She carried her grocery bag up to Louisburg Square. Abigail would be back from Maine by now. Sig hadn’t talked to her in weeks and didn’t want to put her sister-in-law on the spot—but Matt was in trouble, at least on the edge. If Abigail had any insight into her brother’s state of mind in light of the fires, Sam’s death, the pending birth of his children, Sig wanted to hear it.
Her sister-in-law answered her front door in slim pants, her blond hair pulled back. She looked sleek and poised, while Sig felt bloated as she huffed and puffed over carrying a bag of groceries up Mount Vernon Street. Her hair hung down her back in a thick braid, and she wore one of her voluminous dresses. She felt frumpy, a little sick to her stomach.
“Sig! What an incredible surprise. Come in, won’t you?” Abigail drew her into the entry, unchanged since her father’s death, probably since her grandfather’s death, too. “How are you feeling? Have you recovered from—my God, I can’t even say it. We came too close to losing you.”
Sig managed a smile. “No argument from me.”
“And you’re pregnant.” She smiled. “With twins?”
“Lively twins.”
“I can’t wait to tell my kids they’re finally going to have cousins. Where are you staying?”
“At the house.”
Abigail frowned. “Alone?”
“It seems that way. I got back this afternoon.”
“I meant to visit you in Camden,” Abigail said. “Oh, Sig—are you sure you’re up to staying by yourself? You’re welcome to stay here with me.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Abigail seemed dubious. She was so different from her brother—more formal, more mannerly. “Let’s have a drink and catch up, shall we? Coffee, tea, whatever you’d like. Have you had dinner yet?”
“No, but the thought of food…” Sig shuddered. “A drink would be great, though.”
“Then come downstairs. You can leave your groceries right here in the hall. Is there anything we need to stick in the freezer?”
“No, it’ll be fine.”
She set her grocery bag on the floor, ambivalent about having stopped in. There were so many questions about the fire, Matt’s behavior, Riley, Emile—even John Straker and his role. Sig didn’t want to get into any of them. She just wanted Matt to come to his senses.
Abigail started down the hall. “Henry and I were just making coffee.”
“Henry’s here? Don’t let me interrupt—”
Abigail blushed, tried to cover for it. “You’re not interrupting anything. He’ll be delighted to see you.”
With that, she led Sig down a flight of stairs to the kitchen, a cozy mix of modern and nineteenth century with its brick fireplace, copper pots, granite counter-tops and cherry cabinets. Henry got up from the table, greeting Sig warmly. “Thank God you’re all right. You and Riley gave us all quite a scare.”
She smiled. “We gave ourselves quite a scare.”
“I imagine so. Have the police—well, let’s not talk about that right now. There’s fresh coffee. Can I pour you a cup?”
“I can put water on for tea if you prefer,” Abigail said. “I didn’t drink coffee during either of my pregnancies, but I doubt one cup’ll hurt someone who survived a burning building.”
Sig laughed, relaxing. “Put that way, I’ll say yes to coffee. I’ll just add a lot of milk.”
Henry poured the coffee, moving about Abigail’s kitchen as if he were comfortable there, familiar. He filled a small pitcher with milk, set it and the heavy mug on the table. “I’ll let you add your own milk. I’m sure you and Abigail have a lot to talk about. I’ll scoot upstairs for a bit.”
“That’s not necessary,” Sig said.
He held up a hand, smiled. “It’s fine, Sig. You two catch up.”
When he was gone, Abigail put her hands on her hips and scrutinized her sister-in-law. “Are you positive you’re well enough to stay alone? You still look pale to me. I think you should have stayed with your mother a few days at least to recuperate.”
“I’m just tired. It was a long drive.” Sig poured milk into her coffee, sipped it. It was hot, not too strong. She avoided Abigail’s eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
“Mara must have hated seeing you go off on your own under these circumstances. Wait until you have those babies, Sig. Then you’ll understand. There’s no off button when you’re a mother.”
“You were divorced when your children were young. Do you think—”
She cut Sig off with a firm shake of her head. “You and Matt are not going to divorce. Don’t even think about it. This is just a bump in the road. You’ll see.”
“Don’t pay any attention to me, Abigail. I’m not thinking straight. I…” She sighed. “I’m just worried about him. I wish I understood what he’s trying to accomplish.”
“Matt has a good head on his shoulders, Sig,” Abigail said gently, sitting across the table from her. “He’s not stupid. He sometimes asks a lot of the people who love him, but you have to have faith.”
“For how long?”
“For me, it’s forever. But I’m his sister.”
Sig bit her lip, refusing to cry. She’d cried too much already.
“By the way,” Abigail continued, “you must be wondering if there’s anything between Henry and me. There is. Sort of. We’re trying to be low-key because of our roles at the center, and now with Sam’s death—well, I’m sure you can understand our reluctance to become a subject of gossip and speculation.”
Sig suddenly felt enervated, as if she wouldn’t even make it back out to Louisburg Square. She drank more of her coffee, nodded. “You’re both entitled to your privacy.”
“We’ve only been seeing each other a few weeks. Henry was very nervous at first, especially since we were beginning to see signs that some of the rawness of the Encounter ordeal was easing. Then it just…” She smiled, her eyes not quite meeting Sig’s. “It just seemed so natural.”
“I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to,” Sig said.
“We should probably wait until Sam’s death, the fires…” Abigail groaned, as if it were all too much to articulate. “Until this whole mess is sorted out.”
“I understand. Abigail, everyone only wants happiness for you. You’ve done so much for the center, and your family, too. Matt likes Henry, and I’m sure Caroline’s fond of him. Of course, that shouldn’t matter. You just need to follow your own heart.”
“Ah, Sig. You make everything sound so wonderfully simple. I’ve missed you.” Her expression clouded, and she leaned forward. “Sig, what do you think’s going on with Emile?”
“I wish I knew. That’s why Riley and I were at his cottage. We wanted to find him, get him to talk to the police.”
Abigail sighed, got up to pour herself a cup of coffee. “He’s always had a very fine opinion of his own abilities. I wouldn’t be surprised if he thinks he can sort out Sam’s death better than the police. Either that or he’s gone completely nuts.”
“To be honest, I’ve never been very good at figuring out how Emile thinks. Riley’s much better. Me—I can’t even figure out what my own husband’s thinking.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself.”
Abigail returned to the table with her coffee. Sig noticed her slender fingers and manicured nails, looked down at her own unpolished, blunt-cut nails. She needed to take better care of herself. Ultimately, she realized, that was why she’d come home. Not to do her nails—to focus on her, on Matt, on their marriage, on the family they were in the process of creating.
“Henry’s waiting for you,” Sig said, struggling to her feet. “I’ll head on back. I just wanted to stop in and say hello.”
“I’m glad you did. Are you sure you won’t join us for dinner? We’re just ordering out. Nothing fancy.”
But Sig was sure, and when she walked back out to Mount Vernon, she found herself feeling a little foolish. Even in her confusion over whatever was going on with her brother, Abigail was confident, po
ised, well-mannered and in her element. Sig constantly felt as if she were spinning out of control. She had no plan of action, no clear course she was following. She simply responded to events as they happened.
She’d call Riley when she got back. Find out what her wild little sister was up to and whether the sparks were still flying between her and Straker. Find out if she was safe. If she’d learned anything more about Emile and the fire.
“There,” she told herself as she unlocked her front door. “You’re taking action.”
She pushed open the door, saw the shadow of a man in the front room and screamed, her bag of groceries crashing to the floor. The milk carton split open, soaking the bag.
“Sig…” Matt stepped out of the shadows. “I didn’t know it was you.”
She was shaking, far more terrified than she would have been if she hadn’t just escaped death in Emile’s loft. Her knees went out from under her and she sank to the floor. She couldn’t stop herself. Her head spun. Her stomach lurched, and she thought she’d pass out.
Matt caught her by the elbows and lifted her into his arms. She ached to lean into him, let him take her weight, but she stopped herself, stiffening against her own attraction to him, her own need.
“Are you all right?” He sounded panicked, tortured. “Sig, what can I do?”
She had to look at him. At those blue eyes, that square jaw, that lean body. He still held her. “I’m not going to pass out. I’m okay.”
“You’re sure?”
She nodded, and he took her face in his hands and kissed her cheeks, and she realized he was crying. So was she. She’d started to say something, she didn’t know what, when his mouth found hers.
“Oh, Sig,” he whispered. “I love you.”
She wanted this, had dreamed of it for months. Her mouth opened to his kiss. He slid his palms over her shoulders, and she quaked when he touched her breasts, swollen from pregnancy. It had been so long. “I’ve missed you,” she said. “I’ve missed you so much.”
He smoothed a hand over her lower abdomen. “Twins. My God.” His voice cracked. “I want to be a good father, Sig. I’ll do my best. I promise.”
She covered his hand with hers. “I can feel them moving. Most of the time it’s this little flutter.”
“You’re okay? After the fire—”
“Yes.”
He kissed her again. “I remember when we made these babies. I don’t know how I’ve done without you for so long.” He curved his hand slowly back up to her breast, found her nipple, circled it with one finger as he deepened their kiss. “Just let me sleep beside you tonight.”
“And then what?”
His eyes flashed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what happens in the morning?” She fought past her longing for him, called upon all her convictions, her determination that she had to stand her ground. For her sake, for his, for their babies’ sake. “I’m expecting twins, Matt. There’s too much at stake for me. For us. I need to believe in you—I need you to believe in me. Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on with you, Emile, Sam. Let me in.”
“Sig…”
“No half measures, Matt. I won’t be a sometimes wife. I can’t be. Either you let me in, let me help you through this, or you walk out of here.” She gave him as hard a look as she could. “Or I do.”
“I love you. I’d die for you. I’d die for our babies. Isn’t that enough?”
He was so persuasive. So handsome. Her body burned with wanting him. She hated being alone. She liked having him in bed with her, liked waking up to the rub of his beard on her, liked hearing him thrash around in the kitchen. She desperately wanted their life back. But how much could she give?
“I know you asked me to give you space and let you work this out for yourself, and I was willing—for a time. I’ve been more than patient. And I never expected…” She blinked back more tears, squashing a rush of conflicting emotions. “Sam Cassain was murdered. Riley and I were nearly killed. Matt, this isn’t about you and your grief anymore.”
“It never was. That’s why you have to let me do this on my own.”
“What if you’re next? What if Riley finds your body washed up on the rocks? I know you gave Sam the money so he could probe the Encounter. You must have left a trail. The police are bound to find out—”
“They already know. I called and told them this afternoon. It wasn’t a crime, Sig.” He stood back, and she could see the impact she’d had on him. “If not me, Sam would have found someone else. He’d have stolen the money.”
“I’m glad you’ve finally told the police.” She held up her head, refused to give him one damned inch. “But I don’t see why you couldn’t see your way through to telling me.”
He didn’t answer.
“Because of Emile? Or because you knew I’d try to stop you?”
“Because it’s not your fight.”
As much as his words hurt, she didn’t wither. “Your fights are my fights.”
“Not this one.” His voice hardened, more against his own conflicting emotions, she thought, than against her. “I thought you understood.”
“Understanding doesn’t mean I’m patient, and it doesn’t mean I’m going to sit back and passively let you do whatever you want to do, get yourself killed, end up in jail. I won’t. We’re partners.”
“No, Sig. Not on this we’re not partners. We can’t be. It’s too dangerous.”
She stood her ground. “If it’s too dangerous for me, it’s too dangerous for you.”
He hissed through his teeth. “Damn it, what kind of man would I be if I didn’t see this thing through? If it’s my fault Sam’s dead—” He broke off, raked a hand through his hair. His eyes were a searing blue, radiating all his frustration, anger, grief, fears, everything he tried so hard to keep banked down. “This is my doing, Sig. My problem. The fire at Emile’s, your pregnancy—how much more reason do you need to stand back?”
“How much reason do you need?”
Suddenly he looked exhausted, defeated. She ached for him. But she couldn’t back down.
And neither could he. “It’s more reason for me to redouble my efforts.”
She clenched her fists, refused to cry. “Damn you, Matt.”
“Don’t ask for what I can’t give.” He sighed, his expression softening slightly. “Let’s not fight. You look tired. Can I get you anything?”
“A good lawyer.”
He swore under his breath and stalked across the room, slamming the front door on his way out. Sig didn’t have the energy to go after him. She collapsed onto the couch, her body still hot with the feel of his touch, his kisses. She sobbed, cried, swore and finally threw the needlepoint pillows across the room one by one.
She should have let him stay the night. At least then she’d know where he was. So much, she thought miserably, for taking action. All she could do was sit in her empty house, wait and worry.
Riley picked up a few things at her favorite market in Porter Square and almost deluded herself into thinking her life was normal. Which it wasn’t and maybe never would be again. Murder, fires, sabotage, a crazy grandfather and a shot-up FBI agent coming off a self-imposed exile.
“Phew,” she said, walking up the shaded street with her bag of groceries.
When she turned the corner onto her street, she saw Straker sitting on her front steps. He didn’t get up. It was a warm evening, and he wore jeans and a dark navy pullover that made his eyes seem darker, duskier.
“You beat me here,” she said.
“I thought that might be a wise move.”
“It wasn’t wisdom,” she told him, “it was luck.”
“You have a lousy track record, St. Joe. I don’t trust you to mind your own damned business for a change.”
She climbed the steps with her groceries. He still hadn’t gotten up. He seemed at ease, thick legs stretched out, his back against the steps.
“I haven’t been sneaky. I just haven’t been particularly lucky,�
� she said.
“Did you stop in Camden on your way back?”
She nodded. “Sig left for Boston this morning. She’s back at her house on Beacon Hill. I don’t know if that’s smart—Mom didn’t, either. But there’s not much either of us can do about it. I’ll call her, make sure she’s okay.” She glanced down at Straker. “How’d it go with Lou?”
“Our good and true sheriff is still hoping he’ll get me into his jail before this is all over. He’s on the case. I don’t know how long he and CID can sit on the pictures before word gets out.”
“The sabotage of the Encounter is big news.”
“The suspected sabotage. It hasn’t been proven.”
He got to his feet, and she felt a warm shudder, knew that yesterday and last night had settled nothing between them.
“You’re looking a little spooked, St. Joe. Does that mean I get the futon tonight?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Straker. I’m not spooked by you.” Unraveled, maybe, but not spooked. She balanced her grocery bag in one arm and whipped out her keys. “And you can stay at the Holiday Inn.”
“Not a chance. Emile asked me to look out for you. I’m a man with a mission.” He stood next to her as she unlocked the door; even in the night light, she could see the scar above his eye, his wry smile. Shot up, six months on a deserted island, and he was as confident as ever, as sure of who he was. “You wouldn’t want to come between me and my mission.”
She pushed open the door, let him walk in ahead of her. “Are you going to check my place for bombs and booby traps?”
“For starters.”
So much for normality.
Her apartment almost seemed to belong to another person, as if she’d taken a quantum leap in her life since she’d left for Maine. She eyed the clutter, the work that meant so much to her, the little things that soothed her soul and just made her smile. She didn’t know how she could go back to being the person she’d been before she’d found herself trapped in the fog and had stumbled on Sam Cassain’s body, before she’d made love to John Straker.
On Fire Page 22
