The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 5

by Nora Roberts

  “I’m going to cry.”

  “You go right ahead.” Patting Lissy’s shoulder, Fiona led her to the porch.

  LATER, SYLVIA ROCKED and sipped and watched Lissy drive away with Chloe. “That must be very satisfying.”

  “And a little exhausting.”

  “Well, you did give her two solid hours.”

  “She—they—needed it. I think they’ll be all right. Lissy has to keep it up—and bring Harry on board. But I think she will. Our guys helped, a lot.” She lifted her foot and gave Peck’s rump a rub.

  “Now that we’ve solved Chloe’s problem, what about yours?”

  “I think that’s going to take more than a firm hand and some dog treats.”

  “How mad is he?”

  “Pretty mad.”

  “How mad are you?”

  “Undecided.”

  Now that the dog party had ended, a trio of jewel-winged humming-birds dashed and darted along the flowering red currant that Starr had written about in the cursed article.

  The blur of color should have charmed her, but it only served to remind Fiona of the harshness of the morning.

  “I’m trying to stay calm, to be sensible—because otherwise I think, I really think I’d run screaming and never stop. And Simon’s angry I don’t run screaming. At least I think that’s part of it, and I’m not all ‘Oh, you’re so big and strong, please take care of me.’ Or something.”

  Sylvia continued to rock, to sip. “It’s a wonder to me, it really is, Fee, how someone as insightful and sensitive as you can’t seem to understand how painfully hard this is on the rest of us.”

  “Oh, Syl. I do! Of course I do. I wish—”

  “No, honey, you don’t. Your solution is to block us out of some of the details, and your own fears. To make the decisions, on your own, about what to do and how to do it. And since I can’t completely disagree with that, I’m in a quandary.”

  Guilt mingled with frustration, and irritation wrapped them with a frayed bow. “I don’t block you out.”

  “Not often. You are a sensible woman, and you’re justifiably proud of your ability to take care of yourself and deal with your own problems. I’m proud of you. But I worry that your need to do that will box you into believing you have to do that, always. You have an easier time giving help than asking for it.”

  “Maybe I do. Maybe. But honestly, Syl, I didn’t think telling Simon or you, or anyone, about that damn reporter was an issue. Was a thing. It happened, I dealt with it. Telling you wouldn’t have stopped her from writing the article.”

  “No, but telling us would have prepared us for it.”

  “All right.” Tired, next to defeated, Fiona pressed her fingers to her eyes. “All right.”

  “I don’t want to upset you. God knows I don’t want to add to your stress. I’d just like you to think about . . . to consider that it’s time to really let those who care about you step in.”

  “Okay, tell me what you think I should do.”

  “I’ll tell you what I wish you could do. I wish you could pack up and go to Fiji until they catch this maniac. And I know you can’t. Not just because it’s not in your makeup, but because you have your home, your business, your bills, your life to deal with.”

  “Yes, I do. It’s maddening, Syl, because I feel like people don’t really understand that. If I crawled in some cave, I could lose my business, my home, not to mention my self-confidence. I worked hard to build all of those.”

  “In my opinion, honey, people do understand that, but they wish you could dig into that cave. I think you’re doing what you can, what you have to do—except asking and allowing others to genuinely help. It’s more than having James watch your house and dogs while you take a little trip, or letting Simon share your bed at night. It’s opening up to someone, Fiona, fully. It’s trusting enough to do that.”

  “God.” Fiona huffed out a breath. “I’ve practically thrown myself at Simon’s feet.”

  Sylvia smiled a little. “Have you?”

  “I told him I thought I was falling in love with him. I didn’t get quid pro quo out of that.”

  “Is that what you were after?”

  “No.” Irritated with herself and everything else, she shoved to her feet. “No. But he’s not exactly the sort who tells you what’s on his mind—unless he’s mad. And even then . . .”

  “I’m not talking about him, or to him. If I were, I’d probably have quite a bit to say. But this is you, Fiona. It’s you I’m worried about, worried for. It’s you I want happy and safe.”

  “I’m not going to take any chances. I promise you. And I won’t make a mistake like I did with the reporter again.” She turned back, lifted her hand, palm out. “Solemn oath.”

  “I’m going to hold you to it. Now, tell me what you want from Simon. With Simon.”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Don’t know, or haven’t let yourself dig down and think about?”

  “Both. If things were just normal—if all of this wasn’t hovering around the edges of my life—maybe I would dig down. Or maybe there wouldn’t be anything to dig for in the first place.”

  “Because what’s hovering is why you and Simon are where you are now?”

  “It’s certainly influenced it. The timing, the intensity.”

  “I’m full of opinions today,” Sylvia decided. “So here’s one more. I think you’re giving a murderer too much credit, and yourself and Simon not enough. The fact is, Fee, things are what they are, and you and Simon are where you are. That’s something to be dealt with.”

  She lifted her brows when the dogs went on alert. “And I bet that’s what you have to deal with coming over your bridge. I’m going to go so you can.” Sylvia rose, gathered Fiona in a fierce hug. “I love you, so much.”

  “I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  “Then don’t try. And think of this,” she murmured. “He left mad, but he came back.”

  She kissed Fiona’s cheek, then picked up her enormous straw bag. She called Oreo as she strolled toward Simon’s truck. Fiona couldn’t hear what Sylvia said to him, but noticed he glanced toward the porch as her stepmother spoke.

  Then shrugged.

  Typical.

  She stood her ground, though she wasn’t quite sure where the ground lay, as Sylvia drove away. “If you’re here due to obligation, I’ll relieve you of it. I can ask James to stay here tonight, or go bunk at Mai’s.”

  “Obligation for what?”

  “Because I’m in trouble, which I freely admit. I know you’re mad, and I’m telling you you’re not obliged. I won’t stay here alone.”

  He said nothing for a moment. “I want a beer.” He walked up the steps and into the house.

  “Well, for—” She strode in after him. “Is that how you solve problems? Is that your method?”

  “It depends on the problem. I want a beer,” he repeated, and pulled one out of the fridge, opened it. “I have a beer. Problem solved.”

  “I’m not talking about the damn beer.”

  “Okay.” He moved past her and out to the back porch.

  She caught the screen on the back swing, slammed it behind her. “Don’t just walk away from me.”

  “If you’re going to bitch, I’m going to sit down and drink my beer.”

  “If I’m going to—You left here this morning pissed off and bossy. Interrupting me every five seconds. Telling me to shut up.”

  “I’m about to repeat that.”

  “What gives you the right to tell me what to do, what to think, what to say?”

  “Not a thing.” He tipped the beer in her direction. “And right back at you, Fiona.”

  “I’m not telling you what to do. I’m giving you a choice, and I’m telling you I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”

  His gaze fired to hers, molten gold sheathed in ice. “I’m not one of your dogs. You won’t train me.”

  Her jaw dropped in sincere shock. “I’
m not trying to train you. For God’s sake.”

  “Yeah, you are. Second nature for you, I guess. Too bad, because I’d say it’s a pretty sure bet I have a lot of behaviors you’d like to change. That’s on you. If you’d rather James stay here tonight, give him a call. I’ll take off when he gets here.”

  “I don’t know why we’re fighting.” She pushed her hands through her hair, leaned back on the rail. “I don’t even know. I don’t know why I’m suddenly considered someone who’s closed in or blocked off or too stubborn or stupid to ask for help. I’m not. I’m not any of that.”

  He took a long pull as he studied her. “You got yourself out of the trunk.”

  “What?”

  “You got yourself out. Nobody helped you. There wasn’t anybody to help you. Live or die, it was up to you. It must’ve been a hell of a thing. I can’t imagine it. I’ve tried. I can’t. Do you want to stay in the trunk?”

  Tears stung behind her eyes, infuriatingly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You can keep getting out on your own. My money’s on you there. Or you can let somebody give you a hand with it, and get it through your head that it doesn’t make you incapable, and it sure as hell doesn’t make you weak. You’re the strongest woman I know, and I’ve known some strong women. So figure it out, and let me know.”

  She turned away, pressing a hand to her chest as it ached. “I got myself into the trunk, too.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “How do you know? You weren’t there. I was stupid and careless, and I let him take me.”

  “Jesus Christ. He killed twelve women before you. Do you think they were all stupid, careless? That they let him take them?”

  “I—no. Yes.” She turned back. “Maybe. I don’t know. But I know I made a mistake that day. Just a little one, just a few seconds, and it changed everything. Everything.”

  “You lived. Greg Norwood died.”

  “I know that it wasn’t my fault. I had therapy. I know Perry’s responsible. I know.”

  “Knowing isn’t always believing.”

  “I believe it. Most of the time. I don’t dwell on it. I don’t pull the chains of that with me.”

  “Maybe you didn’t, but they’re rattling now.”

  She hated, hated that he was right. “I built a life here, and I’m happy. There wouldn’t be this . . . I wouldn’t have this if it wasn’t happening again. How can it be happening again?” she demanded. “How in God’s name can this happen again?”

  She drew a shuddering breath. “Do you need me to say I’m scared? I told you I was. I am. I’m terrified. Is that what you want me to say?”

  “No. And if I get the chance, he’ll pay for making you say it, for making you feel it.”

  He watched as she swiped a single tear from her cheek. He’d pay for that, too, Simon thought. For that one drop of grief.

  And that one drop doused the last sparks of the anger he’d hauled around with him all day.

  “I don’t know what I’m after with you, Fee, exactly. I can’t figure it out. But I know I want you to trust me. I need you to trust me to help you out of that fucking trunk. To trust me enough for that. Then we’ll see what happens next.”

  “That scares me almost as much.”

  “Yeah, I get that.” He lifted the beer again to drink, eyeing her over it. “I’d say you’re in a spot.”

  She let out an unsteady laugh. “I guess I am. I haven’t had a serious relationship since Greg. A couple of short-lived pretenses. I can stand here now and look back and see very clearly they weren’t fair to anyone involved. I wasn’t dishonest, and the other party wasn’t after any more than it was. But still, not fair. I didn’t intend to have a serious relationship with you. I wanted the company, some conversation, the sex. I liked the idea of having an affair. Look at me, all grown up. Maybe that wasn’t fair.”

  “I didn’t have a problem with it.”

  She smiled. “Maybe not, but here we are, Simon, and it’s pretty clear we’re both after a little more than we bargained for. You want trust. I want what I guess is the next level of commitment. I think we’re scaring each other.”

  He stood up. “I can take it. Can you?”

  “I want to try.”

  He reached out, tucked her hair behind her ear. “Let’s see how we do.”

  She moved in, sighed as she locked her arms around him. “Okay. This is already better.”

  “Let’s try something different.” He stroked a hand down her hair. “Let’s go out to dinner.”

  “Out?”

  “I’ll take you out to dinner. You could wear a dress.”

  “I could.”

  “You have them. I’ve seen them in your closet.”

  She tilted her head back. “I’d like to put on a dress and go out to dinner.”

  “Good. Don’t take all night. I’m hungry.”

  “Fifteen minutes.” Rising on her toes, she brushed his lips with hers. “This is better.”

  Even as she walked inside, the phone rang.

  “Business line. One minute. Fiona Bristow.” Immediately she reached for the pad, the pen. “Yes, Sergeant Kasper. How long?” She wrote quickly, nodded as questions she didn’t have to ask were answered. “I’ll contact the rest of the unit immediately. Yes, five handlers, five dogs. Mai Funaki will run our base, as before. We’ll meet you there. You still have my cell number? Yes, that’s it. We’ll leave within the hour. No problem.”

  She hung up. “I’m sorry. We’ve got two missing hikers in the Olympic National Forest. I’ve got to call the others. I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

  “You don’t have any experience,” she began even as she speed-dialed Mai. “Mai, we’re on.” She relayed the information quickly. “Phone tree,” she said to Simon as she clicked off and began to move. “Mai makes the next call.”

  “I’m going with you. One, because you’re not going alone. Once you start the search it’s just you and the dog, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And two, if you’re going to train my dog to do what you’re about to do, I want a better sense of it. I’m going.”

  “We won’t get there before dark. If they haven’t found them by then, we’re going to start the search at night, and very likely spend the night in very rough conditions.”

  “What, am I a pussy?”

  “Hardly.” She opened her mouth to push back again, then realized what she was doing. “Okay. I’ve got a spare pack. I have a list of everything you need to take. Most should be in there already. You take the list, make sure it’s complete. And I’ll need you to call Syl and ask her to keep an eye on the dogs we don’t take.”

  She pulled out her spare pack, tossed it to him. “When we get there, I’m alpha dog. You have to deal with that.”

  “Your show, your rules. Where’s the list?”

  TWENTY

  A unit was precisely what they were, Simon observed. During the trip, the six members spoke in shorthand, acronyms and the code tight friends or longtime coworkers often fell into.

  He did what came naturally to him. He sat back and observed.

  The change in James and Lori’s relationship was new enough they exchanged quick, secret glances—while the others shot them amused looks. He heard Chuck and Meg Greene discussing weekend plans—yard work topped the list—with the ease of well-marrieds.

  Fiona checked in with the cop named Kasper regularly for status, adjusted ETA and other relevant details.

  The small surprise, at least it struck him that way, was the addition of another cop—Sheriff Tyson, from San Juan Island.

  Something going on between him and the sexy vet, Simon concluded. Something newer than James and Lori and not quite defined.

  The evening air whipped by in quick wet bites as Chuck piloted the boat across the chopping, white-tipped waters of the strait. The dogs seemed to enjoy it, sitting or sprawling, eyes glowing.

  If not for
the fact that two people were lost, possibly injured, out in the dark, it might’ve been a pleasant evening ride.

  He ate one of the sandwiches Meg had provided and let his mind drift.

  If they took murder out of the equation, would he be here now, eating ham and cheese with spicy mustard on a kaiser roll on a crowded boat that smelled of water and dog?

  He wasn’t sure.

  Then he glanced toward Fiona. She sat, body swaying with the bump of the waves, her cell phone at her ear, the notebook she scrawled on—make that wrote on; Fiona didn’t scrawl, he mused—on her lap, wind whipping the hasty braid she’d tied. That deceptively slender body tucked into rough pants, light jacket, scarred boots.

  Yeah, he’d be here. Damn it.

  Not his type. He could tell himself that a thousand times and it didn’t change a thing. She’d gotten under his skin, into his blood. Gotten somewhere.

  He was half dazzled, half irritated by her—a strange and dangerous combination. He kept waiting for it to pass.

  No luck there.

  Maybe, once things were settled, he’d take a break. Go visit his family for a week. In his experience absence didn’t make the heart grow fonder, it generally blurred the edges of the fondness. While it was true nothing had blurred during her short trip away, this could be different. He’d be the one to go.

  Mai dropped down beside him. “Are you ready for this?”

  “I guess I’ll find out.”

  “My first search? I was scared to death, and so excited. The training, the mock-up, the maneuvers? All essential, but the real thing is . . . well, the real thing. People are depending on you. Real people, with feelings and families and fears. When Fee first talked to me about the unit, I thought sure, that’s something I could do. I had no idea how much it takes. Not just time, but physically, emotionally.”

  “You still do it.”

  “Once you’re in, you’re in. I can’t imagine not doing it.”

  “You run the base.”

  “That’s right. Coordinate the dogs and handlers, keep the logs, maintain contact, liaise with the other search teams, the cops or rangers. I don’t have a search dog since I end up adopting special-needs types, but I can work with one if they need me. Fee thinks your Jaws is hardwired for this kind of work.”