by JoAnn Ross
He tried to explain his feelings the day he resigned.
“Are you certain you want to do this, O’Malley?” the Washington bureau chief asked.
“Positive, sir.” Shayne laid his badge on the polished mahogany desk that had once belonged to Patrick Henry.
“We need a man to take Cunningham’s place. I recommended you.”
A recommendation from this man would cinch the deal. There’d been a time when Shayne would have jumped at the chance to actually set policy. Cunningham had been near the peak of a very exclusive pyramid; he’d been mostly free of oversight from Washington, which was how he’d managed to become a rogue agent in the first place. And although Shayne knew he’d never turn into a thief or murderer, what he’d done to Bliss—the behavior he’d somehow managed to justify to himself—was proof that he’d been on a very slippery slope for a long time. It was true: Power definitely tended to corrupt.
“I’m flattered, sir. But I’m afraid I couldn’t be of any use to the agency any longer.”
“Why not? The excellent job you did exposing Cunningham and shutting down that theft ring that was driving us all crazy proves you’re on the top of your game.”
Shayne decided there was no point in trying to explain that he was going on a hunt for his conscience. “You know what they say, sir, that you should always go out on top.”
He grinned, his patent, professional smile, shook hands with the silver-haired man on the other side of the desk and left the office.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Shayne was in what his brother laughingly called an office, going through what only a generous person could call the accounting books.
“How the hell do you know if you’re making money or losing it?” he asked, trying to make some sense of the rows of green columns.
“Simple. If my checks don’t bounce and I have a balance in the checkbook at the end of the month, I’m making money. If I have to go into my credit reserve, which doesn’t happen all that often, I’m behind.”
“You charge different rates for different clients?”
“Different circumstances.”
“What about this one? You marked it paid in full.”
“So?”
“So, I can’t see a record of any check coming in.”
“That’s probably because there wasn’t any.”
“The guy paid cash?”
“No.”
“Money order?”
“No. I did the work gratis.”
“For free?” Shayne looked up at Mike in disbelief. “Why?”
“The guy’s a cop. He once saved my ass during a riot in the St. Louis Number One cemetery. I owed him, big time, so when his youngest son started hanging out with gangs, I dragged the kid out to the state prison, let some of the cons I’d arrested over the years scream in his face, then, after the scared-straight lecture, took him home. He’s back in school, bucking for honor roll.”
“My brother, Saint Michael, the P.I”
“I told you, I owed the guy a favor. I realize you’ve been operating in another world, but in my little corner of the globe, friends look out for friends.”
“Same thing in my world,” Shayne muttered. “You watch out so some friend doesn’t stick a knife between your ribs.”
“Sounds like you could use a better class of friends.”
“That’s the same thing I was thinking.” Shayne looked up from the ledger sheets. “Looks as if you could use a business planner.”
“They cost money.”
“True. But if you asked real nice, I’d probably be willing to give you a family rate.”
Michael didn’t look all that surprised. He crossed his legs at the ankles, folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the gray steel filing cabinet that was in desperate need of reorganization. “Are you asking for a job?”
“I guess I am.”
Mike rubbed his chin and appeared to be giving that some thought. “I don’t think it’d work out.”
“Why the hell not? If you think I can’t do the job—”
“Hey, I saw your college transcripts, remember? You got nearly straight As. I have no doubt you’re a whiz at your work, but I can’t see you taking orders from me.”
Truthfully, that had been the one little problem that had been nagging at Shayne all the way home from Washington. “We won’t know if we don’t try.”
Having given it a great deal of thought, he also couldn’t see Mike being too outrageously bossy. Now Roarke, on the other hand, was another matter. Although he loved his brother and knew Roarke felt the same, Shayne figured they could probably work five minutes together before they started breaking furniture.
“How about I make another suggestion,” Mike said.
“What?”
“I think it might work out better if we were partners.”
The idea was immediately appealing. “I’ll want to pay my fair share to buy in.”
“That isn’t necessary.”
“It is for me.”
“Fine.” Michael’s lips twitched as if he were trying to hold back a grin. “I know you said you wanted out of the spy business, but how would you feel about working on some investigations from time to time?”
“I’d enjoy that.” Knowing that Michael would never stoop to the tactics Shayne had vowed never to use again, he accepted the offer.
“Okay. I guess that settles it.” Michael held out his hand. As Shayne shook it, he thought how terrific it felt, going to work with his brother.
“Let’s call up Roarke,” Michael suggested. “We can pick up our celebration night where we left off.”
“In a minute.” Shayne pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I need your signature, confirming that I’m gainfully employed.”
Michael perused the paper. “You’re buying a house?”
“Yep.” Shayne’s look challenged his brother to say a single negative word.
“Cool,” was the word Michael chose as he signed the paper.
Cool, Shayne thought as they left the office to meet Roarke at the pub. He now had a job and a house. Two down, one to go.
“DAMN, DAMN, DAMN.” Bliss twisted the key in the ignition, frustrated when the engine absolutely refused to turn over.
Michael, returning to his office after a stakeout, found Bliss glaring down into the open hood of her car.
“Need some help?”
“I don’t suppose you know anything about car engines.”
“Just enough to call the auto club,” Michael lied. He was uncomfortable with the prevarication, but was willing, just this one time, to do it. And it was, after all, he reminded himself, for Bliss’s own good.
“I’ll have to call a cab. I promised I’d be home in time for dinner.”
She did not add what Michael already knew; that she’d been working overtime in an attempt to keep her mind off Shayne. Which was difficult since he was now working for Michael. She’d actually considered evicting the detective agency, but decided there was no way she was going to allow Shayne to realize she was still hurting. So, he used the back door, which kept him out of her shop, and whenever their paths happened to cross, neither spoke. Not even to mention the steady stream of gifts that she continued to return. Except for yesterday’s. Which had, unfortunately; proven too irresistible.
She’d have to give it back, of course, she’d decided. She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea, that there was a place for him in her life.
“Why don’t you let me give you a lift?” Michael suggested easily. “Since I’m going in that direction, anyway.”
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to take you out of your way.”
“Hey,” he smiled and skimmed his finger down the slope of her nose, “that’s what friends are for.
“That’s better,” he said when she returned his smile with a faint one of her own.
“What’s better?”
“You finally smiled at me. I thought it might be another month before you’d forgi
ve me enough to get to that point.”
“I forgave you a long time ago.”
“But not Shayne.”
“It’s hard,” she murmured, looking away from the handsome face that so reminded her of the man she loved.
“For him, too,” Michael dared.
She sighed. “I know.” She’d seen the frustration and the need in his eyes, whenever their gazes accidentally met. “Lilah certainly seems to have taken him under her wing.”
“Lilah’s a friendly woman.”
“Yes.” Bliss’s tone was dry as she wondered, yet again, exactly how friendly Lilah Middleton had been to their new tenant. She cast a significant glance down at her watch. “Well, if I’m going to be home on time—”
“We’d better get going,” Michael finished up for her. He closed the hood, feeling not the slightest bit guilty about the starter solenoid deep in his pocket.
Their relationship was almost back to normal. Conversation flowed easily as they drove from the French Quarter, Michael telling her about today’s stakeout, Bliss telling him about an upcoming auction she was excited about attending.
“There’s a pair of Regency chairs that I’m dying to have. Churchill outbid me for them in Lafayette, but now that the government’s selling off all his stuff, I’ve got a second chance at them.”
“I have not a doubt in the world you’ll get them.”
“I love a man with confidence.”
“I have confidence in you, Bliss. In your remarkable capacity for bouncing back from adversity, your generous and forgiving heart—”
“I said I didn’t want to talk about Shayne.”
“We’re not. We’re talking about you,” he reminded her mildly as he pulled up in front of a Queen Anne Victorian that brought to mind a gingerbread house. It was badly in need of a coat of paint and the steps to the front porch looked downright dangerous, but Bliss could definitely see the house’s potential.
“What’s this?”
“A house I wanted you to look at for me.”
“Oh?” Her interest, already piqued, rose. “Are you thinking of buying it?”
“That’s up in the air right now. But I could use some expert advice.”
She glanced down at her watch again. She really didn’t want to disappoint Zelda, but the lure of this darling house was irresistible.
“I have time for a quick walk-through. But I’m no expert on construction. You’ll need a contractor for that.”
“It’s already passed inspection,” he revealed as he took her arm and guided her up the rickety steps that would definitely need to be replaced. “The foundation’s firm and there’s not a termite on the premises. The structure’s solid as a rock, and all the windows can stay if they’re reglazed. The only major thing is the roof, which needs to be replaced.”
“Lucky you.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he merely unlocked the carved door with the lovely etched glass fanlight, and invited her into the house.
Although it was getting toward evening, the sun was still high enough in the sky to bathe the front foyer with a warm, golden glow. “The floor’s magnificent,” she murmured, struck with an urge to bend down and run her fingers over the gleaming mahogany planks. The house appeared empty, her words echoed in the stillness.
“It’s original. If you think this is great, wait until you see the upstairs bedroom.” He gestured toward the narrow stairway, with its exquisitely hand-carved bannister.
It crossed her mind that being alone in an empty house—especially in the bedroom—with a man was not exactly the wisest move she’d ever made. Then she reminded herself that the man in question was Michael and nearly laughed at her strange feeling of uneasiness.
The rug on the stairs was faded, the pink roses nearly white. She thought of some carpeting she’d seen in the catalogue of Churchill’s stock that would be absolutely perfect for here—a lovely cream Aubusson runner with a deep rose-colored border.
“Oh!” She stopped in the doorway Michael had indicated, staring in wonder at a room of enchantment, all glowing wood and cream walls.
A huge bed, with an intricately carved headboard and four graceful columns at least seven feet tall took up the center of the room. The sheets were ivory, trimmed with eight inches of exquisitely tatted lace. Lace that was echoed on the edges of the pillows strewn over the top of the bed, and on the windows, the latter cutting the slanting sun into golden diamonds that danced on the silk-draped walls.
“It’s exquisite,” she breathed. The bed, meant to be sunk into, reminded her of both the moss-stuffed mattress in the cabin Shayne had taken her to, and that marvelous fur rug.
“I’m glad you approve,” a voice behind her murmured. A voice so much like Michael’s, but not quite. She spun around, and found the object of so much of her recent misery standing in the doorway.
14
“WHERE’S MICHAEL?”
“He suddenly remembered a previous engagement.”
“So he left me here. With you.”
“I’m afraid so.” Shayne walked a few steps into the room. “I was hoping, after you accepted yesterday’s gift, that you might be ready to talk.”
Bliss stepped backward. “That was a mistake.” What on earth had made her keep those damn wind chimes?
“They’re the same as the ones at the cabin.” He kept walking toward her.
“You’ll have to take them back.” Bliss kept backing up until she was stopped by the mattress pressing against the back of her knees.
“Too late. They’re yours now.” He plucked a bright pink peony from a crystal vase on the brocade-draped table beside the bed. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?”
Not as much as she’d missed him, Bliss could have answered, but didn’t.
“Okay, let’s try another question,” he said, when she didn’t answer. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
They were the words she’d been wanting to hear for weeks. The words she’d dreamed of hearing more times than she cared to count. The words she was afraid to trust
“Why should I believe that?” she asked. “After the way you behaved—”
“Abominably,” he agreed. His eyes locked with hers, he closed the gap between them. “And it would serve me right if you never had anything to do with me again.”
Heaven help her, he’d begun stroking her skin with the soft pink petals in a way that made her ache for the tender touch whose absence had tormented too many restless nights lately.
“That’s what I should do.” Bliss tried for cold anger, but knew that her shimmering sigh, as he trailed the blossom around her lips, gave her away.
“Probably.” He watched her lips part and was struck with a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to crush his mouth to hers. But having waited so long for this chance to speak with her, Shayne didn’t want to risk upsetting her. “But, before you do, may I give you one little word of advice?”
“What?”
“My mother has an old saying she used to tell us boys—about not cutting off your nose to spite your face.”
“I know it,” Bliss whispered. “Zelda says the same thing.”
“I realize that I’ll never be able to make amends for having betrayed your trust, Bliss. But if you give me a second chance, I promise I’ll spend the rest of our lives making up for it. We’re good together, sweetheart. Better than good, we’re made for one another. Don’t throw away your chance for happiness because you feel the need to punish me.”
That was, of course, exactly what she’d been doing. She’d been miserable since finding out Shayne’s true identity. And now, looking at his hollowed cheeks and the dark shadows beneath his grave blue eyes, she realized that she’d not been the only one suffering.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth now?” she asked, deciding there was no point in denying how right they were for each other. “How do I know that as soon as I give you my heart again, you won’t leave?”
“I�
�m working for Mike now,” he reminded her.
“True. And before that you were working for Cunningham. You’ve spent your entire adult life roaming the world, Shayne. How do I know you’re truly ready to settle down?”
“How about the fact that I bought this house?”
“You bought it? But I thought Michael...” She stared around the room, seeing it with new eyes, picturing the two of them spending lazy Sunday mornings in that magnificent bed.
“Oh,” she said, as her gaze caught the chair in a shadowed corner of the octagon-shaped room. “Is that...”
“Raggedy Ann. You left her behind that dray.”
“I know.” She’d missed the doll but had been too proud—and too stubborn—to ask for it back.
“I bought the house unfurnished,” he revealed. “All I’ve bought so far is this bed, the table and that rocker.”
“It’s lovely. Where did you find it?”
“Lilah found it advertised in the paper.”
“Lilah?”
“I don’t know anything about antiques, so I told her what I was looking for and asked her to help.”
“And she did. Just like that.”
“She wasn’t being disloyal, Bliss. She was only trying to help me win you back.”
Bliss lifted a copper brow. “What makes you think that buying a rocker—and not even one from my shop—will make me decide to forgive you?”
“Because, although this conversation isn’t going at all as I’d planned, I was hoping that you’d like the idea of rocking our babies in that chair.”
“Babies?”
“I want to marry you, Bliss.” He tossed the peony onto the bed and took her into his arms. “I want to make babies with you. Lots and lots of bright-haired babies with Spanish-moss green eyes and skin so smooth silk doesn’t even come close.”
He slipped a hand beneath her blouse and stroked her back, rekindling smoldering ashes. “I want to make those babies—and our life together—here in New Orleans, where we both belong.
