The House On The Creek (30 page)

The room had filled up since last he’d notice, and grown stuffy. The black jack table ran smoothly. He couldn’t see the roulette wheel past a cluster of boisterous onlookers. He felt a burst of pride. It looked like the party was already a legend in the making.

Suddenly, fiercely, he wanted Abby. He sucked down a last gulp of water, thumped the plastic bottle back onto the bar, and shrugged his way through the crowd, searching.

He found her on his new patio, perched on a folding chair beneath a glowing heater, protected from a light fall of snow by the sturdy tent overhead. She seemed in deep conversation with a woman in red velvet while two older men smoked thin cigars in the background.

After the warmth and noise of the house the patio seemed whisper quiet. Everett turned one of the white rental chairs backward and sat. If Abby noticed him, she didn’t give any sign.

She’d shed her wrap somewhere, and he realized the dress he’d brought her afforded little protection against winter. But she looked as though she’d left her earlier head ache behind. Her cheeks were flushed, her voice animated, and as Everett watched she laughed at something her companion said.

He stifled an urge to take her in his arms and chaff her bare skin until it warmed. Instead he slouched in his chair, and listened with half an ear. The woman in velvet seemed to be the president of a small software firm. Everett thought he should probably remember her name. He had spoken to her only once or twice, but he knew Windsor had insisted she make the guest list.

He recalled that she had a quick mind and a generous spirit. As Everett listened, she questioned Abby closely about the work done in the master bath.

Abby answered in low tones. Everett lost himself in the liquid murmur of her voice.

Beyond the tent the sky had cleared and gone dark and full of stars. Feeling deeply content, he propped his arms on his thighs, and admired the gleam of the night across undisturbed snow.

In the distance he could hear the sluggish, frozen bubble of the Creek.

Abby laughed, and Everett caught the exchange of business cards. Good. By the end of the week she’d be known coast to coast.

Abby laughed again, and the woman in velvet left the porch, taking the entourage of cigar smoking men away with her. The kitchen slider banged shut, and the noise of the house was muted.

Silence wrapped like a blanket. Everett took a breath of crisp air and held out his hand. She came to his side, and he pulled her close, rubbing her bare arms until the goosebumps faded.

“How many of those have you given out?” He asked, still watching the stars. Her thawing skin felt sleek and warm against his palms.

“Business cards?” She snorted a little. The vibration thrummed along his spine. “Twenty or thirty. Not as many as Jack. The women love Jack.”

“They seem to.” He took his gaze from the sky and watched consternation flush her face. “What?”

“Nothing.” She leaned into him, just a little. His body went immediately hard. He bent his head, burying his face in the fall of her hair.

She shifted. “You stink of booze. Are you drunk?”

The press of her body against his own was torture. “No. Buzzed, maybe.”

“Lush,” she scolded. She edged away from his seeking hands but when he stood her own came around to circle his neck.

Through the perfume of her hair he found her ear. “And you haven’t had a single drop, Abigail?”

“Not enough to matter,” she returned, prim and proper. “A lady doesn’t get tipsy when she’s trying to impress.”

“And who,” his tongue traced the shell of her ear until she gasped, “are you trying to impress tonight?”

She didn’t answer. He nipped the edge of her ear, and she squeaked in surprise, and then exhaled, shuddering.

“Abby. Come upstairs with me.”

“Someone will notice you’ve disappeared.”

“I don’t care.” His mouth trailed kisses along the curve of her throat. Alcohol and lust burned through his system, pooling in his groin, a pleasure that was quickly becoming painful.

If he didn’t have her soon, he knew he’d burst.

“I don’t care. Abby, I need you.”

“I know.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Everett. There’s something I have to tell you.”

“Will the world end if you don’t tell me this instant?”

She quivered. He though she might be laughing. “Probably not.” Her fingers inched past the waist band of his trousers.

“Christ in a kayak!” He felt dizzy with desire, hot and horny as a teenager. She wanted him. “God, you’re beautiful.” If he didn’t have her this very minute, he’d burst.

She smiled against the curve of his neck. Her fingers dipped lower.

The kitchen slider hissed open, and a wave of noise broke from the house. A shadow the size of a Redwood clattered down the steps.

“Abby!” Pierce ducked under the tent. He clutched Abby’s tote in one paw, her small phone in the other.

“It’s Mrs. Witherspoon.” Brow creased, Pierce passed Abby the phone. “She says Chris just left the house on a beater cycle. Roddy Green was driving.”

“Let me come with you,” Everett demanded for the third time.

“No.” She shook him off, and reached into the coat closet for her wrap. Pierce grabbed his own coat but Abby batted him away. “I’m his mother. You’ll both stay.”

“It’s nearly dawn. People will be heading for their beds. No one will care if I disappear for an hour or two. However long it takes.”

Abby shot him a look of disbelief.

“Stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can. He can’t have gone far. I talked to him just before dinner.” She shucked off her heels, and stomped into the boots she’d hidden in the closet. “I thought we were over these stupid stunts.”

Pierce closed her hand around a set of keys.

“The Spyder,” he said to her blank stare. “It’s a far bit safer than the wreck you drive.”

She nodded once, still blank, and then fumbled with the front door latch.

Sunrise was still an hour away, but already the morning seemed several degrees warmer, soft as spring. The ice on the drive had melted to slush.

“Be careful,” Everett said, but she was already gone.

He didn’t hear from her again until just after dawn.

The house was mostly silent, the majority of his guests gone to bed. Only the faint mumble of Frank Sinatra from the game room hinted at one or two hold outs.

He sat alone in the master bedroom, backbone propped against one carved bedpost, phone balanced on one knee, eyes glued to the window. A few of his guests, he knew, would rise with the sun. And then the networking would begin all over again.

It was a cycle he was familiar with, a cycle he loved. The busy light and sound, the dance of etiquette, contracts signed, deals closed, terms broken and mended. He knew he was good at the game.

He had several deals on the table even over the Christmas holiday. If all went as planned they would close before the end of the week.

He knew he should be reviewing the details with pen and paper, or at the very least, in his head.

Instead, he stared blindly out the glass, and willed the phone on his knee to ring.

When it finally shrilled he answered with his heart in his throat.

“Kid okay?”

“He’s not here, Ev. He’s not anywhere in the house or on the property.” She sounded choked and out of breath.

He rose from the bed, unable to sit still. “What does the neighbor say?”

“Only that they took off early in the morning.” She paused, “I found a letter. On his bed. Under his pillow.”

“What sort of letter?”

“It was a letter to Chris. From his father. Richard’s secretary, actually.” Her voice turned to steel, and he could hear the hurt and anger beneath. “The bastard had his secretary write. Because he doesn’t have the time to deal with us himself. Too busy, he said. Can’t spare the time right now to come down for a visit.”

Everett squeezed the phone, and silently cursed Tilletson. Obviously the man was too stupid to recognize the gift he’d been given. Too stupid, in Everett’s opinion, to walk the earth.

He tapped the bed post and grunted. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Poor Chris. He must be devastated. No wonder he took off.”

“He won’t have gone far. Likely he wants some time to cool off.”

“I’m going to call a few numbers,” she said, gruff. “See if he’s bunked at a friend’s house, if anyone’s seen them. Damn Roddy. I’m half afraid to leave the house in case Chris comes home.”

“I’ll drive the back roads, see what I can see. I want to,” he interrupted when Abby started to protest. “Let me help.”

“Thank you. If you find him, don’t scare him to death. Just bring him home and I’ll flay the salt out of him. It’s my job.”

“I wouldn’t dare interfere.”

Her laugh turned to a low sigh. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiled some at her puff of air, and then hung up.

The kid couldn’t have gone far. Chris was angry, not foolish. Everett remembered what it felt like to be full of rage and betrayal. The boy would run until the pain eased, and then he’d hole up somewhere safe.

Everett left the windows, and began stripping off his tux. Then he paused, and frowned. He turned back to the dawn and regarded the woods.

“Somewhere safe,” he said, and narrowed his eyes at the grey spread of trees sheltering the Creek.

Chapter Twenty-One

CHRISTOPHER HATED THE SMELL
of stale cigarettes. Especially stale, damp cigarettes. Like moldy leather or campfire ashes, the smell made him want to sneeze and cough at the same time.

And after several hours spent cramped in a small space with Roddy, the reek was in his clothes.

He made a face, and flapped the hem of the flannel shirt he wore beneath his jacket, trying to air the fabric out. There was no way he was going to get that stink past his mom. Plus, it made his eyes hurt.

Or maybe it was just the sleepless few hours spent beneath stars and wind that made the backs of his eyeballs feel sore and itchy.

Roddy hadn’t had any trouble sleeping. Sometime after his sixth cigarette and fourth beer, he’d fallen asleep on his back under their stolen tarp. And he snored like a chainsaw, so loud Chris was afraid someone would hear.

Chris rolled onto his back. He couldn’t get comfortable. The wooden floor bruised his ribs, and his legs had gone stiff. And he thought the sun would be all the way up soon.

If he didn’t wake Roddy eventually someone would notice they’d gone missing.

They’d promise each other they wouldn’t leave their post until sunrise, just in case something extra cool happened.

He was pretty sure something extra cool wouldn’t happen in the next thirty minutes. Most of Everett’s guests had disappeared into the house, and the party sounds, which had been rocking most of the night, had finally quieted down.

But he didn’t want to break a pact, so he let Roddy snore, and contented himself with thoughts of breakfast. He’d make oatmeal and French toast, because he was good at that. And hot chocolate, as close to boiling as he could get it, because he was cold.

He had thought for sure they would freeze before the night was over. Even the pile of tarps he’d filched from his mom’s car hadn’t helped much. Smoking cigarettes had, for a while.

After his second, though, he’d begun to feel sick and after his third he decided he never wanted to smoke another. He hadn’t felt a buzz or anything, just a pain in his gut that he figured might be more guilt than tar.

He hadn’t even tried the beer. Old Edward’s addiction was still too clear in his mind for that.

A nailhead dug into Chris’s elbow through his coat. He shifted a little to the right, bending his knees so as to avoid clipping Roddy in the balls. Overhead, grey had finally spread to pink. And he couldn’t even hear a whisper from the house.

It had been his idea, to spy on the house and peepshow Everett’s party. He’d hoped some of the gods of the computer industry would put in an appearance, because he figured Seattle was full of them.

He and Roddy had spent the first third of their adventure pressed against the side of the house, up to their knees in snow drifts, peering into the glitz and glamour through the parlor window.

Only it hadn’t been all that glamorous. Chris had seen a few faces he thought he recognized from his computer magazines, and Roddy swore he’d seen Dave Matthews and his band, but they hadn’t been able to hear anything exciting, what with the blare of the Christmas music.

They’d really wanted to get into the house and steal some of the food, but even Roddy couldn’t figure out how to do that without getting noticed. Because Chris’s mom was everywhere, and Everett was everywhere else, and where they weren’t Jack was.