Hearts Divided Read online

  He hadn’t met a woman who intrigued him this much in years. Maybe never. The half hour he’d spent talking with Chloe and her grandmother had only increased his interest.

  Chloe Abbott was beautiful, sexy, smart and had a quick, wry sense of humor. He was positive the attraction was mutual, but he was too far away to act on it.

  He wanted her within reach when he talked to her, not a thousand miles away. Her grandmother had mentioned that Chloe lived in Queen Anne, a Seattle district only a ten-or fifteen-minute drive from the industrial end of First Avenue where his building was located.

  Setting the explosives to implode the old casino would take roughly five more days. He’d be on a flight back to Seattle by the time the dust settled.

  Two

  “So tell me about the guy in the Tribune photo with you and Gran,” Alexie demanded as she closed the freezer door in Winifred’s kitchen. Ice-cream container in hand, she pulled open a drawer.

  Chloe groaned silently. That photo. How on earth had the photographer managed to make it look as if Jake was nibbling her ear? She lifted the cake out of its box. “I’m guessing you’re referring to the photos taken at the medical center?” Her older sister wasn’t likely to be distracted enough to drop the subject of Jake Morrissey, but Chloe tried.

  “Drank it in with my morning latte. Nice article, by the way,” Alexie said.

  “I think so, too. The reporter did a great job and I loved that she included Gran’s background as a codebreaker during World War II.” Chloe slipped the three-tiered chocolate cake onto a heavy crystal cake stand.

  “Yes, nice touch. Are you about ready with that?”

  “I just need to put the candles on top.” Chloe quickly poked ten short pink candles into the dark chocolate frosting, eyed the arrangement critically, then nodded with approval.

  “Let’s get back to you explaining the hot guy nibbling on your ear.”

  “I was hoping you’d forget.”

  “No chance. Who is he?”

  “Didn’t you read the caption under the picture?”

  “Of course—it gave me his name, rank and how long he’s been a civilian. What I want to hear from you is how you feel about him.”

  “What do you mean how I feel about him? I just met him! We spent maybe twenty minutes talking, and most of the conversation was about the medical center and Gran. I don’t even know him.” Not that I don’t want to, Chloe thought. She pulled open two drawers before she located a book of matches. She tucked them into the pocket of her retro, swingy pink skirt and picked up the cake plate.

  Alexie’s huff of disbelief spoke volumes. “The expression on Jake Morrissey’s face in that photo practically singed the edges of my morning paper and you have nothing to tell me about him? The man was kissing your ear.”

  “He was not kissing my ear. He said something to me and I couldn’t hear him. When I asked him to repeat it, he leaned closer to ask me a question about Dan West and the annoying photographer chose that moment to snap the picture. That’s all there was to it.” Chloe had a swift mental image of Jake Morrissey holding her hand a shade too long when they were introduced, his dark eyes filled with male interest. She’d found it a bit disconcerting to have all that male intensity focused exclusively on her. Jake wasn’t her usual, easygoing kind of man, but she was attracted in spite of herself and had thought he was, too. But he hadn’t called.

  “I might believe you if I hadn’t seen the look on his face.” Alexie used her elbow to hold open the swinging door between the kitchen and dining room and gestured Chloe to precede her. As Chloe walked past, she hissed, “This conversation isn’t over.”

  “Maybe we should discuss your latest guy,” Chloe murmured, laughing when Alexie rolled her eyes. “Here we are,” she announced. Winifred, seated at one end of the gleaming mahogany table, looked up.

  “Eight candles?” Winifred lifted an inquiring eyebrow, her sharp gaze sweeping Chloe and Alexie. “Why not eighty?”

  “We were afraid we’d melt the frosting if we lit that many candles, Gran.” Alexie grinned, mischief on her face. “So we settled on one candle for each decade.”

  Chloe set the cake plate on the table and pulled out the book of matches, lighting the candles with a flourish.

  “An excellent solution.” Winifred leaned forward, drew in a deep breath and blew out the candles while her granddaughters clapped and cheered.

  “I’ll cut the cake while Alexie scoops.” Chloe slid cake onto a plate before passing it to her sister to add ice cream.

  “Thank you, dear.” Winifred’s white hair was cut short in a natural cap of snowy curls that framed her face. Her tailored long-sleeved silk blouse had mother-of-pearl buttons from waistline to neck, the emerald silk making her eyes glow a deeper green. She wore a treasured heirloom cameo pin at her throat, a gift from her husband when he’d returned from London more than fifty years earlier. At five foot six, her posture was still nearly perfect, her carriage erect, her walk graceful. “I’m so glad you two could be here tonight.”

  “It’s tradition, Gran. What would a birthday be without a gathering of The Abbott Women?” Chloe adored her grandmother. Winifred Abbott was a force to be reckoned with, both inside and outside their tight-knit family circle. “And we’ll do this again when Mom and Lily get home in a few weeks.”

  “Two birthday parties?” Winifred’s eyes twinkled. “Hmm, maybe we should do two every year.” She ran a loving hand over the glossy surface of the rosewood clock sitting on the table next to her. “Especially if it means I get another present as nice as this one.”

  “I’ll talk to Mom and Lily,” Chloe said promptly.

  “I was telling Chloe earlier that I read the Tribune article about the rehab equipment, Gran,” Alexie commented. “The reporter did a good job.”

  Chloe flicked a threatening glance at her sister. Alexie caught the look and mouthed “What?” Chloe turned to her cake again and kept her head down.

  “Thank you, Alexie,” Winifred said. “I hope the publicity generates more donations for the medical center.”

  “I thought the reporter planned to interview only the soldier, you and Chloe?”

  “That was her original plan, but Mr. Morrissey happened to be in the ward when we arrived, and since he once served with Dan West, she added him to the mix.”

  “He owns a company called Morrissey Demolition?” Alexie asked.

  “That’s right. I believe they do a variety of work,” Winifred replied. “But he apparently specializes in imploding large buildings. He’s in Las Vegas blowing up a casino-hotel this week, isn’t that correct, Chloe?”

  “I didn’t hear him mention where he’s currently working, Gran.” But if he’s out of town, maybe that’s why he didn’t call. Although there were certainly telephones in Las Vegas.

  “He must’ve told me about Las Vegas while you were getting ice water for young Dan. He said he’s been working there for several weeks and flew home to Seattle to attend a meeting but had to return to Nevada that evening. I’m sure he said it was a casino he was blowing up and that he’d be there for at least a few more days.”

  “Does his wife travel with him?” Alexie asked casually.

  “He isn’t married. He seemed quite taken with Chloe, however.”

  Fully aware that two pairs of eyes immediately focused on her, Chloe shook her head. “He wasn’t all that interested, Gran. Besides, he’s not really my type.”

  “Not your type?” Alexie pulled the newspaper clipping from her pocket and unfolded it in the center of the table for all to see. “Look at this picture. How could he not be your type? What is it about ‘tall, dark and handsome’ that doesn’t appeal to you?”

  “Those aren’t the only qualities a woman wants,” Winifred put in mildly.

  “Of course not, Gran,” Alexie said. “But it’s hard to imagine that any of the khaki-pants-and-glasses, Woody Allen-wannabe men in Chloe’s life could compete with Jake Morrissey.”

  “I don’
t date men who look like Woody Allen,” Chloe protested, affronted.

  “The math professor you brought to Lily’s New Year’s Eve party was a nerd,” Alexie said.

  “Sam is a very nice man. And I don’t date him, we’re just friends.”

  “But he’s a nerd.” Alexie stared at her until Chloe gave in.

  “All right. But he’s a nice nerd. And we’ve never been romantically involved.”

  “It’s a sure bet Nice Nerd Sam would never nibble on your ear and look at you like Jake Morrissey did.” Alexie seemed to feel she’d had the last word, jabbing her fork at the clipping for emphasis.

  “I remember when my Richard looked at me like that.” Winifred sighed, a reminiscent smile curving her lips.

  “You’re mistaking annoyance for interest,” Chloe said. “Just before the reporter snapped that photo, we argued over whether Dan should go to work for him when he’s released from the hospital.”

  “I’m guessing Jake thought he should?” Alexie asked. “And you thought he shouldn’t?”

  “Of course I thought he shouldn’t take a job working with explosives.” Chloe frowned. “He’s already lost a leg.”

  “Let’s get back to the subject of Jake Morrissey—I can’t believe you found him annoying.” Alexie waved her fork in the general direction of the clipping. “He’s way too good-looking.”

  “I felt he was a very nice young man,” Winifred declared. “I didn’t find him difficult at all.”

  “That’s because he went out of his way to be charming to you, Gran,” Chloe said wryly.

  “He did have a certain rough-around-the-edges, Humphrey Bogart appeal,” Winifred agreed.

  “From Woody Allen to Bogart.” Alexie laughed out loud. “That’s a quantum leap, Chloe.”

  “I’m not sure I buy your analysis, Gran,” Chloe muttered.

  “That’s it! That’s how he’s looking at you in the photo. It’s that Bogart and Bacall thing,” Alexie declared.

  Much to Chloe’s relief, the conversation shifted to movie actors and actresses in classic pairings, and away from her and Jake Morrissey. The rest of their visit with Winifred passed with much laughter and friendly arguing over whether Bogart and Bacall led the list of top-ten best couples ever.

  Alone in her bedroom later that evening, Winifred sat on the edge of her turned-down bed and picked up Richard’s photo from her nightstand.

  “Richard, why can’t the girls find a man like you? Where are all the good men?” She smoothed her fingertips over the glass separating her from his smile. “Jake Morrissey might be the one for our Chloe. I think she might be more attracted to him than she’s willing to admit.”

  She pressed a kiss to the photo and returned the silver frame to its place on the white crocheted doily decorating the polished mahogany nightstand.

  “Good night, Richard.”

  He parked in the shadow of a large elm, across the street and half a block away from Winifred Abbott’s stately Victorian home. Chloe Abbott had been ridiculously easy to follow from her house in Queen Anne to her grandmother’s. She’d arrived alone, but while she was still unloading parcels from her car, another vehicle pulled in and parked behind her in the driveway. A second woman got out. He heard them laughing and talking before doors slammed and the two of them entered the house. The neighborhood subsided into relative quiet once more.

  He slumped in the driver’s seat and waited until he was sure Chloe was staying put. Then he left, parking some distance away from the house in the opposite direction. Seattle residents vigorously supported Neighborhood Watch and they were also dog-lovers. The last six weeks he’d spent following Morrissey had taught him that residents walking their dogs tended to notice and grow suspicious if he was parked too long in one place.

  Around ten o’clock, the two women drove away. He followed Chloe’s Volvo back to Queen Anne and watched her enter the tidy Craftsman bungalow.

  Satisfied, he drove home to neatly enter details of the day’s activities and observations in his log book. Reading his afternoon notes, jotted while slumped in the last seat of the top tier in the far-left corner of the lecture hall, brought a resurgence of the outrage he’d felt as he listened to Chloe’s class voice their opinions. What did any of these late-teens and early twenties students know about the tearing pain felt by the family after a soldier died in combat? He was convinced he was the only person in the lecture hall who’d actually experienced the loss of an American soldier and the devastation that accompanied it.

  Only he could write an essay that told the truth. And he would, he decided.

  He printed a note in the margin, the block letters precise, the message brief. Deliver essay to Liberty Hall, Chloe Abbott’s office, one week from today.

  Then he continued transcribing his personal shorthand into sentences on the page.

  Chloe Abbott would make an easy target. She seemed to lead an ordinary life, with set work hours and close family connections.

  A predictable schedule and rudimentary surveillance requirements. You’re easy prey, Miss Abbott.

  The spacious parking lot surrounding the casino was empty except for Jake, his crew and the building’s owner with his entourage.

  Jake stepped away from the small crowd, turning his head to speak into his earpiece.

  “You ready over there, Ed?”

  “Good to go, Sarge. Ready whenever you are.”

  Jake nodded, waved a hand at Ed, visible across the expanse of bare pavement, and turned back to the observers.

  “We’re ready, Kyle.” He joined the crowd and lifted the protective plastic guard from the black box. “It’s all yours.”

  Normally Jake enjoyed this moment when he was able to indulge the ten-year-old child within an adult client and let him or her trigger the control to blow up a huge building. But today, he had difficulty concealing his impatience. He was booked on a 7:00 p.m. flight home to Seattle. With luck, by nine-thirty or ten o’clock he’d be back in his apartment.

  Kyle set off the first round of explosives and the building’s upper stories imploded. Jake listened, counting the subsequent explosions as each charge detonated in sequence, further weakening the structure and allowing it to fold in on itself, collapsing to the ground with slow grace. Clouds of dust rose. Hiding a grin, Jake watched the well-dressed crowd scatter like chickens in a downpour as the wall of dust moved across the parking lot toward them.

  He headed for his rented SUV. All he had left to finish in Vegas was a celebration dinner and drinks with the client and he could go home to Seattle.

  The next day, Jake decided not to call Chloe after all. Instead, he phoned the florist and arranged to have flowers delivered with a note asking her to lunch—today, tomorrow or whenever she was free. He drove to the University of Washington just before noon and parked the Porsche, then he took a last look at the map he’d printed off the UW Web site and started across campus.

  Liberty Hall was easy to find. Built in 1949 and dedicated to World War II veterans, the four-story brick building had majestic Norman arches and a bell tower. It housed faculty offices for the English Department. Jake paused at an information desk to inquire after Professor Abbott’s whereabouts. Then he followed the secretary’s directions down a wide hallway.

  Halfway down the hall, a white nameplate with black lettering marked Chloe’s space. The door, its bottom half glossy dark wood with a wide mail slot and the top section opaque glass, stood slightly ajar. He rapped lightly on the doorjamb.

  “Come in.”

  He pushed the door wide and stepped across the threshold. The small office was neat and tidy, but crowded with a desk, two wooden guest chairs, a bookcase and a corner coatrack. Chloe stood next to the deep window embrasure across the room, where a vase held a lush spring bouquet.

  “You got my flowers.”

  “Yes, I did. Thank you—they’re beautiful.”

  His mouth curved upward in response to the smile that warmed her face and lit her eyes. He’d have
to remember she loved flowers, he thought. “Any chance you’re free for lunch? Today would be great, but I’ll come back tomorrow or the next day, if you’re busy.”

  “Actually, I was planning on eating yogurt and a banana at my desk while I corrected papers. But the world’s best pizza is just across campus.” She walked to the desk, opened a drawer and took out a straw purse, then looked up at him. “Do you like pizza?”

  “Love it.”

  “Excellent.” She moved past him, waiting while he followed her and pulled the door closed. Then she locked the door.

  They left the building, dodging students seated on the dozen steps outside the front door. A warm breeze carried the scent of water from Lake Washington, where the University’s rowing team practiced on the rippled lake surface, the white racing sculls skimming over the blue. Pink, white and red azaleas and rhododendrons made brilliant splashes of color against the background of green fir trees and the ivy that climbed brick-and-stone buildings.

  “Gran said you’ve been working out of town?”

  “Yes, in Vegas.” Jake slipped his sunglasses on, shielding his eyes.

  “So that’s where you got the tan. I knew you couldn’t have been sunning yourself in Seattle, because until last week, most of our days have been rainy.” Amusement tinged her slightly husky voice. Jake glanced at Chloe to find her smiling.

  “The Pacific Northwest’s version of liquid sunshine,” he commented.

  “Exactly. Are you a native Northwesterner?”

  “Born and raised on the Kitsap Peninsula. You?”