LAST SEEN...

by Carla Cassidy

  "Breanna," he said as he got out of the car. "I'm sorry if I upset you."

  As quickly as it had swept over her, the anger died. She drew a deep, calming breath. "No, I'm sorry. I'm afraid talking about my ex puts me in a bad mood. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

  She opened the back car door, unbuckled her sleeping daughter and pulled her up and into her arms, then closed the door.

  "Would you like me to carry her inside for you?"

  "No, thanks. I've managed on my own for the past five years. I can manage to get her inside under my own steam. Good night, Adam."

  "Good night Breanna," he replied. He turned and walked across the grass toward the cottage.

  It took Breanna a moment at the door as she shifted her daughter's weight from one hip to the other so she could free up a hand to dig her keys out of her purse.

  Once inside she carried Maggie directly to bed. She took off the little girl's socks and shoes, then drew the sheet up around her and kissed her on the cheek.

  She went back downstairs where she found a note from Rachel. The picnic with David had been a success and they had gone to the movies. She would be home later.

  Breanna smiled as she read the note. She was glad things had gone well at the picnic. Rachel deserved happiness and love in her life.

  She set the note aside and put a kettle of water on the stove for tea. She loved Sunday nights. Sundays and Mondays were her favorite days and nights because she was off duty. She didn't have to be back at work until Tuesday afternoon.

  The phone rang and she picked it up, figuring it was probably her mother wanting to hash over the events of the day.

  The recording began immediately, before Breanna even got a chance to say hello. It was the same as the night before, the woman singing "Rock-A-Bye Baby."

  "Who is this?" she demanded when the song had ended but the phone line remained open. "What do you want? I really think you have the wrong number."

  "You bitch."

  The voice, gravelly deep and filled with malevolence shot a sweeping icy chill through her, but before she could make any reply, the line went dead.

  The plastic of the phone felt cold in her fingers and she quickly slammed it down into the receiver, trying to shake off the chill that had taken possession of her body.

  Two nights. Two phone calls. Who was making them? What did they mean? And what could they possibly have to do with her? She quickly punched * * *69, but got a recorded message that the number she requested was unavailable.

  Like a shriek of alarm, the teakettle whistled. She jumped and stifled a scream, then quickly moved the kettle off the hot burner.

  With shaking fingers, she fixed herself a cup of tea, then sat down at the kitchen table, her thoughts racing and chaotic in her mind.

  A new wave of horror swept through her as she thought of her cousin Alyssa and the visions she'd seen that afternoon. Was it possible Alyssa had seen danger that concerned Breanna? Was it possible the darkness Alyssa had seen had something to do with these phone calls?

  * * *

  "It was a nice barbecue," Thomas James said as he helped his wife wash and dry the last of the pots and pans.

  "It was, wasn't it?" Rita smiled at him, the beautiful smile that had captured his heart thirty-nine years before. That smile still had the power to make him feel like the luckiest devil on the face of the earth.

  He took the last pot from her and dried it with a dish towel as she rinsed out the sink. "Bree's new neighbor seems pleasant enough," he observed.

  Rita sat at the table. "Very pleasant … and very single."

  "Now, honey, you know matchmaking isn't a good idea." He joined her at the table. "The kids are all grown and they have to find their own way."

  She frowned, the gesture doing nothing to diminish her beauty. "But, Thomas, what worries me is that all of our children seem to have lost their way. Breanna clings to Maggie and to her rage over Kurt's desertion. Savannah clings to her grief as if it is her best and only friend. And Clay … he clings to his job as if it can fulfill all his needs as a man."

  He reached out and took her hand in his. "And there's nothing we can do about it but let them find their way on their own."

  "I know." She sighed and squeezed his hand. He grinned and she raised a dark eyebrow. "What are you smiling about, old man?"

  "I was just thinking about what a lucky man I am. Must have been the luck of the Irish that made my car break down in front of your parents' house thirty-nine years ago."

  "And I was just a young sweet nineteen and you were such a dashing older man."

  Thomas laughed. He was eight years older than his wife. Although the eight years didn't seem so important now, he'd spent many sleepless nights at the beginning of their relationship worrying about them.

  "I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen," he said softly. "And I still feel the same way."

  "Why, Mr. James, I do believe you're trying to seduce me." Her dark eyes gazed intently into his.

  "Is it working?"

  "Absolutely." She stood and pulled him to his feet. "Come to bed, old man, and let this old woman show you how much you are loved."

  She might make him crazy at times with her stubbornness-she fought with him like a banshee-but he never lost sight of the fact that he was the luckiest devil on the face of the earth because Rita Birdsong loved him.

  * * *

  As twilight transformed into darkness, Adam remained seated on the sofa in his living room, thinking about the past day and what he'd learned about Breanna's family.

  It was obvious it was a family built on the foundation of love and respect for one another. If Maggie had no other family in her life, he had a feeling the James family would be enough to make her feel secure and loved.

  But she did have other family. She had Kurt's parents, who would merely add another layer of love in Maggie's life. He frowned and rubbed the center of his forehead as he thought of Breanna's reaction when the conversation had turned to her ex-husband.

  What would her reaction be when he told her he was Kurt's cousin? And why did the thought of her reaction to that news bother him?

  He was here at Kurt's request, to make certain Breanna and Maggie were doing okay, and they appeared to be doing just fine. All he needed to do was tell Breanna that Kurt's parents wanted a role in little Maggie's life, then leave Cherokee Corners and get back to his life in Kansas City.

  With a new resolution, he turned on the lamp on the end table and picked up the phone receiver. He punched in a Kansas City number.

  "Randolf residence."

  Adam recognized Miriam Walder's voice. She'd been the housekeeper for his aunt and uncle for as long as he could remember.

  "Miriam, it's Adam."

  "Oh, Mr. Adam. It's good to hear your voice."

  "It's good to hear yours, too," he replied. "Is my aunt or uncle at home?"

  "Mr. Edward is at a meeting this evening, but Mrs. Anita is in the sunroom. If you'll wait just a moment, I'll take her a phone."

  "Thank you, Miriam." As Adam waited, he wondered if it might not be better to give them the news that they had a grandchild when they were together. His aunt had suffered heart problems in the past and even though this news was good, it would be a shock nonetheless.

  "Adam, my dear." His aunt's gentle voice filled the line. "How are you?"

  "I'm fine, Aunt Anita. How are you doing?"

  "All right. I'm hoping as time goes on the days and nights will get easier, that the grief will ease somewhat."

  Tell her. The words boomed inside Adam's head. Tell her about Maggie. But something held him back.

  "Are you having a nice getaway?" Anita asked. "You've been working so hard over the past five years Adam, and you've accomplished so much. I'm glad you decided to give yourself a little vacation. Where exactly are you?"

  "I'm in a place called Cherokee Corners," he replied. "It's about one hundred fifty miles south of Tulsa."

  "Whate
ver made you decide to go there?"

  "It sounded like an interesting place, and it's rich in Native American culture."

  "I never knew you were interested in that."

  Adam thought of the lovely Breanna. "Neither did I. But I'm finding it more and more interesting now that I'm here."

  "You'll keep in touch while you're out of town?"

  "Of course. Give my love to Uncle Edward," he said. They said their goodbyes and Adam hung up.

  He leaned back against the sofa and thought of his aunt. Her grief over the loss of her son was still thick … raw in her voice. But Adam realized exactly why he hadn't told her about the existence of a granddaughter.

  After seeing Breanna's reaction to her experience with Kurt, he wasn't at all sure that she would allow Maggie to have anything to do with Kurt's family. The minute she mentioned Kurt, it was like a noxious poison released into her blood. It was obvious she hated him.

  He had no idea what Kurt had told Breanna about his family. He knew that in the past, when it had best served his needs, Kurt had painted his parents as unloving, uncaring people. What stories had Kurt told Breanna? How black had he painted his mother and father?

  Adam needed to find out what Breanna knew about his aunt and uncle. He needed to make her see that they would be a loving, caring presence in Maggie's life.

  His desire to stay and get to know her a little better had nothing to do with the fact that her scent made him just a little bit dizzy, that the liquid depths of her dark eyes made him feel a little like he was drowning.

  It was crazy. He had to remind himself that she was one of Kurt's women, and his job here was simply to clean up the mess Kurt had left behind … just as Adam had done so many times in the past.

  His interest in Breanna had nothing to do with the fact that she was a beautiful woman, but rather with the fact that he had made a vow to a dying man.

  He rubbed a hand across his lower jaw, unsurprised to feel the scrub of whisker stubble despite the fact that he'd shaved that morning. Thoughts of the day and Breanna continued to fill his head.

  She'd asked him if he wanted a wife and children and he'd told her definitely not, and that was the truth. Well, a wife wouldn't be too bad … as long as she didn't want children.

  Adam had seen firsthand the grief, the utter ripping and tearing children could do to their parents' hearts. He'd grown up hearing his aunt crying in the night, seeing his uncle's hollow eyes when Kurt had disappointed or hurt them yet again.

  There was no way in hell Adam intended to go through that with children of his own. He'd done everything in his power to be the kind of son that would make his aunt and uncle proud, but it hadn't counted because their own son had been such a mess.

  He stood, suddenly too restless to sit. If he intended to stay here a little longer and not tell Breanna exactly who he was, then he probably needed to buy some art supplies to continue the illusion of his subterfuge.

  The kitchen was dark as he walked in, but light shone through the window and he knew the it was from Breanna's kitchen.

  He'd noticed the night before that her kitchen window faced his with a scant eight feet or so between them. He certainly didn't want to peep, but found himself drawn to the window in spite of his good intentions.

  Sure enough, her light was on, but there was no sign of her. However, what he saw outside her window fired a burst of adrenaline through him. A man stood on the top of her air-conditioning unit, framed against the house, obviously looking in.

  Adam tore across his kitchen, through the living room and out his front door. He rounded the corner of the house, crashing through a bush.

  The man whirled around at the noise and fell off the air conditioner. "Hey," Adam exclaimed as he raced toward him.

  Adam never saw what the man used to hit him in the head. He only saw the man's arm arc out, then felt the tremendous blow that knocked him backward and to the ground.

  He was vaguely aware of footsteps running away and an array of stars swimming in his head as he struggled to sit up.

  "What in the hell is going on?"

  The stars receded and he followed the sound of the voice to see Breanna, gun drawn and pointed at him.

  "You've got to stop pointing that at me," he said, surprised that his voice seemed to be coming from some distance away. "One of these times you're going to shoot me and I'm a good guy."

  The stars spun faster in his head, then blinked out and Adam knew no more.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  «^»

  Breanna held tight to her gun and walked to where Adam lay flat on his back, his forehead bleeding profusely.

  She had no idea what had happened. She'd entered her kitchen in time to see the back of a man's head at her window, then heard a commotion that had prompted her to grab her gun and check it out.

  The blood on Adam's forehead didn't concern her as much as the large lump that was rising up, and the fact that he appeared to be out cold.

  "Adam…" She leaned down next to him and tapped the side of his cheek. She divided her focus between him and the surrounding area.

  It was obvious he hadn't done this to himself and she was aware that danger could still be anywhere, hiding in the shadows of the night.

  She tapped him on the cheek again, this time a bit more forcefully. "Adam … wake up." He stirred and his eyes fluttered a couple of times, then remained open. With a groan, he sat up, his hand reaching for his head.

  "We need to get you inside. Can you get up?" She wasn't about to relinquish her hold on her weapon. If he wanted some medical attention he was going to have to get up under his own steam.

  "Yeah … I'm fine." He pulled himself up and to his feet, but it was obvious by his ghostly, pain-racked features that he wasn't fine. A deep moan eased from his lips.

  She grabbed hold of one of his arms. "Come on, let's get you inside."

  He didn't attempt to answer, but stumbled forward toward her place. The minute they entered her house, Breanna tucked her gun into her waistband, locked the front door, then led Adam into the bathroom off the foyer.

  "Sit," she commanded and pointed to the stool. As he eased down, she opened the cabinet beneath the sink and pulled out a washcloth and some antiseptic cream. "What happened?" she asked as she wet the cloth.

  "Somebody was looking into your kitchen window. I happened to look out my window and saw him. Ouch!" He jerked as she applied the cloth to the wound. "I ran out to see what was going on and he hit me with something."

  "I think it was a broken brick. There were a couple next to the air-conditioning unit." She tried to focus on cleaning his wound and not on the fact that somebody had been looking into her house, not on the fact that Adam's body was warm and smelled so clean and male. "We should call a doctor. You were out for a minute or two. You probably have a concussion."

  "I'm fine," he replied. "I think instead of calling a doctor, you should call the cops."

  "Adam, I am a cop," she replied dryly. She finished cleaning off the blood, revealing a small cut and a healthy sized goose egg. She applied some of the antiseptic cream to the wound. "I think you're going to live."

  "Thanks, I was hoping that would be the prognosis." He smiled and suddenly she was aware of the small confines of the bathroom.

  "Let me just get you a bandage. Head wounds are notorious for bleeding a lot." Once again she opened the cabinet under the sink and withdrew a Band-Aid. "I'm afraid cartoon characters are all I have."

  He took it from her and smiled again. "I've always been fond of cartoons." He stood, still a bit unsteady on his feet.

  "You put your Band-Aid on and I'll be out in the kitchen." She fled the bathroom, glad to get some distance from his overwhelming nearness. Even woozy and wounded, he was still far too attractive for her peace of mind.

  And she needed to think … not about the length of Adam's dark eyelashes, not about the width of his broad chest or the evocative warmth of his skin, but why somebody would be p
eeking in her window.

  For the first time since she'd moved into this house two years before, she walked into the kitchen and drew the curtains so they covered the window. She sat at the kitchen table and stared at the window.

  Had he been there, watching her as she drank her tea? Had he peeked into other windows as well? Had he watched her as she curled up on the sofa and read or as she viewed her favorite television programs? She'd never thought of having an alarm system installed, but suddenly it didn't seem like a bad idea.

  Thank goodness the bedrooms were all upstairs, making it virtually impossible for anyone to peep unless they climbed the big tree in the front yard.

  Adam entered the kitchen, looking rakish with the Band-Aid across the left side of his forehead. "I feel like a pirate with a cartoon character fetish," he exclaimed as he sat at the kitchen table.

  "We probably should go down to the station and make an assault report," she said.

  "Is that really necessary?"

  She shrugged, then asked. "Did you see what he looked like?"

  "Afraid not. It was dark and I didn't have a chance to discern features or even hair color, but I can tell you he wasn't quite as tall as me … maybe five-ten or five-eleven."

  Breanna jumped up and got a pad and pencil from a drawer, then returned to the table. "It's probably nothing … maybe just a teenager or a nut … but I'll just jot down a few notes. Can you tell me what kind of a build he had?"

  He frowned, the frown quickly becoming a wince as one hand shot up to touch his head.

  "Maybe we should do this tomorrow," she said worriedly. "You really should see a doctor."

  He dropped his hand. "I'm fine. I just have one hell of a headache, but that's to be expected after being smashed in the head with a brick. Maybe some ice would help."

  "Of course." She got up once again and grabbed a dish towel from a drawer, then several ice cubes from the freezer.

  She was self-consciously aware of his gaze following her movements and was grateful she hadn't yet changed into her nightshirt before the commotion had begun.