Just a Whisper Away

by Lauren Nichols

  “I never knew your mother,” she began, “but everyone who did agreed that Jennifer was one of the most loving women they’d ever known. I want you to know that I’ll never try to replace her in your heart—or in your dad’s. We’ve talked a lot about the wonderful people we’ve lost, and he knows that a part of me will always belong to Evan. That’s why we decided to be married here instead of in a church. We wanted to keep the memories of our first loves sacred and separate from the life we’ll be starting tomorrow.”

  Emotion knotted Abbie’s throat and she blinked back a new tear. “You’re doing this for me.”

  Miriam smiled. “We’re doing it for all of us. That doesn’t mean that we love each other less—just differently than we loved before.”

  Abbie nodded, her heart brimming with gratitude. Then, slipping her arms around Miriam, she kissed her cheek again and whispered, “My mom would’ve loved you.”

  Later, upstairs, crying softly for no reason other than she’d needed to cry for a long time, Abbie’s mind wandered from her mother’s warmth and laughter to Miriam’s tender understanding, to her father’s subtle softening since Miriam had come into his life. Eventually, her mind moved on to the evening she’d spent with Jace, and she released a sigh as her spirits dipped.

  He’d been friendly tonight—even smiled at his claim to be a forgiving kind of guy. But his guard would always be up where she was concerned. How could she get through to him? Make him believe she hadn’t deliberately betrayed him? She’d never willingly betray anyone.

  But then a chill moved through her and she corrected that statement. She had betrayed someone. Someone who hid his unstable personality and volatile temper behind a boyish smile and charming manners.

  Someone who wanted her dead.

  Chapter 5

  Two hours later, Abbie sprang awake in bed, her nightie soaked with sweat, her heart racing wildly as she surveyed her unfamiliar—then recognizable—surroundings. Slowly, the terror that had awakened her began to ebb, and with shaky hands, she smoothed her damp hair back from her face.

  She was all right. She was safe here in the bedroom her mother had decorated for her with all the love a mother could have shown a child. Safe here in Laurel Ridge, far from the deranged man she’d been running from in her dream. A cold chill racked through her as she sat there, and Abbie pulled her comforter up to her throat. It had all seemed so real…the slogging heaviness in her legs that had kept her mere inches from his reach, the cold eyes, the same maniacal laughter she’d heard on her cell phone.

  Her mind filled again with bloody crime scene photos. Dear God, how could she have been taken in so completely? She prided herself on being able to read people, had always had surefire instincts about a potential client’s guilt or innocence. Danny had fooled everyone but the prosecution—until his enormous pride couldn’t deny her a peek at the truth, and smiling, he’d murmured a secret that had chilled her blood.

  Abbie wasn’t sure how long she sat there in bed, grieving for the justice pretty Maryanne Richards had never received. But when she looked at the clock again it was nearly midnight. Eight-fifty-five in L.A.

  Crossing to her dresser, Abbie took her cell phone from the charger, then slipped back into bed and called Stuart. He answered on the second ring.

  “Hi, it’s Abbie,” she said. She’d heard her dad go to his room around ten, so she doubted he’d overhear, but she kept her voice low anyway. “Any news?”

  “Nothing that will help the police put him back behind bars, I’m afraid. He’s having a high time eluding them, playing games. They see him only sporadically when he goes to his apartment for a change of clothes or to take his mail from the box. He’s apparently staying somewhere else now.”

  “They need to follow him and find out what he’s doing. He could be stalking another woman right now.”

  “They do follow him when they see him slip out. But he’s aware of their presence and he knows how to lose them. The last time, he slipped into a club in the middle of a rave. It was utter mayhem. You know how those things can get.”

  “Not personally,” she sighed, but yes, she knew. And if he could give police the slip now, he could do it when she returned to L.A. And he could get to her.

  “Abbie, I realize this is difficult, but please try to put this out of your mind. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

  “I know,” she murmured. But that dream had been so frighteningly real—as if it were an omen, a sign of things to come.

  “Why are you up so late on the eve of your father’s nuptials?”

  There was no point in telling him that Danny was now even stalking her dreams. “Too much excitement, I guess. Either that, or my body’s still trying to adjust to Eastern Standard Time.”

  “Well, you should be sleeping so you’re well rested for the festivities.”

  “I know,” she said again.

  “Then stop thinking about Long and enjoy this time with your family. You’re safe where you are, and obsessing about any of this won’t do anyone any good. Leave it to the authorities,” he added quietly. “You can’t solve the woes of the world single-handedly.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she returned. But she’d certainly tried, for Maryanne Richards’s sake. “Good night, Stuart. Sorry to bother you with this. My love to you and your family.”

  “Likewise, my girl. Sleep tight—and it’s never a bother to speak with you. It’s always a pleasure.”

  Abbie hit the End button, then dropped the cell phone beside her on the bed, not feeling safe at all, and knowing it would be hours before she slept. Then, oddly, after only a few minutes, she began to drift off. And in that drifting state between wakefulness and slumber, she found herself, not in the gazebo she’d dreamed of many times before, but in the loft of a lovely log home on a bed of soft green moss…safe in the powerful arms of a man with midnight hair and warm gray eyes.

  At 10 a.m. on Friday, Jace strode through the reception area, desperately needing to bite someone’s head off, but refusing to show it—and refusing to admit that Abbie was the reason for his lousy mood. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and there was a fair chance that spring would eventually show up. He had to center on that.

  Ty followed him into the office. “Okay, who spit in your cornflakes this morning?”

  Jace dropped into his seat to look over the latest kiln reports, then scanned a new order that had just come in. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about two hours of James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause. What’s up? Did we get another call from the bloodsucking lawyer?”

  “No.” And he’d thought he’d hidden his foul mood fairly well.

  “Then what?”

  Jace looked up. “I told you, nothing. Everything’s fine. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy.”

  “Okay,” his brother replied, shrugging. “Be a pain in the ass if you want to.”

  Ty had barely entered the hall when he suddenly stopped, and came back in. “You saw Abbie last night.”

  “So?”

  “So, obviously your problem’s not the bloodsucking lawyer, it’s the lip-sucking lawyer.”

  Jace motioned to the door. “Out. Now.”

  “You seeing her again?”

  “You writin’ a book?”

  “Nope, just taking an interest in your love life, pathetic as it is.”

  Jace started an annoyed response, then quit. Ty would find out when she showed up here tomorrow, anyhow. “Yes, I’m seeing her again. She’s coming here tomorrow around noon. We didn’t finish last night.”

  His brother’s gaze twinkled. “Didn’t finish? You need some little blue pills, buddy?”

  “You know what I meant,” he growled. “Now, scram so I can figure out how many tree huggers we’ll have to offend to fill this order for Granthan.”

  “What do they want?”

  “Cherry and oak—green.”

  “Pete just left to look at some timber up in Warren County. There�
��s a lot of oak on the block. If it’s good, we’ll bid on it.”

  Ty grabbed a few caramels from the apothecary jar on the desk, dropped two in the pocket of his dark green shirt and unwrapped the other one. “Mind some advice from your little brother?”

  “Yes.”

  Popping the candy into his mouth, he spoke around it. “You need to get laid. Maybe two or three times.”

  Jace sent him a bored look. “Ever think about taking care of your own busy love life and leaving mine to me?”

  “Occasionally,” he replied, grinning, “but that wouldn’t irritate you nearly as much. See you later.”

  When Ty had gone, Jace tipped back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, feeling the low clenching in his gut just as vividly as he had last night. Ty was right. He did need to get laid. Get the kinks out. Find that smooth, mellow feeling again. It had been so long, he could barely recall what it felt like. Abbie was looking too good, moving too well and smelling like springtime in a warm, curvy bottle. But it wasn’t going to happen with her. That bottle was heading back to L.A. in two weeks.

  Tipping forward on his chair, Jace released a ragged breath, checked his Rolodex for a number and dragged his phone closer. She wasn’t the woman he wanted, but she was nice and she wasn’t into commitment. That made her perfect.

  Frustrated, Danny left his car at the service station and sprinted across the highway to the small Oklahoma eatery with the striped awnings. The banners outside advertised Breakfast All Day for $2.99, and Friday Fish Fries for $6.99. It was just about noon, but he’d be having breakfast—not the fish. Now it was even more important that he watch his expenses because he’d be replacing the freakin’ alternator in that rusted heap of scrap metal. But not until Monday. The dull-eyed mechanic at the garage swore he couldn’t get to it any sooner—swore he had to order the part and he couldn’t expect delivery until Monday around noon.

  Danny’s anger grew as he crossed the diner’s dusty parking lot. He would lose almost three days! Three days he could’ve used to track her movements, learn her patterns, choose the best place for the event. He’d already chosen the day—and that would sweeten his pleasure, because it was a special date he’d already circled on the calendar inside his wallet.

  He’d struck pay dirt almost immediately on Wednesday when he’d started making phone calls from his list of Winslows north of Interstate 80. An old lady from Erie, Pennsylvania, who didn’t mind a late-night call knew of a distant cousin who had a lawyer daughter living in California. She’d sounded so eager to talk to someone, he’d had a hard time getting her off the phone.

  “I don’t know her name,” she’d gone on in a voice cracking with age, “but his name is Morgan. Odd name for a man, don’t you think? Sounds like a horse. I believe he lives somewhere southeast of here.” After that, finding the right address had been almost too easy.

  He’d made a call to another friend back in L.A. then— a loyal friend. The cards were already stamped and sealed, and the envelopes were already decorated with creepy crayon flowers. All his buddy had to do was type in her name and address. “Just don’t forget to wear the gloves I gave you, okay?” Danny had said. “And get it in the mail right away.” Big, lumbering Donnie Fieldhouser had replied sweetly and dutifully, “I will, Danny. I’ll do it just like you told me.”

  Now, striding into the restaurant, Danny glanced at the sign that said Please Seat Yourself and dropped into a padded red vinyl booth. He grabbed a laminated menu from behind the salt and pepper shakers and napkin holder. The place reeked of grease and fish, and country music nearly drowned out the chatter of people gulping down the Friday special.

  Things started looking up when a young waitress with a sweet toothpaste-ad smile came over to take his order. She looked freshly scrubbed and country pure, and couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Her sky-blue eyes and blond hair were a breath of fresh air after the vulgar Vegas whore from the Internet café.

  A pleasant little shiver worked through him as he felt the spiky prickle of silver charms pressing through his jeans pocket and into his thigh. She’d crawled into his back seat so willingly, it really had been a crime. Hasta la vista, Lorelei.

  “Afternoon,” the girl said brightly, then took a pad and pen from her black apron. “Can I start you off with some coffee?”

  “No, thanks,” Danny replied, smiling back. His pulse did a hot little kick when he spied the religious medal hanging in the V of the white blouse she wore with her jeans. V for virgin. “I’d rather have a nice tall glass of cold milk, please.”

  Laughter tinkled through the girl’s reply and her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “Good choice. I’m not a big fan of coffee, either—stains the teeth.”

  Oh, and he wouldn’t want anything to ruin those teeth. They were perfect. Just like her hands.

  She nodded at the menu he held. “Do you know what you want, or do you need a few more minutes to decide?”

  Danny slipped off his dollar-store shades, his refocusing gaze drifting from her almost pretty face to the name tag pinned above her small, soft-looking left breast.

  “No, I don’t need more time, Misty,” he said, smiling and feeling his heart beat fast as a tender storm swept through him and he realized that he loved her—loved her blindly. “I know exactly what I want.”

  The wedding had been truly lovely. A small string quartet had played from the wide landing on the staircase, the food was delicious and their guests had been warm, friendly and supportive of the marriage. But it was Saturday morning now, the newlyweds were on their way to Florida to meet their cruise ship, and Abbie was busy overseeing the cleanup.

  She’d already greeted the caterer who’d come by to pick up his chafing dishes and platters, and helped Dorothy Carson straighten the house. Then, as the housekeeper was leaving, she’d given Dorothy her pick of the huge bouquets of roses. Abbie had decided to keep one of the arrangements because they really were beautiful, but would drop the others at the local nursing home where they’d be welcomed and enjoyed.

  By eleven-thirty, she’d run all of her errands, including taping Friends Without Families posters to a few windows in town and picking up the mail at the post office.

  Now, with the bundle beside her on the seat, she drove through the melting slush toward RL&L and her meeting with Jace.

  It had been a strange, dream-filled, sleepless night. First, the terrifying nightmare…then the half dream of being in Jace’s arms had morphed into the most erotic, skin-scorching sex she’d ever experienced, and shockingly, responded to.

  Abbie rolled her eyes in utter bewilderment. That kind of thing didn’t happen to her. She was sensible—had both feet firmly on the ground. Erotic dreams about ex-lovers were for women who needed more in their lives, and she was perfectly satisfied with hers.

  Well, excluding the obvious.

  And if she didn’t have much of a social life, it was because she was too busy to have one. In L.A., someone always needed a lawyer, not just the high-profile clients whose cases made Headline News and Court TV. There were always real people with real problems, and that kept life hectic.

  The Rogan Logging & Lumber sign appeared, seeming to spring out of the thick pines and hemlocks lining the road. Abbie made a left turn down the lane to the business.

  The first fifty yards were paved, but most of the crisscrossing lanes were potholed and muddy from steady, heavy vehicle traffic. Riding the brake, taking it all in, she eased the Expedition over the ruts, past log piles that were sorted and tagged by species, past the sawmill, loading dock and huge warehouse holding the kilns…past the grading building.

  She was approaching the office when the SUV banged into a deep pothole she’d overlooked, and her purse and mail bounced up and spilled to the floor.

  Releasing her seat belt, Abbie parked in the area to the left of the log office where a few passenger cars, a dark gray Silverado and Jace’s black Explorer stood. Then, flipping down the visor and glancing into the mirror, she finge
r combed her hair and tried to quell the rush of butterflies in her stomach.

  “He’s just a man,” she scolded as she flipped the visor back up. “Just a man you used to know who doesn’t even like you much.” Bending, she grabbed her purse, then reached for the mail.

  Shock frizzoned through her system.

  With a startled cry, Abbie dropped the stack of letters. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

  The sudden rap at her window made her whirl in terror.

  Jace’s face lined instantly, and he yanked the door open. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.

  Abbie scrambled out of the car and into his arms, had to fight back tears when he held her close. “He found me,” she said in a low, shaky voice. “I thought I was safe, but, Jace, he found me.”

  She was still shaking five minutes later when Jace rolled his chair close to hers and pressed a mug of hot tea into her hands—tea he’d brought in from the reception area.

  Now his gaze flicked over the red crewneck sweater she wore with her jeans. Her suede jacket and scarf hung on the coat tree to the right of the closed door.

  “Are you sure you don’t want your jacket?”

  “I’m sure. I’ll be okay.”

  “All right,” he returned, worry still lining his rugged features and darkening his gray eyes. “Tell me what’s going on.” He nodded at the large envelope lying on his desk—the one with the primitive, drawn-in-Crayon flowers on it. “I have a fair idea why you wanted me to pick it up by the corner, but who sent it?”

  “It’s…it’s a long story.”

  He glanced at the door leading to the outer office. “Ty’s closing today, and no one’s going to open that door but me, so we have plenty of time. Tell me.”

  Abbie studied the warm mug between her hands, swallowed, then nodded and started at the beginning. “Last month, I defended a young store clerk named Danny Long on a brutal rape-homicide charge.”