Rick

by Peggy Jaeger

  He probably still was.

  “I didn’t hear any complaints last night.”

  Make that definitely still was.

  “A truly chivalrous gentleman doesn’t speak about his sexual…prowess.”

  Good lord, did those words come out of her mouth?

  Rick stood on one courthouse step below her, making them eye level. When he nailed her with his characteristic all-knowing, slightly condescending, yet wickedly hot glare, it was all she could do to clamp down on the absolute need she had to lean in and kiss him right there and then.

  “Prowess, counselor?”

  “You know what I mean,” she said, never breaking eye contact.

  He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I do. And for the record, I’d have carried your books whether you put out or not.”

  Why did that ridiculous statement warm her from head to toes?

  Rick shook his head. “Come on. I don’t want to be late.”

  ****

  “You did a lot of research on this, man.” Kyle Donovan lifted the file Rick had handed him. “I’m still a little fuzzy on why you think your case is connected, but it certainly seems as though the Fields and Aaronson cases are. I’m not primary on Fields. I’ll need to notify the detective who is.”

  The four of them, Abby, Rick, and detectives Donovan and Pecorrini were seated in Abby’s office. After thinking it through the night before, Rick agreed bringing Donovan up to speed on what he’d discovered would be beneficial.

  Tony closed the file Rick had passed him. “Your case, Castle, doesn’t make any sense. No alcohol in the bloodstream, car was fine. Why’d she crash?”

  “That’s why I think it may be related to the other two.”

  “So, you think, what?” Donovan shifted back on the couch, crossed an ankle over one knee. “Someone connected to them in the past is responsible? Is systematically attacking them for…whatever?” He waved his hand in the air.

  “Revenge, maybe?” Tony said.

  Rick shot his index finger at him. “That’s my thought.”

  “So take us through it,” Donovan said.

  Abby listened as Rick succinctly laid out his case, much as he had for her the night before. She’d been skeptical at first, but each time he went over it she could see it made more sense. The same person had targeted Marty and Judge Aaronson. They were connected. Eleanor Castle was connected to each of them, as well, so it wasn’t farfetched that all three events might be related.

  “Abby’s name is on a few of these files as well. Do you think her attack is connected?”

  Rick frowned. “I don’t see the connection to Genocardi. He blatantly went after her in this office. Besides, the guy in the hoodie is skinny. Genocardi’s bulky.”

  “No, not him.” Tony shot his gaze over to Abby. “The other guy, couple o’ days before that.”

  Abby had faced many tough opponents in court and stared down many an angry and antagonistic glare during her career from witnesses, judges, and opposing council alike. She’d never flinched once, knowing to do so would show weakness. But the narrowed eyed, laser-focused, and heated look Rick flung at her from across the room had her fidgeting in her comfortable desk chair.

  “What other guy?” If the glare hadn’t made her squirm, his deathly cold tone would have done the job.

  “It was nothing.”

  “It wasn’t nothing, Abby,” Tony said. “You could have been hurt.”

  She flipped a hand in the air. “Could have, not was.”

  Rick rose from the visitor chair, his body coming to full height one vertebra at a time as if he needed to go slowly. He leaned his fists down on her desk, his torso following. Abby had to physically push her butt into the chair so she wouldn’t jump up and run from the room.

  “Tell me,” he said in that subdued, lethal, tone.

  “It was just a homeless guy, looking to rob me.”

  Rick dragged in a loud breath. “Abigail.”

  She rolled her eyes and scowled up at him. “I was coming into the building a little over a week ago. I had a lot on my mind, and I wasn’t paying any attention. This man ran up to me. I thought he was going to try and grab my briefcase.”

  “Did he have a weapon?”

  “I didn’t see one.”

  “What happened? What did you do?”

  She bit down on her bottom lip.

  “Abigail. What did you do?”

  “Broke his foot, most likely,” Tony said.

  Rick tilted his head to the couch, then focused back on her. “Explain.”

  “Bossy, much?” His ears turned red. Before he could say another word, she told him. “I leaned into his space, screamed, and stepped on his foot with the heel of my shoe. Hard. I put all my weight behind it. My scream alerted the guard, who came running.”

  “What happened to the attacker?”

  “He ran, hobbled away really, down into the subway station. Ed, the head security guard went after him, but the man hopped onto a waiting train and…” She shrugged.

  “Can you describe him?”

  “I did. I gave a full description to the beat cop who came after the guards called.” She turned her attention over to Tony. “How do you know about this?”

  “Saw your name on the log sheet. I spoke to the reporting officer, got the deets. He said you were fine.” He grinned at her. “He actually said you were more than fine, and he wouldn’t want to be the guy who accosted you because your quote ‘dragon lady heels’ unquote looked like they could kill a man.”

  “Why didn’t you ever mention this?” Rick asked, still looming over her.

  “One, because nothing bad happened. Two, because they’ll probably never find the guy. And three, why would I? It happened before Genocardi, plus has no bearing on your case.”

  “Um, Abs, your name is on two of these case files.” Tony pointed to the ones on the coffee table.

  Rick did a push up off the desk and grabbed the files in question. Silence filled the room while he glanced through both of them.

  “Is there any way we can get a current or up-to-date picture of this guy?” He showed the file to the detectives.

  “Yeah,” the both said at the same time.

  Tony lifted a hand to Donovan. “The judge is yours. I’ve got no dog in this fight.”

  Kyle Donovan rose and came around Abby’s desk. “You mind?” He pointed to her computer.

  While he typed, Abby pointedly ignored the heated scowl Rick shot her.

  “Okay. I’m in. This is Christopher Edwards’ prison photo. Taken two months ago right before he was released for time served.” He looked up at Rick. “This what you had in mind?”

  Abby jerked, unconsciously taking a step backward from the monitor and right into Rick’s chest. His hands immediately went around her upper arms.

  She couldn’t move her gaze from the glowering face on her screen. Shaggy, dirty dishwater-colored hair framed a square jawline. His lips pulled into a thin, downward line, deep corrugations branching out from the corners of his mouth. His steely, I’ve-seen-the-worst-of-the-world glower felt as if it was aimed directly at her.

  Rick squeezed her arms. “Abby?”

  He turned her to him, dipped his head so he could look her straight in the eyes. “Do you recognize this guy?”

  It took every bit of energy she had to nod.

  “That’s the man who grabbed me outside my office.”

  ****

  “I don’t get why you’re mad at me,” Abby said for the third time since they’d gotten in his car.

  After the detectives had exited her office with promises to keep them both apprised of whatever they discovered, Abby met with two scheduled clients while Rick planted himself in her outer office and continued searching through his laptop for any information he could find about Christopher Edwards. There was a wealth of it, all criminal.

  He’d been under the assumption Joseph Genocardi was the only person he needed to worry about a
ttacking Abby. Now he knew two more names to add to the list: Edwards and his son, Peter.

  “I’m not mad at you.” He flicked her a side glance. “I’m furious I didn’t know about the Edwards incident.”

  “Why should you have? It seemed like an isolated event that, unfortunately, happens every day in this city. The security guards were one of the main reasons I moved my offices uptown. They handled everything perfectly.”

  “You’re not getting this, Abby.”

  “Not getting what?”

  “How serious this is.”

  “That’s a stupid thing to say. Of course I understand how serious this is. Marty is dead, and Judge Aaronson is hanging by a thread. And if you’re right about everything being connected, Eleanor Castle is another of Edwards’ victims.”

  Rick took a deep breath as he pulled his car into her underground garage. “You’re either in denial, or you’re purposefully refusing to see this.” He pushed the number for her floor once they were in the elevator.

  Abby turned to face him. “What the hell does that mean?”

  He refrained from answering her when the elevator opened at the lobby and several other tenants got in. They rode the rest of the way in stony silence.

  Once inside the privacy of her apartment, while she kicked off her shoes and before she could lift her caterwauling pet, Rick dropped her briefcase, then spun her around to face him.

  “Caveman, much?” She tried to jerk out of his hold. Her beautiful blue eyes shot daggers at him.

  He had no doubt she was angry, but in a contest he would win the fury award. “Don’t. Just listen to me.”

  “I would if you would tell me something relevant instead of pulling this silent but deadly Neanderthal routine and talking in riddles.”

  He squeezed her upper arms. How could she not see it? She had a brilliant brain. A logical mind. Why wasn’t she using it?

  “If I’m right, and Castle was the first to die,” he told her through a jaw so tightly clamped it was a wonder he could say anything, “then you, you, Abigail, were the second person intended to die. Don’t you get it? Can’t you see that? By some stroke of luck, your attack was thwarted, but if Edwards is doing this, then you’re still on his list. Now do you understand why I’m so furious I didn’t know about the first attack? Now do you get it? You’re part of this, Abby. You and anyone else attached to the Edwardses.”

  He watched the anger in her eyes die, replaced first by shock, then fear. Her skin blanched as it had the night her fever started, and her lips began to tremble. This time, though, he knew it wasn’t because she was cold.

  Hating that he’d forced her to see the severity of the situation, Rick did what he’d wanted to do since they’d been in her office and pulled her into his arms.

  Abby clutched his shirt in her fists as her body started to shake. When she heaved in a deep breath, he realized she was crying. All his anger dissipated.

  “Don’t, sweetheart. Don’t cry. I can’t stand to see you cry.” He kissed her temple, her cheeks, wormed his way to her ear. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I swear. You’re safe with me.”

  She nodded against his shoulder. “I know.” She pulled back and stared up at him.

  Rick swiped at her wet cheeks with his thumbs. Her shoulders shook one final time while she dragged in a huge breath. It was impressive watching her gain control. Impressive and a little awe-inspiring.

  “I know I am.” Abby backed out of his hold. Moonlight, who’d been drawing figure eights with her body around both their legs, batted Abby’s calf with her paw and let go with an ear-piercing wail.

  Abby stooped and picked her up, nuzzled her nose against the cat’s neck. “I need to feed her.”

  “We both need to eat, too,” Rick said, running a finger along the cat’s fur.

  While she filled Moonlight’s bowl and sat with her while she ate, Rick took inventory of what Kandy had sent over.

  “There’s some lasagna left and a chicken dish in here.”

  Abby shook her head. “I want to cook something.”

  “You sure? ’Cuz there’s enough already stored in here to feed the building.”

  “I’m sure. I want breakfast. It’s my comfort food.”

  “What, like pancakes?”

  She stood and shook her head. “No. I want a Grandma Sophie breakfast like she used to make us as kids.” She pulled out a carton of eggs along with a sleeve of bacon, a tomato, a package of sausages, a loaf of whole wheat bread, and a stick of butter. She dumped it all on the counter, then grabbed a frying pan.

  “Go sit down,” she ordered.

  “I can help.”

  “No. This kind of cooking calms me. It’s the one time I really get what Kandy says about how making everything from scratch is soothing to the soul.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. You sit and tell me everything you know about Edwards, because I’m pretty sure that’s what you were working on when I was in with clients this afternoon.” She peered up at him. “Digging deep, to quote you.”

  He nodded. “It’s what I do.”

  “So tell me while I make dinner.”

  Because he knew she needed the distraction of cooking as much as she needed the information, he did. After grabbing a bottled water from the fridge for both of them, he settled down at her table.

  “Eleven years ago, the police were called to the Edwards apartment. It wasn’t the first time neighbors had notified the police a shit-storm of an argument was brewing. Both Edwards and his wife were hotheads. Cops arrived, the wife took a swing at one of them and was subdued, and when Edwards saw his wife in handcuffs, he went batshit crazy. When the cops got him under control, they realized he was as high as a kite, especially when they spotted the cocaine on the dining room table. Apparently, the fight had started over the drugs. Second offense for Edwards, first for the wife, but they both had to do time. Their son, Peter, was placed in foster care.”

  “How old was he?” she asked while slicing tomatoes.

  “Eight. Mom died in jail a few weeks later. Got shanked in the shower after a fight with another inmate. Seems she was a hothead with everyone. Since it was his second offense, Edwards got five years for the possession and another five tacked on for hitting the cop when he was arrested. He got out, like Donovan told us, two months ago.”

  “Where has Peter been all this time? Was he ever permanently placed with a family?”

  “No. He bounced around. Had quite the attitude, according to some of the reports. A real chip on his shoulder about authority. He managed to finish high school—barely—at his last placement, and then aged out. I couldn’t find a work record or anything that smacks of how he’s been fending for himself since then.”

  “I hate saying this because it’s so clichéd, but it wouldn’t surprise me to hear he’s been dealing drugs or selling himself on the streets.”

  Rick let out a breath and nodded. “It’s a way for kids to stay alive. A shitty way, but…” He shrugged.

  She filled two plates with food, then brought them to the table he’d set.

  “Did Grandma feed you this way all the time?” he asked, staring down. Two sunny-side-up eggs, perfectly set, sat in the center of the plate. Surrounding them were two slices of toast, two full-sized sausages, not the commercial breakfast kind, and four slices of bacon. On her own dish, she’d halved everything. “ ’Cuz if she did, it’s a wonder none of you weigh nine hundred pounds.”

  With a cute smirk, she forked eggs into her mouth. She sat back in the chair, closed her eyes, and moaned after she swallowed. Rick’s appetite for the food turned on a dime to an entirely different kind of hunger.

  When she opened her eyes again and found him staring at her mouth, she said, “What?”

  “You made that same sound in the shower.”

  Her eyes widened, the pallor recently crossing her face flown, replaced by two cherry stains erupting on her cheeks.

  “Right before you came,” he added.
Her fork dropped from her hands and landed with a tinny clang on her plate. She opened her mouth, closed it again, the red streaks dancing down her cheeks to her neck.

  “It’s a sound I hope to hear again,” he said, casually as he lifted his water bottle to his lips. “Quite a lot, actually.”

  Abby Laine, speechless. Wasn’t that something? Why it excited him so much he couldn’t begin to guess. Verbally sparring with her was such a turn on, who knew her shocked silence could be as well?

  But then, everything he’d discovered about her in the past few days had been a turn on. Gone forever was the idea he had to keep his distance from her, had to keep her at arm’s length. He could no sooner do that now than he could stop his heart from beating. From the first time they’d met, he’d wanted her but had fought the attraction, knowing she deserved better than a hot, quick affair. She deserved a man who would commit his life to her, give her his heart and soul.

  Rick wasn’t that man. He knew himself well enough to realize his upbringing had destroyed any chances of living an uncomplicated, happy family life. Even though he wasn’t anything close to the kind of man his father had been, he never wanted to take the chance he could hurt a woman—either physically or emotionally.

  But the more they were together, the more she wormed his past from him and made him confront it, the more he felt maybe it was a good idea to face his fear.

  Moonlight’s woeful cry snapped Abby out of her silence. She peered down at the cat who’d come to sit at her feet, one paw lifted and patting her calf.

  “What?” she asked. “I just fed you.”

  Moonlight cried, then moved over to Rick. As she’d done to Abby, the cat lifted a paw, but instead of patting his leg, she stretched her body all the way to his knee, a pitiful wail blaring from her. She patted his knee a few times with her paw, and Rick swore she batted her eyes at him as well.

  “What do you want, cat?” He scrubbed a finger along her neck.

  “Oh, my God, is she begging? Did you teach her to beg?”

  Moonlight jumped up on his lap and sniffed at his plate.

  “I think she knew how, no help from me required.”

  “She’s never done that with me.” She tossed her napkin onto the table and rose. “I don’t let her sit on the counter, and I don’t feed her from the table. I told you people food makes her sick.” Crossing to him, she unceremoniously lifted the cat and walked her to the living room where she deposited her on the couch. “Stay.” She pointed a finger at her. Moonlight simply meowed once, then turned her back and sank down on a cushion.