Just a Whisper Away Read online

  Abbie released a tattered breath. “Dear God, no wonder he’s angry. You’re still making him pay for that night in the gazebo.”

  “I prefer not to think about that night, if you don’t mind. Now, let’s return to our table. Dr. Bryant, Miriam and the others will be wondering what’s keeping us.”

  Abbie shook her head. “You go ahead. Suddenly I don’t feel much like partying. I’m going back to the house.”

  “Now? It’s not even ten o’clock. And how do you propose to do that? This isn’t Los Angeles. You won’t find a cab here.”

  She knew that. Laurel Ridge, Pennsylvania, wasn’t large enough to support a taxi service. “I’ll walk.”

  Anger flashed through her father’s eyes again. They both knew she couldn’t walk the three miles to the Winslow home in the dark, especially dressed the way she was.

  Taking the keys to his Lexus from his pocket, he spoke impatiently. “I’ll tell the others that you’re not feeling well, and ride back with Miriam.”

  Abbie accepted the keys. Everyone would know that was a lie, but at this point, she didn’t care. Suddenly her mind was reeling with questions, and they all concerned Jace. “I’ll see you in the morning, Dad.”

  Twenty minutes later, Abbie had reset the security system, pulled on a robe and was curled in the deep-violet chair beside the white nightstand in her bedroom. Eagerly, she pulled the phone book from the drawer. Her mother had decorated the room when she was in high school, and it was still lovely. Over the years, her dad had suggested that they remodel, but Abbie had steadfastly refused. She loved the white walls and violet-sprinkled pattern on the fussy voile curtains, bedspread and pillow shams. Loved the plush, deep-violet rugs on the hardwood floor. Not because she still gravitated toward the frilly. She loved it because her mother had worked so hard to make it pretty for her, and sometimes she still missed her mom terribly.

  Abbie flipped quickly through the phone book’s pages to the Rs, and seconds later, found a listing for Rogan Logging & Lumber. The location was the same as the company Jace had worked for right out of high school. The place they’d met her senior year. She’d needed information on the lumber industry for a term paper, and the company’s owner, Jim Freemont, had assigned Jace the job of answering her questions and showing her around.

  The chemistry between them had been swift, nerve-thrumming and irresistible. To his credit—and Abbie’s frustration—while she was in high school, Jace had never let it go beyond a few hungry kisses. He was older and blue-collar, he’d told her. She was Morgan Winslow’s college-bound princess.

  Swallowing, Abbie turned to the yellow pages and read his ad.

  Wholesale Timber and Kiln-dried Lumber. We Deliver Locally.

  Below that, in smaller print, it read:

  Owned and Operated by Ty & J.C. Rogan.

  A warm run of satisfaction moved through her. He’d bought out his boss. And he’d done it despite her father’s best efforts to stop him.

  Abbie slipped the book back into the drawer, her mind turning back to that warm August night before she’d returned to college to start her sophomore year. How far Jace had come since then. How far they’d both come.

  She’d tried not to think about that night after she’d gone back to school. It had hurt and shamed her too much to dwell on what she’d done.

  She’d never regretted making love with him; that part had been wonderful, because after the quick flash of pain, she’d been awash with such feelings of tenderness and completion, she’d wanted to stay in his arms forever. But it wasn’t to be.

  The room blurred as tears filled her eyes and suddenly Abbie saw her father step through the patio door to see why the pool lights were on. “Abbie? Abbie! Are you out here?”

  Oh, yes…she’d been there. Forty short yards away in the gazebo, she’d pressed a horrified finger to Jace’s lips and prayed that, without an answer, her dad would go back inside and they’d have a chance to dress. Then her father started up the knoll toward them, and she’d had to beg him not to come any closer.

  Her dad’s disillusionment when they finally appeared turned to rage when he saw she’d been with Jillie Rae Rogan’s bastard son. Especially since weeks before, he’d seen them talking at the fair and warned Abbie to stay away from him. When you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.

  “You knew I’d be home by eleven,” Abbie heard her father thunder again, speaking as if Jace wasn’t there. “You wanted me to see this! Dammit, Abbie, you deliberately dragged that kid back here to rub my nose in it!”

  The betrayal in Jace’s eyes nearly destroyed her. “Jace, he’s wrong!” she’d cried. “I swear it!”

  “Am I?” her father raved on. “You’ve been rebellious all summer. Well, fine. From now on you make your own choices and to hell with what I think. But if you ever see him again, you’ll never get another dime from me for your education. You want to go back to college? You want to go to law school? It’s your choice. Just remember that his mother was a whore and he’ll never be anything better!” Then, swiping a dismissing hand in the air, he’d stalked back to the house. A moment later, Jace was gone, too.

  Abbie lolled her head back in the violet chair, tears running from the corners of her eyes, feeling as spent tonight as she’d felt fourteen years ago. He’d never let her explain. Not then, not when she’d phoned him and not when she’d tried to see him at work. Now, when she considered her father’s financial blackballing, it was easy to see why he’d acted the way he had tonight.

  Abbie touched her lips. She could still feel the tender pressure of his mouth…still feel the rise in her stomach, still feel the strength of his arms after that champagne bottle smashed. He’d been her friend, her lover. And she’d hurt him terribly.

  Her cell phone rang. Slowly, Abbie left the chair to remove it from the charger on her dresser. After wiping her eyes and clearing her throat, she checked the caller ID window. And for the second time that night, fear rippled through her. Unfolding the phone, she spoke quickly.

  “Stuart, what’s happened?” She’d already spoken to him today, and a second call—especially this late—was unusual.

  The elderly senior partner of her law firm replied in a kind, soothing voice. “First, calm down. What I have to say is nothing for you to be concerned about.”

  But it had been important enough for him to contact her well after ten o’clock, and that made her question his statement. Abbie drew a breath, then swallowed. “Okay, I’m calm. Tell me.”

  “They had to release him, Abbie. They couldn’t hold him any longer. Detectives Powell and Rush searched his apartment from top to bottom and found nothing to link him to the shooting or the greeting card you received.”

  Abbie’s heart raced. She’d been dreading this, but she couldn’t say she hadn’t expected it. “I guess that means they didn’t find Maryanne Richards’s gold cross and chain, either.”

  “No.”

  “Is he still under surveillance?” Since the trial had ended, Powell and Rush, the officers who’d originally arrested him, had blatantly dogged Danny Long’s steps, hoping he’d do something to justify locking him up again. They’d yanked him in for lineups on every peeping, rape and homicide case in the past four weeks. And Danny had smiled sweetly through all of it.

  “Yes, he’s still being watched. I understand that at the moment, he’s tucked away in his apartment.” A hint of discomfort entered his tone. “Unfortunately, Mr. Long’s new attorney has threatened the city with a harassment suit if Powell and Rush don’t back off, so your friends in the department will be watching him from a distance now.”

  When she didn’t reply, Stuart seemed to read her mind. “Abbie, you’re safe where you are, and getting him off the street has become a priority with many officers who respect what you—” he halted abruptly, then finished cautiously “—what you might have done.”

  Abbie sighed, guilt joining her anxiety. Stuart knew she’d done it, but he’d never asked because he also knew she wo
uldn’t lie to him. To admit her sin, and have him do nothing would put him in a grave position with the bar. “Please thank them for me,” she murmured.

  “I already have—for both of us. I want that sick animal behind bars as badly as you do.”

  Abbie doubted that. Stuart was the dearest, most supportive man she’d ever known. But he wasn’t being stalked by a disturbed twenty-three-year-old in a red baseball cap who’d raped and murdered, and he hadn’t been the target of sniper fire. She had—two nights ago, outside her apartment, on the same day she’d received the pretty musical greeting card with the cheery—and chilling—sentiment. Can’t wait to see you again.

  They weren’t the exact words her client had used as he left the courtroom a free man, but they were close enough to stop her heart. Danny’s blond hair, glassy blue gaze and saccharine smile coalesced in Abbie’s mind, and gooseflesh prickled over every square inch of her.

  Stuart’s voice gentled. “Have you heard from Collin?”

  She nearly laughed. “Stuart, he didn’t have time for me when we were married. Why would he contact me now?”

  “Simple courtesy?” he returned, obviously annoyed. “He lives and works here in the city, so he’s aware you’ve had trouble.”

  “Believe me,” she said truthfully, “I’m not losing sleep over Collin’s lack of courtesy.” Tires crunched in the circular driveway below. Moving to her bedroom window, Abbie peered down and saw headlights approach. “Stuart, I need to say good-night now. My dad and his fiancée just came home, and I’d rather not be discussing this when they come inside.”

  “You haven’t told them?”

  “I haven’t told anyone—especially them. I didn’t see any reason to put a damper on their wedding or their honeymoon cruise, especially since they aren’t at risk. My dad can be impossible, but he loves me in his own way. If he knew there’d been an attempt on my life, he’d cancel the cruise and sit on me until the danger had passed—even though he and Miriam have been looking forward to this for months.”

  Stuart’s tone held a hint of reproach. “As a father and grandfather myself, I don’t believe he should be kept in the dark. But, of course, that’s your prerogative. Now…try to enjoy this time with your family, stay there where you’re safe and trust that we’ll handle things on this end.”

  “I’ll try. Good night. And thank you for being such a good friend.”

  “You’re very welcome, my girl,” he murmured, then hung up.

  Abbie closed her phone and returned it to the charger, a shiver racking her as her mind overflowed with thoughts of courtrooms and juries and friendships and bullets… And then, finally, Jace. She’d thought often about how a meeting between them would go if they ever spoke again. But in her imagination, she’d always made sure it went well. Tonight…tonight had hurt.

  There was nothing she could do about the situation in L.A. but wait and hope. But maybe she could do something about this fourteen-year-old mess.

  Really? a small voice inquired. Or do you just want to see him again? You’re still thinking about that kiss.

  “Shut up,” she muttered. She had enough to deal with right now without hoping for more than an uneasy truce. And it would be uneasy. He wasn’t the type to forgive and forget fourteen years of resentment at the drop of an apology.

  There was a light knock at her door, followed by her father’s low voice. Though it was gruff, she heard a faint softening in it. “Abbie? Miriam’s putting a pot of decaf on. If you like, you can join us downstairs for coffee and dessert.”

  They’d just had dessert at the country club, but earlier, Miriam had mentioned buying petits fours so they’d have something to nibble after the gala.

  Abbie crossed the oak floor and opened the door. After more courtroom confrontations than she could count, she did her best to avoid them in her personal life, and tonight was no exception. Besides, this was the closest her father was ever going to come to an apology.

  He was still in costume but, wigless now, his thinning salt-and-pepper hair stuck to his scalp.

  “Coffee, huh?” she said.

  “Yes, some damn thing called chocolate-raspberry truffle. If you’re game, she’s grinding the beans now.”

  Abbie worked up a smile she didn’t feel, determined to salvage at least part of the night. Determined to put Danny Long out of her mind. “Of course, I’m game. I live in the nutcase capital of the world. Just give me a minute to jump into sweats, and I’ll be down.”

  Grinning, Danny clicked on the light beside his unmade sleeper sofa and turned up the volume on his thirteen-inch TV—just in case the cops sitting at the end of the street felt like ignoring the order to keep their distance. Then he slipped his black hoodie over his T-shirt, pulled the hood over his hair and slung the strap of his crammed duffel bag across his chest.

  He crossed to the rear window in his second floor efficiency apartment.

  It was dark now, but the moon was high. Luckily, the only people in his neighborhood who went out after eleven o’clock were the druggies and the hookers who worked the streets. Raising the window, Danny eased himself through the opening, stepped onto the sloping back porch roof, then pulled the window shut. Usually, he left it open a crack, but tonight he wouldn’t have to. He wouldn’t be coming back.

  Backing off the roof, he reached into the rainspout for the plastic sandwich bag he’d taped there, stuffed it in his pocket…and dropped soundlessly to the grass below.

  Then he headed for the shack where heroine addict Eddie Parker lived with his girlfriend Leticia. Last year, he’d caught Eddie shoplifting cold medicine for resale at Danny’s ex-workplace but hadn’t turned him in. Two-time loser Eddie had been so grateful he hadn’t gone to jail, he’d promised Danny the moon. He’d phoned Eddie earlier from one of the three track phones he’d bought at a discount electronics place and, big surprise, Eddie needed money again. Which worked out great for both of them because Danny needed Eddie’s crappy yellow ninety-four Olds Cutlass.

  He also needed a favor and knew Eddie wouldn’t refuse.

  When he got there forty minutes later, Eddie was in a bad way, chewing gum hard and talking fast as Danny clued him in behind Eddie’s whitewashed block bungalow.

  Eddie swiped at the perspiration over his lip, light from inside the house illuminating his small, fidgety build. “Okay. Yeah, I can do that,” Eddie said. “When do you want me to go by your place?”

  “Tomorrow—after dark. Use the side stairs. Walk around in front of the windows, turn on the TV. Then, around midnight, shut off the lights like you’re going to sleep. The unmarked cop car I told you about will be sitting at the end of the street. Don’t leave until it does—and don’t let anybody see you up close.”

  Reaching into his duffel, Danny handed over one of his track phones, his red San Francisco 49ers ball cap and a box of hair bleach that would turn Eddie into a blonde. “Keep the phone with you,” he ordered. “I’ll call you the next time I need your help. Every time you do me a favor, I’ll send you one hundred dollars. But don’t go wearing the hat and showing yourself around unless I tell you to. And don’t say you did what I asked if you didn’t, because I’ll know.”

  Nodding, licking his lips, Eddie took the five one hundred dollar bills Danny separated from the wad in his jeans pocket, then turned over the keys to the Olds.

  “It’s all gassed up, Danny.”

  “Good. One more thing. Don’t tell Leticia about this.” Then Danny remembered to smile—be charming and caring. “Hey, Eddie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Take care of yourself while I’m gone, buddy.”

  Two hours later, heading east on I-15, the breathless tickle in his belly became too much, and Danny pulled to the side of the road, stripped off his sweatshirt and took a roll of clear utility tape from his pack. Then he reached in his pocket for the sandwich bag. His pulse quickened as two shiny gold crosses and chains slid out and curled into his palm.

  Suddenly, tears welled in his eye
s, and he eased his head back against the seat. Maryanne had seemed so pure, so sweet, so perfect for him. But, like his mother and Prudence, she’d betrayed him, singing like an angel in church…then giving it up to any guy who bought her a burger and fries when the last note left her lying lips.

  He stopped crying immediately and raised his chin. He’d loved her—loved her blindly, just like he’d loved Prudence—but she’d lied, and she’d gotten what she deserved. Clicking on the dome light, Danny slipped Prudence’s chain and cross around his neck and felt that excitement in his blood again. Then he reexamined the broken chain he’d torn from Maryanne’s throat. He’d fix it later, but for now…

  Lifting his white T-shirt, he ripped off a section of tape, then pressed the necklace above his left nipple and sealed it to his skin. A tingle moved through him.

  Yesterday, he’d found out that his lying, betraying bitch of an ex-lawyer had left town and it could be weeks until she came back. The whiner in the next cell had made a big stink when somebody else from Braddock and McMillain showed up to take his case. The whiner wanted her and only her.

  Danny pulled his sweatshirt back on, then dropped the Cutlass into gear and eased out on the road again. Too bad for the whiner.

  He had a few things to do first—plans to make and information to gather. But when he was through with Abbie Winslow, there wouldn’t be enough of her left over for an autopsy.

  Chapter 2

  At eight o’clock the next morning, skinny little Ida Fannin swept through Jace’s always open door as he was searching his desk for a file he’d misplaced. Her cheeks were cherub rosy and specks of glitter from last night’s festivities still sparkled in her curly gray hair.

  “Good morning,” she sang out happily, then placed a mug of coffee beside the one already sitting on his desk. “How are you this crisp, lovely day?”

  Jace stared curiously, wondering what had put the extra spring in her step this morning. Whatever it was, he needed some. He was exhausted. He’d been awake half the night thinking about things he shouldn’t give a damn about. Eventually, he’d given up on sleep and come into the office, just in time to help pull Farr Canada’s seventy-two thousand board feet of red oak out of the number three kiln and slide the next load in.