by Nora Roberts
“You’re tossing me out? Before I go, I’ll know why,” he said and grabbed her.
“It’s too much, I said. I’ll finish what we started, and I won’t let the others down. But I won’t, I will not be the quiet, unassuming lover who makes it convenient for you when it’s over and you walk away, when you go back to Ireland and pick up your life where you left it off. Where you leave me off. For once, I’m doing the ending, and I’m telling you to go.”
“Have I ever asked you to be quiet or unassuming?”
“No. You changed my life, thank you very much. There.” She tried to twist away and was hauled back. “You want more? Fine. It’s very considerate of you to be honest enough to tell me it’s all temporary—lives bumping together and moving on. You’ve got a home and a business to run in Ireland. So good luck.”
“You’re a confusing woman, Tia, and a great deal of work.”
“I’m a very simple woman, and extremely low maintenance.”
“Bollocks. You’re a maze, and constantly fascinating to me. Let’s just back all this up, for clarity’s sake. In your opinion, I was about to tell you this morning that it’s been nice, it’s been fun, and very pleasurable as well. I’d probably add that I’m quite fond of you, and knowing you to be a quiet, unassuming woman—ha ha—I’m sure you’ll understand that when this business is done, then so are we.”
The image of him was hazed through tears. For the first time she wished, viciously, that he was ordinary—to look at, to speak with. To make love with.
“It doesn’t matter what you would have said because I’m saying it now.”
“Oh it matters,” he disagreed. “I’m thinking it matters. So I’ll tell you what it is I realized I should have told you before. I love you. That’s what I should have told you before. What do you think of that?”
“I don’t know.” A tear spilled over now, but she didn’t notice. “Do you mean it?”
“Of course not.” He laughed as her mouth fell open, then scooped her off her feet. “What, I’m a liar now as well? I love you, Tia, and if I changed your life, you changed mine right back. If you think I can pick up where I left off before you, then you are stupid.”
“Nobody ever said that to me before.”
“That you’re stupid?”
“No.” She touched his face as he sat on the side of the bed with her in his lap. “‘I love you.’ No one’s ever said that to me.”
“Then you’ll have to make do with me telling you, until you’re tired of hearing it.”
She shook her head as her heart swelled. “No one’s ever said it to me, so I never had the chance to say it back. Now I do. I love you. I love you, Malachi.”
Spinning threads, she thought as she pressed her lips to his. Spinning them into yet another pattern. If her thread was cut short, she could look back at this moment and have no regrets.
Twenty-eight
SHE was close. She knew it.
She’d spent hours combing trinket shops, more paying calls on antique and art houses with the pretense of doing business. She’d had endless, and so far fruitless, conversations with local collectors she’d tagged thanks to Stefan.
To reward herself Anita enjoyed a long, cold drink at a shady table by the sparkling pool beside the Nikoses’ guest house.
Despite his introductions to collectors, Stefan wasn’t being as helpful as she’d hoped.
Hospitable enough, she mused as she sipped her frothy mimosa. He and his dull wife had welcomed her with open arms. Another time, she’d have relished the time in the spectacular white house flowing over the hills above Athens, with its acres of gardens, its army of servants and its cool, fragrant courtyards.
It was very satisfying to stretch out here on thick cushions beside a shimmering pool fed by a fountain depicting Aphrodite, to scan the sheltering trees and flowers under a hot blue sky and know that she had only to lift a finger and anything—anything—her appetites craved would be brought to her.
That was the silken shelter of true wealth, true privilege, where there was no need to concern yourself with anything beyond your own immediate desires.
And that was her life’s ambition.
In fact, she thought it was time she looked into similar accommodations for herself. Once she had the other statues, and she would have them, she might consider a partial retirement. After all, she’d be hard-pressed to top the coup of acquiring and selling the Three Fates. Morningside would have outlived its purpose for her.
Italy might be more her style, she mused. Some elegant villa in Tuscany where she would live in staggering expatriate style. Of course, she’d keep the house in New York. She’d spend a few months there every year. Shopping, socializing, entertaining and gathering the envy of others like rose petals.
She’d grant interviews. But after the initial flurry of media, she’d slip away. That veil of mystery would be thin, and when she lifted it on her own whim, they’d run scrambling for her.
She would put Morningside up for sale, regretfully. And would reap all the profits due her after the investment of twelve tedious years of marriage.
It was the life she’d been meant for, Anita decided as she eased back on the chaise. One of indulgence, fame and great, great wealth.
God knew she’d earned it.
She’d find that infuriating Cleo Toliver and remove that obstacle from her path. It was only a matter of time. She couldn’t hide forever. At least Stefan had been of some help interpreting in a few of the shops, inquiring for her about the brunette and a small silver statue.
The Toliver woman was certainly getting around. And twice now, according to the shopkeepers, Anita had missed her by less than an hour.
It only meant she was closing in, Anita assured herself. Imagine that slut believing she could outwit Anita Gaye.
It was going to be a very costly mistake for Cleo Toliver.
“Anita?”
Still floating on the current of her fantasies, Anita tipped down her shaded glasses and looked at Stefan. “Hello. Beautiful out here, isn’t it?”
“Perfect. I thought you might enjoy a fresh drink, some refreshment.” He gestured to the trays of fruit and cheese a servant arranged on the table, then handed her another mimosa.
“I’d adore it, thanks. I hope you’re going to join me.”
“I will.”
His silver hair glinted in the sun as he took the chair beside her.
His arms were tanned and muscled, his body fit, and his face interestingly craggy. He was worth, at conservative estimates, a hundred and twenty million.
If she’d been in the market for another husband, he’d have been a top contender.
“I want to thank you again, Stefan, for being my guide and liaison. It’s bad enough I’m taking advantage of your hospitality by coming into your home on hardly a moment’s notice, but I’m taking up so much of your time. I know how busy a man of your stature and position is.”
“Please.” He gestured her words away as he picked up his own drink. “It’s nothing but a pleasure. And exciting as well, this treasure hunt. Such things make me feel young again.”
“Oh. As if you’re not.” She leaned toward him, offering him a deliberate view of lush breasts barely contained by her thin bikini. She may not have been in the market for a husband, but lovers were always a consideration. “You’re an attractive, vital man in his prime. Why, if it wasn’t for your wife . . .” She trailed off, tapped a finger on the back of his hand in a flirtatious manner. “I’d make a play for you myself.”
“You flatter me.” Calculating and pitifully obvious woman, he thought. And felt another twinge for his good friend who hadn’t seen this creature for what she was.
“Not in the least. Like wine, I prefer men with a certain age and body to their credit. I hope, one day, I’ll be able to repay you for your kindness.”
“What I do,” he said, “I do for Paul. And, of course, for you, Anita. You deserve all I can do for you, and more. As it happens, I
fear I have not been successful in helping you with your treasure hunt. Naturally, as a collector my interest isn’t completely altruistic. What a prize it would be, to add the Moerae to my collection. I trust, when the time comes, we can do business.”
“How could it be otherwise?” She tapped her glass against his. “To future dealings, business and personal.”
“I look forward to it, more than I can say. I should tell you that on the other front, I have had some small success.”
He paused, studied the fruit and sliced off a branch of fat purple grapes. “Will you not sample some? From our own arbors.”
“Thank you.” She took the branch from him. “You were saying?”
“Eh? Oh yes, yes.” He took his time, selected a branch of grapes for himself. “Yes, some small success on the matter of the woman you seek. The name of the hotel where she was booked.”
“You found her.” Anita swung her legs over the chaise so that her feet smacked against the tiles. “Why didn’t you say so? Where is this place?”
“In an area of the city I would never recommend for a lady of your delicacies. Cheese?”
“I need a car and driver,” she snapped. “Immediately.”
“Of course, all is at your disposal.” He cut a thin slice of cheese, added it to the small plate that held the grapes she’d yet to taste. “Ah, but you think to go to this hotel to see her. She is not there.”
“What are you talking about?”
Obvious, Stefan thought again. Yes, she was obvious. And now the cat peeked out behind the mask, showing its nasty little fangs and ugly temper. “She was booked,” he explained, “but has checked out only today.”
“Where did she go? Where the hell is she?”
“Alas, I was unable to learn this. The clerk said only that she checked out, shortly after meeting with a young man. British or Irish, the clerk wasn’t certain. They left together.”
The color that temper and excitement had thrown into her cheeks slid away until her face was white as bone, hard as stone. “That can’t be.”
“Naturally, there could be some mistake or confusion, but the clerk seemed cooperative enough, and very certain. I can arrange for you to speak with him yourself tomorrow if you like. He has no English, but I will be happy to interpret. Still I must insist you meet him away from this area. I could not, in good conscience, take you there.”
“I need to talk to him now. I need to find her now. Before . . .” She paced the hot white tiles around the pool, and thought murderously of Malachi Sullivan.
“Calm yourself, Anita.” His tone all comfort, Stefan got to his feet. A servant approached and apologized for the interruption.
Stefan took the envelope the servant held out, then dismissed him.
“Anita, you have a telegram.”
She whirled back, the heels of her sandals clicking on the tile.
Ordinarily he would have excused himself to give a guest privacy, but he refused to miss the moment and stood nearby, watching as she ripped open the telegram. And read.
Anita. Sorry I didn’t have time to come around in person and give you my regards. Strangers in a strange land, and so on. But I finished my business in Athens rather quickly, and am by the time you read this escorting some rather attractive ladies to New York. I suggest you get yourself back there as soon as possible, if you’re interested in a fateful reunion.
I’ll be in touch.
Malachi Sullivan
Stefan had the pleasure of hearing her strangled scream as she balled the telegram in her fist. “I hope this is not bad news.”
“I have to get back to New York. Right away.” The color was back in her face, and raging.
“Of course. I’ll make the arrangements for you. If there’s anything I can do—”
“I’ll do it,” she said between her teeth. “You’d better believe I’ll do it.”
He waited until she’d stormed away, rushing in the direction of the house. Then he sat, picked up his drink, took out his cell phone.
He enjoyed a grape while he made the call.
“Jack. I’ll have a very angry woman on my private jet within two hours. No, no,” he said, chuckling as he chose another grape. “It’s been, my friend, and continues to be, my very great pleasure.”
SHE GOT HOME to a pile of messages, many of which were from the police and only served to irritate her. She’d spent the hours in the air devising ways she would dispose of Malachi—all of which ended in his bloody, painful death.
As satisfying as all of them were, Anita was smart enough, and still controlled enough, to know it was essential to find the right time, the right place and the right method.
She wanted him dead, but she wanted the Fates even more.
She ordered her servants out of the house. She wanted the place empty. She showered, changed, then contacted Jasper. She broke one of her own cardinal rules by ordering him to come to her home.
She was dissatisfied with his work and considered disposing of him. It would, she imagined, be simple enough to make it look like a break-in attempt, mock up signs of a struggle. With her clothes torn a bit, a few handy bruises, no one would question her, a woman alone, defending her home and her person with one of her dead husband’s guns.
Remembering how it had felt to pull the trigger, to see Dubrowsky stumble, fall, die, she knew the act would be a great stress reliever.
But she’d had enough of the police for a while. And, added to that, Jasper might yet come in handy. She couldn’t afford the luxury of cutting him loose quite yet.
He came, as instructed, to the rear entrance. She gestured him in, then walked directly to the library. Appreciating the value of position, she sat behind the desk. “Close the door,” she said coolly.
When his back was turned she took the gun she’d placed in the drawer and set it in her lap. Just in case.
“I’m not pleased with your work, Mr. Jasper.” She held up a finger before he could speak. “Nor am I interested in your excuses. I’ve paid you, and paid you well, for your particular skills and talents. In my opinion, they’ve been sadly lacking.”
“You haven’t given me a hell of a lot to go on.”
She sat back. After the long flight it was energizing to feel the fury, the violence pumping out of him. Better, she thought, than drugs. He believed he was stronger, more dangerous. And had no idea he was only one finger twitch away from death.
“Are you criticizing me, Mr. Jasper?”
“Look, you don’t think I’m doing the job, fire me.”
“Oh, I’ve considered that.” She stroked a fingertip over the cold steel of the nine-millimeter in her lap. “I’m a businesswoman, and when an employee does unsatisfactory work, that employee is terminated.”
“No skin off my nose.”
She saw his body shift. She knew he carried a gun under his suit jacket. Was he considering using it on her? she wondered. To intimidate, to rob, perhaps to rape? Thinking she’d be helpless against him, and unable to go to the police.
The idea was absolutely thrilling.
“However, as a businesswoman I also believe in giving employees certain incentives in the hopes their work will improve. I’m going to offer you an incentive.”
“Yeah.” He relaxed his gun arm. “Such as?”
“A twenty-five-thousand-dollar bonus if you find and deliver to me a man named Malachi Sullivan. He’s in the city, possibly in the company of Cleo Toliver. You remember Cleo, don’t you, Mr. Jasper?” She purred it. “She’s managed to slip through your fingers a number of times. If you deliver both of them, I’ll double that bonus. I don’t care what kind of shape they’re in, as long as they’re alive. I want to be very clear on that point. They must be alive. Your former associate didn’t understand that distinction, which is why he was terminated.”
“Fifty for the man, a hundred if I get them both.”
She angled her head, then used a finger to nudge a large manila envelope over the desk. “There’s a picture o
f him in here, and two thousand for expenses. I will not give you more than two thousand,” she said, “until I have some results. There’s an apartment building on West Eighteenth, between Ninth and Tenth. The address is also in