by Nora Roberts
“Tia. Chill.”
At Cleo’s order, Tia shuddered, nodded, then took the glass and downed every drop.
“That’s a girl,” Eileen approved. “Now you sit down.”
“I’m too frazzled to sit. Mrs. Sullivan . . . Eileen, don’t you think he needs to be seen by a doctor?”
“You patched him up just fine. The boy’s had worse wrestling with his brother. Here now, Rebecca’s brought you a nice clean blouse.”
“Clean . . .” Baffled, Tia glanced down, saw the blood smeared over her shirt. “Uh-oh,” she managed as her eyes started to roll back.
“No, you don’t. None of that now.” Eileen spoke briskly and pushed her into a chair. “No woman who can mop a man up in a moving van is going to faint away at the sight of a bit of secondhand blood. You’re not so silly.”
Tia blinked to clear her vision. “Really?”
“You did great,” Cleo told her. “I mean, you kicked serious ass.”
“She was brilliant,” Rebecca agreed. “Here, change your shirt now, Tia darling, and we’ll soak your nice blouse and see if we can get the blood out of it.”
“Do you think they’re going to beat him up?” Tia wondered.
“Ugly Mean Guy?” Cleo passed the stained blouse to Rebecca. “Sure hope so.”
IT WAS BEING debated downstairs, with some heat, with Jasper in the unfortunate position of being tied to a chair and listening to the arguments pro and con.
“I say we kick his ass, break a few important bones, then talk to him.”
Jack shook his head, took the hammer Malachi was thumping rhythmically on the counter, set it aside. “Three to one. Doesn’t seem quite fair.”
“Oh, we want fair, do we?” Enjoying himself, Malachi stormed over and kicked Jasper’s chair. “And was he being fair, I’d like to know, when he fucking stabbed me, right out on the street?”
“Mal’s got a point, Jack.” Gideon popped cashews out of a bowl and into his mouth. “Bastard stuck a knife in my brother, who was unarmed at the time. That’s just not right. Maybe we should let Mal stab him. Not fatally or anything such as that. Just one good jab, to even the score, so to speak.”
“Yeah, look at this.” Mal lifted an arm, showing off the bandage riding just above his waistband. “And what about my suit? That’s another factor. The shirt, too. Big gaping holes in both, as well as in my person.”
“I know you’re upset. Can’t blame you. But the guy was just doing his job. Isn’t that right?” Jack flipped open the wallet they’d taken off him, as if to check the name again. “Marvin.”
Marvin let out a choked sound around his gag.
“Well, his flaming job stinks,” Malachi ranted. “And I’d think a good thrashing was just one of the employment risks in the field.”
“Let’s try this. Let’s talk to the poor bastard first. See if he cooperates. If you’re not satisfied”—Jack gave Malachi a friendly pat on the back—“we’ll beat the shit out of him.”
“I get first shot. I want to break the fingers on the hand he used to stab me. One knuckle at a time.”
The men looked at each other, back at Jasper, whose eyes were bulging, and were satisfied they’d played their parts well.
Jack walked over, tugged down the gag. “Okay, you got the picture. My associates here want to take some pieces out of you. Me, I’m a fan of democracy, and majority rules. You want to avoid that vote, you’ll cooperate. Otherwise, I turn them loose, and when we’re done, we dump you on Anita’s doorstep. She’ll finish you off. Gid? Play back that one part of the tape, you know, where she’s telling Mal how she deals with unsatisfactory employees.”
Gideon walked over to the recorder, turned on the tape he’d already cued up. Anita’s voice, cold as death, filled the room as she spoke about steadily, easily putting bullets into a man.
“We’ll make sure she gets the opportunity with you,” Jack told him. “The three of us, we might cause you some pain, but we’re not cold-blooded killers. We’ll leave that part to the expert.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“You tell us everything you know. Don’t spare the details. And when the time comes, you’re going to tell the whole thing to a friend of mine who happens to be a cop.”
“You think I’m going to talk to the cops?”
“I’ve seen your sheet, Marvin. It won’t be the first time. Nobody’s got you on murder yet. You want to give her the chance to twist it around so you take the fall for Dubrowsky, for Michael Hicks?” Jack waited a beat. “That’s what she’ll do if you don’t get there first and have us backing you up. Or we just step back and let her do to you what she did to Dubrowsky.”
“Better prison than the morgue,” Malachi put in. “You should know we’ve got our little dance on the sidewalk on tape as well. So we can turn it and you over to the police now and be done with it, and you don’t have the edge of going in with—what is it, Jack?”
“Remorse. Remorse and cooperation.”
“You won’t have that opening with the police. With Anita still free and with money at her fingertips, how long do you think it would take her to hire someone to terminate your employment, on a permanent basis, when you’re behind bars?”
“I want a deal.” Jasper licked his lips. “I want immunity.”
“You’ll have to take that up with my friend with the badge,” Jack told him. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to take your wants and needs into consideration. Now.” Jack signaled Gideon to turn on the video recorder. “Let’s talk about what it’s like to work for Anita Gaye.”
AN I TA SOAKED IN the tub, bubbles up to her chin. She imagined, even now, Malachi was being softened up. In the morning, when he’d had plenty of time to think, and to suffer, she’d stop by and see him. He’d tell her exactly where he was keeping the Fates, exactly where to find Cleo Toliver, and he’d confirm if her conclusions were correct and it had been Jack or someone working at Burdett who’d helped him get through her security.
Then she’d deal with all of them. Personally.
The candlelight glowed soothingly over her closed lids and she picked up the phone she’d set on the ledge of the tub and answered her private line.
“Yes?”
“I felt I should apologize for leaving so abruptly.”
The sound of Malachi’s voice had her sitting straight up in the tub. Water and bubbles gushed over the rim and ran a river over the tiles.
“It was very rude of me,” he went on. “But I had what you might call a pressing engagement. In any case, I’m looking forward to seeing you Thursday. Eleven o’clock, remember. Oh, and one other thing. Mr. Jasper asked me to tell you, he quits.”
When the click sounded in her ear, Anita let out a roar of frustration. She heaved the phone across the room, where it smashed into the mirror.
In the morning when the maid came in to tidy up, she would cluck her tongue and think of seven years’ bad luck.
Thirty
IT would be, at its core, like any sort of play, largely dependent on staging, costumes, props and the actors’ zest for their roles. Since Cleo was the team expert on stage work, she took over as director.
With Eileen standing in for Anita, Cleo rehearsed her cast mercilessly.
“Timing, people. It’s all about the timing. Jack, cue.”
He mimed making the phone call that would set the ball rolling, then walked with Gideon to the elevator.
“I don’t see why we have to go down again. We could just pretend to go down.”
“Look, Slick, I’m directing this show. Get moving.”
He stepped into the elevator with Jack.
“Good luck,” Tia called out and shrugged. “Well, that’s what I’d say to them if this was real.”
“See.” Cleo folded her arms. “Tia knows how to rehearse. Okay,” Cleo began. “We figure it’s eight-fifteen, and time passes. Two of the three prongs are being set. The rest of us wait here, enjoying a nutritious breakfast, until Gideon gets back.
Clock’s ticking, clock’s ticking, and where the hell is he?”
“We’d all be pacing around like cats in a cage and drinking too much coffee,” Rebecca put in as she flipped a page in one of her bridal magazines. “Oh, Ma, look at this dress. This may be the one.”
“She’s not your mother. She’s the dreaded and dastardly Anita Gaye. Stay in character,” Cleo insisted, then turned as Gideon opened the elevator doors again. “You’re late, we were worried, blah blah. And you tell us everything’s aces.”
“I would, if you’d give me the chance.”
“Actors are such children.” She grabbed his shirt, jerked him forward for a kiss. “Scene change,” she announced. “Library. Interior. Time: ten-thirty. Places, people.”
IT WAS RAINING hard when Malachi stepped out of the cab in front of the New York Public Library. The sheets of wet and the traffic it snarled had put them slightly behind schedule.
The weather gave him a little pang of homesickness. It was nearly over now, he thought as he climbed up the stairs between the lions known as Patience and Fortitude. Nearly time to go home again and pick up the threads of his life. The old and the new. He wondered what pattern they would make together.
He stepped inside, into the cathedral-like grandeur and quiet. It was his second visit, as a dress rehearsal sort of business had been demanded of him. He still wondered at the fact that such a huge and stately library should have no books in its entranceway.
He scooped a hand through his hair, scattering wet, then, as planned, took the stairs instead of the elevator to the third floor.
No one seemed to take any particular notice of him. There were those who sat at tables studying or simply browsing through books. Some tapped away at laptops, others scrawled notes on pads, still others roamed the stacks.
As planned, he filled out a call sheet for the book Tia had deemed most appropriate and took it to the proper reference desk.
He liked the smell of the place, of books and wood and people come in out of the rain. Another time he’d have enjoyed just the being there. And though Gideon was the keenest reader in the family, Malachi would have found pleasure in simply choosing a book and settling down with it in this palace of literature.
He walked by where Gideon was, even now, sitting with his nose in a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. Gideon turned a page in Scout’s lyrical narrative, signaling the go-ahead.
They’d considered the fact that Anita would have had enough time to hire a replacement for Jasper. And that her temper might have pushed her to find someone willing to kill an unarmed man in a library.
The odds were small enough, as she’d lose her best chance for the Fates. And though it was a risk Malachi was willing to take, the back of his neck prickled as he walked through the stacks.
He found a quiet table, glanced idly around the area, his gaze passing over Rebecca’s head as she bent over her laptop nearby.
Within twenty minutes, a pretty young page delivered his requested book. Then, Malachi settled down to wait.
AT MORNINGSIDE, HAVING spent an hour reviewing security tapes provided by Burdett, Detective Lew Gilbert was already interviewing clerks regarding three particular items of inventory that had gone missing.
Downtown, Jasper was angling for a deal with the DA.
At the wheel of a van chugging through the rain and pissy traffic on Fifth, Cleo tapped her fingers to the Bare-naked Ladies and waited to give Tia her cue.
Malachi heard the click of heels, caught the whiff of expensive scent and looked up from his book. “Hello, Anita. I’ve just been reading about my ladies. Fascinating females. Did you know they sing their prophesies? A kind of mythological girl group.”
“Where are they?”
“Oh, safe and sound. I beg your pardon, where are my manners?” He rose, pulled out a chair. “Sit down, won’t you? Such a wet day out, it makes a grand place like this almost cozy.”
“I want to see them.” But she sat, crossed her legs, folded her hands. It would be business, she reminded herself. For now. “You can hardly think I’d pay your exorbitant fee without first examining the merchandise.”
“You examined one of them before, and look where that got us. Right? You sent some very impolite men after my brother. I’m very fond of my brother.”
“I only regret I didn’t send them after you, with less restrained orders.”
“Well, live and learn. There was no need to have that friend of Cleo’s killed. He wasn’t involved.”
“She involved him. It was business, Malachi. Just business.”
“This isn’t The Godfather. Business, Anita, would have been meeting Cleo’s price for her Fate. If you had dealt squarely, you’d have it in hand right now. And perhaps even the third one. As it is, you’ve blood on your hands.”
“Spare me the lecture.”
“If you’d dealt squarely with me,” he continued, “instead of letting greed get in the way of good judgment, you’d have all three, for a fraction of what you’ll pay now. You started this thread, Anita, when you stole from me and my family.”
“You wanted to get laid. I let you fuck me, then I fucked you over. No point in whining about it.”
“Right you are. I’m just explaining to you why we’re sitting here as we are. Ten million. Have you made the arrangements?”
“You’ll get the money, but not until I’ve seen the Fates. The transfer’s ready to go. Once I verify you have what you claim to have, I’ll call and put it through to your account.”
“One more item of business before we start. Should you, after we complete the transaction, feel compelled to get some of your own back by bringing harm to any member of my family, to Cleo, to me, for that matter, take into consideration that I’ve documented everything. Everything, Anita, and have that documentation in a safe place.”
“In the event of my untimely death?” She gave a short laugh. “How trite.”
“Trite but true. You’ll get what you’ve earned for the money. And that will be that. Agreed?”
A woman who had spent a dozen years married to a man who’d revolted her in bed and bored her out of it knew how to be patient. Patient enough, she thought, to wait years, if need be, to implement just the right sort of tragic accident.
“I’m here, aren’t I? Let me see them.”
He sat back and, keeping his eyes on hers, lifted a hand. Gideon walked over to the table, set a black briefcase between them.
“I don’t believe you’ve actually met my brother. Gideon, Anita Gaye.”
Anita laid a hand on the case, looked up. “So you get to be gofer,” she said in a silky tone. “Tell me, don’t you mind sharing your whore with your brother?”
“We’re very big on sharing in my family. Just as well Mal didn’t get around to sharing you with me. You’re a bit old for my taste.”
“Now, now, let’s mind our manners.” Malachi gestured at the case.
“This is too public for an examination.”
“Here, or not at all.”
In a bad-tempered move, Anita tried to open the case. “It’s locked.”
“So it is.” Gideon’s tone was cheerful. “Combination is seven, five, fifteen.” The date the Lusitania sank.
Anita set the combination, clicked the lock, opened the lid. Nestled in foam padding, the Fates looked up, placidly.
Lifting the first, Anita examined it. She remembered well the feel, the weight, the shape of Clotho. The satin texture of her silver skirt, the complicated coil of her hair over her shoulder, the delicacy of the spindle in her hand.
She replaced it and lifted Lachesis. There were subtle differences. This dress had a different drape, leaving the curve of one shoulder bare. The gleaming hair was done up in a kind of crown. Her right hand held the end of a tape pulled out of the measuring rule she held in her left. There were notches and Greek
