The Novels of Nora Roberts Volume 1

by Nora Roberts

  Then she began to move, slowly at first, steeped in her own pleasure, absorbing shock after delirious shock. Then faster, still faster, the muscles in her thighs taut as wire, her hips rocking like pistons. Each time her body stiffened, the force of it ripped through him like a flame-tipped arrow.

  He reared up, his mouth seeking her breast, her shoulder, her lips. Crazed, he dragged her head back by the hair, ravaging her throat while he made hoarse promises neither of them understood. All he understood was at that moment he would have died for her. He certainly would have killed for her.

  The climax pummeled him, a violent and welcome fist that stole his breath and left him staggered. Jed banded his arms around her, pressed his face between her breasts and let it shatter him.

  “Dora.” He turned her head so that his lips could cruise gently over her skin. And again. “Dora.” He held her close until her body had ceased to shudder. When he leaned back, his eyes narrowed. Lifting a finger to her cheek, he caught a tear on the tip. “What’s this?”

  She could only shake her head and gather him against her. She rested her cheek on his hair. “I thought after yesterday, it wouldn’t get any better. That it couldn’t.”

  It worried him, that tremor in her voice. “If I’d known an old bed would turn you into a maniac, I’d have brought you in here days ago.”

  She smiled, but her eyes were still troubled. “It’s a terrific bed.”

  “I’ve got about six more in storage.”

  She laughed. “We’ll kill ourselves.”

  “I’ll risk it.”

  So would she, Dora thought. So would she. Because Lea had been absolutely right. She was in love with him.

  Two hours later they arrived at the Liberty Theater in time to hear Nurse Nellie demonstrate how to wash a man out of her hair. Dora had taken Jed through the stage door and up into the wings. Her father was there, mouthing the lyrics and pantomiming the moves.

  “Hey.” Dora pinched his cheek. “Where’s Mom?”

  “In Wardrobe. A little problem with Bloody Mary’s sarong. Jed, my boy.” He pumped Jed’s hand while keeping an eye onstage. “Glad you came by. We have an appreciative audience tonight, barely an empty seat in the house. Light cue,” he muttered under his breath, then beamed at the glow of a spot. “A smooth cue is as exhilarating as a waltz.”

  “We just dropped by to see how things were,” Dora said, and shot a warning look at Jed. “And I need a minute with Terri at intermission. Shop business.”

  “I don’t want you pulling her out of character.”

  “Don’t worry.” She slipped an arm around his shoulders and, despite the fact that she’d seen the production countless times, was soon as absorbed in the staging as he.

  Jed hung back, more intrigued by Dora and Quentin than the dialogue onstage. Their heads were tilted together as they discussed some minor bit of business that had been added to the scene. Quentin’s arm came up to wrap around her waist; Dora’s body angled toward his.

  Jed experienced a sensation that shocked him more than a blow to the neck. It was envy.

  Had he ever felt that easy affection, that simple sense of companionship with his own father? he wondered. The answer was very simple and very bleak. No. Never. He couldn’t remember a single conversation that hadn’t been fraught with undercurrents of tension, disillusionment, resentment. Now, even had he wanted to, it was much too late to make peace. It was certainly useless to try to understand why.

  When the old bitterness threatened, he walked quietly back toward the dressing rooms. He’d have a cigarette and wait to question Terri.

  Dora looked over her shoulder. Her smile faded when she saw he was no longer there.

  “Dad?”

  “And music,” he whispered. “Good, good. Hmmm?”

  “I’m in love with Jed.”

  “Yes, my sweet, I know.”

  “No, Dad. I’m really in love with him.”

  “I know.” For no one else would he have broken his concentration. But he turned to Dora with a twinkling grin. “I picked him for you, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t think he’s going to want me to be. Sometimes I can almost see where he’s bleeding inside.”

  “You’ll fix that, given time. ‘What wound did ever heal but by degrees?’ ”

  “Othello.” She wrinkled her nose. “I didn’t care for the ending in that one.”

  “You’ll write your own. Conroys are excellent improvisers.” A thought popped into his brain and made his eyes gleam. “Perhaps you’d like me to give him a little nudge. I could arrange a quiet man-to-man talk, with some of my special brew.”

  “No.” She tapped a finger on his nose. “No,” she repeated. “I’ll handle this myself.” Lowering her hand, she pressed it to her jittery stomach. “I’m scared,” she confessed. “It’s happened so fast.”

  “In the blood,” Quentin said sagely. “The minute I saw your mother, I broke out in a vicious sweat. Most embarrassing. It took me nearly two weeks to get up the nerve to ask her to marry me. I kept going up on the lines.”

  “You never blew a line in your life.” She kissed him as the applause broke out. “I love you.”

  “That’s exactly what you should tell him.” He gave her a squeeze. “Listen, Izzy, we’re bringing the house down.”

  Responding to the applause, and the sudden chaos backstage, Jed went back to the wings just as Dora caught Terri.

  “Hey, you working props tonight?”

  “No.” Dora got a good grip on Terri’s arm. “I need to talk to you for a minute.”

  “Sure. How about that dance number? Those lessons I’ve been taking are paying off.”

  “You were great.” With a nod to Jed, Dora steered Terri briskly through the stagehands and technicians. “We’ll just need a corner of the dressing room.”

  Several other members of the chorus were already inside, repairing hair and makeup. Though some were stripped down to their underwear for costume changes, no one gave Jed more than a brief glance.

  “Can I borrow this?” Dora asked, and commandeered a stool before anyone would refuse. “Sit down, Terri, get off your feet.”

  “You don’t know how good that feels.” She shifted toward the mirrors, choosing a makeup sponge to dab at the greasepaint moistened by sweat.

  “About DiCarlo,” Dora began.

  “Who?” Terri stopped running lines in her head. “Oh, the guy from Christmas Eve.” She smiled at Jed. “Dora’s been real mysterious about him.”

  “What did he buy?” Jed asked.

  “Oh, a Staffordshire figure. Never even winked at the price. He looked like he could afford it without any trouble though. And it was for his aunt. His favorite aunt. He said how she’d practically raised him, and she was getting really old. You know, a lot of people don’t think that old people like getting nice things, but you could tell he really loved her.”

  Jed let her run down. “Did he show any interest in anything else?”

  “Well, he looked all around, took his time. I thought he might bite on the Foo dog because he was looking for an animal.”

  “An animal?” Jed’s eyes sharpened, but his voice remained cool and flat.

  “You know, a statue of one. His aunt collects statues. Dogs,” she added, relining her eyes with quick, deft movements. “See, she had this dog that died, and—”

  “Was he specific?” Jed interrupted.

  “Uh . . .” Terri pursed her lips and tried to think back. “Seems to me he really wanted a dog like the one his aunt had had who died—said he hadn’t been able to find exactly what he’d been looking for.” She freshened her lipstick, checked the results. “I remember he talked about the dog his aunt had—the dead one. I thought how we’d had that china piece that would have been perfect. It sounded like the dead dog had modeled for it. While he was alive, you know.” She picked up a brush to fuss with her hair. “You know, Dora, the one you picked up at that auction. We’d already sold it, though.”

 
; Dora felt her blood drain. “To Mrs. Lyle.”

  “I don’t know. You handled that sale, I think.”

  “Yes.” Light-headed, Dora twisted her fingers together. “Yes, I did.”

  “Hey!” Alarmed, Terri turned on the stool. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She forced a smile. She needed to get out. Needed air. “Thanks, Terri.”

  “No problem. Are you staying for the rest of the show?”

  “Not tonight.” Sickened, Dora fumbled for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Maybe you’d better go after her,” Terri said to Jed. “She looked a little faint.”

  “Did you tell him about the china piece?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” Baffled, Terri slid off the stool and went to the door to see if Dora was in the corridor. “It seemed like such a coincidence, you know. I told him how we’d had something, but we’d sold it. I’m going to see what’s wrong with Dora.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  He caught up to her at the stage door, just as she was pushing through and drawing in deep breaths of air.

  “Shake it off, Conroy.” He held her by the shoulders at arm’s length. He was afraid if he did more, she’d snap like a twig.

  “I sold it to her.” When she tried to jerk away, he merely tightened his hold. “For God’s sake, Jed, I sold it to her. I don’t know what he wanted it for, why he would have killed for it, but I sold it to her and the day after he found out—”

  “I said shake it off.” He all but lifted her off her feet, his face close to hers. “You sell lots of things—that’s what you do. You’re not responsible for what happens to the people who buy them.”

  “I can’t be like that!” she shouted at him, and struck out. “I can’t close myself off that way. That’s your trick, Skimmerhorn. Make sure you don’t give a damn, make sure nothing slips through and actually makes you feel. That’s you. Not me.”

  That got through, and twisted in his gut. “You want to blame yourself, fine.” Gripping her arm, he pulled her away from the door. “I’ll take you home and you can spend the night beating yourself up over it.”

  “I don’t have to apologize for having feelings. And I can get myself home.”

  “You wouldn’t get two blocks before that bleeding heart of yours splashed on the sidewalk.”

  The buzzing in her ears came first. It always did when her temper snapped. Quick as a snake she rounded on him, leading with her left. He dodged that, but it was only a fake. Her sneaky right caught him in the jaw and snapped his head back.

  “Son of a bitch.” He saw stars. Later, he might take a moment to admire the fact that she’d all but knocked him on his ass. But now, eyes slitted with fury, he clenched his fists. She tossed her chin up in challenge.

  “Try it,” she invited. “Just try it.”

  It could have been funny—if there had been only temper in her eyes. If there hadn’t been the quiver of tears beneath the dare. “Fuck this,” he muttered. Ducking under her raised fists, he caught her around the waist and scooped her up over his shoulder.

  She exploded with a volley of oaths, furious at the indignity of having to hammer at his back. “Put me down, you chicken-hearted bastard. You want to fight?”

  “I’ve never coldcocked a woman in my life, Conroy, but you can be the first.”

  “Goddamn you, put me down and try it. They’ll have to scrape you up off the pavement. When I’m finished, they’ll have to pick you up with tweezers. They’ll . . .” It drained out of her, as it always did, quickly, completely. She went limp, shut her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  He wasn’t finished being angry. “Shut up.” He yanked out his keys, punched them into the door lock. In a smooth, economic move, he pulled her down, protected her head with his hand and shoved her into the car.

  She kept her eyes closed, listening to him stalk around the car, open the door, slam it again. “I am sorry, Jed. I apologize for hitting you. Does it hurt?”

  He wiggled his throbbing jaw. “No.” He wouldn’t have admitted it if it had been broken. “You hit like a girl.”

  “The hell I do.” Insulted, she snapped up in her seat. The cool look in his eyes made her slump back again. “I wasn’t angry with you,” she murmured as he drove out of the lot. “I needed to vent at someone, and you were handy.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  If he was trying to chastise her with that frigid tone, she thought, he was doing a first-rate job. “You deserve to be mad.” She kept her eyes lowered.

  It was more difficult to take her sincerity, and her misery, than it had been to take the punch. “Just let it go. And Conroy? Don’t mention to anybody that you got past my guard.”

  She turned back and, seeing the worst had passed, mustered up a smile. “I’ll take it to my grave. If it’s any consolation, I might have broken several fingers.”

  “It’s not.” But he took her hand, lifted it to touch to his lips. The stunned expression on her face had him scowling again. “What’s the problem now?”

  Since he’d released her hand she brought it up to her own cheek. “You threw me off a minute, that’s all. The sweet routine hasn’t exactly been your style with me.”

  Uncomfortable, he shifted in his seat. “Don’t make me regret it.”

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you, but bits of business like that—hand kissing and similar romantic gestures—make me all squishy inside.”

  “Define ‘similar romantic gestures.’ ”

  “Oh, like flowers, and long smoldering looks. Now that I think of it, you’ve done pretty well in the long-smoldering-look department. Then there’s the big guns. Sweeping me up into your arms and carrying me up a curving staircase.”

  “You don’t have a curving staircase.”

  “I could imagine I did.” On impulse, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore.”

  “Who said I wasn’t? I just don’t want to fight when I’m driving.” He lapsed into silence a moment. “About Mrs. Lyle,” he began. “I’m going to need to check on her condition. If she comes out of it, she might put some pieces together for me.”

  “Us,” Dora corrected quietly. “She’s awake. Her niece came by the shop this morning.” She linked her fingers again, tightly, and concentrated on keeping her voice calm and even. “She told me that Mrs. Lyle had come out of the coma, but that the doctors weren’t committing themselves about her recovery.”

  “It’s too late to try to get in to see her tonight,” Jed said after a moment. “I can probably pull some strings tomorrow.”

  “I don’t think you’d have to. I’d only have to ask Sharon—the niece.” Dora kept her eyes straight ahead and tried not to resent the absence of concern in his voice. “But I won’t do it unless I’m sure she’s up to it. I won’t let her be interrogated after what she’s been through.”

  Tires spat out gravel when he turned into the lot. “Do I look like the gestapo, Conroy? You figure I’ll shine a light in her eyes and find ways of making her talk?”

  Saying nothing, she snapped down the door handle and climbed out. He reached the steps before her and blocked the way.

  “Dora.” Searching for patience, he took her hands. They were icy and stiff. “I know what I’m doing, and I’m not in the habit of badgering hospitalized old ladies for information.” He looked down at her face. He didn’t like to ask. He didn’t like to need. But he found he had no choice. “Trust me.”

  “I do.” Watching his face, she linked her fingers with his. “Completely. This whole thing has shaken me up some, that’s all. I’ll get in touch with Sharon first thing in the morning.”

  “Good.” A bit shaken himself, he lowered his head to kiss her. No, he didn’t like to ask. He didn’t like to need. But he did. “Stay with me tonight.”

  The worry cleared from her eyes. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

  CHAPTER

  NINETEEN

  Dora had never considered hersel
f phobic about hospitals. She was young and healthy and hadn’t spent a great deal of time in one, and never as a patient. When she thought of hospitals at all, she thought of babies in the nursery, bouquets of flowers and the brisk efficiency of the nursing staff striding down the corridors in crepe-soled shoes.

  Yet standing outside the Critical Care Unit waiting to speak with Mrs. Lyle, she felt as if a stone were lodged in her chest. Too quiet, she thought. It was much too quiet, with death patiently lurking behind glass doors and thin curtains, waiting to choose. She could hear the muffled beats and hums from machines and monitors, like grumbling old women complaining about aches and pains. From somewhere down the corridor came the pathetic sound of low and steady weeping.

  All at once she wanted a cigarette, with a razor-sharp craving.

  Sharon stepped through the swinging doors. Though she looked strained, her lips curved into a smile when she saw Dora. “She’s lucid. I can’t tell you how good it felt to talk to her, really talk to her.”

  “I’m glad.” Battered with both guilt and relief, Dora took Sharon’s hand in both of hers. “Sharon, this is Captain Skimmerhorn and Lieutenant Chapman.”

  “Hello. Dora told me you want to talk to Aunt Alice.”

  “We’ve cleared it with her doctor,” Brent said. “And we appreciate your cooperation.”

  Sharon’s mouth thinned into a hard, bloodless line. “Whatever I can do to help you find the person who did this to my aunt. She’s expecting you.”

  Jed read the concern in the way Sharon looked back toward the doors. “We won’t tire her.”

  “I know.” Her hand fluttered up, then came to rest on the child in her womb. There was family to protect. And there was family to avenge. “Dora said you’d be careful. You’ll let me know, won’t you, if you learn anything?”

  “Of course they will.” Dora steered her toward a bench. “In the meantime, you sit down. Get off your feet. Try to relax.”