My One And Only (3 page)

Abby took a deep breath and forced herself to
answer LuAnne's inquisitive gaze. "He was wearing a suit," she said evasively. Although the flawlessly tailored navy blue serge had done little to disguise his physique.

"What size?"

"What?"

"What size suit?" LuAnne said, watching her with obvious glee.

"How should I know?"

"Take a guess."

"I don't know. Forty, forty-two maybe."

"Long or extra long?" LuAnne drawled the words.

At the not-so-subtle double entendre, Abby gave her a look. "Probably extra long—but I didn't check the label. He has very broad shoulders."

"I bet he usually dates Amazons."

"And you're basing that opinion on what?"

"Men like that normally do. They like to be noticed, so they pick women who complement them physically. I'll bet he hardly goes out in public without some gorgeous woman draped over his arm—and the two of them look like a matched set."

Abby laughed. "If he does, he probably feels right at home with the King of Belgium."

"I'd say he has a thing for blondes with big boobs, long legs, and great musculature. They all have that sophisticated bored look." LuAnne pursed her lips and lifted her chin. "You know, like they aren't secretly wishing they were alone
with the guy so they could tear his clothes off and get at him."

"Well, whatever he likes or doesn't like, he didn't throw me out. At least he agreed to talk to
me."

"Did he tell you why?"

I'm doing this for you.
"No. Just said he'd call."

LuAnne nodded. "Well, it's something anyway. Do you really think he can bail Harrison out of this mess?"

"If anyone can do it, Ethan Maddux can."

LuAnne unfurled her legs from the sofa, stood, and stretched her arms high above her head. "I hope so. Look, I gotta go. Shop opens tomorrow at eight."

"I know."

"You coming in next week for your appointment?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Okay. I'll grill you some more then."

"There's something to look forward to."

LuAnne laughed as she retrieved her enormous purse from the end of the couch. "Get some rest, Abby. You look beat."

"It was a long day."

"I know." LuAnne squeezed her friend's shoulder as she passed the armchair. "Rachel's not really mad at you, by the way. Just frustrated with being thirteen."

"I'll talk to her."

"Good plan. I put a plate in the oven for you. Your dinner should be hot."

"Thanks, Lu. For everything."

"No problem." She headed for the door. "Oh, and if Rachel mentions anything about dying her hair green, it wasn't my idea."

Abby groaned. "Great."

LuAnne said good-bye and let herself out of the house. Abby rel
ished the quiet for several min
utes, then levered herself out of her chair. Lord, even her bones
ached. She fought a wave of fa
tigue as she moved through the ground floor, retrieving her plate, a fork, and a glass of water before she set the alarm and headed upstairs. The spicy smell of the food was making her stomach growl. Between her flight schedule and her nerves, she hadn't been able to eat a real meal all day. She was feeling the effects of the two bags of pretzels and the Bloody Mary mix she'd consumed on the plane.

She reached her sister's room and knocked gently with the rim of the glass. "Rach—can I come in?"

"Yes." Terse, but not angry. A good sign.

Abby shoved the door open with her foot, but stayed just outside the room. Rachel sat at her desk, one hand on an open textbook while the other drummed a pencil on the edge. "Did you have a good day?" The computer monitor on the desk displayed a spiraling wave of color. Behind
the screen saver, Abby suspected she'd find an open Internet connection with four to five instant messages waiting for her sister's attention.

Rachel looked up from the book. "It was okay."

"Mine was long."

"What time did you leave this morning?"

"Four-thirty."

"I was surprised when I got up and found LuAnne here."

"I told you I had an early flight."

"I could have gotten myself ready for school."

"I didn't think you should have to."

Rachel's jaw squared. The stubborn expression looked just like their father's. "I don't need a baby-sitter."

"LuAnne is not a baby-sitter."

"What would you call it?"

"She's just here in case you need something."

"I can take care of myself."

Abby drew a calming breath. "I know."

"Then why can't I stay here alone?"

"We've been over this, Rachel. I'm not comfortable with that."

"So? It's not like you're my mother."

Abby let the barb pass. "I'm sorry it makes you so angry but I'm not ready to leave you here by yourself."

"I'm old enough to
be
a baby-sitter, you know. Lots of my friends do it."

Lots of her friends, Abby thought, hadn't seen
their parents being murdered whil
e they them
selves were hiding inside a closet. "I'm sure they do."

"But I can't."

"Not right now."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not ready for that."

"But I am," Rachel insisted.

Abby studied her sister's face in the glow of the desk lamp. She'd inherited their father's coloring and build. Her hair was a dark, rich brown. Her eyes, wide and expressive, could easily have been his mirror image. The familiar ache started in the center of Abby's chest and spread outward. "Look, I'm willing to talk to you about it. Just not tonight. I'm tired. And it's late. I've got to go to bed, and so do you."

"It's only eleven. Why do I—"

"Rachel." Abby's voice held a warning note.

Her sister knew better than to push her luck. She slammed the textbook shut. "Oh, all right. God, Abby, you're so uptight."

Probably. "Right now, I'm just beat." She held up the plate. "And thanks, by the way, for dinner. I haven't had anything but airplane food today."

Rachel's gaze flicked to the plate. "It's chicken Tetrazzini. It's pretty good, but I think I used too much sage."

"LuAnne said it's fabulous."

"LuAnne likes to exaggerate." Rachel jerked
back the covers on her bed and slipped between them.

Abby felt a slight pang. The days of tucking her sister into bed had sped by. She hadn't relished them like she should have. "Good night, Rachel. I love you."

Rachel mumbled something indecipherable beneath her breath. Abby hesitated for a moment longer, then flicked the light switch by the door. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay."

She closed the door of her sister's room and leaned back against the wall. A wave of longing overcame her as she thought about her parents. How she wished she could talk to her mother, ask her advice. Rachel's need for independence was growing, and Abby found it increasingly difficult to let go of her own fears and give her sister more freedom. The older Rachel got, the less able Abby was to provide the necessary parental care. This particular argument, about Rachel's desire to stay home by herself, had been brewing for weeks. And Abby was no closer to making a decision.

Incredibly weary, she made her way down the hall to her room. She ate what she could of her meal, went through the mechanical motions of getting ready for bed. By the time she crawled under the sheets, fatigue was squeezing her like a vise. She replayed her conversation with Rachel
in her head, searching for clues, probing for anything that might make this transition easier.

But the voice she heard as sleep drew nearer wasn't her sister'
s. It was deep and husky and se
ductive, and it said,
I'm doing this for you.

two

"
A
bby?" Marcie Edwards, Abby's assistant, was watching her curiously two days later. "Earth to Abby."

Abby blinked. "Oh, sorry, Marcie. I guess I'm a little distracted."

"You could say that." Marcie leaned back in the chair across from Abby's desk and regarded her with a frank stare. "In fact, you could say you haven't exactly been yourself since you got back from San Francisco."

Abby winced. That much was true. Since her head-on collision with Ethan Maddux, she'd been hard-pressed to concentrate on business. "You noticed."

Marcie's eyebrows lifted. "Yesterday you asked me four times if I'd sent the contract to the caterer."

Abby dropped her pencil onto her desk with a sigh. "You ought to fire me."

That won a slight laugh. "As if. This place would go to hell in a handbasket without you."

"If I don't get my act together, it might anyway." Abby pushed aside the stack of papers on her desk. Among them were several pink message slips from Harrison's relatives. News was beginning to spread about the possible takeover of MDS, and the Montgomery clan was starting to panic. Abby reminded herself that while she could offer them empathy, how Harrison ran his family and, to a certain extent, how he ran his company were none of her business. "All right," she told Marcie, "what have we got on the schedule today?"

"You're supposed to confirm the hotel contract. I think you should call Hector and talk to him about the setup. There's some confusion about the union contract and how it's affected by the caterers needing to do their own table prep."

Abby nodded. "Okay. Have we got a report from Drysdale about the response rate?"

Marcie thumbed through the folder in her lap. She produced the report and passed it to Abby. "We have four hundred and fifty confirmed so far. We're way ahead of last year."

Abby scanned the report. As usual, their greatest response was coming from their $1,000-plus donors. "We've only sold three corporate tables."

"Roland is making phone calls this week. That'll
pick up once he contacts everyone personally."

"Good." Abby looked up from the report. "Is this my copy?"

"Yep."

She found the appropriate file folder in her drawer and inserted the report. "I've got to make some time this afternoon to do some calling myself. I talked to the administrator at Leland Ridge last night, and she's getting hassled by the VA hospital in Champlain."

"Big surprise there." Marcie rolled her eyes. "We've had problems with them since that new guy took over."

"I may need to go out there for a visit. We'll see."

"If you ask me, I think you should just be able to offer a gentle reminder that we give them over a million a year to make sure certain needs get met."

"Some people don't respond to subtlety." People like Ethan Maddux, Abby thought wryly. She glanced momentarily at the picture of her parents on her desk. "Dad used to say, 'Some people are determined not to give you the option of using diplomacy. They want you to go straight to artillery.' "

"Well, that definitely seems to be the case here. I don't know what else we're supposed to do, short of threatening him."

"Get me his number, and I'll set up a site visit." Abby leaned back in her chair. "Anything else?"

"One other thing." Marcie frowned. "Sorry, but I tried to prevent this."

"What?"

"Deirdre Montgomery is coming in today. She has some ideas she wants to discuss with you about the fund-raiser."

Abby groaned. As a favor to Harrison, she had agreed to let his sister Deirdre serve as honorary chairperson of the event. Coming off her fifth divorce, Deirdre was feeling a little fragile, Harrison had told Abby. The title, he'd said, would give her self-esteem a boost.

As far as Abby and her staff could tell, Deirdre's self-esteem had gone from launch pad to orbit in record time. Within days of receiving the invitation, Deirdre had descended on the office with a list of demands—including an office where she could conduct her "duties." Abby had taken the matter to Harrison, who had asked her to be indulgent. Against her better judgment, she'd succumbed.

Though Abby generally liked Harrison's sister, she realized that the power had gone to the woman's head. As Deirdre's demands had escalated, Abby's patience had waned. "What does she want this time?" Abby asked.

"Something about the entertainment. I don't know. I try not to listen too closely to what she's saying."

"Me either," Abby concurred. "When is she coming in?"

"At
one."

"All right. Call upstairs and ask Ellen if Harrison is free to join us for the meeting."

Marcie snorted. "Like he would. He doesn't want to be around the woman either."

"Yeah, well, he created this problem for us, so he can solve it."

T
hree hours later, Abby frowned at Deirdre Montgomery and made a mental note to wring Harrison's neck at the first opportunity. "I understand why you'd see it that way, Deirdre, but thi
s is
—"

"Abigail." Deirdre leaned forward in her chair and pinned Abby with a hard stare. "Am I or am I not the chairperson for this event?"

"I've explained that," Abby said, trying not to grit her teeth. Ethan Maddux might not appreciate hearing it, but he definitely had some personality traits he'd inherited from the Montgomerys. His aunt was just as irascible and inflexible as he was.

Deirdre pursed her lips. "And I explained to Harrison that I was not going to take this job if it was merely some title with no responsibilities. For God's sake, Abby, my name is on this foundation. Surely you can see why I have an interest in making this event spectacular."

Turning it into a spectacle was more like it, Abby thought irritably. "I'm not arguing that," she said, keeping her voice calm. "I'm just saying
that I'm not sure you understand the solemnity of the occasion. We've always—"

"I know, I know. This is the way you've always done it. I just want to bring a little spice into the thing."

"Donors who are paying fifteen thousand dollars for corporate tables expect a certain level
o
f…
dignity."

Deirdre frowned. "If I were forking over fifteen thousand—"

"It would be fifteen thousand of my money," Harrison said smoothly from the doorway. "Hello, Deirdre."

His sister started to stand, but Harrison held out his hand. "Don't get up." He glanced at Abby. "Feeling any ill effects from your trip to San Francisco?"

Abby studied him through narrowed eyes. This was the second time since her return from California that Harrison had mentioned the trip. As far as everyone on her staff knew, she'd made the trip to meet with two of the foundation's high-dollar donors—which she had, the same day she'd met with Ethan. Harrison's interest in the trip wasn't necessarily unusual. He generally took a personal interest in the workings of the foundation. But there was something she couldn't quite decipher in his usually benign expression—something that told her he at least suspected she was hiding something from him.

"Not too bad," she said carefully.

He looked at her for a few seconds, then took the seat next to Deirdre. "Now," he said smoothly, his implacable
façade
back in place, "let's talk about this business with the banquet."

E
than settled into his first-class seat on the return flight from Prague. Irritated and exhausted after a grueling four days, he admitted that he had no one to blame but him
self for the extent of his frus
tration. He'd been unable to take his mind off Abby Lee. That wasn't like him. He never had trouble focusing, but since his arrival in Prague, he'd found himself plagued with memories of their brief encounter. Mostly he thought about the way she'd looked at him when he'd told her about his past with Harrison. She'd looked simultaneously irritated and empathetic. He wasn't sure how she'd managed that, but he hadn't been able to shake the image.

The e-mail indicator beeped on his laptop, attracting his attention. He accessed the waiting message with a few clicks. At the name on the sender ID, his eyebrows lifted. While in Prague, he'd contacted an investigator friend in Chicago, asking for some general background information about Abby and how she'd come to work for Harrison. Ethan had made a habit in past years of keeping a more-than-casual interest in his father's business and personal lives. Though Abby and
her work with the Montgomery Foundation, were not entirely unfamiliar to him, he'd wanted to know more. He hadn't expected an answer this quickly. He opened the message.

Ethan,

Generally as you suspected. Went to work for Montgomery ten years ago. Promoted to Foundation Director two years later. Sister Rachel is thirteen. Parents ran a restaurant on the waterfront. Died in still unsolved murder. Harrison hired her two weeks later. I'll brief you when I have more.

Ethan frowned and reread the message. It was scant, not at all like Charlie's usual reports. A basic, bare-bones kind of report with one tantalizing piece of information that piqued his interest. Unsolved murder. Harrison hired her two weeks later. The news was simultaneously perplexing and intriguing. He sent a response to Charlie, issuing a couple of specific instructions, then switched off the laptop with a shake of his head.

He was too damned tired, he told himself, to let Abby Lee keep him from getting a well-deserved rest as his plane crossed the Atlantic Ocean. He did manage to fall asleep quickly. But he dreamed of Abby's hair and a pencil with a chewed eraser.