“‘Coming over’?” Summer tried to smile. “As in, cleaning your apartment? Delivering your groceries?”
“No. Not like that.”
This pain was worse than what she’d felt waking up alone in the emergency room, and she had a sudden sense that it was never going to get better. “Oh.”
Funny how the world could shatter around you and all you could say was oh.
“I’m sorry, Summer. I should have told you sooner.”
“No problem.” She closed her eyes. Gabe was entitled to his choices, just as she was entitled to hers. There had been no commitments made, no declarations, no vows of any kind. “That’s wonderful, Gabe. Actually there’s . . . there’s a man back in Philadelphia. Someone I met in the hospital.”
“A doctor?”
Summer nodded. “Surgeon. He took care of my arm. Talk about a cliché.”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “That’s—good, Summer. That’s great.”
He needed to be free, Summer thought. He had someone else, and she was determined to be happy for him. “So we’re clear about everything.”
“Sure. Absolutely. He’s a lucky man.”
Summer’s chest ached, as if someone were drilling slowly right down through her skin and into her heart. “Thanks.”
There was a knock at the door. “That must be Nickie.” Gabe turned as the door opened. A tall woman in cutoff blue jeans stood in the doorway, carrying a bag of groceries. She had very white teeth and perfect abs beneath a cropped yellow polo shirt.
Most of all, she had Gabe’s key. Things were definitely serious between them.
Another drill went down into Summer’s heart.
The woman—Nickie?—looked from Gabe to Summer. “Sorry, Gabe. I didn’t know you had company.” She smiled at Summer. “Are you from the Navy?”
“No.” It hurt to breathe, hurt even more to smile, but Summer managed it.
“Well, don’t let me rush you. I’ll just put these things in the kitchen.”
Summer watched her walk away. She was young and nice and looked very competent. “I’d better go, Gabe. You’re busy.”
“Summer, I’m sorry.”
“No problem. I just wanted to see for myself that you were okay. Hey, one minute you’re crashing in an out-of-control truck, and the next minute you’re on the beach. Life manages to go on, doesn’t it?”
Whether you wanted it to or not.
“Summer, I—”
“Great to see you, Gabe.” She didn’t wait, couldn’t bear another second. She fumbled her way out to the hall, moving blindly, desperate to escape. Only outside on the street did Summer jam a hand to her mouth. Unshed tears burned at her eyes as she flagged down the first taxi that passed. When she rode away into the fading sunset, she didn’t look back.
Some risks hurt more than others.
Gabe watched her from the window, watched her without moving.
“Why did you do that?”
He didn’t answer. His whole body felt numb.
“Gabe, that woman loves you, damn it.”
“Her loss.”
Dr. Nickie Evangeline was his downstairs neighbor. Though still a medical resident, she had become his unofficial rehabilitation mentor. She stared at him impatiently. “You love her, too.”
“Now that’s downright delusional, Doc.” When Gabe turned, his face was hard. “How about we get to work?”
Her lips pressed into a hard line. “Your rehab can wait. Right now I’m more concerned with your ass-backward mental state.”
“Hey, I’m fine. All systems go. I could bench-press three hundred fifty pounds.”
“I get it now.” Her eyes narrowed. “You told me to dress this way. You told me when to come. You knew that she was going to be here, didn’t you?”
Gabe didn’t answer.
“What happens next?”
“Not a single damned thing.”
“You won’t be this way forever, Lieutenant. You should tell her.”
Tell her what? Gabe stared at his leg. There was more reconstructive surgery the next day. Maybe he’d come out of it with a brace and two pins, and a knee strong enough to run on again.
Or maybe not.
He was doing the right thing, Gabe thought grimly. Life went on, as Summer had said. In the grand scheme of things, what could have been carried no weight. At least she had recovered beautifully. He’d never seen her more calm and confident, although for a moment there had been something uncertain in her face, something wistful in her voice.
Just your imagination, fool.
Gabe heard the door close behind him. Nickie was disgusted with him, but of course she didn’t understand.
Frowning, Gabe took something out of his pocket and turned it slowly in his palm. It was the simple blue rubber band he’d taken from Summer’s hair back on that night she’d been caught in the cactus. He took it out sometimes and looked at it, touched it, slipped it over his fingers.
In the last months he had carried it everywhere. Even into surgery.
Down on the street the taxi began moving. Gabe couldn’t pull his eyes away.
He had read once what it felt like to walk on the moon. One astronaut had said that you felt rootless, unspeakably alone, cut off from Earth with its blue seas and all you knew and loved. Gabe felt that way now as the lights of Summer’s taxi flickered, then vanished into the twilight.
wyoming
chapter 41
The Laramie Airport was quiet at this late hour. A few tired travelers waited for their baggage, glancing out at skies that promised snow.
Didn’t it just figure that they had lost her bag, Summer thought. After two delayed flights and ten hours of nonstop traveling, she was dead on her feet, and now her bag was gone.
She shouldered her backpack and headed to the information desk to file an inquiry. With her luck, they wouldn’t find the bag until she was back in Philadelphia on Monday.
What was she doing here, anyway?
Frowning, she backtracked through the last month, beginning with the news that Cara was completely recovered and she and Senator Winslow were finally tying the knot. But Summer was in the middle of a tough case and she still had five rehabilitation classes to complete. She didn’t have time to fly out to a ranch in the middle of nowhere. Despite her protests, Summer soon found out that San Francisco’s assistant DA was a hard person to refuse—and her two winsome girls were even harder to refuse than their mother.
Audra wanted to show Summer how her kickboxing moves were coming along.
Sophy needed to display her latest ballet technique.
Despite her exhaustion, Summer smiled at the memory of that last, hectic phone call. The deciding point had come when Cara mentioned that Gabe wouldn’t be attending because of his Navy duties. Summer still remembered the sharp, stabbing pain of hearing his name again.
Not that the pain wouldn’t heal, because it would.
Maybe in twenty or thirty years. Meanwhile, she had a wedding to attend.
A television echoed in the deserted airport coffee shop, blaring all-night news. Summer noticed that her current case was mentioned briefly, with the facts largely garbled. She shook her head as a weatherman in a string tie pointed to a colorful map, warning that bad weather was headed in over the Rockies.
Just her luck. First her bag bit the dust, now a major snowstorm was roaring straight toward her.
The man at the information desk was courteous and efficient when Summer gave him her name and hotel address. He seemed to study her for a moment, then handed her a receipt, explaining that her bag would be delivered directly to her hotel, assuming it was found before the storm hit.
“Gonna be a bad one,” he added gravely.
Not overly optimistic, Summer asked for directions to the nearest store. She couldn’t go to a wedding in blue jeans.
Summer was just picking up the rental car Senator Winslow had arranged for her when her cell phone rang. Izzy’s voice boomed out, energetic as
always. “So how’s Wyoming?”
“Do you have a tracking device on me, Izzy?”
The woman at the rental desk looked up and shrugged. She’d probably seen and heard everything, Summer thought.
“Nah. I checked the national flight database, confirmed you were on board, and tracked your arrival time. Nothing major.”
Summer nodded at the rental agent, collected her papers, and headed toward the parking lot to find her SUV. “Glad you’re on our side, Mr. Teague.”
“That’s Izzy to you, ma’am.” Papers rustled. “I thought you might like an update on the Winslow case. I’ve got some interesting news about our not-so-friendly family chef.”
“You mean Patrick Flanagan?”
“Patrick Flanagan, aka Patrick Cash. When the police searched his apartment they found a key to a storage facility. Yesterday it was finally located and opened.”
“And?”
“And they found a shitload of files and photographs, begging your pardon.”
“No problem. What kind of files and photos?”
“Surveillance stuff, records of phone calls Cara O’Connor had made and received. Notes on the girls, on their school schedules, and details about Audra’s friends.”
“Including Tracey Van Doren?”
“One and all. Tracey told her mother that she had been involved with Patrick for about six months, sneaking out secretly at night. Apparently, he was using her to get inside information about the family. Her self-esteem was pretty shaky, so it wasn’t hard for him to use her.”
Summer stared at the darkening sky. “Bastard.”
“No doubt about it. We knew he was involved, but not how carefully he had planned every move. He toyed with Tracey’s head, but now she’s in therapy, and that’s helping to straighten her out.”
“Therapy has helped Cara and Audra quite a bit. Cara’s sister and her family have been involved, too. They’re all going to be at the wedding, I hear.”
“Nice people. I spoke to Cara’s sister several times about some media concerns.”
Summer heard something in his voice. “What is it, Izzy?”
“Nothing.”
“I still can’t believe how Patrick conned everyone. He seemed so helpful, so unthreatening.” Summer sighed. “I should have read him better. The man was too good to be true.”
“Forget feeling guilty. He was a master of manipulation, but his cooking skills were real. He was also involved in Costello’s protection rackets and smuggling down in Mexico. A real credit to his employer, you might say.”
He’d been there all along, right under their noses. Summer blew out a long breath. “How do you hear these things first?”
“Must be my charming smile.” Izzy laughed. “That and my superior surveillance skills.”
“What about Patrick’s involvement with Amanda Winslow? Won’t that all come out now?”
“Maybe not. With Patrick and Amanda dead, everything changes. Costello’s still trying to prove he’s a stand-up guy, completely reformed, and he won’t be anxious to have his connection with Patrick revealed, since it will harm his appeal. In fact, I doubt that Patrick planned the murder. My guess is, the assignment from Costello was to frighten Cara into helping with the case.”
“So the poison was Amanda’s idea?” Summer considered the pattern. “It makes sense. Costello wouldn’t want Cara dead until his appeal was granted.”
“That’s how I figure it,” Izzy said grimly. “But Cara and Tate will have to live with the possibility that someone else may surface who knew what Amanda had planned.”
Summer rubbed a knot at the back of her neck. After his mother’s funeral, Tate Winslow had postponed his presidential run indefinitely. The discovery of Amanda’s dementia had left him shaken, determined to spend time mending fences and taking a long, hard look at his future.
Whatever he decided, Cara would be at his side.
Izzy cleared his throat. “So how are you holding up?”
“Fine, except that my suitcase is lost.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Buy me some lingerie? Hack into the national airline database and find the missing bag?”
“I could try.”
“That was a joke, Izzy. I’ll be fine. I may simply head for the nearest store and shop till I drop.”
“Then you’d better pick someplace close, with that storm front rolling in. There’s a nice place about six miles away, I see. You want driving instructions?”
“Is there anything you don’t know?”
“Nothing of any value,” Izzy said calmly.
Silence fell. Summer watched two sleepy boys in cowboy boots and miniature Stetsons cross the lobby with their father, a tall cowboy who was waving at a woman with snow dusting her hair.
So the storm was already here.
Izzy cleared his throat. “I’ll tell Gabe I spoke to you.”
Summer gripped the cell phone tightly. “There’s no need. He’s too busy to be interested in me.” She ignored the burning pressure at her throat. “I have to run, Izzy. It’s starting to snow and I don’t want to be stranded.”
“Sure. Drive carefully. I’ll tell Gabe you said hi.”
The phone went dead.
Summer took a hard breath. No more remembering. Gabe had moved on, and so would she. She was halfway to the front doors when she heard her name called.
“Ms. Mulcahey?” It was the woman from the rental car desk.
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid I forgot something.” The woman held out a long box. “This came tonight and was to be held for your arrival.”
Frowning, Summer took the box and opened the cardboard lid. Inside a single red rose nestled on white paper. “For me?”
“Yes, ma’am. It was prepaid. Somebody knows how to be very romantic.”
Probably Izzy, Summer thought. Trying to cheer her up. The man was unbelievable. “Did he leave his name?”
“I’m afraid not.” The attendant glanced out at the white flakes dancing over the entrance road. “Enjoy your rose. And drive carefully. It’s getting pretty nasty out there.”
One hour and two aspirins later, Summer stood in one of Laramie, Wyoming’s, few dress shops. A long red dress and a lacy bra lay on the bench beside her as she stared in the long mirror. Her current selection, a dress of blue silk with a clinging skirt and a beaded hem, was nice. Either this dress or the red one would be perfect for Cara’s wedding—except that Summer wasn’t in the mood for a wedding.
They said when you fell off a horse, the best medicine was to climb right back on. Maybe she should check out the unmarried men and find a nice tall cowboy to carry her off into the Wyoming night.
Except there would probably be six-foot snowdrifts by this time tomorrow, and even if there weren’t, Summer couldn’t summon any enthusiasm for snuggling up with a stranger, no matter how handsome.
She unzipped the dress and pulled it over her head, wincing as the silk caught in her hair. Pain stabbed down her forehead from half a dozen beads tangled in her hair.
Just great. A predawn departure, two delayed flights, and a food quota of four bags of salted peanuts. Life just wasn’t fair.
Cool air brushed against her legs.
She turned around slowly. “Is someone there?”
There was no answer.
“Hello?”
The dressing room curtain rustled behind her. “Why don’t I help you with that?”
Summer’s heart skipped against her chest like a small, frightened animal.
Gabe.
She took a step backward and banged hard into the wall, the dress still stuck over her head.
“Stop before you hurt yourself.”
As if he cared. “I don’t need your help. Just g-go. What are you doing here anyway? You’re supposed to be somewhere working.”
Summer couldn’t seem to breathe. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She was supposed to be cool and aloof, so beautiful that she broke his
heart. Not caught like an idiot with her dress tangled around her and tears on her cheeks.
“I lied,” he said.
“G-go away.”
“I can’t. You break my heart,” Gabe said quietly, bending to untangle the beads from her hair.
Summer peered through a gap in the silk. He looked good, she thought. No, he looked fabulous, lean and dangerous in a black turtleneck and a black leather jacket.
She forced down an instinct to touch his cheek, to comb back an unruly strand of dark hair. Did the man think he could wander back into her life after months of silence, as if the awful scene in San Diego hadn’t happened?
“Fine, Morgan. One night. Decent sex and nothing else. That’s all I’m interested in.” He’d never expect this answer from her, Summer thought grimly.
He stared as if he hadn’t heard her correctly. “You want sex?”
“Yeah, you know sex. That thing two people do when they get naked and make hot, panting sounds. You’ve got one night. And in the morning, you take a hike.”
“I know what sex is, damn it, but you’re out of luck.”
“In that case, good-bye, adios, sayonara.” Summer shoved the dress down, wincing as another clump of hair pulled free, along with three crystal beads.
Cursing, Gabe yanked her into his arms. “Okay, it’s a deal. But it will be one night of incredible sex. Decent won’t even come close.”
Summer felt a dangerous stab of desire and realized the mistake she’d just made. “But you’re not interested. Not in me. Back in San Diego you said—”
“I know what I said in San Diego, but I’ve changed my mind,” he said grimly.
“Too bad. I’ve changed my mind, too. I’m not in the mood for sex after all.”
“Sure about that?” He traced her lips slowly, and Summer fought not to betray her slamming pulse.
“I’m sure.”
He stared at her, his face unreadable. “If it’s sex you want, I’m your man, honey.”
“Do us both a favor.” Summer tilted her chin, summoning every bit of cold, angry willpower. “Go take a long hike in the snowstorm—right up to the top of the nearest mountain. And don’t come back.”
Nanny Page 31
