Mercy

by Jean Brashear

  Kat smiled. Definitely…a bad-tempered artist was exactly what the doctor ordered.

  He stared across the wide golden floor between them.

  Kat licked her lips and watched his eyes darken. She took a deep breath, knowing exactly what that did to her generous cleavage. “Well now, Mr. Smith. It appears that you’re a hit with the cognoscenti. This calls for a celebration.” She scooped a bottle of champagne from the caterer’s waiting stack and crossed the gallery floor. “My place isn’t far.”

  He rose to his feet, towering over even her tall frame. An insolent scan of her body had her blood heating dangerously fast.

  Ah, yes. This brooding artist with the rugged hands so at odds with his romantic bent might be just the ticket for a night’s pleasure. With effort, she resisted the urge to sink in her nails and wrap her legs around his hips. Later. In ten minutes, she could have him in her bed. Already, hunger buzzed its way up her spine.

  Gamble Smith seized the champagne, walked over and set it back on the caterer’s stack. Kat followed his movements, her gaze drifting over the powerful, rangy body simmering with anger.

  “Send my check when it’s ready.” He stalked to the door.

  “Gamble—” She stopped, confusion yielding to fury. He was walking out on her, damn it. Men didn’t take a powder on Kat Gerard. It wasn’t allowed. “Half the men here tonight would kill to be in your place.”

  He turned back at the door, his eyes unreadable. “I did your dog-and-pony show, Kat. I don’t do flavor-of-the-day. Go get one of your little boy toys for that.”

  He barged into the night without her.

  Chapter Three

  At Broadway and Seventy-ninth, Lucas emerged from the subway, blinking in the flaccid late-winter sun. Against every instinct toward solitude he’d honed in prison, he joined the crowds and walked toward the Hudson, headed for the building where a dazzled teenager had once dared to dream.

  Around him, the street roared with buses and cars, horns and screeching tires. Voices. Tension. Hustle and bustle that had once seemed normal.

  He’d never intended to enter Manhattan again. Through all the years of being caged, he’d planned to head west the minute he was clear. To start over, to lose himself in wide-open spaces that held nothing of this place, of memories at once too dim and too crisp. He’d thought to search for Cherokee ancestors his father had claimed had the same angled cheekbones, whose raven hair was Lucas’s own. His mother’s family he’d never met. After she’d left, his father had kept them moving, always a new town. Always the fresh start that would be their big break.

  Now he had no one. If his mother was still alive, he had no idea where she might be, nor did he care. His father had given up on Lucas when Attica’s gates had slammed shut. There was nothing in this city for him but pain, nowhere he wanted to be.

  But Juliette’s mercy called him. He had to find Tansy first. Find out if the reporter was wrong about Sanford.

  Sweet Jesus. Carlton Sanford and Tansy. The final betrayal.

  Martin Gerard would never agree to let him near her, he knew. If Paris’s father had had his way, Lucas would have breathed his last in a dungeon, would never again have seen the light of day.

  Lucas shouldered his way through the crowd, eager to be done with this duty. His new life was on hold until he did.

  The stink of prison still coated his nostrils. The crowd pressed in on all sides, buckling the walls that had surrounded him for so long. With fists and force of will, Lucas had declared a dead zone around himself all these years. Only Mose had trespassed.

  Someone to his left jostled his neighbor. Lucas went on alert, every muscle tense. Unexpected movement meant danger. He couldn’t get a breath. For anxious seconds, the world grew too narrow, the air too thin, the people too close. Within a knife blade’s reach of countless hands, Lucas forced himself to stop, to focus on the gray sky, to remember that he was not in prison anymore, that these people were not the savages with whom he’d spent the last twenty years.

  No one wanted to kill him for an imagined insult, for his place in the yard—or just for the hell of it. No one knew him. No one cared. The crowd around him surged and waned, muttered and rushed, but it was just normal New York hurry, nothing more.

  He was alone, and he had the power to determine his next step. Lucas stood perfectly still, the knowledge finally sinking in that no one would lock him up this night. No one would tell him what to eat, where to sleep. No one in this faceless crowd had any idea who he was or where he’d been.

  No one would control his destiny ever again, he swore it. He’d paid with twenty years of his life, and what was left was his.

  And at that moment, on a crowded New York sidewalk rife with the sounds and scents of hundreds of people too busy to notice, Lucas Walker breathed the sweet air of freedom and began to believe the nightmare might be over at last.

  For one second, features long ago schooled into granite relaxed into something resembling a smile. He had no idea where he would sleep, what he would eat, and the money he’d saved from his prison job wouldn’t go far. He was what he’d always been: the scum on a shoe sole, the dregs of humanity. An ex-con who would never totally forget what it was to be locked in a cage.

  He was out now. Free to starve. Free to freeze. To die as he’d lived: alone, no one to care.

  But the air he breathed, stinging with hot dogs and exhaust and grimy concrete, was his to breathe. His to suck down lungs that had forgotten the taste of hope. Only one duty restrained him.

  Tansy.

  The reporter had to be wrong. Dead wrong. Until he was certain, though, he must put off discovering if he could remember how to live as a normal man in a world that rubbed at him with the pinch of too-new shoes.

  He rejoined the flow of the crowd past the next corner, then stopped stock-still.

  There it was. Nineteen stories, prewar, rust and cream brick, it appeared too normal, the place where he’d once so very foolishly thought to sidestep who he really was and what people like him deserved. Where he’d dared to dream of a life in which beauty reigned, where love held sway. Where a naïve half-breed castoff boy could dream that the golden fairy Titania might look past a peasant and see a prince.

  Until one night of unspeakable darkness had shattered more than foolish fantasies.

  He craned his neck upward to the sixth floor of a building he’d once known intimately, wishing he could see through walls so he would have to get no closer.

  Lucas Walker was young no longer, a fool no more. He’d been a nobody, then a prisoner. Now he was only a man who wanted to forget the past and find some small measure of peace. He walked away from the building, headed to the park across the street.

  For the sake of a woman named Juliette, he would face that past again, no matter how much it squeezed his chest, made his long-dead heart sink. He would find a way to see Tansy again, to be sure she was safe.

  Then he would leave New York forever, and make what he could of the rest of his life.

  Kat pulled her coat tight around her, drew a deep breath and stepped off the M5 bus as if facing her own execution. Ahead of her was the building that should have felt like home. Thanks to her father’s self-absorption, it had ceased to be her home when she was eight years old. She stayed away from the place as much as possible; only the need to touch base with Tansy from time to time drew her back.

  The elevator operator nodded. “Afternoon, Ms. Gerard.”

  “Hi, Jerry. Doing okay?”

  “Right as rain, I am. Come to visit your father? Not long until his big day.”

  She didn’t bother to correct him as they headed upward. Every day was Martin Gerard’s big day. As far as he was concerned, the world revolved around his whims. How had her mother stood him? Why would someone so beautiful and talented have let her own star be eclipsed by his?

  Juliette Clark Gerard had been stunning, if somewhat shy. Kat had spent hours poring over Nana’s photo albums and scrapbooks filled with clippings
. She’d had plenty of opportunity in those lost years; Dimmitt, Texas, was not exactly the hot spot of the world.

  Kat had read every review of her mother’s work, watched the one movie her mother had made so many times she’d lost count. Juliette had been a star in the making. She could have had everything, could have risen to the top. Instead she’d fallen in love with the wrong man, one whose monumental ego couldn’t bear the competition of a more famous wife. He might have been the premier Shakespearean actor of his day, but stage could never compete with screen for starpower.

  The part of Juliette that had found fame excruciating welcomed the care of a man who’d offered to hold the vultures at bay. A man who’d fathered children to keep Juliette busy, but never bothered to get to know them.

  There’d always been another production, another rehearsal. As richly as their lives had been filled with Juliette’s love, it had been utterly devoid of fatherly interest. The only one of his children Martin had cared for had been The Son. And when Paris was gone, Martin had forgotten the rest.

  Except Tansy, the eternal reminder of the mother she so resembled…and the son he had lost.

  Screw him. Kat would never make her mother’s mistake. No man would have the chance to take away her life. No man would get the best of Kat Gerard.

  Which brought to mind one Gamble Smith. The night before still stung. She could send his check by messenger, but that would be a cop-out. He wasn’t important enough to brood over. She’d keep to normal procedure and deliver his check herself.

  But thinking of him, she was frowning when the door opened. Her father’s housekeeper frowned right back. Mrs. Hodgson had never approved of Kat, never would. The feeling was mutual. She was a dried-up old prune who was foolishly indulgent of a tyrant. But she was devoted to Tansy, so for the sake of her sister, Kat attempted a smile. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hodgson. I’m here to see Tansy.” One day, she would take Tansy away from this place forever. Teach her how to live in the world again.

  “I’ll get her.” Unsmiling, the woman gave Kat her back without hesitation.

  Musty air clogged her nose, dust motes dancing in the weak light trying in vain to pierce the umber shadows. The apartment was a mausoleum, and Tansy was buried alive inside, whether or not she realized it. It was her sister’s gift that her presence made the air fresher somehow, that light clung to Tansy as though she were dusted with gold. But how much more alive could Tansy be if she ever broke free? If she lived in a place where the paint wasn’t yellowed with age and sorrow, the carpets moldering with dreams long ago dead?

  Kat refused to set foot farther inside this place haunted by memories. She stared at the floor, studiously avoiding the entry wall crowded with photos of her father’s triumphs, until she heard a crash in the living room. Frowning, she rounded the corner.

  Her father sat suddenly, phone in his hand, his face drained of all color.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked, hearing the dial tone. Damn. The old bastard was supposed to be invincible.

  Her father didn’t answer for a moment. She moved near and reached for the phone. He pulled it away from her grip, then frantically punched in numbers.

  “What is it?”

  He blinked once, then focused on her. “Katharina. What are you doing here?”

  His normally mellifluous voice was unforgettable even when he was not onstage, but at this moment, his imposing frame sagged and he looked as old as she’d ever seen him.

  “I’m here to check on Tansy,” she snapped. “What’s wrong with you? Are you ill?” She hadn’t known what to call him in years. Not Daddy or Dad or Father. Old bastard was closest to what she felt, but for Tansy’s sake, she called him nothing.

  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then started to speak. A voice sounded through the earpiece. “Carlton, thank God. A reporter just contacted me. Walker was released today.”

  Kat sucked in a breath and barely resisted the urge to grab the phone and make him tell her the details. Of course he would contact Carlton first. She’d never understood why a man as overbearing as her father had danced to another man’s tune for so many years. Especially a man like Carlton Sanford.

  “What will I do if he comes here?” Martin listened for a moment, then his voice crackled. “He’s an animal. He raped my daughter and murdered my son. He should have been executed, wiped from the earth. I want him dead, Carlton. I don’t want him walking this earth, breathing the same air. I must find someone—”

  Kat heard Carlton’s voice, both commanding and soothing, and she itched to listen to what he was saying.

  “How can you be sure? Perhaps he wants revenge.”

  Let him come, Kat thought. This time she wasn’t a child. This time she wasn’t exiled to Texas. She’d like to tear out Walker’s black heart herself.

  “No,” her father said firmly. “She can’t be at your place, Carlton. You know that. She stays here.”

  It was at Carlton’s apartment that Tansy’s nightmare had unfolded. Kat paced, waiting for her father to finish. She had to call Mona. Good God, Walker. Free when Tansy was still a prisoner of that night.

  “No, I’m certain she doesn’t remember. I don’t want her to. There’s no need to put her through that.” Martin listened again, distress plain on his face. “No. I won’t hear of it. She’s too fragile. I don’t care how expensive the facility, I won’t have Titania locked up. Promise me that will never happen.” He washed a palm over his face. “If only I’d kept him away from the twins—”

  If only you’d looked past your own nose, you old bastard.

  “Yes, all right. I’ll leave it in your hands.” Her father sighed deeply. “Of course I’ll be ready for the opening. Lucas Walker has stolen too much. He won’t have that.” His voice softened. “You’ve been a good friend. I’m getting old, but I’m not ready to let go yet. I long to be remembered, Carlton, not fade away.”

  And that, in a nutshell, was their childhood. Her father’s dreams and ambitions had always held first place.

  He smiled faintly. “I know Titania’s safe as long as you’re in charge. Thank you, my friend.” He hung up and slumped against the chair.

  “You are some piece of work.”

  “‘Sharper than a serpent’s tooth’,” he muttered.

  “Don’t quote Shakespeare at me. I hate your precious Bard.”

  “Why, Katharina? What is it I’ve done?”

  There was the crux of it. He’d never seen, never understood. Never paid attention. Never would.

  “The discussion would take years you don’t have. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Walker’s been released. Carlton doesn’t think he’d return here, but I cannot help wondering…”

  She’d never liked Carlton, but Kat felt a certain gratitude for his role. She desired nothing to do with the care of a man who didn’t give a damn about her.

  Carlton Sanford was the true ruler of this place. He had dated her mother before her parents met—had, in fact, introduced them. He had been woven into their lives since before Kat was born. He had become a hero the night Lucas Walker had assaulted Tansy and murdered Paris.

  If Kat had been there, if she hadn’t been banished to Texas, she’d have stopped Lucas Walker. She might have been only nine, but she’d already been in her first fight, delivered her first black eye. She’d have fought like a demon for her sister.

  She’d never understood how Carlton and Paris hadn’t been able to protect Tansy or themselves against one young hood, even one armed with a gun.

  Her father spoke again. “I have no idea what to do. I’m tied up in rehearsals, and she won’t want to attend. I don’t like leaving her here alone.”

  “She hardly ventures farther than the park.”

  “Perhaps she shouldn’t go there.”

  “You’d cage her in this place?”

  “It’s for her own protection.”

  “Daddy, if you really cared about her, you’d get her help.” In her anger, she f
orgot that she refused to call him by any name. “You’d bring her out of this gilded cage and let her fly free.”

  “She doesn’t want out.”

  “Because she doesn’t believe she can fly,” Kat shouted. “You’ve clipped her wings, kept her helpless, encouraged her to live in that other world. But what about when you’re gone? What then?”

  “Carlton will guard her.”

  “Carlton is almost as old as you are. Surely you aren’t considering that ridiculous marriage idea. He isn’t family. I heard what you said—he’s ready to put her away.”

  “He gave me his promise that he would never do that.”

  “You’ve already made him executor of your estate. He’ll have too much power over her life.”

  “He cares about Titania as much as you do.”

  Kat saw red. “She’s my sister. He doesn’t understand her. I’d let her grow up, not keep her prisoner.”

  “Your sister is not a prisoner. She’s not well. She doesn’t want to remember, and I am only protecting her from that pain.”

  “Women get raped all the time. They deal with it.”

  “Your sister isn’t most women. She’s not as strong as you.”

  She used to be fearless. And I didn’t want to get strong, but I had no choice. She didn’t bother saying either. He still didn’t look past his own concerns. She might as well be invisible.

  Suddenly, her father’s face grayed. He sat down heavily again.

  Her anger dried up. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just a little tired. I’m not so young as I once was, Katharina.”

  To think of him as mortal shook her. He’d always been too big, too strong, too commanding. Something to fight against, not someone to protect.

  Then he lifted his head. “Promise me you’ll watch over Titania when I’m gone. I wish she were strong like you, but she isn’t. And I worry.” For the first time, she saw indecision in that proud face. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have closed the world out so firmly. But I’d lost Paris, and so soon after I lost my Juliette. I couldn’t lose her, too.” His voice turned to a whisper. “It was so close.”