“I know. You’ve been intent on pleasuring me.”
She slid him a sideways glance. “Yes. Of course. That’s it.”
“Or you’ve been worried about what the doctors told you.”
Damn the man. He was perceptive and when he used that voice, that warm deep caring voice, she wanted to tell him all her problems. She wouldn’t; right now they ranged from I’m going to die to Why do I have to worry about the number of flowers in the arrangements on the table? “I’m not worried, exactly. But thinking. I don’t want to spend what remains of my life fighting about how many ruffles are on my train.”
“I know you don’t. My mother, however, doesn’t know we have concerns about our timeline and we need to make every moment count.”
Kellen laughed at his delicate phrasing. “I don’t suppose she does. I hope we got everything straightened out in our shrubbery symposium.”
“I hope so, too.” He turned his head and looked at her straight on. “You have a very logical way of analyzing the people around you.”
“I, um, after I woke from the coma, my brain worked differently. I analyze...”
“Everything?”
“No. And I’m not always right in my analysis. But when I meet people, I do catalog them. Very Rolodex-y, if you know what I mean.” She watched him, waiting for his reaction. Would he be creeped out?
“That explains a lot.” He scooted closer on the table, close enough for her to catch his scent and feel his warmth. “What does my Rolodex card say? ‘Handsome, sexy, irresistible father of adorable daughter who fulfills all my needs?’”
“That’s exactly what it says.” Add kind and caring, and that was pretty close.
“You’re very perceptive,” he said smugly. “Dear one, you are unique among women and I would like to—”
“Me, too.” How could she not? He was powerful, muscled and a pleasure to the eye. He was intelligent, loud and boisterous, a caring father and a thoughtful lover. Right now, in the dim light, when they talked, put their heads together, became one mind, one heart... If they could grow old together, they would be like that always.
But that was a trouble for later. For now—she attacked him. Kissed him openmouthed and with enough force to push him down on the table.
Not that he fought.
She tugged his shirt out of his jeans, stripped his belt away, stood on the floor and wrestled him out of everything he wore below the waist in a truly ungraceful and desperate move. She did the same for herself, hopping around on one sandaled foot until she got her shorts off. The T-shirt was easy, just a fast pull over the head, and as she unsnapped her bra, a thought made her pause. “Did you lock the door?”
“Of course. But you’re moving a little fast!”
She sat back on her heels and looked at him, sprawled the length of the table, wearing only his shirt. She smiled with anticipatory heat. “You look ready to me.”
“I mean—” he took her hand and pulled her close “—I like to be slow and careful with you.”
“Today—” she twined their fingers together and climbed onto the table, and him “—try to keep up.”
* * *
Max stretched and rolled with Kellen off the table.
She was humming as she found her underpants near the door, her bra hanging on the spigot of a wine barrel. She didn’t care if that did invite the gray to overtake her; it was worth every millisecond.
Max looked pretty pleased with himself, too. As he fished his running shoe out of the wooden wine bucket, he said, “One other thing about Nils Brooks.”
“What?”
“He’s coming to the wedding, and he’s bringing the head.”
“As if assassins aren’t enough trouble, we’re going to invite the thieves, too?”
Max rumbled a laugh. “Someone needs to watch over Rae during the wedding. I don’t trust Brooks in general, but I do trust him to do that. I’ve also talked to Temo and Adrian, explained the situation. They’re coming early on the day of the wedding. They’ll keep an eye on proceedings. Not that I don’t have faith in Parliman’s team, but I like having a couple of experienced fighters close who would kill for you. I thought you might talk to Birdie, brief her, too? Since she’s your bridesmaid she’ll be with you all the time and that adds another layer of security to the whole—”
Kellen smiled at him with all her joy and amusement.
“What?”
“You really are the best man I ever met.”
He dropped his shoe back in the wine bucket. “Take off your clothes. This time I’m going to show you how much I love you.”
50
The day of the wedding dawned bright and hot. Parliman’s security men guarded the closed winery’s gate, turned away tourists and welcomed wedding guests by checking their IDs and directing them toward the parking lots. Parking attendants waved the cars into place, then directed the company toward the new circus-size blue canopy. Hired bartenders stood behind the bars, pouring selected Di Luca wines, waters, juices and soft drinks. New servers circulated with hors d’oeuvres created by Pearly Perry and her staff. Claude McKeith supervised and directed every movement, and Takashi Tibodo and Mateo Courtemanche worked and watched and handled each crisis before it happened. At one point, a whole line of bicyclists rode in and were welcomed with screams of ecstasy from that loudmouthed little Di Luca girl.
As the killer stood on the front lawn, he thought it was like watching generals direct a battlefield, not realizing how futile their preparations would be, for the enemy was among them.
Beyond the blue canopy, the farmhouse and the winery with its bed-and-breakfast were stuffed with relatives and close family friends, preparing for the big event by shouting at each other to get out of the bathroom and taking turns at the mirrors.
The winery staff was everywhere, moving between kitchen to bed-and-breakfast to wedding venue, directing guests to the small buildings that had been randomly set up among the tall cherry trees and assuring them these were not so much portable potties as luxury temporary restrooms.
On the broad lawn behind the winery, a white canopy lifted its peaks toward the sky. Chairs sat in lines, a length of stiff white cloth defined the aisle, and an altar had been constructed at the front and decorated in exquisite silks, heavy laces and lofty white candles.
Meanwhile, where the vines began and the winery ended, workers picked the grapes, working hard to get them in before the heat grew intense and lowered the Brix. The crushing shed roared and gnashed, the resulting grape juice slid into stainless steel containers, the wine master, Freeman Townsend, and his apprentice, Jessie Glomen, tasted, urged, thanked, and most of all, they rushed.
Wedding or not, this was a working winery and the harvest was on.
Not far away, Kellen Adams paced the front porch, using her extraordinary powers of observation to inspect the new arrivals, to find anyone who showed surreptitious signs of being a killer.
He waved.
She waved back.
His disguise and his manner were perfect; she barely noticed him.
Her friends drove up, two men he recognized from the guest list. She’d served with them in the Army. She ran out to meet them. They all embraced, and laughed, and the men patted their suit jackets over the spot where a holster might hold a pistol.
What a clever girl she thought she was! She’d brought in extra personal security.
Good to know. He would have to handle that.
Ah, Kellen. She was no match for his guile. Wedding or not, today he would finish this job.
51
Bisnonna Benedetta stuck her crooked finger in Kellen’s face and in a pronounced Italian accent, said, “It is good luck to be married as the first grapes of a new year are harvested.”
Zia Giorgia said, “It portends a fertile union.”
Zio Salvatore sai
d, “They already have proved that they’re fertile!”
The cluster of elderly Italian relatives seated around the kitchen table fell all over themselves cackling.
Sarah Di Luca from California sighed. “Salvatore. Hush. You’ll embarrass her.”
Kellen wasn’t exactly embarrassed. Or at least not embarrassed for the reasons the relatives thought. Verona had stuck her in here until Max had been hustled to his room in the bed-and-breakfast, knowing full well the elderly relatives would keep them apart. As she’d been told multiple times today, it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride on the day of the wedding. To which she had finally said, “Then we should have been married in the morning and avoided all these machinations.”
All she got for that were blank stares. The relatives were greatly enjoying themselves.
“They can have more children.” Bisnonna Benedetta took Kellen’s hand, turned it palm up and traced her fingers over the skin. “Look at her lines!”
“Show them to Bisnonna Debora,” Leo said. “You know she reads palms better than anyone.”
“Leo!” Annie turned her wheelchair toward him. “What is wrong with you?”
“What? Just because you don’t believe doesn’t mean I don’t.” Leo waved his hands at Kellen. “Go on. Let’s see what Bisnonna Debora says.”
“Verona won’t like it,” Annie warned, but she moved closer.
At age seventy-two, Bisnonna Debora wasn’t the oldest here, not by a long shot, but when she was three she’d fallen ill of polio, leaving her with a twisted spine and a limp. Recently, as her overstrained breathing muscles had rebelled, she’d had to go on oxygen, and now it seemed as if her vitality was fading. But the life spark still glowed in her eyes and everyone in the family accorded her a special place of honor at the head of the table. Now, as Kellen presented her hands, she took them and smiled into the palms. “What a life! You’re right-handed?”
Kellen nodded.
“So rare to see a palm marked like this. So many lines. Rare lines. Two marriages? One when you were very young.” Her brown eyes sharpened. “It ended in flame and horror.”
“Yes.” Cynical Kellen supposed Bisnonna Debora might have heard that story from Max or Verona.
“I am sorry. But here’s our Max.” Bisnonna Debora pointed at the side of Kellen’s hand. “Such a good solid dependable line, like Max himself.”
Kellen found herself nodding along with everyone else.
“Here is Rae. What a healthy happy girl. So smart. We adore her.” Bisnonna Debora patted Kellen’s palm. “Other children are here. Two more. Maybe...no, two more.”
“Only two,” Zio Salvatore said mournfully.
“Not everyone wants to have so many children they can’t remember their names!” Zia Giorgia said.
“Shut up, woman!” Zio Salvatore gestured vigorously. “I remember their names eventually. I start at the top and shout. Sooner or later I hit the right one.”
More laughter and nodding heads.
Bisnonna Benedetta said, “Shhh! Bisnonna Debora is seeing.”
A hush fell over the room.
“Seeing what?” Kellen asked, then realized they meant precognition. She didn’t like that; she’d seen some scary examples overseas.
Bisnonna Debora smoothed Kellen’s palm, smoothed it again, leaned her ear close as if to hear it speak, ran her finger from Kellen’s wrist to her middle finger. “War in your past. Strife. Struggle and mistakes. Still. You aren’t whole in yourself. Divided into two. And this—” she tapped the line under Kellen’s thumb “—this is—” She caught her breath, looked around, looked down and lied. Everyone knew it, especially Kellen. “This is good luck. It’s good luck. You have good luck and happiness in your future. I see it. A sleep, a rest and a new dawn.”
The back porch door slammed. Verona walked into the kitchen, took in the scene with one glance and spoke Italian, fast and angry. The older people jumped guiltily and cleared their throats and smiled with as much false gaiety as Kellen had ever witnessed.
Bisnonna Debora listened without expression, then traced a cross on Kellen’s palm and kissed the spot where the lines intersected. In a low voice, she said, “God has graced you so far. He will not abandon you now.”
“Thank you, Bisnonna Debora.” Kellen cupped Bisnonna Debora’s hand in both her own. “We’ll trust in Him.”
Verona grabbed Kellen’s wrist and pulled her away. “The bride needs to put on her wedding dress. It’s time! The makeup! The hair. You know!”
The relatives clucked and shooed at them, and when Verona and Kellen had exited the house, they burst into loud voluble exclamations of...something. Protest or horror, Kellen didn’t know which.
“Bisnonna Debora is a lovely person, no? But old. All of the family from the Old Country is superstitious.” Verona dismissed superstition with a wave of her hand.
“And Leo.”
“That man!”
“I like him.” They were headed toward the large three-story building that housed the tasting room, the wine cellars and the bed-and-breakfast.
“I do, too. But to encourage their silliness. We give the old relatives respect, of course. It’s kind of them to come so far for Max’s wedding, and yours. But the belief in the evil eye and the palm reading—that’s ignorant Italian peasant. Not that the family isn’t peasant stock and proud of it, but we don’t believe in the supernatural.” Verona sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. “Right?”
“I don’t fear what’s to come.” Kellen knew what Bisnonna Debora had seen—and lied about. “It’s been waiting for me for a long time.”
“What do you mean?”
No reason to worry Verona. “The wedding. Max has been waiting for me for a long time.”
A smile broke across Verona’s face. “He has.” She patted Kellen’s hand. “He has.”
They went in the side entry to avoid the tasting room.
“You’re in a small suite now.” Verona led her up the stairs. “We intended to put you in the wedding suite, as would be fitting, but at the last minute, Aurora Di Luca brought her whole family, children and grandchildren and third husband, after RSVP’ing for only her and her oldest daughter, and we had to put them somewhere. If she wasn’t providing all the fruit for the wedding from her own orchard, I would...would...”
“That’s fine. With so many long-distance relatives and guests, I’m happy not to be in a closet,” Kellen assured her.
“We put the relatives we don’t like in the closets.”
Kellen looked at Verona. Was she kidding? Maybe...
On the second-story landing, they walked right into Rae—and Nils Brooks.
“My God, you made it!” Kellen couldn’t believe he was here.
He held out his arms, then backed away. “You’re not going to hit me again, are you?”
She remembered how she had sucker punched him up at Zone’s, and laughed. It was a good memory. “I don’t know why, but I’m glad to see you.”
He opened his arms.
They hugged each other.
“He’s here, and he brought the goddess!” Rae was in full Di Luca loud mode.
“Shhh.” Nils grinned at her. “We’re supposed to be quiet, remember?”
Rae whispered loud enough to wake the dead, “Daddy’s going to show Mr. Brooks a secret place to hide her where no one can see her.” She patted the bulging backpack slung over Nils’s shoulder.
“That’s great, Rae. As long as I don’t have to carry her up another mountain.” On that thought, Kellen grabbed Nils’s shoulder. “I don’t, do I?”
“No. No way.” He put his hand on his heart to indicate truthfulness. “I brought the goddess for Rae before delivering her to Portland.”
The hand on the heart thing made Kellen remember why she didn’t trust him. For all his good looks
and smarts, he was a user, and she wondered what he was up to now.
She found out fast enough.
“Are you sure you want to marry Max Di Luca?” Nils stepped close to Kellen and looked deep in her eyes. “You and I would be good together. We could fix the problems of the world.”
“Sir, I cannot believe you have the guts to show up on my son’s wedding day and try to take his bride.” In one moment, Verona became the scary female no one dared offend.
“I can’t, either, Grandma. I’ll sucker punch him!” Rae slammed her fist into his groin.
52
Groin, groin, groin, groin. As Nils collapsed, the memory of Rae’s piping voice echoed in Kellen’s mind. “Honey, you shouldn’t—”
“That’s my girl.” Verona patted Rae’s head.
“You’re sending her mixed messages,” Kellen said in exasperation.
“We’ll have to deal with that later.” Verona stood over his writhing body. “Kellen, your room is 345. Take Rae and go on up.”
Kellen took Rae’s hand and headed up to the third floor, and as they climbed, they heard Verona scolding in the kind of low-pitched menacing voice that would have brought Nils low, if Rae hadn’t already done that.
Halfway up, they came face-to-face with Max. “Hey,” Kellen said, because today, with him, she was full of witty conversation.
“Hey.” He was equally eloquent. “You, um, need to get ready soon.”
“Headed up there now. Not too much longer...” They moved toward each other.
“Daddy, you are not supposed to see Mommy!” Rae flushed with indignation.
Max glanced at his daughter and seemed to realize she was there. “Did you hurt your hand?” he asked her.
“A little.” Rae cradled her fist. “When you punch ’em in the groin, it’s sort of soft. It doesn’t hurt like the sternum.”
“Who did you punch in the groin?” Max asked, then started to laugh. “Nils Brooks? You punched the fabulous fighter, Nils Brooks?”
What Doesn't Kill Her Page 28
