“It has to work so we can end this. Please, dear Lord, help us.”
She felt a cold nose on her hand.
When she opened her eyes, Tico was there. He gazed up at her with unconditional devotion.
“At least you’re willing to show me your heart,” she whispered to the faithful dog. Then she rubbed his back and cooed at him, pouring all of her emotions into thanking at least this one good officer for protecting her.
* * *
Dylan listened to the latest briefing, concern and fatigue pulling at his system. They’d had a hard time tracing a couple of the IP addresses from Abigail’s blog but Fiona said she’d crack them sooner or later. But the techs had picked up a pattern that was disturbing.
Omar Dibianu followed Abigail’s blog and lurked on almost a daily basis on her website. Now he’d become more bold, sending her that text in such an urgent manner. Could he be part of the faction behind these attempts on her life?
“What if we’re taking her right into a trap?” he asked the captain after they’d established that they didn’t have any other solid leads.
“The man would be foolish to try anything tonight,” Captain McCord replied. “We’ve swept the venue every hour on the hour and we’ll keep doing that right up to and during the event. We’ll have eyes on everyone entering and leaving the place and you’ll have eyes on our subject. At best, we’ll be able to corner the man and ask him a few questions.”
“And the worst?” Dylan asked, knowing the answer.
“The worst is that an attempt is made and we get her out of there and capture her assailant all in one fell swoop.”
“I don’t like it,” Dylan admitted. “I shouldn’t have let her talk me into this.”
“She wanted to come and we all made sure it was her decision.” The captain glanced at his watch. “You need to go get all fancied up. Be aware and be careful, got it?”
“Got it,” Dylan replied. He’d be on hyperalert the whole night.
* * *
Four hours later, Abigail stood in front of a full-length mirror, wearing a royal blue empire-style dress with sheer capped sleeves and a sheer bodice embroidered with tiny white pearls and crystals. CiCi had helped her pick it out at a very upscale shop in Paris weeks ago.
Her assistant had sent her holiday clothes to the farm, knowing Abigail would eventually go back there.
The festive dress and her mother’s diamond stud earrings should cheer Abigail but she only felt defeated and gloomy. Her father had always looked dashing and gentlemanly in a tuxedo.
Dabbing at her eyes, she had a moment of panic. Maybe going to this big event so soon after her father’s death was a bad idea. But she’d made the decision and she’d stick to it. Get in, make the connection and get out.
That was Dylan’s motto. He’d told her they’d go in and mingle, let her connect with the very anxious Mr. Omar Dibianu and see what he had to offer and then they’d get her out of there.
“You can do this,” she whispered to her reflection. “You have on a good concealer, after all.”
Her mother used to say a good concealer underneath the eyes could hide a multitude of problems.
I need more than a concealer, Mother. I need you and Daddy back.
Abigail touched a hand to the shimmering bodice of her dress. She knew her parents were in her heart so that gave her the courage and comfort she needed to make this one bold move.
When a knock came at her door at precisely seven o’clock, she knew it had to be Dylan. The man was very punctual.
“How do I look?” she whispered to Tico. The big dog gave her an approving doggy smile.
She took a calming breath, checked herself in the mirror and asked who was there.
“Dylan,” he said.
Abigail opened the door and lost her heart.
Dylan in a tuxedo, his black hair glistening and curling around his forehead and ears, his eyes inky and wide open. And on her.
He did a thorough sweep, taking in her dress before his gaze came back to her face. “Are...are you ready?”
She nodded, unable to speak, unable to move.
“You’ll need a wrap.”
She whirled to get her white wool evening cloak and her matching clutch. When she turned around, Dylan was there. He took the wrap and put it over her shoulders, his hands lingering near her neck.
“You look amazing,” he said, his breath warm on her ear.
Abigail closed her eyes and willed herself to remain aloof and unaffected. But oh, she was affected. She was shaken and moved and changed and...she was falling for a man who didn’t want someone like her in his life. A man who had decided he couldn’t afford to have someone to love.
“Abigail...”
For a brief moment, she felt as if he needed to say something more, something personal and intimate. But he held her, his hands warm on her skin.
“Let’s go,” he said, shifting away.
Abigail turned and nodded, regaining her balance. “This should be an interesting evening.”
He gave her one of those silky black Dylan stares, his hand touching her elbow. “You can say that again.”
FOURTEEN
The big white mansion shined like a jewel in a neighborhood near DuPont Circle, and tonight one of Washington’s finest historical homes was all decked out for the holiday season. But the decorations were subtle and understated. An evergreen wreath trimmed in red ribbons hung on each of the impressive floor-to-ceiling windows on all levels of the home and two huge matching wreaths graced the beveled glass doors. Candelabras stood lit with white candles on each side of the entryway and a huge tree that could be seen through the lower level windows offered a welcoming sight.
Abigail had been here before many times so she knew the history of the Benison Mansion. Orson D. Benison owned a thriving law firm that had been in his family for generations and while he’d inherited most of his wealth, he’d accumulated even more through solid investments and buying into a couple of internet start-up companies. He had helped her father with his investments, too.
He also controlled politicians on both sides of the aisle and represented the crooked ones who were willing to pay a hefty sum to use his services. Her father had not particularly cared for Mr. Benison’s boastful attitude but he’d always accepted invitations to events here as a courtesy and so he could keep abreast of the beltway undercurrent. And because he admired this historical home and enjoyed the impromptu tours Mr. Benison conducted for anyone who might be interested.
Now, as the black limo they’d borrowed to allow them to merge with the crowd slowly made its way up the driveway, Dylan reached across and squeezed her hand. “Remember, don’t do anything dangerous.”
Abigail kept her surprise to herself. He’d hardly said a word to her on the short ride over but she’d turned to find him glancing at her several times. They’d gone around the block twice to throw off anyone who might be following them and he’d checked and rechecked ahead of them and behind them. But his fingers wrapped around hers now in a touch that was anything but business. The warmth from his skin scorched a message straight to her heart. Dylan meant business, in his career and in the way he took care of a woman.
Abigail had never felt so secure and safe in her life. And in that moment, she realized she could be headed for serious trouble with this man. She could so easily fall for him.
“The same to you,” she quipped. “Stay safe.”
He nodded and let go of her hand. “Stay there until I can come around and open the door for you.”
She did as he told her, thinking he was also a gentleman, but this courtesy had more to do with scoping the cars unloading all around them and taking in the scene. Still it was nice to be pampered and guarded.
Already a crush of glamorous people moved
up the wide stone steps leading to the massive wooden and glass front doors. The shrubbery surrounding the house glistened in the snow, bright white lights shining like stars against a blanket.
Some of the massive trunks of the live oaks had been strung with the same twinkling lights and giant festive balls hung from their lower branches. The whole place was tastefully decorated, making the night seem even more festive.
When they reached the first landing between the steps and the house, Dylan spoke softly into the earbud he wore to communicate with the other officers on duty tonight. “We’re approaching the entryway.”
Abigail glanced around and took in the mass of people who’d come to this grand party, a chill moving over her as the wind shook snow off the trees.
She had to wonder. Was a killer walking amongst them tonight?
* * *
Dylan guided Abigail through the crush of people, his hand on her arm, his gaze moving over the crowd. The sooner they located Omar Dibianu, the sooner he could get her out of here. They’d decided to let her enter through the front so the crowd could help protect her. But Dylan still worried. So he held on to her, wishing Tico could be here but the crowded environment didn’t allow for dogs inside the house.
The big dog was safely waiting in his kennel in the garage, warm and taken care of until he might be needed.
Dylan prayed that time wouldn’t come.
He glanced at Abigail, watching as she greeted people, her smile not so bright, her eyes still dulled by grief. She looked beautiful, ethereal, shattered. But she stopped and accepted hugs from people with sympathetic expressions or took pats on her arm from people clearly surprised to see her here tonight.
And then Benison came down the wide marble staircase and headed straight for Abigail, his tuxedo tailored to the last stitch, his smile stitched on as perfectly as the tuxedo.
Dylan got a strange feeling as he watched the debonair millionaire give Abigail a solicitous hug, but he shook Benison’s hand after Abigail introduced him again.
Benison knew who he was, of course, since they’d met out at the farm right before the funeral. But the silver-haired gentleman played the part of gracious host with such ease, Dylan had to smile at the garish overkill in the big room.
“I’m so glad you came, Abigail,” Benison said, his hand clasping hers. “It’s an honor to have you here.”
“My father always enjoyed your parties,” she said, her tone low. She gave Benison a soft smile and then withdrew her hand from his.
Benison moved on to his other guests, but Abigail kept up the pleasantries for nearly an hour before she turned to Dylan with a panicked glance.
“Are you all right?” he asked before tugging her into an empty alcove near the back of the house.
“I need some air.” She fanned herself, her eyes suddenly misty green. “I thought I was ready for this but I’m a bit overwhelmed by seeing so many people who knew my father.”
He sat her on a bench. “I’ll find you some water. Don’t move.”
She bobbed her head, leaned back against the wall. “I’ll be okay.”
But Dylan wasn’t so sure about that. She looked pale, drawn and exhausted. He watched her as he stood at a nearby bar and waited for the water. They’d been here long enough. Dibianu obviously wasn’t going to show.
* * *
Abigail took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Since when had she succumbed to panic attacks? She pushed at her hair and sat up, willing herself to stay still and find some sort of center.
A hand on her arm startled her and she looked around to find Omar Dibianu sitting there beside her, his dark eyes wide with concern. “Miss Wheaton, it is imperative that we speak in private. I have been trying to contact you since your father died. I need to warn you.”
Warn her?
Abigail stood and searched for Dylan. He charged toward her with a glass of water, his expression grim and determined. He’d spotted Omar. “Yes, I understand,” she managed. “What is this about, Mr. Dibianu?”
“Not here,” the nervous man said. “Your father was trying to get home so he could talk to you about a very urgent matter. We need—”
Before he could finish the sentence, a waiter hurried up, stopped close to Dibianu and stared directly at Abigail. “Next time, you’ll be the one.”
Dibianu let out a gasp and fell to the floor, blood flowing from his side. Abigail screamed. Dylan dropped the glass, ran to Abigail and lifted her up into his arms and carried her down a hallway, away from the gasps of the people who’d just witnessed a murder.
* * *
“He was trying to warn me, Dylan.”
Abigail kept saying that over and over as the motorcade moved through traffic slowed by a full-blown snowstorm.
Dylan held his cell phone to his ear and listened to her while he reported back. “What did he say?”
“He said my father wanted to get home and tell me about something. I don’t know. He... They stabbed Omar before he could tell me.” She let out a gasp. “The waiter told me I’d be next.”
“That will not happen.” Dylan talked into the phone and then ended the call. “Stabbed and dead. I’m sorry, Abigail.”
Her mind whirled with regret. “I insisted on trying to talk to him. It’s my fault.”
“No, it’s the fault of whoever is behind this,” Dylan replied, his hand in hers. “We’re going to get you back to the safe house and we’ll regroup.”
“What now?” she asked, thinking she might not ever be free of these threats and attacks.
“We keep fighting,” Dylan said. “We’ll get to the truth.”
Abigail had to wonder about that.
“I’m afraid,” she said to Dylan. “Not so much for myself but for everyone around me. I’m afraid for you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Dylan said, his hand in hers. I’ll be fine, okay?”
She nodded, the lump in her throat burning with such a raw pain she couldn’t speak.
So she sat silent and held on to Dylan’s hand, her prayers tripping over her fears. What had her father been so concerned about?
They were a block from the safe house when Abigail heard a popping sound and then the SUV skidded in the snow and went spinning out of control. Abigail bounced and felt the vehicle turning, falling, rolling.
And then her world went dark.
FIFTEEN
Dylan woke to bright lights and people in white uniforms, a disorientation weighing him down with the same force as being pulled underwater. He tried to sit up, tried to remember what he was supposed to be doing.
Abigail!
“Sir, lie still.”
A nurse, her hair short and spiky, her frown no-nonsense.
“Where am I?”
“George Washington University Hospital,” she said. “You were in an accident and you’ve suffered a head injury and some lacerations. Please lie still.”
“Abigail?” he said, trying to sit up.
The nurse turned to someone else in the room. Dylan tried to lift himself up again but he drifted back into blackness. Then he felt a hand on his arm.
Captain McCord stood by the gurney, his expression etched in fatigue. “How you doing, kid?”
Dylan shook his head, blinked. “Not so good. Where is she, sir?”
“You don’t need to worry about that now.”
Dylan gritted his teeth to stop the spinning in his head. “Where is she?”
“They took her, Dylan. But we’re searching for her. I promise you, I’ll find her.”
Dylan didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes and willed himself to be still. Because he couldn’t let the captain know, but as soon as his head stopped spinning he intended to find Abigail himself.
* * *
A
bigail jerked awake, her mind numb with shock and fear. The taste of blood left a metallic tinge of bile in her throat but when she cried out, no one came to hear her. The gag around her mouth suffocated her, but Abigail swallowed the dread and tried to focus. Her left shoulder throbbed and burned and she felt a wet, cold stickiness on her throbbing right temple. Her blue chiffon dress was torn and dirty and her hair was down around her face. The memory of being tossed and hitting her head against the door caused her to close her eyes. A wreck. The SUV had flipped.
Dylan. He’d been holding her hand.
Dylan? Was he alive? Would he find her?
She shivered from shock and cold and fear. She didn’t know where she was but she took calming breaths to keep the panic at bay. She had to escape, had to find a way to get out of here.
Wherever here was.
The room was dark and musty with shadows playing across a high-beamed structure. A barn? She listened and tried to squirm free of the ropes holding her hands behind her. Did she hear voices?
Yes. And footsteps. Someone was approaching. Her heart accelerated into a cadence that matched the urgent footsteps.
A big door creaked open and a streak of light blinded her.
She twisted, trying to see, trying to search for some sort of exit.
A tall, menacing form stood in front of her.
“This should have been so easy,” the familiar voice said on a low growl. “Set up the sleeper cell to take the blame. Let the international authorities and homeland security and everyone else go after them and end it there. But...I couldn’t be sure what your father had told you, what Dibianu might have blabbed tonight.”
Abigail didn’t react. She wouldn’t shiver in front of this man. But she would fight until the end. “Did you leave all of your guests for me, Mr. Benison? I’m touched.”
His chuckle cackled with a trace of disapproval. “Don’t flatter yourself, my dear. I rushed out of the house to help with the search for you. But...alas...no one will find you. Your knight in shining armor couldn’t protect you, no matter how hard he tried.”
Capitol K-9 Unit Christmas Page 17
