Nightfall

by Anne Stuart

  “All those widows. Those very attractive, very well-off widows, who’d find an unattached male irresistible. I’m certain they’re taking very good care of him. After all, they’re used to looking after men.”

  Alice sat there, dumbstruck, and Cassie wondered why she hadn’t thought of it earlier. Lack of energy, doubtless. It would have rid them of Alice’s noxious presence days ago, leaving them in blessed peace.

  “I need to get back,” she said abruptly. “You’re absolutely fine, and we both know it, despite your acting like a Victorian heroine, lolling around in bed. It’s only for your sake I’ve been staying, but honestly, Cassie, I think it’s time you pulled yourself together. No need to mope. I do think it outrageous that Richard Tiernan had his conviction overturned, but at least that should have pleased you. I think I should be entitled to know why, but no one seems to trust me.”

  “You were the one who told me he’d been released,” Cassie said, leaning back in the bed. “You said new evidence had come to light, and his wife’s death was ruled accidental.”

  “And I don’t believe a word of it. I’d like to know why he didn’t seem any too happy to be released. You probably even know where he is right now,” Alice said accusingly.

  “I don’t think it matters, do you?” Cass murmured.

  “It shouldn’t,” Alice said shrewdly. “I’m going to pack. Tell your precious stepmother to put out the goddamned fire; I’m leaving.”

  Cassie pulled herself out of bed, slowly, pulling a robe around her. It had been five weeks since she and Francesca had been taken off the mountain by helicopter. She’d missed her father’s funeral, she’d missed Richard’s hearing. She’d seen him only once since he’d climbed up the cliff, her sister’s wounded body in his arms. He’d left the moment his release had come.

  The whole sordid mess had been covered up quite neatly—Cass imagined Sean would have howled in outrage. He’d never believed in discretion, and even the future of two innocent children would probably be fair game in return for publicity.

  Richard had been released and the charges had been dropped, she knew that much. Esther Scott had been surprisingly informative in her drug-dazed ramblings, and Jerome Fabiani had had no choice but to let Richard go. That, or have the whole ugly mess come out, and no one was particularly interested in having the details spread across the tabloids, least of all an up-and-coming district attorney who’d been instrumental in convicting an innocent man of murder.

  The press had been far from appeased at the vague information released. New evidence had come to light, Fabiani had announced. They were pursuing their investigation.

  But Cassie knew that the investigation had been quietly closed. Diana Scott Tiernan’s death had been ruled an accident, and no one was willing to push it any further.

  And so Richard had left, disappeared from public view, and the tabloids already had a new murder to keep them busy. The tragedy of General Amberson Scott’s untimely death merited a discreet three inches in The New York Times. No mention that his wife had been institutionalized ever sullied those pristine pages.

  She limped down the hallway. Oddly enough, her sprained ankle bothered her more than her gunshot wound. The general had either been a worse shot or a better one than he believed. The bullet had passed through the fleshy part of Cass’s upper arm, causing no damage but a nasty scar. Francesca had gotten off even more lightly. The bullet had grazed her scalp, giving her nothing more than a few stitches and one hell of a headache.

  Mabry was sitting in front of the fireplace. The room was beastly hot, but unlike Alice, Cassie didn’t have any illusions about the reason for the fire. She closed the door behind her and curled up in her favorite green chair, watching, as Mabry fed sheets of manuscript to the flames.

  “Are you certain you want to do that?” she murmured.

  “Yes.” She didn’t bother to turn her head. Her silky blond hair glinted in the firelight, and she still looked incredibly graceful, youthful. It was only her soul that was drained.

  “Did you read it? Was it any good?”

  “It was the best thing he’d done in years. Absolutely brilliant. Richard told him enough of the truth, and Sean figured out the rest. He let the general come into the house, with Francesca there, knowing what he’d done to his own daughter.” Mabry shivered for a moment, then managed a weary smile. “No one ever said your father had a speck of decency in him.”

  “Not a speck,” Cassie agreed wryly. “Are you certain you want to do that? It would make a fortune.”

  “I don’t need it,” Mabry said. “And I don’t want it. Do you?”

  “No. Sean will be remembered for Galway Hell. He doesn’t need this for his literary legacy.” Cassie leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment. “Alice is leaving.”

  “Thank heavens for small miracles. Alba and Francesca are going, too.”

  “Are they? I’m sorry about that.”

  “Francesca needs to get back to her own life. She’s resilient, but her treatment at the hands of that monster still gives her nightmares. She needs to get back home to a place where she can heal.”

  “He didn’t touch her, did he? That monstrous old man . . . ?”

  “She says no. I think she might not be ready to deal with it. I’m not sure I trust Alba to make sure she gets counseling.”

  “I don’t trust Alba at all. But I trust Francesca. I think she got all the good sense and self-preservation in the family.”

  “Not all of it,” Mabry said slowly, “You know, I wondered whether you might want to go with them.”

  “Trying to get rid of me as well, Mabry?” she murmured wryly. “I can return to Maryland anytime. My job is open if I want to come back. Just say the word.”

  “They’re leaving for Milan this evening. The plane makes one stop. In London.”

  Cass closed her eyes for a moment. “I can’t just up and decide to go to Europe, Mabry.”

  “You’ve done it before.”

  “I thought you liked having me here.”

  “I want you to be happy, Cass. You’re not going to be until you face what you left.”

  “I didn’t leave him. He left me. He came to my hospital room, kissed me on the cheek, and said good-bye.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “What could I say? He didn’t need me anymore. What was I supposed to do, beg him to stay? He couldn’t. There’ll always be a cloud over his head. His best bet is just to fade into the English countryside, out of public view. His children need some kind of normalcy, constancy. He can provide that now, but not if he comes back here.”

  “So go to him.”

  “It was his choice. He doesn’t want me.”

  Mabry tossed the last hundred pages or so onto the fire, and the flames burst around them, throwing off a shower of sparks. Rather like a funeral pyre, Cassidy thought absently.

  Mabry sat back on her heels, watching it burn. “Your father loved you, you know,” she said, seemingly a non sequitur.

  Cassie considered it for a moment. “I know,” she said softly.

  “Go with Francesca and Alba,” Mabry said. “You don’t even need to get off the plane when it stops in England. When it lands, you’ll know what to do. Some things are worth fighting for, darling. Life is too damned short.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he has to give. Something, anything, I don’t know what. But I can’t run after him, I can’t throw myself at his feet, I can’t keep giving to him. He has to give something back, or there’s nothing there. And right now he’s too caught up in making a normal life for his family to have time for me. Maybe in a few months. A few years. Maybe never.”

  “And you’re just going to sit around and feel sorry for yourself?” Mabry spun around, looking up at her.
<
br />   “Hey,” said Cass lightly, “I come by it honestly. My mother is the queen of self-pity.”

  “Cassie . . .”

  “No more, Mabry. I need time. Please.” Her voice cracked slightly.

  The severe, beautiful lines of Mabry’s face softened. “You’ve got it, sweetie. But what am I going to do with the extra ticket I bought for you?”

  Cass managed a smile. “How long has it been since you visited Italy?”

  IT WAS ONLY the third time she’d left the apartment since she’d come home from the hospital. Alba, used to going first-class, hired a limousine, and they drove out to JFK in merry style, with Francesca and Cassie going through the tiny refrigerator’s stash of diet Cokes while Alba and Mabry went through a bottle of Moet champagne in record time. She stood at the customs barrier and waved good-bye, a fixed smile on her face.

  Her cheeks hurt when they finally disappeared. She turned, moving back through the crowded airport, moving blindly. She needed this time, desperately. Time alone in the apartment, time for an orgy of grief and suffering. Time to wail and scream and cry and pound her fists against the wall. Time to face the fact that she would never see Richard Tiernan again.

  She had two choices. She could try to deal with the fact that he was gone. That he wasn’t coming back. Or she could wrap herself into a safe little cocoon of denial. And she wasn’t sure which would hurt more.

  The driver was waiting when Cassie came back alone, and the stock of diet Cokes had been magically replenished. She sat back in the plush leather, letting the air-conditioned silence close around her during the long drive in from Long Island. It had been so long since she’d been alone.

  Maybe she’d go home to the apartment and eat absolutely everything she could find. Comfort food like macaroni and cheese, fresh bagels, and nachos, washed down by gallons of diet Coke. Then she could start in on the Ben and Jerry’s Super Fudge Chunk, a stack of waffles, maybe even a glass of warm milk . . .

  She shut that line of thought off quickly, sharply, putting a hand against her mouth to stop the sudden whimper of pain that bubbled forth. She was going home to the empty apartment. To silence, and healing. To not answering questions or smiling when she didn’t want to. She was going to learn how to live again. If there was any way she could.

  “Good to see you out and about, Miss Cassidy,” Bill the doorman said when the limousine pulled up. “You call if you need any help, now.”

  She remembered the last time he’d told her that. Richard Tiernan had been waiting for her, up in her parents’ apartment, and he was worried for her.

  The apartment would be empty tonight. “Thanks, Bill,” she murmured, as the elevator doors slid shut.

  She closed and double locked the front door to the apartment behind her, kicking off her shoes. Her ankle was still giving her trouble, and she moved slowly toward the kitchen, her long skirts swaying around her. She’d lost weight in the last five weeks. Sean would have been proud of her.

  She stopped in the hallway, closing her eyes. Sean. Why did she have to wait so long to come to terms with him, now that he was dead? Why couldn’t she have made peace with him while he still lived? When they could have salvaged something?

  But Sean O’Rourke wasn’t the man for a peaceful existence. He’d died as he lived, stirring things up. She wondered if he’d hate the fact that his last, brilliant manuscript would never be published. And she knew he’d probably approve of Mabry’s dramatic gesture.

  She wandered into the kitchen, heading for the refrigerator. She was leaning over it, staring without enthusiasm at the gourmet contents, when she suddenly grew still.

  She turned, slowly, very slowly. Richard Tiernan was standing there in the dark, silent, watching her. Waiting for her.

  She was afraid. More terrified than she’d ever been of him. This was the last chance, the final choice. There were no more excuses, no more running.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. The chill of the open refrigerator didn’t help matters, and the cold air stirred her dress against her legs. She knew she was crying, and she couldn’t help it. She was expecting every kind of excuse, every kind of manipulation, and she didn’t know how to protect herself. How to ask him for what she needed.

  “For you,” he said, very simply.

  And it was enough.

  (Please continue reading for information about Anne Stuart

  About the Author

  Anne Stuart is currently celebrating her twentieth year as a published novelist with over five million copies of her books in print. She has won every major award in the romance field and is now breaking new ground with her first mainstream romantic thriller, Nightfall. Anne Stuart currently lives in Greensboro, Vermont.