Three Fates

by Nora Roberts

  “I see. Is your client interested in something in my collection?”

  “That would depend.” She tried a quiet laugh. “You don’t happen to own the Three Fates, do you?”

  “The Fates?”

  “Three small silver statues. Individual, that apparently link together by their bases to make a set.”

  “Yes, I have heard of them, but only as a kind of story. Statues forged on Olympus that will, if complete, grant the owner anything from eternal life to untold fortunes, even the fabled three wishes, one for each Fate.”

  “Legends increase the value of a piece.”

  “Indeed they do, but it was my impression that these pieces were lost, if they ever existed in the first place.”

  “I believe they existed,” she said, running a fingertip over the statue of Clotho, which sat now on her desk. “Paul often spoke of them. More to the point, my client believes it. To be frank, Stefan, he’s piqued my interest enough that I’ve made some inquiries, started considerable legwork. One source, which appears to be valid, insists that one of the statues, the third one, is in Athens.”

  “If this is so, it’s not come to my ear.”

  “I’m tugging on any line at this point. I hate to disappoint a client. I was hoping you could make some discreet inquiries. If I can possibly get away in the next few weeks, I’d love to take a trip to Greece myself. Combine business and pleasure.”

  “Of course you must come, and stay with us.”

  “I couldn’t impose.”

  “The guest house here in Athens or our villa on Corfu are at your disposal. Meanwhile, I’ll be happy to make those discreet inquiries.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. My client is somewhat eccentric, and very much obsessed just now with these pieces. If I could locate even one, it would mean a great deal. I know Paul would be so proud to know that Morningside had a part in finding the Fates.”

  Pleased with herself, Anita made a second, personal call. She glanced at her watch, flipped through her day-book and calculated when she could most conveniently squeeze in the meeting she intended to set up.

  “Burdett Securities.”

  “Anita Gaye for Jack Burdett.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Gaye, Mr. Burdett is unavailable. May I take a message?”

  Unavailable? Stupid twit, don’t you know who I am? Anita set her teeth. “It’s very important I speak with Mr. Burdett as soon as possible.”

  Instantly, she thought. She had a second-tier plan to put into motion.

  “I’ll see he gets your message, Ms. Gaye. If you’d give me a number where he can reach you, I’ll—”

  “He has my numbers. All of them.”

  She slammed down the phone. Unavailable, her ass. He’d best make himself available, and soon.

  She wasn’t about to let Cleo Toliver and the second Fate slip through her fingers. Jack Burdett was just the man to run them down for her.

  HE WAS ON the phone himself. In fact, Jack had spent most of the trans-Atlantic flight on the phone, or on his laptop. For herself, Rebecca watched two movies. Actually, one and a half, as she’d fallen asleep during the second. And had yet to forgive herself for wasting a single minute of the flight in sleep.

  She’d never flown first-class before, and had decided it was a method of travel she could easily grow accustomed to.

  She wanted to use the phone herself, to call her mother, to call her brothers. But she didn’t think the current budget would swing for that sort of expense. And she could hardly ask Jack to pay for it.

  At the rate they were going she was a little concerned he’d think she was only interested in his money. That was hardly the case, though she didn’t consider his money a strike against him.

  She’d liked watching him with his great-grandparents. He’d been so sweet and so gentle with them. Not sappily so, she thought now. So many, to her mind, treated the elderly as if they were children, or inconveniences, or simply oddities.

  There’d been none of that with Jack. It said something about a man, in her opinion, when he had an easy and natural way with his family.

  Of course he was a bit too bossy for her usual taste, but she had to be honest enough to admit that men who fell in line whenever she snapped her fingers annoyed the very hell out of her.

  He was a pleasure to look at as well, and that was no more strike against him than his wallet. And he was smart—more, he was canny. Since she was trusting him with a great deal, it helped knowing she’d put her faith in a canny sort of man.

  She shifted, started to speak to him, and saw he was making yet another call. Although a bit annoyed, Rebecca promised she wouldn’t point out he’d barely said two words to her in more than five hours.

  “Message from Anita Gaye,” Jack said suddenly.

  “What? She called you? What did she want?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “Are you ringing her back?”

  “Eventually.”

  “Why don’t you do it now so we know—”

  “Let her stew awhile, that’s one. Second, I don’t want her to know I’m on a plane, and we’re about to start the final approach with all the accompanying announcements. If she’s calling, she wants something. We’ll just let her want it for a while longer.”

  NEW YORK WAS a thrill, and though Rebecca didn’t want to behave like a slack-jawed tourist, she intended to enjoy every minute of it. There were important things to do, and vital business to attend to, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hug the excitement of being there, of finally being somewhere, tight against her.

  It was everything she imagined. The sleek towers of buildings, the acres of shops, the fast and crowded streets. To see them for the first time while being whisked along in a limousine—a genuine limousine as big as a boat, with seats of buttery leather and a uniformed driver complete with cap—was the most delicious of adventures.

  She could barely wait to call her mother and tell her about it. And oh, how her fingers itched to flip and fiddle with all the little switches. She sent Jack a sidelong look. He was sitting, legs stretched out, dark glasses in place with his hands folded restfully over his stomach.

  She started to reach up to the panel, snatched her hand back. Perhaps he was sleeping and wouldn’t see, but the driver might.

  “Go ahead and play with them,” Jack murmured.

  She flushed, shrugged. “I was just wondering what everything did.” She reached up, idly she thought, and toyed with the various light schemes. Then the radio, the television, the sunroof. “It wouldn’t be so hard to put all this in an ordinary car,” she concluded. “Certainly you could have it in a caravan, and people would feel very plush while they traveled.”

  She eyed the phone, thought of her family again. “I need to get in touch with my brothers. I don’t like not being able to just ring them and tell them I’m here.”

  “We’ll go by and see them in person. Shortly.”

  The limo glided, quiet as a ghost, to the curb, and Rebecca had her first look at Jack’s building. It didn’t seem like much, she mused as she stepped onto the sidewalk. She’d expected a man with all his wherewithal to live in some glossy place with fancy touches and one of those soldierly doormen.

  Still it seemed a sturdy sort of place to her, and pitted with character. She was neither surprised nor disappointed when he used both keycard and code to gain entrance into the narrow lobby. And yet another card, another code to access the elevator.

  “I would have thought you lived alone,” she began as the elevator started up.

  “I do.”

  “No, I mean to say not in a flat with neighbors.”

  “I do,” he said again. “I have the only apartment in the building.”

  “It seems awfully big not to make use of the other space.”

  “I make use of it.”

  The elevator stopped. He disengaged locks and alarms, then opened the door into his living space.

  “Well.” She stepped inside
, onto a floor with wide, dark planks, scanned the biscuit-colored walls, the bold art, the wide windows. “You’ve made use of this space right enough.”

  There were gorgeous old rugs. She didn’t know enough about such things to recognize Chinese Deco, but she liked the blend of colors and the way they accented the deep hues and deep cushions of the sofas, the chairs, even the heavy polished wood.

  She wandered through, noting first it was tidy, then that it was tasteful. And last that it was stylish. She liked the wavy glass blocks that separated the kitchen from the living space, and the framed arches that led to what she supposed were hallways and bedrooms.

  “It seems a lot of room for a single man.”

  “I don’t like to be crowded.”

  She nodded, turned back. Yes, she thought, it suited him. A clever and unusual space for a clever and unusual man. “You can be sure I won’t crowd you, Jack. Is there a place I can put my things, maybe have a wash and change before we go see my brothers?”

  “Two bedrooms down the hall. Mine’s on the right, spare’s on the left.” He waited a beat, watching her. “Take your pick.”

  “My choice, is it?” She let out a careful breath as she lifted her duffel. “I’ll take the spare for the moment. And I have something to say to you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I want to sleep with you, and I don’t generally have that kind of want for a man on such short acquaintance. But I’m thinking it might be better if we’re a bit careful with each other for a while yet. Until we’re both perfectly sure that the sex isn’t some sort of payment, on either side.”

  “I don’t take sex as payment.”

  “That’s good, and you’ll be sure if it’s offered it isn’t meant as such. I won’t be long.” She carried her bag through the arch and took the room on the left.

  He jammed his hands in his pockets, paced to the window. Then turned and had taken two strides after her when his office line beeped.

  He listened to his assistant relay the message that Ms. Gaye had called, again. Maybe he’d let her stew long enough.

  He passed through another archway and into the small office he kept in the apartment. Before he placed the call, he checked the phone for tampering, ran a brief systems check, then engaged his own recording device.

  Some might have called him paranoid. He preferred thinking of it as standard operating procedure.

  “Anita. Jack.”

  “Oh, thank God! I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

  He lifted a brow at the frantic tone in her usually unruffled voice and made himself comfortable in his desk chair. “I’ve been out of reach. What’s wrong, Anita? You sound upset.”

  “I am. I’m probably being foolish, but I am. Very upset. I need to speak to you, Jack. I need help. I’ll leave for home right now if you can meet me there.”

  “Wish I could.” Not going to be too easy, honey, he thought. “I’m not in New York.”

  “Where are you?” He could hear the hardening in her voice.

  “Philadelphia,” he decided. “Quick job check. I’ll be back tomorrow. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I don’t know who else to call. I just don’t know anything about this sort of thing. It’s about the Fates. Remember, I mentioned them to you over dinner.”

  “Sure. What about them?”

  “I told you I had an interested client. I’ve mentioned it to others, made some inquiries, though I’ll admit I didn’t think anything would come of it. But it has.”

  “You found one?” He opened his carry-on, took out the protective bag. “That sounds like good news.”

  “I might have found one. That is, I was contacted about one, but I don’t know what to do. Oh, I’m rambling. I’m so sorry.”

  “Take your time.” He unwrapped Atropus, turned her to face him.

  “All right.” She took an audible breath. “A woman called me, claimed she had one of the statues and was interested in selling it. Naturally, I was skeptical, but I had to follow through. Even when she insisted on meeting me outside the office. She insisted I come to the observation deck at Empire State.”

  “Get out.”

  “I know. I was amused, actually. It seemed so film noir. But she behaved rather oddly, Jack. I think she must have a drug problem. She demanded an exorbitant amount of money, and she threatened me. Physically threatened me if I didn’t pay.”

  A faint frown moved over his face as he turned Atropus around and around on his desk. “It sounds like you should talk to the police, Anita.”

  “I can’t afford the publicity. And in any case, what point is there? They were only threats. She had a picture, I think it was a scanned print, of what might very well be one of the Fates.”

  Interesting, he considered. More and more interesting. “If it was, you know computer images can be generated easily. Sounds like a standard con.”

  “Well, yes, but it looked genuine. The detailing on the statue. I want to pursue this, but I’m . . . I confess, I’m more than a little shaken. If I go to the police, I’ll lose this contact for my client.”

  “How did you leave things?”

  “She wants to meet me again, and I’ve stalled her. Frankly, she frightens me. Before I arrange any sort of meeting with her, I need to know who I’m dealing with. Right now I only have a name, the name she gave me. Cleo Toliver. If you could find her—”

  “I’m not a detective, Anita. I can give you the name of a good firm.”

  “Jack, I can’t trust this to a stranger. I need a friend. I know it’s going to sound crazy, but I’m sure I’m being followed. Once I know where she is, who she is, I’ll know if I should try to negotiate this deal or take some sort of legal action against her. I need a friend, Jack. I’m very unnerved by all this.”

  “Let me see what I can do. Cleo Toliver, you say? Give me a description.”

  “I knew I could count on you. You’ll keep this off the record, won’t you? A favor for a friend.”

  He glanced at the recorder. “Naturally.”

  IN UNDER AN hour, Cleo let out a whoop of joy. “That’s gotta be the Chinese food.” The thrill of pot stickers might have had her leaping to the door herself if Malachi hadn’t intercepted her.

  “Let’s just have Tia take a look and be sure.”

  With some regret, Tia set aside Wyley’s journal and walked out of the spare room to the front door. One look through the peephole had her gasping in surprise.

  “It’s Jack Burdett,” she hissed. “He’s got someone with him, but I can’t really see her.”

  “Let’s have a look.” Malachi nudged her aside, looked for himself, then let out his own whoop. To Tia’s surprise, he flipped locks, pulled open the door, then yanked the redhead into his arms.

  “There’s my girl!” He spun her once, kissed her hard, then dropped her back on her feet. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded in a lightning change of mood. “What the hell are you doing with him?”

  “I’ll tell you if you give me two seconds to get a breath.” Instead of answering, she turned to launch herself at Gideon. “Isn’t this a wonder? The three of us in New York.”

  “I’d like to know why we are,” Malachi continued, “when you should be home.”

  “So you and Gid can have all the fun? Bollocks to that. Hello, you must be Tia.” Smiling broadly, she stuck out a hand, grabbed Tia’s and shook hard and fast. “I’m Rebecca, and sorry to confess, I’m sister to these two heathens who can’t be bothered to tell you who’s walked in your door. It’s such a lovely place you have here. It is Cleo?” She turned to the brunette who leaned lazily against the back of the couch. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. This is Jack Burdett, as Tia already knows, and we’ve brought considerable news with us.”

  The bell rang again.