by Ana Barrons
“Not your concern. Can we get started?”
She was wearing denim shorts and a different tank top—blue this time—with a bra underneath. Her exposed skin was lightly tanned, her waist tinier than he’d ever seen it.
Gabe stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “You look better today. Stronger.” But too thin, he wanted to say. He held his tongue.
She still didn’t look at him. “Where do you want to start?”
He pulled out a small notebook and pen. “Can we go into the living room or something?”
“Let’s go into the sunroom.”
He followed her through the foyer past a small mahogany table where a pile of mail sat unopened next to a vase of wilting flowers. Dust had begun to accumulate on the wood. They continued down the corridor beside the staircase, past photographs of Kate and Drew in various exotic locales. His gut clenched. She’d certainly lived the good life with the bastard.
He’d seen the sunroom at the reception and thought it frilly, with its white wicker furniture and flowered cushions. Now, with the ceiling fan turning slowly overhead and an alluring scent in the air he found it pleasant and relaxing. He noticed a laptop sitting open on a table.
“I bet you spend a lot of time in here,” he said.
Kate half reclined against a pile of pillows on the couch. “I do now,” she said, and smiled in a way that sent a spark of jealousy through him. Christ, where had that come from?
He sat down in the chair nearest to her and was pleased that she didn’t move away. He laid his forearms on his thighs and leaned toward her. That was when he noticed the circles under her eyes, and the slight wince when she shifted her hurt arm.
“You’re tired,” he said. “And in pain. Maybe this isn’t a good time. You need rest.”
“I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.”
“Tell you what. How about if I make us some tea and then we can talk for a few minutes.”
She looked about to protest, then changed her mind and said, “Fine.”
He left her and went into the kitchen. When he came back a few minutes later with the tea her eyes were closed and she was slumped against the pillows, her wounded arm cradled in the other.
“You’re not taking the pain pills, are you?” he asked.
She swallowed. “They make me nauseous. And sleepy. I don’t want to sleep.”
“Why not?”
“I just don’t.”
“You’ve gotten the locks changed, right?”
“Yes. Alison took care of it.”
“Who else do you know had the old key to the house?”
Her eyes flickered open, and he saw the pain in them. Damn stubborn woman. “Violetta,” she said. “My cleaning lady.”
“Whoever attacked you didn’t have to force their way in here,” Gabe said.
“How do you know?”
“The CSI team checked every possible way someone could have gotten in and found nothing. Apparently the guy waltzed in, turned off the alarm, threw the breakers that control the lights and walked around freely. He left by the back door, but probably came in the front.”
“Other people may have keys,” she said. “I don’t know who Drew gave them to. Maybe Joy has one.” She swallowed again. “They spent a lot of time together.”
Gabe couldn’t miss the slight flare of her nostrils, the lowering of her eyes. “Bruno didn’t freak out when you were in the tub, did he?” he asked. “When whoever it was came in.”
She frowned. “He may have barked a little. I think I fell asleep in the bath.”
“But if he was really upset you wouldn’t have stayed asleep for long, right?”
She hugged herself with her good arm. “No, I wouldn’t have.”
“With Alison gone, who’s going to spend the night with you?”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that thing where you jump from topic to topic like you do with suspects.” She paused. “Then again, that’s what I am, right? A suspect.”
“Not officially, and not in this case,” he said. “This is about finding the bastard who attacked you. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I’ll be fine. Whoever came in last time won’t try it again.”
He moved to the sofa and leaned in, knowing it made her nervous but wanting to make his point. “Listen to me carefully, Kate,” he began. “You’re hurt, you’re weak, you’re vulnerable, and the guy who did this to you said next time he was going to kill you.”
She closed her eyes and shuddered. “There’s a patrol car in the neighborhood, right?”
“Not good enough,” he said.
“You’re saying the police presence is meaningless?”
“I’m saying you’re a sitting duck for a clever burglar or rapist or whatever he was. If he didn’t find whatever he was looking for, he’ll be back.”
“He could have been looking for valuables.”
“True. Which is why the police went through the house that night, but they said there were no obvious signs of disturbance. I assume you checked your jewelry?”
She nodded. “It’s all there.”
“Electronics?”
“Um... Well, that was really Drew’s department. I checked his study, but the only things I know for sure are missing are some of his books.”
“What kinds of books?”
“His rare books collection. Don Quixote, David Copperfield, Divine Comedy.”
“Are they worth money?” Gabe asked.
She shrugged. “Probably, but I have no idea how much. I also don’t know how long they’ve been missing, so it may mean nothing.”
“After you rest a little while we’ll go to the study and check it out.” He stood. “Who can come and spend the night with you? Or better yet, where can you go to spend the night?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to stay in a hotel.”
“Don’t you have a friend you could call?”
“Sure, but I don’t want to.”
“Why not?” he asked, although a part of him was relieved that at least there wasn’t a man she’d like to call.
She pressed her lips together and sighed. “Because I don’t want to be around people, okay? I don’t want to answer their questions, or be comforted by them, or controlled by them. I even had trouble dealing with Alison, and she’s my sister.”
“Then I’ll stay.”
Kate went still. The silence was broken only by the shushing of the ceiling fan. “No,” she said finally. “You won’t.”
“I’ll bring Jeremy along.”
“Oh, right, I’m sure Lindsay would go along with that in a heartbeat.”
“I won’t mention it. Jeremy’s going to be spending the next couple of weeks with me, and where we spend the night is none of her damn business.”
She hugged herself tighter. “No. I won’t do this with you, Gabe. I told you that. I can’t deal with your schizy behavior.”
“I won’t touch you.” Now, that was a bald-faced lie. It was impossible for him not to touch her.
“What I don’t understand is why, after all these years, have you decided you can’t keep your hands off me?”
He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly irritated. “I can keep my hands off you,” he said, sounding prickly even to his own ears. “I’m not touching you now, am I?”
She ignored him. “And now that you know what... really happened that night, you’re still acting like you want to...” She swallowed. “Why else would you offer to spend the night at my house? It doesn’t make sense unless it’s about that. And by the way, you’re not staying.”
He leaned closer. “About what happened... what you said to Steve that night—”
She held up a hand, her eyes suddenly moist and rimmed in red. “I told you,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “You were right, at least about me upsetting him. But you were wrong about—”
“I know you didn’t say it to hurt him,” he said quickly. “I accept that.” And I was wrong to hold you ac
countable, when I was guiltier than you. Somehow, he couldn’t get the words out. “I’ve been a prick to you for a long time. You won’t get any argument from me about that.”
She drew back and stared at him. “What’s this? That sounded like a real apology.”
“It’s a start.”
Chapter Eighteen
Joe Marshall kissed his baby daughter’s fuzzy head and grabbed his car keys. “Be back in twenty minutes,” he said to his wife, Sydney. “Anything besides formula?”
Sidney’s mouth twisted as she pretended to think. “Well, you could pick up some chocolate ice cream. If you don’t mind me being fat a little longer.”
He smiled back. “Honey, I adore your body. And I’d be happy to demonstrate exactly how much once the baby’s down for the night.”
“Mmm...that chocolate ice cream could get me in the mood, Senator.”
“You got it.”
Sidney frowned. “I still don’t get where all that formula went. It’s so weird, Joe.”
“Honey—”
“Seriously. Are there baby formula thieves around here or what? Maybe a homeless person who slipped into the garage?”
Yeah, right. “I don’t think there are a lot of homeless people in Oakton, Virginia. Maybe a homeless raccoon, though.” Or a spaced-out new mother who was positive she had another case of baby formula in the garage.
“Cute.”
He winked. “Be right back.”
Joe hopped in his Mazda, which was perched at the top of a long driveway that wound downhill through the woods. Oakton had its share of big houses and yards, and a country feel that made you forget you were a stone’s throw from the nation’s capital, but it sure was a car-dependent lifestyle. Which was why he’d opted for a sports car. If he had to be in a car to get everywhere, he may as well enjoy it.
The third time he stepped on the brakes he realized they were gone. Fuck. Time to downshift.
Except his clutch was gone too.
He hit the trees at around forty miles an hour.
Chapter Nineteen
“Relax now,” Archer said. “Drift off if you want. I’ll get my stuff together slowly and make you some of my special herb tea before I leave. How does that sound?”
“Mmm.”
Kate’s body felt weightless. Archer had set up a separate stand beside the massage table with a pillow for her hurt arm, and he’d taken great pains to make her completely comfortable. With her arm still aching and her hip and legs sore, his treatment had focused on stimulating her skin and teaching her to breathe properly for maximum relaxation and healing. He had covered the padded table with warm blankets and alternated hot and cold packs on the sore areas of her body.
He treated her like a queen. No one had ever been so solicitous of her needs. And yet he wasn’t her husband or her boyfriend—just a friend of a friend who liked her and wanted to help. He’d refused payment of any kind, insisting that his massages and treatments gave him at least as much pleasure as they gave her.
She must have drifted off, because suddenly Bruno was barking and she heard two male voices at the door. Still, she didn’t move. Archer would take care of everything.
* * *
“Mrs. Franklin is unavailable right now,” the man said.
After the initial shock of coming face-to-face with a guy who looked like a centerfold for Soldier of Fortune magazine, Gabe held up his creds. “I’m here on police business.”
The man was dressed in lightweight black drawstring pants and a black shirt that showed off his solid physique. A glance downward told him the guy was barefooted. Something ugly and violent slithered through Gabe’s gut.
Deep brown eyes regarded him coolly. “She’s resting. Detective.”
“Well, I’ll be sure not to disturb her for very long,” Gabe said. “And who exactly are you?”
“A friend.”
Gabe was about five seconds from shoving the guy aside. “Well, if you’re Mrs. Franklin’s friend you’ll let her know I’m here. Now.”
Amusement lit the other man’s eyes. “Really.”
Fuck. The guy was going to force his hand. Gabe took a step forward...and the guy stepped aside.
He turned toward the rear of the house and Gabe followed him into the sunroom, stopping when he spotted Kate lying on a raised table, covered only by a large towel across her middle. Her head was on a small pillow and a foam wedge raised her knees. Her bandaged arm rested partially on a pillow with her hand on her belly.
“Kate,” the man said quietly, laying a possessive hand on her bare shoulder. “There’s a detective here to see you.”
“Hmm?”
Gabe watched in horror as she smiled up at the other man and covered his hand with hers.
“A... Who?”
“It’s me,” Gabe said coldly. “Sorry for disturbing your nap, but this can’t wait.”
She propped herself up on her good arm, causing the towel to slide down a few inches. Her hair was tied up in a loose knot on her head, her eyelids half closed. It had been three days since he’d last seen her, and the bruising on her face was much less noticeable.
He’d missed her, damn it.
Kate shared a quick look with the other man, then turned back to Gabe. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you,” he said. “Alone.”
“Oh.” She turned back to her friend. “I’m sorry, Archer, I guess...”
Archer stepped behind her and helped move her into a sitting position. Gabe fisted his hands in his pockets and took a couple of deep breaths to help him hold it together.
“How do you feel?” Archer asked
Her smile was dazzling. “Wonderful. I can’t believe what you did to me.” Then she slid off the table and secured the towel at her breasts.
“I hope the effects last,” Archer said with a glance toward Gabe. “At least for a while.”
Gabe was struggling not to drag her away from the bastard then kick his ass for doing whatever it was he had done to her that had left her looking so goddamn happy and satisfied.
To Gabe she said, “I guess I’ll, uh...get some clothes on.”
“You do that,” he said.
His eyes followed her out of the sunroom and then he turned to Archer, who was calmly placing small bottles in a wooden box, folding sheets and towels and shoving pieces of foam into a large tote bag. “What are you, her masseur?”
“Masseur, aromatherapist, friend,” Archer said. “Kate has been deeply traumatized, and she needs someone to focus on her emotional and mental well-being.”
“And that’s what you’re doing?”
Archer looked at him, amusement still dancing in his dark eyes. “I think you could use a massage, Detective. You’re strung as tight as a violin.”
“How long have you been hanging around her?” Gabe asked.
“Long enough to know what she needs.”
The two men stared each other down. Gabe’s jaw hurt from clenching his teeth. “And how did her dearly departed husband feel about her having a friend who knew what she needed?”
Archer’s smile tightened. “He didn’t give a flying fuck about what she needed or wanted.”
“Sounds like you knew him pretty well.”
“No,” Archer said. “I doubt anyone knew Drew Franklin well.”
“All set?” Kate asked from the doorway. She was barefooted, dressed in white drawstring pants and a loose, flowy top.
Archer collapsed the massage table and hoisted it under his arm, then grabbed the tote with the other. “All set,” he said.
“I’ll walk you out.”
Gabe slumped on the wicker couch and blew out a breath. Goddamn it. Who was this guy, and what was he to Kate? Not that it was any of his business, but it irritated the crap out of him to show up at her house and find another man there. And what the hell was he doing being jealous, anyway?
The Lab, Bruno, shuffled over and lay down at Gabe’s feet. He bent down and rubbed his neck
until Kate reappeared several minutes later. She sat in a wicker rocker across from Gabe and said, “What’s up?”
He didn’t mean to blurt it out, but somehow the words were in his mouth and he couldn’t hold them back. “So did you hook up with this guy before or after your husband died?”
She stared at him for a moment, then narrowed her eyes. “Don’t even start.”
“It’s a relevant question.”
“Relevant to what?”
“To the investigation.”
“That’s not what you came to talk to me about, because you had no idea Archer would be here. So why don’t we get to the police business and not go to the other place.”
“Fine.” He threw the newspaper he’d been carrying inside his jacket on the wicker table so the front page faced Kate. A bold headline read Senator Joe Marshall Paralyzed in Car Crash.
Kate’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God. Joe Marshall... He’s a great guy.” She turned to Gabe. “I’ve met his wife. They... She just had a baby.”
“Marshall’s the second Democratic senator who’s been killed or disabled since the plane crash, which killed four Republican congressmen.”
Kate sat back in the chair, stunned. Gabe frowned, knowing he’d upset her, but at the same time hoping the truth was sinking in. “There’s something going on,” he said. “And it’s bad.”
She closed her eyes, laid her head back against the cushion and rocked gently in the chair. He left her alone and watched her, like he used to, marveling at how beautiful she was even now when she was too pale and too thin. But it had always been more than her beauty that drew him to Kate. More than her talent, or her intelligence, or even her sense of humor. He’d always been able to relax around her. To talk to her about anything, knowing she would listen without judging or repeating what he’d said to another soul. How could he ever have—
“It doesn’t make sense,” she said, and leaned forward. The movement brought him out of his reverie. “Is there any evidence that terrorists are behind these latest deaths? I’ve been laid up, after all, so it couldn’t have been me.”
Gabe ignored the sarcasm and clasped his hands between his knees. “The FBI and the MPD are looking for a connection between Marshall’s accident, Senator D’Argento’s murder and the plane explosion.”
