Three Fates

by Nora Roberts

  face in his hands, kissed both her cheeks. “I couldn’t have chosen better for him myself. Now I’m begging you, put some pants on.”

  “Thanks, and I will. I really need to talk to Tia a minute.”

  “We’ve got a lot to tell you about Anita, and what’s about to happen.”

  “Just five minutes,” she whispered. “Please. Take Slick up on the roof for a smoke, a man-to-man or something.”

  “Five minutes,” he agreed. “It’s all in the timing now.” He signaled his brother. “Up on the roof.”

  “I need my shirt.”

  “Well, you’re not having the one she’s wearing and sending me into another heart attack. Your jacket’s good enough.”

  Obliging, Gideon pulled his jacket over his bare chest. “I haven’t kissed her yet.” So he did, warmly enough to have Malachi looking at the ceiling again. “I’ll be back.”

  “I’m counting on it.” When the door shut behind them, Cleo sighed. “Wow, who’d’ve thought?” She walked back to Tia, dropped down on the floor. “Have a seat.”

  Curious, Tia sat on the rug facing her. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No. Definitely not. Don’t cry, okay, because I’ll get all choked up. I just want to say . . . Okay, I’m going to get choked up anyway. So . . .” She took a deep, cleansing breath. “I’ve been thinking about stuff. Takes some longer than you to get down there. You’re the brainy one.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Sure you are. Tia, you’re like, deep.”

  “I am?”

  “You get stuff. You see the connections and the layers and, hell, all that neat shit. That’s part of what I was thinking about. If it wasn’t for the Fates, you and me, we wouldn’t be sitting here on the floor together right now. We didn’t exactly circle the same wheel. Anyway, I think about what happened to Mikey, and that’s hard. Part of me feels lousy because I’m so fucking happy. I know that’s stupid,” she said even before Tia could speak. “I’m working on it. Anyway, it’s like the things I’ve heard you say. Threads, and what is it, lots?”

  “The apportioning of lots. Lachesis.”

  “Yeah, that one was mine. I never figured this would be my lot, you know? Having a friend like you, having somebody like Gideon love me. And the rest of them. Like a family. I never figured that kind of thing was in the cards for me. I’m not going to screw it up.”

  “Of course you’re not.”

  “I’ve screwed up plenty before. I guess I could figure I was meant to. It’s weird thinking that I swiped a pair of Levi’s when I was sixteen, or tanked a history test so I could get here, mostly naked on your living room rug, sniveling because there’s this great man up on the roof who loves me.”

  She shoved her hair behind her shoulders, swallowed back the tears. “I guess I’d better get my pants on before Malachi comes back in and goes ballistic.”

  She reached for her jeans, stopped. “There is one more thing. I was wondering if you’d stand up for me. Like the maid-of-honor deal when we get married.”

  “Oh, Cleo.” Tia threw her arms around her, hugged tight. And blubbered. “I’d love to. I’m so happy. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Jeez.” Sniffling, Cleo hugged back. “I feel like such a girl.”

  AT PRECISELY SEVEN-thirty, Anita walked into Jean Georges. Though she had dressed with meticulous care, and in Valentino, she didn’t bother with the ploy of keeping her date waiting.

  She turned toward the bar, noted that Jasper was in place. And enjoyed the idea of this being Malachi Sullivan’s last meal.

  The bastard thought he had her by the throat, ordering her to meet him in this upscale and very public restaurant so that he could lay out the terms of the deal. She’d play him through to coffee and dessert, then he was going to find out who held the cards.

  She was greeted by name and shown to the window table where Malachi was already waiting. He was wise, she noted, to sit with his back to the wall. Not that it would help him.

  He got to his feet, took her hand and brought it to within an inch of his lips. “Anita. You look very well . . . for a hissing viper.”

  “And you clean up decently for a second-rate tour guide with delusions of grandeur.”

  “Well, now that the pleasantries are over.” He took his seat, gestured so that the waiter poured the champagne waiting on ice. “It seems appropriate that we have this meeting in pleasant surroundings. No need for business dealings to be uncomfortable, after all.”

  “You didn’t bring your little tart.”

  He sampled the wine, approved it. “Which little tart would that be?”

  “Cleo Toliver. I’m surprised at you. I credited you with more taste than that. She’s nothing but a professional slut.”

  “Don’t be jealous, darling. In the slut department, she can’t hold a candle to you.”

  The waiter cleared his throat and continued to pretend he’d been born deaf. “Would you care to hear about this evening’s specials?”

  “Absolutely.” Malachi leaned back. He listened and, before the waiter could slip away to give them time to consider, ordered grandly for both of them.

  “You take a great deal for granted,” Anita said coldly, when they were alone again.

  “True enough.”

  “You broke into my house.”

  “Someone broke into your house?” He feigned surprise. “Well then, call the garda. I should say, police. And what, I wonder, would you tell them was taken?”

  While she steamed, he reached down and lifted an attaché case. “I thought you might like to see all the pretty silver ladies in a row.” He handed her a large color printout of a digital photo his sister had taken only hours before. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  Rage wanted to choke her. Greed trembled straight down to her fingertips. “What do you want?”

  “Oh, a great many things. A long, healthy life; a fine, faithful dog. And an embarrassing amount of money. But we don’t want to discuss that on an empty stomach. I’ve individual photos, as well, for you to study. I want you to rest assured you’ll get what you pay for.”

  She studied each photo, and at every new angle she increased the pain level she’d make him suffer before she killed him. She laid the photographs in her lap when their appetizers were served. “How did you get into my house? Into my personal safe?”

  “You’re giving a lot of credit to a—what was it?—second-rate tour guide. And I must take exception to that estimation, Anita, as you’ve yet to take a Sullivan tour. We’re quite justifiably proud of our little family business.”

  Anita speared a sautéed mushroom. “Maybe I should have gone after your mother.”

  Though his blood ran cold, Malachi kept his calm. “She’d fry you up for breakfast, and serve the leftovers to the neighbor’s cat. But let’s not get personal. You were asking me a question. You want to know how it happened I recovered what it was you stole from me.”

  “I don’t believe you called the police either.”

  “I made it easy for you, no mistake there. Foolish of me, believing you to be a reputable businesswoman and handing the Fate over to you for, yes, testing and appraisal, it was. Lessons learned.” He sampled a bite of crab meat. “You judged that one correctly. How could I go to the authorities accusing the respected owner of the renowned Morningside Antiquities of stealing from a client? And stealing what, by all accounts, was at the bottom of the Atlantic?

  “And now,” he said, while the waiter moved in silently to top off their wineglasses, “it seems you’re in a similar fix. Tough to make a public complaint about losing what should never have been in your possession in the first place.”

  “You couldn’t have gotten in, not to Morningside or my house, without help.”

  “Puzzle that one out,” he said, “and you’ll know I’m not without friends. By the way, Cleo sends her regards. Her very low regards. Just think, if you’d paid her price, made a legitimate deal at that point, our positions might be reversed n
ow.”

  He leaned closer, and all his fake humor was gone. “The man you had killed, Michael Hicks was his name, and his friends called him Mikey. She grieves for him. You’re fortunate, Anita, that I can convince her to deal with you now.”

  Anita nudged her appetizer aside, picked up her wine. “My employee, former employee, was under instructions to extract information. He got carried away. It’s hard to get competent help in some areas.”

  “And did you get carried away when you put the bullets into your former employee?”

  “No.” She watched him over the sparkling edge of the crystal flute. “I pulled the trigger with a steady, easy hand. You’d be wise to remember that, and to understand how I deal with people who disappoint me.”

  She picked up the attaché case, slid the photos in as the waiter returned with the salad course. “May I keep this?”

  “Of course. I’ll tell you what I understand. You don’t consider two lives too high a price to pay for what you want. I’m sure you won’t find the price I ask out of your reach either.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Ten million, cash.”

  Anita gave a sour laugh, even as her pulse jumped. So little, she thought. The man was a complete fool. At auction she could command double that. More, considerably more, with the right publicity.

  “Do you actually think I’m going to pay you ten million dollars?”

  “I do, yes. Three for each lady and one for good measure. So you see the price Cleo asked for Lachesis before you had her friend beaten to death was a rare bargain that won’t come ’round again. Oh, and here’s the topper.” Malachi broke apart a roll. “He knew, Mikey did, where the Fate was being kept and had the means to get it. What does that say to you, Anita?”

  She laid a hand on her purse, imagined pulling out the pistol she’d put inside it—just in case—and emptying it into Malachi Sullivan’s smug face.

  “It says to me that Mr. Dubrowsky deserved what he got. I’ll be handling my own negotiations from now on.”

  “Then I should tell you straight off, our asking price isn’t negotiable, so let’s not spoil this lovely meal with wrangling. We considered asking for a great deal more, letting you counter and doing the back-and-forth business. But really, we’ve come too far for such petty behavior, haven’t we? You want them, I have them. That’s the price.”

  He bit into the roll he’d buttered. “You’ll parlay them for a tidy profit, reap considerable glory on Morningside and yourself. Everyone wins.”

  “Even if I agreed to the price, that much in cash—”

  “Cash is the currency. Or I should say electronic cash. Simpler all around, very little paperwork to contend with. I’ll give you two days to make the arrangements.”

  “Two days? That’s—”

  “Time enough for a canny woman like you. Thursday, eleven o’clock. You transfer the funds to the account I’ll give you at that time. Once it’s done, I give you Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos.”

  “And I’m supposed to trust you to hold up your end. Really, Malachi.”

  He pursed his lips. “That’s a problem, isn’t it? Still, I’m trusting you to make the arrangements and not have a couple of rottweilers standing by to tear out my throat and take the prize from my cold, dead hand. That’s why we’ll make the exchange in a public and civilized arena. The New York Public Library. I’m sure you’ve heard of it? The one on Fifth Avenue at Fortieth Street. Grand marble lions out front. They have an extensive section on mythology. It seems quite apt to me.”

  “I need time to think about it. A way to contact you.”

  “You have till eleven on Thursday to think about it. As for contacting me, well, there’s no need. Those are the terms. If they don’t suit you, they’re sure to suit someone else. Say, Wyley’s. The library, the main reading room on the third floor. Excuse me a minute, won’t you, darling? I’m just going to make use of the facilities.”

  He strolled out through the doors that led to the rest rooms and the bar. And kept right on walking, leaving Anita stuck with the check.

  “That went well,” he said into the mike fixed to the underside of his lapel.

  “Well enough,” his sister agreed. “We’re circling back around. We’ll pick you up on the east corner. Cleo wants you to know she’s very disappointed you didn’t hang through it and bring back a doggie bag.”

  He chuckled, headed toward the corner. Then felt the honed point of a knife jab at his side, just along his kidney.

  “Just keep walking, pal.” Jasper’s voice was low and even as he gripped Malachi’s arm in his free hand. “And keep in mind, I can jam this into you, slice out a good chunk, and nobody but me’s going to know the difference.”

  “If you’re after what’s in my wallet, you’re going to be very disappointed.”

  “We’re going to get in a car half a block up and go to a nice, quiet place I’ve got all ready for you. Have a nice, quiet talk.”

  “Talking works for me. Why don’t we find a bar and do it over a friendly drink?”

  “I said keep walking.”

  Malachi bit back a hiss as the knife slid through jacket and shirt and into flesh. “That’s going to be hard to do if you keep jabbing at me with that pig-sticker.”

  “Well now,” Gideon said pleasantly as he came up behind them. “This is a dilemma. You push that knife into my brother, and I shoot you dead. Hardly anyone’s going to be happy with that eventuality.”

  “Shoot him anyway. He’s fucked up my best suit.”

  “That doesn’t seem quite fair. What do you think, Jack?”

  “Spill the guy’s guts out over the sidewalk, city employees have to clean it up. That means higher taxes for me.” He held out a hand. “But if you don’t take that knife out of my friend there and give it to me, hilt first, I’m willing to pay.”

  This time, when the tip of the steel slid out of his side, Malachi couldn’t hold back the hiss. “Fuck me, did you have to take so bloody long?”

  “Let’s have the hardware, too.” Jack moved in, smiling cheerfully and, in a move that looked like a friendly embrace, slid the gun from beneath Jasper’s jacket and under his own.

  “Are you all right, Mal?”

  “Oh, I’m fucking dandy.” He pressed a hand to his bleeding side. “What the hell were you going to shoot him dead with?”

  Gideon held up Tia’s inhaler behind Jasper’s back.

  “Oh perfect. I owe my flaming life to hypochondria.” He spotted the van, turned to Jasper and showed his teeth in a sneering smile. “We’ll have that nice, quiet talk now.” He wrenched open the cargo doors, hauled himself in.

  Tia leaped toward him, sobbing his name, but he held up a hand. “One minute. First things first.” As soon as they’d shoved Jasper in behind him, Malachi plowed a fist into his face.

  “Oh that’s fine, that’s good.” Wincing, Malachi flexed his fingers. “A broken hand’ll take my mind off the fact that I’m bleeding to death.”

  Shocked steady, Tia eased him into a chair. “Cleo, drive to Jack’s. You keep that horrible man down that end,” she ordered Gideon. “Jack, do you have a first-aid kit in here?”

  “Glove box.”

  “Rebecca?”

  “I’m getting it.”

  Despite the pain, and the extra jolt of it when she tugged his jacket off, Malachi grinned up at her. “You’re a wonder, you are. Give us a kiss.”

  “Be quiet. Be still.” Though her head spun sickly as she saw the blood spreading low on his shirt, she tore it open. She shot one fulminating look toward Jasper, now cuffed and gagged in the rear corner of the van. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

  “HE SHOULD GO to the hospital. He should really go see a doctor, don’t you think?” Pacing Jack’s living room, Tia wrung her hands. “The cut was awfully deep. If Jack and Gideon hadn’t gotten there in time . . . If that man had gotten Malachi into the car . . .”

  “If a pig had two heads, he’d have two brains. He
re now.” Eileen held out a tumbler with three generous fingers of Paddy’s. “Drink this.”

  “Oh. Well. I don’t really drink. And whiskey . . . well, I used to—sometimes—take just a little sip of some before one of my lectures. But it’s not—”