Heaven and Earth

by Nora Roberts

  Her life had been just that simple once.

  She trudged toward the village, leaving a trough in the snow. The sky was a soft, waiting white, as if it was considering shaking out a few more inches just for good measure. Either way, she thought, she would take her hour at the gym, then head back home to help Zack shovel out the cruiser and Nell’s car.

  As she crossed into the village, she looked down and frowned. The snow wasn’t pristine here, as she’d expected, as she’d wanted it to be. Someone else had been out and about early, too, and had left a narrow path.

  It irritated her. It was a tradition, almost a ritual, that she be the first to break the field of snow on this part of the island. Now someone had spoiled her routine and pricked her contentment bubble.

  She kicked at the snow and kept walking.

  The path led, as hers did, toward the Gothic stone hotel, the Magick Inn.

  Some mainlander, she decided, who’d come out of his hotel room early to see a genuine New England village in the snow. Hard to blame him, she admitted, but he might have waited another hour. She stomped up the short flight of steps, bumped the bulk of the snow off her boots, and went inside.

  She waved to the desk clerk, hitching up her gym bag, and jogged up the lobby steps to the second floor. She had a long-standing pay-as-you-go deal with the hotel for health club privileges. She preferred working out on her own, and during the summer she used the sea as her pool, so an official membership wasn’t worth her while.

  Turning left, she headed straight into the women’s locker room. As far as she could remember, only a handful of guests were in residence this week. More than likely she would have the gym and the pool to herself.

  After dumping her outerwear in the locker that the hotel kept for her, she stripped down to her black sports bra and bike pants, tugged on her socks and cross-trainers.

  Her mood was up again at the prospect of a good sweaty bout with the resistance machines and free weights. Since she despised the treadmill she would save the aerobic portion of her workout for the hotel pool.

  She circled around the locker room for the door leading to the gym. She heard the clang of metal on metal before she saw anyone. Her mood wavered again. The TV was on, tuned to one of the early-morning shows full of chatter and cheer.

  She preferred blasting music when she worked out.

  But her glance toward the bench press turned her scowl into interesting speculation. She couldn’t see much of him, but what she could see was superior.

  Long legs, toned and muscled and already sheened with sweat. Long arms, sleek biceps rippling on the lift and set. She approved of his shoes, a good brand, basic style and far from new.

  He was bench-pressing 120 in smooth, steady reps. Better and better.

  This wasn’t a weekend warrior but a regular. And if the rest of him lived up to his limbs, he washot.

  If she was going to have to share the equipment with someone, he might as well be hot, buff, and sweaty.

  Just the way I like ’em, she thought with delight. She was missing men—at least missing sex. She would just check out Mr. Fitness here and see if he lived up to the advertising.

  She snagged a towel, hooked it around her shoulders, and wandered his way.

  “Need a spotter?” she began, then nearly choked as she looked down into Mac’s face.

  He grunted, lowered the bar. “Hey, how’s it going? Some snow last night, huh?”

  “Yeah, some snow.” In disgust she turned away to begin her warm-up stretches. Wouldn’t you just know it? Just as she starts to get stirred up, Mr. Fitness turns out to be Dr. Geek.

  “Nice club,” he commented, grunting a little as he pressed the bar up. “I was surprised to find it empty.”

  “Not much traffic in the hotel this time of year.” She spared him a look. He hadn’t shaved, and that shadow of stubble turned the attractive bookworm face into something edgy. Sexy.

  Damn it, hewas hot.

  “Did you get a membership?” she asked him.

  “Yeah. Damn, lost count. Well.” He hooked the bar on the safety, scooted up. “You work out here regularly?”

  “No. I’ve got a setup at home. Free weights, a Bowflex. But when I can’t run outside, I like to use their stuff, and the pool. Are you watching this junk?”

  He adjusted the weight and pressure on another machine, glanced at the television. “Not especially.”

  Taking this for a no, she switched it off while he settled into leg presses. She turned the music on, and up to blasting to discourage any conversation.

  Unfazed, Mac worked through his routine while she worked through hers. He watched her, mostly out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t ogle women in health clubs. It wasn’t, well, polite. But he was human. It was only the two of them, and she had one beautiful, tight body.

  Shame about the attitude.

  He thought about what he’d seen on the beach two nights before, that instant when he’d thought it was Ripley standing there. Of course it hadn’t been. He’d realized that almost immediately. The eyes had beenalmost the same. That sharp, intense, and pure green. But the woman, or the vision, or whatever it had been on the beach, hadn’t had that taut, disciplined body. And her hair, while dark and long, had been curling coils where Ripley’s was straight as rain.

  And the face, though there’d been some resemblance, had been softer, sadder, rounder.

  Added to all that was the fact that he didn’t think Ripley Todd would stand on a dark beach, weeping, then vanish into the air.

  It had been one of the sisters, he was sure. And from the research he’d done, he was betting on the one called Earth.

  Still, Deputy Todd was a part of it all. He was sure of that, too.

  He just wasn’t sure how to chip through that flinty attitude and work on—that is, workwith her. Since he intended to do just that, it wasn’t a coincidence that they picked up free weights at the same time.

  She started with flies. He followed suit.

  Despite the music, they were close enough now for him to speak without shouting and feeling like a moron.

  “How’s the food in the restaurant here?”

  “Two restaurants. Fine. Fancy one’s pricey.”

  “You up for breakfast after this? I’m buying.”

  She slanted him a look. “Thanks, but I’ve got to get back.”

  He saw her gaze at his weights. He was pumping twenties. She was using tens. But between the beat of the music and the mirrored motions, they were lifting in unison.

  “I’ve got my equipment set up.” He set it casually as they both switched motions. “You’ll have to come by and take a look.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Curiosity. If you’re uneasy about what happened last time, I can promise not to touch you.”

  “I’m not uneasy about anything.”

  There was just enough bite in her voice to show him exactly how to chip away. Some women were vain about their looks, or their brains. Ripley was vain about her spine.

  “I couldn’t blame you for being reluctant to come around, or even to talk to me after that.” His smile was back, easygoing, edging toward sheepish. “I tend to forget that laypeople aren’t used to paranormal events. It can be scary.”

  “You think I’m afraid?” She gritted her teeth, continued her reps. “You don’t scare me, Booke, and neither do your stupid toys.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Voice cheerful, face pleasant, he finished off the mat routine and got up to do bicep curls. “I was a little worried, the way you took off.”

  “I didn’t take off.” She snapped it out and began to work on her triceps. “I left.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I had work to do.”

  “Okay.”

  She sucked in a breath and imagined what would happen to that dopey grin of his if she smashed her barbell in his face. “You may be the idle rich, buddy, but I work for a living.”

  “Absolutely. If you’re no
t worried about the energy spike the other day, I’d really like you to come back. Now that I’m up and running, it’ll help to re-create the event, or see if it can be re-created.”

  “Not interested.”

  “I’ll pay you for your time.”

  “I don’t need your money.”

  “That doesn’t make it less useful. Think about it.” He decided to cut his routine short and give her the time to do just that. “By the way,” he added as he replaced the weights. “Nice abs.”

  She merely peeled back her lips to show her teeth as he strolled out.

  Imagine, she thought as she finished out her routine, a dork like that accusing her of being afraid. If it hadn’t been so laughable, it would’ve been insulting. Then thinking he could buy her time for his ridiculous experiments or study or whatever the hell he called what he did.

  It was a shame, a damn shame that he was the best-looking and certainly the best-built guy she’d run across in months. If he hadn’t been such an irritating moron, they could have enjoyed some workouts of an entirely different nature.

  Instead, she was going to have to make the effort to avoid him whenever possible. It wouldn’t be easy, but she would make it her winter project.

  With her muscles comfortably fatigued, she went back in the locker room, showered off, pulled on her tank suit, and headed into the pool area.

  And realized, immediately, she should have known. He was already in the pool, doing laps with slow, almost lazy strokes. It surprised her to see that his tan covered every inch of him, or every inch she could see. The black Speedo he wore wasn’t hiding much.

  She wasn’t giving up her swim, even if it meant sharing the water with him. Tossing her fresh towel aside, she dived in.

  When she surfaced he was an arm-span away, casually treading water. “I’ve got an idea.”

  “I bet you’re just full of them.” She dipped her head and slicked the hair back from her face. “Look, I want to get in my laps and go. It’s a big pool. You stay on that side, I’ll stay on this one.”

  “Let’s not call it an idea, let’s call it a proposition.”

  “Booke, you’re going to piss me off.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  He did flush now, a perfectly gorgeous combination with that manly stubble. The little twist of lust in her belly really put her off.

  “I didn’t mean to imply—” He took two careful breaths, knowing he would stutter otherwise. “I meant a race.”

  He knew he’d caught her competitive streak by the way her eyes glinted just before she turned in the water and swam to the side. “Not interested.”

  “I’ll give you a quarter-length handicap.”

  “Yeah, no question, you’re going to piss me off.”

  “Four lengths,” he continued, clamping onto the idea like a hound onto a bone. “If you win, I don’t bother you again. If I win, I get one hour of your time. One hour, against three months. Those are pretty favorable odds for you.”

  She started to brush him off. Wanted to brush him off. He couldn’t bother her if she didn’t let him bother her. There was only one slight hitch. She couldn’t resist a dare.

  “Four lengths, head to head.” She pulled swim goggles over her head, adjusted them. “When I win, you keep your distance, you don’t mention your project or whatever you call it to me again, and you don’t try hitting on me on a personal level.”

  “Now that last part stings, Deputy, but agreed. If I win, you come to the cottage, assist me in some tests. One hour’s work, with your full cooperation.”

  “Deal.” When he held out a hand, she simply stared at it blandly. “Forget it.”

  She waited for him to join her at the wall, prepared herself with long, slow breaths. “Freestyle?”

  “Okay. On three?”

  She nodded. “One, two . . .”

  They pushed off together on three, cut through the water. She didn’t intend to lose, didn’t even consider it a possibility. She swam nearly every day of her life, and she was the home team.

  She noted his form as they paced each other on the first lap. It wasn’t bad, but hers was better.

  They slapped the far wall, pushed off for the second lap.

  She was beautiful to watch, and he hoped he had the opportunity to do more of it. Under less intense circumstances. It wasn’t just strength, he noted. She had the fluid, disciplined grace of the true athlete.

  He’d never deluded himself that he qualified in that area. But if there was one thing he could do, it was swim. He had to admit he hadn’t expected them to be so evenly matched. He had a longer reach and a good seven inches on her in body length, but the woman had a powerful kick.

  He picked up the pace, testingly, on the third length. She matched it. He found himself both challenged and amused. She was toying with him. He put on more speed and admitted it was a damn good thing she’d tossed his handicap back in his face.

  The sonofabitch was like an eel, Ripley thought. When they shoved off for the final lap in tandem, she realized she’d seriously misjudged his abilities. Gathering herself, she poured it on, nipped past him by a quarter of a body length, felt her adrenaline kick in for that final push.

  And was struck with shock and dazed admiration when he streamed by her and slapped the wall two strokes ahead.

  Chest heaving, she surfaced, shoved back her goggles. No one, not even Zack, could beat her at four lengths. It was demoralizing.

  “So.” He panted, shoved his hair back. “Any time today good for you?”

  The bastard hadn’teven had the courtesy to rub it in. It only made the taste of defeat more sour. He’d been so, so damn pleasant about the whole thing. She began to wonder if he was on drugs. Surely no one could stay so even-tempered without chemical assistance.

  She worked off part of her mad shoveling snow, soothed her bruised ego with some of Nell’s famous cinnamon buns. But it picked at her, a restless fingernail at a scab, throughout the day.

  There were a number of calls to keep her busy: cars sliding off the road, a smashed window due to a poorly aimed snowball, and the usual variety of mischief that liberated kids could create on a snow day.

  Still, it worried her mind and spoiled her mood.

  In the station house, Zack listened to her muttered curses, watched her pour yet another cup of coffee. He was a patient man, and he knew his sister. He’d crossed paths with her several times that day on patrol and had recognized the signs of her temper brewing.

  But since it hadn’t passed, he was going to have to poke it out of her.

  Now seemed like a good time.

  He was enjoying a coffee break of his own, with his feet propped up on the desk.

  “Are you going to keep chewing on whatever’s got your goat, or spit it out?”

  “Nothing’s got my goat.” She slurped at coffee, burned her tongue, cursed.

  “You’ve been in a stew since you got back from the gym this morning.”

  “I don’t stew. You stew.”

  “I brood,” he corrected. “Which is a solitary and thoughtful process involving finding the solution to a conflict or situation. Stewing is stirring a bubbling pot until it boils over and spills on someone. As I’m the only one currently in harm’s way, I have a vested interest about the contents of this particular pot.”

  She turned back to him with a dangerous sneer. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

  “See.” He wagged his finger at her. “You’re trying to figure out how to take it out on me. Tell me who pissed you off, and we’ll go whip their asses together.”

  He had a way about him, Ripley admitted, that could make her laugh in the worst of times. She walked over to the desk, sat on the edge. “Have you met this Booke character?”

  “The big brain from New York? Yeah, I met him yesterday when he was out walking the village, getting his bearings. Seems nice enough.”

  “Nice.” She snorted. “Do you know what he’s here for?”

 
Zack grunted an assent. She only had to mention MacAllister Booke for Zack to clue in to the source of her mad. “Rip, we deal with variations of this theme off and on all the time. We can’t live on Sisters and avoid it.”

  “This is different.”

  “Maybe it is.” He was frowning himself when he got up to replenish his coffee. “What happened with Nell last fall raises eyebrows. And not just because she came back, figuratively, from the dead, or that that bastard Remington was exposed as someone who got his rocks off knocking her around during their marriage. Not even because he threatened to kill her once he tracked her here.”

  “And stabbed you.” She said it quietly because she could still see the blood on his shirt, the way it had gleamed dark in the shadows of the forest.

  “All of that made good press copy,” Zack continued. “A big, juicy scandal. But you add how it all went down—”

  “We kept a lid on that.”

  “As best we could,” he agreed.

  He stopped beside her, touched her face. He knew she’d broken a promise to herself that night. Linking hands with Mia, using what she had inside her to save Nell, to save him.

  “Enough got out,” he said quietly. “Rumor and speculation, and the babblings of a madman. Enough to build more, to spark interest. You had to expect something along these lines.”

  “I expected the weirdos,” she admitted. “Maybe an increase in the gawking tourists, that sort of thing. This Booke is different. He’s the serious article, a kind of, I don’t know, crusader. And he’s got credentials. A lot of people may think he’s just another nutcase, but a lot won’t. Added to all that, Mia might get it into her head to talk to him. To cooperate with him.”

  “Yeah, she might.” He didn’t want to add that he was all but sure Nell would as well. They’d already had a discussion about it. “It’s her choice, Rip. It doesn’t have to weigh on yours.”

  She gave her coffee a disgusted look. “He won an hour from me.”

  “What?”

  “Sneaky sonofabitch conned me into a bet this morning. I lost, so I have to give him an hour with his voodoo crap.”

  “Ouch. How’d you lose?”

  “Don’t wanna talk about it,” she muttered.

  But he was already trying to work it out. “You didn’t go anywhere but the gym this morning, did you? I heard he picked up a membership there. Is that where you ran into him?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She pushed off the desk, paced. “Who’d have thought he couldmove like that? At a sprint, okay, I could see it because of his height advantage. But not at a hundred sixty foot freestyle.”

  “A swim race?” Zack voiced his surprise. “He took you in a swim race?”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it. I was off my rhythm, that’s all.” She whirled back with a slanted look. “Was that a laugh I heard?”

  “You bet. No wonder you’re stewing.”

  “Just shut up. I don’t know what he thinks he can prove in an hour anyway. With his energy detectors and spirit sensors. It’s a waste of time.”

  “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. How much he take you by?”

  “Shut up, Zack.”

  She decided toget it over with, the way you would a root canal. And she’d decided to walk, leaving Zack with the cruiser, because that postponed the getting-it-over-with stage just a little longer.

  It was full dark when she made the turn to the yellow cottage, and the moon was new and black. Another three inches of snow had fallen since morning, but the