Until Dark - Mariah Stewart [12]
“Disapprove?” Kendra pondered the word. “I hardly know her. I haven’t seen her or heard from her since the trial. Not even when my mother died.”
“The trial?” he asked, puzzled.
“Edward Paul Webster’s trial. The man who kidnapped and murdered my brother and my cousin Zach.”
“I’m sorry. I’d forgotten there had been two boys.”
“Zach was Sierra’s son.” She turned her face so that he could not see her expression.
“Webster’s still in prison, isn’t he?”
“Serving two life sentences. The tax dollars of the good people of Arizona at work.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to get into ancient family history. Especially since it’s so late in the evening and you’re a guest in my home.”
“Thanks to the storm.” He gestured toward the window. “I think it’s starting to slow a bit.”
“It hardly matters at this point, since the roads will be flooded for hours yet.”
“I appreciate your offer of a bed.”
“Oh. You just reminded me. You’ll need sheets. I’ll be right back.”
She returned in minutes with two pillows and a set of sheets.
“Thanks.” He reached for them.
“You’re welcome. I hope you’ll be comfortable.” She handed them over, then backed toward the door. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning. . . .”
“Yes. Thanks.”
“If you need anything else . . .”
“No, no. I’ll be fine. Thanks.”
Adam watched her disappear down the hall, watched the house grow dark as she snapped off lights on her way to the stairs. He made up his bed and sat on the edge of it, thinking about the last time he’d seen Kendra.
She’d been burying her mother. Literally.
Though they’d only had a few casual dates, Adam had ached for her when the news broke about her mother’s suicide. He’d known that she’d been devastated, but had no way of knowing just how lost she’d be in the aftermath. Kendra and her mother, the only survivors of the once happy Smith family, had been inordinately close. Kendra’s father, Jeff, had died of leukemia when Kendra was thirteen. Years later, the loss of her brother had strengthened the bonds between mother and daughter.
Over dinner on their first real date, Kendra had spoken with great pride of her mother’s accomplishments. Finishing law school in her late thirties, becoming an advocate for tougher prison sentences for those convicted of preying on the young and helpless, as well as establishing a forum for families to deal with the loss of a child. Later, with backing from her second husband, a onetime White House press secretary with rock-solid political ties, Elisa Smith-Norton ran for and won the Senate seat vacated when the incumbent was indicted for fraud. Adam and Kendra had had only three formal dates—hardly enough to have developed an intimate relationship—when her mother’s sudden death took her back to New Jersey and out of his life.
Adam had attended the senator’s funeral along with several other agents who’d worked with Kendra over the previous eight months. He’d spoken with her briefly—long enough to offer his condolences and little else—before passing through a seemingly endless line of mourners at the funeral home. Senator Smith-Norton had become a popular figure during her years as a public servant, and hundreds had shown up to pay their respects to her husband and her daughter. Adam had left several messages for Kendra on her answering machine, but had never gotten a return call. He stopped leaving messages six weeks later when the news began circulating through the office that Kendra had married an old boyfriend who’d come back into the picture to comfort her when her mother died. The wedding had been small. Adam had heard from a friend of a friend, and totally unexpected by everyone who knew her. According to FBI gossip, even Kendra’s stepfather had been caught off-guard. This last bit of news came from the secretary to the director, who himself was an old friend of Philip Norton, the senator’s widower.
That had been nearly four years ago. Plenty of time, Adam figured, for his interest in her to have waned. Or so he’d believed, until John had called