Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  “Ah.” She tilted her head, deliberately giving him the opening to lean in, take her mouth. “And the seduction?”

  “If there’s a man who’s been within a half a mile of you and hasn’t imagined seducing you, he needs therapy immediately.”

  “Oh, I do like you. More than I’d counted on, actually. Now, I’ll apologize for baiting you.”

  “Why? I liked it.”

  “Mac.” She leaned over, touched her lips lightly to his. “We’re going to be friends, aren’t we?”

  “I hope so.”

  “I might have enjoyed being more, but it would have been brief, and it would have complicated destinies.”

  “Yours or mine?”

  “Both, and more. We’re not meant to be lovers. I didn’t know you’d already realized that.”

  “I hope you don’t mind if I regret it a little.”

  “I’d be annoyed if you didn’t.” She tossed back her curling flood of dark-red hair. “Ask the professional question that’s most on your mind. I’ll answer if I can.”

  “The circle in the woods by the cottage. How did you cast it?”

  Surprise had her pursing her lips. She rose to give herself a moment to think. “That’s a good one,” she said, wandering to the window. “How did you find it?” Before he could answer, she waved a hand. “No, never mind. It’s your job. I can’t answer a question that involves others who may not wish it.”

  “I know about Ripley, and Nell.”

  She glanced back over her shoulder. “Do you?”

  “From research, process of elimination, observation.” He shrugged his shoulders. “From being good at what I do. I haven’t approached Nell because both you and Ripley objected.”

  “I see. Are you afraid what we’d do if you ignored our objections?”

  “No.”

  “No. Just that simple and quick. A courageous man.”

  “Not at all. You wouldn’t use your gift to punish or harm—not without cause or provocation—and then only to protect. Ripley doesn’t have your control or dedication, but she has her own code, possibly more strict than yours.”

  “You read people well. And you’ve approached Ripley? You’ve spoken to her?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  The corners of her mouth bowed up, but there was little humor in the smile. “And you say you’re not courageous.”

  There was enough bite to the words to intrigue. “What happened between the two of you?”

  “That’s a second question, and I’ve yet to decide if I’ll answer the first. Until Ripley confirms your supposition—”

  “It’s not a supposition, it’s fact. And she has confirmed it.”

  “Now you surprise me.” Puzzling it out, Mia paced to the fireplace, from there to the coffeepot to pour, though she had no desire for coffee.

  “You’d protect her, too,” Mac said quietly. “She matters to you, a great deal.”

  “We were friends, as close as friends can be, for most of our lives. Now we’re not.” She said it simply, though it was anything but simple. “But I haven’t forgotten what we were, or what we shared. Even so, Ripley can protect herself. I can’t think why she’d have admitted to you, so quickly, what she has. What she is.”

  “I boxed her in.”

  He hesitated only a moment, then told Mia of the energy burst, the woman on the beach, the hour he’d spent with Ripley in the cottage.

  Mia took his wrist, examined it herself. “Her temper was always a problem. But her conscience is even stronger. She’ll suffer for having harmed you. She’d have transferred the burns, you know.”

  “Pardon?”

  “That would have been her way to do penance, to make it right and just again. Taking the burns from your flesh onto her own.”

  He thought of the heat, the pain. Swore. “Damn it, that wasn’t necessary.”

  “For her, it was. Let it go.” She released his wrist, wandered about the room, and settled her mind. “You want her, sexually.”

  He shifted on the sofa. The blush wanted to creep up his neck. “I’m not entirely comfortable getting into that subject with another woman.”

  “Men are so often squeamish about sex. Discussing it, not having it. That’s all right.” She came back, sat again. “Now to answer your question—”

  “I’m sorry. Would you object if I recorded your answer?”

  “Dr. Booke.” Amusement sang in her voice as he took the little tape recorder out of his pocket. “Such a Boy Scout. Always prepared. No, I don’t suppose I’d object, but we’ll just put it on record as well that this goes into no publication without my written permission.”

  “You’re a Boy Scout yourself. Agreed.”

  “Nell had taken precautions, and so had I. Legal action was about to begin as further protection. Zack, who is also good at his job and very much in love with Nell, was also protecting her. Yet Evan Remington came to the island, and he found her. He hurt her and terrorized her. He nearly killed Zack and would have killed Nell. Despite everything, he would have taken her life that night. She ran to the woods to keep him from killing Zack, who was already wounded. Ran there knowing he would follow her.”

  “She’s a courageous woman.”

  “Oh, indeed. She knew the woods, they’re hers, and it was the dark of the moon. Yet still he found her, as part of her knew he would. There are fates that nothing can turn—no magic, no intellect, no effort.” Her eyes were deep and intense as they met his now. “Do you believe that?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She nodded as she studied his face. “I thought you would, and on some level, you even understand it. He was meant to find her. This . . . test that held her life in the balance was written centuries ago. Her courage, and faith in self, were key.”

  She paused a moment, gathering herself. “Even knowing that, I was afraid. As a woman is afraid. He held a knife to her throat. Her face was already bruised from his hand. I abhor those who prey on others, who deliberately cause fear and pain in those they see as weaker.”

  “You’re a civilized woman,” he said.

  “Am I, Dr. Booke? Do you also understand that it was within my power to have caused Evan Remington’s heart to stop, to have stopped his life, given him unspeakable pain, in the instant he threatened my sister?”

  “A curse of that magnitude, that violence, requires the belief of the one being cursed. And a complex ritual with . . .” He trailed off because Mia was sipping coffee and smiling—pure amusement now. “All my research confirms that.”

  “As you like.” She said it lightly, and the back of his neck prickled. “What I could have done is one thing. I’m bound by my own beliefs, my own vows. I can’t break faith and be what I am. We stood, the five of us, in that wood. Both Zack and Ripley had weapons. But using them would certainly have ended Nell’s life as well as Remington’s. There was only one path, one answer. The circle of three. We cast it that night, without the ceremony, the tools, the chants that are most often required. We cast the circle through will.”

  Fascinating, he thought. Amazing. “I’ve never seen that done.”

  “Nor had I, until that night, ever attempted it. Needs must,” she murmured. “A link, mind to mind to mind. And power, Dr. Booke, ran in a ring like fire. He couldn’t harm her when she would not be harmed. He couldn’t stay sane when forced to face what lived inside him.”

  She spoke quietly, but something—the word magic seemed almost too ordinary—shimmered in the room, stroked over his skin. “Ripley told me you closed the circle.”

  “Ripley is uncharacteristically chatty with you. Yes, we closed the circle.”

  “The energy’s still there. Stronger than any open circle I’ve documented.”

  “The three are very strong when linked. I suspect the energy will be there long after we’re just memories. Nell found what she needed. The first step toward the balance.”

  The air cooled again, and she was just a beautiful woman holding a china pot. “More coffee
?” she asked.

  Seven

  The slick-handed son of a bitch.

  First he puts the moves on her, then he worms his way past her better judgment with that cute, trust-me act, then he makes it clear he wants to have sex.

  Ripley ground her teeth as she jogged along the beach.

  Then, then, at the first chance, he cozies up to Mia.

  Men, she decided, were slugs.

  She might not have gotten wind of it either if Nell hadn’t casually commented about Mia having Mac up to her house for dinner.

  Dinner? she snorted. Right, dinner.

  She just bet he had his mind on his stomach when he bought a bottle of Mia’s favorite fancy French wine at Island Liquors. She’d heard about that, too, after the fact. He’d even asked the clerk which type—vintage—Mia preferred.

  Well, he was free to put the make on Mia and on every female on the island. But not when he’d put it on Ripley Todd first.

  Bastard. City-slicker bastard getting her all stirred up and twitchy, then sneaking off to nibble on Mia. Mia had probably cast out lures just to get her goat.

  It would be just like her.

  She swung around at the end of the beach, pounded in the opposite direction.

  No, damn it, it wasn’t. However much she would have enjoyed jabbing her elbow in Mia’s face on principle, she couldn’t delude herself. Mia never went sniffing after someone else’s man. The fact was, she didn’t sniff after men at all, which was probably why she was such a moody, irritating woman. A little recreational sex would improve her attitude.

  But it wasn’t Mia’s style, and however much at odds they were, Mia Devlin was entirely too loyal, and too damn classy, to poach.

  Which brought Ripley back full circle to Mac.

  His fault, completely and totally. All she had to do now was figure out the most satisfying way to make him pay for it.

  She finished her run, showered, dressed for the day in dark wool slacks and a turtleneck, buttoning a flannel shirt over it. She laced up her boots. Then took a good long look at herself in the mirror.

  She could never compete with Mia in the looks department. Who could? Then again, she’d never wanted to. She had her own style and was comfortable with it. Still, she knew just how to bump up the package when she was in the mood.

  Toying with the outline of an idea for vengeance, she slicked on lipstick, smudged on eyeliner and shadow, brushed on mascara. Satisfied that she’d made the best use of what she had to work with, she sprayed on some of the perfume Nell had put in her Christmas stocking.

  It was a deep, earthy scent and suited her more than anything floral or airy.

  After some debate, she ditched the flannel shirt. She might be a bit chilly before end of day, but the turtleneck and slacks showed off her curves. Pleased with the results, she strapped her holster to her belt and headed out to work.

  Pete Stahr’s mutt had gotten off the leash, again. He’d nosed out a goodly pile of frozen fish guts, feasted on same. Then had sicked them up, along with his morning ration of kibble, on Gladys Macey’s pristine front stoop.

  It was the sort of neighborhood crisis Ripley preferred leaving to Zack. He was more diplomatic, more patient. But Zack was on the windward side helping to deal with a couple of downed trees. That left her stuck.

  “Ripley, I’m at the end of my patience.”

  “I don’t blame you for that, Mrs. Macey.” They stood, hunched against the cold, and several steps downwind from the mess on the front stoop.

  “That dog—” She pointed to where the unrepentant hound sat tied to a tree trunk by a length of clothesline. “He’s got no more sense than a block of wood.”

  “No arguing there, either.” Ripley watched the dopey-faced dog grin and loll his tongue. “But, you know, he’s affable.”

  Gladys merely puffed her cheeks full of air, blew it out. “Why he’s taken such a shine to me I don’t know, but the fact is, every blessed time he gets loose he’s over here doing his business in my yard, burying some mangy bone in my flower beds, and now this.”

  She set her hands on her hips and scowled at her stoop. “Just who’s going to clean up that awful mess?”

  “If you’re willing to wait, I’ll see that Pete does it. It’s coming up to lunchtime, and I’ll root him out and make him come over and deal with it.”

  Gladys sniffed, nodded sharply. Justice, she thought, was justice, and the Todds usually found a way to meet it. “I want it done soon and I want it done right.”

  “I’ll see to that. Pete’s going to get slapped with a fine, too.”

  Gladys folded her lips. “Been fined before.”

  “Yes, ma’am, he has.” Okay, Ripley thought, what would Zack do? The dog was harmless, puppy-friendly and dumb as a turnip. His major flaw was his obsession with dead fish parts, which he either joyfully rolled in or greedily consumed. Each with revolting results.

  As inspiration struck, Ripley hardened her face. “The fact is, that dog’s a public nuisance, and Pete’s been warned.” She tapped her fingers on the butt of her weapon. “We’ll have to impound the dog this time.”

  “Well, I should think . . .” Gladys trailed off, blinked. “What do you mean, impound?”

  “Don’t you worry about that, Mrs. Macey. We’ll take care of the dog. He won’t be coming around your yard to do any kind of mischief in the future.”

  The little clutch in Gladys’s throat had her voice quavering. “Now wait just a minute.”

  As Ripley had counted on, Gladys gripped her arm. “Do you mean to take that dog in and . . . and have it put down?”

  “He can’t be controlled . . .” Ripley let the sentence, and its implication, hang. The dog cooperated by sending out a pitiful whine.

  “Ripley Todd, I’m ashamed of you for suggesting such a thing. I’m not having it, not for a minute.”

  “Now, Mrs. Macey—”

  “Don’t you Mrs. Macey me.” Incensed, she wagged her finger in Ripley’s face. “That’s the most heartless thing I’ve ever heard! Putting that harmless dog down just because he’s stupid.”

  “But you said—”

  “I said he pooped in my yard!” Gladys waved her arms, currently covered in the shocking-pink wool of her sweater. “What are you going to do, pull that gun and put a bullet in his ear?”

  “No, I—”

  “Oh, I can’t even talk to you right now. You go on, and you leave that dog be. I want my stoop cleaned, and that’s the end of it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Ripley hung her head, let her shoulders droop as she walked away. And winked at the dog.

  Zack, she decided, couldn’t have done it any better.

  She tracked down Pete, read him the riot act. He would go without lunch, the Macey stoop would sparkle, and the dog, who already laid claim to a snazzy red doghouse complete with a heated blanket, would get a stronger chain to keep him on the Stahr property when no one was home.

  And that, Ripley thought, would likely wrap up the keeping of the peace of Three Sisters Island for the day.

  On her way back to the station house, she spotted a small figure climbing through the first-floor window of a clapboard saltbox.

  Okay, she decided with her hands on her hips, maybe there was a bit more peace to be kept.

  Her brows lifted, then knit. It was the home of one of her cousins, and the bright blue jacket on the B and E man was very familiar.

  “Dennis Andrew Ripley, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She heard his yowl of pain when he bumped his head on the window, and felt no sympathy. He was twelve, and any boy of twelve who didn’t own a hard head should, in her opinion, develop one.

  He went still for a moment, half in, half out, battle-scarred hightops dangling. Then, slowly, he wiggled to the ground. His hair was pale blond and stuck out in tufts around his ski cap. Freckles exploded over his face and stood out in sharp relief against his bright flush.

  “Ah . . . hi, Aunt Ripley,” he said innoc
ently.

  He was, Ripley thought with admiration, an operator. “That’s Deputy Todd to you, you little weasel. What’re you doing crawling in the window?”

  “Um. I don’t have a key?”

  “Dennis.”

  “Well, I don’t. Mom and some of her lady friends went over to the mainland to shop and stuff. She must’ve locked the door.”

  “Let’s try the question this way. Why are you crawling in the window of your own house instead of sitting at your desk at school?”

  “Because I’m sick?” he answered hopefully.

  “Is that so? Come on, then, I’ll take you over to the clinic right now. Your mother has her cell phone, doesn’t she? We’ll just give her a call and let her know her sweet baby boy’s feeling poorly. I bet she’ll come home on the next ferry.”

  Ripley had the satisfaction of watching his face blanch. “Don’t call her. Okay? Please? I’m feeling a lot better. It musta been something I ate is all.”

  “I just bet. Spill it, kiddo, and if you try to bullshit me again, I’m hauling you to the clinic and telling them to get out their biggest, dullest needle.”

  “We’re having a history test,” he blurted out, and talked very fast now. “History’s the pits, Aunt Rip. It’s all about dead people, anyway. So, you know, who cares? And it’s like European history crap, and we don’t even live there. I mean, hey, do you know the capital of Liechtenstein?”

  “Didn’t study, did you?”

  He shifted from foot to foot—Jeez, what was it with boys and their big clown feet, she wondered—and attempted a pitiful look from under his lashes. “I guess maybe not.”

  “So you decided to blow off the test and hook school.”

  “Just one stupid day. I could take the test later. I was going to hang out in the woods today, and study,” he added, with quick inspiration. “But it’s too cold.”

  “So you were going to go inside . . . and study.”

  “Um. Yeah! Yeah, I was going to hit the books. Couldn’t you just pretend you didn’t see me?”

  “No.”

  “Aw, Aunt Rip.” He sighed, recognizing the look on her face. “Deputy Todd.”