Watching Amanda (10 page)

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Authors: Janelle Taylor

BOOK: Watching Amanda
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CHAPTER 10
After calling the police, which seemed to assure Amanda that Ethan wasn't her would-be killer, Ethan instructed her to barricade herself and the baby inside the nursery and not open the door to anyone but the detectives. He'd never seen a woman move faster. She rushed inside and closed the door behind her. Ethan heard her dragging a chair over to the door and then the click as she secured it under the doorknob.
He then checked the entire brownstone, every room, every closet, every possible hiding spot. When Ethan first arrived in New York, the lawyer, Harris, had given him keys to the brownstone and a floor-plan and requested that he familiarize himself with the house. He had. The brownstone was definitely empty now. The intruder had left the way he'd come, in through a back window facing the small yard.
Before Ethan could even get back upstairs, two policeman had arrived. They took statements, dusted for prints, and took the pillow into evidence.
“Could be anyone,” one policeman said, slipping his notepad into his pocket. “Even I read about you in the papers, Ms. Sedgwick. Heiress moves into multi-million-dollar brownstone. Friends, enemies, strangers come out of the woodwork. We'll do what we can.”
“I'm hardly an heiress,” Amanda said.
The policeman glanced around at the beautifully decorated living room, the antiques and paintings, the baby grand piano, and nodded. “You are to a lot of greedy psychos.”
“Everyone is so reassuring tonight,” Amanda snapped, dropping down on the leather couch..
“We just don't want to give you a false sense of security, Ms. Sedgwick,” the policeman said. He and his partner then left, promising to call with any information.
“How about some coffee?” Ethan asked her, surprising himself. He wasn't exactly known for his hospitality. Especially in someone else's house. But she looked so terrified and tired and so completely shot.
He wanted her to look as she did in the photo he'd been given. Self-assured. Mysterious. Intelligent. That Amanda Sedgwick he could deal with, handle. This terrified, angry one was a different story altogether.
She wore a thin, white terry robe, tied tightly around her waist, but he could see the top of her white cotton nightgown. Her weariness coupled with her slight figure made him feel protective of her. She took a deep breath, and he forced his gaze from her breasts, which were outlined through the thin robe.
“Why don't you sit down in the kitchen, and I'll put on some coffee?” he suggested. It felt too weird to sit in the living room; it was too cozy.
She nodded and slowly rose, gripping the lapels of her robe. She should have gripped the bottom of the robe instead. As she got up, the robe parted, outlining one long leg and a bit of her thigh.
He followed her into the kitchen, forcing himself to stare at the floor, at her bare heels instead of her backside.
She pulled a chair from the table and dropped down onto it, resting her face in her palms. “I can't believe this,” she said. “I can't believe any of this. I feel like I'm watching a
Law and Order
episode, but it's my own life.”
“I've never seen
Law and Order
. I don't even have a television,” he said.
She glanced at him, but said nothing. There were faint shadows under her blue eyes, and he looked at the clock on the wall. Two-thirty-five
A.M.
He opened cabinets until he found a canister of ground coffee, filters, and two mugs. He brewed a full pot in the coffee maker that was on the counter, then grabbed a bag of Milano cookies from the cabinet.
He glanced at her, her face pale as she just sat there, slightly shaking her head. He set down the bag of cookies. “You could probably use a rush of sugar.”
She slumped over the table, dropping her head on top of her arms.
“Are you all right?” he asked, rushing over to her. He kneeled beside her.
Her head shot up, and she jumped out of the chair.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to make sure you didn't pass out.”
“I'm fine,” she said. She rolled her eyes upward and let out a harsh breath. “
Fine
. That's a joke. I'm anything but fine.”
He stood and headed back to the coffee maker, poured two mugs full of the steaming brew and handed her one. “Have some coffee. Cream and sugar?” She nodded, and he got out the milk and found the sugar and placed it on the table.
“Someone tried to kill me,” she said slowly, as though she were trying to wrap her mind around it. “Someone broke into my house—my father's house—and tried to suffocate me.” She shook her head. She seemed about to say something else but then just closed her eyes. She took a sip of the coffee.
“Every window and door and possible entry into this brownstone has been locked and double-checked,” Ethan told her, leaning back against the sink.
“Whoever tried to kill me got in once,” she said. “They'll get in again.” She picked up the mug, her hand trembling. “And you have a key! Who else did my father hand keys to? There's no way I can stay here.”
“You'd be forfeiting a lot of money,” he reminded her.
She whirled to face him. “Which I'll enjoy from my grave?”
He decided to take that as the rhetorical question it was.
“How do I know for sure that you didn't try to kill me?” she asked him.
“I told you how you know.”
She glared at him. “And I told you that the fact that I'm alive isn't reassuring.”
But it clearly was. “If you think I'm the one who tried to kill you, why didn't you tell the police that you suspect me? Why are you here alone with me?”
She burst into tears, surprising him. He stared at her.
“I'm overwhelmed,” she said, wiping angrily at her eyes. “I don't know what the hell to do, what to think.”
“I have no reason to want to hurt you,” he told her. “I was hired to make sure you followed your father's rules for thirty days. That's it.”
She shredded a napkin on the table. “Well, hopefully you've got something else lined up because I'm not staying here. I won't risk my son's life for a house that doesn't even mean anything to me.”
He glanced at her. The house meant nothing to her? Her father's house? Her
dead
father's house?
What Ethan would give to know his own father. His mother had been young, and his father had skipped out on her when he heard the news. He and his mother had never seen or heard from the man again.
“I never stepped foot in this house until yesterday,” she continued. “That's how close my father and I were.”
“Ah,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “I don't know the details. I don't know anything about you or your relationship with your father.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Then why you? Why were you hired to spy on me?”
Ethan shrugged. “I don't know.”
“You don't know? What did he tell you?”
“Your father didn't tell me anything,” Ethan explained. “I met him only once, three years ago. We talked for five, ten minutes, tops. That's it.”
She stared at him. “You met him
once
. One time only? And you only talked for five or ten minutes?”
Ethan nodded.
“And you'd never met before that?” she said.
“Nope.”
“Yet he entrusted you to watch his daughter's every move for a month?” she asked.
“Clearly,” Ethan said, taking a bite of a cookie. It was delicious.
“Why?”
“As I said, I owed him a favor, and he called it in,” Ethan explained.
She looked exasperated. “What favor? Why can't you tell me?”
“Because it doesn't matter,” Ethan said. “I owed him, and I told him if he ever needed anything, I was his man. For three years I didn't hear from him.”
“Until he died?” she asked.
Ethan nodded. “I received a letter from him and his lawyer by messenger.” He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling, an architectural masterpiece of beams. “It's still hard to believe he's actually gone. He seemed so vital. Powerful. There was a life force in him.”
“You got all that from meeting him
once
?” she asked. “For five or ten minutes?”
He nodded.
She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, she said, “What happened during those five or ten minutes? What was the meeting about?”
“It wasn't a meeting in the way you think,” he said. “But forget it. It's not relevant, and I'm not going to talk about it.” He stood up. “More coffee?”
She eyed him, then nodded. “So you owed him a favor, and he called it in for this. To watch my every move for a month.”
“Not your every move,” he said, refilling their mugs. “Just the ones pertaining to his rules of obtaining your inheritance.”
“So there are no cameras in the bedroom or bathroom?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.
“No,” he said. “I'm just supposed to make sure you do your time on the sofa and don't go into the white room and don't do seven other things.”
“What's the significance of these rules?” she asked. “Why can't I go in the white room? What's so special about the window by the cactus?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“I guess he had his reasons,” she said. She stood and shook her head. “What the hell am I doing? I'm sitting here talking about his stupid rules when I don't even plan to spend another night in this place!”
“Amanda, if you break the rules, you forfeit your future,” he reminded her again, “Tommy's future.”
Her eyes filled with tears, but she shrugged, then sank down on the chair. “I've managed to deal with every problem thrown my way, but I just don't understand what's happening here.”
“What's happening is you're going to inherit a brownstone apartment building worth millions of dollars,” he pointed out.
She carried on as if she hadn't heard him. “I can't go to a hotel because I'm practically broke. I can't go to my parents because they're both gone, and my sisters, who I barely know anyway, are away. I can't impose on friends—not with a baby. I have to figure something out.”
Ethan took a deep breath. “I'll tell you what,” he said, trying to rush it out before he could stop himself, which was what he wanted to do. “I'll act as your security guard for the night. That way, you won't have to make any decisions about staying or not when you're under this kind of stress.”
She eyed him. “
You'll
be my security? I don't even know you. I know nothing about you. You think I'm going to allow a total stranger to stay here, overnight, with me and my child? Thanks, but no.”
You think I want to?
he felt like yelling.
You think I want to be here for one more second, let alone the hours until daybreak?
So why the hell was he trying to help her out?
Because her father saved my life. And I owe him. And if I learned anything from the past three years, it's that my word needs to mean something.
He sat down and tried for his most gentle tone. “Look, your father helped me out once, and now I'm going to help him by helping you. Period.”
She looked toward the ceiling. “Well, you won't tell me anything about your relationship with my father, so I have no idea what to think. I'm leaving. I'm taking my son and leaving and going somewhere safe for the night. I can stay with a girlfriend for tonight at least.”
“Suit yourself,” he said. “If you want to make it this easy on me by leaving now, go ahead.”
“Easy on you? What are you talking about?”
He took a sip of coffee. “I live hundreds of miles away from here, and that's where I want to be. I hate this city. I hate being here. But I promised William I'd do anything for him if he needed my help, and he called it in, so I'm here. That I'll get to go home after just a few days is great. So if you want to end this game now, go ahead.”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “How dare you? This is my life, not a game.”
“Fine, leave,” he said. “But where are you going to go tomorrow night? Or the next?”
“I don't know!” she said, covering her face with her hands. “I'll figure it out. I always do.”
“I've already figured it out for you,” he said. “You're going upstairs right now and getting as good a night's sleep as you can under the circumstances.”

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