paused before getting into the black Crown Vic he’d parked at the curb.
“Hey, Tess, could you do me a big favor?”
“Anything,” she answered promptly.
“Could you ask your boyfriend where he got that thing? I need something original for my teenage niece who put in an application for early decision at Willamette because she’s planning to eventually go to law school there. I’d probably be her favorite uncle if I scored one for her for Christmas.”
“I have a feeling you already hold that title.” Tess debated explaining that Nate was certainly not her boyfriend, but given the fact that his calls had been among those showing up on her phone, she wasn’t even going to try to deny a relationship. Or attempt to define his role in her life. Especially while standing out on the step of her home while Mrs. Kael had her front window open, undoubtedly drinking in every word they said. “But I’ll find out for you.”
Donovan rubbed his hands together. “Terrific. Hot damn. I’m gonna be more popular than old St. Nick this year!”
Tess laughed, waving good-bye as the bomb squad armored van and Donovan’s car drove away.
Then she went back into the house and pressed the button on the doll’s base. “Your honor, I’d like to strike my next question,” the mechanical female voice said. Even as she laughed, a very strong part of Tess wished that it hadn’t proven so effective in dispelling her gloomy mood.
He was getting to her.
And damned if she knew what she was going to do about it.
20
As he stood shivering in the icy rain, Nate wondered what was keeping her. He knew she was home; the townhouse was ablaze with light. Then he remembered Tess’s threatening caller, and annoyance turned to concern edged with alarm.
“Tess,” he called out, giving up on the bell to pound on the door. “It’s me. Nate.”
Seconds later, she opened the door. The earphones hanging around her neck suggested she’d been listening to music, which had kept her from hearing him. “I’m sorry! You must be soaked to the skin.”
As she moved aside to let him into the foyer, Nate thought, again, what a woman of contrasts she was. Tonight’s pajama pants were printed with wine glasses, topped by an oversized long-sleeved black T-shirt that read I’m a lawyer. To save time let’s assume I’m right. Fuzzy socks the same burgundy color as the wine glasses hinted at a secret whimsical side.
“Hey, after Detroit, this weather seems like Florida. They had a blizzard yesterday; I ended up spending last night in the airport.”
As he entered the foyer, Nate congratulated himself on maintaining an easy, nonchalant tone when what he really wanted to do was drag her to the floor.
Unaware of his thoughts, Tess took his leather bomber jacket and hung it on the coat tree. “When did you get in?”
“About half an hour ago. I came straight here.”
“Why?”
“I missed you,” he said simply. “Although I wasn’t sure you’d let me in. I guess the governor’s letter did the trick, huh?”
In his quest to get to know Tess better, Nate had not hesitated to take advantage of having been invited to Salem on more than one occasion to add a little celebrity pizzazz to the governor’s dinner parties. Despite his penchant for privacy, Nate had obliged, never asking for anything in return. Until now. Until Tess.
“Actually, it wasn’t that at all, although I have to admit the ploy was a first,” Tess said. “But in my business, you learn not to cave to political pressure.”
“Makes sense. But if it wasn’t the letter, what changed your mind?” he asked as he followed her into the front room. “Was it my suave, sophisticated charm? My good looks? My dry wit?”
“Your bobblehead. Thank you.”
That had him grinning. “You like it?”
“I do. And so did Donovan.”
“Donovan?” Nate felt something curling deep in his gut that he reluctantly recognized as jealousy. He’d never experienced that emotion before and definitely didn’t enjoy it. Especially when the other guy in question was a long-time friend. “How did he see it?”
“He came out with the bomb squad guys.”
“Bomb squad? What the hell happened?”
Still feeling a bit foolish, Tess related the evening’s events. To her surprise, when she had finished, Nate didn’t seem to share her reluctant amusement at the situation.
“If they’re taking the calls that seriously, why don’t the police put an around-the-clock guard on your house?” he demanded. “It’s ridiculous that you’re running around the city unprotected.”
“I’m being careful. I did, after all, call when the box arrived.”
“Hell, the last thing I wanted to do was scare you.”
“It just came after another call, and my tire being slashed, so I was jumpier than usual.”
“You got another call and a slashed tire? All today?”
“The tire was last night and could have been vandalism. I thought it was just a flat when I left for work this morning. As for my caller, he’s just jerking my chain.” She hoped. “Seriously, it’s not that uncommon. I’ve had to change phone numbers several times since I started in this job. I don’t know how people get my number, but they do. And I’m certainly not the only person in the office who’s experienced it.”
“I still don’t like the idea.”
“I appreciate your concern. And I especially appreciate the doll. It definitely cheered me up.”
“I hoped it would. I heard about the Kagan verdict.” Regret shadowed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Tess. You deserved to win that one.”
“You win some, you lose some,” she said with a shrug she was a long way from feeling. It still hurt. A lot. “At least that’s the way they keep telling me the game is played…
“Have you eaten?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.
“Yeah. I had a steak and fries on the plane.”
“Which beats a carry-on pizza.” Needless to say, on the rare occasion she was required to travel for her work, the State of Oregon didn’t spring for first class.
“Not that I could’ve told the difference. I think the cold killed off my taste buds.”
“I was about to make some tea, but if you’d like something stronger, I have brandy.”
“Tea’ll be great,” Nate assured her. “As much as I’d love the brandy, I’ve been taking cold pills like Skittles the past few days, so I’d better stick to tea.” He smiled. “I’d hate to leave here and get picked up for drunk driving on the way back to Shelter Bay.”
Her gaze cut to the rain-lashed window. “You’re not driving back to the coast tonight?”
“It’s not that far.”
“I still think it’s risky,” she said. “But who am I to argue with the famous Nate Breslin?” She waved her hand at the sofa. “Sit down and take those wet shoes off before you get pneumonia. I’ll be right back in with the tea.”
As he settled gratefully onto the red couch, Nate closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and promptly fell asleep.
21
Tess returned with a teapot that was one of the few things of her mother’s she owned and two mugs on a black lacquer tray and found Nate fast asleep. Deciding not to wake him, she placed the tray on the coffee table, then sat by the fireplace and sipped her tea, secretly enjoying the opportunity to observe Nate Breslin undetected.
His dark hair had grown since she’d last seen him, flowing a bit over his ears and curling at the nape of his neck. His eyes were shut, but she couldn’t forget the unmistakable sexuality in their emerald depths.
Her gaze drifted over his body, taking in his wide shoulders, hard chest, and lean hips before lingering on his long legs, encased in faded jeans. H
e was all male, and Tess was discomforted at the way he had, even in his sleep, of making her all too aware of being female.
His eyes suddenly opened. “Damn. Sorry.” He raked his fingers sheepishly through his hair. “I don’t usually conk out like that in the presence of a beautiful woman.”
Knowing she’d been caught staring, uneasy at the way her heart skipped a beat at a compliment he undoubtedly handed out often and with ease, Tess quickly averted her gaze, concentrating on a framed portrait of Isabella Lombardi said to have been painted by a lover.
“It’s probably the cold medication,” she said pouring tea into the second mug. Another reason she worried about him driving down that curving coast road.
“Probably. Or lack of sleep brought on by those torture racks masquerading as hotel-room beds.” He wrapped his long fingers around the mug she handed him. “Thanks.” As he took a drink, Nate closed his eyes with a long sigh of pleasure. “I think you’ve saved my life.”
“It’s only tea.”
“And the Mona Lisa is only a painting. And the Odyssey only a story, and the Eiffel Tower—”
“I get the point,” Tess cut in. “Tell me, are all novelists so loquacious, or is it only the best-selling ones?”
Nate grinned at that, giving Tess yet another glimpse of the impetuous young boy he must have been. “We’re all probably a little wordy,” he admitted. “But it’s more a case of enjoying language than loving the sound of our own voice.”
As his gaze lingered on her face, Nate found he itched to touch her hair. Instead, he took in the painting over the fireplace. The woman from his dreams was lying on a gold brocade fainting couch, barely wearing a burgundy velvet robe. The ivory satin collar was open wide enough to display an intriguing hint of breast, and she’d left the bottom buttons undone, allowing for a long leg to extend from a slit in the robe.
“She was a beautiful woman.”
Tess looked up at the portrait again. “She was.”
