Honest Illusions

by Nora Roberts

  way.”

  “It’s going my way,” Sam snapped. His eyes went wide and bright. “Do you want to see the fucking numbers? The people of this state want me, Callahan. They want Sam Wyatt. After I’m finished with him, they wouldn’t elect Curtis Gunner dog catcher. I’m winning.” He slapped his hands on the desk, scattering ash. “I’m winning.”

  “A million dollars,” Luke blurted out. “Surely you could use a million dollars to make sure. I only want a little time in exchange. Then I’ll disappear again. Even if I wanted to stay, if I tried, Roxanne wouldn’t have me.” He bowed his head, a man defeated. “She’s made that clear.”

  “Has she?” Sam drummed his fingers on the desk. He was calm again. He knew it was important to stay calm. Just as it was important to exploit whatever advantages came your way. “So you’ve seen her.”

  “In D.C. I went to her show.” Fear radiated from him as he glanced up. “Only for a moment. I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “And your course of true love hit another bump?” Nothing could have pleased him more. But he wondered, because he knew quite a bit about Roxanne, and a small boy named Nathaniel. “And did she catch you up on the highlights of her life during your absence?”

  “She would barely speak to me,” Luke whispered. “I hurt her, and since I can’t explain why I left, she isn’t about to forgive me.”

  Better and better, Sam thought. He didn’t know about the child. How much would Roxanne suffer before—and if—she told him. And if she did, how much more would Luke bleed in having to leave again?

  He considered it all for a moment. It seemed to him that Luke’s return was more satisfying than his staying away altogether. It was, after all, more enjoyable to watch people suffer than to imagine it. And it appeared he could be paid for being entertained.

  “A million dollars? Just how did you manage to accumulate so much?”

  “I . . .” With a hand that shook, Luke set the brandy aside. “I performed.”

  “Haven’t lost the magic touch? I imagine you continued to steal as well.” Pleased by Luke’s guilty start, he nodded. “Yes, I thought so. A million dollars,” he repeated. “I’ll have to think about it. Campaign funds are so carefully scrutinized these days. We wouldn’t want any hint of graft or corruption to taint my image—especially when Gunner professes to be so squeaky clean. I’d like to . . .” He trailed off as a new idea dawned. It was so perfect, he realized, as if fate had handed him another tool.

  “I believe we might be able to make a deal.”

  With eagerness in his eyes, in his voice, Luke leaned forward. “I’ll have the money within a week. I can bring it to you wherever you say.”

  “The money will have to wait until after the election. I’ll want my accountant to find a nice safe channel for it. In the meantime I have work for you. It’ll buy you the time you want so badly.”

  It was a curve Luke hadn’t expected. He’d counted on Sam’s greed being enough. “Whatever you want.”

  “You might recall a little incident called Watergate. The burglars there were sloppy. You’d have to be very neat, very clever.”

  Luke changed gears and nodded. “You want me to steal documents?”

  “I have no way of knowing if there are any documents worth stealing. But a man with your connections should be able to manufacture papers, photographs, that sort of thing. And if one can steal, one can also plant.”

  Folding his hands, Sam inched forward. It was so perfect. With his new tool he would not simply win the election, he would destroy his opponent, politically, personally, publicly.

  “Curtis Gunner is the happily married father of two. His record in the State Senate is clean as a whistle. I want you to change all that.”

  “Change it? How?”

  “Magic.” Resting his chin on his folded hands, he grinned. “That’s what you’re best at, isn’t it? I want photos of Gunner with other women—with whores. And with other men, yes, with other men.” He had to press a hand to his side as giddy laughter shook him at the image. “That will be even more interesting. I want letters, papers documenting his involvement in illegal business deals, others showing he siphoned off welfare money for personal use. That ought to kick his liberal ass. I want you to make them good, unimpeachable.”

  “I don’t know how—”

  “Then you’ll find a way.” Sam’s eyes glittered. The power was here, all here, he realized. This time he hadn’t even had to look for it. “You want to take your sentimental journey, Callahan, then you pay for it. You put together the faked photos, the papers, receipts, correspondence. I’ll give you from now until, we’ll say, ten days before the election. Yes, ten days,” he murmured to himself. “When this leaks, I’ll want it fresh in the voters’ minds as they walk behind the curtain to pull the lever.” Feeling generous, he inclined his head. “That gives you the same amount of time with the Nouvelles.”

  “I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “You’ll do exactly as I say, or when the time’s up, you’ll pay. They’ll all pay.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  With a new smile playing around his mouth, Sam lifted his ivory-handled letter opener, testing the tip with his thumb. “You satisfy me with the job I’m giving you. Completely satisfy me. Or everything I threatened you with five years ago will come true.”

  “You said if I left you wouldn’t do anything to them.”

  With one vicious stroke he stabbed the tip of the letter opener into the padded corner of his blotter. “And you put it all back on the line by coming here. You’ve tossed the dice again, Callahan. What happens to the Nouvelles depends on just how well you play. Understood?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I understand.”

  He was going to play, Luke thought. And this time, he was going to win.

  “So, so?” Dancing with impatience, Jake trailed Luke to the Cessna.

  “So, are my things on board?”

  “Yeah, yeah. What happened with Wyatt? Me, I’m just a peon, sure. Just a lowly soldier behind the front lines, just a—”

  “An asshole,” Luke finished for him. He climbed into the cockpit and began to check gauges. “It went fine,” he said when Jake lapsed into offended silence. “If you consider the fact that I had to lower myself to playing the babbling beggar when what I wanted to do was cut out his heart.”

  “From what I hear, this dude don’t have a heart anyway.” Jake strapped in, shoved his glasses back up his nose. It was obvious that Luke was in a dangerous mood—which meant the short flight to New Orleans would be an eventful one. As a precaution Jake downed Dramamine and Valium with what was left of his warming orange soda. “Anyway, you got the time you need, right?”

  “I got it.” Luke broke off to check in with the tower and get the go-ahead for takeoff. As he began his taxi, he glanced at Jake, who was already pale, glassy-eyed and white-knuckled. “I’ve also got another job for you.”

  “Oh, good. Yeah, great.” In self-defense, Jake closed his eyes when the plane’s nose lifted. As he’d told Luke time and time again, he hated flying. Always had, always would. Which was why, he was certain, Luke crammed him into a cockpit on the average of once a week.

  “Wyatt’s deal included some creative mudslinging.” As the plane continued its climb, Luke felt most of his tension draining away. He loved flying. Always had, always would. “It’s right up your alley.”

  “Slinging mud.” Cautious, Jake opened one eye. “So what do I know about slinging mud?”

  “He wants doctored photographs, papers, business correspondence, putting this Curtis Gunner in a bad light. Illegal, unethical and immoral documents—the kind that lose elections and break up families, destroy lives.”

  “Shit, Luke, we got nothing against this Gunner guy, right? I know you had to dance with the devil to buy the time you need to put the screws to Wyatt. But, hell, it doesn’t seem quite kosher.”

  After leveling off, Luke drew out a cigar. “Life sucks, Finestein, if you hav
en’t noticed. You do the job, and do it good—with just one small adjustment.”

  Jake sighed. “I said I was in for the deal, so I’m in. You’ll get the stuff—and it’ll be hot enough to burn.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “So, what’s the adjustment?”

  Luke clamped the cigar between his teeth and grinned. “You don’t do it on Gunner, you do it on Wyatt.”

  “On Wyatt? But you said . . .” Jake’s pale face cleared into a dreamy smile. The Valium was taking hold. “Now I get it. Now I get it. A double cross.”

  “Christ, you’re a quick study, Finestein.” His grin was still widening as Luke banked the plane and headed for home.

  28

  The bedroom Lily and Max had once shared was fully equipped for the care of a patient with severe cognitive impairment. Roxanne had worked closely with hospital staff and an interior decorator to be certain that her father’s environment was safe and practical without having the atmosphere of a hospital room.

  Monitors and medicines were necessary, but so, in her opinion, were the bright colors and soft materials Max had always loved. A team of three nurses had eight-hour shifts, a physical therapist and a counselor made regular visits. But there were also fresh flowers, plumped pillows and a wide selection of Max’s favorite classical music.

  A special lock had been installed on the terrace doors to prevent him from wandering out alone. Roxanne had coldly dismissed one doctor’s advice to have the windows fixed with bars and had hung new lace curtains instead.

  Her father might be a prisoner of his illness, but she wouldn’t make him one in his own home.

  It pleased her to see the sunlight streaming through the lace at the windows, to hear the muted strains of Chopin as she stepped into her father’s room. It no longer ripped so viciously at her heart when he didn’t recognize her. She’d come to accept that there would be good days, and there would be bad ones. Now, seeing him sitting at his desk, patiently shifting sponge balls between his fingers, she could feel some small seed of relief.

  Today, he was content.

  “Good morning, Miss Nouvelle.” The first-shift R.N. sat by the window reading. She set the book aside and smiled at Roxanne. “Mr. Nouvelle’s taking some practice time before his therapy.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Fleck. If you’d like to take a break for ten or fifteen minutes, LeClerc has fresh coffee on.”

  “I could probably force some down.” Mrs. Fleck had twenty years as a nurse, and kind eyes. It had been the eyes more than the experience that had prompted Roxanne to hire her. She hefted her sturdy bulk out of the chair and touched Roxanne’s arm briefly as she left the room.

  “Hello, Daddy.” Roxanne crossed to the desk, bent to kiss her father’s cheek. It was too thin, so thin she often wondered how the fragile skin withheld the pressure of bone. “It’s a pretty day. Have you looked outside? All of LeClerc’s flowers are blooming, and Mouse fixed the fountain in the courtyard. Maybe you’d like to sit down there later and listen to it.”

  “I have to practice.”

  “I know.” She stood with a hand light on his shoulder, watching his twisted fingers struggle to manipulate the balls. Once he could have snapped his fingers and made fire, but it was best not to think of that. “The performance went well. The finale was especially smooth. Oscar’s gotten to be quite a ham, and such a trooper even Lily isn’t nervous around him anymore.”

  She continued to talk, not expecting a response. It was a rare day when Max would stop whatever he was doing to look at her, much less engage in a real conversation. “We took Nate to the zoo. He just loved it. I didn’t think I’d ever get him out of the snake house. He’s getting so big, Daddy. Sometimes I look at him and can hardly believe he’s mine. Did you ever feel that way, when I was growing up? Did you ever just look and feel sort of dazed all over and wonder how that person came from you?”

  One of the balls bounced onto the floor. Roxanne bent to retrieve it, then crouched so that her eyes were on a level with Max’s as she passed it back to him.

  Max’s gaze skittered away from hers, like a spider seeking a corner to spin a web. But she was patient and waited until he looked at her again.

  “Did you worry all the time?” she asked softly. “In the back of your mind, under and over all the day-to-day business of living? Were you always afraid you’d do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing, make the wrong choice? It never gets easier, does it? Having a child is so wonderful, and it’s so scary.”

  Max’s smile bloomed slowly. For Roxanne it was like watching the sun come up over the desert. “You’re very pretty,” he said, stroking her hair. “I have to practice now. Would you like to come to the performance and watch me saw a woman in half?”

  “Yes.” She watched him work the balls with his fingers. “That would be nice.” She waited a moment. “Luke’s back, Daddy.”

  He continued to work the balls, his smile turning into a frown of concentration. “Luke,” he said after a long pause. And again. “Luke.”

  “Yes. He’d like to see you. Is it all right if I let him visit?”

  “Did he get out of that box?” Max’s facial muscles began to twitch. The balls scattered, bouncing. His voice rose, petulant and demanding. “Did he get out?”

  “Yes.” Roxanne took her father’s restless hands. “He’s just fine. I’m going to see him in a little while. Would you want me to bring him to you?”

  “Not when I’m practicing.” Max’s voice pitched higher, cracked. “I need to practice. How can I get it right if I don’t practice?”

  “All right, Daddy.” To calm him, Roxanne gathered up the balls and set them within reach on the desk.

  “I want to see him,” Max muttered. “I want to see him when he’s out of the box.”

  “I’ll bring him.” She kissed the thin cheek again, but Max was already involved with squeezing the sponge balls into his palms.

  When Roxanne walked downstairs, she had her strategy mapped out. Luke was back; she couldn’t ignore that. Nor would she ignore his tie to Max. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t watch him like a hawk when she allowed a visit.

  Just as there were certain steps to take toward a job, there were steps to take with Luke. She would work with him because it suited her, because his proposition intrigued her and because unless he’d changed dramatically in the last five years, he was the best. On stage, or opening the securest safe.

  So she would use him for her own ends, take her share of the profits and walk away.

  Except there was Nathaniel.

  Stooping on the second to the last step, Roxanne picked up a tot-sized Ferrari. She slipped it into her pocket, but kept her fingers over it, thinking of the child whose fingers guided it on races across the rug or long rides over the brick courtyard. The child who was even now in his preschool class enjoying the morning with his current best friends. Could she ignore Luke’s tie to the child he didn’t know existed? Was this an illusion she should maintain for the rest of her life?

  More time, she assured herself as she headed back to the kitchen. She needed more time.

  It didn’t help her peace of mind to find Luke there, sitting at the table as he had so often throughout his life, looking right at home with a cup of coffee in one hand and the last powdery bite of a beignet in the other.

  LeClerc was laughing, so obviously pleased to have the prodigal home, so obviously ready to forgive and forget that Roxanne became only more determined to do neither.

  “Quite a trick, Callahan, the way you slip through the cracks.”

  He acknowledged her and the job with an easy smile. “One of the five things I missed most while I was away was LeClerc’s cooking.”

  “This boy was a walking appetite always. Sit, little girl. I fix your coffee.”

  “No, thank you.” She knew her voice was cold, and felt a slight pang when LeClerc’s eyes shifted from hers. Damn it, did they expect her to hire a brass band? “If you’ve finished your petite
déjeuner, we might get to work.”

  “Ready when you are.” He rose, snatching another pastry from the basket on the table. “I’ll just take one for the road.” He winked at LeClerc before strolling out the door Roxanne held open. “Does he still do all the gardening himself?” Luke asked as they crossed the flower-decked courtyard.

  “Occasionally he lets—” Nate. “One of us help,” she finished. “But he’s still a tyrant about his roses.”

  “He hardly looks older. I was afraid.” He paused, covering Roxanne’s hand as she reached for the doorknob of the workroom. “I don’t suppose you could understand, but I was afraid they would have changed. But when I was sitting in the kitchen just now, it was the way it always was. The smells, the sounds, the feel of it, just the same.”

  “And that makes it easy for you.”

  He wished he could blame her for twisting the knife so expertly. “Not entirely. You’ve changed, Rox.”

  “Have I?” She turned. He was closer than she would have liked,