Scarlet Nights

by Jude Deveraux

  And why? Just because he wanted the place? Did Greg think that Mr. Lang was the reason Rams wouldn’t sell it to him? Or was the reason because Sara, the woman he loved, wanted it?

  Mike put his hand under her chin and lifted her face up to his. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Shocked, but I’m all right. What about you?”

  “Not shocked,” he said quickly and looked around them. “Even though I’d like to stay here all day, just like this, I think we should get down and go.”

  Sara didn’t want to leave either. Besides, she knew that when they were back on the ground she’d have to face the truth about the man she was to marry.

  “Sara?”

  “I know,” she said as she reached up to hold on to a branch.

  Mike started to move away, but then turned back and sweetly kissed her cheek. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said and tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it.

  Mike jumped down from the low branch, and got Sara to fall into his arms. He tried to make a joke about her nearly knocking him down, but when he looked at her expression, he stopped.

  He quickly led her around the hedge and back past the house to get to his car. He unlocked it and held the door open for her. When he saw that her hands were shaking, he fastened her seat belt for her, then got in the driver’s side.

  They were halfway back to Sara’s apartment before either of them spoke. Mike wanted to give Sara as much time as she needed to digest what she’d heard. For him, he wanted to call Lang and thank him. From here on, Mike would start the process that would end in his telling Sara the truth, that the man she planned to marry only wanted her because … He hadn’t yet figured that out.

  He glanced at her, sitting silently in the seat next to him. Her pretty dress was covered with leaves and twigs, and there was a tear at the shoulder.

  “Sorry about your dress,” he said.

  “Do you think Greg was trying to get Merlin’s Farm for me?”

  “You can answer that better than I can.”

  “Greg might have done what he could to get Mr. Lang to leave, but he wouldn’t kill the dogs. I think that must have been a coincidence of timing and Mr. Lang put them together without any evidence.”

  It was too soon for Mike to tell her what he knew. When he was younger, he’d learned the hard way not to tell too much too soon. On his first undercover case, right away, he’d gleefully told a woman her husband was an arms dealer and that he had two mistresses. In his naïveté, he’d thought the woman would be grateful for the information. But she’d had the opposite reaction. She’d called Mike a liar and had stood by her husband to the very end. When she was being led off to prison, she spit on Mike. Yes, he’d learned to be cautious. “Are you sure you know him well enough to be able to say that?”

  “Greg may not be the most honorable person on earth, but he is a good man.” Sara was silent for a moment. “I know Greg does some things I don’t like, but—”

  “Like what?”

  She told him about Greg switching the dress sizes. “But that was just to make the women feel good. It’s a far cry from poisoning dogs.”

  “I didn’t say they were poisoned, and I don’t know that they were. What made you say that?”

  She hesitated for a full minute. “The owner of Edilean Drugs told me to remind Greg to be careful with the rat poison he bought.”

  Mike gritted his teeth, as this was something she hadn’t told him. “I take it you don’t have a rat problem?”

  “When I asked him about it he said there was a nest of them in the back wall of the store. It made sense that he’d buy poison.” She took a breath. “Even though I still don’t think Greg would do something like that, I wish I could replace Mr. Lang’s dogs.”

  Mike grinned at her. “Now there’s where you’re lucky.”

  “Why?”

  “On this case, I’m working for the federal government, and you know why we put up with their delusions of their own grandeur?”

  “No.”

  “Money. They have lots and lots of greenbacks. Tell me what kind of dogs Lang had and we’ll replace them.”

  “I was only a child when I saw them so I don’t know what breed they were. But I thought they were beautiful. My mother once said that they were Irish.”

  “Would you recognize them if you saw a picture of them?”

  “Maybe.”

  He handed her his phone. “Text Tess to send you photos of Irish dogs.”

  “You always remember your sister but you forget that she’s married to my cousin. How about if I text Rams to tell me what kind of dogs Mr. Lang had?”

  “Even better.” He smiled at her.

  “What’s that look for?”

  “I was thinking how much you’re like all the other women I’ve worked with.”

  His sarcasm made her feel good. “They didn’t hide with you in trees?”

  “No, and they missed a lot. I liked holding you.” When Sara kept looking straight ahead, he added, “And they didn’t want to replace the dogs of some old man they disliked.” Mike had to look away to hide his pleasure at the way the day had gone—and at the way Sara was sitting there frowning. It was the first real dent that had been made in the myth of Greg Anders.

  “How about if we take the night off from the case?” he said.

  Sara’s eyes brightened. “Watch more movies together?”

  “I was thinking that maybe we could go to your apartment and fix dinner over there. You haven’t even shown me your place yet.”

  “I guess you forgot that I have no kitchen sink.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You want to search through everything I own, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he said, but in such a lascivious way that she laughed.

  “Fine with me. You can not only look at the jewelry Aunt Lissie left me, you can try it on.”

  “I’d rather you model it for me.”

  “After what I heard today about my fiancé, I just might do that.”

  Mike’s grin almost cracked his face.

  13

  EVERYTHING ABOUT SARA’S apartment said “family.” Whereas Tess’s place was like Mike’s, with furniture that had come from stores—preferably in preplanned rooms—he didn’t think Sara owned so much as a dish that hadn’t come through her friends and relatives. And what she’d bought had been carefully chosen because it looked old and worn in that romantic way that women liked.

  As soon as she opened the door—unlocked, of course—she ran to her bedroom. But Mike stood in the doorway and stared.

  Even though Sara’s living room was shaped like Tess’s, they couldn’t be more different. Sara’s room looked like something off the History Channel titled “Furniture Through the Ages.”

  She had a big peach-colored couch with huge rolled arms. Mike wasn’t much of a historian, but he could imagine ladies in long dresses taking tea on that sofa. The chair next to it was nearly as plush and was covered in a flowered fabric. On the other side was a big chair upholstered in old brown leather, and he was sure he’d seen one just like it in some World War II movie.

  Around the room were little tables and knickknacks that ran the gamut of years from Thomas Jefferson’s time to the 1980s. Nothing he saw was new.

  And everywhere, there were photos in frames. They ranged from so old it looked like Matthew Brady had taken them, to one of Tess on her wedding day. Mike smiled when he saw she was dressed in a dark blue suit that she’d probably later wear to work. He and Tess had been taught frugality and recycling long before it became fashionable. He remembered how hard he’d tried to be there that day, but he’d been tied up—literally.

  “So who gave you all of this?” he called to Sara.

  “Everybody,” she answered. “There’s a saying in town that if you don’t want it, give it to poor Sara.”

  Mike snorted at that. Nothing could be further from the truth because every item had been ca
refully selected. He ran his hand over a small table that had extensions on the sides. He didn’t know much about antiques, but he’d spent a lot of time in rich houses, and he knew Sara’s little table was worth some money. If he’d been dealing with a different criminal he would have said that whatever treasure was being sought was somewhere in this room. But Stefan had lived here with Sara, so he must have seen all this—and known that there was something more valuable elsewhere.

  Sara came into the room. She’d showered and changed into a dress of pale blue cotton, and he thought she’d never looked prettier.

  Sara walked to Mike and turned her back. “Could you please button me?”

  There were about thirty little white buttons down the back of her dress, and he started from the bottom up. Her skin was covered by an old-fashioned slip, and he wondered if she’d also inherited her clothes. “You couldn’t get out of this dress very quickly,” he said, joking, and working very slowly.

  “But then that’s the point, isn’t it?”

  Mike chuckled. “I guess it is. There. Done. So tell me about your home. Have you ever bought a piece of furniture in your life?”

  “No. Just knickknacks. In fact, my dad pays the rent on a big storage unit in Williamsburg that’s full of old furniture and photos that relatives have given me. They like Ikea; I like Edwardian.”

  “It sounds like a giant hope chest.”

  “At one time I thought it was.”

  “And you showed what’s in storage to Anders?”

  “I don’t want to know how you guessed that, but yes, Greg and I spent three days going through everything. He wanted to see what we could use when we have our own home. I’d planned to take it all with me with Brian, but …”

  “Who’s he?” Mike asked. He was looking at a photo of two pretty young women with their equally cute kids. It was his guess they were Sara’s older sisters.

  “First serious boyfriend.” She didn’t say that she’d been so sure they were going to marry that six months after they met, she’d turned down an excellent job as a conservator at a Boston museum. Her life with Brian would have taken her in a different direction, and that’s what she’d wanted so very much.

  When Mike looked at Sara in question, she shrugged. “Dumped me. Boo hoo. Feel sorry for Sara.”

  He knew she meant it as a joke, but he could feel the hurt in her voice. “Stupidest man I ever heard of,” he said and was pleased to see her smile. “So what does the fiancé think of all this?” He motioned about the room.

  Sara laughed. “That it would make a good bonfire. He likes chrome and glass.”

  Mike turned away so she wouldn’t see his frown. If Vandlo had been so honest about his likes and dislikes, and Sara’s were so different, why the hell was she marrying him? He sat down in the big leather chair. “I like what you have here. No chrome, and I hate glass-topped tables. They break during fights and can cut a man. I once saw a severed artery that—” He broke off with a shrug.

  Sara remained standing and staring down at him.

  “Did I grow horns?” he asked.

  “You look at home in that chair. You look like some World War I pilot. I can almost see you in a bomber’s jacket.”

  “You mean one of those guys who died before he was twenty-three? Fought the Red Baron and went down in flames?”

  “Yes, that’s just what I mean.” She sat down on the edge of her couch and kept looking at him. “Greg—”

  “What about him?” Mike tried not to sound keenly interested.

  “Nothing. You look good in this room. Most men are awkward in here, but you look like you’ve read a book and been places and done things in your life.”

  “Sara,” he said softly, but she got up before he could say more.

  “I’ll get the jewelry.” She hurried down the little hall to her bedroom.

  Mike wandered around the rest of the apartment. The kitchen needed remodeling, and there was a big hole where the sink had been. He couldn’t help smiling at the way Luke had disabled the whole place.

  “Was there anything Anders liked?” he called to Sara. “So much as a chair or even a photo?” His voice lowered when she came back into the living room.

  “Not really.” She handed Mike a small wooden box.

  Opening it, he saw six pieces of jewelry. They were old-fashioned, and he didn’t doubt that the stones were real, but even if they were, none was big enough to be worth much. Certainly not enough to tempt a Vandlo. He closed the box. “I don’t think …”

  “I know. The good stuff went to her daughters-in-law. Ram’s mother has some big clunkers that she never wears. I got the pretty things.”

  “Sara, you could wear jewelry made of iron and make it look good.”

  “I …” she began, and he could see the blush coming into her cheeks. But then her eyes went to the wall behind him. “The CAY painting.”

  “What?”

  She stepped around him and went to the far wall. “One time Greg said that the only thing of mine he actually liked was this painting. He wanted me to give it to him.” She removed from the wall a frame, about ten by twelve, and handed it to him.

  For a moment his heart raced, but when he saw the picture he was disappointed. It looked like a child’s drawing of a pond with ducks on it—except that the sky was green, the pond pink, and the poor ducks were purple.

  The watercolor looked old, but he couldn’t see it as being valuable. Maybe Vandlo wanted it for his future grandchildren. According to his family’s tradition, his teenage daughter would soon be married off to some old man.

  Mike looked in the corner of the painting at the three initials: CAY. “One of your ancestors?”

  “I don’t know. Aunt Lissie didn’t know who he was. She said the picture had been in the McDowell family forever, but she and I were the only ones who liked it. We figured it was Victorian.”

  “No chance it’s a Beatrix Potter, is there?”

  “I wish. No, it’s a castoff, like everything else in here. Even me,” she added as she turned away.

  Frowning, Mike put the picture back on the wall, and when he looked at Sara there was a slump in her shoulders that he didn’t like. It seemed that she’d been tossed aside by her first boyfriend, and he knew that it was going to be exposed that the second one only wanted her for what he could get.

  Mike didn’t think about what he did, he just reached out, took her arm, and pulled her to him. He put his lips on hers and kissed her with all the longing he’d felt since the first moment he saw her.

  He half expected her to pull away, but instead, her arms went around his neck and she tilted her head. Her lips were sweet, and her body against his fit more perfectly than any other woman’s ever had.

  It was all Mike could do to keep from making the kiss deeper, and from leading to much more.

  He was the one to break away. He held her, his lips on her neck. “Sara,” he whispered. “I want—”

  She pushed him away. “I know. I’m part of your job. And you want—” Breaking off, she hurried to the door. “Meet me at Joce’s in an hour. I need time to think about all this.”

  In the next second she left the apartment and Mike sat down heavily on the leather chair. His assignment had been to do whatever was necessary to get Sara away from Vandlo.

  “Hell!” Mike mumbled. “I’m being lured into this town with the bait of an old farm, comfortable furniture, and the prettiest, sweetest little temptress who ever walked the earth.” He ran his hand over his face. “If anyone is being seduced, it’s me.”

  14

  JOCE WAS IN her bed, surrounded by genealogy charts; a printer was on the bedside table. “Want to know who your third cousin six times removed is?”

  “Not especially,” Sara said. “I have enough cousins here and now.”

  Joce looked at her friend—and seventh cousin, she’d just found out—and said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Mike kissed me.”

  “Oh. Well. I know that’s ter
rible, since you’re engaged to another man, but before the lamentations begin, what was the kiss like?”

  “Great. But then he’s had a lot of experience.”

  Joce wasn’t going to comment on the last remark. “So how does he compare to Greg?”

  Sara sat down heavily on the chair by the bed. “Did you ever know for absolutely sure that what you were doing was right, then something happened that made you doubt everything you knew?”

  “If you’re referring to men, yes. In college I had a boyfriend I adored. I was sure he was The One. Then I went home—meaning to Miss Edi—and spent a week with her. One morning, we were sitting at breakfast and I imagined what it would be like if he were there. Instantly, I knew I’d spend every moment dealing with his jealousy. If you’d asked me the day before if he was a jealous man, I would have said no. But he was. He was jealous of my job, of my girlfriends, even of my awful stepsisters. Is that what you mean?”

  “Pretty much. I’m beginning to see and remember things that a week ago I wasn’t aware of.” Sara sighed. “When Greg and I were first together it was so wonderful I would have walked through fire for him.”

  “And from what Tess and I heard through the walls, you did a few times.”

  Sara nodded. “Everything was great. It hadn’t been long since Brian left me and …”

  Joce had never met Sara’s other boyfriend, but she’d heard about him. He was a young archaeologist from England, and he and Sara had been inseparable for over four years. Everyone, including Sara, thought they were going to get married. When he told her he was going to marry his childhood girlfriend, Sara had been devastated.

  “The worst thing,” Tess told Joce, “was that everyone in town treated Sara like she was on the point of insanity.”

  “Was she?” Joce asked, for she knew some about being close to breaking.

  “Yeah,” Tess said. “She was.”

  So now, Joce reached out to take Sara’s hand. “Greg made you feel desirable, that someone wanted you.”