The Cabin (12 page)

Jack would—and maybe then some. She didn’t care

what Alice said, or how small and cute she was with her

newly dyed hair and feminine look. The woman had no

business showing up in Somerville.

Susanna dumped the last of her coffee and ducked

into an upscale sporting goods store. She hoped when

they all returned from their week in the Adirondacks,

they’d discover Alice Parker had moved on.

She debated buying snowshoe poles for a few min-

utes, then gave up and headed back to her office. She

enjoyed the walk through the crowded marketplace,

through Government Center and onto Beacon Street,

heading up toward Boston Common and the gold-

domed Massachusetts State House.

Despite the longer days and moderating tempera-

tures, it was still very much winter. She wore her black

cashmere coat, black gloves and boots, but, because of

Jim Haviland and Davey Ahearn’s comments about the

Wicked Witch of the East, she’d bought herself a deep

scarlet scarf. She was unapologetic about her black gab-

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97

ardine wool pantsuit. She was a professional in a con-

servative business—people trusted her with their

money. She couldn’t wear bangles and tight little pas-

tel sweaters like Alice Parker.

She paused at a store window, pulling her scarf over

her head as a sharp gust of wind hit her. She glanced up

the street out of the corner of her eye, and her breath

caught. She spun around, convinced she’d made a mis-

take, but she hadn’t.

Jack stood at the entrance to her nineteenth-century

building with his hand on the head of one of the mar-

ble gargoyles.

Susanna didn’t move. His dark eyes were on her. He

had on his white cowboy hat, a suede jacket, jeans and

cowboy boots, and she thought he was the sexiest man

on the planet.

But she fought a visceral, inexplicable urge to bolt.

Not that she’d get far if her husband meant to talk to her,

but this was her office, her city, her space. His presence

felt like an invasion—yet it was what she’d wanted. For

months, she’d dreamed of him coming to Boston, tell-

ing her he wanted her back in his life. Wooing her, Mag-

gie and Ellen would call it. But that wasn’t it. She

wanted to know she mattered to him. She wanted him

to tell her. She wanted him to ask her to tell him all her

secrets, one by one, to understand all of them. To admit

his own fears and secrets, finally, she thought. To talk.

Well, sometimes that was what she wanted. Other

times she didn’t have a clue, except a certainty that some-

thing had gone wrong between her and the man she loved.

Of course, none of that was why Jack was here. He

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was here because of her phone call last night. Because

of Alice Parker.

Susanna made sure her legs were steady under her

before she resumed walking up the street. She peeled

off her gloves, stuffing them in her coat pockets.

“Hello, Jack,” she said calmly. “Have you been wait-

ing long?”

“Thirty minutes.” His Texas drawl was slow and not

at all casual, curling up her spine, oozing in like smoke.

She felt self-conscious, aware. He kept his gaze pinned

on her, revealing nothing of what he felt. “Your door-

man wouldn’t let me in.”

“Smart doorman.”

“An unarmed doorman and a couple of ugly gar-

goyles. That’s not much security.”

“I don’t need much security.”

He moved off from the gargoyle. If she wanted to get

into her building, she’d have to go around him, not just

past him. Her opportunity to do an about-face and get

out of there had evaporated, if it had ever existed. He

tilted his head, taking her in with those trained eyes,

more Texas Ranger right now than husband. But then

he said, “Your nose is red.”

“I’ve been out walking.” She pulled off her scarlet

scarf, aware of him watching her hair fall. “I had meet-

ings this morning. I was taking a break.”

“Sam said I should tell you he tried to get me to call

ahead.”

“I’ve always liked Sam.” The wind gusted again, but

it didn’t feel as cold this time. “You’re here because of

Alice Parker.”

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99

He kept any reaction tightly under control. “I’m here

because of you.”

“Because you’re annoyed at me.”

He took a step closer, close enough that she could

feel the heat and warmth of him. “Very.”

“I’ve wondered what it would take to get you on a

plane.” She cleared her throat, wishing she could con-

trol her response to him. Twenty years of sleeping with

him hadn’t done a thing to dampen her desire for him.

And it had been so long since she’d had him next to her,

loving her. “Um—there’s a coffee shop down the street.

We can talk there.”

He smiled knowingly. “What’s the matter, Susanna,

you don’t want to be alone with me?” He skimmed a fin-

ger across her cold cheek and along the curve of her jaw,

sending warm currents through her. “It doesn’t matter.

I can kiss you right out here on Beacon Street.”

“Jesus, Jack,” she breathed, “you could be more

neutral.”

His dark gaze stayed on her. “Not where you’re

concerned.”

“All right,” she said briskly, furious with herself for

wanting him to kiss her—right now, right there on a

cold, busy street in downtown Boston. “We can go up

to my office. It’s on the fourth floor.”

“I’d like to see it,” he said simply, and her throat

caught, because maybe it was true. Maybe he did want

to see her office.

The lobby was small, elegant with its marble floors,

brass trim and dark, rich woods. A curving staircase led

up to the second floor. There was a tiny, cramped, old

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elevator, but Susanna had a sudden image of it getting

stuck between floors with just her and Jack in there. She

started up the stairs, leading the way, feeling his eyes

on her as she moved quickly, unbuttoning her coat. She

was hot, self-conscious, trying to regroup. He’d had

time to get used to the idea of seeing her—to plot his

strategy, the approach he’d take. She’d been caught off

guard. It was her own damn fault. She should have

known that message would get him on a plane.

She took off her coat on the second flight and slung

it over one arm, her scarf falling on the step. Jack

scooped it up, tucking it back in with her coat. Every

nerve ending she had seemed to be on fire. She picked

up her pace, rushing up the third flight of stairs. She

could hear his boots click as he maintained a steady pace

behind her.

She couldn’t get a decent breath. She staggered down

the hall to her office, disgusted with herself. She did the

stairs all the time. She ran, she lifted weights, she did

yoga and tai chi. She was in good shape. It wasn’t the

exertion that had left her breathless—it was having her

husband on her heels.

“This is it,” she said, as casually as she could man-

age, and unlocked her office door, pushing it open. She

motioned for him to go in ahead of her. “After you.”

He gave her one of his quick, professional scans, but

the twitch at the corners of his mouth was disconcert-

ingly unprofessional. He was reading her breathlessness

for what it was—him. But there was something else in

his eyes, a hardness she hadn’t noticed before. He

walked into her office, and she shut the door behind her.

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101

It was quiet, everything in place. Tess Haviland could

come in here and notice that her friend’s life was out of

balance, but Jack wouldn’t. He wouldn’t know what to

look for, not here.

“I can take your coat,” Susanna said.

“No.” He looked back at her. “I won’t be staying long.”

He was angry. She could see it now. On the one hand,

she felt guilty because, really, she shouldn’t have left

that message last night. On the other hand—an angry

Jack wouldn’t want to tear her clothes off and make love

to her on her new leather couch.

Not necessarily, anyway.

She groaned silently at herself. What was the
matter

with her? She flung her coat over a chair and adjusted

her suit jacket, making sure her blouse wasn’t askew or

her lacy silk camisole showing.

Jack set his bag on the wood floor, placed his hat on

top of it and walked over to the windows. He glanced

down at the cemetery. “You like working with a bunch

of dead people at your feet?”

“John Hancock’s buried down there. You know,

hero of the American Revolution, former governor of

Massachusetts. Paul Revere, Sam Adams. Benjamin

Franklin’s parents are down there, too. The victims of

the Boston Massacre.” She pushed her hair back with

both hands, finally catching her breath. “Mother

Goose.”

“You and I visited Old Granary when we were in col-

lege.” He glanced back at her, nothing about his expres-

sion softening. “In the fall.”

“I remember. And we took the girls when they were

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in kindergarten and we were up visiting Gran over

spring break.”

He didn’t respond. She wondered if he was remem-

bering that day with the girls skipping out ahead of

them amidst the shaded gravestones, or an earlier day,

when they were students, madly in love—or neither

day. Maybe he was just seething over her midnight call

about Alice Parker.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” she said, knowing he’d

follow her train of thought. “That’s why I left a message

on your voice mail. It was late—”

“When did you find out about Alice?”

“Last night. Jack, I called you as soon as I could—”

“What time?”

She walked over to her desk and sat at her computer.

It was in sleep mode, the screen blank. She hit the space

bar. “Before midnight. It took a while for it all to sink

in. Alice Parker has been here for weeks. I imagine she

got here around the time you told me she’d been re-

leased. She and Gran have seen each other two or three

times a week—Gran had her over to the house one

morning.” Susanna watched her monitor come to life.

“I had no idea. I was stunned. It was a lot to absorb, and

I had to talk to her and the girls.”

Jack wasn’t relenting. “Did you?”

She nodded, still not looking back at him. “I told

them to stay away from Alice Parker.”

“And Alice?”

“I told her to stay away from all of us.”

“So that’s it,” he said. “It’s done as far as you’re con-

cerned. You’ve handled it.”

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103

“That’s not what I meant.”

She swiveled around to face him, calmer now that

she’d had a little time to adjust to his presence. But she

couldn’t fathom what had possessed her not to call him

at home. Had she known, deep down, it would bring him

to Boston? Had she wanted it to?

No. She’d wanted to avoid having to tell him about

Beau McGarrity and Alice, about that day in her

kitchen. Having him guess. Was that why Alice had

come to Boston? Because of McGarrity? Susanna felt

a rush of panic, wondering if she’d missed something

that day with Beau McGarrity. Something Jack would

have caught if she’d told him.

She was so sure there was nothing he or Alice, the

prosecutors,
anyone
could use to help them solve Ra-

chel McGarrity’s murder. But what if she was wrong?

“I’m sorry, Jack,” Susanna said simply. “It was asi-

nine to leave that message last night. I knew what I was

doing.”

“You always know what you’re doing.”

She eased to her feet and stood next to him at the win-

dow. “You must have been really ticked off to jump on

a plane first thing this morning.”

His eyes softened for half an instant. “Stick to the

present tense.”

“Okay, so you’re still mad.” She sighed, staring down

at the snow-covered graveyard. “I didn’t think about

your voice mail giving the bloody time I called.”

“Susanna…”

“I should have been more vigilant. You warned me

about Alice. I should have investigated when Gran told

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me she had a new friend at the pub.” She drew a shal-

low breath, swallowing as she felt him leaning in close

to her. She kept her gaze on the gravestones. “I didn’t

want to believe it was Alice Parker.”

“I know.”

He took her hand, and she let her fingers intertwine

with his, then turned to him as he drew her closer. He

touched her lips, threaded his fingers through her hair,

his dark eyes on her, the hardness gone, the fury dissi-

pated. She didn’t know what he saw in her eyes, but he

kissed her softly, lightly, as if anything more would be

too much after so many months apart. “It’s good to see