Key of Knowledge k-2

by Nora Roberts

  To what, he couldnt say. But he wanted Dana back in his life.

  And, there was no point in denying it, he wanted her back in his bed. Theyd made progress toward friendship during that shopping stint. Theyd been easy with each other for a while, as if the years between hadnt happened.

  But, of course, they had. And as soon as he and Dana had remembered those years, the progress had taken an abrupt turn and stomped away in a huff.

  So now he had a mission, Jordan decided. He had to find a way to win her back. Friend and lover—in whatever order suited them both best.

  The search for the key had, among other things, given him an opening. He intended to use it.

  When he realized that hed driven to Warriors Peak, he stopped, pulled to the side of the road.

  He remembered climbing that high stone wall as a teenager with Brad and Flynn. They had camped in the woods, with a hijacked six-pack that none of them was old enough to drink.

  The Peak was untenanted then, a big, fanciful, spooky place. The perfect place to fascinate a trio of boys with a couple of beers in them.

  A high, full moon, he recalled as he climbed out of the car. A black-glass sky and just enough wind, just a hint of wind, to stir the leaves and whisper.

  He could see it all now, as clearly as hed seen it then. Maybe more clearly, he thought, amused at himself. He was older, and stone-cold sober, and he had—admittedly— added a few flourishes to the memory.

  He liked to think of the scene with a layer of fog drifting over the ground, and a moon so round and white it looked carved into the glass of the sky. Stars sharp as the points of darts. The low, haunting call of an owl, and the rustle of night prey in the high grass. In the distance, with an echo that rolled through the night, the baying of a dog.

  Hed added those beats when he used that house and that night in his first major book.

  But for Phantom Watch thered been one element of that night he hadnt had to imagine. Because it had happened. Because hed seen it.

  Even now, as a man past thirty with none of the naпvetй of the boy left in him, he believed it.

  Shed walked along the parapet, under the hard, white moon, sliding in and out of shadows like a ghost, with her hair flying, her cape—surely it had been a cape—billowing.

  Shed owned the night. Hed thought that then and he thought it now. She had been the night.

  Shed looked at him, Jordan remembered as he wandered to the iron gates, as he stared through them at the great stone house on the rise. He hadnt been able to see her face, but hed known she looked down, straight into his eyes. Hed felt the punch of it, the power, like a blow meant to awaken rather than to harm.

  His mind had sizzled from it, and nothing—not the beer, not his youth, not even the shock—had been able to dull the thrill.

  Shed looked at him, Jordan remembered again as he scanned the parapet. And shed known him.

  Flynn and Brad hadnt seen her. By the time his mind had clicked back into gear and he shouted them over, she was gone.

  It had spooked them, of course. Deliciously. The way sightings of ghosts and fanciful creatures are meant to.

  Though years later, when he wrote of her, he made her a ghost, hed known then—he knew now—that she was as alive as he.

  “Whoever you were,” he murmured, “you helped me make my mark. So, thanks.”

  He stood there, hands in his pockets, peering through the bars. The house was part of his past, and oddly, hed considered making it part of his future. Hed been toying with calling to see if it was available just days before Flynn had contacted him about the portrait of the young Arthur of Britain. Hed bought that painting on impulse five years ago at the gallery where Malory used to work, though he hadnt met her then. Not only had it been a major element of Malorys quest, but theyd discovered the painting, along with The Daughters of Glass and one Brad had bought separately had all been painted by Rowena, Jordan thought, centuries ago.

  New York, his present, had served its purpose for him. Hed been ready for a change. Ready to come home. Then Flynn had made it so very easy.

  It gave him the opportunity to come back, test the waters, and his feelings. Hed known, this time hed known, as soon as he saw the majestic run of the Appalachians, that he wanted them back.

  This time—surprise—he was back to stay:

  He wanted those hills. The riot of them in fall, the lush green of them in summer. He wanted to stand and see them frozen in white, so still and regal, or hazed with the tender touch of spring.

  He wanted the Valley, with its tidy streets and tourists. The familiarity of faces that had known him since his youth, the smell of backyard barbecues and the snippets of local gossip.

  He wanted his friends, the comfort and the joy of them. Pizza out of the box, a beer on the porch, old jokes that no one laughed at the same way a childhood friend did.

  And he still wanted that damn house, Jordan realized with a slow, dawning smile. He wanted it now every bit as much as he had when he was a sixteen-year-old dreamer with whole worlds yet to be explored.

  So, he would bide his time there—he was cagier than hed been at sixteen. And he would find out what Rowena andPitte planned to do with the place when they moved on.

  To wherever they moved on.

  So, maybe the house was both his past and his future.

  He ran bits of Rowenas clue through his head. He was part of Danas past, and like it or not, he was part of her present. Very probably he would be part—one way or another—of her future.

  So what did he, and the Peak, have to do with her quest for the key?

  And wasnt it incredibly self-serving to assume that he had anything to do with it.

  “Maybe,” he said quietly to himself. “But right at the moment, I dont see a damn thing wrong with that.”

  With one last look at the house, he turned and walked back to his ear. He would go back to Flynns and spend some time thinking it through, working out the angles.

  Then he would present them to Dana, whether she wanted to hear them or not.

  * * *

  BRADLEY Vane had some plans and plots of his own.Zoe was a puzzlement to him. Prickly and argumentative one minute, scrupulously polite the next. He would knock, and the door to her would crack open. He could detect glimmers of humor and sweetness, then the door would slam shut in his face with a blast of cold air.

  Hed never had a woman take an aversion to him on sight. It was especially galling that the first one who did happened to be the one he was so outrageously attracted to.

  He hadnt been able to get her face out of his mind for three years, since hed first seen After the Spell , the painting hed bought—the second one Rowena had painted of the Daughters of Glass .

  Zoesface on the goddess who slept, three thousand years, in a coffin of glass.

  However ridiculous it was, Brad had fallen in love at first sight with the woman in the portrait.

  The woman in reality was a much tougher nut.

  But Vanes were known for their tenacity. And their determination to win. If shed come into the store that afternoon, he could and would have rearranged his schedule and taken her through. It wouldve given him the opportunity to spend some time with her, while keeping it all practical and friendly.

  Of course, youd think that when her car broke down and he happened by and offered her a lift, that interlude would have been practical and friendly.

  Instead shed gotten her back up because he pointed out the flaws in her plan to try to fix the car while wearing a dinner dress, and he, understandably, had refused to mess with the engine himself.

  Hed offered to call a mechanic for her, hadnt he? Brad thought, getting riled up again at the memory. Hed stood there debating with her for ten minutes, thus ensuring that whatever she did they would both be late to the Peak.

  And when she grudgingly accepted the ride finally, she spent every minute of it in an ice-cold funk.

  He was absolutely crazy about her.

  “Sick
,” he muttered as he turned the corner to her street. “Youre a sick man, Vane.”

  Her little house sat tidily back from the road on a neat stamp of lawn. Shed planted fall flowers along the sunny left side. The house itself was a cheerful yellow with bright white trim. A boys red bike lay on its side in the front yard, reminding him that she had a son hed yet to catch sight of.

  Brad pulled his new Mercedes behind her decade-old hatchback.

  He walked back to the cargo area and hauled out the gift he hoped would turn the tide in his favor.

  He carted it to the front door, then caught himself running a nervous hand through his hair.

  Women never made him nervous.

  Annoyed with himself, he knocked briskly.

  It was the boy who opened it, and for the second time in his life, Brad found himself dazzled by a face. He looked like his mother—dark hair, tawny eyes, pretty, pointed features. The dark hair was mussed, the eyes cool with suspicion, but neither detracted a whit from the exotic good looks.

  Brad had enough young cousins, assorted nieces and nephews, to be able to peg the kid at around eight or nine. Give him another ten years, Brad thought, and this one would have to beat the coeds off with a stick. “Simon, right?” Brad offered an Im-harmless-you-can-trust-me grin. “Im Brad Vane, a friend of your moms.” Sort of. “She around?”

  “Yeah, shes around.” Though the boy gave Brad a very quick up-and-down glance, Brad had the certain sensation hed been studied carefully and thoroughly, and the jury was still out. “Yougotta wait out there, cause Im not allowed to let anybody in if I dont know who they are.”

  “No problem.”

  The door shut in his face. Like mother, like son, Brad thought, then heard the boy shout.

  “Mom! Theres this guy at the door. He looks like a lawyer or something.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Brad mumbled and cast his eyes to heaven.

  Moments later the door opened again.Zoes expression changed from puzzlement to surprise to mild irritation in three distinct stages.

  “Oh. Its you. Um… is there something I can do for you?”

  You could let me nibble my way up your neck to the back of your ear for a start, Brad thought, but kept his easy smile in place. “Dana was in the store this afternoon, picking up some supplies.”

  “Yes. I know.” She tucked a dishcloth in the waistband of her jeans, let the tail hang down her hip. “Did she forget something?”

  “Not exactly. I just thought you might be able to use this.” He lifted the gift hed leaned against the side of the house, then had the pleasure of seeing her blink in surprise an instant before she laughed.

  Really laughed. He loved the sound of it, the way it danced over her face, into her eyes.

  “You brought me a stepladder?”

  “An essential tool for any home or business improvement project.”

  “Yes, it is. I have one.” Obviously realizing how ungracious that sounded, she flushed and hurried on. “But its… old. And we can certainly use another. It was really thoughtful of you.”

  “We ofHomeMakers appreciate your business. Where would you like me to put this?”

  “Oh, well.” She glanced behind her, then seemed to sigh. “Why dont you just bring it in here? Ill figure that out later.” She stepped back, bumped into the boy who was hovering at her back. “Simon, this is Mr. Vane. Hes an old friend of Flynns.”

  “He said he was a friend of yours.”

  “Working on that.” Brad carried the stepladder into the house. “Hi, Simon. Hows it going?”

  “Its going okay. How come youre wearing a suit if youre carrying ladders around?”

  “Simon.”

  “Good question.” Brad ignoredZoe and concentrated on the boy. “I had a couple of meetings earlier today. Suits are more intimidating.”

  “Wearing them sucks. Mom made me wear one to AuntJoleens wedding last year. With a tie. Bogus.”

  “Thanks for that fashion report.”Zoe hooked an arm around Simons throat and made him grin.

  Then they both grinned, at each other, and Brads eyes were dazzled.

  “Homework?”

  “Done. Video game time.”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “Forty-five.”

  “Thirty.”

  “Sweet!” He wriggled free, then bolted across the room to the TV.

  Now that her hands were no longer full of boy,Zoe didnt know what to do with them. She laid one on the ladder. “Its a really nice stepladder. The fiberglass ones are so light and easy to work with.”

  “Quality with value—HomeMakers bywords.”

  The sounds of a ballpark abruptly filled the tiny living room behind her. “Its his favorite,”Zoe managed. “Hed rather play baseball—virtual or in real life—than breathe.” She cleared her throat, wondered what the hell she was supposed to do next. “Ah… can I get you something to drink?”

  “Sure, Whatevers handy.” “Okay.” Damn it. “Just, um, have a seat. Ill be back in a minute.”

  What to do with Bradley Vane? she asked herself as she hurried back to the kitchen. In her house. Plunked down in his expensive shoes in her living room. An hour before dinner.

  She stopped herself, pressed her hands to her eyes. It was okay, it was perfectly all right. Hed done something very considerate, and she would reciprocate by bringing him something to drink, having a few minutes of conversation.

  She never knew what she was supposed to say to him. She didnt understand men like him. The kind of man who came from serious money. Whod done things and had things and gone places to get more.

  And he made her so stupidly nervous and defensive.

  Should she take him a glass of wine? No, no, he was driving, and she didnt have any really good wine anyway. Coffee? Tea?

  Christ.

  At her wits end, she opened the refrigerator. She had juice, she had milk.

  Here, Bradley Charles Vane IV, of the really rich and

  important Pennsylvania Vanes, have a nice glass of cow juice, then be on your way.

  She blew out a breath, then dug a bottle of ginger ale out of a cupboard. She took out her nicest glass, checked for water spots, then filled it with ice. She added the ginger ale, careful to keep it a safe half inch below the rim.

  She tugged at the hem of the sweatshirt shed tossed on over jeans, looked down resignedly at the thick gray socks she wore in lieu of shoes, and hoped she didnt smell of the brass cleaner shed been using to attack the tarnish on an umbrella stand shed picked up at the flea market.

  Suit or no suit, she thought as she squared her shoulders, she wouldnt be intimidated in her own home. She would take him his drink, speak politely, hopefully briefly, then show him out.

  No doubt he had more exciting things to do than sit in her living room drinking ginger ale and watching a nine-year-old play video baseball.

  She carried the glass down the hall, then stopped and stared.

  Bradley Charles Vane IV wasnt watching Simon play. He was, to her amazement, sitting on the floor in his gorgeous suit, playing with her son.

  “Two strikes, baby. You are doomed.” With a cackle, Simon wiggled his butt and prepared for the next pitch.

  “Dream on, kid. See my man on third? Hes about to score.”

  She stepped farther into the room, but neither of them noticed her as the ball whistled toward the plate and the bat cracked against virtual cowhide.

  “Hes got it, hes got it, hes got it,” Simon said in a kind of whispered chant. “Yeah, yeah, shagged that sucker.”

  “And the runner tags,” Brad said. “Watch him fly, heading for home. Here comes the throw… and he slides, and…”

  Safe! the home base ump decreed.

  “Oh, yeah.” Brad gave Simon a quick elbow nudge. “One to zip, pal.”

  “Not bad. For an old guy.” Simon chuckled. “Now prepare to be humiliated.”

  “Excuse me. I brought you some ginger ale.”

  “Time out.“ Brad twisted around to smi
le up at her. ”Thanks. Do you mind if we play out the inning?“

  “No. Of course not.” She set the glass on the coffee table, and wondered what she should do now. “Ill just be back in the kitchen. I need to start dinner.”

  When his eyes stayed so direct and easy on hers, she heard-—with some horror—the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Youre welcome to stay. Its just chicken.”

  “Thatd be great.”

  He swiveled back around to resume the game.

  Mental note, Brad thought: Forget the roses and champagne. Home improvement supplies are the key to this particular ladys lock.

  * * *

  WHILEZoe was standing in her kitchen wondering how the hell she was going to turn her humble chicken into something worthy of a more sophisticated palate, Dana was soothing her ego with takeout pizza.

  She hadnt meant to tell him. Ever. Why give him one more thing to smirk at her about?

  But he hadnt smirked, she admitted, washing down the pizza with cold beer. In fact, hed looked as though shed put a bullet dead center of his forehead.

  Neither could she claim hed looked pleased or puffed up about the knowledge that shed been in love with him.

  The fact of it was, hed looked shocked, then sorry.

  Oh, God, maybe that was worse.

  She sulked over the pizza. Though she had her evening book open on the table beside her, she hadnt read a single word. She was just going to have to deal with this, she told herself.

  She couldnt afford to obsess about Jordan. Not only because she had other things that should occupy her time and her thoughts, but it just wasnt healthy.

  Since it was clear he was going to hang around for several weeks, and there was no avoiding him unless she avoided Flynn and Brad, they would be seeing each other regularly.

  And if she accepted all that had happened in the last month, all shed learned, she was going to have to accept that Jordan had been meant to come back. He was a part of it all.

  And damn it, he could be useful.

  He had a good brain, one that picked up on and filed away details.