Babs shuddered and Sam reached out automatically, putting his hand on her shoulder. "It's just to scare out the killer—//there is a killer."
"I know. But this whole thing is a little gruesome."
"Don't worry. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
"I know." There was absolute confidence in the words. If Sam said he'd protect her, she believed him. Sam looked into her eyes, seeing things there he couldn't quite define—things he wasn't sure he wanted to know about. His hand dropped away from her shoulder and he looked away, breaking the odd little spell.
"So, what's next?" If anyone else had noticed the strangely intense exchange, they didn't say anything.
"Well, I think the two of you should continue to lay low here until tomorrow. I've got a meeting with Stefanoni today. He was so pleased to get the real paintings that he offered to find out who hired the men who kidnapped you. He may be able to find out what their orders were. It would make it a lot easier if we knew exactly what we were up against." He looked at his watch and sighed. "In fact, I'd better hit the road now."
Emmet left and Sam stood up, carrying his plate to the sink and handing it to Babs. "I thought I'd go clean out the garage," he mumbled. "Give me something to do."
Babs sighed as she watched him leave. It was pretty clear that he was avoiding her.
"Don't worry about it. All men go through that phase." Cecily gave her a reassuring smile.
"I thought it might be something I'd done."
"No. Sam's just got a lot to think about right now."
"I suppose." Babs reached for a towel. As Cecily washed and rinsed a plate, Babs took it from her and dried it, her movements a little clumsy. After all, a Ma-lone wasn't expected to do anything as mundane as dry dishes.
"You're fond of Sam, aren't you?" Cecily's question was light and nonthreatening but Babs found herself throwing up barriers automatically.
"He saved my life—more than once."
"He seems to think you held up your end pretty well."
Babs shrugged, trying to ignore the little glow Cecily's words created. The idea that Sam thought she'd held up her end was appealing. Maybe too appealing. She had to remember that they'd been together under some pretty extraordinary circumstances. She couldn't lose sight of the fact that they had little in common. They were back in the real world now and, in the real world, their lives ran along very different paths.
"We don't really have anything in common." Cecily didn't seem to have any trouble following the seemingly irrelevant comment.
"You know, I've always thought that people put too much importance on having things in common. You don't have to like the same foods or the same movies to make a relationship work. Sam's father and I didn't have all that much in common when we married and we were very happy together. It all depends on how much you want it to work."
Babs set down a plate and reached for another, a faint frown creasing her forehead. "But what did you talk about?"
Cecily laughed. "Anything and everything."
"Didn't you argue?"
"Some, but in the long run there was nothing more important to us than our marriage so we always found a way to compromise." She paused, glancing sideways at Babs. "Do you and Sam argue?"
"Constantly. Well, not really." Babs flushed delicately and stared at the plate she held in her hands, the towel still. "Sometimes we talked. He's really pretty easy to talk to."
"He's a good listener. He always has been, even when he was a boy."
"What was he like when he was a boy?"
Cecily laughed again, her eyes alight with memories. "An imp and an angel. Like all children. There were times when I was sure he was a changeling—no human child could be so mischievous—and then he'd turn around and do something sweet and I'd forget all about the mischief. His hair would never stay combed, the knees of his jeans were always torn and the house was full of strays that he'd found and just had to bring home. His father threatened to make Sam sleep in the garage if he brought home one more lame animal to take care of but, of course, the next time, Peter was out there helping Sam set a broken leg for a mongrel pup he'd found."
"It sounds like you were a close family." Babs wasn't aware of the wistfulness in her tone but Cecily heard it and her heart melted.
"We were." She reached out and brushed a lock of hair back from Babs's face, the gesture automatic. It wasn't until she saw the startled look in the younger woman's face—the yearning—that she realized how strange the casually affectionate gesture was to Babs. She felt a burst of anger against the people who'd let her grow up so untouched. The anger didn't show in her face.
"You know, it sounds silly but, somehow I kind of think of you as family. Ever since Emmet showed up, I've been thinking of you with Sam and hoping you were both safe. And Emmet talked about you a lot so I feel like I know you."
Babs laughed self-consciously, her fingers twisting in the towel. "You can't believe everything Uncle Emmet tells you. He only had me in the summer so he probably doesn't know me as well as he thinks."
"Oh, I think he knows you pretty well. He said you were sweet and full of spirit and courage. I think that's a pretty accurate description."
Babs stared at her for a moment, her eyes dark and vulnerable and then she looked away, struggling for some light comment. It wasn't there.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." Cecily's smile was like a balm, soothing years of emptiness. The two women looked at one another for a moment, sensing the beginnings of a bond that lay outside Sam and his relationships with each of them—a bond to be treasured.
It was Cecily who broke the quiet moment, sensing that things might be moving too quickly. "I was going to make some cookies. Would you like to help?"
"I don't know. I've never made cookies."
"Then your education has been sadly lacking, my dear. Everyone should know how to make cookies. When Sam was little, he argued quite seriously that cookies should be the fifth basic food group, coming right after milk."
"Did you talk him out of it?"
"Certainly not. I happen to agree with the theory." Cecily grinned, her eyes sparkling in a way that made Babs think of Sam. Funny—a lot of things made her think of Sam.
❧
The sun was setting out over the Pacific but it still cast a warm glow of light over the coast. Sam leaned his shoulder against the pole that supported the back porch and stared out at the hillside that sloped up out of the wide backyard. It was a tangle of brush and chaparral. When his father had been alive, he'd kept the slope cleared. Sam felt tired just remembering hours of backbreaking labor in the warm sun, rooting out weeds.
Looking at it now, he realized how overgrown it had become. He really should clear it out before summer arrived/As the sun dried out the twisted shrubs, it turned them into living tinder, just waiting for the smallest spark to set off a fire. He'd have to get to it soon. Maybe this next week. After tomorrow he'd have nothing better to do.
Tomorrow the Malone caper would be settled and life would go on. He frowned. The thought didn't give him the satisfaction it should have. He should be thrilled to be out of this mess without a bullet in his hide. He was thrilled. Having people shooting at him was not his favorite occupation. It was over. He was happy. So why was he scowling?
"Hi." Sam swung around. Babs was standing a few feet away, the screen door just closing behind her. The muffled thud as wood met wood seemed to emphasize the quiet evening. A scrub jay screeched raucously in the live oak that spread its branches over the yard.
"Hi."
"Were you thinking about something vital?"
"No. Nothing in particular." His eyes skimmed over her, taking in the snug jeans and loose cotton shirt. He wanted to reach out and test the fit of her jeans with his hands. He wanted to feel the silky skin beneath the soft shirt. Instead, he smiled.
"Has Mom taught you everything you always wanted to know but were afraid to ask about the fine art of cookie baking?"
/> "Just about." Babs took a few steps forward, wrapping her hand around one of the trees and leaning against it. "I think we baked just about every kind of cookie known to man. We may have invented some new ones. I had no idea it could get so messy."
"So I see." Sam reached out to brush a faint dusting of flour from her cheek. It was a casual gesture, certainly not out of line between two people who had been lovers. But neither of them expected the electricity that arced from the simple touch.
Babs's gaze swept upward, her eyes deep brown pools of uncertainty. Sam's hand lingered, his fingers cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing across her lower lip. Her lips parted slightly, her tongue coming out to moisten her mouth. Sam couldn't drag his eyes away, his thumb touching her again, lightly, ever so lightly, feeling the dampness. She leaned forward and he knew that it would take only a touch, a whisper for her to be in his arms. His body ached with the knowledge.
He drew a shuddering breath, his hand dropping to his side, the fingers still tingling. He saw her expression change. Disappointment? Relief? It was impossible to tell. How could he read what was in her mind when he didn't understand what was in his own?
"I guess it will all be settled tomorrow." He looked out over the yard, seeing nothing, his every sense tuned to the woman beside him.
"I guess so. It's going to be pretty horrible if it turns out that someone is really trying to kill me. I wonder what Uncle Emmet found out from Stefanoni."
"I don't know. When he called, he said he was going to see someone who might have seme information. He'll be in touch as soon as he knows something."
"I know. But the waiting is hard."
"Waiting always is." He looked at her and then looked away. Did she know how tempting she was? "Still, it's better than being shot at."
Babs laughed, the sound low and husky. "Just about anything beats being shot at."
"True. You know, you really handled yourself very well. A lot of people would have fallen to pieces."
Why don't you just say what you really mean, you idiot. Tell her how you feel.
"I was... impressed with how cool you stayed under fire."
Wimp. That's not what you want to say and you know it. Tell her.
How could he tell her when he didn't know himself? He didn't want to lose track of her. He didn't want everything to end between them tomorrow. He knew
what he didn't want but he wasn't sure what he did want.
He looked at Babs, reading the same questions and desires and uncertainties in her eyes. She'd never looked more desirable and she'd never looked more dangerous. His life was turning upside down. Too much, too soon. He looked away, staring out at the nearly dark hillside. The porch light cast a bright circle onto the lawn and Sam wished that a light would go on in his mind, casting equal light on his confused thinking.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is—" Whatever he was trying to say was destined to remain unsaid. From behind him, he heard Babs giving a funny choking little sound at the same moment that he heard a muffled thud.
He spun around, every sense on the alert, reaching for Babs even before he cdnsciously realized that she was falling. His arms caught her as her knees buckled, a terrifying red stain spreading over the pale pink of her shirt. Sam dropped to his knees, his body hunched protectively over hers. He threw one look at the dark hill, knowing that was where the shot must have come from but that wasn't important now. The only thing that mattered was the frightening amount of blood soaking her shirt.
He grabbed the front of her shirt and tore it open, sending buttons flying. The screen door squeaked as it was thrust open and he threw one look upward, seeing the shocked horror in his mother's eyes.
"Oh, my God! What happened?"
"She's been shot. I need some towels to stop the bleeding. Call 911. Tell them we need an ambulance." Cecily disappeared back into the house and Sam returned his attention to Babs. She looked up at him, a bewildered look in her eyes.
"I think I've been shot."
"It's all right, sweetheart." Sam used the tail of her shirt to wipe away the blood, searching for the entrance wound. Half-formed prayers floated through his mind.
"I have been shot." She seemed more incredulous than anything else and Sam knew she was still in shock. The pain hadn't reached her yet. But it would. He'd have given anything to be able to take the pain and make it his own.
He heard a door open and reached up without taking his eyes off Babs. A wad of soft towels was thrust into his hand as Cecily knelt beside him.
"I called 911. They're sending an ambulance. How is she?"
"Fine. She's just fine." His tone dared anyone to argue with him. He pressed a towel to the wound high on her shoulder, lifting her slightly to press another towel underneath where the bullet must have exited. The small movement broke the fragile web that had been shielding her from the pain and Babs gasped, what little color she'd had leaving her face.
"Sam? Am I going to die?"
"No. You're not going to die. I'm not going to let you die." Her eyes started to glaze and he reached down to catch her hand, lifting it to his mouth, his eyes fierce on her face. "Hang on, honey. You're going to be all right. You have to be. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you."
But she was beyond hearing anything. Her body had taken charge, sending her into unconsciousness as a protection from the shock she'd sustained. Her eyes closed, her breathing was barely perceptible. Sam felt a terrible fear press against his chest.
"You can't die. I love you. I love you." In the distance, he heard the wail of a siren, the sound growing closer.
Cecily put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. He looked at her, his eyes full of wild despair. "She can't die. I love her. She can't die."
Tears filled Cecily's eyes and slid down her cheeks. Just as Sam would have given anything to make Babs's pain his own, so would his mother have done anything to take the agony from his face.
"She'll be fine."
"She has to be." There was absolute finality in the words, as if he couldn't conceive of anything else.
Cecily looked at Babs's still figure, the blood soaking through the thick towel, her face as still as a waxen doll. She prayed that Sam was right. Please God, let him be right.
Chapter 14
"I don't understand why Emmet insisted that we all be here like this." Dodie fussed irritably with the sleeve of her severe gray blouse, tugging it down over her bony wrists.
"Remember, he said it had something to do with Ba-bette." Lionel's helpful comment earned him a scornful look.
"Of course I remember what he said. I'm neither deaf nor senile, unlike some members of the family." The contemptuous look she threw at Bertie and Clarence went right over the old couple's head, as did most things in life. "I just don't see why he insisted on this foolish gathering. After all, we don't know where the wretched girl is. It was Emmet's friend who had her last. Maybe he's calling us together to tell us that the man has demanded a ransom. It would be just like Emmet to know an adventurer without ethics."
"I don't know. I have a feeling it may be something else." Lionel's brow furrowed and he tugged at the beard that concealed his weak chin. "I hate to say it but perhaps we made a mistake in hiring those men to kidnap Babette. Things do seem to have gotten rather out of hand."
"Don't be ridiculous." Dodie's strong voice canceled out any possibility of a mistake. "Everything would have been just fine if this wretched acquaintance of Emmet's hadn't interfered. He can hardly blame us for that."
"Oh, I don't know, Mother. It seems to me that Emmet probably takes a pretty dim view of the whole operation. He's strangely fond of Babs. God only knows why." Lance lifted his glass and downed a healthy swallow of cognac, his beautiful features set in a sullen cast.
"Babette was always a very sweet child." Bertie's voice was unexpectedly strong, raised in defense of her great-niece. Clarence patted her hand, his round little face set in its usual expression of vague confusion.
"Sweet but willfu
l, my dear. Don't forget how willful she always was."
Dodie ignored him, as usual. There were few people she didn't ignore. "Well, I just wish Emmet would have the good manners to be on time. I had to tell the cook to postpone lunch. If he's going to insist that we be here, the least he can do is not keep us waiting."
As if the words were a command, the huge library door swung open and Emmet strode in. Any reproach Dodie might have uttered died unspoken. The look on his face was grim enough to discourage even her acid tongue.
"I'm glad you're all here. Saves me having to track you down."
"Your wish is our command, cuz." Lance lifted his glass in mocking salute. Emmet barely glanced at him.
"I'm going to come straight to the point. I want to know who hired the men you paid to kidnap and murder Babs."
"Murder?" Lionel's eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline.
"Don't be absurd, Emmet. They were to kidnap her. No one said anything about murder. I think you owe us all an apology, coming in here and treating us like common criminals." Dodie tugged at her sleeves, her mouth pulled so tight her lips all but disappeared.
"That's a big strong, cuz. The Malones may be willing to indulge in a little larceny and kidnapping but we've always drawn the line at murder." Lance finished his cognac and set the crystal glass on the mantel.
"Murder? Poor little Babette? Really, Emmet, I don't know where you got such an extraordinary idea." Bertie's voice fluttered with distress, her knitting needles becoming hopelessly entangled in the shawl she was making.
"Quite right, my dear. Extraordinary idea. Extraordinary." Clarence patted his wife's hand.
"If you're worried because we don't know where Babette is, I think you should look to your friend, Mr. Delanian." Dodie's voice was filled with righteous indignation. "After all, he's the one who interfered with our simple plan and took Babette away from the men we hired. If you're concerned about her welfare, I'd look to him. Perhaps he's holding out for a larger reward."
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