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Authors: Janelle Taylor

Watching Amanda (11 page)

BOOK: Watching Amanda
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She stared at him, trying to take the measure of him, he knew.
“Can I see the letter my father wrote to you?” she asked.
He nodded and reached for his leather bomber jacket and pulled out a manila envelope.
A letter and two photographs slid onto the table.
Amanda picked up the photographs. “It's so unnerving—all of this,” she said.
“I can imagine,” he responded.
Amanda scanned the short letter, then looked at Ethan.
“That's it?” Amanda asked.
“That's it.”
Her shoulders sagged. “He didn't explain why he left the ‘bulk of his estate' to his daughters—daughters he never even wanted to know?”
Ethan shook his head.
“And he didn't explain why he wanted you to be my watchdog?”
“No again,” Ethan said.
“I don't understand him!” she said. “I don't understand any of this!”
“We might not be able to get to the bottom of his intentions,” Ethan said, “but we can try to figure out who broke in here tonight.” He was about to grab his notebook when he saw her hand tremble. “And I think we should get started on that first thing in the morning. Right now, you need some rest.”
“I doubt I'll be able to close my eyes for a second.”
“I'll be close by in the white room,” he said. “If that's all right.”
She studied him for a moment. “My father handpicked you, for whatever reason, to make sure I followed his rules. I need—want—to believe that my own father wouldn't put my life in danger.”
“You really didn't know your father at all, did you?” Ethan asked.
She shook her head. “No, I didn't.” She took a deep breath. “I want to bring Tommy's crib into my room tonight. If I can't do that, I'm willing to forfeit everything right now.”
“The rules don't specify that you can't bring his crib into your bedroom,” Ethan said.
“Good.”
“Do you need help wheeling the crib in?” he asked.
Please say no.
She nodded.
Damn.
She wished she had a burglar alarm system but that would make Ethan's presence and job as her “security” unnecessary. And for some important reason, her father wanted him there.
CHAPTER 11
Ethan followed behind Amanda as she opened the door to the nursery and stepped inside the room.
A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and he felt dizzy enough for a moment to have to grip the edge of the changing table along the wall.
Get yourself together, man,
he told himself.
Just breathe. Don't look at anything. Don't think about anything. Just push the crib into the bedroom and get the hell of the nursery.
But he was rooted to the floor, suddenly unable to move. In the soft glow of the night light, he could see the baby blue walls, the block letters spelling out
Tommy
, the lamp on the dresser with the antique carousel base. Three wooden trains on the window sill.
And the crib itself. This one was nothing like the one in his former house. Katherine had chosen a white crib, with spindles. He could even remember the little sheets, pale yellow with tiny farm animals, even though he'd only gone in the room once, when Katherine had shown it off after it was all decorated.
From the first day she found out she was pregnant she'd started working on the baby's room. She'd also carried around a pregnancy book that explained the stages of development, what was going on in her body that week.
“He has knees now!” she'd once said, beaming, as she'd passed by his study.
Ethan had barely looked up from his computer. How he wished he'd been more interested. How he wished he'd been a different person.
“He's such a sound sleeper,” Amanda said. “I'm sure we won't wake him up.”
Ethan was about to say,
Katherine, he's not even born yet
, when he remembered where he was.
He closed his eyes for a second and brought a halt to the memories.
And then he heard the strains of Brahms' Lullaby, so softly playing from the rotating mobile hanging over the crib.
The day before Katherine died, he'd brought home a CD of the same lullaby. She'd been so surprised, so incredibly pleased by such a simple gesture that he accepted her thanks and didn't tell her that his secretary's assistant had given it to him for a Secret Santa gift. His secretary had opened it for him, of course, wrote a thank-you card in his name to the assistant, then immediately rewrapped it, and placed it in his in-box with a memo noting all of that and her suggestion to give it to Katherine as a gift.
The music was beautiful. He'd played it over and over again after her death.
“Ethan? Are you all right? Your hands are trembling.”
He glanced down at his hands, at his ringless fingers and steadied them on Tommy Sedgwick's crib.
You can do this
, he told himself.
Once, you could do anything. You can do this.
He forced himself to think of Maine, of his cabin, of chopping firewood. Of Nicky Marrow needing his help and companionship. Once his former life was gone from his mind, he began pushing the crib slowly across the room.
 
Afterward, all he wanted to do was crash. Amanda asked him to check and recheck the doors and windows, and he did.
He paused in the living room and looked at the portrait of William with his daughters. “I'll do everything in my power to keep Amanda and Tommy safe,” he whispered to the lifelike oil version of William Sedgwick. And then he stood by the tall windows and looked out at the night sky. The buildings blocked the moon and most of the stars. He could just make out the trees in Central Park.
Katherine had been killed in Central Park.
That was a painful time and tragic event that he didn't want to think about tonight.
He squeezed his eyes shut and stepped back from the window. With a final glance at the painting of the Sedgwicks, he headed into the kitchen and was about to clean up, but Amanda had beat him to it. The mugs were washed and were upside in the dish drain. The coffee maker sparkling. The bag of Milanos back in the cabinet. He eyed the high chair, its blue-and-white plaid vinyl seat, the white tray.
Someone had sent a similar one as a gift right after Katherine had announced her pregnancy. Or perhaps all high chairs looked alike. Ethan didn't really know. He hadn't paid attention.
He took a gulp of air and then turned off the lights and headed upstairs. He found Amanda waiting for him on the landing.
“Everything's locked up tight,” he assured her.
She nodded and looked him in the eye. “Guess I'll head in then.”
“See you in the morning,” he said, his hand on the doorknob to the white bedroom. He paused. “Amanda.”
She turned around. “Yes?”
“I just want you to know that for tonight you're safe. Your son is safe. I assure you of that.”
She stared at him for a moment, her blue eyes less guarded. “Thank you,” she said in a low voice. And then she disappeared into her room, closing the door and locking it.
He opened the door to the white room, which was off-limits to her. Why? he wondered, as he stepped inside. The room was as plain as a room could get, much like his bedroom in the Maine cabin. It was the master bedroom, though, and quite large, with its own bathroom, which oddly enough, was fully stocked with both men's and women's toiletries.
A queen-sized bed with white sheets and a white down comforter dominated the room. On either side were two white end-tables, each topped by a lamp. A plain white wooden dresser with a mirror above it was against one wall, and there was a low-pile white rectangular area rug on the floor by the bed. There were no paintings on the walls.
Everything was white, but it wasn't the white of purity or beauty, and it certainly wasn't bridal. It was more austere. Plain.
He walked over to the two windows on the wall and glanced out. The view was of the row of brownstones across the street, and if he craned his neck he could just make out the tall, leafless trees in Central Park.
What the hell am I doing back here?
he wondered, running a hand through his hair and down over his tired eyes.
Why the hell did you bring me back here, Sedgwick?
he asked silently toward the dark night sky.
What are these arbitrary rules all about? And why would you ask this of me? Why would you make me—
Ah. Suddenly it made sense. William Sedgwick was not only forcing Ethan out of isolation and literally forcing him back to the scene of the crime, he was also adding a woman and child to the mix.
A woman and her baby.
Nice bit of psychology, William, but it's not going to work. I'm not going to fall for Amanda. I'm not going to get all googly-eyed over her baby.
I didn't even do that for my own wife and unborn child.
The thought sobered him. Ethan took a final glance out the window using his micro binoculars. There were two couples walking toward the park, and several people walking along Central Park West. A car started. A car alarm blared. But there was no one lurking in a doorway or behind a tree—as far as Ethan could see.
He turned from the window and dropped down on the bed, exhausted.
Even if Sedgwick was trying to “save his life” again by setting up this scenario, what would Amanda get out of it? An embittered recluse who lived in a one-room cabin in rural Maine, where it was minus five degrees today?
And how could William Sedgwick have forseen that he and Amanda would have much contact, anyway?
Ah again. William Sedgwick was no idiot. The man had left his daughter a multi-million dollar property. He had anticipated the greedy and the ruthless would come out of their lairs—just as the policeman said.
I'll do all I can to protect your daughter, William, but that's it
, he said, looking out through the window at the night sky just before sleep overtook him.
CHAPTER 12
Amanda awoke to the delicious aroma of bacon frying. She heard eggs cracking against a bowl, then the sizzle as they were poured into a hot pan.
He cooks too
, she thought out of nowhere.
And then panic gripped her, and she threw off the heavy down comforter and rushed over across the room to Tommy's crib. Relief flooded through her as she gazed at her sleeping baby. He looked so peaceful, so healthy.
“Sleep little baby,” she sang softly, glancing at the antique clock on her bedside table. It was just after 7:00.
Her eyes stopped on the photograph of her mother. “Thanks for watching out for me, Mom,” she whispered. “We made it through the night.”
She'd finally fallen asleep around four
A.M.
For two hours, she'd tossed and turned, unable to stop staring at the door handle, sure it would start slowly turning. Before she'd turned in, she'd gotten a steak knife from the kitchen and placed it on her bedside table. It was better than a snowglobe, but still she'd had a hard time falling asleep.
She glanced at herself in the mirror over the dresser. There were faint shadows under her eyes, and she was pale. She quickly dressed in jeans and a cream-colored sweater and her black leather boots. She put on the delicate silver necklace that had been her mother's. The chain and its cultured pearl pendant always made her feel protected, as though her mother were with her.
Tommy began stirring and slowly opened his big blue eyes, so much like her own. She scooped him up. “You're Mommy's big boy,” she said, kissing him on the forehead and cheek and stroking his dark blond hair. Paul's hair.
She thought of him suddenly, then put him out of her mind again. It was all too much—Paul wanting to re-enter her life, her father's death, the inheritance, Ethan, the ... intruder.
She preferred
intruder
over
psychopath intent on suffocating her
. She wanted to think the break-in and attempt on her life was random, that someone had simply noticed the brownstone had been unoccupied for a week, thought to rob it, then found her.
Heiress ...
Could someone she knew want to kill her for this brownstone? she wondered, goosebumps rising along the nape of her neck. But it made no sense, unless it was one of her sisters, which was absurd.. . .
Tommy began fussing, and Amanda forced her thoughts to the moment, which included a diaper that needed changing and a stranger in her kitchen.
With Tommy in her arms, Amanda came downstairs to find Ethan setting a platter of scrambled eggs, a plate of bacon, both rye and wheat toast, and two mugs of coffee on the dining room table. Though he wore the same clothes he had on last night—worn jeans and a white button-down shirt, he was freshly shaven ... and a lot less menacing looking.
“Morning,” he said, not even glancing her way. He set the table for two, then sat down and began heaping eggs and bacon on his plate.
“Morning,” she tossed back.
He sipped his coffee. “I'm glad you're up early. Let's get right to work.” He flipped open a notebook on the table and tapped his pen against it. “Let's list—”
“Can we wait until I have Tommy settled in his high chair?” she asked.
He paused for a second, then nodded. “Does Tommy like his eggs scrambled?”
“Scrambled is perfect,” she said. “Thanks for all this.” She was surprised. Very surprised. A man had never made breakfast for her before. Under any circumstances, let alone these.
“No problem.”
“Meeeee,” Tommy said, pointing at the coffee mugs.
Amanda smiled at her son. “Tommy takes his coffee with milk and sugar,” she said to Ethan.
“Oh. I didn't realize babies drank coffee. I'll pour him a cup—”
She laughed, surprising herself. “I was just kidding.”
“Oh,” he said again.
She smiled. “You don't have kids, huh?”
His face paled as his expression darkened. Uh oh. Had she put her foot in her mouth?
“I—” she began, not quite sure how to rectify what she'd said.
“Why don't you get him settled, and we'll start on making our list of suspects,” he said.
Yes, sir.
She placed Tommy in his high chair. “How about some delicious scrambled eggs, Tom?”
“Ess! Ess!” Tommy said, clapping his hands. He ate the few forkfuls Amanda put on his tray and then pointed to the platter for more.
“You're quite the chef,” Amanda said, putting eggs on her own plate. “Tommy is pretty particular.”
“I wasn't always,” he said. “I learned when I had to.”
 
“Which was when?”
He froze for a second. “Do you know where the salt is?”
Okay
, she thought.
A little too personal.
“Is that like, ‘How about those Mets?'”
He smiled, for the first time since she'd met him, and it transformed his face. She had to stop herself from staring. “That's exactly what it means.”
The ice somewhat broken, she waited for him to ask how old Tommy was or what his middle name was, the small-talk questions everyone asked about a baby. But he didn't.
“What's so special about the white bedroom?” she asked. “Why is it off-limits?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea. It's as ordinary and plain as a room gets.”
“So my father's rules are completely arbitrary?” she asked, frustrated. “What's the point of that?”
“I really wouldn't know,” he said. “Are you ready to get started?” he asked.
She let out a deep breath. “I guess so.”
“Was last night the first time that someone has attacked you?”
Amanda felt her stomach tighten. She nodded.
“So it's possible, and likely even, that whoever tried to kill you last night wants to make sure you don't inherit this brownstone.”
“I really don't know what to think,” she said. “Maybe it was just a random break-in.”
He glanced at her. “One day you stand to inherit a multi-million dollar property, you move in, and almost immediately someone tries to kill you ... so we can assume that the attack is connected to your sudden inheritance—but that's
all
we can assume.”
She pushed her plate of eggs away.
“What about them?” Ethan asked, pointing with his pen at the portrait of the Sedgwick sisters, just visible from where they sat.
“What about them?”
“It stands to reason that one or both of them could inherit the brownstone if you don't,” Ethan said.
Amanda bristled. “They're my
sisters
.”
“But you're not close,” he pointed out. “You said that last night.”
“But—”
He eyed her. “Would you say you know them well?”
“No, but—”
He jotted down their names. “Then they go on the list. I'm sure the person I fought off last night was a man, but that doesn't mean he wasn't hired by them.”
Tears pricked at the backs of Amanda's eyes and she blinked them away. “Under the most terrible circumstances, I got my sisters back,” she said. “Because our father died, the three of us were actually in the same room together, two different times, actually talking.” She stood up and paced. “No, I don't claim to know Olivia and Ivy well, but I'd bet anything they had nothing to do with this.”
“I'm putting them on the list anyway,” he said. “Amanda, I'm sorry, but they're the most obvious suspects. No one else would inherit by killing you. Let's just put them down and then eliminate them when we're absolutely able to.”
“Why can't we just let the police do this?” she asked.
He sipped his coffee and sat back. “Because we need to be prepared.”
“Prepared? For what?”
“For anything, Amanda. You need to know who you need to be wary of, who you need to be careful around. Everyone in your life is suspect now.”
She looked him in the eye. “Even you?”
He put down his mug. “Amanda, I know you've been through quite a lot. But if you can keep your eye on the prize, you'll come out of this with your future, your security.”
He was right. Very right.
She stopped pacing and sat back down. After a moment she nodded and wrapped her hands around her mug.
“We need to find out from Harris who your share forfeits to,” he said.
“Good luck,” she told him. “Harris hasn't exactly been forthcoming with information.”
“We'll ask anyway. We'll let him know your life may depend on the answer.”
She paled and closed her eyes, then stood again suddenly. “Forget it. Forget all of this.” She glanced at Tommy. “I'm his mother. I'm all he has. I can't risk my life for a house. I'm a strong, resourceful person, I'll find something else. So write me up, Ethan. Tell Harris I broke too many rules. I'm not staying here. I'm not risking my life or my son's.”
“Amanda, I know you don't know me. I know you have no reason to trust me. But you don't have to walk away from all this. We can figure out who tried to hurt you. Don't let whoever it is win.”
“Why do you even care?” she asked, sitting back down. “What's it to you?”
“I told you—”
“Yes, you told me. You owe my father a favor. But I'm allowing you to repay that favor early, which is, according to what you said last night, exactly what you want. To get out of this city that you hate. So why are you trying to get me to stay?”
“I have my reasons,” he said.
“That answer is getting a little old.”
“Then I suggest you stop asking me questions,” he retorted. “Let's narrow down who would benefit from you being out of the picture,” he said. “What about Tommy's father?”
“What about him?” Amanda asked, Paul's face immediately coming to mind.
“What's the story?”
“The story?”
Ethan glanced at her. “Who is he? Where is he?”
“He hasn't been in our lives since the day I told him I was pregnant,” Amanda admitted. “Well, until yesterday afternoon. I ran into him right after we met near the park.”
Met near the park. Ha. That was a nice way of putting it.
“You ran into him for the first time in over a year and a half? That's a bit coincidental, don't you think?”
“Paul doesn't even know about the inheritance. He doesn't even know my father died.”
“Maybe he does know,” Ethan said. “There was an obituary in every major New York City newspaper.”
The
New York Now
column popped into her mind.
Survived by his three daughters ... sole heirs to his vast estate ...
“What's his full name?” Ethan asked.
Amanda hesitated. “Swinwood. Paul Swinwood.” She watched him jot that down. “But he was so—” She stopped, realizing how foolish she sounded, even to herself. Paul Swinwood had been “so this” and “so that” when they were dating too. It didn't stop him from abandoning her and leaving her to raise their child completely alone.
She took a deep breath and poured herself another cup of coffee. “It's just that he was so reverent, so full of awe at just the sight of Tommy. I've never seen him with that expression before. He wants to be in Tommy's life.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I want it for Tommy,” she said. “Beyond that I don't know how I feel. He really did a number on me.”
BOOK: Watching Amanda
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