by Kay Hooper
He had also installed virtually every appointment-keeping and information-organizing software program on the market, and with his love of high-tech toys, he’d used them all—indiscriminately. And since he tended to go back and make changes or just add notations to old files, not even the dates last worked on were any help.
So Mercy had been reduced to simply wading through years and years worth of files.
Duncan clearly had no use for the delete command.
When she wasn’t frowning over apparently useless information such as accounts long since dead and notes of appointments ten years in the past, Mercy managed to do her usual work at the bank. Not that there was much left for her to do.
Until the last week or so, Nicholas had supplemented her final chores for Duncan with some for him, obviously hoping she’d find herself working for him in a smooth transition—and give up her objections to that. But recently, especially in the last few days, he had taken to spending much of his time closeted in his office, either on the phone or else doing work he didn’t explain to anyone in the bank. And when he wasn’t in his office, he wasn’t in the bank, period.
He wasn’t using Mercy as his assistant.
In fact, he was barely speaking to her.
That wouldn’t have bothered Mercy so much, except for one thing. While he had, in the past, become so involved in a project that he had shut himself in his office and worked long hours, he had still made sure they spent three or four nights a week together.
But he hadn’t been to her place, or invited her to his, in days—and showed no signs of planning to.
As she shut down the files she’d been searching through on Thursday afternoon and rubbed her stiff neck, Mercy figured she had a couple of choices. She could wait Nick out, holding strictly to the careful guidelines they had established for their no-relationship relationship, asking no questions and making no demands, pretending it didn’t matter to her if he didn’t feel like getting laid at the moment.
Or she could break a couple of their rules and force the issue.
The first option was safer. That way, she wouldn’t look like a lovesick fool if this was Nick’s way of easing out of the relationship. The second option was a lot riskier, especially if he had merely withdrawn from her temporarily because she’d gotten too close the last time they were together. If she pushed now, he could decide he wanted out for good.
But one thing Mercy knew was that she did not like being in limbo. So she left her office and went to his.
And he wasn’t there.
“Nothing worse than getting all worked up for a confrontation that doesn’t happen,” she muttered to herself.
“Looking for me?” Nicholas came into the office behind her.
She jumped. “Jeez. Don’t creep up on people like that.”
His brows rose, but Nicholas merely shut the door behind them and went to his desk. “Sorry. I thought I was just walking into my office.” He was terribly polite.
This was not going the way Mercy had planned.
She went to his visitor’s chair, but put her hands on the back of it rather than sitting down. “I noticed Jordan Walsh came to see you this morning,” she said. Which was not at all what she’d planned to say, dammit.
“He had an appointment, yes.”
“The bank isn’t going to do business with him, surely? Nick, I’ve been hearing things about him in the past few months. People in the financial community are beginning to talk, and what they’re saying is that he can’t be trusted at best—and is a criminal at worst.” She just couldn’t seem to say what she’d come in to say.
“Listening to gossip, Mercy?”
“It’s more than gossip.”
Nicholas shrugged. “Sometimes the bank backs risky investments. And risky people.”
“Not Jordan Walsh’s kind of risky.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” Mercy looked at his expressionless face and enigmatic eyes, and felt so frustrated she could have screamed. “And it’s none of my business.”
“And,” Nick said with that terrible politeness, “it’s none of your business.”
Mercy drew a breath and nodded. “Okay. I’m through for the day.” In more ways than one. “I guess you aren’t interested in dinner.”
“I have a few more calls to make.”
“Fine.” She managed a smile, and knew it looked as false as it felt. “See you, Nick.” And walked out of his office.
He stared after her for a moment, not moving until he heard a sharp sound and realized that the pencil in his hand had snapped raggedly in half. Then, hardly aware of speaking aloud, he muttered, “Christ, what’s wrong with me …”
“Nothing.” Rachel shook her head and looked at Adam, who had joined her upstairs about an hour before. It was almost impossible to concentrate when she looked at him, but she tried her best. “Plenty of notes and old letters, but nothing to help us.”
“Then we depend on Nick,” Adam said.
Rachel slowly returned a stack of unused stationery to one of the drawers, frowning. “Adam, it doesn’t make sense.”
“Which part?” he asked wryly.
“Dad. Except for his private records, his estate was in meticulous order.”
“So his private records should be as well?”
“Well … yes. He knew I’d have to deal with all this stuff. He knew I’d be the one to go through his desk downstairs and this one, and that I’d find the notebooks and the journal. There should be more paperwork.”
“Okay. Where would it be?”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know. The safes here in the house have all been checked. The safety deposit boxes at the bank. And now both the desks Dad used. There isn’t anyplace else, not that I know of.”
“If you’re right about the records, there must be.”
Rachel shook her head, then frowned again. “Maybe we’re looking for the wrong thing.”
“Papers?”
“Yes. Maybe we should be looking for a key. Maybe to a safe deposit box other than those at the bank.”
Adam looked around the bedroom, which was filled with massive mahogany furniture—and a great many drawers. “A key. Great.”
“And not just in here.” Rachel sighed. “This is a big house.”
“But would Duncan have made you look for it? I mean, shouldn’t anything you needed to know be readily available, or at least easily found?”
“I would have thought so. All his business records were.”
Adam saw her rub the back of her neck wearily, and came to pull her up from the chair. “Enough. Let’s go walk in the garden for a little while before it gets dark, and then I’m going back to town and leaving you to get some rest.”
Rachel slid her arms up around his neck and leaned into him, feeling her body respond instantly to the closeness of his. When she was near him like this, all she was aware of was how much closer she wanted to be. “Suddenly, I’m not tired at all,” she told him.
Adam wrapped his arms around her and held her for a moment, and that enveloping embrace moved her oddly. Once again, just as in the hours before dawn, she had the feeling that he thought she was going to be taken away from him.
“Adam?”
He eased back just far enough to look down at her, his eyes intense. Then he kissed her, one hand sliding up her back to the nape of her neck.
Rachel lost herself in him. She forgot about questions and puzzles and doubts, and threats to her life. She forgot about everything but the way he made her feel.
Adam made a rough sound and muttered, “You are not making it easy for me to leave.”
Rachel looked up at him. “You could stay.”
He touched her cheek lightly. “If I do, you won’t get any rest. And I know damned well I won’t.”
“We might not sleep much,” she agreed, “but there’s a lot to be said for pillow talk.”
He smiled, but it looked a little strained. “Definitely not ma
king it easy for me. Rachel, you still have a sprained wrist and several bruises—”
“I think you counted them last night. Didn’t you count them?”
Adam cleared his throat. “You might not feel it right now, but after that car almost ran us down, your body needs a chance to recover.”
“I feel fine.”
He rested his forehead against hers and sighed. “Why are you making me be the grown-up?”
Rachel couldn’t help laughing, but her question was more than a little serious when she asked, “Am I being shameless?”
He kissed her once, hard. “You’re being wonderful. I want to take you to bed right now and stay there for at least a week—never doubt that.”
“But …”
“But you’ve been through a hell of a lot in the last few weeks. And it isn’t over. We can’t know the worst isn’t yet to come.”
It was Rachel’s turn to sigh. “Well, if you’re going to be practical about it …” Still, she knew he was right. Too many restless, dream-filled nights had come before last night’s almost entirely sleepless and active night. She was exhausted, and she was willing to bet he was as well.
“I’ll come back tomorrow, Rachel. Bright and early.”
Repeating something he had said earlier in the day, she said, “I guess that would be best. But I don’t have to like it.”
The walk in the garden was peaceful, the leave-taking a while later something else entirely, and Rachel was left with a long evening stretching ahead and way too many emotions and worries running through her mind.
Adam found Simon parked just down the block, where he had a clear view of the front gate of the Grant estate, and Nick’s scruffy private investigator gave him a somewhat jaundiced look when Adam pulled up beside him.
“Make me obvious, why don’t you?” he said.
Adam ignored the complaint. “Anything?”
“Nah, not since you and the lady got here. Incoming, that is. Cameron Grant left a while ago.”
Adam nodded. “I want you to watch this place, and I mean carefully. Rachel shouldn’t be leaving, but if she does, stick close.”
“Like white on rice.”
“You have a partner, right?”
“Yeah. He’s always on watch here, while I follow the lady whenever she leaves. Right now he’s watching the river side of the property. Nobody goes in without one of us seeing ’em.”
“And relief?”
“Two shifts, twelve hours on and twelve off. One follows the lady, the other one stays here, always. The other two are good, don’t worry about that. Nick pays for the best.”
“None of you kept us from nearly being blown up that day,” Adam retorted. “Or being almost run down by a car.”
Simon looked both sheepish and defiant. “I was supposed to follow and look out for dangers, yes—but how could I know that store was rigged to blow? I didn’t have time to check it out before you two went in. As for the car, the fucking thing came out of nowhere. I didn’t have time to do anything, I swear. Besides—you were there. Nick said you had great reflexes, and he was right. The lady hardly got a scratch.”
Adam gave him a look, then said calmly, “If the lady gets even that much on your watch, my friend, you’ll answer to me. And I won’t just dock your pay.”
Simon returned the stare and nodded slowly. “Nick also said you were a lot tougher than you look, and since you look tough enough, I should keep it in mind. Okay, I got you. We’ll keep a close eye on the lady.”
“And if you see anything suspicious—anything, no matter how vague—call me at once. You have my pager number?”
“Yeah. And your number at the hotel. I’ll call.”
“Be sure you do. Very sure.”
• • •
“You’ll be in for supper?” Fiona came into the foyer to ask Rachel.
“Yes. Where’s Cam?”
“Said he had a date. I didn’t ask how much he was paying her.”
Rachel laughed. “For heaven’s sake, Fiona. He knows plenty of people here in Richmond, and that includes a few ladies who enjoy his company. I’m glad he’s getting out.”
Fiona sniffed. “At least he isn’t underfoot, going through cabinets and drawers until a body’d think he was looking for secret treasure.”
“Well, considering some of the things we’ve found in the furniture so far, you can hardly say he’s wasting his time.”
“I suppose. I’ll just be glad when all this is done and past, and we’ve the house to ourselves again, Miss Rachel.”
“It won’t be much longer, Fiona.”
The housekeeper sniffed again. “It’s already been too long. You should get some rest tonight—assuming every-body’ll leave you alone long enough, that is.”
Rachel smiled. “I’m fine.”
“I know.” Fiona paused, then added in a different tone, “Or at least you will be. Now.”
Rachel was too startled to respond until the housekeeper had turned back toward the kitchen, but then managed to say, “Fiona? It isn’t because he looks like Tom.”
Fiona paused for just a moment and looked at Rachel. “I don’t know that it matters much whether or not that’s the reason, Miss Rachel. You’re alive again after ten years of just … walking through life. As much as he loved life, Mr. Tom would surely say that was a wonderful thing.”
“And Adam?”
“If he loves you, he’ll agree.”
Rachel didn’t respond to that, but as the housekeeper retreated to the kitchen and left her alone again, she couldn’t help but think about a couple of things that made that statement sound hollow. Adam hadn’t mentioned love. And he had more than once made it clear that he did not consider his resemblance to Tom a good thing.
Except, of course, that it had gotten him more easily and quickly into her house, her life. Her trust. Adam might not like the resemblance, but he had been ruthless enough to use it for his own ends.
Rachel couldn’t help wondering if he was still doing that.
And what did she really feel? In a way, Tom’s death had encased both her heart and her sexuality in ice, and that ice had remained through all the years of study and work. She had been so young when she lost him and all her dreams of them together; her very youth had encouraged her to cling to those dreams, to prefer them to the reality of going on without Tom.
For a long time, she had felt disloyal to Tom even in dating casually, and by the time those feelings had naturally and inevitably faded somewhat, work had been her focus and her outlet.
By that point, she had thought it easier just to maintain the status quo, especially while she’d been living and working in New York. Work had demanded all her time and energy, she hadn’t had to face and deal with the ghosts in her life, and so she had been able to keep herself in an emotional limbo. Until she had come home.
But now she was home. And whether Adam was responsible or not, the ice had cracked, even shattered. The barrier between her and her own feelings had been removed. Everything she felt was stronger, sharper, and seemed to originate from someplace deeper inside her, a place untapped and even untouched for most of her life.
Her anger at Adam had come from there. So did her doubts and her passion.
So did her love.
For so much of her life she had believed that what she had felt for Tom had been the deepest, most powerful feeling she would ever know. Her commitment to him had been absolute, without hesitation or question, and the agony of his death had nearly destroyed her.
But recovery from a devastating loss was not all that had happened to her in ten years. There was also the transition from child to woman. And the development of her creative urges and abilities. And her independence.
The girl who had loved Thomas Sheridan for so long and so absolutely no longer existed.
What she felt now, for Adam, was so much more than she had ever expected to feel for anyone in her life. Far from simple adoration, it was a complex jumble of excitement and fear
, growing love and paralyzing doubts, dreams and anxieties, passion and uncertainty, trust—and distrust.
And her physical response to him was so strong that it seemed to push everything else aside. Her body felt different, curiously alive and sensitized. An unfamiliar hunger lurked just below the surface and ambushed her unexpectedly whenever she looked at him or touched him. The mere sound of his voice made everything inside her go still in listening, and his slow smile made her want to smile in return.
But that was her. Her feelings.
Except for his undeniable desire for her, she really had no idea what Adam thought or felt. He was still too good at hiding from her anything he did not want her to know.
She knew he had secrets left to tell, that there were still details in his past and quite possibly his present that he wasn’t ready to share with her. That he might never be willing to really talk to her about what he had endured in that brutal prison.
She also knew that if she had seen the scars on his back without the warning of her dream, she probably would have pressed him to talk to her about it, which would have been a mistake. As it was, her dream had shown her a barbarity so clear and detailed that she had not been able to bear even the idea of learning more. Not now, at least. Probably not for a long time.
You have to know where he’s been, Rachel. You have to understand.
For the first time, the full import of her dream hit Rachel.
His scars. How could she have known about his scars, dreamed about them?
Oh, she might have guessed that Adam had been mistreated in that prison, but the bloodied welts she had seen crisscrossing his back in the dream—and still saw, too vividly, when she let herself—closely matched the pale but visible scars he bore in reality.
Maybe even perfectly matched.
You have to know where he’s been, Rachel. You have to understand.
It had been Tom’s voice she had heard, subtly different from Adam’s.
“I’m just tired, that’s all,” she said, her own voice startling her in the silence of the house. “Imagining things.”
