The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1

by Nora Roberts

  “No, thanks.” Sapperstein answered for both of them. “We’ll try not to take up too much of your time, Mr. Wyatt.”

  “I’d like to say take all you want, but I’m catching a plane in a couple hours. Hitting the campaign trail.” He winked, quick and friendly. “Either of you have friends or relatives in Tennessee?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well, I had to give it a shot.” He gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat, Officer . . . ?”

  “Detective Sapperstein, and Detective Lorenzo.”

  “Detectives.” For reasons that baffled him, Sam began to sweat around the collar of his monogrammed shirt. “Why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”

  “Mr. Wyatt, I have a court order.” Sapperstein took it out and paused an extra moment to slip on his reading glasses. “We’re authorized to search the premises. Detective Lorenzo and I will head the team that’s waiting outside.”

  “A search warrant?” All of Sam’s charm died. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The Clideburg collection, which was stolen from the Hampstead Gallery on October twenty-third. We have evidence that you’re involved in the theft and, by order of Judge Harold J. Lorring, are authorized to conduct a search.”

  “You’re out of your mind.” With palms that were suddenly wet, Sam snatched the order from Sapperstein. “This is a fraud. I don’t know what game you’re playing but . . .” He broke off, sneering. “Callahan sent you. He thought he could rig this whole business to shake me up. Well, he’s wrong. You can go back and tell the bastard that he’s dead fucking wrong, and I’ll bury him for it.”

  “Mr. Wyatt,” Sapperstein continued. “We are authorized to make this search, and will do so with or without your cooperation. We apologize for any inconvenience this causes you.”

  “Bullshit. Do you think I don’t smell a con? You’re meat.” Triumphant, he jabbed a finger at them. “Both of you. Get out of my house, or I’ll call the cops myself.”

  “You’re free to do so, Mr. Wyatt.” Sapperstein took the official paper back. “We’ll wait.”

  He wouldn’t fall for it. It was a pitiful ploy, Sam told himself as he called through for the office of Judge Harold J. Lorring. By the time he was told a search order had indeed been signed less than thirty minutes before, he was dragging at the knot of his silk tie. He punched the number for his lawyer.

  “Windfield, this is Sam Wyatt. I’ve got a couple of jerks who say they’re cops standing in my office with some trumped-up search warrant.” He yanked the tie off, threw it. “Yes, that’s what I said. Now get your fat ass over here and deal with it.” Sam slammed down the receiver. “You don’t touch a thing. Not one fucking thing until my lawyer gets here.”

  Sapperstein nodded. “We’ve got time.” He couldn’t help it, something about Sam set him off. He glanced at his watch and smiled. “But I think you’re going to miss that plane.”

  Before Sam could growl out a response, Justine hurried in. “Sam, what in the world is going on? There are two police cars parked in front of the house.”

  “Shut up!” He sprang at her like a tiger and shoved her toward the door. “Shut up and get out.”

  “Mr. Wyatt.” The maid was nearly swooning with excitement. “You have guests in the foyer.”

  “Send them away,” he said between his teeth. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured two fingers of whiskey. He’d lost his head for a moment, but that was all right. Anyone might react the same way under the circumstances. He downed the whiskey and waited for it to settle.

  “Officers.” With his poster smile back in place, he turned. “I apologize for losing my temper. It was such a shock. It isn’t every day I’m accused of robbery.”

  “Burglary,” Lorenzo corrected, for the hell of it.

  “Yes, of course.” He’d have the man’s badge—if it wasn’t a fake. “I do prefer to wait until my lawyer arrives, just to verify the procedure. I assure you, you’re free to turn the house upside down. I have nothing to hide.”

  Voices in the corridor had everyone turning. When Luke shoved through the door past the maid, followed closely by Roxanne, Sam’s newly regained composure teetered on the edge.

  “What are you doing in my house?”

  “You called, you demanded I come.” Luke slipped a protective arm around Roxanne. “I don’t know what you want, Wyatt, but I don’t appreciate the tone of your invitation to visit. I . . .” He trailed off, as if spotting the detectives for the first time. “Who are these people?”

  “Cops. Nice to see you.” Enjoying himself, Lorenzo grinned.

  “What is this about?” Roxanne tossed her head up, a lovely, valiant woman obviously running on nerves.

  “I’m sorry,” Sapperstein stated, “I’ll have to ask you both to leave. This is official.”

  “I want to know what this is all about. You’ve done something horrible again, haven’t you?” She whirled on Sam. “You won’t hurt Luke.” She gripped his lapels and shook. “You used me once, but never, never again.”

  “Darling, please.” Luke moved to her. “Don’t upset yourself. He isn’t worth it. He never was.”

  “I brought you into my home.” She shoved Sam back. Only the presence of witnesses kept him from striking her. “I trusted you and my family trusted you. Isn’t it enough that you betrayed us all those years ago? Must you still harbor this cancerous hate for us?”

  “Keep your hands off me.” He grabbed her by the wrists, twisting. Roxanne’s cry of pain had both detectives moving quickly to intervene.

  “Take it easy, Wyatt.”

  “Sweetheart.”

  That was her cue. In a blind rush of tears, Roxanne stumbled toward Luke and knocked the briefcase from the desk. The locks sprang. An icy glimmer of diamonds spilled out, chased by the fire of rubies.

  “Oh.” Roxanne pressed her hands to her mouth. “My God, it’s the Queen’s lace necklace from the Clideburg collection. You.” She lifted her arm, pointing an accusing finger. “You stole them. Just like you stole from Madame all those years ago.”

  “You’re crazy. He planted them.” Sam looked around wildly, unable to believe his carefully structured world could fall apart so quickly. “The bastard planted them. He set me up.” He lunged. Luke braced. Even as Lorenzo moved to intercept, Roxanne shifted her body. It burned her that it would appear she was scrambling out of harm’s way. But then, the end justifies everything. Her foot hooked nimbly under Sam’s leg and sent him sprawling on the open briefcase.

  “You didn’t run far enough.” Sam sat up, breath heaving. “You won’t pull off this little magic trick, Callahan. I’ve still got you. In the safe.” He wiped a hand across the back of his mouth as he rose. His eyes were too wide, his face gray, his lips peeled back in a mockery of a grin. “I have evidence in the safe against this man. He’s a thief and a murderer. This woman’s a thief as well. They all are. I can prove it. I can prove it.” Limping toward the safe, he continued to mutter under his breath.

  “Mr. Wyatt.” Sapperstein put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “I advise you to wait for your attorney.”

  “I’ve waited long enough. I’ve waited years. You wanted to search, didn’t you? Well, search this.” He spun the dial on the safe, twisting it back and forward until the last number of the combination. He yanked it open and reached in. Then he stared, goggle-eyed, as a file folder spilled out, scattering garishly colored photographs.

  “Interesting snapshots, Mr. Wyatt.” Lorenzo scooped up a handful, pursing his lips as he shuffled through them. “You’re real photogenic—and agile.” He grinned, passing the photos to his partner.

  “That’s not me.” Still staring, Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s Gunner. It’s supposed to be Gunner. They’re faked. Anyone can see that. I’ve never been with any of those people. I’ve never seen them before.”

  “None of them seem to consider you a stranger,” Sapperstein murmured. He�
�d done a turn in Vice, but never seen anything quite so . . . creative. “You know, looks like these should come with a disclaimer. ‘Don’t try these tricks at home.’ ”

  “Yeah.” Getting into the spirit, Lorenzo tapped one snapshot depicting a particularly lewd and unusual position. “How do you suppose he twisted himself into that move? My wife would love it.”

  “Never mind.” Sapperstein cleared his throat. There was, he remembered belatedly, a lady present. “Mr. Wyatt, if you would sit down until we—”

  “They’re faked!” Sam shouted. “He did it. He lied and cheated.” Breathing hard, he pointed at Luke. “But he’ll pay. All of them will. I’ve got proof.” He was chuckling as he reached into the safe. His nerve cracked completely when he pulled out a diamond tiara.

  “It’s a trick,” he said—blubbered. “A trick.” He backed up, staring at the jeweled crown in his hands while a giggle escaped through his terrible grin. “It’ll disappear.”

  Sapperstein nodded to Lorenzo, who removed the tiara. “You have the right to remain silent,” he began, slipping on the cuffs while Sapperstein emptied the safe of jewels.

  “I’m going to be president.” Spittle flew as Sam raged. “Eight more years, I only need eight more years.”

  “Oh, I think you’re going to get more than that,” Luke murmured. He snapped his fingers and offered Roxanne the rose that appeared between them. “Alacazam, Rox.”

  “Yeah.” She pressed her face to his chest to hide a mile-wide grin. “But what are we going to do for an encore?”

  35

  Fall in New Orleans was warm and bright and blissfully dry. The days grew shorter, but night after night the sunsets were a spectacular symphony of color and hue that seared the throat and dazzled the eye.

  Max died during one of those brilliant light shows, in his own bed, with a ruby-red sun as his final curtain. His family was with him, and as LeClerc said over one of the innumerable cups of coffee consumed during that night, it was the best way to die.

  Roxanne had to be content with that, and with the fact that Luke had placed the philosophers’ stone in their father’s frail hand so that he slipped from one world to the next holding it.

  It wasn’t a brilliant gem or a glittery jewel. The stone was a simple gray rock, worn smooth by time and questing fingers. In size, it had fit neatly into the cup of her palm, resting there as it had rested in other palms in other centuries.

  If it had held power, she hadn’t felt it. She hoped Max had.

  They buried it with him on a bright November morning, with a blue sky overhead and a faint breeze rustling in the wild grass that sprang up between the raised tombs of the city he’d loved. There was perfume on the air, and the strains of Chopin stroked from a dozen violins.

  Max would have detested black crape and organ music.

  Hundreds had crowded into the cemetery, people he’d touched somehow during his life. Young magicians eager to make their marks, old ones whose hands and eyes were failing them even as Max’s mind had failed him. Someone released a dozen white doves that fluttered and cooed overhead, giving the illusion of angels come to bear Max’s soul away.

  Roxanne found the gesture incredibly lovely.

  Max’s farewell performance, as he would have expected, was a class act.

  Over the next few days, Roxanne drifted, never quite able to break free of the drag of grief. Her father had been the single most important influence in her life. While he had been ill, she’d had no choice but to take charge of the family. But as long as he’d been there in body, she’d had the illusion—again illusion—of having him.

  She wished she could have shared their latest triumph with him. The headlines still shouted the scandal of Samuel Wyatt, former senatorial candidate, now indicted for grand larceny, among a variety of lesser charges.

  They’d found other evidence in his Maryland home. A small device that resembled something between a remote control unit and a calculator, a fine set of burglar’s tools in stainless steel polished to a gleam, a glass cutter, a motorized crossbow that propelled a grappling hook, a single gold cuff link, etched with the initials SW, and most damning, a diary, painstakingly detailing thefts committed over a span of fifteen years.

  It had taken Jake a month to complete it, forging Sam’s hand. But it had been a job well done.

  Swiss accounts, in excess of a quarter of a million, had been unearthed. Luke considered it an investment that had already paid off—in spades.

  Roxanne had been prepared to feel sympathy for Justine, but was amused when she read that Sam’s devoted wife, cleared of all implication, had already filed for divorce and was living in a chalet in the Swiss Alps.

  As for Sam, he no longer insisted he wanted to be president. He claimed he was president. The psychiatrists continued their deliberate tests while Sam ran his private government from a padded cell.

  It was, Roxanne supposed, a kind of justice.

  But that was behind her. The corner it had taken her five years to turn was at her back. A dozen long paths spread out before her, and she simply didn’t know which she wanted to take.

  “It’s getting chilly out here.” In the shadowy dusk, Lily crossed the courtyard to where Roxanne sat on the iron bench watching the fountain. “You should have a jacket.”

  “I’m fine.” To show company was welcome, she held up a hand, slipping an arm around Lily’s shoulder when the older woman joined her on the bench. “I love this spot. I can’t remember a time when I haven’t been able to feel better after sitting here.”

  “Some places are magic.” Lily glanced up to the window of the room she’d shared with Max for so many years. “This one’s always been magic for me.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the splash and tinkle of the fountain. The shadows lengthened and became the dark.

  “Don’t miss him too much, honey.” Lily knew she’d put it badly, wished she had Max’s flair for words. “He wouldn’t want you to hurt for too long.”

  “I know. I was afraid at first if I let it stop hurting it meant I’d stopped loving him. But I know that’s wrong. I was sitting here, remembering the day we all left for D.C.” She tilted her head, resting it on Lily’s shoulder. “He was in his chair, looking out of the French doors. Just looking out. He wanted to go, Lily. I knew it. I felt it. He needed to go.”

  She laughed, a low genuine sound Lily hadn’t heard in too many days. “But he was stubborn,” Roxanne continued. “Leave it to Max to die on Halloween. Like Houdini.” Her arm tightened around Lily’s shoulders. “I swear he must have planned it. And I was thinking now that if there’s a heaven for magicians, he’s there, doing pocket tricks with Robert-Houdin, trying to outdo the Herrmanns and conjuring with Harry Kellar. Oh, he’d like that, wouldn’t he, Lily?”

  “Yes.” Damp-eyed but smiling, Lily shifted into a hug. “And he’d fight tooth and nail for top billing.”

  “Appearing tonight and for eternity, Maximillian Nouvelle, Conjurer Extraordinaire.” Laughing again, she kissed both of Lily’s cheeks. “I’m not hurting anymore. I’ll always miss him, but it doesn’t hurt.”

  “Then I’m going to say something else.” She cupped Roxanne’s face in her hands. “Make your own. You’ve always been good at that, Roxy, always bold and strong and smart. Don’t stop now.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Lily heard a door open and looked over her shoulder to see Luke under the pool of light by the kitchen door. “Make your own,” Lily repeated and rose. “I’m going inside to put my two cents’ worth in on those wallpaper samples Alice is mooning over. I swear that girl’ll pick nothing but pastels and flowers if someone doesn’t give her a goose.”

  “You’re just the one to do it.”

  “You come in if you get cold,” Lily ordered.

  “I will.”

  Lily passed Luke on the courtyard. “And if you can’t keep her warm,” she said under her breath, “I wash my hands of you.”

>   Luke sat on the bench, drew Roxanne close and kissed her until her bones went limp.

  With her head tilted back on his arm she opened her eyes again. “What was that for?”

  “Just following orders. But this one’s for me.” He kissed her again, lingering over it. With a satisfied sigh, he sat back, stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. “Nice night, huh?”

  “Mmm. Moon’s coming up. How many times did Nate con you into reading Green Eggs and Ham?”

  “Enough so I can recite it by memory. Who the hell wants to eat green eggs anyway? It’s disgusting.”

  “You miss the not so subtle metaphor, Callahan. It’s about not judging things by their appearance, and testing new ground.”

  “Really? Funny, I’ve been thinking about testing new ground.” But he wanted to be sure it was the time. The first silver fingers of moonlight slipped out of the sky as he turned his head to study her. “How are you, Rox?”

  “I’m good.” She felt his eyes on her, that old, familiar intensity. “I’m good, Luke,” she repeated and smiled at him. “I know I couldn’t keep him forever, no matter how much magic I tucked up my sleeve. It helps, knowing you loved him as much as I did. And maybe, in some strange way, the five years you were gone gave me the time to concentrate so closely on him when he needed me most. He hung on until you came back, and I could go on without him.”

  “Fate?”

  “Life’s a good enough word. Things are changing now.” She huddled closer, not because she was cold. Because it felt right. “Mouse and Alice will be moving out before too long. And doesn’t it fit neatly now that they’re starting their own family you just happen to have a house that’s perfect for them up for sale?”

  “With a nice third-floor apartment, suitable for a bachelor. Now Jake can drive them crazy.”

  “You know you love him.”

  “Love’s a strong word, Rox.” But he smiled. “What I feel for Jake is more of a mild tolerance punctuated with periods of extreme annoyance.”