Just a Whisper Away. Lauren Nichols

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      “So you decided to bed me in your gazebo and wait for your dad to come home.”

      “No! Maybe I did coax you back to the house so he’d find us together. But not consciously, and not in the scheming, conniving way you think. I cared about you, Jace. I wouldn’t have slept with you just to spite my father. In fact, once we started making lo—” She halted before she finished the word. “Well,” she said, dropping her voice, “my father was the furthest thing from my mind.” She glanced down at the black leather gloves she held, then met his eyes again. “And, if you’ll recall, I only suggested that we take a swim.”

      Yes, that’s what she’d said that night. She’d said there were spare swim trunks in the cabana—that he didn’t even have to go home to get his. Then she’d given him the tour of the picnic grotto and gazebo behind the Winslow’s fancy estate, and they’d never made it to the pool.

      His intercom buzzed. Holding her gaze, Jace depressed the button. “Yes, Ida?”

      “I wouldn’t have disturbed the two of you for the world, honey, but there’s a lawyer on the phone.”

      “Our attorney?”

      “No, one of those personal injury lawyers. It’s about the accident.”

      Jace swore softly. “Get his number and tell him I’ll call him back.”

      Abbie watched him break the connection, then briefly massage the tension over his eyes. “Trouble?”

      “Maybe. One of our men was hurt yesterday, and it looks like he’ll be laid up for a few months. The thing is, we’re friends. It’s not like him to latch on to an ambulance chaser.”

      Abbie let the reference slide. By now, she was used to snide remarks and lawyer jokes. “If you’re covering his medical expenses, and the equipment he was using wasn’t faulty, you probably don’t have much to worry ab—” She stopped herself. “Sorry, occupational hazard. You have your own attorney. It’s not my place to comment.”

      “That’s right,” he said glibly, “it isn’t. God knows I wouldn’t want you to do anything unethical.” But despite his words, the implication was that she had. Fourteen years ago. And to her chagrin, it hurt.

      Abbie drew a breath and let it out silently. All right, she’d tried. Now it was time to go. He still believed she’d orchestrated that awful night, but with all the turmoil in her life now, she had to take her own advice and let it go, no matter how much she wanted to resolve this. She just didn’t have the energy to fight wars on two emotional fronts.

      Clearing her throat, she buttoned her coat and pulled on her gloves. “Know what?” she murmured. “I should have my head examined for coming here. Lately, everything I do with the greater good in mind backfires badly. Goodbye, Jace.”

      Jace watched her open the door and walk to the front of the building. Then the illogical urge to follow her pushed him out of his chair. He still didn’t believe her story, but he could’ve treated her better.

      Ida buzzed him again as he rounded his desk. He jabbed the intercom button.

      “It’s that lawyer again, Jace. He wants the name of the company’s attorney. He said he doesn’t have time to sit on his hands waiting.”

      “Tell him I’ll call him back in ten minutes,” he returned impatiently. “If he gets nasty, hang up on him, and if he phones again, don’t pick up. Check the caller ID before you answer.” Then he strode out to the reception area, and stood at one of their new plate-glass windows.

      Outside, two six-foot-high, carved-wood grizzlies flanked the door. The wind gusted around them, picking up clouds of snow and nearly obscuring the mammoth steel buildings housing the kilns and sawmill. Then taillights flashed red in the grainy mist and Jace knew he’d missed her.

      Swearing under his breath, he retraced his steps, picking up curious looks from their staff forester and a couple of guys from the mill.

      “Ida,” he said, approaching her desk, “get our new friend on the phone for me, please. Then track down Ty. If he’s not at his place, he’s probably with the girl from last night.”

      “Ginger.”

      “Yeah, her,” he said, annoyed with Ty’s cavalier lifestyle and wondering why his equipment hadn’t fallen off yet. “I know this is his late day, but tell him I need him now. Playtime’s over.”

      You’re just ticked off because it’s been six months since you got laid.

      Probably, he decided, entering the rear office and dropping into his chair. But that wasn’t the reason for the clutching in his gut this morning. Then his gaze settled on that mug full of coffee, Abbie’s big doe eyes and full mouth came to mind…and he had to admit that maybe it was. He’d been a total ass, but she and her father had damn near eviscerated him that night and the pain had lasted a very long time.

      Ida buzzed him. “Mr. Cleaver’s on the line.”

      Cleaver. How appropriate. “Thanks,” he said, then picked up the phone and tried to be civil. “Mr. Cleaver. What can we do for you?”

      An hour later, with Ty overseeing things, Jace tore out of the lot and headed for their lawyer’s office. They needed to nip this thing in the bud. He doubted Cleaver could make a suit stick because there was no way Jace could see that the company had been negligent. But the price Cleaver had named for an out-of-court settlement was robbery, and he had to know for sure. Damn lawyers.

      More to the point, damn lawyer, because he couldn’t get Abbie out of his mind. Worse, every time he thought of her—disturbing as it was to admit—memories rose, his blood heated and he felt that old gut-gnawing pull again.

      That night, still disturbed over her morning meeting with Jace, Abbie locked her dad’s SUV and strode quickly across the windy lot to the fire hall. After hearing Miriam mention that help was needed with the town’s annual Friends Without Families Easter dinner, Abbie had decided to attend tonight’s meeting and offer her services. She’d be back in L.A. before Easter, but she’d worked the event when she was in high school and looked forward to doing whatever she could while she was here.

      She tucked her chin deep into her collar. Situated near the river on the town’s outskirts, it was a low, sprawling red-brick building, recently erected after a long fund-raising drive. According to Miriam, it was paying for itself nicely with rentals from weddings and other community events. Coming inside, Abbie wiped her boots on the mat, got her bearings in the reduced lighting, then headed for the room at the end of the corridor and the low hum of voices.

      The cell phone in her shoulder bag rang. Taking it from the side flap, she frowned at the Number Unavailable message in the ID window, flipped it open and said hello.

      A chillingly familiar voice stroked her ear, and the bottom fell out of her stomach.

      “I just came from your place, counselor, but you weren’t home.” Danny Long’s laughter raised gooseflesh the entire length of her. “Where are you?”

      Abbie dropped the phone and it clattered and skittered over the tile floor. Quickly retrieving it, she stabbed the End button to break the connection, then stabbed it again to shut it off permanently.

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