by Nora Roberts
"I'm going to fix things, Uncle Tommy."
"Take my advice and give Susie a little time to cool off. She gets hard of hearing when her temper's on boil."
"Okay." Kate drew a deep breath and sat up. "Then I guess I'll start with Bittle."
His face broke into a huge grin. "Now that's my Kate."
In the parking lot of Bittle and Associates, Kate flipped down her rearview mirror to take one last critical look at her face. Margo had performed a little miracle. She'd dragged Kate upstairs and with cold compresses, eyedrops, lotions, and makeup had erased all traces of damage. Kate decided she no longer looked as though she had spent twenty minutes bawling like a scolded child. She looked efficient, composed, and determined.
That was perfect.
She told herself it didn't bother her that conversations stopped when she sailed into the first-floor lobby. She didn't mind the stares and murmurs, the strained smiles and curiosity-laced greetings. They were, in fact, an eye-opener.
The few people who greeted her warmly, who detoured to stop her on her march to the second floor and offer support, showed her that she'd made more friends at Bittle than she'd realized.
It took only one twist of the corridor to bring Kate face to face with the dragon. Newman raised a brow, gave Kate one brief, chilly stare. "Ms. Powell. May I help you?"
"I'm on my way to see Marty."
"Do you have an appointment?"
Kate angled her chin. The fingers gripping the handle of her briefcase tightened. "I'll take that up with Marty and his secretary. Why don't you go tell Mr. Bittle Senior that the disgraced associate has invaded the hallowed halls?"
Like a Swiss guard protecting royalty, Newman shifted her stance. "I see no reason for you to—"
"Kate." Roger poked his head out of his office, rolled his eyes behind Newman's back, and beamed a smile. "Good to see you. I was hoping you'd make it by. Oh, Ms. Newman, I've got that report Mr. Bittle Senior needed." Like a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat, Roger produced a sheaf of papers. "He was anxious to see it."
"Very well." She shot Kate one last warning glance, then hurried down the hallway.
"Thanks," Kate murmured. "I think we might have come to blows."
"My money was on you." He put a supportive hand on her shoulder. "This situation really sucks. I'd have called you, but I didn't know what to say." He dropped his hand, stuck it in his pocket. "How to act."
"It doesn't matter. I didn't have anything to say myself." Until now. Now, she had plenty to say.
"Listen." He nudged her toward his office door but didn't, Kate noted wryly, invite her inside. "I don't know how much pressure your lawyer's putting on."
"My lawyer?"
"Templeton. The partners went into a powwow after he came in and stirred them up. Maybe that's a good thing, I don't know. You've got to handle it the way you think best. I can tell you that it looks like the partners are divided over whether or not to pursue and prosecute."
His brow creased and his voice, like a conspirator's, was low and dramatic. "Amanda's leading the charge, and Bittle Junior's behind her. My take is that Calvin and Senior are on the fence, with Marty solidly against."
"It's always good to know who's in your corner and who's going for your throat," Kate murmured.
"All this craziness over a lousy seventy-five K," Roger said in disgust. "It's not like you killed anyone."
Kate stepped back, studied his face. "Stealing is stealing, seventy-five cents or seventy-five K. And I didn't take any money."
"I didn't say you did. I didn't mean it that way." But there was doubt in his voice even as he took her hand to squeeze it. "I meant everybody overreacted. I get the impression that if you came up with the money, it would all go away."
Slowly, firmly, she drew her hand free. "Would it?"
"I know it's a lousy deal either way, but hell, Kate, the Templetons sneeze that much money away every day. It would offset the chance of you being charged, ruining your whole damn life. Sometimes you've got to choose between the rock and the hard place."
"And sometimes you've got to stick. Thanks for the advice."
"Kate." He took a step after her, but she didn't stop or look back. With a shrug, he went back into his office.
Word was already out. Marty came to his door personally to meet her. He offered his hand, shook hers in a friendly, professional manner. "Kate, I'm glad you came by. Come inside."
"I should have come before," she began as she followed him past his secretary, who was doing her best to look busy and disinterested.
"I thought you would. Want anything? Coffee?"
"No." It was the same old Marty, she thought as she took her seat. From the wrinkled shirtsleeves to the affable smile. "I'm cutting back. I want to say first that I appreciate you seeing me like this."
"I know you didn't skim any funds, Kate."
The quiet statement stopped the neat little opening speech she'd prepared. "If you know that, why… Well, why?"
"I know it," he said, "because I know you. The signatures, the forms indicated otherwise, but I'm sure as I'm sitting here that there's another explanation." He wagged a finger, signaling her that he wasn't finished but was formulating his thoughts. The gesture nearly made her smile, it was so famil iar. So Marty. "Certain people, ah, believe that I feel so strongly in this matter because I'm… attracted to you."
"Well, that's just silly."
"Actually I am—was. Am." Stopping himself, he rubbed his hands over his rapidly coloring face. "Kate, I love my wife. I would never… that is, other than the occasional thought, which I would never act on, I would never… Never," he finished, leaving her quite literally speechless.
"Um," was all she could think of in response.
"I'm not bringing that up to embarrass either one of us. Though it seems to have done just that." He cleared his throat as he rose, and with nervous hands poured two mugs of coffee. As he handed her one, he remembered. "Sorry, you said you didn't want any."
"I'll take it." What was a little afterburn in comparison with staggered shock? "Thanks."
"I only mentioned that because people who know me well have sort of noticed that I—Not that you've done anything to encourage, or that I would have done anything even if you had."
"I get the picture, Marty." She allowed a breath to ease quietly through her lips, studied his wide, harmless, homely face. "I'm flattered."
"It muddies the waters, so to speak. I'm sorry for that. But I feel your record with this firm stands for itself. I'll continue to do everything I can to prevent formal charges being filed and to get to the bottom of this situation."
"I don't think I appreciated you enough when I worked here." She set her mug aside and rose. "Marty, I want to talk to the partners. All of them. I think it's time I took a stand."
He nodded as though he'd merely been waiting for her to say so. "I'll see if I can arrange it."
It didn't take him long. He might have been considered the puppy dog of Bittle, but he knew what buttons to push. Within thirty minutes, Kate was again seated at the long, polished table in the conference room.
In keeping with the strategy she'd outlined on the drive over, she made eye contact with each partner, then settled her gaze firmly on Bittle Senior. "I've come here today, without my lawyer, in an effort to keep this meeting informal. Even personal. I realize your time is valuable, and I appreciate each of you taking that time to listen to what I have to say."
She paused, once again glanced at the faces around the table, once again addressed herself to the senior partner and founder. "I worked for this firm for nearly six years. I dedicated my professional, and a good deal of my personal, life to it. My goals were not selfless. I worked very hard to bring in accounts, to keep accounts assigned to me satisfied and viable in order to increase Bittle's revenue and reputation, with the ultimate aim of sitting at this table as a partner. Not once during my employment here did I ever take one penny from an account. I was raised, as you
know, Mr. Bittle, by people who value integrity."
"It is your accounts that remain in question, Ms. Powell," Amanda put in briskly. "Your signature. If you've come here today with an explanation, we are prepared to hear it."
"I haven't come here for explanations. I haven't come to answer questions or to ask them. I've come here to make a statement. I have never done anything illegal or unethical. If there is a discrepancy in the accounts, I am not responsible for it. I'm prepared to make this same statement, if necessary, to each client involved. Just as I am prepared to go to court and defend myself against these charges."
Her hands were beginning to shake, so she gripped them tightly together under the table. "If charges are not brought, and this matter is not satisfactorily resolved within thirty days, I will advise my attorney to file suit against Bittle and Associates for unjustified termination and slander."
"You would dare to threaten this firm." Though his voice was quiet and clipped, Lawrence fisted a hand on the table.
"It's not a threat," she said coolly, even as her stomach jittered and churned. "My career has been sabotaged, my reputation impugned. If you believe I would sit idly by and do nothing about that, then I'm not surprised that you believe I would embezzle from my accounts. Because you don't know me at all."
Bittle leaned back in his chair. He steepled his hands, considered. "It's taken you some time to come around to this position, Kate."
"Yes, it has. This job meant everything to me. I'm starting to believe that everything is just too much. I couldn't have stolen from you, Mr. Bittle. You of all people know me well enough to be sure of that."
She waited a moment, wanting him to remember her, personally. "If you want a question to ponder," she continued, "ask yourselves this: Why would I have pilfered a measly seventy-five thousand when if I had needed or wanted money, I would only have had to go to my family? Why would I have worked my butt off for this firm all these years when I could have taken a top position in the Templeton organization at any time?"
"We have asked ourselves those questions, Kate," Bittle told her. "And those questions are the very reason this matter hasn't been resolved."
She rose, slowly. "Then I'll give you the answer. I'm not sure it's an attractive one, but I know the answer is pride. I'm too goddamn proud to have taken a dollar from this firm that wasn't mine. And I'm too proud to do nothing when I'm accused of embezzlement. Ms. Devin, gentlemen, thank you for your time." She shifted her gaze, smiled. "Thanks, Marty."
Not a single murmur followed her out the door.
She stopped shaking when she hit Highway 1 and realized where her instincts were taking her. Even before she pulled her car to the shoulder, got out to walk toward the cliffs, she was calm again.
There were fences to mend, work to do, responsibilities to handle. But for a moment, there was just Kate and the soothing roar of the sea. Today it was sapphire, that perfect blue that called to lovers and poets and pirates. The foam, far below the lapped shale and rock was like the froth of lace on the hem of a woman's velvet skirt.
She climbed down a ways, enjoying the swirl of wind, the taste of salt and sea that flavored it. Wild grasses and flowers defied the elements and grew, fighting their way out of thin soil and cracks in stone. Gulls wheeled overhead, their breasts as white as moonlight, the golden sun flashing off their spread wings.
Diamonds glittered on the water, and further out, whitecaps rode the sea like fine horses. The music never stopped, she thought. The ebb and flow, the crash and thunder, the eerily female screams of the gulls. How often had she come here to sit, to watch, to think? She couldn't count the number of hours.
Sometimes she was pulled here simply to be, other times to sit in solitude and work out some thorny problem. In her early years at Templeton House she had come here, to these cliffs, above this sea, under this sky, to quietly grieve for what she had lost. And to struggle with guilt over being happy in her new life.
She didn't dream here, had always told herself to wait for that until next year, or the next. The present had always taken priority. What to do now.
She stood on the comfortably wide ledge and asked herself what to do now.
Should she call Josh and tell him to go ahead with preparation for a suit against Bittle? She thought she had to. As difficult and potentially dangerous as such an action was, she could no longer ignore—or pretend to ignore—what had been done to her life. She hadn't been born a coward, nor had she been raised as one. It was time she dealt with that part of herself that was constantly in fear of failure.
In a way, she supposed, she had acted like Seraphina, metaphorically tossing her life over a cliff rather than working with the hand she'd been dealt.
That was over now. A little late, she admitted, but she had done the right thing. The Templeton thing, she thought with a smile as she picked her way down a rough and crooked incline. Uncle Tommy had always said that you couldn't be stabbed in the back if you faced your attackers.
The first step she needed to take was to face her aunt. Somehow she had to make things right there again. Kate looked back, and though she was too far down the slope to see the house, she could picture it.
Always there, she mused, tall and strong and waiting. Offering shelter. Hadn't it been there for Margo when her life had smashed around her? For Laura, and her girls, during the most difficult period of their lives?
It had been there for her, Kate thought, when she had been lost and afraid and numb with grief. Just as it was there now.
Yes, she'd done the right thing, Kate thought again as she looked back out to sea. She hadn't given up. She'd finally remembered that a good noisy fight was better than a quiet, dignified surrender.
She laughed a little and drew a deep breath. The hell with surrender, she decided. It was no more palatable than a cowardly plunge off the cliffs. The loss of a job, a goal, a man wasn't an ending. It was just another beginning.
Byron De Witt was another step she needed to take, she decided. Time for another beginning there. The man was driving her crazy with his patience, and it was past time for her to take control again. Maybe she would just ride over there later and jump him.
The thought of that had her laughing loud and long. Imagine his reaction, she mused, clutching her stomach. What did a proper Southern gentleman do when a woman threw him down and tore off his clothes? And wouldn't it be fascinating to find out?
She wanted to be held and touched and taken, she realized as the laughter in her stomach melted into warm, liquid need. But not by just anyone. By someone who could look at her the way he did, the way he looked deep, as though he could see places inside her that she hadn't dared to explore yet.
She wanted the mystery of that, wanted to match herself against a man strong enough to wait for what he wanted.
Hell, she admitted, she wanted him.
If she was strong enough to screw up her courage and face the partners at Bittle, if she had enough left inside her to deal with the damage she'd done to the aunt she adored, then she damn well had enough grit to handle Byron De Witt.
It was time she stopped planning and started doing.
Turning, she started back up the narrow path.
It was right there, as if it had been waiting. At first she simply stared, sure that she was imagining things. Hadn't she just come that way? Hadn't she and Laura and Margo combed every inch of this section of the cliffs over the past months?
Slowly, as if her bones were old and fragile, she bent down. The coin was warm from the sun, glinting like the gold it surely was. She felt the texture, the smooth face of the long-dead Spanish monarch. She turned it over in her palm twice, each time reading the date as if she expected it to change. Or simply vanish like a waking dream.
1845.
Seraphina's treasure, that small piece of it, had been tossed at her feet.
Chapter Eleven
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Kate broke records on the drive back to Pretenses. Even the state
trooper who stopped her to issue a lecture on traffic laws and a speeding ticket didn't dampen her spirits—or slow her down. She made it into Monterey in under twenty minutes.
Too wired to cruise for a legal parking space, she zipped through traffic, double-parked, and raced through the strolling wall of tourists.
She spun to the left, narrowly avoiding a collision with a kid on a skateboard, and all but stumbled through the door of the shop.
Her eyes were more than a little wild.
"I started to call from the car." Gasping, she pressed both hands to her thudding heart as Margo gaped at her. "I'm winded," she realized. "I'm going to have to take those workouts Byron's come up with more seriously."
"You had an accident." Margo bolted from the customer she'd been waiting on and made it to Kate seconds before
Thomas got there. He was calling for Susan as he hurried over to take Kate's arm.
"Are you hurt? You'd better sit down." He halfway carried her to a chair.
"I'm not hurt. There wasn't an accident." Her adrenaline was so high, she was surprised everyone couldn't see it bouncing off the walls. "Well, there was the skateboard incident, but we both escaped unharmed. I didn't call because it wouldn't have seemed dramatic enough over the phone."
Then she began to laugh, so hard and so deep she was forced to clutch her ribs. Margo's hand snaked out and pushed Kate's head between her knees.
"Get your breath back," Margo ordered. "Maybe she had a flare-up. Maybe we should call the doctor."
"No, no, no." Still laughing, Kate dug into her pocket and held up the coin like a trophy. "Look."
"Damn it, Kate, how'd you get my coin?"
"It's not yours." Kate nipped it back before Margo could make the grab. "This one's mine." She bolted up and kissed Margo hard on the mouth. "Mine. I found it on the cliffs. It was just lying there, out in the open. Look, it didn't even have any sand or salt on it. It was just there."
After deciding the glowing flush on Kate's face didn't jibe with an ulcer attack, Margo exchanged a quiet look with Thomas. "Sit down, Kate, catch your breath. Let me finish up here."
