The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1

by Nora Roberts

  “You’re saying Angela blackmailed people?” Deanna leaned forward. “She traded secrets for money?”

  “Occasionally. She preferred trading secrets for favors. Her terms again.” Absently, she reached into the plastic bowl of mixed nuts. “ ‘Do me a little favor, darling, and I’ll keep this tidbit of information all to myself’ ‘Your wife has a drug problem, Senator. Don’t worry, I won’t breathe a word if you just do me a favor.’ What multi-Grammy winner was a victim of incest? What popular television star has ties to the KKK? Ask Angela. She made it her business to know what skeleton was in what closet. And if she was confident she had her hooks in you deeply enough, she might tell you what closet. It was a way of flexing her power. She was confident she had her hooks in me.”

  “And now she’s dead.”

  Kate acknowledged Finn’s comment with a nod. “Funny, now that she’s no longer a threat to me, I feel compelled to do what she always threatened to do. I’m going public. Actually, I’d decided to do so on the very night she was murdered. The police might find that convenient, don’t you think? Like a bad script. I saw her that night.” She read the horror in Deanna’s eyes. “Not at the studio. At her hotel. We argued. Since there was a maid in the next room, I imagine the police already know about it.”

  She lifted a brow at Finn. “Yes, I can see at least you knew about it. Well then. I’m going to go in and make a statement before they come to me. I believe I even threatened to kill her.” Kate closed her eyes. “There’s that bad script again. I didn’t kill her, but you’ll have to decide whether to believe me when I’m finished.”

  “Why are you telling us?” Deanna demanded. “Why don’t you go directly to the police?”

  “I’m an actress. I like the chance to choose my audience. You were always a good one, Dee.” She reached out then in a quick, fleeting gesture of friendship. “And, in any case, I think you’re entitled to know the whole story. Didn’t you ever wonder why I backed out of coming on your show? Why I’ve never been available to appear on it?”

  “Yes. But I think you’ve answered that. Angela was blackmailing you. And the favor was for you to boycott my program.”

  “That was one of them. I was in a precarious and fascinating position a couple of years ago, when you approached me. I had two whopping box-office successes. And the critics loved me. The wholesomely sexy girl-next-door. Don’t believe that hype about stars not reading their reviews. I pored over mine. Every word,” she said with a long, dreamy smile. “I could probably still quote a few of the best ones. All I ever wanted was to be an actor. A star,” she corrected with an easy shrug. “And that’s what they called me. The first movie star of the new generation. A throwback to Bacall and Bergman and Davis. And it didn’t take me years. One supporting role in a film that took off like a rocket, and an Academy nomination. Then I costarred with Rob and we burned up the screen, we broke hearts. The next movie, my name was over the title. My image was locked in. A woman who charms with a smile.” She laughed at that, drank again. “The good girl, the heroine, the woman you’d like your son to bring home for dinner. That’s the image. That’s what Hollywood wants from me, that’s what the public expects. And that’s what I’ve delivered. They’ve given me plenty of credit for talent, but the image is every bit as important.”

  Her eyes slitted. “Do you think the top producers and directors, the players, the men who decide what project flies and what project gets buried would flood my agent with offers if they knew their perfect heroine, the woman who won an Oscar for playing the desperately devoted mother, had gotten pregnant at seventeen, and had given up the child without a second thought?”

  She laughed when Deanna’s mouth opened. But it wasn’t a merry sound. “Doesn’t fit, does it? Even in these enlightened times, how many of those ticket buyers would shell out seven bucks to watch me play the long-suffering or feisty heroine?”

  “I don’t . . .” Deanna stopped, waiting for her thoughts to settle. “I don’t see why it should matter. You made a choice, one I’m sure was anything but easy for you. And you were a child yourself.”

  Amused, Kate glanced at Finn. “Is she really that naive?”

  “About some things.” He was, despite his pride in being a sharp judge of character, doing some rapid mental shuffling. “I can see why an announcement like that would have shaken things up. You’d have taken some knocks in the press. But you’d have pulled out of it.”

  “Maybe. I was afraid. Angela knew that. And I was ashamed. She knew that, too. She was very sympathetic at first. ‘How hard it must have been on you, dear. A young girl, with her whole life in flux because of one tiny mistake. How difficult it must have been for you to do what you thought was best for the child.’ ”

  Annoyed with herself, Kate flicked a tear away. “And you see, since it had been difficult, even horrible, and because she was sympathetic, I broke down. Then she had me. She reminded me that it wouldn’t do for certain Hollywood brass to discover that I’d made this tiny mistake. Oh, she understood, she sympathized completely. But would they? Would the ticket-buying public who’d crowned me their valiant princess understand?”

  “Kate, you were seventeen.”

  Very slowly, Kate lifted her gaze to Deanna’s. “I was old enough to make a child, old enough to give her away. Old enough to pay for it. I hope I’m strong enough now to face the consequences.” She frowned at her glass. If she didn’t survive, if she crashed and burned, it would kill her. Angela had known that. “A few years ago, I wasn’t. It’s as simple as that. I don’t think I could have survived the hate mail then, or the tabloids, or the bad jokes.” She smiled again, but Deanna saw her pain. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it now. But the simple fact is, the cops are bound to track me down. Sooner or later they’ll dig up Beeker and all of Angela’s nasty files. I’m going to choose my own time and place for my public announcement. I’d like to do it on your show.”

  Deanna blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “I said I’d like to do it on your show.”

  “Why?”

  “Two reasons. First, for me it would be the ultimate payback to Angela. You don’t like that one,” she murmured, seeing the disapproval in Deanna’s eyes. “You’ll like this better. I trust you. You’ve got class, and compassion. This isn’t going to be easy for me, and I’m going to need both. I’m scared.” She set her drink down. “I hate that reason, but I might as well admit it. I lost the child through my ambition,” she said quietly. “That’s gone,” she said fiercely. “I don’t want to lose what I’ve got, Deanna. What I’ve worked for. Angela’s just as dangerous to me dead as she was alive. At least I can pick my time and place this way. I’ve got a lot of respect for you. I always have. I’m going to have to talk about my private life, my personal griefs. I’d like to start off talking with someone I respect.”

  “We’ll juggle the schedule,” Deanna said simply. “And do it Monday morning.”

  Kate closed her eyes a moment, gathered what resources she had left. “Thanks.”

  The sleet had stopped by the time they arrived home, leaving the air chill and damp and gloomy. Clouds hovered, thick and black. There was a light on in one of the front windows, streaming gold through the glass in cozy welcome. The dog began to bark the moment Finn slipped the key into the lock.

  It should have been a homecoming. But there was the ever-present smell of paint reminding them their home had been violated. Drop cloths were spread in the hallway, and the dog’s barking echoed emptily. So many of the rooms had been cleared out of broken crockery, damaged furniture. It was like being greeted by a mortally ill friend.

  “We can still go to a hotel.”

  Deanna shook her head. “No, that’s only another way of hiding. I can’t help feeling responsible for this.”

  “Then work on it.”

  She recognized the impatience in his voice. She stooped to pet the dog as Finn peeled off his coat. “They were your things, Finn.”

  “Things.�
�� He shoved his coat on the hall rack. In the mirrored surface he saw her head bent over the dog’s. “Just things, Deanna. Insured, replaceable.”

  She stayed where she was but lifted her head. Her eyes were wide and weary. “I love you so much. I hate knowing he was here, that he touched anything that was yours.”

  He crouched beside her, causing the dog to roll belly up in anticipation. But Finn took Deanna by the shoulders, his eyes suddenly fierce. “You are the only thing I have that’s irreplaceable. The first time I met you, the first time, I knew that nothing that had happened to me before, or that would happen after, would mean as much. Can you understand that?” His hand moved roughly into her hair. “It’s overwhelming what I feel for you. It’s terrifying. And it’s everything.”

  “Yes.” She brought her hands to his face, guided his mouth to hers. “I can understand that.” Emotions welled up, pouring into the kiss so that her lips were urgent and edgy. Even as Finn tugged at her coat, the dog wriggled between them, whining.

  “We’re embarrassing Cronkite,” he murmured, drawing Deanna to her feet.

  “We should find him a wife.”

  “You just want to go to the pound again and liberate another mutt.”

  “Now that you mention it . . .” But her smile faded quickly. “Finn, I have to talk to you about something.”

  “Sounds serious.”

  “Can we go upstairs?”

  She wanted the bedroom, since it was almost fully restored. He’d seen that the work there had been completed first. The things that hadn’t been destroyed had been placed there. Above the bed, where she knew a desperate message had been scrawled, the paint was fresh and clean. He’d hung the painting there—the one he had bought out from under her in the gallery so long ago.

  Awakenings. All those vivid splashes of color. That energy and verve. He’d known she’d needed it there, a reminder of life. And so the room had become a haven.

  “Are you upset about Kate?”

  “Yes.” She kept her hand in his as they climbed the stairs. “But this is about something else.” She walked into the bedroom, moved to the fireplace, the window, then back. “I love you, Finn.”

  The tone put him on guard. “We’ve established that.”

  “Loving you doesn’t mean I have the right to intrude in every area of your life.”

  Curious, he tilted his head. He could read her like a book. She was worried. “Which areas do you consider off limits?”

  “You’re annoyed.” Baffled, she tossed up her hands. “I can never quite understand how easily I can set you off, especially when I’m trying to be reasonable.”

  “I hate it when you think you’re being reasonable. Just spill it, Deanna.”

  “Fine. What did Angela have on you?”

  His expression altered subtly, from impatience to utter confusion. “Huh?”

  “Don’t do that.” She ripped off her coat and tossed it aside. In her tasteful black suit and damp shoes, she paced the room. “If you don’t want to tell me, just say so. I’ll agree that anything you’ve done in the past isn’t necessarily connected to our relationship.”

  “Slow down, and stop stalking around the room. What do you think I’ve done?”

  “I don’t know.” Her voice sounded shrill to herself. “I don’t know,” she said more calmly. “And if you think I don’t need to know, I’ll try to accept it. But once the police question this Beeker character, your secret is bound to come out anyway.”

  “Hold on.” He held up both hands as she unbuttoned her suit jacket. “If I’m reading this correctly—and stop me anytime if I veer off—you think that Angela was blackmailing me. Have I got that part?”

  Marching to the closet, she yanked out a padded hanger. “I said I wouldn’t intrude if you didn’t want me to. I was being reasonable.”

  “You certainly were.” He came over, clamped his hands on her shoulders and steered her rigid body to a chair. “Now sit down. And tell me why you think I was being blackmailed.”

  “I went to meet Angela that night because she said she knew something about you. Something that could hurt you.”

  He sat himself then, on the edge of the bed, as a new kind of fury ate at him. “She lured you to the studio by threatening me?”

  “Not directly. Not exactly.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “There was nothing she could tell me that would change my feelings for you. I wanted to make sure she understood that. That she left us both alone.”

  “Deanna, why didn’t you come to me?”

  She winced from the simple, rational question. “Because I wanted to handle her myself,” she shot back. “Because I don’t need you or anyone running interference for me.”

  “Isn’t that precisely what you misguidedly tried to do for me?”

  That shut her up, but again, only for a moment. It was, she knew, master interviewer against master interviewer. And it was a competition she didn’t mean to lose. “You’re evading the issue. What would she have told me, Finn?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I’m not gay; I don’t use drugs; I’ve never stolen anything. Except a couple of comic books when I was twelve—and nobody could prove it.”

  “I don’t think this is funny.”

  “She wasn’t blackmailing me, Deanna. I had an affair with her, but that was no secret. She wasn’t the first woman I’d been involved with, but there haven’t been any deviant sexual encounters I’d want to hide. I don’t have any ties to organized crime, never embezzled. I’m not hiding any illegitimate children. I never killed anyone.”

  He broke off abruptly, and the impatient amusement drained out of his face. “Oh Jesus.” He brought both hands to his face, pressing the heels to his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

  “I’m sorry.” Competition forgotten, she sprang up to go to him. “Finn, I’m sorry, I should never have brought it up.”

  “Could she have done that?” he said to himself. “Could even she have done that? And for what?” He let his hands drop, and his eyes were haunted. “For what?”

  “Done what?” Deanna asked quietly, her arms still around him.

  Finn drew back, just a little, as if what was working inside him might damage her. “My best friend in college. Pete Whitney. We got hooked on the same girl. We got drunk one night, really plowed, and tried to beat the crap out of each other. Did a pretty good job. Made sure it was off campus. Then we decided, hell, she wasn’t worth it, and we drank some more.”

  His voice was cool, detached. His newscaster’s voice. “That’s the last time I’ve been drunk. Pete used to joke that it was the Irish in me. That I could drink or fight or talk my way out of anything.” He remembered the way he’d been then—angry, rebellious, belligerent. Determined to be absolutely nothing like his chilly and civilized parents. “I’m not much of a drinker anymore, and I’ve figured out that words are generally a better weapon than fists. He gave me this.” Finn tugged the Celtic cross out from under his shirt, closed his hand around it. “He was my closest friend, the closest thing to family I ever had.”

  Was, Deanna thought, and ached for him.

  “We forgot about the girl. She wasn’t as important to either of us as we were to each other. We killed off another bottle. My eye was swollen up like a rotten tomato, so I tossed him the keys, climbed into the passenger seat, passed out. We were twenty, and we were stupid. The idea of getting into a car filthy drunk didn’t mean anything to us. When you’re twenty, you’re going to live forever. But Pete didn’t.

  “I woke up when I heard him scream. That’s it. I heard him scream and the next thing I remember is waking up with all these lights and all these people and feeling as if I’d been run over by a truck. He’d taken a turn too fast, hit a utility pole. We’d both been thrown from the car. I had a concussion, a broken collarbone, broken arm, lots of cuts and bruises. Pete was dead.”

  “Oh, Finn.” She wrapped her arms around him again, held on.

  “It was my car, so they figured I’d been dr
iving. They were going to charge me with vehicular manslaughter. My father came down, but by the time he got there they’d already found several witnesses who had seen Pete take the wheel. He wasn’t any more or any less dead, of course. It didn’t change that, or the fact that I’d been drunk and stupid, criminally careless.”

  He tightened his fingers around the silver cross. “I wasn’t hiding it, Deanna. It’s just not something I like to remember. Funny, I thought about Pete tonight, when we walked into Angela’s funeral. I haven’t been to one since Pete’s. His mother always blamed me. I could see her point.”

  “You weren’t driving, Finn.”

  “Does it really matter?” He looked at her then, though he already knew the answer. “I could have been. My father gave the Whitneys a settlement, and that was pretty much the end of it. I wasn’t charged with anything. I wasn’t held responsible.”

  He turned his face into Deanna’s hair. “But I was. I was just as responsible as Pete. The only difference is I’m alive and he’s not.”

  “The difference is, you were given a second chance and he wasn’t.” She closed her hand over his, so that they both held the cross. “I’m so sorry, Finn.”

  So was he. He’d spent his adult life making himself into the man he was, as much for Pete as for himself. He wore the cross every day as a talisman, yes, and as a reminder.

  “Angela could have dug up the facts easily enough,” Finn said. “She could even have made it appear that the Riley money and power influenced the outcome. But she would have blackmailed you, not me. She’d have known if she’d come to me, I’d have told her to take out an ad.”