by Nora Roberts
Matt went to meet her. Even from the distance, he’d recognized the look in her eyes. “What is it, Laurel?”
Her arms went around him, her cheek to his chest. For a moment, she just needed that—the strength, the promise. The tug-of-war inside her was almost over. It didn’t surprise her that she still loved Louis, or the Louis she’d known. “Matthew, where’s the piece of locket you found in the swamp?”
“I took it to the police lab. They’re going to run some tests.” He drew her away far enough so that he could see her face. “Why?”
Quietly, she drew a breath. Then she straightened and stood on her own. “They’re going to find that it was out in the weather, perhaps covered and uncovered by rain and dirt over and over—for ten years.”
“Ten—” He broke off as understanding came. “It was Elise’s.”
“I remembered where I’d seen it. I just called Heritage Oak and spoke to Binney to be sure. Elise wore that locket every day.”
Because she was pale, because he loved her, Matt chose to play devil’s advocate. “All right, but it’s still not proof. She could’ve lost it in there any time.”
“No, it’s not proof,” Laurel agreed. “But I don’t think there’s a chance that Elise simply lost it there. First, it was too important to her. And second, she didn’t go in there often. She wasn’t afraid the same way Anne was, but she had a healthy respect for the legend. The only times she went in, she went in with Louis. Binney just corroborated.”
He could see the struggle, the emotion, in her eyes. This time he felt none of the frustration, the jealousy, that had plagued him. Gently, he cupped her face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Laurel.”
She caught his wrists in her hands and held tight. “Oh, God, Matthew, so am I.”
“I think we should fill in your father before we leave,” he said carefully. “But we might want to keep it away from Susan for a while. We still don’t have anything solid for the police.”
“No.” Laurel glanced over as she heard Susan’s laugh drift from the garden. “Let’s leave her out of it for now. My father can probably put on enough pressure to reopen the investigation on Anne, and stir one up on Elise and Charles.”
“We’ve got enough,” Matt agreed, watching the struggle on her face, “to start putting pressure in the right places.”
“Oh, God, Matthew, do you realize, if what we’re thinking is fact . . . Louis must be terribly ill. With Charles and Elise it might have been a moment of blind fury, but all these years it would’ve eaten at him. And then to meet Anne.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. Would she ever be able to separate the emotion from the necessity? “He needs help, Matthew. Can you imagine what a dark place he’s been living in all this time?”
“He’ll get help. But, Laurel . . .” He took her shoulders until she dropped her hands and looked at him. “First we have to prove it. I think if we concentrate on the first—on Charles and Elise,” he said carefully, “it’ll lead to Anne. It’s not going to be easy for you.”
“No,” she agreed, “not easy, but necessary.” Watching his eyes, she thought she could almost see the idea forming. “What’re you thinking, Matthew?”
“Pressure,” he murmured. “The right pressure in the right place.” He brought his attention back to her. “Louis must already be on the edge, Laurel, ready to go over. He’s warned you off three times. Just what do you think his reaction would be if he saw that piece of locket?”
“I think—” Laurel’s hand reached automatically for the one in her pocket “—it would break him.”
“So do I.” He slipped an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll have to make another trip to Heritage Oak tomorrow.”
Chapter 12
The clutter of notes was still spread over Laurel’s drop-leaf table with the wrappers and cardboard of their takeout meal. Clothes—hers and some of his—were scattered over the floor. Laurel closed the door behind them and jiggled her keys in her palm.
“You’re a slob, Matthew.”
“Me? It’s your place. Besides—” he nudged his shirt out of his way with his foot and sat down “—you were the one who dragged me to the floor, crazy for my body. And,” he continued when she snorted, “you were the one who pulled me out of here this morning like the building was on fire.”
He was distracting her—she was distracting him—from what hovered around the verges of both their thoughts: Louis Trulane and what to do about him.
“Well, since I’ve already had your body, and brunch,” she added sweetly, “you can help me clean up this mess.”
“Better idea.” Rising, he yanked her into his arms. “Let’s add to it.”
“Matthew!” But his mouth crushed down on hers. His fingers were making quick work of the zipper at the back of her dress. “Stop it!” Half laughing, half in earnest, she struggled against him. “You’re crazy. Don’t you ever think about anything else?”
“Sometimes I think about eating,” he confessed, then nipped, none too gently, at her collarbone.
“Matthew, this is ridiculous.” But the quick heating of her blood told her otherwise. “It was only a few hours ago that—oh.”
“I’m hungry again,” he murmured, then devoured her mouth.
God, he was making her head spin. With her dress already down to her waist, Laurel tried to pull away. “Stop. There’s things we have to talk about, and—”
“Mmm, a reluctant woman.” He dragged her against him again. “That gets my lust cells moving.”
“Your what?” she demanded, choking on a laugh.
“Just watch.” Before she realized what he was up to, she was slung over his shoulder.
“Bates! Have you lost your mind?”
“Yeah.” He pulled the dress the rest of the way off as he headed for the bedroom. Carelessly, he dropped it at the doorway, sending her shoes to follow. “Blame it on the lust cells.”
“I’ll tell you what I think about your lust cells,” she began, but the wind rushed out of her as she landed on the bed beneath him.
Then he was taking her back to places she’d been, but so swiftly, so immediately, she couldn’t keep up. Relentless, he wouldn’t allow her to fall behind. Bright streams of color seemed to burst inside her head while her body was consumed with pleasure, such hot, liquid, throbbing pleasure.
No thought. No words. She could only feel and feel and feel. The rest of her clothes were gone. Had she heard something rip? Did it matter? Her body was wild to be touched, tasted, to experience all the mad things he seemed determined to do.
Emotions exploded in her, poured out of her. Oh, God, she was so free, so wonderfully free. Pleasure was an absence of pain, and she felt only pleasure in his hands, his lips, the taste of his tongue inside her mouth, the feel of his flesh beneath her fingers.
Excitement, heady, steamy excitement. Liberation. Soaring, half crazy with delight. The knowledge that her life would be splashed with moments like this made her laugh aloud. The next moment he had her gasping. She locked her arms around him as her world rocked and spun.
He took her on a roller coaster of sensations, plummeting down, climbing, climbing, only to whip blindly around a turn to fall again. Weightless, helpless, with the air rushing in her lungs and her heart thundering in her ears.
Then he plunged into her, driving her over that last, giddy hill.
When she could breathe again without gasping, when she could think without pooling all her concentration onto one word, Laurel slid a hand across his chest. He was lying on his back, possibly, she thought, just possibly, as enervated as she.
Laurel turned her face into his shoulder. “You did that more for me than yourself.”
Matt gave a weak laugh. “I’m a real Samaritan. No lengths I won’t go to to serve my fellow man.”
“Matthew.” Laurel shifted, so that she lay over him, her head supported just under his by her folded arms. “You knew I was tense, trying not to be. You knew I didn’t want to think about what’s going to h
appen, even though I have to. I was being a coward.”
“No.” He brushed the hair back from her face. “You were being human. You needed to wipe it away for a little while, blank it out. I did, too.” He smiled, with the touch of irony in the lifted brow. “This was better than an aspirin.”
She managed to match the smile. “You’ll have to keep yourself available every time I have a headache.” She lowered her face to kiss his chest, then lifted it again. “Matthew, I can handle this. I can.”
Maybe, he thought. Maybe not. But he’d give her the first test. “Okay. I want to run over to the lab and get the locket back whether it’s been tested yet or not. I’d feel better if I had it.”
Laurel nodded, accepting. “And in the morning, we take it out to see Louis.”
I take it out, he corrected silently, but merely nodded. That was something he’d deal with when the time came. “If he doesn’t just fall apart at that, we’ll have a lot of legwork to do, but we bring the uniforms in.”
“Agreed,” she said simply. Her heart was already numb.
He sat up, wondering just where he’d tossed his clothes. “Do you want to come with me now?”
“No.” She let out a deep breath. What had her grandmother said? Life—you have to live it. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do for you, Bates, and believe me, you’re the first man I’ve offered this to.”
He was standing, pulling on his slacks. The grin tilted. “Fascinating.”
“I’m going to cook you dinner.”
“Laurel, I’m—overwhelmed.”
“You might be a great deal more than that after you eat it,” she murmured.
“We could always eat out.”
“Don’t be a coward,” she said absently, wondering just what she had in the freezer that could be used. “Better pick up some wine.” Kneeling, she buttoned up the rest of his shirt for him herself. “And some bicarbonate,” she added, laughing up at him.
“Bicarbonate,” he murmured. “That doesn’t inspire confidence.”
“No, but it’d be a smart move.”
“I shouldn’t be long.”
“Take my door key in case I’m involved in the kitchen. And, Matthew,” she murmured, sliding her arms around his neck, “make sure you control those lust cells until you get back.”
He kissed her, then gave her a friendly pat on the bottom. “An hour,” he promised before he strolled out.
An hour, Laurel mused, and stretched her arms to the ceiling as she heard the front door close. That should give her time enough to try her hand at being domestic.
It didn’t take her long to deal with the disorder of the apartment, or to realize just how smoothly Matt had eased out of helping. She decided that having to eat her cooking would be punishment enough for him. Going to the kitchen, she poked in the refrigerator.
A little juice, less milk, two pounds of butter. Two pounds, Laurel mused. How had that happened? Still, there was the makings for a salad in the vegetable bin. A start. Maybe a casserole, she decided. She was almost sure she had a cookbook around somewhere.
Fifteen minutes later, she was elbows deep in the beginnings of a tuna-and-macaroni dish that the cookbook promised was foolproof. With a glance around the now cluttered and disarranged kitchen, she smirked. Whoever wrote the book didn’t know Laurel. She was going over the next step when the phone rang.
Matt, she thought, dusting off her hands as she went to answer. He probably wants to know if I’d like him to pick up some take-out Chinese. You’re not getting off that easy, Bates. Grinning, she answered.
“Hello.”
“Oh, Laurel, thank God you’re home.”
Tension banded the back of her neck immediately. “Marion? What is it?”
“Laurel, I didn’t know what to do. Who else to call. It’s Louis.”
“Is he hurt?” Laurel asked quickly. “Has he been hurt?”
“No—I don’t know. Laurel . . .” Her voice broke and she began to weep.
“Marion, calm down and tell me what’s happened.”
Her breathing rasped into the phone. “I’ve never seen him this bad before. All day, he wouldn’t speak to anyone, but that happens sometimes. Oh, God, Laurel,” she said on a sudden burst of emotion, “it’s been such a strain, worse since Anne . . . Laurel,” she began again, nerves quivering in her voice. “I need help.”
“I’m going to help,” Laurel said as calmly as she could. “What’s happened?”
“Just now, a few minutes ago.” Laurel heard her take a steadying breath. “He flew into a rage. He wasn’t—wasn’t making any sense. He was saying things about Elise, and about Anne. I don’t know—it was as though he’d gotten them mixed up in his mind.”
Laurel pressed her lips together. She had to be calm, had to think straight. “Where is he now?”
“He’s locked himself in his room. He’s raging up there, I can hear the furniture . . . Laurel, he won’t let me in.”
“Marion, call a doctor.”
“Oh, God, Laurel, don’t you think I’ve tried that before? He won’t see one, and he’s never been as—as out of control as this. Please, come. You were always our friend. Louis was so close to you before—before all of this. You might be able to calm him down, and then if I could just figure out what to do so that he’d—he’d get help,” she finished in a whisper. “Laurel, please, I just can’t expose him to strangers the way he is now. I don’t know who else to trust.”
“All right, Marion.” She pictured Louis locked in his room, on the edge of madness. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
“Laurel . . . as a friend, not as a reporter, please.”
“As a friend, Marion.” After hanging up the receiver, Laurel pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes.
***
Matt shifted the bag he carried and slipped Laurel’s key into the lock. “I got red and white,” he called out. “You didn’t say what we were having.” A glance at the living room showed him that Laurel had already tidied up. He was going to hear about that, Matt mused, grinning. “I don’t smell anything burning.”
He swung into the kitchen and lifted a brow. Whatever she was making, it apparently required every inch of counter space. Matt set the wine in the sink—the only place left for it—and shook his head. This was the woman whose notes were always in perfect order? Whose desk was clear and ordered at the end of each day? Dipping his hand into a bowl he drew out a cold, spongy elbow of macaroni.
“Ah, Laurel,” he began, dropping it again. “There’s this little place on Canal Street, great seafood. Why don’t we . . .” He paused at the entrance to the bedroom. Empty. He felt the first prickles of unease. “Laurel?” Matt repeated, pushing open the bathroom door. Empty. Fear washed over him; he pushed it back. She’d just gone out for something she was missing for the recipe. She probably left a note.
When he hurried back into the living room, he found it by the phone. But even before he read it, he didn’t feel relief, only more fear.
Matthew—Marion phoned, very upset. Louis is losing control, talking about Elise and Anne. He’s locked himself in the bedroom. She needs help. I couldn’t say no. Laurel.
“Damn it!” Matt tossed down the note and raced for the door. The fear was still with him.
***
Shadows were lengthening as Laurel turned down the drive toward Heritage Oak. The air was still again in the late-afternoon hush. A bird called out, as if testing the silence, then was quiet again. Even as she stopped the car at the end of the drive, Marion was running down the front steps toward her.
Her hair was loose, her face pale and tear-stained. It ran through Laurel’s mind quickly that she’d never seen Marion so totally lacking in composure.
“Oh, God, Laurel.” Marion grabbed her as if she were a lifeline. “I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t stop him!”
Laurel’s head whipped up, her eyes fixing on the window of Louis’s room. She had a sickening picture of him lying dead by his own ha
nd. “From what? Marion, what has he done?”
“The swamp. He’s gone in the swamp.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. “I think he’s lost his mind. The things he was saying—he pushed me.”
Not dead, Laurel told herself. Not dead. You have to be calm. “What did he say?”
Marion lowered her hands. Her eyes were wide, stricken. “He said,” she began in a whisper, “he said he was going to find Elise.”
“Elise,” Laurel repeated, forcing herself not to give in to the horror of it.
“We have to do something!” Marion grabbed her again. “Laurel, we have to do something, go after him—find him. He’s having a breakdown or—”
“Marion, how can we find him in there? We should call the police.”