The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1

by Nora Roberts

  “How to walk through walls, vanish an elephant, climb a pillar of smoke. In Bangkok I escaped from a trunk studded with nails. And walked off with a ruby as big as your thumb. In Cairo it was a glass box dropped into the Nile—and emeralds almost as green as your eyes.”

  “Fascinating,” she said and yawned deliberately as she passed him the cuffs. She’d found no secret catch.

  “I spent nearly a year in Ireland, in haunted castles and smoky pubs. I found something there I’d never found anywhere else.”

  “Which was?”

  “You could call it my soul.” He watched her as he snapped the cuffs to his wrists. “I recognized Ireland, the hills, the towns, even the air. The only other place I’ve been that pulled me that way was New Orleans.” He tugged his wrists apart so that the metal snapped. “But that might have been because you were there. I’d take you to Ireland, Rox.” His voice had softened, like silk just stroked. “I imagined you there, imagined making love to you in one of those cool, green fields with the mist rising all around like witch smoke and the sound of harp strings sobbing on the air.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off his, or the image he so skillfully invoked. His magic was such that she could see them, tumbled on the grass, blanketed in fog. She could all but feel his hands on her skin, warming it, softening it as those old needs crackled like dried wood to a hot flame.

  She dug her nails hard into her palms, then tore her eyes away. “It’s a good line, Callahan. Very smooth.” Steadier, she stared back at him. “Try it on someone who doesn’t know you.”

  “You’re a hard woman, Roxy.” He held the cuffs up by one end and dropped them into her lap. There was a small sense of satisfaction when she smiled.

  “You haven’t lost your touch here, either, I see. Odd though. If you’ve been plying your trade so successfully all these years, why didn’t I hear about you?”

  “I imagine you did.” He rose to answer the knock on the door and spoke casually back to her. “You’d have heard of the Phantom.”

  “The—” She bit her tongue as the room-service waiter wheeled in a tray. Rubbing her palms together she waited while lunch was set up and Luke signed the check. Naturally, she’d heard of the Phantom, the strange, publicity-shy magician who appeared in all corners of the world, then disappeared again.

  “I ordered for you,” Luke said as he took a seat at the table. “I think I remembered what you like.”

  “I told you I don’t have time for lunch.” But curiosity had her wandering over. Barbecued chicken wings. Her lips thinned even as her heartbeat thickened. She wondered how he’d managed it when she knew very well it wasn’t on the hotel’s menu. “I lost my taste for them,” she said and would have turned away but he grabbed her hand.

  “Let’s be civilized, Rox.” He flicked a rose out of the air, offered it.

  She took the bud, but refused to be charmed. “This is as good as it gets.”

  “If you won’t eat with me, I’m going to think it’s because the menu reminds you of us. And I’m going to think you’re still in love with me.”

  She wrenched away, tossing the rosebud onto the table. Without bothering to sit, she snatched up a piece of chicken and bit in. “Satisfied?”

  “That was never a problem with us.” Grinning, he handed her a napkin. “You’ll make less of a mess if you sit.” He lifted his hands. “Relax. Nothing up my sleeve.”

  She sat and began to wipe sauce from her fingers. “So, you worked as the Phantom. I wasn’t sure he really existed.”

  “That was the beauty.” Luke settled back, cocking one foot on his knee. “I wore a mask, did the gig, took a bit extra if something appealed and moved on.”

  “In other words . . .” The sauce was damn good. She licked a bit from her thumb. “You went on the grift.”

  That put the fire in his eyes and, she hoped, in his gut. He shot her a look that could have smelted iron. “It wasn’t grifting.” Though he had made a few dollars early on with Three Card Monte and the Cups and Balls. “It was touring.”

  She gave an unladylike snort and went back to her chicken. “Right. Now you’ve decided you’re ready for the big time again.”

  “I’ve always been ready for the big time.” His only outward sign of annoyance was the tapping of his fingers on his ankles. But she knew him, knew him well, and was delighted to have scored a hit. “You don’t want any explanations on where I went or why, so let’s just say I was on sabbatical.”

  “Great word, sabbatical. Covers so much ground. Okay, Callahan, your sabbatical’s over. What’s the deal?”

  “The three gigs hinge together.” He poured the golden wine for himself and left her glass empty. “The performance, the auction and the hit. All the same weekend.”

  She raised her brows. It was the only reaction she chose to give him. “Ambitious, aren’t we?”

  “Good is what I am, Rox.” The smile was a dare, the sort Lucifer might have aimed toward heaven. “As good as ever, maybe better.”

  “And as self-effacing.”

  “Modesty’s like tact. It’s for wimps. The performance is the diversion for the auction.” He showed his empty palm, then turned his hand and danced a Russian ruble along his fingers. “The auction draws the eye from the job at Wyatt’s.” The ruble vanished. After snapping his fingers, he poured three coins into her glass.

  “An old trick, Callahan.” Willing to play, she dumped the coins into her hand. “As cheap as talk.” With a flourish, she turned her palm up to show that the coins had turned into small silver balls. “This doesn’t impress.”

  Damn it, he hadn’t realized that disinterest could stimulate. “Try this. You join the luminaries for the auction after our performance. You’re an honored guest, anxious to bid on a few baubles.”

  “And you are?”

  “Attending to a few details at the theater, but I’ll be joining you. You bid spiritedly against a certain gentleman on an emerald ring, but he outreaches you.”

  “And what if other attendees covet that ring?”

  “Whatever the bid, he’ll top it. He’s French and rich and romantic and desires that ring for his fiancée. Mais alors.” Luke slipped into French so smoothly, Roxanne blinked. “When he examines the ring, as a practical Frenchman might, he discovers it to be paste.”

  “The ring’s a fake?”

  “That and a number of other items.” He linked his hands together, resting his chin on them. Over them, his eyes glowed with that old amused excitement that nearly tricked a grin out of her. “Because, my only love, we will have switched the take in those soft, dark hours before dawn. And while Washington and its very fine police force are abuzz with the daring theft of several million in jewels, we will quietly slip over to Maryland and relieve the aspiring senator of the philosophers’ stone.”

  There was more, a very important more, but he would time the telling as carefully as his staging.

  “Interesting,” she said in a voice like a yawn, though she was fascinated. “There’s just one little detail I don’t understand.”

  “Which is?”

  She funneled her hands and poured his coins next to his plate. “How the hell we break into a heavily secured art gallery in the first place?”

  “The same way we break into a house in the ’burbs, Roxy. Expertly. It also helps that I have what we could call a secret weapon.”

  “Secret weapon?”

  “Top secret.” He took her hand before she could avoid it and raised it to his lips. “I’ve always been a sucker for the taste of barbecue sauce on a woman’s skin.” Watching her, he traced his tongue over her knuckles. “Especially if it’s your skin. Do you remember the day we had that picnic? We lay on the rug and listened to the rain? I think I started nibbling on your toes and worked my way up.” He turned her hand over to scrape his teeth along her wrist. “I could never get enough of you.”

  “I can’t recall.” Her pulse jumped and scrabbled. “I’ve been on a number of picnics.”
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br />   “Then I’ll refresh your memory. We shared this same meal.” He rose, drawing her slowly to her feet. “There was rain running over the windows, the light was gloomy. When I touched you, you trembled, just as you’re trembling now.”

  “I’m not.” But she was.

  “And I kissed you. Here.” He brushed his lips over her temple. “And here.” Along her jaw. “And then—” He broke off with an oath as a key turned in the lock.

  “What a town!” Jake barreled in, laden with shopping bags. “I could spend a week.”

  “Try another hour,” Luke muttered.

  “Ooops. I’m interrupting.” Grinning, he set his bags down and crossed the room to take Roxanne’s limp hand and pump it. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Would’ve popped into your dressing room last night, but it would have cost me my life. I’m Jake Finestein, Luke’s partner.”

  “Partner?” Roxanne echoed.

  “Roxanne, our secret weapon.” Disgusted, Luke sat and poured more wine.

  “I see.” She didn’t have a clue. “Just what’s your secret, Mr. Finestein?”

  “Jake.” He reached around her to cop one of the chicken wings. “Luke didn’t fill you in yet? You could say I’m a wunderkind.”

  “Idiot savant,” Luke corrected and made Jake laugh heartily in the peculiar hiccuping rasps that were his own.

  “He’s pissed, that’s all. Thought you’d fall right into his arms. Guy’s a pretty good thief, but he doesn’t know squat about women.”

  Roxanne’s lips curved in a genuine smile. “I think I like your friend, Callahan.”

  “I didn’t say he was a friend. A thorn in my side, sand in my shoe.”

  “A fly in his soup.” Jake winked and punched at his glasses. “Guess he didn’t mention how I saved his life in Nice.”

  “He didn’t mention it.”

  “You nearly got me killed,” Luke pointed out.

  “You know how things get twisted up after a few years.” Always ready to socialize, Jake poured himself some wine. “Anyway, there was a little disagreement in a club.”

  “It was a fucking bar fight.” Luke gestured with his glass. “Which you started.”

  “Details, details. There was a matter of an attractive young woman—I mean a-ttrac-tive—and a rather overbearing gentleman.”

  “A hooker and a john,” Luke muttered.

  “Didn’t I offer to beat his price? Business is business, isn’t it? It’s not like they’d signed a legal contract.” Though it still offended his sense of free enterprise, with a sigh and a shrug, Jake continued. “In any case, one thing led to another, and when Luke got in the way—”

  “When I stepped in to keep you from getting a shiv under the rib.”

  “Whatever. There was an altercation. It was me who bashed the big bastard with a whiskey bottle before he slit your throat, and what thanks do I get? I dragged him outside—rapped my shin on a chair, too, and didn’t walk right for days. The bruise.” He tossed up a hand. “Oiy! It was big as a baseball.” He scowled at the memory, sipped, then sighed it away. “But I’m rambling.”

  “What else is new?”

  To show there were no hard feelings, Jake patted Luke’s shoulder. “I find out Luke here’s a magician, and he finds out I’m to computers what Joe DiMaggio was to baseball. A heavy hitter. No system I can’t crack. It’s a gift.” He flashed his militarily aligned teeth and reminded Roxanne of a bespectacled beaver. “God knows where it comes from. My father ran a kosher bakery in the Bronx and had trouble with a cash register. Me, give me a keyboard and I’m in heaven. So one thing leads to another, and we hook up.”

  “Jake was in Europe running from a forgery rap.”

  “A slight miscalculation,” Jake said mildly, but color rose up his skinny neck. “Computers are my passion, Miss Roxanne, but forgery is my art. Unfortunately, I became overanxious and rushed.”

  “It happens to the best of us,” Roxanne assured him and earned his undying gratitude.

  “A woman of understanding is more precious than rubies.”

  “She’s passed precious little my way.”

  Roxanne arched a brow at Luke. “But you see, Callahan, I like Jake. I’m assuming that your skill with computers will get us past the security.”

  “There hasn’t been a system invented that can stop me. I’ll get you in, Miss Roxanne, and out again. As for the rest—”

  “Let’s take it one step at a time,” Luke interrupted. “We have a lot of work to do, Rox. Are you up for it?”

  “I can hold my own, Callahan. I always have.” She turned to Jake with a smile. “Have you ever been to New Orleans?”

  “It’s a pleasure I’m anticipating.”

  “We’re flying out tomorrow. I’d like you to come to dinner when it’s convenient for you.” She spared a brief glance for Luke. “I suppose you can bring him along.”

  “I’ll keep him under control.”

  “I’m sure you will.” Taking Luke’s glass she clinked it against Jake’s and made his beady eyes shine. “I think this is the start of a beautiful relationship.” She took one sip before setting the glass aside. “You’ll have to excuse me, I have a date. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  Jake pressed a hand to his heart as Roxanne closed the door behind him. “Oiy! What a woman.”

  “Make one move in that direction, pal, and you’ll be eating all your meals through a straw.”

  “I think she liked me.” Stars glittered behind the thick lenses. “I think she was definitely smitten.”

  “Check your glands, Finestein, and go get your tools. Let’s see how close you can come to Wyatt’s signature.”

  “Even his broker won’t know the difference, Luke. Trust me.”

  “I have to,” Luke muttered. “That’s the problem.”

  27

  It was perhaps the most difficult role he’d ever played. Certainly it was the most important. Taking a detour on his way from D.C. to New Orleans, Luke arrived at the Wyatt estate in Tennessee with his hat in his hand, and revenge in his heart.

  He knew it had to be done, the pleading, the humility, the face of fear. It might have rankled the pride, but keeping the Nouvelles safe well outdistanced the ego. So he would wear a mask—not the literal mask he’d worn off and on over the last five years—but one that would convince Sam Wyatt to accept Luke’s return. At least temporarily.

  He needed only a few months. At the end of it he would have everything he wanted. Or he would have nothing.

  He knocked, and waited. When the uniformed maid answered, Luke ducked his head and swallowed audibly. “I, ah, Mr. Wyatt’s expecting me. I’m Callahan. Luke Callahan.”

  After a brisk nod, she led him down the hallway he remembered and into the office where he had once witnessed a murder, and suffered his own small death.

  As he had five years before, Sam sat behind his desk. This time as well as the elegant furnishings there was an oversized campaign poster on an easel. The photographed smile flashed with sincerity and charm. In bold letters outlined in red and blue the caption read:

  SAM WYATT FOR TENNESSEE

  SAM WYATT FOR AMERICA

  In a cloisonné bowl at the edge of the desk was a pile of buttons featuring the same face, the same sentiment.

  As for the candidate himself, Sam had changed little. Luke noted that a few silvery hairs had been allowed to glint at his temples, faint lines crinkled beside his eyes as he smiled. And he did smile, hugely. Very much, Luke thought, as a spider might when he spotted a fly struggling feebly in the web.

  “Well, well, the prodigal returns. That will be all,” he said to the maid, then leaned back, still grinning, when the door shut behind her. “Callahan—you look remarkably well.”

  “You look . . . successful.”

  “Yes.” In an old habit, Sam turned his wrist so he could admire the gold cuff links winking at his cuffs. “I must say your call yesterday surprised me a great deal. I didn’t think you had the nerve.” />
  Luke straightened his shoulders in what he knew would appear to be a pitiful attempt at bravado. “I have a proposition for you.”

  “Oh, I’m all ears.” Chuckling, Sam rose. “I suppose I should offer you a drink.” He walked deliberately to the brandy decanter, and his eyes gleamed as he turned back. “For old times’ sake.”

  Luke merely stared at the offered snifter while his breath came quick and loud. “I really don’t—”

  “What’s the matter, Callahan? Lose your taste for brandy? Don’t worry.” Sam toasted, then drank deeply. “I don’t have to doctor your drink to get what I want out of you this time. Sit.” It was an order, master to dog. While the fire burned bright in his blood, Luke let the brandy slosh in his glass as he meekly obeyed. “Now . . .” Sam leaned against the corner of the desk, smiling. “What makes you think I’d let you come back.”

  “I thought . . .” Luke drank as if to bolster his courage. “I hoped that it had been long enough.”

  “Oh no.” Reveling in the power, Sam shook his head. “Between you and me it can never be long enough. Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear enough—what has it been? Five years ago. It was right here in this same room, wasn’t it? Isn’t that interesting?”

  Idly he wandered to the spot where Cobb had sprawled, bleeding. The rug was new. An Italian antique he’d purchased with his wife’s money.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve forgotten what happened here?”

  “No.” Luke pressed his lips together, averted his eyes. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”

  “I believe I told you exactly what I would do if you came back. What would happen to you, and what would happen to the Nouvelles.” As if struck with a notion, Sam lifted a finger, tapped it against his lips. “Or perhaps you’ve lost your enchantment with the Nouvelles after such a long separation. You might not care that I can send the old man to prison, send them all if it comes to that. Including the woman you once loved.”

  “I don’t want anything to happen to them. There’s no need for you to take any of this out on them.” As if to steady his trembling voice, Luke took another sip. It was damn good brandy, he mused. A pity he couldn’t relax enough to enjoy it. “I just want a chance to come home—only for a little while,” he added quickly. “Sam, Max is really ill. He may not live long. I’m only asking you to let me spend a month or so with him.”