by Marta Perry
“You should be in bed, resting,” Sarah said.
Trey rose, helping Amanda up and clasping her arm. “I’ll take you up to the cottage.”
Somewhat to her surprise, no one jumped up with offers to help. Then she realized they were all being tactful, supposing she wanted time alone with Trey. Which she did.
Sarah smiled at her. “You’ll send word by Trey when you need my help, yah?”
She nodded and then bent to put her cheek against Jacob’s for a moment. “Good night. And thank you.”
She carried the warmth of his smile with her as she and Trey went outside. He helped her into the car to drive the short distance up to the cottage. He was clearly concentrating on avoiding any ruts, so she didn’t speak until he was helping her out.
“You know, I think I’m going to like having a father.” She leaned on his arm, reliving the moment when he’d drawn her against him on the cliff, a secure anchor to keep her safe.
“They are important,” he said. He hesitated a moment. “About my father...”
“It’s all right,” she said quickly.
“No, it’s not. I should have told you. He was honestly trying to do what was best for Melanie, probably afraid of what Elizabeth might do if he didn’t take a hand. But the more important point is that I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have.”
“You should have trusted me enough to tell me.” That still rankled, but it no longer felt like betrayal.
“I guess I was afraid you’d think ill of him. And me.” His lips quirked. “I admit to considerable self-interest. I didn’t want to risk losing you. I was wrong.”
“It might have led to some strong words,” she admitted, thinking of how near she’d been to a flash point then. “But I don’t think you could lose me if you tried.”
“I’m not going to try.” He opened the door and helped her inside. “Where do you want to be?”
She gestured. “The sofa for now. Sarah will help me to bed later. That’s what all that tactfulness was about.”
“I know.” He sat down next to her, and Barney settled on the floor by her feet, as if afraid to let her out of his sight. “What are you going to do?”
She knew he didn’t mean about the immediate future. “Finish things up in Boston. I’m telling Robert to settle with my mother’s brother. I know he’ll make the best deal he can. I just want it taken care of. Then...”
Then was the tough part.
“Then what?” He was very close, his breath touching her face. Maybe it wasn’t so tough after all.
“Well, I should walk away with enough to buy a partnership in a veterinary practice I’ll be happy with. Say in a nice rural area, where I can work with large animals. Can you think of any place that fits the bill?”
He smiled, and a steady flame seemed to burn in the depths of his eyes. “I know just the place. It’s a charming town, once you get past some of the crazy things that have happened there. And I know a good attorney to handle the practice agreement for you.”
“So do I.” She reached up with her free hand to caress his cheek.
He planted a warm kiss on her palm, then bent his head a little to claim her lips. She nestled against him, feeling the restraint it took him to handle her gently.
But he did. He always would put her first, just as she would put him first. They’d both have other duties and responsibilities, but this was what was important. Home wasn’t the house in Boston or the mansion on the hill. This was home—the two of them, together.
* * * * *
Keep reading for a look at the story of Jase Glassman, Trey’s law partner, in ECHO OF DANGER, available now from Marta Perry and HQN Books, and don’t miss SHATTERED SILENCE, the exciting conclusion to the ECHO FALLS series!
Echo of Danger
by Marta Perry
CHAPTER ONE
HER FATHER-IN-LAW SET down the coffee she’d poured for him and glanced around Deidre Morris’s sunny, country-style kitchen. “I’ve found a buyer for your house.”
The seemingly casual words, dropped into what had supposedly been an impromptu visit to see his grandson, sent ripples of alarm through Deidre. Her own cup clattered, nearly missing the saucer. “I... What did you say?”
Judge Franklin Morris gave her the look he’d give an unprepared attorney in his courtroom. “I said I’ve found a buyer for you. He’s offering the best price you can expect for a place like this. And you’ll be able to move into Ferncliff by the end of the month.”
Deidre pressed suddenly cold hands against the top of the pine table that had belonged to her grandparents. She should have guessed that there was something behind this visit. Judge Morris was far too busy to drop in on anyone. And nothing he said was ever casual.
She was going to have to take a firm line, clearly, and that wasn’t easy with a man who was accustomed to speaking with the force of law. Stupid, she lectured herself. He can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do, even if he is Kevin’s grandfather.
“I’m afraid there’s some misunderstanding. I have no intention of selling this house.” And certainly not of moving into the chilly mansion where every moment of the day was governed by her formidable father-in-law’s wishes.
“I realize you have a sentimental attachment to your family home.” He seemed to make an effort to sound patient. “But since you won’t have any need of the house once you and Kevin move in with us, selling seems the sensible solution. You can invest the money for the future. However, if you prefer to rent, I suppose that can be arranged.” He’d begun to use his courtroom voice by the end of his little speech.
But she was neither a plaintiff nor a defendant. And this house had been home to her family for three generations, now four. “I don’t want to rent or sell. This is my home, mine and Kevin’s. This is where I plan to live.” Surely that was clear enough.
The judge’s face stiffened, making it look very much like the portrait of him that hung in the county courthouse, marking his twenty years on the bench. The firm planes of his face, the small graying mustache, the piercing gray eyes all seemed granted by providence to make Franklin Morris look like what he was—a county court judge.
The chink of a glass reminded her that they were not alone. Kevin sat across from her, his blue eyes huge and round above the chocolate milk that rimmed his mouth. Deidre’s heart clenched. A five-year-old shouldn’t be hearing this conversation.
“Kevin, why don’t you run upstairs and finish the get-well card you’re making for your grandmother. That way Grandfather can take it with him when he goes.” She gave him a reassuring smile, wishing someone would send reassurance her way about now.
“Yes, that’s right.” The judge’s face softened into a smile when he regarded his grandson in a way it seldom seemed to do otherwise. Maybe he felt he had little else to smile about, with his only child dead at thirty-two and his wife constantly medicating herself with alcohol. “She’ll love to have a card from you.”
Kevin nodded, his chair scraping back. Without a word, he scuttled from the kitchen like a mouse escaping the cat.
Her son’s expression reminded Deidre of the most important reason why they’d never be moving into Ferncliff. She wouldn’t allow Kevin to grow up the way his father had, doubting himself at every turn, convinced he could never measure up to what was expected of him. She turned back to the table to be met by a stare that chilled her.
“Deidre, what is this nonsense? I could understand your reluctance to make a move in the immediate aftermath of Frank’s death. But you’ve had nearly a year. It was always understood that you and Kevin would move in with us. We have plenty of room, and it’s the sensible thing to do. With Frank gone, I’m the only father figure the boy will have.”
And that was exactly what Deidre feared most. This was her own fault, she s
upposed. She should have stood firm when the subject had first come up, but she’d still been dazed at the suddenness of Frank’s death, unable to come to terms with the thought of the screaming, shrieking crash of his treasured sports car against the bridge abutment.
She hadn’t been in any condition then to mount a major battle with the judge, so she’d taken the easy way out, claiming she couldn’t possibly make any more abrupt changes in their lives until they’d become accustomed to the tragedy. When both the family doctor and her minister had chimed in with their support, the judge had graciously backed down.
But now it was the day of reckoning. Taking the easy way out had only postponed the inevitable.
“I realize that you hoped to have us close, especially after Frank’s death.” Deidre chose her words carefully. No matter what damage she considered he’d done to Frank by the way he’d raised him, the judge had lost his only child. “But Frank and I chose to live here, and all of our plans for the future included this house as our home.”
“All that has changed now.” The judge brushed away the years of her marriage with a sweeping gesture of his hand. “Without my son...” He paused, and she feared his iron control was going to snap.
He’d never forgive himself or her if he showed what he’d consider weakness in front of her, and a spasm of pity caught at her throat. His only child gone, his wife an alcoholic...small wonder he had all his hopes centered on his grandson.
The judge cleared his throat, vanquishing whatever emotion had threatened to erupt. “I’m only thinking of what’s best for Kevin. We can offer him so much more than you can alone. Surely you realize that. An appropriate school, the right background...these things count for something in the world beyond Echo Falls.”
Ambition, in other words. That was what he’d wanted for Frank, and he’d never let Frank forget what he’d supposedly given up by coming back to Echo Falls and marrying her instead of going out into the glittering future his father had wanted for him.
But she could hardly use that as an argument with her father-in-law. “Kevin’s only five. There’s plenty of time to be thinking about the right school for him. At the moment, he needs security, warmth and familiarity in his life, and that’s what he has.” She saw the argument shaping in his eyes and hurried on. “Please don’t think I don’t appreciate all that you and Sylvia do for Kevin. You’re a very important part of his life and nothing can change that.” She managed a smile. “After all, we’re less than a mile away as it is.”
Less than a mile, yes, but to her mind there was a huge difference between the comfortable family house on the edge of town, surrounded by fields, woods and Amish farms, and the cool, elegant mansion on the hill.
Her father-in-law’s chair scraped back as he rose, standing rigid to look down at her for a long moment. “I’m sorry you can’t see the sense of my offer, Deidre. It would be easier all around if you did.”
He turned, stalking without haste from the room, down the hall and toward the front door. Deidre, hurrying after him, reached the door in time to have it close sharply in her face.
Well. Her hands were cold and trembling, and she clasped them together, needing something to hold on to. Surely she must be imagining what seemed to be a threat in the judge’s final words. Hadn’t she?
“Mommy?” Kevin scurried down the stairs, waving a sheet of construction paper. “Grandfather left without the card I made.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I guess he forgot.”
Deidre put her arm around her son to draw him close, taking comfort from his sturdy little body. She held the picture he was waving so she could see it. Kevin had drawn himself, holding a handful of flowers in all sorts of unlikely shades of crayon. He’d printed his name at the top in uncertain letters.
“But my picture...” He clouded up. “I made it especially for Grandma.”
“We’ll put it in an envelope and mail it to her right now, okay?”
That restored his sunny smile, and Kevin ran to the drop-front desk in the corner of the living room. “I’ll get an envelope.”
“Good job, Kev. I know this will make Grandma feel better.”
She hoped. A report that Sylvia was ill usually meant that she’d gotten hold of something to drink. Once started, she couldn’t seem to stop. Much as Deidre grieved for Sylvia, she didn’t mean to expose Kevin to the difficulties inherent in living with her.
That was one more reason why the judge’s plan was impossible. She just wished she could get rid of the sinking feeling that Judge Franklin Morris didn’t give up on anything until he had what he wanted.
* * *
JASON GLASSMAN HAD been in Echo Falls, Pennsylvania, for less than twenty-four hours, and already he was wondering what he was doing here. He’d elected to walk the few blocks from his new apartment to the offices of Morris, Morris and Alter, Attorneys-at-Law, so he could get a close-up look at the town that was supposed to be home from now on.
Small, that was one word. He’d imagined, given that Echo Falls was the county seat, that there’d be a bit more to it. It was attractive enough, he supposed. Tree-shaded streets, buildings that had stood where they were for over a hundred years and would look good for a hundred more, a central square whose fountain was surrounded with red tulips on this May day.
He passed a bookshop and spotted the law practice sign ahead of him. Morris, Morris and Alter would, if all went as planned, be changing its name to Morris, Alter and Glassman before long. He should be grateful. He was grateful, given that the alternative would have been practicing storefront law in a city where everyone knew he’d escaped disbarment by the skin of his teeth and where disgrace dogged him closer than his shadow.
He didn’t often let the memories flood back, keeping them away by sheer force of will. Now he let them come—a reminder of all he had left behind in Philadelphia.
He’d gone to the office unsuspecting that morning, kissing Leslie goodbye in the apartment building lobby as they headed toward their separate jobs—he at the prosecutor’s office, she at a small, struggling law firm.
And he’d walked into a firestorm. The materials that had been so painfully collected as a major part of the prosecution of George W. Whitney for insider trading and racketeering had unaccountably been compromised. Someone had given away their source, who was now swearing himself blue in the face that he’d never been in touch with Jason Glassman, that the records had been altered, presumably by Glassman, and that the whole case was a put-up job designed to vilify a valuable and civic-minded citizen.
The case lay in shreds at their feet. All the hours of tedious work, all the manpower that had been poured into it, were wasted. The district attorney had needed to find someone to blame, and he hadn’t gone far. Jason had found himself out of a job and lucky to escape arrest.
Disappear, the district attorney had said. Don’t give statements to the press, don’t try to defend yourself, and we won’t pursue criminal charges or disbarment.
A devil’s agreement, he’d thought it, but he hadn’t had a choice. He’d left the office, driven around in a daze, had a few drinks, which hadn’t helped, and finally headed for home, trying to think how to explain all this to Leslie.
But Leslie hadn’t been there. All of her belongings had vanished, and she hadn’t bothered leaving a note. Clearly she’d heard and decided it was too dangerous to her career to continue an association with him.
He’d thought that was all it was, and that disappointment had been bad enough. It was three days before he learned that Leslie was now an associate at Bronson and Bronson, the very firm defending George W. Whitney.
So all those nights when he was working at home, when she’d leaned over his shoulder looking at his progress, offering suggestions and support, had just been so much camouflage for an elaborate betrayal.
He’d been incensed. But when his first
attempt to confront her had resulted in a protection-from-abuse order being filed against him, he’d had just enough sense left to cut his losses. The last he’d seen of her had been an elegant, expensively dressed back disappearing into the recesses of Bronson and Bronson while he was dragged away by security guards.
And here he was in Echo Falls, Pennsylvania.
Jase paused, hand on the door of the firm’s office. Franklin Morris had made a generous offer to his son’s law school classmate, especially since Jason and Frank had never been close. But Jase knew perfectly well that Judge Morris wanted something in return.
The receptionist seated behind the desk in the spotless, expensively furnished outer office was fiftyish, plumpish and looked as if she’d be more at home baking cookies than juggling the needs of a busy law practice. She greeted him with a smile and a nod of recognition. Word of his arrival had obviously preceded him.
“Mr. Glassman, of course. I’m Evelyn Lincoln. Welcome to Echo Falls. The judge is waiting for you.” Not pausing for a reply, she led the way to a paneled oak door bearing Franklin Morris’s name in gilt letters, tapped lightly and opened it. “Mr. Glassman is here, Your Honor.”
He followed her in, not sure what welcome to expect.
“Jason, I’m pleased to see you again.” Morris’s smile was polite but restrained, suggesting that it was up to Jase to be sure this was indeed a pleasure. “Come in.” Without rising from behind the massive cherrywood desk, he nodded to the leather client’s seat.
“Thanks. And thank you as well, for lining up the apartment for me.”
Judge Morris waved the gratitude away. “Evelyn took care of all that. You’ve met her already. Trey Alter, my associate, is out of the office today, dealing with another matter for one of our clients.”
“I look forward to meeting him.” He’d been wondering how Alter would react to the judge’s hire.
“You’ll want to take some time to move into your office and get up-to-date on the cases we have in hand,” he continued briskly. “Trey will be relieved to have someone to share the load, since my judicial responsibilities keep me from taking a more active role.”
