Deeply, Desperately

by Heather Webber

  My mind, bracing for something disastrous, started reeling with everything but thoughts of Sean. Of my Christmas list, of Preston and the mysterious Cutter, of my stressed-out father, of what Raphael didn’t tell me, of Leo, of Aiden and Em, of Sarah Loehman, and of needing to tell Aiden about the latest Handmaiden letter.

  Sean pulled me out of my seat and into a tight embrace. My skin sizzled. I nuzzled my face into the crook of his neck and drank in the scent of him. The soap, the cologne, coffee.

  Finally my mind ran out of distractions and I had to repeat my question. “Why was she here?”

  He pulled back, cupped my face with his hands, and kept looking at me with that same tenderness. His hands slid down to my shoulders, slipping down my arms. He took my hands in his.

  A wave of dizziness nearly knocked me over. Visions came in snippets, a piece here, a piece there. Christmas lights glowing on bare skin, his mouth on my thigh …

  I yanked my hands away. I couldn’t take such sweet torture right now. “Why, Sean?”

  “She needs me right now.”

  So much for Cupid’s Curse having been zapped right out of me.

  I drew in a breath and sank back into my chair. “What’s that mean?”

  “She’s sick. Maybe.” He shook his head, raked his hand through his hair, sending floppy spikes upward.

  “Maybe?”

  He sat on the edge of his desk. “She called yesterday—when we were in the hallway.”

  Ah. So it had been her number that had caused his frown.

  “The doctors need to run tests. Spinal taps and MRIs and all kinds of things. She doesn’t really have anyone else, Lucy, to be with her right now. And she shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

  “No family?” I hated the pettiness in my voice, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “No siblings. Her dad left when she was little and her mom remarried and is in Arizona. Cara doesn’t want to bother her until she finds out what’s wrong.”

  Cara, however, didn’t mind bothering Sean.

  Pettiness was ugly. I closed my eyes and tried to find a little compassion. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Don’t know for sure. Some dizziness, some numbness in her hand, some tingling in her leg. She fainted the other day.”

  I supposed I should thank my lucky stars that she wasn’t pregnant. After all, she and Sean only broke it off six weeks ago. Though, according to him, they hadn’t had a physical relationship for months before that.

  I wanted to believe him, so I did. I was a Valentine. I was allowed.

  “This doesn’t change us,” he said.

  Something rattled and clanged. A burst of heat shot through the radiator. I guessed the furnace was fixed. “Okay.”

  “It doesn’t.”

  I flashed to that image I’d just had of us. Our naked bodies, his lips on my thigh … It was destined to come true (when was another issue), so maybe he was right.

  “It’s just,” he began.

  “What?” I prompted.

  “She sat by me when I went through all my testing. Never left my bedside.”

  She’d also resented him for it. According to Sean, she hadn’t been able to deal with the scope of his illness, with his life changing so drastically. As soon as Sean was out of danger, she opted out of the relationship.

  He’d almost died, and still lived with the possibility on a day-to-day basis. If not for the defibrillator implanted in his chest, he could go at any minute. She didn’t want to deal with it.

  At the thought of losing him, chills swept down my spine and the ache in my stomach intensified. This was where Cara and I differed the most. She ran while I wanted to hold on for dear life.

  “It’s the least I can do for her,” he said. “Then I can cut all ties. No looking back.”

  I wanted to hate his loyalty, his empathy, but I couldn’t. In truth, it made him all that more attractive. “Sean?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What if they find something seriously wrong? Are you going to be able to walk away?”

  Essentially, do to her what she’d done to him? Her rejection had hurt him, and I couldn’t see him walking away—if only to prove that he was, in fact, the better person.

  I glanced into his eyes. The tenderness had turned to anguish.

  My stomach churned.

  “Yes,” he said.

  I wanted to believe him, but I didn’t. I was a Valentine. It was my birthright.

  “She has a spinal tap scheduled at noon. I told her I’d be there.”

  “But Falmouth is at least a ninety-min—oh.” I stood. “That’s okay. I can go it alone.”

  “Lucy, this won’t be for long.”

  “No, no. It’s all right. Really.” I was lying through my teeth. But at this point I just wanted to leave.

  “You’re lying through your teeth, Ms. Valentine.”

  Oh, just twist that knife a little bit more. My name on his lips was too sexy to endure.

  “But I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he said, pulling me into an embrace.

  “Oh?” I asked, slightly (okay, highly) intrigued.

  He let me go and picked up a duffel bag on the floor. “All the toys you asked for. And there may be one or two I left at home. To show you in private. Sometime. Perhaps soon?”

  A blush climbed my neck, settled into my cheeks. I was definitely intrigued, though I couldn’t keep that little knot of doom and gloom from sitting heavily in my stomach.

  I took the duffel from him and headed for the door. “Perhaps.”

  “Dinner tonight?” he asked.

  “My place, eight?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  He grinned. “I hope that’s not the only thing you’ll be holding.”

  “Mr. Donahue! I’m shocked.” And giddy, but I didn’t mention that. I had my pride, after all.

  His laugh followed me down the hall. In the reception area, I found Andrew doubled over, writhing in pain.

  I rushed over to him. “Andrew! What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t. Know. My stomach. Hurting.” He gasped for breath as sweat beaded along his hairline. “Sam’s taking me. To the hospital.”

  Sam rushed through the door, saying, “I’m double-parked, can you make it downstairs?”

  Andrew nodded and hunchbacked his way to the door. Sam helped him down the steps, a sturdy arm around his shoulders.

  I was about to say something about the office pool, but Sam looked back at me with a grim expression. “Not one word, Lucy Valentine. Not one word.”

  8

  The door leading into Valentine, Inc., tended to stick. I gave it a good shove. As it opened, two heads turned my way.

  “You look like death,” Suzannah Ruggieri said. “Are you okay?”

  Tall and curvy, she had the look of a model, right down to incredible cheekbones and amazing blue eyes. Her hair was pulled back today, held in place with a chopstick. She’d worked for Valentine, Inc., for years and was such a trusted employee that she even knew about the auras.

  “Yeah,” Preston said, frowning. “Food poisoning?”

  “No,” I snapped, determined to look into other brands of concealer. “I’m fine. What are you two looking at?”

  Both stood by the windows overlooking Beacon Street and the Public Garden. “Looks like some sort of protest is about to start on the Common,” Suz said.

  I ran over to the window. The Public Garden stretched far and wide, bathed in the beauty of the Christmas season, with lights and garlands and wreaths. I looked to the left, toward the Common. A large group had gathered. I squinted. No sign of Dovie or Mum. Yet.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Suz asked me.

  “Nope.” I shook my head emphatically. “Not a clue.”

  “What was going on with Sam?” Suz turned to me. “Saw him double-parked out front.”

  “The new receptionist needed to go to the hospital,” I said.

 
Suz made the sign of the cross.

  “What receptionist?” Preston asked. “What was wrong?”

  I could see why she’d become a reporter. She was nosy. “SD Investigations’ receptionist.”

  Suz said in a reverential whisper, “Sixth this month.”

  “Sixth?” Preston’s blue eyes widened. “What’s going on?”

  “A curse,” Suz said.

  Preston laughed. “As if.”

  She had no idea.

  Preston’s attention returned to the window. “Maybe I should go down and see if there’s a story there in the crowd.” She craned her neck to get a better look at the commotion.

  “No!” I cleared my throat. “It’s just that …”

  They both stared.

  “It’s just … What are you doing here anyway?”

  A fire flickered in the fireplace, warming the chilly room. The heat must have been off in here too. I dropped into one of the russet-colored love seats, set the heavy duffel bag at my feet. I couldn’t wait to go through it.

  Preston wouldn’t leave her post by the window. “I was supposed to meet with Oscar, but apparently he’s not coming in.”

  “I’ve had to cancel all Oscar’s morning appointments.” Suz sat in her desk chair, crossed her legs at the ankle. “Do you think Sam’s new receptionist will be back?”

  “You two are crazy,” Preston said. “There’s no such thing as curses.”

  Suz rolled her eyes. She knew all about Cupid’s Curse too. It was hard to keep secrets when she was such an integral part of our lives.

  “Why were you meeting with my dad?”

  Preston flipped her hair. “About the articles. Look! The protesters are on the move. I’m going down.”

  “Wait!” I jumped up. I did not want to see Mum and Dovie on the front page of the Beacon. Sure, they were somewhat well known for their protest-loving natures (six arrests between them), but the family’s run with bad press couldn’t go on.

  “What?” Preston asked. “Do you want me to help with your makeup? Because I can.”

  I might have to take her up on that offer. “Actually—” What the hell was I doing? “I’m going to Falmouth today. I’m going to see about Leo’s class ring. Thought you might want to tag along. You know, for the article.”

  I felt queasy.

  Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You want me to come along?”

  Really queasy. “Sure?”

  Suz’s jaw dropped.

  “All right.”

  “Okay,” I croaked. “Just give me a few minutes. Suz, can you see about getting one of SD’s cars for me to borrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “I can drive,” Preston said.

  Shit. I was going to be sick. “All right. Sounds good. A few minutes,” I said, lifting the duffel.

  “What have you got there, Lucy?” Suz asked.

  “This? Nothing.” I shrugged, shook my head, and sidled to the arch that led to the back hallway.

  In my office, I dropped the duffel bag, picked up the phone. Marisol answered on the first ring.

  “The eagle has landed,” I said.

  “Now you’re getting into the spirit. I don’t have to work tonight, so we’re going to pick up his trail as soon as he leaves work. Where do you want to meet?”

  “Uh,” I said.

  “Don’t tell me!”

  “I can’t tonight. I’m meeting with a police client.” I didn’t mention my dinner with Sean. Marisol might not find that a valid excuse. But to me, there wasn’t one more compelling. I was trying my best not to dissolve into a jealous hag, but it wasn’t easy. “Sorry.”

  “You better be free tomorrow. Friday nights are prime prowling nights.”

  I didn’t ask how she knew. I knew how she knew.

  “I will be. Promise.”

  She heaved a sigh.

  “I have everything you need. I’ll leave it with Suz, okay?”

  “Okay. I can swing by on my lunch break.”

  “You’ll call me if you find out anything, right?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Marisol!”

  “Bye, Lucy.” She hung up.

  It would be just like her to leave me hanging. Well, I wasn’t canceling my date with Sean, so there was no use stewing about it.

  The coffee was drying on my black pants and thankfully the stains didn’t show. I didn’t have time to run home and change, so this outfit was going to have to do.

  My cell phone rang. I checked the readout, answered immediately. “I was going to call you later,” I said. “I need to stop by.”

  “Not a friendly visit, I suppose,” Aiden said.

  I turned on my computer. A quiet hum filled the air. “Another letter.”

  I heard him inhale. “You didn’t open it, right?”

  “No. Put it into a plastic bag like you told me.”

  “Good. That’s the second one this week.”

  I figured he was talking more to himself than to me, so I didn’t confirm. We made plans for me to stop by the DA’s office where his detective unit was stationed on my way home from work.

  “I heard you’re meeting with Sarah Loehman’s mother tonight.”

  I sat in my desk chair, swiveled. My window overlooked the alley behind the building. Great view of the Dumpsters and the brick building directly across, but little else.

  “At five.”

  “Did she tell you about the ankle bracelet?”

  A pigeon landed on the roof of the building across the alley. “No, but it’s a good lead.”

  “We need one. We don’t have enough circumstantial evidence to pursue a case against the husband. We need a body, Lucy.”

  The background noise of his office carried through the line. Raised voices, blips and bleeps of computers, filing cabinets. Silently I reviewed the circumstantial evidence. The hints of abuse, Scott Loehman unable to prove where he was that day, rumors of an unhappy marriage.

  Aiden went on. “Loehman disputes all allegations from Sarah’s mother that he was too controlling. He says Sarah didn’t like her family, and that she no longer had anything in common with her old friends once she settled down into family life and they didn’t.”

  “Could that be true?”

  “Doubtful. All abusers know how to double-talk.” The phone jostled. “I gotta go, Lucy. See you this afternoon?”

  The letter was tucked in my tote bag. “Yeah. And Aiden?”

  “Something else?” he asked.

  I was about to say something about Em, something gooey and sappy and melodramatic like “Don’t give up hope,” but I couldn’t do it. Finally I said, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

  There was a long silence. “Have you been drinking, Lucy? A little early, isn’t it? See you later.”

  I hung up, stared at the pigeon. It suddenly spooked and flew away.

  I checked my e-mails, powered down the computer, and gathered up my tote bag. In the reception area, Suz was telling Preston all about the curse put on SD’s receptionists. Preston was taking notes.

  Great. Although I supposed it was better than having her nose pressed to the window.

  “Suz, Marisol is going to be stopping by later to pick up the duffel bag in my office.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Preston shoved her pencil behind her ear. “Marisol Valerius? Your best friend.”

  Uneasiness settled in my chest. “How do you know Marisol?”

  She laughed, that tinkling, pleasing sound that didn’t match her personality. “Lucy, your Fruit of the Looms would be all in a twist if you had any idea how much I know about your family.”

  9

  “How long have your parents been married?”

  A cowbell jangled as I pulled open the front door of Falmouth’s Ye Olde Antique Shoppe. The town center bustled with activity. A jovial Santa had a tent set up on the green, and shoppers were out in full force, bundled against the cold.

  “I thought you knew everything ab
out my life?”

  “Are you always so literal?” Preston asked.

  “Are you always so annoying?”

  “Yes,” she said, cracking a smile.

  The ride down here hadn’t been too terrible. Actually (though I’d never admit this aloud), I’d had fun. We’d sung the whole Mamma Mia! soundtrack at the top of our lungs. Seemed Preston and I were both Broadway-musical fans.

  Genetic? I wondered, stealing a glance at her. Really, I couldn’t see any resemblance. Not to me—or my father.

  “Thirty years?” Preston guessed.

  Fidgety, I unbuttoned my coat. This was dangerous territory.

  “Twenty-nine years.”

  Despite their separation, my parents remained friends, sometimes lovers, and were great, if not a bit odd, parents. Right after Dad moved out, Mum threw herself into a home renovation, converting the carriage house into a music studio, and began offering music lessons. It kept her occupied during those years when she was trying to adjust to living without Dad. And eventually music had grown into her true love.

  Trying to coax warmth, I rubbed my hands together as I entered the shop. We’d had to park in a lot down the block near the marina, and the stiff wind blowing off Nantucket Sound sliced the air temperature in half. At least.

  My phone rang, a welcome distraction. I answered before the second verse of “Deck the Halls.”

  “How’s it going?” Sean asked.

  “Preston and I just got here.”

  “Preston?”

  “Long story.”

  He laughed.

  I lowered my voice. “Not funny.”

  Preston motioned that she was going to browse around. Two other customers roamed the shop, lifting, inspecting, tsking. I breathed deep. There was nothing like the scent of an antiques shop, that mix of old dust and history.

  “Is the test done already?” I asked.

  “Not yet. We’re still waiting. I should probably go and see Andrew. I think he’s still in the emergency room.”

  It wasn’t funny, but I couldn’t help the smile. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Looks like his appendix.”

  Ouch. “Poor kid. Who won the pool?”

  I heard the reluctance as he said, “You did.”

  “Are you ready to apologize to Rosalinda?”

  “This has to be a coincidence, Lucy.”