“Mrs. Beabots told me that she sees you switching cars, moving your position out front all day and night.”
“And I thought I was the detective,” he said, trying to joke.
Cate’s expression was unyielding. “Something has happened. Right? Otherwise, why would you make such a change up?”
“I can’t say, Cate. You have to trust me on this.” Trent knew from Richard and his intel that Le Grande had taken the bait about a big drug buy in Indian Lake. Richard’s son had informed them that Le Grande was driving all over Illinois and Missouri meeting with Mexican drug dealers, buying cheap heroin, which he would cut and then sell to the Detroit gang.
Trent had gone to his chief and secured the fifty grand that had been kept locked in the evidence room at the station.
Trent had also asked the mayor for an additional fifty grand in marked bills to sweeten the deal. The mayor stated the city could not take the risk. However, she found a concerned citizen who agreed to supply fifty thousand in cash.
Trent didn’t know who the wealthy concerned citizen was, but he suspected that person might be Austin or another of Mrs. Beabots’s Thanksgiving guests, if it wasn’t the hostess herself.
A tinkling bell rang loud enough to pierce the conversations. “Everyone to the table!” Mrs. Beabots announced. “Trent? Would you bring in one of the turkeys?”
Without thinking, he took Cate’s hand from his, kissed her palm, squeezed it reassuringly and said, “Of course.”
Mrs. Beabots signaled to Nate. “You’re a surgeon. Will you bring the other turkey and carve it at the table for us? All of you have name cards. Find your seats.”
Cate helped bring in the last of the steaming vegetables and dinner rolls.
Trent wasn’t surprised that Mrs. Beabots had placed him next to Cate. Danny was to his right and Annie was next to Danny with Timmy on her right. There was a strain of the matchmaker about Mrs. Beabots that was both charming and, in his case, alarming. Ironically, being close to Cate was exactly where he should be.
Because Le Grande was amassing drugs for the setup buy, it was Trent’s bet things were about to bust open. That being the case, Trent needed to alter his strategy.
He couldn’t move in with Cate, though the idea was tempting. She’d never stand for it. Oh, she was being pleasant to him, sociable and hospitable, but he noticed the way she nervously tapped her forefinger on the knife handle. And was that a tiny tick in her lower eyelid? She looked lovely, but tired. Sleepless nights? Nightmares? Fear drained the best people. He’d experienced that in Afghanistan.
“Sam,” Mrs. Beabots said. “Would you say grace for us?”
Everyone at the table held hands and bowed their heads. Trent reveled in the feel of Cate’s skin against his. She might have been nervous, but the electricity that surged through her shattered him. He held her hand firmly. Confidently. She made no move to acknowledge a similar reaction on her part. She kept her head bowed.
He watched her out of the corner of his eye. The late-afternoon sun was dimming, and the flickering candles cast ethereal light on Cate’s blond hair. The nearness of her, the intimacy of the moment took his breath away.
The prayer ended. Trent raised his head before Cate did, and when she opened her eyes, he saw they were misted. Rather than release her hand, he squeezed it. He whispered, “Everything is going to be all right.”
Her smile was disbelieving.
Gabe was the first to stand and raise his wineglass. “To our lovely and most gracious hostess, Mrs. Beabots, who has performed the miracle of the year by bringing all of us together. To Mrs. Beabots!”
“Cheers!” they said in unison. “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!”
Trent held his wineglass toward Cate and whispered, “To the bravest woman I’ve ever met.”
She inhaled deeply, as if taking strength from the atmosphere in the room. Her shoulders straightened, and she lifted her chin as she pierced him with a hope-filled gaze. “Thank you, Sir Galahad.”
It was Trent’s turn to be nervous.
Trent slugged back his wine and reached for the crystal decanter that held the red wine. He poured a second glass. It was going to be a long holiday night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CATE DIDN’T KNOW whether to scream or burst into tears. From the moment Trent arrived, she tried to be civil and not ruin this magical holiday feast. But the fact was he confounded her. The house was filled with good-looking men, but when Trent entered the kitchen, his presence overshadowed everyone and everything.
She knew Mrs. Beabots saw it. Probably Sarah, as well.
Had she been so tongue-tied that all she could say was “Hello”?
He’d been complimentary about the busyness in the kitchen. Had given Mrs. Beabots a kiss on the cheek. Showered Sarah with that radiant smile of his. And then he’d walked over to Cate as she made the gravy—her hands and apron sprinkled with flour and bits of chopped fresh sage still glued to her fingertips—leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Happy Thanksgiving.”
The assault of his fresh-laundry scent nearly made her forget how hurt she was. She’d closed her eyes, thinking she could block him out of her senses.
Foolish move, Cate.
There was no way around it. Trent was her narcotic of choice. She thought she wanted to be free of Trent because that was the way he wanted it—wasn’t it?
Jack had come into the kitchen to fill the ice bucket. He shook hands with Trent and they left the kitchen together. But not before Trent had glanced over his shoulder and mouthed the word later to her.
She couldn’t believe it. Where was the apology she’d been waiting for? An explanation for the distance she felt between them? Ever since Mrs. Beabots had told her she’d invited Trent and he’d accepted, Cate had anticipated talking to him. Getting some answers.
She lifted the whisk, fighting the urge to pitch it at the back of his skull. Later? They would do what? Talk? Then not talk for weeks? Or worse, she’d fall into his charming trap and kiss him again.
Cate didn’t understand him at all. She didn’t understand herself, either. Granted, she hadn’t had many men in her life, only one, and her relationship with Brad hadn’t taught her how to decipher Trent’s actions.
Now here she was, sitting next to him at the dining table with all their friends to distract her, yet all she cared about was the magnetic attraction between them. When they were apart, it was as if he’d left the planet. To her mind, he went to extremes to avoid her.
And she’d had just about enough of it.
Then they’d had the toasts, and he’d said she was brave.
That had done it. She melted just like the turkey-shaped butter sitting too close to the votive candles. She put her napkin in her lap. She was a mess.
“I need to talk to you,” Trent whispered as he leaned dangerously close.
His breath curled around her earlobe and set her heart on fire. “About what?” she asked quietly.
“Things. Everything,” he said. “After dinner.”
“After dinner everyone is invited to Gina’s house for dessert and champagne. I’m driving Mrs. Beabots and her pumpkin pies.”
Trent shook his head as he cut a piece of turkey. “No. I’ll drive all of you, if you must go.”
“Of course we’re going. Danny is counting on it.” Why was it so difficult to concentrate on the conversation when she had a hundred other questions she wanted to ask him?
“Fine. But in my car. I rented a minivan. Cate, I have to talk to you. There are things I need to explain.”
“Explain?”
Though his fork was halfway to his mouth, he put it down and slid his hand to her knee. “I’m sorry. So very sorry. I owe you an apology. An explanation. I owe you a lot.”
Cate thought her lungs had
collapsed. “What are you saying?”
His blue eyes expressed sincerity. Was she reading him correctly? She was angry with him. She was ready to take him to the mat, tussle, anything to assuage her ragged emotions. If she could end this pointless longing for him, she could move on. Or go back to being the Cate Sullivan she’d been before Trent. Before she’d agreed to help him.
But that was impossible because none of this was Trent’s fault. It was Brad.
Austin chose that moment to ask Trent a question from across the table.
There was utter pleading in Trent’s voice that she’d never heard from any man. She’d never studied the law, but she knew the verdict before she knew the extent of the crime. She’d forgive him. Anything.
“Mom, can you help me cut this turkey?” Danny asked.
“Sure, sweetie,” she replied, and leaned over his plate. “I see you’ve eaten all the potatoes. Now try the Brussels sprouts.”
“Aw, Mom,” Danny groaned. “It’s Thanksgiving.”
“I know. Eat something green. Try the broccoli soufflé.”
“I like that,” he said, and speared a piece of turkey as Cate sat back.
Trent’s arm was draped over the back of her chair. He was still talking to Austin, and now Rafe joined their conversation about car engines.
“My police car looks like a standard Crown Vic, but it’s been reengineered. The engine is a Mercedes that will do 189 miles an hour. Zero to sixty in three point three seconds.”
“I had no idea,” Rafe said.
Austin took a sip of wine. “I have that very same Mercedes.”
“Hardly,” Trent said. “I got mine from a Chicago junkyard and did the work myself. Cops are only as good as our tools.”
He looked directly at Cate.
A dozen images of fleeing across the country in Trent’s ramped-up car skittered through Cate’s mind. When his hand moved to her shoulder and then swiped across her back, she felt a waterfall of chills across her skin.
Austin and Rafe went back to talking about cars and tennis. Trent dug into his meal, but his gaze continued to scan the table.
For the first time, Cate realized that even now, on Thanksgiving, he never stopped investigating. Not that he suspected anyone here of wrongdoing. This was something else.
She settled into her meal as he had.
The clinking of a fork against a crystal glass got everyone’s attention. Luke stood. “I propose that since Mrs. Beabots was kind enough to cook for us, we should all do the dishwashing.”
“Absolutely!” Nate and Mica said in unison. Everyone raised their glasses. “Agreed!”
“Well, then,” Mrs. Beabots said, “Cate made half the dishes you’re enjoying. She shouldn’t have to clean, either.”
“Cate, too!” Trent led the cheers.
“And Gina is having us all to her house for the dessert. Gina should be exempt as well!” Maddie exclaimed.
Cheers went around the table again as Gabe stood and refilled wineglasses.
Trent turned to Cate. “Fortuitous.”
“What is?”
“I need time alone with you, Cate. Is there somewhere we can talk before I drive us out to the Barzonni villa?”
“Yes.” She settled her eyes on his. “The gazebo at the back of the garden. I’ll meet you there after dinner.”
“Thank you.”
* * *
CATE WHIRLED THE aqua throw around her shoulders and felt a trifle guilty about not cleaning up with the others as she walked down the flagstone path to Mrs. Beabots’s gazebo. Pools of golden light from the huge Victorian house formed lacy patterns on the frozen ground. Chrysanthemums bloomed in the beds around the carriage house as if defying the coming winter.
She saw Trent standing in the framework of the opening, tall, broad shouldered and strong. Amazing. If she saw him a dozen times a day, she knew she’d always catch her breath. She’d want to stop and stare, to question if he was real.
He reached for her hand to help her up the steps.
So gentlemanly. So mannered.
“I’m sorry I took so long. I had to make sure Danny put some things together in his overnight bag.”
“Where’s he going?”
“To Sarah’s to spend the night with Timmy.”
Trent hesitated, though he still held her hand. She could tell he liked touching her. However, she felt his apprehension.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I have so much I want to talk to you about. But since you brought up Danny, we should start there.”
She pulled the throw around her and folded her arms over her chest. “Okay.”
“Let’s sit.” He gestured to the bench.
His physical presence was a buffer against the coming storm. And there was going to be storm. That part she knew.
“There have been some developments in our case. We had thought that once Le Grande discovered your existence here in Indian Lake, he’d make a grab for you.”
“And it hasn’t worked.”
“Not yet. I can’t tell you all the particulars, but we’re setting up a sting. I am confident that we’ll arrest him while he attempts a drug deal.”
“So, what about Danny?”
“Until the bust goes down, I don’t want you and Danny separated any more than is necessary.”
“Oh.” She heaved out the word with so much dread, she felt her ribs contract.
“I need you to tell me every single plan you have each day. Because it’s the holidays, I know that you’ll want to shop and decorate. All those things that moms do for their kids.”
“Yes, I do. Christmas is Danny’s favorite time of year. We’re going to get our tree on Sunday.”
“Where?”
“The tree farm just north of town.”
“We’ll go together.”
“Together? The three of us?”
His eyes were penetrating. “Cate, it goes further than that. I’m never going to be more than a few feet away from you.”
“What? How will you manage that?”
“I’m moving in with you,” he said bluntly.
“Whoa! Wait a minute!” She held up her palms. As if she could actually stop this train wreck. She’d asked for this, hadn’t she? By wanting Brad out of their lives, she’d forced Trent to come in. “I don’t think—”
“I didn’t say that right.” He chuckled. “What I’m going to do is rent the couch downstairs at Mrs. Beabots’s. If anything happens, I’ll be on the premises.”
“This is serious.”
Trent flung his head back and took a deep breath. When he lowered his head, his lips were nearly on hers. Nearly. “Frankly, I thought we would have apprehended Le Grande by now. We have the best man on the inside. Recently, one of his gang members became an informant for us. But whenever a buy goes down, Le Grande disappears. He’s like a ghost. At the same time, he’s become more greedy and aggressive.” He paused for a long moment.
“In fact, Cate, I wish I could move you out of Indian Lake altogether and put you in witness protection—”
“You want me to run?”
“But we can’t. We’re so close.”
This time she took his hand in hers. Held it between her palms, feeling the calluses. “I told you,” she said firmly. “I’m done with running. I have a life here and I’m not going to give it up. I don’t want Danny to think I was a coward. I want him to see his mom as brave. Just like you said I was earlier.”
“You are brave, Cate.” He placed his forehead against hers. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Then don’t ask me to leave.”
Silence.
He touched his nose to hers, but didn’t kiss her. He put both his hands on her ch
eeks and slid his thumb along her jawline. Splayed his fingers across her temples and into her hair. “You make me nuts. You know that, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Well, you do. I vowed to keep you safe—”
“Trent. You said that Brad has become more aggressive. What are you not telling me?”
She felt his fingers tense.
“Trent? What has he done?”
“Murder. He’s murdered one of his gang members.”
“Here?”
“No, in Chicago.”
The marrow in Cate’s bones seemed to freeze. She was numb. She was stone. Her emotions withered inside her. Panic, fear and the terror she’d lived with for weeks fizzled. She felt her heart slow. Reality fell into place.
Cate didn’t care if she survived any of this anymore. She wanted only two things. Danny’s safety. And revenge.
She wanted Brad behind bars with two life sentences. She wanted him to pay for every second of pain he’d caused her and Danny.
And she wanted Trent to be the cop who put him away.
Facts sifted into a bullet list in her brain. “And that’s why you’ve been hovering so close?”
“Yes.”
“But that’s not enough now.” She scarcely recognized her own voice it was so devoid of emotion.
“No. It’s not.”
“So, your plan is to accompany me and Danny wherever we go until Brad shows up?”
“Yes. I’ll be by your side until it’s over.”
She took his hands from her face. “And what about after that?” she asked, her voice still cold as the coming December snow.
“After that?”
“Where will you be after you catch Brad?”
Trent lowered his eyes. Inhaled deeply and retracted his hands. “That’s the other thing I have to talk to you about, Cate.”
“So, talk to me.” She nearly bit her tongue. Her future happiness rested with Trent’s every word. She had to listen carefully.
“You have to know that I care about you, Cate. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“And that’s why you don’t answer my texts or phone calls? Or if you do it’s a one-word reply? Come on. I may not know much about men and relationships, but I do know that even being a good friend requires effort.”
Protecting the Single Mom Page 19
