Just a Whisper Away. Lauren Nichols
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 wouldn’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.