"That counts," Jeremy said quietly.
"Counts for a lot."
"At least you have Carson. I found out the hard way that Laura didn't want kids. At least she didn't want them with me."
"Carson made it all worthwhile," Nick agreed.
The sound of the growing crowd in the other room got louder. Someone cranked up the music system another notch. The hard-driving song playing now was about guys getting drunk on cheap whiskey and engaging in bar fights over good women gone bad.
"And to think that we both thought we knew what we were doing when it came to the female of the species." Jeremy drank some beer while he watched Nick take another shot. "Guess we had a lot to learn."
"Yeah."
The atmosphere around the table was more comfortable now. A lot of the tension was leaking out of it. Maybe it was the beer.
"So," Jeremy said, "who do you think took the Upsall?"
"Whoever is trying to pin the blame on Octavia. This is personal. I can feel it."
"Doesn't make sense. Octavia hasn't hurt anyone here in town."
"No, but her great-aunt did."
"According to the old stories, Claudia Banner's victims were Hartes and Madisons." Jeremy made a bridge and angled his cue stick. "You think maybe there were others?"
"My grandfather used the term collateral damage."
Jeremy banked a shot. "You know, my grandmother was a woman in her twenties when Harte-Madison fell apart. She grew up in this burg and knew everyone. Plays bridge every week with three other women who also have a lot of history in this town. They might remember something useful about the good old days. Want me to talk to her? See if she can get anything out of her bridge group? I'm sure she'd enjoy playing Mata Hari."
"I'd appreciate that," Nick said.
The music got louder and so did the crowd. Other players drifted into the back room and took over the remaining tables. Smoke from the cigarettes of neighboring players started to foul the air.
"Getting late," Nick said.
Jeremy shrugged. "One more game?"
"Why not?"
Nick had just racked the balls for another round when a familiar voice rumbled from the opening that divided the pool room from the bar area.
"Well, if it isn't the SOB who thinks he's the king of Eclipse Bay." Eugene slurred most of the s's and there were a lot of them in the sentence, but his meaning was clear. "And will you look at that, Dwayne? He's shooting a little pool with his good buddy Jeremy. Isn't that sweet?"
The players at the other tables did not look toward the pair in the doorway. Everyone pretended to concentrate on their games. But Nick knew that the crowd was listening intently to every word. The tension was suddenly so thick he could have carved it into topiary shapes.
"You were right," Jeremy said quietly. He did not bother to glance at Eugene and Dwayne either. "Time to go."
"What are you doin' here, anyway, Harte?" Eugene bellowed. "Shouldn't you be with that little redheaded suspect of yours? Everyone knows she's been screwing your brains out so's you'll overlook the fact that she stole that painting."
Nick set the cue down very slowly. On the other side of the table, Jeremy did the same. This time they both looked at Mutt and Jeff.
The dark room fell silent. None of the other players moved so much as a finger. Everyone waited for the other shoe to drop.
Nick looked at Eugene. "You don't want to say anything more, Eugene."
But it was obvious that Eugene was too drunk to worry about consequences.
"You think you can threaten me?" Eugene stalked closer, hands clenched at his sides. "You really think I'm gonna put up with that kind of shit from a Harte?"
"He's right, Eugene," Jeremy said softly. "You don't want to do this."
"I'm not takin' any crap off you, either, Seaton. You think you can come back to town after all these years and start actin' like you're better than the rest of us again just because your mama married a Seaton and you hang with Nick Harte? Got news for you."
"Let's go," Nick said to Jeremy.
"Fine by me." Jeremy started around the table.
"Something me and Dwayne, here, been wondering about, Harte." Eugene came to a halt, blocking the path to the door. He leered. "Is she a natural redhead? She as red down there as she is up on top?"
Nick moved around the comer of the table.
"Take it easy," Jeremy said out of the side of his mouth. "The plan is to get out of here, remember?"
"The plan," Nick said, coming to a halt directly in front of the pool table, "is to tell everyone here a little story about Eugene and Dwayne's excellent adventure in Seattle a while back."
"Shut your mouth, Harte," Eugene roared. "Just shut your damned mouth. Say one more word and I'll rip your head off your shoulders and use it for a cue ball."
"Think so?"
"Hey, nobody cares if you're screwin' the redhead. Nobody gives a shit about your sex life, Harte."
"Except you, apparently, Eugene," one of the other players offered helpfully. "But maybe that's because Harte's sex life is a lot more interesting than yours."
Eugene turned purple, drew his head into his shoulders in the manner of a large turtle, and lumbered forward. He was surprisingly fast for a man of his size and bulk. The old football training, Nick figured.
"Hell," Jeremy muttered. "So much for a quick exit."
Nick did not move until the last instant. Then he sidestepped the ferocious charge. Eugene still had speed, but his maneuverability was shot. He blundered straight on, past the point where Nick had stood a second earlier, and crashed into the table. He folded over and went facedown on the green felt.
"Okay," Jeremy said. "Now we leave, right?"
Nick ignored him. He grabbed hold of one beefy shoulder. There was no need to try to haul Eugene erect. The big man came up off the table, one massive fist already arcing through the air.
Nick ducked the blow and slammed both clenched hands into Eugene's midsection. It was like hitting a very solid pillow. The impact felt good, but it didn't do much damage. Nick stepped back hurriedly, shaking his numbed hand.
Okay, maybe that had been a mistake.
Fortunately Eugene was off balance, thanks to too many beers and the collision with the table. When he charged a second time, flailing wildly, Nick stuck out a foot. Eugene obligingly tripped and went down with a crashing thud that shook the floor.
Dwayne squealed, grabbed the nearest pool cue, and launched himself at Nick. Jeremy snatched the stick out of his hands as he went past.
"You know," Jeremy said, "if you'd ever bothered to read one of Nick's books, you'd know he never gets into a fight without his trusty sidekick, Bonner."
Robbed of his ersatz rapier, Dwayne scrambled to a halt and turned to throw a short punch at Jeremy. He caught one of the other pool players on the shoulder, instead.
"Hey, watch it, you little creep." The player took a swipe at Dwayne and sent him tumbling into one of the men who had come from the bar area to see what all the excitement was about.
A man standing behind Nick chuckled. "Man, the little redhead must be one hot number, huh? So what's the deal? Is she, or isn't she a natural-"
Nick swung around and punched the commentator in the chest. The man fell back against a table. His cue stick went sailing and struck someone else.
The poolroom exploded in a firestorm of shouts and flying fists.
Nick turned back, searching for Eugene amid the swarm of sweating, heaving bodies.
"Son of a bitch, Harte." Eugene had managed to get up off the floor. He threw himself at Nick.
Nick moved out of the way and came up against Sandy Hickson, who had wandered into the poolroom. The two went down together and rolled under a table.
Jeremy bent over to look at the pair beneath the table. "Everyone okay down here?"
Someone hauled him up and swung at him. Jeremy took the blow on the side of his jaw and reeled back against a table.
Nick untangled himself
from Sandy and came out from under the table in a low rush. He tackled the man who had just hit Jeremy and they both went down, rolling in a small river of spilled beer.
Fred picked up the phone. Sean Valentine and two other officers arrived ten minutes later.
Chapter 19
Shortly before midnight Nick and Jeremy stood with Rafe in the parking lot that fronted the Eclipse Bay Police Department.
"I gotta say, this is a real red-letter occasion for me." Rafe tossed his keys into the air and caught them. "Never thought I'd see the day when a Madison had to bail one of you fine, upstanding, pillar-of-the-community Hartes out of jail. To say nothing of a Seaton."
"If you're looking for undying gratitude, try the Yellow Pages." Jeremy put a cautious hand to his jaw.
"One thing I really hate," Nick muttered, "is a guy who bails you out of jail and then gloats."
"You two are going to look very colorful tomorrow," Rafe said, amused.
"You know, neither of us is in the mood for this." Nick gave him a sour look. "The only thing we want from you right now is a lift back to the Total Eclipse so that we can pick up our cars. Think you can manage that without further comment?"
"No," Rafe said. "You want a ride, you've got to put up with the witty remarks."
Nick exchanged glances with Jeremy. "We could beat him up now or we could do it later."
"I vote for later," Jeremy said. "To tell you the truth, I'm not really up for any more physical activity tonight."
"Okay, later." Nick turned back to Rafe. "Drive."
"My pleasure." Rafe led the way across the parking lot to where he had left Hannah's car.
At that moment another vehicle swung into the lot, briefly dazzling Nick's eyes with its headlights. It came to an abrupt halt nearby. Octavia's fairy-tale coach.
"The perfect end to a delightful evening," Nick said to no one in particular. "It just doesn't get any better than this, does it?"
They all watched the door on the driver's side snap open. Octavia shot out of the front seat. Her red hair was a wild, fiery tangle in the yellow glow of the street lamp.
"No," Rafe said. "It sure doesn't. Oh man, am I ever glad I'm not in your shoes, Nick. All I can say is good luck."
Octavia rushed toward them around the hood of the white compact. She wore a gauzy, ankle-length, flower-patterned skirt and a snug-fitting tee shirt with a deeply scooped neckline. When Nick glanced down, he saw that she was wearing slippers. She had dressed in a hurry.
"I just had a phone call from Hannah. Something about a tavern brawl. Tell me there's been some terrible mistake."
"There's been a mistake, all right," Nick said. "You forgot to put on your shoes. You know, the importance of proper footwear is often overlooked."
"Are you both all right?" she asked.
"Sure," Nick said. "We're fine. Aren't we, Jeremy?"
"We're fine," Jeremy said obligingly.
"They're fine," Rafe assured her.
Nick saw some of her tension ease. The slight shift in the set of her shoulders caused her breasts to move beneath the tee shirt. The thin cotton fabric clung briefly to her nipples and he realized that she was not wearing a bra.
He was suddenly intensely aware of Rafe and Jeremy standing there with him. They were looking at her, just as he was. Probably also noticing that she wasn't wearing a bra.
Annoyed, he yanked off his windbreaker and held it out to her. "Here. Better put this on. It's chilly out here."
She frowned at the jacket, as if she'd never seen one before. He moved closer, putting himself between her and Jeremy and Rafe, and tugged the jacket forcibly around her shoulders. It was so large on her that it fell like a cape in front. He wasn't entirely satisfied, but at least her nipples were no longer visible.
She ignored the jacket to glower at him. "What happened? How did the fight start?"
"Eugene Woods started it," Nick said. He glanced at Jeremy. "Isn't that right?"
"Definitely," Jeremy said. "Eugene Woods was the cause."
Rafe nodded. "Eugene Woods."
"You weren't even there when it happened, Rafe. How do you know?"
"You got a situation involving Mean Eugene and Dickhead Dwayne and you know who started it," Rafe explained.
"Just the way things are in Eclipse Bay," Nick said.
Jeremy opened his mouth to give his two cents' worth. She hushed him with a raised palm and turned back to Nick.
"What was the fight about?"
Nick shrugged. "Bar fight. They happen. Jeremy and I were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
Suspicion gleamed in her eyes. She turned to Jeremy.
"Tavern brawls are sort of like whirlwinds and tornadoes," Jeremy said seriously. "Forces of nature. They erupt out of nowhere for no known cause."
She moved on to Rafe. "Do I get an answer from you?"
He held up both hands, palms out. Innocent as a lamb. "I wasn't there, remember?"
She looked at Nick again.
"Hey, it was your idea that I buy Jeremy a drink," he reminded her.
She planted her hands on her hips. The movement parted the edges of the windbreaker and stretched the tee shirt across her unconfined breasts. "So this whole thing is my fault? Is that what you're trying to say? Don't you dare blame this on me, Nick Harte."
Nick moved forward again to block his companions' view. "You can take me back to where I left my car."
"Wait a minute, I'm not finished here," she said.
"Yes," he said. "You are."
He put his arms around her shoulders, turned her smartly around, and shoehorned her into the front seat of her car before she could say another word.
He followed her back to her cottage and got out of the car to see her to her front door.
"There was no need to follow me home." She shoved her key into the lock.
"It's after midnight and this cottage is pretty isolated out here on the bluff."
"This is Eclipse Bay." She turned the key. "Probably has the lowest crime rate on the entire West Coast."
"It's still late. I'd have worried." But mostly he would have gone crazy alone in bed tonight, thinking about her. Maybe it was some kind of testosterone hangover, a residual effect of the brawl. Or maybe he was in worse shape than he had realized.
She got the door open, stepped inside, and switched on a lamp. Turning, she studied him from the opening. With the light behind her, it was impossible to read her expression. Her red hair formed a fiery aura around her face. She was doing the enigmatic Fairy Queen thing again. He wanted to put her down on a bed and bury himself so deep inside her that she would never be able to forget that she was as human as he was.
"Thank you," she said, ever so polite. "As you can see, I'm home, safe and sound. You may leave now."
He wanted her so badly he'd probably go out into the woods and howl at the moon if she forced him to leave tonight.
He reached out and gripped the door frame. "Invite me inside."
"Why should I do that?"
"How about because I've had a hard night and it was, as you have already noted, your fault."
"I told you not to blame that tavern brawl on me." She tipped her head a little. "By the way, you never told me how things went between you and Jeremy this evening. Were you able to work through some of your issues before the brawl erupted?"
"Oh, yeah, we definitely rebonded."
Her expression softened. "I'm so pleased."
He saw his opening and put one foot over the threshold. "Now can I come inside?"
"Nick-"
He leaned forward and shushed her with a slow, deep kiss, careful not to touch her. If he put his hands on her, he thought, he might not be able to take them off again. Not before morning, at least.
She did not retreat. He felt a little shudder go through her. Progress, he told himself. When he lifted his mouth he saw that her lips were soft and parted.
"You know what?" he said. "I am not in the mood to talk about my issues wit
h Jeremy tonight."
"I understand." The tip of her tongue appeared at the corner of her mouth. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"You already asked me that earlier."
"Yes, I know, but you sound a little weird."
"Possibly because I am feeling a little weird." Also a little wired, he thought. As if he were running on high-voltage electrical current.
"Maybe you're having some sort of delayed reaction to the violence."
"Maybe."
She raised her hand. He thought she was going to touch his face, but at the last instant she hesitated, fingertips an inch from his jaw. "Did you take any blows to the head?"
"I can't remember." He caught the drifting fingertips in one hand and raised them to his lips. "Could be that I did and it gave me amnesia."
"Nick." Softer now. And there was a broken edge on his name.
He drew one of her fingertips into his mouth and bit gently. She drew in a sharp breath.
He took that as an invitation and glided over the threshold. She moved back to allow him inside. He closed the door behind himself and reached for her.
"Oh, Nick."
And then she was in his arms, clinging wildly, her lips against his throat.
"I was so worried when Hannah told me there had been a fight," she whispered urgently against his neck. "And then she said you were at the police station and that you'd called Rafe to come bail you out and I got mad. But I was still scared, too. It was awful."
"It's okay," he said into her mouth. "Everything is okay."
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"I will be soon."
He scooped her up and carried her toward the hall. There was enough light from the single lamp she had switched on a moment ago to guide him past the darkened bathroom into the shadow-drenched bedroom.
His first thought when he saw the bed was that it was surrounded with ghosts. Then he realized that he was looking at a lot of pale, gauzy draperies. The hangings spilled from a wrought-iron frame that arched overhead.
The hidden bower of the Fairy Queen, he thought.
He let Octavia slide slowly down the length of his body until she was on her feet once more and then he peeled off the tee shirt. He'd been right about the lack of a bra. Her elegantly curved breasts fit perfectly into the palms of his hands. He moved his thumbs lightly across her taut nipples. She closed her eyes. Another little tremor went through her. He felt his own body shudder in response.
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