FOR THE CHILDREN Page 3

  He turned to ask her where she wanted him to sleep when something thumped against the glass in front of him. He flashed into action, automatically drawing his gun as he stared at the blackness on the other side of the window. Nothing moved in the night darkness. He couldn't see a thing.

  Apparently Abby did, because she walked over to the door and began to unlock it. Before she could open the door, he was beside her, his hand on her wrist.

  She looked at him, surprised. "What's wrong?"

  The skin of her arm was cool and smooth, sliding under his fingers like the glassy surface of a lake in the summer. He didn't want to notice how she felt, but his hand tightened as he drew her away from the door.

  "Don't open the door until you know what's out there. For God's sake, it's late at night and someone tried to break into your house earlier," he said harshly. "What are you thinking of?"

  "I know what's out there," she murmured. She didn't seem to be able to stop staring at him, and he realized he was still holding her arm. Awareness of him slowly flickered to life in her eyes, then she hastily looked away. Pulling gently away from him, she backed up a step and turned around, reaching for the door handle. "It's only Angus."

  "Who the hell is Angus?" His voice was grim, he realized, and laced with anger at himself. He had no business noticing anything about this woman that wasn't relevant to his job.

  She slid open the glass door, and an enormous black animal strolled in. When he rubbed his huge head against her knee, Damien realized it was a cat, the biggest damn cat he'd ever seen.

  "My God. What is that, a cat or a mountain lion?"

  Bending over to scratch the animal's head, she looked up and gave him a quick smile. "He's just an alley cat. I think."

  The cat purred so loudly that Damien could almost feel the floor rumbling under his feet. Suddenly Angus jumped up on one of the kitchen chairs and sat down, watching him with an unnerving, unblinking yellow stare. Damien noticed that half of one of his ears was missing and there was a huge bald spot on the side of his neck.

  "It looks like he's had a rough life," he said, watching the way Abby's hand seemed to hover over the cat's head. It looked as if she was shielding the cat from his criticism.

  "I suspect he has," she agreed, petting Angus again. "He showed up at the patio door one day, thumping to get in like he did just now. He sauntered in like he belonged here, and the rest is history."

  "Do you take in strays often?"

  She straightened. "Only when they need me." Her voice softened, and as she ran her hand down the animal's back, he arched up to meet her. Then he jumped off the chair and wandered off.

  "Any other animals out there you're expecting tonight?" he asked, nodding toward the darkness.

  "No, just Angus." She turned around and locked the door, then looked at him again with what almost seemed like nervousness. "I have a spare bedroom, if you want to sleep there."

  "I'd rather stay down here. It'll be easier to hear anything unusual."

  Licking her lips, she stared at him for a moment. She was trying desperately to hide her fear, and he wondered uneasily why it was so easy for him to see her vulnerability. "The police are out in front, aren't they?"

  "They're supposed to be."

  "So why would you think something is going to happen tonight?"

  "I don't." He kept his voice patient. "But I'm not about to take any chances. I'll stay down here."

  "All right. I'll get you a pillow and some blankets." She turned and walked upstairs, returning in a few minutes with a stack of linens. Automatically checking the doors to make sure they were locked, she paused in the kitchen doorway. "We'll talk in the morning," she said, then disappeared. A moment later he heard a door closing softly above him.

  He rechecked all the doors, then went down to the basement and covered the broken window with some pieces of wood he found stacked in a corner. Once upstairs again, he spread out the sheets and blanket on the couch, turned off the lights and lay down.

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he listened to the night sounds. In order to hear any movement outside, he'd left a window open. The quiet of the desert drifted in, the rasp of an insect loud in the silence.

  Inside the house was another matter. A sliver of yellow light shone from upstairs. He could hear Abby moving around, could hear the rustle of bed linens being drawn back. Finally the light disappeared and the noises stopped. He heard the door open a crack, and he heard her walk across the floor again.

  She wanted to hear her nieces if they woke again, he realized. Staring at the stairs, he punched his pillow and twisted on the narrow couch. As he strained to listen, he imagined the faint rustling that drifted down to him was the sound of her turning over in her bed. When he realized his whole body was tense from the effort of trying to hear her, he excoriated himself with a vicious oath and rolled over, shutting his eyes. But it was a long time before he slept.

  * * *

  Abby opened her eyes the next morning and stretched, smiling lazily at the ribbon of sunlight streaming in through the crack in the curtain. Rolling over, she bumped into something soft and warm lying cuddled next to her.

  She rose up onto one elbow and brushed the tangled blond hair out of the girl's face. Maggie. Lowering herself back down onto the mattress, she sighed as she pulled the sleeping child closer. She should have known. Maggie was a restless sleeper anyway, and after the nightmare she'd had the evening before, it wasn't surprising that she'd wandered into Abby's bed during the night.

  Her arm tightened around Maggie as she remembered the dark, quiet man who slept on her couch downstairs. What should she do? All her instincts screamed at her to take the girls and run, as fast and as far as possible.

  Where would they go? According to Damien, men were looking for them. Men who wanted to hurt Maggie and Casey. Could she go far enough to get away from them?

  Maybe he's right, a small voice murmured inside her. Maybe the twins did see something horrible happen, and they needed to talk about it. Maybe the best way she could protect them was to do what Damien wanted and encourage them to talk about what they'd seen.

  An unfamiliar hopeless, frightened feeling surrounded her and settled on her chest, weighing down on her relentlessly. She was a teacher, used to being in charge in her classroom, just as she was in charge of her life. Where Maggie and Casey were concerned, she wasn't about to relinquish her authority to anyone else, even the FBI. Once she let the authorities intervene, would she set in motion a series of irrevocable events? Would the FBI try to take over, try to take charge of Maggie and Casey, determined to solve this case regardless of the trauma to the two children involved?

  She drew a deep, trembling breath. In Janna's absence, she was responsible for the girls. Would she be able to protect them if she gave in to Damien Kane and allowed his psychologist to interview them?

  Leaning over to kiss the still-sleeping Maggie, she slid out of bed and padded into the bathroom. She turned on the water and watched it running, strong and cold, over her hands. She had to think rationally, she told herself desperately. What she wanted might not necessarily be what was best for the girls. Whatever else happened, she had to do the right thing for her innocent nieces.

  * * *

  Damien sat at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper he'd found on the driveway. Although it was early, the sky was a brilliant blue, and sunlight streamed through the glass doors in front of him. The huge black cat sat on one of the chairs across from him, lazily cleaning himself and keeping a watchful eye on the stranger in the house.

  Abby had woken up a few minutes ago. Somehow he'd heard the tiny squeak of the bed springs when she'd turned over, and now all he could think about was what she would look like, tousled and warm from sleep.

  Slamming the newspaper to the table, he shoved the chair backward and went over to stand by the patio door. One complication he sure as hell didn't need was to be attracted to the woman whose nieces might hold the key to Joey's killing. And the
very last thing he wanted was anything to do with a woman like Abby Markham.

  Abby wasn't a 'slam, bam, thank you Ma'am' type of woman. Not that he'd had much interest in them, either, the past three years, he thought sourly. But a woman like Abby threatened the fragile world he'd built for himself, slowly and painfully, since the accident. A woman like Abby could rip away all his defenses. She could uncover all the pain he'd so carefully hidden, make him remember it all over again. Abby Markham could make him want all those things he'd vowed he'd never want again.

  And what made her even more intriguing were the secrets he sensed behind her hazel eyes. Painful memories lingered there, memories she tried very hard to keep hidden. Abby Markham was dangerous to him, dangerous to his peace of mind. Though it was a fragile peace, he couldn't allow her to disrupt it.

  Her footsteps echoed over his head, and a few seconds later he heard the water running upstairs. He deliberately blocked his mental picture of her dressed for bed, concentrating on his job instead.

  What would she say this morning? Would she have come to her senses, realized that it was in her nieces' best interest to find out what they saw? Or would that overprotectiveness he'd seen the night before have taken over, convincing her to run with her nieces, making him follow her to God knew where?

  Something shook the floor beside him, and he looked down to see the black cat, Angus, standing next to him, looking expectantly at the door.

  "Forget it, buddy," he said to the animal. "I'm not opening that door for you."

  Looking offended, the cat sat down and stared at him. Hell, Damien thought with a ripple of amusement, Angus was the right name for him. He was just about half as big as a cow.

  Just as he sat back down and picked up his newspaper, he heard her on the stairs. His hands tightened on the newspaper, then he deliberately relaxed them and set the paper down.

  "Good morning, Mr. Kane." She stood in the kitchen door, almost as if she was reluctant to come any closer. Her voice was low-pitched this morning, and sounded strained.

  "Good morning." He forced himself to look over at her. "Any problems during the night?"

  She shook her head, and her chestnut hair rippled over her shoulders. "I didn't hear a thing." It looked like her mouth trembled for a moment, then she looked away. "Maggie came to sleep with me again. But I suppose that isn't so unusual, after a nightmare like she had."

  "Any more nightmares?"

  She shook her head again. "No." Advancing into the kitchen, she avoided his gaze as she walked over to the counter. "Would you like some coffee?"

  "Thank you."

  She busied herself with measuring water and coffee, keeping her back turned to him. He found himself wondering what color her eyes were this morning, whether the sunlight would turn her hair to gold and what she would look like if she really smiled.

  He tried to force his gaze from her back to his newspaper, but he couldn't look away. As if she could sense his eyes on her, the atmosphere in the kitchen thickened, tension radiating from her rigid back and seeping into the air.

  When the coffee started to spill into the glass carafe, hitting the hot glass with a sizzle, she slowly turned around. He looked away then, but not before he'd seen the awareness, and the fear, in her eyes.

  "Was everything calm down here last night?" She sounded breathless, as if she'd been running.

  "Fine," he answered shortly. He had lain on her couch, sleepless, until the moon had set and the night had become utterly black. He wanted nothing to do with this woman or these children, and he cursed the fate that had involved them in Joey's death. He wanted to shout it at her, to tell her that he couldn't bear to be around her or her nieces. Instead, he forced himself to look at her again, to concentrate on the business between them.

  "Have you made any decisions? Are you going to let your nieces talk to the psychologist?" He made himself watch her, waiting for her answer.

  "I don't want to do it," she said, an edge of desperation in her voice. "I'm afraid that they'll be hurt, or scared." She looked away and opened a cupboard, taking down two mugs. As he watched her, he saw her draw a ragged breath. "But you may be right. And I can't take the chance that you're not."

  She turned to face him again, holding the two mugs in front of her like a shield. "So we'll go today, this morning. Your psychologist can talk to them, try to find out what they know. But I insist on being there."

  "Of course, Ms. Markham." Thank God, he thought fervently. By this afternoon it would be over. He'd have the information he needed, and Abby Markham and her disturbing presence would be out of his life. Not to mention the two girls who made his heart contract with pain every time he looked at them.

  He stood up. "If I could use the phone, I'll arrange it right now."

  "It's over there."

  He could feel her eyes on him as he walked across the kitchen. And when she looked away, he knew the instant she did. Disturbed and angry with himself, he punched in the numbers with more force than necessary. Holding tightly to the receiver, he stared out the window at the black-and-white squad car parked by the curb.

  "Good morning, Federal Bureau of Investigation," the voice said pleasantly in his ear, and he thankfully reined in his wandering thoughts.

  "This is Kane. Put me through to Frank."

  A few minutes later he hung up the phone and turned back to Abby. "It's all set. We have a branch office about a half hour from here, and I've set up an appointment for ten o'clock. I'll drive you and the girls there."

  "Thank you," she murmured. She couldn't keep the fear out of her voice, although he was sure she'd tried.

  The need to comfort her rose in him, and he spoke without thinking. "It'll be all right. I've asked for Mary Williams. She's the best there is when it comes to interviewing children. The last thing she'd do is allow them to become upset."

  Abby looked over at him, her eyes softening. "Thank you. It was kind of you to go to the trouble."

  He shrugged, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black jeans, uncomfortable with her gaze on him. "I want the information they might have. It just makes sense to use the person who would be best at getting it."

  She looked at him, the softness disappearing from around her eyes. "I see. Thank you for spelling that out for me. For a moment there I was beginning to think you might be human, after all." Snapping her mug down onto the counter, she rummaged in a cabinet, keeping her back to him again.

  "Don't make that mistake again, Ms. Markham. You were right the first time." He swallowed the rest of the hot coffee in one gulp, then set his mug carefully on the counter. "I'm going to tell the officers in the squad car what the plan is for today. There's no reason for them to hang around."

  * * *

  Two hours later Abby turned around to look at Maggie and Casey in the back seat of Damien's car. They'd each brought a doll, and they were so busy with one of their pretend games that they barely noticed they weren't in her car. Anxiety clawed at her. Had she made the right decision? Was this what was best for the girls?

  "Don't second-guess yourself."

  The words, and Damien's soft voice, were totally unexpected. She swiveled to look at him. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

  His mouth curved up in a half smile. It was gone in an instant, but she blinked at the momentary transformation. For that brief second, he had looked not only approachable but downright friendly.

  "You don't have what I would call a poker face, Ms. Markham. It wasn't too hard to figure out that you were wondering if you and your nieces could jump out of the car at the next stoplight."

  Glancing at the back seat again, she saw that the twins were still engrossed in their game. "You're right," she admitted. "I'm having a hard time with this. If this makes them more scared or upset, I'll never forgive myself."

  He looked over at her, surprise in his eyes. "Isn't that a bit extreme, Ms. Markham? You can't protect them from every blow life will dish out to them."

  "I can try," she a
nswered fiercely. "At least while they're with me."

  After a long time he said, "You may not be doing them any favors. You know that, don't you?"

  "They're only five years old, Mr. Kane. I don't think they have to face harsh reality yet."

  He took his eyes off the road and looked over at her for a moment. "How old were you when you faced harsh reality, Ms. Markham?"

  He knew, she thought, horror tightening like a fist in her chest. She was so shocked that she could only stare at him, feeling the fear and shame gnaw a hole in her middle.

  "What do you mean?" she finally managed to whisper. He shrugged, as if revelations like these were casual, everyday occurrences for him. "It's pretty obvious that something must have happened to you at some point. Talking to Mary Williams this morning isn't going to be that bad. I've already told you that she's great with kids and she'll make sure they don't get upset. So why are you so worried, unless something happened to you sometime in the past?"

  He didn't know. She slumped back into the seat. He could suspect all he liked, but he didn't know for sure. And he never would know, she vowed. Only she and Janna knew what had happened that day, and neither of them was going to tell.

  "Don't you think it's just remotely possible that I care about my nieces and don't want them to get hurt?" She tried to lift her chin and stare him down, but wasn't able to do it. After glancing his way, she looked out the window.

  "I believe you do care about your nieces and want what's best for them. If you didn't, I know you wouldn't have agreed to let them talk to Mary this morning," he said bluntly.

  She could feel his eyes on her, but she couldn't turn her head to look back at him.

  "It's all right to have secrets," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "We all do. I'm not asking you to bare your soul-I'm just trying to tell you that I know how hard this is for you and I appreciate what you're doing."