Devlin's Light

by Mariah Stewart

  “Well, I think India just needed to know that you knew, isn’t that right, India?” His eyes bored through her. “She didn’t mean to scare you, Corri, and you didn’t do anything wrong. She just didn’t know that you know not to let anyone talk you into going off with them.”

  “Nick’s right, and I am sorry, Corri. I’m not used to being”—she paused, not knowing how to phrase it—“responsible for little girls. I am trying, Corri, so please bear with me. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of Mr. Carson. I had no way of knowing who he was or why he was speaking to you.”

  Corri just nodded.

  “In all fairness to India, Corri, we really have no way of knowing if Mr. Carson was who he said he was, do we?” Nick stirred some sugar into his coffee.

  “You mean maybe he wasn’t writing a dinosaur book?” Her eyes widened at the prospect. “Maybe he didn’t write the grasshopper book?”

  “I don’t know if he did or not,” Nick told her.

  “Boy!” Corri’s breath came out in one long steady stream of exasperation, her face clouded over with disgust.

  “It’s a very sad thing, Corri, but there are a lot of people who can’t be trusted.” Nick put his fork down and nodded to her that it was, in fact, sad but true.

  “You mean bad guys?” Corri asked. “Like the bad guys India sends to jail?”

  “Exactly.” He turned to India now and leveled those brown eyes at her, as if understanding was beginning to dawn.

  “Exactly,” she repeated.

  “India, if a bad guy got me, would you send him to jail?” Corri asked innocently, waving a french fry through a puddle of catsup on her plate.

  India froze momentarily. “Of course I would,” she told Corri.

  “I thought so.” Corri reached for another fry, oblivious to the panic that had welled up inside of India, or the concern that was beginning to fill Nick. She simply began to chatter again.

  “Would you like something for dessert?” Nick asked when they had finished their sandwiches. “I think they have ice cream. They also had some cakes and brownies.”

  “The baked goods looked pretty sad to me,” India told him, then turned to Corri. “But they serve a good brand of ice cream here.”

  “Ice cream.” Corri nodded.

  “Come on then.” Nick rose, taking the two trays in one hand. “We’ll see what flavors they have.”

  They were back in moments, Corri carrying a bowl1 crowded with two large scoops of chocolate ice cream and three spoons.

  “We got you a spoon,” Corri told her, “in case you wanted some.”

  “Thank you, sweetie, but no.”

  She watched both Nick and Corri dig in. Watching the two of them chased the dragons from her soul and brought the warmth back into her heart. When Nick left them in search of napkins, India picked up the extra spoon and took a swipe off one side of the chocolate mound.

  Corri giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” India asked.

  “Nick said you wouldn’t be able to resist.”

  “He did, did he?” India reached across the table and smoothed her hair.

  “You know, they could really use some of Darla’s Delectables here,” Nick said as he placed a pile of napkins on the table. “Given the quality of the rest of the food—my roast beef sandwich was excellent—you’d think they’d have something better to offer in the way of desserts.”

  “Maybe I should mention that to her.”

  “She does have an excellent product, and the clientele here seems to be pretty much upscale.” His eyes wandered over the sea of well-dressed urban types who filled the room, stopping on the figure of Mr. Carson, who stood talking to a young boy, who appeared engrossed in what the man was telling him.

  “Can I throw this stuff away?” Corri held up the bowl holding the spoons and the napkins, now streaked with brown where she had dabbed at the chocolate lump, which had landed on her T-shirt.

  “Sure.” India watched the child bounce off in search of a trash can, then followed Nick’s stare. He was still watching Carson.

  “You never really know, Nick,” she told him. “He might well be a writer of children’s books just talking to his young readers. Then again, he might be something more.”

  “I understand that your work would make you more sensitive to this than some others of us might be,” he said, turning his gaze to her, “but I can’t help but think this goes a lot deeper than that.”

  She ignored him, choosing to stand up as Corri returned, asking, “Are we ready? Can we go see the big dinosaur upstairs again? Did you know there are Indian houses upstairs? Can we see them too?”

  Indy heard Nick sigh as he rose and followed them through the crowd.

  Chapter 13

  “Is that Georgia?” Corri would whisper every time a new dancer appeared upon the broad wooden stage that formed the focal point of the Paloma Center for the Performing Arts.

  “No,” Nick would answer, “I’ll tell you when I see her.”

  It soon became apparent, however, that with all the dancers in this modern ballet being costumed in identical short flame-red dresses and white powdered wigs, their faces stark white with vivid colors at the eyes and lips, the chances of picking Nick’s sister out in this crowd were slim to none. He told Corri so when intermission had arrived and he still wasn’t certain he had seen his youngest sibling on the big stage.

  “But we’ll go backstage afterward and meet her,” he promised, hoping that he’d be able to find her.

  India was quiet throughout the performance, her mind too restless on this night to indulge herself in the intricacies and tension of the dance. She had brought tensions of her own, and it was increasingly difficult to stay in her seat, to keep her mind on the stage and the story that the dancers were bringing to life.

  I should be home, reading deposition transcripts, she told herself. The trial starts on Tuesday, and here I sit at the ballet.

  One glance at Corri’s pert little face, so enraptured by the music and the costumes and the choreography, and Indy sighed aloud. It was worth a night away from her work, she decided, to share this evening with Corri. Enjoy it, she told herself, and she tried to force the scripting of her opening arguments from her mind.

  She felt Nick’s fingers seek her own and his hand close around hers.

  And spending time with Nick was good too.

  He must think I’m crazy, the way I went after Carson in the restaurant today. She shifted uncomfortably at the memory. The man’s stricken face had stayed with her through dinner—hamburgers and salad, which India had prepared for the three of them—and all the while she dressed for the evening. Thinking back to it had only brought back the rush of fear, and she shivered at the reminder. She had reacted like a mother wolf sensing danger to one of her cubs. And yet what reason did she have to suspect there had in fact been any danger?

  The resounding applause brought her back. The dancers now crossed the stage, two by two, taking their bows and acknowledging the approval of the audience. She rose as did the others, offering an ovation to the troupe.

  “Oh, goody, do we get to meet Georgia now?” Corri asked over the noise, and Nick nodded that they would.

  Following the crowd as the lines from each row snaked into the aisle, they headed first to the lobby, then sought the backstage area. It was a full twenty minutes after the performance before they finally found the dressing room.

  “Uh-oh.” Nick’s eyes darted around the crowded backstage lobby, where an entire troupe of women, all in white powdered wigs, identical costumes and makeup, had gathered to sign autographs and chat with friends and relatives.

  “Oh, no,” Corri groaned. “They still all look alike.”

  “India,” Nick said, laughing, “one of these women is my sister. Unfortunately, she could be that one, or that one, maybe the one over in the corner.”

  “Or perhaps the one right behind you.” A slender, red-garbed woman in Kabuki makeup tapped him on the shoulder
.

  “Georgia”—he embraced her—“I was about to give up.”

  “You really didn’t think I’d let you sneak out without giving me a hug, did you?” Georgia Enright wrapped her arms around her brother’s neck and gave him a squeeze.

  “Georgia, this is Corri.” He put an arm around the child’s shoulders.

  “Corri, Nicky has told me so much about you.” Georgia bent down and offered her hand to the little girl, who took it tentatively in her own. “I’m so happy to meet you.”

  “Hi,” whispered a star-struck Corri, who could barely believe that she was really there, backstage among the dancers, those larger-than-life figures who had so recently floated and flown across the stage for all to admire. To have one speak to her made her giddy.

  To India’s surprise, Georgia turned to her and said, “And of course, you’re India.” Georgia seemed to be sizing her up. “We were all very sorry about Ry.”

  “You knew my brother?” How had all the Enrights met her family without her having met any of them?

  “We met twice, when I was staying at Nicky’s with my mother and sister. He was a good friend to Nicky. We were all saddened to hear of his loss.”

  “I appreciate your saying so.”

  Georgia leaned over and whispered in India’s ear, “And of course, Mother has told me about you.”

  “She has?” India’s eyes rose halfway to her hairline. “Why?”

  “It seems Nicky has mentioned your name more than twice in the same conversation. A dead giveaway.” Georgia winked.

  “Dead giveaway of what?”

  “That my big brother’s smitten. I couldn’t wait to meet you, and now that I have, I can’t wait to tell Mother.” Georgia’s eyes danced, bright blue sparks in her stark white face. “And for once I actually got the scoop before Zoey. Yes!”

  And what exactly, India wondered, would Georgia pass on to Zoey?

  “Sibling rivalry can be such a bitch.” Georgia grinned gleefully. “She’ll be so jealous. And if she’s nice to me, I’ll even tell her that you’re as pretty as Nicky said.”

  “Who will be jealous?” Nick leaned over his diminutive sister.

  “Zoey. You know how she always has to be first. I can’t wait to tell her that I met India.”

  To India’s total amazement, Nick blushed.

  “What makes the feathers stay in your hair, Georgia? How come everyone is wearing wigs?” Corri’s interrogation began. “How come you’re not wearing a fluffy pink skirt and a little crown? Why is your face so white?”

  And why is your face so red, Nicky? India mused, thinking how charming, how adorable he looked, with the faint flush of color still fading from his cheeks. The palms of her hands still bore the delicate pressure from his callused fingers, and a hot rush passed through her, as unexpected to her as Nick’s blush had been.

  Better be careful, she cautioned herself, watching Nick as he made fond small talk, family talk, with his sister. This could become very complicated.

  Nick turned to her as if he had read her mind and flashed his very devastating smile in her direction.

  Very complicated indeed.

  And the complications had only begun, she discovered when they arrived back at the townhouse. After tucking Corri in to India’s own bed for the night, she came back downstairs to find Nick very cozy in the living room, making a fire in her fireplace, and a pot of tea sitting atop a magazine on the table in front of the sofa.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” He looked up from the hearth where he knelt, bellows in hand. “I thought a little soothing herb tea might be more restful than coffee.”

  India nodded, thinking that the thought of a soothing hot beverage was exactly what had prompted her to buy that box of tea months ago. She had brought it home and promptly plunked it in the cupboard, where it had sat, unopened and forgotten, ever since.

  “I’ll, ah, go get some cups.” She felt a sudden urge to flee to safety.

  “It’s done.” He grinned and pointed to the mantel, where two mugs of tea were already cooling.

  “Well, I guess you thought of everything,” she said, feeling all at once more like the guest than the hostess.

  “Well, almost everything.” Nick stood up and replaced the black iron poker in the stand resting next to the hearth. “I didn’t think to make hotel reservations for tonight. I was wondering if maybe you’d let me sleep on your sofa.”

  India looked up at him, wondering if he really expected her to fall for that one.

  “Nick, I have heard some pretty clever lines, but I haven’t heard ‘I don’t have a place to stay’ since I was in college and a boy from Dartmouth had hitched out to see me, hoping to get lucky.”

  Nick laughed goodnaturedly. “I know how it looks. I promise you that I will not make any attempt to climb into your bed. I swear it. At least not tonight. Especially since I think it’s going to be crowded enough, with Corri sleeping there.”

  He sat down next to her and looked into her eyes. How could anyone think straight while looking into those dreamy, warm brown eyes?

  “We have a long way to go, you and I,” he said softly. “There are too many things working on your mind right now. I’ll fight your demons with you, Indy, and then we’ll deal with us. But tonight you can relax, because I have no intention of pushing you somewhere you’re not ready to go.”

  It was a full minute before her brain had fully processed his words. Finally, when she found her voice, she said, “It could take a very long time, Nick, to put it all away. You don’t know what I’m up against.”

  “I have all the time in the world, Indy.” His face closed slowly with hers, his lips brushing the side of her jaw, tracing the line to her chin, then in little nibbles to her mouth, which was aching for his. She felt as if she was falling, falling, into a deep warm place where there were no bad guys and there was only warmth and peace.

  It terrified her to feel so safe. She was torn between losing herself in him, letting his kisses take her further and further away, and regaining her firm footing in the present, in reality. And yet was this not reality, this warmth spreading through her like molasses?

  His thumbs caressed her face on either side and she slid her hands to the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, needed him closer. She parted her lips slightly and drew him in, the taste of him turning her inside out and making her want only more. When she arched to him he lowered her down onto the sofa and covered her with his long body, his tongue running along the back of her front teeth, making her gasp softly, filling her with a heat she had read about but wasn’t sure really existed until she had met him. A large hand on her hip caressed her through her silky dress, and she knew it was itching to move one way or the other, up or down. She couldn’t decide which she’d prefer; she wanted his hands on her everywhere at once.

  From somewhere through the fog of need that had wrapped around her, she heard a voice whispering, “I think this is not a very good idea.”

  Opening one eye, she focused on what was closest— Nick’s face—and raised an eyebrow.

  “As much as I would just about kill right now to slide that silk over your head and do what comes naturally, I think it would be a very bad idea.”

  “Excuse me?” she squeaked.

  Surely she had not heard him clearly.

  “Something tells me that you will not be happy in the morning if you let yourself get carried away tonight. You will, I suspect, back off me as if I am diseased and retreat behind your trial list, and any hope I’ll ever have of keeping you will be lost.”

  She made a face and tried to make a protest at the same time, but she knew he was right and wondered how he got so smart.

  “I need you for more than one night, India, and I want all of you. I’m not going to let things happen too soon and make you turn away from me.” His voice was as sweet and soft as his kisses, and she leaned back to watch his eyes. “There are things eating away at your heart, and we are going to resolve them. But I don’
t know if you’re ready to talk about those things, and until you feel close enough to me to show me where it hurts, we’re going to go step by step. And that means I will sleep on the sofa, and you will sleep upstairs with Corri. And tomorrow I’ll make you both a big breakfast. But right now, we’re going to sit up and you’re going to tell me about the case you’re trying this week.”

  “You are not like any man I have ever known,” she whispered.

  “Good. That’s a good start, Indy.” He grinned. “A very good start. Now, tell me about the case.”

  He retrieved the mugs of tea he had made and she told him about Alvin Fletcher. And about his victims, and their families, and the pain this evil man had spread through so many good people. He watched her face, watched her eyes, and listened to the passion in her voice. By the time she had finished, Nick Enright had a very good idea of the nature of the beast he would have to slay in order to win the heart of India Devlin.

  He was ready to do whatever it took.

  The morning unmarred by the good colonel’s rousing early-morning march, it being Sunday, and the wonderful aromas drifting up the stairwell made India believe, for a moment, that she was waking up in heaven. Or at the very least in Devlin’s Light. She stretched her legs and hit a lump—a tiny lump, but a lump all the same—twisted up in the blankets at the end of the bed. Corri.

  India sat up and looked at the sleeping child, then crawled to the end of the bed to look at her. Sweet Corri. So trusting and so vulnerable. So many heartaches for one so small. Overwhelmed by the need to protect her, to make things right for her, Indy sighed. Nick had been right last night. It had been too soon for them. All things in their own good time. How clever he was to have sensed that, to understand.

  And how desirable. Kissable. Hugable. Lovable.

  She turned her head at the soft sound in the doorway, where the kissable, hugable, lovable one stood, a soft smile on his face, brown hair tumbled over his forehead. He leaned back against the doorframe, the sleeves of his light gray sweatshirt pulled up to the elbows, his long bare feet, still lightly tanned from a summer spent in the sun, sticking out from his faded blue jeans.