Night Shadow

by Nora Roberts

  you’re involved in something so dangerous. And why I had to read in the paper that some maniac had a knife to my sister’s throat.”

  “It’s exaggerated.”

  “Oh, so no one held a knife to your throat?”

  No matter how well she lied, Deborah thought, Cilla would know. “It wasn’t as dramatic as it sounds. And I wasn’t hurt.”

  “Knives at your throat,” Cilla muttered. “Buildings blowing up in your face. Damn it, Deb, don’t you have a police force out there?”

  “I was just doing some legwork. Don’t start,” she said quickly. “Cilla, do you know how frustrating it is to have to keep repeating that you know what you’re doing, that you can take care of yourself and do your job?”

  Cilla let out a long breath. “Yeah. I can’t stop worrying about you, Deborah, just because you’re a couple thousand miles away. It’s taken me years to finally accept what happened to Mom and Dad. If I lost you, I couldn’t handle it.”

  “You’re not going to lose me. Right now, the most dangerous thing I’m facing is my computer.”

  “Okay. Okay.” Arguing with her sister wouldn’t change a thing, Cilla knew. And whatever answers Deborah gave her, she would keep right on worrying. “Listen, I also saw a picture of my little sister with some millionaire. I’m going to have to start a scrapbook. Anything you want to tell me?”

  The automatic “no” caught in her throat. “I don’t know. Things are pretty complicated right now and I haven’t had time to think it through.”

  “Is there something to think through?”

  “Yes.” The headache was coming back. She reached into her drawer for a bottle of aspirin. “A couple of things,” she murmured, thinking of Gage and of Nemesis. That was something not even Cilla could help her with. But there were other matters. “Cilla, since you’re married to a police captain, how about using your influence to have him do me a favor?”

  “I’ll threaten to cook. He’ll do anything I want.”

  With a laugh, Deborah picked up one of her printouts. “I’d like him to check out a couple of names for me. George P. Drummond and a Charles R. Meyers, both with Denver addresses.” She spelled out both names, then added social security numbers. “Got it?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Cilla murmured as she scribbled the information.

  “And there’s a Solar Corporation, also based in Denver. Drummond and Meyers are on the board of directors. If Boyd could run these through the police computer, it would save me several steps through the bureaucracy.”

  “I’ll threaten him with my pot roast.”

  “That should do the trick.”

  “Deb, you will be careful, won’t you?”

  “Absolutely. Give everyone a hug for me. I miss you. All of you.” Mitchell came to the door and signaled. “I’ve got to go, Cilla. The jury’s coming back.”

  ***

  Deep in the recesses of his home, in an echoing cavern of a room, Gage studied a bank of computers. There was some work he couldn’t do in his office. Some work he preferred to do in secret. With his hands hooked in the pockets of his jeans, he watched the monitors. Names and numbers flashed by.

  He could see on one of the monitors just what Deborah had inputted in her computer across town. She was making progress, he thought. Slow, it was true, but it still worried him. If he could follow the steps she was taking, so could others.

  Eyes intent, face sober, he took his fingers flying over one keyboard, then another and still another. He had to find the link. Once he did, he would carefully, systematically locate the name of the man responsible for Jack’s death. As long as he found it before Deborah, she was safe.

  The computers offered him one way. Or he could take another. Leaving the machines to their work, he turned, pressed a button. On the wall on the far side of the high-ceilinged, curving room a huge map slid into place. Crossing to it, he studied a very large-scaled detail of the city of Urbana.

  Using yet another keyboard, he had colored lights blinking at various parts of the city. Each represented a major drug exchange, many of which were as yet unknown to the UPD.

  They flashed in the East End, and the West, in the exclusive neighborhoods uptown, in the barrios, in the financial district. There seemed to be no pattern. Yet there was always a pattern. He had only to find it.

  As he studied the map, his gaze lit and lingered on one building. Deborah’s apartment. Was she home yet? he wondered. Was she safe inside? Was she wearing her blue robe and studying files, the television news murmuring in the background?

  Was she thinking of him?

  Gage rubbed his hands over his face. Frank was right, she was interfering with his concentration. But what could he do about it? Every attempt he made to see that she withdrew from the case had failed. She was too stubborn to listen.

  He smiled a bit. He hadn’t believed he would ever fall in love. How inconvenient, he thought wryly, that when he did, it was with a dedicated public servant. She wouldn’t budge. He knew it. And neither would he. But however much discipline he had over his body and his mind, he seemed to have none over his heart.

  It wasn’t just her beauty. Though he had always loved beautiful things and had grown up learning to appreciate them for no more than their existence. After he’d come out of the coma, he had found a certain comfort in surrounding himself with beauty. All that color, all that texture after so much flat gray.

  It wasn’t just her mind. Though he respected intelligence. As a cop and as a businessman, he had learned that a sharp mind was the most powerful and the most dangerous weapon.

  There was something, some indefinable something beyond her looks and her mind that had captured him. Because he was just as much her prisoner as he was of his own fate. And he had no idea how to resolve the two.

  He was only sure that the first step would be to find the key himself, to find the name and to find the justice. When this was behind him, and her, there might be a chance for a future.

  Clearing his mind, he studied the lights, then, bending over a computer, went to work.

  ***

  Balancing a pizza box, a bottle of Lambrusco and a briefcase full of paperwork, Deborah stepped off the elevator. As she wondered how she would manage to dig for her keys, she glanced up at the door of her apartment. Colorful draping letters crossed the door. CONGRATULATIONS, DEBORAH.

  Mrs. Greenbaum, she thought with a grin. Even as she turned toward her neighbor’s apartment, Mrs. Greenbaum’s door opened.

  “I heard it on the 6 o’clock news. You put that little weasel away.” Mrs. Greenbaum adjusted the hem of her tie-dyed T-shirt. “How do you feel?”

  “Good. I feel good. How about some celebratory pizza?”

  “You twisted my arm.” Mrs. Greenbaum let her door slam, then crossed the hall in her bare feet. “I guess you noticed the air-conditioning’s on the fritz again.”

  “I got the picture during my steam bath in the elevator.”

  “This time I think we should mobilize the rest of the tenants.” She gave Deborah a shrewd look. “Especially if we had some sharp, fast-talking lawyer lead the way.”

  “You’re already leading the way,” Deborah said as she shifted the wine. “But if it’s not on within twenty-four hours, I’ll contact the landlord and put on the pressure.” She fumbled around in her pocket. “Now if I could just get my keys.”

  “I’ve got the copy you gave me.” Reaching into the pocket of her baggy jeans, Mrs. Greenbaum produced a key ring crowded with keys. “Here we go.”

  “Thanks.” Inside, Deborah set the pizza box on a table. “I’ll get some glasses and plates.”

  Lil lifted the lid and saw with approval that the pizza was loaded with everything. “You know, a pretty young girl like you should be celebrating with some pretty young boy on a Friday night instead of with an old woman.”

  “What old woman?” Deborah called from the kitchen and made Lil laugh.

  “With a slightly above-middle-aged woman, then. What about tha
t mouthwatering Gage Guthrie?”

  “I can’t imagine him eating pizza and drinking cheap wine.” She walked back in, carrying the bottle and two glasses, paper plates and napkins tucked under her arm. “He’s more the caviar type.”

  “Something wrong with that?”

  “No.” She frowned. “No, but I’m in the mood for pizza. And after I gorge myself, I have work.”

  “Honey, don’t you ever let up?”

  “I’ve got a deadline,” Deborah said, and found she still resented it. She poured two glasses, handed one to her friend. “To justice,” she said. “The most beautiful lady I know.”

  Just as they sat, gooey slices of pizza split between them, there was a knock on the door. Licking sauce from her fingers, Deborah went to answer. She saw a huge basket of red roses that appeared to have legs.

  “Delivery for Deborah O’Roarke. Got someplace I can put this thing, lady?”

  “Oh … yes, ah. Here.” She stood on tiptoe and got a glimpse of the deliveryman’s head under the blossoms. “On the coffee table.”

  They not only sat on the coffee table, Deborah noted as she signed the clipboard, they covered it from end to end. “Thanks.” She dug into her wallet for a bill.

  “Well?” Lil demanded when they were alone again. “Who are they from?”

  Though she already knew, Deborah picked up the card.

  Nice work, Counselor.

  Gage

  She couldn’t prevent the softening, or the smile that bloomed on her lips. “They’re from Gage.”

  “The man knows how to make a statement.” Behind her lenses, Lil’s eyes sparkled. There was nothing she liked better than romance—unless it was a good protest rally. “Must be five dozen in there.”

  “They’re beautiful.” She slipped the card into her pocket. “I suppose I’ll have to call him and thank him.”

  “At least.” Lil bit into the pizza. “Why don’t you do it now, while it’s on your mind?” And while she could eavesdrop.

  Deborah hesitated, the scent of the flowers surrounding her. No, she thought with a shake of her head. If she called him now, while his gesture weakened her, she might do or say something rash. “Later,” she decided. “I’ll call him later.”

  “Stalling,” Lil said over a mouthful of pizza.

  “Yeah.” Not ashamed to admit it, Deborah sat again. She ate for a moment in silence, then picked up her wine. “Mrs. Greenbaum,” she began, frowning into her glass. “You were married twice.”

  “So far,” Lil answered with a grin.

  “You loved both of them?”

  “Absolutely. They were good men.” Her sharp little eyes became young and dreamy. “Both times I thought it was going to be forever. I was about your age when I lost my first husband in the war. We only had a few years together. Mr. Greenbaum and I were a bit luckier. I miss both of them.”

  “Have you ever wondered … I guess it’s an odd sort of question, but have you ever wondered what would have happened if you’d met both of them at the same time?”

  Lil arched her eyebrows, intrigued with the notion. “That would have been a problem.”

  “You see what I mean. You loved both of them, but if they had come into your life at the same time, you couldn’t have loved both of them.”

  “There’s no telling what tricks the heart will play.”

  “But you can’t love two men the same way at the same time.” She leaned forward, her own conflict showing clearly on her face. “And if somehow you did, or thought you did, you couldn’t make a commitment to either one, without being unfaithful to the other.”

  Taking her time, Lil topped off both glasses. “Are you in love with Gage Guthrie?”

  “I might be.” Deborah glanced back at the basket bursting with roses. “Yes, I think I am.”

  “And with someone else?”

  With her glass cupped in her hand, Deborah pushed away from the table and rose to pace. “Yes. But that’s crazy, isn’t it?”

  Not crazy, Lil thought. Nothing to do with love was ever crazy. And for some, such a situation would be delightful and exciting. Not for Deborah. For Deborah, she understood it would only be painful.

  “Are you sure it’s love on either side, and not just sex?”

  After letting out a long breath, Deborah sat again. “I thought it was just physical. I wanted it to be. But I’ve thought about it, tried to be honest with myself, and I know it’s not. I even get them mixed up in my mind. Not just comparisons, but, well, as if I’m trying to make them one man, so it would be simpler.” She drank again. “Gage told me he loves me, and I believe him. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Follow your heart,” Lil told her. “I know that sounds trite, the truest things often do. Let your mind take a back seat and listen to your heart. It usually makes the right choice.”

  ***

  At eleven, Deborah switched on the late news. She wasn’t displeased to see her victory in the Slagerman case as the top story. She watched her own image give a brief statement on the courthouse steps, frowning a bit when Wisner pushed through to ask his usual nonsense about Nemesis.

  The news team segued from that into Nemesis’s latest exploits—the liquor store robbery he had scotched, the mugger he had captured, the murder he had prevented.

  “Busy man,” Deborah muttered, and drained the last of the wine. If Mrs. Greenbaum hadn’t spent most of the evening with her, Deborah thought, she would have contented herself with one glass of wine rather than half the bottle.

  Well, tomorrow was Saturday, she thought with a shrug, as the anchorman reported on the upcoming mayoral debates. She could sleep a little late before she went into the office. Or, if she was lucky, she would uncover something that evening. But she wouldn’t get anything done if she continued to sit in front of the television.

  She waited long enough to hear the weather report, which promised continuing heat, raging humidity and chances of thunderstorms. Switching off the set, she went to the bedroom to settle at her desk.

  She’d left the window open in the vain hope of catching a breeze. The traffic noise was a steady din from five stories down. The heat rose from the street, intensifying on its upward journey. She could all but see it.

  Hot nights. Hot needs.

  She walked to the window, hoping for a breath of air to ease the aching even the wine hadn’t dulled. But it remained, a deep, slow throb. Was he out there? she wondered, then put a hand to her temple. She wasn’t even sure which man she was thinking of. And it would be best, she knew, if she thought of neither.

  Turning on her desk lamp, she opened a file, then glanced at the phone.

  She’d called Gage an hour before, only to be told by the taciturn Frank that Mr. Guthrie was out for the evening. She could hardly call him again, she thought. It would look as though she were checking up on him. Something she had no right to do—especially since she was the one who had asked for the time and space.

  That was what she wanted, she assured herself. What she had to have. And thinking of him wouldn’t help her find the answers that were buried somewhere in the papers on her desk.

  She began to read through them again, making notations on a legal pad. As she worked, time slipped past and thunder muttered in the distance.

  ***

  He shouldn’t have come. He knew it wasn’t right. But as he had walked the streets, his steps had taken him closer and closer to her apartment. Draped in shadows, he looked up and saw the light in her window. In the heat-drenched night he waited, telling himself if the light switched off, he would leave. He would go.

  But it remained, a pale yet steady beacon.

  He wondered if he could convince himself he wanted only to see her, to speak with her. It was true that he needed to find out how much she knew, how close she was. Facts on her computer didn’t take in her intuition or her suspicions. The closer she came to answers, the more jeopardy she was in.

  Even more than he wanted to love her, he needed to protect her.


  But that wasn’t why he crossed the street, why he swung himself onto the fire escape and began to climb. What he did he did because he couldn’t stop himself.

  Through the open window, he saw her. She was seated at a desk, the slant of light directed onto the papers she read through. A pencil moved quickly in her hand.

  He could smell her. The tauntingly sexy scent she wore reached out to him like an invitation. Or a dare.

  He could see only her profile, the curve of her cheek and jaw, the shape of her mouth. Her short blue robe was loosely tied, and he could see the long white column of her throat. As he watched, she lifted a hand to rub at the back of her neck. The robe shifted, sliding up her thighs, parting gently as she crossed her legs and bent over her work again.

  Deborah read the same paragraph three times before she realized her concentration had been broken. She rubbed her eyes, intending to begin again. And her whole body stiffened. Heat rushed over her skin. Slowly she turned and saw him.

  He was standing inside the window, away from the light. Her heart was hammering—not in shock, she realized. In anticipation.

  “Taking a break from crime fighting?” she asked, hoping the sharp tone of her voice would cover her trembling. “According to the eleven-o’clock news, you’ve been busy.”

  He hadn’t bothered to concentrate. This time, at least this time, he’d needed to come to her whole. “So have you.”

  “And I still am.” She pushed at her hair and discovered her hand wasn’t quite steady. “How did you get in?” When he glanced toward the window, she nodded. “I’ll have to remember to keep that locked.”

  “It wouldn’t have mattered. Not after I saw you.”

  Every nerve in her body was on edge. Telling herself it would add more authority, she rose. “I’m not going to let this go on.”

  “You can’t stop it.” He stepped toward her. “Neither can I.” His gaze shifted to the papers on her desk. “You haven’t listened.”

  “No. I don’t intend to. I’ll wade through all the lies, navigate all the dead ends until I find the truth. Then I’ll finish it.” Her stance was tense and watchful. Her eyes challenged him. “If you want to help me, then tell me what you know.”

  “I know I want you.” He hooked a hand in the belt of her robe to hold her still. At that moment, she was his only need, his only quest, his only hunger. “Now. Tonight.”

  “You have to go.” She could do nothing to prevent the shudder of response or the flare of desire. Integrity warred with passion. “You have to leave.”

  “Do you know how I ache for you?” His voice was harsh as he jerked her against him. “There is no law I wouldn’t break, no value I wouldn’t sacrifice to have you. Do you understand that kind of need?”

  “Yes.” It was clawing her. “Yes. It’s wrong.”

  “Right or wrong, it’s tonight.” With one sweep of his hand, he sent the lamp crashing to the floor. As the room was plunged into darkness, he lifted her into his arms.

  “We can’t.” But her fingers dug hard into his shoulder, negating the denial.

  “We will.”

  Even as she shook her head, his mouth came down on hers, fast and fevered, strong and seductive. The power of it slammed into her, leaving her reeling and rocky—and helpless, helpless to resist her own answering need. Her lips softened without yielding, parted without surrendering. As she tumbled deaf and blind into the kiss, her mind heard what her heart had been trying to tell her.

  He pressed her into the mattress, his mouth frantic and impatient as it roamed her face, his hands already tearing at the thin robe that covered her. Beneath it she was just as he’d dreamed. Hot and smooth and fragrant. Stripping off his gloves he let himself feel what he had craved.

  Like a river she flowed under his hands. He could have drowned in her. Though he burned to see what he was making his, he contented himself with texture, with taste, with scent. In the hot storm-haunted night, he was relentless.

  He was still a shadow, but she knew him. And wanted him. With all reason, all rationality aside, she clung to him, mouth seeking mouth as they rolled over the bed. Desperate to feel him against her, to feel the wild beat of his heart match the wild beat of hers, she pulled at his shirt. There were harshly whispered words against her lips, against her throat, her breast, as she frantically undressed him.

  Then he was as vulnerable as she, his skin as slick, his hands as greedy. Thunder rumbled, lightning flickered in the moonless night. The scent of roses and passion hung heavy in the air. She shuddered, mindless with the pleasures he so recklessly showed her.

  It was all heat, all ache, all glory. Even as she wept with it, she strained against him, demanding more. Before she could demand, he gave, sending her soaring again. Dark, secret delights. Moans and whispers. Bruising caresses. Insatiable hungers.

  When she thought she would surely go mad, he plunged inside her. And it was madness. She gave herself to it, to him, with all her strength, all her eagerness.