by Nora Roberts
Life renewed. It wasn’t really corny, she thought. She needed badly to hang on to that. Life had to do more than go on, it had to improve. It had to justify itself year after year. If weapons were being tested somewhere in a desert, here the birds were singing and people could worry about the important things: a Little League game, a family barbecue, a spring wedding; those were important things. If Kathleen’s death had brought her grief, it had also brought her the belief that the everyday was what really mattered. Once she had justice, she could accept the ordinary again.
Pretty suburbs gave way to concrete and testy traffic. Grace swerved around other cars with a natural competitiveness. It didn’t matter that she rarely found herself behind the wheel. Once she was there, she drove with a breezy kind of negligence that had other drivers gritting their teeth and swearing. She made two wrong turns because her mind was elsewhere, then pulled into the parking lot beside the station.
If she had any luck, Ed wouldn’t be in. Then she could explain herself to the stern-faced Captain Harris.
She saw Ed the moment she walked into Homicide. The little flutter in her stomach wasn’t anxiety, she discovered. It was pleasure. For a moment she simply watched him and absorbed. He was sitting behind a desk typing with a steady, two-finger style.
His hands were so big. Then she remembered how gently, how devastatingly he’d used them the night before. This was the man who loved her, she thought. This was the man who was willing to make promises to her. And this was a man who would keep them. Because the urge to go to him, to put her arms around him came so strong, she crossed the room and did just that.
He stopped typing to close his hand over hers on his shoulder. As soon as she’d touched him, he’d known. There was her scent, and her feel. Several cops smirked in his direction as she leaned over his shoulder to kiss him. If he’d noticed, he might have been embarrassed. But he only noticed her.
“Hi.” He kept her hand in his as he drew her around. “I didn’t expect to see you here today.”
“And I’m interrupting. I hate it when people interrupt me when I’m working.”
“I’m nearly finished.”
“Ed, I really need to see your captain.”
He caught it, the trace of apology in her voice. “Why?”
“I’d rather go through it all just once. Is he available?”
Thoughtful, he studied her. By this time he knew her well enough to understand she would say nothing until she was ready. “I don’t know if he’s still here. Take a seat and I’ll check.”
“Thanks.” She held his hand a moment longer. Around them phones rang steadily and typewriters clacked. “Ed, when I tell you what I have to say, be a cop. Please.”
He didn’t like the way she looked at him when she asked. As she did, something curled into his stomach and lodged there, but he nodded. “I’ll see if I can find Harris.”
Grace took his seat when he left. In his typewriter was the report on Mary Beth Morrison. Grace tried to read it with the same kind of detachment with which Ed had written it.
“Come on, Lowenstein, just let me look at it.”
At the sound of Ben’s voice, Grace turned and watched him troop into the room on the tail of a slim brunette.
“Go find something to do, Ben,” Lowenstein suggested. She carried a cardboard box tied with string. “I’ve only got fifteen minutes to get out of here and make that mother-daughter lunch.”
“Lowenstein, be a pal. Do you know the last time I had any homemade pie?” He leaned closer to the box until her forefinger jammed into his stomach. “It’s cherry, isn’t it? Just let me look at it.”
“You’ll only suffer more.” She set the box on her desk, then shielded it with her body. “It’s beautiful. Work of art.”
“Does it have that fancy braided crust?” When she only smiled, he looked over her shoulder. It could have been sympathy cravings, he told himself. Hadn’t he felt queasy this morning? If he was going to have Tess’s morning sickness, then at least he was entitled to her cravings. “Come on, just a peek.”
“I’ll send you a Polaroid.” She put a hand on his chest, then spotted Grace across the room. “Who’s the knockout sitting at Ed’s desk? I’d kill for a jacket like that.”
Ben glanced over and grinned at Grace. “Give me the pie. I’ll see if I can make a trade.”
“Knock it off, Paris. Is that Ed’s new lady?”
“You want gossip, you gotta pay for it.” When Lowenstein stared at him, he relented. “That’s her. Grace McCabe. Writes first-class murder mysteries.”
“Really?” Lowenstein’s bottom lip jutted out as she considered. “Looks more like a rock star. I can’t remember the last time I sat down with a book. I can’t remember when I had time to read a cereal box.” Her eyes narrowed as she took in the funky and very expensive sneakers. Funky and expensive. The two words seemed to suit the woman, but Lowenstein wondered how Ed fit in. “She’s not going to break Ed’s heart, is she?”
“I wish I knew. He’s nuts about her.”
“Seriously nuts?”
“Dead seriously nuts.”
Anticipating Ben, she laid a hand on top of the box. “Here he comes now. Christ, you can almost hear the violins.”
“Getting cynical, Lowenstein?”
“I threw rice at your wedding, didn’t I?” And the truth was she had a soft spot for romance. “I guess if you can talk a class act into marrying you, Ed can carve hearts with Greenwich Village.” She nodded toward Ed. “Looks like you’re being summoned.”
“Yeah. Lowenstein, five bucks for the pie.”
“Don’t insult me.”
“Ten.”
“It’s yours.” She held out her palm, then counted the singles Ben put into it. Already planning on eating half for lunch, Ben slipped the box into the bottom drawer of his desk before he followed Ed into Harris’s office.
“What’s up?”
“Miss McCabe requested a meeting,” Harris began. He was already half an hour behind schedule and anxious to be gone.
“I appreciate you giving me the time.” Grace smiled at Harris and almost managed to charm him. “I won’t waste any of it, so I’ll get right to the point. We’re all aware that Fantasy is the link between the three attacks that have already taken place. And I’m sure we’re all aware there’ll be others—”
“The investigation’s in full swing, Miss McCabe,” Harris interrupted. “I can assure you we have our best people working on it.”
“You don’t have to assure me of that.” She sent Ed a last look, hoping he’d understand. “I’ve thought about this a great deal, first because of my sister, and second because murder has always interested me. If I were plotting this out, there would be only one logical step to take at this time. I think it’s the right one.”
“We appreciate your interest, Miss McCabe.” When she smiled at him again, Harris felt almost fatherly. But she still didn’t know diddly about real police work. “But my people are much more experienced with the reality of investigation.”
“I understand that. Would you be interested if I told you I think I’ve found a way to trap this man? I’ve already taken the steps, Captain, I simply want to apprise you of them, then you can do whatever you think necessary.”
“Grace, this isn’t a book or a television show.” Ed interrupted her because he had a feeling, a very bad feeling, that he knew where she was heading.
The glance she gave him was apologetic and worried him even more. “I know that. You don’t know how much I wish it were.” She took a deep breath and faced Harris again. “I went to see Eileen Cawfield.”
“Miss McCabe—”
“Please, hear me out.” She lifted her hand a moment, not so much in a plea as in a gesture of determination. “I know that every lead you’ve had has been a dead end. Except Fantasy. Have you been able to shut down the company?”
Harris scowled and shuffled papers. “That sort of thing takes time. Without cooperation, a great dea
l of time.”
“And every one of the women who work for Fantasy is a potential victim. Do we agree?”
“In theory,” Harris answered.
“And in theory, is it possible for you to put guards on all of them? No,” she answered before Harris could. “It can’t be. But you could put guards on one person. On a person who understands what’s going on, on a person who’s willing to take the chance, and more, already has a link with the killer.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Ed said it quietly, too quietly. That more than anything warned Grace that he was ready to explode.
“It makes sense.” To calm herself, she dug in her bag for a cigarette. “It was Kathleen’s voice that first drew him. When we were growing up, we were always mistaken for each other over the phone. If I’m Desiree, he’ll want to find me again. We know he can.”
“It’s too loose, too risky, and it’s just plain stupid.” Ed bit off the last words as he looked to his partner for support.
“I don’t like it either.” Ben said it, but he saw the merit of Grace’s plan. “Solid police work is always better than the big play. You’ve got no guarantee he’ll fall for it, less that you can anticipate his actions if he does. In any case, Mrs. Morrison’s on her way in to work with the police artist. Any luck and we’ll have a composite by the end of the day.”
“Fine. Then maybe you’ll pick him up before any of this becomes necessary.” Grace lifted her hands, palms out, then dropped them. “I’m not going to bank on it when we’re talking about a nearsighted, terrified woman in a dark room.” She blew out a stream of smoke and prepared to drop the next bomb. “I spoke with Tess this morning, and I asked her what she thought about the chances of this man being pulled in by the same voice, the same name, even the same address.” She looked at Ben because it was easier than looking at Ed. “She told me he’d find it next to impossible to resist. It was Desiree who started him. It’s going to be Desiree who finishes him.”
“I trust Dr. Court’s opinion,” Harris put in, holding up a hand to block Ed’s protest. “I also believe, after three attacks, it’s time we tried something more aggressive.”
“The task force,” Ed began.
“Will still go into operation.” Harris tapped the top folder on a pile. “The press conference Monday morning will go as scheduled. The bottom line is we don’t want another fatality. I’m willing to give this a shot.” He turned back to Grace. “If we move on this theory, we’ll need your cooperation at every step, Miss McCabe. We’ll assign a policewoman to take the calls from your house. You can be put up at a hotel until and if it works.”
“It’s my voice,” Grace said flatly. And her sister. She wasn’t about to forget it had been her sister. “You can set up all the policewomen you like, but I’ve already made arrangements. I’m working for Fantasy, and I start tonight.”
“The hell you do.” Ed rose and, grabbing her arm, pulled her from the room.
“Wait a minute.”
“Shut up.” Lowenstein, on her way to the coffee machine, backed up and let Ed pass. “I thought you had a head on your shoulders, then you come up with this.”
“I’ve got a head, but I won’t have an arm if you yank it out of its socket.” He was through the door and into the parking lot with Grace scrambling and puffing behind him. She began to wonder if it was time to give up smoking.
“Get in your car and go home. I’ll tell Cawfield you’ve changed your mind.”
“I’ve told you about orders before, Ed.” It wasn’t easy to catch her breath and hold on to her temper, but she did her best. “I’m sorry you’re upset.”
“Upset?” He took her by the forearms. He was very close to lifting her up and tossing her bodily into the car. “Is that what you call this?”
“All right, I’m sorry you’re a madman. Why don’t you count to ten and listen to me?”
“There’s nothing you can say that’ll convince me you haven’t gone crazy. If you’ve got any sense left, if what I feel means anything to you, you’ll get in your car, go home, and wait.”
“Do you think that’s fair? Do you think it’s right for you to put this on that level?” Her voice had risen. She lifted a fist and thumped it against his chest. “I know people think I’m eccentric, I know they think I haven’t got everything screwed on too tight, but I didn’t expect that attitude from you. Yes, I care how you feel. I’m crazy about you. Hell, let’s take the big leap. I’m in love with you. Now leave me alone.”
Instead, he caught her face in his hands. His lips weren’t so gentle now and they weren’t so patient either. As if he sensed she would have pulled away, he tightened his hold until they both relaxed. “Go home, Gracie,” he murmured.
She closed her eyes a moment, then turned away until she thought herself strong enough to refuse him. “All right. Then I have something to ask of you.” When she turned back, her eyes were very dark and very determined. “I want you to go back in and give your shield and your gun to your captain. I want you to join your uncle’s firm.”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s something I want you to do, something I need you to do so I won’t worry about you anymore.” She watched his face, the struggle, the answer. “You’d do it, wouldn’t you?” she said quietly. “Because I said I needed you to. You’d do it for me, and you’d be miserable. You’d do it, but you’d never completely forgive me for asking. Sooner or later, you’d hate me for making you give up something that important. If I do this for you, I’ll wonder my whole life if I could have done this one last thing for my sister.”
“Grace, this isn’t something you have to prove.”
“I want to explain something to you. Maybe it’ll help.” She dragged both hands through her hair before she pushed herself up on the hood of the car. Now that the shouting was over, a pigeon settled back on the asphalt to peck hopefully at a discarded wrapper. “It isn’t easy to say all of this out loud. I’ve told you Kathy and I weren’t close. What it really comes down to is she was never the person I wanted her to be. I pretended, and I covered for her when I could. The truth is she resented me, even hated me from time to time. She didn’t want to, she couldn’t help it.”
“Grace, don’t drag all this up.”
“I have to. If I don’t I’ll never be able to bury it, or her. I detested Jonathan. It hurt so much less to blame everything on him. I don’t like problems, you know.” In a gesture she used only when she was very tired or very tense, she began to knead her brow. “I avoid them or ignore them. I decided I’d make it his fault that Kathleen didn’t bother to answer my letters, or that she was never warm whenever I convinced her to let me visit. I told myself he’d turned her into a snob, that if she was busy climbing the social ladder, it was for him. When they divorced I blamed that on him, totally. I’m not good with middle ground.”
She stopped here because the rest was harder. After folding her hands in her lap, she continued. “I blamed her drug problem on him, even her death. Ed, I can’t tell you how much I wanted to believe he’d killed her.” When she looked at him again her eyes were dry, but vulnerable, so achingly vulnerable. “At the funeral, he let me have it. He told me things I already knew in my heart but had never been able to accept about Kathleen. I hated him for it. I hated him for stripping away the illusion I’d allowed myself. In the past few weeks I’ve had to accept who Kathleen was, what she was, and even why.”
He touched her cheek. “You couldn’t have been another person, Grace.”
So he understood, so easily. If it already hadn’t happened, she’d have fallen in love with him then. “No, I couldn’t. I can’t. The guilt’s eased considerably. But you see, she was still my sister. I can still love her. And I know if I can do this one last thing, I can let go. If I took the easy road now, I don’t think I could live with it.”
“Grace, there are other ways.”
“Not for me. Not this time.” She took his hand and cupped it between
the two of hers. “You don’t know me as well as you think. For years I’ve turned over all the dirty work to someone else, for ten percent. If there was something unpleasant to be dealt with, I’d toss it to my agent, or my business manager, or my lawyer. That way I could just go along without too many distractions and write. If it was something I had to handle myself, I’d pick the easiest route or ignore it completely. Don’t ask me, please don’t ask me to turn this over to you and do nothing. Because I might.”
He pushed a hand through his hair. “What the hell do you want me to do?”
“Understand,” she murmured. “It’s important to me for you to understand. I’ll have to do it even if you don’t, but I’d be happier if you could. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that I don’t understand, it’s that I think it’s a mistake. Call it instinct.”
“If it’s a mistake, it’s one I have to make. I can’t pick up my life, not really pick it up again, until I do this.”
There were a dozen valid, sensible arguments he could make. But there was only one that mattered. “I couldn’t take it if anything happened to you.”
She managed to smile. “Me either. Look, I’m not really stupid. I can swear to you I won’t do something idiotic like the heroine in a B movie. You know, the kind who knows there’s a homicidal maniac on the loose and hears a noise?”
“Instead of locking the doors, she goes outside to see what it is.”
“Yeah.” Now she grinned at him. “It drives me crazy. I hate a contrived plot device.”
“You can’t forget this isn’t a plot. You don’t have a screenplay, Grace.”
“I intend to be very careful. And I’m counting on the department’s finest.”
“If we agree, you’ll do exactly as you’re told?”
“Absolutely.”
“Even if you don’t like it.”
“I hate blanket promises, but okay.”
He lifted her down from the car. “We’ll talk about it.”
Chapter 13
Charlton P. Hayden had had a very successful trip north. In Detroit he’d drummed up solid support from the unions. Blue-collar workers were lined up behind him, drawn in by his America for Americans campaign. Fords and Chevys were decorated with HAYDEN’S AMERICA—SOLID, SECURE, SUCCESSFUL bumper stickers. He spoke in simple terms, everyman’s terms, in orations two speech writers collaborated on and he edited. His ride to the White House was more than a decade in the making. Hayden might have preferred a Mercedes, but he made certain his staff had rented a Lincoln.