Between the Lines

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “His full name was Billy Ballantine. He was a gunslinger who was always coming up against other gunslingers who wanted to challenge him. Big Jack Bonner was one of the meanest. The poem is called ‘The Ballad of Billy Ballantine,’ and the fact that it’s in this book is highly significant. It’s a good indication that S.U.T. actually was the anonymous author. That poem also appears in the Collected Works.”

  “You sound very knowledgeable on the subject,” the shopkeeper observed.

  Amber smiled brilliantly. “My husband is an authority on Twitchell.”

  “I see.” The older woman returned the smile. “You’re pleased with the book then? It’s what you wanted?”

  “I’m thrilled. How much do I owe you?”

  The volume turned out to be considerably more expensive that Amber had estimated, but as they walked away from the shop she strongly defended the purchase to her sister.

  “It’ll be worth every penny just to see the look on Gray’s face when he opens this book. If this isn’t Twitchell’s work, it’s bound to be a deliberate imitation. That alone would be fascinating.”

  “Why?” Cynthia demanded as they headed downhill toward the waterfront.

  “Because Twitchell is such a bad poet that it’s highly unlikely anyone would want to deliberately imitate him. The fact that someone might actually have done so is mind-boggling,” Amber explained.

  Cynthia shook her head. “I don’t think I’m ever going to understand the literary mind.”

  “Me, neither.” Amber tapped the paper-bound package under her arm. “But, then, I’ve never actually met a literary mind.”

  Both women burst out laughing. By mutual consent they had decided to have lunch at one of the sidewalk fish counters on the waterfront. They collected bowls of chowder and two large containers of steamed clams from one of the busy vendors and found seats in a sitting area that was shielded from the brisk November weather. From their vantage point they could sip chowder and watch the busy Elliott Bay shipping traffic. The day was crystal clear, and the snow-covered peaks of the Olympic Mountains formed a stunning backdrop to the picturesque setting.

  “Tell me something, Amber,” Cynthia began in a confidential tone, “and I want the truth. Just what, do you think, is the appeal of Sherborne Ulysses Twitchell for Gray?”

  Amber surprised herself and her sister by taking the question seriously. “Well, he has great fun with Twitchell of course...”

  “I know that, but there must be something more.”

  “He is the world’s only known authority on Twitchell,” Amber reminded her. “Unless you count Honoria Tyler Abercrombie.”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.” Amber took another spoonful of chowder and stared thoughtfully at a ferry that had just left the terminal and was heading for one of the islands that could be seen in the distance. “I think Gray likes Twitchell because, in spite of the fact that the guy was a lousy poet, there’s a fundamental slice of the Old West in his work. The mythical Old West. You know what I mean, the one that we all respond to on some level. Good guys versus bad guys. Self-reliance. Justice. The importance of the land. Nearly everything Twitchell wrote had to do with that old Code of the West. His gunslingers and cowboys and marshals are always world-weary, and they’re loners but honorable in their own way. The good guys always do what has to be done. They look after themselves and the people who depend on them. They ensure that justice gets done and that innocent people are kept safe even if they have to handle things themselves without the aid of the institutionalized forces of law and order.”

  “Something in all that appeals to Gray’?” Cynthia asked perceptively.

  Amber nodded. “I think so. I believe that if he’d lived a hundred years ago he would have come West and taken his chances on the frontier. There’s something in him that reminds me of the characters in Twitchell’s poems.”

  “Well, thank goodness he doesn’t wear a gun strapped to his thigh,” Cynthia said forcefully, but her eyes were full of a new understanding.

  Amber shuddered. “Yes, thank goodness for that. A little of the Code of the West goes a long way—” She broke off suddenly as she caught sight of a familiar dark head. “But speaking of good guys versus bad guys...”

  “Amber, what is it?” Cynthia glanced over her shoulder and saw Roarke Kelley making his way purposefully toward them. “Oh, no. It’s Kelley.”

  “He must have followed us.” Amber was furious. “That bastard. What does he think he’s going to accomplish by hounding me this way?” She began wadding up the paper napkins and plates from which she had been eating. “Come on, Cyn, let’s get out of here.”

  Amber and Cynthia were on their feet by the time Roarke reached their table. He smiled his slow, boyish smile and nodded pleasantly toward Cynthia. “What a surprise to run into the two of you.”

  “Yes, isn’t it.” Amber scowled at him. “If this particular sort of coincidence keeps happening, I’m going to report you to the cops, Roarke. There are laws against harassment in this state.”

  “Harassment?” He looked deeply offended.

  “It would be a little embarrassing to have charges filed against you, wouldn’t it?” Amber pointed out too gently. “Bad for your reputation as a racetrack Romeo.”

  “I’ll take care of my own reputation,” he promised meaningfully. His blue eyes were glinting with amusement. “There’s no need to run from me, honey. All I want to do is talk.”

  Amber didn’t respond. She was getting nervous. She ignored Roarke and glanced at her sister. “Ready, Cyn?”

  “I’m ready.” Cynthia had obviously decided to follow Amber’s lead. She smiled vaguely at Roarke and stepped around him. “Excuse me, please.”

  Roarke s amusement faded. “Amber!”

  Amber didn’t look back. She dumped her crumpled trash in a nearby container and kept moving. Cynthia hurried to follow.

  “You can’t keep running, Amber, and you know it,” Roarke called after her.

  Amber was striding briskly along the sidewalk now with Cynthia in her wake. “Damn him,” she muttered furiously. “Maybe Gray was right.”

  “Right about what?” Cynthia glanced back once, as if curious.

  “Right about me not trying to handle Roarke alone.”

  “Hmmm.” Cynthia appeared thoughtful. “Maybe he was. Kelley is turning out to be persistent, isn’t he?”

  “He doesn’t know what it means to lose,” Amber explained. “I think Roarke’s always gotten everything he ever wanted.”

  “And now he wants you?”

  Amber grimaced. “If he does, it’s only because he’s been told he can’t have me. If I dropped everything and ran back to him, I’d soon find myself in the same position I was in back in California.”

  ‘‘And you wouldn’t want that because you’ve decided you prefer quiet contentment to flaming passion and the feeling of being head-over-heels in love, right?”

  For some reason her sister’s half-amused comment irritated Amber. “Right,” she agreed firmly. “I also prefer being married to a man I can trust. One who doesn’t fool around with other women while swearing he loves me. One who knows the meaning of the word commitment.”

  Roarke didn’t follow the two women as they made their way quickly back to the parking garage. Amber drove home with a feeling of anxiety that wouldn’t dissipate. She knew she wasn’t really worried about Roarke Kelley. It was Gray’s reaction when she told him what had happened that concerned her. She was quite innocent of course. The meeting today had hardly been her fault. But she was afraid Gray wasn’t going to be at all happy. A part of her was worrying that the man with whom she had established such a satisfactory, friendly, egalitarian marriage wasn’t going to prove quite as understanding as he should be on this particular subject.

  * * *

  Gray left the lobby of the gleaming
high rise that housed the offices of Harrison’s firm and started toward the parking lot where he had left the Mercedes. He was looking forward to getting home, taking off his tie and jacket and settling in for the evening with his wife. The pleasant domestic routine of a drink before dinner, helping Amber in the kitchen and chatting about everything from world events to S. U. Twitchell’s role in the literary universe had become thoroughly addictive, just as Gray had suspected. He thoroughly enjoyed being married to Amber.

  He was pleased with life these days. His world was very nearly complete, and it was the first time he could ever remember it being that way. But, then, he hadn’t fully realized what he’d been missing until Amber Langley had knocked on his front door slightly over three months ago. Amber Langley Grayson now, he reminded himself with a feeling of deep, possessive satisfaction. His wife.

  She was his, although she hadn’t fully accepted the fact. He knew she preferred not to think about their relationship in elemental terms. Right now she was in the process of becoming accustomed to the role of wife and lover. Apparently she preferred to do so without questioning her own emotions or his too closely. She still needed a little more time. Some of the barriers were still there, but they were crumbling rapidly. Amber had given him almost everything, although she hadn’t quite realized it yet. When she did realize and accept it, Gray’s world would be perfect and complete.

  There was no rush, he told himself as he walked between two parked cars. He was a patient man.

  He was contemplating his own patience when he sensed the change in the atmosphere behind him. Automatically Gray kept moving forward until he was free of the confines of the two parked cars. Then he sidestepped quickly, swinging around to confront whatever it was that had disturbed old instincts and triggered half-buried alarms. Somehow he wasn’t greatly surprised to see Roger and Ozzie closing in behind him. They paused when they realized he had become aware of their presence.

  “Good afternoon, boys,” Gray said calmly. “No offense, but you look a little out of place here.” They were probably freezing in those lightweight nylon wind-breakers, he thought. Underneath the jackets, he suspected they had on only the short-sleeved resort-style shirts they had favored in Tucson. Jeans and running shoes completed their outfits. The clothing wasn’t much defense against the chill November air. They scowled at Gray and kept their hands shoved into the pockets of their windbreakers.

  “Mr. Delaney sent us to talk to you again,” Roger growled.

  “Yeah, well, I figured you probably wouldn’t come all this way to visit me on your own.” Gray waited, absently cradling the leather case full of business papers under his arm.

  “You haven’t turned in your report to Symington yet, according to Mr. Delaney. Mr. Delaney wants to make it real clear that the Symington deal has to go through.”

  “Then Mr. Delaney should be discussing the matter with Symington. I’m not thinking of buying that resort, Symington is.”

  “Delaney says Symington will do whatever you say,” Ozzie muttered.

  “He’s wrong. Symington makes his own decisions. I’m only the consultant. Now, if you’ll excuse me, boys, I’ve got work to do.”

  “Sorry, Grayson.” Roger didn’t sound sorry at all. The truth was, his voice was chilled with a new sense of anticipation. “It’s not going to be that simple.”

  “It is for me,” Gray informed him. “Look, kids, you already tried the bribe and the threat of a little rough stuff. Neither worked, so why don’t you just pack it in and go home?”

  Ozzie swore viciously. “Don’t call me a kid!”

  “Sorry.” It was Gray’s turn not to sound particularly sorry. “But that’s how you’re acting, like kids. A couple of young punks who don’t know what it means to play in the big leagues. Take some advice and stay out of this game. You’ll last longer if you stick to your own weight. Delaney must have been desperate to try to use you two.”

  Roger moved forward a couple of steps, his handsome face twisted with anger. “You’re wrong, you know. We only tried the bribe. We never did get around to trying the rough stuff. That wife of yours faked us out with the bodyguard act.”

  Gray’s mouth curved wryly. “The fact that she did it so easily proves my point. You both bought her act hook, line and sinker until it was too late. It was really very funny. Was your boss amused?”

  “So amused he decided we should take the act on the road and maybe make a few changes in it,” Ozzie said deliberately.

  Gray didn’t say anything. He just looked at Ozzie and smiled.

  “You think we’re joking, don’t you?” Ozzie said between his teeth.

  “No, I think you’re stupid.”

  “You want to hear about the changes in this little road show? I don’t think you’re gonna like ‘em. There are some major differences this time around. The little lady isn’t going to get to play bodyguard. In fact, her part of the act has been completely rewritten. Mr. Delaney thinks you might be a lot more understanding about his position if we try the rough stuff on her.”

  Gray didn’t move, but the cold, alert state of awareness that had been filling him since he’d realized he was being followed was suddenly a thousand times more intense. The expression on his face didn’t change, but the sardonic quality in his eyes became quietly, immeasurably more dangerous. Neither Roger nor Ozzie seemed to notice, or if they did they simply didn’t comprehend what had happened.

  “The two of you have overstayed your welcome. I suggest you go back to Tucson and practice your golf.” Gray turned away and walked the rest of the distance to the Mercedes without bothering to glance back. He would know if they decided to rush him. Roger and Ozzie were very easy to read.

  But they didn’t make a move, and Gray slipped into the car without further incident. They had disappeared from sight by the time he had the Mercedes headed out of the parking lot. Gray drove home with a grimly thoughtful expression. Handling Roger and Ozzie wasn’t going to be the problem.

  The problem was how to handle Amber.

  He couldn’t tell her the truth. She wouldn’t understand what he was going to do. She didn’t know much about people like Roger and Ozzie, and Gray had a hunch she would flatly refuse to be sent out of town for a few days if she suspected he was planning to deal with the Tucson Twins on his own.

  She would insist on calling the police, not realizing how little the cops could do until a crime had been committed. She would be horrified at the thought of Gray taking matters into his own hands. What’s more, her passionately protective instincts would make her refuse to be sent out of harm’s way. She would stand by him come hell or high water, just as she had that night outside the resort in Tucson. And the last thing Gray wanted was for her to be anywhere in the vicinity when he took care of Roger and Ozzie. Given her bold nature, she might very well get hurt. The thought was intolerable.

  No, all things considered, there was no alternative. Amber had to leave town for a few days and that meant he had to find a way to make her go without letting her know why she was being sent away.

  Gray had a hunch he was in for the first real argument he’d had with his wife. She probably hadn’t realized how close they had come to one the other day when they had “discussed” Roarke Kelley, he thought wryly.

  Roarke Kelley. Gray repeated the name to himself, and his hands tightened briefly on the steering wheel. Kelley was the answer. Gray knew he had the reasonable excuse he needed for playing the heavy-handed husband.

  10

  Amber was curled up in a chair in front of the wide expanse of windows that lined the living room when she heard the Mercedes turn into the drive. She didn’t look up. She was still studying what she had just written on the front flyleaf of the large volume she had purchased that afternoon.

  She had sat down with a pen in her hand intending to write a witty little inscription to Gray. She had toyed with the notion of a short
imitation verse that would sound like Twitchell. Two or three possible couplets had formed in her head. But instead she had set pen to paper and written something entirely on impulse, something very different from what she had planned to write. Now she just sat staring at the words and wondered why it had taken her so long to recognize the truth.

  When the front door opened she was jerked out of her reverie. Hurriedly she closed the book and stuffed it back into the paper bag. She set it on an end table just as Gray came into the front room.

  Amber looked up with a welcoming smile that faded slightly as she sensed the unfamiliar hardness radiating from him. Slowly she uncoiled from the chair, her eyes questioning. Quickly she went toward him, stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his in greeting. His mouth stayed hard beneath hers. “Gray? Is something wrong?”

  “It depends on your point of view.” He shrugged out of his jacket. “Pour me a drink, Amber. Pour yourself one, too. We’re both going to need it.” He walked away down the hall toward the bedroom.

  “Gray!” Genuinely worried now Amber hurried after him. “For Pete’s sake, tell me what’s wrong!”

  He was standing in front of the mirror unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes met hers in the reflective surface, and Amber went cold.

  “We’re going to have a small talk about Roarke Kelley,” Gray said quietly.

  Amber felt the blood leave her face. She was stunned. In that moment only one thing was clear to her. He knew she’d seen Roarke that day.

  All her notions of being involved in a gentle alliance between friends went up in smoke. She’d never seen Gray in this mood, but she had to admit she’d had hints of this steel in him the day he’d told her she wasn’t to meet Kelley alone again. Her mouth went dry. “You want to talk about Roarke? Gray, how did you know? I mean, how could you possibly have guessed? I was going to tell you about what happened today. Honestly I was. I wasn’t keeping secrets. You just walked in the door. I haven’t even had a chance to explain.”