Brown and de Luca Collection, Volume 1

by Maggie Shayne

  “What sort of thing is that, Angela?” I asked.

  She smiled at me. I smiled back. Don’t even try to out passive-aggressive me, hon. I wrote the manual.

  “Oh, you know.” She waved a hand from the wrist. “Airy-fairy.”

  Mason put his hand on my thigh. It was supposed to calm me down. It didn’t. Then he went to take it away and I slapped mine over top of it to keep it there. Because while it wasn’t calming, it was distracting in the best possible way.

  Marlayna was talking again, but I’d been focused on that hand and had to quickly tune in.

  “…not like that at all, Angela,” she was saying. “It’s…deep. She writes in truths that are so simple you just feel like you knew them all along. And I think we probably do on some level, we just…I don’t know, forget.”

  “Truths, you say.” Condescension dripped from Angela’s tone. “Why don’t you share some of these bits of genius with us, Rachel? I’m not familiar with your work. In fact, I’d never heard of you until Mason mentioned you to me.”

  Another slam. I was preparing to return the volley when Misty said, “Wow. Have you been living in a cave or something?”

  Mason snorted coffee out his nose. Well, okay, not quite, but I thought it was close.

  “I used to spend all my time worrying,” Marlayna said. She either hadn’t noticed the little round of slam-the-writer or had chosen to ignore it. “Every decision, every simple ‘should I or shouldn’t I?’ was like a life-and-death choice. I’d spend hours trying to think of every possible repercussion, trying to predict other people’s reactions to every decision I made. I was trying to choose between jobs when I read Wish and It Is Granted.”

  “What were the jobs?” I almost jumped, surprised the question had come from me. I realized I was leaning forward on the sofa, elbows on my legs, having forgotten all about Mason and his hand on my thigh, which was, sadly, no longer there. I was eager to hear what Marlayna was saying. What the fuck?

  “I was a teacher at the time,” she said slowly. “But I was offered a job in the administration end of things, and at the same time, I’d been playing around with website design, taking a few classes and practicing by putting up sites for friends. I was worried about money, security, retirement, work hours…everything you could think of. And then I read that book, and it was like an angel whispering in my ear, ‘Just do what you really want in your heart to do, the thing that feels like the most fun. Do that, and the rest will fall into place.’”

  I wrote that? That’s actually not bad.

  “So what did you do?” I asked, and this time I wasn’t even surprised I was eager.

  “I did what my heart wanted to do and started my own website design business. Within a year I was making twice what I’d made teaching, and after the second year, more than the administrative job would have paid. And I have never once regretted it.”

  Angela made a huffing sound, but I decided to ignore her. Then Marlayna was reaching across and covering my hand with hers. “Thank you for that, Rachel. I’ve been making decisions based on what my heart wants ever since, and just like you said, my heart has never steered me wrong.”

  “Too bad I didn’t have that kind of advice seventeen years ago,” Marie said softly. “I was a nurse when Eric and I first got married. But I gave it up to stay home and raise our boys. Sometimes…I really miss it.”

  “It’s never too late, Marie,” Marlayna said softly.

  Everyone was looking at me—Angela skeptically, of course, but Mason was beaming like he was proud or something, and Misty had that “if they only knew” smirk on her face.

  “Well, we’d best get back to the lodge and let you all get some sleep,” Rosie said, maybe to break the awkward moment. “Will I see you all on the slopes tomorrow?”

  “You can see me in the water park,” Josh said. “That’s where I want to be!”

  “We’ll ski in the morning, water park in the afternoon. How’s that sound, pal?” Mason asked.

  Joshua pouted and sank farther back into his chair. I felt for the kid. That water park was all he’d talked about since we’d arrived. Maybe I’d talk to Mason about letting him go right at noon, when it opens.

  “Come on, Josh, time for you to get ready for bed,” his mother said. “Me, too, for that matter. I’m exhausted.” She got up and held out her hand to her youngest. “Good night, Rosie, Marlayna. Angela.”

  “Good night, Marie.” Marlayna went to her, gave her a slight hug and whispered something that made Marie glance my way, nod and say, “Maybe I will.”

  Hell, Marlayna was telling her to read my books. I just knew it. Like that was going to help after she’d lost her husband and her baby.

  Angela said, “No point in you two walking back to the lodge. I have my car outside.” They left, and Marie and Joshua headed upstairs, leaving Mason and me with Misty and Jeremy, who were clearly hoping we’d turn in and leave them alone.

  “I’m pretty tired, too,” I said. “Misty, help me with the mess, will you, so we can turn in?”

  “Sure.” She followed me to the kitchen, each of us carrying a pile of stuff. She wrapped the leftover brownies, while I stacked empty mugs in the dishwasher.

  I said, “So listen, about you and Jeremy…”

  “We only met a few days ago, Aunt Rache.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’ve been a teenager, albeit a blind one. I know the deal. You’re seventeen. Are you on anything?”

  “Like drugs?” she asked, mortified.

  “Like birth control, Einstein.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her back on me.

  “Look, I have three things to say, kid.” I ticked them off on my fingers as I went on. “One. Not without a condom, not ever, no matter what. Two. Not before you’re ready, no matter what, no matter who. And three. Remember that sex means something. It connects you with the other person whether you want it to or not. So understand that before you proceed.”

  “You sound like one of your own books, Aunt Rachel.”

  “That’s because I’m the author. And while I’ve got your attention, I want you to keep in mind that Jeremy is in a really vulnerable place right now. He just lost his father, and then his newborn sister, so be careful with his feelings.”

  “I am not going to have sex with Jeremy.”

  “You can still be careful how you treat him.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “I’m done now. Use your brain. Make your aunt proud.” I wiped my hands on a dish towel, tossed it onto the counter and left the kitchen in time to see the tail end of what looked like a similar conversation between Mason and Jeremy, who was rolling his eyes just like Misty had. I hoped they both listened, because we couldn’t keep our eyes on them 24/7. At some point with kids you had to trust them and hope they remembered one or two of your 8000 lectures.

  Mason met my eyes and nodded just slightly, telling me we were still on for that research in my room.

  “I’m heading upstairs now,” I said. “Good night, you guys.”

  “Night,” they chorused.

  And then I headed for my room, feeling like a hypocrite because I’d just lectured Misty on the dangers of casual sex while I was considering having some myself a little later on.

  Or was I?

  According to Marlayna, the crap I’d spouted in book one, crap that was really just a remix of crap I’d read myself, in braille or on audio over the twenty years I’d been told to make peace with my blindness, actually worked.

  Had changed her life, she’d said.

  Oh, she wasn’t the first. I’d had thousands of letters and emails from readers claiming the same. I guess I’d just assumed those people had thought their lives had changed, but that they would revert in short order to whatever had been wrong in the first place. Marlayna
was the first person to give me a snapshot of changes that had lasted years.

  I knew the stuff by heart, the platitudes, the pseudo-science behind them. The theory that one’s inner self always knew the right thing to do, and that this all-knowing, all-seeing part of us communicated to us through our emotions. When something felt great, filled us with excitement and eagerness, that was our inner self saying “Hell, yes,” according to the message I preached.

  My inner self was shouting a very loud hell, yes to a night of hot monkey sex with Mason.

  Maybe, just this once, I would try a little spoonful of my own medicine. Practice what I preached. What did I have to lose?

  Shit, I need to take a shower!

  I hit the adjoining bathroom like my feet were on fire, cranked the taps and thanked my lucky stars that I’d packed all my inner-Barbie stuff. My sweet-smelling body wash. My extra rich conditioner. A couple of razors. I was going to do it, I thought, as I scrubbed every inch of my body. I was going to have sex with Mason tonight.

  My inner idiot giggled like a sophomore.

  My inner bitch was smiling like she knew something I didn’t. I hate when she does that.

  CHAPTER 9

  Tuesday, December 19

  Tap tap tap, really softly on my bedroom door. And it was about frigging time. I’d only been waiting for close to two hours, which meant I’d had plenty of time to change my mind seventeen times and primp a little more just in case. You know, the usual stuff. Fix my hair three different ways and debate with myself over whether to wear pajama bottoms and a tank, or a T-shirt and panties. The latter would have been too obvious, so I went for the jammie bottoms and the tank. No bra. I’d just pretend I didn’t realize how great my small but perky boobs looked in the white ribbed, guy-style tank top. He’d believe that, right?

  Just when I decided he wouldn’t, that I would come off like a sex maniac and was digging for a suitable substitution, there came that sound of someone rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

  Nothing to do but buck up. I squared my shoulders, pulled my hair around to one side, which I’d decided looked sexy, and opened the door.

  Mason had come bearing gifts. Leftover brownies and coffee, which he put on one of the nightstands. And the way his gaze slid over my tank top made me glad I hadn’t changed. He swallowed hard, averted his eyes, and I saw the way his sexy-as-hell, stubble-coated jawline tightened. I doubted he had any idea how gorgeous he was. Or maybe he did, now that I thought about it.

  He came on in when I stepped aside. He wore pajama bottoms, too, just like me. Unlike me, he’d chosen a loose-fitting T-shirt to cover his magnificent upper bod. I wished he hadn’t. I remembered it too well. He had the best shoulders and back. Really wide and smooth, and just…nice.

  I closed the door behind him. Too obvious?

  He set the goodies on the nightstand, snatching up the file folder he’d left there earlier, then turned to face me. “Sorry it took so long.”

  “Did it? I wasn’t paying attention.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek, like he wanted to grin but was fighting it. “I thought it’d be better to wait until everyone else called it a night. We can’t tell them what we’re really doing in here, and that means they’d jump to their own conclusions.”

  “Right. Makes sense.” He smelled good. Damn, he’d showered, too. His hair was still damp at the ends.

  My turn to avoid a full-fledged grin. I grinned on the inside, though, right to my toes.

  “Where’s Myrtle?” he asked, looking around my room.

  “She’s in with Josh because she’s a dirty traitor. But I don’t mind.”

  “He’s fallen in love, for sure. So, you have chairs in here?”

  “Nope, just the bed.” I jumped on, scooted up until my back was against the headboard and crossed my legs in front of me. Then I patted the spot next to me.

  He looked a little nervous, but he joined me on the bed. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, leaned back, positioning a few pillows behind him, and opened the file folder on his thighs.

  His thighs. I remembered them, too. Running my hands over the soft, fine hairs on them and feeling them flex hard and let go, over and over.

  “Okay, so we have—”

  “We have coffee getting cold and brownies getting stale over there,” I said, nodding to the nightstand on his side of the bed, because I needed to distract myself. And those brownies were pretty damn good.

  He looked up from the papers and nodded. “Right.” Then he passed me a mug and brought the plate of brownies over. He put it on the bed beside my legs. “There you go.” Like he knew it was the brownies I’d really wanted the whole time. Hell, he probably had. We’d been together a lot, the last time his brother had come back from the dead. Figuratively speaking.

  “I should at least pretend I’m not going to eat those,” I said.

  “Nah. I think skiing burns off more calories than you could eat if you tried.”

  “You haven’t seen me try.” I took a brownie, dipped it in my coffee and involuntarily said, “Mmm” as I bit off the soggy end.

  He shifted a little, then reached for his own mug and took a sip.

  “I really didn’t expect we’d spend our first night here in bed together,” I said.

  He choked on his coffee, and I grabbed a few tissues from the box on my nightstand and handed them to him.

  “Thanks.”

  I leaned over and grabbed my laptop off the floor where I’d left it. “So, where do we begin?”

  “Let’s search the net.”

  “Search terms?” I asked, opening the lid and signing on to the internet, pleasantly surprised by the speedy connection.

  “Organ transplants, August of this year.”

  “Got it.” I clicked keys rapidly and clicked the search button. “Hmm, over eight million hits, beginning with several from the UK.”

  “Yes, but now we narrow them down by hospital. We have the list from last time of every hospital where Eric’s organs were sent.”

  I searched, but I wasn’t finding what we wanted. “Most of this is official stuff. Statistics and so on. We need personal.” I typed in the word fund-raiser with the rest of the terms, including the dates and hospitals, and sure as shit, names popped up. Actual names of actual people. Perfect. I turned the screen toward him, and he nodded.

  “You’re brilliant.”

  “Yes, I am. Thanks for noticing.”

  “Now we cross-check the names with the specific organs and the hospitals where they were sent, and voilà, we have our list of potential victims.”

  “But the patients wouldn’t necessarily live in the cities where the organs were sent.”

  “No, that’s true. The organs go to the transplant center closest to the victims. But if the fund-raiser is within a hundred-mile radius and the dates are right, we’ll consider it a potential hit.”

  I nodded. “I’ll bet not all of them had fund-raisers.”

  Most of them did, though. We found fifty-seven newspaper articles about fund-raisers for transplant recipients and knew we were on the right track when the results included the two victims so far. As I looked at our growing list, I nodded. “You know, Mason, I’ve been meaning to tell you that despite everything, I’m glad you gave me Eric’s corneas. I like being able to see.”

  “But not what came with it.”

  I lowered my head. “No, being in the heads of the people who continued Eric’s crimes after his death was no fun. And I’ve gotta tell you, being along for the ride with the recent victims was torture. But it happened. And there has to be a reason.”

  Tipping his head to one side, he studied my face with his gorgeous brown eyes. “Careful, Rachel. You sound like you’re starting to believe in your own philosophy.”

&nbs
p; “Maybe I am, a little bit.” I shrugged. “If my suffering through these…visions…can save someone’s life, then maybe it’s worth it.”

  “And maybe if we can find this person, stop him, it’ll finally be over for you.”

  “God, I hope so.”

  He reached out, dragged a forefinger across my cheek. “You got some brownie on you.”

  When he shifted his hand away, I took it in mine and brought it back, and he flattened his palm against my cheek. I closed my eyes and rubbed against it just a little. “I really like how I feel when you touch me,” I said.

  “It’s mutual.” But he drew a deep breath and took his hand gently away. “But right now we have lives to save. Including yours.”

  “And Marie’s,” I added with a nod. “And that poor woman’s been through enough for one lifetime. Maybe two.”

  “Yeah. She’s shaky. I’m worried about the boys, too.”

  I nodded, and got back to our lists. We’d made our way halfway down them with no new matches when I said, “I’ve got a Stephanie Phelps, fund-raiser for a tendon transplant. I didn’t know they did that.”

  He ran his finger over his list. “Nope. The only listing for Eric’s tendons is Johnson City. Close to home.”

  I kept going on my list, reading the pertinent info aloud. “Richard Kenner has been moved to the top of the list for a lung transplant, but the surgery is expensive and insurance won’t cover it all…blah blah blah, fund-raiser will be held…yada yada.” I looked for follow-up pieces under his name, town and “lung transplant,” and found the mother lode on Facebook. I nodded. “Richie received his new lung on August 17. The day your brother died.”

  “There’s a good chance it’s Eric’s, then. Find his home address and I’ll give you another brownie.”

  “Way ahead of you, pal.” I had already started, and as it came up, I pointed at the screen, where the man’s name, address and phone number appeared. “You can find anyone on the internet.”

  “Damn, you’re good.”