by Nora Roberts
of blocks. All because Cobb had been marginally more use to him dead than alive.
Control, Luke thought, easing down on the bed like an old man. All these years he’d thought he’d been in control. But that had been a lie. All along there had been someone behind the scenes, pulling the strings and making a mockery out of what he’d thought he’d made and could make out of his life.
All because of some twisted sense of jealousy, and an overheated grudge due to a broken nose. Anyone standing in that leather and oak office that evening would have seen that Sam was more than ambitious, he was more than cold-blooded. He was crazy. But there was only one person still alive who had seen it.
What could he do? Luke rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes as if to wipe away the image of what had been so that he could clearly see what had to be.
He’d broken into a private home. If the police knew where to look they would find the trail, and that trail would lead directly back to the Nouvelles. If Luke went to the police with a tangled story of blackmail and murder, whom would they believe? The thief, or the sober citizen?
He could risk that. Though he wasn’t certain he could face prison without going mad, he could risk that. But there was a chance Sam would make good on his other threats. Max in a mental ward, Lily devastated, Roxanne ruined. Or perhaps Sam would find murder more to his liking and kill them—kill them with the gun that carried Luke’s fingerprints.
That thought brought panic bubbling up so that he grabbed the phone and punched in numbers. His fingers grabbed hard on the receiver. She answered on the first ring, as if she’d been waiting for him.
“Hello . . . Hello? Is anyone there?”
He could see her, as clearly as if he’d conjured her into the room. Sitting up in bed, the phone to her ear and an open book in her lap, an old black-and-white movie flickering on the television.
Then the image was gone, vanished like smoke, because he knew he would never see her that way again.
“Hello? Luke, is that you? Is something—”
He set the phone down, slowly, quietly.
He’d made his choice. To answer her, to tell her would be to keep her and watch her suffer. To leave her, without a word, without a sign, would mean she would grow to hate him, safely.
Like a man already drunk, he rose and brought the bottle back to bed. It wouldn’t ease his miseries, but it might bring him sleep.
• • •
In the morning, freshly showered, the disguise in place, he checked out of the hotel and headed for the airport. He wanted to live. Perhaps only to make certain, from a distance, that Sam left the Nouvelles undisturbed. And perhaps to bide his time, to wait, to watch and to plan a suitable revenge.
Yet he had no flight plan, no destination. Though he loved to fly, his life was now as empty as the bottle he’d left behind him.
“He should have been back hours ago.” Rubbing her damp palms together, Roxanne paced her father’s workroom. “Something went wrong. He should never have gone alone.”
“It’s not his first job, my dear.” Max lifted a brightly painted box from a waist-high bench and revealed Mouse’s grinning severed head. “He knows what he’s doing.”
“He hasn’t checked in.”
“This isn’t a weigh station.” At a press of a button of the remote concealed in Max’s sleeve the head gave a long, echoing moan. Another switch and the eyes rolled left and right, the mouth moved. “Excellent, excellent. Lifelike, don’t you think?”
“Daddy.” To gain his full attention, Roxanne shoved the box back down over the head. “Luke’s in trouble. I know it.”
“How do you know it?” He switched off the remote.
“Because no one’s heard from him since he left here last night. Because he was due back by six A.M., and it’s nearly noon. Because when I called the airport to ask about John Carroll Brakeman, they said he’d filed his flight plan but he’d never shown up.”
“Obvious reasons. Just as it’s obvious the head is still inside this box.” With a show of his old flair, Max plucked the box off the table. The head was gone, replaced by a thriving geranium. “I raised you better than to accept the obvious.”
“This isn’t a magic trick, damn it.” She spun away. How could he play games when Luke was missing? Max laid a hand on her shoulder, and she stiffened.
“He’s a bright, resourceful boy, Roxy. I knew the first time I saw him. He’ll be back soon.”
She hurled his own words back at him. “How do you know?”
“It’s in the cards.” To distract and amuse her, Max pulled a deck from his pocket, whipped them into a fan. But his stiffened fingers couldn’t make the flourish. To Max, it seemed as though the cards had come alive to jump gleefully from his hands and scatter. He watched with eyes dulled with horror as they flew out of his grip.
Roxanne felt his heart break as keenly as she felt her own. She crouched to gather the deck and hurried to fill the awful silence.
“I know Luke sometimes breaks routine, but not like this.” She cursed the cards, cursed age, cursed her own inadequacy to fill the gap. “Do you think I should go look for him?”
He continued to stare at the floor, though the cards were gone, hidden behind Roxanne’s back. Now you see them, now you don’t. But Max had a better magic formula. He simply stopped fighting to keep his mind on what was. When he brought his eyes back to his daughter’s there was a smile in them, a mild, pleasant, utterly heart-wrenching smile. “If we look hard enough, long enough, we always find what we need. Do you know many people believe there’s more than one philosophers’ stone? But they’ve fallen into the trap of the obvious.”
“Daddy.” Roxanne reached out with her free hand, but Max shook his head, miles away from the daughter who stood watching him with tears in her eyes.
Abruptly, he slammed a book with enough force to make Roxanne jump. There was no smile in his eyes now, but there was passion, and there was desperation. “I’ve nearly tracked it down now.” He held up a ream of notes, shaking them. “When I do, when I finally have it . . .” Gently, he set the papers down, smoothing his aching fingers over them. “Well, the magic will be there, won’t it?”
“Yes, it’ll be there.” She crossed to him to drape her arms around him, press her cheek to his. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me, Daddy?”
“No, no, you run along. I have work to do.” He sat to pore greedily through ancient books with ancient secrets. “Tell Luke to call Lester,” he said absently. “I want to make certain that new lighting equipment’s in place.”
She opened her mouth to remind Max that the old Magic Door manager had retired to Las Vegas three years earlier. Instead she pressed her lips together hard and nodded. “All right, Daddy.”
She climbed the stairs and went to search out Lily.
Roxanne found her in the courtyard, throwing bread crumbs to pigeons.
“LeClerc gets mad at me for doing this.” Lily tossed a handful of shredded bread into the air and laughed when the pigeons bumped and squabbled for it. “They get doo all over the bricks. But they’re so sweet, the way they bob their heads and watch you with those little black eyes.”
“Lily, what’s wrong with Daddy?”
“Wrong?” Lily’s hand froze inside the plastic bag. “Did he hurt himself?” She turned and would have dashed inside if Roxanne hadn’t stopped her.
“He isn’t hurt. He’s down in the workroom going through his books.”
“Oh.” Relief was so palpable Lily pressed a hand to her heart. She doubted a pigeon’s could beat much faster. “You scared me.”
“I’m scared,” Roxanne said quietly and caused Lily’s tentative smile to falter. “He’s ill, isn’t he?”
For a moment she said nothing. Then the pale blue eyes lost their helpless faraway look. They steadied. “I think we should talk.” Lily slipped an arm around Roxanne’s waist. “Let’s sit down.”
Taking charge, she steered Roxanne toward an iron bench benea
th the still tender shade of a live oak. The waters of the little fountain tinkled gaily, like a brook over pebbles.
“Give me a minute, honey.” She sat, keeping one of Roxanne’s hands tight in hers while continuing to throw treats for the birds with her other. “I love this time of year,” she murmured. “Not that the heat’s ever bothered me like it does some, but spring, early spring is magic. The daffodils and hyacinths are blooming, the tulip stems are poking out. There’s a nest in this tree.” She glanced up, but her smile was wistful, a little lost. “It’s the same every year. They always come back. The birds, the flowers. I can come sit out here and watch, and know some things are forever.”
Pigeons cooed and clucked around their feet. From beyond the courtyard gates there was a steady whoosh of traffic. The sun was kind today, softened by a breeze that whispered through tender leaves. From somewhere close by in the Quarter, a flutist played an old Irish tune, “Danny Boy.” Roxanne recognized it and shivered, knowing it was a song of death and loss.
“I made him go to the doctor.” Lily kneaded Roxanne’s hand, soothing as she was soothed. “Max could never hold out against good old-fashioned nagging. They ran tests. Then I had to make him go back so they could run more tests. He wouldn’t check into the hospital so they could do everything at once. And I . . . well, I didn’t push for that. I didn’t want him to go in either.”
A pulse began to beat hard behind Roxanne’s eyes. Her voice sounded detached, and not at all her own. “What kind of tests?”
“All kinds. So many I lost track. They hooked him up to machines, and they studied graphs. They took samples of blood and made him pee in a cup. They took X rays.” She lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “Maybe it was wrong, Roxy, but I asked them to tell me when they found out. I didn’t want them telling Max if it was something bad. I know you’re his daughter, you’re his blood, but I—”
“You didn’t do wrong.” Roxanne rested her head on Lily’s shoulder. “You did exactly right.” It took a minute to bolster her courage. “It is something bad, isn’t it? You have to tell me, Lily.”
“He’s going to keep forgetting things,” Lily said, and her voice trembled. “Some days he might be just fine, and others, he won’t be able to keep his mind focused, even with the medication. It’s kind of like a train that jumps off the track. They said it might move real slow, but we should be prepared for times when he won’t remember us.” Tears slid silently down her cheek and plopped on their joined hands. “He might get angry, accuse us of trying to hurt him, or he might just do what he’s told without questioning. He could walk to the corner for a quart of milk and forget how to get home. He could forget who he is, and if they can’t stop it, one day he could just go away inside his mind where none of us could reach.”
It was worse, Roxanne realized. Much worse than death. “We’ll—we’ll find a specialist.”
“The doctor recommended one. I called him. We can take Max to Atlanta next month to see him.” Lily took out one of her useless lace hankies to wipe her eyes. “Meantime he’s going to study all Max’s tests. They called it Alzheimer’s, Roxy, and they don’t have a cure.”
“Then we’ll find one. We’re not going to let this happen to Max.” She sprang up and would have swayed to her knees if Lily hadn’t caught her.
“Honey, oh, honey, what is it? I shouldn’t have told you like this.”
“No, I just got up too fast.” But the dizziness still swam in her head. Nausea clenched in her stomach.
“You’re so pale. Let’s go in and get you some tea or something.”
“I’m all right,” she insisted as Lily pulled her toward the house. “It’s just some stupid virus.” The minute they hit the kitchen door, the scent of the hearty soup LeClerc had simmering on the stove turned her pale skin green. “Damn it,” she said through clenched teeth. “I don’t have time for this.”
She dashed to the bathroom with Lily fluttering behind her.
After she’d finished being sick, she was weak enough not to protest when Lily led her up to bed and insisted she lie down.
“All this worry,” Lily diagnosed.
“It’s a bug.” Roxanne closed her eyes and prayed there was nothing left for her stomach to reject. “I thought it had run its course. Same thing happened yesterday afternoon. By last night I was fine. This morning, too.”
“Well.” Lily patted her hand. “If you told me you’d gotten sick two mornings in a row, I’d wonder if you were pregnant.”
“Pregnant!” Roxanne’s eyes popped open again. She wanted to laugh, but it didn’t seem particularly funny. “You don’t get afternoon sickness when you’re pregnant.”
“I guess not.” But Lily’s mind was working. “You haven’t missed a period, have you?”
“I haven’t missed one, exactly.” Roxanne felt the first skip of panic, and something else. Something that wasn’t fear of any kind but simple, subtle pleasure. “I’m a little late, that’s all.”
“How late?”
Roxanne plucked the bedspread with her fingers. “Couple of weeks. Maybe three.”
“Oh, honey!” Lily’s voice held pure delight. Visions of booties and baby powder danced in her head. “A baby.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Cautious, Roxanne pressed a hand to her stomach. If there was a baby in there, it was a mean one. That made her lips curve. She wouldn’t expect Luke’s baby to be sweet-natured, would she?
“They’ve got those home pregnancy tests now. You could find out right away. This’ll knock Luke right off his feet.”
“We never talked about it.” The fear crept back. “Lily, we never even talked about children. He might not want—”
“Don’t be silly, of course he wants. He loves you. Now you stay right here. I’m going down and get you some milk.”
“Tea,” Roxanne corrected. “I think my system might be able to hold down some tea—a couple of crackers.”
“No strawberries and pickle relish?” She giggled when Roxanne groaned. “Sorry, sweetie. I’m just so excited. Be right back.”
A baby, Roxanne thought. Why hadn’t she considered she might be pregnant? Or had she? She sighed and turned cautiously to her side. She wasn’t really surprised by the possibility. And though she thought she’d taken the pill faithfully, she wasn’t sorry either.
Luke’s baby and hers. What would he say? How would he feel?
The only way to know was to find him.
Reaching over, she pulled the phone onto the bed and dialed.
When Lily came back later with tea, dry toast and a pretty pink rosebud, Roxanne was lying on her back again, staring dully at the ceiling.
“He’s gone, Lily.”
“Hmmm? Who?”
“Luke’s gone.” She pushed herself up. Nausea had no chance against the emotions rioting inside her. “I called the airport. He took off from Tennessee at nine thirty-five this morning.”
“Nine-thirty?” Lily set the tray on the dresser. “Why, it’s after twelve now. It only takes an hour or so to fly back to New Orleans.”
“He wasn’t headed to New Orleans. I had to do a lot of wrangling to get his flight plan, but I managed it.”
“What do you mean he wasn’t headed for New Orleans? Of course he was.”
“Mexico,” Roxanne whispered. “He’s going to Mexico.”
By the next morning, Roxanne was certain of two things. She was pregnant, and it was possible for a man to vanish from the face of the earth. But what could vanish could be conjured again. She wasn’t a second-generation magician for nothing.
She was just zipping her traveling case when she heard the knock. Her first thought, like a flash of lightning, was Luke! She made it from the bedroom to the front door in a dash.
“Where have you—oh, Mouse.”
“Sorry, Roxy.” His big shoulders slumped.
“It’s all right.” She mustered up a smile. “Listen, I’m practically on my way out the door.”
“I know. Lil
y said how you were going to Mexico to look for Luke. I’m going with you.”
“That’s a nice thought, Mouse, but I’ve already made my plans.”
“I’m going with you.” He might have been slow, he might have been sweet, but he could also be stubborn. “You’re not going all that way alone in your . . . in your condition,” he finished on a burst. His face burned beet red.
“Lily’s knitting booties already?” But she softened the sarcasm by patting his arm. “Mouse, there’s nothing to worry about. I know what I’m doing, and I don’t think carrying something the size of a pinprick’s going to slow me down.”
“I’m going to take care of you. Luke would want me to.”
“If Luke was so damn concerned, he wouldn’t be in Mexico,” she snapped, and was immediately sorry as Mouse’s face crumpled and fell. “Sorry. I guess being pregnant messes up your hormones and makes you cranky. I’ve already got my flight reservations, Mouse.”
He wasn’t going to budge. “You can cancel them. I’ll fly you.”
She started to protest, then shrugged. Maybe the company would do her good.
She made it to the ladies’ room at the Cancún airport. It occurred to her as she retched that she could almost clock her nausea with a stopwatch. Perhaps the baby had inherited her sense
