Holding Hanna’s hand, carrying a duffel bag of toys while Hanna pulled the pink wheeled suitcase, Linnea hurried her down the rainy walk and past several of those squad cars to her small compact. She put everything in the trunk, helped her niece buckle in and started the engine. She didn’t like the fixed way Hanna stared toward those flashing lights and the open front door of her house with people going in and out.
As she backed out and drove up the block, Hanna’s head swiveled so she could keep looking back. Linnea hated that she saw the neighbors clustered, staring.
Then the same officer pulled a sawhorse away to let Linnea’s car through, and she was able to accelerate up the street until the flashing lights vanished from her rearview mirror.
MATTHEW LAUGHLIN HAD barely risen from bed and was padding barefoot and shirtless to the small kitchen in his rented Kuwait City house when his phone rang.
Damn it, there had to be a problem on the job site; the offices weren’t open yet, and it was currently late evening in the U.S.
He picked up the phone. “Laughlin.”
The hollow quality of the long silence told him this call was originating in the United States after all. He relaxed; Tess did sometimes call at this god-awful hour. She was a night owl, and knew when to catch him at home.
But it was a man’s voice he heard. “Mr. Laughlin? My name is Neal Delaney. I’m a detective with the Seattle Police Department.”
Matt groped behind him for a stool and sank onto it. His hand tightened on the phone until the plastic creaked. “Tess? Tell me my sister is all right. And Hanna.” God, Hanna. Had they been in a car accident?
Waiting out the silence stripped his nerves raw.
“I’m afraid I have bad news. Your sister is dead.”
“How?” he asked in a hard voice. “What about Hanna?”
“Hanna is fine. She’s with her aunt, uh, Linnea Sorensen.” This time the pause seemed not to be a consequence of international telecommunications, but rather a hesitation. Perhaps reluctance to tell him the bad news. “Your sister died of a blow to her head. We have arrested your brother-in-law for her murder.”
Son of a bitch. Rage pummeled him, as dangerous as the Kuwaiti cloudbursts.
He had disliked Finn Sorensen from the first time Tess introduced them. Tried to talk his sister out of marrying Finn, hidden his unhappiness when he failed. God knew she’d always stood up for herself, or so Matt had tried to believe. Later he’d worried most about Hanna, a quiet, sensitive child who regularly saw her father throw things when he lost his temper. But murder…That was something else again. It ran deeper, hotter, than Finn Sorensen’s childish inability to withstand frustration.
Matt heard the detective talking, caught only the end.
“…other family?”
“No,” Matt said. “Our parents are dead. I’m Tess’s only family.” His decision was already made. “I’ll catch the first flight I can get on. Today, I hope. I’ll be in Seattle…” Hell. The complexity of time changes defeated him for the moment. “Give me your number. I’ll phone when I get into Sea-Tac.”
He wrote down Detective Delaney’s number, gave his blessing—if you could call it that—for the autopsy, then ended the call. Even as he left a message for George Hanson, the project supervisor for the port facility they were building at Shuwaikh, Matt was already going online to check for flights.
If he could pack and be out of here in half an hour or less, he could catch a direct flight to Washington, D.C., then, after a two-hour layover, another leg to Seattle. With a flick of his finger, he confirmed that he wanted to buy the ticket.
He didn’t have that much to pack, really just his clothes and toiletries, plus a few gifts he’d picked up for Tess and Hanna. Those gave him pause. His jaw muscles tightened, but he couldn’t let himself think. Not yet. He dropped the presents he’d planned to take home to Seattle for Christmas into his suitcase, then zipped it closed. Laptop in its case, passport and wallet in his back pocket, he walked out of the house where he’d lived for nearly a year now, knowing he wouldn’t be back.
Hanna needed him.
The airport was only fifteen kilometers south of the city. He left behind the wide boulevards, parks and towering skyscrapers of a city that had looked futuristic to him when he first arrived. He turned in his rental car at Avis, checked his bags at the airline counter and boarded the plane with minutes to spare.
Not until the plane had taxied down the runway and taken off, banking to allow him one last glimpse of the aqua-blue gulf, the surreal silhouette of the Kuwait Towers and the dry tan landscape of the Middle East, did he close his eyes and allow himself to feel the first stunning wave of grief for his little sister.
His face contorted and he turned his head toward the window so that no one could see.
Tess. God, no. Not Tess.
THE PROBLEM OF WHERE he would stay didn’t hit Matt until he was tossing his suitcases into the trunk of the car he had rented at Sea-Tac Airport. He slammed the trunk closed, then stood there feeling stupid.
He guessed he must have dozed in the past twenty hours, off and on. But he hadn’t been able to get a first-class seat on either leg of the flight, and he was too big a man to ever feel comfortable in coach. He’d reached a point where his mind seemed to be slogging through heavy mud. It didn’t want to be diverted, didn’t want to think about anything new. Trudge, trudge. See Hanna, go home, drop onto a bed until he felt human again.
As human as he could feel, considering the man his sister had loved had murdered her.
God. He rubbed his face hard, scrubbing away the snarl that had drawn his lips back from his teeth.
The trouble was, home had been Tess’s house these past few years. Whenever he was in the States long enough, he’d stayed there. Had his own bedroom. It gave him a chance to spend time with her and stay close to Hanna.
Home was currently a crime scene.
Okay. Check in to a hotel, see Hanna. Tomorrow he’d look into renting a place, somewhere she would feel at home. He knew for the moment she was safe enough with Finn’s mousy sister, but by God Tess’s daughter wasn’t staying long term with anyone related to her killer.
He got in the car and took out his cell phone and the slip of paper where he’d written the cop’s phone number. He reached Delaney, who agreed to meet with him the next morning. Then he drove to Seattle, trying to recall any particular hotel from memory. He didn’t want to be downtown. Where did Finn’s sister live? Matt couldn’t remember and didn’t really care; she was a nonplayer as far as he was concerned. Oh, Hanna was fond of her; she often mentioned her aunt Linnie when they spoke on the phone and recently when she’d learned to write well enough to e-mail. The sister was probably the best of a bad lot. Matt didn’t like Finn’s mother, either. The father was too quiet to have made much impression on Matt.
He finally settled on the Silver Cloud Inn on Lake Union. Once in a room, he called directory assistance for Linnea Sorensen’s phone number. There were three L. Sorensens, he discovered. He took down all three numbers, then dialed until he recognized her voice on the message.
“You’ve reached Linnea and Safe at Home Petsitting. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”
“Matthew Laughlin. I’m in Seattle. I’d like to see Hanna.” He gave his cell-phone number, then sat down heavily and stared blankly at the wall.
He finally stripped to his boxers, set his cell phone on the bedside table and crawled under the covers.
NOT SURE IF SHE WAS DOING the right thing, Linnea had decided to keep Hanna out of school the rest of the week. Fortunately, she had the two days after Tess’s death off from work, so she and Hanna went to the library, to the beach and playground at Lincoln Park and to the several petsitting jobs she currently had.
The Miller dogs had a little girl of their own, so they were thrilled to see Hanna. When their long pink tongues slopped over her face, Hanna actually giggled, the first sound of genuine happiness Linne
a had heard from her since that awful night.
Mostly, she remained painfully subdued. She watched TV or played a game when Linnea suggested it, and she tried to pretend she cared what they had for dinner, but she only picked at the food. Linnea sat with her every night, gently rubbing her back, until she fell asleep.
Hanna didn’t once ask when her daddy was coming to get her or if she’d be able to go home. Linnea was glad, because, although Finn was out on bail, he hadn’t even called to find out how Hanna was doing. Linnea wouldn’t have known he was out of jail at all if her mother hadn’t told her.
Charges had not been dropped.
“They can’t possibly believe a man like Finn killed his wife,” Linnea’s mother had said incredulously during one of their phone conversations. “Why on earth would they pursue something so ridiculous and put all of us through this?”
What kind of man did her mother imagine Finn was like? Was she referring to his success?
Linnea wished she could share the belief there was no way on earth her brother had killed Tess. But, unlike her mother, she’d been aware of how much anger Finn harbored. Linnea had always been a little afraid of her brother. It wouldn’t surprise her if he was arrogant enough to believe that, as a prominent attorney at a major law firm, he was immune to police suspicion.
Well, he’d been wrong. He might not be convicted, of course; she could imagine a jury refusing to believe that a man that compelling, that handsome and charming and successful, would have committed such a crime.
“He says she fell and hit her head on the coffee table,” her mother reported with bewilderment. “I don’t know if they think he pushed her…But even that’s hardly murder!”
No, it wasn’t. But they had charged him with second-degree murder, not negligent homicide or battery or whatever they normally charged men whose wives died during an argument that had become physical with. They clearly thought he’d done something much worse than push Tess.
What Linnea did know was that she was going to argue if he tried to reclaim Hanna too soon. There was no way he could give a child the reassurance and routine and gentle affection she needed right now. Especially when he was caught up in the fight against this charge. No, she would do more than argue, Linnea decided despite some inner quavering; she would simply refuse to let him take his daughter.
After coming home from walking the pair of Irish setters, she saw the red light on her answering machine blinking. People seeking a petsitter didn’t usually call so late in the evening. She sent Hanna to brush her teeth and get ready for bed, in case the message was from Finn or even from her mother, who didn’t always think to watch what she said in case her granddaughter was listening. Not until Linnea heard water running in the bathroom did she push the play button.
The voice was terse and hard. “Matthew Laughlin. I’m in Seattle. I’d like to see Hanna.” Except for the phone number he added on at the end, that was all he said.
Her heart sank. Wasn’t Tess’s brother supposed to be in Saudi Arabia or Dubai or Kuwait or somewhere far away? He was a civil engineer for a major international construction company that built everything from offshore structures to transit facilities and dams. She hadn’t met him more than half a dozen times in all the years since Finn married Tess because he was so rarely in Seattle. He had been present for a few holiday celebrations, but otherwise Finn hadn’t gone out of his way to include his parents and sister at dinner parties when Matthew was in town. Linnea suspected the two men didn’t like each other very well.
She hadn’t liked Matthew Laughlin.
No surprise. He was too much like Finn.
Not angry, necessarily. She sat looking at the phone number she’d written on a notepad, analyzing her reaction to him. No, she’d never heard him raise his voice or even make the kind of slashing gesture Finn used so powerfully to convey his impatience and disdain. Tess’s brother was much more…contained than Finn. Almost, she thought, more unnerving because of the lack of bluster. But, like her brother, when Matthew Laughlin spoke, he expected everyone to listen. She could imagine that he was used to giving orders and being obeyed. Tonight’s message was typical. He probably didn’t even want her to call; it was Hanna he expected to hear from.
And that, she admitted, was another of the reasons she didn’t like him. From the first time he’d set eyes on her, he’d dismissed her. She wasn’t worthy of his time. Linnea doubted they had exchanged ten words with each other. His gaze seemed to skate over her. And, okay, she knew she wasn’t beautiful. But she wasn’t nothing, either, of so little consequence his behavior was acceptable.
It bothered her how well she could picture him. He was nearly as tall as Finn and broader in the shoulders, more powerfully built, as though he did actual physical labor rather than computer-aided design. He wasn’t beautiful like his sister, or like Finn for that matter. Matthew Laughlin’s features were blunt, pure male. He kept his dark hair short, as if he didn’t want to be bothered with it, and his eyes were dark gray, rather like the steel girders on the projects he designed. Whenever she was around, she was painfully aware of him, almost—but not quite—as if she were afraid of him. She could have her back turned and know when he walked into a room. But she wasn’t afraid of him, and she didn’t understand why she reacted to him the way she did. And, no, that wasn’t his fault, but she didn’t have to be fair, did she?
Well, she wasn’t going to let Hanna call him until she knew better what he wanted. Hanna did like him, Linnea knew; his gentleness with her and even with Tess was his most appealing quality in her opinion. She’d seen the way Hanna’s face lit with delight after he murmured in her ear, and how he touched his sister’s arm after Finn had been carelessly cruel. Just a quick grip that turned Tess’s flash of anger into a rueful smile for her brother. Unlike Finn, who went at the world as if he were a bundle of dynamite with a lit fuse, Matthew was quite good at defusing. A couple of times, after seeing his smile or a light, perfectly timed touch, Linnea had had a sharp pang of something uncomfortably like envy even if she didn’t like him.
But she still wasn’t letting him talk to Hanna until she’d heard what he had to say first.
“Aunt Linnie!” her niece called. “I’m ready to be tucked in.”
“Hop into bed,” she called back. “I’ll be right there.”
Taking a deep breath, she picked up the phone and dialed the number he’d given. It rang five times, then went to voice mail.
“Laughlin,” his voice said curtly. “Leave a message.”
“This is Linnea Sorensen returning your call. It’s—” her gaze sought the clock “—eight-ten. I’m tucking Hanna into bed right now, but if you call back in the next few minutes I’ll get her up to talk to you. Otherwise, we won’t be home tomorrow because I have to work. I’ll try you again tomorrow evening.” She hung up quickly, as if he might still pick up. She hoped he didn’t call back tonight, that at least she had a reprieve until tomorrow evening. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing him again, especially under the circumstances.
And she was wary of finding out what kind of relationship he imagined having with Hanna, who hardly knew him given the rarity of his visits. Probably he only wanted to see her a few times while he was in Seattle to bury his sister, after which he’d go back to…wherever it was he’d come from.
What scared Linnea was that…if he disliked Finn as much as she thought he did, and was convinced that Finn actually had killed Tess, how would he feel about Hanna being raised by her father? Linnea knew how she’d feel.
How she did feel.
If Matthew Laughlin was angry enough, would he try to take Hanna?
“Over my dead body,” she whispered, then went to sit at Hanna’s side until the little girl fell asleep.
CHAPTER TWO
“YEAH, THEY FOUGHT,” Matt told Detective Delaney. “Finn is a son of a bitch. I tried to talk my sister out of marrying him. She didn’t listen.”
The two men sat in a small conference room at the
police station. Matt reserved final judgment, but his first impression of the investigator was of competence and dispassion, both of which struck him as positives. He was pissed enough himself to keep the pressure on. He needed a smart cop investigating his sister’s death, not one who jumped to conclusions.
Neal Delaney had risen from his desk in the bullpen to meet Matt. He was a big guy, maybe fifty, with steady brown eyes, a firm grip and a tie he’d already tugged loose at ten in the morning.
Matt hadn’t objected when Delaney wanted to start by questioning him. He was happy to tell anyone who would listen what he had thought about his brother-in-law.
“I could never understand how he hid his temper at the law firm,” he admitted. He’d disliked the idea that Finn saved his nasty streak for the people who loved him most.
“I don’t think he did,” Delaney said, then looked sorry he’d opened his mouth.
Matt raised his brows.
After a moment, Delaney shrugged. “The partners are shocked. His secretary isn’t. An intern told me Mr. Sorensen flayed him alive when he made a mistake.”
Being fair stuck in his craw, but Matt finally said, “Not the same thing as killing someone.”
“No, but interesting.” The investigator cleared his throat. “Had he been physically abusive to your sister?”
Matt frowned. “If so, she wouldn’t admit to it. I had my suspicions. A couple of bruises she laughed off. A broken wrist she claimed she got by slipping on an icy sidewalk. Broken collarbone that was supposed to be a ski injury.”
Delaney scribbled in his notebook. “We’ll follow up. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her doctor yet.”
Matt braced himself and asked, “What does Hanna say?”
“A female patrol officer spoke to her while they waited for Ms. Sorensen to come get her. The little girl says Mommy and Daddy yelled a lot and sometimes things crashed. She apparently scuttled for her bedroom whenever they started to fight. She was pretty scared, and Officer Babayan didn’t push it. I’ll need to talk to Hanna myself, maybe with her aunt present so she feels comfortable.”
Match Made in Court Page 2
