"He's not stupid. He sometimes asks a lot of the people who love him, but you have to have faith."
"For how long?"
"For me, it's forever. But I'm his sister."
Sig bit her lip, refusing to cry. She'd cried too much already.
"By the way," Abigail continued, "you must be wondering if there's anything between Henry and me. There is. Sort of. We're trying to be low-key because of our roles at the center, and now with Sam's death--well, I'm sure you can understand our reluctance to become a subject of gossip and speculation."
Sig suddenly felt enervated, as if she wouldn't even make it back out to Louisburg Square. She drank more of her coffee, nodded.
"You're both entitled to your privacy."
"We've only been seeing each other a few weeks. Henry was very nervous at first, especially since we were beginning to see signs that some of the rawness of the Encounter ordeal was easing. Then it just..." She smiled, her eyes not quite meeting Sig's.
"It just seemed so natural."
"I won't say anything if you don't want me to," Sig said.
"We should probably wait until Sam's death, the fires..." Abigail groaned, as if it were all too much to articulate.
"Until this whole mess is sorted out."
"I understand. Abigail, everyone only wants happiness for you. You've done so much for the center, and your family, too. Matt likes Henry, and I'm sure Caroline's fond of him. Of course, that shouldn't matter.
You just need to follow your own heart. "" Ah, Sig. You make everything sound so wonderfully simple. I've missed you. " Her expression clouded, and she leaned forward.
"Sig, what do you think's going on with Emile?"
"I wish I knew. That's why Riley and I were at his cottage. We wanted to find him, get him to talk to the police."
Abigail sighed, got up to pour herself a cup of coffee.
"He's always had a very fine opinion of his own abilities. I wouldn't be surprised if he thinks he can sort out Sam's death better than the police. Either that or he's gone completely nuts."
"To be honest, I've never been very good at figuring out how Emile thinks. Riley's much better. Me--I can't even figure out what my own husband's thinking."
"Don't be too hard on yourself."
Abigail returned to the table with her coffee. Sig noticed her slender fingers and manicured nails, looked down at her own unpolished, blunt-cut nails. She needed to take better care of herself.
Ultimately, she realized, that was why she'd come home. Not to do her nails--to focus on her, on Matt, on their marriage, on the family they were in the process of creating.
"Henry's waiting for you," Sig said, struggling to her feet.
"I'll head on back. I just wanted to stop in and say hello."
"I'm glad you did. Are you sure you won't join us for dinner? We're just ordering out. Nothing fancy."
But Sig was sure, and when she walked back out to Mount Vernon, she found herself feeling a little foolish. Even in her confusion over whatever was going on with her brother, Abigail was confident, poised, well-mannered and in her element. Sig constantly felt as if she were spinning out of control. She had no plan of action, no clear course she was following. She simply responded to events as they happened.
She'd call Riley when she got back. Find out what her wild little sister was up to and whether the sparks were still flying between her and Straker. Find out if she was safe. If she'd learned anything more about Emile and the fire.
"There," she told herself as she unlocked her front door.
"You're taking action."
She pushed open the door, saw the shadow of a man in the front room and screamed, her bag of groceries crashing to the floor. The milk carton split open, soaking the bag.
"Sig..." Matt stepped out of the shadows.
"I didn't know it was you."
She was shaking, far more terrified than she would have been if she hadn't just escaped death in Emile's loft. Her knees went out from under her and she sank to the floor. She couldn't stop herself. Her head spun. Her stomach lurched, and she thought she'd pass out.
Matt caught her by the elbows and lifted her into his arms. She ached to lean into him, let him take her weight, but she stopped herself, stiffening against her own attraction to him, her own need.
"Are you all right?" He sounded panicked, tortured.
"Sig, what can I do?"
She had to look at him. At those blue eyes, that square jaw, that lean body. He still held her.
"I'm not going to pass out. I'm okay."
"You're sure?"
She nodded, and he took her face in his hands and kissed her cheeks, and she realized he was crying. So was she. She'd started to say something, she didn't know what, when his mouth found hers.
"Oh, Sig," he whispered.
"I love you."
She wanted this, had dreamed of it for months. Her mouth opened to his kiss. He slid his palms over her shoulders, and she quaked when he touched her breasts, swollen from pregnancy. It had been so long.
"I've missed you," she said.
"I've missed you so much."
He smoothed a hand over her lower abdomen.
"Twins. My God." His voice cracked.
"I want to be a good father, Sig. I'll do my best. I promise."
She covered his hand with hers.
"I can feel them moving. Most of the time it's this little nutter."
"You're okay? After the fire" -- "Yes."
He kissed her again.
"I remember when we made these babies. I don't know how I've done without you for so long." He curved his hand slowly back up to her breast, found her nipple, circled it with one finger as he deepened their kiss.
"Just let me sleep beside you tonight."
"And then what?"
His eyes flashed.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean what happens in the morning?" She fought past her longing for him, called upon all her convictions, her determination that she had to stand her ground. For her sake, for his, for their babies' sake.
"I'm expecting twins. Matt. There's too much at stake for me. For us.
I need to believe in you--I need you to believe in me. Talk to me. Tell me what's going on with you, Emile, Sam. Let me in. "
"Sig..."
"No half measures, Matt. I won't be a sometimes wife. I can't be.
Either you let me in, let me help you through this, or you walk out of here. " She gave him as hard a look as she could.
"Or I do."
"I love you. I'd die for you. I'd die for our babies. Isn't that enough?"
He was so persuasive. So handsome. Her body burned with wanting him.
She hated being alone. She liked having him in bed with her, liked waking up to the rub of his beard on her, liked hearing him thrash around in the kitchen. She desperately wanted their life back. But how much could she give?
"I know you asked me to give you space and let you work this out for yourself, and I was willing-for a time. I've been more than patient.
And I never expected. " She blinked back more tears, squashing a rush of conflicting emotions.
"Sam Cassain was murdered. Riley and I were nearly killed. Matt, this isn't about you and your grief anymore."
"It never was. That's why you have to let me do this on my own."
"What if you're next? What if Riley finds your body washed up on the rocks? I know you gave Sam the money so he could probe the Encounter.
You must have left a trail. The police are bound to find out"-- " They already know. I called and told them this afternoon. It wasn't a crime, Sig. " He stood back, and she could see the impact she'd had on him.
"If not me, Sam would have found someone else. He'd have stolen the money."
"I'm glad you've finally told the police." She held up her head, refused to give him one damned inch.
"But I don't see why you couldn't see your way through to telling me."
He didn't answer.
"Because of Emile? Or because you knew I'd try to stop you?"
"Because it's not your fight."
As much as his words hurt, she didn't wither.
"Your fights are my fights."
"Not this one." His voice hardened, more against his own conflicting emotions, she thought, than against her.
"I thought you understood."
"Understanding doesn't mean I'm patient, and it doesn't mean I'm going to sit back and passively let you do whatever you want to do, get yourself killed, end up in jail. I won't. We're partners."
"No, Sig. Not on this we're not partners. We can't be. It's too dangerous."
She stood her ground.
"If it's too dangerous for me, it's too dangerous for you."
He hissed through his teeth.
"Damn it, what kind of man would I be if I didn't see this thing through? If it's my fault Sam's dead" -He broke off, raked a hand through his hair. His eyes were a searing blue, radiating all his frustration, anger, grief, fears, everything he tried so hard to keep banked down. "This is my doing, Sig. My problem. The fire at Emile's, your pregnancy--how much more reason do you need to stand back?"