by BJ James
“He came from the river,” Adams said, rather than asked.
“We’re pretty sure he did.” Jericho’s gaze skimmed over the gathering of onlookers. Staid and proper, even in nightclothes. “I can’t see that he could go unobserved any other way.”
“Even if he took something, you still won’t think robbery was his motive, will you, Jericho?”
“Neither will you, when you see,” the sheriff warned.
Touching her cheek, Adams bent to Eden. “Why don’t you wait here, sweetheart? Jericho and I can handle this.”
“No,” Eden protested. “If there was an intrusion, it’s my place to deal with it.”
Adams didn’t try to dissuade her. It hadn’t taken him long to learn that Eden fought her own battles. “Then we’ll go together.”
Escorted by Adams and Jericho, as Eden walked to the river cottage, she remembered wondering how long Adams’ good mood and happiness would last. This, she feared, was the answer.
Seven
“Oh no!”
As Adams listened to her whispered dismay and watched helplessly, Eden wandered through the chaos. There were no tears and beyond that single, stifled cry of horror, she didn’t speak.
She simply drifted through the rooms like a pale specter, her hands clasped before her as if she struggled against the urge to set things aright. But Jericho had warned that she mustn’t touch, mustn’t correct. What he asked of her was a visual inventory made by one most familiar with the cottage and its vintage treasures.
Cullen had done a methodical walk-through, stating that, though nothing was as it should be, neither had anything been taken. Eden understood that what the sheriff needed was her concurrence with Cullen’s thoughts and his own suspicion.
Cullen was right—nothing had escaped the destruction. Every room bore evidence of a madman’s rampage. Cushions were slashed, chairs and tables were smashed or overturned. Pieces of artwork, not priceless but valuable, were shattered, slit, smashed or spattered with paint. Walls, carpet and tile were covered with obscenities in the same red paint that puddled into pools like blood.
Even the bedroom hadn’t escaped the violent rampage. Not one piece of furniture remained intact. Glass from mirrors was strewn over the floor. Garbage more filthy and squalid than any Eden had ever seen had been dumped in the middle of the bed.
Garbage brought from somewhere else. All meant to violate the bed where Adams slept. Where he had made love to her.
Sickened by the desecrated memory, Eden leaned against a small space of wall that had escaped the wholesale destruction. With heavy-lidded eyes, she traced the path of a human tornado.
No, she corrected herself. Not a tornado, human or inhuman. This was too methodical. Too purposeful. Too intently malevolent. And very carefully planned.
She’d walked through the river cottage like a zombie. Now she became aware of an incongruous fragrance. A gentle, seductive fragrance, obscene in this circumstance.
Eden raised her head and her gaze sought Adams. Adams who hadn’t touched her and hadn’t spoken, but had never been more than a touch or a word away, if she needed either. If she needed him. When their eyes met now, she knew he recognized the fragrance of spilled Umu Hei Monoi mingling with the stench of garbage. She knew the memories it stirred, the regret he felt as deeply as she.
“Who?” she murmured. “Why?”
“We don’t know, Eden. Not for sure.” Jericho moved from the bedroom doorway to stand by her side.
Jericho, as big as a bear and twice as tough, twice as grim. Only Cullen was bigger, tougher, grimmer. Eden knew both would protect her and all that was hers with their lives. Yet it was the smaller, leaner man, who watched her with his heart in his eyes, for whom she longed.
“You don’t know, but you have an idea, don’t you?” If she hadn’t known Jericho well enough to read the truth in his manner, she would have guessed from the look that had passed between the sheriff and Adams on the walk.
“An idea is all we have. We’ll check it out thoroughly.” Jericho’s tone was apologetic. “But an idea and proof are two different matters. To be honest, I don’t expect to find any proof.
“This…” A gesture encompassed the room and the cottage. “This may look like mindless destruction, but there was nothing mindless about it. Insane, maybe, but not mindless. I would stake my reputation on my conviction that whoever did this left nothing behind. No clues, no fingerprints, no telltale reminders to taunt us. Nothing.”
“You mean Junior Rabb, don’t you?” Eden’s shadowed gaze met Adams’ first, before moving to Jericho. “You were afraid of something like this. That’s why you came to warm Adams the night his brothers were at the inn. You expected it.”
Jericho’s face grew grimmer. “I expected some sort of retaliation, yes. But nothing like this. I didn’t anticipate anything so soon, or that you would be dragged into it.”
“Jericho.” As Adams moved to take Eden’s arm, he looked up at the taller man. “Eden’s seen enough. Surely we can continue this conversation in more pleasant surroundings.”
“You’re right,” Jericho conceded. “We can and we should.”
“I assume you have a few more details and procedures to attend to here.” Barely waiting for Jericho’s nod of assent, Adams continued, “While you’re finishing up, I’d like to take Eden to the inn. When she’s comfortable and you’re ready, I’ll come back to check through my personal things.”
Casting a last look at the mayhem, for which he vowed penance if not retribution, Adams scowled in angry disgust. “I agree with Jericho. This was malicious destruction, sending a warning.”
With Jericho’s accord, escorted by the broodingly silent Cullen who hovered like an avenging angel with no focus for his vengeance, Adams walked with Eden to the inn. In the library, Cullen excused himself with a bow and a fiercely protective look, then left them. But, Adams knew beyond any doubt, the islander wouldn’t go far from Eden or for very long.
“I’m sorry, Eden,” Adams said dejectedly when they were alone and she had dropped to the sofa in shock and exhaustion. “I’m sorry I did this to you.”
“You’re sorry?” Eden’s eyes were huge. Strain from the ordeal lay beneath them like bruises. “I won’t let you shoulder the blame for what happened here tonight. It wasn’t your fault.”
“But I was the target.” Adams had risen from his chair to pace the room. Like a claustrophobic jungle cat, he moved with lethal grace from window to door and corner to corner. “There’s no denying it. If I hadn’t been the current occupant of the river cottage, it would still be as pristine as the day I arrived.”
“It will be again.” Eden abandoned argument in favor of optimism. “As soon as Jericho completes his investigation, we can call in the cleaning service, the upholsterers and the painters. The cottage will be as good as new.”
“Will it?” Adams halted in his pacing to look at her. “What about the paintings? The pottery? Have you forgotten the splintered decoys? They can’t be replaced or repaired.”
“They were insured.”
“Right.” Bitterness turned his voice harsh. “If I remember my history correctly, this house has been in your family for years. No,” Adams corrected, “for centuries. Some of the treasures you lost tonight were part of your family legacy.”
Crossing to her, putting a finger beneath her chin, he lifted her face for his scrutiny. “When I was growing up, I heard Gus talk about the decoys—how old they were, how rare, how valuable. I know they were part of your father’s collection, and his favorites. Gus didn’t admire many people, but Ted Roberts, collector and hunter extraordinaire, was an exception.”
A strange expression, a mix of surprise and amazement, flitted over Adams’ face. “I’d forgotten until this minute that the only time I ever saw Gus shed a tear was when he heard your mother and dad were lost on a hunting expedition near the Amazon.”
For the second time in Eden’s presence, Adams had recalled a forgotten facet of G
us’ personality. A recollection that made the unbending martinet more human. “If Gus cared that much, then Ted Roberts must have been quite a man.”
“He lived to hunt,” Eden said. “My mother lived for him. So much so that she left me with my grandparents regularly to go with him on his hunts. I was two when they were lost in a boating accident on the Amazon. I don’t remember them, Adams.” Holding his gaze, refusing to be distracted, she added softly, “Yes, the decoys were my father’s and, yes, they’re irreplaceable. I never wanted to lose them, but I won’t die for the lack of them.”
She almost added, as she might for the lack of Adams. But, just this evening, she’d made her bargain with him and with herself. She would let him go on his own terms, when he must. But not yet. Not because of the vengeful hatred of Junior Rabb.
“We’ll rebuild and repair. I’ve done it before. You were right, River Walk has been in my family forever. One of my distant grandfathers had it built for his mistress. After that the house had a checkered past. Some of it pleasant, some not. Finally it became the family repository. A tattered remnant of lost affluence, reduced to a warehouse for family junk. And, finally, my parents’ and grandparents’ treasures.”
“You say ‘junk’ and ‘remnant,’ Eden. But when you returned to Belle Terre to reclaim the house, you could refurbish with the authentic, irreplaceable family heirlooms that were waiting for you. All of which, along with your own artistry, contribute to the unique charm of River Walk and the cottage,” Adams finished for her, refusing to allow her to disparage all she’d accomplished and all she’d lost. “An invaluable part has been taken from you and from River Walk in an act of malicious vandalism. Because of me.”
Tilting her cheek into his palm, Eden covered his hand with hers. “The decoys can be repaired. They were before, when my father found them and restored them. The paintings, the sculptures were copies and can be replaced. In no time, the river cottage will look as if nothing ever happened. You’ll see.”
“No, Eden.” Taking his hand from her clasp, giving himself space to say what he must, Adams walked away. Not to the window, not to the view of the cottage. He needed no reminder that he’d brought this down on her because of who he was, perhaps, because of what he’d become. “I can’t stay here. It was a mistake to choose River Walk in the first place.”
Eden had grown pale. “If you leave Belle Terre, will you leave your brothers, as well? Must they save Belle Reve alone?”
Adams turned away from Eden’s distress. “I should leave, go back where I belong. If I had half a functioning brain, I would say to hell with Belle Reve, Belle Terre and Junior Rabb. But I gave my word to Gus. And I owe it to my brothers to stay.”
“Then you’re only leaving River Walk and Belle Terre.”
“As soon as Jericho gives me the okay.”
“Why, Adams? I knew you would leave someday.” Because she didn’t want him to see her despair, Eden looked down at her hands as they lay twined and rigid in her lap. “Why now?”
“Have you not been listening? Dammit, can’t you see that I caused this? How many times do I have to say it?” As her head lifted and her stricken look met his, Adams couldn’t continue his tirade. He couldn’t bear not touching her, not comforting her.
In swift strides he crossed to her, taking her in his arms as he sat by her. “I’m sorry.” Cradling her head against his shoulder, he kissed her hair, her cheeks, her eyes. “I’m not angry with you. How could I be?”
Moving her away from him only the little needed to look at her, he traced the line of her cheek. “I’m not leaving because I want to. I have to. If this was Junior Rabb tonight, he’s shown how much he hates me and how dangerous his hatred can be.
“If he can’t destroy me, he’ll destroy something of mine. Where I live, what I love, anything.” Drawing her back into his arms, resting his cheek on her gleaming hair, he spoke softly. “If he suspected we were ever lovers, he would come after you. I can’t let than happen, Eden. If he hurt you…”
“He won’t, Adams.” Eden pulled away. Her eyes were blazing with anger. “He’s too much the coward. He saves his wrath for inanimate objects. Not people who can see how little he is.”
“Maybe,” Adams agreed quietly. “But we can’t take that chance. I can’t take that chance.”
With a shake of her head, Eden stared at him, not comprehending the dire promise he made.
“Don’t you see, sweetheart?” Framing her face between thumb and forefinger, with her chin nestled in the juncture, he lifted her face again, capturing her gaze. Keeping it. “I didn’t kill him thirteen years ago. But if he hurt you, or even tried…this time I would.”
“So, to protect me you would leave and break off all contact.” She kept her voice calm and level. What he was proposing was exactly what she should’ve expected of Adams Cade, ever her champion. Ever her protector. Not because he feared the consequences of his actions, but because he feared for her.
“There’s no other option, Eden. None.”
Because he felt so strongly, to entice her into agreement he tried to make it seem as if he were protecting himself from what he might do. Eden would never be fooled by such an absurd thought. But for Adams, because he needed her compliance, however achieved, she would yield to his judgment.
Caught in his mesmerizing gaze, with a small tilting of her head, Eden expressed her silent, reluctant agreement.
“Then you understand?” Adams must have her say the words. He had to know she understood the danger and that, when he was gone from her, she would be cautious.
“Yes, Adams,” Eden repeated dutifully, “I understand.”
“Thank you.” He would have kissed her then. With the devil or Junior Rabb looking on, he would have kissed her. But the last opportunity was snatched from him.
“Adams.” Jericho stood in the doorway with Cullen hovering behind him. “We’re ready for you at the cottage.”
“I’ll be there shortly, Jericho.”
“You need a minute to say your goodbyes.” The sheriff smiled his permission, though he knew it was ridiculous. Adams would say and do what he intended with or without permission. “I’ll wait in the kitchen.”
When Jericho had gone and Cullen had disappeared, Adams gathered her hands in both of his. Lifting them to his mouth, with his lips he stroked her knuckles and the delicate tracery of veins that shone pale blue beneath the sun-warmed color of her skin. “Take care,” he said softly, “never be alone in public places. Never forget our caution may be pitifully late. Junior might know what we’ve been to each other. I don’t know how, but he might.
“If he has any idea, he’ll understand that hurting you would be more intolerable than anything he could do to me.” Adams voice took on a desperate note. “Jericho will assign a deputy to watch over you. But count on yourself. Listen to your own instincts. Never let down your guard. Never, sweetheart.”
Releasing her as she stared wordlessly at him, Adams stood. Towering over her, he touched her cheek one last time and left her without a backward look.
Numb and incapable of moving, Eden heard the murmur of voices in the hall. Cullen had lurked just beyond the door. Not eavesdropping—the massive islander would never deliberately eavesdrop. But he would protect her as Adams would. As Adams had.
Their voices were low but clear, as Eden heard Adams charge Cullen with her care. “Keep her safe, Cullen.”
“I will,” the normally reticent islander replied.
“If Junior Rabb should come, if he should hurt her…”
“I will kill him.” Cullen’s reply was his solemn vow.
“I know. I’ve always known.” After a pause Adams spoke again. “Thank you for all you’ve done for her.”
“Doing for Mistress Eden is one of life’s pleasures, Mr. Adams. I have no need for gratitude.”
There was more Eden didn’t understand, and the report of flesh against flesh. A familiar sound recalling the salute of boys and young men. Cullen had just been
inducted into the brotherhood of the Cades. Stranger things could happen, but nothing kinder.
A kindness that eased her own despair as she listened to the cadence of retreating footsteps. Adams footsteps.
“Mr. Adams.” The islander’s call halted his departure.
“Just Adams, Cullen.”
“Yes, a good name. I will miss you, Adams Cade. We will all miss you. When this is resolved, you will come back.”
“Wishful words, for all of us. But no, I won’t be back.”
Eden heard footsteps once again, and the quiet closing of a door. Her head was down, her eyes hot and burning, when she felt a touch at her shoulder.
“He’s wrong,” Cullen said in his little-used voice. “He will be back. I promise.”
“The officer in charge isn’t at her desk at the moment, but she asked that I escort you to Sheriff Rivers’ office.” The baby-faced deputy, who looked barely old enough to be trusted with a razor, circled the absent officer’s desk. “Right this way, sir.”
As Adams followed the young man’s lead, a memory surfaced. His escort was Court Hamilton, who had been twelve, a friend of Jefferson’s and a rising baseball star, when Adams left the low country. He would be twenty-five now, a year younger than Jefferson. Yet he looked much younger.
Time and circumstances and coping with Gus hadn’t robbed Jefferson of his startling, golden-boy good looks. Yet they had stamped him with a visage of maturity beyond his years.
With Lincoln and Jackson, and Jefferson, as well, the hardships of their lives were readily apparent. In the lines and heavy-shouldered musculature of their bodies. In the weathered tone of their skin. All of which spoke of grueling physical labor—in sun, or rain, or heat, and in the cold.
The level, shrewd and sometimes penetrating gaze of each spoke of phenomenal discipline and determination. But of all the brothers, including Adams, only Jefferson bore the haunted look.
A truth that Court Hamilton, with his lingering youth and unmarked face, brought home as nothing ever had. Of course, Adams had known Jefferson suffered when his eldest brother was sentenced to years in prison. Until this vivid comparison, he’d never understood the depth or the toll of that suffering.
