Maggie's Guardian

He searched for Tessa’s other message. Beneath her name, he read the words, “She said never mind.”

Never mind? She called him out of the blue after eighteen months, and she thought “never mind” was enough explanation?

He stared at the stack of Weldon’s messages. Baxton had just slashed the word “urgent” across each of the slips. Urgent must be an understatement. Tessa wouldn’t have called him for anything less vital than the end of the world.

He toed his chair in a circle until he faced his desk again. The divorce Tessa had demanded gave him an excuse to ignore her summons.

But if she was in trouble? He reached for the phone, his body a drum that vibrated in time with his pulse. The sight of his own shaking hand made him back off. He shrugged out of his black leather jacket. He’d started to sweat.

Get a grip. He closed his eyes and faced truth in the darkness. A grip on what? Pressing his fingertips hard against his throbbing temples, he fought wave after wave of pain. Nothing put Tessa in perspective. And her “never mind” hadn’t let him off the hook. She wouldn’t have called if her problem was something she could handle by herself.

He stared at the phone again, dreading the rejection in her voice, disillusionment that had swallowed any softer feelings she’d had for him. He’d survived the eighteen months since his daughter’s death, by learning to make himself numb. Opening his eyes again, he swiped his hand across his mouth.

What kind of man let a woman do him this way?

“If you’re sick, go to the men’s room.”

Noah turned, an answer ready for the smart-ass colleague who’d offered such sound advice, but the Ann Landers with the big mouth was actually a suspect being booked.

Noah planted both palms on his desk. He could either sit or clock the guy. And clocking the guy might impinge on their case against him. They didn’t get jaywalkers up here. Just scum who’d killed one or more innocent human beings.

Breathing deeply, he stared at Richard Weldon’s name. He’d talk to Weldon first, and maybe he wouldn’t even have to call Tessa. He snatched up the receiver and then punched in the number. After one ring a man identified himself as the police chief.

“Noah Gabriel, returning your call.”

“I’ve tried to reach you all day.”

He took enough of that tone from Baxton. Noah eyed the stack of messages. “Yeah?”

“It’s about your wife. I don’t know how to tell you—I’m not even sure I should tell you, but I’ve put her in an office in my station.”

“So?” An office—that was Tessa’s big crisis?

“Look, buddy, when your wife called you, I heard her ask for ‘Detective’ Gabriel. As a professional courtesy, I’m letting you know I have her.”

“For what?” He wasn’t holding her for anything big if he’d only shut her up in an office. Noah almost smiled as he pictured Tessa’s reaction to being “held” at all. Five feet four inches of trained lawyer, dogged independence and, if you crossed her, notable fury. He remembered how he’d crossed her, and his urge to smile passed. He swallowed hard, his throat muscles contracting.

He’d been the one to find their baby daughter in her crib that hellish morning. Her name stole across his thoughts, too. “Keely,” a body blow that caught him unaware. He usually tried not to let himself think her name. He hadn’t said it out loud since her funeral.

Not since the moment he’d realized Tessa blamed him. He’d checked the baby last the night before she’d…

But SIDS gave you no warning.

He hadn’t known he should plant himself beside his infant daughter and listen to her breathe all night. He hadn’t even known he should have kissed her cheek one more time, stroked the downy black hair off her warm forehead before her skin grew cold. He shook his head and swallowed, trying not to get sick at the memories that raked him.

Rage, his abiding companion for the past year and a half, clenched his hand around the receiver. He saw himself throwing the telephone through the nearest damn window—but he didn’t do it.

Civilized men held on. For what? How the hell was he supposed to know?

“What did you say, Chief Weldon?” Even to himself, he sounded as if he were strangling.

Weldon hesitated a lengthy moment. “I’m letting you know your wife may be in deep trouble.”

“I’m not married.” He’d said it so many times he’d learned how to make it sound as if it didn’t hurt.

“Your ex-wife, then. Man, I don’t know what’s wrong with you two, but you’d both better listen to me. She found her partner dead in his office today, stabbed. At least she says she found him, but we have no witnesses, and I’ve heard some ugly stories about her and Mr. Howard. I’m not holding her officially right now, but I thought you’d want to know I plan to question her again.”

“David? Stabbed?” One more death shouldn’t shock him. It did. The pounding in his head built up steam until Noah suspected his brain must be all veins, no gray matter.

“David Howard, that’s right.”

Grief for his friend and for David’s small daughter overtook him, until instinct intervened and he stopped himself from feeling anything. He focused on the small-town policeman’s crazy accusation. “You think my wife murdered her best friend? With a knife?”

He forgot the “ex” part of his relationship with Tessa. “She couldn’t lift a finger, much less a knife, to hurt anyone, and especially not David. They’ve known each other since kindergarten. David and their law firm—” He broke off. David and Tessa’s firm had dragged her out of the ashes of the divorce.

“I’m not sure what I think. Mr. Howard’s wife hasn’t been dead a year yet. We know he and Mrs. Gabriel were close, and we heard your marriage broke up about five months before Mrs. Howard passed away.” The chief’s wary breath wheezed in Noah’s ear. “Their receptionist tells me they argued lately. Frequent arguments. I have to wonder if they were lovers’ quarrels.”

“You’re nuts.” This guy was implying Tessa had killed David because of what—unrequited love for her best friend? “Tell my wife to shut up until her lawyer comes.” Standing, Noah yanked his jacket back on, one-handed.

“You’re not married anymore, remember?”

“I’m on my way, Chief, and I’d advise you to go by the book with my wife. That includes letting her out of your two-bit station house.”

“She’s resting. We’re doing her a favor.”

Noah swore into the phone before he slammed down the receiver.

SHE WASN’T AFRAID, but the moment the office door began to open, Tessa Gabriel swiped tears of grief off her face and eased around the desk. She brushed against musty dime-store drapes whose stink washed her in a wave of nausea. She covered her mouth briefly, determined not to show Weldon the least sign of weakness.

“Mrs. Gabriel.”

She searched his gaze for some sign he’d heard from Noah. He stared back, challenging her with his suspicions but not with rage. Illogical relief swept her. Noah would have fired him up.

She’d called her former husband out of habit—the last remnants of once-upon-a-time days when she’d believed she could depend on him—before he’d proved he wanted nothing more to do with her. When she’d come to her senses, she’d called back and told him not to come, but who knew which message he’d pay attention to?

Forget Noah. She’d deal with the cops on her own, and she’d call Child Protective Services and get Maggie out of whatever home they’d put her in. Planning for Maggie made her think of David, and she almost cried again.

She forced a little steel into her spine. She knew how to honor his memory—by taking care of Maggie, making sure his and Joanna’s love for her figured more strongly in her life than their deaths.

“The sooner you talk to me, Mrs. Gabriel, the sooner we’ll finish.”

She hadn’t realized she’d gone silent. Her throat hurt as she held back grief. “I’ve told you everything I saw. What more do you want? I didn’t kill David.” And she couldn’t believe he thought her capable of plunging that huge knife into David’s body again and again and again.

But she took a leaf out of her ex-husband’s book. Don’t let them see you care. They can’t touch you if they don’t know how bad it hurts. Her sorrow might even make her look guiltier to this half-blind police chief.

“I think David must have disturbed a burglar.” She tensed as she pictured his body among the bloodied papers on the darkened rug. “You saw the office. It’s a mess. Obviously, someone was searching for money, or something.”

Weldon just looked at her. And looked at her, until his pale blue eyes and tired, hound-sad face were all she could see.