Eight Classic Nora Roberts Romantic Suspense Novels

by Nora Roberts

  “Shut up, goddamn you. She’s my daughter.” He struggled up. “Emma … I thought you were in bed.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was flat. “I know.”

  “You shouldn’t be down here.” He stepped forward to take her arm. “You’re cold. And wet,” he said, fighting the sharp-edged buzz of the coke. “Where have you been?”

  “I went down to the beach.” Avoiding his eyes she tried to turn toward the stairs.

  “Alone? You went down to the beach alone? At night?”

  “Yes.” She whirled back to him, gritting her teeth at the scent of the French woman’s perfume. “I went down to the beach alone. Now I’m going to bed.”

  “You know better.” He took both her arms now, shaking her. “You know you’re not to go anywhere without the guards. For Christ’s sake you’ve been swimming. What if you’d had a cramp?”

  “Then I’d have drowned.”

  “Come, chéri, let the child go to bed.” The brunette prepared another line. “This is a party.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” he shouted at her. She only shrugged and snorted. “Don’t you ever do this again,” he demanded, turning back to Emma. “Do you understand?”

  “Oh yes. I understand.” She jerked away from him, eyes dark and dry. “I wish to God I didn’t, but I understand.”

  “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “About my walk on the beach, or about this?” She gestured toward the woman still kneeling at the table.

  “This is none of your business.”

  “No.” Her lips curved, but her voice was flat and dull. “No, you’re quite right about that. I’ll just go to bed then and leave you with your whore and your drugs.”

  He slapped her. His arm swung up before he knew it would. His hand whipped across her face before he could stop it. He saw the mark of it on her cheek, the red flag of violence he so detested. Stunned, he looked down at his own hand … and saw his father’s.

  “Emma—”

  She stepped back in a quick, jerky motion, shaking her head. Rarely had he ever raised his voice to her, and now, the first time she questioned him, the first time she criticized, he struck her. Turning, she bolted up the stairs.

  Johnno let her pass. He stood, halfway down, shirtless, cotton sweatpants low on his hips. His hair was disheveled, his eyes tired. “Let me talk to her,” he said before Brian could rush by. He took a strong grip on his friend’s arm. “She won’t hear you now, Bri. Let me hold her hand for a while.”

  He nodded. His palm stung where it had connected with her face. His baby’s face. “Johnno—I’ll make it up to her.”

  “Sure.” Johnno squeezed his shoulder, then gestured. “You’d best tidy up your mess down here.”

  Her eyes were dry. Emma sat, heedless of her wet clothes, on the edge of her bed. But she didn’t cry. The world, the beautiful world she had built around her father had crumbled. She was lost again.

  She bolted up when the door opened, then sank back to the bed when she saw Johnno. “I’m all right,” she told him. “I don’t need anyone to kiss it and make it better.”

  “Okay.” He came in nonetheless, and sat beside her. “Want to yell at me awhile?”

  “No.”

  “That’s a relief. Why don’t you get out of those wet things?” He put his hands over his eyes, then spread his fingers and grinned. “No peeking.”

  Because it was something to do, she rose and went to her closet for a robe. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  “That your father liked women? Yes. I guess I first suspected it when we were twelve.”

  “I’m not joking, Johnno.”

  So, she wouldn’t give him an easy way out. “Okay. Listen, Emmy luv, a man’s entitled to sex. It just isn’t something he likes to flaunt in front of his daughter.”

  “He paid her. She was a whore.”

  “What do you want me to say?” When she stopped in front of him, wearing a white terry-cloth robe, he took her hands. She looked pitifully young now, her hair wet and sleek around her head and shoulders, her eyes dark and disillusioned. “Should I tell you the nuns are right, and it’s a sin? They probably are. But this is real life, Emma, and people sin in real life. Brian was lonely.”

  “Then it’s all right to have sex with a stranger if you’re lonely.”

  “This is why God saw to it that I wouldn’t be a father,” Johnno murmured. He tried again, the best way he knew. With the truth. “Sex is easy, and it’s empty, no matter how exciting it is at the moment. Making love with someone is a whole different experience. You’ll find that out for yourself. When feelings are involved, I guess you could practically say it’s holy.”

  “I don’t understand. I don’t think I want to. He went out, found that woman and paid for her. He had cocaine. I saw it. I know Stevie … but I never believed Da. I never believed it.”

  “There are all kinds of loneliness, Emma.”

  “Do you do it, too?” She set her jaw.

  “I have.” He hated admitting a weakness to her. Strange, but until that moment when he had to confess his own flaws, he hadn’t realized how much he loved her. “I probably haven’t missed much. The sixties, Emma. You had to be there.” He laughed a little, and drew her down beside him. “I stopped because I didn’t like it. I didn’t like giving up my control for a quick buzz. That doesn’t make me a hero. It’s easier for me. I don’t have the pressure Brian does. He takes everything to heart, I take everything as it comes. The group’s what’s important to me, you see. With Bri, it’s the world. It always has been.”

  She could still see him, her father, with his head bent over the line of white powder. “That doesn’t make it right.”

  “No.” He leaned his head on hers. “I guess not.”

  The tears came now, hot and fast. “I didn’t want to see him like that. I didn’t want to know. I still love him.”

  “I know. He loves you, too. We all do.”

  “If I hadn’t gone out, if I hadn’t wanted to be alone, none of this would have happened.”

  “You wouldn’t have seen it, but it would still have been there.” He kissed her hair. “Now you just have to accept that he’s not perfect.”

  “It’s not going to be the same, is it, Johnno?” On a sigh, she leaned against him. “It’s not going to be quite the same ever again.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  New York, 1982

  “What do you think he’s going to say?” Marianne hauled her suitcase out of the cab while Emma paid off the driver.

  “I imagine he’ll say hello.”

  “Come on, Emma.”

  Emma pushed back her hair as the late evening wind tugged at it. “He’ll ask what the hell we’re doing here, and I’ll tell him.”

  “Then he’ll call your father and we’ll be dragged off to the gallows.”

  “They don’t hang in this sute anymore.” Emma picked up her own suitcase, then drew a deep breath. New York City. It was good to be back. This time, she intended to stay.

  “Gas chamber, firing squad, it’s all the same. Your father’s going to kill us both.”

  Emma paused with her hand on the knob of the lobby door. “Want to back out?”

  “Not on your life.” Marianne grinned, then scooped a hand through her cap of red hair. “Let’s do it.”

  Emma strolled in, pausing on her way across the lobby to smile at the security guard. “Hello, Carl.”

  “Miss—why, Miss McAvoy.” He set down his late-evening pastrami sandwich and beamed at her. “It’s been over a year now, hasn’t it? You’re all grown-up.”

  “A college woman.” She laughed. “This is my friend Miss Carter.”

  “Nice meeting you, Miss Carter.” Carl brushed crumbs from the sleeve of his uniform. “Does Mr. Donovan know you’re coming?”

  “Of course.” She lied sweetly, with a smile. “Didn’t he tell you? Well, that’s Johnno. We’ll only be staying for a couple of days.” She moved to the elevators as she spoke. It would be bes
t if he didn’t buzz upstairs and let the cat out of the bag. “I’m going to school here now.”

  “I thought you were going to some fancy university in London.”

  “I transferred.” She winked at him. “You know my heart’s in New York.”

  As the doors closed in front of them, Marianne rolled her eyes. “Very smooth, McAvoy, very smooth.”

  “Most of it was true.” She laughed, then let out a nervous breath. “I’ve been eighteen for two months. It’s time I tried my independence.”

  “I’ve been eighteen for seven months and my father still pitched a fit when I transferred to NYCC. Well, it’s done. Tomorrow we’re going to start looking for an apartment. Then we’re going to live just the way we always planned it.”

  “Yeah. Well, over the first hurdle.” They stepped out of the elevator and walked down the wide, quiet hall to Johnno’s condo. “Let me do the talking,” Emma warned. At Marianne’s bland look, she sighed. “I mean it. The last time you did the talking we ended up polishing pews for three Saturdays running.”

  “I’m an artist, not a lawyer,” she muttered, then put on her best smile when the door opened.

  “Johnno!” Emma launched herself into his arms. “Surprise,” she said, then kissed him.

  “Hold up.” He was only half dressed, and groggy with after-dinner wine and sleep. With his hands on her shoulders, he held Emma back. She’d grown tall. In the last eighteen months she’d sprung up like a willow, slim, graceful, with hints of elegance. Her pale blond hair was scooped back with combs, so that it fell full and straight to brush her shoulders. She wore snug faded jeans with a skinny ribbed shirt tucked into them. Wide gold hoops swung at her ears. “For Christ’s sake, you look like an off-duty model.” He shifted his gaze to Marianne. “And here’s my favorite redhead. What have you done to your hair?” He rubbed a hand over Marianne’s short spiked do.

  “It’s what’s happening now,” she told him, then leaned her cheek in for a kiss. “Did we get you up?”

  “Yes. I suppose I should let you in before I ask what the hell you’re doing here.” He glanced down. “With suitcases.”

  “Oh, Johnno, it’s so good to be here. The minute I got in the cab at the airport, I felt at home.” She dropped her suitcase, then took a quick spin around the room. She plopped onto the couch, rubbed a hand over the oyster-colored cushions, then popped up again. “How are you?”

  “Uh-uh.” He knew her well enough to recognize the restless energy as nerves. “I’ll ask the questions. Drink?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He walked over to a circular glass bar and rooted out two soft drinks. “Is there a school holiday I don’t know about?”

  “Liberation Day. Marianne and I have both transferred to NYCC.”

  “Have you now?” He poured Diet Pepsi into two glasses. “Strange Brian didn’t mention it.”

  “He doesn’t know.” Emma took the two glasses and passed one to Marianne along with a warning look. “Before you say anything, I’d like you to listen.”

  In response, he gave her ear a quick tug. “How did you slip by Sweeney and the other one?”

  “A brown wig, horn-rimmed glasses, and a limp.”

  “Very clever.” Johnno took her glass and sipped, not certain he was comfortable in the role of avuncular confidant. “Do you have any idea how worried Brian’s going to be?”

  There was a flash of regret in her eyes, then it hardened into determination. “I intend to call him, and explain everything. My mind’s made up, Johnno. Nothing you or he or anyone says can change it.”

  “I haven’t tried to change it yet.” He frowned at Marianne. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  “I’ve been warned. I’ve already been through all this with my parents,” she added quickly. “They don’t particularly like it, but we’re set. Emma and I are both eighteen now. We know what we want.”

  He felt suddenly, uncomfortably old. “And being eighteen means you can do as you please?”

  “We’re not kids anymore,” Marianne began before Emma put a hand over her mouth.

  “Sit down, Marianne, and be quiet.”

  Emma took her glass back from Johnno. “I know how much I owe my father, and you. Since I was three years old, I’ve done everything he’s asked of me. Not just out of gratitude, Johnno, you know that, but because I love him more than anyone in the world. I can’t go on being a child for him, being content in whatever safe little box he’s picked out for me. You wanted something, and so did he. You went for it. Well, I want something, too.”

  She walked over to her suitcase, popped it, then took out a portfolio. The nerves had faded. The energy hadn’t. “These are my pictures. I’m going to try my hand at making a living from them, and I’m going to go to school here, to learn how. I’m going to share an apartment with Marianne. I’m going to make friends, and go out to clubs and walk in the park. I’m going to be a part of the world for a change instead of standing right on the edge looking in. Please understand.”

  “How unhappy were you?”

  She smiled a little. “I couldn’t begin to explain.”

  “Maybe you should have.”

  “I tried.” She turned away a moment. “He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. I only wanted to be with him, with you. Because that wasn’t possible I tried to be what he wanted. That night in Martinique.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. Even Marianne didn’t know what she had seen. “Things changed for me, and for Da. I finished out what I’d started, Johnno. I owed him that—so much more than that. But this is for me.”

  “I’ll talk to him for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. He’s liable to take one leap over the Atlantic and lop off my head.” Idly, he opened the portfolio. “You always were clever,” he murmured. “Both of you.” He nodded to a sketch of Devastation that hung on the east walk “Told you I was going to frame it.”

  With a cry of pleasure Marianne leaped up. She had drawn it on the evening of their graduation celebration. The house Brian had rented on Long Island had been full of people. Never one to be shy, Marianne had ordered all four men to pose. “I didn’t think you meant it. Thanks.”

  “I suppose you’re going to make your way drawing pictures while Emma snaps them.”

  “That’s right. It’ll be a bit hard to be starving artists with the inheritance my grandmother left me, but we’re going to give it a shot.”

  “Speaking of starving, have you eaten?”

  “I had a hot dog at the airport while I was waiting for Emma’s flight to get in.” Marianne grinned. “It wasn’t enough.”

  “I suppose we should eat then, before I call Brian.” Johnno came from around the bar. “It may be our last meal.”

  “Hey, Johnno. Couldn’t you sleep?” Both girls turned at the sound of another male voice. They watched the man, the truly gorgeous man, come down the curving stairs in nothing but a pair of jogging shorts. “I wondered where you’d gone off to. Oh.” He paused, combed his fingers through dark, tousled hair, and smiled at the girls. “Hello. I didn’t know we had company.”

  “Luke Caruthers, Emma McAvoy and Marianne Carter.” Johnno stuck his hands in the pockets of his sweats. “Luke writes for New York magazine.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “He lives here.”

  “Oh,” was all Emma could think of to say. She’d seen enough of intimacy, envied it enough, to recognize it. “Hello.”

  “So you’re Emma. I’ve heard so much about you.” He smiled, holding out his hand. “Somehow I expected a little girl.”

  “Not anymore,” she managed.

  “And you’re the artist.” He offered his dazzling smile to Marianne. “Nice work.”

  “Thanks.” She tilted her head, smiled back, and hoped she looked sophisticated.

  “I was just offering the ladies a meal. They’ve been traveling.”

  “A midnight snack sounds good to me. But let me whip it up. Johnno’s cooking is poison.”
/>
  Marianne stood a moment, torn between fascination and middle-class shock. “I’ll—ah—I’ll give you a hand.” She cast a quick look at Emma and fled behind Luke to the kitchen.

  “I guess we came at a bad time,” Emma began. “I didn’t realize you had a … roommate.” Blowing out a breath, she sat on the arm of a chair. “I had no idea, Johnno. I really had no idea.”

  “Rock and roll’s best-kept secret,” he said lightly, but his hands were clenched in his pockets. “So would you like me to help you make an excuse, and reservations at the Waldorf?”

  Her cheeks heated as she looked down at her hands. “No, of course not. Does Da know—of course he does,” she said quickly. “Stupid question. I don’t know what to say. He, ah, Luke’s very attractive.”

  A trace of amusement lit Johnno’s eyes. “Yes, I think so.”

  Her blush deepened, but she managed to look at him again. “You’re making fun of me now.”

  “No, luv.” His voice was soft. “Never you.”

  She studied him, carefully, trying to see if he looked different somehow—if she could find something odd or wrong with the face she knew so well. There was nothing, only Johnno. Her lips curved a little. “Well, I guess my plans do have to change.”

  He felt the twist—harder, sharper than the fists of the boys from his youth. “I’m sorry, Emma.”

  “Not half as sorry as I am,” she told him. “I have to give up my fantasy about seducing you.” For the first time in her life she saw his face go totally blank.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, I always thought, when I grew up, when you saw me as a woman.” She stood up, spreading her arms out, then down her sides. “I’d come to visit you here, fix you a meal by candlelight, put on the music, then seduce you.” She pulled a chain from under her blouse. On it hung a little plastic ring with a gaudy red stone. “I always thought you’d be my first.”

  Speechless, he stared at the ring, then looked up and into her eyes. There was love there, the kind that lasted lifetimes. And there was understanding without blame. Stepping forward, he took her hands. His voice was thick when he found it. “Very rarely have I regretted being gay.” He brought her hands to his lips to kiss them. “This is one of those very rare times.”