by Nora Roberts
To please herself, she picked up her violin. She’d barely had time to do more than tune it since arriving. Her hands passed over the smooth, polished wood, brushed over the strings. This wasn’t practice, she thought as she rosined the bow. It wasn’t performance. It was the urge she was often too pressured to remember, to make music for herself.
With her eyes closed, she laid the violin on her shoulder, her head and body shifting automatically into position, as a woman’s does to welcome a lover.
She chose Chopin for the beauty, for the peace, and for the hint of a sadness she couldn’t quite dispel. As always, the music filled all the voids.
She didn’t think of death now, or of fear. She didn’t think of Luis and betrayal, of the family she’d lost or done without. She didn’t think of the music, but only felt it.
It sounded like tears. That’s what Tucker thought as he walked from his car to the porch. Not hot, passionate tears, but slow ones, aching ones. The kind that bled out of the soul.
Though no one could hear them, his thoughts embarrassed him. It was just violin music, the longhaired kind that didn’t even make you want to tap your toe. But it sounded so heartbreaking, drifting out of the open windows. He would have sworn he felt it, actually felt the notes shiver over his skin.
He knocked, but so softly he barely heard the rapping himself. Then he reached down, opened the screen, and stepped inside. He moved quietly, following those haunting notes into the front parlor.
She was standing in the center of the room, facing the windows so that he could see her profile, her head tilted slightly toward the instrument. Her eyes were closed, and the smile that curved her lips was as wistful and lovely as the music.
Though he couldn’t have said how he knew it, that particular melding of notes came straight from her heart. Like a whispered question, they hung on the air.
He slipped his hands into his pockets, leaned a shoulder against the jamb, and let himself drift along with her. It was odd, and certainly foreign to him, that he could find a woman so restful, so quietly appealing, so deeply arousing, when it had nothing whatsoever to do with sex.
When she stopped, the music fading off into silence, he felt a disappointment so keen it was almost physical. If he’d been wise, he would have slipped out again while her eyes were still dreamy, and knocked. Instead, he went with instinct and clapped.
She jolted, her body snapping into tension, her eyes filling with fear, then sharpening with simple annoyance.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
“I knocked.” He gave her the same little shrug and grin he’d offered by the pond. “Guess you were too involved to hear me.”
She lowered the violin but held the bow up, somewhat like a fencer with a blade. “Or it’s possible I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Can’t say I thought of it. I liked the music. I’m more into R and B myself, a little jazz, but that was something. No wonder you do it for a living.”
She kept her eyes on his as she set the violin aside. “What a fascinating compliment.”
“Just an honest observation. You reminded me of a knickknack my mama had. It was a pearl caught in a big chunk of amber. It was the prettiest thing, but sad, too. The pearl was all alone in there and could never get out. You looked like that when you were playing. Do you always play sad songs?”
“I play what I like.” His bruises had blossomed over the last day. They gave his face a rakish, dangerous look, with just enough of the little boy to make a woman want to press something cool—her lips perhaps—on the swelling. “Do you have a reason for walking into my house uninvited, Mr. Longstreet?”
“You might as well make it Tucker. I’m going to call you Caroline. Or Caro.” His teeth flashed. “That’s what Miss Edith called you. I like it.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He eased away from the jamb. “We tend to drop by on neighbors around here, but as it happens, I did have a purpose. You going to ask me to sit down?”
She tilted her head. “No.”
“Damn. The nastier you are, the more I like you. I’m perverse that way.”
“And other ways?”
He chuckled and sat on the arm of the sofa. “We’ll have to get to know each other better first. You might hear I’m easy, Caroline, but the thing is, I’ve got my standards.”
“What a relief.” She tapped the bow against her open palm. “As to your purpose?”
He cocked a foot on his knee, as thoroughly at home as a hound in a patch of green shade. “Lord, I like the way you talk. As fine and cool as a bowl of peach ice cream. I’m real partial to peach ice cream.”
When her lips threatened to quirk, she turned them down in defense. “I’m not terribly interested in your partialities at the moment, nor am I in the mood to entertain company. I’ve had a difficult couple of days.”
The easy humor vanished. “It was rough on you, finding Edda Lou that way.”
“Rougher on her, I’d say.”
He stood, reaching for a cigarette as he paced. “Being as you’ve been here a few days, you’ll know everything that’s been said.”
Though she tried, she couldn’t prevent a twinge of sympathy. It was never easy to have your private life, your private mistakes the topic of hot speculation. She knew. “If you’re saying the gossip around here is as thick as the humidity, I won’t argue.”
“I can’t stop you from thinking what you’re inclined to think, but I want my say.”
She lifted a brow. “I can’t fathom why my thoughts would concern you.”
“You jumped fast enough to give them to that shiny-shoed Yankee.”
She waited. The way he was pacing up and down the room struck as more frustrated than violent. She relaxed enough to set down the bow. “If you’re speaking of Agent Burns, I told him what I’d seen. You were by the pond.”
His head whipped around. “Sure I was there, goddammit. Did I look like I was planning to murder somebody?”
“You looked angry,” she tossed back. “I have no idea what you were planning.”
He stopped, turned, and took a step toward her. “If you think I did that to Edda Lou, why the hell are you standing here talking to me instead of running for your life?”
She jerked up her chin. “I can take care of myself. Since I’ve already told the police everything I know—which is essentially nothing—you’d have no reason to hurt me.”
He balled his hands at his sides. “Lady, you keep looking at me as if I were something you scraped off your shoe, and I might come up with a reason or two.”
“Don’t threaten me.” Adrenaline began to pump through her, pushing her forward until she was nearly nose to nose with him. “I know your kind, Tucker. You just can’t stand it that I’m not tripping over myself to get you to blink my way. It galls your male pride when a woman isn’t interested. Then when one is, like this Edda Lou, you can’t wait to shake her off. One way or another.”
It was close enough to the truth to sting. “Honey, women come and women go. Doesn’t mean a damn to me. I don’t pine away for them, and I sure as hell don’t kill them. And as far as tripping over yourself … Christ.”
She managed one short scream as he grabbed her and tossed her to the floor. Then the breath was knocked out of her when he landed hard on top of her. She heard the explosion, and thought for a moment it was the crack of her head hitting the hardwood.
“What the hell do you think—”
“Stay down. Holy bleeding Jesus.” His face was only inches from hers, and she saw something move into his eyes that might have been fear, or cunning.
“If you don’t get off me this minute—” Whatever she planned to do next was forgotten as she heard the next shot and watched a hole explode in the cushion of the couch just above their heads. “My God.” Her fingers dug into his arms. “Someone’s shooting at us.”
“You caught on, sugar.”
“What are we going to do?”
> “We could stay like this and hope he goes away. But he won’t.” On a sigh, he lowered his forehead to hers in a gesture that was curiously intimate. “Shit. He’s crazy enough to kill you, too, and figure it was God’s will.”
“Who?” She pounded on his back. “Who is it?”
“Edda Lou’s daddy.” Tucker lifted his head a fraction. Under the circumstances, he didn’t dwell on the fact that her mouth was ripe and full and naked. He noticed—but he didn’t dwell on it.
“The woman who was killed? Her father is out there shooting at us?”
“At me, mostly. But he wouldn’t worry much about hitting you along the way. I got a glimpse of him through the window while he was sighting between my eyes.”
“That’s crazy. A man can’t go around shooting into someone’s house.”
“I’ll be sure to mention that to him if I get the chance.” There was only one thing to do, and he hated it. “You got a gun around here?”
“Yes. My grandfather’s. In the den, across the hall.”
“Here’s what I want you to do. Stay down, keep quiet.”
She nodded. “I can do that.” As he eased down her body, she grabbed his shirt. “Are you going to shoot him?”
“Christ, I hope not.” He shimmied back, using the couch as cover, then sucking in a breath when he was forced to crawl out into the open. When he reached the doorway, he figured he was far enough away to keep any strays from hitting Caroline. “Austin, you sonofabitch, there’s a woman in here.”
“My daughter was a woman.” Another .44 slammed through the window, scattering glass. “I’m going to kill you, Longstreet. ‘For this is the time of the Lord’s vengeance.’ I’m going to kill you. Then I’m going to slice you up into pieces, just like you done to Edda Lou.”
Tucker pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and concentrated. “You don’t want to hurt the lady.”
“Don’t know if she’s a lady. Might be another of your whores. The Lord’s guiding my hand. This here’s an eye for an eye. ‘For the Lord thy God is a consuming fire. The wages of sin is death.’ ”
While Austin quoted scripture, Tucker belly-crawled across the hall. Once inside, he moved quickly. He grabbed a Remington and with sweaty hands loaded it, queasy at the knowledge that he might have to use it. He moved to the window, eased out the screen, and crawled through.
The next shot had him babbling his own prayer as he hunched over and darted into the bush.
Austin had picked his spot. Not two yards from the front of the house, he leaned against a lone maple. Sweat streamed off his face and dampened the back of his camo shirt. He called on Jesus, peppering his prayers and threats with rifle fire. All of the front windows were smashed.
He could have rushed the house and ended it. But he wanted, needed, to know Tucker was suffering. For more than thirty years he’d been waiting for a way to pay back a Longstreet. Now he’d found it.
“I’m going to shoot your nuts off, Tucker. Gonna blow away that cock you’re so proud of. That’s the justice for a fornicator. You’ll go to hell dickless. That’s God’s will. You hear me, you heathen sinner? You hear what I’m saying?”
With little regret Tucker shoved the rifle barrel into Austin’s left ear. “I hear you, no need to shout.” He hoped Austin didn’t notice the gun was wavering in his shaking hands. “Put down the gun. Austin, or I’ll have to put a bullet in your brain. Believe me, it’ll be hard on me. You’ll be dead, but I’ll have to throw away this shirt. It’s almost brand new.”
“I’ll kill you.” Austin tried to turn his head, but Tucker poked hard with the rifle.
“Not today, you won’t. Now, you toss that gun away, then you unbuckle that ammo belt. Slow and easy.” When Austin hesitated, Tucker gave him another nudge. He got a ridiculous image of the barrel sliding right through Austin’s head and poking out the other ear. “I know I’m not much of a shot, but even I can’t miss when I’ve got the barrel in your ear.”
He breathed a little easier when Austin tossed the gun aside. “Caroline,” he shouted. “You give Burke a call now, tell him to get his ass down here on the double. Then bring me some rope.” The moment the ammo belt hit the dirt, Tucker kicked it aside. “Now, what was that about my dick, Austin?”
Two minutes later Caroline streaked out of the house with a length of clothesline. “He’s on his way. I just …” She trailed off and stared down at the man sprawled in the grass. His face was battered and grimy with sweat and black streaks. Camouflage wear covered his tanklike torso and steel-girder legs. Despite the fact that Tucker stood over him, pointing a gun at the nape of his neck, the younger man looked toothpick-thin and vulnerable.
“I brought the rope,” she said, swallowing when her voice squeaked.
“Good. Honey, you want to scoot around behind him?”
Moistening her lips, she gave Austin a wide berth. “How did you … I mean, he’s so big.”
“Big mouth, too.” He couldn’t resist giving Austin a little nudge with his foot. “He was so busy screaming his fire and brimstone, he didn’t hear the sinner coming up behind him. Can you shoot this thing?”
“Yes.” She eyed the rifle. “Sort of.”
“Sort of’s good. Ain’t it, Austin? She’s liable to shoot something vital off you if you move too quick. Nothing more dangerous than a female with a loaded gun. Unless it’s a Yankee female. Here now. You just keep pointing that right at his head while I tie him up.” He balanced the gun in her hands. Their eyes met with twin expressions of giddy relief. For an instant they were the fastest of friends.
“That’s the way, sugar. Just don’t point it at me. Now, if he moves, you just press your finger. Then close your eyes, ’cause it’ll blow his head off, and I wouldn’t want you to see something that nasty.”
He winked at her so that she understood the warning was for Austin’s benefit. “Okay. But I’m a little shaky. I hope I don’t press it without meaning to.”
Tucker grinned as he hunkered down to tie Austin’s hands. “Just do the best you can, Caro. Nobody can ask for better than that. Gonna hog-tie you, Austin. Seems to fit.” He looped the cord and tugged, bowing Austin’s beefy legs. “Don’t seem right to me that you blew out all this lady’s windows. Ruined her davenport, too. As I recall, Miss Edith was fond of that davenport.”
He stepped back to take the gun from Caroline. “Darlin’, would you mind fetching me a beer? I’ve worked up a thirst.”
She had an insane urge to laugh. “I don’t have any … beer, that is. I have some wine. Some chardonnay,” she babbled.
“That’d go down nice, too.”
“All right. I … sure.” She started up the steps, then turned back to see Tucker taking out a cigarette. Putting a hand to her giddy head, she watched him pinch off the tip. “Why do you do that?”
“Hmm?” He squinted as he struck a match.
“Tear off the tip?”
“Oh.” He drew in smoke with every indication of pleasure. “I’m fixin’ to quit. Seems a sensible way to go about it. Figure after a couple weeks, I’ll be down to a half a smoke at a time.” He smiled at her, wildly attractive and pale as a sheet. “You put that chardonnay in a big glass for me now, okay?”
“Yeah.” She let out a shaky breath as she heard the wail of a siren. Tucker was still close enough that she heard the same sigh of relief from him. “You bet.” The screen door slammed behind her.
chapter 7
Thunder grumbled over in the east. A breeze, the first she’d felt since crossing the Mississippi border, stirred the leaves in the maple where not thirty minutes before, a man had stood with a loaded rifle.
It didn’t seem reasonable, or even possible, but Caroline found herself sitting on the porch steps drinking chardonnay out of a water glass, with what was left of the bottle wedged between her hip and Tucker’s.
Her life, she decided as she took another long swallow, had certainly taken some interesting twists and turns.
“This is g
ood stuff,” Tucker swirled the wine. He was beginning to feel mellow again—a state he preferred.
“It’s a particular favorite of mine.”
“Mine, too, now.” He turned his head and smiled at her. “Nice breeze.”
“Very nice.”
“We’ve been needing rain.”
“Yes, I suppose.”
He leaned back on his elbows, lifting his face to the cool. “The way the wind’s coming, it shouldn’t blow the wet into your parlor.”
Almost absently, she turned to look at her shattered windows. “Well, there’s good news. We wouldn’t want it to soak the couch. After all, it has only one bullet hole.”
He gave her a friendly pat on the back. “You’re a good sport, Caro. I expect some women would’ve gone bawling or screaming or fainting, but you held up fine.”
“Right.” Since her glass was nearly empty, she refilled it. “Tucker, may I ask you a regional sort of question?”
He held his glass out, enjoying the music of fine wine striking fine wine when she poured. “Right now, sweetie, you can ask me damn near anything.”
“I was curious. Are murders and shootouts common in this part of the state, or is this just a phase?”
“Well now.” He contemplated the wine in his glass before drinking. “Speaking for Innocence, and since my family’s been here since before the war—that’s the War Between the States.”
“Naturally.”
“I feel confident in holding an opinion on it. I have to say we’re new to the kind of murder you’re thinking of. Now, Whiteford Talbot blew a good-sized hole in Cal Beauford back when I was a kid. But Whiteford caught old Cal shimmying down the drainpipe outside his bedroom window. And Whiteford’s wife—that was Ruby Talbot—was buck-ass naked in bed at the time.”
“An entirely different matter,” Caroline concluded.
“There you go. And not more than five years back, the Bonny boys and the Shivers peppered each other with buckshot. But that was only over a pig. And seeing as they’re cousins and crazy, too, nobody paid much attention.”