by Nora Roberts
“But I remember that you wore a red dress with the back draped low and your arms bare. You wore a bracelet here.” He brought her wrist to his lips. “A thick gold band with a smattering of rubies. All I could think was that one of your lovers had given it to you.”
“My father,” she murmured, stunned to learn he had noticed, had felt something. “In gratitude and relief when I graduated. You do remember.” Her breath came out on a laugh as she tossed her hair back. “You did notice.”
He no longer felt the weight, the twist of guilt or the denial. There was only pleasure, with himself, with her. “And from the moment I did, you’ve never been out of my mind.”
She hoped it was true. Reckless, she didn’t care if it wasn’t. “You never asked me to dance.”
“No.” He twined a lock of her hair around his finger. “I’d already decided that if I touched you it might be the end of my sanity. I saw you leave the ballroom with Bennett.”
“Were you jealous?” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth to try to suppress the smile.
“Jealousy is a very low and common emotion.” He slipped a hand down to the curve of her hip. “I was eaten with it.”
Her laughter was rich and full. “Oh, Alex, I’m so glad. There was never any need, but I’m so glad.”
“I nearly followed you.” He said this quietly as his expression turned inward. “I told myself I’d be a fool, but if I had—”
“No.” She laid her fingertips on his lips. “You couldn’t know what would happen.”
He brushed his lips over her fingers, then took them in his. “I saw you come back in, alone, pale. You were trembling. All I could think was that Bennett had upset you. I reached you just as you were telling Reeve and my father what was happening on the terrace upstairs. You were as white as a sheet and trembling, but you led us back to them.”
“When we got there and I saw the blood and Ben lying on the ground … I thought he was dead.” She closed her eyes a moment, then lowered herself to Alexander. “All I could think was that it wasn’t right, wasn’t fair. He’d been so much alive.” Even with her eyes closed she could see, so she opened them and watched the moonlight. “So long ago, but I’ve never forgotten any of it. When Janet Smithers and Loubet were arrested, I thought it was over and everyone would be safe. And now—”
“Everyone is safe.”
“No.” She lifted her head again and shook it fiercely. “Alex, don’t shut me out of this. The phone call came to me, and the warning. I was there seven years ago to see what Deboque can do from his prison cell. I’m here now.”
“It’s not for you to worry about Deboque.”
“Now you’re treating me like a child, the way you think a woman should be treated.”
He couldn’t prevent his lips from curving. “You can accuse me of that when I have such a sister as Gabriella? Eve, I learned as a child not to expect a woman to like to be coddled. I only mean that you can do nothing about Deboque and that worrying about him is useless.” He ran a fingertip down the side of her face. “If it makes you easier, I can tell you that Reeve is working on a solution.”
“It doesn’t. Every time you leave the palace to perform some duty I’m afraid.”
“Ma belle, I can hardly remain in the palace until Deboque is dead.” Seeing the expression on her face, he kept his voice quiet. It was best she understood, and understood now before they took another step. “Do you think it will end before that? As long as he lives he’ll seek his revenge. It is in Cordina he’s imprisoned.”
“Then have him transferred to another prison.”
“It’s not so simple as that. Deboque knows how long and hard my father worked to put him behind bars.”
“But Reeve said it was Interpol.”
“And it was, but without my father’s cooperation, without the information gathered by our own security, Deboque might still be free. My life, my family’s lives can’t be run on the fear of what one might do.”
But hers could. Eve gathered him close again. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”
“Then you’ll have to trust me to see that nothing does. Chérie, where did you learn to fence?”
He was trying to distract her. And he was right. The night was theirs. It would be wrong to let Deboque spoil even that. “In Houston.”
“Fencing masters in Houston?”
She was amused, and looked it. “Even America has room for elegant sports. You don’t have to be embarrassed that I beat you.”
“You didn’t beat me.” He rolled her onto her back. “The match was never completed.”
“I scored the only hit. But if it tramples on your ego, I won’t tell anyone.”
“I can see we have to finish what we started.”
She smiled slowly. In the moonlight her eyes were dark and lustrous. “I’m counting on it.”
* * *
The alarm clock shrilled. Groggy, Eve groped for the button, then shoved it in with enough force to make the clock shudder. She could be late, she decided sleepily. This one morning they could get started without her. She rolled over to cuddle in Alexander’s arms.
He wasn’t there.
Still groggy, she pushed the hair out of her eyes as she sat up. The top sheet was draped over her, but it was cool, just as the sheet beneath was cool. The breeze still tapped at the hem of the curtains, still smelled of the sea, but now sunlight poured through. And the room was empty.
He’d picked up her robe and had put it at the foot of the bed. The bed they had shared. All traces of him were gone. Just as he was gone.
Without a word, Eve thought as she sat alone. She didn’t even know when he had gone. It hardly mattered when. She reached for her robe before she rose, then slipped it on, belting it as she walked to the window.
Boats were already on the water, casting out for the day’s catch. The cool white yacht was still anchored, but she could see no one on deck. The beach was deserted but for gulls and the little sand crabs she was too far away to see. The gardener was below her window, watering. The sound of his tuneless whistle reached her and quieted the birds. A trio of pale yellow butterflies rose up, fluttering away from the spray of water, then settling on already dampened bushes. Wet leaves glimmered in the sunlight, while the mixed scent of flowers trailed its way up to her window.
The day was in full bloom. The night was over.
She couldn’t be sorry. There was no room in her heart for regrets. What she had shared with Alexander had been magic, a wish come true. She had found him gentle, caring and sweet. The glory of that still remained with her. Briefly he had held her to him as though nothing and no one mattered as much as she. Now that the night was over, there were responsibilities neither of them could ignore.
He would never ignore them, not for her, not for Deboque, not for anyone. She could stand at the window, struggling against the fear of what might be, but he would do whatever his duty demanded. How could she fault him for being what he was, if she loved him?
But, oh, how she wished he could be there with her, watching the morning.
Turning away from the window, Eve prepared to face the day on her own.
Chapter 9
From the fly gallery above the stage, Eve had a bird’s-eye view of rehearsal. It was in its sixth hour, and there had only been two bouts of temper. Things had settled down since the meeting she had called the afternoon before, but she continued to make notes on the yellow pad secured to her clipboard.
She’d been right about the casting, she thought smugly as she watched Russ and Linda run through a scene as Brick and Maggie. The spark was there, and the sex. When they were onstage the temperature rose ten degrees. Linda played Maggie the Cat to the hilt, desperate, grasping and hungry. Russ’s Brick was just aloof enough without being cold, his needs and turmoils raging under the surface.
They were a constant contrast to the second leads, with the nastiness and rivalry not so much obvious as natural. She couldn’t help but be
pleased with herself, especially since they were going to bring the production in under budget.
The director took them back, and Linda repeated the same line for the fifth time that hour. Both she and Russ went through the same moves. The patience of actors, Eve mused, and wondered at herself for ever believing she could have thought to be one. She was much better here, supervising, organizing.
But the set … she tapped her pencil against her lips. The set wasn’t quite right. Too shiny, she realized. Too new, too staged. She narrowed her eyes and tried to see it her way. It needed to be a bit more wilted, used, even decaying under a sheen of beeswax and lemon oil. With a focal point, she realized with growing excitement. Something big and brash and shiny that would show up the rest. A vase, she decided, oversize and ornate in some vivid color. They’d fill it with flowers that Big Momma could fuss with while she was trying to ignore the disintegration of her family.
She scribbled hurriedly as she heard the director call for a break.
Maneuvering over ropes, she started down the winding stairs that would take her to the stage. “Pete.” She cornered the property master before he could light his cigarette. “I want a few changes.”
“Aw, Ms. Hamilton.”
“Nothing major,” she assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder and walking out onto the set. “Pete, we need to age things a bit.”
He was a small man, hardly taller than she was, so that their eyes were level when he turned and began to scratch at his chin. “How old?”
“Ten years?” She smiled in lieu of an order. “Look, the family’s lived here awhile, right? They didn’t buy all this stuff yesterday. I think if the couch were faded—”
A long, suffering sigh. “You want me to fade the couch.”
“Upholstery fades, Pete. It’s one of those unavoidable facts of life. I think if you took off the cover and had wardrobe wash it a half-dozen times that would do it. And dull the gilt on a couple of the paintings. I don’t want any scratches on the furniture, but … Doilies.” Inspiration hit and she began to scribble again. “We need some doilies.”
“And you want me to find them.”
“Didn’t you once mention that you were a scavenger when you were in the service?” She said it mildly as she moved to a different angle.
“You’d have made general,” he muttered. “Okay, faded couch, dulled gilt and doilies. What else?”
“An urn.” She narrowed her eyes as they swept the set. It had to be just the right place, not center stage, not too far downstage, but— “Right there,” she decided, pointing to the table beside a wing chair. “A big one, Pete, with some carving or a pattern. And I don’t want anything too tasteful. Red, really red, so it stands out like a beacon.”
He scratched his chin again. “You’re the boss.”
“Trust me.”
“Ms. Hamilton, none of us has a choice.”
She accepted this without a blink. “Don’t spend over thirty for the vase. We’re not looking for an heirloom.”
He’d been waiting for her to get to the bottom line. “You want cheap, you’ll get cheap.”
“I knew I could count on you. Now on the bedroom set, I think it would be effective if we had some jewelry, gold and a little tacky, left on Cat’s vanity.”
“Already got the bottles and that big box of dusting powder.”
“Now we’ll have the jewelry. If wardrobe doesn’t have anything suitable, we can pick up something. Why don’t you check with Ethel? I’ll be in my office for the next twenty minutes or so.”
“Ms. Hamilton.”
Eve turned at the leg on stage right. “Yes?”
“I never did care much for extra work.” He took out his cigarette again while she waited for him to go on. “Problem here is, I can see you’ve got a feel for it—the stage, I mean.”
“I appreciate that, Pete.”
“I’ll get your doilies.” He struck the match. “But I’m going to send one of the women out for ’em.”
“I’ve always admired a man who can delegate authority.” She suppressed the chuckle until she was out of earshot.
She never had been quite able to figure out what a man like Pete was doing in theater. It seemed to her that he’d be more at home roping cattle, but here he was. He guarded his props as though they were treasures, and knew the theater history of each one. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that within twenty-four hours she would have everything she’d asked for.
After pushing open the door of her office, she pulled the pins out of her hair. She’d worn it up for the sake of coolness and efficiency, but the weight of it had begun to pull. Letting it fall free, she stuck the pins in her pocket. Priorities being what they were, she went straight to the coffeemaker and switched it on. Then, because she had a half a dozen calls to make, she drew off her left earring and dropped it in with the pins. Before she could sit and pick up the phone, it began to ring.
“Hello.”
“The royal family has made a mistake.”
She recognized the voice. The hand still in her pocket closed into a fist that snapped the back from the earring. “The royal family doesn’t give in to threats.”
The call was being tapped. She knew it and remembered through the first fear that her job was to keep the caller on the line.
“You’ll have to tell your boss that he will serve out his term in prison.”
“Justice must be served. The royal family and all those close to them will have to pay.”
“I told you before, only a coward makes anonymous calls, and it’s difficult to fear a coward.” But she was afraid.
“You interfered once and your seven years of freedom may be at an end.”
“I don’t bend to threats, either.” But her hands were damp.
“They won’t find the bomb, mademoiselle. Perhaps they won’t find you.”
As the phone went dead, Eve stared at it. Bomb? There had been a bomb in Paris. Her hand shook lightly as she replaced the receiver. No, he’d meant another bomb, here, today. Alexander.
She had her hand on the doorknob when the full impact of the phone call hit her.
Your seven years of freedom may be at an end. Perhaps they won’t find you, either.
The theater, she realized. The bomb was here, in the theater. Her heart in her throat, she pulled the door open and began to run. She saw Doreen first, showing off a bracelet to two other members of the troupe.
“I want you to get out of the theater, go back to the hotel, now, all of you.”
“But the break’s nearly over and—”
“Rehearsal’s over. Get out of the theater and go back to the hotel. Now.” Knowing that even a mention of a bomb would send them into panic, she left it at a clipped order. “Gary.” She hung on to control as she flagged down her stage manager. “I want you to clear the theater, everyone, actors, stage crew, wardrobe, technicians. Everybody. Get everyone out and back to the hotel.”
“But, Eve—”
“Just move.”
She shoved past him and onto the stage. “There’s been an emergency.” She lifted her voice so that it filled all corners. “Everyone is to leave the theater immediately. Go back to the hotel and wait there. If you’re in costume, leave as you are and leave now.” She glanced at her watch. When was it set? Would she hear the explosion? “I want this theater empty within two minutes.”
She carried the authority. There might have been grumbles, there were certainly questions, but people began to file out. Eve left the stage to check the storerooms, the dressing rooms, anywhere someone might have gone before the announcement was made. She found Pete, locking up his precious props.
“I said out.” Taking him by the shirtfront, she dragged him to the door. “Leave everything.”
“I’m responsible for all of this. I’m not having some light-fingered—”
“You’re out in ten seconds or you’re fired.”
That snapped his mouth closed. Eve Hamilton never made a statement sh
e didn’t back up. His chin shot up and a dozen different rejoinders rushed through his mind. Wisely he left them there and started down the hall. “Anything’s stolen, you’ll have to make it good,” he muttered.
“Let’s just hope something’s left,” she said to herself, and dashed to the other doors. Each one she slammed behind her echoed more hollowly. She found one actor dozing in a dressing room and routed him in seconds. He was shoeless and groggy, but she shoved him out in the hall and in the direction of the stage door.
Everyone was out, she told herself. They had to be. She thought she could hear the ticking of her watch inside her head. How much more time? Time could already be up. But she had to be sure. She was about to dash up the steps to check the second level, when a hand fell on her shoulder.
Her breath came out in a squeak, and though her knees went weak, she whirled to defend.
“Hold it, hold it.” Russ threw up both hands. “I’m just trying to find out what’s going on.”
“What are you doing here?” Furious, she lowered her hands, but they remained in fists. “I told everyone to get out.”
“I know. I was coming back in from the break when everyone else came out. Nobody knew why. What’s up, Eve? Is there a fire or something?”
“Just go back to the hotel and wait.”
“Look, what gives? If this is your way of saying you didn’t like this morning’s rehearsal—”
“I’m not playing around here.” Her voice rose as the last of her control snapped. There were beads of sweat on her temples and a stream of it down her back. Cold sweat. “I got a bomb threat. Do you understand? I think there’s a bomb in the theater.”
He stood where he was a moment as she started up the steps, then he was scrambling after her. “A bomb? A bomb in the theater? What in the hell are you doing? Let’s get out.”
“I have to make certain everyone else did.” She shook him off and sprinted up the rest of the stairs.
“Eve, for God’s sake.” His voice cracked as he raced after her. “There’s no one left. Let’s get out of here and call the police, the fire department. Whoever.”
