You still had two daughters, she wanted to say. But you never remembered. Never sent for us. Didn’t let us mourn together as a family should.
Bringing it up wouldn’t do any good. He wouldn’t change.
So she answered, but not for his sake. “Of course I’ll care for her. Mona, too. We don’t need Carlton. Tansy is family.” To Kat, that said it all—everything that he should have noticed but never had.
Just then Mrs. Hodgson returned. “Tansy isn’t in her room. She must be in the park.”
Martin’s head lifted. He rose heavily.
“Stay.” Kat held him off with a hand. “I’ll go after her.”
“Don’t tell her why, Katharina. Don’t make her remember.”
Before she could fire off a retort, Kat left the apartment.
Tall buildings cast shadows that marched across the park as the sun slid away to make way for cold and mournful evening. Lucas sat beneath the silvery-brown bark of a tree, its naked branches devoid of any sign of life. Everything he owned in the world was stuffed in a plastic bag on the ground beside him, the bag, with its red heart proclaiming affection for New York, struggling to inject cheer into the unrelenting grayness. He tried to shut out the hiss of buses pulling to a stop, the constant roar of cars on the West Side Highway, the chatter of joggers and the barking of their dogs.
He craved silence and open spaces. This ribbon of park along the Hudson was a pale substitute. He’d grown up in cities up and down the eastern seaboard, always one step ahead of the landlord until his father had found the job as super in the building where the Gerards lived.
He should be accustomed to noise; it had surrounded him from the day of his birth. And Attica was full of it—clanging doors, shuffling feet, sharp, violent explosions when angry men collided. The prison itself nestled in a bucolic setting, a small, lovely village scarred by high walls and razor wire. Even at night, Attica reverberated with sounds of men snoring, moaning, shifting in restless sleep.
He’d had to find his own silence within the clamor, and he’d managed, sometimes just barely. A dead zone where his mind could rest from the screaming need to shout out the truth no one would believe.
But that was over. He was almost free. If he could just get away from this cursed city and all its memories, all its demands.
One more task, and his life would be his own again.
Why couldn’t he leave the past alone? He told himself that he owed it to Juliette, to a mother who had shown sweet mercy to the murderer of her only son.
But that wasn’t all of it, not by half. Every night of the past twenty years had been haunted by the memory of a terrified girl who’d held his heart in her hands. He’d never truly believed that he and Tansy had any chance, but he’d treasured the fantasy in those two years before the darkness fell.
Lucas Walker had no use for make-believe now. His breath escaped in a long gust. Night would come soon, and he had found nowhere to sleep. For a moment he toyed with the idea of crashing right here. The thought of walls of any kind made it hard to breathe.
But it was March in New York, and he didn’t have so much as a jacket. After so long in a cage, he was not about to die his first night out because he didn’t have the sense to find shelter.
So Lucas stretched and started to rise—and then froze at the figure bending to pick up something from the ground perhaps twenty yards away.
Dear God, she looked just the same.
Lucas blinked, sure he was seeing things. Tansy would be thirty-six now, but she still seemed sixteen.
And fragile as a ghost. Her hair was white-blond, not honey-gold anymore, and covered by a pale scarf that some old lady might wear, but it glimmered like sunlight glistening on water.
With the stillness he’d learned the hard way, Lucas crouched right where he was, intent only upon watching Tansy without being spotted.
She held up a feather, studying it against the sky, drifting like a cloud, her feet hardly appearing to touch ground. Her pale-blue dress floated about her legs, far too light for the chill still clutched in winter’s hand. Over it, she wore a bulky pink sweater that could not disguise the delicacy of her frame.
And she was talking. To the air. Walking beneath a tree, her slender hand caressing its bark, the worry on her face transfigured by sudden joy.
He rose with greatest care to get closer, and all the while he was wondering how it was that she could appear the same when every cell of him had been transformed. How was it he could recognize her in an instant—and would she recognize him?
Not likely. His once-bony frame was layered with muscle, his face lined with twenty years in hell. His hair was long, and he had a scar on one cheek. His voice had deepened. And who he’d become on the inside had erased every trace of the boy she’d known.
But the fear that she might somehow see past all the changes kept him hanging back behind her, though he wanted badly to watch her face.
“Do you know, Paris?” she asked. “Did Mama tell you and not me?”
Paris? Dear God.
And then she laughed. “Don’t tease. Mama promised my prince would come, and I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”
Her laughter was a melody out of tune with her words. The Tansy he’d known was gone, and her mind with it. Despair settled over his shoulders like a shroud. Of all the scenarios he’d imagined, this was never one.
Tansy twirled and laughed—then stopped abruptly as she spotted Lucas.
Too late, he began to move away, afraid of what would happen next.
But her head only cocked slightly, her eyes alight. “Hello.”
Lucas said nothing.
“I haven’t encountered you here before.” Her smile was dawn after a night of storms. Shyly, her head dipped, then lifted again. “You look tired.”
There was a kindness in her voice that made Lucas want to sink to the ground. Lay his head in her lap and find peace. He was afraid to speak for fear that he was wrong, that she’d recognize him and run.
“Have you traveled from far away?”
He nodded. Four hundred miles and a lifetime.
Her smile widened in wonder. “You can hear me.” Her head cocked again, her eyes worried. “Can you speak?”
That was very much like Tansy. She’d had a lot of mischief in her, but she’d also had more than her share of compassion. He’d once tried to save a bird that she’d found in this very park and felt himself a total failure when he couldn’t.
His voice emerged rusty. “Yes.” And waited, breath held, for her reaction.
Not a trace of recognition, only pleasure. “Where do you live?”
Still cautious, he shrugged.
With one finger, she stroked the feather held in her other hand. She peered at him from beneath lowered lashes. “Is your kingdom pretty?”
Kingdom? “I beg your pardon?”
Color washed her cheeks. She glanced around her, relief in her eyes. “Oh, good. He didn’t hear me.”
Lucas glanced around. “Who?”
“My brother. He doesn’t believe in my good dream.”
He spoke past the ache in his heart. “What dream?”
Her face suffused with color, she cast her gaze downward. “It will sound foolish.”
The vulnerable line of her neck made him long to reach out, protect her. Though he’d taught himself not to dream, he liked it that she still could. “Maybe not.”
“I dream of a man…” She lifted her head suddenly, eyes wide. “He has dark hair…like yours.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Are you my prince?”
A sharp bark of laughter rose in his throat. He’d had delusions of being one, a lifetime ago.
Then he saw that he’d hurt her. “I’m sorry. It isn’t you, it’s…me.” She turned away and he wanted badly to turn her back. “Tansy, I—”
Her head swiveled sharply, her gaze locking on his. Then her whole face glowed. “You know my name.” The smile was crafty. “You weren’t supposed to say it, were y
ou?” Her laughter pealed. “You made a mistake.” She clapped her hands. “Ooh, I like this story.”
Dear God. He hadn’t saved her, after all. The Tansy he’d cherished was gone…gone crazy.
He had to get away, to think. This was nothing he’d expected. He had to—
What? What could he do?
“Tansy, where are you?” An unfamiliar voice called out.
Both of them jumped. He searched for the source.
A tall woman with spiked copper hair strode through the park, her long legs eating up the ground with determined steps, though nothing could disguise the overt sensuality in the swing of her hips.
“Over here, Kat,” Tansy called out.
Kat. Hell. Her youngest sister.
He began backing away.
“Wait,” Tansy pleaded. She grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t go.”
He shrugged her off gently. “I have to.”
“Will you return?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ve waited for you so long.” Her words were said quietly, but they clenched a hand around what was left of his heart. “Please don’t leave me.”
“You have no idea who I am, Tansy. You don’t want to.”
Blue eyes held a conviction he couldn’t seem to fight. “You’re wrong,” she said. “I understand exactly who you are.”
Lucas shivered at the unearthly light in her eyes. Was it madness or a knowledge that had survived time and agony? “Who am I, then?” he said softly.
That beautiful smile lit with a thousand suns. “You’re my prince. You’ve finally appeared, just as Mama said.”
“Tansy, I’m not—” Her sister was getting closer. “I have to go,” he said with real regret.
“But you’ll come back. Please. I’m here every day.”
Lucas studied her for longer than he could afford. He shouldn’t. He should leave on the next bus, get the hell out of Dodge.
But she was damaged, his beautiful Tansy, and he still hadn’t found out about Sanford. He couldn’t go yet.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll come back.”
Then, with the reality of her sister only a few yards away, he grasped his meager belongings and loped away.
“Tansy, who was that?” Kat frowned after the tall form, the shaggy dark hair of the man disappearing into the trees.
“He’s lonely,” her sister murmured. “But he says he’s not my prince.”
Kat stared down at her sister’s wide, innocent blue eyes and wondered how many times a heart could break. Mindful of her conversation with Martin, she regarded her sister. “You can’t just talk to strangers, Tansy. You can’t be sure who might hurt you. He could be anyone. He could—”
Tansy giggled, then reached up to brush slender fingers over Kat’s forehead. “Hi, Kat. I’m glad you’re here.”
But the thought of someone like Lucas Walker harming her again made Kat’s voice go sharp. “Tansy, I’m serious. You can’t just—” She exhaled in a gust. “No one knew where you were. We were worried.”
Immediate contrition filled the blue eyes. “I’m sorry.” Then too-wise eyes peered into hers. “But I visit here every day.” She trailed a tender touch over Kat’s brow again. “What’s worrying you? How did the show go?”
And that was Tansy. Lost in fantasy most of her life, then abruptly very right-here-in-the-present. Tansy was a great sounding board, though Kat was never sure how much she really heard. But her presence was always comforting, and sometimes Kat unburdened herself more than she intended. Tansy never passed judgment.
So to Tansy she’d confided her worries about putting on such an overtly romantic show in hip Manhattan. Kat couldn’t help but smile. “It was a roaring success. We sold almost every piece mounted, and the phone’s been ringing all day with people wanting more.”
Tansy’s smile was serene and proud. “I had no doubt you’d do it.” She tucked her arm in Kat’s and turned her toward the grass, then took her on one of her favorite jaunts, toward the smooth, rounded top of Mt. Tom, a bump they’d once pretended was a mountain. “Stroll with me, sweetie, and tell me all about it.”
And so it was that Kat found herself talking about success and Gamble Smith. She left with Tansy’s reluctant agreement to go dress shopping in a few days, and by the time she realized that her sister had never agreed to stop talking to strangers, Kat was almost downtown to Gamble’s warehouse.
The stranger wouldn’t be the first lost soul Tansy had picked up, but doing so still wasn’t wise. Kat would continue to caution her, and they’d all keep an eye peeled, but Kat couldn’t truly imagine Lucas Walker wanting to come within miles of any of them ever again.
And woe betide him if he did.
Chapter Four
Lucas walked until it was almost dark, blind to the streets around him; for once, his concentration was so complete that even the crowded sidewalks didn’t register.
He stepped off a curb, and a cab’s tires screeched, the yellow paint halting within a breath of his body. Lucas jerked back to the world around him. He stopped his headlong charge, his fingers clenching automatically. Violence sang in his blood.
In the middle of the throng, he looked around. Chinatown. Good God. How long had he been walking?
“Whassamatter wit’ you?”
He heard the muttered curses, but people moved around him the way a stream eddies around a boulder. Eyes downcast, passersby gave him wide berth.
Lucas inhaled their fear and made it part of his shell. Solitude, his old friend, settled back into his bones. Suddenly he was as exhausted as he’d ever been in his life. He needed sleep, needed space from his thoughts. Needed to forget—
Tansy. Christ, Tansy, what have they done? Didn’t anyone notice you slipping away into madness?
Her prince. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Good God.
Desolation sucked away the adrenaline that had sent him racing away—from her, from his memories, from all he could never have. The best thing he could do was to leave New York forever. Hunt for those empty miles where he could lose himself for good.
But the plea in Tansy’s eyes…
A harsh voice broke in. “What you lookin’ at, asshole?”
A quick burst of rage shot over his skin. His hands fisted; he took one step forward.
The man must have seen something in his eyes that unnerved him. Flipping Lucas the finger, he mumbled and pushed into the crowd.
But all Lucas could see was Tansy, the too-young, clean-slate look of her. A woman trapped as a girl. At sixteen she had been innocent, but sharp. Funny. Restless and full of life.
At thirty-six, she was more child than woman. And lost, so lost. Protected only by the soft lambswool of her delusions. Anyone could hurt her. Anyone could—
No. You’re done. You can’t protect her anymore.
He’d given up twenty years of his life for her—and witness what they’d let happen. What the hell had gone on all this time? Was no one paying attention to what she’d become? Where was the help that had been promised? Where had the bright mischief gone?
Lucas cut across the sidewalk, shuffling like an old man. He leaned against the cold stone of a building and slid down to a crouch. All at once, he saw the waste his life had been, the foolishness he’d clung to the way a starving man hoards the last crumbs.
Christ. It was supposed to be over. He was supposed to be free.
He shuddered, sucked in a deep breath, exhaled in a gust. Juliette’s mercy mocked him, bound him. She was the only one who’d ever believed in him.
Except Paris. And Tansy. All dead but her.
Please don’t leave me.
Oh, Tansy. He squeezed his eyes shut as long-ago agony washed over him. A very rusty door inside him creaked.
She was gone. The girl he’d loved had died when Paris had died, and Lucas had never known. All this time he’d believed she was safe.
At once too drained to walk another step, too hopeless to fight a
nymore, Lucas Walker turned his side into the cold stone, curled his body in on itself. Alone as he’d always been, he closed his eyes on his fate as darkness fell.
The moment. One moment at a time, that’s all. Do what’s required and don’t think beyond this.
His belly rumbled. All right. He would search for food. A place to sleep.
Just those. Just now. Nothing more.
Kat leaned on Gamble Smith’s buzzer again, hard. “Come on, you big jerk. Answer the freakin’ buzzer.”
He might not be home, but she’d trekked all this way to deliver his check, it was getting dark and she’d be damned if she’d do it again tomorrow. If she ever decided to handle his work again, a post office box—and his agreement to check it daily—would be a minimum part of the deal.
She regarded the filthy sidewalk, the run-down building with distaste. And a phone. With voicemail enabled.
Artists. Why hadn’t the fates seen fit to grant her the talent? She’d be smart enough not to squander it being rude and unrealistic.
Finally, she heard the answering buzz, the inner-door lock sliding open.
Kat smiled grimly. He was here, damn it. She’d give him his check and get out of this neighborhood before the night creatures crawled out and the gauntlet got too thick. Two steps at a time, she stalked up the stairs.
His door creaked open. Framed inside stood Gamble Smith, his dark hair spiking out in some demonic nimbus, eyes shooting sparks. “What do you want?” he thundered.
“You have a mother, Gamble?”
He recoiled, his thick, jagged brows drawing together. “Yeah, why?”
She cocked her head, arching one eyebrow. “I’d think she’d have taught you some manners.”
“You don’t have any. Why should I?”
“I’ve got money in my hands. If you want me to hold on to it a little longer, then go ahead—act like the championship asshole you usually do.”
He stared at her, nostrils flaring. “You always get your way?”
Mercy Page 5
