“My husband thought so,” she said simply and to our relief, Joe accepted that explanation.
I suggested that we were ready for coffee and dessert. Joe helped clear the dishes while Aunt Susanna made coffee, and I daydreamed about making this a permanent arrangement.
It was after I set out cookies for dessert and was dreamily stirring milk into my coffee that Joe dropped the bomb on us.
“I was asking because I heard that someone else might come around here inquiring about it,” he said, settling back into his chair and accepting the coffee Aunt Susanna offered him. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard of a man named Gregory Randall, have you?”
Aunt Susanna nearly lost hold of her own mug and glanced at me in a panic, but Joe wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were focused on me.
For some strange reason, I was calm. It was as though every emotion had abandoned me. I was being tested. I’d already resolved that Gregory Randall was not going to be exposed - not yet, not even to Joseph Tremonti. Not until I was ready.
“Randall?” I said, leaning forward to take a cookie that I had no interest in eating. “Sounds familiar. Should I know him?”
I feared that I sounded too disinterested, but Joe released my gaze and continued.
“He’s known in some circles. He’s a historian, used to have quite a good reputation. But that was a while ago, back when he showed some talent.”
Aunt Susanna’s lips tightened noticeably, but she didn’t respond.
I wondered at Joe’s tone. He sounded positively disdainful and a dreadful thought washed over me: that gap in Gregory’s history. I hadn’t yet found out what caused it.
Stay the course, Maddie…
“Oh?” I said, my curiosity pushing me beyond where I should go. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”
He shook his head, grinning, and Aunt Susanna said, “Why did you bring him up? Do you expect him to cause trouble or something?”
Joe looked up at her in surprise. “More trouble than you’ve already experienced?” he asked, and she did a double take. “I’m sorry, that was crass. No, it’s just I heard that he’d been asking around about the Chase letter… And the Beaumont one.”
This time it was I who was startled, but I recovered before Joe returned to me.
“I wondered if he’d contacted you at all?” he asked. His eyes, now a shade of metallic green, caught and held mine. His mouth curved into a slow smile.
In the corner of my eye, I saw Aunt Susanna gaping at me. She expected me to follow my usual practice, of course, and confess all. Joe’s penetrating gaze and the Hollywood good looks usually had that effect on me.
I looked deep into his gold-flecked eyes, leaning forward until his cologne washed over me again.
I lied without blinking.
“No,” I said. “I haven’t heard from anyone like that.”
***
After that, the conversation became warm, comfortable, and lively, with even Aunt Susanna joining in. Much, much later, I walked Joe out to his car.
It was a brilliant night, warm and just humid enough that the air felt as though it was a blanket embracing my shoulders. The sky was a velvet arc studded with diamonds, and the moon was the polished silver centerpiece. Tree frogs and crickets chorused loudly, reminding me that for all the darkness, there was life.
We walked out together in silence, and Joe reached out to take my hand as we strolled. I was thrilled at his touch, and I found myself wishing that I didn’t have to let go. His hand was so strong and his presence so stable while my life was so shaky, filled with shadows and ambiguity. I wished to be part of his safe and strong world; yet it wasn’t something that could be asked for. I needed to be invited.
When we reached the car, Joe turned to me and took my other hand, pulling me close. I lifted my face to his.
“Thanks for today,” he said in his husky voice. “I needed this.”
“Me, too,” I smiled, then, “I missed you while you were away.”
His grinned widened. “Why do you think I came back so early?”
My heart began to pound. I was so wrapped in a tormented dream-state that I didn’t expect what he said next.
“Maddie,” he said, his voice as softly caressing as his touch. “Randall’s here, isn’t he?”
It hit me like a siren, shocking me into reality.
“What?” I stammered.
His smile was warm, his eyes roaming about my face without a hint of disappointment in them.
“Gregory Randall has been here, hasn’t he?”
When I stared at him, flabbergasted, he nodded knowingly and even laughed. “Oh, Maddie. You just aren’t any good at lying, you know that?”
I very nearly pulled my hand out of his grasp, but I didn’t. Alarmed as I was, there was no doubt that he knew and no point in denying it any more.
“How did you know?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s a small world. I know people that he knows and word gets around about these projects, especially a figure with a reputation like Randall’s.” It was not a compliment. “He’s been asking questions and some of them got back to me. It wasn’t hard to put together the pieces. What did he want?”
“He wants what everyone wants.” I did pull my hands out of his then, and turned away to lean on the side of his shiny convertible. The metal felt cool under my hands. “He wanted a crack at finding the treasure.”
“And then what happened?”
It was an odd thing to ask. I frowned and shook my head. “I thought we agreed that there was nothing to find.”
“That’s not what I meant,” he said, stepping closer. “Did you let him look for it?”
My heart was pounding and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. That must have alarmed Joe, because he reached out and turned me back to him, firmly but gently. I looked up at him, but his face was in shadow.
“Maddie,” he asked. “Did you allow him to look?”
“Yes.”
It came out as a whisper, a frightened little noise that at any other time, I would have despised. I felt absolutely defeated, like a small child who has failed her parents. I almost wanted to run away; but like that small child, I didn’t want to leave the man who faced me. His opinion still mattered.
His hands tightened on my shoulders. “Randall is the man you let me think was a writer, the one you said wrote trash. Right?”
I nodded.
“Maddie, why did you lie to me? Couldn’t you trust me?”
His plaintive tone cut deep. “I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want to involve you. I thought, after a few weeks, he’d get discouraged and go away again. But he didn’t and he – I… And he…”
I trailed off. What was I trying to say? That he’d remained convinced that there was something to find? That he’d sucked me into the search as well? What would Joe say then?
Joe’s hands dropped from my shoulders suddenly, leaving me stranded in the middle of the dark while he took a step back.
“Why?” he asked. “Maddie, I thought we… Did he ask to see the Beaumont letter?”
I’d always known that Joe was sharp, but I’d never realized just how quick he was. It unnerved me.
“He didn’t have to, Joe,” I said simply. “He knows I forged it.”
His look was measured, cautious. “And the letter itself?” he asked. “Did you burn it, like you said you were going to?”
My throat tightened. I had promised him I would do just that and I hadn’t. Joe had warned me long ago that Maddox’s word was only good as long as no one looked too hard. As long as the letter remained in existence, the truth was only a few short tests from exposure. He’d warned me, and I’d promised.
And the letter was still in the bank.
“No,” I whispered hoarsely.
There was a sharp intake of breath. And then Joe Tremonti turned away from me. He was walking away, leaving me. My heart lunged after him, dragging me along with it.
“Joe!” I said a
nd he stopped short. “Joe, please…”
He looked at me, and this time I could see his face clearly. Etched in it was the disappointment I’d heard in his voice.
“I told you to burn it. I told you that you were safe, all you had to do was burn it and no one would ever know.”
“But it didn’t make a difference, Joe. It didn’t. Gregory didn’t need to see the original. He knew it was fake before he came to see me – whether or not he has the letter in his hand, he can prove it. In the end it just didn’t matter.”
I was pleading now and his face, shadowed as it was, was impossible to read.
Then he said simply, “Maddie, why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you trust me? Why did you go to Randall, of all people?”
“I didn’t, Joe. Once he knew about the letter, I had no choice. It was that or exposure.” And then, as his fists began to clench, I went on, gaining confidence as I went. “But that doesn’t matter now. He’s on to something. I’m sure of it. I thought he was a fraud at first, but he knows what he’s talking about. There’s really something out there, Joe. I couldn’t believe it at first, but it’s true – there is something. We just found…”
“He’s a thief, Maddie.”
The statement cut me off mid-sentence, leaving me gulping for air. As I stared, he stepped close to me, looming above me until his head and shoulders blocked the moon and I was covered in his shadow.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, when I could finally speak.
His voice was like honey - smooth, sweet, smothering.
“Gregory Randall is a thief, Madeleine. An intellectual thief. Oh, he made that Revolutionary War find all right, but it was a lucky break, one that gave him a reputation far beyond his ability. It made him into a quasi-celebrity, and when he realized that he couldn’t make lightning strike twice, he surrounded himself with talented underlings, and stole their research.”
I was trembling, shaking as though I was standing in my short sleeves on a winter’s day.
No.
“But Joe,” I protested feebly.
He interrupted. “I’m not saying he’s without talent. He’s smart enough to negotiate his way out of that fiasco with only the slightest stain to his character. But he’s without scruples, and he’s been known to use little events like this one to build his legacy.” He looked around, rubbing his face with his hand. “It doesn’t matter to Randall whether or not there’s actually a treasure here, Maddie. All that matters is that he gets a story, a book out of it. If he doesn’t write about the treasure, he’ll write one about the family that ruined itself chasing fool’s gold. It’s what Randall does.” Then, through clenched teeth: “And now he’s got you in his clutches.”
My head was whirling. This didn’t make sense, yet Joe was saying it and I had no reason to doubt him. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’d always dealt squarely with me, while Gregory had blackmailed his way into my house. I’d instinctively mistrusted him from the start. Perhaps I’d been right.
But he promised... He rides the trails with me…
But couldn’t that just be another snow job? Didn’t Gregory Randall have a vested interest in making sure I didn’t give in to the trespassers? Didn’t he have a reason to keep me indebted to him?
The letter – I didn’t make up the clue in the letter. I found that clue, not Gregory. Whatever he might be playing at, he didn’t fake that.
But that meant only that his gamble had paid off this time. It didn’t mean anything more, and it certainly didn’t mean…
I didn’t finish that thought.
As I struggled through these conflicting emotions, Joe was sating, “You’ve got to get rid of him, Maddie. He’s nothing but bad news. You can’t let him use you.”
I was shaking again, but my voice was steady when I answered him. My tone was flat, almost dead.
“I can’t do that, Joe.”
He was taken aback. “Why not? Has he threatened you?”
He had. There was no real guarantee that Gregory wouldn’t expose the Beaumont letter if I threw him off the property now. In fact, it might goad him into keeping his promise, a promise I’d nearly forgotten about.
But Joe didn’t need to know that. In fact, I decided that he’d better not know. I trusted Joe, but not to keep his temper where I was concerned. And Gregory must not be harmed.
“No,” I snapped then calmed myself. “No. We made a deal. Whatever his motivations, I promised and I’m sticking with it. It’s as simple as that.”
“Maddie…”
I put my hands up and shook my head.
“I can handle this,” I said, even though I didn’t believe it. “I think Randall’s on to something and, when he finds it, I’m going to be there to make sure it’s claimed for the Chase family, if only for Uncle Michael’s sake. I don’t think Randall’s playing me, but if he is, it doesn’t matter. Two can play at that game, and I am going to be there when he finds it.”
My determination gave an edge to my voice, cutting off any protest on Joe’s part. We stood in silence for a few moments.
Joe ran a hand through his hair, looked around, then stared at me. His smile was enigmatic, somehow menacing.
“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him,” he said.
I stared, stunned. He stepped forward and I held my ground, letting him come close to me. Our eyes met and held and everything but his presence faded to the background.
“Will you let me run him out of here for you?” he asked gently.
I swallowed hard and looked at my feet. “No. Not yet. Please…”
He was turning from me again, turning to his car, nearly stomping his feet in frustration.
“Madeleine Warwick,” he said and pulled open his car door. “You are the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met.”
He couldn’t leave, not now, not like this. Not angry. Yet I would not stop him any more than I could stop the little audible cry that involuntarily left my lips, nor the sudden tears that stung my eyes.
He heard the cry, then he saw my tears. And before I knew it was happening, I was in his arms.
“And Madeleine Warwick,” he said, his face so close to mine that his breath caressed my face. “You drive me absolutely crazy.”
Then he kissed me.
It was confusing and overwhelming. He was insistent, demanding, and my physical senses were so overwhelmed that all thought fell away. As his arms tightened around me, a dizzying, triumphant feeling rushed over me: here, after all this time, was the moment I’d been waiting so long for.
I responded, leaning into his kiss, my arms snaking around his neck. One thought emerged clearly:
So this is what it’s like to be kissed by a strong man.
I don’t know how long the kiss lasted. It seemed both an eternity and a moment later when he pulled away, stepping back from me. He was as breathless as I; but where I was weak-kneed and confused, he seemed to have gained in confidence. He smiled at me, then reached to trace my face with his hand.
“That’s dangerous,” he whispered. “A man could get addicted.”
Taking my head in his hands, he kissed me again, lightly. Then, without another word, he got back into his car and drove off, leaving me alone in the driveway.
I stood watching him go, my thoughts a jumbled riot, wondering, What happens now?
“Well, well.”
The familiar voice cut through the night air like a knife.
My first thought was: He saw. Guilt swept over me, chased just as quickly by the thought, I’ve done nothing wrong, whatever he might think.
I turned to face Gregory.
He was silhouetted on the porch steps, the light glinting off of his glasses. His arms were folded, and he leaned against the post in a pose that normally would denote ease and disinterest. But I knew him pretty well now, and I knew better.
“You’re back,” I said. My voice was surprisingly steady. I forced myself to walk up to the porch under his unblinking scrutiny.
“I am,” he said, in a tone that was flat - so void of emotion it was almost frightening.
“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” I said.
I was on the porch at that point, leaning on the post opposite of his. I tried not to look at him; but his presence, for once, was more overwhelming than Joe’s had been.
He was staring out into the night, and I studied the outline of his face. The light created deep shadows, and the man looked haggard, aged beyond what travel fatigue could explain.
“I caught an early plane,” he said, then nodded towards the road. “So we had a visit from the great Joseph Tremonti. I wonder what he wanted.”
“Do you know him?” I asked.
He laughed. It was a brittle sound. “Better than I’d like. What did he want?”
There was a harsh note in his tone, one that made me lift my chin in defiance.
“Dinner,” I said, and when Randall looked at me, I explained, “He came for a visit. We’re old friends.”
“So I saw,” he said dryly.
I was glad that my face was in shadow.
“Is that all he wanted? Dinner and… Dessert?”
Anger swept over me, righteous and dangerous. I clenched my fists, but my words made for a far more effective weapon.
“Not exactly,” I said, matching his tone. “He came here to warn me against a Professor Gregory Randall.”
Eyebrows raised, he turned to me.
I continued. “Joe said he’s been poking around the archives, looking for the Beaumont letter. Apparently, Randall has a habit of making a nuisance of himself, poking his nose where it doesn’t belong, uncovering things better left alone.”
I saw the curve of his grin.
“Sounds about right,” he said.
“Yes, it does,” I snapped. “Joe didn’t want me to be inconvenienced.”
“Very considerate of him. Naturally, you thanked him for his trouble.”
My nails were digging into my palms. “Naturally,” I said coolly. “And I told him that you weren’t a threat at all.”
“Aren’t I, Madeleine?”
His voice was infused with something that set off all my warning alarms.
Run.
“No,” I said shortly and I turned to go into the house.
Necessary Evil Page 26
