Hard Silence (4 page)

Abby dressed for church and the change was always incredible. Today was no exception. Velvet-brown eyes and high cheekbones were framed by hair that reminded him of coffee, chocolate, and chestnuts. Bright blue earrings winked between strands, and her long, simple dress matched them.

“Move in, Ab,” Lex teased from behind her. As she slid closer, her fingers worried the edge of the printed order of worship. Jeff got the first hint of her perfume.

A younger man reached over the pew and grabbed Jeff’s hand, pumping like he was priming a well. “Carter Garrett. I work with Abby.”

Jeff muttered a greeting while he focused on the smell. Gardenias, with just enough fruity notes to banish thoughts of his grandmother and prom corsages. Abby looked past him to Maggie, her irritated expression melting into a small smile, her eyes twinkling. Her wave was really just a lift of her hand, but the thin bracelet around her wrist sparkled in the light.

The choir filled the loft, and she faced forward, forcing him to do the same.

He knew from past visits that she’d follow along in the hymnal, but not sing. She’d read the liturgy, but not respond. She’d shake his hand and smile when they passed the peace to their neighbors. It was all a prelude to the prayer.

His mother would have scolded him for not paying attention, but watching Abby pray fascinated him. Her knuckles whitened in her lap and her shoulders tensed with the effort, as if she could will God to grant her silent request.

And she was especially silent today. Someone had stolen all her words before she’d arrived. Where had she gone this morning? Who had she seen? The two best suspects were the men who had arrived with her.

Carter Garrett poked a finger in Abby’s back until she swatted him away without looking. That was a sibling sort of torment. Jeff knew from experience.

On Abby’s other side, Lex sat at an angle, his body acting as a barrier to isolate him on the end of the pew. There didn’t seem to be an attraction there, either.

What the hell? Sorry, God. But why do I care who’s attracted to her?

“Amen,” Reverend Ferguson intoned.

Rather than get caught staring, Jeff pulled his head to his chest, slammed his eyes closed, and counted to three before he opened them again.

After the service, Abby walked away without a backward glance, moving through the crowd and nodding as she shook hands. Everyone greeted her, but no one talked to her.

“How’s the house?”

“Huh?” Jeff looked over his shoulder. Gray Harper was at his elbow, and Jeff realized how much he’d missed his wingman.

“House?” Gray repeated, his grin widening.

“Should be fine. Can I still have it until October?” Jeff turned, determined to wipe the smile from his friend’s face.

“Will you need it that long?” Gray stared pointedly at Abby. “Or longer?”

“Screw you,” Jeff mumbled. “You could’ve told me she lived next door.”

“What’s a wingman for?” Gray asked. “Are you coming for lunch?”

“Yeah. It’s kinda fun watching you be all domesticated.”

“Screw you,” Gray said as he walked off.

Jeff walked down the aisle alone, recalling the facts he’d filed away and putting them to familiar faces. The smiles he got were rewarding. He enjoyed the residents of Fiddler, and he liked it that they all liked him.

Nearly all of them, anyway. Abby was at the back of the church, ignoring him as she knelt beside elderly Faye Coleman. The older woman’s tasteful dress was accessorized by a brace on one leg, but she sat straight in her wheelchair and her smile never wavered. As he approached, her green eyes snapped and sparkled. She reached a weathered hand for his, and caught him in a strong, hot grip.

“Welcome back, Jeff. Maggie says you’re here for the summer?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He looked up as an orderly approached, the white name tag and nursing home’s logo prominent on his blue jacket. Faye followed his stare.

“Back to the cell,” she grumbled as she patted Abby’s hand. “Come see me and bring some berries.”

As Faye was escorted out of the church, Jeff offered his hand for Abby to use as she stood.

Her nails were short and well shaped, and her fingers were long and softer than he’d expected. How did she keep them that way? What would they feel like—?

Get it together. You’re in
church
.
Maybe his mother had been right to worry about lightning strikes.

He snatched his hand away and started toward the door, unable to resist shortening his stride so Abby could fall in beside him. At Bailey’s, his favorite Chicago bar, all it took was a glass of wine and a smile to get a woman to chat like her tongue was loose at both ends. And the girls at home in Knoxville had asked him so many questions it had felt like a job interview. Abby just walked while he floundered for something to say.

“Are you going to lunch at Maggie and Gray’s?” He didn’t look at her. She did better if people didn’t stare.

“Yes.”

Once outside, she was swallowed by one group while he was captured by another on his way to the parking lot. A cloudless blue sky lorded over the soft green of budding trees. Despite the bite of the breeze, Jeff lowered the convertible’s top to let in the fresh air and sunshine.

His friends put him in the middle of the lunch convoy to make sure he didn’t get lost, as though he hadn’t navigated across the country on his own or driven to Gray and Maggie’s without help numerous times. In the car in front of him, Gray had one arm slung around Maggie’s shoulders. At a flat spot in the road, he planted a kiss on her hair.

The sweet image made a spot in Jeff’s brain itch.

The same spot had chased him from Chicago, where his best friends were newlyweds, and again from Tennessee, where one of his sisters was newly married and another was a new mother. And now, here he was, staring at another newly minted couple. It was great...for them. That life wasn’t for everyone.

It wasn’t for him. No wife would put up with midnight research sessions when he couldn’t sleep, piles of trash when a rabbit trail of an idea didn’t pan out, or books scattered across the furniture and photos of crime scenes taped to the walls. No woman would tolerate broken plans and erratic schedules. He didn’t have to worry about coming home to a fight or, worse, a too-quiet house like so many of his fellow agents had experienced.

The itchy spot was a reminder of that, not jealousy.

Let it itch.

Chapter Three

After lunch, they sat in the fresh air, filling the Harpers’ outdoor dining space with baseball commentary and laughter.

Jeff settled back and listened to the conversations around him. Every time he was here, the crowd grew larger. Couples were now joined by single friends and relatives. Old friends welcomed new ones. Good-natured ribbing mixed with stories from the workweek, bets on the game, and discussions of upcoming projects. Everyone took turns holding the youngest member of their group: Toni Marx, Gray and Maggie’s toddler goddaughter.

Eventually everyone else drifted away, heading to their own homes, leaving only him and Abby.

She was sitting with Maggie. The Harpers’ cat, Felix, was in her lap, and she had
that
look on her face. Like she wanted to say something but had reconsidered. Before he realized it, Jeff was on his feet and walking toward her.

Gray fell into step beside him. At least he remembered one thing about being a good wingman.

They sat, and the women shifted. Maggie curled into Gray’s side. Abby leaned away, grasping the opposite arm of the sofa and tucking her feet under her.

“What are you talking about?” Jeff asked, angling so that he faced her.

“
The Story of Edgar Sawtelle
,” Maggie sighed. “We read it for book club, and it was awful. It was Hamlet with dogs.”

“Exactly.” Abby’s smile widened. “And the. Dogs. Lived.”

“But everyone else died,” Maggie shook her head. “What was the point of it? Because I couldn’t get through the pages of details. And it didn’t end happily.”

“It did for the dogs,” Abby said with a sly smile.

“You are horrible,” Maggie laughed. “You know I prefer happy endings.”

“Those are. Relative.”

As Abby talked, her ministrations to Felix changed. Instead of stroking ears to tail, she now limited her attention to the cat’s head, rubbing and scratching its chin and throat, and then rubbing the top of its head before taking an ear between her thumb and finger. The animal was in heaven.

Jeff had never before been jealous of a cat.

“What do you mean by
relative
?” he asked.

Abby blinked at him and tilted her head, much like Toby would’ve. “What does. Happy. Mean? Who. Decides?” She kept his gaze. “Edgar avenged his father. The dogs were free of cages. Of any kind. Isn’t that happy?”

“Ab, Edgar died,” Maggie pressed.

“But he did what he’d set out to do.” Abby stood her ground, even though she blushed to her hairline. “He died. Satisfied.”

Damn. He was shocked by the depth of her answer, and embarrassed that he was shocked. He of all people should know that small town didn’t mean small minds.

They were all too quiet, suddenly. Jeff recognized the bleak look in Gray’s eyes, the echo of it in Maggie’s. They were stuck in the past, reliving their losses. He felt the same shadow on his shoulder, snagging his clothes as it tried to drag him backward in time.

Abby’s gaze darted to each of them, her lips moving as if she were trying to gobble the words from the air. Regret shadowed her eyes. He didn’t want her to feel guilty for expressing herself. For talking to him.

He cleared his throat. “Maggie, has Gray ever confessed about the geisha?”

Her smile banished the gloom settling over the group. “No. Were you there?”

Jeff nodded, waggling his eyebrows. “We were in Japan for a conference—”

“Crandall,” Gray warned. “Quantico.”

Maggie smacked him on the shoulder. “That is so not fair.”

Laughing, Jeff tossed his hair out of his eyes and watched them play. There. He’d done his good deed for the day.

“What. happened at. Quantico?” Abby asked.

Jeff blinked, hearing Gray’s choked laughter as the blush heated his ears. “Umm...nothing. Nothing at all.” He picked up his plate. “Why don’t I help carry in dishes?”

When he’d finished busing tables, Jeff spotted the cat curled into a chair. Wherever she was, Abby was alone.

He found her in the hallway, staring at a photograph. As he approached, she shifted on her feet, leaning away from him. He mimicked her posture, invading her space just to tease her.

The candid photo had been shot from a distance. Gray and Maggie were in shadows, her adjusting his tie, his hands on her waist. It was a simple act, but the love they each harbored, their uncertainty, had been captured with one click.

“When was this taken?” Jeff asked.

“At Nate’s wedding,” she murmured.

“I’ve worried about them, you know?” He smiled into her frowning face. “I’ve seen them both bloody on the floor. I get to worry. They’ve been through a lot, and you hope they’re happy, that they don’t have any regrets.” He looked back at the photo. “This puts my mind at ease.”

Few people would have paid close enough attention to catch this moment. The photographer had a good eye. Jeff read the neat calligraphy in the corner of the mat.
A. Quinn
.

“You took it?”

She nodded. “It’s when
I
stopped worrying if he made her happy.”

He blinked at her, watching her profile. The hesitation had vanished from her speech. She’d shifted on her feet again, closer to him this time, almost close enough to touch.

“Wait until you see her landscapes,” Maggie said from the top of the hall. Abby stepped away, but her scent lingered. “She’s got a booth at the art auction they’re doing at the Humane Society on Saturday. It’s not too late to buy a ticket.”

Art? The town had three thousand people in it and most of them worked in a quarry. How much
art
could there be? But he’d buy a ticket just to see more of her work. He refocused on Abby, hoping to return to their conversational bubble. “Can I buy one from you?”

She nodded and scurried up the hall, away from him. Apparently she was going to sell him one now.

“Thank you. For lunch,” she said as she passed the kitchen. “Time to go.”

“Me, too,” Jeff said.

“You kids have fun,” Gray drawled.

Jeff flipped his friend the bird as he held the door for Abby. He’d started doing it because it was the polite thing to do. He’d kept doing it because he loved teasing her. But beyond that, Abby Quinn had a world-class behind.

Catching up with her at the truck, he reached for the door handle just as she did. Her fingers curved over his. Gasping, she snatched her hand away.

“Do I scare you?” he asked, genuinely worried both by her expression and by the tingling in his fingers. Teasing her was one thing, frightening her would be quite another. And grown men did
not
tingle.

“Nervous,” she breathed. “You’re always. Behind me.”

“I like the view,” he drawled as he opened her door. She was frozen in place, her eyes wide and her features slack. He winked. “How much for the ticket?”

Though she wouldn’t look at him as she rifled through her bag, he thought he saw the corner of her smile. She handed him a ticket. “Ten dollars.”

After he made his payment and slid the ticket into his wallet, he helped her into the truck. Her fingers shook in his.

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” Despite wanting to stay close to her, he stepped away. “See you over the fence, neighbor.”

He jogged to his car and slammed the door, but by the time he looked up she was already at the highway. He raced down the lane, heedless of the gravel pinging against the paint, and then onto the pavement, risking a ticket to catch up to her.

When she hit the brakes and whipped onto a dirt and gravel country road, he followed, staying clear of the billowing dust. The race was on. His laughter bubbled free.

* * *

Once home, he changed clothes, grabbed his laptop, his notes, and his iPod and went outside to the wide porch and the patio table. He put his earbuds in, cranked the volume on his favorite playlist, and perched his glasses on his nose.

Movement over the top of his computer caught his attention, and he lost focus on his outline. An Abby-sized dot was in her front yard, weeding her flower beds. He squinted to get a better look, and then caught himself and yanked his attention back to his notes.

She walked to the barn. Jeff gritted his teeth and refocused, but she was in there for a long time. He pulled his earbuds free and strained to hear a distress call. Instead, Abby emerged atop her palomino, George, and trotted off. Toby ranged the field in front of her. Jeff changed chairs, put his back to the valley, and scowled at his lack of progress.

When yips from the returning party caught his attention, he looked over his shoulder in time to see Abby in the paddock. Maybe she’d go in now and he could focus. But she didn’t. Her laughter floated up the hill, making him look again as she disappeared around the side of the stable.

Golden sunlight heated the porch, birds sang, and the wind ruffled his notes. Why waste a beautiful afternoon working?

Sunday was for fishing.

Jeff searched the office and the garage, but found nothing. He was about to give up when he saw the cabinet on the porch. Inside hung neat rows of rods, reels, tackle, nets and waders. He shouldn’t need waders. He could fish from the shore. He plucked a fly rod from its resting place and chose a hand-tied fly from the shelf. In a fit of wishful thinking, he grabbed a net and a stringer too. Tugging a borrowed cap low over his sunglasses, he loped across the yard and through the gate.

As he neared the bottom of the valley, the waterborne breeze chilled his skin. The birds got louder and unseen animals scrabbled and crashed through the brush. Under all the noises was the constant whisper of water rushing unhindered. Further downstream was the faint argument waged between river and stone, upstream it skipped over branches and exposed roots.

Jeff came around the last corner and stopped, shocked at the sight. Across the stream, Abby stood with her rod raised in midcast. Her eyes were wide under the brim of her cap. Toby lounged under a tree, too tired from his patrol to chase squirrels and rabbits.

“You fish?” He was still for another minute as he took in the familiar gear. “You
fly
-fish?”

There it was again—the hesitation, the parted lips, and then the gulp. She nodded. He quieted on his shore, reading the water—where it rushed or pooled, where his fly would go. Balancing the rod with one hand, he slid the line through the fingers of the other, then cast. Soon the only sounds were the snaps of casts and the lures dropping on the water. The rush of the current was interrupted by the thrash and splash of a snared fish, and it wasn’t his catch. Jeff turned in time to see Abby smile as she snagged a keeper.

His first fish was larger.

As sunset encroached, she hooked her second fish. He watched the path of the water and cast again—he wasn’t going to lose to a girl. Behind him, he heard the rustle of gear and the scratch of paws in the grass.

He kept his attention on his line. “Good night.”

When there wasn’t further movement, he turned to see her crouched with her camera at the ready. An engine purred at the top of her hill, and Toby scrambled to the crest to greet the new arrival. She stayed put.

“You have company, I think.”

“Lex.” Abby explained as she lifted her camera. Jeff followed the direction of the lens and caught the moment when the sunset made the water burn. The trees darkened from green to umber.

“Wow,” he whispered, “that is something.”

When he turned back, she was halfway up the hill, almost invisible in the shadowy twilight.

“Jeff?” The chain stringer rattled. “Would you. Like.”

He waited but kept his focus on the fly even though he couldn’t see where it landed.

“Tocomefordinner?” The whispered words bumped together. He wished he could see her face.

“I would. Thank you.” He snapped his line back and eased his grip on the rod. “I’ll bring my fish. What time?”

“Seven.” The word shook.

“Can I bring anything else?”

“No.” The answer came from farther away.

Jeff grabbed his net and retrieved the stringer. He had thirty minutes to clean his fish and get ready for dinner.

Half an hour later, he coasted to a stop at the end of the gravel drive. A yellow square of light flooded the paddock from the stable. A companion glow created a carpet runner down the front steps.

Before he could knock, Abby peeked around the wooden door and beckoned him in. The screen door opened with a swish, and he let it bounce closed against the fingers he put behind him.

Classical cello drifted through the living room, and lamplight banished darkness from the corners. Neutral paint coated the walls, complementing the clean lines of furniture crowded with wildly patterned pillows. Brightly colored hooked rugs dotted the hardwood floors. Toby was curled on a dog bed in front of a low fire.

Abby had returned to the kitchen, working at the island. She’d changed clothes again, this time into a sleeveless T-shirt emblazoned with “Boys are Better in Books” and a long skirt. Her toes peeked from under the hem.

Lex was setting a table surrounded by upholstered chairs. He moved around the space with the accustomed ease of a frequent visitor. Maybe Jeff had read them wrong. He refused to be disappointed by that.

With a smile, Abby extended her hand for the fish. Jeff surrendered it and watched as she added it to the griddle with the other two. She had tea instead of beer. Had he ever seen her with alcohol?

He snooped through her cabinets until he located heavy, unadorned drinking glasses. Opening the freezer for ice, he found everything stored in neatly labeled, vacuum-sealed bags. No meat, except for fish. Pescatarian. In the fridge, the store-bought items stood out in stark contrast to the homegrown ones. The tea was in a gallon jar with a spigot. His grandmother had a similar one she’d used to brew tea in the sun. However, his grandmother had never put fruit and cinnamon sticks in her tea. He sipped it. Or honey.

He carried the drinks to the table as she ferried trout and roasted vegetables from the stove. Lex brought the salad.

They took their seats, and the handcrafted plate in front of him was beautiful without food on it. It only got better looking as he added dinner. Instead of digging in, he savored every flavor of the farm-grown vegetables and fish that had been swimming only an hour earlier.