Part 11 (1/2)
”There is. Apparently someone wants to keep me out of trouble,” he said with an affable grin.
She tried to tamp down the little jerk in her chest, stronger than it had been the last time he'd smiled. ”But why Prescott?”
”Why not?” he replied, and ambled out of the office.
She stared at the empty doorway, suddenly wis.h.i.+ng she'd not turned down his offer. Somehow the ”Why not?” didn't answer her question. It only piqued her curiosity.
She should have pushed him more. And maybe... she should have someone with her when she returned home.
But her refusal was not entirely because she didn't want him to see the shambles at home. She didn't want to admit her fear. Not to him. Not to herself.
She wouldn't give anyone that victory.
She could protect herself. She'd practiced at the police shooting range and had a gun permit, though she hadn't carried a weapon since she'd left the district attorney's office.
She planned to remedy that today and felt it was something she needed to do on her own. Between the attacks on her and her home and the effect Detective Gaynor had on her, she'd lost enough control over the last few days.
*Chapter Seven*
'NEW ORLEANS'.
Charles Rawson closed the door to his luxurious office and picked up his phone. He was so angry that his fingers shook as he pushed one number and the memory on his phone did the rest.
”Are you responsible for what happened to my daughter?” he said before any pleasantries were exchanged.
”She wasn't hurt.”
”She might well have been. A friend from the police department called me. Dammit, you didn't have to destroy her home.”
”There was no question of 'might.' The orders were quite clear. It 'will' keep her busy for a while, won't it?”
Charles sat back in his chair and drew a long breath, trying to cool his anger. He had not expected this violent reaction to his news that his daughter had found out about her half sister and intended to try to find her.
”Leave her alone,” he said.
”I will, if you do your part. Control her, Charles.”
But Charles wasn't sure he could do that. He had guided her for twenty-five years and then she had started to turn against him. She said it wasn't against him, but for her. He hadn't accepted it then. He still didn't accept it.
The silence must have spoken loudly.
”I mean it, Charles. I cannot guarantee her safety if she continues to meddle in this.”
Charles exploded. ”It's your d.a.m.n fault. If you hadn't...”
”Hadn't what, Charles?” came the silky smooth voice.
”I wish to h.e.l.l I had never agreed to your bargain.”
”But you did, didn't you? And now, if you want your daughter to remain well and happy, you know what you must do. We gave you time last night. Use it.”
The receiver went dead.
He slowly replaced it in the cradle.
The sins of his past wouldn't go away.
Somehow he had to stop Meredith.
If he didn't, he knew someone else would.
'BISBEE'.
If Holly hadn't been worried about making mistakes and even more so that Harry would, she would have enjoyed the evening.
She'd never attended a party in blue jeans and a casual s.h.i.+rt before. Yes, there had been barbecues, but they had usually been big, elaborate affairs or small, intimate fund-raising events. Both called for expensive, elegant clothing.
Neither her father nor her husband had ever had neighbors over for hot dogs and hamburgers.
She felt herself relaxing for the first time since she'd left her home. The first time in years. In addition to Harry and herself, she counted ten adults, four children and four dogs. But people came and went, wandering at will into the house set high on the hill. Tubs of iced beer sat on the porch.
She tried to remember names, and was fairly good at it. It was one of the requirements of a politician's wife and she had been a good student.
One of the women was a painter, another a sculptor. Both were accompanied by husbands, one of whom wore a long gray braid. There was an older man who was a guide for city sightseeing trips, and a bearded man who had once worked as a miner and now conducted tours in the now closed mines. Russ, a man who looked to be in his late forties, was a rancher. Julie, the woman from the animal shelter, was accompanied by a teacher at the high school. And there was, of course, her hostess, Marty.
It didn't take long to discover that Marty was a self-appointed matchmaker. Holly had been there only minutes before Marty had asked her to join Russ in cooking the hamburgers on one of two grills.
”What brings you to Bisbee?” Russ asked as she carefully followed his directions on moving the hamburgers from the center of the grill to the side.
”An article in a magazine. It sounded like a good place to raise a child.”
He glanced at where Harry was happily entertaining three dogs. An amused look came over his face. ”He likes animals.”
”He loves animals,” she corrected. ”He never had a chance--” She caught herself saying too much. She had to watch that.
He looked at her, waiting for her to finish.
”We lived in an apartment in a large city. Having a pet wasn't practical.”
”What city?”
”Chicago,” she said, wis.h.i.+ng that lying came easier to her. She was sure everyone present saw a big L on her s.h.i.+rt.
”Marty said you were a widow. I'm sorry.”
He didn't look sorry at all. He looked interested, and she could not return that interest. She was still married. Not only that, but her trust in men had reached an all-time low. Most important, she had a past she couldn't share. Perhaps he was just being polite. She'd thought her now mousy brown hair and store-bought gla.s.ses would quell any interest.