investigator.
And she did, telling him about the call from Jane Clark and how excited she’d been, because for the first time since last spring, she hoped there might be a way out of the pit she was in. How frightened she had been at Graden’s benign-sounding threat. How recently this picture had been taken, and how close to home. How she wanted simply to disappear along with her children and her father.
“That part is a good idea,” Micah said, gesturing toward the phone. “Pick up the phone, call your dad, and I can have you on the road before midnight.”
Her expression crumpled even more as her glance strayed to the clock on the stove where the time read that it was a few minutes before ten.
“Rachel?” He wanted to gather her close and stand between her and whatever was hurting her so. He didn’t know how things could get worse, but he was certain they were about to.
She shook her head. “It’s too late.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked. For her to be reluctant to call her dad, no matter how late, didn’t make a bit of sense.
She lifted her chin and looked at him, sighing. “The truth is that my dad and I aren’t talking right now.”
Her completely neutral tone didn’t jibe with the tension radiating from her body as she once again wrapped her arms around herself. Micah was dead sure she had no idea how much she revealed with that protective gesture.
“Are you going to tell me why, or do we get to play twenty questions about this, too?” he asked, sitting down at the kitchen table. He took a sip of tea from his glass.
She turned away from him, but not before he saw a private, hopeful smile dissolve into near tears. A memory manacled him to the chair like a prisoner, and he wondered if she had been grabbed by the same one.
He had been working for her for only a few days when the handyman, Smitty Jones, had dropped a heavy armoire on Micah’s foot. Rachel hadn’t believed his assertion that his injury was nothing more than a bruise and she’d demanded he show her. After he’d put his boot back on, she somehow ended up inviting him to dinner. He wondered now if the invitation had surprised her as much as it had him.
He’d come, sure that he’d find the missing pieces of evidence he needed to prove that she was involved in selling drugs and laundering money. Instead, he’d practiced T-ball with Sarah and built a Lego fort with Andy. Instead, he had cooked dinner side by side with Rachel because it was an excuse to get close to her. And he’d forgotten about the investigation for a few cherished hours. He’d nearly kissed her that night, and as he watched her now, he regretted that he hadn’t, regretted that he’d never have another chance.
He’d been welcome then, trusted then.
Abruptly, he folded his legs under the chair, the present coming back into focus.
“You might as well tell me what’s going on between you and your dad,” Micah said. “You know I’m going to find out anyway.”
Her eyes strayed to the calendar, held to the refrigerator by a couple of magnets. “It wouldn’t do any good to call him tonight, anyway. He won’t be there.”
“Because,” Micah prompted.
Her lips tightened as she glanced at him, then looked away, pacing around the spacious kitchen as she wiped an invisible speck on the counter and moved a canister into position. “Because he goes to see Angela every other week, and he left this morning. He won’t be back until tomorrow evening.”
“Is that the reason you two aren’t talking?” Micah could imagine how that would rankle—having her father remain loyal to the woman who had betrayed her.
“One of several.” She gave her attention to another microscopic speck on the counter.
Micah glanced at the photograph she had left on the table. “But your kids see him.”
“Of course. He’s family.”
“And this is a life-or-death situation, potentially.”
“Thanks for the reassurance.”
Micah stood. “You wanted the truth, Rachel. So whatever your issues with your dad—”
“I’ll handle it,” she said, her tone flat.
“Okay.” Since she was already annoyed, he decided to broach the next sensitive subject. “Until I can get your family to safety, you need to have someone here with you.”
She shook her head.
“This isn’t like last spring,” he said, “when you were suspected of being one of the bad guys. Your safety is paramount. Think about it. Graden keeps raising the stakes, by your own admission. First an e-mail, then an anonymous letter, then a rock through your window and now today’s threat. Keeping you, Sarah and Andy out of harm’s way is just as important to me as—”
“Getting your man?”
The accusation carrying the sting of truth, Micah came to a stop in front of her. “Seeing you reconciled with your dad,” he corrected, taking the washcloth from her and tossing it in the sink. “Seeing you have your dreams for this house come true.”
Her lovely eyes clouded even more, making Micah feel like a heel for having brought that up, remembering how last spring she had begun the application process to create a bed-and-breakfast out of this stately old house.
“Another pipe dream,” she whispered.
“If keeping the house is an issue,” he said, reaching for her hand, “I’ll give you the money.” He hadn’t intended to say that.
“Give?” She stepped away from him. “You or the DEA?”
“This has nothing to do with the investigation.”
“That’s taking guilt a little far, don’t you think? Even for you?”
“Lend, then.” Guilt. She had that nailed. Guilt or not, he’d gladly give her the money. If it chased the shadows from her eyes, it would be worth every cent. “Until you’re back on your feet.”
“No.”
She looked at him then, and once more he found himself drawing comparisons to last spring. Then, her eyes had been filled with delight and contentment. She’d loved her work, her children and the life she had created for herself after her husband had died. Micah didn’t like knowing he was responsible for taking that away. She swallowed, and his gaze was drawn to her pulse fluttering at the base of her neck.
“If you’re back here to pull the rug from under me like you did last spring…” Her gaze searched his while she paused, then she continued in a whisper. “…That would just about kill me.”
Needing to touch her and hoping she wouldn’t slap his hand away, he brushed a tendril of her fine hair away from her face. “I’m here to help you, Rachel. I promise.”
“But you still have to get your man.”
“Yes, I do.” His hand
