Unspoken (44 page)

Bryce followed Charlotte into the kitchen. “Are you disappointed?”

“I had gathered my nerves to have Christopher do something, want something. It feels strange to have the evening end like this.”

“Christopher wants his money more than he wants to come
after you—a fact for which I’m very relieved. He’s a threat to you and Tabitha, but one we can still contain.”

Charlotte walked over and hugged him, rested her head against his chest. Bryce was startled enough by the move it took a few seconds for him to raise his arms to encircle her, and then he simply closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment.

“I was afraid this letter, this request, was going to be the first move of an obsession,” Charlotte whispered, “that he would be there with a need to see who I was today, that he’d take a dangerous risk just to see my face. I was so scared someone would see him in the crowd.”

“He played on your nerves, but he wasn’t there.”

Charlotte nodded. She finally stepped back, smiled at him, and looked at the time. “I’m going to go stretch out for a few hours, force myself to close my eyes and try to sleep, to see if I can shake this headache.”

“I’ll wake you when there is news,” he promised.

Bryce tapped on Charlotte’s door, carrying a mug of tea for her. She had stretched out, but it didn’t look like she had been able to do more than intermittently doze. “They’re still tracking the small plane. It left the airport heading northwest.”

She set aside the brush she was using and glanced at the dawn lighting the sky. “Where is it now?”

“Near Fargo.”

She walked over to accept the tea. “Wide open spaces, a couple decent highways. Once daylight breaks, a pilot can tell from the air if there’s a cop car in the area,” Charlotte guessed.

“The pilot will be able to land, hand off the cash less his cut, and be back in the air within fifteen minutes,” Bryce confirmed. “Christopher has a decent plan for getting the money delivered to him.”

“The cops will be too far away to see and track Christopher’s vehicle.”

“I think the net that closes over the area once the pilot lands is going to be tight enough to catch Christopher,” Bryce said, more confident than Charlotte about what would unfold. “A remote location also means not many vehicles are out on the roads.”

“Where’s John?”

“In a plane about two miles behind the one being tracked. Weather is good. John will be able to see and track any vehicle leaving the area of the exchange. The pilot should have landed while it was still dark if he wanted to better protect the hand-off.” Bryce thought she still looked a bit bruised from the emotions of the last few days, so he changed the subject. “Care to come join me for breakfast? You should try to eat something.”

“Sure.” She followed him downstairs. The newspaper had arrived, so while they ate bacon, eggs, and toast, they passed back and forth sections of the newspaper and filled another thirty minutes.

Bryce’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket. “You’re on speaker, Paul.”

“The pilot landed on a country road south of Fargo, North Dakota. We’re now tracking a blue pickup truck leaving the area.”

“Any hope it’s Christopher?”

“State cops are closing the roads in the area and boxing him in. We’ll know within the hour.”

“Thanks, Paul.”

Charlotte pushed away her breakfast plate. She got up to load the dishwasher, then ran water in the sink to wash the skillet. Bryce joined her and picked up a towel.

She was struggling not to cry. “Take a deep breath,” Bryce whispered.

“I’m shaking at the idea he gets away again.” She swiped an arm across her eyes.

She finished cleaning up the kitchen and then restlessly picked up a deck of cards and sat at the kitchen table, building a house of cards.

Bryce’s phone rang again. Charlotte started and knocked over her card house. Bryce gave her a small smile and answered, “We’re both here, Paul.”

“Christopher Caleb Cox is now in the custody of the North Dakota state police.”

Charlotte put her head down, laughed, then hiccupped. Bryce circled the table and knelt beside her chair. “Paul—thank you, from both of us. Let me call you back.”

She was struggling with streaming tears, her hands shaking as she used her palms to wipe them away. She pulled in a deep breath and tried to smile at him. “Bryce, I prayed God would put him in a blue pickup truck and have the state cops arrest him.”

The comment so surprised him, it took Bryce a moment to answer. “A blue truck and state cops—so you’d know if God was answering your prayer rather than mine,” he said, smiling. “I don’t think God minds dealing with specific requests like that.”

He wiped at her tears, and she laughed again. “I’m so happy I’m bawling—go figure. Oh, this news feels so good.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. Sighed. “I need more sleep. Then a celebration once John is back.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “Ellie called earlier. She wants to know if she can ice cookies to look like jail bars, or if that would be tacky.”

Charlotte laughed. “I love her. She’s making me a cake too, something with lots of icing, and chocolate.”

Bryce rubbed her back. “It’s over now, Charlotte.”

She leaned back just enough to see his face. “You weren’t praying for a blue truck and state cops?” she asked quietly.

“I was praying for lightning to hit the guy.”

She blinked, smiled. “I wish I had thought to pray for that.”

“We have what we need, Christopher Caleb Cox in custody. This is over. Completely, finally, over.” He kissed her forehead. “Go get some rest, please. You’re running on fumes. John will be home in a few hours and then we’ll celebrate.”

Her smile was without shadows for the first time since the photo of her had turned up. “Thank you, Bryce.”

He didn’t dare follow through on what he would like to do right now—really kiss her. That would simply overwhelm her. He turned her gently toward the stairs. “Rest.” He had some calls to make. She needed a good party, and he and Ellie had been making some plans.

B
ryce took Charlotte home at two a.m. from a celebration that would have gone until dawn if she had been the one to decide.

“Did you see Ellie’s engagement ring?”

“Several times.” She started to undo his cuff links for him, got distracted by his tie and trying to figure out the pattern in the random lines. Amused, he stilled her hands, and turned her around. “Hold still.” He worked to undo the knot she had made of the ribbon in her hair. She’d been tugging on it while she played pool and had turned it into a hard knot. “John looked like a man very content with life. You teased him mercilessly tonight.”

“He didn’t mind. Besides, if I distract him enough I might win a game.”

Bryce got the ribbon to finally ease open and slid it off. “There you go.”

“Thanks.” She shook out her hair, and it cascaded across her shoulders. “What did Paul have to say? You two were having a long conversation.”

“He’s closing your case and the baby Connor case. Christopher is going to trial here for the kidnapping of Samuel Gibbs, then
to California on a murder charge and federal court on embezzlement. He’ll get life in prison without the possibility of parole. There’s no need to mention his role in your case. It’s over.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s completely over.”

She grinned. “And it feels wonderful.”

She undid his cuff links and stored them away. Bryce hung up his suit jacket.

“Ellie brought the albums over from Texas,” she said. “We used to dream up these elaborate weddings.” Rather than her chair, Charlotte tossed pillows against the headboard beside his and spread the albums out around her. Bryce took off his shoes, tossed them one at a time into the closet, debated taking the chair. She was not going to be sleeping tonight, he concluded. He settled against the pillows on his side of the bed, looked at what had her attention. She handed him the thickest of the albums. “Can the gem designers maybe do something like this sketch for Ellie’s headpiece?”

Bryce realized instantly the sketch wasn’t one of Charlotte’s. This was a different artist. “Ellie drew this?”

“Marie did. She prefers oil paints, but she’s not bad with a pen.”

“I’d say not.”

It was a princess design, something out of a fairy tale, the crown and veil a latticework of lace and gems. “I think the designers would love to try. Gold or silver on the curve?”

“Gold, I think. With silver loops on the earrings.”

She turned pages in the album. “Here’s another sketch of it. Maybe one of the sapphires here in the center, and diamonds in the lattice, then lace from there.”

“It will look spectacular. Can I look through this album?”

“Sure.”

She told him about the images as he turned the pages, laughter in her voice as she talked about meeting Ellie and the places the two of them had gone in Texas during their college years. On
another page he found sketches of John. He looked even more like a military man in the early days after he left the service. Bryce tapped a sketch. “Who’s this?”

“One of the doctors at the clinic. She’s a nice woman. Heather Ollen.”

He realized for the first time he was seeing her history, as close to unfiltered as he was likely going to get. When he finished the album he pointed to another and she handed it to him, describing the people in the sketches while he turned the pages. Her doctors. Her college classmates. Her neighbors at her first apartment, first studio. John, several more of John with Ellie. Bryce picked up the next album, taking his time. He didn’t have to ask as many questions now as he began to recognize people in the photos.

Bryce stopped on a photo taken of Charlotte in her Texas studio. The sunlight was streaming into the room, and she was barefoot on a stool, sitting in front of a long drafting table, a large sculpture visible over her shoulder. She was in the early hours of creating
Lava Flows,
the finished artwork he had admired at the gallery. On the drafting table he could see one of the molten hot lava streams sketched in.

“Did you ever try to work in oil paints?” Bryce asked, curious.

Charlotte didn’t answer.

He glanced over.

She was asleep. Her eyes had closed where she sat, her chin had dropped forward, and her breathing had turned steady.

She’d literally run past her ability to stay awake. Bryce picked up the albums and closed them, set them on the floor beside the bed. He didn’t try to move her, just lifted the comforter around her. He settled in beside her quietly. She’d retreat to her own room as soon as sleep took the worst of the exhaustion away and she jerked awake to find she was here with him. But he’d take the hour he could get, for it felt like a good step. She’d never before let herself be this vulnerable.

The biggest challenge she faced was getting past the instinctive recoil when she was surprised by a touch, and he’d been puzzling over the last weeks on how to approach it. She was embarrassed by her reaction but couldn’t defeat it by willing it away. It would only fade with time as unnecessary.

Bryce rested his hand over hers. She’d probably fall off the bed, scrambling away before she was awake enough to realize where she was at and who he was, but he could at least hope she would laugh about it rather than cry. He watched her sleep. She was so incredibly beautiful when she relaxed. Words couldn’t capture how much he loved her. He had married very well.

Charlotte was awake, solemnly watching him. He could see the light of dawn against the drawn window shades. He ran his hand lightly down her arm. “You stayed the night with me.”

She leaned forward and kissed his chin. “You sound pleased.”

“I’m extraordinarily pleased. It’s a pleasure to wake up with you.”

She traced a finger lightly down his rumpled shirt. “You snore.”

He grinned. “So do you.”

She laughed and got up on her side of the bed. “I’m fixing us breakfast.”

He rolled over and acquired her pillow. “I need more sleep.”

“You can have an hour before I notice. Bryce?”

“Hmm?”

“I want to go on vacation with you. Paris, I think.”

“Am I going to see anything other than the inside of an art museum?”

“Maybe for an hour or two.”

“Then I’ll take you to Paris.”

“We can stop in New York and see Tabitha on the way.”

Bryce opened one eye to look at his wife. She looked as calm
as she sounded. He closed his eyes again. “I’d like that. We can offer to take her girls with us if you like.”

“Just us this trip. Breakfast will be warming in the oven if you sleep more than an hour.”

“Thanks.”

Charlotte had fixed cinnamon rolls, scrambled eggs and bacon, hash browns. Bryce filled a plate, poured a cup of coffee, and carried it with him out to the sunroom. “This is a nice way to start a morning.”

Charlotte laid her pencil down and stretched her arms back. “I was hungry.”

Bryce leaned over and kissed her good morning. He didn’t warn her, kept his hands full, calculating that the risk of startling her was worth the possible reward. “Thank you for breakfast.”

She nodded and didn’t say anything. Her color was high. He settled into the chair he favored. “What are you working on?”

She reached for a thumbnail sketch on the side of the drawing board, fumbled a bit picking it up. “A larger image of this as a wedding present for Ellie and John.”

Bryce studied the swift sketch she had made at the party last night. She knew her friends well. Even quickly drawn, the portraits were exquisite. “It will be beautiful, Charlotte.”

“They love each other.”

“They do.” He handed back the sketch.

He ate a piece of the bacon. She was fiddling with her pencil, looking anywhere but at him. He watched her, smiled. “Going to say it, or should I say it first?”

He set aside his plate, wiped off his hands, and reached over to take the back of her chair, rolled her his direction until she was in his space. He rested his arms lightly across her shoulders. “Good morning, Mrs. Bishop.”

Her color was remarkably high. “Bryce.”

“I love you,” he said quietly. He brushed her hair back from her face, watched her blush come and go, the pallor come and go. “You’ve got lovely eyes. No more surprises today, just a nice memory to share. It’s easier to kiss you good morning than good-night. I get to enjoy it for longer.”

She lifted her hands and rested them on top of his. “I made you a Valentine’s Day card. It’s either very early or very late.”

He grinned. “Did you?”

“I love you too, Bryce.”

He could feel his eyes growing damp. “Would you like to go on a date with me, Mrs. Bishop? Maybe go see a movie and have ice cream afterwards?”

“Yes.”

He turned his head and kissed the inside of her palm. “Six p.m. I promise to have you home by midnight.”

She laughed. “You should go to work so we can go have fun tonight.”

“I should. So should you.” He slid her chair back to the drawing board, then picked up his plate and mug. “We’re going to have a good next fifty years together, Charlotte.”

“We will.”

He paused at the sunroom door. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Of course.”

“John’s going to demolish that house tomorrow afternoon, take a wrecking ball and bulldozer through it. It’s kind of an odd date, but I was thinking we could go watch it get flattened. Kind of a ceremony of sorts.”

“I would like that.”

“I’ll mention to John we’ll be there.”

Bryce left her to her work.

Her oversized Valentine’s Day card was on his desk. She had sketched him in silhouette, writing in his planner, the simple pen
drawing breathtaking for its accuracy. He opened the card and color burst out—a sprawling oak tree with their names etched inside a heart on the tree trunk. Her dogs were asleep under the tree, and in the background his family was playing baseball, his parents drinking ice tea and acting as the cheering section. The sky was turning a brilliant sunset.

He lifted the card closer and laughed out loud. The bases were coins, the bat was wrapped in hundred-dollar bills, and the ball being hit was a diamond. She’d placed him as the runner on third base. She was at bat. Shimmering in the dirt around home plate were the words
I love you, Bryce
.

“Very nice,” he said softly, tracing the words.

“You think so?”

He looked up to see her in the doorway. “I do think so.”

She looked visibly relieved. “If you want to make it an evening with some music instead of a movie, I found a very nice dress to go with the red heels you bought me.”

“Jazz or country?”

“Surprise me.”

“All right. We’re going to start a list, Charlotte. Favorite dates.”

She came over to his desk, opened his planner to a blank page, neatly wrote numbers one to ten, and solemnly handed him the pen. “Will you teach me to flirt with you?”

He closed his eyes and laughed. “You’ll kill me, but yes.”

“And let me practice kissing you good-night?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll look forward to our dates.”

“So will I.”

She disappeared from his office, and he set her card on the corner of the desk. He realized she’d signed the front sketch
Mrs. Bishop
. She was going to make his next year interesting. He was looking forward to every minute of it.