by Nora Roberts
Julia slipped out of her shoes and walked barefoot into her office. The freesia the gardener had chivalrously given to her the afternoon before brought the delicacy of early spring to the cluttered room. When she rapped her bare toe against a stack of research books stacked on the floor, she swore only halfheartedly. She really was going to get this all tidied up. Soon.
Following habit, she took her day’s tapes out of her briefcase to file them in the desk drawer. Her mind was on a cool glass of wine, perhaps a quick dip in the pool before Brandon got home from school. But it snappped back quickly as she stared into the drawer and lowered herself into the chair.
Someone had been there.
Very slowly, she walked her fingers over the tops of the tapes. None were missing, but they were out of order. One of the few things she was compulsively organized about was her interviews. Labeled and dated, the tapes were always filed alphabetically. Now their order was random.
Yanking open another drawer, she pulled out her typed draft. A quick glance reassured her that all her pages were there. But she felt, she knew someone had read them. She slammed the drawer closed and opened another. All of her things, she thought, all of them had been riffled. But why?
A bubble of panic sent her racing upstairs. She had very little of great value, but the few pieces of her mother’s jewelry were important to her. As she scrambled into the bedroom, she cursed herself for not asking Eve to put the boxes into her safe. Surely she had one. But she also had a security system. Why in hell would anyone break into the guest house to steal a handful of heirlooms?
Of course, they hadn’t. As the relief washed over her, Julia could call herself an idiot. The single strand of pearls and matching drop earrings, the diamond studs, the gold brooch in the shape of the scales of justice. They were all there, undisturbed.
Because her legs were weak, she sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the old jewelry boxes to her breast. It was foolish, she told herself, to have such a desperate attachment to things. She rarely wore any of those pieces, only occasionally took them out to look at them.
But she had been twelve when her father had given her mother the brooch. A birthday present. And she remembered how delighted her mother had been. She had worn it at every case she had tried, even after the divorce.
Julia made herself stand and replace the boxes. It was possible she had misarranged the tapes herself. Possible, but unlikely. Yet it was just as unlikely that anyone would breach Eve’s security in broad daylight and make themselves at home in the guest house.
Eve, Julia thought with a short laugh. Eve herself was the most likely candidate. They hadn’t had a session in three days. Curiosity and arrogance might have made her want to go through the work.
And that would have to be corrected.
She started downstairs again, intending to look through the tapes once more before phoning Eve. Before she’d reached the bottom, Paul was rapping on the front door.
“Hi.” He opened it himself and strode in without invitation.
“Make yourself at home.”
The tone had him tilting his head. “Problem?”
“Why, no.” She stood where she was, feet braced apart, chin angled for a dare. “Why should it be a problem for people to waltz in? After all, it’s not my house. I only happen to be living here.”
He lifted his hands, palms out. “Sorry. I suppose I’ve been living with California casual for too long. Want me to go out and try again?”
“No.” She slapped the word out at him. There was no way he was going to make her feel foolish. “What do you want? You’ve caught me at a bad time, so you’ll have to make it fast.”
He didn’t have to be told it was a bad time. Her expression seemed so calm—she was good at that—but her fingers were busy twisting together. It made him only more determined to stay. “Actually, I didn’t come to see you. I came to see Brandon.”
“Brandon?” The instant warning bells had her arms dropping stiffly to her sides. “Why? What do you want with Brandon?”
“Loosen up, Jules.” He settled on the arm of the sofa. He liked it there—really liked it, he realized. There was something about the way she’d inhabited the cool comfort of the guest area and had made it her own. A kind of charming untidiness, he mused, that spread Julia everywhere. The odd earring on the Hepplewhite table, the pretty high heels tilting against each other where they’d been stepped out of, a scribbled note, a china bowl full of rose petals and rosemary.
If he went into the kitchen, he’d find more of her there. And upstairs, in the bath, in the child’s room, in the room where she slept. Just what would he find of Julia in Julia’s most private space?
He looked back at her and smiled. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“Yes, I said something.” She blew out a stream of impatience. “I said what do you want with Brandon?”
“I’m not planning to kidnap him or take him off to show him my newest copy of Penthouse. It’s man business.” When she stomped down the rest of the stairs, he grinned. “Had a rough one?”
“A long one,” she said. “He’s not home from school yet.”
“I can wait.” His gaze flickered down, then back. “You’re barefoot again. I’m so glad you didn’t disappoint me.
She shoved her nervous hands into the pockets of her suit jacket. He should have to register that voice with the police, she thought uneasily. Or maybe with medical science. It could put a woman into a coma—or bring her straight out of one, terminally aroused.
“I really am busy, Paul. Why don’t you simply tell me what you want to talk to Brandon about?”
“You really are quite the mother. It’s admirable. Basketball,” he told her. “The Lakers are in town Saturday night. I thought the kid would get a kick out of going to the game.”
“Oh.” Her face was a study in contradictions. Pleasure for her son, concern, doubt, amusement. “I’m sure he would. But—”
“You can check with the cops, Jules. I don’t have a rap sheet.” Idly, he plucked one of the rose petals from the bowl and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “As a matter of fact, I have three tickets, if you want to tag along.”
So that was it, she thought, disappointed. It wasn’t the first time a man had tried to use Brandon to get to her. Well, Paul Winthrop was in for his own disappointment, she decided. He’d opened himself up for a night with a ten-year-old, and that’s what he’d get.
“It’s not my game,” she said mildly. “I’m sure you and Brandon would do better without me.”
“Okay,” he said so easily, she only stared. “Don’t feed him. We’ll catch something at the arena.”
“I’m not sure—” She broke off at the sound of a car.
“Looks like school’s out,” Paul commented, and tucked the petal into his pocket. “Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure Brandon and I can work out the details.”
She held her ground as her son burst through the front door, book bag swinging. “I didn’t miss one on the spelling test.”
“Way to go, champ.”
“And Millie had her babies. Five of them.” He glanced at Paul. “Millie’s the guinea pig from school.”
“I’m relieved, for Millie’s sake, to hear that.”
“It was kinda gross.” Brandon couldn’t help but relish it. “She looked sick and all, and just was lying there breathing real fast. Then these little wet things came out. And there was blood too.” He wrinkled his nose. “If I were a lady, I wouldn’t do it.”
Paul had to grin. He reached out and tugged the bill of Brandon’s cap over his eyes. “Lucky for us they’re made of sterner stuff.”
“I’m pretty sure it had to hurt.” He looked at his mother. “Does it?”
“You bet.” Then she laughed and swung an arm over his shoulder. “But sometimes we get lucky, and it’s worth it. I’ve almost decided you are.” Since it didn’t seem quite the time for a discussion on sex education and childbirth, she gave him a quick
squeeze. “Mr. Winthrop came to see you.”
“Really?” As far as Brandon could remember, it was the first time an adult had ever done so. Especially a male adult.
“It so happens,” Paul began, “the Lakers are in town Saturday.”
“Yeah, they’re playing the Celtics. It’ll be maybe like the biggest game of the whole season, and …” A thought wiggled into his brain, such a huge and stunning one, he gaped.
Paul’s lips curved as he saw the wild hope in the boy’s eyes. “And it so happens I’ve got a couple of extra tickets. Wanna go?”
“Oh, wow.” His eyes threatened to pop out of his head. “Oh, wow. Mom, please.” As he turned to grab her around the waist, his entire face was suffused with urgent pleading. “Please.”
“How could I say no to someone who aced his spelling test?”
Brandon let out a whoop as he hugged her. Then to Paul’s astonishment, the boy spun around and launched into his arms. “Thanks, Mr. Winthrop. This is the best. Really the best.”
Rocked by the spontaneous show of affection, Paul patted Brandon’s back, then nudged aside the book bag that was pressing into his kidneys. It had cost him nothing, he thought. He bought two season tickets every year as a matter of course, and had wangled the third from a friend who would be out of town. As Brandon grinned up at him, his face beaming with excitement and gratitude, Paul wished he’d had to slay a few dragons for the seats, at the very least.
“You’re welcome. Listen, I’ve got one extra. Is there anyone you know who’d like to go with us?”
It was almost too much. Like going to sleep in August and waking up on Christmas morning. Brandon stepped back, suddenly unsure if it was cool for a guy to hug another guy. He didn’t know. “Maybe Mom.”
“Already declined, thank you,” she said.
“Jeez, Dustin would really go nuts.”
“Dustin already is nuts,” Paul said. “Why don’t you go give him a call, see if he can make it?”
“No kidding? Great!” He bolted into the kitchen.
“I don’t like to interfere in man business.” Julia unbuttoned her suit jacket. “But do you know what you’ve got yourself into?”
“Boys’ night out?”
“Paul.” She couldn’t help but be kindly disposed to him now—not after seeing Brandon’s face. “If I have this right, you were an only child, you’ve never been married or had any children of your own.”
His gaze wandered down to her fingers that were still toying with the buttons of her jacket. “So far.”
“Ever baby-sit?”
“Excuse me?”
“I thought not.” On a sigh, she slipped out of the jacket and tossed it over the back of a chair. She was wearing a brick-colored sleeveless leotard, and Paul was delighted to see that as well as terrific legs, she had great shoulders. Smooth, creamy, and athletic. “Now, for your opening act, you’re going to take two ten-year-old boys to a professional basketball game. Solo.”
“It’s not like a trek into the Amazon, Jules. I’m a reasonably competent man.”
“I’m sure you are—under normal circumstances. Circumstances are never normal with ten-year-olds. It’s a very big arena, isn’t it?”
“So?”
“I’m going to have a lot of fun imagining you with two wild-eyed little boys.
“If I do a good job, will you treat me to a post-game … drink?”
She had both hands on his shoulders now, and a terrific urge to slide her fingers into his hair. “We’ll see,” she murmured. Her eyes changed, darkened. Going with impulse, she started to lower her head.
“He can go!” Brandon shouted from the kitchen doorway. “His mom says it’s okay, but she has to talk to you to be sure he’s not making it up.”
“Right.” Paul kept his eyes on Julia’s. Even if he’d been across the room, he could have seen the desire turn to astonished embarrassment. “I’ll be back.”
Julia blew out a short breath. What the hell had she been thinking of? Wrong question, she decided. She hadn’t been thinking at all, just feeling. And that was always dangerous.
Sweet Lord, he was attractive, appealing, sexy, charming. He had all those qualities that tempted a woman to make mistakes. It was a very good thing that she knew the pitfalls.
She smiled as she heard Brandon’s excited voice pipe in counterpoint to Paul’s deeper, wryer tones. Cautious or not, she couldn’t help but like him. She wondered if he had any idea how he had looked when Brandon had swooped into his arms. That blank astonishment, then the slow pleasure. It was entirely possible that she’d misjudged him, that he’d asked the boy to the game without any ulterior motives. She’d wait and see.
Now she’d better start thinking about dinner. She glanced toward the mantel to check the time on the antique ormulu clock. It was gone. Baffled, she stared, then the color drained out of her face.
She hadn’t been wrong. There had been someone in the house. Struggling not to panic again, she made a careful search of the living room. Besides the clock, there was a Dresden figurine, a pair of jade candlesticks, and three of the miniature antique snuff boxes that had been in the display cabinet.
Keeping a mental account, she hurried into the dining room. There, too, she found several small, valuable pieces missing. There had been an amethyst butterfly that would fit in the palm of her hand, and had probably been worth several thousand dollars. A set of salt cellars from the Georgian period.
When was the last time she had seen any of these things? She and Brandon invariably used the kitchen or the terrace for meals. A day, a week? Two weeks? She pressed a hand to her churning stomach.
There could be a simple explanation. Maybe Eve had decided to remove the pieces herself. Clinging to that, she went back into the living room to find Brandon and Paul seated, discussing plans for the big night.
“We’re going to go early,” Brandon told her. “So we can meet some of the guys in the locker room.”
“That’s great.” She forced a smile. “Listen, why don’t you get yourself a snack, and we’ll deal with your homework a little later?”
“Okay.” He leapt up and shot Paul another grin. “See you.”
“You’d better sit down,” Paul advised when they were alone. “You’re white as a sheet.”
She only nodded. “There are some things missing from the house. I need to call Eve right away.”
He was up, taking her arm. “What things?”
“The clock, antique boxes. Things,” she snapped, afraid she would babble. “Valuable things. The tapes—” “What about them?”
“They’re misfiled. Someone …” She forced herself to take a long, deep breath. “Someone’s been here.” “Show me the tapes.”
She led the way into the office off the living room. “They’re mixed,” she told him as she opened the drawer. “I always file them alphabetically.”
After nudging her into the chair, he looked for himself. “You’ve been busy,” he murmured, noting the names and dates. “Any chance you’ve been working late and jumbled them yourself?”
“Almost none.” She caught his doubtful glance around the disordered room. “Listen, I know how it looks, but the single thing I’m obsessive about is keeping my interviews in precise order. It’s part of my work pattern.”
He nodded, accepting. “Could Brandon have played with them?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t think so.” His voice was mild, but there was something flickering in his eyes, something dangerous, when he looked at her again. “All right, Julia, is there anything on these tapes you wouldn’t want someone to hear before publication?”
She hesitated, then shrugged. “Yes.”
His lips tightened before he closed the drawer. “Obviously you’re not going to expand on that. Are any of the tapes missing?”
“They’re all there.” A sudden thought had more color washing out of her cheeks. Snatching the tape recorder out of her briefcase, she grabbed a tape at
random. A moment later a thin, nasal voice entered the room.
“My opinion of Eve Benedict? A tremendously talented actress and an enormous pain in the ass.”
Julia let out a little sigh as she hit stop.
“Alfred Kinsky,” she explained. “I interviewed him Monday afternoon. He directed Eve in three of her early films.”
“I know who he is,” Paul said dryly.
Nodding, she slipped the tape back in its plastic case, but held on to it. “I was afraid someone might have erased the tapes. I’ll still have to check them all, but …” She dragged a hand through her hair, loosening pins. “It wouldn’t make sense. I could always reinterview. I’m not thinking. I’m not thinking,” she said to herself, then put the tape down to press her fingers to her eyes. “Someone came in here to steal. I’ve got to call Eve. And the police.”
Paul clamped a hand on her wrist as she reached for the phone. “I’ll call her. Relax. Go pour yourself a brandy.”
She shook her head.
