by Nora Roberts
“There’s another answer.” Kelsey whirled back. “I know there’s another answer.”
“You want another answer,” Tipton said gently. “Maybe you’ll find it. Maybe you won’t like it.” He sighed and reached out to take the squashed cup from her hand. “I only had one thing linking Philip Byden with what happened that night at Three Willows. That was Charles Rooney.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
IT WAS OBVIOUS SOMETHING WAS WRONG. SHE’D COME TO HIM AFTER dark, saying only that she wanted to be with him. Gabe wanted to believe it was as simple as that. As true as that.
But her eyes were distant, her smile too bright, with strain at the edges. Her needs, always a delight to him, were frenzied. She’d torn into sex with a wild abandon that couldn’t quite mask the desperation.
As if she’d been purging herself, he thought now that she lay quiet beside him. His body had responded, and in that most elemental link they had met, clashed, and joined. But, he thought now, as the silence stretched out between them, neither of them had been satisfied.
“Are you ready now?” he asked her.
She turned her head, looking for a cooler place to rest her cheek on the warm sheets. “Ready?”
“To tell me what’s eating you.”
“What should be eating me?” Her voice was dull, tired. “A man I knew and liked killed himself a few days ago.”
“This isn’t about Reno. It’s about you.”
She turned on her back, staring up at the dark skylight. No moon tonight, she thought. The clouds masked it like smoke. It really took very little to hide so much.
“He loved his father,” she began. “He didn’t even know him, but he loved him. Believed in him. Everything Reno did circled back to that love and belief. Blind, unquestioning love and belief.” She sighed once. “And when he realized it had been misplaced, at least the belief had been misplaced, he couldn’t live with it.”
She shifted restlessly, the sound of her skin against the sheets a whisper in the darkness.
“It would have been better if he’d turned away from it, wouldn’t it? Better for him, better for everyone, if he’d left what happened all those years ago alone. What’s to be proved, Gabe, what’s to be solved by insisting on looking back?”
“It depends on how badly you need to look. And what you find.” He touched her hair, let it sift through his fingers. “This is about you, isn’t it, Kelsey? About you and Naomi.”
“She considers it over. Why can’t I? There’s no turning back the clock, giving her back those years we lost. That we both lost. She killed Alec Bradley. I should accept that. I shouldn’t let it matter so much why.”
Kelsey moved again, pushing herself up, drawing in her knees, circling them with her arms in a move of such poignant defense it tore at his heart.
“Then let it go.”
“Let it go,” she repeated. “It’s the sensible thing. After all, whatever wrong she did, whatever mistakes she made, she’s paid for. I didn’t know her then, or don’t remember knowing her. What makes me think I can go back and sort it out? Or that I should? She’s happy. My father’s happy. Neither of them would thank me for digging into it. I’ve no right to scrape open old wounds just to satisfy my own ridiculous need for truth, for justice.”
Squeezing her eyes tight, she pressed her face to her knees. “They’re not always the same, are they? Truth and justice?”
“They should be. One of the most admirable things about you is that you want them to be.” He brushed a hand over her shoulder, felt the knots of tension, and began to massage them out. “What stirred this up, Kelsey?”
She took a long, steadying breath and told him about her visit to Tipton. He didn’t interrupt, and tried to deal with his own knee-jerk anger that she had gone without him.
“And now you’re worried that your father was somehow involved.”
“He couldn’t have been.” Her head shot up. In the dark her eyes shone with defiance and a plea for understanding. “He couldn’t have been, Gabe. You don’t know him.”
“No, I don’t.” Annoyed with himself, Gabe drew away and reached for a cigar on the night table. “We’ve skipped that little amenity.”
She passed a weary hand through her hair. Somehow she’d managed to hurt him. “This has all happened so fast, everything between you and me has happened at double time. And the situation, my family situation, is on very rocky ground. It isn’t that I’ve kept you from him.”
“Forget it.” He snapped on his lighter and scowled into the flame. “Forget it,” he said again, more quietly. “It’s hardly the point. And it’s not what’s annoying me. I would have gone with you today. I should have been with you.”
“It was an impulse.” That was the truth, she thought, but only half the truth. “Maybe I wanted to go alone. Maybe I needed to. I don’t want to be protected, Gabe. All my life I’ve been protected without even knowing it. I can’t live the rest of it that way.”
“There’s a difference between being protected and being supported. I need you to lean on me, Kelsey. Just like I need to know I can lean on you.”
After a moment she took his hand. “Do you have to be right?”
“I prefer it that way.” He lifted her fingers to his lips. “What do you want to do?”
“What I want is to forget it. To let it all alone and go from here. But I can’t. I have to know. And when I do I have to live with whatever I find out.” She measured her palm against his, then laced fingers. “I’m going to go see Rooney tomorrow afternoon. Will you come with me?”
More lies, Kelsey thought. Of the little white variety.
“You’re going to love the dress.” Naomi held out the pale lavender business card. “The clerk’s name’s on the back. Ilsa. They do alterations right there.”
“That’s great.”
“If it doesn’t suit you, I’m sure you’ll find something else. It’s a wonderful shop. Oh, and I spoke to the caterer at the club. I know you want to keep the wedding simple, but you have to have food. He’s going to work up a couple of menus for you to choose from. And . . .” She snatched up another list. “I know Gabe has a wonderful garden, and he’s got an innate touch with flowers, but you’ll want some patio plants and cut arrangements to fill things out. Once you decide on your colors, we can order what you like.”
“That’s fine.”
“Listen to me.” Laughing at herself, Naomi set the lists back on her desk. “I’ve fallen headfirst into the mother-of-the-bride trap. I’m annoying myself.”
Kelsey forced her lips to curve, tried to make the smile reflect in her eyes. “No, I appreciate it, really. Even with a small, informal wedding at home, there are dozens of details.”
“That you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself,” Naomi finished. “I know you’ve had the big splashy wedding, Kelsey, and that you want this to be different.”
“I do, yes.” Kelsey turned the business card over in her hand, then stuck it guiltily in her pocket. “Candace orchestrated that. I barely had to do more than show up.” Hearing herself, she hissed out a breath. “That sounds ungrateful. I’m not. She was wonderful.”
“But you’d like to handle this one yourself.”
“Let’s just say I’d like more of a hand in it. But I don’t mind delegating.”
“I never thought I’d have this chance. Planning my daughter’s wedding.” Determined, she pushed all her lists into a pile, topped them with a brass paperweight. “Just yank me back when I threaten to go overboard. And . . .” She eased a hip onto the corner of the desk. “About the dress. I promise I won’t say a word if you don’t love it. But you will. Now, you’d better go before I nag you into letting me go along with you instead of Gabe.”
“We’ll shop for your dress together,” Kelsey said as guilt piled over guilt. “Maybe over the weekend.”
“I’d like that.” Breezily, Naomi linked her arm through Kelsey’s as she walked Kelsey to the door. “It’ll give
me a chance to harass you about photographers. Now, go enjoy yourself.”
Kelsey mumbled something and walked outside just as Gabe pulled up in the drive.
“We have to make a stop first,” Kelsey told him, pulling out the business card after she’d settled into the passenger seat.
He lifted a brow. “Shopping?”
“Soothing my conscience.”
It didn’t work. Even when it turned out that Naomi had been completely right about the dress. Or, perhaps, because of it.
Under any other circumstances the dress would have lifted her spirits. The pale rose color of the silk, the elegant tea length, the simple lines enhanced by raindrops of seed pearls. It was a wish of a dress that Ilsa assured her might have been made with Kelsey in mind. And didn’t they have the sweetest hat to go with it? the clerk expounded. A little whimsy with a flirty fingertip veil so perfect for an intimate outdoor wedding.
Shoes, of course. Classic satin pumps that could be dyed to match. What flowers was she going to carry? She didn’t know? White roses would be lovely, she was assured. A bride was entitled to white. Now, did she want to take the dress and hat along with her, or have them sent?
She took them along, moving through the transaction as if in a dream. It was so strange. And so simple.
“You didn’t model it for me,” Gabe commented as he walked with her back to the car.
“Bad luck,” she said absently. Then she stopped, pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks. “God, did I just buy a wedding dress?”
“Apparently.” He took her shoulders, turned her to face him. “Second thoughts?”
“No. No, not about you, us. This. It’s just moving so quickly. I just bought my wedding dress, and a hat. I actually bought a hat. I’m having shoes dyed. And I haven’t even told my family.”
“You can rectify that today. If it’s what you want.” He put the boxes in the trunk.
“Okay.” She nodded, and reached for the door handle. Gabe closed his hand over hers, then drew it back.
“Let’s try this on for luck, then.” He slipped a ring on her finger, a single square-cut diamond centered in a gold band crusted with tiny rubies. “My colors. Our colors, now. That’s official.”
Tears pricked at her eyes. They may have been standing in a parking lot with the summer sun beating down, but to her, the moment was as romantic as a cruise down a moonlit stream. “It’s beautiful, Gabe. I didn’t need it.”
“I did.”
Across the lot, Rich huddled in his car and watched the exchange, the embrace. He took a nip from his flask. And what a handsome couple they make, he thought bitterly. His son, and the slut’s daughter.
It was Gabe’s fault he was on the run again, that he was going to have to fold his tent and slink off. There would be no triumphant drive to Vegas now. The cops were asking questions. Rich had dragged that much out of Cunningham when he’d squeezed the man for another two thousand.
Let them ask, he thought, switching on his ignition when the Jaguar’s roared to life. He wouldn’t be around to answer. No, sir, Rich Slater was taking the high road all the way to Mexico, just as soon as he took care of a little business.
He slipped out of the lot, keeping the Jaguar in sight.
“We’re going to have to be obnoxious.” Kelsey told Gabe as they wove their way through Alexandria’s traffic. “Rooney refused to take any of my calls.”
“So, we’ll be obnoxious.”
“You think I’m wasting my time.”
“What’s important is what you think. You want to talk to him, we’ll talk to him.”
She shifted in her seat, wishing they could hurry up, wishing they could take forever. “I suppose I want to know how involved my father was in Rooney’s investigation. If Dad knew Alec Bradley or just of him. I need to clear it in my mind. I don’t suppose it changes anything that happened that night, but I need to know.”
“You could ask your father.”
“I’ll have to, sooner or later. For now I’d . . .” Her voice trailed off. Abruptly she straightened in her seat and leaned forward as Gabe turned into the parking garage beneath Rooney’s building.
“What is it?”
“That car, the one that just pulled out.”
Gabe flicked a glance at his rearview mirror in time to see the car turn left and join the flow of traffic. “The black Lincoln?”
“My grandmother.” Kelsey rubbed at the chill on her arms. “That was my grandmother’s car. It was her driver at the wheel. I recognized him.”
“There are a lot of offices in this building, Kelsey.”
“And life’s full of odd coincidences. No.” She shook her head, staring straight ahead when Gabe pulled the car into an empty space. “I don’t believe it. She was here to see Rooney. I’m going to find out why.”
As they crossed to the elevator, Gabe took her arm. She was all but vibrating with temper and nerves. “If you go in guns blazing, you’ll just spook him.”
“Whatever it takes.” She stepped in, then jabbed the button for Rooney’s floor.
She might have been packing six-guns, Gabe thought, the way she stalked the receptionist in Rooney’s plush outer office.
“Kelsey Byden and Gabriel Slater, to see Mr. Rooney.”
The woman’s professional smile flashed. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Byden, Mr. Slater—”
“Don’t be,” Kelsey interrupted, and leaned on the desk in a manner that had the professional smile dimming considerably. “Just tell him we’re here. And we’re not leaving until we see him. Oh, and you might mention that I just saw my grandmother leaving. Milicent Byden.”
It turned the key. Within ten minutes they were being ushered into Rooney’s office. He didn’t rise from his desk this time, but greeted them both with a single terse nod.
“You’ve caught me at a bad time. I’m afraid I can’t spare more than five minutes.”
“We might have managed a more convenient time, Mr. Rooney, if you’d taken any of my calls.”
“Ms. Byden.” Trying to exude patience, Rooney folded his hands on the desk. He succeeded in looking like a man begging. “I’ve tried to save both of us time and trouble. I can’t help you.”
“Why were you there that night, Mr. Rooney? You see, that’s a question I keep returning to. Maybe it’s because it all happened so long ago and I see it from a different perspective from those who were involved in the heat of the moment. But why that night? That particular night of all nights?”
“I was on routine surveillance. It’s just as viable to ask yourself why your mother chose that particular night to shoot Alec Bradley.”
“I know the answer to that,” Kelsey returned steadily. “I’m wondering if you do. How much did you really see?”
“That’s a matter of record.” He rose, dismissing them. “I can’t help you.”
“How far did my father tell you to go? Did he approve your decision to sneak onto my mother’s property and spy through her windows?”
“I’m paid to use my own judgment.”
“You must have come to know my mother and Alec Bradley very well in those weeks that you followed them. Did you ever follow only him? See who he met, who he spoke with, who might have given him money?”
He could barely swallow, then realized it wasn’t necessary. The saliva in his mouth had dried up. “I was hired to investigate your mother.”
“But he was part of your investigation. How well did my father know him?”
Rooney’s jaw tightened. “To my knowledge, they were not acquainted.”
Outwardly cool, Kelsey merely lifted a brow. “He had no interest in the man his wife was allegedly having an affair with?”
“Estranged wife, and no, at that point in time Philip Byden was only interested in one thing. His child.”
“But when you reported to him—”
“I reported to his lawyers. Whether or not he read the copies they s
ent him, I can’t say. He didn’t want to be involved.” A small smile touched Rooney’s mouth. “He felt the idea of hiring an investigator was undignified.”
“But he did hire you?”
“Perhaps he felt the ends justified the means. I have another appointment. You’ll have to excuse me.”
“Why did my grandmother come here today?”
“That’s confidential.”
“She’s a client?”
“I can’t help you,” he said, spacing his words. But his eyes flicked to Gabe, then away.
Alone, Rooney sat behind his desk, steadying his breathing. He reached into his pocket and thumbed out a Tums that would do little to ease the burning in his gut.
How could it come back like this? After all these years. He’d gone by the book. He’d followed the book to the letter for twenty-three years. How could one night so long ago spring back at him like a tiger?
He started at the sound of his buzzer, then cursed himself. He wouldn’t help the situation if he let nerves rattle him. He answered the buzzer.
“Mr. Rooney. There’s a gentleman to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he claims to be an old friend. I’m to tell you it’s old Rich.”
“I don’t know any . . .” His mouth went dry again, his palms damp. For one frantic moment, Rooney looked around his office for a route of escape. There was none, he realized. He was as terminally hooked as the glass-eyed swordfish on his wall.
“Send him in, and hold my calls, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rich was beaming when he stepped into Rooney’s office. “Long time no see.”
“What do you want?”
Rich sat, propped his feet on the desk. “You’ve put on a little weight, Charlie. Looks good on you, though. Used to look a little like a scarecrow. Why don’t you buy an old pal a drink?”
“What do you want?” Rooney repeated.
“Well, you can start by telling me what my boy and that pretty lady of his wanted with you.” Rich drew out a cigarette. “We’ll work from there.”
“I don’t feel a whole lot better,” Kelsey said when they climbed back into the car. “Am I supposed to be glad that my father hired that man but kept himself distant so he wouldn’t soil his dignity? Or should I be relieved that he had nothing to do with Rooney, or Alec Bradley?”
