by Nancy Gideon
Kip put an arm about his brother, squeezing hard. “She’s alive, Row. She’s alive.”
“What?”
Kip grinned. “She’s alive. Look for yourself.”
Almost afraid to hope, Turow directed his attention to the still form stretched out before him. That soul-twisting grief crushed about his chest all over again, the pressure threatening to explode his already shattered heart.
Then her lips parted with a faint sigh.
“Syl? Sylvia?”
The tentative stroke of his fingertips along her cheek seemed restorative. She moaned softly, wincing as she attempted to move.
“Easy, baby. Easy.” He didn’t bother to knock the tears from his face, grinning wide as her eyes finally opened. “Are you okay?”
“I’m seeing two of you, and both of you look beautiful.” She drifted for a moment then frowned as she looked up at him again. “What happened?”
“You did the most impossibly stupid and incredibly brave thing.”
“I did? What did I do?”
“You pushed me out of the way and took a bullet for Cale.”
“That doesn’t sound like me. Are you sure I didn’t trip?”
His smile wavered. “Pretty damned sure. Why would you do that, Syl? It should have been me, not you.”
“Everyone cares about you. You’re the only one who’d miss me. It seemed like a good thing at the time.”
For a long moment, he lost the power of speech. He struggled to get around emotions crowding up in his throat to scold, “You’re wrong. Cale is my job. Your job it to think of me. Just me.”
She lifted her hand to fit a palm to his wet cheek. He pushed into it, eyes closing as she whispered, “Just you. Okay.”
He put an unsteady hand over hers to squeeze harder than he intended. He couldn’t make himself let go. “Losing you would’ve killed me a lot more painfully than that bullet. I thought—”
He swallowed hard, unable to finish. Finally, he was able to kiss the heel of her hand and lean away. “Let’s see the damage your foolishness has done.”
Very carefully, he brushed the sticky mat of hair back from her brow to reveal a nasty furrow that skimmed from eyebrow along temple to a sizable bite out of the top of her earlobe.
“What?” she demanded, alarmed by his expression.
“The good news is if you ever want to wear a gauge in your upper ear, you’ve already got a hole made.”
“How big a hole?”
He smiled. “If anyone can make a fashion trend out of it, it’s you.”
She moaned. “I should have let her shoot Cale.” Then her senses sharpened. “James?”
“Gone. Cale went after him.”
“Rosie? The bitch shot me!”
“And herself. She’d dead.”
She surprised him with her concern. “Poor Wes.”
“He’d mourn you more,” Kip put in.
Turow had forgotten he was there.
“And you’re wrong, Sylvia,” Kip added. “We would have missed you. And it would have been my fault.”
The tremor in his voice didn’t escape her. Sylvia smiled at him. “You’re not the first Terriot to be tricked by a female into letting your guard down. Right, my prince?”
Turow grunted a response.
Cale returned alone. He stepped around Rosie’s body without a downward glance and crouched beside Sylvia, opposite his brothers.
“James?” Kip asked faintly.
“Gone. He’ll pop up again. He always does. Don’t worry.” He leaned closer to examine Sylvia’s injury. “That’ll leave an impressive scar. What the hell were you thinking?”
“That he’s worth more to you than I am.”
A smile twitched at her blunt summation. “Yesterday, I wouldn’t have argued with you. But today . . .” He shrugged. “You didn’t have to step in front of me.”
“You’re my king. It’s my job to protect you, too. Even if you are an ass.”
Cale’s grin split wide. He planted a light kiss on her lips with a softly uttered, “Thanks again.” Then he straightened, reaching across her to lightly punch Turow’s shoulder. “And thank you for the thought.”
Very carefully, Turow gathered Sylvia up in his arms and stood. “Let’s get you someplace more comfortable.”
“That big tub at Cale’s place would be nice,” she murmured, nuzzling in against his neck. Shock was beginning to wear off, and a massive percussion section of pain began a drum solo through her skull. To offset it, she simply breathed in. Her male’s scent swirled about her senses, so warm, so familiar, so wonderfully solid and secure. Forever, he’d vowed. That comforted the way nothing else could.
The four of them, all bloodied and ragged, took the service elevator up into the kitchen, where a harried staff was trying to restore order after a soaking from the sprinkler system. No one paid them any attention. As they crossed into the empty lobby, Bart was supervising the removal of those Row and Cale had torn through. He hesitated a beat then approached, directing his question to Turow.
“You, again. Damned if you don’t always leave a mess for me to clean up.”
“Where’s your boss?” Row demanded.
“Hell, I don’t know. But from the looks of it, he won’t be back to sign my paycheck. What happened to Ms. Danner? She run off, too?”
Row’s tone flattened. “No. She won’t be signing checks, either.”
“Guess that means I’m working for this little lady here.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because she’s a one-third owner, and I don’t see the other two around.” He smiled at the female in question. “Any orders, boss?”
“Clean this place up. We’re losing money.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Because it was the safest place, they took the elevator up to the top. Sylvia directed Turow to put her on the couch because she couldn’t stomach the thought of resting in either James’s or Rosalee’s bed.
While Cale tore through the rooms and Kip planted himself at the computers, Turow brought her pain relievers and began to gently wipe the gore from her face.
“How ya doing?”
She smiled up at him. “Couldn’t be better. You found me, you saved me, just like you promised. And I own a hotel, casino and winery. I’m an independent woman at last.”
His smile thinned slightly, but his tone remained as warm as a caress. “Yes, you are. So what are your plans, Ms. Independent Woman?”
“If I felt better, I’d be tearing off your clothes, but I’ll settle for just looking at you for now.”
“And later?”
“I’m going to redecorate. This place reeks of Jamie.”
His knuckles brushed along her jawline. “Sounds like you’re going to be busy.”
“Mmmm. I have to have something to keep me occupied while you’re gone. You’re going after him, aren’t you?” It wasn’t really a question. They both knew he would be. He couldn’t afford to let the trail grow cold. “But for now,” she murmured huskily, tapping a forefinger against her lips, “plant one right here.”
He’d meant it to be a light, loving kiss, but Sylvia had other intentions. Her mouth opened on his, her tongue aggressively flirting with his prowling desires.
“I know where Jamie’s going!”
Kip drew up sharply when he saw what he was interrupting. Sylvia smiled savagely, her hand at the back of Row’s neck, holding his face close to hers. “He’s going to New Orleans.”
Kip blinked. “How did you know?”
“Because he’s looking for something that isn’t there. I might have told him a little white lie.”
Turow grinned wide and kissed her again, this time lustily enough to make his youngest brother blush. Finally, for the sake of decency, she pushed him away.
“Go. You know you want to,” she encouraged.
“I don’t want to,” Row argued.
“But you have to,” she concluded for him. “Take Kip. I’ll hitch a ride hom
e with our king. I need to get some decent clothes. And see my brother,” she added more somberly.
Turow touched a soft kiss to her lips, whispering, “I should be with you.”
“You will be. I’m never without you, my prince.” She gave him a push. “Find the son-of-a-bitch.” Her smile grew wicked. “And give Colin a kiss from me. With tongue.”
Watching him leave wasn’t as hard as she had anticipated.Freshly garbed and patched with an itchy bandage taped to throbbing brow, Sylvia gave crisp orders to Bart. He seemed to have no problem taking them from a female once she’d given him a pay hike, and promised her the High Roller would be sanitized and reopened for business that evening. While Kip brought the car around, Cale and Turow had a sober exchange, and then Row turned to take her into his arms. She longed to linger there for the rest of her life.
“You be careful,” she ordered, holding on to him as hard as she could to impress every detail of his body upon hers. “And be kind to Kip. He needs a friend and a brother.”
“I will,” he promised. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Miss me.”
“I already do. Row,” she called as he started to turn away. When he paused, she was in his arms again, her mouth mashing hard and fierce on his own. When the kiss gentled, she whispered, “I love you, Turow. Leaving you is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Don’t ever forget that.”
“I won’t,” he vowed. He pulled her hand forward and pressed his Terriot diamonds into her palm, curling her fingers over them. “These are yours. Don't let them out of your sight again.”
As he strode to the car, they were all distracted by a sound overhead. Their king’s ride had arrived.
Sylvia caught a quick nap as the helicopter sped back up to their mountaintop. Cale was a quietly pensive companion. They touched down to find Wesley and Kendra waiting. Kendra raced into her mate’s arms, the rotor wash tumbling her hair and scattering her tears. Wesley waited for Sylvia to come to him, his expression still, his posture guarded.
“I’m so sorry, Wes,” she began, words choking up almost immediately.
“Cale told me what happened. How could I have been so blind?” The smooth veneer cracked, inviting her to seek his arms. They clung together for long, silent minutes. “This is my fault,” he said last.
“No. It’s hers. Hers and Jamie’s. They’re the only ones to blame here. Don’t you forget that.”
She’d try to take her own advice.
Cale approached in his all-business strut, an arm tight about Kendra’s waist. “Wes, gather our brothers. We need to talk.”
As the two of them went about their clan business, Kendra regarded her one-time nemesis.
“You saved his life.”
Sylvia tried to shrug it off. “I got in the way.”
Kendra didn’t buy her attempt at humility. “Thank you. I can never repay you.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Anything. Just ask.”
Sylvia surprised her. “Be careful.”
The grim warning wasn’t brushed off by the Terriot queen. “Of what?”
“James’s plan isn’t just to take down Cale. He wants to destroy his entire legacy. Don’t trust anyone. You still have enemies out there. And maybe closer to home.”
Kendra’s hands went protectively to her abdomen.
James was right about one thing. Nothing changed with her Savoir of Their King status. The heroic badge Sylvia wore on her brow did nothing to warm the Terriot clan to her return. She’d known better than to think it would, but for Turow’s sake, she’d hoped. For him, she’d do her best to pretend it didn’t matter, that she wasn’t bothered by the narrowed glares, that she didn’t hear the nasty whispers. She didn’t care what they thought or said. She only cared how those words and deeds would affect her mate. For him, she would move public opinion if it killed her . . . or all of them.
So after she’d changed, opting for a simple white sheath with medallions of black lace capping her shoulders and outlining her sides to accentuate her curves, with Turow’s mother’s jet necklace around her neck and bright Terriot diamonds flashing with every careful turn of her head, she called the clan females together. And out of curiosity, they all attended.
“You know of the threat to our king, and our princes’ determination to protect him. But another threat's been made against the child our queen carries.”
Astonishment was followed by anxious murmurs.
“What kind of threat?” Fawn demanded.
“One we can’t afford to ignore. As women, not all of us are mothers, but we had them, some good, some, like mine, not so good. We have siblings we love. We hold nothing more sacred than the lives of those who are helpless. Someone conspires against the life of our future king. . . or queen.”
“Who’d know that better than you?” Fawn sneered.
“Exactly. I would know, and so you’d better take me seriously when I say our men may be out there fighting battles, but our battle is here at home, to protect our future generation. I’ve warned you, and now it’s up to all of you to decide how best to use that information. I know you don’t give a hot damn about me. This isn’t about me. It’s about a woman and her child, and we can’t stand by and see them harmed. I have no intention of forcing myself upon any of you, so I’ll just leave you with that warning to do with as you will.”
Sylvia turned and readied to walk away when Sadie Terriot, Derrick’s widow and mother of his children, called out, “What would you do?”
And just like that, she was back on the inside.
While Kendra waited in the front hall, speaking quietly to Wesley, Sylvia climbed the stairs that led to her past. Wes still used the room he’d stayed in as a child, the room until recently he’d shared with Rosalee. From the looks of it, he’d been sleeping on the couch downstairs since he heard the news from Cale that she wasn’t returning.
Across the hall, behind that closed door, lay the building block memories of who she’d become. She didn’t open it. Someday, another day, she’d address those things, some held dear, some despised. Not today. Today was about the future, not the past.
She continued on to the final door that led to her parents’ bedroom, again hesitating as the ghosts of the child she’d been wound about her, leaving their cold, shivery touches against her skin. Taking a deep breath, she turned the crystal knob and pushed it open.
The only time Sylvia had been allowed across the threshold was to face her mother’s punishments, and as her father lay dying in the big poster bed. The air hung heavy with a child’s terrors and a woman’s remorse. Shaking both off, she strode determinedly to the window to throw open heavy drapes, letting in a searing winter sunlight to slice through shadows and light her way. Seeing her goal, Syl moved past the darkness of her memories. The batten-board panel leading to a tiny attic space where she’d crouched, whimpering and alone, for endless hours to atone for minor defiance. The dressing table where her mother had stood brushing out the hair of a fifteen-year-old girl with crisp strokes, plotting the way to the throne by placing her child beneath the princes in the House of Terriot. To the large portrait on the wall.
They’d posed for it two weeks before her father died—before her father was murdered. An affluent, happy family. A lie. Her father, pale even then from the poisons probably coursing through him, yet so handsome her heart ached, wearing the expensive Armani suit her mother insisted upon—the one he’d be buried in two short weeks later. His smile was small, a bit mystified, as if unsure of his place in the intimate grouping. Not so, Martine Terriot. She stood fierce and proud, her hands possessively clutching her children’s shoulders, beautiful, powerful, radiating a savage control. Wesley, sleek in his designer suit, Terriot diamonds the only bit of fire in his stance, posed stiff and uncomfortable beside his half-sister.
Sylvia remembered the dress she’d worn, a dark blood-red satin, styled too old for a child her age. Her choice, a fluffy sea green, had been dismissed with a curt admonition of, “That’s not
who you are. You are what they see, and they will not see silly or weak. You are my daughter. Never forget that.”
How could she? Her own personality had been beaten, bent and driven from her before it had had a chance to explore, buried beneath the dirt shoveled onto her father’s casket.
That pretty puppet wasn’t who she was now.
Sylvia studied the picture with its attractive false faces then gripped the heavy frame, yanking it free. Revealing the state-of-the-art safe built into the wall behind it.
Carefully, palms damp, she entered the passage numbers from the play into the keypad. A quiet click, and the door opened to reveal, as if to Pandora, all the secrets of her mother’s black heart. Her journals. Her notes. Her recipes.
The key to saving their clan.
Turow unlocked the door to the chalet, finding it dim and quiet. He knew instantly Sylvia wasn’t there. When would the awful terror that maybe she’d left him stop being the first thing that gripped him?
He took a calming breath, her presence teasing like a whisper. How long had she been gone?
He moved faster than he should have considering his condition-she’d chew him out good for not watching his back as carefully as he’d promised-hurrying into the bedroom to check the closets. His confidence stumbled.
One of her bags was gone.
Over the time that had passed since he’d left on James’s trail, he hadn’t been able to reach her, leaving increasingly terse messages with Cale to have her call. Silence. He wasn’t sure he could believe his brother’s vague promises that she was fine.
He caught sight of a folded piece of paper on the nightstand. It took a long, shaky moment for him to reach for it, then he was distracted by the flash of a single Terriot diamond falling from the card, one from the pair he’d given her. He held his breath and opened the note.
The first thing he saw was that little heart drawn instead of her name.
Row’s own heart jumpstarted.
“Hey, handsome. I’m wearing the other one and not much else.”
A heavy pulse stirring in his groin, he smiled as he fixed the lone ear stud in his right lobe and continued to read.