The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 2

by Nora Roberts

  “Aunt Jamie.” Olivia sampled what had been billed as the nouveau-club and was in reality two pieces of bark bread cut into tiny triangles and filled with mysterious vegetables. She wondered if anyone ate real food in L.A. “You’re trying to make a girl out of me.”

  “No, I’m not.” Jamie pouted. “I’m just trying to give you a . . . well, just one girl day. You should have let me buy you that little black dress.”

  “That little black dress was four thousand dollars and wouldn’t hold up through one hike.”

  “Every self-respecting female needs at least one killer black dress. I say we go back for it, and the lizard sandals, the Pradas. You put those together on that fabulous body of yours, men will start diving out of windows to fall at your feet.”

  Olivia shook her head, laughed. “I don’t want to be responsible for that. And I don’t need the dress, or the shoes, or the warehouse full of other things you tried to talk me into.”

  “How can we be related?”

  “Genetics are a tricky business.”

  “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad you’re not angry with me anymore.” Tears flooded her eyes, and she reached over and gripped Olivia’s hand.

  “I wasn’t angry with you. Not you, not really. I’m sorry we argued.” She turned her hand over, gripped Jamie’s tight. “I was angry at Noah, which was just as useless. All those years ago, when you came up to visit and we went out into the forest that evening . . . you were honest with me. You let me be honest with you. Ever since, whenever I needed to talk about Mama, you listened. Whenever I had questions, you answered them.”

  “Until you stopped asking,” Jamie murmured.

  “I thought I should put it away. I thought I could. Someone who’s smarter than I gave him credit for told me that whenever you run away from something it chases after you and it always catches up. I think I’m ready to change directions.”

  “It won’t be easy.”

  “God, no. But I’ll be honest with you again. I want to hear what he says about that night. I want to hear Sam Tanner’s story.”

  “So do I. We loved her,” Jamie said squeezing Olivia’s hand. “How could we not want to hear it for ourselves?”

  “Grandma—”

  “Has dealt with this in her own way, always. It doesn’t make your way wrong or your needs wrong.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I guess I’m going to get in touch with Noah before I go back.”

  “He’s a nice man.” Jamie’s smile changed texture, crept toward feline. “And a very attractive one.”

  “I noticed. I’ve just about decided to sleep with him.”

  The little sound that popped out of Jamie’s mouth was something between a grunt and a squeak. “Well. Well then. Ah . . . Listen, why don’t we blow this joint, go get a pizza and you can elaborate on that very interesting statement.”

  “Great.” With relief, Olivia pushed her plate aside. “I’m starved.”

  Frank was sitting in his kitchen, enjoying the single predinner light beer his wife allowed him. On a notepad, he drew circles, squiggles, exes as he toyed with a new play for the basketball team he coached.

  He’d have enjoyed some potato chips or Fritos with his beer, but Celia had come across his secret stash a few days before. He still couldn’t figure out what the hell she’d been doing looking on the top shelf of the den closet, but he couldn’t ask as he’d denied knowing the sour cream and onion chips were there.

  He claimed Noah had probably left them. That was his story, Frank thought as he made do with a handful of salt-free pretzels. And he was sticking to it.

  When the doorbell rang, he left his beer and his doodling on the table, thinking it might be one of his players. He didn’t think it set the right tone for Coach to come to the door with a cold one in his hand.

  It was a young woman, with the tall, rangy build he could have used on the court. A little too old to fit into his twelve-to-sixteen-year-old league, he thought; then images overlapped in his mind and had him grabbing for her hands.

  “Liv. Livvy! My God, you’re all grown up.”

  “I didn’t think you’d recognize me.” And the fact that he had, with such obvious delight, warmed her. “I’d have known you anywhere. You look just the same.”

  “Never lie to a cop, even a retired one. Come in, come in.” He pulled her inside. “I wish Celia were here. She had a late-afternoon meeting. Sit down.” He fussed around the living room, picking up the newspaper, scooping a magazine off a chair. “Let me get you something to drink.”

  “I’m all right. I’m fine.” There was a pressure in her chest, heavy, tight. “I told myself to call first. Then I didn’t. I just came.”

  He saw the battle for composure on her face. “I’m glad you did. I knew you were grown-up, but every time I pictured you, even when I’d read your letters, I’d see a little girl.”

  “I always see a hero.” She let herself go into his arms, let herself be held. And the jitters in her stomach quieted and eased. “I knew I’d feel better. I knew it would be all right, if I could see you.”

  “What’s wrong, Livvy?”

  “A lot of things. I’m figuring them out but—”

  “Is this about Noah’s book?”

  “Part of it. About that, about him. He’s your son.” She said it with a sigh and stepped back to stand on her own. “And as much as I didn’t want to, as much as I told myself I wouldn’t, I trust him to do it right. It’s going to be painful for me to talk to him, but I can do it. I will do it, in my own time. In my own way.”

  “You can trust him. I don’t understand his work, but I understand Noah.”

  Puzzled, she shook her head. “You don’t understand his work? How can you not understand his work? It’s brilliant.”

  It was Frank’s turn for confusion. He sat on the arm of the sofa, staring at her. “I have to say, I’m surprised to hear you say that. How could you feel that, as a survivor of a murder victim?”

  “And the daughter of a murderer,” she finished. “That’s exactly why. I read his first book as soon as it came out. How could I resist it with his name on the cover?” And she’d hidden it in her room like a sin. “I didn’t expect to like it.” Hadn’t wanted to, she thought. Had wanted to read it and condemn him. “I still don’t know if I can say I liked it, but I understood what he was doing. He takes the most wicked of crimes, the most horrid, the most unforgivable. And he keeps them that way.”

  She waved a hand in annoyance at her own fumbling attempt to explain. “When you hear about a murder on the news, or read about it in the paper, you say, oh, how awful, then you move on. He humanizes it, makes it real—so vividly real that you can’t say, ‘Oh, how awful,’ then slide down the pillows and go to sleep. Everyone who was involved—he strips them down to their most desperate and agonized emotions.”

  That, she realized, was what she feared about him the most. That he would strip her to the soul.

  “He makes them matter,” she continued. “So that what was done matters.”

  She smiled a little, but her eyes were horribly sad. “So that what his father did, every day, year in and year out, matters. You’re his standard for everything that’s right and strong.”

  Just, she thought, as her father was her standard for everything evil and weak.

  “Livvy.” Words clogged in Frank’s throat. “You make me ashamed that I never looked close enough.”

  “You just see Noah. I’m nervous about talking to him.” She pressed her hand to her stomach. “I don’t want him to know that. I want us to try to do this on equal ground. Well, not quite equal,” she corrected, and her smile steadied. “I’m going back home tomorrow, so he’ll have to deal with me on my turf. I wondered, one of the things I wanted to ask, was if you and Mrs. Brady would like to come up sometime this summer, have a couple of free weeks at the lodge on the MacBrides. We’ve made a number of improvements, and I’d love you to see my Center and . . . Oh God. I’m sorry. God.”

&n
bsp; She pressed both hands to her mouth, stunned that the words had tripped out, stumbling over one another in her rush to conceal the truth.

  “Livvy—”

  “No, I’m all right. Just give me a minute.” She walked to the front window, stared out through the pretty sheer curtains. “I know he gets out in a few weeks. I thought, somehow I thought, if you were there, just for the first couple of days after . . . it would be all right. I haven’t let myself really think about it, but the time’s coming. Just a few weeks.”

  She turned back, started to speak, to apologize again. But something in his face, the grim line of his mouth, the shadow in his eyes stopped her. “What is it?”

  “It’s about him getting out, Liv. I was contacted this morning. I have some connections, and whenever there’s something new about Tanner, I get a call. Due to his health, the hardship, overcrowded system, time served, his record in prison . . .” Frank lifted a hand, let it fall.

  “They’re letting him out sooner, aren’t they? When?”

  Her eyes were huge, locked on his. He thought of the child who’d stared at him from her hiding place. This time, he could do nothing to soften the blow.

  “Two weeks ago,” he told her.

  The phone shattered Noah’s concentration into a thousand irretrievable shards. He swore at it, viciously, ignoring the second ring as he stared at the last line he’d written and tried to find the rhythm again.

  On the third ring he snatched up the portable he’d brought in by mistake, squeezed it with both hands as if to strangle the caller, then flipped it on.

  “What the hell do you want?”

  “Just to say good-bye. ’Bye.”

  “Wait. Liv. Wait, don’t hang up, damn it. You don’t return my calls for two days, and then you catch me at a bad moment.”

  “I’ve been busy, which you obviously are, too. So—”

  “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. That was rude. I’m a jerk. I’ve got the sackcloth right here. You got my messages?” All ten thousand of them, he thought.

  “Yes, I haven’t had time to return them until now. And I only have a minute as it is. They’re already boarding.”

  “Boarding? What? You’re at the airport? You’re leaving already?”

  “Yes, my plans changed.” Her father was out of prison. Was he already in L.A.? Is this where he would come first? She rubbed a hand over her mouth and schooled her voice to sound casual. “I have to get back, and I thought I’d let you know. If you still want to talk to me, regarding your book, you can reach me at the lodge, the Center most likely.”

  “Go back in the morning. One night can’t make any difference. Olivia, I want to see you.”

  “You know where to find me. We’ll work out some sort of schedule that’s convenient for the interviews.”

  “I want . . .” You, he realized. How the hell had it gotten so mixed up a second time? “The book isn’t everything that’s going on here, between us. Change your flight.” He hit keys rapidly to save data and close. “I’ll come pick you up.”

  “I don’t want to be here,” she said flatly. “I’m going home.” To where it was safe. To where she could breathe. “If you want interviews with me, you’ll have to come to the lodge. It’s final boarding. I’m leaving.”

  “It’s not just the damn interviews,” he began, but she’d already broken the connection.

  Noah swung the phone over his shoulder, then halfway back to the desk before he managed to resist the urge to just beat it to bits of plastic.

  The woman was making him nuts. She ran hot, cold, jumped up, down and sideways. How the hell was he supposed to keep up with her?

  Now she was gone, leaping out of his reach before he had a real chance to grab hold. Now he was supposed to go chasing after her? Was that the game?

  Disgusted, he kicked back in the chair, stared at the ceiling. No, she didn’t work that way. It wasn’t games with Olivia so much as it was a match. There was a big difference between the two.

  There were details he needed to deal with, more data he needed to work through. And then, he thought, tossing the phone on the cluttered desk, then they’d just see about that match.

  He was more than willing to go one-on-one.

  Olivia didn’t relax until the plane was in the air and she could nudge her seat back, close her eyes. Below, Los Angeles was falling away, out of reach and soon out of sight. There was nothing there for her now, no need to go back. The house that had once been her own personal castle was locked behind iron gates and belonged to someone else.

  And the murder that had been done there, long since scrubbed away.

  If and when Noah contacted her, she’d deal with it, and him. She’d proven to herself that she could get through that swarm of memories. Retelling them would only be words, words that couldn’t hurt her now.

  The monster was loose.

  It seemed to whisper in her ear, a warning edged with a kind of jumping glee.

  It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t let it matter. Whether or not they’d unlocked his cell, given him a suit of clothes and the money he’d earned over his years in a cage, he’d been dead to her for a long, long time.

  She hoped she’d been dead to him as well. That he didn’t think of her.

  Or if he did, she prayed that every thought caused him pain.

  She turned her head away from the window and willed herself to sleep.

  Sleep didn’t come easily to some. It was full of fear and sound and bloody images.

  The monster was loose. And it cavorted in dreams, shambled on thick legs into the heart and poured out in bitter tears.

  The monster was loose, and knew there would be no end, no finish without more death.

  Livvy. The name was a silent sob, trembling in a desperate mind. The love for her was as real as it had been from the moment she’d been born. And the fear of her was as real as it had been on the night blood had been spilled.

  She would be sacrificed only if there was no choice.

  And the loss of her would be, forever, an open wound in the heart.

  twenty-three

  “Out? What do you mean he’s out?”

  “He got out two weeks ago. His lawyer filed a hardship plea, and they bumped up his release date.” Frank settled down on a deck chair where his son had taken advantage of an overcast day and a quiet beach to work outside.

  “Son of a bitch.” Noah pushed to his feet, paced from one end of the deck to the other. “Son of a bitch. He must have known the last time I went to see him. He didn’t tell me. I finally got a conference call scheduled with Smith this afternoon, and his assistant didn’t mention it either. Well, where the hell did he go?”

  “I don’t have that information. Actually, I thought you might. I wouldn’t mind keeping tabs on Tanner.” Frank thought of the shock and fear in Olivia’s eyes. “For old times’ sake.”

  “He hasn’t bothered to give me his fucking forwarding address. The book’s dead without him.” He stared down at his piles of papers, anchored with bottles, a conch shell, whatever came most handily. “Without him and Liv, it stops. The rest fans out from them. Early release?” He looked back at Frank. “Not parole, so he doesn’t have to check in.”

  “He served his time. The state of California considers him rehabilitated.”

  “Do you?”

  “Which part of you is asking the question? My son or the writer?”

  Noah’s face closed up immediately, went blank. “Never mind.”

  “I didn’t mean I wouldn’t answer, Noah. I was just curious.”

  “You’re the one who compartmentalizes what I am and what I do. For me, they’re in the same drawer.”

  “You’re right. I’ve been giving that some thought recently.” Frank sighed, laid his hands on his knees. “I thought you’d be a cop. I guess I had that idea in my head for a long time. I had this image of you coming on the job while I was still on it.”

  “I know I disappointed you. But it’s not what I am.”
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br />   The instinctive denial was on his tongue. Frank paused and gave his son the truth instead. “I had no right to be disappointed. And I know it’s not what you are, Noah, but some things die hard. You were always interested in what I did when you were a kid. You used to write up reports.” He laughed a little. “You’d ask me all these questions about a case and write it all up. I didn’t see that for what it was. When you went into journalism, I thought, well, he’ll snap out of that. But you didn’t and I was disappointed. That’s my failure, not yours.”

  “I never wanted to close cases, Dad. I wanted to study them.”

  “I didn’t want to hear that. Pride has two edges, Noah. When you started writing books, started digging into things that were over and done, I took it as a reflection on what I had done, as if you were saying that it wasn’t enough to do the job, gather the evidence, make the arrest, get the conviction.”

  “That’s not it. That was never it.”

  “No, but I let my pride get in the way of seeing what you were doing, why you were doing it and what it meant to you. I want you to know I’m sorry for that. More sorry that I never gave you the respect you deserved for doing work you were meant to do, and doing it well.”

  “Well.” Emotion slid through him, carrying out the tension in his shoulders he hadn’t been aware of. “It’s a day for surprises.”

  “I’ve always been proud of who you are, Noah. You’ve never been anything but a joy to me, as a son and as a man.” Frank had to pause a moment before his tongue tangled.

  “I wouldn’t be what I am if you hadn’t been there.”

  “Noah.” Love was a swollen river in his throat. “I hope one day you have a grown child say that to you. It’s the only way to know how much it means.” He had to clear his throat before he embarrassed both of them. “I’m going to give more consideration to what you do. Fair enough?”

  “Yeah, that’s fair enough.”