Til Death Do Us Part

by Beverly Barton

  Roarke knocked on the door, opened it and walked into the study. He saw her standing in front of the empty fireplace, her red hair glimmering in the honeyed glow of the pewter chandelier that hung from the vaulted ceiling. A spiral metal staircase led from the ground level up to a mezzanine library level lined with rows of bookshelves.

  “Have you read Kane’s report?” He closed the double pocket doors behind him.

  “Yes, I’ve read it.” Turning slowly, she picked up the file folder from the enormous Jacobean desk that dominated Uncle George’s private study. “Where’s Kane now?”

  “He’s in the kitchen. Pearl’s serving him a late dinner.”

  “Pearl approves of Kane,” Cleo said. “She constantly amazes me. At first she objected strenuously to our marriage, but you won her over quickly. Then I was certain she’d disapprove of Kane, and now here she is, clucking over him like a mother hen.”

  “He doesn’t know how to handle her mothering.” Roarke chuckled. “Kane’s a cold, solitary son of a bitch. I’ve never known him to succumb to any type of emotion or let any woman get to him, whether she was trying to mother him or trying to seduce him.”

  “Have you known him long?”

  “Long enough to know that I can trust him, and that he’s one of the best at what he does.” Roarke glanced at the manila folder Cleo held in her hand.

  She lifted the files, shaking the folder. “Well, your Mr. Kane certainly pinpointed all of our computer problems.”

  “All the security codes are being changed and Kane is working with the computer expert he brought in. They’re putting safeguards in place to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

  “We’ve already lost thousands of dollars, maybe tens of thousands, if I can’t make things right with several of the companies who do business with us.” Cleo dropped the file on the nineteenth-century silver tray that topped the coffee table. Sitting down on the tufted, oxblood leather sofa, she crossed her legs at the ankles, rested her head on the plush back and laid her hands in her lap.

  Roarke watched her, noting the worry lines across her forehead and the slightly drooped corners of her mouth. She pinched the bridge of her nose, then spread her hand across her forehead and rubbed her temples with thumb and forefinger.

  “Do you have a headache?” He crossed the room, stopping directly behind Cleo. Reaching down, he ran his fingers into her hair and massaged her head. She sighed. “You’ll find a way to straighten things out. Just don’t make yourself sick worrying,” he said.

  “I am on the verge of a bad headache, but you’re helping prevent it. Thanks.” She loved the feel of Roarke’s strong yet gentle hands easing the tension from her head and neck. In a relatively short period of time, she had come to depend on him, to rely on his strength, his protection and his understanding. She could not allow this dependency on her husband to become a weakness. If she found that she couldn’t live without him, she would be lost. Simon hadn’t said or done anything to indicate that their relationship had become anything more than what it was meant to be—a business arrangement. But it had become more to Cleo—much more. If she wasn’t very careful, she’d find herself in love with a man who didn’t love her.

  “At least Kane caught the payroll inaccuracies before this week’s checks were printed,” Roarke said. “That’s one disaster you can avoid.”

  “I shudder to think what would have happened if he hadn’t discovered the problem before checks went out.”

  Releasing Cleo’s head, Roarke rounded the sofa and sat down beside her. “Luckily, all the lab data are on backup disks. Without those disks, months of research would have been lost.”

  “Who’s doing this? Dammit, who?” Knotting her hands into tight fists, Cleo lifted them into the air. “The payroll messed up, lab files deleted and a rash of orders either erased or altered where the wrong amounts were sent out or were sent to the wrong companies or not delivered at all. Whoever is doing this doesn’t care anything about the company, and is willing to do anything, cause any amount of chaos to force me to sell.”

  Taking her fists into his hands, he drew them to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “We’ll find out who did this. Trey is the most obvious suspect. On the other hand, Hugh Winfield, who as a company lawyer has access to all the computer files, minored in computer science in college.”

  “Don’t narrow it down to Hugh or Trey,” Cleo said, pulling her hands out of Roarke’s grasp. “Anyone could have hired someone within the company to sabotage the computer system.”

  “That’s true, but—”

  “Marla!”

  “What?”

  Cleo shifted her body around to face Roarke, bracing her back against the sofa arm. “Marla worked at McNamara Industries as a secretary. That’s how she and Trey met. Marla is very knowledgeable about computers and she’d know our system inside out.”

  “I’ll be sure Kane knows that. He’s got the situation under control,” Roarke assured Cleo, “and whoever was behind the problems won’t be able to do any more damage. And if he…or she…is foolhardy enough to try anything again, they’ll be caught in a trap, just like that.” Roarke snapped his fingers.

  “I almost wish whoever it is would try something.” Cleo rested her head on Roarke’s shoulder. “I want this person caught and stopped. I want this nightmare to end.”

  Roarke slipped his arm around her waist and lifted her onto his lap. Circling her neck with one arm, she laid her head back down on his shoulder. “Cleo? Honey?”

  “What?” She lifted her head and stared into his troubled blue eyes.

  “There’s a possibility that whoever’s behind the problems at the plant isn’t the same person who’s threatening your life.”

  “You really believe there are two members of my family out to destroy McNamara Industries and me?”

  “It’s possible. And they could be working together or separately.”

  “So catching the saboteur at McNamara’s won’t necessarily end the danger to me, will it?”

  “We’ll have to wait and see.” Roarke encompassed Cleo in his big arms, holding her possessively. “In the meantime, I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you safe. Just don’t take any chances and don’t trust anyone in your family, except—”

  “Aunt Beatrice.”

  “Sooner or later, they’re going to make another move. We have to be very careful because we don’t know what form the next attack will take or when it will come.”

  A knock on the door thundered through the room. Cleo jumped. Roarke’s body tensed. Cleo sucked in a deep breath.

  “Oh, God, I’m jittery,” she said.

  “It’s all right, honey. My nerves are pretty frayed, too.”

  The knock sounded again. Cleo looked at Roarke and smiled. He eased her off his lap and back onto the sofa.

  “Yes?” Cleo said.

  “Cleo, it’s Uncle Perry. May I have a word with you?”

  She exchanged a curious stare with Roarke and when her husband nodded affirmatively, she sighed.

  “Yes, of course, Uncle Perry. Please come in.”

  As her uncle spread apart the double pocket doors, he hesitated momentarily when he saw Roarke. “I was hoping to speak to you in private.”

  Roarke rose from the sofa. “Whatever you have to say—”

  “I think that can be arranged,” Cleo said. “Simon, darling, I don’t think Uncle Perry would be foolish enough to try to harm me with you just outside in the hall.”

  Roarke grumbled. He didn’t trust Perry Sutton any more than he trusted the man’s hotheaded son. But Cleo was right. The man was no fool.

  “I’ll be right outside.” Roarke glared at Perry as he slowly exited the room. Pulling the doors together, he didn’t quite close them completely.

  Scanning the hallway, he found it empty. Trey and Marla had excused themselves and gone straight to their suite after dinner. Daphne was out on the town with Hugh. And the last he’d seen of them, Beatrice and Oralie we
re in the parlor together, Beatrice reading and Oralie doing some sort of needlework.

  He couldn’t put his finger on the problem, but his instincts warned him that something wasn’t quite right, that trouble was brewing. He hated getting these gut feelings. Nine times out of ten, they were right on the money. He always seemed to have a sixth sense for danger.

  When this assignment ended, he was going to quit this business and put the past behind him. He wasn’t going to second-guess a person’s every action, wasn’t going to question everything other people said and did. He was going to buy the farm he’d always wanted and live a peaceful, solitary life. No danger. No suspicions. No constantly watching his back. He’d had enough—more than enough. And he wanted out.

  But every day he spent with Cleo made him question his great plan for the future. The sooner he wound up this assignment and left River Bend, the better off he’d be. He’d already let Cleo get under his skin—something he should never have allowed to happen. Every time he took her in his arms, she melted against him. Every time he kissed her, she surrendered. And every time he made love to her, she gave him all she had to give. The problem was that she expected the same from him and knew he was holding back. And each time, it became a little more difficult not to give in completely, a little harder to regain absolute control.

  No matter how much he wanted Cleo and enjoyed their physical relationship, he could not—would not—allow her complete power over him. And he would never allow himself to care for her, not in a way that would endanger his emotions. He could not survive loving another woman and child and losing them forever. And if there was one thing Simon Roarke was, it was a survivor.

  “WHAT DID YOU want to talk to me about, Uncle Perry?” Cleo faced Trey and Daphne’s father, a man she’d known all her life and yet really didn’t know at all. In all the years that they’d lived under the same roof, Perry Sutton had never made any effort to be a real uncle to Cleo. Other than the times when he’d staunchly supported his wife and children whenever Uncle George had taken Cleo’s part in any disagreement, Perry had pretty much ignored Cleo. Of course, he hadn’t paid a great deal of attention to his own children, either. Before his retirement, he’d practically lived at the local college where he taught, and when he was at home, he’d spent most of his time in his greenhouse, tending to his precious flowers.

  “I did not place those spiders in your bath towels,” he said, a slight tremor in his deep voice.

  “Has someone accused you, Uncle Perry?” Cleo asked. Eyeing him speculatively, she noted that sweat dotted his upper lip. He stuck his hands into his jacket pockets. Were his hands trembling? she wondered.

  “Since Sheriff Bacon reported to your husband that he’s convinced the brown recluses that were put in your bathroom came from an experiment in Covenant College’s science lab, Mr. Roarke has all but accused me.” Perry took a tentative step toward Cleo. “He’s questioned me repeatedly. He says things like ‘As a retired professor, you stop by the campus fairly often, don’t you?’ and ‘No one would think anything about your visiting the science lab, would they?’ He thinks I’m the one trying to harm you, doesn’t he?”

  “Uncle Perry, if you are innocent…if you have nothing to hide, then there’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “If I’m innocent?” His voice rose to a loud, vibrating pitch. “My God, Cleo, do you think I’d actually harm you?”

  “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Your entire family has a great deal to gain if I die.”

  “George McNamara is somewhere down in hell right this minute, laughing his head off.” Perry removed his hands from his pockets and rubbed them together nervously. “He’s enjoying seeing me suffer. He always did like to see me sweat. And I’m sweating now, Cleo. Does that give you pleasure, too?”

  “No, Uncle Perry, seeing you sweat gives me no pleasure. And I’m sorry that your relationship with Uncle George was so detrimental to you. What I don’t understand is that if you and Uncle George hated each other so much, why did you stay here? Why didn’t you leave years ago?”

  Removing his hands from his pockets, Perry wrung his hands repeatedly and paced the room. He stopped abruptly by the Palladian windows. “If I’d been more of a man, I would have left. I’d have taken my wife and children and gotten as far away from River Bend as I could have. If I had, maybe Trey and Daphne wouldn’t be… Maybe Oralie and I…”

  “Did you stay for the money?” Cleo asked. “Did you think Uncle George would disinherit Aunt Oralie and Trey and Daphne if y’all weren’t living here in his home?”

  “The money didn’t have a damn thing to do with my staying.” He glared at Cleo, his eyes overly bright, a fine mist of tears coating their dark surface. “I had…personal reasons for wanting to stay. And Oralie never would have left. You know how much her social position here in River Bend means to her. Being a McNamara is what her life is all about.”

  “Yes, I’m well aware of how much being a McNamara means to Aunt Oralie,” Cleo said. “She wanted desperately to be Uncle George’s favorite and resented him and Aunt Beatrice because they both adored my father so. But she thought she’d finally won Uncle George over when she saw how he loved her twins. Then when my father died and my mother deserted me and I came to River Bend to live permanently, Aunt Oralie resented my intrusion into her perfect little world.”

  “Oralie can’t help being the way she is.” Perry hung his head, sadness and defeat overcoming him.

  “You’ve always resented me, too, haven’t you, Uncle Perry? You dislike me a great deal. I’ve always felt it, but pretended otherwise. My existence has made life much more difficult for you, hasn’t it?”

  Lifting his head just a fraction, he moved his eyes upward and glared at Cleo over the rim of his glasses, which were perched on his nose. “Yes. Yes. Anything that creates a problem for Oralie makes my life more difficult.” He tilted his chin up and stared directly at Cleo. “But I haven’t tried to harm you. You must believe me. Beatrice loves you so dearly. Despite everything, I would never… Please, Cleo, ask your husband to stop tormenting me. I am guilty of many things—foolishness, stupidity, cowardliness—but not of trying to kill you.”

  “I’ll speak to Simon, but—”

  Roarke opened the pocket doors. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said.

  Aunt Beatrice stood in front of Roarke, a small silver tray in her hands. “It’s my fault, I’m afraid. I insisted on bringing you your evening tea, my dear.”

  “It’s all right,” Cleo said. “Come on in. Maybe you can persuade Uncle Perry that no one has accused him of trying to harm me.”

  Roarke looked over Beatrice’s head, his stare questioning Cleo. Her return gaze reassured him that everything was under control. He stepped back into the hall, but left the double doors open.

  “Why on earth would anyone accuse Perry, of all people?” Beatrice set the silver tray down on the Jacobean desk, lifted the small china teapot and poured the hot liquid into a matching Lenox cup. “Perry wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Beatrice glanced at Perry and the warm smile disappeared suddenly. He gazed at her, the look melancholy and wistful. She returned his gaze with the same tender longing. Tears gathered in the corners of her sad, green eyes. Cleo felt like a voyeur witnessing this bittersweet moment between two people who had once been in love. She remembered the first time she’d noticed this type of heartbreaking exchange between them. She’d been thirteen and had asked Pearl what it meant. Now she often wished that Pearl had never told her about Aunt Beatrice and Uncle Perry’s past relationship.

  “Mr. Roarke has been harassing me ever since Sheriff Bacon reported to him about the brown recluses being taken from the science lab at Covenant College,” Perry told Beatrice. “I’ve been pleading with Cleo for understanding. Bea, you know I’d never do anything to harm her. You know I wouldn’t.”

  Beatrice set the teapot down and turned to her niece. “You must put a stop to this immediately!” Tilting her head, she looked
out into the hallway, where Roarke stood guard, his back to them. Snapping her head around, she faced Cleo. “I can’t believe you could possibly think that Perry is capable of attempted murder.”

  “Aunt Beatrice, no one has accused Uncle Perry of anything. Roarke has simply been asking him questions in an effort to get to the truth and find out who put those spiders in my bathroom.”

  “Well, Perry most certainly didn’t do it!”

  “Beatrice, don’t upset yourself this way.” Perry took a hesitant step toward her, then stopped abruptly. “There’s no need for you to fight my battles with Cleo the way you always tried to do with your father.”

  “I—I simply can’t bear to…” Beatrice breathed deeply. Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I can’t bear to see you suffer.”

  Perry cleared his throat loudly. He blinked away the mist covering his eyes, nodded to Beatrice and hurried out of the room. Roarke stepped inside the study and closed the pocket doors.

  “Aunt Beatrice, I know that you believe Uncle Perry is incapable of harming me, but—”

  “There are no buts! He knows you’re like my own child, that I love you more than my own life. He’d never…never…” Tears streamed down Beatrice’s face. Her small, delicate hands trembled.

  “Oh, please don’t do this to yourself.” Cleo rushed to her aunt’s side, slipped her arm around her waist and led her to the wingback chair opposite the sofa. “Sit down.”

  Beatrice eased down into the huge chair. Cleo knelt in front of Beatrice and took her aunt’s quivering hands into hers.

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Beatrice said, squeezing Cleo’s hands. “I didn’t mean to act so silly. It’s just that I know the kind of person Perry really is and the thought of… No, no, you must never suspect Perry.” Beatrice pulled her hands free and clasped Cleo’s face. “Life has been so unkind to him, you know.”