Lucifer's Lover

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  “Hi, Lindsay.” The male voice wasn’t Luke’s.

  “Hi.” She frowned. “Who is this?”

  “It’s Doug Anderson, Lindsay. How are you?”

  “Just fine, thank you.” She was pleased at the breezy tone that emerged, despite the little spurt of anger that shot through her. Well, she certainly didn’t have to suffer the formalities for him, anyway. “How can I help you?” Cut to the chase, Doug, I don’t have to give you my time any more.

  “Uh…well… Let me see. It’s about Luke Pierse.”

  “What about him?” Her tone was a little sharper than she intended.

  “It’s come to my attention that you…ah…enjoyed something more than a working relationship with him…and, well, don’t get me wrong—I’m not calling about that precisely…but I thought…”

  She could hear his labored silence and sensed he was deeply embarrassed by the subject.

  Something important had forced him to call despite his reluctance.

  The realization gave Lindsay the necessary patience to wait him out silently.

  “I thought you might know where he is,” Doug finished quickly, pushing it out in a fast breath.

  She frowned. “If he’s not at the office, he must be out on an appointment. Really, Doug, I think you’ve got the wrong impression about the relationship between Luke and me. I don’t know his movements from day to day. I haven’t spoken to him in over a week.”

  Not since Christmas Eve, when you fired me.

  “Oh.” He seemed almost downcast by her answer.

  “Doesn’t Timothy keep his diary? He must know where he is.”

  “It’s not quite like that,” Doug responded and he sounded almost apologetic. “He’s gone missing.”

  “Missing? What does that mean?” Her voice was rising, despite her control.

  “It means, for over a week now he hasn’t shown up for work.”

  The pulse in her temple began to pound heavily, hurting. “Have you rung him at home?”

  “Of course. I got Timothy to call around at the apartment. No answer.”

  “He could be out. He works at a project over on the east side—”

  “I tried calling at midnight one night. I figured risking getting yelled at for waking him was justified but there was no answer.”

  She was getting a massive headache. She pushed at her temple. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve done in a week? Just phone and call around?”

  “Well, I called you,” Doug said, laughing a little.

  “Doug, most people are officially listed as missing after twenty-four hours and you let it go for a week? What are you? Inhuman?”

  “He’s a grown man, Lindsay. You want me to add him to the list of homeless kiddies?”

  Why not? He is one. The voice spoke with acrid sourness in her mind.

  “What if he needs help, Doug? You know he has no family here. You’re in a privileged position and you’ve sat on your thumb for a week. More than a week!”

  “Luke need help? That man has more lives than the devil himself. He’ll probably turn up in a couple of days time with a massive hangover and a few more stories to tell. He’s causing us a hell of a problem here, let me tell you. It’s very irresponsible of him to just take a dive like this. I’m concerned, yes but I have to think about the hotel. Right now, that’s my major concern.”

  “Your major concern?” Lindsay forced her lungs to work, to draw breath. “Doug, you’re a complete, utter idiot. You make me sick.”

  She slammed the phone down, wishing it was Doug’s head she was dumping it on.

  Edward looked up from the paperback in his hands. “Doug is the new hotel manager, isn’t he?”

  She nodded and walked toward the French doors, trying to think past the heavy beat of her heart and the buzzing in her mind.

  “Lindsay?” Edward’s voice pulled her around to face him.

  “Luke’s missing, Dad. He’s been gone a week or more. And those…those…imbeciles didn’t even have the commonsense to send up any sort of alarm. They only phoned me because their marketing department is grinding to a halt and they don’t like it. Men!”

  “Where do you think Luke is, then?”

  “That’s easy.” She shrugged. “New York.”

  “Where in New York? It’s a big place.”

  “I don’t know.” She bit her lip. “But I’m going to find out.” She headed for her car keys.

  “And when you find out?” her father called after her.

  She didn’t answer, because she had no proper answer to give. There were so many factors involved, least of all Luke’s mysterious life in New York. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest easily until she had found him and assured herself he was alright, for she had a niggling fear that perhaps it was her fault he’d skipped to New York. With the hotel ready to lynch him, her guilt was doubled.

  It wouldn’t do for her to get him fired, as well.

  So, she had to find him. She just had no idea what she was going to do when she did find him.

  * * * * *

  Luke’s apartment was dim and silent. And very empty.

  She checked the milk in the fridge. Sour to the point of solidness and she hastily pushed the carton away from her nose. Her stomach was queasy enough these days.

  The milk confirmed her guess. Luke had been gone for days, at least.

  She looked around the apartment, looking for clues. Everything was as neat and tidy, as unlived-in, as usual. There were no hasty signs of decamping, no open drawers that might have hinted at hurried packing.

  But then, she’d seen Luke step on the plane to New York with no luggage at all and return the next Monday in a different suit and clean shirt. That had been one of the details that had let her think he had an apartment in New York, still.

  But Luke was human and had to operate in a culture that documented everything. He couldn’t move without generating a paper trail of some sort, even in sleepy Deerfoot Falls.

  She dropped her keys on the table and headed for the bureau next to his bed and opened the first drawer. Socks, ties and a small velvet box that opened to reveal male jewelry—cuff links, tie pins and even a set of old-fashioned shirt collar studs.

  It was strangely intimate, fingering through someone else’s possessions when they were not present.

  She shut the box with a snap, guilt slicing through her and turned to the next drawer with a deep breath. There was obviously no paperwork in the first drawer. She had to stay focused. She needed a clue to start looking for him.

  She needed a place to start finding out about the real Lucifer Furey Pierse.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Manhattan looked as glittery and intimidating as she remembered it, even from this distance.

  Lindsay stood at the foot of a long, uneven row of headstones. Far away the spires and towers of Manhattan punched into a dark gray sky. From here, she could only see a slip of water. A cold, biting wind whipped around the headstones before her, making her eyes tear and her ears ache.

  The headstones were endless, marching down the shallow bowl before her and up the other side of the hill to crown the top in a gapped-toothed row.

  In the middle of the dip in the land a group of people huddled around an open grave. The grave was the reason she was here. This was where Luke’s trail had ended.

  She pulled her coat around her more firmly. She was reluctant to walk down the slope to the grave. She didn’t want to face this. She didn’t want to have to deal with it.

  The knot of people was slowly breaking up and they began moving away. Some followed the path that Lindsay stood on and they would eventually pass her.

  Time to move.

  She walked down the slope as quickly as she could manage, fighting the cold with movement. Couples and individuals passed her, barely looking up from their preoccupation and their downcast stare at their feet.

  There was only one mourner left at the graveside by the time she reached it. He didn’t move or
show any sign of noticing her.

  “I’m sorry, Luke,” she offered.

  He did look up then and his only sign of surprise was a slight narrowing of his eyes.

  She was shocked at his appearance. His eyes were bloodshot and tiredness seemed to drag at them. His chin was unshaven and his hair, usually immaculate, was wind-blown and unruly.

  “I supposed I should say something like ‘What on earth are you doing here?’, or ‘how did you find me,’ shouldn’t I?” Even his voice was low, rough.

  “Not if you don’t want to.”

  “I don’t. Your appearance here is inevitable. You wound your way into the rest of my life. You might as well leave your brand on this side of it too.” He sighed.

  She swallowed back the fear his harsh analysis provoked. He was talking like a man with nothing to lose.

  She glanced at the new headstone.

  Stella Pierse Parker.

  “You kept contact with her all these years?” she asked softly. “I thought your father told you she’d gone away because of you.”

  “He did. But later, when he died, I tracked her down. I wanted to apologize, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s when I found out he’d burned the letters she sent me and prevented her from seeing me again. She got married again and after that…”

  Again, the fatalistic shrug.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  Luke was staring at the casket, as if he could see through the wood.

  “Is this… Is Stella the reason you came back to New York every weekend?”

  “Not in the beginning. In the beginning, I just wanted out of Deerfoot Falls so bad. I wanted to be back home. I hated it there. So I came back here every weekend and tried to catch up on a week’s worth of New York living before I dragged my butt back there on the Monday.”

  “Why on earth did you stay if you hated it so much?”

  He pursed his lips, as if he was weighing up his answer. “Well, I had this boss, you see, with a great figure and a mind like a pretzel, sharp as a tack, with a tongue to match…” He looked at her from under his brow.

  She smiled a little. “No, I mean really—why did you stay?”

  “I gave you my answer.” His voice was flat, expressionless.

  She studied him. “More forbidden territory, huh?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You. I’ve got a mental map of all the areas of your life that are off-limits to me. Questions or probing only get me one of your sarcastic answers and make me regret stepping over the line. Forbidden territory.” She tried to suppress the bitter note that emerged and failed.

  The expression that crossed his face was fleeting and hard to define but she thought it contained surprise.

  “I’ve been that bad? To you?”

  She shrugged. “To everyone. That’s sort of why I’m here. Doug at the hotel is ready to fire you. He’s tearing his hair out because he doesn’t know anything about you either and doesn’t know where to find you as a result.”

  “Screw the hotel,” Luke said and there was genuine anger in his voice. “Some things are more important.”

  “Like family,” she added, touching the casket briefly.

  He sighed. “Yes, I guess Stella was family. To me, anyway.”

  “I know she had cancer. I was at the hospital yesterday. They told me you visited her every weekend. All weekend, almost.”

  “They talk too much,” he growled.

  “But Luke, don’t you see? If you’d only talked to me about this, I wouldn’t have had to sneak around behind your back figuring it all out.” The protest emerged on a wave of vexation and sorrowful empathy. “I could have…helped. I could have—”

  “What? Told everyone in Deerfoot Falls so they could feel sorry for me?”

  She tilted her head at him, pinning him with an irritated expression. “I could have… I don’t know!” She lifted her hands helplessly. “I could have been there for you.”

  “It was my choice.”

  “Damn it, Luke, stop shutting me out! Stop shutting everyone out! You’re not this undeserving hard case you think you are! You need people whether you like it or not!”

  “I didn’t shut everyone out,” he muttered and rested his hand on the casket.

  “No but I bet you didn’t start visiting her every weekend until the end, when it was too late!”

  His face sagged and this time Lindsay had no trouble reading the hurt there.

  She held out her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I’m… That was unfair. It was a cheap shot.”

  He turned and walked away without a word.

  Lindsay rubbed her forehead wearily. Now what? She’d only had one chance at this and she’d just blown it utterly. She turned and walked back along the path again, her mind a blank. What could she do now? The idea of meekly returning to Deerfoot Falls with her tail tucked between her legs was abhorrent.

  Her heart was shuddering along unhappily, unsteadily and the climb back up the long slope was more taxing than she’d guessed. Halfway along its length, she felt her energy drain as suddenly as water from a tipped glass. She moved onto the verge, to lean against the trunk of a leafless oak, while her heart thudded unpleasantly, echoing in her throat and mind, making her feel a little dizzy.

  Fool. You’ve lost him for all time, she told herself.

  Weak tears pricked at her eyes.

  Oh, stop it! Crying isn’t going to achieve anything.

  Hands, big hands, slid onto her shoulders.

  “Lynds?”

  She suddenly adored the sound of that horrid contraction of her name. And she gulped back her tears, trying to hide them.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she told him.

  His hands were trying to turn her around and she swiped at her eyes quickly, before turning to look at him.

  “Fine, huh?” he asked and touched the skin below her eye and held up the moist tip.

  “No, really, it’s just—” She halted, unwilling to speak it aloud.

  “The baby?” he finished. His expression was neutral, the eyes narrowed and guarded.

  “It’s perfectly normal to cry at the drop of a hat,” she said defensively.

  “I know.”

  “You do?” The idea that Luke had any experience with pregnancies and babies was ridiculous.

  “My sister has just had her first child. I’ve suffered through her hormone swings.”

  “Your sister?” It wasn’t the first time he’d mentioned a sister. “But you were an only child.”

  “Stella’s daughter, Kim,” he amended, with a shrug. “It’s a courtesy title. It wasn’t my idea.”

  “No, it wouldn’t have been,” she said mildly. She looked over his shoulder. “I thought you were halfway back to Manhattan.”

  He shook his head. “You and your uncompromising truth. How could I walk away from that? Your cheap shot was dead on target, Lynds. You were right.” He smiled a little. “I don’t know why I do it but I do. I lock people out.” He glanced away, toward the hill she had stood upon when she’d first arrived.

  He’s uneasy, she realized.

  He held out his hand. “Let me make up for that. Let me show you New York. My New York.”

  * * * * *

  Luke’s car was a long-nosed, sleek black thing that Lindsay could almost hear purring, sitting there at the curb.

  “What is it?” she asked, looking for a badge to identify it.

  “Porsche,” Luke said, opening the passenger door for her.

  “I’ve seen lots of Porsches and they’re nothing like this.”

  He grinned. “I don’t doubt it. This one’s an antique. I’ve been driving myself crazy for ten years trying to keep open the supply lines for spare parts on this thing.”

  She settled herself into the car as Luke got behind the wheel.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Coffee, first.”

  “Decaf,” she qualifi
ed.

  “Of course. And something to eat for you. You’re too pale.”

  His judicious comment pleased her in a small, warm way. He cared, then. A little.

  The coffee house was deep in Manhattan. Luke used the Brooklyn Bridge and negotiated through the congested midday traffic with experienced ease. It was fascinating watching him nose the car through gaps that seemed too small and accelerate away from snarls scot-free.

  He glanced at her once and grinned. “What?”

  “You drive like a rally driver.”

  “This? This is nothing. After a winter of unplowed icy roads around Deerfoot, this is a walk in the park.”

  She frowned.

  “What?” he prompted.

  “I know so little about you.”

  He was quiet for a long moment. “That’s why you’re here, remember?”

  The coffee house was almost invisible from the street, to the point where the casual passer-by would not even suspect it was there. Luke had to take her arm and steer her toward the tucked away door.

  But inside, the place was a noisy swarm of colorful-looking characters that only New York could assemble.

  “Hey, Luke!”

  “Lucifer!”

  The calls were bellowed across the clatter and conversation and Luke lifted his hand in greeting to people that she couldn’t quite pick out of the crowded room.

  She’d dressed in her smartest dark business suit but the few people dressed in office clothes that she could see were the last word in sophisticated fashion.

  The rest were an eclectic mix of every trend and fringe group and street-smart dressing possible.

  Only in New York.

  “Doesn’t anybody work around here?” she murmured, feeling like a country hick, suddenly.

  “Some of the people here are working,” Luke said. He nodded toward one of the tiny tables tucked under the window, where a rugged, handsome man in a sagging blue sweater and jeans was sipping an espresso and smoking a long thin black cigar, a bored expression on his face, while a woman with dyed, vibrant carrot-colored hair who sat opposite to him talked while making wide gestures.

  “What’s his business?” Lindsay asked, curious.

  “He’s a walker.”