Silent Killer Part 17

The other bedroom, the one at the back of the house, was ten by twelve, and the only furniture in the room was an antique four-poster bed, a walnut chifforobe and a lady's writing table. All of the items had once graced the parsonage's small guest room, each item purchased with the money she had earned at Treasures. This was her bedroom. She intended to paint it a pale, creamy yellow. Mark had disliked yellow, which was her favorite color, so she'd never been able to use it in her home or even wear a yellow blouse.

Just as she headed toward the kitchen, intending to unpack the pots and pans and dishes and gla.s.sware, the doorbell rang. When she entered the living room, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror she and Lorie had hung over the sofa. A few stray tendrils of hair had loosened from her ponytail, and perspiration had erased most of her makeup. But she'd been too busy to worry about her appearance.

She peered through the viewfinder in the front door, smiled, opened the door and greeted her visitor.

"Hi there," Jack said.

"Hi," Cathy replied. "Please come in."

"Are you sure? I know you're moving in today, but when I drove by, I didn't see any other cars here, so I thought I'd stop and offer to help out."

"In that case, most definitely come on in." Cathy held open the door for him. As he eased past her, her breath caught in her throat.

He glanced around at the living room, which held a sofa and one chair and more than a dozen unopened boxes.

"Didn't the Wilsons used to live here?" Jack asked.

"The Wilsons? I don't remember them. I'm renting the house from a lady who lives in Chattanooga. Leslie McCaf-ferty."

"She used to be Leslie Wilson," Jack said. "I dated her a couple of times back in high school. Nice girl."

"As I recall, you dated a lot of girls." Cathy grinned. "I knew who you were a long time before you knew I existed."

"I was a few years ahead of you in school and not into young, innocent girls." Jack reached out and tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. "In case no one has told you recently, you're even prettier now than you were at seventeen."

A flush of warmth spread through Cathy, a direct result of the compliment he'd paid her. Odd. She didn't remember Jack being the type to flatter a girl. He had been a moody, dark soul back then, and she suspected that in many ways he still was. But she liked seeing this side of him.

"So, did you really stop by to help me?" she asked.

"Absolutely. Point me in the right direction and issue orders."

"How about helping me unpack the kitchen stuff," she said. "I can't reach some of the upper cabinets without a step stool."

"Lead the way."

Three hours later, with the kitchen boxes unpacked and the items neatly stored, the bed linens washed, dried and put in place on the four-poster, Cathy led Jack into the small bedroom at the front of the house.

"I'm going to use this as my workroom," she told him.

He eyed the two large boxes pushed against the wall near the closet. "Want me to start with those?"

She nodded. "My portable sewing machine is in the smaller one. If you'll unpack it and set it on that desk"-she pointed to the rectangular pine desk painted white-"I'll take the packing tape off the larger one. My drafting table is in there. I haven't used it in years."

"Why didn't you go to college the way you'd planned and become an architect?" Jack asked.

Bent over the large box, her back to Jack, Cathy stiffened. She had known that it was only a matter of time before he started asking questions. Not that this question would be difficult to answer, but the reply would invariably lead to more questions. And the answer to those would require either several lies or a major confession.

She took the box cutter in her hand and ripped through the packing tape. Staying focused on the task at hand, she replied casually, "I got married instead. And I intended to eventually go back to school and get my degree, but Mark and I moved around quite a bit as he went from one church to another. And, of course, Seth kept me pretty busy."

Holding her breath, she waited for more questions. When Jack didn't say anything else, she glanced at him and found him busy removing her sewing machine from the box. She breathed a sigh of relief.

As he placed the sewing machine on the desk, he asked, "How about we order something for supper and I stay here and help you until I have to go to work?"

"What time do you have to go in?"

"Eleven," he replied. "I'm filling in for Tony Bradley. He's at the hospital with his wife, who went into labor at ten-thirty this morning."

"Are you sure you don't mind? I'd appreciate the help. Lorie mentioned coming back around six-thirty."

"We'll order dinner for three, my treat. Can you recommend a place that delivers?"

"Why don't I call Lorie and have her pick up something on her way here? And dinner is on me," she told him. "It's the least I can do to pay you back for helping me."

"Yes, ma'am." With a c.o.c.ky, boyish grin on his face, he saluted her. "You call Lorie, and I'll set up your drafting table."

"Okay." Feeling relaxed and happy, she returned his smile. "How about Italian? Frankie's on Market Street has the best lasagna and a tomato pesto to die for."

"Any Italian cream cake?" Jack asked.

"Oh my G.o.d, yes. You can gain five pounds just smelling it."

He looked her over from head to toe and then leisurely made his way back up, stopping when their gazes met. "Why don't you order cake for all three of us? A few extra pounds won't hurt your figure."

Cathy felt almost giddy and couldn't hold back the laughter bubbling over inside her. After Seth was born and she'd been what some would have called pleasingly plump, Mark had helped her stick to a strict diet until she was at what he considered an acceptable weight. And over the years, he had kept a close eye on her eating habits. He had disapproved of her tendency to turn to food for comfort. And as J.B. had pointed out to her and Mona more than once, gluttony was a sin.

"I'll order two pieces," she said. "Lorie and I can split a piece and not feel too guilty for indulging."

Jack shrugged. "Suit yourself." He scanned the limited s.p.a.ce in the small room. "Where do you want me to put the table?"

"There"-Cathy pointed to the area-"near the windows so that I can get a lot of natural sunlight during the day."

He nodded. "Sure thing."

She hurried out of the room, down the hall and into the bedroom, where she retrieved her phone from her purse. She hit the preprogrammed number for Treasures.

"Hey there. How's the unpacking going?" Lorie asked.

"Quite well," Cathy replied. "Especially since Jack showed up several hours ago and has been helping me."

"He can't seem to stay away from you, can he?"

"I don't know, but if that's the case, then I'm glad, because the feeling is mutual." She lowered her voice. "Just being around him makes me happy. I don't know exactly what it is about him, about us being together, but...I don't know how to explain it."

"You don't have to. Whenever I'm within twenty feet of Mike, all I want to do is reach out and grab him."

"Look, I didn't mean to get all soft and gooey on you. I'm actually calling to ask for a favor."

"You don't want me to show up tonight as planned."

"Yes, I do want you to come over, just as we'd planned, but I'd like for you to stop by Frankie's and pick up supper for three. Get the lasagna, Italian salad, bread sticks, tomato pesto and two slices of Italian cream cake."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather be alone with Jack? I could have them deliver dinner for two."

"No, I don't think I'm ready for a romantic dinner, just the two of us alone here at the house." Cathy simply couldn't handle more than friendship from Jack or any other man. Not yet.

"Okay, then. I'll see y'all around six-thirty. And I'll bring supper."

Although she had been expecting Griff's call, Nic nearly jumped out of her skin when her phone rang. She needed to hear his voice, needed to hear him tell her that he loved her and missed her as much as she missed him.

She hated the fact that in recent months she had become a jealous, insecure wife. Priding herself on being a strong, independent woman, Nic detested any weakness in herself. It had taken her a long time to completely trust Griff and even longer to trust the way she felt about him. Loving him had been the greatest risk she'd ever taken. She had gambled with her very soul, and now she was wondering if she'd made a mistake.

"h.e.l.lo." c.r.a.p! Her voice sounded too soft, too vulnerable. "How's the trip going?" She forced a light, cheerful note into the question.

"I miss you," he told her and sounded d.a.m.n sincere.

"I miss you, too."

"The next time I have to be away this long, you're going to have to come with me."

"You really do miss me, don't you?"

"More than you could ever know."

"Don't be so sure of that."

"Everything all right there?" he asked.

"Things are pretty much the way you left them. Holt Keinan arrived today, and Ben Trahern went back to Knoxville." The Powell agents rotated two-week stays at Griffin's Rest and while there were in charge of security. "And Maleah's here, too."

"Any special reason she's there?"

"No. I just wanted her here with me for a while. Any objections?"

"What's wrong, Nic?"

"Why do you think something's wrong?"

"I can hear it in your voice." He paused, waiting for her to reply. When she didn't, he added, "And your wanting Maleah to stay at Griffin's Rest is a dead giveaway."

"I need a friend sometimes. Someone who is just my friend. You have Sanders and Yvette and even Barbara Jean."

"They're your friends, too."

She didn't know how to respond. Yes, Barbara Jean was a friend, but her loyalty was to Sanders, the man she loved, and Sanders's loyalty was always first and foremost to Griff and to her only because she was Griff's wife. As far as Yvette was concerned, Nic accepted her share of the blame that they were not good friends. Early in her marriage, Yvette had reached out to her, and she had sensed that Yvette wanted them to be friends. She had to admit that it had been easier to consider Yvette a friend when she'd lived in London, half a world away from Tennessee.

"You're worrying me, honey," he said. "Do I need to fly home tonight?"

"No, of course not. I'm fine. Just missing you. But I'm glad you'll be home day after tomorrow."

He grunted. "That's the thing. I've run into a few snags, and it looks like I may be here awhile longer."

"How much longer?"

"Four or five days. A week at most."

"A week? Why, what's happened? I thought this was just a routine business trip."

"It's a business trip that's run into some problems that I have to fix."

She needed to tell him that there were a few problems here at home he needed to fix, but instead she said, "I may fly out to San Francisco and visit Charles David."

"Why don't you do that, honey, and take Maleah with you. I'm sure your brother would love to see you."

"Are the business problems you're trying to fix putting you in any danger?" Nic asked point-blank. She knew how he had acquired his vast wealth and the kinds of people he'd dealt with in his past.

"You shouldn't be so intuitive. Yes, there is a certain risk, but I'm working on eliminating any future problems."

"Who do you have there with you?"

"Luke Sentell. And a man from Cam Hendrix's firm, too. He's an expert in international law. I brought him along to work with the European lawyers I have to deal with on this project."

If Griff had taken Luke Sentell with him to act as his bodyguard, that meant he had antic.i.p.ated trouble-big trouble. Sentell was a former Delta Force commando. "If you go and get yourself killed, Griffin Powell, I'll never forgive you."

Griff chuckled. "That alone is reason enough to stay alive."

"Does Yvette know what you're doing?"

Silence.

Then he took a deep breath and replied, "Yes."

"I see."

"No, you don't. What I'm dealing with right now concerns a part of the past that has come back to haunt me and Yvette and Sanders. That's the only reason they know more about this than you do. Believe me, honey, I want to protect you from-"

"When you come home, you'll tell me everything." She didn't add "or else," but she might as well have.

"I'll tell you everything I can. I promise."

Tears gathered in her eyes. d.a.m.n it, she hated women who cried at the drop of a hat. She'd never been the type. She cleared her throat and swatted away the pesky tears.

"Nic?"

"Come home to me, okay?"