by Nora Roberts
She stumbled back against Faith as her father howled and stormed out the broken doorway.
“I told you to go.” Teeth chattering, Tory went down to her knees.
“Well, I didn’t listen, did I?” Because her vision was going gray, Faith braced against the wall and shook her head fiercely. “I used Cade’s car phone to call the police.”
“You came back.”
“Yeah.” Blowing little panting breaths, Faith bent over from the waist to try to get some blood back in her head. “You wouldn’t have left me.”
“There was blood. I smelled blood.” Instantly Tory was on her feet, jerking Faith upright again. “Are you shot? Did he shoot you?”
“No. It was you. You shot him. Tory, snap out of it.”
Tory stared down at her own hand. The gun was still in it, shaking as if it were alive. With a little gasp of shock she dropped it clattering to the floor. “I shot him?”
“Your gun went off when he shoved you. I think. God, it happened fast. There was blood on his shirt, I’m sure of that much, and I didn’t fire. I think I’m going to be sick. I hate being sick. Sirens.” Hearing them, Faith rested her back against the wall. “Oh, thank God.”
Then she heard the roar of an engine, and shoved away from the wall. “Oh no. Oh Jesus. Cade’s car. I left the keys in the car.”
Before Tory could stop her, she was darting toward the front door. They burst out together in time to see the car squeal onto the road.
“Cade’s going to kill me.”
Tory drew in a breath like a sob, but when it came out it was laughter. Edging toward hysteria, but laughter. “We just chased off a madman, and you’re worried about your big brother. Only you.”
“Well, Cade can be pretty fierce.” As much to comfort as to support herself, Faith draped an arm around Tory’s shoulder. Tory let her head droop, closed her eyes.
The scream of sirens battered her ears. She saw hands on the wheel of the car. Her father’s hands, scored deep with scratches. She felt the speed, the dance of the tires as the car was whipped around.
Coming back, pushing for speed. The radio blaring hot rock. Lights whirling. You see them in the rearview mirror as your eyes dart up. Panic, outrage, hate. They’re getting closer.
Your arm burns from the bullet and the blood drips.
But you’ll get away. God’s on your side. He left the car for you. Fast. Faster.
A test. It’s just another test. You’ll get away. Have to get away. But you’ll come back for her. Oh, you’ll come back and you’ll make her pay.
Hands slicked with blood. The wheel spins out of your grip. The world rushes at you, shapes tumbling.
Screaming. Is that you screaming?
“Tory! For God’s sake, Tory. Stop it. Wake up.”
She came back facedown on the shoulder of the road, her body jerking, screams ripping through her head.
“Don’t do this. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“I’m all right.” Painfully, Tory rolled over, shielded her eyes with her arm. “I just need a minute.”
“All right? You went tearing out to the road when they drove by. I was afraid you were going to run right out in front of them. Then your eyes rolled back in your head and you went down.” Faith dropped her head in her hands. “This is too much for me. This is just more than enough.”
“It’s all right. It’s over. He’s dead.”
“I think I figured that part out. Look.” She pointed down the road. The flames and smoke pillared up, and the sun bounced off the chrome and glass of the police cars circled in the distance.
“I heard the crash, then a kind of explosion.”
“A fiery death,” Tory murmured. “I wished it on him.”
“He wished it on himself. I want Wade. Oh my God, I want Wade.”
“We’ll get someone to call him.” Steadier, Tory got to her feet, held out a hand for Faith. “We’ll go down and ask someone to call him.”
“Okay. I feel a little drunk.”
“Me too. We’ll just hold on to each other.”
Arms wrapped around each other’s waists, they started down the road. The heat bounced off the asphalt, shimmered on the air. Through the waves of it, Tory saw the fire, the spin of lights, the dull beige of the government car with the FBI agents beside it.
“Do you see where he crashed?” Tory murmured. “Just across from where Hope … just on the bend of the road across from Hope.”
She heard the car coming behind them, stopped, turned.
Cade leaped out, raced forward to wrap his arms around both of them. “You’re all right. You’re all right. I heard the sirens, then saw the fire. Oh God, I thought…”
“He didn’t hurt us.” Cade’s scent was there, sweat and man. Hers. Tory let it fill her. “He’s dead. I felt him die.”
“Ssh. Don’t. I’m going to get you home, both of you.”
“I want Wade.”
He pressed his lips to the top of Faith’s head. “We’ll get him, honey. Come on with me. Hold on to me for now.”
“He took your car, Cade.” Faith kept her eyes shut, her face pressed against her brother’s chest. “I’m sorry.”
Cade only shook his head, held her tighter. “Don’t think about it. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Clinging to control by a thread, he helped them into the car. As he drove forward, Agent Williams stepped out in the road, signaled.
“Miss Bodeen. Can you verify that’s your father?” She gestured toward the wreck. “That Hannibal Bodeen was driving that vehicle?”
“Yes. He’s dead.”
“I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Not here, not now.” Cade shoved the truck back in first gear. “You come to Beaux Reves when you’re done out here. I’m taking them home.”
“All right.” Williams looked past him, toward Tory. “Are you injured?”
“Not anymore.”
Her mind went dull for a while. She was aware, in a secondary way, of Cade taking her into the house, leading her up the stairs. She drifted a little further away when he laid her on a bed.
After a while, there was something cool on her face. She opened her eyes, looked into his.
“I’m all right. Just a little tired.”
“I got one of Faith’s nightgowns. You’ll feel better once we get it on you.”
“No.” She sat up, put her arms around him. “Now I feel better.”
He stroked her hair gently. Then his grip vised around her, and he buried his face in her hair. “I need a minute.”
“Me too. Probably a lot of minutes. Don’t let go.”
“I won’t. I can’t. I saw y’all go by. Faith driving like a maniac. I was going to blister her good for it.”
“She did it on purpose. She loves to agitate you.”
“She did, plenty. I stalked back over the fields, vowing to pay her back for it, with Piney walking along with me grinning like an idiot. Then I heard the shot. Liked to stop my heart. I started running, but I was still a good piece from the road and the car when the police went by. I saw the explosion. I thought I’d lost you.” He began to rock her. “I thought I’d lost you, Tory.”
“I was in the car with him, in my mind. I think I wanted to be so I’d know the exact moment it was over.”
“He can’t ever touch you again.”
“No. He can’t touch any of us again.” She rested her head on the strong curve of his shoulder. “Where’s Faith?”
“She’s downstairs. Wade’s here. She can’t keep still.” He leaned back, let his gaze roam her face. “She’ll rev until she falls down, and he’ll be there for her.”
“She stayed with me. Just like you asked her to.” She let out a sigh. “I have to go to my grandmother.”
“She’s coming here. I called her. This is your home now, Tory. We’ll get your things from the Marsh House later.”
“That sounds like a very good idea.”
Dusk had f
allen when she walked the gardens with her grandmother. “I wish you’d stay here with us, Gran, you and Cecil.”
“J.R. needs me. He lost a sister, one he wasn’t able to save from herself. I lost a child.” Her voice cracked. “I lost her long ago. Still, no matter how you deny it, there’s always that stubborn hope that you’ll get it all back, put it right. Now that’s gone.”
“I don’t know what to do for you.”
“You’re doing it. You’re alive, and you’re happy.” She clung to Tory’s hand. She couldn’t seem to stop holding, stop touching.
“We all have to make our peace with this, in our own way.” Iris drew in a steadying breath. “I’m going to bury her here, in Progress. I think that’s the way it should be. She had some happy years here, and, well, J.R. wants it. I don’t want a church service. I’m holding against him on that. We’ll bury her day after tomorrow, in the morning. If J.R. wants it, his minister can say a few words at the grave site. I won’t blame you, Tory, if you choose not to come.”
“Of course I’ll come.”
“I’m glad.” Iris lowered to a bench. The fireflies were out, bumping their lights against the dark. “Funerals are for the living, to help close a gap. You’ll be better for it.” She drew Tory down beside her. “I’m feeling my age, honey-pot.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Oh, it’ll pass. I won’t tolerate otherwise. But tonight, I’m feeling old and tired. They say a parent isn’t meant to outlive the child, but nature, and fate, they decide what’s meant. We just live with it. We’ll all live with this, Tory. I want to know you’re going to take what’s in front of you with both hands and hold it tight.”
“I am. I will. Hope’s sister knows how to do that. I’m taking lessons.”
“I always liked that girl. She mean to marry my Wade?”
“I think he means to marry her, and he’s going to let her think it was her idea.”
“Clever boy. And a steady one. He’ll keep her in line without bruising her wings. I’m going to see both my grandchildren happy. That’s what I’m holding on to tight, Tory.”
30
Wade fought with the knot of his tie. He hated the damned things. Every time he put one on, it brought a flashback of his mother, wearing an Easter hat that looked like an overturned bowl of flowers, strangling him into a bright blue tie to match his much hated bright blue suit.
He’d been six, and figured it had traumatized him for life.
You wore ties for weddings, and you wore ties for funerals. There was no getting around it, even if you were lucky enough to have a profession that didn’t require a goddamn noose around your neck every day of the week.
They were burying his aunt in an hour. There was no getting around that, either.
It was raining, a thundering bitch of a storm. Funerals demanded lousy weather, he figured, just like they demanded ties and black crepe and overly sweet-scented flowers.
He’d have given a year of his life to have crawled back in bed, pulled the covers over his head, and let the entire mess happen without him.
“Maxine said she’ll be glad to look after the dogs,” Faith announced. She walked in, dressed in the most dignified black dress she could find in her closet. “Wade, what have you done to that tie?”
“I tied it. That’s what you do with ties.”
“Mauled it’s more like. Here, let me see what I can do.” She plucked at it, tugged, twisted.
“Don’t fuss. It doesn’t matter.”
“Not if you want to go out looking like you’ve got a black goiter under your chin. My great-aunt Harriet had goiters, and they were not attractive. Just hold still a minute, I’ve nearly got it.”
“Just let it be, Faith.” He turned away from her to pick up his suit jacket. “I want you to stay here. There’s no point in your going out in this, or in both of us being wet and miserable for the next couple of hours. You’ve been through enough as it is.”
She set down the purse she’d just picked up. “You don’t want me with you?”
“You should go on home.”
She glanced at him, then around the room. Her perfume was on his dresser, her robe on the hook behind the door. “Funny, here I was thinking that’s just where I was. Is that my mistake?”
He took his wallet off the dresser, stuffed it in his back pocket, scooped up the loose change. “My aunt’s funeral is the last place you should be.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, but I’ll pose another. Why is your aunt’s funeral the last place I should be?”
“For Christ’s sake, Faith, put it together. My aunt was married to the man who killed your sister, and who might have killed you just two days ago. If you’ve forgotten that, I haven’t.”
“No, I haven’t forgotten it.” She turned to the mirror and to keep her hands busy picked up her brush. With every appearance of calm, she ran it over her hair. “You know, a lot of people, probably most, believe I don’t have much more sense than a turnip green. That I’m flighty and foolish and too shallow to stick to anything for longer than it takes to file my nails. That’s all right.”
She set the brush down, picked up her bottle of perfume and dabbed scent on her collarbone. “That’s all right,” she repeated. “For most people. But the funny thing is, I expect you to think better of me. I expect you to think better of me than I do myself.”
“I think considerable of you.”
“Do you, Wade?” Her eyes shifted and met his in the mirror. “Do you really? And at the same time you think you can put on that irritable attitude and buzz me off today. Maybe I should just go get my hair done while you’re at your aunt’s funeral. Then the next time you have to deal with something difficult or uncomfortable, I’ll go shopping. And the time after that,” she continued, her voice rising, hardening, “I’ll just have moved on anyway so it won’t be an issue.”
“This is different, Faith.”
“I thought it was.” She set the bottle down, turned. “I hoped it was. But if you don’t want me with you today, if you don’t think I want to be with you today, or have the belly for it, then this is no different than what I’ve already done. I’m not interested in repeating myself.”
Emotion stormed into his eyes, raged through him until his hands were fists. “I hate this. I hate seeing my father torn to pieces this way. I hate knowing your family’s been ripped again, and that mine had a part in it. I hate knowing you were in the same room with Bodeen, imagining what could have happened.”
“That’s good, because I hate all those things, too. And I’ll tell you something maybe you don’t know. As soon as it was over that day, as soon as I started thinking again, I wanted you. You were the one person I needed with me. I knew you’d take care of me, and hold on to me, and everything would be all right. If you don’t need the same from me, then I won’t let myself need you, either. I’m selfish enough to stop. I’ll go with you today, and stand with you and try to be some comfort to you. Or I’ll go back to Beaux Reves and start working on getting over you.”
“You could do it, too,” he said quietly. “Why is it I admire that? Flighty? Foolish?” He shook his head as he walked to her. “You’re the strongest woman I know. Stay with me.” He lowered his forehead to hers. “Stay with me.”
“That’s my plan.” She slipped her arms around him, ran her hands up and down his back. “I want to be there for you. That’s new for me. It’s your own fault. You just kept at me till I was in love with you. First time I haven’t aimed and shot first. I kinda like it.”
She held him, felt him lean on her. She liked that, too, she realized. No one had ever leaned on her before. “Now, come on.” She spoke briskly, kissed his cheek. “We’ll be late, and funerals aren’t the kind of occasions where you make grand entrances.”
He had to laugh. “Right. Got an umbrella?”
“Of course not.”
“Of course not. Let me get one.”
When he went to the closet to root around, she an
gled her head and studied him with a faint smile. “Wade, when we get engaged, will you buy me a sapphire instead of a diamond?”
His hand closed over the handle of the umbrella, then simply froze there. “Are we getting engaged?”
“A nice one, not too big or gaudy, mind. Square cut. That first moron I was married to didn’t even get me a ring, and the second got me the tackiest diamond.”
She picked up the black straw hat she’d tossed on the bed and walked to the mirror to set it on her head at an appropriately dignified angle. “Might as well have been a big hunk of glass for all the style it had. I sold it after the divorce and had a lovely two weeks at a fancy spa on the proceeds. So what I’d like is a square-cut sapphire.”
He took the umbrella down, stepped back out of the closet. “Are you proposing, Faith?”
“Certainly not.” She tipped back her head to look down her nose. “And don’t think because I’m giving you some inclination of my response it gets you out of asking. I expect you to follow tradition, all the way down on one knee. With,” she added, “a square-cut sapphire in your hand.”
“I’ll make a note of it.”
“Fine, you do that little thing.” She held out a hand. “Ready?”
“I used to think I was.” He took her hand, laced his fingers firmly with hers. “No one’s ever ready for you.”
They buried her mother in rain that pelted the ground like bullets while lightning ripped and clawed at the eastern sky. Violence, Tory thought. Her mother had lived with it, died from it, and even now, it seemed, drew it to her.
She didn’t listen to the minister, though she was sure his words were meant to comfort. She felt too detached to need it, and couldn’t be sorry for it. She’d never known the woman inside the flower-draped box. Never understood her, never depended on her. If Tory had grief, it was for the lack she’d lived with all her life.
She watched the rain beat against the casket, listened to it hammer on the umbrellas. And waited for it to be over.
