by JoAnn Ross
When he’d first started working in the shadowy world of the Company, with the ink still wet on the diploma granting him dual degrees in international relations and business, Shayne had been proud of his ability to make anyone believe anything. He was, his superiors had told him, a creative and gifted dissembler.
Inevitably, after a time the initial kick wore off, but he never lost the inner drive to get better and better at his job. And on those rare, fleeting occasions when he’d wonder if the ends justified his admittedly shady means, Shayne had closed his mind to any introspection.
He no longer believed, as he had in those heady early days, that he was saving the free world. But neither had he been overly disturbed by his actions. It was a job, no different from any other. A job he just happened to be very, very good at.
And then he’d met Bliss, who, even without knowing she was doing it, had chipped away at the rock he’d encased his conscience in, exposing it to the blinding light of day, forcing him to take a long hard look at not only what he was doing, but who he’d become.
Unfortunately, Shayne didn’t like what he saw. And now, comparing Cunningham with his oldest brother, he realized that Mike had been right to challenge him when he’d first hit town. Michael O’Malley had always been one of the good guys; now Shayne realized that somehow, when he wasn’t paying close attention, he’d become one of the bad guys. Or at least, one of the not-so-good guys.
He was going to change that, he decided as he left the hotel room. But first he had to straighten things out with Bliss.
ZELDA ANSWERED THE DOOR “You’re Shayne O’Malley.” She gave him a long hard look that reminded him uncomfortably of Sister Immaculata, the harridan who’d made an entire class of nine-year-old boys miserable back in the third grade.
“Yes, ma’am, I am,” he answered in his most polite voice. If he’d had a hat, he would have tipped it.
“You realize, of course, that you’ve broken my granddaughter’s heart.”
He’d known that. He’d seen it on Bliss’s face, heard it in her trembling voice. But to hear the accusation stated out loud tore at some elemental fiber deep inside him.
“Yes, ma’am. And I’m really sorry about that.”
Zelda gave him another long look that gave Shayne the impression she could see all the way to his soul. “I was about to fix myself some iced tea. Would you like some?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Shayne didn’t bother to hide his relief that he had, at least, made his way past the dragon guarding the door. Of course the treasure—namely Bliss—was still a very long way out of reach. “That would hit the spot. Thank you.”
She lead the way to a sun-filled room, decorated with chintz-covered wicker furniture, which overlooked a garden that was a riotous display of bright spring color. “I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you,” Shayne repeated humbly, continuing to feel like a tongue-tied nine-year-old.
Although he tried to tell himself that it was merely his imagination working overtime, or merely wishful thinking, as he sat alone in the cheerful room, watching the butterflies flit from flower to flower, Shayne thought he sensed Bliss’s presence.
“Bliss decorated this room, didn’t she?” he asked Zelda, when she returned with a white wicker glass-bottomed tray and two tall glasses.
“She found the furniture at a flea market in Houma.” Zelda handed him a glass. “Sewed the covers for the cushions herself.” The wicker creaked as she sat down in the lounge chair. “The garden’s mine.”
“You and my mother would get along great. Gardening has always been her avocation. I remember her saying that when you’re working in your garden, you’re closer to heaven than anywhere else on earth.”
Zelda nodded her copper-bright head. “Sounds as if your mother is a wise woman. Makes me wonder how she managed to rear such an idiot for a son.”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing lately.” Shayne took a drink of the tea, which proved to be freshly brewed and sprigged with mint. “This is great.”
“I’ve always believed if you’re going to do something, you ought to take the time to do it right. So, did you really think my granddaughter was a jewel thief?”
“No, ma’am.” Although his initial reaction had been to lie, Shayne reminded himself that he’d vowed to turn over a new leaf. “At least not in the end.”
“I do hope you’d at least decided she was innocent before you took her to bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Shayne was uncomfortable discussing sex with a woman old enough to be his own grandmother, but understood that they were on Zelda’s turf, which meant that if he had any chance of recruiting her help in winning Bliss back, he was going to have to play the game her way.
“Do you love my granddaughter?”
This was worse than talking about sex. “I care for Bliss a great deal.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.” Zelda’s bright blue eyes bored into his like lasers. “You know, of course, that Bliss is in love with you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, before I decide whether or not I should press your case, I need to know if you feel the same way about her. Though I hate to speak ill of the dead, Alan Fortune was a conniving rat. But he only wounded Bliss’s pride. You broke her heart.”
“I realize that, ma’am.” It was difficult, having his behavior thrown back in his face this way, but Shayne knew he deserved it. He’d also crawl buck naked down Bourbon Street during the height of Mardi Gras if that’s what it took to win Bliss back. “And, although it doesn’t change things, I’m ashamed that I didn’t handle things differently from the beginning.”
“That’s the trouble with lies,” Zelda said sagely. “Once you get one started, it just rolls away from you, getting bigger and bigger as it goes...
“So,” she repeated, “do you love Bliss?”
Shayne decided that if there was ever a time for honesty, this was it. “I don’t know,” he admitted reluctantly. “I can tell you that I’ve never felt about any other woman the way I do about your granddaughter.”
“My Dupree always said he knew the minute he saw me that he loved me.”
“Obviously your husband was smarter than me.”
“Not smarter, just more in touch with his feelings, perhaps,” Zelda mused. “Known a lot of women, have you?”
Shayne flinched a bit at that question and wondered if Bliss was hiding out anywhere nearby, listening to this cross-examination. “Yes ma’am, I’m afraid I have.”
“You don’t have to apologize. I’d be worried if a good-looking single man like you hadn’t sown his share of wild oats. But the time comes when a boy needs to grow up. Become a man. And settle down.”
“I’m ready to do that.” As soon as he heard the words leave his mouth, Shayne knew that was the truth. “I didn’t realize until just recently how much New Orleans meant to me. And how homesick I’d become.”
“Sometimes it takes a while to discover that happiness is best found in your own backyard,” Zelda agreed. “Bliss thought she’d love jet-setting around the country. But even if Alan hadn’t been such a louse, she would have gotten tired of that high life real soon.”
“I’ve never met a woman who was more comfortable—and happy—with her life.” At least she’d been happy, until she’d gone to a party in Paris and met him.
“She’ll be that way again,” Zelda said, as if she could read his mind. “Bliss has a knack for bouncing back from adversity. My Dupree was like that Lord knows, that man failed at everything he tried, but he never stopped getting excited about the idea of winning the jackpot.”
“I think he did that, Ms. Zelda. When he fell in love with you.” Shayne had never said a more truthful statement in his life.
Zelda laughed at that, a rich musical laugh that reminded him a great deal of Bliss. Then again, Shayne told himself, these days everything reminded him of Bliss.
“That’s exactly what you’re supposed to say.” Her cheeks dimpled and her eyes tw
inkled merrily. “You are quite a charmer, Shayne O’Malley. In that respect you’re a great deal different from your brother.”
Shayne suspected Zelda hadn’t just given him a compliment. “Mike’s always been plainspoken.”
“Solid as a rock, that man,” Zelda agreed. “I suppose, since we’re laying all our cards on the table, I should admit that I’d hoped Bliss would fall in love with Michael.”
“That probably would have been better for her,” Shayne reluctantly admitted.
“There was a time, after Alan, when I would have thought so. Now, I believe I may have been wrong about that.” Zelda put her glass down on the lacy iron table beside her chair. “Bliss is still feeling the sting of your falsehoods. You must understand that, after Alan, it must seem like a case of history repeating itself for her.”
“I understand. But appearances to the contrary, I’m nothing like Alan Fortune. Not really.”
“I can see that. And I know Bliss will, too, once she has time to think about it. Which is what you need to do, Shayne. Give her time.” She stood up, effectively signaling an end to the conversation. “In the meantime, I’ll do whatever I can to convince her to at least talk with you.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I’m doing it for Bliss, not you. She may appear to be a carefree, blithe spirit, but she also has a steely core, which has allowed her to survive life’s little challenges. She can also be remarkably hardheaded. It’s not going to be easy, winning her over. But she’s a clever girl and if we all gang up on her, eventually, I know she’ll see the light.”
Shayne could have kissed the older woman. In fact, acting on impulse, as he so seldom did, he ignored her outstretched hand, took hold of her softly padded shoulders and touched his smiling lips to her remarkably unwrinkled cheek.
“I can see why Bliss’s grandfather fell head over heels in love with you,” he said.
She blushed prettily, which took a good ten years off her age and reminded Shayne yet again of Bliss.
“A charmer,” she repeated. “But then, so was Dupree. And that man gave me the most wonderful years of my life.” Her twinkling eyes turned resolute. “I expect you to do the same for my Bliss.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Shayne agreed without hesitation.
The conversation hadn’t turned out as well as he’d hoped—he’d fantasized about Bliss running into the room, tearfully flinging herself into his arms and forgiving him—but at least, as he left the cozy little carriage house, Shayne felt more optimistic than he had in a very long time.
So deep in thought was Shayne as he approached the Jag parked at the curb, he didn’t see Bliss standing at an upstairs window, her cheeks stained with tears as she watched him walk away.
BOTH HIS BROTHERS were waiting in the gilt-and-marble lobby of the Whitfield Palace when Shayne returned to the hotel.
“Hey, kid.” Roarke punched him in the upper arm, the blow hard enough it took all Shayne’s self-control not to flinch. “So, how long were you going to be in town before you decided to look up your favorite brother?”
“Things were complicated.” His arm was stinging but there was no way Shayne was going to give Roarke the satisfaction of rubbing it. Sometimes, he thought, it stunk being the youngest brother.
“Yeah, Mike’s filled me in. Too bad about you and Bliss.”
“That’ll work out,” Shayne assured both brothers, who exchanged a look at the news.
“Does that mean you’ve talked with her?” Michael asked.
“Not yet. But Zelda and I had a long discussion about my intentions. And she’s on my side.”
“That’s gotta help,” Roarke said. “Bliss thinks the world of her grandmother.”
“And rightfully so,” Mike said.
“I can’t argue with that. She seems like a dynamite lady,” Shayne agreed.
“Bliss will probably be a lot like Zelda when she’s a little old lady,” Roarke suggested. “A guy could do a lot worse than spend his golden years with a woman like that.”
There was no way he was going to respond to the innuendo in his brother’s voice. “Speaking of golden years, I hear you’re thinking of settling down.”
“You’ve heard right. I’ve given up my roaming ways, hung up my rambling shoes and set up housekeeping with the woman of my dreams. Which reminds me, I’m supposed to ask you both what you’re doing the first Saturday in September.”
“I don’t have anything scheduled yet,” Mike answered. “Is Daria planning a Labor Day party?”
“In a way.” Roarke’s grin was the same one he’d used to charm his way past heavily armed border guards during innumerable faraway wars. “We’re getting married.”
“Married?” Shayne stared at his brother. This was even worse than he’d feared. Then again, he decided, looking at the smug, entirely satisfied expression on Roarke’s face, perhaps it wasn’t so bad, after all.
“Damn, I knew it!” It was Mike’s turn to punch Roarke. “Congratulations, little brother. You’re getting a real gem.”
“I know that.” Roarke’s grin flashed white in his darkly tanned face.
“And let me be the first to warn you,” Mike continued, “that if you don’t treat Daria like she deserves, I’m going to punch your lights out.”
“I’d expect no less,” Roarke agreed easily.
“So,” Shayne said, “when do I get to meet this paragon?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Why not tonight?”
“Because,” Roarke said patiently, “tonight we’re going to go out on the town and drink to my upcoming nuptials. And, given the miserable romantic mess you’ve managed to get yourself into, you’re allowed to get rip-roaring drunk to drown your sorrows.”
“You’re all heart.”
“Hey,” Roarke grinned and punched him again, “that’s what big brothers are for.”
They eschewed the lavishly decorated Blue Bayou Lounge, settling instead for a homey Irish pub on Bourbon Street. Shayne had just started on his second Guinness when Mike’s cellular phone rang.
“I have to run back to the hotel,” he announced after the brief conversation. “A package just arrived for me there.”
“At the hotel? Why not your office?”
“Because after Fortune’s death, I’m not certain that building’s as secure as it should be. And since I didn’t know where, exactly, we’d end up tonight, it seemed easier to have it delivered there.”
“What is it?” Roarke asked.
“Does it have something to do with Fortune?” Shayne inquired at the same time.
“It should be a package of photographs from a friend of mine at a clipping service based in Atlanta. Apparently Fortune used the same service to keep track of how often—and where—his name showed up in print. She promised to pull the information and courier it to me.”
“Good thinking.” Shayne took a long swallow and wiped the foam off his upper lip with the back of his hand. “I’m impressed.”
“I don’t know why you should be,” Mike stated. “I am, after all, a private detective.”
“I knew that.” Shayne grinned. “I just wasn’t sure you were any good.”
He ducked the fist headed toward his jaw just in time. Still grinning, he tossed off the last of the smooth dark brew and left the pub with his brothers.
“Sorry to screw up your celebration,” he told Roarke as they walked back to the hotel.
“That’s okay. We’ll have other nights. I’m not going anywhere. And neither, it appears, are you.”
Shayne heard the question in his brother’s tone. “I figured I might hang around town for a while,” he said with careful casualness.
“Bliss hooked him,” Mike said to Roarke.
“Looks as if our baby brother has it bad,” Roarke said to Mike.
Shayne’s only response was a muttered curse.
THE PHOTOS ONLY documented what Shayne had already known. That Alan Fortune knew a lot of women. There were shots of him in M
onaco with a divorced heir to an Oklahoma oil fortune, several of him skiing in Switzerland with the former wife of a Wall Street tycoon, and one of him dancing at a Manhattan club with a black-leather-clad performance actress who lived off a trust fund from her Philadelphia DAR grandmother.
“This one is interesting,” Roarke said, drawing their attention to a clipping from the New Orleans Times-Picayune .
“It’s Bliss’s wedding photo,” Mike said.
Shayne took hold of the clipping and stared down at the young woman who was gazing up at her husband. She looked so young. No, not young, he decided, innocent.
Shayne had never realized that he was a jealous man until he’d met Bliss. But even though he’d come to terms with the unfamiliar, uncomfortable emotion, he felt a sense of relief that he didn’t see the same light of love in her gaze as she looked up at her groom that had been there when he’d made love to her.
“She sure is drop-dead gorgeous,” Roarke murmured. “If I wasn’t an engaged man, Shayne, I just might have to give you a run for your money.”
“And I just might have to knock your block off for messin’ with my woman.”
“Your woman?” Roarke challenged. “I hadn’t realized you’d made a committment to the lady, yet.”
“That still doesn’t give you the right—”
“Hey, you two,” Mike complained. “If you could both just grow up for a minute, can I remind you that we have a job to do?” He put another photo clipping down on the coffee table. “Here’s one of Fortune and that other antique dealer.”
“Churchill,” Shayne answered.
“That’s him,” Mike agreed.
The shot appeared to have been taken aboard a ship docked in what Shayne recognized as the harbor at Cannes. The two men were sitting at a table on the deck, playing cards.
“Wait a minute,” he said, looking at the woman who was standing behind Alan, her hand, adorned with a huge diamond, resting on his shoulder. “I know her.”
“Really?” Mike leaned closer. “Who is she?”
