by Jo Goodman
The Granville mansion was deserted. Skye's light footsteps up the stairs took on a faintly hollow sound. Her laughter, when Walker tried to grab her from behind, echoed along the corridor. Not that either of them noticed. Having the house to themselves was liberating, not eerie. During the two-month investigation into the death of Corina Reading and the trial of Morgan Curran, Walker and Skye found themselves with little in the way of privacy. Jay Mac's palatial granite home at 50th and Broadway could have quartered an army brigade with more ease. The endless parade of attorneys and bankers and investors and reporters and police touched everyone's nerves. As a scandal it held the city enthralled. It was not often that men the likes of Worth and Rockefeller and Gould and Carnegie were duped. The public took no small measure of glee at poking fun of the men who ruled industrial empires and were relieved of their pocket change by a brother-and-sister team of thieves.
During the course of the trial, as the details were brought to public attention and public ridicule, Jay Mac alone received more than eight hundred requests to invest in inventions ranging from machines that were supposed to reproduce the human voice to newfangled clothing fasteners. "What's wrong with buttons?" Jay Mac asked on more than one occasion.
It was left to Skye to sort through the pleas for money and separate fact and fancy. It was a difficult task, but one perfectly suited to Skye's wonderfully fluid imagination. Inventing, by its very nature, combined elements of what existed with what might exist, and Skye found herself intrigued by the possibilities. She dedicated herself to finding the requests that deserved funding and making recommendations to her father.
"Why should I give anyone a nickel?" Jay Mac was moved to ask. He held up the morning edition of the Herald at breakfast and showed everyone the headline: ROBBER BARONS ROBBED. "It says right here that greed was our downfall."
"Oh, then it must be true," Moira said. "If it's there in the paper for all the city to see."
Jay Mac snorted, but he was moved to see reason in the end. While other men who were similarly gulled into investing with Morgan Curran received the same mountain of requests as Jay Mac, he was the only one to respond with financial support even to a select few.
"It's always been about risks," Skye had told him.
Her green eyes were bright, her voice earnest. "That's what I learned from you. The real Jonathan Parnell had an idea that would have caused a revolution in our lives. You invested in a possibility, tried drawing to an inside straight. Had circumstances been even a bit different, you might have been holding a patent for an engine that would have brought thousands of people something better than they have now. It didn't work this time and we're all a little poorer for it. But do you really want to leave the game altogether?"
When it was put that way, Jay Mac wasn't about to refuse. He had looked at Walker then. "She wins a lot of arguments," he said.
"Yes, sir."
"You have years of this ahead of you."
Walker glanced across the table to Skye. His eyes held a smile and a challenge. "I know."
"You might think you've caught her," Jay Mac said, "but she's going to lead you a merry chase the rest of your life."
"I look forward to it," Walker had said.
Those words came back to him as Skye eluded his grasp when she turned the corner on the landing. She passed the master bedchamber, which had been Curran's, and then moved quickly past her own. She shot him a siren's smile over her shoulder, beckoning him with a sultry green glance that held a fair amount of mischief.
"This way," she said huskily. "Hurry."
That suited Walker fine. It seemed just this side of forever since he'd held his wife in an intimate embrace. He had spent long hours in court, helping the prosecution prepare the case against Morgan Curran, then later testifying. Although Walker wasn't responsible for making reparations to the financial victims of Morgan and Corona's scheme, he felt honor bound to do so for his uncle's sake. A substantial amount of money was recovered from Curran's desk and Walker personally saw to it that each investor received seventy-five cents on the dollar.
There was also the matter of funeral arrangements for his uncle. Walker was gone from the city for a week while he saw to Jonathan Parnell's burial in the family plot in Boston. In his absence, Skye arranged for a memorial service to be part of the gathering at the science and technological exposition. Men who would have come together to hear Jonathan Parnell speak observed a moment of silence instead and paid tribute to the tinkerer whose grasp of the possible had set him apart. Walker arrived in time to be part of the service, touched beyond words by Skye's thoughtfulness and the condolences of those who understood the scope of the loss of a man like Jonathan Parnell.
"Where are you going?" Walker asked. Skye had just flitted past the door to the room he had occupied and they had briefly shared.
She grinned again and crooked a finger at him, the come-hither look clear in her darkening eyes. Just outside the door to Corina Reading's room Skye let herself be caught. She was brought flush to Walker's body, his mouth full on hers, the kiss hungry and urgent. It was hard to remember her purpose. "Time enough for that," she whispered against his mouth.
"Time enough—" Walker's husky, surprised response was cut short as Skye opened the door to Corona's room and pulled him inside. He reached for her again but she turned easily out of his embrace and held up one hand to keep him back, For the first time Walker understood it was adventure his wife had on her mind, not romance. With some difficulty he reined in his thoughts. "What are you after, Skye?" As if he didn't know. "Still thinking about the treasure?"
She nodded, her smile only a little guilty. "It's not about the money," she said. There was never any question that Walker couldn't provide for her. With his uncle's death everything that remained of the family fortune fell into Walker's hands. It wasn't the shipping money that provided the bulk of the wealth, but the patents that Parnell had on his myriad inventions. While Walker's grandmother had decried the loss of her shipping line and the lack of business sense of her son, Jonathan Parnell had been quietly amassing a fortune he never cared about. Even Jay Mac had been astonished by the size of the estate once it was settled. There had been a great deal of laughter at Skye's expense, the gist of it being that she was an adventuress, after all. "You know I don't care about the money," she told him.
Walker grinned. "It's about the mystery." He reached for her hand, took it, and brought her close long enough to kiss her on the forehead. "I married a kindred spirit. Show me what you're thinking."
"Corina found a way leading from this room to the servants' quarters above stairs." As Skye explained, she began looking around the room for the inlaid walnut panels that would move under her touch. With no encouragement, Walker began to do the same. "While she kept her brother busy digging under the house, she used the opportunity to look elsewhere. I think she was getting close to finding what she wanted when I arrived here and brought Annie with me."
"How do you know this?"
"Something Annie said to me when she made her confession about the gun. She told me that this was an evil place, that she could hear the ghost walking at night." Skye drew back the curtains and secured them. The afternoon sun brought the gleam of copper to her hair. The spring light warmed her face. Daffodils bordered the edge of the wood, and the bright yellow blossoms swayed gently in the breeze. Looking out now, seeing springtime and sunshine on the lawn, it was hard to imagine that Annie's words could have been fact. Skye turned to Walker. "It wasn't you upstairs. And it wasn't me. We know it wasn't Curran she heard walking around."
Walker made a slight grimace. The only place Morgan Curran had been going to was Skye's room. His confession had been made before the trial, privately, to Walker alone. It hadn't taken long to get. Corina Reading was her brother's accomplice, making certain Skye was available to Curran by lacing Skye's milk with a narcotic. It kept Curran occupied and gave Corina the opportunity to search for the treasure herself. "So if we believe it wasn't actu
ally Hamilton Granville, then—"
"Then it had to be Corina. Annie and Matt's presence upstairs would have frustrated her efforts. She moved around up there to frighten Annie. I think that's what sent Annie downstairs looking for something to eat or drink in the middle of the night. She was scared by what she heard."
Walker hunkered in front of Corona's armoire. Hoping to find a panel like the one in her brother's room, he pushed at the back of it. It was solid. "Damn," he swore softly, sitting back on his haunches. He looked around the room. Nothing had been touched in almost two months. Dust had collected around Corona's perfumes and pots of cream on her vanity. A delicate spider web had been woven from the curtain rod to one corner of the room. The bed was made. Some of Corona's clothes were scattered on the floor where she had left them in her rush to find her gun. The bottom two drawers of the highboy were still open. The mantel was crowded with figurines and a few photographs. Logs were stacked neatly in the fireplace, ready to be used. The dull black fireplace tools stood at attention in their rack. The marble apron had lost its gleam with a thin layer of dust.
Walker's attention strayed to the paintings on the wall as Skye lifted them one by one. Although he watched her, his thoughts kept straying back to the fireplace. Something was wrong, out of place. He shot to his feet suddenly as the realization hit him. "It's here, Skye."
She turned around. Half expecting to see an opening yawning in the wall in front of her, she was disappointed to confront Walker standing beside the mantel looking very full of himself. "It's where?"
"Here. Don't you see?"
"Don't be smug, Walker. Anyway, you're supposed to say 'Eureka.'"
He laughed and knelt in front of the cold fireplace. "Two months ago it was still plenty cold enough to have a fire in this room. You can see for yourself that except for a little dust, the tools are clean, the apron's clean, the hearth is clean. Where are the ashes? Even if Corina had cleaned the hearth and the apron, the tools would still be gray with residue. She wouldn't have bothered cleaning them." Skye was kneeling beside him now, caught by Walker's irrefutable logic. "Where should we try first?"
"The logs," she said. Careless of the dust, Skye scooted forward on her knees and helped Walker take out the wood. They lifted the iron grate and andirons together and put them aside. Skye raised the damper.
The rough brick wall at the back of the hearth moved a fraction of an inch. They exchanged glances, then identical grins. Skye's delighted laughter was cut off by Walker's quick kiss. She would have been happy to have it go on a little longer, but he had broken it off to push on the wall. She threw her own slight weight into helping him.
Skye was the first to crawl into the narrow passage behind Corona's hearth. She batted away a few cobwebs, stood, and then held out her hand to help Walker up. The corridor was too small for them to stand side by side and the stairs in front of them were steep. There was just enough light coming from the attic windows above for them to find their footing. Walker stayed at Skye's back to make certain she didn't fall and braced himself firmly on either side of the passageway as they climbed.
As Skye had anticipated, the passage led to a small attic room. It was empty except for a few tools and a lantern that Corina had left behind. Skye bent over the crowbar and hammer. "Corina must have thought at first that the treasure would be in this room," Skye said. "Look, most of these floorboards have been pried loose and reset. You can see that the nails are bent and scraped."
Walker saw that Skye was right. Corona's search had led her to loosen most of the wood shirring on the walls. A close inspection of the rafters proved that they had been shifted as well. "Mrs. Reading was nothing if not thorough," Walker said. "No treasure."
"Not here," Skye agreed. "Which is why she wanted to get rid of Annie. I think Corina began to suspect the treasure was next door."
Walker looked at Skye with something very much like disbelief. "Are you telling me that after all this we're going to end up in Annie's room?"
"Well, yes," she said simply. "What did you think?"
"I think we could have taken the backstairs straightaway and avoided crawling through fireplaces."
Skye snorted softly, dismissively. "Where would have been the fun in that?" She consoled him with a light pat on the arm. "Help me find a way through. There's bound to be one." She ignored the fact that Walker rolled his eyes. As soon as she started working, he was beside her again.
This time it wasn't cleverness that brought about discovery; it was clumsiness. Skye dropped the crowbar she was using and its hollow thud against the wall helped them find a trapdoor. Easing themselves through the opening, they entered the room that Annie and Matt had been given for their use at Granville.
There was nothing of Annie's left behind or anything belonging to her son. She had managed to gather everything she owned when Morgan Curran gave her the opportunity. What she hadn't understood was that Curran wasn't going to let her leave Granville. Walker found Annie and Matt trapped in a closet on the second floor. Matt was sleeping soundly in his mother's arms. Annie was plainly terrified. Two months away from the mansion had scarcely settled Annie's fears, though her new position in the Worth home meant she had the benefit of Mrs. Cavanaugh's kind and patient care.
Looking around, Skye pronounced herself quite satisfied with their progress. "It's really quite amazing, don't you think?" she asked, brushing herself off. "This is the room where Hamilton Granville's lover slept. And where he came each night to see her."
"Not by the route we just took," Walker said. "A man only has so much strength."
Skye noticed that in spite of his words he was eyeing her with a particularly wicked look. She felt herself go hot and cold and her resolve waver. For good measure she took a step back, out of arm's reach and harm's way. "I'll wager he used it to make his escape, though. Probably more than once. By all accounts his wife was suspicious and not above trying to catch her husband out."
"Mm."
His noncommittal murmur didn't fool Skye. "What are you thinking?" she asked.
Walker chuckled. "I'm thinking that if she'd been as good as you, she'd have caught him right off."
"If she'd been as good as me," Skye said saucily, "he wouldn't have strayed in the first place."
He didn't blink. "You're referring to your skill with a firearm, of course."
"Beast," she said, completely unoffended. "I'll show you to what I was referring." Skye crossed the small distance that separated them and placed her arms around his waist. She raised her face.
"I thought you wanted to find buried treasure," he said.
In answer Skye loosened two buttons at the top of his vest and plucked at the tails of Walker's shirt. "I do," she said softly. Her fingertips deftly slipped beneath the waist of his trousers. His skin was warm and smooth. The flat plain of his belly retracted slightly in anticipation of her touch. She raised herself on tiptoe and laid her mouth against his. "I have."
Walker's groan was a whisper against her lips. Their mouths fused. The kiss deepened. Without breaking the intimate play, Walker carried Skye to the small bed where Hamilton Granville had lain with his lover. It creaked loudly under their combined weight. They stilled abruptly, waited, and then shared husky laughter at the thought of what could happen.
"Worth the risk?" he asked, rising on his elbows above her. His darkening eyes teased Skye as her body was already shifting to accommodate him. He didn't wait for any other response? Walker's fingers moved over her bodice, releasing the buttons and parting the material. Their clothing was flung aside or pushed out of the way. Her arms slid around his neck and then she felt the heat of his mouth on her breast.
Her body was sleek and faintly musky. Her red hair fanned out brilliantly on the faded quilt beneath her head. She bit back a sound of wanting as Walker's mouth trailed across her skin and took her other breast. He raised the nipple beneath the damp, rough edge of his tongue. Her fingers threaded in his hair and the hot suck of his mouth brought a cry that s
he did not try to restrain.
He covered her with his body and she rose to meet him, taking him into her with the fierce, unashamed passion that joined their hearts and touched their souls.
In loving's aftermath their breathing quieted slowly. The muscles of his back and shoulders had a faint sheen. Skye's fingers trailed along the lean whipcord length of him and she felt his body shudder with an aftershock of pleasure. He pressed a kiss into the curve of her throat before he slipped off her and onto his side. The splendid afternoon light covered their bodies in bands of sunshine. If they had been satisfied with that, the bed might have held. It was Skye's searching and shifting to have the quilt over her that contributed to the bed's collapse.
They thumped hard to the floor as the bed slats broke like broom straws. Dust motes rose and scattered. The bed frame split and the headboard groaned. They watched it warily as it teetered for a moment before it tilted back against the wall instead of toppling on them. Then they looked at each other. Skye's bright laughter exploded from her as Walker pounced. They fought for possession of a quilt that neither of them really wanted and ended up making love amid the broken slats and collapsed frame, half on the mattress, half off, and this time it was the floor that creaked, not the rickety bed.
"Goodness," Skye sighed, rolling into Walker's arms. She folded her arms across his chest and raised her face to look down on his. The lines of tension that had creased the corners of his eyes and mouth in recent weeks were absent now. The tawny eyes were no longer splintered and strained. When he lifted his hand to push back a lock of hair the movement was not edgy or restless. She leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. "You look like a very happy man," she whispered.
"Mm."
The touch of his mouth was soft, his murmur a caress. "These past weeks have been hard for you," she said. Skye had watched him chafe at the restrictions the trial had posed. His extraordinary patience was tested by the court preparation and the demands of the investors who wanted to know why Morgan Curran wasn't exposed earlier. There were those who weren't satisfied with the reparations that Walker made and wanted to have their losses completely covered. "You must be glad it's behind us."
