Absolutely, Positively

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “Will do. Look, are you sure you know what you’re doing here, boss?”

  “Well, maybe a raise would be overkill. How about a nice letter of commendation for your file?”

  “I’m not talking about my raise,” Tessa said. “I’m talking about your marriage plans. Your aunt and her fiancé are worried about Trevelyan’s intentions. I heard them talking to you the other day.”

  “They think he’s after the assets of the Abberwick Foundation.” Molly frowned. “Actually, I think it was Cutter who put the idea into my aunt’s head.”

  “I hate to be the one to say this, Molly, but it’s not exactly a paranoid thought. In fact, it’s a realistic possibility. The only reason you even met Trevelyan in the first place was because of the foundation.”

  “I’m the one who found him, remember? He didn’t come looking for me.”

  “Yes, but he certainly moved fast enough after you introduced yourself, didn’t he? Molly, let’s get real. I know you’re a successful businesswoman, and you’ve done a terrific job raising your kid sister. I realize that you had the full financial responsibility of your family after your mother died.”

  “So?”

  “So, while I’ll admit that you’ve had some experience with harsh reality, you haven’t had a lot of experience with the male of the species. Molly, what do you know about this guy?”

  “Enough.”

  “Bull. You knew a lot more about Gordon Brooke, and look how that ended.”

  “I seriously doubt that I’ll ever walk into a room and find Harry boffing a counter assistant on a pile of coffee bean sacks.”

  Tessa threw up her hands. “Can you be sure of that?”

  Molly smiled. “Absolutely, positively.”

  “But how can you be sure?”

  Molly considered the matter briefly. She could think of no way to describe the bond she sensed existed between herself and Harry. There was no way to explain that if anything ever happened to sever that bond, she would be aware of it immediately. Things would not get to the counter assistant boffing stage without her sensing well in advance that something had gone dreadfully wrong in the relationship.

  But even without that intuitive knowledge, Molly knew that she had logic and reason on her side. Harry’s relationships with his difficult relatives proved that he had a history of making commitments and sticking by them, even when he wasn’t given much encouragement. And she intended to give him plenty of encouragement.

  “Harry’s the loyal type,” Molly said simply.

  Tessa’s nose ring quivered as she drew a deep, resigned breath. “Have you told Kelsey?”

  “No. She’s very busy at that summer workshop. I don’t want to distract her. I’ll give her the news when she comes home.” Molly smiled. “You and Kelsey can both be bridesmaids.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re planning a traditional wedding?”

  “With all the trimmings,” Molly assured her.

  Harry wandered slowly through the darkened corridors of the Seattle Aquarium. His attention shifted from one illuminated display tank to the next. Cold, emotionless eyes gazed out at him as though aware of his presence.

  A chill moved through him. He could almost feel the creatures on the other side of the glass assessing him. He knew that as far as a fish was concerned, he fell into one of two categories. He was either food or a threat.

  The world was simple when one possessed a simple brain governed by simple imperatives, Harry thought. Decisions were easy. Choices were limited. Complex emotions were nonexistent.

  One didn’t need complicated, disturbing emotions when one was trapped forever in the dark abyss. Only the simple ones were required. Anger. Fear. Hunger. There was no room for hope.

  Harry paused in front of a large tank occupied by several cold-eyed denizens. He drew a deep breath, allowing the memories of last night to flood him with warmth.

  Molly wanted him. She was not afraid of the darkness in him. She had asked him to marry her. She wanted to have babies with him.

  Harry let the knowledge sink into his soul. Flames flickered in the darkness.

  He gazed into the display tank for a while longer, and then he turned and walked out of the shadowed passages of the aquarium.

  Outside Molly waited for him in the bright sunlight.

  He stopped at the entrance and gazed at her with a sense of wonder. She leaned against the pier railing, her honey-colored hair dancing around her vibrant face. She smiled with welcome when she spotted him amid the crowd of joggers, tourists, and lunch-bound office workers.

  Harry watched, bemused, as she waved and hurried toward him with the eagerness of a lover. Not just a lover, he thought. His future wife.

  “Here I am, Harry.”

  An indefinable sensation washed through him. As it receded, it left behind traces of raw vulnerability. But for some reason the knowledge did not terrify him the way it would have done a few days ago.

  “I’m starved,” Molly said breathlessly as she reached him.

  “Me, too.” He took her arm and walked her toward an outdoor café.

  “Something wrong?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She gave him a look of anxious inquiry. “Harry? What is it?”

  “Probably nothing.”

  “Uh-oh. You’ve had another one of your insights, haven’t you?”

  “Maybe. I’ll tell you the details after we get our clams and chips.”

  Harry realized that he was no longer amazed by her perception. Somewhere along the line he had come to accept the fact that she would almost always recognize his various moods. She would know when he was merely feeling in a contemplative or reflective frame of mind and when he was seriously concerned.

  Not even his parents had understood him as well as Molly did. No one had ever understood him so well. It was an unsettling thought.

  Ten minutes later they sat down at a small, round table that was protected from the sidewalk traffic by a low, decorative barrier. Harry drizzled malted vinegar over his fried clams and considered where to begin. “I’ve been going through Kendall’s notebook.”

  “Find anything interesting?”

  “Nothing more than what we already discovered. I’ve gone through every page of the book. There isn’t any other reference to his plans to terrorize you other than those sketches of the machines he used to set up his damn pranks.”

  “No notes about his desire for revenge.”

  “Nothing like that. The brief descriptions of the pistol assembly and the goblin were all very businesslike.”

  Molly paused in the act of stuffing a french fry into her mouth. “Businesslike?”

  “You know what I mean.” Harry moved his hand in a vague gesture. “It’s as if the plans for those gadgets were nothing more than just designs for ordinary, routine projects.”

  “Hmm.” Molly munched thoughtfully. “No passion in them, is that it?”

  Harry considered her succinct description. She had put her finger on what was bothering him. “Maybe that’s it. You’d think a man bent on vengeance would display more emotion toward the project. An inventor’s sketches are unique to the individual. They convey a great deal to the trained eye.”

  Molly nodded. “I’ve seen the differences in my sister’s drawings when she’s really excited about a project. Lots of strong, positive lines. There’s an eagerness and enthusiasm in them.”

  “Exactly. I was once asked to examine some notebook sketches made by a man who planned to blow up a research lab because he believed the company had stolen his ideas. He had made some drawings of an explosive device he planned to mail anonymously to the research facility.”

  “And?”

  Harry ate another clam. “And there was something in those sketches that was not in his other work.
An intensity, an outrage. You could almost feel the anger radiating off the page.”

  “Insight or intuition?”

  He scowled. “Neither. It was similar to interpreting someone’s handwriting. You could see the rage and the craziness in it.”

  “You could see it, but I’ll bet very few other people could. What happened to the crazed inventor?”

  “He got caught trying to mail the explosive device,” Harry said absently.

  Molly smiled. “He got caught because you deduced what he was about to do from his sketches and the cops staked him out, right?”

  Harry shrugged. “I was asked to give my opinion on the drawings. I told the cops that it was a safe bet the guy intended to kill someone with his device. I also told them that, judging from the skilled details of the sketches, the device would probably work.”

  “My, you do lead an exciting life, Harry.”

  “Actually, it was a rather placid existence until you came into it.”

  Molly grinned. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  “To be blunt,” Harry said deliberately, “I can do without some of the added excitement you’ve brought into my life. Unfortunately, I don’t foresee it fading until they catch Kendall.”

  “They’ll catch him,” Molly predicted. “You heard the detective who talked to us yesterday. They’ll track him down now that they know he’s truly dangerous. Want to talk about our wedding plans?”

  Harry nearly choked on a fried clam. It was the first time she had mentioned the subject of marriage since she had proposed last night. He grabbed his iced tea and took a deep swallow.

  Molly frowned in concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” He took another slug of tea and set the cup down with great precision. He cleared his throat. “I was thinking of something simple. Vegas, maybe.”

  “I was thinking of something large and magnificent,” Molly said.

  Harry eyed her warily. “Do you have a lot of friends to invite?”

  “Yes. And then there’s all those Strattons and Trevelyans.”

  Harry’s raised his brows. “Are you kidding? The Strattons and Trevelyans won’t sit in the same room together long enough for a preacher to say the magic words.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Forget the fancy wedding. It’ll have to be a courthouse marriage or Vegas. Take your pick.” Harry paused. “If you’re still serious about this, that is.”

  “Oh, I’m very serious about it,” Molly assured him.

  Harry’s stomach unclenched. He downed the rest of his fried clams with a curious sense of relief;

  * * *

  Molly sat alone in the front room of Harry’s condominium the following evening and listened to the silence. It was an unnatural sort of silence. A silence fraught with meaning and portent.

  Olivia was in Harry’s study. She had been in there alone with him for nearly twenty minutes. The door of the study was firmly closed.

  Molly had immediately excused herself when Olivia had made it clear that she wished to speak to Harry alone. Harry had not appeared pleased at the prospect of a private interview with his ex-fiancée, but he had accepted the situation with his usual stoicism.

  Molly watched the late summer twilight give way to night and thought about Olivia and Harry. It was difficult to see what Harry had thought he’d had in common with his ex-fiancée other than a Ph.D. It was odd that a man who had a talent for insight had made such a mistake in his personal life. He did appear to have a gift for shooting himself in the foot every time he tried to apply his intellectual abilities to matters of emotion.

  Molly glanced at the clock. Another five minutes had passed. She went back to the book she had been trying to read.

  The study door opened. Molly put one arm on the back of the couch and turned her head to see Olivia walking toward her. There was no sign of Harry.

  “Finished?” Molly asked politely.

  “Yes. It was family business.”

  Molly nodded. “Harry gets a lot of that.”

  Olivia frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Never mind. Inside joke.”

  Olivia glanced back at the study door with a look of irritation. “Harry’s in one of his moods.”

  “He’s probably just thinking. Can I make you a cup of tea?”

  “No, thank you. Harry got a business call just as I was getting ready to leave. He’s still on the phone.”

  Molly started to rise. “I’ll see you out.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Olivia’s smile was cool. “I know my way around here.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “He tells me that the two of you are going to be married.”

  “That’s right.” Molly gave Olivia her most winning smile. “I’m planning a big wedding, by the way.”

  “Are you?”

  “Everyone from both sides of his family will be invited, of course.”

  “That should be interesting.” Olivia hesitated. “I’d like to ask you a personal question, if you don’t mind.”

  “Okay. I can’t guarantee an answer, though.”

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Olivia’s mouth tightened. She glanced again at the closed study door. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but in my professional opinion, Harry has some serious problems. He ought to be in therapy.”

  “Harry is different, I’ll give you that. But I don’t think a shrink will do him any good.”

  “I’m sorry, but I know him a great deal better than you do, and I think it’s a mistake for him to marry. Any marriage that Harry enters into is bound to fail.”

  “Are you nuts?”

  Olivia gave her a cold stare. “You do realize that I am a clinical psychologist, don’t you?”

  “Harry told me. I have a great deal of respect for your professional expertise, Olivia, but I don’t think you understand Harry very well. He’s quite unique.”

  “He’s dysfunctional, not unique,” Olivia snapped. “He’s very likely suffering from posttraumatic stress disorder and periodic bouts of depression. To be quite honest, he’s an excellent candidate for medication.”

  “A candidate for medication?” Molly wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think he’s interested in running for that office.”

  “I’m not joking, Molly. This is a serious matter. I cannot advise you to marry a man with Harry’s problems.”

  “Relax, you’re off the hook. I’m not asking for your advice.”

  Olivia glared at her in obvious frustration. “Look, I’ll be frank. You and Harry haven’t known each other very long. Your relationship is still in its early phase. I think you should know that sooner or later Harry will demonstrate some clinically significant abnormalities in his sexual relationship with you.”

  Molly held up a hand. “Hold it right there. I’m not one of your patients. I have no intention of discussing my sex life with you.”

  “I’m trying to save you from making a terrible mistake.”

  “You don’t have to worry about saving me from Harry.”

  Olivia narrowed her eyes. “You do realize he’s not in line for any of the Stratton fortune, don’t you? He quarreled with his grandfather. He won’t see a dime.”

  “Money has nothing to do with this. Good night, Olivia.”

  “You’re either very stupid or very foolish.”

  Molly grinned. “You mean I have a choice?”

  Olivia swung around on her heel and went swiftly down the hall toward the front door. She let herself out without a word of farewell. The door slammed shut behind her.

  Molly saw Harry lounging, arms folded, in the entrance of his study. He gazed thoughtfully after Olivia for a long moment. Then he met Molly’s eyes.

  �
�Clinically significant abnormalities?” he repeated slowly.

  “You heard that, did you?”

  “Only the last part. Did she give you her complete diagnosis?”

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t put too much stock in her theories if I were you. She is one weird shrink. That’s why she probably became a shrink in the first place. She was looking for answers to her own problems.”

  His mouth curved slightly. “I see.”

  “Which is not to say that I don’t believe that one can’t get a great deal of help from a good therapist,” Molly continued with scrupulous honesty. “But one does need to select one’s therapist with great care.”

  “Care.”

  “Right. There’s all that business with transference and counter-transference, you see. One has to find a therapist whose own hang-ups don’t get in the way of treating the patient’s.”

  “You sound like an expert.”

  “I consulted a therapist for a while after my mother died,” Molly said. “As a matter of fact, I consulted half a dozen of the little suckers before I found one I could talk to. I went to her a few times. She helped me work through some stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  Molly hesitated, reflecting back on those difficult days and the dreadful fear she had faced at the age of twenty. “A feeling of being overwhelmed by the responsibilities I knew I had to handle. Some anger at being stuck with those responsibilities. My therapist was good. I only saw her a handful of times because I couldn’t afford her for long. But I got a lot out of our little chats.”

  Harry smiled fleetingly. “I guess that makes you an expert, all right.

  Molly eyed him thoughtfully. “It doesn’t require expertise, just plain old common sense, to figure out that Olivia is not qualified to diagnose you. She’s got her own problems, and they’re connected to you.”

  Acute interest burned in Harry’s eyes. “What kind of problems?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Not to me.”

  “The two of you have a history. At the very least, I’d say she feels guilty about having ended the engagement. She’s probably rationalized her actions by telling you and herself that you’ve got psychological problems that make it impossible for you to have a healthy relationship.”