by Nora Roberts
around with it.”
“Follow up on Morningside.”
“Anita Gaye,” Rebecca said clearly, and had both men scowling at her. “Fortunately I don’t have any testosterone muddling my ego. Anita Gaye of Morningside Antiquities. You might want to take a look at her, Detective Robbins. There’s no point in going further until we’ve shown the picture and verified that the man who was killed is indeed the one we think he is.”
She shot Bob a brilliant smile. “We’re all after the same thing in the end, aren’t we, Detective? But if you don’t trust this one here”—she jerked a head toward Jack—“I’ll figure you have good reasons not to. I’m still working on whether I trust him or not myself.”
Bob sucked air between his teeth. “I’ll get you a picture.”
“Ever heard about keeping an ace in the hole?” Jack grumbled when Bob walked away.
“I have, yes. As I’ve heard about laying cards on the table when it’s time to deal. And my way worked.” She scooped her hair back, studied his face. “You throw marriage around pretty freely, Jack.”
“No, I don’t. You’re it. Get used to it.”
“Why, that’s so flaming romantic, I feel I might swoon.”
“I’ll give you some romance, Irish. Just pick the time and place.”
Not quite as sure of herself as she wanted to be, she folded her arms over her chest. “Just be keeping your mind on the job.”
“Consider it multitasking again,” he said, then eased off the desk when Bob came back with a file.
TI A DID THE best she could with her mother. A thorough stroking would have taken two or three hours at least, and she just didn’t have the time to spare. She had one more stop to make. If she didn’t keep on schedule, Malachi and the others would worry and wonder.
There was an odd comfort in that, she realized. Having someone worry about you. She supposed, if she were honest, she’d let herself fall into that comfort zone with her mother. Always. Though the truth was Alma didn’t worry about her daughter nearly as much as she worried about herself.
That was her nature, Tia told herself as she stepped out of the cab on Wall Street. All the therapy sessions with Dr. Lowenstein had never pushed her into understanding and accepting that one fact.
It had taken an Irishman, three silver statues and an odd mix of new friends to clear her vision and stiffen her spine.
Or maybe, in some strange way, it had taken Anita Gaye. When all was said and done and her life got back to whatever passed as normal, she’d have to thank Anita for thrusting her into a situation that forced her to test her own abilities.
Of course, if things worked out as she hoped, Tia doubted Anita would appreciate the gratitude.
She hummed as she rode up the elevator in the brokerage firm. Tia Marsh, she thought, scheming, plotting, having regular sex. And all without chemical aids.
Well, hardly any.
She felt rather smug, almost confident. And secretly powerful.
It was even better when she stopped by Carrie’s assistant’s desk and realized the man didn’t recognize her. “Tia Marsh,” she said, flustered and delighted when she saw him blink in surprise. “Does Ms. Wilson have a minute to spare?”
“Dr. Marsh. Of course.” He stared at her as he reached for his phone. “I’ll just let her know you’re here. You look wonderful today.”
“Thank you.”
She was going shopping, Tia decided, at the first opportunity, for an entire new wardrobe to go with the hair. And the attitude.
She was going to buy something really, really red.
“Tia.” Carrie hurried out of her office. She looked sharp and smart, and very rushed. “We didn’t have an appointment, did we?”
“No. I’m sorry. I just need a few minutes if you can manage it.”
“A few is what I’ve got. Come on back. Tod, I’m going to need the analysis on the Brockaway accounts by noon.”
“He didn’t recognize me,” Tia commented as Carrie led her into her snazzy corner office.
“What? Oh, Tod?” Carrie laughed, shot a look at the computer screen where she’d been working, then headed to her coffeepot. “Well, you do look different, honey. Fabulous, really.” She poured a cup, didn’t bother to ask Tia if she wanted any, as it was real coffee. Then took a good look at her friend as she sat. “Really fabulous. Not just the hair, either.” She set the mug aside, got back to her feet, scrutinized Tia’s face.
“You’ve had sex.”
“Carrie! For heaven’s sake.” Tia closed the office door, quickly.
“You’ve had sex since I saw you.” Carrie wagged a finger. “Spill it.”
“I didn’t come here to talk about that, and you’ve only got a few minutes.”
To settle the matter, Carrie simply strode to her desk, snatched up her phone. “Tod, hold my calls, and tell Minlow I may be a few minutes late for our ten o’clock. There.” She hung up the phone. “Talk. I want details. Names, dates, positions.”
“It’s complicated.” Tia gnawed on her bottom lip. It was like being Clark Kent, she decided, and not being able to tell anyone you were really Superman. She couldn’t stand it. “You can’t tell anyone.”
“What am I, the town crier? It’s Carrie, Tia. I already know all your secrets. Or I did. Who is he?”
“Malachi. Malachi Sullivan.”
“The Irish guy? He came back?”
“He’s staying with me.”
“He’s living with you? I’m going to cancel my ten o’clock.”
“No, no.” Tia pushed her hands through her hair and laughed. “I don’t have time. Really. As soon as I can, I’ll tell you everything. But he . . . we’re . . . it’s amazing. I’ve never felt so . . . potent,” she decided and, unable to keep still, wandered around the office as she spoke. “That’s a good word. Potent. He can barely keep his hands off me. Isn’t that something? And he actually listens to me, asks my opinion. He makes fun of me, but not in a mean sort of way. He makes me look at myself, Carrie, and when I do, I’m not so stupid, so clumsy, so inept.”
“You’ve never been any of those things, and if he’s letting you see that, I’m disposed to like him. When do I meet him?”
“It’s complicated, as I said—”
“Oh Christ, he’s married.”
“No. No, nothing like that. It’s a project we’re working on.”
“Tia, just let me get this out of the way. Is he asking you for money, for an investment of any kind?”
“No, Carrie. But thanks for worrying.”
“You’re in love with him.”
“Probably.” She took a deep breath as her stomach fluttered. “I’ll think about that later. Right now I’m in the middle of something that’s exciting, sensitive and very likely dangerous.”
“Now you’re scaring me, Tia.”
“I mean to.” She thought of Cleo’s friend. “Because it’s vital you don’t tell anyone what I’ve said to you. You don’t mention Malachi’s name.” She reached in her purse and took out a slip of paper. “If you call me about anything that has to do with this discussion, use this number. My phones are tapped.”
“For God’s sake, Tia, what’s this guy dragged you into?”
“I dragged myself. That’s the wonder of it. And I need you to do me a favor that might be somewhat unethical. It could be illegal, I’m not sure.”
“I can’t even think of a response to that.”
“Anita Gaye.” Tia leaned forward. “Morningside Antiquities. I need to know how much she’s worth, personally and with the business. I need to know how much liquid cash she can get her hands on, quickly. And she can’t know you’re looking. That’s essential. Is there a way to get the information without it coming back to you?”
As if to anchor herself, Carrie braced her hands on the arms of her chair. “You want me to look into someone’s financials and pass that data on to you?”
“I do, but only if you can do it without anyone knowing you’re involved
.”
“You’re not going to tell me why?”
“I’m going to tell you there’s a great deal at stake, and I’m going to use the information you give me to try to do something important. And right. I’m also going to tell you that Anita Gaye is dangerous, and likely responsible for at least one death.”
“Holy God, Tia. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. Not with you. If you believe this about her, why aren’t you talking to the police?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I want to meet this Sullivan character. Judge for myself.”
“As soon as I can manage it. I promise. I know what I’m asking you, and if you can’t do it, I’ll understand.”
“I need to think about it.” Carrie let out a long breath. “I need to really think about it.”
“Okay. Use the number I gave you when you call.” Tia got to her feet. “She’s hurt people, Carrie. I’m going to see she pays for it.”
“Damn it, Tia, you be careful.”
“No,” she stated as she walked to the door. “Not anymore.”
“GIVE HER A few more minutes,” Gideon urged. “What good will it do for you to go running around the city looking for her?”
“She’s been gone over two hours.” For more than half that time, Malachi had been sick with worry. “I should never have let her go out alone. How did the woman get so hard-headed so fast? When I met her she was pliable as putty.”
“You want a doormat, go buy one.”
Malachi spun around, burned Cleo with one hot look. “Don’t piss me off.”
“Well, stop pacing around like an overprotective daddy whose little girl is past curfew. Tia’s not stupid. She’ll handle herself.”
“I never said she was stupid, but as for handling herself, she’s no experience doing that, has she? If she’d answer her bloody mobile, I wouldn’t have to pace.”
“We agreed not to use the mobile except for emergencies,” Gideon reminded him. “They’re like radios, aren’t they?”
“This is a fucking emergency. I’m going to find her.” He strode to the door, wrenched it open. Tia all but spilled into his arms.
“Where have you been? Are you all right?” He nearly lifted her and the bags she carried off the ground.
“Worrywart here was about to call out the Marines. Is that food?” Cleo demanded, and strolled over to snag one of the bags. “Hot damn! Lunch.”
“I stopped at the deli,” Tia began.
“I’m not having it. I’m just not having it.” Malachi pulled the other bag out of her hands and shoved it at Gideon. “How much money have you got?” he asked his brother.
“About twenty American.”
“Let’s have it.” Malachi dug into his own pocket. “We’re not living off you this way, like a bunch of leeches.”
“Malachi, the money doesn’t matter. It’s just—” Tia stopped when he cut her off.
“So far it’s mostly been yours, hasn’t it? Well, that stops. We’ll have to get in touch with Ma, have her wire some funds over.”
“You will not.”
When Tia set her jaw, planted her feet, Gideon wagged a thumb toward the kitchen. Both he and Cleo slid silently out of the range of fire.
“I’m not living off a woman under any circumstances, but I’m damned if I’ll live off one I’m sleeping with.”
“We agreed you’ll pay me back. And if you’re so sensitive about me fronting the money while we’re sleeping together, then we can just stop sleeping together.”
“You think so?” Riding on fury, he grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the bedroom.
“You stop it. Stop it right now.” She tripped, came right out of her left shoe. “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like a maniac.”
“I feel like one.” He slammed the bedroom door behind them, shoved her back against it. “I’m not giving you up, and that’s that.” He crushed his mouth down on hers, and she could all but taste frustration and wounded pride. “And I’m not having you pay for every crust of bread I swallow.”
She managed to catch a breath. “I bought potato salad, smoked turkey and cannolis. I forgot to pick up a crust of bread.”
He opened his mouth, closed it again, then just laid his brow on hers. “This isn’t a joke to me.”
“It should be. There’s a lot more at stake than a grocery bill, Malachi. If you have your mother wire money, it might be traced. It’s just foolish.”
She ran her hands over his back, kneading the tense muscles through his shirt. “I have money. I’ve always had money. What I’ve never had is someone who cares enough about me to be embarrassed to take it.”
“I couldn’t stand it if you thought I take you for granted.”
“I don’t.” Wanting him to see, to know, she framed his face with her hands, lifted it. “You make me feel special.”
“You were gone so long, I was half mad with worry.”
“I’m sorry. It’s all so strange. All so strange and wonderful.” She touched her lips to his, lightly, then again when she felt his heart leap against hers.
Power, she thought, was a lovely thing. She slid her arms around his neck, walked him backward toward the bed.
“I’m going to seduce you.” She nipped lightly at his jaw. “It’s my first attempt, so you’ll have to forgive any missteps.” She angled her head, rubbing her lips teasingly over his. “How’m I doing so far?”
“Spot on.”
She nudged him down to sit on the bed, then straddled his lap. “About the money,” she whispered as she unbuttoned his shirt.
“What money?”
She laughed, spread his shirt open, then ran her hands possessively over his chest. “I can always charge you interest.”
“All right. Whatever.”
“And penalties,” she said, then scraped her teeth over his shoulder. She eased back, peeled off her jacket, but when he reached for the buttons of her blouse, she brushed his hands away.
“No, let me. You just watch.”
“I want to touch you.”
“I know.” She loosened the blouse slowly. “I love knowing it.”
She shrugged off the blouse, rose onto her knees to unhook her trousers. “Lie back,” she urged, nibbling at his lips once more.
She let her mouth roam, imagining his body as a lovely, private feast. When her tongue slicked over his belly, she felt his muscles tremble.
He was already hard, already desperate. And he knew she wanted to lead the way. He struggled to lie passive as she undressed him, not to simply grab and take as she slowly stripped him.
When she used her mouth, he choked back a groan and fisted his hands in the bedspread.
His mind emptied, then filled with her.
Soft skin, hot mouth, eager hands, and that subtle, quiet scent he would always associate with her; the combination flooded him with need for her.
At the sounds of pleasure that purred out of her throat as she nibbled on him, heat washed into his blood, dewed his skin. She slid over him, around him.
He was drenched in her. Drowning.
She could feel his heart galloping. Almost taste the frenzied beat as she skimmed her lips over his chest. It was a marvel to see how his body quivered even as he clung to control, as he held himself back so she could do the taking.
It was a revelation to know she could take what she wanted, as she wanted. As long as she wanted.
She could hear his breath going ragged, feel the tension in his muscles as she touched and tasted, teased and tortured. All the while she felt so fluid, so agile. So . . . potent.
When he gasped out her name, she rose over him, then leaned
