Irrevocable Trust (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller Book 6) (6 page)

Bertie leaned closer and shouted,
“
You seem distracted. Is everything okay?
”

Sasha sipped the assertive Spanish red that was the star of this week
’
s party and considered her response. Everything was decidedly
not
okay.

Connelly was keeping secrets.

After vanishing on her for lunch, he
’
d turned up at the condo reeking of booze just before the party. Then he barely spoke to her on the short walk to Daniel and Chris
’
s place, lost in his own thoughts.

She searched through the crowd and spotted him in a tight group gathered in the space between the French doors and the piano in the living room. He didn
’
t seem to be paying any attention to the conversation around him. He was staring at the wall over the fireplace, his jaw clenched tightly.

Her chest ached at the sight of him looking so fiercely unhappy. She almost sighed then caught herself. Bertie was waiting for an answer.

“
I
’
m sorry, Bertie. I
’
m just a little tired, that
’
s all.
”

Bertie narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.

Before she could pry for details, Sasha flashed her a smile and swooped in to give her a hug.

“
It was so good to see you, but I have to call it a night. I have an early morning meeting.
”

Bertie squeezed Sasha
’
s shoulders with a surprisingly tight grip.

Sasha abandoned her wine glass and edged her way through the crowd to Connelly.

He was nodding absently as a professorial-looking woman, complete with horn rims and bun, explained the plot of some art house film currently playing in Regent Square.

Sasha touched Connelly
’
s elbow and he glanced down, his mouth curving into a bow when he saw her.

“
Pardon, Professor Heckman, let me introduce my wife, Sasha. Sasha, Professor Heckman teaches biology at Chatham University.
”

“
Sylvie Hickman,
”
the woman said, giving Sasha a wide smile and a solid handshake.

“
Sasha McCandless
… —
Connelly,
”
Sasha said, still tripping over her hyphenated last name a half-year after she
’
d adopted it. She was glad she
’
d decided to continue using her maiden name professionally. She
’
d hate to be so tongue-tied in front of a judge or jury.

“
A pleasure.
”

“
I
’
m sorry to interrupt, but I
’
m afraid I have to steal my husband before I turn into a pumpkin.
”

The professor laughed easily and gestured with her empty glass.
“
Of course. I appear to be in need of a refill, anyway.
”

Sasha smiled and grabbed Connelly
’
s hand, guiding him toward the door with the determination of a border collie herding livestock. She dodged clusters of wine lovers and social butterflies, nodding hellos to familiar faces, but didn
’
t stop until they reached the front of the apartment.

“
Don
’
t you want to find Daniel and Chris and say our goodbyes?
”
Connelly asked, as she yanked open the door.

“
They
’
ll understand. This place is a madhouse tonight.
”

He fell into step beside her as they headed along the short hallway to the stairs.

“
They know how to throw a party. I guess word gets around,
”
he said.

“
I guess so.
”

“
We should have skipped it this week.
”

She glanced over her shoulder at him as they tromped down the cement stairs.
“
Why?
”

“
No reason.
”

“
You know something, don
’
t you? Is it Bricker?
”
The questions that had been on her lips all day burst out.

Connelly squeezed her hand tight and cut his eyes toward her, pained and wary.
“
Not here.
”

They walked in silence the rest of the way home.

Tension followed them into their lobby, up the stairs, and along the hall to their front door, clinging to them like smoke.

Once inside, Sasha immediately unbuckled the tiny straps on her heels to free her feet from the their four-inch-high prison.

She wiggled her bare toes and sighed in exaggerated relief while Connelly headed straight for the kitchen to feed the cat.

She waited until Java had food and fresh water then she walked around the island and stood directly in front of her husband.

“
So? Do you?
”
she asked.

“
Do I have information about Bricker?
”

“
Yes.
”

He sighed and leaned back against the counter. His gray eyes were guarded.
“
Maybe. I don
’
t know.
”

“
Come on.
”

“
Sasha, I can
’
t talk about it. I
’
m sorry.
”

She bit down hard on her lip. Took a slow, deep breath. Waited until the urge to shout passed. Then she said,
“
Is it bad news?
”

Connelly shook his head sadly.

“
I can
’
t tell you that. I
’
ll tell you this, though
—
I
’
m not going to let Bricker hurt you. I promise.
”

He stepped close and gathered her into his arms.

“
I know,
”
she responded, stretching onto her toes. The reality, of course, was that wasn
’
t a promise he could truly guarantee, and they both knew it.

He bent his head, and covered her mouth with his.

The rest of her questions evaporated, along with her capacity for rational decision-making, and she leaned into his warm chest.

He bent her backwards and scooped her up, headed for the stairs to the bedroom.

And then his phone bleated in his pocket, insistent and shrill.

She knew that ringtone. It was Hank.

She sighed as he deposited her on her feet and fumbled for the phone.

“
I
’
m sorry.
”

“
I know.
”

They shared a wistful look, then she walked up the stairs to give him some privacy for his call.

She was in the bathroom taking off her jewelry when she heard him jog up the stairs.

She walked to the doorway.

“
Can you help me with this clasp?
”
She gestured toward her necklace.

“
Sure.
”

She turned around and lifted her hair with both hands while he unhooked the tiny spring-ring clasp securing the chain around her neck. His hands were hot against her back as he lifted the necklace. She shivered.

She spun around to face him, and he dropped the chain into her palm, then he scrubbed his face with his hand.

“
Uh-oh,
”
she said.
“
That
’
s not a good sign.
”

“
What
’
s not?
”

“
That face thing you do. What
’
s wrong?
”

“
I have to go out.
”

She stole a glance at the clock.

“
Now?
”

“
Now. I
’
m sorry.
”

“
When will you be back?
”

He shrugged and reknotted his tie.
“
I don
’
t know. Not tonight. Probably tomorrow evening.
”

He walked over to the closet and grabbed a bag from the shelves above the clothes bars with one hand and a clean shirt and suit with other.

She wriggled out of her suit dress and hung it on its hanger before throwing on a t-shirt and yoga pants and following him.

He was tossing boxers and socks from his dresser drawer into the bag.

“
Can you tell me where you
’
re going?
”

“
Please don
’
t make me lie to you.
”

She looked at him for a long moment.

Then she reached over and selected a gray and blue striped tie.
“
Here. Don
’
t wear the same tie two days in a row. It
’
s gross.
”

He bent and kissed her then ran a hand over her hair and turned to leave.

She stood there, rooted to the bedroom floor, while he banged around downstairs.

Only after she heard the front door close and the lock engage, did she move.

She trudged down the stairs and bolted the deadbolt.

Her heart was racing. She
’
d never be able to sleep now. Her eyes swept the too-still, too-quiet condo in search of a distraction and stopped at her laptop resting on the kitchen island.

She powered on the computer and did some stretches while she waited for the machine to boot up. She might as well put her insomnia to productive use.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Hank watched as Office Fornier pawed through yet another stack of files on his gray metal desk.

He did not consider himself an impatient man. He
’
d spent his youth first on watch duty in the Army, then on stakeouts with the Bureau and, later, on deep undercover assignments with Homeland Security. He knew the value of waiting. And as he
’
d risen in the ranks, he
’
d discovered patience was more important than any other attribute he possessed.

But this small-town police officer with his Barney Fife routine was testing him.

“
Uh, I
’
m sorry. I know it
’
s in here somewhere
…”
Officer Fornier trailed off.

Hank gritted his teeth.

“
Listen, I just need to step out into the hall and make a phone call. You keep looking and I
’
ll be right back, son.
”

“
Will do, sir.
”

Hank walked out into the institutional corridor, which could have passed for a hallway in any small police station in America and pulled out his phone. He hadn
’
t planned to ask Leo to join him on this visit, mainly because he hadn
’
t wanted to put him in a difficult spot with Sasha. But if Vince Fornier was what passed for local backup, he needed someone reliable. Leo would just have to work out the vagaries of newlywed politics on his own.

As soon as Leo picked up, he rattled off instructions, waited for Leo to confirm his understanding, and then ended the call.

He reentered the messy office hoping against hope that Fornier has made some progress in his search.

But Fornier looked up from under his shaggy bangs
—
too long for regulation, as far as Hank was concerned
—
and gave Hank a sheepish shrug.
“
Sorry.
”

Hank forced his lips into an approximation of a smile.

“
Why don
’
t you just
tell
me what you found instead of looking for your report?
”
he suggested.