Night Music

by BJ James

  “Yet it was never as much that he was oldest, or how he looked, as his kindness and caring, and courage.” Patience smiled, remembering. “Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

  “Superman,” Valentina agreed fondly. “Bigger than life. His smile quicker, his passion greater, his heart most tender.”

  “Now he rarely smiles,” Patience observed sadly. “If he feels anything, it doesn’t show.”

  “Or the reverse?” Valentina ventured. “Is what he’s feeling so awful, he dares not let us see?”

  “But we’re family, Val. If he’s hurting, we can help.”

  “Can we?” Valentina turned from the window. “Perhaps the mountain took something from him only he can get back.”

  Patience understood her sister’s logic, Devlin’s behavior was strange. They were accustomed to his solitary disappearances. But if there was ever trouble, he found a way to communicate, to reassure his family. With the crash, there had been only silence.

  Months later, he’d written, saying he wouldn’t make the family gathering. Only then had he spoken of the crash and Joy.

  Despite their worry about his uncharacteristic behavior, keeping a childhood rule that still guided their lives, no one questioned, no one interfered. No one understood.

  Until he’d walked through the door two days before, weary, thin, dreadfully haggard, no one expected to see him. In a way, Patience thought, none of them had. The real Devlin bore little resemblance to the grim specter who haunted the shore.

  “He’s like a stranger.” Devlin had moved from sight, but Valentina knew he hadn’t gone far. His reluctance to leave the house and grounds, or to mingle with his own, was patent. “I suspect he feels like a stranger even to himself.”

  Patience sighed. “I don’t understand.”

  “Hopefully we will soon.” Val grimaced. “I broke the rule.”

  There were few rules within the family, and Patience knew instinctively which her sister had broken. “What have you done?”

  “I’m interfering. I called Simon.”

  Patience nodded. Who else would Val call? Simon McKinzie, commander of The Black Watch and the most powerful man in covert operations, could unearth the problem. “When will you know?”

  “He promised by two.”

  Patience glanced at a clock. “Less than five minutes.”

  Valentina caught an uneven breath. “Was I wrong? None of us has ever intruded so blatantly before.”

  “You weren’t wrong. Even though he needs someone, Devlin’s shut us out. No,” Patience repeated firmly. “You weren’t wrong.”

  “He might hate me.”

  Stretching out her hand, Patience waited until Valentina clasped it in her own. “Devlin could never hate you. He may not be happy with this at first, but in the end, he’ll thank you for having the wisdom to know when a rule should be broken. As I do.”

  In concert, the clock boomed the hour, and within a cabinet housing instruments of modern technology, a fax machine chattered. Both women froze, hands clenched. It was only when the machine fell silent that their fingers drifted apart.

  Valentina moved to the cabinet to take out the printed sheet. Turning, she came to Patience and, in deference to the concern she saw on her sister’s face, laid the document before her.

  Patience read slowly, carefully, with the gleam of tears in her eyes before she was half through. When she finished, wordlessly, she returned the single sheet to Valentina.

  Valentina absorbed each word. Contained here were the facts that had changed her brother into a man she didn’t know. As Patience had, she read slowly, carefully. Finally, with a heavy heart, she tucked away the report that changed all the rules. “I’m not sorry anymore. Now I know what to do.”

  “How can I help?”

  Valentina’s lips lifted in a smile. “You’ve done enough by listening and supporting my choice. But there is one more favor.”

  “Anything.”

  “If you would make my excuses, for the rest of the day.”

  Patience nodded shrewdly. “You’re leaving the island.”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “Where will you go?”

  With an elegant lift of her shoulders, Valentina asked, “Where would I go with a problem of this sort?”

  “To Simon,” Patience supplied softly.

  “Good afternoon, Simon.”

  When the door to his private office opened unannounced, Simon McKinzie knew who his intruder would be. No one else among The Black Watch would dare such a bold act.

  “Ahh. Mrs. Courtenay, I thought you had retired.” Leaning back in his chair, he glared at her. “What happened to knocking?”

  “I have. And what happened to ‘Good afternoon’?”

  “Perhaps it went the way of knocking before entering.”

  Valentina had the grace to be truly contrite. “I’m sorry, but there’s a problem only you can help resolve.”

  Simon took stock. Who among his agents was facing personal problems? Before retiring from The Watch, Valentina had possessed a magical radar when it came to sensing troubles within the organization. “What is it now?” he asked. “Or should I say who?”

  “My brother.”

  “By my count, you have three, missy.”

  “It’s Devlin.”

  “Devlin isn’t one of mine.” Though not from lack of trying, Simon admitted. Devlin O’Hara was perfect for The Watch. But beyond the rare assignment, he eluded its persuasive leader.

  “He has been, on occasion.”

  Simon had leaned back until his chair teetered on two legs. Now it banged down. “How the devil could you know that?”

  Despite her worry, Val laughed. “Lucky guess.”

  “Remind me not to play poker with you,” he grumbled.

  “Consider yourself reminded.” Advancing to the desk, she leaned closer. “Will you help?”

  “Sorry, missy, that’s impossible. In the first place…”

  Valentina caught his hand in hers. Folding each finger to form the fist he would have made with each of five points, she held it tightly. Every agent knew the gesture. “Simon, there is no first place, or fifth. This is Devlin, the strongest and best of us.”

  Simon nodded as she released his fist. “Denali.”

  Of course he knew. He would have gathered the information himself. “Then you understand the problem.”

  “I know the facts and ramifications,” he corrected. “I’m sure no one understands the problem, or the solution as you do.”

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Ahh, in case it isn’t, why don’t you explain.”

  “Who is Devlin?” She asked. “What is he to us?”

  “Your brother, your hero and knight gallant.” Simon knew the direction she was taking this. But it would be interesting to see how far she would go.

  “For as long as we can remember, there’s always been someone he could rescue, or care for, or protect. Now he believes he failed on Denali. As long as he does, he’ll never forgive himself.”

  “So you would offer him a chance to redeem himself,” Simon suggested. “Hoping in redemption, he finds forgiveness.”

  “That’s where you come in. He needs a damsel in distress.”

  “One of my damsels.” Simon didn’t wait for an answer. “And no doubt you know exactly who.”

  “Exactly. With your permission, of course.”

  “Of course.” He watched her for a considering moment. “Does this damsel have a name?”

  “Kate Gallagher.”

  “What do you know about Kate, missy?”

  “I met her once, outside your office.”

  “Once?” Simon lifted a shaggy brow. “From that, you deduce she’s what your brother needs?”

  Valentina didn’t hesitate. “I liked what I saw. Later, I heard she lost her partner. Now she’s troubled and nothing The Watch offered has helped. Devlin seems the logical solution.”

  “For both of them?”
>
  Valentina met his look calmly. “He won’t hurt her, Simon.”

  “Has it occurred to you your brother might refuse to take part in this cockamamie plan, Valentina?”

  “You give the okay on Kate. I’ll handle Devlin.”

  “You’re that sure, are you?”

  “Our brothers have never been capable of refusing Patience or me. Devlin’s different now, but he won’t say no.”

  The venerable commander of The Black Watch was equally as sure. Just as he’d known when she marched into his office with that familiar determined look that no matter what she wanted, or what argument he offered, he would lose.

  “So,” Valentina concluded. “If there’s nothing else…”

  “Haven’t you overlooked something?”

  Mission accomplished, she was ready to leave. “Have I?”

  With a scrawl, he tore a sheet from a pad. “Kate’s address.”

  “I know where she is, Simon.”

  Crumpling the paper, he muttered, “Given that her location is a deep secret, it seems I have a leak.”

  “There’s no leak. My source talks only to me.” A grin teased her mouth. “Unless you consider me the leak.”

  “Never you, Valentina.” Drawing his thumb across a lighter, he touched flame to paper. When fire licked away letters spelling out Belle Terre, South Carolina, he dropped it in an empty trash can. “As usual, your visit has been…interesting.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “And mine.”

  Val paused by the door. “The standing invitation still stands, should you find time to come to the shore.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Positively, I hope.” With a wave, she was gone.

  Into the quiet, Simon spoke thoughtfully, “Maybe I will go out to the bay. Renew old acquaintances. Lay some groundwork.”

  The day was coming when he must choose his replacement. Given her intuition and with added maturity, Valentina O’Hara Courtenay would be the perfect choice. If she could succeed with Devlin in this, Simon hadn’t a doubt she could do anything.

  Ravenel’s By The River was not just a grocery store, but also a meeting place for the citizenry of Belle Terre. Today, pleasant temperatures of autumn had brought shoppers out en masse. With music drifting about them, they traversed wide aisles, filling carts with an extraordinary array of wines, flowers, and groceries.

  No one seemed to hurry. Some only nodded and smiled at other shoppers. But the majority stopped to chat, to gossip, to laugh, or to adjourn to the canopied balcony that served as a teahouse. There, with the river sliding by, in the shade of a centuries-old oak, they sipped tea, sherry, and even the ritual bourbon and branch water to the accompaniment of more gossip, more laughter.

  Only Kate Gallagher seemed oblivious to the pleasant surroundings. Only she paid no homage to expected Southern customs as she moved through the music, gliding from one corridor to the next. Her head bent, her face veiled by a wealth of hair falling against her cheek, none who passed caught her eye. Some glanced her way. Others appeared inclined to speak. But as if the silvery veil were a wall innate courtesy must not breach, no one intruded.

  Once upon a time Devlin O’Hara would have considered that aloof detachment a challenge. One look at the melancholy barely hidden in Kate’s distracted gaze, and it would have become his prevailing mission in life to make her world a better place. To make her smile, perhaps even laugh, as the others laughed.

  But that was once upon a time. A time of innocence now and forever lost to him. And no matter what he’d promise Valentina, he wouldn’t interfere.

  He’d learned that some things never heal, and the pain and guilt never eased. Perhaps for some, as for him, it shouldn’t.

  If, as the cliché promised, the blind couldn’t lead the halt, who was he to play Galahad?

  And if the question had an answer, it wasn’t one he wanted to face. Not now. Not yet. So it was that when she approached his loitering space, he turned away, determinedly immersing himself in deciding which brand of coffee he needn’t buy.

  He sensed her faltering step rather than heard it. Something more than the rustle of her clothing, or the scent of sunlight and flowers, warned of her nearness. An inexplicable awareness sent an uncommon disquiet racing through him.

  More to counter any feelings regarding Valentina’s latest lost lamb than an interest in the coffee he wouldn’t be drinking on a Belle Terre morning, he reached for a brightly labeled packet. Unexpectedly, their hands collided, but his a fraction behind. With a pilot’s instincts and reflexes, his fingers closed over hers, keeping the package from tumbling out of her grasp.

  For a moment neither moved nor spoke. Devlin stared down at a mass of hair ranging from dark gold to the palest silver, and falling from a center part. Barely realizing he was holding his breath, he waited for her head to lift.

  When she stirred, her unshielded gaze rising to his, her eyes were golden brown and fringed by dark lashes. Her look was remote, without emotion.

  “Pardon me.” Her voice was low and restrained, as remote, as emotionless, as her gaze. Each spare word was without accent, and perfectly enunciated in the quiet tone of a woman apart. A woman going through the motions of her life, taking each moment as it came. Coping…only coping.

  Devlin was struck by the conviction that there should be fire in those eyes. The light of the pleasure of life, the need of an accomplished woman to be all she had worked to be. Above all, there should be passion, desire, love, and contentment.

  Wondering how glorious that gaze would be alight with love, he responded belatedly, “What is there to pardon?”

  Turning from his study of her face to the packet they held jointly, Devlin’s lips moved in a rare smile. “Unless preferring the same brand of coffee is a problem for you, Mrs….?”

  The implied question seemed to fill the little space separating them. A simple question, but a look of haunting sadness altered the line of her lips. “It’s Miss. I’m not married. As I suspect you’ve observed.” Her voice was steady, hardly more than a breath. “And my name isn’t important.”

  Devlin’s smile, not the smile of old but one that would have set Valentina cheering, was undaunted. “Suppose I go first?”

  “No.” Her hair brushed over her shoulders with the slight shake of her head. “I don’t mean to insult you, but who you are doesn’t matter since it isn’t likely we’ll ever reach for the same package again. So, if you would give me back my hand, I’ll take my bit of coffee and leave you to the rest of your shopping.”

  “I’m called Devlin.”

  “My hand, please.” There was no anger in the reminder, no struggle to pull from his grasp.

  “You’re in a hurry?” His clasp didn’t ease.

  “My hand, please, Mr. Devlin.”

  “O’Hara.” Devlin wasn’t certain why he persisted, except that even anger would be an improvement over the lost, sad look.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  A spark of interest? Recognition of the name? Indignation? Or irritation, pure and simple? Whatever the reason, however coolly couched, he viewed a response of any sort as encouraging. “Devlin is my given name. O’Hara, my surname.”

  “Congratulations, Mr. O’Hara. I’m sure being a Devlin and an O’Hara is a marvelous experience.” A bit of life, albeit small, flashed in her gaze. “Now, if you’re through making a spectacle of both of us, I’d like to be on my way.”

  “Of course you would.” Releasing her, with a small bow, he stepped back. “Have a good day, Lady Golden Eyes.”

  Making no acknowledgment of the name he’d bestowed in lieu of the name she’d refused him, she dropped the disputed package in a basket looped over her wrist. Without a hint of anger, she turned and walked away. He’d been dismissed, as if he’d never existed.

  “Golden Eyes.” He called softly, but not so softly she didn’t hear. At her hesitant step, he said, “You forgot something.”

  Facing him, the frown line
deepening between her brows, she let her gaze sweep over him, seeing more than a face and a hand for the first time. “I beg your pardon, Mr. O’Hara?”

  The apology again. “You do that a lot, don’t you?”

  Her head tilted, her questioning look met his.

  “Never mind.” The grin that had been buried in grief for months warmed his face again. “It isn’t important.”

  “In that case, I’ll leave you to your shopping once more.”

  “The coffee.” Devlin indicated the silver foil package in her basket. “I was here first, that package is mine.”

  “Yours…?” With a start, she looked down at her basket then back again at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, there are others.”

  Devlin nodded. In recent neglect, his black hair had grown quite long—a lock fell over his forehead. Raking it back, he grinned again. “That’s the one I picked, and that’s the one I want.”

  This time no flicker of emotion showed in her face. “In that case.” Taking the coffee from her basket, she returned to him. Taking his hand in hers, offering no comment on the scars marring his palm, she placed the packet in his grasp. “Be my guest, Mr. I’m-called-Devlin O’Hara.”

  Spinning about, she walked away, dismissing him again. He started to call out, to apologize, but he’d disturbed her enough for one day. Or any day, for he wouldn’t be around for more.

  He would keep to the letter of the half day he’d promised Valentina. Then he would turn his back on Belle Terre and the woman his sister thought could be saved.

  “Perhaps she can.” His lips barely moved, his words only a breath more than a thought. As he watched her move down the aisle, he remembered details he’d missed from afar—the frown line etched between her tawny brows, shadows lying like bruises beneath lightless eyes. The bittersweet tilt of a beautiful mouth.

  A mouth meant for kisses, not sorrow.

  While he struggled to put the errant thought aside, Devlin O’Hara felt a twinge of regret that he couldn’t erase the frown, or put a sparkle back in her eyes. On impulse he’d called her Lady Golden Eyes, but he suspected that in moments of unbridled anger or love those eyes would be as bfiercely golden brown as a tigress’s.