by Nora Roberts
Damn him, she thought, damn him for forcing her to feel this bright flush of shame. Rather than speak, she sat on the pillow-plumped daybed, lifted the brandy to her lips. He joined her, but when he sat, there was much more distance between them than a few inches of cushion.
A flick of the remote, and Eve was filling the screen as she had filled so many others during her life. Misery clamped around Julia’s heart like an iron fist.
“Darlings, I can’t tell you how delighted I am that you’re together. I’d hoped to do this with a bit more ceremony, and on film, certainly, rather than videotape. Film’s so much more flattering.”
Eve’s rich laugh seeped into the room. On the screen, she reached for a cigarette, then leaned back in her chair. She’d done her own makeup carefully, camouflaging the shadows under her eyes, the strain around her mouth. She wore a fuchsia man-styled shirt with a standing collar. It took Julia only an instant to realize she had been wearing that shirt when she’d been sprawled on the bloody rug.
“This little gesture may become unnecessary if I find the courage to speak to both of you face-to-face. If not, please forgive me for not telling you about my illness. I found the tumor a flaw I wanted to keep to myself. Another one of those lies, Julia. This one not entirely selfish.”
“What does she mean?” Julia murmured. “What is she talking about?”
Paul only shook his head, but his body had tensed.
“When I got the diagnosis, prognosis and all those other nosises, I went through all those stages I’m told are quite typical. Denial, anger, grief. You know how I detest being typical. Being told you have less than a year to live, less than that to function, is a humbling experience. I needed to do something to offset that. I needed to celebrate life, I suppose. My life. So I got the idea to do the book. Making clear what I had been, what I had done, not only for the ever-hungry public, but for myself. I wanted my daughter, a part of myself, to tell the story.” Her eyes sharpened as she leaned into the camera. “Julia, I know how upset you were when I told you. Believe me, you have every right to hate me. I won’t offer excuses. I can only hope that between then and now, when you’re watching this, that we’ve come to some sort of understanding with each other. I didn’t know how much you would mean to me. How much Brandon …” She shook her head and dragged deep on the cigarette. “I won’t become maudlin. I’m counting on there being wailing and gnashing of teeth at the announcement of my death. And by this time there should have been enough of it.
“This time clock in my brain …” She smiled a little as she rubbed her fingers over her temple. “Sometimes I swear I can hear it ticking away. It forced me to face my mortality, my mistakes, and my responsibilities. I’m determined not to leave this world with regrets. If we haven’t mended our fences, Julia, then at least I have the comfort of knowing we were friends for a time. And I also know you’ll write the book. If you’ve inherited any of my stubbornness, you may not speak to me again, so I’ve taken the precaution of making the other tapes. I’m quite sure I haven’t left out anything of importance.”
Eve crushed out her cigarette, seemed to take a moment to gather her thoughts. “Paul, I don’t have to tell you what you’ve meant to me. For twenty-five years you gave me the unconditional love and loyalty I didn’t always deserve. You’ll be angry, I know, that I didn’t tell you about my illness. It may be selfish of me, but an inoperable brain tumor is a personal thing. I wanted to enjoy the time I had left without being watched, or coddled, or worried over. Now, I want you to remember how much fun we had. You were the only man in my life who never caused me a moment’s pain. My last bit of advice to you is if you love Julia, don’t let her wriggle away from you. She may try. I’ve left you both the bulk of my estate not only because I love you, but because it will complicate your lives. You’ll have to deal with each other for some time to come.”
Her lips trembled once; she controlled them. Her eyes gleamed with tears. Emeralds washed with rain. “Damn you both, give me more grandchildren. I want to know that you’ve found what always eluded me. Love that can be celebrated not only in the shadows, but in the light. Julia, you were the child I loved but couldn’t keep. Paul, you were the child I was given and was allowed to love. Don’t disappoint me.”
She tossed her head back, sent them one last, vivid smile. “And it wouldn’t hurt if you named the first girl after me.”
The tape flickered off, turned to snow. Julia took another long drink of brandy before she managed to speak. “She was dying. All this time, she was dying.”
In one abrupt move, he switched off the tape. Eve had been right. He was angry, furious. “She had no right to keep it from me.” Fists clenched, he sprang to his feet to pace the room. “I might have been able to help. There are specialists, holistic medicine. Even faith healers.” He stopped, dragging a hand through his hair as he realized what he was saying. Eve was dead, and it hadn’t been a brain tumor that had killed her. “It hardly matters, does it? She made that tape for us to watch after she’d died quietly in some hospital bed. Instead …” He looked toward the window, but saw the Eve sprawled on the rug.
“It matters,” Julia said quietly. “All of it matters.” She set her glass aside and rose to face him. “I’d like to talk to her doctor.”
“What’s the point?”
“I have a book to write.”
He took a step toward her, then stopped himself. His fury was much too ripe and ready to risk touching her. “You can think of that now?”
She saw the bitterness, heard it. There was no way she could explain that writing it, making it important, was the only way she knew to pay Eve back for the debt of her birth. “Yes. I have to think of it.”
“Well.” He pulled out a cigarette, lighted it slowly. “If they can crank it out within the year, you can cash in on her murder and have yourself the hit of the decade.”
Her eyes went blank. “Yes,” she said. “I certainly hope so.”
Whatever he might have said, whatever venom rose up in his throat, was swallowed at the sound of the brisk knock on the door. The moment he turned from her to answer, Julia’s face crumbled. She pressed the heel of her hand between her brows and fought to hold on until she could find a moment alone.
“Frank.”
“Sorry, Paul, I know it’s a rough day.” Frank stood on the threshold. Because his business was official, he didn’t step inside, but waited to be asked. “Travers told me that you and Miss Summers were up here.”
“We’re in the middle of something. Can it wait till later?”
“I’m afraid not.” He glanced over Paul’s shoulder, then lowered his voice. “I’m bending some rules here, Paul. I’m going to make it as easy as I can, but it’s not good.”
“You’ve got a lead?”
Frank stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, you could say that. I need to talk to her, and I’d rather go through it only once.”
There was a tension at the back of his neck, a sharp and disturbing sensation that made him want to shut the door and refuse. When he hesitated, Frank shook his head. “You’ll only make it worse.”
Julia had regained her composure. She turned, her face calm, and nodded at Frank. “Lieutenant Needlemeyer.”
“Miss Summers. I’m sorry, but I’m going to need to ask you some more questions.”
Her stomach muscles twisted at the thought, but she nodded again. “All right.”
“It’s going to have to be downtown.”
“Downtown?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He took a card from his pocket. “I’m going to have to read your rights, but before I do, I want to advise you to call a lawyer. A good one.”
It was like being trapped in a maze in some vicious amusement park. Each time she thought she had found her way out, she would stumble around a corner and smash against another blank, black wall.
Julia stared at the long mirror in the interrogation room. She was reflected there in her black funeral suit, her face too pale a
gainst the crisp linen as she sat at the single table on a hard wooden chair. She could see the smoke that was stinging her nostrils curling up toward the ceiling in a soft blue haze. The trio of coffee cups whose brew smelled as bitter as it tasted. And the two men in shirt-sleeves, with badges hooked to their pockets.
Testing, she moved her fingers, steepling them, interlinking them. And watched the reflections do the same.
Which woman was she? she wondered. Which woman would they believe?
She knew there were other faces on the opposite side of that glass, staring back at her. Staring through her.
They had given her a cup of water, but she couldn’t seem to swallow. They kept the room too warm, a few degrees warmer than comfort. Beneath her dark suit her skin was damp. She could smell her own fear. Sometimes her voice shook, but she clamped down on the rising bubbles of hysteria until it was steady again.
They were so patient, so tenacious with their questions. And polite, so very polite.
Miss Summers, you did threaten to kill Miss Benedict?
Did you know she’d changed her will, Miss Summers?
Miss Summers, didn’t Miss Benedict come to see you on the day of the murder? Did you argue again? Did you lose your temper?
No matter how often she answered, they would wind their way around until she had to answer again.
She’d lost track of time. She might have been in that small, windowless room for an hour, or a day. Occasionally, she would find her mind wandering, simply going away.
She wanted to be certain that Brandon got his supper. She had to help him study for a geography test. While her brain took these short trips into the simple and the ordinary, she answered.
Yes, she had argued with Eve. She had been angry and upset. No, she couldn’t remember exactly what she had said. They had never discussed the changes in the will. No, never. She might have touched the murder weapon. It was hard to be sure. No, she hadn’t been aware of the details of Eve’s will. Yes, yes, the door had been locked when she’d arrived home. No, she wasn’t aware if anyone had seen her after she’d passed through the gates.
Again and again she went over her movements on the day of the murder, picking her way carefully through the maze, treading on her own footsteps.
Julia struggled to divorce her mind from her body through the booking procedure. She stared straight ahead when she was ordered, blinked at the flash of light as her picture was taken for the files. She turned her profile.
They’d taken her jewlery, her bag, her dignity. All she had to cling to now was the shreds of pride.
They led her to the cell where she would wait until her bail was set and paid. Murder, she thought dizzily. She had just been booked for second degree murder. She’d made some horribly wrong turn in the maze.
At the clang of the metal doors, panic ripped through her. She nearly screamed out, then tasted blood as she bit through her bottom lip. Oh, God, don’t put me in here. Don’t lock me inside this cage.
Gasping for breath, she sat on the edge of the bunk, clasped her hands in her lap and held on. She would swear the air stalled when it reached the bars. Someone was swearing, low, foul obscenities rattled off like a laundry list. She could hear the whine of junkies, the bitching of hookers. Someone was crying, low, pitiful sobs that echoed endlessly.
There was a sink bolted to the wall opposite the bunk, but she was afraid to use it. Though nausea rolled sickly in her stomach, she choked it back rather than crouch over the stained toilet.
She would not be sick. And she would not break. How soon would the press find out? She could write the headlines herself.
EVE BENEDICT’S DAUGHTER ARRESTED
FOR HER MURDER
ABANDONED DAUGHTER’S REVENGE
THE SECRET THAT ENDED EVE’S LIFE
Julia wondered if Eve would have appreciated the publicity, then pressed a hand to her mouth to hold back a wild burst of laughter. No, not even Eve, with all her skill at manipulation, with all her clever ways of maneuvering the players in her own script, could have foreseen this kind of irony.
When her hands began to shake, she went back to the bunk, pushing herself into the corner. With her knees up tight against her chest, she lowered her head to them and shut her eyes.
Murder. The word swam through her mind. When her breath began to hitch, she squeezed her eyes tighter. Behind her eyes the scene played out as it had been described to her in the interrogation room.
Arguing with Eve. The fury building. Her hand closing over the gleaming brass poker. One desperate violent swing. Blood. So much blood. Her own scream as Eve crumpled at her feet.
“Summers.”
Julia’s head jerked up. Her eyes were wild and blinked furiously to focus. Had she fallen asleep? All she knew was she was awake now, and still in the cell. But the door was open, and the guard was standing just inside.
“You made bail.”
Paul’s first impulse when he saw her was to rush over and hold her against him. One look told him she might crack like eggshells in his hand. More than comfort, he thought she needed strength.
“Ready to go?” he said, and slipped a hand into hers.
She didn’t speak until they were outside. It shocked her that it was still daylight. Cars were stretched along the road as commuters battled their way home to dinner. Hours before, only hours ago in the soft blue morning, they had buried Eve. Now she was accused of causing that death.
“Brandon?”
He caught her arm when she swayed, but she kept walking, as if she hadn’t noticed her own weakness.
“Don’t worry. CeeCee’s handling everything. He can stay the night with them, unless you want to go pick him up.”
God, she wanted to see him. To hold him. To smell him. But she remembered the glimpse of her own face when they’d let her dress. Her face was white, her eyes shadowed. And there was terror in them.
“I don’t want him to see me until I’ve … until later.” Confused, she stopped by Paul’s car. It was funny, she thought, now that she was outside again, out of that cage, she didn’t know what to do next. “I should—I should call him. I’m going to need to explain … somehow.”
She swayed again so that when he caught her he could all but pour her into the car. “You can call him later.”
“Later,” she repeated, and let her eyes close.
She didn’t speak again, so he hoped she slept. But as he drove he could see the way her hand would go from limp in her lap to clenched. He’d been prepared for tears, for outrage, for fury. He wasn’t sure any man could prepare himself for this kind of dangerous fragility.
When she smelled the sea, she opened her eyes. She felt drugged, as if she’d awakened from a long illness. “Where are we going?”
“Home.”
She pressed a hand to her temple, as if she could press reality back in. “To your house?” “Yes. Is that a problem?”
But when he glanced over, she’d turned away so that he couldn’t see her face. He braked too hard when he pulled to a stop up in front of the house. They both jerked forward, snapped back. By the time he’d slammed out of his door, she was already standing.
“If you don’t want to be here, just tell me where you want to go.”
“I have nowhere to go.” Eyes stricken, she turned to face him. “And no one to go to. I didn’t think you’d … bring me here. Want me here. They think I killed her.” Her hands shook so badly she dropped her bag. After she crouched to pick it up, she couldn’t find the strength to stand again. “They think I killed her,” she repeated.
“Julia.” He reached for her, but she pulled back.
“Please don’t. Don’t touch me. I won’t be able to hold on to whatever pride I have left if you touch me.”
“The hell with that.” He gathered her up, into his arms. The first sobs began to rack her body as he carried her inside.
“They put me in a cell. They kept asking me questions, over and over, and they put me in a cell. They locked
the door and left me there. I couldn’t breathe in there.”
Even as his mouth tightened into a grim line, he murmured reassurances. “You need to lie down for a while. Rest for a while.”
“I kept remembering the way she looked when I found her. They think I did that to her. God, they’re going to put me back in there. What’s going to happen to Brandon?”
“They’re not going to put you back in there.” After he laid her on the bed, he took her face in his hands. “They’re not going to put you back in there. Believe it.”
She wanted to, but all she could see was that small, barred space, and her trapped inside. “Don’t leave me alone. Please.” She gripped his hands, her tears burning her eyes. “Touch me. Please.” She pulled his mouth down to hers. “Please.”
Comfort wasn’t the answer. Quiet reassurances and gentle strokes couldn’t sear away the desperation. It was passion she needed, fast and fulminating, rough and ready. Here, with him, she could empty her mind, fill her body. She groped for him, her eyes still wet with shock and terror, her body arching against his as she tugged at his clothes.
There were no words between them. She wanted no words; even the softest of them could make her think. For this brief space of time she wanted only to feel.
He forgot about easing her fears. There was no fear in the woman who rolled over the bed with him, her avid mouth and seeking fingers shooting arrows of pleasure into him. Every bit as desperate as she, he tore at her clothes to find her. That hot, damp skin vibrating under his hands, the wild, wanton scent of desires, the seductive scent of woman.
The light poured into the room, touched with the first flames of sunset. She rose over him, her face no longer pale, but flushed with life. She gripped his wrists, brought his hands to her breasts. With her head thrown back she sheathed him, taking him deep, surrounding him.
Her body went rigid, then shuddered as she came. With her eyes on his, she brought his palm up to press a kiss to it. Then with a cry that was both despair and triumph, she rode him fast, and hard, as if she were riding for her life.
