Mercy

by Jean Brashear

  Mona was still worried. “Kat…”

  Kat ran one long-fingered hand through the spiky red hair. “It’s no big deal. I swear.” Then her eyes narrowed. “So tell me what’s going on. What are you doing here?”

  Mona bought time by taking a long sip. “Mmm, good wine. What is it?”

  “Mona…” Kat’s voice warned. “I’m big enough to sit on you and tickle if you don’t start spilling. And you know how you hate that.” She wiggled fingers in the direction of Mona’s armpit. “You have about seven years of tickles coming for all the times you sat on me and tortured.”

  Mona couldn’t help a small grin. She’d forgotten how ticklish Kat was. They shared a moment’s amusement.

  “So dish. What did you do tonight that must be washed away?”

  “I tried to be you.”

  “You what?” Kat’s double-take made her grin.

  She sighed and leaned her head back. “I’m afraid my marriage is in trouble. And I’m sick to death of being good.” She lifted her head. “So I went clubbing and found me a guy with a tattoo.” She giggled at Kat’s expression and sipped again. “I can’t say if he’s hung, though. I think so, maybe.” She tried for blasé, but failed miserably.

  She’d never seen Kat speechless.

  “Holy shit.” Then Kat threw back her head and laughed. “I would have paid a million bucks to witness it.” She fell against the arm on a gale of laughter, then sat up quickly. “You’re lying to me. Not Mary Mother of God Mona. No way.”

  Mona grinned, and for a moment, the night seemed funny. She pictured herself in her perfect black suit, one earring gone, dancing with a tattooed guy with a hard-on. “Way. I ditched my jacket. All I had on was a camisole. One earring.”

  “Nuh-uh…oh, this is great—” Another wave of laughter rolled over Kat. The sound was so infectious that Mona joined in. Kat swirled one finger in a circle. “More. Tell me there’s more.”

  Between giggles, Mona continued. “I took the pins out of my hair while we danced. He had a dragon right—” She choked out the word between gasping for air, pressing her hand to the center of her chest. “Right…here.”

  Kat grabbed her sides. “Oh, God, you’re killing me.” Another wave overcame her.

  “Hey, it was a pretty dragon.” Mona shoved at Kat, and Kat tumbled to the floor. She lay on her back, giggling.

  Mona set down her wine, sloshing it over the side. She was on her stomach on the couch, peering down on her sister. “I think he was hung. He was damn sure hard. He grabbed me and—”

  Her laughter died as her throat went tight. Fitz. She’d wanted Fitz so badly, and now what would she do? She’d never had a story she couldn’t tell Fitz before. Mona pressed her face into the cushion and felt the hot rush of tears. “Oh, God, Kat. I feel awful. I don’t know what to do.”

  Kat’s laughter stopped instantly, and she rose to her knees, leaning over Mona to press a kiss to her hair.

  Nana had done that. She was a big believer in the healing power of hair kisses. Hers always worked. Always.

  “I miss Nana so much,” Mona whispered. “She was tiny, but she made me feel so safe.”

  “Oh, baby.” Kat stroked Mona’s hair. “What happened with Fitz?”

  Mona grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Can I stay here tonight?”

  “Of course. But won’t Fitz worry?”

  “I guess.” Mona shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

  “I’m going to call him and tell him that we went out and drank too much and now I’ve tied you to the couch.” She bestowed one more kiss on Mona’s hair, then walked away. “And then I’m coming back, and you’re going to spill your guts.”

  Mona grabbed her hand before she got out of range. “Thanks, Kat.”

  Kat squeezed back and smiled. “No sweat. I’m always glad for an excuse to flirt with Fitz.” Her voice went soft. “I’ll be right back, sweetie. You just rest, you hear?”

  Kat playing Nana—would miracles never cease? Mona stayed where she was and smiled.

  Faint light broke the shadows where Lucas huddled for warmth. It made no sense for him to be standing guard over Tansy, snug in her bed across the street, but he’d been aware when he’d gently urged her back home a few hours ago that sleep would not visit him this night.

  Some Galahad he made. Don Quixote was more like it. Or Sancho Panza. His own search for a permanent solution to Tansy’s safety was more doomed than the search for the Holy Grail.

  As long as Carlton Sanford was alive, Tansy would never be safe. Nor would Lucas Walker. Somehow, he had to find someone concerned enough about Tansy to listen to the man who had been sent to jail for murdering her twin. But he had to be careful, for the spider had many legs and a huge web.

  For half the night, he’d pondered how he, an ex-con with a prison education, could take on Carlton Sanford without alerting him. He’d spent a lot of time in the prison library; his education had come not from classes but from reading to keep himself sane. He’d devised his own plan of study, fumbling his way through the library until he’d learned how to research almost any topic.

  That was where he’d start. He’d research Sanford’s life until he found a hole, located some leverage. And while he was digging, he’d wait for Sanford to trip himself up.

  But he didn’t have long. Not now that Tansy had said his name.

  He didn’t want to steal her away and condemn her to a life he could afford; that would be his last resort. But rather than let Tansy be placed in the hands of Carlton Sanford, Lucas would grab her and run.

  The odds against him were terrible, even he could tell that. And if Tansy’s memories were stirring…

  He could lose her again. And he wasn’t sure he could bear it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mona jerked awake and tried to remember where she was. A line of Tansy’s birds marching across the purple-and-green Indian scarf draping the scarred footlocker was all the clue she needed. Kat’s place. On the ancient overstuffed sofa.

  Bundled in Kat’s robe, one of Nana’s quilts covering her legs. Kat playing Nana, leaving to call Fitz. Then I’m coming back and you’re going to spill your guts. But they’d never made it to the gut spilling, she was almost sure. Instead, she’d fallen asleep to the sound of her sister laughing with the husband Mona had come within a hairsbreadth of betraying last night.

  She groaned and rolled over, drawing her knees up to her chest, and memories spilled out like overturned garbage. Ear-splitting music, the clash of perfume and sweat. Darkness and violent color. And hands. On her. Another man’s hands. Not Fitz. Dragon tattoo on young flesh—

  Mona leaped from the sofa, banging her toes on the trunk, and hopped around in the room, cursing. Pain and shame collided. Her stomach queasy, she sank to the floor, holding her foot and fighting back tears.

  Oh, Fitz, what happened to us? Never in a million years would she have believed they could drift so far apart. Anguish sucked her under. She couldn’t breathe. “Oh, God,” she whimpered.

  “Mona?” Kat’s voice, husky with morning. “Are you all right? I heard—” She moved into view, and Mona attempted to hide behind the arm of the sofa.

  But too late. “Oh, honey, what is it?” Kat settled beside her, brown eyes soft with worry.

  Mona shook her head but couldn’t speak.

  Kat’s arms went around her to pull her close and rock her. “Tell me what’s wrong, Mona. I’ve never seen you this way. Tell me what happened with Fitz.”

  Before, Mona would have stood up, dusted herself off, denied it all. Years of ingrained behavior battled with a choking need for comfort, for someone to give her answers she didn’t have.

  Then Kat began to hum the melody Mona had last heard from Nana. And she cracked. “I’m so scared, Kat,” she whispered past hot, painful tears. “I’m going to lose him, and I don’t know what to do.”

  It all poured out: his captivity, the baby, the trip to Westchester. How insidiously their entire understanding had collap
sed. How she didn’t know Fitz anymore, had lost her trust. How she’d tried to rebel last night, and the taste of ashes lay bitter on her tongue.

  Kat listened quietly, and Mona was relieved that her sister didn’t attempt to justify why Fitz’s new dream of family made sense. The daughters of Martin Gerard had learned better.

  “I’ve never had a single secret from him in ten years.” Mona sought to smile. “I can’t even keep mum about his presents—I always give them early.” She stared into her sister’s eyes, her voice dropping to a whisper. “How do I remain silent about last night—but what happens to us if I tell him? He’s my best friend, Kat—and we’re barely speaking.”

  “He loves you, Mona. You can’t think he doesn’t.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true anymore.” She glanced away, sliding the fingers of one hand through her hair. “I’m not certain of anything.”

  “I hear that.”

  Something emphatic in Kat’s tone brought Mona’s head swinging around. “What’s up with you, anyway? Who is this ‘just a guy’ you mentioned last night?”

  Kat shrugged. “Nobody important.” But she wouldn’t meet Mona’s gaze.

  Mona placed one finger beneath Kat’s chin. “Uh-uh. Now I’m not buying.”

  “We were talking about you, not me.”

  But the break had brought Mona back to herself. Acutely conscious that she was the one who listened, who gave advice, not the one who asked for it, she drew the mantle of big sister around her once more. “I—it’s not your problem. I’ll figure it out. I always manage, don’t I?”

  “God, I hate it when you do that.”

  Mona recoiled. “Do what?”

  “Did it ever occur to you that nobody asked you to be the pillar of this family? That maybe somebody else might appreciate being needed for a change?” Kat uncoiled her long-limbed frame and rose from the floor, stomping off toward the kitchen.

  Mona was honestly shocked. “Kat, I don’t see—”

  Kat snorted. “That’s the problem. You’re too busy organizing all our lives to notice that we can manage just fine on our own.”

  A huge crevasse opened up before Mona and all her certainties tumbled away from her feet. She teetered on the edge, fear making her vicious. “Tansy can’t take care of herself, and Daddy leans on me, too. And you—” she shot one arm out, gesturing wide “—you’re too busy screwing your way through the city to pay attention to what anyone else needs. Left up to you—”

  Kat whirled, teeth bared. “You are such a bitch. Who died and made you God?” With the subtle, devastating accuracy only a sister can wield, she slid in the knife. “How can Fitz stand it? You’re so damn rigid.”

  Angry words, killer words, harsh words meant to wound whipped through Mona’s brain, toppling over one another so fast she couldn’t catch them. Couldn’t catch her breath for the edgy, ugly pain spreading in her chest.

  She struggled to defend herself, to make Kat see. To get all of them to realize that she had never asked for this. Never wanted to be the tower of strength, but she’d had no choice.

  Couldn’t anyone but Fitz understand that sometimes she had wanted to be the one to lean?

  “Never mind,” Kat muttered. “I’m going to make coffee.” She left the room.

  Mona stood where she was, feet bare, heart bare, her life a mess…and suddenly, she was so tired her bones ached. She sank to the floor, leaned back against the sofa and closed her eyes. Stretching out her legs, she bumped her toes into something.

  The roll of sketch paper she’d spotted last night came unfurled. Half of one sheet was in view. The model was someone Mona knew well.

  Kat. Naked. Relaxed, almost serene in a way Mona had never imagined, yet she glowed with an earthy sensuality so stunning that even a sister could feel the allure. Mona pulled the sketch toward her and perused it.

  Kat had always been the striking one of them all. Larger than life, sometimes rude, sometimes caustic…unbearably arrogant to boot. But the artist who’d drawn this had unmasked Kat. Whoever it was understood that the brash Kat had a tender side. That the Kat who hissed had once dreamed of being a princess and melted around babies. That her bravado hid a cry for love.

  Eagerly, Mona unrolled the rest of the sheets, digging her teeth into her lower lip as she studied the quick, devastating sketches that peered into her sister in a way few ever had.

  Mona noted one thing more. This artist was a man. And he’d made love to her sister.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Kat screeched. “Put those down.”

  Mona held one hand over them calmly. “This is him, isn’t it? This is ‘just a guy.’ Who is he, Kat?” She glanced down. “These are stunning.”

  Kat plunked the coffee mugs on the table, and brown liquid sloshed over the side. She yanked the sketches away from Mona and rolled them carefully. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  There was hurt here, and confusion. Kat, who discarded men as though they were tissues, had hit a snag with this one.

  “Yes, I’m a bitch and you can criticize me all you wish, but even I can tell that he has incredible talent. If you don’t want to keep those, give them to me. They should be framed. They’re gorgeous.”

  Kat’s jaw hardened. “No one is going to ogle these.”

  “Because you’re naked? When did that ever bother you?”

  Her sister’s head whipped around, and Mona was shocked to spy the sheen of tears. “You think I’m a slut. I understand that. I deserve it most of the time. But this is different, Mona.” Her voice fell. “He’ll probably be beating down my door for them, anyway. I’m surprised he hasn’t already.”

  Curiouser and curiouser. “Why?”

  “Because I stole them from him.” Kat’s chin jutted. “I’m going after that painting next.”

  “What painting?”

  Kat just shook her head, clutching the roll so hard that Mona feared for the sketches. Gently, she withdrew them from Kat’s grasp. When Kat’s arms tightened briefly, Mona reassured. “I’m only going to set them down. Even if no one else gets a look at them, you don’t want them wrinkled, do you?”

  Kat stared in that direction, but she was seeing something else. Finally, she inhaled sharply, as if emerging from a dream.

  “Gamble Smith.”

  Mona blinked. “Pardon me?”

  “The artist from my latest show, the one you had to miss for your deadline. That’s who did them.”

  “The romantic.” Mona remembered it now. “The reviews were glowing. One of my editors was there. She said she nearly swooned.”

  Kat laughed, but there was bitterness in it. “A common reaction.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Big. Glowering.” She turned to Mona, her lips curving upward. “He’s from Texas—you believe that? I can’t even consider what he’d look like on a horse. Hell, I’d swoon.”

  “He intrigues you.”

  “He makes me furious. He’s a rude, ill-mannered, bad-tempered brute who—”

  Mona couldn’t help herself. She started laughing. “A match made in heaven.”

  Ire rose in Kat’s eyes—but just as suddenly, Kat laughed, too. “The hell of it is, he got to me, Mona. I’ve never felt this way before. If I hadn’t waked up and spotted what he’d done—”

  Mona frowned. “What?”

  “Those—” Kat pointed an accusing finger at the sketches.

  “What’s wrong with them? They’re gorgeous. Women would kill to have a man view them that way.”

  “I have no desire to be—” Kat raked unsteady fingers through her hair. “That woman doesn’t exist. He can’t show these to anyone, and I’m going to get that painting if I have to—”

  Mona grasped Kat’s shoulders. “Is it so bad for people to discover that you have a tender side?”

  Anguish filled Kat’s eyes. “Mama was soft. Tansy’s soft. The world destroyed both of them. You, of all people, should understand.”

  Mona leaned her forehead
against her sister’s, her amusement more shaky than merry. “We are a pair, aren’t we? You spend your life telling everyone to go to hell, and I tell them how to get there and what to pack.” She sighed. “We had to be strong. Everyone left us.”

  “Everyone but Nana,” Kat insisted. She wrapped her arms around Mona.

  Warmed but sad, Mona agreed. “But in the end, she left us, too.”

  They stood there in silence, each lost in thought. At last, Kat spoke up. “What are you going to do about Fitz?”

  “What are you going to do about the bad-tempered artist?”

  They drew apart and looked at each other, speaking in tandem.

  “Hell if I know.”

  Each cracked a smile, then a giggle. The giggles broke out in full-throated hilarity, and they fell onto the sofa, made helpless by mirth. Soon they were wiping their eyes, drained by twin urges to giggle and sob.

  Finally, Kat lifted one arm, palm turned out. “Here’s to sisters, bitches though we may be.”

  Mona slapped palms with her, and their hands closed in a clasp. “How much money do you have in your purse?”

  Kat grinned. “Seven dollars and change.”

  “I’ve got plastic. Let’s ditch everyone and live on some beach with hot and cold running lifeguards.”

  Kat nodded. “No names exchanged. Just sex, then kick them out and replace them. No one spends the night.”

  “No suits.”

  “No shaving legs.”

  Mona grinned. “No high heels.”

  “No alarm clocks,” Kat added.

  “Alarm clocks—” Mona bolted upright. “Ohmigod—I have a nine o’clock meeting. What time is it?”

  Kat shot a glance into her kitchen. “Nine-forty-five.”

  Mona shrieked and leaped to her feet, headed for the phone.

  That afternoon the door to Mona’s office swung open, and Fitz walked in.

  The night that had vanished under the day’s pressures roared back. She caught his somber expression and wished there were a way to make this phone call last forever.

  She signaled to him to wait, and he nodded.

  “Yes, George. I understand.” She pitched her tone to soothe. “You’re very special to us here at Bijou, never doubt that. We would tell you if there was anything wrong. This dip is simply seasonal. The weather is depressing everyone, but that won’t last.” She struggled to listen to the magazine’s most important advertiser while Fitz filled up her mind. “Let me take you to lunch next week, all right? I’ll put Gaby on the phone to arrange it. Can’t wait, handsome,” she said, kiss-kissing into the phone.