“I don’t hate you.” He pushed her hair back from her face.
“But you did at one time.”
Was that hopefulness in her voice? He stood then and walked toward the door. “I don’t know what you’re trying to bait me into saying, Libby. Do you want me to hate you? Would that make you feel better?” She stared in silent expectation at him. “I know this is damn awkward. I feel it, too. Would it be easier if you knew how little I care for you?” He drew his hand through his hair. He wasn’t even kidding himself. “I’m trying to help you, but I don’t know what to do about...this.” He waved his hands at her, indicating her crying. Her obvious need for comfort. When they’d been dating, he knew the rules: how to touch her, or hold her, and what words to say to comfort her. Everything was different now.
“Why are you helping me? After how much I’ve hurt you.”
“This is what I do. I protect people. It’s just business.” She was still searching his face. “I’ve moved on. I don’t remember the things you said, so forget it, Libby.”
He remembered every single word she’d said. He’d replayed those words a hundred times in his mind. They swarmed like gnats in his consciousness at inconvenient times, reminding him that once he’d been in love, but it had all been a joke.
Her eyes were awash with confusion. “Oh.” She hadn’t been expecting that, and she lifted her eyebrows as if she didn’t know what to think. “Then we can start over again. As friends.”
“Yes. As friends. And I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” He turned and walked out the door, hoping she hadn’t noticed the sharpness in his voice and wishing he was a better liar than he was.
* * *
Libby’s head reeled as Nick left the room. She remembered every hurtful word that had passed between them the night they ended the engagement, and he’d forgotten. Moved on, as he put it. She swiped her fingertips beneath her eyes, catching a streak of mascara. There was some relief in knowing that maybe he didn’t hate her, after all. At least his assurance had gone some way toward quelling the guilt that had gnawed at her gut all day.
She smoothed her fingers over the worn material of the surfing shark T-shirt. The night Nick had bought it for her, she’d worn it to bed and curled right up next to him, draping herself over the hard edges of his body. After their vacation they’d returned to their separate homes, and she’d brought that shirt to bed with her because traces of his scent clung to the fibers. But that was a long time ago, when being away from Nick had felt like losing a part of herself.
A frown pulled at the corners of her mouth as she remembered showing her father the T-shirt. She’d wanted him to find the humor in it. Instead, he’d pulled his eyebrows tight, looked at her and said, “If you ever want to make something of yourself, you’ll stop wasting your time on these antics and these people.” Dad didn’t laugh at many things. He respected hard work.
She stroked the cotton between her fingers and stopped when she saw the small hole in the side seam; she’d have to fix that.
Libby rose from the bed and inhaled deeply, stretching her arms and legs, trying to loosen the tension that had been collecting in her muscles. She’d finally given back the engagement ring, and this was her chance to smooth things over with Nick once and for all. To move on, just as he had.
She reached for her cell phone and dialed her sister’s number. “I wanted to check up on you.” She paused when she heard a man’s voice in the background. “Who’s that?”
“It’s Sergeant Vasquez. He’s going to escort me and Sam to a hotel.”
“Good. Listen, I’m not going to keep you, but I’ll have my phone on me. You’ll call me if you need anything?”
“Yes. You do the same.”
Libby paused to blink back the tears that had started to sting her eyes again. She couldn’t believe that this was her life, that she was hiding in her ex-fiancé’s parents’ house and her sister and nephew were forced to hide in a hotel. “Cassie, I’m so sorry.”
The line was quiet. Then Cassie’s voice came through softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Libby. You just be careful.”
She swallowed her breath, trying to tamp down the ache in the center of her chest. “Give Sammy a kiss for me. Sleep well.” She disconnected the call.
Libby slid the empty suitcase under the guest bed. Nick’s mom had decorated in flowery prints and lace. Frilly things hung along the bottom of the duvet in layers of fabric that resembled swirls of frosting. Little end tables were covered by long floral tablecloths and a layer of lace before being topped with matching brass lamps with floral shades. She found the decor sentimental and overwhelming and longed for her bed in her own simply decorated bedroom.
She wandered into the kitchen, where Nick was typing on his BlackBerry. He was so preoccupied that he didn’t look up when she entered. Without a word he poured her a glass of water and went back to typing.
That was fine with her if he didn’t want to talk, because she didn’t have anything to say. His kindness today had been a little too much for her to take. He’d assured her that he was only doing what he’d do for anyone by protecting her, but he must have an ulterior motive for taking a leave from work. Some self-serving motive. She couldn’t imagine suspending her own life like this without a damn good reason.
He paused with the BlackBerry and she seized the opportunity. “You must be exhausted. You must have driven all night to get here.”
He shook his head and turned back to his phone. “I came in for a long weekend. I left Thursday night and was supposed to have been back tonight.” His response was mumbled, spoken more to his BlackBerry than to her.
“Oh? Visiting anyone?”
She’d just been trying to make pleasant conversation, but he froze and looked at her with a gaze that reminded her of a cornered animal. “Some friends.” He dropped the answer and looked away again.
Nonsense. Libby knew that look instantly. When you knew someone for twenty years, you got to recognize all of their tells: what they do when they’re lying, or angry, or jealous. Nick rarely looked the way he did now, but when he did, there was only one feeling behind it: guilt. Guilt, she supposed, that he’d been in town and hadn’t attended her father’s services. Well, he should feel guilty about that. He’d sat with her father at countless family dinners, and maybe they didn’t always see eye to eye, but he should have paid his final respects. If she was being honest, she’d found his absence offensive.
Libby took a sip of her water. Perhaps Nick had his reasons, and what did any of it matter now? He’d taken a leave from work to be at her side; the least she could do was spare him a lecture on funeral etiquette.
“Dad’s funeral was on Friday.” She sighed. “I don’t blame you for not attending. I know you had a difficult relationship with him.” She gripped her drinking glass between both hands. “Anyway, it’s okay with me that you weren’t there. You shouldn’t feel badly about it.”
He’d put his BlackBerry away and was leaning against the counter. His short-sleeve T-shirt clung to the curves of his biceps. Yes, he’d definitely been working out more since they broke up. She wondered if he’d been doing it to impress another woman and was startled at the stab of jealousy the thought provoked.
“Your dad never liked me. He used to pull me aside when we were dating to cut me down, try to humiliate me. He’d quiz me on obscure political events or books just to prove I wasn’t smart enough. I think you knew about that. There was no stopping him, anyway.” He released a deep breath. “At the time I was angry. I imagined marrying you would be the best way to stick it to him. To win. But I’ve spent a lot of time thinking in the past few years. I tried to understand how a father would feel about his daughter, and how your father had wrapped up his dreams in you. Now I see that if he never thought I was good enough to be with you, it’s only because he saw how brilliant you are. Every man would fall short.”
She felt her throat tighten and her eyes stinging again. “Nick.”
He
looked down at his feet, suddenly seeming far away. “I meant it when I said I was sorry about your dad. I know how much he meant to you. That’s why I was at the funeral.”
If she’d been standing up, she would have fallen over. “Wh— You were?”
“In the back. Where you wouldn’t see me.”
The weight of the confession pressed Libby against the back of her chair. And here she’d been on the verge of lecturing him...maybe he’d avoided her on Friday for a good reason. “I didn’t know.” The image of him paying his respects to her father anonymously touched something raw and painful. “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”
He avoided eye contact as if the subject was painful for him, too. “I’ve tried to understand him and why he thought I was so wrong for you. Maybe when I have kids I’ll understand. Revenge is the wrong reason to get married, anyway,” he continued. “That’s not how I want to live.”
He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t bother replying. There was nothing more to say.
They ate dinner at the small table in the dining room, exchanging pleasantries they would have exchanged with any other casual acquaintance. Libby inquired after Nick’s family, and he inquired after hers. “Sam is adorable,” he said. “He has your dark hair and blue eyes.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Nick, all infants have blue eyes.”
“They do?” He shrugged. “I just learned something new. But he does look like you. I remember seeing your baby pictures. You were a cute baby.”
She clenched her napkin in her fist. “Thanks.”
“So the father is completely absent? I can’t imagine. Even if it was an accident, I’d step up. I’d want to be a part of his life.”
Libby dragged a slice of wilted tomato across her plate. “Not accident. Surprise. And that puts you in a better league than some other men. Poor Cassie. She hinted that it was a one-night stand. She was inconsolable when she found out.”
“I can imagine. I wouldn’t know the first thing about taking care of a baby. I’d be so lost.” He shot her a small smile. “You’re a natural, though. How’d you know how to do that?”
She froze. “Do what?”
“Get him to sleep like that. Is that maternal instinct?”
Her heart flipped. Was he really complimenting her mothering skills? No, she was not having this conversation now, and not with Nick of all people. “I guess.” She put her fork down. “It’s been a long day.” She stood and cleared her plate.
Nick looked at her with alarm. “Did I upset you?”
“No.” He would have no way of knowing that she couldn’t have children, and she couldn’t be angry with him for giving her what he considered to be a compliment. But the conversation could lead them to a place she didn’t want to tread, or stir up emotions she’d settled already, and the day had been too long for any of that. “You didn’t upset me. And I appreciate everything you’ve done today. I mean it.”
She washed her dishes and set them in the drying rack. She was aware of Nick watching her from his seat at the table, but she didn’t give him any indication that she was even aware he was in the room. Instead, she turned and walked out of the kitchen after uttering a good-night that sounded much more chipper than she felt.
* * *
Nick was not frustrated. Maybe he was a little surprised at the way Libby had just picked up and left in the middle of dinner, but it’s not like he’d prepared anything fancy or special. He wasn’t disappointed by the abrupt end to the evening, either. Disappointment would imply that he’d anticipated spending more time together, which would in turn suggest that he’d wanted to see more of Libby. He scrubbed too roughly as he washed his dinner plate. Had he actually wanted to spend more time with Libby?
Something nameless was clouding his thoughts, hovering just out of his grasp. He’d stayed in town because he’d have to be a bastard to leave Libby alone now, even though he’d done just that for nearly three years. He didn’t want to see her again, or to be dragged back down that road. All of this was chance. Duty and chance but not fate, because fate would imply that something would come of their reunion.
He washed his plate four times before he realized it was clean, then he set it in the drying rack next to Libby’s plate. Her plate. Her fork and her knife and her cup. He dried them himself, wondering why the action felt so intimate. It wasn’t as if she’d infused the utensils with an essence of herself. Once that fork went back into the drawer, he’d never be able to guess which one her mouth had touched. But now he knew. Maybe that was the difference.
He leaned against the counter and reached into his pocket to pull out the velvet case she’d returned earlier. Nick had been so proud to present her with that diamond solitaire and all that it represented: marriage, a house, children, maybe a dog. A shared future. He pulled the ring from the case and studied the little scratches on the gold band. How many of those impressions had been made when he was with her, he wondered? Maybe one was made at their favorite restaurant, another when they spent that weekend in New York City.
He snapped the case shut and placed it back into his pocket. Three years had passed, and every woman he’d been with had fallen short in some regard. Libby had rejected him, told him after years of being together that she didn’t love him. She’d coldly slid the engagement ring across the table today.
The awareness struck him like a blow to the gut. She’d done all of those things, and he’d rearranged his life for her at a moment’s notice. God help him, but he still had feelings for Libby.
A chill came over him as he thought about how it would feel to taste her bee-stung lips again, or bury his face in her thick black hair. To palm her breasts and feel her chest rise against him as she arched in pleasure. One of the greatest discoveries in his young life had been that beneath her elegant composure Libby hid a passionate streak that flowed as hotly and unpredictably as molten lava. More than once, she’d kissed him chastely on the cheek when he left for work in the morning only to greet him at the door on his return wearing only a coy smile. He didn’t bother fighting his body’s response to the memories. She was hot, and the repressed sex goddess thing still drove him out of his mind. He still wanted her.
That didn’t mean she wanted him. He may have some paleolithic impulse to drag her back to his cave, but that didn’t matter. In a few short days he’d be back in Pittsburgh and Libby would be back to her normal routine, which didn’t involve him. The sooner his primal brain got the message, the better.
His BlackBerry rang. It was Dom. He’d escorted Cassie and Sam to a hotel two towns over. “No one followed us. I think they’re safe, and Cassie will feel better this way.” Nick heard him clear his throat.
“Thanks for doing that, Dom. Libby will be relieved to hear it.”
“They’re close, huh?”
“Very. Especially since their mom died.” Libby had only been sixteen when her mother was killed by a drunk driver after working the overnight shift at Arbor Falls Memorial, where she’d been a nurse in the E.R. “Anyway, thanks for letting me know. I’ll tell Libby.”
“I put an officer in an unmarked vehicle outside your house. Officer McAdams. He’s in a black Taurus, parked across the street.”
Nick pulled a curtain aside and squinted into the darkness. “I see him. Thanks.”
“He’ll be there until the morning. I also called because we got an ID on the victim. Her street name was Rita, but her legal name was Mary Parker. Seems she worked as a court reporter during the day but liked to have a good time after hours, if you follow. The preliminary lab work turned up positive for methamphetamines.”
Nick’s hand ached, and he realized how tightly he was clutching the phone. “A court reporter? I’m more interested in that. Where did she work?”
“You sitting down? She got fired about a year ago after being picked up for drug possession, but before that she worked in Arbor Falls. And she worked closely with Judge Andrews.”
“Libby’s dad.” His pulse kicked up a
notch. “We assumed that the first victim had been selected at random and that Libby was the real target.”
“Yes, we did.”
“But maybe the first victim was hand-selected, as well.” He rubbed at his forehead. “Judge Andrews’s court reporter, and now his daughter.”
“You know what this means, right?”
“Someone’s mad at the judge.” His gut reaction was relief because he knew that Libby could stop blaming herself for having done something to put her sister and nephew at risk. But the moment passed as quickly as it had come when he thought about the implications of this discovery. At least Libby was available to assist him and Dom in the investigation and to help narrow their list of suspects. At least Libby could give them a list of persons whom she might have angered.
“He’s mad at the judge,” Dom repeated, and then continued, as if reading Nick’s mind, “and a dead judge isn’t going to tell us who he’s pissed off.”
Chapter 5
Libby couldn’t say for sure whether she slept. Sleep eluded her for hours as she tossed and turned in the guest bed, the flat sheet twisting between her legs as she tried to find a position that would slow the frenetic thoughts in her mind. At some point she blinked and opened her eyes to fragments of morning light beaming through rose-patterned drapery. The bedside clock read five-thirty. Plenty of time to get to work.
She carried her toiletries into the tiny pink-tiled guest bathroom and showered for far too long, trying to scrub off the residue of yesterday’s events. The photograph in her files. The awful suppression hearing. Her sister and her nephew in a hotel. Nick complimenting her maternal instincts. She wanted to emerge from the steamy cocoon of the shower stall a new person with a new life—a life that wasn’t filled with such painful memories. A person who wasn’t living a nightmare and fighting to hold herself together.
Libby wrung out her hair and heard a gentle knuckle rap on the door. “Just me,” said Nick. “I’m making coffee. I don’t have tea.”
The Seven-Day Target Page 7
