Tess.
What Linnea did know was that she was going to argue if he tried to reclaim Hanna too soon. There was no way he could give a child the reassurance and routine and gentle affection she needed right now. Especially when he was caught up in the fight against this charge. No, she would do more than argue, Linnea decided despite some inner quavering; she would simply refuse to let him take his daughter.
After coming home from walking the pair of Irish setters, she saw the red light on her answering machine blinking. People seeking a petsitter didn’t usually call so late in the evening. She sent Hanna to brush her teeth and get ready for bed, in case the message was from Finn or even from her mother, who didn’t always think to watch what she said in case her granddaughter was listening. Not until Linnea heard water running in the bathroom did she push the play button.
The voice was terse and hard. “Matthew Laughlin. I’m in Seattle. I’d like to see Hanna.” Except for the phone number he added on at the end, that was all he said.
Her heart sank. Wasn’t Tess’s brother supposed to be in Saudi Arabia or Dubai or Kuwait or somewhere far away? He was a civil engineer for a major international construction company that built everything from offshore structures to transit facilities and dams. She hadn’t met him more than half a dozen times in all the years since Finn married Tess because he was so rarely in Seattle. He had been present for a few holiday celebrations, but otherwise Finn hadn’t gone out of his way to include his parents and sister at dinner parties when Matthew was in town. Linnea suspected the two men didn’t like each other very well.
She hadn’t liked Matthew Laughlin.
No surprise. He was too much like Finn.
Not angry, necessarily. She sat looking at the phone number she’d written on a notepad, analyzing her reaction to him. No, she’d never heard him raise his voice or even make the kind of slashing gesture Finn used so powerfully to convey his impatience and disdain. Tess’s brother was much more … contained than Finn. Almost, she thought, more unnerving because of the lack of bluster. But, like her brother, when Matthew Laughlin spoke, he expected everyone to listen. She could imagine that he was used to giving orders and being obeyed. Tonight’s message was typical. He probably didn’t even want her to call; it was Hanna he expected to hear from.
And that, she admitted, was another of the reasons she didn’t like him. From the first time he’d set eyes on her, he’d dismissed her. She wasn’t worthy of his time. Linnea doubted they had exchanged ten words with each other. His gaze seemed to skate over her. And, okay, she knew she wasn’t beautiful. But she wasn’t nothing, either, of so little consequence his behavior was acceptable.
It bothered her how well she could picture him. He was nearly as tall as Finn and broader in the shoulders, more powerfully built, as though he did actual physical labor rather than computer-aided design. He wasn’t beautiful like his sister, or like Finn for that matter. Matthew Laughlin’s features were blunt, pure male. He kept his dark hair short, as if he didn’t want to be bothered with it, and his eyes were dark gray, rather like the steel girders on the projects he designed. Whenever she was around, she was painfully aware of him, almost—but not quite—as if she were afraid of him. She could have her back turned and know when he walked into a room. But she wasn’t afraid of him, and she didn’t understand why she reacted to him the way she did. And, no, that wasn’t his fault, but she didn’t have to be fair, did she?
Well, she wasn’t going to let Hanna call him until she knew better what he wanted. Hanna did like him, Linnea knew; his gentleness with her and even with Tess was his most appealing quality in her opinion. She’d seen the way Hanna’s face lit with delight after he murmured in her ear, and how he touched his sister’s arm after Finn had been carelessly cruel. Just a quick grip that turned Tess’s flash of anger into a rueful smile for her brother. Unlike Finn, who went at the world as if he were a bundle of dynamite with a lit fuse, Matthew was quite good at defusing. A couple of times, after seeing his smile or a light, perfectly timed touch, Linnea had had a sharp pang of something uncomfortably like envy even if she didn’t like him.
But she still wasn’t letting him talk to Hanna until she’d heard what he had to say first.
“Aunt Linnie!” her niece called. “I’m ready to be tucked in.”
“Hop into bed,” she called back. “I’ll be right there.”
Taking a deep breath, she picked up the phone and dialed the number he’d given. It rang five times, then went to voice mail.
“Laughlin,” his voice said curtly. “Leave a message.”
“This is Linnea Sorensen returning your call. It’s—” her gaze sought the clock “—eight-ten. I’m tucking Hanna into bed right now, but if you call back in the next few minutes I’ll get her up to talk to you. Otherwise, we won’t be home tomorrow because I have to work. I’ll try you again tomorrow evening.” She hung up quickly, as if he might still pick up. She hoped he didn’t call back tonight, that at least she had a reprieve until tomorrow evening. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing him again, especially under the circumstances.
And she was wary of finding out what kind of relationship he imagined having with Hanna, who hardly knew him given the rarity of his visits. Probably he only wanted to see her a few times while he was in Seattle to bury his sister, after which he’d go back to … wherever it was he’d come from.
What scared Linnea was that … if he disliked Finn as much as she thought he did, and was convinced that Finn actually had killed Tess, how would he feel about Hanna being raised by her father? Linnea knew how she’d feel.
How she did feel.
If Matthew Laughlin was angry enough, would he try to take Hanna?
“Over my dead body,” she whispered, then went to sit at Hanna’s side until the little girl fell asleep.
CHAPTER TWO
“YEAH, THEY FOUGHT,” Matt told Detective Delaney. “Finn is a son of a bitch. I tried to talk my sister out of marrying him. She didn’t listen.”
The two men sat in a small conference room at the police station. Matt reserved final judgment, but his first impression of the investigator was of competence and dispassion, both of which struck him as positives. He was pissed enough himself to keep the pressure on. He needed a smart cop investigating his sister’s death, not one who jumped to conclusions.
Neal Delaney had risen from his desk in the bullpen to meet Matt. He was a big guy, maybe fifty, with steady brown eyes, a firm grip and a tie he’d already tugged loose at ten in the morning.
Matt hadn’t objected when Delaney wanted to start by questioning him. He was happy to tell anyone who would listen what he had thought about his brother-in-law.
“I could never understand how he hid his temper at the law firm,” he admitted. He’d disliked the idea that Finn saved his nasty streak for the people who loved him most.
“I don’t think he did,” Delaney said, then looked sorry he’d opened his mouth.
Matt raised his brows.
After a moment, Delaney shrugged. “The partners are shocked. His secretary isn’t. An intern told me Mr. Sorensen flayed him alive when he made a mistake.”
Being fair stuck in his craw, but Matt finally said, “Not
