Scarlet Falls: Hour of Need Part 4

"Of course." What else was she going to say? It wasn't like she could refuse. d.a.m.n it. She didn't want to be put in the middle of the Peyton family feud. Jobs weren't that plentiful in Scarlet Falls. Between Nan's pension and Ellie's salary, the bills were covered. Rehabbing and selling a house every few years had netted them some savings. When she flipped her current home, there should be enough money to put her daughter through college provided Julia stayed in state. Life might not be exciting, but Ellie would take steady and solid over a thrill. The last time she'd been impulsive, she'd ended up pregnant-and alone.

"The accountant is trying to trace the money trail, but I need to find it first." Roger turned desperate eyes on her. "I need to protect the firm."

Ellie tried to summon some pity, but Roger made it difficult. He was nice enough, but weak, and he'd demonstrated his lack of loyalty by dumping his sweet wife of thirty years for a high-maintenance trophy edition. It was his lifestyle he wanted to protect, not his employees.

"I need you to help me, Ellie."

Exactly what she didn't want to do. But realistically, the old man had already put Ellie solidly on Roger's team. If Roger was out, so was she.

"I'll see what I can find out."

His eyes brightened.

Ellie returned to her desk. Her eyes went to the expense report she'd been preparing, but her mind was stuck on the firm's problems. Lee had taken the case even though he knew it wouldn't be a popular decision with the senior lawyer in the firm. If the police wouldn't prosecute, what made him think he could win? And did either the Hamilton case or the missing money have anything to do with his death?

A rough sound startled Grant awake, the vision still clear in his mind: Lee's face exploding in a red mist. Panting, he swept his gaze around the room. A m.u.f.fled bark made him look over the edge of the mattress. AnnaBelle wagged at him. The mattress s.h.i.+fted as the agile dog jumped up to stand over him in the queen-size bed. "I wish you'd have woken me a couple of minutes earlier."

She stretched out and rested her head on his chest.

His hand swept through the silky, golden fur. "I suppose you need to go out."

AnnaBelle wagged harder, jumped down, and danced on the hardwood. Grant swung his legs over the side. Six a.m. He had hours before the cop was supposed to call. Sleep had been elusive, his mind replaying his kill shot in the ambush over and over every time he dozed off. He had to get his act together before the kids got home.

He stepped into a pair of shorts and tugged a sweats.h.i.+rt over his head, then dug his running shoes from his bag. A run would clear his mind and take the edge off the young dog's energy. "Let's go."

He snapped AnnaBelle's leash on her collar. Outside, the dog peed on the lawn before they set off down the street. Grant kept the pace slow, unsure of the dog's fitness, but the retriever had no trouble keeping up. Forty minutes later, they returned to the house. Grant showered, dressed, and called a locksmith.

His phone vibrated and displayed a message from his sister. Be home tomorrow afternoon. The second buzz was Detective McNamara letting him know the kids would be home in two hours. Still nothing from Mac. Grant paced. Five miles wasn't enough to burn off his tension.

He had two hours, more than enough time to go see his father. No excuses.

"Be good," he said to the dog, flat out and sound asleep on the wood floor.

Five miles of rural highway took Grant to the nursing home parking lot. Walking through the sliding gla.s.s doors, he unzipped his jacket and stopped at the reception desk in the lobby.

A gray-haired woman in bright pink scrubs looked up from a laptop. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Alexander Barrett," he said.

"The Colonel is in room fifty-two." Smiling, she wrote a number on a cardboard pa.s.s and handed it to him. She pointed over his shoulder. "Make a left at the end of the hallway."

Grant followed her directions. He pa.s.sed a small cafeteria where ambulatory residents were eating breakfast. Wheelchairs were tucked under tables, walkers parked next to chairs. The scents of syrup and bacon mingled with disinfectant. Despite the attempt to make the atmosphere cheerful, there was no disguising the nature of the inst.i.tution. Considering the state of most of the residents, it had broken Grant's heart when they'd moved Dad here two years ago.

He turned into his father's room. His dad had deteriorated since spring. His arms had withered, and his skin had taken on a yellowish hue. The Colonel's eyes were closed and his chest labored with heavy breaths. Oxygen tubes snaked from his nostrils around his ears. An IV line trailed from his wrist to a trio of bags hanging from a stand. In 1991, a convoy bombing during Operation Desert Storm had paralyzed the Colonel from the waist down, but the determined soldier hadn't allowed his injury to hold him back. He'd done as many normal things as possible, including custom-rigging an ATV so he could take his boys out in the woods. He'd lived in his modified home until dementia robbed him of his remaining strength and dignity, the ultimate insult for a brave man who'd fought as hard as the Colonel.

Grant paused to read the medicine labels: the usual concoction of fluids, antibiotics, and steroids. The Colonel's white hair was clean and combed, and the bed linens appeared fresh. A biography of General Braxton Bragg lay open on the bed tray. Someone had been reading to him. Grant and Hannah spent a hefty sum of money each month to supplement the Colonel's benefits and ensure he received excellent medical care. It was all he could do from the other side of the globe, but with Lee handling the day-to-day details, Grant and Hannah shouldered the financial burden.

"Hi, Dad." He pulled a chair up to the bed and touched his father's forearm.

The Colonel's clouded eyes, once a bright and piercing blue, blinked vaguely on Grant. "Who are you?"

"It's Grant. Your son. I'm home on leave."

"Grant. General Grant?" Confusion creased his features.

Only the Colonel would remember the historical figure he'd named his firstborn after and not his actual firstborn.

"Not yet, Dad, but I'll get there," Grant promised.

"I don't have a son." Agitation sharpened his father's tone. "Who are you? Are you trying to rob me?"

"No, sir." Grant stood. The ache in his chest expanded. "I was just leaving."

Once Dad's paranoia got rolling, it would take the nurses hours to calm him. Better to leave and try again another day. Besides, there was no point telling him about Lee when he didn't recall Lee existed. Maybe the Colonel's memory loss was a blessing today. His son's death would have broken him if he were whole.

Grant found his dad's nurse at the station around the corner and let her know what happened. She promised to check on him. Grant got back into the rental car and glanced at the dashboard clock. Thanks to his abbreviated visit, he had time for one more stop, the law offices of Peyton, Peyton, and Griffin. Anything to avoid going back to Lee's empty house.

His brother had worked in an established law firm that occupied a converted stately three-story home on First Street. Miles of white trim set off pale yellow clapboards. Grant parked in the rear lot and followed the paver path alongside the building to the front door. He stepped into a polished foyer turned into a lobby. In the center, behind an antique desk, sat Lee's pretty neighbor, Ellie. Gone were the ripped jeans and stained T-s.h.i.+rt, the wallboard dust and paint smears. Not that construction-worker Ellie wasn't hot, but this . . . this feminine version reminded him too much of the Ellie from last spring-the Ellie in that sundress.

"Grant." She rose, rounded the desk, and held out her hand. A pale blue blouse and slim gray skirt hugged her curvy body to just above her knees. Below the hem, her shapely legs ended in low-heeled pumps. Her hair was coiled in a neat bun at her nape. She wore minimal makeup. The effect was wholesome, natural, and demure.

Grant ignored the pleasure that lightened his chest. But d.a.m.n, that smile. It brightened everything that had gone bleak inside of him at the nursing home.

"Hi, Ellie." He took her hand. Her skin was soft and smooth in his rough palm.

"What can I do for you?"

The erotic image that popped into Grant's head was both unexpected and inappropriate. He should be ashamed, but my G.o.d- d.a.m.n sundress.

He released her hand. "Actually, I was hoping I could talk to Lee's boss. We've been playing phone tag."

"Let me see if he's free to speak with you." She went back to her desk and picked up the phone.

Grant gave her s.p.a.ce. He strolled to the other side of the lobby and checked out the portraits of the senior partners hanging on the wall. Was being old and unhappy required of a senior law partner? Who wanted to look at a bunch of crabby old men when he could stare at Ellie?

"He'll see you now." She crossed the lobby, her heels silent on the blue carpet. She opened a door and stood aside.

"Major Barrett, come in." Roger Peyton Jr. emerged from behind his desk to shake Grant's hand.

"Mr. Peyton." Scotch fumes. .h.i.t Grant's nostrils.

"Call me Roger, please. Mr. Peyton is my father. Would you like coffee?"

"No, but thank you. I just came to collect Lee's things. I have to get back. There are so many details to address. I'm sure you understand."

"Of course," Roger said. "Please accept my condolences. Such a tragic event. We'll certainly miss your brother here at the firm."

Grant breathed though the stab of pain. No matter how many people offered their sympathy, he couldn't wrap his mind around Lee's death.

Roger appeared to sense his discomfort. "If I can be of any a.s.sistance, legal or otherwise, please don't hesitate to call."

"Thank you."

Grant sidestepped toward the exit. "I don't mean to rush, but I have to be back at the house soon."

Roger ushered him to the door. He pasted a trying-too-hard-to-be-casual smile on his face. "I believe your brother had taken some client information home. If you find any of the firm's property, would you please return it? Confidentiality is a very serious issue." The man's thin lips flattened and his eyes darkened.

"I'll be going through my brother's office over the next few days. If I find anything that belongs to the firm, you'll be the first to hear."

"Thank you." The anxiety that simmered under the alcohol-induced glaze in Roger's eyes seemed like more than confidentiality.

As he exited Roger's office, Grant made a mental note to check out Lee's boss. Did whatever was wrong with the firm have anything to do with his brother's death?

Chapter Seven.

Ellie felt Grant's gaze hot on her back as she led him to Lee's medium-size office down the hall.

She flipped the light switch on the wall. Fluorescent lights overhead flickered, then illuminated. Two copier paper boxes sat on top of an empty desk.

Grant scanned the s.p.a.ce. His gaze settled on the boxes. "He was here for seven years. That's all that was his?"

"He didn't keep many personal items here. Mostly photos." Ellie stood aside. Grant always seemed too close. Or maybe she was just too aware of him.

He lifted one of the lids, pulled out his brother's nameplate, and ran his forefinger over the name LEE BARRETT engraved into the bra.s.s.

"Were you and your brother named after Generals Lee and Grant?" she asked.

"We were." He sighed, his chest deflating. "It wasn't so bad for us. My youngest brother, McClellan, got the worst of it. We nicknamed him Mac out of pity. My father is a Civil War buff."

His gaze lifted from the nameplate to study her face. Heat rose into her cheeks at the scrutiny, but she didn't look away. Grant's directness was both refres.h.i.+ng and disconcerting.

"Oh, excuse me." A masculine voice startled Ellie.

She whirled. The other a.s.sociate, Frank Menendez, stood in the doorway. The box in his arms made it painfully clear he was moving into Lee's office.

Ellie recovered her composure. d.a.m.n Frank. The seat of Lee's chair had barely cooled.

Lured from a law partners.h.i.+p in Albany, Frank had been with the firm for less than a year. He had been Lee's compet.i.tion for the partners.h.i.+p. Hired by Roger Peyton Sr., Frank played for the opposing team. Ellie tried not to hold it against him. The family rift affected most of the firm's employees. It was nearly impossible to avoid being claimed by one side or the other.

She motioned between them. "Major Grant Barrett. Frank Menendez."

Frank set his box down on the credenza behind the desk. "Sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." Grant shook his hand. From the sad drift of his gaze, he was aware that Frank was moving into his brother's office.

Frank s.h.i.+fted his weight in the awkward moment of silence that followed. He nodded to the stack of files on the credenza. "I'll bring these out to you, Ellie."

"All right." Suspicion bloomed in Ellie's mind. Frank wasn't ordinarily helpful. What was he up to?

"I need to get going." Grant picked up the boxes.

"I'll show you out." She escorted him to the lobby without any more conversation. She pushed the front door and went onto the porch to hold it open for him. "I'm sorry about Frank."

"Nothing to be sorry about." The stoic gaze he turned on her made her eyes tear. "Thank you for everything."

d.a.m.n.

"Good-bye." She s.h.i.+vered, the cold blowing right through her thin silk blouse.

"I didn't mean to make you cry," he said.

"It's just the wind." She blinked the mistiness from her eyes.

He leaned closer. Ellie caught a whiff of a mild aftershave, a woodsy scent that reminded her of warm spring days. His leather jacket was open. The V neck exposed the masculine column of his throat. What would that solid body feel like under her palms?

"I'd like to talk to you later. I have a few questions." His gaze darted back through the doorway to the law firm lobby, and Ellie knew that his questions would be about the missing case files and Frank Menendez, and that she wouldn't be able to answer them.

Grant Barrett, and his soldiering-on-through-his-grief fort.i.tude, awakened emotions inside her: respect, empathy, and an inexplicable desire to rest her head on his chest while he wrapped those strong arms around her. What would it feel like to have someone to share life's burdens? None of which would excuse talking about the firm's private business. She was contractually bound to maintain client confidentiality. She needed this job, and he was only here temporarily. She had no future with a man who would leave her. Been there, done that.

But none of those reasons stopped her lips from blabbing, "All right."

It was a good opportunity to see if the Hamilton file was in Lee's home office, as Roger had requested. Ha. Like that was why she'd agreed. Mentally, she rolled her eyes at her own ridiculousness. But while she was in Lee's house, l.u.s.ting over his brother, she would keep her eyes open for the Hamilton file. The children would be home then, and Ellie needed to see how they were faring, especially Carson. She could still picture the utter despair in his eyes. Regardless of her determination to keep her relations.h.i.+p with Grant neighborly and platonic, she would do whatever was necessary to help the kids adjust.

Through the gla.s.s front door of the law firm, Grant watched Ellie walk away. Why had he asked to see her again? Was it just to talk about the firm and his brother? Or was this a desire of a more personal nature? If it was, he'd have to cool his libido. He didn't have the time or energy for unwanted desires, personal or otherwise.

What was wrong with him? He was thinking about a pretty woman while carrying his brother's effects? But he couldn't seem to help himself. When was the last time he'd had a date? In the army, fraternization was limited to other officers, and the number of female officers was limited on the remote base, unlike if he'd been stationed in Kabul or even Kandahar, where US military facilities were larger. At the moment, his career was a lonely one, but it wouldn't always be this way. He'd date again when he was transferred back to Texas.

As he drove out of town, he occupied his rambling mind with Roger's request. The law partner was understandably concerned about confidential client information going missing, but Grant's instincts told him Roger was hiding something. Of course, Grant would much rather dive into a mystery than simply accept that Lee and Kate were dead.

He drove back to the house with sorrow clamping around his chest. AnnaBelle greeted him in the foyer, pressing her head against his legs. Grant knelt down and rubbed her neck. No doubt the dog was missing her family, too. "The kids'll be here soon."

He'd barely hung up his jacket before a bark from the dog alerted him to an approaching car. Grant let the locksmith in, and while the man rekeyed tumblers, Grant went into Lee's office and boxed up all the case files he could find. He had enough on his plate. He didn't need an imaginary conspiracy.

He'd just seen the locksmith drive off when tires grated on gravel outside. The dog leaped from her bed and bolted into the hall. Nerves humming, Grant went out onto the front porch. He pushed the whining dog back in the house with his knee and closed the screen door. A middle-aged woman in slacks and a coat exited a tan sedan. She opened the rear door. Carson slipped out, his skinny body dwarfed by a thick ski jacket. He didn't look much bigger than he had been last spring.

Grant approached the car. "Hey, Carson. Do you remember me?"

Crack! Slam.

On instinct, Grant nearly dove on top of his nephew. He stopped his forward motion just in time as the dog bolted past, reminding him he was in Scarlet Falls, not Afghanistan. The social worker's eyes bugged. Grant's pulse hammered.

"It's OK," Grant said, not sure who he was trying to rea.s.sure, the social worker, Carson, or himself.