Oberon Boxed Set (Books 1-3) Welcome to Oberon

by P. G. Forte

  “Gee, not that I’ve noticed!” Heat flooded her face. She shoved him away and got to her feet. “What’s your problem?”

  “Problem? There are wild dogs in that damn park!” he said, his face livid as he sat up. “In case you’ve forgotten. Did you listen at all to what your cousin had to say about that?”

  She felt her eyebrows rise. Forgotten? “Yes, Dan, I listened. Better than you did apparently. Nick said these attacks all occurred off road, somewhere. And you know damn well I always keep him on the path.” She struggled to rein in her anger. She didn’t want to fight with him about this. And certainly not tonight. Swallowing hard, she tried to speak calmly, but the words sounded whiny to her own ears. “I just thought that I’d... well, I mean, really, Dan; the dog needs to go out for a walk once in , you know, and you aren’t always here to take him. What’re you so worried for? It’s not like I was gonna let anything happen to him, or anything. He’s fine.”

  Dan stared at her, wordlessly, and she felt the seconds ticking away. “Oh, for God’s sake!” he said, as he surged off the bed. “That’s it! From now on— hell, I’ll take the damn dog out to the nursery with me, if I have to. You just, just – don’t worry about the dog, anymore. You understand me? And just— oh, Jesus, Lucy! Just stay the fuck out of the park! You got that?”

  “What did you say?” She was so angry, the words barely made it past her lips. If he thought she was going to start taking crap like that from him now, at this stage of the game, after seventeen years of marriage and two children, he’d just better think again.

  Her anger vanished like a cold mist as an ominous dread crept over her. After sixteen years of marriage he certainly did know better, and so did she. A few minutes ago, it seemed everything was just the way it had always been. But now— something had changed between them. She felt her eyes narrow. “You know, Dan, you sure seem to be overreacting a little bit tonight. Why is that?”

  Dan felt the blood flood to his face. Overreacting? “Oh, like hell I am!” he snapped, as he stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. Overreacting? To the possibility of his wife being set upon by a pack of vicious dogs? Hell yes, he’d overreact to that! Every time.

  And it was a damn good thing for her that he would, too.

  Because he knew her. And he knew by that cool, stubborn look in her eyes just now that if he didn’t take action, she’d be back in the park again tomorrow night – and every night afterwards, as well – if for no other reason than because he’d told her to stay away. Or maybe just to prove to him that she was capable of taking care of herself.

  Hell, he knew that, he thought, impatiently. The woman could do pretty much anything she set her mind to. He’d figured that one out a long time ago. That had never been the problem.

  He paused in the kitchen only long enough to grab hold of the dog. Terrific. Now, he’d have to take the dog with him everywhere he went. And he didn’t even like dogs all that much!

  Keeping this dog was just about the worst idea he’d ever had, he thought, watching as the dog jumped eagerly into the Explorer’s front seat. And Lucy had known it, too. She’d warned him he’d regret it, and, man, oh, man, had she ever been right about that one.

  He climbed into the SUV, and peeled out of the drive, the dog practically falling off the seat beside him.

  “He’ll be good protection,” his son had said, when he’d pleaded with him to keep it.

  “Please, Daddy. Please talk Mom into it,” his daughter had begged. And he had. He’d wheedled and coaxed, until at last she’d given in.

  And now? “It’s not like I was gonna let anything happen to him,” she’d said barely five minutes ago, making his blood run cold.

  Given everything else that had happened lately, he supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised by that. But Jesus, did she really think he gave two shits about the dog, when her safety was at risk?

  “Screw the dog,” he muttered angrily, as he headed back to town. This was a hell of a way to spend Valentine’s Day, but if he’d stayed one more minute in that house, God only knew what he’d end up doing, or saying. And he couldn’t take the chance of saying the wrong thing now. Not when there was so much at stake.

  She was a helluva woman, his Lucy. And he wouldn’t change her for the world. But there were times, Dan thought as he pounded his fist on the steering wheel in frustration, times when her lack of caution drove him totally insane.

  * * * *

  So now he knew. As Ryan stared at the information he’d just received, he tried his best to remain professional, detached, unemotional. It wasn’t easy, but the familiar surroundings of the station helped. And he knew that, on the surface at least, he appeared calm, cool and collected. He was a cop, after all, and dealing with the worst that human nature could dish up pretty much came with the territory.

  But he was also a man in love, and right now, his heart felt like it had been shoved through a meat grinder.

  “Gotta admit it, he’s one slick bastard,” Nick observed from the other side of the desk. “Fakes a new identity so he can set up a dummy corporation. Takes out key man insurance on himself through the company. After that, he fakes his death, collects on the policy, and lives happily ever after on the insurance money.”

  “Yeah. Slick.” Ryan read the information over again, not even sure if the words he was reading made sense anymore. He’d been working at this, practically non-stop, for thirty-six hours. Ever since he’d left Siobhan. He’d come straight here and— “Too bad he didn’t take some of that money and buy himself a new set of fingerprints while he was at it.”

  Nick laughed. “Yeah, too bad. We might never have got onto him then.”

  He almost wished they hadn’t. Or at least... he wished he’d maybe kept the information private. Dealt with it himself. Maybe—

  “No word on the girls yet, huh?” Nick asked.

  Ryan shook his head. “No. Doesn’t appear they’ve been living with him. Not that that means much. It’s not good, though.”

  “Bastard. And he almost got away with it, too.”

  “Almost?” Ryan snorted. Hell, the sonofabitch had gotten away with it. They’d just solved the perfect crime, and he should be over the moon about that, but instead—

  “What?” Nick’s voice, sharp with suspicion, broke into his reverie.

  “Nothing.” Ryan threw the file he’d been reading on Nick’s desk and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

  “You worried about how Siobhan’s gonna take this?”

  He shook his head again. “No, not really.”

  “No? So, what are you saying, then?” The suspicion was stronger now.

  For a moment Ryan hesitated, but what was the use? “I’m saying I don’t know how surprised she’ll be.”

  Nick shook a cigarette from the pack on his desk. “You think she knows something about this?”

  Ryan looked away. For a moment he thought about saying no. Thought about everything they’d said and done. Everything he felt for her. But what was the use? “I think she’s in this up to her ears.”

  Nick choked on his cigarette. “Damn, I gotta quit these things,” he muttered, still coughing slightly. He leaned forward and stubbed it out, and then leveled a hard gaze at Ryan. “You’re kidding me, right? And d’you think she’s maybe covering up a double homicide too?”

  Ryan just shrugged. What was the point in arguing possibilities? The truth, whatever it was, would come out eventually.

  “Jesus, man, we’re talking about her daughters!” Nick’s voice was harsh and angry.

  Ryan looked at him. “Yeah, and her husband. So, what would you do, if it were Scout?”

  Nick’s face shut down fast – every last trace of emotion gone in the blink of an eye. He stared at Ryan stone faced.

  Ryan stared back. A faint memory rustled somewhere in his head; something he’d heard once and forgotten. But he didn’t bother to track it down.

  “I’ve known Siobhan Quin
n since she was five years old.” Nick said, his voice slow and careful. “I went through grade school with her, Ryan. We grew up together. Hell, I even picked her name out of a ‘Secret Santa’ grab bag once.”

  For a moment Nick seemed lost in his memories, and then he shook his head. “I don’t know what put the idea in your head that she knows about this, but you’re gonna have to show me some proof before I buy it. Because, as sure as I’m sitting here, I do not believe the woman is capable of doing anything like what you’re suggesting.”

  Capable? A host of images flashed through Ryan’s mind: Siobhan calmly injecting her dog with the drug which would kill it. Siobhan dissecting a fish in front of a group of third graders, matter of factly digging her probe into the eye socket to remove the eyeball. The neat row of stitches she’d put in her own arm after she’d gotten cut. Her cool, dispassionate handling of the unconscious bobcat. He wasn’t sure what she was capable of, but there wasn’t too much he’d put past her.

  “Look,” Nick said, after several moments had passed. “This isn’t going anywhere right now. So, why don’t you go and talk to her.”

  What was he saying? Ryan wondered, glancing sharply at the other man, but Nick’s face gave away nothing. “What are you talking about? We have to call this in.”

  Nick gestured at the file on his desk. “He’s been dead for ten years. Another day or two ain’t gonna matter, is it? Besides,” He lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. “It’s Valentine’s Day. Take the woman out to dinner or something.”

  Valentine’s Day? Oh, right. Perfect. Just the gift to bring to the woman he loved. News that he was about to send her husband to prison. And maybe send her there, as well.

  Shaking his head in disgust, Ryan hauled himself out of the chair.

  “Your leg looks like it’s doing better,” Nick commented, when Ryan was halfway to the door.

  His leg? Ryan thought about it now, and realized that it was almost the first time he’d thought about it in days. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it is.”

  Nick watched as Ryan let himself out of his office. Yeah, that leg was looking a whole lot better, he thought. Good thing, too. ‘Cause if ever a man needed to get himself back to work, it was Ryan.

  Nick lit another cigarette and studied the file on his desk as he smoked it.

  What if it were Scout, Ryan had said. But Nick didn’t need to wonder. He knew just what he’d do in a case like that. Mercifully, it wasn’t Scout this time. And he wasn’t Ryan.

  It was true, what he’d told him. Another day or two might not matter, but even so— There was no point, either, in putting it off. He picked up the phone.

  He was about ninety per-cent certain that Siobhan knew nothing about this. Which was not quite a sure thing, but then, nothing in life ever was.

  And either way, he had a job to do.

  Back to Top

  * * * *

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  * * * *

  The restaurant was just as Marsha remembered it. Soft strains of music drifted in from the lounge where a jazz ensemble played. The tables were set with fragile crystal glasses and heavy silverware that sparkled and gleamed in the candlelight. The lighting, like the hum of conversation, was muted and tasteful. In a word, it was perfect. But somehow, the bright atmosphere only served to intensify the melancholy mood she’d been in for several days. It all seemed too much like a dream. And what she longed for was reality, for permanence and stability.

  Her eyes turned once again to Sam, deep in conversation with the wine steward and she smiled. In the five months since he’d moved here Sam had become very much a wine snob. It seemed to be something of a pattern with him, to become an expert at whatever captivated his attention, and then move on to the next challenge.

  Was that all she was to him, too – a challenge? She didn’t used to think so. But lately it was hard to be sure.

  She picked up the menu, and once more scanned the short list of vegetarian entrees. She already knew what she would order, and she was pretty sure she knew what Sam would choose, as well.

  There weren’t that many choices, after all, but then again, there never were. Just one of the inevitable facts of a meatless lifestyle, it seemed. She wondered if it was this bad in New York? It was funny she’d never thought to ask him that. But then, there was a lot she hadn’t bothered to ask Sam about his former life, having made up her mind very early in their relationship to concentrate on the present, and put aside all thoughts of either the past or the future.

  The odds had never seemed to be overwhelmingly in favor of their having a future together. But on the other hand, what were the odds of their both being vegetarians? What were the odds of any of it happening, in fact – of his coming to Oberon, of his renting her cabin, of their meeting at all?

  It was fate. It had to be. They were destined for each other. Too bad Sam didn’t believe in fate.

  She cast a quick glance at him again over the top of the menu, listening as the two men chatted about viticulture and varietals, and other, even more obscure wine terms. The recessed lighting was low key; soft and soothing, still it glinted on the silver strands of Sam’s hair, and on the silver cuffs he wore on his wrists, the silver button at the neck of his collarless black silk shirt. No, he didn’t believe in fate, but once, he’d believed in them. Enough that he uprooted himself from Manhattan and plunked himself down on her doorstep.

  And she’d left him there.

  For the sake of her children, she all but closed the door in his face. She made him wait and wait, and now she had no one but herself to blame if he’d grown tired of waiting for her.

  For weeks she had sensed an increased restlessness in him. And tonight... he was nervous, she thought, with a sense of shock. She couldn’t imagine Sam being nervous about anything. But he was.

  Their negotiations completed, the sommelier retrieved the wine list from Sam’s hand and left. Sam turned his attention towards her. His eyes – the dark gray of hematite – gleamed in the candlelight. She wondered if she would ever grow used to the warmth of his gaze, if it would ever cease to make her feel as though everything inside her had melted. Or would he be gone too soon for that?

  “Well that took a while,” she commented, for lack of anything better to say.

  He nodded. “I know, I’m sorry. I just wanted everything to be perfect tonight.”

  “Oh.” She ducked her head back behind the menu again. Perfect? As in the perfect ending to a perfect affair? That kind of perfect? But no, that couldn’t be right. The low throbbing in her head grew worse, and she knew then that his nervousness was communicating itself to her, taking her own inner uncertainty and spinning her even further off her axis. She took a deep breath and tried to relax. No matter how nervous he was – and no matter what he was nervous about – she knew he wouldn’t break up with her tonight. Not on Valentine’s Day! And not in the middle of a crowded restaurant, either. He was too kind for that.

  If you could call it kindness.

  She felt a faint queasiness in her stomach as she thought about it. Was it kindness? To treat her like some sort of sacrificial victim? To wine and dine her tonight, as though she were a queen, and then tomorrow... was he planning to let the axe fall tomorrow? Was that what she was sensing tonight? Was that what he was so nervous about?

  If it was, if she was right and it was nearly over between them, then she should make damn sure she enjoyed every last minute, shouldn’t she? Shouldn’t she at least try to do that? But how on earth—

  “Angel, are you ready to order now? Marsha?”

  She looked up again, startled to find both Sam and the waiter watching her. She hadn’t even felt the other man’s approach. What was wrong with her senses tonight? Everything felt fuzzy and vague, and far too unreal.

  “Yes,” she said, smiling brightly. Determined to revel in every minute. “Yes, I’m ready.”

  Throwing both caution and calories to the wind, she ordered garlic bread, a Caesar salad – no anchovies,
of course – and penne pasta in a tomato-vodka cream sauce. And then listened in consternation as Sam ordered the grilled portabello mushroom steak with asparagus and a blackberry reduction sauce.

  Sam regarded her quizzically after the waiter left. “Something wrong? You look perplexed.”

  “Didn’t you want the vegetable paella?”

  He frowned in surprise. “Why, no. The wine I ordered is similar to a Cote-Rotie, and I...”

  His voice trailed away. He studied her for a moment in silence. “You didn’t want a different wine, did you? Because I was thinking this would go very nicely with your pasta.”

  She shook her head. “No, of course not, it’s fine.” What did she care what wine they drank? She barely noticed the differences, anyway. Just one more area where she was out of her depth with him. Her mouth twisted bitterly. Maybe this was her fate – to always have happiness dangled in her face, and then snatched away again, just as she tried to grasp it? Maybe that was the meaning behind the dream she’d had the other night.

  “Everything all right with you tonight, angel?”

  He sounded worried and she hurried to reassure him. “I’m fine, really. I just have a bit of a headache, is all.”

  Sam looked like he was about to ask her something, but then the sommelier returned, and Marsha watched as they went through the familiar wine tasting ritual. It was pointless, really. Sam had already decided on this wine, he wasn’t likely to change his mind about it now. He rarely ever changed his mind about anything, after coming to a decision.

  At Sam’s nod, the steward poured wine into both glasses.

  “Try it,” Sam urged her. “It’s a little different from what you might be used to. Mostly Syrah grapes, mixed with about twenty per cent Viognier.”

  Marsha nodded, although he might as well have been speaking Greek. Grapes were grapes, weren’t they? It was a lovely plum color, anyway. With a delicate, fruity scent. It tasted... like red wine. She smiled at him. “It’s very nice, Sam.”

  Sam studied her intently. She was looking way too sad and distracted tonight. How much did she know about what he had planned? The boys had promised they could keep their thoughts to themselves when they had to, he only he wished he shared their confidence. Or their optimism.