by Nora Roberts
He didn’t want to leave her, not even for a day. Part of that, he knew, was the obsessive insanity of new love, but part was worry. “If you came with me, you could call her from wherever, you could leave Henry with the Burgers, close the shop for the day and deal with the house when we get back. You can take your graph paper.”
“You’re worried about leaving me while you go do your job. You shouldn’t. In fact, you can’t. I’ve been taking care of myself for a very long time, Max. I’m going to keep on taking care of myself after we’re married.”
“You won’t have a homicidal jewel thief looking in your direction after we’re married.”
“You can guarantee that? Go,” she said without waiting for his answer. “Do what you do. I’ll do what I do. And when you get back . . .” She ran her hand along his thigh. “We’ll do something together.”
“You’re trying to distract me. No, wait, you did distract me.” He leaned down, kissed her. “How about this? I go do what I do, you stay and do what you do. I’ll be back tomorrow night, earlier if I can manage it. Until I’m back, you’ll go over and hang with the cop and his wife. You and Henry. You’re not staying here alone until this is wrapped. Now, we can fight about that or we can take the compromise.”
She continued to walk her fingers along his thigh. “I like to fight.”
“Okay.” He pushed to his feet as if preparing for the round.
“But not when I agree with the other person’s point of view. It’s an unnecessary risk for me to stay out here alone. So I’ll impose on Jenny and Vince.”
“Good. Well . . . good. Want to fight about something else?”
“Maybe later?”
“Sure. I’m going to go nail down my flights. Oh, any chance that sofa can be long enough for a guy to take a Sunday afternoon nap on?”
“That’s a distinct possibility.”
“I’m going to like being married to you.”
“Yes, you are.”
It was after one by the time Jack finished searching Laine’s shop. Torn in two directions, he locked up after himself. He was bitterly disappointed not to have found the diamonds. Life would be so much simpler if he had the little dog tucked under his arm. He could be on his way out of town, leaving enough bread crumbs for Crew to follow that would lead him and any trouble away from Laine.
Then he’d vanish down the rabbit hole. Fourteen million in diamonds—even figuring on half of that due to a quick turnover—would provide a very plush rabbit hole.
At the same time he was struck with a kind of stupefied pride. Just look what his little girl had done, and in the straight world. How the hell had she learned to buy all those things? The furniture, the fancy pieces, the little fussy table sitters. It was a pretty place. His little girl had herself a very pretty business. And since he’d been curious enough to take the time to hack into her computer and check, it appeared she had herself a reasonably profitable one.
She’d made a good life. Not what he’d wanted for her, certainly, but if it was what she wanted, he’d accept that. He didn’t understand it, and never would, but he’d accept.
She was never going to come back with him on the road. That fantasy had finally been put to rest after a good look at her house, her shop, her life.
A waste of considerable talent, to his way of thinking, but he understood a father couldn’t push an offspring into a mold. Hadn’t he rebelled against his own? It was natural enough for Laine to rebel and to seek her own path.
But it wasn’t natural for her to try to scam her own blood. She had the diamonds. Had to have them. If she had some sort of twisted idea that she needed to hold out on him to protect him, he’d have to set her straight.
Time for a father-daughter chat, Jack decided.
It meant he’d have to boost a car. He really hated to steal cars, it was so common, but a man needed transportation when his daughter decided to live in the boondocks.
He’d drive out to see her, have that chat, get the diamonds and be gone by morning.
He settled on a Chevy Cavalier—a nice, steady ride— and took the precaution of switching its plates with a Ford Taurus a few miles away. All things being equal, the Chevy should get him through Virginia and into North Carolina, where he had an associate who could turn it for him. With the cash, he could spring for a new ride.
He’d leave enough footprints for Crew to follow, just enough of a scent to draw the man away from Maryland and Laine.
Then Jack had an appointment in southern California, where he’d turn those sparkly stones into hard green cash.
After that, the world was his fricking oyster.
He was humming along to the classic rock station he’d found, his mood lifted by The Beatles’ cheerful claim of getting by with a little help from friends.
Jack knew all about getting by.
As a precaution, he stopped the car halfway up the lane. The dog was the friendly sort when it wasn’t wetting itself in fear, he recalled, but dogs barked. No point in setting it off until he scoped things out.
With his penlight, he started the hike. The dark was pitch, making him wonder again what had possessed Laine to choose such a place. The only sound he heard other than his own feet crunching on gravel was an owl, and the occasional rustle in the brush.
Why anyone would want brush anything could rustle in was beyond him.
Then he caught the scent of lilacs and smiled. That was a nice sort of thing, he thought. To walk along in the quiet dark and smell flowers. Nice, he added, for the occasional change of pace. Maybe he’d pick a few of the blooms, take them with him to the door. A kind of peace offering.
He started to follow his nose when his light hit chrome.
And scanning the beam over the car, Jack felt his mood plummet.
The insurance cop’s car was at the end of the drive with Laine’s.
Eyes narrowed, he studied the house. No lights glowed in the windows. It was near two in the morning. A man’s car was parked in front of his daughter’s house.
His little girl was . . . he searched for a word his father’s mind could handle without imploding. Dallying. His little girl was dallying with a cop. To Jack’s mind a private investigator was just a cop with a higher annual income than the ones who carried badges.
His own flesh and blood, with a cop. Where had he gone wrong?
With a huge sigh, he stared down at his feet. He couldn’t risk breaking in a second time with the PI in there. He needed privacy, damnit, to talk some sense into his Lainie.
Cop had to leave sometime, Jack reminded himself. He’d find a place to stash the car, and wait.
It was a testament to her love, Laine concluded, that nudged her into altering her morning routine in order to see Max off at five forty-five A.M. She liked to think it also demonstrated she was flexible, but she knew better.
Her routine would snap right back into place once she and Max became more accustomed to each other. It might take on a slightly different form, but in the end, it would be routine.
She was looking forward to it and, thinking just that, gave him a very enthusiastic kiss at the door.
“If that’s the goodbye I get when I’m only going to be gone a day, what do I have to look forward to if I have to be out of town overnight?”
“I was just realizing how nice it’s going to be to get used to you, to take you for granted, to have your little habits and quirks irritate me.”
“God, you’re a strange woman.” He took her face in his hands. “Am I supposed to look forward to irritating you?”
“And the bickering. Married people tend to bicker. I’m going to call you Maxfield when we bicker.”
“Oh, hell.”
“I think that’ll be fun. I really can’t wait until we fight about household expenditures or the color of the bathroom towels.” And as that was perfect truth, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him enthusiastically again. “Travel safe.”
“I’ll be home by eight, earlier if I can
manage it. I’ll call.” He pressed his face into the curve of her shoulder. “I’ll think of something to bicker about.”
“That’s so sweet.”
He eased away, leaned down to pet Henry, who was trying to nose between them. “Take care of my girl.” He hefted his briefcase, gave Laine a quick wink, then walked to his car.
She waved him off, then, as promised, shut the door and locked it.
She didn’t mind the early start. She’d go into town, take a closer look at her stock to see what she might want to transfer to her home. She’d take Henry for a romp in the park, then make some calls to see about repairing some of her damaged furniture, and make arrangements to have what she considered a lost cause removed.
She could indulge herself by surfing some of the bridal sites on-line, drooling over gowns and flowers and favors. Laine Tavish was getting married! Delight had her doing a quick dance that inspired Henry to race in mad circles. She wanted to buy some bridal magazines, but needed to go to the mall for that, where she could buy them without causing gossip in town. Until she was ready for town gossip.
She wanted a big, splashy wedding, and it surprised her to realize it. She wanted a gorgeous and ridiculously expensive dress. A once-in-a-lifetime dress. She wanted to spend hours agonizing over flowers and music and menus.
Laughing at herself, she started upstairs to dress for the day. Snapping back into place, she thought. Her normal life had taken a hard, unexpected stretch, but it was snapping right back into the normal. Was there anything more normal than a woman dreaming about her wedding day?
“Need to make lists, Henry. Lots and lots of lists. You know how I love that.”
She buttoned up a tailored white shirt, slipped on trim navy pants. “Of course, we have to set a date. I’m thinking October. All those beautiful fall colors. Rusts and umbers and burnt golds. Rich colors. It’ll be a bitch to get things organized in time, but I can do it.”
Imagining, she twisted her hair into a single French braid, tossed on a jacket with tiny blue-and-white checks.
A romp in the park first, she decided, and slipped into comfortable canvas flats.
She was halfway downstairs when Henry gave a series of alarmed barks and raced back up again.
Laine froze where she was, then rolled to her toes as her heart slammed against her ribs. Before she could follow Henry’s lead, Jack strolled out of the living room to the bottom of the steps.
“That dog go to get his gun?”
“Dad.” She shut her eyes, caught her breath. “Why do you do this? Can’t you just knock on the damn door?”
“This saves time. You always talk to the dog?”
“Yes, I do.”
“He ever talk back?”
“In his way. Henry! It’s all right, Henry. He won’t hurt you.” She continued down, letting her gaze pass over the dyed hair, the rumpled suit. “Working, I see.”
“In my way.”
“Looks like you slept in that suit.”
“I damn well did.”
The bite in his tone had her lifting her brows. “Well, don’t snap at me, Jack. It’s not my fault.”
“It is your fault. We need to have a talk. Elaine.”
“We certainly do.” Voice crisp, she nodded, then turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen. “There’s coffee, and some apple muffins if you’re hungry. I’m not cooking.”
“What are you doing with your life?”
His explosion had Henry, who’d bellied in to test the waters, scramble back to the doorway.
“What am I doing with my life? What am I doing?” She rounded on him, coffeepot in hand. Her heated response tore through Henry’s fear to find his courage. He barreled in, glued himself to Laine’s side and tried out a snarl in Jack’s direction.
“It’s all right, Henry.” Pleased, and considerably surprised by his defense, Laine reached down to soothe the dog. “He’s not dangerous.”
“I could be,” Jack muttered, but some of his temper faded into relief that the dog had some spirit.
“I’ll tell you what I’m doing with my life, Dad. I’m living my life. I have a house, a dog, a business, a car—and payments. I have a plumber.” She gestured with the pot, and nearly sloshed coffee over the rim. “I have friends who haven’t actually done time, and I can borrow a book from the library and know I’ll actually still be here when it’s due back. What are you doing with your life, Dad? What have you ever done with your life?”
His lips actually trembled before he firmed them and managed to speak. “That’s a hell of a way for you to talk to me.”
“Well, it’s a hell of a way for you to talk to me. I never criticized your choices, because they were yours and you were entitled to make them. So don’t you criticize mine.”
His shoulders hunched; his hands retreated to his pockets. And Henry, vastly relieved that his valor wouldn’t be tested, stood down. “You’re spending nights with a cop. A cop.”
“He’s a private investigator, and that’s beside the point.”
“Beside the—”
“What I’m doing is spending nights with the man I love and am going to marry.”
“Ma—” He made several incoherent sounds as the blood drained out of his face. He gripped the back of a chair, slowly sank into it. “Legs went out. Lainie, you can’t get married. You’re just a baby.”
“I’m not.” She set the pot aside, went to him and put her hands gently on his cheeks. “I’m not.”
“You were five minutes ago.”
Sighing, she slid onto his lap, rested her head on his shoulder. Henry tiptoed over to push his head through the tangle of legs and lay it sympathetically on Jack’s knee.
“I love him, Daddy. Be happy for me.”
He rocked with her. “He’s not good enough for you. I hope he knows that.”
“I’m sure he does. He knows who I am. Who we are,” she said, and drew back to watch Jack’s face. “And it doesn’t matter because he loves me. He wants to marry me, make a life with me. We’ll give you grandchildren.”
The color that had come into his cheeks faded away again. “Oh now, let’s not rush that far ahead. Let me settle into the idea that you’re not six anymore. What’s his name?”
“Max. Maxfield Gannon.”
“Fancy.”
“He’s from Savannah, and he’s wonderful.”
“He make a good living?”
“Appears to—but then, so do I.” She brushed at his dyed hair. “Are you going to ask all the clichéd father-of-the-bride questions now?”
“I’m trying to think of them.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just know he makes me happy.” She kissed his cheek, then rose to deal with the coffee.
Absently, Jack scratched Henry behind the ears, and made a friend for life. “He left pretty early this morning.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t like you watching the house, Dad. But yes, he left early.”
“How much time do we have before he gets back?”
“He won’t be back until tonight.”
“Okay. Laine, I need the diamonds.”
She took out a mug, poured his coffee. She brought it to the table, set it in front of him, then sat. Folded her hands. “I’m sorry, you can’t have them.”
“Now you listen to me.” He leaned forward, gripped the hands she’d folded on the table. “This isn’t a game.”
“Isn’t it? Isn’t it always?”
“Alex Crew, may he rot in everlasting, fiery hell, is looking for those stones. He’s killed one man, and he’s responsible for Willy’s death. Has to be. He’ll hurt you, Laine. He’ll worse than