She pressed her hand to her heart. “Are you crazy? The heartless bastards would just throw the poor girls in jail or deport them. Charles would probably talk his way out of everything. No, I could try to find some kind of amnesty group, maybe. But never the cops.”
He shrugged as if her answer didn’t faze him in the least. “Yeah, well, whatever. I guess I’ll go crash. Thanks, Yetta.”
Nick took his time strolling to Claude’s house. His stomach was churning—and not from Yetta’s reheated coffee. Grace had made her feelings about his profession crystal clear. He had no doubt how she’d feel about him once he arrested Charles and took the two prostitutes into custody.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have any choice. That was who he was.
“MOM? WHAT’S GOING TO happen? What should I do?”
Yetta heard the desperation in her youngest daughter’s voice. She also was aware of how the question was phrased. Grace wanted her to look into the future for answers. But how could she when she no longer trusted her visions? What good was second sight when she’d had no warning of her own husband’s stroke?
She walked to Grace and grasped her shoulders firmly. “I don’t need clairvoyance to know that you’ll do the right thing,” she said. “Listen to your heart.”
“My heart is in worse shape than my head, Mom,” Grace said, sadly. “If I do what I think I should do, the people I love most will be hurt. If I do what Charles wants me to do, everyone will be mad at me.”
Yetta knew that Grace’s agony wasn’t just about two displaced women. Somehow the family was involved.
“Come and sit down, dear. We need to talk.”
Grace tried to back away but bumped into the coat-rack. If Yetta closed her eyes, she could picture Ernst’s jacket hanging on the first hook. His spot. Lord, how she missed that man. She’d loved him completely, despite his flaws.
“Grace,” Yetta said softly, “your father predicted this day would come. In a way, he prepared us both for it.”
Grace’s expression changed from wary to curious. Of all her daughters, Grace had always been the easiest to read.
Once they were seated opposite each other, Yetta took a deep breath. Delving into the past was never easy. Although it was a cliché, times had changed. What Ernst had done back in the late 1980s was not what he would have done today. She was certain of that. But how could she make her daughter—the baby of the family who worshipped her father—understand?
Grace shifted uneasily in her chair. She didn’t like the resigned look on her mother’s face. She had a feeling she didn’t want to hear what Yetta was about to say. What she really wanted—and had since the minute she walked in the door and spotted Nikolai sitting at the table—was to run to him. The enormity of her need had left her unnerved and flustered. Was it shelter in his strong muscles and broad shoulders that she sought, or escape of another kind? A chance to lose herself in sexual bliss? Neither option was possible, she told herself sternly.
“Grace?”
The question in Yetta’s tone made Grace’s cheeks heat up. Probably not a good thing to think about sex in the presence of an intuitive mother. “Sorry. I had a bit of a shock this afternoon. My mind is all over the place.”
“A shock. Yes, I suppose finding out that your father was human could be pretty devastating to someone who always believed her daddy could do no wrong.”
“D…Dad? Who said anything—?” She stopped midsentence. Even as a child she’d known it was useless to lie to her mother. The woman knew things. Everything. “You knew?”
Yetta shook her head. “Not at the time.”
“How is that possible?”
“So many reasons. Excuses, I guess. My father had just passed on. And your grandmother was declining so fast. I had two daughters in high school. You and Kate were involved in so many activities. Dance, karate, soccer. Later, when I found out what Ernst had done, I realized that deep down I’d suspected something wasn’t right but I chose to ignore my fears.”
Her tone was so haunted Grace had no choice but to believe her. Still… “But, Mom, you’re Puri Dye. You know everything.”
Her mother’s silver hair, worn loose today, shifted about her shoulders as she shook her head sadly. “When you’re a mother, you’ll understand. The intensity of your focus shifts to your children during their formative years. Your husband has to bear the burden of providing shelter, food, safety, as well as planning for the future. Some men—even the most honorable—can become so caught up in the challenge, they make choices they later regret.”
Grace forced herself to ask, “Charles was right, then? Dad took a bribe?”
Yetta’s chin lifted. “Yes. At the time, he said the money was winnings. I knew he’d been gambling more than normal. I wasn’t happy about it because the chances of losing are equally great, but the money seemed to keep pouring in. Ernst always said that when you were on a roll, you didn’t dare turn your back on Lady Luck.”
Grace nodded. She’d heard him say that many times.
“We declared the money as income and paid taxes on it. Ernst hired an estate planner to set up the trusts for you girls. I ignored any niggling hint of doubt by allowing my life to keep me distracted.”
“When did you find out the truth?”
“Just before he died. I knew his time was near and I could tell that he was in great pain—not physical, but emotional. I sang him a song that my mother sang to my father before he passed on. I don’t even know what the words mean, but I believe it conveys forgiveness for one’s sins.”
She hummed the tune softly, then closed her eyes and said, “He only wanted what was best for his family. He never intended to cheat Charles. He planned to make up the difference in time, but Charles was impatient. Ernst’s biggest regret was that we would be inheriting Charles’s antipathy, and his illness left him unable to do anything about it. He’d failed to protect his family. The humiliation, I believe, was what killed him.”
Grace’s eyes filled with tears. The memory of those months between her father’s stroke and his death came rushing back. So often, she’d sensed his frustration and had attributed it to not being able to walk and talk well. Maybe he’d been agonizing over what he knew his wife and daughters would be facing down the road—Charles, his greedy, pissed-off ex-partner.
No. Charles killed him.
Grace reached across the table and gripped her mother’s hand. Yetta didn’t need to relive the horror of that day. Nor, as Charles said, was there any way to prove that he had caused her father to fall and hit his head.
“Mom, Charles is threatening to make this public if I don’t hand over the money. Dad’s reputation will be ruined. He worked so hard to improve the Romani image. I can’t let that happen.”
Her mother frowned. She didn’t speak for a good minute. “I need to think about this, Grace. So much is happening on other levels…” Her voice trailed off.
Grace felt a shiver of awareness. She studied her mother’s face. “Mom, you’re not telling me something.”
Yetta looked over Grace’s shoulder toward the coat-rack and smiled. “Yes, dear, you’re right. Now, I need to go pick up Maya. She and I are going fish shopping.”
“Fish? Like halibut? Salmon?”
“Goldfish. I’ve decided to buy an aquarium. Maya’s been asking for one ever since she saw Finding Nemo.”
Grace wasn’t surprised. Her niece had made her watch the DVD about a dozen times. “Good. That will make her happy. But, what should I do about Charles?”
Her mother was already halfway out the door. She glanced over her shoulder. “Perhaps you should ask Nikolai for advice. There’s more to him than you think.”
More to him than I think? I think about him more than I should. I want to know more— She consciously broke off the thought. Turning to Nikolai for advice or anything else was not a good idea. She couldn’t allow him to influence her decisions. Especially when her life was such a mess.
Suddenly feeling light-headed,
she stumbled to her feet. What just happened? Her mother had confessed knowing a secret that could blow their world to bits, then blithely trotted off to buy fish. “Fish,” she muttered, as she exited the house through the patio door.
Oh, Daddy, how could you do this? Suddenly blinded by tears of grief, loss and disappointment, she bumped into a lawn chair that wasn’t pushed up to the patio table.
“Damn. Damn. Damn,” she swore, kicking the chair so hard it fell over and nearly skidded into the pool.
“Whoa. Somebody’s pissed off.”
She spun about to locate the voice. Nikolai. Head and shoulders peering at her above the cinder-block fence that separated the two yards. “Are you spying on me?”
“Why would I do that?”
She ignored the question and marched to the door of her little trailer. She opened it with such force the aluminum screen slammed against the metal siding and bounced back, hitting her shoulder.
“Stupid thing,” she shouted, yanking it closed behind her. Once inside, she bent over like a marathon runner who’d just finished a ten-K meet.
“The past is past,” she whispered out loud. “Dad did what he thought was right. Well, maybe not right, but necessary.” Her stomach churned. An acrid taste filled her mouth. She wanted to weep but was afraid if she started she might not be able to stop. “Just let it go. Let it go,” she repeated like a chant.
She picked up a glass she’d left on the counter, filled it from the tap and took a tentative sip. The door behind her opened after the softest of knocks. Grace spun around, spilling water down the front of her top.
Nikolai loomed in the doorway. “What’s wrong?”
Grace set down the glass behind her and crossed her arms. This was her home. Her sanctuary. “None of your business. Go away.”
He stepped across the threshold, ducking his head to clear the doorway.
“No,” Grace cried, glancing about for a weapon. She grabbed the only thing handy. A plastic wand adorned with silver and purple tassels. She’d bought it for Maya and had forgotten to give it to her. She pointed it at his chest.
Nikolai stopped. He looked at the toy then lifted his head and gave her a sardonic smile. “Are you going to turn me into a toad?”
“Or worse. Now, please leave me alone. I’ve had a bad day.”
“So, tell me about it. Isn’t that what friends—and family—are for?” he said, leaning one shoulder against the open doorframe.
Grace heard the hint of sarcasm in his tone. She poked him harder, this time bending over the cardboard stars at the tip of the wand. “We’re not related, remember?”
His fingers closed around the wand and he tugged, making her take a step closer. “That’s right. So pretending you’re not feeling this chemistry between us is a bit cowardly for a princess, isn’t it?”
Grace didn’t want to talk about the attraction she felt toward him. She let go of the wand and walked into what she euphemistically called her living room. It consisted of a three-sided couch that she’d covered with fake fur. Accent pillows adorned with spangles and plastic jewels matched the multihued scarves that made up her curtains. She’d repapered the walls in a metallic gold foil.
She sat down, pulling a persimmon-colored pillow onto her lap. “I’m not a princess. And my dad sure as heck wasn’t a king.”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t move closer to her. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it. I don’t care what my mother says—I’m not talking to you. For all I know, you have some ulterior motive for being here.”
“What are you talking about? I’m here because your mother invited me.”
“True, but you have a hidden agenda, and, frankly, I’m sick to death of secrets.”
He closed the door and tossed the wand on the table. Resting his hip on the table of her built-in dining nook, he said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Grace hugged the pillow to keep her heart from spilling out of her chest. “You came here for payback. On the Romani.”
He looked baffled. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t have any gripes against your family.”
Grace moved to her knees. “Oh, really? You don’t think my family let you down when you were a child?”
He shook his head and threw out his hands as if words failed him. “No.”
“Even after your sister convinced you we were a bunch of marauding thieves?”
His lips flattened in a frown. “All kids have fantasies. They outgrow them.”
“Right, but can you honestly say that you came here expecting to like us?”
He opened his mouth but no words came out. Which answered Grace’s question.
“I thought so.”
Nikolai pulled out a chair from the small table and turned it backwards and sat down. “Listen. I might not have thought much about your family when I first got here, but that’s changed. I know that your mother is a good person. If she could have done something to stop my f…birth father from giving me away, she would have.”
Grace clutched the pillow. His tone sounded sincere, but her ability to trust had been compromised almost to the breaking point. She sank back against the cushions and closed her eyes. “You’re right. She would have. But you were probably better off being raised by the gaujos anyway.”
A sudden thought struck her. “Wait a minute. If you were adopted, then your name isn’t Sarna, is it?”
He didn’t answer at first. “No. My name is Nick Lightner. Sarna was the name on my birth certificate. When I decided to move here, your mother thought it would easier to explain my connection to your family if I used my birth name.”
“Lightner,” she repeated. “Nice, middle-America name. No ethnic vibes. And with your coloring, I bet no one ever suspected you of being a Gypsy.”
Although outwardly he showed no emotion, Grace could feel his anger simmering below the surface. “My adoptive parents gave me their name—after my Romani father washed his hands of me.”
Grace heard pain beneath the cynicism and she welcomed it. Honesty. That’s all she was asking for at the moment. “He was in jail.”
“For three lousy months.”
She tossed up her hands. “So who died and made you judge and jury? You’re convinced that your father was a worthless piece of dog doo who didn’t care about you. Never mind that he’d just lost the woman he loved. Never mind that he was shook up, mixed up and grieving. Alone in jail. Unable to reach you. Probably being sold a line of goods by some overzealous social worker who had an eager, upstanding middle-class family dying to adopt a little boy.”
His mouth opened but no words came out.
“Fathers sometimes make mistakes. They’re not perfect,” she cried, wondering who she was really trying to convince—Nikolai or herself.
He cursed loudly and stood up. “Stop trying to get inside my head. You don’t know what happened. You weren’t there.”
His words hit hard. They were true. She didn’t know what had made her father compromise his rigid code of ethics.
“Maybe not, but I can feel for him just the same,” she said softly. Happy to let Nikolai think she meant his father, not hers.
“Well, I can’t.”
His response angered her. She got to her feet. “That’s it in a nutshell, isn’t it,” she declared. “That’s the difference between us. It’s not Mars/Venus, Gypsy/gaujo. It’s more basic than that. The fact is I feel. You don’t. Men like you ought to come with warning labels. Danger—emotional vacuum.”
He let out a low growl, but Grace ignored it and walked past him toward her bedroom. She pulled aside the thick curtain of beads that separated her private space from the living area. Pausing, she looked over her shoulder. “I thought, for a brief moment, that we had a connection, but ask my sisters—” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “Heck, ask anyone—and they’ll all tell you I can’t pick men worth squat. Now, if you’d please leave, I’d like to—”
He caught her arm. “Damn,
you piss me off.”
Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Hard.
Grace fought back for the space of one heartbeat, then she wrapped her arms around his neck and plastered herself against his warm, very male body. He might not be her ever-after man, but he was here and now. And he was offering just what she needed.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“WAIT.” She pushed on his shoulders and he let her go. She stepped backward until she could no farther. “We can’t do this,” she said, panting. “I can’t do this. I don’t just have sex for the sake of having sex.”
Nick almost groaned. Her words said go, but her eyes said come.
“Why not?” He kept his tone casual, but there was nothing casual about how he felt. He wanted her—to hell with Charles Harmon and the case. She wasn’t Charles’s patsy or cohort. She was a gorgeous, desirable woman. Forget the dozen or so reasons they shouldn’t be together.
He closed the distance between them, which wasn’t difficult in the cramped quarters of her trailer. “We don’t have to do this, but don’t pretend you don’t want to. You don’t have to be a fortune-teller to know there’s something between us. Something hot. Significant. And from the number of cold showers I took this past week, I’d say it isn’t going away any time soon.”
“You’ve been thinking about me?”
“Day and night.” Nick covered her mouth with his and tasted her.
After a few moments of mutual exploration that took his breath away, she pulled back slightly and said, “I love the way you kiss. You could give lessons.” She ran her hands across his biceps to his shoulders.
Nick nuzzled an intriguing hollow where her neck and jaw met. There was a voice in his head that said, Step away from the princess, but it was being drowned out by the roar of blood on its way past his conscience headed right to his penis.
“Okay,” Grace said in a guttural whisper. “I give up. Let’s do this now, before I remember what a mistake I’m making.”
He kissed her again. His tongue plunged deeper, tracing her teeth, the roof of her mouth and underside of her tongue. She made a slight whimpering noise and transferred some of her weight to her arms, which were resting on his shoulders.
Betting on Grace Page 18
