The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 4

by Nora Roberts

  “If necessary. I can cross some off. Hank—the bushy beard and his build is huge. I’d never have missed that. Pete, because he’s too little. We talked about this before, right after, but never really focused on it.”

  “No, I guess we didn’t.”

  “So, anyone over, say, sixty-five, under twenty. This wasn’t an old man orakid. Anyone with a beard or mustache, considerably over or under average height and weight. I know he might not be in the Fist—”

  “Yeah, I think he is.”

  “Why?”

  “You didn’t hear a car last night. How’d he get away from the cabin without one?”

  “Walked?”

  “Maybe had a car far enough away not to be noticed. But, if this is someone from outside, he’d have to be in and around enough to get your routine, to know when you’re out of your place, at work, here. Somebody would notice and, however innocently, comment. Comments get around.”

  “They do,” Reece agreed. “They really do.”

  “And nobody’s stayed at the hotel for more than a week since April. No single men for more than two. Some of the cabins have rented, but again not for long and all to families or groups. Could be a family man or part of a group, but it doesn’t play as well for me.”

  “You’ve done some research.”

  “One of my things. Could be camping,” Brody continued, “but he’d have to come in for supplies. Even if he went somewhere else for them, he’d have to come in to get a handle on your routine, to do what he’s done. If he came in more than once, he gets noticed. So, going with that reasoning, he’s one of us.”

  “Brody, I don’t want to call the police in again unless it’s…let’s be dramatic. Unless it’s life or death.”

  “Just you and me, Slim.”

  “I like you and me.”

  “Funny. So do I.”

  SHE DECIDED TO offset the stir-fry of the night before with a manly meal of pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans and biscuits. While the potatoes cooked and the chops marinated, she sat down at the kitchen table with her laptop.

  The list came first, every male in Angel’s Fist she could think of who fit her very wide profile.

  Along with the names, she keyed in the basics she knew of them.

  William (Lo) Butler, late twenties. Lived in Angel’s Fist most of his life. Knows the area well, understands tracking, hiking, camping, etc.

  (Could the couple by the river have come there on horseback?) Cowboy type, womanizer. Drives a pickup. Easy access to Joanie’s office—and keys. Violent streak when riled, as demonstrated at Clancy’s.

  It seemed so cold, she thought as she read. And unfair perhaps not to note that he seemed so sweet-natured, loved his mother and had considerable charm.

  She continued with Reuben.

  Early to mid-thirties,she supposed.Employed at Circle K Guest Ranch. Knows area well, as above. Good with his hands. Pickup—with gun rack. Is in town at least once a week. Likes to sing at Clancy’s. Previous affair with married woman (possibly victim).

  She blew out a breath. She knew he liked his meat rare, his potatoes fried and his pie à la mode. That didn’t say much for her purposes.

  She continued on, listing names, information, then stopped with a twinge of guilt as she thought of Doc Wallace. He was hitting toward the top of her age barrier. But he was healthy, even robust. He hiked, fished and was welcome everywhere. And wouldn’t a man who healed know how to kill?

  Then there was Mac Drubber, Dean, Liquor Store Jeff, the stalwart sheriff, accommodating Lynt. And more besides. The idea of listing them all, men she knew, some she considered friends, made her feel a little ill.

  She made herself finish, copied to a thumb drive. When she had put the laptop away, she soothed her nerves and guilt with cooking.

  ACROSS THE LAKE, Lo knocked on Linda-gail’s door. He had a single pink rose in his hand and lust in his belly.

  When the door opened, he held out the rose and said, “Hey, baby.”

  Linda-gail ignored the rose and fisted a hand on her hip. “What do you want?”

  “You.” He made a grab for her with his free hand, but she stepped back and gave the door a boot that nearly slammed it into his face.

  He caught it on the shoulder, butted it open again. “What’s the problem. Jesus, Linda-gail.”

  “I don’t take flowers from liars. So you can just turn around and get your boots walking.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” This time he kicked the door when she swung it. “Cut that out. I put in fourteen hours today so I could get tonight off and see you.”

  “Is that so? Seems unfair when you had to work extra last night, too. With a colicky horse.” She saw his wince, and her eyes narrowed. “You lying son of a bitch. You may have been rolling in the hay, but it wasn’t with any damn horse.”

  “It wasn’t like that. Just hold on.”

  “How could you lie to me like that?” She swung on her heel, stomped away. “I told you I wouldn’t be one of the herd for you, Lo.”

  “You’re not. You couldn’t be. Hell, you never were. Let’s just sit down a minute.”

  “I don’t want you sitting down in my house. I gave you what you wanted. Now it’s done.”

  “Don’t say that. Linda-gail. Honey. It’s not anything like what you think.”

  “Then what is it, Lo? You didn’t lie to me?”

  He shoved back his hat. “Well, yeah, I did, but—”

  “Get out.”

  He tossed the rose, then his hat, aside. “I’m not leaving like this. Yeah, I lied to you about last night, but I had a good reason to.”

  “Oh? And what’s her name?”

  The frustration, the hint of embarrassment hardened on his face into cold anger. “I don’t cheat. Never have, not with women, not with cards, not with anything. If I’m ready to move on, then I break it off first. I don’t two-time anyone. Why would I start with you when you’re the one who matters?”

  “I don’t know.” Her eyes filled. “I wish I did.”

  “I wasn’t with another woman, Linda-gail. I swear it.”

  “And I’m just supposed to take your word on that, when you’ve already lied to me?”

  “You got a point. But I’ve got one, too. If you love me, you need to trust me on this one thing.”

  “Trust gets earned, William.” Furious with them, she dashed the tears away. “Tell me where you were.”

  “I can’t. Not yet. Don’t turn away. Don’t, honey. I had something I needed to do. It wasn’t another woman.”

  “Then why won’t you tell me?”

  “I will, if you just wait till Saturday night.”

  “What’s Saturday night got to do with it?”

  “I can’t tell you that, either, or not all of it. But it’s all part of the whole thing. Give me until Saturday night. I want a Saturday night date with you.”

  She finally gave up, sat down. “You want a date with me after you lied and won’t tell me why?”

  “That’s right. Trust me on this one thing. I’m banking it’ll be worth it to you.” He crouched down now, brushed a tear from her cheek. “I swear on my life, Linda-gail, it wasn’t another woman.”

  She sniffled. “You rob a bank?”

  And he smiled, slow and utterly charming. “No, not exactly. Do you love me?”

  “It seems I do, though it’s awfully inconvenient and annoying right this minute.”

  “I love you, too. It’s getting so I like saying it.”

  She took his face so she could study it closely. “You’ve got till Saturday night, and God help me, Lo, I believe you when you say it wasn’t another woman. I don’t see how you’d hurt me that way. So don’t make a fool out of me.”

  “I couldn’t if I tried.” He took her wrists, then leaned in to touch his lips to hers. “I wouldn’t if I could.”

  “I was going to make a pizza,” she announced. “I like pizza when I’m feeling sad and mad. I guess I like it however I’m
feeling. You can share my pizza, Lo, but you’re not sharing my bed. If I have to wait for Saturday night for the truth, you’ll have to wait until then for sex.”

  “I guess that’s fair. Painful, but fair.” He got to his feet, reached out a hand for hers. “You got a beer to go with the pie?”

  HE WAS COMING, through the dark, through the wind. Her boots rang on the hard-packed trail. Could he hear them? She heard nothing but the wind and the river, but she knew he was coming, moving steadily behind her like a shadow, slipping closer and closer. Soon his breath would be on the back of her neck; soon his hand would curl around her throat.

  She’d lost all sense of direction. How had she gotten here? Her only choice was ahead, up and up so that her legs wept with the effort.

  The slice of moon showed her the curve of the trail, the rock face, the dangerous and hypnotic gleam of the river below. It showed her the way, but the way held no escape. And it would guide him to her.

  She chanced a look behind her, saw nothing but sky and canyon. Relief came with a choked sob. She’d gotten away, somehow. If she could just keep going, keep running, she’d find her way back. She’d be safe again.

  But when she turned, stumbling forward, he was there. In front of her now, impossible. Blocking her path. Still she couldn’t see his face, couldn’t know him.

  “Who are you?” She screamed it out in a voice that blew across the wind. “Who the hell are you?”

  As he came toward her, the fingers of his gloved hands curling, uncurling, she made her choice. She jumped.

  The wind slapped her. Back into the kitchen at Maneo’s. A spin to the door, another faceless man, this one in a hooded jacket. The blast of a gun. Pain exploded—the impact of the bullet, the impact of the water.

  The river closed over her, the pantry door shut.

  And there was no light, there was no air. No life.

  SHE WOKE WITH Brody gripping her arms.

  “Snap out of it,” he ordered. “Right now.”

  “I jumped.”

  “What you did was fall out of bed.”

  “I died.”

  Her skin was slicked with sweat, and his own heart was still skipping several beats. “You look pretty lively to me. Bad dream, that’s all. You were putting up a hell of a fight.”

  “I…what?”

  “Kicking, clawing. Come on. Up.”

  “Wait. Just wait.” She needed to orient herself. The dream was brutally clear, every detail. Until she hit the water, or fell into the pantry. “I was running,” she said slowly. “And he was there. I jumped. Into the river. But then, it got mixed up. Or it blended. I was falling into the river, I was falling into the pantry at Maneo’s. But I didn’t just sink.” She pressed a hand to his chest, felt the warmth against her cold skin. “I didn’t just give up.”

  “No. I’d say you were fighting your way to the surface. You were trying to swim.”

  “Okay. Okay. Good for me. About damn time.”

  27

  GETTING UP EARLY every day changed Brody’s perspective.

  He saw more sunrises, and some of them were worth the trouble of prying his eyes open. He got more work done, which was going to make his agent and his editor happy. It gave him more time to poke around his cabin, and consider the possibility of change.

  The location was good, and while he’d toyed on and off with the possibility of buying instead of renting, maybe he should get more serious about becoming a home owner.

  Investment value, equity.

  Mortgage, maintenance.

  Well, you had to take the bad with the good.

  And if he owned the place, he could expand his office, maybe add on a deck. Better view of the lake from up there, especially in the summer when the leaves thickened up. In summer, he could barely catch a glint of the water from the first-floor windows.

  A deck would be a nice place, he mused, to sit in the morning and have coffee, gear up for the day.

  He stood at the window of his office now, with coffee, picturing the change. It could be good.

  One chair or two? he asked himself as he imagined the deck. If keeping the cabin was a big step, keeping the woman was a giant leap over a chasm.

  He’d always enjoyed women, for their brains as well as their bodies. But if anyone had told him he’d one day want a very specific woman around all the time, he’d have reeled off a long list of reasons why such a possibility wasn’t for him.

  Now, with Reece, he couldn’t think of one item for the list.

  Having her around started his day early, that was true. And he’d gotten into the habit, once he’d quit theTrib , of rolling out of bed whenever he damn well felt like it. But there was always coffee, really good coffee he didn’t have to make himself. And food. Hard to overstate the advantages of getting up to food and coffee every morning.

  And her voice. The smell of her. The way shearranged things. Ingredients for a meal, her clothes, the pillows on the bed. He’d found himself ridiculously charmed by the way she folded the bathroom towels over the rung.

  That was a little sick. Probably.

  But what man could resist the way those amazing eyes of her stayed a little blurry for the first half hour in the morning?

  She was a more compelling reason to get out of bed every morning than the most spectacular sunrise.

  She was troubled, complicated and would probably never shake off all her phobias and neuroses. But that’s what made her Reece, made her interesting. What sucked him in. There was nothing, absolutely nothing run-of-the-mill about Reece Gilmore.

  “Two chairs,” he decided. “It’s going to have to be two chairs.”

  Turning away from the window, he went to his desk. He picked up the thumb drive she’d given him. When he booted up, he saw there were two documents on the drive. One headedCB, the otherLIST .

  “Cookbook thing,” he mumbled, and wondered if she meant for him to have it, or had slipped up. Well, either way, he had it now.

  He opened that first, started reading the text she had headed asINTRO.

  The in-laws are coming into town unexpectedly—tomorrow…It’s the third date, and you’re making her dinner. And hoping to follow it up with breakfast in bed…It’s your turn to host your book club…Your perfect sister invited herself and her fiancé—the doctor—to dinner…Your son volunteered you to make cupcakes for the entire class…

  Don’t panic.

  No matter how busy you are, how overwhelmed, how inexperienced you might be in the kitchen, it’s going to be fine. In fact, it’s going to be spectacular. I’m going to walk you through it, every step.

  From the sumptuous to the casual, from tailgate parties to elegant dining and everything in between, you’re the chef.

  All right, I’m the chef. But you’re about to become a Casual Gourmet.

  “Not bad,” he decided, reading on. She’d woven in little bits about time, equipment, lifestyles. Kept it all light, a little frothy. Accessible.

  After the introduction, she’d included a basic summary of the tone of the book she was proposing, then half a dozen recipes. The instructions—with bits of pep talk—were clear enough that he thought it might not be completely impossible for him to follow one through himself.

  Topping each were stars, running from one to four. Degree of difficulty, he noted. Smart. In parentheses, she’d made a note suggesting the asterisks might be chefs’ hats.

  “Clever girl, aren’t you, Slim?”

  He considered for a moment, then composed a quick e-mail to his agent. And attached Reece’s file.

  He closed it, opened her list.

  Oh yeah, she was clever, he thought again. Her little sketches of the men were insightful and on target. Maybe it surprised him to find names like Mac Drubber and Doc Wallace, but she was thorough. And he enjoyed reading comments about Mac such asmildly flirtatious ,likes to gossip.

  He’d have to ask Reece what she’d have put after his name if she’d included him on her list.

  He
edited in some of his own comments, observations. She couldn’t have known, for instance, that Deputy Denny had gotten his heart broken by a girl who’d worked as a maid at the hotel, had strung him along for six months, then blown out of town with a biker the previous autumn.

  He saved the updated file, copied both it and the cookbook data to his machine.

  When he’d finished, it was still shy of eight in the morning.

  Nothing left to do but go to work.

  He broke at eleven, went down to the kitchen to switch coffee for Coke and added a handful of pretzels. He was munching down on the first of them when his phone rang. He scowled, as he always did when the phone rang, then lightened up when the caller ID readout showed his agent.

  “Hi, Lyd. It’s going good,” he told her when she asked about the book. He looked at the cursor on his screen. Today it was his friend. Other days, it might be the enemy. Then he smiled when she asked if he had time to talk about the proposal from his friend. “Yeah, I got a few minutes. What did you think?”

  WHEN HE HUNG UP, he scratched around through his piles of notes for the copy he’d made of Reece’s schedule. He found it between a gun magazine—research—and a printout on the plasma TV he was thinking of buying.

  He looked at the clock, back at the cursor. And decided he wasn’t going to feel guilty for knocking off early.

  HE WANDERED INTO Joanie’s just as Reece was stripping off her apron. He leaned on the counter. She had her hair bundled up, and the heat from the grill had her face flushed. She looked soft, he thought.

  “You eat anything you cooked today?” he asked her.

  “Not exactly.”

  “Pack something up.”

  “Pack something up? What’s this? Another picnic?”

  “No. It’s lunch. Hey, Bebe, how’s it going?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “Ah…congratulations?”

  “Easy for you to say. You don’t have morning sickness. The fun never ends.” But she smiled, eased her feet by leaning on the counter across from him. “Jim’s hoping for a girl this time. I wouldn’t mind. How come you never ask me to pack something up, Brody?”