Waiting For You (11 page)

Chapter 9

Once inside the car, Nick gripped the steering wheel and revved up the engine. He flashed Abigail a teasing grin. She just loved it when he looked at her that way. He was such a charming man—and such a flirt!

As he pulled the car out of the parking lot and turned down the street, she waited for the invisible force to pull her back to her prison, but nothing happened. The farther they drove from the building, the happier she felt.

The top of Nick’s car was down, and soon, a lock of her hair lifted away from her face and stayed there. Hitching a breath, she lifted a hand to her hair to feel what was going on. It was then when the wind blew against her, teasing more strands.

Happily she laughed and tilted back head, threading her fingers through her fullness to allow the wind to sweep it away from her face. She closed her eyes, enjoying the coolness against her skin. She didn’t know what it was—and right now she didn’t dare question too much—but being with Nick made her feel more alive than she could possibly imagine.

“Where do you want to go? Any place special?” he asked.

Abigail glanced his way.
“Actually, yes.
Will you take me to where I used to live?” She frowned. “At least I hope the house is still there.”

“Sure. Just direct me as I drive.”

She gave him directions, but as worry settled into her heart, she trembled. What if the house wasn’t there? Then again, what if it still stood? Would seeing the house bring back bad memories—memories she’d hoped to never think about again? Things were just so different, and she couldn’t live in the past.

Yet living in Nick’s time was an adventure, as well.

During the drive, Abigail felt as if she’d been placed in another dimension. People dressed so differently now. She had expected that, yet some of the clothing—or lack thereof—was so lewd. How could people show so much of their bodies and not be embarrassed? Not only that, the women practically draped themselves over the men or openly showed affection.
How inappropriate!

The buildings weren’t as nice as she remembered, either. Clearly, people in this century had not taken care of the structures. Why were words and strange symbols painted on some? Windows had been broken but not fixed, and bricks were crumbling. Didn’t anyone care for beauty any longer? Had people lost respect for everything?

As Nick turned up the street where she used to live, Abigail closed her eyes, praying the house would still be there. The car slowed to a stop, but she didn’t dare open her eyes.

“Abby, honey,
it’s
okay,” he whispered in her ear. “The house is beautiful.”

She popped open her eyes. Bright lights shone on the three-story whitewashed mansion. A black and gold iron fence surrounded the yard, and flowers and shrubs lined the steps that led to the wraparound porch. Large, round columns posted around the porch held up the second-floor deck.

Abigail sighed and placed her hand on her chest. The gold-framed windows were new, and so was the door, but other than that, everything was as she had remembered.

Memories assailed her—times with her father in this very house. Birthdays, parties, and other social functions were the highlights of her life. She’d become the woman of the house at age five when her mother died. Whenever her father needed to entertain, Abigail took charge of the planning, and the parties were often attended by important people from all over California.

The staff at the newspaper—her father’s employees—often came to the house. In fact, Abigail knew everyone by name, and she thought of them as her family. They spoiled her almost as much as her father did, especially her father’s good friend, Harry.

A tear slid down her cheek. After her father’s funeral, everyone had gathered here. A part of her had been buried with him that day.

Heat surrounded her shoulders like a comforting blanket, and she breathed in Nick’s musky masculine scent. She glanced down at his arms, wrapping around her from behind, so she leaned against him on the seat and looked back at the house. Her chest burst with so much joy, she could hardly contain herself. It had been so long since she’d experienced these feelings. Slowly, her body was coming awake like after sleeping for a very long time.

“Are you all right?” The soft whisper of his breath tickled her ear.

“Yes. There are so many memories, good and bad.”

“I’m glad the place still stands.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I’m relieved as well. Since everything else in my life has been destroyed, it’s good to know this has not.”

She turned her head toward him and gazed into his eyes. The sun had set, so she could only see dark shadows across his face. “Thank you for being here and sharing this with me.”

“This has been very special for me, too,” Nick said.

From the tenderness in his voice, Abigail’s heart pounded faster.

“What do you want to do now?” he asked. “Do you want to stay here longer?”

His smile widened as if he read her thoughts. She’d love nothing more than to stay in his arms forever. But he wasn’t asking that.

“No, Nick. I think we can go. Perhaps you can bring me back during the day.”

He nodded. “I’d be honored.”

He leaned closer and brushed his lips across her forehead. Tingles danced over her skin again, but she couldn’t really feel his lips. How she longed to kiss him at least once before she passed to the next world—if she ever passed.

When he pulled away, she felt empty. None of this was real, she reminded herself. She was a ghost, and wishing wouldn’t bring her back to life.

Nick put the car in gear and drove away from the house.

“Who do you suppose lives there?” she asked.

“If I remember correctly, I think it’s the governor’s house.”

“It is? How fascinating. My father would be thrilled to know our home was still used for politics and entertaining.”

Nick glanced her way and smiled before returning his attention to the road. “You got that right. And I think they’ve turned the two-acre yard into a park.”

“How lovely.
Do you know, while I was strolling through my memories of yesteryear a few minutes ago, I remember the get-together we had after my father’s funeral. I mourned him, of course, but I wondered how I could take care of everything. I was suddenly an heiress, and I didn’t know what to do. All my life, people had taken care of me, and there I was, ready to begin a new phase, not knowing how to start.”

“If you had lived, do you know what would you have done?”

“I didn’t give myself enough time to think about it. I was too heartbroken. When my father died, I was hopelessly lost.”

“Exactly how did your father die?”

“Doctors said it was a heart attack. I didn’t believe them. My father was very healthy.”

“Do you think he was murdered?”

She shrugged. “If he was, I don’t know how they could have killed him and made it look like a heart attack.”

“Very true.
Back then it couldn’t have happened easily, but nowadays there are ways to do just that.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“If someone killed your father, it was the same person who killed you—I’m sure of it. And I’m quite sure it was over your inheritance.”

“Yes, I believe you’re correct,” Abigail replied. “Why else would anyone want me dead? I wasn’t a mean person in the least. People liked me and enjoyed my company. That’s what they told me, anyway.”

“It’s good to know you haven’t changed.” He winked at her. “What I’d like you to do tonight is to think back to the day you were killed. I want you to try to remember any details you can about the people around you—everyone you talked to that day. There has to be something that will lead us to the killer.”

“I hope I can remember something of importance. After my father died, there were a few times I thought I was going insane.”

He glanced at her before returning his attention to the road. “Why?
Because of your mourning?”

Abigail shook her head. “Not really. It was because some things in my house came up missing.”

“Someone was stealing from you?”

“That’s what I first suspected, but then the items would mysteriously show up again in a different place.”

“What kind of things?” Nick asked.

“Personal items.
Jewelry, gowns, even some paintings my father had bought for me while he was in Paris.”

“But they always showed up again?”

“Yes. That’s why I thought I was going insane. Lily assured me it was because I was devastated over the loss of my father. She even hinted a few times that I could have been the one who put the items there and had forgotten.”

“So she thought you were the one misplacing these things?”

Abigail shrugged. “That’s the way I understood it. But I was devastated, Nick, so perhaps Lily was correct in assuming I had lost my mind.”

“Sorry, Abby, I don’t buy it,” he said. “But we can look at that matter tomorrow. Tonight, I want you to remember every little detail you can about that day you were killed.”

“As you wish.”

Nick drove them back to the building and parked the car. He turned in his seat and touched her shoulder in a soft caress. “I hope you don’t hate me for ending our evening, but I have a big day tomorrow and need to get some rest.”

“I understand. You have other clients, and they pay.”

He chuckled. “I don’t mind that you’re not a paying client. Your charming presence makes up for that.”

Laughing, she swatted his arm, although nothing made contact. “I have heard about lawyers—that their storytelling is almost as big as their paychecks.”

Nick’s somber green eyes stared back at her. “The truth is, Abby, I enjoy every second I’m with you, and when we’re apart, I count the minutes until I see you again.”

She sighed. “That’s exactly how I feel with you.”

His fingers trailed over her skin, across her chin, then touched her lips. Eyes, that were windows to his soul, turned smoky. Her hopes lifted and she wanted to at least try to kiss her. But her hopes were shattered when he pulled away abruptly and climbed out of the car. After he opened her door, she got out and stood in front of him. Once again his gaze dropped to her lips, but he simply smiled and escorted her back to the building.

* * * *

Nick had spent the whole night tossing and turning. He couldn’t get Abby off his mind—being so close to her did that to him. He finally knew how she felt about him. Why had he let the attraction grow? Then again, it was hard not to when she looked so happy every time he touched her. Thinking back about their drive to her house, and the time they spent sitting out front talking, made him smile. Getting to know her better made him want to know her that much more, but he knew it was impossible for them to have a relationship. So why couldn’t he turn off his feelings?

The morning had moved by slowly, and after two meetings with clients, Nick thought he was going to pass out from weariness. However, he perked up when he saw his next visitor. Mr. Moore had returned.

“Please, come in,” Nick said, motioning his hand toward the chairs opposite his desk.

Mr. Moore looked around warily as he approached. He held rosary beads with a cross and lifted it in the air as if trying to ward off bad spirits.

Nick rolled his eyes. “Mr. Moore, I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t have ghosts in here.”

“I don’t know, Mr. Marshal. When I visited with you before, I was not a believer. But because of what I saw that day, I honestly think there are such things as ghosts. I believe your office is haunted.” The man’s wide eyes met Nick’s. “I talked with my priest the other day, and he believes as I do.”

Oh, good grief!
“Mr. Moore, please don’t trouble
yourself
. Even if I did have ghosts—and I’m not saying I do—who’s to say they’re not friendly?” Nick winked at the man.

“My priest knows someone who could come and check for you.” Mr. Moore walked to the desk, his eyes still carefully scanning the room. “This woman performs séances all the time. She’ll definitely chase away the spirit that remains here.”

“No!” Nick almost shouted, and then quickly stopped himself. He chuckled to soothe over the awkward moment. “What I meant to say was no, I don’t need your friend. Believe me, there are no ghosts here.”

“How do you explain the chair moving?” Mr. Moore asked.

“Um, well, the wheel got caught on the extension cord.” Nick shrugged. “After you left that day, I checked, and when I’d tripped on the cord, it pulled on the chair.”

The client arched an eyebrow.
“If you say so.”

“I do. Now should we get to business?”

The next hour crept by and Nick could have screamed. He could tell Mr. Moore didn’t believe his story about the chair, because the man kept glancing warily around the room. Every time the floor in the hallway creaked, or the elevator down the hall chimed, the older man jumped. It wasn’t until he left that Nick breathed easier.