by Kay Hooper
“Natural anxiety? I’m a stranger and therefore a threat? Or maybe it’s a more personal threat.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you dent any hearts before I came along?” The question was light, but the expression in his eyes was somber.
“Not that I know of,” she answered immediately. “And I think you’re on the wrong track.”
“Maybe. But if I’m a threat to the killer because of what he’s done—then how? All the people in the carnival were total strangers to me when I arrived. Even my connection to Balthasar was so vague I’m still not sure we were related at all. What could I know about all this?”
Maggie shook her head slightly. “I don’t know.” She hesitated, then added, “But it might be a good idea if we had a very public fight and you went away for a few days.”
“No,” he said instantly. “I’m not leaving unless you go with me.”
“Is that a proposition?” she asked in a mild tone.
“For want of a better term—yes. Come with me. I have a terrific penthouse overlooking the Bay. Maid service, cable TV, and a Jaguar that doesn’t live in a cage.”
“You sweet talker you,” she murmured, thinking that if he were ever earnest about that offer, she’d find it impossible to turn him down.
He had to laugh, but shook his head. “I’m serious, Maggie. You have no business having to catch a murderer.”
She thought about how to explain this to him and kept her voice quiet and firm. “I have family business, Gideon. Family is very important to me. A member of my family was killed because of greed or panic, and I can’t just let that go. I have a responsibility to find out what happened.”
“It isn’t your responsibility—”
“Yes, it is. I made it mine.”
“And what if the killer’s on to you?” He reached across the table and covered one of her hands with his. “You’re the real threat to him. The only threat, as far as I can see. And if this maniac could push a kind old man into a well, I doubt he’d balk at killing a beautiful young woman.”
“You think he should get off free?”
Gideon swore softly. “No. We can hire a private investigator to look into it.”
“Who wouldn’t be able to get near the carnies. Gideon, they’re already nervous and suspicious. When Merlin’s body was found, the police were all over the carnival. I told you some of their stories; most of them are hiding. From their pasts, if nothing else. One of the reasons none of them wanted you to know about Jasper is because they were afraid you’d call in the police; that’s why everyone kept saying he was in town. If another stranger showed up now, they’d close ranks so tightly we’d never find out the truth. And what about the killer? How would he react?”
“You’re in danger, don’t you understand that?” The general frustration Gideon was feeling had found an outlet, and it was all the stronger because he felt a chill of fear for her.
“He isn’t on to me, Gideon; I’m sure he’s not. I’m carny, remember? I fit right in. Nobody knows the connection between me and Merlin. I haven’t asked anyone the wrong questions or ransacked the wagons, or otherwise done anything to make myself look suspicious.”
She had backed him into a corner. And he didn’t like it one little bit. “You seem to know everyone’s history. Didn’t you find out by asking them about themselves?”
“No. They felt comfortable enough to tell me. Carnies don’t ask questions of each other.”
“Maggie—”
“Look, there’s nothing else to be done until Uncle Cyrus dredges up a few facts, something he’s very good at. In the meantime, why don’t we try to forget about it? We’re miles from the carnival, and even if the killer rode one of the horses, he couldn’t possibly be near right now.”
“I’m going to do my best to change your mind about leaving the carnival,” he warned.
“Fine,” she said easily despite a number of misgivings; she thought that if he tried hard enough, she’d have a difficult time resisting him. “But I don’t want to talk about it anymore right now. You promised me a dance.”
Gideon had just pushed his chair back and was about to rise when a sudden commotion near the foyer drew their attention. The door banged, startled sounds rent the air as well as several creative curses, and a mottled-brown blur shot into the lounge, bounded over the piano, and skidded to a stop beside Gideon. The creature wore a red collar with rhinestones and a silver tag that said he belonged to the Wonderland carnival.
“Oh, hell,” Gideon muttered.
Leo reared up, paws on his idol’s thigh, and chattered insistently in his peculiar language.
Gideon ignored him. He looked at Maggie. “What’d he do, run all the way?”
“He probably stowed away in the car. I forgot to check the back before we left, and the windows were down.”
“What’s he saying to me?”
“That it’s hot out in the car. And he’s thirsty.”
Lifting an eyebrow at her, Gideon said, “That’s just common sense; you don’t really understand him.”
Maggie sipped her tomato juice placidly.
“Look, cat,” he began, shifting his gaze to the animal, then broke off as their waitress approached stiffly.
“Sir, unless that is a Seeing Eye dog, it isn’t allowed in here,” she announced.
Gideon silently debated, but didn’t think he could get away with the fiction. Leo wasn’t wearing a harness.
Leo swiveled his head around to stare at her, and she stepped back, disconcerted. The bored young man at the piano hadn’t missed a beat even when the cat had soared over his baby grand. The other patrons were ruthlessly minding their own business.
“It’s hot outside,” Gideon said, going with the flow. “And he’s thirsty.”
“The manager says—”
“I’ll speak to the manager.” Gideon pushed the cat’s paws off his thigh and rose. “You will excuse me?” he said to Maggie in a wry tone.
“Certainly.”
“Thank you. Leo, get in the chair.” To his surprise, the cat instantly hopped into his vacated chair and sat down. Gideon stared at him for an instant, then added sternly, “And keep your nose out of my glass.”
Leo assumed a saintly expression.
Judging the worth of that, Gideon made a rude noise under his breath and followed the retreating waitress.
Maggie was left laughing softly to herself and thinking that any man who could hold his own with a scene-stealer like Leo was an unusual man indeed.
—
The manager had arguments ranging from the feelings of other patrons to the requirements of the health inspector, but a small bribe and the promise that Leo would not enter the restaurant won his grudging acceptance. He even offered a bowl of milk—though it cost as much as a double scotch.
Gideon carried the bowl back to the table since the waitress had taken one look and sneered. He couldn’t decide whether to leave her an extra large tip to show he was above such trite emotions as revenge, or leave no tip at all to teach her a needed lesson in manners. He was still silently debating the question when he reached the table. He snagged an extra chair from a nearby table and placed it at their own, correctly deciding that Leo’s feelings would be hurt if he couldn’t sit up at the table with his expensive drink like people.
“Here, you misbegotten animal,” he said, removing his glass from in front of Leo and replacing it with the bowl. Then he placed the new chair closer to Maggie’s and sat down himself as the cat began to drink thirstily.
“He’s in grace?” she asked.
“Until we go into the restaurant. Then he’s going back to the car. Or maybe the trunk. He didn’t stick his nose in my glass, did he?”
“He was a perfect gentleman.”
Gideon sighed. “I have a feeling we differ on our definitions of that, but never mind.”
“It was nice of you to bribe the manager. Leo appreciates it. And so do I.”
“My good d
eed for the day. Do you think he’ll insist on dancing with us?”
“He’s tone-deaf.”
After looking at her for a minute, Gideon rubbed a vague ache between his eyes with his thumb, murmuring, “You know, for a while there—a brief while—you hardly said anything absurd at all. Well, I mean, it was all absurd, but it made a crazy kind of sense. Except for that stuff about a murderer’s hiding out in the carnival and slinking around guarding his secreted treasure. That was absurd, but you made it sound so reasonable that I actually thought it made sense.”
Maggie reached over to pat his hand where it rested on the table. “I think you’re losing it.”
Still staring at her, he caught her hand between both of his and said in the same lucid tone, “You remember what I said about a hundred years ago? The part about my being a patient man, and being willing to wait until I got all my questions answered?”
“It sounds familiar, yes.”
“That was a reasonable thing for me to say, wasn’t it?”
She nodded.
He nodded as well. “And that’s what’s wrong with it. Maggie, my date was just crashed by a cat. Is that reasonable?”
She cleared her throat. “I suppose not.”
“I’m sleeping in a tent in the middle of Kansas. A tent I had to buy because I had to bend my knees in the first one. A tent pitched in the middle of a carnival, which, to put it mildly, is a little strange even for carnivals. Is that reasonable?”
Maggie used her free hand to prop up her chin. “Well, when you put it like that…”
“I’m involved with a woman who has the eyes of a siren, the face of an angel, and a mind like a labyrinth. She offers absurd answers to the most logical questions, and changes moods right in front of my eyes, and I know she’s a bit mad; I just don’t know to what degree. She’s trying to find one maniac in the middle of a rolling asylum, because the maniac pushed her cousin into a well.”
“Gideon—”
“Yes, I know you think it’s reasonable. But it isn’t. Nothing in this entire situation is reasonable, not even our conversations, and certainly not our relationship. I’m a rational man; I know reason when I see it. There isn’t any. So why am I trying to be reasonable?”
Maggie cleared her throat. “The need to impose order on chaos?” she offered.
He looked briefly distracted, even interested in a mild way, but then shook his head. “Control is an illusion, I know that. Order is an illusion. With the possible exception of mathematical formulas, there’s no such thing as pure logic.”
“And so?” she murmured.
“Back to my original question. Why am I trying to be reasonable and logical?”
“Because you’re a rational man?” Maggie had the somewhat unnerving feeling that whatever sense of control she’d believed she possessed in this situation with Gideon had definitely been an illusion.
“But that’s where I went wrong. I can’t live in your world and play by the rules in mine.”
“Meaning?”
“Let’s dance,” he said.
Pulled gently from her chair and led out onto a deserted dance floor, Maggie said, “You didn’t answer my question.”
Gideon drew her into his arms, sending an automatically wary glance back toward their table to make sure Leo was sitting blamelessly in his chair. Looking down at Maggie, he said, “I’ve decided to play by your rules, that’s all.”
“My rules? I didn’t know I had any.”
“That,” he said, “is what’s so nice about it. I had no idea rules were so confining. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I needed an edge,” she said involuntarily.
His eyes gleamed. “Well, we’re on equal ground now. No rules. We’ll just play it by ear.”
Maggie wanted to think of a way to argue him out of his position, mostly because as long as he’d stood by his gentlemanly patience she had indeed had an edge. But now, if he truly intended to let rationality and patience go by the board, she didn’t stand a chance. All her talk of chemical reactions and getting questions answered wasn’t going to hold him at arm’s length now.
Rules said that you took your time and did things in their proper order; without rules, all that was left to follow were your instincts.
And how on earth could she fight when her instincts demanded she respond to his instincts?
She couldn’t. From the moment he had said I want you with such deep conviction in his tone of voice, she had known that fate had stepped into her life. She had waited for the right man, knowing he would come. And he had. All her uncertainties and wariness couldn’t hide that from her.
To give herself to a man was to give all that she was, she knew. It wasn’t true of all women, but it was of her. She thought that Gideon could love her if he’d let himself, but if it never happened, it still wouldn’t change her feelings.
When that certain knowledge rose in her, Maggie characteristically turned away from uncertainty. It was done; there was no going back now. And she knew love was something one treated with respect, something fierce and powerful that left its mark wherever it passed.
“You’ve gone very quiet,” he murmured, pulling her a little closer as the beat of the music slowed.
Maggie slid her arms up around his neck and sighed as his hands settled at her hips. He would be rather fun without the rule book, she thought. There was a cockeyed sense of humor inside him, probably set aside at an early age but still there. If Gideon gave himself half a chance, she believed he would make a pretty fair chameleon himself. She hoped they’d get a chance to explore the possibility.
In the meantime, however, this impulsive conclusion of his was dangerous. Not the conclusion itself—but the timing. And she had to warn him of the consequences, because she didn’t believe he was ready to accept them. He had to know; it was only fair. Perhaps he wanted only passion for the time being, but he had to know it would change them both.
Conversationally, she said, “I was just thinking that this whole situation is worse than you know.”
“In what way?” he asked warily.
“I’m afraid I love you.”
Gideon stopped moving and stared down at her. He looked a little bemused, but something was kindling in his eyes. “You’re afraid you love me? We met yesterday.”
“That hardly matters.”
“You’re afraid you love me,” he repeated slowly.
“Well, yes. If it were mere passion, there wouldn’t really be a problem, because that’s a fleeting thing. When it was over, you’d go back to San Francisco and I’d go to Richmond, and that would be it. But love is different. So I thought I’d better warn you.”
“Warn me?”
Maggie’s smile was a little rueful. “Gideon, my family’s unusual in a number of ways. Strange ways, I suppose. There are certain patterns in our lives, almost as if somebody planned it all out. And one of the patterns is that there has never been an unhappy love affair or a divorce since before the turn of the century. It seems to be stamped in our cells to fall in love only once…and with the right person.”
Gideon had forgotten about the music. Holding her in his arms, staring down at her, he asked carefully, “What are you saying, Maggie?”
Her expression was entirely serious now, her eyes direct and sober. Her soft, childlike voice was certain. “What I’m saying is that once we become lovers, you’re mine. You’ll belong to me in the same way that I’ll belong to you. Not a summer fling, not an affair, nothing temporary. That’s one of the answers you were looking for, Gideon. In my world, love is forever.”
After a moment he began moving again to the music. She danced very well, he noted idly. And she fit him very well; there was nothing awkward in how they moved together, nothing uncertain or clumsy. He wondered if their lovemaking would be so gracefully complete.
“I would say you can’t be serious,” he said finally. “But I think you are.”
“Oh, yes, I’m serious.”
“And if
I said that all I want is an affair?”
“It wouldn’t matter.” Her voice was serene now, her fey eyes smiling gently up at him. “You could leave me, of course, once it was over. Walk away and never look back. And I wouldn’t chase after you. But you’d still be mine. Other women would know it. And so would you.”
“Witchcraft?” he said dryly, about half serious.
“Love. Real love changes you, brands you inside and out. Whether you feel it or someone else feels it for you doesn’t matter; you’re still branded.”
“Maggie, is this some kind of new strategy? I mean, do you expect me to run screaming into the night?”
“I don’t expect anything from you except honesty, because that’s exactly what I’m offering you. I didn’t plan it, and the timing could have been better, but there doesn’t seem to be much I can do about that now. I love you, Gideon.”
“It was much pleasanter at home,” thought poor Alice, “when one wasn’t always growing larger and smaller…I almost wish I hadn’t gone down that rabbit-hole—and yet—and yet—it’s rather curious, you know, this sort of life!”
Chapter 6
Gideon didn’t know what to say. He gazed down into her face, and it was the face that had in so short a time become so fascinating to him, the face that haunted even his dreams. The face that was, now, serene and nakedly vulnerable, unmasked, unguarded.
Innocent.
My God, he thought, she can’t be—“You’ve never been in love before?” he asked slowly.
“No.”
“Then…that is…you’ve never—?”
“No,” she answered steadily.
As he’d told her earlier, he hadn’t really thought much beyond today. To become her lover—yes, he wanted that. He wanted that so badly that his first impulse was to ignore her warning. But in his life, professional and personal, every risk tended to be weighed carefully before an action was taken. And even though he had decided to play by her lack of rules, he couldn’t ignore his basic intellectual way of viewing and dealing with the world.
To be her first lover…He’d heard it said that a woman never forgot her first lover; was that what she meant? They would both be marked by the taking of innocence? No, he thought. Nothing so simple.
