Perfect for the Beach

by Lori Foster

  Ah, the NSA … the National Society of Accountants. His herd. Was that right? What did one call a group of accountants? A herd? A calculus? An audit?

  He sidled closer; they hadn’t shut the doors to the conference room yet and he could hear the keynote speaker. There were at least a hundred suits in the room—literal suits; from where he was standing, they were a sea of black and gray shoulders.

  It was funny—he should be one of the suits. He certainly had the wardrobe for it. There was plenty of time; he hadn’t missed much. And he’d paid over six hundred dollars of his own money to attend. It was one of the disads of owning his own company—stuff like this came right out of his pocket. The six hundred big ones didn’t even count the hotel room he was sharing with Robin.

  Ah … Robin. It was all her fault. It was tough to get excited about ASO management roundtables and earning sixteen hours of CPE credit when he’d just rolled around in the sheets with a charming, larcenous redhead. A woman utterly unlike anyone he’d ever met. A woman he’d known less than a day, and yet, couldn’t get out of his head. Always before, he’d bedded them and been done with them, but Robin was different. He was beginning to appreciate just how different—

  “Mr. Crusher.”

  He nearly walked into a pillar. There was the dreaded Uncle Rich, looking like a benign southern gentleman. Tan suit, closely trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, dark hair shot with skeins of pure white. Blue eyes—Robin’s eyes.

  “You look like you’re waiting for someone,” John observed.

  “Not at all.” Rich shoved a chair out with his foot. “Why don’t you sit down in this handy chair, talk a bit with an old man?”

  “You’re almost as terrifying,” he said, taking the proffered seat, “as your niece.”

  “Oh, stop it,” Rich said modestly. “She’s much scarier than I am. You’re missing your conference.”

  John looked over Rich’s head to the conference room doors, which were now swinging shut. Odd, to be on this side of the doors. Odder, he didn’t mind. “Yes, I—I was just thinking that.”

  “Well, they’ll have another one next year.”

  “Yup.”

  “A charming young lady, my niece.”

  “I’ll go along with that.”

  “But lonely.”

  “It’s not fatal. You don’t die from it.”

  Rich’s eyes actually twinkled—twinkled! The man was able to do something with his face, with his laughing blue eyes, which made him look lovable and roguish. It was uncanny. Suddenly John had to fight the urge to hand over his wallet. “Ah, you know a bit about that condition yourself. It’s no wonder you found each other.”

  “Uh … she sort of found me. And by ‘found,’ I mean—”

  “I’m familiar with her modus operendi.”

  “How do you do that thing with your eyes?” he asked, unable to resist. “You must have zero trouble bilking people out of millions.”

  “John, I’m hurt!” The hell of it was, the guy sounded hurt. Looked hurt. “I’ve been waiting down here for some time hoping to have a nice chat with you.”

  “Spinning your web like a spider waiting for a big fat bug …” he prompted.

  “Oh, now you’ve been listening to my niece’s side of things,” Rich said reproachfully.

  “How did you get it back so quickly? And what is it?”

  Rich waved the questions away. “Something that belonged to my brother. He died without a will, and there were some … problems … with property disbursement. So I decided to keep the item in question until Robin came of age. She disagreed, and stole it. I stole it back. And so on. And so on. And now I look around, and ten years have gone by.”

  “That’s some screwed-up family you’ve got there,” John said, not unkindly.

  “You’re right, and wishing things were different doesn’t help. But sometimes … sometimes new players come to the game. And things can change.”

  “I’m not a player,” John said, astonished. “I’m an accountant.”

  “And thus, the crookedest of us all.”

  “I’d like to be able to kick your ass for that,” he admitted, “except a glance at the headlines will prove your point, and so I’m just going to sit here and sulk for a few minutes and pretend things like Enron didn’t wreck my industry’s credibility.”

  “As you wish. Would you like a drink while you sulk?”

  The question was so solicitous, John laughed in spite of himself. “Yeah. Let’s see, what’s ridiculously expensive …? I’ll have a shot of Dewar’s over ice.”

  “Ice in your glass … barbarian.” Rich grumbled, but waved the concierge over, and in another couple of minutes, John was sipping Dewar’s. Neat.

  “Control freak SOB,” he mumbled into his glass.

  “But isn’t it much nicer without ice water diluting the taste?”

  “It’s like drinking room-temperature piss,” John said politely. “But thank you anyway.”

  “Arrogant pup.” Rich coughed into his fist.

  “I heard that. You’re about as subtle as a brick to the temporal lobe.”

  “Getting back to Robin—”

  “Oh, were we?”

  “—do you have any idea how often she’s hooked up with a gentleman during our country-wide jaunts?”

  “We haven’t had much time for get-acquainted chitchat.”

  Rich put his thumb and index finger together, forming an O. “Zero times. Cracking has been her life—to my sorrow.”

  “What? According to her, you raised her after her father—”

  “Yes, and I did a damned poor job of it,” Rich snapped. “Brought her up to be a no-good thief like me, like her old man—what the hell was I thinking? That I didn’t know how else to do it,” he said to his lap, answering his own question. Then he looked back up at John. There was no friendly twinkle in those blue eyes now. “So here we are, an old man and a woman in her prime, and she thinks this is normal. And so it is, for her. But she also stole you, and that’s interesting, isn’t it?”

  “Stole me?” He had to grin; the mental image was just too delicious. Still, it wasn’t an entirely inappropriate observation. “Is that what she did?”

  “The question is, what next?”

  “Uh … she’s going to steal it back. Whatever it is. And then …”

  Rich waved that away impatiently. “And then, and then … too right, and then another ten years have gone by. No, it’s enough. I’ve made too many mistakes. But there might be enough time. It’s the one thing you can’t steal, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know, and this is the oddest conversation I’ve ever had. And that’s saying something, because I’ve also chatted with your niece. Which is why I’m not in there,” he said, jerking his head toward the closed conference room doors. “It’s quite a bit more interesting out here.”

  “That’s telling, you know.”

  “So you’re—what? Putting an end to it? This life? Why now? Why this time?”

  Rich gave him a look. “Well, now there’s you, isn’t there?”

  “What does that have to—”

  Rich stood, and John rose, as well. “It’s been enlightening,” he said, and to John’s surprise, the older man stepped forward and hugged him.

  “Uh …” John extricated himself. “I guess we’re going to have the ‘personal space’ discussion now …”

  “No need,” Rich said cheerfully, and walked away.

  With my drink in his hand, John noticed about six seconds too late.

  Damn! How did he do that?

  Chapter Eight

  Robin sat up as soon as he walked into the room, and bounced excitedly on the bed when she saw him. He couldn’t help it; just seeing her made him smile.

  “Finally!”

  “I’ve been gone less than half an hour,” he pointed out.

  “Tell me about it. It’s soooooo boring in here without you.”

  “You kicked me out, remember?” He grinned. “Now stop
it, I’m getting misty. Even more alarming, I ran into your uncle downstairs.”

  “Check your wallet,” she said immediately. “Do you have all your credit cards? Missing any cash? Limbs? Organs?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that. And I checked in the elevator—nothing’s missing. We had—actually, we had a very weird talk, but it was nice. Interesting, anyway. He seems fond of you.”

  She shrugged and toyed with the sash of her robe.

  “And he seems like he has regrets. With, ah, with regard to your childhood.”

  Her eyebrows arched, reddish gold feelers against her pale skin. “Yeah, he gets like that once in a while.”

  “‘Like that’?”

  “You know, the whole ‘woe is me, shouldn’t have raised her to be a crook, bad, bad’ thing. But he’s never told a stranger about it.” She stared at him thoughtfully. “That’s kind of weird.”

  “It’s a weekend for change, it seems,” he said cheerfully. “Also, he walked off with my drink.”

  “A true bastard,” she said, then ruined her scowl by giggling.

  “Well, he is. So, in an awkward yet endearing attempt to change the subject, are you wearing anything under my robe?”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” she said primly, then rolled over, lithe as a cat, and crawled toward him. “Let’s get that suit coat off—jeez, how many layers are you wearing? Are you aware that it’s ninety degrees outside? Are these wool pants?”

  “It’s fifty in the hotel lobby,” he retorted. “Don’t pull—I have no intention of spending the evening sewing buttons back on.” He shrugged out of the jacket and tossed it carelessly over a nearby chair. “Now where—”

  They both heard the tiny clink at the same time, and looked. The chair was in the kitchenette part of the suite, resting on tile, and the clink had been the sound of a small gold ring hitting the floor.

  “What the hell…?” Robin bounded off the bed and crossed the floor in half a second. “That’s it! And you’ve got it!”

  “What, it it? As in, the it you’ve been stealing? That’s it?” He stared. “But … it’s so small. It’s just a gold band. You probably couldn’t get fifty dollars for it in a pawnshop. And you’ve been stealing it back and forth for a decade?”

  She scooped the ring off the floor and locked it in her small fist. Her eyes were narrowed, furious. She was pale with rage. “It’s my father’s wedding band. And you …”

  John remembered the hug, remembered thinking it was an odd move for a man like Rich to make. Not so odd if you wanted to plant something … “Wait, Robin, it’s not what you—”

  The ring, within her fist, looped toward his face. There was a bright flash, and then there wasn’t anything.

  Chapter Nine

  “You crooked, slippery, sneaky, willful, stubborn bastard!”

  “And my niece will be joining me,” Rich told the waiter without missing a beat. “Could you bring her a strawberry daiquiri, please? Nice robe,” he added as she sat down across from him.

  “You think you’re so smart,” she said bitterly. “Pulling a new guy into this. Getting him to trick me. Giving him my father’s ring.”

  Rich rubbed his temples. “Please don’t shout. I was up rather late last night entertaining in my suite, and the bourbon flowed like wine. And what are you talking about, getting him to trick you?”

  “Don’t play games, Richard. Not now I…I really liked him and you had to go ahead and ruin it.”

  “Oh, Robin. What did you do?”

  “Left cross,” she admitted.

  He slapped his forehead. Then he leaned across the table and slapped her forehead.

  “Ow!”

  “Serves you right, and if I were younger, you’d get worse. Where’s your brain, Niece? Of course John Crusher isn’t involved. What use is a goody-goody accountant to me? I’ve got all the crooked ones I need on the payroll.”

  “Well, then how—”

  “Use your head. I slipped him your dad’s ring when he was still trying to decide if I was making a pass at him.”

  “But that means—”

  “You just made a humongous ass of yourself.”

  She sniffed, and when the waiter brought her drink, took a gulp. “I think humongous is a bit harsh,” she muttered, then chomped on her strawberry garnish.

  “Robin, Robin … you’re screwing up all my perfectly laid plans. As usual. Do you know how long I had to sit in that freezing lobby until your boytoy wandered by? And then you go and leap to the wrong conclusion and coldcock him—in his own hotel room!”

  “I thought he was on your side,” she whined. “I thought he’d used me. And you, you rotten old puppet master, the last thing I need is for you to be interfering in my life, pulling strings—”

  “Well, someone’s got to pull your head out of your ass,” he snapped back. “This all started because you didn’t want to leave your father’s ring in my keeping. In other words, ten years of silliness because you couldn’t trust the one man in your life. Now there’s a new one, and you don’t trust him, either.”

  “Wllalleavenyway,” she muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “I said, well, you all leave anyway.” She glared at him defiantly, then dropped her eyes.

  He sat back in his chair and studied her, with that keen regard she both loved and hated because it missed nothing. “Ah,” he said after a long moment. “So that’s how it is.”

  “That’s how it is.”

  “Your father didn’t leave, darling.”

  “Well, he’s not here having drinks, is he?” she bitched.

  “He went out kicking and screaming, and you damned well know it. He was still walking around when doctors were sure the cancer would have him in the ground by your tenth birthday.”

  She rubbed her forehead, forcing the thoughts—

  Ah, there’s my Robin-bird, how’s my best girl? I have to see my P.O. and then we can go to the playground, won’t that be nice? And see, look what I found! Isn’t it pretty? Just right for my Robin-bird’s neck.

  —away.

  “All this time,” Rich was muttering. “I had no idea. I thought it was your nature, you’re so like your father, I thought you didn’t want to settle down, I never dreamed—”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” she said dully.

  “Everything can be fixed,” her uncle corrected firmly. “There’s still time. You can make amends. You can … start a whole new life. One where you’re not chasing me all over the country, and vice versa.”

  That was ridiculous. That was too good to be true. Start a new life? Live like a normal person? Like Mrs. John Crusher? What had her uncle been smoking?

  “Is that … is that why you gave John the ring?”

  “No, I thought he should accessorize more. Of course that’s why I gave him the ring.”

  “Don’t bite my head off, old man, I’m in no mood,” she snarled back. “We were doing just fine before you stuck your fingers in and started to interfere.”

  “Ha. And again I say, ha.”

  “So I’m supposed to believe that you gave the ring to John, that you’re not going to try to steal it back?”

  He yawned.

  “Seriously?”

  “Ten years, Robin, for the love of God! I’m tired, do you understand tired? John can have it. Or you can take it from him. Or you can take it from him and then give it to him. Or you can flush it down the toilet. I’m tired, and this has gone on far too long. Here’s your escape hatch, Robin. Take it, if you love me. And even if you don’t.”

  “Of course I love you,” she said absently. “I just fantasize about strangling you sometimes. Also, I’m having a little trouble keeping up. You have to admit, this is a big—sudden!—one-eighty.”

  “Worry about it later. For now, get some ice, get a washcloth, and minister to your man. Assuming he’ll still talk to you.”

  “I—”

  “Too late.”

  She turned; John
was staggering toward her, and right on his heels was Ken, the embalmed-looking hotel manager.

  Chapter Ten

  “Hi, honey,” she said weakly as he staggered up to the table.

  “You—you—”

  “Care for a drink?” Rich asked. “You look like you could use one. Or five.”

  “Mr. Crusher, are you sure you don’t require an ambulance? I didn’t mean to intrude, but you practically fell out of the elevator. Pardon me for saying so,” Ken-the-manager stammered, “but you don’t look well.” Rasp-rasp, as he rubbed his hands together.

  Robin tried not to shudder. Cripes, hasn’t the guy heard of hand lotion? He sounds like a snake getting ready to molt. Or whatever snakes do.

  John grasped the back of her chair to steady himself. “I’m fine. Go away. Robin, you—you—”

  “Treacherous idiot?” Rich supplied helpfully.

  “You stay out of this. And don’t hug me ever again. Come on, Robin. Back to our room. Gotta figure this out.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really? You want me to come up?”

  “Errr … Mr. Crusher … I thought you were in a single for the week,” the manager ventured.

  “I, uh …”

  “Better check your reservations computer,” Robin said sweetly. “Mr. and Mrs. Crusher, big as life.”

  “Oh. Beg pardon. Well, if you don’t want an ambulance … and everything’s under control …”

  “You could talk to the chef,” Rich suggested politely. “The endive’s a bit wilted.”

  Looking relieved to have a task at last, Ken immediately departed.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Crusher? When,” John muttered as the manager scuttled away, “did you do that?”

  “Some things will never be told. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. I think you better lie down.”

  “I think you’d better sling an arm across my shoulders. Unless you’ve noticed the room is spinning, too—it’s not just me?”

  “Uh … sorry. It’s just you.” She stood and stepped to his side, and put her arm around his waist. “Come on, poor thing. We’ll have you prone in five minutes.”