“I try,” he said. “Sometimes. Have a nice day.”
The old lady retracted her head like a turtle and slammed her door.
One last door to bang on. He groped for the phone and dialed Nick’s number as he loped toward the car.
“Where are you?” Nick demanded.
“What the fuck did you say to Erin, Nick?”
“I told her the truth. It’s time somebody did. You know about Billy Vega, right?” Nick waited. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Of course you do.”
Connor knew where this was going. “Nick—”
“I couldn’t help but notice that the guy looked a whole lot like Georg Luksch looked after you were done working him over with your cane,” Nick said. “Only difference was, Billy was dead. You’re slipping.”
Black spots danced in front of Connor’s eyes. He leaned against his car. “You can’t believe that. Come on, Nick. You know me.”
“I thought I did,” Nick said. “Novak is dead, Con. Blown up. Burned to a crisp. It’s all over. All. Over. Am I getting through to you?”
Connor’s head spun. The phone call. Georg, on the freeway. Billy Vega. “But that’s not possible. I talked to him. And I saw Georg—”
“Don’t bother,” Nick said. “Georg’s in France. Like I told you before. Novak’s death is confirmed. Not that this changes anything for you, of course. You need a focus for your anger, and if you can’t find one, you’ll create one. Sure, Billy Vega was no big loss to the world, but I—”
“Don’t be stupid, Nick,” Connor said grimly.
“I deduced from my conversation with Erin that you don’t have a real alibi for the hours of five A.M. to six A.M. this morning. I also deduced that she will lie to protect you. Is that what you want?”
“Fuck you, Nick,” Connor said. “This is bullshit.”
“We’ll see. Get yourself a good lawyer. Because I’m all out of patience. I want this thing to end.”
“You and me both.” He hung up. His leg and head were both pounding now, a nauseous throbbing pain. He wrenched the door of the Cadillac open. He had to sit down. Quick, before he fell down.
Nick had been one of his best friends, once.
He dropped the phone into his pocket. If it weren’t for Erin, he would throw the thing into the Dumpster right now.
Erin. Panic dug in its claws at the thought of her. His fight with Georg at Crystal Mountain began to play in his mind. The cane, rising and falling. Blood streaming from Georg’s shattered nose, his broken teeth. The cane, smashing down onto the windshield of the Jag. Fault lines, running in every direction.
The cane. Something about the cane was tugging him. He checked the backseat, and then recalled prying the thing out of Barbara’s fingers and throwing it into the trunk. He fished his keys out of his jacket pocket and walked around the car.
The back of his neck was prickling so much he already knew what he would find, even before the trunk light flooded into the dark interior.
The trunk was empty. The cane was gone.
Chapter
21
“Try a bite of my mousse, Erin. It’s even better than the crème brûlée,” Lydia urged.
Erin dabbed her mouth with a napkin and forced herself to smile. “Thanks, but no. I’m full.”
“Of what?” Rachel complained. “You barely picked at your salad. You don’t have to diet with that cute, curvy figure of yours, Erin. You’ve trimmed down some since you were at the Huppert. Good for you.”
Erin coughed, and hid her mouth behind her napkin.
“Come on, Erin. You’re as tight as a clam about how you landed Mueller. ’Fess up, now. We’ve been courting him for years, and all of a sudden we find him eating out of your hand!” Rachel gushed.
“I’m so excited. This donation puts us ahead by fifteen years,” Lydia said. “You are just the one to spearhead our efforts, Erin. We need your innovative spirit to carry the Huppert into the new millennium!”
Erin didn’t have the energy to hide her disgust, but it didn’t matter, since none of them appeared to notice it.
“With a budget like this, Erin, you can name your own salary,” Fred boomed. “You’re the belle of the ball! How does it feel?”
She got to her feet. “I’m afraid I have to go.”
“Oh, really?” Lydia exchanged meaningful glances with the other three. “A hot date? Is that why you’re saving your appetite?”
“Not at all. Just business,” Erin said. “I’m meeting with Mr. Mueller to discuss some of his new acquisitions.”
Lydia and Rachel waggled their eyebrows at each other. “I imagine you’re having dinner with him this evening, too?” Rachel cooed.
Erin shrugged wearily. She could care less whether or with whom she ate dinner tonight. As queasy as she felt right now, it would be all she could do to get through the day without throwing up on anyone.
Wilhelm whistled. “So that’s the way the wind blows.”
“Hardly,” she said sharply. “I have never even met Claude Mueller, Wilhelm, and I don’t appreciate your insinuations.”
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive, Erin,” Rachel purred. “We’re all adults.”
Lydia’s smile was calculated and cold. “Have a lovely time this evening, Erin. Ah, youth is wasted on the young. Just wasted.”
Erin fled the table and hurried out of the restaurant, gasping for fresh air. These people were awful. How could she ever have tolerated their falseness, their manipulative games? What had changed in her? She wanted to take a bath after lunch with those four.
She hailed a cab, gave the driver directions, and stared miserably out the window, pressing her hand against the sharp ache in her belly. It ate at her like acid, how bad Connor must feel: his anger and confusion and hurt. And his fear. His fear for her was very real to him. How well grounded it might be in outside reality she could not say, but that didn’t make it any less painful for him. Or for her.
It felt so cruel, so incredibly wrong, to turn away from him. But she had to break out of his hold on her. She needed some air, some distance, so she could figure out where she stood. What was real.
Connor’s charisma was so powerful, he warped her reality into any shape he pleased. He was so intelligent and intense, his force of will so overwhelming. She couldn’t think straight when he was near her. He swept her away every time, no matter how hard she tried to resist.
Her heart and her body and her love would always betray her.
The taxi pulled up at the curbside of a beautiful turn-of-the-century mansion on Heydon Terrace. The wrought iron gates yawned opened for her unbidden as she paid the cabbie. It was time to get jerked around by Mueller and his piles of money. Oh, goodie. She would have laughed, but she didn’t dare shake up her unsteady stomach.
Tamara Julian was waiting for her in the palatial foyer. Erin greeted her with wary politeness after that odd episode at Silver Fork, but Tamara was warm and friendly.
“I’m so glad we got in touch with you in time,” Tamara said. “Mr. Mueller is so anxious to meet you. Come with me, please. I have to show you something before I present you.”
Present her, indeed. Good grief. As if she were being taken before royalty. She muffled silent, half-hysterical laughter behind her hand as she followed Tamara through the big, lavish rooms, up a sweeping flight of stairs, and down a corridor into a plush bedroom full of freshly cut flowers. Their odor was heavy and sickeningly sweet.
Tamara opened up a safe in the wall, and pulled out a flat black velvet case. She handed it to Erin. “Take a look at this,” she said.
Erin opened the box, and let out a sigh of awe.
It was a golden torque, La Tene period, but far more sumptuous than any she had seen. And it was the same style as the jewelry excavated from the ancient burial mounds that she had studied in Wrothburn.
There were dragons with garnet eyes where the ends of the torque met, their claws raised in challenge. Their serpentine tails formed a lavish, swirling pattern t
hat extended down over the wearer’s chest. The piece was exquisite. It shimmered and glowed like trapped sunlight against the black velvet.
“This is Mr. Mueller’s latest acquisition,” Tamara said. “He’s been negotiating for it for months. This is the reason he had to rush off to Hong Kong the other day.”
“It’s incredible,” she breathed. “Perfect. Would you show me the provenance information?”
Tamara smiled. “I could, but I won’t. Not tonight, Erin. This is not for you to study. Put it on.”
“God, no!” She held out the box, appalled. “That’s ridiculous!”
Tamara gently pushed it back. “Why do you think I brought you up here? Mr. Mueller has a very special request of you today. He wants you to wear the dragon torque when you meet with him.”
She looked down at her simple navy suit, her high-necked white silk blouse. “But I…I can’t. I—I—”
“I understand perfectly,” Tamara said briskly. “You need something different as a backdrop. Mr. Mueller and I anticipated this problem. We’ve arranged for several different gowns to be delivered this afternoon. Size eight, right?” Erin nodded. “Thought so,” Tamara went on. “They’re all stunning, and believe me, I’m fussy. We’ll find something you’ll like.”
“Oh, no. It’s not that,” she protested. “But it’s not—”
“Proper?” Tamara’s laugh rang out, full and rich and beautiful. She kissed Erin’s cheek. “That’s priceless. I love it. You are a work in progress, Erin Riggs, but you’ll be a masterpiece before you’re through.”
Erin shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Why?” Tamara demanded.
Erin closed her eyes against Tamara’s probing gaze and tried to breathe deeply. She was too stressed and confused to come up with the cutting retort that she needed to fend the woman off. All she could think of was Connor’s certain reaction to Mueller’s request. His outraged pride.
“Don’t you like playing dress-up, Erin?” Tamara’s tone was lightly teasing. “It’s just a harmless game. Mr. McCloud is nowhere in sight, and we’re certainly not going to tell on you.”
The taunt stung. “I do not need permission from anyone,” Erin snapped. “I’m just uncomfortable with the idea. That’s all.”
Tamara’s face fell. “I see. I was hoping you might indulge him. Mr. Mueller’s health has been very fragile lately, and he’s been reclusive and quite lonely. He’s allowing himself to be fanciful, and that’s rare for him. It gave him such a lift, to plan this surprise for you. He sees it as a gift, you see. To honor you. A way of thanking you for all your hard work.”
Erin held the velvet box out to Tamara, almost desperately. “But I…it’s so inappropriate. I don’t even know—”
“Mr. Mueller just wants to share his delight in the torque with someone who appreciates it as much as he does,” Tamara coaxed. “He’s fascinated with you. He has been for months. And you should learn to make the most of your looks anyway. I can help you with that. You have such incredible potential. That hair, that skin, those eyes.”
“Thanks, but I don’t need a fashion consultant,” Erin said tightly.
“No, you don’t,” Tamara agreed. “You look perfectly fine. You’re a very pretty girl. But if you wanted, you could cause car accidents when you walked down the sidewalk.”
Erin recoiled. “Good Lord! Why on earth would I want to do that?”
Tamara laughed at her. “Power, Erin. It’s useful. Believe me.”
Erin shook her head. “I don’t need that kind of power,” she said quietly. “I don’t want it. It’s not my style.”
“We all need it.” Tamara’s voice was hard. “What a shame McCloud has you under his thumb. Now you don’t even have the nerve to try on a five-thousand-dollar evening gown, just for fun. Some lessons in female power might do you good.”
Erin bristled. “Don’t you dare try to manipulate me.”
Tamara tilted her head to the side and contemplated her next tactic. “I just want to play,” she wheedled. “Try on the gowns, Erin. They’re beautiful, and so are you. Let me show you how exciting it is to be truly glamorous. It’s a kind of magic. And it’s fun. Just look at this beautiful thing. I don’t even want to tell you how much money he spent for it. And it’s perfect for your looks. As if it were made just for you.”
Erin stared down at the inherent tension and violence in the torque’s stunning design. The two dragons were locked in a state of mortal challenge. Their garnet eyes glowed red with rage. The design tricked the eye into the illusion that the twisting serpentine tails were flipping and writhing. The thing practically hummed in her hands.
She’d always privately considered this style of jewelry to be the most beautiful and evocative that existed. Sensual and savage, the designs echoed with the blood and dust and noise of ancient history. She loved Celtic artifacts exactly because they were a tangible point of contact with that mysterious culture. They made her dream, set her imagination on fire. They called to her across the ages.
A high-ranking Celtic noblewoman had worn this torque around her neck well over two thousand years ago. She had lived her everyday life in it, waking and eating and breathing and loving. If Erin put on that torque, history would fold over on itself. She could reach back in time and almost touch that woman. The torque had made her real.
It was utterly seductive. She was so tempted, her hands shook.
“Mr. Mueller did this to please and flatter you, Erin,” Tamara said softly. “Humor him. And indulge yourself. McCloud will never know, because it’s all…between…us.”
Erin broke eye contact. She was on the brink of tears again, for God’s sake. What a wreck. Tamara was right. The very thought of Connor’s anger made her weepy and unsure of herself.
This indulgence would be her own secret. And maybe it would serve as a liberation. She was her own woman, who made her own choices. Her passion for ancient history was all hers. It had nothing to do with Connor. He would never understand it.
But Claude Mueller might. “All right,” she said.
She was instantly sorry. She knew the moment the words left her mouth that she had made a big mistake, but it was too late. Tamara was thrilled, smiling, leading her by the hand into another bedroom, the bed of which was covered with boxes and bags. “I’ll show you the lingerie and the shoes, first,” Tamara said.
“Lingerie?” she echoed faintly.
“Of course.” Tamara rolled her eyes. “You can’t show panty lines under these gowns. And I ordered stockings to match, of course.”
A half hour later, Tamara closed the cold weight of the golden dragon torque around Erin’s neck and turned her around to face the mirror. “Look at yourself. If Connor McCloud could see you now, he would kneel and beg for mercy.”
Guilt and pain stabbed through her. “Please, don’t.”
“Trouble in paradise?” Tamara asked. She laughed and held up her hand at the look in Erin’s eyes. “Sorry. Forgive me for asking. Curiosity is one of my little vices. Don’t hate me for it. I don’t mean any harm.”
“You don’t know me well enough to speak to me like that.”
“No, but I would like to.” Tamara flashed her a quirky, disarming smile. “I find you very interesting, Erin Riggs. Now take a look at yourself. Are you a knockout, or are you a knockout?”
Erin turned to the mirror, and stopped breathing for a moment.
It wasn’t that she looked all that different. She was still herself, but a glowing golden haze hovered around her. Her eyes seemed bigger, more deeply colored, more shadowy. Her lips were fuller and redder, her skin glowed with earthy golden tints. Even her hair seemed glossier.
The dress that Tamara had helped her choose was a simple gown of gleaming bronze bias-cut silk with a sheer chiffon overdress. It was tight in the bodice, fluttering out in a deep, voluptuously flared skirt. The plunging neckline was designed to show off both the torque and her cleavage. The dress was off the shoulder, so no bra could be worn, bu
t the bodice was reinforced, and snug enough to hike up her full bosom, offering it up to the eye like a gift.
The dragon torque was cold against her skin, but she felt its strange, ancient energy pulsating against her skin. Her hair flowed around her, unbound. Tamara had brushed out her French twist and run her fingers through Erin’s waist-length hair with a murmur of approval. “This doesn’t need any help. You’re done.”
Erin stared at herself in the mirror. She felt vulnerable and exposed, with her femininity, her sexuality, showcased for an unknown man’s enjoyment. The heavy, sensual gold torque seemed to exaggerate her looks. Maybe it was enchanted, and she was under a glamorous spell. Certainly she’d never looked like this in her entire life.
She’d been a fool to fall for this, but she’d agreed. It would be silly to be difficult about it now. Now that she thought about it, that had been her exact reasoning when she’d gone to bed with her first lover. She’d forced herself to endure what had happened out of politeness, out of fear of looking silly, of being rude and childish and undignified. She had to learn to accept the consequences of her decisions without whining—that was what it meant to be grown-up, but oh, God, sometimes she felt like she’d been grown-up since the day she was born.
“Are you all right, Erin?” Tamara asked gently.
Erin started to say that she was fine. The impulse petered away into silence. She closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them, they were swimming with tears.
Tamara was ready with a tissue. She carefully blotted Erin’s tears without smearing her makeup, and rested a cool hand on Erin’s shoulder. “At least you look fabulous,” she offered. “That’s a powerful weapon to carry into battle, no matter what problems you might have.”
Erin let out a soggy laugh. They smiled at each other. Tamara embraced her briefly. “Are you ready to go? Do you need a minute?”
Erin straightened her shoulders. “I’m ready.”
She wobbled on the spike heels until she found her stride. Five different sizes of designer shoes had been delivered along with the dresses. A staggering extravagance for a rich man’s whim.
Standing in the Shadows Page 35
