The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 2

by Nora Roberts

  No, not a photocopy, he realized. Computer-scanned, just as the bold letters beneath the picture were computer-generated.

  IT CAN HAPPEN AGAIN.

  IT CAN HAPPEN TO YOU.

  Rage, cold and controlled, coated him as he looked into his mother’s horrified, baffled eyes. “He flicked the wrong switch this time,” Noah murmured.

  He waited until his father came racing home. But no amount of arguing or pleading could make him wait until the police arrived.

  The son of a bitch had played him all right and had nearly sucked him in. Now he’d threatened his family. Revenge, Noah supposed as he slammed out of his car and strode down Sunset. Revenge against the cop who’d helped lock him away. Go after the family. Lure the son in, dangle the story, take the money, then terrorize the wife.

  Noah pushed through the front entrance of the apartment unit, flicked a glance at the elevator and chose the stairs. The mighty had fallen here, he thought. The paint was peeling, the treads grimy, and he caught the sweet whiff of pot still clinging to the air.

  But he hadn’t fallen far enough.

  The bastard liked women as his victims. Noah pounded a fist on the door of the second-floor apartment. Women and little girls. They’d just see how well he handled it when he had a man to deal with.

  He pounded again and seriously considered kicking the door in. The cold edge of his rage had flashed to a burn.

  “If you’re looking for the old man, he split.”

  Noah glanced around, saw the woman—hell, the hooker, he corrected.

  “Split where?”

  “Hey, I don’t keep tabs on the neighbors, honey. You a cop?”

  “No, I’ve got business with him, that’s all.”

  “Look a little like a cop,” she decided after an expert up-and-down survey. “Parole officer?”

  “What makes you think he needs one?”

  “Shit, you think I can’t spot a con? He did some long time. What he do, kill somebody?”

  “I just want to talk to him.”

  “Well, he ain’t here.” She kept moving, giving Noah a unattractive whiff of cheap perfume and stale sex. “Packed up his little bag and moved out yesterday.”

  Long after the Center had closed for the day, Olivia worked in her office. The paperwork had a nasty habit of building up on her during late spring and summer. She much preferred taking groups on the trail, giving lectures or heading a tour of the backcountry for a few days.

  She caught herself staring at the phone, again, and muttered curses under her breath. It was humiliating, absolutely mortifying, to realize that part of the reason she was working late again was the hope that Noah would call.

  Which he hadn’t done in two days, she reminded herself. Not that he was under any obligation to call her, of course. Not that she couldn’t, if she wanted to, call him. Which she wouldn’t do because, damn it, it would look as if she was hoping he’d call.

  She was acting like a high school girl with a crush. At least she thought she was. She’d never been a high school girl with a crush. Apparently she’d had more sense at sixteen than she had now.

  Now she daydreamed over the flowers he’d sent. She remembered the exact tone of his voice when he’d said her name. After he’d kissed her. The texture of his hands against her face. The little lurch of shock and pleasure in her own stomach.

  The way he talked and talked, she thought now, poking and prodding at her until she gave up and laughed. He’d been the first man she’d ever been attracted to who could make her laugh.

  He was certainly the only man she’d ever thought about after he was out of sight.

  No, maybe she should say the second man, as the younger version of Noah had attracted her, charmed her, confused her. They were both just different enough now for this . . . whatever it was between them, to be somehow new. And very compelling.

  Which, she supposed, said as much about her as it did about him.

  She hadn’t wanted anything but surface involvements, and she hadn’t wanted many of those.

  Why in the world was she sitting here analyzing her feelings when she didn’t want to have any feelings in the first place? She had enough to worry about without adding Noah Brady to the mix.

  She glanced toward her little storage closet. She’d buried the music box under the packing, stuffed it in the closet. Why had he sent it? Was it a peace offering or a threat? She didn’t want the first and refused to be intimidated by the second.

  But she hadn’t been able to throw it away.

  When the phone rang, she jumped foolishly, then rolled her eyes in annoyance. It had to be Noah, she thought. Who else would call so late? She caught herself before she could snatch eagerly at the receiver, deliberately let it ring three full times while she took careful breaths.

  When she picked it up, her voice was cool and brisk. “River’s End Naturalist Center.”

  She heard the music, just the faint drift of it, and imagined Noah setting a scene for a romantic phone call. She started to laugh, to open her mouth to make some pithy comment, then found herself unable to speak at all.

  She recognized it now, Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty.

  The soaring, liquid, heartbreaking notes of it that took her back to a warm summer night and the metallic scent of blood.

  Her hand tightened on the receiver while the panic-trip of her heart filled her head. “What do you want?” Her free hand pressed and rubbed between her breasts as if to shove back the rising pressure. “I know who you are. I know what you are.”

  The monster was free.

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  It was a lie. Terror, hot, greasy flows of it swam into her belly and slicked over her skin. She wanted to crawl under her desk, roll up into a ball. Hide. Just hide.

  “Stay away from me.” Fear broke through, spiking her voice. “Just stay away!”

  She slammed the receiver down and, with panic bubbling madly in her throat, ran.

  The doorknob slipped out of her hand, making her whimper with frustration until she could cement her grip. The Center was dark, silent. She nearly cowered back, but the phone rang again. Her own screams shocked her, sent her skidding wildly across the floor. Her breath tore out of her lungs, sobbed through the silence. She had to get out. To run. To be safe.

  And as she reached for the door, the knob turned sharply. The door opened wide, and in its center was the shadow of a man.

  Her vision went gray and hazy. Dimly she heard someone call her name. Hands closed over her arms. She felt herself sway, then slide through them into the black.

  “Hey, hey, hey. Come on. Come back.”

  Her head reeled. She felt little pats on her face, the brush of lips over hers. It took her a moment to realize she was on the floor, being rocked like a baby in Noah’s lap.

  “Stop slapping me, you moron.” She lay still, weak from embarrassment and the dregs of panic.

  “Oh yeah, that’s better. Good.” He covered her mouth with his, poured an ocean of relief into the kiss. “That’s the first time I ever had a woman faint at my feet. Can’t say I like it one damn bit.”

  “I didn’t faint.”

  “You did a mighty fine imitation, then.” She’d only been out for seconds, he realized, though it had seemed to take a lifetime for her to melt in his grip. “I’m sorry I scared you, coming in that way. I saw your office light.”

  “Let me up.”

  “Let’s just sit here a minute. I don’t think my legs are ready to try standing yet.” He rested his cheek on hers. “So, how’ve you been otherwise?”

  She wanted to laugh, and to weep. “Oh, just fine thanks. You?”

  He shifted her so he could grin into her face. Then just the look of her, clear amber eyes, pale skin, had something moving inside him. “I really missed you.” His hand roamed through her hair now, stroking. “It’s so weird. Do you know how much time we’ve actually spent together?”

  “No.”

  “Not enough,” he
murmured, and lowered his mouth to hers again. This time her lips were soft and welcomed him. Her arms lifted and enfolded him. He felt himself sink, then settle so that even the wonder of it seemed as natural as breathing.

  She had no defenses now. He drew her in, soft, slow, sure until there was nothing but that stirring mating of lips.

  “Liv.” He traced kisses along her jaw, up to her temple. “Let me close the door.”

  “Hmm?”

  Her sleepy answer had sparks of heat simmering inside the warmth. “The door.” His hand brushed over her breast, his fingers spreading as she arched toward him. “I don’t want to make love with you in an open doorway.”

  She made another humming sound, scraping her teeth over his bottom lip as she slapped at the door in an attempt to close it herself.

  Then the phone rang, and she was clawing to get free.

  “It’s just the phone. Christ.” To defend himself, he clamped his arms over hers.

  “It’s him. Let me go! It’s him.”

  He didn’t ask whom she meant. She only used that tone when she spoke of her father. “How do you know?”

  Her eyes wheeled white with panic. “He called before—just before.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing.” Overwhelmed, she curled up, clamped her hands over her ears. “Nothing, nothing.”

  “It’s okay, it’s all right. Stay right here.” He nudged her aside and with blood in his eye strode into the office. Even as he reached for the receiver, the ringing stopped.

  “It was him.” She’d managed to get up, managed to walk to the door. But she was shaking. “He didn’t say anything. He just played the music. The music my mother had on the stereo the night he killed her. He wants me to know he hasn’t forgotten.”

  twenty-five

  He’d managed to book a room, but had been warned it was only available for one night. For the remainder of the month, the lodge was fully booked. There were a couple of campsites still available, but he couldn’t work up any enthusiasm in that area.

  Still, he was going to have to snag one, and buy himself some camping equipment if he meant to stay.

  And he meant to stay.

  His original plan had been to rent a snazzy suite in some hotel within reasonable driving distance where he could work in comfort and seduce Olivia in style. After what he’d learned the night before, he wasn’t willing to stay that far away.

  He intended to keep an eye on her. The only way to accomplish that was to stay put and to be more stubborn than she was.

  There’d been a test of that the night before as well. She’d told him about the phone call, the music box, and her fear had been alive in the room with them. But the moment she’d gotten it out, she’d toughened up again, stepped back from him.

  He thought part of it had been an incredibly misplaced sense of embarrassment at showing a weakness. But on another level, he decided this was the way she’d shored up any holes in her defenses for years. She set it aside, closed it off and refused to talk about it.

  She’d fired up when he’d said he was taking her home. She knew the way, he’d get lost on the way back, she didn’t need a bodyguard. And wouldn’t be taken anywhere by anyone.

  Noah stepped out on his tiny first-floor patio and scanned the deep green of the summer forest.

  He’d never actually dragged a woman to his car before, he thought now. Never seriously wrestled with one in a personal match that didn’t have the end goal of sex on the minds of both participants. And he’d never come quite so close to losing to a girl.

  He rubbed his bruised ribs absently.

  He wondered if he should be ashamed of having enjoyed it quite so much, then decided against it. He’d gotten her home safely, had managed to block her last punch long enough to punctuate his victory with a very satisfying kiss.

  Until she’d bitten him.

  God, he was crazy about her.

  And concerned enough to make him determined to deal with Sam Tanner. To keep Olivia safe and to give her some peace of mind.

  He went back inside and called his father. “How’s Mom?”

  “She’s fine. I drove her in to work today and browbeat a promise out of her that she wouldn’t go anywhere alone. I’ll be driving her to and from until . . . until.”

  “No word on Tanner?”

  “No. He withdrew two thousand in cash from his bank account. He rented his room by the week and had paid up. We’re—the police are interested in questioning him about the picture, but there’s not a lot they can do. I tugged some strings and had a couple of my buddies check the airports and train stations for reservations in his name. Nothing.”

  “He needs to be found. Hire a detective. The best you know. I can afford it.”

  “Noah—”

  “This is my party, I foot the bill. I’ll arrange for you to leave messages for me here at the lodge. I’m going to be doing the tent thing for a while and I might not have my cell phone on me, so I won’t always be reachable. I’ll be checking in as often as I can.”

  “Noah, if he’s decided it’s payback, you’re a target. He’s dying, he’s got nothing to lose.”

  “I grew up with a cop. I know how to handle myself. Take care of Mom.”

  Frank waited a beat. “I know how to take care of what’s mine. Watch yourself, Noah.”

  “Same goes.” He hung up, then paced the little room while he tried to juggle an idea out of his mind. When it came, it was so simple, so perfect, he grinned. “I know how to take care of what’s mine, too,” he murmured. And hoping she’d cooled off, he went to find Olivia.

  She hadn’t cooled off. In fact, she was nursing her temper as a devoted mother would a fretful baby. She’d take spit-in-his-eye temper over the sick, shaky panic she felt every time her office phone rang.

  So she nurtured it, she used it, she all but wallowed in it.

  When Noah walked into her office, she got to her feet, slowly, her eyes cold, steady. Like a gunfighter, she shot fast and from the hip.

  “Get your sorry ass out of my office. And off MacBride property. If you’re not checked out and gone inside of ten minutes, I’m calling the cops and having you charged with assault.”

  “You’ll never make it stick,” he said with a cheer he knew would infuriate her. “I’m the one with the bruises. Don’t swear,” he added quickly and shut the door at his back. “There’re young, impressionable children out there. Now, I’ve got a deal for you.”

  “A deal for me?” She bared her teeth in a snarl, then jerked back when the phone rang.

  Before she could move, Noah snatched it off the hook himself. “River’s End Naturalist Center. Ms. MacBride’s office. This is Raoul, her personal assistant. I’m sorry, she’s in a meeting. Would you like—”

  “Idiot.” She hissed at him and wrestled the phone out of his hand. “This is Olivia MacBride.”

  Noah shrugged, then wandered around the room as she dealt with business. When she ended the conversation, then said nothing, he checked the soil of a nicely blooming African violet. “I’ve been thinking about taking a few days to get away from technology,” he decided. “To test myself. Man against nature, you know.” He looked back.

  She was still standing, but she had her hands linked together now. The fire had gone out of her eyes, leaving them carefully blank.

  “I’d think less of you if you weren’t afraid, because then I’d think you were stupid.” He said it quietly, with just the slightest edge of annoyance. How could he see so much, she wondered, without even seeming to look?

  “I’m not a damsel in distress. I can take care of myself.”

  “Good, because I’m hoping you’ll be looking after me the next few days. I want to do some hiking and camping in the backcountry.”

  Her laugh came fast and was none too flattering. “The hell you do.”

  “Three days. You and me.” He held up a finger before she could laugh again. “We get away for a while. You do what you do best
. And so do I. You’d agreed to interviews, so we’ll talk. This place is something you love, and I want you to show it to me. I want to see what you see when you look at it.”

  “For the book.”

  “No, for me. I want to be alone with you.”

  She could feel her resolve, and her temper, melting. “I’ve rethought that situation, and I’m not interested.”

  “Yes, you are.” Unoffended, he took her hand, skimming his thumb over her knuckles. “You’re just mad at me because I outmuscled you last night. Actually, it wasn’t—” He broke off as he glanced down at her hand and saw the faint trail of bruises just above her wrist. “I guess I’m not the only one with bruises.” He lifted her wrist, kissed it. “Sorry.”

  “Cut it out.” She slapped his hand away. “All right, I’m mad because you saw me at my worst, my weakest, and I let you see it. I’m mad because you wouldn’t leave me alone, and I’m mad because I like being with you even when you irritate me.”

  “You can count on staying mad for a while, then. I’m not going anywhere until we figure everything out. Let’s go play in the forest, Livvy.”

  “I have work.”

  “I’m a paying client. And as part of the deal, you can give me a list of what I need and I’ll buy what’s available at the lodge. Between the guide fee and the equipment, you’re going to take in a couple of grand easy. Delegate, Liv. You know you can.”

  “You also need backcountry permits.”

  “What’ll they think of next?”

  “Twenty-four hours, you’ll be crying for your laptop.”

  “Bet?”

  “Hundred bucks.”

  “Deal.” He gave her hand a squeeze.

  He hadn’t expected her to send over a list that included wardrobe, detailing down to how many pairs of socks and underwear she recommended he take for the trip. It was like being twelve again and getting a to-do list from his mother.

  He bought the gear, including a new backpack, as she’d pointed out on her list that his was too small and had a number of holes in it. And though they were going to weigh him down, he bought two bottles of wine and nested them inside spare socks.