by Nora Roberts
“Cross my heart?” he ventured.
“I feel like—something’s watching.”
“Another raccoon?”
“Matthew—”
“Relax.” He cupped the base of her neck in his hand and rubbed, deliberately treating it lightly because he’d felt that trickle between his shoulder blades, as well. Ghost stories, he told himself. He was letting Laurel’s feelings about the place get to him.
If he’d believed such things he’d have said there was something evil in the twisting shadows, something that would shrink from the sunlight. But he didn’t believe in such things. Evil, when it came, came from the human element.
“Too many people have died here,” she said, and shuddered.
He touched her neck again, and his hand, his voice were gentle. “Do you want to go back?”
Oh, God, yes, she thought, but squared her shoulders. “No, let’s go on. You can smell the river now.”
As they came near the banks, she could smell the wet leaves, vegetation, but the river made no sound as it flowed slowly. Cypress trees made lumpy shadows. A few slivers of moonlight worked through the overhanging trees and fell palely on the water, but only made it seem darker. A frog plopped into the river as they approached.
There were alligators in there, Laurel thought, wrinkling her nose. Big ones.
“It was here.” Matt shone his light on the ground. “Laurel, could you still get out of this place if you had to?”
As she followed the play of his light, she was remembering the picture from the police file. Clamping down on her lip, she forced the image from her mind. “Yes, the way we came’s the easiest, I imagine, but almost any direction from here would get you out eventually.”
“Yeah.” He moved around, playing his light on the ground. “Strange that she picked the core of the swamp to give up.” He swore in frustration. Nothing here, he thought, nothing here. What the hell had he expected to find? “I’d like to get my hands on those letters.”
“Whoever took them would’ve destroyed them by now if there was anything in them to work with.”
“I wonder if Susan—” He broke off as the beam of his light picked up a glimmer. Bending, Matt worked a small piece of metal from the ground.
“What is it?”
“Looks like a broken piece of jewelry. Seen better days.” Rising, he turned it over in his hands. “Anne’s?”
Laurel took it from him, wiping away some of the caked-on dirt. “I don’t know, a month in this place . . .” She shone her light on it as some nagging memory teased the back of her mind. “It looks like the front of a locket—expensive, look how intricate the carving is.” The memory lunged toward the front of her mind, then retreated. Laurel shook her head in exasperation. “It’s familiar,” she murmured. “Maybe it was Aunt Ellen’s—Louis could’ve given it to Anne after they were married.”
“We might be able to check it out, for what it’s worth.” Taking it from her, he slipped it into his pocket. Frustrated, he shone his light to the right and down the bank of the river. “Stay here a minute, I want to get a closer look down there.”
“For what?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t feel like I was chasing wild geese.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Laurel, it’s a bog down there. You’ve been lucky avoiding snakes this far. Don’t press your luck.”
She remembered the water moccasins that swam in the river. With a gesture of indifference, she shrugged. “You’ve got two minutes, Bates. Any longer and I’m coming after you.”
“Two minutes.” He kissed her lightly. “Stay here.”
“I’m not moving.”
She watched the beam of his light as he walked away, then made his slippery way down the bank. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but she understood his need to do something. All they’d found so far were more questions, and a broken piece of jewelry.
She frowned again, thinking of it. A childhood memory? she wondered, pushing the hair away from her face. Had she seen that locket when it had been bright and clean—against a white dress? Laurel pressed her fingers to her temple as she tried to bring the image into focus. One of Aunt Ellen’s lacy party dresses? Frustrated, she dropped her hand.
Another minute, Bates, she told him silently. Why was it the small night noises seemed to grow louder now that he wasn’t standing beside her? She shifted uncomfortably as a bead of sweat trickled down her back, leaving a chill in its wake.
It’s just this place, she told herself, refusing the urge to look over her shoulder. In an hour we’ll be back home and I’ll be able to laugh at how I stood here shivering in the heat and imagining goblins at my back. In an hour . . .
The soft rustle at her back had her stiffening. Damn raccoons, Laurel thought on a wave of self-disgust. She opened her mouth to call for Matt when an arm locked around her throat.
Shock registered first, seconds before her body reacted to it, or the abrupt lack of air. In an instinctive move of self-preservation, Laurel jabbed back with her elbow, only to meet empty space as she was shoved away. Her flashlight spun out of her hand as her body whooshed through wild cane. She landed hard, her head slamming back into the base of a cypress.
At the edge of the river, Matt saw the arch of light, then darkness where he’d left Laurel. He plunged up the bank, cursing the slick grass and shouting her name. When he saw her sprawled, his heart stopped—with the vivid picture of Anne Trulane leaping in his mind’s eye. He grabbed her, not gently, and hauled her against him. At her moan, he began to breathe again.
“What the hell’re you doing!” he demanded, rolling with the fury fear had given him.
“I’m having a concussion,” she managed, and shook her head to clear it—a mistake as the ground tilted under her. “Someone pushed me—came up from behind.” She reached gingerly to test the bump at the back of her head, then gripped Matt’s shirtfront with sudden strength as he started to rise. “Oh, no, you’re not leaving me here again.”
Simmering with rage, straining at impotence, he settled beside her again. “All right, just sit a minute.” He ran his fingers through her hair to lift her face to his. “Are you hurt?”
She saw the anger, the concern, the frustration in his eyes. “Not really.” She smiled—her head was throbbing, but that was all. “Just a bump. It didn’t knock me out; I just saw stars—not unlike the ones I saw the first time you kissed me.”
That helped, she thought, feeling the grip of his fingers on her arm relax slightly. But that brooding look was still in his eyes as he searched her face.
“I shouldn’t have left you alone.”
“Matthew, if you’re going to start being macho and guilty, I’ll get cranky.” Leaning forward, she kissed him. “Let’s see if I can stand up.”
With his hands cupping her armpits, he pulled her gently to her feet. No dizziness, she thought, waiting a moment. The throbbing was subsiding to an ache.
“It’s okay, really,” she said when he continued to study her face. “I’ve had worse bumps.”
You won’t have any more while I’m around, he swore to himself viciously, but smiled. “I won’t make any remarks about hard heads. Now, what did you see—besides stars?”
“Nothing.” She let out a frustrated breath. “I was so busy telling myself I wasn’t going to be a fool that I wouldn’t look around when I heard something rustling in the bushes. The next thing I knew someone had an arm around my throat. I hadn’t even started defensive move 21-A when they pushed me into that tree. By the time the stars stopped exploding, you were here and they were gone.”
Whatever grim thoughts of revenge worked in his mind, his touch was gentle as he felt the back of her head. “You’ll have a bump,” he said easily as he forced his jaw to unclench, “but the skin’s not broken.”
“There’s good news.”
Tilting her head back to his, he gave her one long, hard kiss. His hands were steady again, but his temper wasn’t. “Sure you c
an walk?”
“If you mean as in out of here, absolutely. I lost my flashlight.”
“Buy a new one,” he advised as he picked up his own. “It went in the river.”
“Oh, that’s just great. I only bought it a month ago.” She scowled over this as they started back the way they’d come. “Well, I guess we found something after all,” she murmured.
“Yeah. Someone who knows what we’re up to doesn’t like it one damn bit. Lovelorn ghosts don’t shove people into trees, do they, Laurel?”
“No.” And she was thinking, as he was, that the house was close. The people in it knew the swamp.
They walked back in silence, each of them more cautious than before, listening to every sound, second-guessing the shadows. Matt kept Laurel at his side, his hand on hers until they walked into the clear. There wasn’t the faintest glimmer of light from the house in the distance.
The lingering distaste for where they’d been clung to him even after they’d dropped on the other side of the wall. He wanted a shower—a long one.
Laurel didn’t speak again until Heritage Oak was miles behind them.
“We’ll have to talk to Louis and Marion again.”
“I know.” Matt punched in the car lighter. Maybe if he filled his lungs with smoke he’d stop tasting the air of the swamp. “Tomorrow.”
Leaning back, Laurel closed her eyes. And tomorrow was soon enough to think about it. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”
He turned his head to look at her. She was still a bit pale—but even that could’ve been the moonlight. Her voice was steady, her breathing calm. He hadn’t sensed fear in her, not even when she’d been half-dazed and sprawled on the ground. Frustration, yes, annoyance with herself for being caught unaware. But no fear.
With her head back and the shadows dancing over her face, she reminded him forcibly of Olivia. Unique, indomitable, fascinating. Laughing, Matt grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips.
“We’ll order a pizza and take it back home.”
Though she hadn’t a clue what had lightened his mood so abruptly, Laurel went with it. “With everything,” she demanded.
***
It was after two when Laurel pushed away from Matt’s smoked-glass table, stuffed. She couldn’t say his apartment wasn’t what she’d expected because she’d had no idea just what to expect. She did know it showed an easy mode of living—deep, plump cushions, thick carpet, soothing colors all mixed together with a flair for style and a penchant for comfort.
There were neither framed newspapers on his walls nor Picassos, but a set of oils done by an artist she didn’t recognize. Both were of New York, one a cityscape showing its elegance and glitz, the other a street scene with crumbling buildings and cracked sidewalks. Both were excellent in their way, and the contrasts intrigued her. She supposed, in his career there, he’d have seen both sides.
“I’ve reached my limit,” she said when Matt started to slide another piece onto her plate.
“Big talk about eating it, box and all.” Matt bit into the slice he’d offered her.
Picking up her wineglass, Laurel rose to wander the room. Her feet sank into the carpet. “I like your place. You like—” she wiggled her bare toes “—to be comfortable.”
“Most people do.” He watched as she wandered to his stereo to sort through his album collection.
“Mmmm. But not everyone makes an art out of it.” Laurel set a record aside to study the paintings more closely. “These are very good,” she commented. “I don’t recognize the artist, but I have a feeling I’ll be seeing his work again.”
“He’d be glad to hear it.” Matt picked up his own glass, studying her over the rim. The wine was heavy and sweet. “We grew up in the same neighborhood.”
“Really?” Laurel tilted her head, even more interested. “Do you miss it? New York?”
Matt’s gaze flicked up to the painting, then back to the wine in his glass. “No.”
“But you carry it with you.”
“We all carry our baggage around,” he murmured, then got up to stick what remained of the pizza in the refrigerator.
Laurel frowned after him. What brought that on? she wondered, then looked back at the paintings. The same neighborhood, she mused, seeing the soiled streets and tired buildings. When he came out of the kitchen, she was still facing them. “You grew up here.”
He didn’t have to see which painting she was looking at to know what she meant. “Yeah.” He pulled his shirt over his head as he walked. “I need a shower.”
“Matthew.” Laurel went after him, catching his arm outside the bathroom door. She recognized impatience and ignored it. “It was hard, wasn’t it?”
“I survived,” he said indifferently. “Not everyone does.”
Her sympathy was automatic and reflected in her eyes, the touch of her hand on his arm, her voice. “Tell me about it.”
“Just leave it.”
She stared at him, the hurt unexpected and brutally sharp. Her step back was a retreat from it before she straightened her shoulders. “All right, I’m sorry. Thanks for the pizza, Bates. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He took her arm to stop her. “Laurel, you know you can’t stay in your place until the door’s fixed.”
She met his eyes calmly. “Not all of us need locks and bolts, Matthew.”
“Damn it—” He broke off, making a savage effort to keep his temper. He knew he was wound up, still tense from what had happened to her in the swamp, still dazed by what had happened between them in her bed. Emotions were crowding him, and he wasn’t dealing with them well. “Listen, I grew up in a tough little neighborhood on the East Side. It has nothing to do with you. Nothing.”
A dash of salt for the wound, Laurel thought as she stared up at him. “That’s clear enough,” she said evenly. “Let’s just call it professional curiosity and leave it at that.”
“Damn it, Laurel.” He grabbed her by the shoulders when she started to leave again. “You’re not staying in that place alone tonight.”
“Don’t you tell me what I’m going to do.”
“I am telling you,” he tossed back. “And for once you’re going to do what you’re told.”
She gave him a cold, neutral look. “Take your hands off me.”
He started to get angry, but even through his own anger he could see beneath hers to the hurt. On a sigh, he dropped his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t owe me an apology,” she said carefully.
“I do.” When he lifted his head, his eyes were dark and thoughtful. “I hurt you, I didn’t mean to.”
“No, it’s all right.” Without fuel, her temper vanished, leaving only a faint echo of the hurt. “I was prying.”
“No, I—” Matt hesitated, then let it go. He wasn’t ready to drag it all out and look at it again, not with Laurel. “I don’t want to argue with you, Laurel. Look, it’s late, we’ve both had enough to deal with today. I can’t dig back there tonight.”
Her arms went around him. Even if the anger had still lashed at her, she couldn’t have stopped them. “No more questions tonight.”
“Laurel . . .” He covered her offered mouth with his. The tension began to drain, degree by degree, as he filled himself with her. “Stay here,” he murmured. “Stay with me.”
With a sigh, content, accepting, she rested her head on his shoulder. “Do I get shower privileges?”
She heard his low laugh as he nuzzled at her throat. “Sure. But we have to double up. You’ve heard about the water shortage.”
“No, not a word.”
“Really?” He tugged her into the bathroom. “It’s at a crisis stage. Let me tell you about it.”
She was laughing as he drew her shirt over her head.
***
When she got out of the shower, Laurel was flushed and tingling. Clutching a towel at her breasts, she looked up at Matt. “I’m so impressed.” When his grin tilted, she went on blandly, �
��With the fact that you’re such a conservationist.”
“Conservation is my life.” He tugged the towel from her, smiling easily when she gasped. “Gotta cut back on the laundry, too. You know how many gallons of water a washing machine uses?” His eyes swept down her, then up again. “Better get you into bed, you’ll catch a chill.”
Regally, she walked away, leaving Matt to admire the view. “I suppose turning on a light would go against your values.”
“Civic duty,” he corrected, then surprised her by grabbing her around the waist and tumbling onto the bed with her.
Winded, she glared up at him. “Now listen, Bates—”