Love Remains (23 page)

“I don’t believe it.”

She turned at Dennis’s voice. “Don’t believe what?”

“Well, when you said you wanted to take a half day today, I figured
you meant you’d be leaving at three thirty or four o’clock.” Dennis looked at his tasteful, but expensive, watch. “It’s barely one thirty.”

“Yep—and there’s nothing you can do to make me stay, either.” Zarah grinned at him, even though nerves continued to riot in her stomach at the thought of Bobby waiting for her downstairs.

Dennis’s left brow raised. “Really?” He chuckled. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you. Have a great weekend, kiddo.” He turned to go back into his office. “I hope you’re not taking more than ten or twelve hours’ worth of work home with you.”

“Only about eight.” She patted the leather carryall. “See you Monday.”

At the bottom of the stairs, she took another deep breath and squared her shoulders before opening the A
UTHORIZED
P
ERSONNEL
O
NLY
door into the museum. She cut through the Tennessee Centennial exhibit to get to the front counter where Debby, who served both as the admissions cashier for the museum and an administrative assistant for Zarah, sat working on the computer.

But no Bobby.

Zarah paused, confused, then continued on to the desk. “Where…?”

Debby looked up. “Oh, he’s wandering around the museum. I didn’t charge him for admission, since I figured he wouldn’t be here long enough to justify it.” The middle-aged woman winked.

“Thanks for that.” Zarah hefted her bag onto the raised counter and pulled out the envelope containing the three tickets for Bobby. “I’ll be back for this in a minute.”

“ ’Kay.” Debby went back to her work.

Zarah turned and scanned the main area of the museum that covered more than five thousand square feet. At his height, Bobby should have been easy to spot—but she didn’t see him. She headed toward the Pre-statehood Room, then on into the Founding of Nashville exhibit. Still no Bobby.

The Early Frontier Room led to the largest exhibit at the back of
the building—the Civil War Room.

The fluttery feeling returned full force at the sight of Bobby standing under the portrait of Zander and Madeleine Breitinger and gazing up at her ancestors.

“Who were they?” Bobby asked without turning around.

“My great-great-great-grandparents.” Zarah wasn’t sure why she felt the need to speak in a tone just above a whisper, but she was pretty sure speaking at full volume would have sounded almost vulgar in this moment.

Bobby finally turned, a slight smile easing his face which, with all of its angles and planes, could be quite severe. “I can’t wait to hear this story.”

“Okay—trade places with me so you can have the full effect.” Zarah pulled Bobby’s sleeve and took his place under the image, which she displayed with her best Vanna White impression. “This is Zander and Madeleine Breitinger, my ancestors. As with many people from that era, they were not born in this country but had been brought here by their families when they were very young. Zander’s family, the Breitingers, and Madeleine’s aunt and uncle, who took her in when she was orphaned as a baby, all settled just north of Nashville—in what is now known as Germantown….”

She watched Bobby’s expression carefully as she got further into the story she knew so well and had recited so many times. He stood stock-still, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the image, a slightly bemused expression on his handsome face.

“With nothing left, and no hope that Zander would ever return, Madeleine agreed to return to Germany with her aunt and uncle.” Zarah’s voice cracked—and Bobby’s eyes locked with hers.

“But that’s not the end of their story,” he said softly. “You like happy endings, so you wouldn’t have chosen this couple’s picture to display if they didn’t somehow have a happy ending.”

Zarah raised her left brow—a little something she’d picked up from Dennis—and cocked her head. “Really? You know most stories
like this have tragic endings. Remember the letter quoted in Ken Burns’s
Civil War
series?”

“The one that was on the soundtrack you used to make me listen to over and over and over and over and then he died in battle right after he wrote it?”

The teasing lilt in his voice coaxed out the smile she’d been trying to hide. “Yes, the letter you could quote to me verbatim shortly after we met—before I ever made you listen to that soundtrack. That had a tragic ending.”

“But this story doesn’t. So get on with it.” He waved his hand in the air as if a TV director instructing someone to wrap up a segment.

Zarah heaved a put-upon sigh. “Fine. But I don’t know if you’re going to like how this ends, coming into it with such a preconceived notion. Madeleine returned with her family to Bavaria, but she left her heart behind in Tennessee….”

She ignored Bobby’s smug expression when she got to the part about Madeleine’s inability—or unwillingness—to find a man who could replace her husband, and the knowing wink when she got to the part about Karl Alexander’s leaving for America.

“With a map drawn by his great-uncle, Karl made his way to where the farm had been. Expecting to find a pile of burned-out rubble obscured by more than fifteen years of overgrowth, he was shocked to find a large white farmhouse looking exactly the way his mother and great-uncle and great-aunt had always described their home—”

“I hope I’m not interrupting something important.”

Zarah jumped—almost dropping the photograph of Karl Breitinger—and Bobby whipped around as if ready to defend himself.

Senator Todd Warren trailed a finger along one of the artifact display cases and came to a stop closer to Zarah than she was comfortable with.

Under the pretense of putting the smaller picture back where it belonged, she stepped away from him. “Senator Warren, I…wasn’t expecting you. Did I forget an appointment?”

There had been no appointment. She wouldn’t have forgotten something like that. Not even with as distracted as thoughts of Bobby and the brouhaha over the singles’ ministry had made her this week.

“No. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by for that five-dollar tour followed by coffee you promised.” Todd Warren flashed his megawatt smile at her, all the while looking strangely out of place standing here, in her favorite spot in the building.

“Dr. Mitchell,” Bobby said behind her, and she gratefully turned to face him—but almost wished she hadn’t when she caught the severe set to his massive jaw. “Obviously you have important things to which you need to attend, and I really should be getting back to work. So if I can get those tickets from you, I won’t keep you any longer.”

No. Why, when everything had been going so well, did something have to happen to ruin it again?

Maybe it was a sign. Maybe she and Bobby just weren’t meant to be.

Then why, just moments ago, standing here under the softly smiling faces of her ancestors, had she believed that she could have her own happy ending, just like she used to dream?

She pulled the envelope out of her jacket pocket and handed it to him. “I’ll—” Should she forewarn him she’d be there tomorrow? Why—to have him decide to not go? “Thank you for going to the trouble of coming down here to pick them up.”

Bobby gave a curt nod to both her and Senator Warren and marched out of the room.

Zarah tried to borrow some of his starch for her own spine. She plastered on a smile before turning to face the senator. “Senator Warren, I’m sorry you came all this way just to be disappointed. I was actually on my way out. But we can go up to the front desk, and Debby can pull my schedule up on her computer so we can set an appointment for sometime next week.”

Before she could get Todd Warren to leave, Zarah had to agree to letting him take her out for lunch instead of coffee, followed by a
personal tour of the museum and offices and labs upstairs. He even said he wanted to see the artifact storage and preparation rooms in the basement.

Even though Debby’s desk now separated them, he lingered over shaking her hand. “I’ll see you next Wednesday, Dr. Mitchell. And maybe then I can convince you to call me Todd outside of the committee chamber.” He winked at her, then at Debby, before making his exit.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Debby let out a soft wolf whistle. “My goodness, Dr. M., it doesn’t rain, but it pours. I had high hopes when the first young man came in here looking for you, but then when another one came in asking after you, I knew my prayers had finally been answered.”

“Your prayers?” Zarah picked up her bag from the counter.

“Yeah—my prayers that some handsome young buck would come sweep you off your feet. Looks like I’ve been praying a little
too
hard.” Debby chuckled, still looking at the door.

Zarah slung her bag onto her shoulder and rounded the desk. “Well, at least now I know who to blame when they don’t work out.”

The door closed behind her on Debby’s laugher. Zarah’s smile faded in the bright sunlight. Why did she always assume things would take a turn for the worse?

Because they usually did.

She paused, hand on the car door’s handle. No. She didn’t want to live her life that way.

“Lord, You’ve helped me overcome my pessimism before. Help me to be open to all opportunities and to see the good in those around me.”
And to believe my heart when it says Bobby and I have another chance
.

Chapter 17

E
scape and quiet beckoned beyond the sliding glass doors. Bobby nodded in greeting to a couple of co-workers who leaned against the deck railing but moved quickly beyond them, around the corner of the house. He sank onto the top of the steps leading down into Chase and Michaelle Denney’s backyard and leaned his elbows heavily against his knees.

At the end of the day, he had no clarity, no certainty, no lessening of his confusion over the data presented him this morning by the forensic accountant or from the questions raised by Gage and Milligan afterward, further compounded by the way his emotions overrode everything else when he was near Zarah as she told the story of her ancestors and the intense jealousy that flared up when Senator Warren arrived.

If Chase hadn’t stopped by his office to give him directions here tonight, Bobby would still be in his office running the background search on State Senator Todd Warren.

“Bobby, dude, what is up with you tonight?” Chase lowered himself onto the step beside Bobby with a groan.

Bobby turned to look over his shoulder at his fellow agent but couldn’t find the strength or energy to sit up straight. “Sorry—I’m
being a rotten guest. I probably should have just gone straight home tonight.”

“You’ve been like this all day. Something’s obviously bothering you, and I have a feeling it has something to do with the meeting you had with your team this morning. And you were in a pretty foul mood when you came back from that lunch meeting.”

“I almost married her, you know.”

“Married…who?” Chase turned and leaned against the stair railing.

“Zarah Mitchell—Assistant Director and Senior Preservationist at the Middle Tennessee Historic Preservation Commission. And number-two suspect in my investigation.”

Chase let out a whistle. “You said you knew her, but—she’s your ex? Does the captain know?”

“No. And unless I’m certain it’ll compromise the case, I don’t intend to tell him.”

“Do you think she’s guilty?”

“No.” Bobby sighed. “At least I don’t
want
to believe she’s guilty. But there are enough questions about her—legitimate concerns over some of her background and activities and finances—that I can’t be 100 percent certain.”

“What do you
know?
What are the facts?”

Bobby ran through Zarah’s basic profile, including some generalizations about her financial information.

When he finished, Chase waited a long moment before speaking again. “What does your gut tell you?”

“That she’s innocent. But that’s my quandary—do I feel that way because I still harbor romantic feelings toward her after all these years?”

“How did you meet this woman?”

Bobby glanced up at the stars, then closed his eyes. The image of the general’s home—that big, expensively appointed house—came clearly to mind. “The general I served under at White Sands invited
the members of the team I was attached to over to his house for Thanksgiving dinner. There was this beautiful young woman who appeared to be part of the catering staff; and, since I didn’t really fit in with the officers who were there, I made my way to the kitchen and offered to help out so that I could flirt with her. Even after I found out she was the general’s younger daughter, I couldn’t help myself.”

Bobby pulled out his wallet. From the pocket behind his credit cards, he withdrew a frayed, rumpled photo and handed it to Chase. “I have carried that picture around with me for more than fourteen years.”

Chase held Zarah’s senior picture up to the light coming from the house’s windows. “Wow. I can see why you were interested.” He handed the picture back.

Bobby pressed it between his palms. “Zarah was a senior in high school when we met—seventeen years old. So not only was she off-limits because her father had forbidden her from dating enlisted men, but she was underage, as well. I should have run—not walked—away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I knew from that first afternoon we spent together working alongside the hired caterers in her father’s kitchen that I was supposed to marry this girl.”