by Nora Roberts
Smiling, she touched a hand to his cheek. “Want to take a walk?”
He thought of the list in his pocket. It could wait an hour, he decided, and took her hand.
He'd known she would head to the cliffs. It seemed right that they would walk there as the shadows lengthened and the air cooled toward evening. She talked a little of the job she'd finished that day, he of the hull he'd repaired. But their minds weren't on work.
“Holt.” She looked out to sea, her hand in his. “Will you tell me why you resigned from the force?” She felt his fingers stiffen, but didn't turn.
“It's done,” he said flatly. “There's nothing to tell.” “The scar on your back –”
“I said it's done.” He withdrew and pulled out a cigarette.
“I see.” She absorbed the rejection. “Your past and your personal feelings about it are none of my business.”
He took an impatient drag. “I didn't say that.”
“You certainly did. You have the right to know all there is to know about me. I'm supposed to trust you with everything, unquestioningly. But I'm not to pry into what's yours.”
He turned angry eyes on her. “What is this, some kind of test?”
''Call it what you like,” she tossed back. “I'd hoped you trusted me by now, that you cared enough to let me in.”
“I do care, damn it. Don't you know it still rips me up to remember it? Ten years of my life, Suzanna. Ten years.” He whirled away to flick the cigarette over the edge.
“I'm sorry.” Instinctively she put her hands on his shoulders to soothe. “If anyone knows how painful it is to dredge up old wounds, it's me. Why don't we go back? I'll see if I can find you a clean shirt.”
“No.” His jaw was clenched, his body tight as a spring. “You want to know, you've got a right. I tossed it in because I couldn't handle it. I spent ten years telling myself I could make a difference, that none of the crap I had to wade through would affect me. I could rub shoulders with dealers and pimps and victims all day and not lose any sleep at night. If I had to kill somebody, it was line of duty. Not something you want to think about too much, but something you live with. I saw a few cops burn out along the way, but it wasn't going to happen to me.”
She said nothing, just continued to rub at the knotted muscles of his shoulders while she waited for him to go on. He kept looking out to sea, smelling her, and the dusky scent of the wild roses that were at peak.
“Vice takes you into the pits, Suzanna. You get so you understand the people you're trying to wipe out. You think like them. You have to when you go under, or you don't come out again. There are things I'm never going to tell you, because I do care. Ugly things, and I just...” He closed his eyes, and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I just didn't want to see it anymore. I was already thinking about coming back here – just sort of kicking it around.”
Suddenly weary, he lifted his hands to rub the heels over his eyes. “I was tired, Suzanna, and I wanted to live like a normal person again. The kind who doesn't strap on a gun every day or make deals with slime in back rooms. We were on a routine investigation, looking for a small – time dealer who we thought we could pressure information out of. Doesn't matter why,” he said impatiently. “Anyway, we got a tip where to find him, and when we cornered him in this little dive, he snapped. Turned out the jerk had about twenty thousand in coke strapped under his clothes, and more than a couple lines in his system. He panicked. He dragged some halfstoned woman with him and bolted.”
His palms were beginning to sweat, so he wiped them against his jeans. “My partner and I separated to cut him off. He pulled the woman out in the alley. With us on either end, he didn't have any hope of getting away. I had my weapon out. It was dark. The garbage had turned.”
He could still smell it, rank and fetid, as the sweat began to run down his back. “I could hear my partner coming up the other side, and hear the woman crying. He'd sliced her up a little and she was balled up on the concrete. I couldn't be sure how bad she was hurt. I remember thinking the creep was going to be up for more than distribution. Then he jumped me. He had the knife in before I could get off a shot.”
He could still feel it ripping through his flesh, still smell his own blood. “I knew I was dead, and I kept thinking that I wouldn't be able to come home. That I was going to die in that damn alley with the stink of that garbage. I killed him as I went down. That's what they told me. I don't remember. The thing I remember next was waking up in the hospital feeling like I'd been sliced in half and sewn back together. I told myself that if I made it, I was coming back here. Because I knew if I had to walk down another alley, I wouldn't come back out.”
Suzanna had her arms tight around him now, her cheek pressed against his back. “Do you think because you came home instead of facing another alley, you failed?”
“I don't know.”
“I did, for a long time. No one had put a knife in my back, but I came to understand that if I stayed with Bax, if I'd kept that promise, part of me would die. I chose survival, do you think I should be ashamed of that?”
“No.” He turned, taking her shoulder. “No.”
She lifted her hands to cup his face. In her eyes was understanding, and the sympathy he couldn't have accepted even a week before. “Neither do I. I hate what happened to you, but I'm glad it brought you here.” Offering comfort, she touched her lips to his. Slowly, with a sweetness that was unbearably moving, she felt him let go.
His body relaxed against hers even as he pulled her closer. His mouth softened even as it heated. Here, at last, was the next level. There was not only passion, not only tenderness, but trust. As the wind whispered through the wild grass and the bright, brave flowers, she thought she heard something else, something so quiet and lovely that it brought tears to her eyes. When he lifted his head, when she saw his face, she knew he'd heard it, too. She smiled.
“We're not alone here,” she murmured. “They must have stood in this same spot, holding each other like this. Wanting each other like this.” Filled with the moment, she pressed his hand to her lips. “Holt, do you believe that fate and time can run in a circle?”
“I'm beginning to.”
“They still come here, to wait. I wonder if they ever find each other. I think they will, if we can make things right.” She kissed him again, then slipped an arm around his waist. “Let's go home. I have a feeling it's going to be an interesting evening.”
“Suzanna,” he began as they started back. “After the séance...” He trailed off, looking pained, and made her laugh.
“Don't worry, at The Towers we only have friendly ghosts.”
“Right Just don't expect me to put much stock in chanting and trances, but anyway, I was wondering if after – look, I know you don't like to leave the kids, but I thought you could come back to my place for a little while. There's some stuff I want to talk to you about.”
“What stuff?”
“Just – stuff,” he said lamely. If he was going to ask her to marry him, he wanted to do it right. “I'd appreciate it if you could get away for an hour or two.”
“All right, if it's important. Is it about the emeralds?”
“No. It's...I'd rather wait, okay? Listen, I've got a couple of things to do before we start calling up spirits.”
“Aren't you going to stay for dinner?”
“I can't. I'll be back.” As they came up the slope and passed the stone wall, he pulled her against him for a brief hard kiss. “See you later.”
She frowned after him and might have pursued, but her name was called from the second – level terrace. Shading her eyes, she saw her sister.
“Amanda!” With a laugh, she raced across the lawn and up the stone steps. “What are you doing back?” She gathered the new bride into her arms and squeezed. “You look wonderful – but you were supposed to be gone nearly another week. Is anything wrong?”
“No, nothing.” She kissed both of Suzanna's cheeks. “Come on, I'll fill you in.”<
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“Where are we going?”
“Bianca's tower. Family meeting.”
They climbed up, then went inside to ascend the narrow circular stairs that led to the tower. C.C. and Lilah were already waiting.
“Aunt Coco?” Suzanna asked.
“We'll let her know what we discuss,” Amanda answered. “But it would look too suspicious if we pulled her up here now.”
With a nod, Suzanna took a seat on the floor at Lilah's feet. “So I take it this is women only?”
“No more than they deserve,” C.C. said, and crossed her arms. “They've been skulking off to have their boy's club meetings for days now. It's time we set things straight.”
“Max has definitely got something up his sleeve,” Lilah put in. “He's acting much too innocent. And, he's been hanging around the construction crew for the last couple of days.”
“I don't suppose he wants to learn how to set tile,” Suzanna murmured.
“If he did, he'd have twenty books on it by now.” Lilah rolled her shoulders and leaned back. “And this afternoon when I got home from work, I saw Trent and Holt powwowing in the pergola. Somebody who didn't know better might have thought they were just hanging out and having a beer, but something was going on.”
“So they know something they're not telling us.” Thoughtful, Suzanna drummed her fingers on her knees. She'd had a feeling something was going on, but Holt had done such a good job of distracting her, she hadn't acted on it.
“Sloan had a long, mumbling conversation with Trent on the phone two days ago. He claimed there was some problem with materials that he had to see to personally.” Tossing her hair, Amanda gave a sniff. “And he thought I was stupid enough to buy it. He wanted to get back because they're on to something – and they want to keep the little women out of the way.”
“Fat chance,” C.C. muttered. “I'm for marching downstairs right now and demanding they tell us whatever they know. If Trent thinks I'm going to sit around twiddling my thumbs while he handles Calhoun business, he's got another think coming.”
“Bamboo shoots and brass knuckles,” Lilah mused, not terribly displeased with the image. “That'll just make them more stubborn. Male egos on the line, ladies. Get out your hard hats and flak jackets.”
Suzanna laughed and patted her leg. “You've got a point. Let's see what we know... Sloan gets called back so they must think they're getting close. I can't see them being secretive if they thought they'd hit on the location of the emeralds.”
“Neither can I.” Because she thought best on her feet, Amanda paced. “Remember how stiff – necked they got when we decided to look for the yacht Max had jumped off? Sloan threatened to...what was it? Hog – tie,” she said viciously. “Yes, that was it. He threatened to hog – tie me if I so much as thought about trying to find Livingston on my own.”
“Trent won't even discuss Livingston with me,” C.C. added, then wrinkled her nose. “It isn't good for me to be upset in my delicate condition.”
From her sprawled perch on the window seat, Lilah gave a hoot. “I'd like to see any man go through childbirth then have the nerve to call a woman delicate.”
“Holt says that Livingston is out of our league. Ours,” Suzanna explained, making a circular motion with her finger. “Not his.”
“Jerk.” C.C. plopped down on the window seat beside Lilah. “So are we agreed? They've got a line on Livingston and they're keeping it to themselves.”
The vote was unanimous.
“Now, we need to find out what they know.” Amanda stopped pacing and tapped her foot. “Suggestions?”
“Well...” Suzanna looked down at her nails and smiled. “I say divide and conquer. The four of us should be able to dig information out of the meach in our own way. Then we rendezvous here, tomorrow, same time, and put the pieces together.”
“I like it.” Lilah sat up to put a hand on Suzanna's shoulder. “The poor guys haven't got a chance.”
Suzanna reached up to lay her hand on Lilah's as Amanda and C.C. added theirs. “And when it's over,” she said, “maybe they'll realize the Calhoun women take care of their own.”
Chapter Eleven
Holt had never felt more ridiculous in his life. He was about to take part in a séance. If that wasn't bad enough, before the night was over, he was going to ask the woman who was currently laughing at him, to be his wife.
“It isn't a firing squad.” Chuckling, Suzanna patted his cheek. “Relax.”
“Damn foolishness is what it is.” From the foot of the table, Colleen scowled at everyone in general. “The idea of talking to spirits. Hogwash. And you –” She stabbed a finger toward Coco. “Not that you ever kept an ounce of sense in that flighty head of yours, but I'd have thought even you would know better than to raise these girls on such bilge.”
“It isn't bilge.” As always, the steely gaze made Coco tremble, but she felt fairly safe with the length of the table between them. “You'll see after we begin.”
“What I see is a table full of dolts.” Though her face remained in stern lines, Colleen's heart melted as she looked up at the portrait of her mother, which had been hung over the fireplace. “I'll give you ten thousand for it.”
Holt shrugged. She'd been dogging him for days about buying the painting. “It isn't for sale.”
“If you think you're going to hose me, young man, you're mistaken. I know a hustle.”
He grinned at her. He would have bet his last nickel she'd hustled plenty herself. “I'm not selling it.”
“It's worth more, anyway,” Lilah put in, unable to resist. “Isn't that right, Professor?”
“Well, actually, yes.” Max cleared his throat. “Christian Bradford's early work is increasing in value. At Sotheby's two years ago, one of his seascapes went for thirty – five thousand.”
“What are you,” Colleen snapped, “his agent?” Max swallowed a grin. “No, ma'am.”
“Then hush. Fifteen thousand, and not a penny more.” Holt ran his tongue around his teeth. “Not interested.”
“Maybe if we got on with the matter at hand.” Coco held her breath, waiting for her aunt's wrath to fall. When Colleen only muttered and scowled, she relaxed. “Amanda, dear, light the candles. Now we must all try to empty our minds of all worries, all doubts. Concentrate on Bianca.” When the candles were glowing, and the chandelier extinguished, she gave a last glance around the table. “Join hands.”
Holt grumbled under his breath but took Suzanna's hand in his right, Lilah's in his left.
“Focus on the picture,” Coco whispered, closing her eyes to bring it into her mind since it was behind her on the wall. Tingles of anticipation raced up and down her spine. “She's close to us, very close to us. She wants to help.”
Holt let his mind drift because it helped him forget what he was doing. He tried to imagine what it would be like when he and Suzanna were alone in the cottage. He'd bought candles. Not the sturdy type he kept in the kitchen drawer for power outages, but slender white tapers that smelted of jasmine.
There was champagne chilling beside the six – pack in his refrigerator, and two new clear flutes beside his coffee mugs. Even now the jeweler's box was burning a hole in his hip pocket.
Tonight, he thought, he'd take the step. The words would come exactly as he planned. The music would be playing. She would open the box, look inside....
Her hands were draped with emeralds. He frowned, giving himself a little shake. That wasn't right. He hadn't bought her emeralds. But the image focused so clearly. Suzanna on her knees holding emeralds. Three glittering tiers flanked by icy diamonds and centered by a glowing teardrop stone of dreamy green.
The Calhoun necklace. He felt the chill on his neck and ignored it. He'd seen the picture Max had found in the old library book. He knew what the emeralds looked like. It was the atmosphere, the humming silence and the flickering candles that made him think of them. That made him see them.
He didn't believe in visions. But when he closed his eye
s to clear it from his mind, it seemed imprinted there. Suzanna kneeling on the floor with emeralds dripping from her fingers.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked around.
There was no one there, only shadows and light thrown by the candles. But the feeling remained, with an urgency that had his hackles rising.
It was crazy, he told himself. And it was time to put an end to the whole insane business.
“Listen,” he began. And the portrait of Bianca crashed to the floor.
Coco gave a piping squeak and jolted out of the chair. “Oh, my. Oh, my goodness,” she murmured, patting her speeding heart.
Amanda was already racing forward. “Oh, I hope it isn't damaged.”
“I don't think it will be.” Lilah released Holt's hand. “Do you?”
The clear and steady gaze made him uncomfortable. Ignoring her, he turned to Suzanna. Her hand was like ice in his. “What is it? What's wrong?”
“Nothing.” But she gave a quick shudder. “I think you'd better check the portrait.”
He rose to go over where the others were crouched. As he did, Suzanna looked down the length of the table at her great – aunt. Colleen's white skin had paled like glass. Her eyes were dark and damp. Without a word, Suzanna rose and poured her a brandy. “It's going to be all right,” she murmured, laying a hand on the thin shoulder.
“The frame cracked.” Sloan ran a finger along it before he rose. “Funny that it would fall that way. Those nails are sturdy.”
Holt started to shrug it off, but when he bent closer to where the frame had separated from the backing, he went very still. “There's something between the canvas and the back.” Hefting the portrait, he laid it facedown on the table. “I need a knife.”
Sloan pulled out his pocketknife and offered it. Holt made a long thin slit just beneath the cracked frame and slid out several sheets of paper.
