Eight Classic Nora Roberts Romantic Suspense Novels

by Nora Roberts

  He’d felt for Bobby Lee especially. Whenever he’d looked into the boy’s face and seen the strain and fear, he’d wondered what it would be like to be searching for his own sister.

  That thought had him burning his throat with more whiskey.

  He wanted to think of pleasant things now. Of how nice the crickets sounded in counterpoint with the buzzing in his ears. How soft the grass felt under his bare feet. He thought he might spend the night there, watching the moon rise and the stars come out.

  When Tucker sat down beside him, Dwayne obligingly passed him the bottle. Tucker took it, but didn’t drink.

  “This stuff’ll kill you, son.”

  Dwayne only smiled. “It takes it’s sweet time doing it, though.”

  “You know it worries Della when you do this.”

  “I’m not doing it to worry her.”

  “Why are you doing it, Dwayne?” Tucker expected no response and continued without one. He gauged his brother’s condition and knew he was sober enough to be coherent, drunk enough to talk. “ ‘Drunkenness is a voluntary madness.’ Can’t think right off who said that, but it rings true.”

  “I’m not drunk yet, or mad either,” Dwayne said placidly. “Just working on both.”

  Wanting to choose his words carefully, Tucker took time to light half a cigarette. “It’s getting bad. The past couple of years it’s been getting real bad. First I thought it was because so many things went wrong so close together. Daddy dying, then Mama. Sissy taking off. Then I thought it was because Daddy drank so heavy and you just picked up on whatever genes it takes to have you follow him along.”

  Annoyed, and not wanting to be, Dwayne took the bottle back. “You do your share of drinking.”

  “Yeah. But I’m not making it my life’s work.”

  “We do what we do best.” Dwayne lifted the bottle and drank. “Of all the things I’ve tried, getting drunk’s the one thing I don’t worry about screwing up.”

  “That’s bullshit.” The fury rushed out so quick and sharp, it shocked them both. He hadn’t known it had been preying on him, eating at him from the inside—this reality of what his big brother had become, layered over the image of the one Tucker had once admired and envied. “That’s just bullshit.” Tucker snatched the bottle and, springing to his feet, flung it into the water. “I’m tired of this, goddammit. I’m fucking tired of carrying you home, making up excuses for you in my head, of watching you kill yourself one bottle at a time. That’s what he did. Flying that goddamn plane while he was shitfaced. The old man killed himself sure as if he’d put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger.”

  Dwayne got shakily to his feet. He weaved a little, but his eyes were steady. “You’ve got no reason to talk to me like this. You’ve got no right to talk about him either.”

  Tucker grabbed Dwayne by the shirtfront, tearing seams. “Who the hell has the right if not me, when I grew up loving both of you? Being hurt by both of you?”

  A muscle in Dwayne’s cheek began to twitch. “I’m not Daddy.”

  “No, you’re not. But he was a fucking drunk, and so are you. The only difference is he got mean with it and you just get pathetic.”

  “Who the hell are you?” His mouth moved into a snarl as he grabbed Tucker’s shirt in turn. “I’m the oldest. It was always me he jumped on first. I was supposed to take care of things, to fucking carry on the Longstreet legacy. It was me who got shipped off to school, me who got put in charge of the fields. Not you. Never you, Tuck. I never wanted it, but he wouldn’t let me go my own way. Now he’s dead and I can do what I want.”

  “You’re not doing anything but sliding into a bottle. You’ve got two sons of your own. At least he was here. At least he acted like a father.”

  Dwayne let out a howl, and then they were wrestling on the grass, grunting and growling like a pair of dogs looking for a soft spot to sink fangs into. Tucker took a short glancing blow to his still-sore ribs. The fresh pain brought a burst of wild fury into his blood. Even as they went tumbling into the pond, he was bloodying his brother’s lip.

  They went under grappling, came up sputtering and cursing. They kicked and shoved, but the water softened the blows and began to make them both feel foolish.

  Tucker scissored his legs, holding Dwayne by his torn shirt, one fist reared back. Dwayne mirrored his position so exactly, the two of them stared, panting.

  “Shit,” Tucker said, warily eyed his brother as he lowered his fist. “You used to hit harder.”

  Gingerly, Dwayne touched the back of his hand to his swollen lip. “You used to be slower.”

  They released each other to tread water. “I wanted a shower, but this isn’t half bad.” Tucker swiped the hair out of his eyes. “Though Christ knows what’s in this water.”

  “A half pint of Wild Turkey, for sure,” Dwayne said, and smiled. “Remember when we used to swim here, when we were kids?”

  “Yeah. Still think you can beat me to the other bank?”

  “Shit.” Dwayne’s smile widened to a grin. He rolled over in the water and struck out. Too many years of the bottle had slowed him. Tucker streaked by like an eel. In tacit agreement, they raced back, then floated awhile under the rising moon.

  “Yeah,” Dwayne said after they’d stopped panting. “You used be slower. I guess things’ve changed.”

  “Lots of things.”

  “I guess I’ve messed things up.”

  “Some things.”

  “I get scared, Tuck.” Dwayne fisted a hand in the water, but there was nothing there to hold on to. “The drinking—I know when I should stop, but I get so I don’t see the point in it. Sometimes I can’t remember what I’ve been up to. I’ll wake up sick and headachy, and it’s like I’ve been dreaming. I can’t make it out.”

  “We can do something about it, Dwayne. They’ve got places that take care of it.”

  “I like how I feel right now.” Through half-closed eyes, Dwayne watched the stars wink into life. “Just a nice little buzz on, so nothing seems too goddamn important. Thing to do is to catch myself right here, where I like it best.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “Sometimes I wish I could go back, see where I turned off wrong so I could fix it.”

  “You could always fix things, Dwayne. Remember that model airplane I got for my birthday? I wracked it up the second time I used it. I knew Daddy’d skin me when he found out, but you fixed it all up. Mama always said you had a talent for putting things together.”

  “I used to think I’d be an engineer.”

  Surprised, Tucker shifted to treading again. “You never told me that.”

  Dwayne merely stared up at the sky. “Wasn’t any point. Longstreets are planters and businessmen. You could have done something different maybe. But I was the oldest son. He never gave me a choice.”

  “No reason not to do what you want now.”

  “Hell, Tuck, I’m thirty-five years old. That’s no time to go back to school and learn a trade.”

  “People do, if they want it bad enough.”

  “I wanted it bad enough ten, fifteen years ago. That’s behind me. A lot of things are behind me.” He tried to make out the stars, but they were a hazy blur of light. “Sissy’s going to marry that shoe salesman.”

  “I guess we had to figure she would—him or somebody.”

  “Says he wants to adopt my kids. Give them his name. ’Course she’d forget that soon enough if I upped the support payments.”

  “You don’t have to take that, Dwayne. Those kids are yours. They’re always going to be yours no matter what game she’s playing.”

  “Nope, don’t have to take it,” Dwayne said lazily. “And I’m not going to. Sissy’s going to have to learn that a man has his limits. Even me.” He sighed, letting his gaze drift over sky and water. “I got comfortable, Tucker.” Out of the corner of his eye Dwayne saw something bob in the water. An empty bottle, he thought, for an empty life. “Drinking makes things that way.”
/>   “The way you’re doing it, drinking makes you dead.”

  “Don’t start on me again.”

  “Dammit, Dwayne.” He started to move closer when his legs brushed against something soft and slick that made him yelp. “Damn cats,” he said. “Scared the shit out of me.” He kicked away, glancing over his shoulder.

  He, too, saw something bob in the water. But he didn’t mistake it for a bottle. As the spit dried to dust in his mouth, as his blood slowed to a crawl, he stared at the trailing white hand.

  “Jesus. Oh my Jesus.”

  “Catfish won’t do any more than nibble,” Dwayne said placidly. He swore when Tucker gripped his arm. “What’s got into you now?”

  “I think we found Darleen,” he managed to say, then closed his eyes.

  Some prayers, he thought, just weren’t meant to be answered.

  chapter 24

  Sober and shaken, Dwayne dragged himself out of the water. On his hands and knees he crouched on the grass, fighting his rebellious stomach.

  “Christ, Tuck. Jesus bleeding Christ. What’re we going to do?”

  Tucker didn’t answer. He lay on his back, staring up at heat-hazed stars. It took enough effort just to concentrate on breathing when he was so cold, so bitterly cold.

  “In the pond,” Dwayne said, his throat clicking as he swallowed. “Somebody dropped her in our pond. We were in there with her. Jesus, we were swimming with her.”

  “She’s past being bothered by it.” He wanted to toss an arm over his eyes. Maybe that would help block out the image of that hand sticking out of the dark water, its fingers curled. As if it had been reaching for him. As if it would grab hold and pull him under.

  It had been worse because he’d felt obliged to be certain. To be certain it was Darleen Talbot, and to assure himself that she was beyond help.

  So he’d gritted his teeth and had taken that stiff, dead wrist, tugging against the weight that held the body down. And the head had bobbed up. He’d seen—oh, God, he’d seen what the knife had begun and what the fish were already ending.

  The human form was so frail, he thought now. So vulnerable. So easily whittled away into something hideous.

  “We can’t just leave her in there, Tuck.” But Dwayne shuddered at the prospect of going back into the water and touching what had once been Darleen Talbot. “It’s not decent.”

  “I think we have to.” Tucker thought regretfully of the bottle he’d tossed away. A few swallows of sour mash would do him some good just now. “At least until Burke gets here. You go in and call him, Dwayne. One of us ought to stay here. Call Burke, and tell him what we found. Tell him Agent Burns better come along.” Tucker sat up to drag off his wet shirt. “And bring me out some dry smokes, will you? I wouldn’t say no to a beer either,” he began, then swore when he caught sight of Caroline walking toward them. Tucker scrambled up, intercepting her after three long strides.

  “Glad to see me?” Caroline laughed and gave him a quick, hard hug. “You two decide to take a swim? Della sent me down to—”

  “Go on back up with Dwayne.” Tucker wanted her as far away from death and misery as possible. “Go on up and wait for me.”

  “I’ll wait for you.” Drawing back, she saw by his face that there was trouble. Cautious, she looked from Tucker to his brother. Dwayne’s lip had opened up again, and the blood was dark against his pale face. “Have you been fighting? Dwayne, you’ve got a split lip.”

  He ducked his head. Della’d give him hell about it. “I’ll call Burke.”

  “Burke?” Caroline grabbed Tucker’s arm when he tried to nudge her along. “Why do you need Burke?” Her heart did a slow roll in her chest. “Tucker?”

  She’d know soon enough, and it might as well come from him. “We found her, Caroline. In the pond.”

  “Oh, God.” Instinctively, she looked toward the water, but Tucker shifted to block her vision.

  “Dwayne’s going up to call Burke. You go with him.”

  “I’ll stay with you.” She shook her head before he could protest. “I’ll stay, Tucker.”

  When Tucker merely shrugged, Dwayne took off in a half run. A whippoorwill began to call, sweet and insistent, for a mate.

  “Are you sure?” Even as she asked, Caroline knew the question was foolish.

  “Yeah.” He blew out a long breath. “I’m sure.”

  “God, poor Happy.” She had to ask the rest, but it took a moment to force the words from her throat. “Was it like the others?” Caroline took his hand, holding tight until his gaze shifted to hers. “I want to know.”

  “It was like the others.” Firmly, he turned her away from the lake. With his arm around her waist they listened to the night bird’s song and watched the lights of Sweetwater glow against the dark.

  The official process worked with callous efficiency. Men crowded around the pond, their faces washed white by the harsh spotlights hooked to Burke’s truck. Pictures were taken to record the scene.

  “All right.” Burns nodded toward the water. “Let’s pull her out.”

  For a moment no one spoke. Burke pressed his lips together and unhooked his gun belt.

  “I’ll do it.” Surprising himself, Tucker stepped forward. “I’m already wet.”

  Burke set his gun belt aside. “It’s not your job, Tuck.”

  “It’s my land.” Turning, he took Caroline by the shoulders. “Go inside.”

  “We’ll go in together when it’s finished.” She kissed his cheek. “You’re a good man, Tucker.”

  He didn’t know about that, but as he slipped into the water, he was certain he was a stupid one. Burke was right, it wasn’t his job. He didn’t get paid to deal with this kind of horror.

  He eased his way through the cool, dark water toward the hand, white as bone, fingers curved beckoningly.

  Why did he feel it was his responsibility to drag a dead woman out of the water? She’d been nothing to him in life, shouldn’t she be less than nothing to him now?

  Because the pond was Sweetwater, he realized. And he was a Longstreet.

  For the second time, he curled his fingers around the lifeless wrist. As the head rose, he watched her hair float and spread toward the surface. His stomach lurched. He tasted acid in the back of his throat and ruthlessly forced it down. Using his feet to tread, Tucker hooked an arm around the torso.

  There was silence on the bank, the kind so deep you could hear your own heartbeat. A graveyard silence, he thought while he struggled against the weight that was trying to drag him and his burden down.

  His grip slipped, and when he shifted and tightened it, her head lolled back on his shoulder. Tucker stiffened, but it wasn’t revulsion that filled him. It was pity.

  Tucker looked toward the bank. White faces stared back at him. He saw Dwayne, with an arm around Josie. Their eyes looked huge in the flood of light. Burke and Carl already hunkered down, ready to reach out and take the burden Tucker was dragging over. Caroline, her face wet, stood with her hand resting on Cy’s shoulder. Burns stood back, observing, as though it were a moderately interesting play.

  “Something’s tied to her legs,” Tucker called out. “I need a knife.”

  “That’s evidence, Longstreet.” Burns stepped forward. “I want it intact.”

  “You son of a bitch.” Tucker managed to haul her another foot. “Why don’t you come on in and get your fucking evidence yourself?”

  “I’ll help you, Mr. Tucker.” Before anyone could stop him, Cy was running over and slipping into the water.

  “Christ, boy, get back from here.”

  “I can help.” Slick as an otter, Cy paddled over. “I’m strong enough.” His face blanched when he swam close, but he reached down to take part of the weight. “We can do it.”

  “Keep your eye on the bank,” Tucker told him. “And try not to think.”

  Cy scissored his feet. “I’m thinking about what an asshole that FBI man is.”

  “Even better.”

  It was a sh
ort and grisly swim. When they reached the bank, both Carl and Burke hooked hands under Darleen’s arms.

  “Look the other way,” Tucker ordered Cy. “There’s no shame in it.” He would have done so himself, but the angle was wrong. So he saw what had been done to the body. As it was dragged effortfully out and onto the grass, he saw everything. “Go on over with Caroline now, Cy. No.” He caught the boy’s head before Cy could turn it. “Don’t look this way. Go over with Caroline. You did good.”

  “Yessir.”

  Tucker hauled himself out. He sat there a moment, his feet dangling in the water. “Dwayne, give me a smoke.”

  It was Josie who brought him a cigarette, already lighted. “After that, I figure you deserve a whole one.” She laid her cheek against his. “I’m sorry it had to be you, Tuck.”

  “So’m I.” He took a greedy drag. “Burke, don’t you have a blanket to put over her? This isn’t right.”

  “If you civilians would go into the house,” Burns began, “this area will remain off limits until the investigation is completed.”

  “Goddammit, we knew her,” Tucker said wearily. “You didn’t. Least you can do for her is cover her.”

  “Go on, Tuck.” Burke reached down to help Tucker to his feet. “There are things we gotta do. It’s best if you went on while we get to it. We’ll be as quick as we can.”

  “I saw what was done to her, Burke.” Tucker said in a raw voice. “You can’t be quick enough.”

  “You will stay available,” Burns put in. “You and your brother. I’ll need to question you shortly.”

  Saying nothing, Tucker turned away to walk with Caroline and Cy back to the house.

  Caroline wasn’t much of a cook, but she heated up some soup to go with the roast beef Della had sliced. Soup, it seemed to her, was one of those nerve-soothing foods. By the way Cy plowed through his, she decided it worked.

  Dwayne scraped his bowl clean, then seemed embarrassed by his appetite. “That was mighty tasty, Caroline. I appreciate you putting a meal together.”

  “Della did most of it before she left for the Fullers’.”