Liar's Moon

by Heather Graham

  “Leif! My God, it’s all ancient history—”

  “Why weren’t you at the funeral?”

  “Because it was a zoo and you know it!”

  “Ah, yes, it was a zoo! But your entire cast of suspects was present. Your grandfather was there, your mother, and your stepfather. Jamie’s mother, Carol, was there, and Lauren—the second Mrs. Kuger, the grieving widow. And the surviving Limelights—Tiger, Sam, and me. And, of course, Jamie. Only Tracy was missing. Why weren’t you with your mother?”

  “Leif—let me go,” Tracy breathed. She’d never felt so threatened, his palm upon her chin, his fingers long enough to crush her face, his eyes simmering with a brooding intensity that promised a torrential storm.

  He sighed suddenly, releasing her, turning back to the shelves to find the elegant little hotel mugs.

  “Black?” he asked her.

  She was very surprised that he remembered. She nodded, and accepted the mug he handed her, gritting her teeth when she discovered his hand on her elbow, veering her quickly back to the salon, where she found herself seated at his side again.

  “Tracy, you’re going to have to accept something if you really want to catch a killer.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You may be looking to your own family.”

  “And I may not!”

  He shook his head at her, disgusted. “Tracy, you’re being blinded! Tracy, your grandfather hated Jesse. I can still remember everything that happened when he found out about that affair. He was brutal. He didn’t give the two of them a chance.”

  Tracy found herself setting her cup down and flying to her feet. “And maybe he was right! Look at my father’s life! He went through women like he did shirts! He ignored me, then he ignored Jamie! He would have made a rotten, rotten husband—and my stepfather made a wonderful husband and parent!”

  “I thought you loved your father.”

  “I did! Damn you, you have no right to question that! I loved him very much—but I have never pretended that he didn’t have faults, and maybe my grandfather had a right to his feelings! Dad didn’t stay married to Carol, and he probably wouldn’t have stayed married to Lauren—”

  “Did it ever occur to you that Jesse loved your mother? That they might have made it—if they’d ever been given a chance?”

  He voiced the question so softly. She wondered just what Leif knew and what he didn’t know. Almost everything, probably. He and Jesse were like brothers.

  She sucked in her breath suddenly, wishing desperately that he were gone—that he had never reappeared. She had tried so hard. And surely, surely memory had become dim at times. She had loved him; she had hated him. He was here with her now, and though time had passed, he was still the same man. Still so attractive. Alluring in movement, in masculine grace, in the deep tone of his voice. Arrogant, confident—impatient.

  “Sit down, Tracy.”

  “I will not—”

  “You will!”

  And she did, tense, rigid, inflamed, because he stood up, placed his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her back down.

  “Leif! You just said it—I’m a quarter of a century old now! I don’t have to tolerate this from you or anyone else.”

  “Where did you go, Tracy?”

  “What?” she said, faltering.

  He was staring at her so intently—as if her answer were of extreme importance.

  “Switzerland!” she snapped back.

  Something strange came to his gaze; a further cover of smoke. He stared at her then, guarded, careful, and she discovered herself then the one at a loss.

  “Leif! Would you quit this, please!” She begged. “Why do you care! You married Celia. You settled down. You— you had a baby.”

  He stood up and walked to the balcony and stared out into the night, not facing her. For a long moment he stayed there, back stiff, shoulders squared, hands upon his hips. Then he turned back to her, and the shields were in place. There was no telltale emotion of any kind to read from his hard-planed face.

  “Tracy, tell me—have you got a plan?”

  “Well, I—”

  “You don’t, do you?” he queried softly.

  “No! Do you?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.”

  “And what is that?”

  “A memorial service.”

  “Leif—you’re crazy.”

  “No, I don’t think I am. Jesse died almost a year ago. He was easily a man to be remembered and honored. Those of us who loved him did so deeply. And our lives became very tangled and entwined. My house isn’t far from the city. To get everyone together as guests at a house party to end back in New York with the service might very well be the perfect occasion to try to figure out just who had the strongest motive to want Jesse dead.”

  Tracy shook her head. “They won’t all come!”

  He shrugged. “Jamie’s mother will come—we’re still pretty good friends, and Jamie will be there. The last Mrs. Kuger will arrive with bells on—life has been rather dreary for her lately, I hear. You’ll be there; Jamie will be there. Sam and Tiger and I are still good friends—very good friends. They planned to come for Jamie’s final concert anyway.”

  “No way, Leif. I won’t be there. And you can guarantee that neither my mother, stepfather, or grandfather will show up!”

  “And why won’t you be there?”

  “I can’t. I don’t ever want to go back into that house again.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “I’m not! Leif, you don’t know—”

  “I don’t know what?”

  “Never mind!”

  “Memories you can’t handle?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Or memories you want to relive?”

  “Leif—get out of here. Just go.”

  “I am going, Tracy. Thanks for the coffee—and the hospitality.” He started down the hallway, then turned back with a pleasant smile.

  “Tomorrow night is Jamie’s last concert on the tour, you know. We’ll be here one more night. Sunday morning he’s leaving with me for Connecticut. And by the way, Tracy, my plan is already in action. Your mother, stepfather, and grandfather have already agreed to come. You didn’t know that, did you? Maybe you really did break the ties that bind you, Tracy. Good for you. But if you want to see Jamie, you’d better plan on a trip to Connecticut.”

  “Speak of binding ties!” she snapped.

  He shrugged, and came back to her. He was smiling with a certain amount of admiration; there was just a touch of the gentle silver she had once known to his eyes.

  She wanted to swear at him. The words didn’t come, nor did she move when he touched her chin again. There was no force to that touch. It was nearly tender.

  Just his knuckle below her chin, lightly lifting her face to his.

  “You really haven’t changed, Tracy,” he told her very softly. “You’re still very, very beautiful.”

  He shouldn’t have touched her, Leif realized. He shouldn’t have come so near her—felt the brush of her nothing gown, stared into the liquid elegance of her eyes. He shouldn’t have felt the softness of her flesh, because time didn’t really heal all wounds at all; he felt as if he bled all over again. He hadn’t—surely, he hadn’t!—loved her all those years.

  Maybe he had; maybe he hadn’t. Maybe time had no bearing on things at all. Maybe it was just the moment. He wanted to slip his arms around her as if she had never been gone, touch her lips and feel the magic, hold her against him and never let her go…

  Madness. There was nothing between them. Nothing except for mistrust and bitterness… and magic. He wanted her now. Desperately. To hold her, touch her, feel her hair cascade upon his naked flesh, the heat of her body meld with his own…

  He forced a crooked smile to his face; forced his lids to fall, to break the spell.

  “Very, very lovely, Tracy,” he said lightly. Release her, fool! his mind cried.

  She couldn’t think of a
reply. She couldn’t make a sound. The cast of his eyes, the touch of his hand… Again, time slipped away and the traitorous sensation eclipsed all else. All she could do was stare at him, caught in the web of a strange spell once again.

  He released her at last—and walked down the hall. She still didn’t move nor speak. Until the door closed softly in his wake.

  Then, swearing, she leapt to her feet. She bolted the door. And when that was done, she hurried to the sliding-glass balcony doors, drew them shut—and locked them.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was almost dawn when Tracy had finally slept, so she shouldn’t have been terribly surprised that it was well after noon when she was awakened by a phone call.

  It was Jamie to tell her that he’d just ordered breakfast up from room service—would she come over and join him.

  She hesitated just a second, then asked him, “Where’s Leif?”

  Jamie hesitated just a little bit longer than she had. “He’s still in his room. Why?”

  “No reason,” she said quickly—and then again she paused. She couldn’t avoid Leif—not if he was with Jamie. Nor did she want to create friction between the two of them.

  “Tracy?”

  “Give me a few minutes. You just woke me up. Okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Jamie rang off and Tracy hurried into the shower. Last night she had been off guard—she simply hadn’t known that Leif was with Jamie. Well, today she knew. And the past was ancient history. She wouldn’t allow her emotions to control her; she would be polite and cordial and so calm that he couldn’t get beneath her skin.

  With that in mind, she swept her hair off her neck into a neat little chignon and wore three-inch boot heels with a sweeping leather skirt and tailored silk shirt. She chided herself about her attempt at sophistication. After all, it had been her ability to appear mature and sophisticated that had been her original downfall. But she couldn’t help wanting to feel taller. Jamie was tall, and Leif was around six foot three, and somehow his knack for staring down at her was intimidating. Not that she could wear heels high enough to face him eye to eye—she was only five foot four. But any little bit of help seemed warranted here. She was not a child now; she had paid vast dues to become an adult, and she was going to be treated as one.

  Still, her hands grew clammy as she traversed the short distance of hall between her suite and Jamie’s. She took a deep breath before knocking and was still exhaling it when Jamie instantly flung the door open.

  “Wow,” he told her with a flattering appreciation. “You really are a knockout.”

  “Thanks, Jamie.” She grinned, looking over his silver-buttoned black cavalry jacket, tight black jeans, and head full of gold-blond hair—hair worn a little long at the neck, but thick, wavy, and very attractive with his soulful eyes and youth.

  “So are you.”

  He grimaced. “I’m ‘cute.’ You’re beautiful.”

  She inclined her head to him, grinning. “Again, thank you. Have you got coffee in here?”

  “Sure—voila! I ordered everything I could think of because I have no idea what you like. Isn’t that something? You’re my sister, and I don’t know anything about you at all. I mean, are you a vegetarian? A health freak? Do you jog? What’s your sign? Do you use sugar?”

  Tracy started laughing at his rapid fire of questions while he led her to a table elegantly set before the windows of the balcony. He really had ordered everything. There were chafing dishes all over the table and baskets of toast, muffins, hard rolls, and bagels.

  “Jamie—this is wasteful!” she chided him.

  “But I’m immensely wealthy!” he replied innocently, reaching for a silver coffee urn. “Coffee, madame! See—I don’t even know how you take it!”

  “Black,” Leif replied from behind them before Tracy had a chance to form the word.

  She spun around—defensive already. And then she was annoyed with herself that she could be so quickly unnerved. She would have never imagined that after all this time the mere sound of his voice could cast her into uneasy quivers that swept away all poise and control.

  Get it back, get it back! she warned herself. And she didn’t do badly at all. She glanced briefly at Leif, then smiled at Jamie. “Yes, black, please.”

  She accepted the cup of coffee, nervously aware that Leif was by then right behind her, reaching around her for the coffeepot that Jamie had set down. She didn’t really look at him, but he was next to her, so she was very aware of him. He’d just come from the shower and he smelled wonderfully of soap and after-shave. His dark hair was still damp and very sleek. He seemed exceptionally tall, sinewed, and tan in a yellow polo shirt and dark cords.

  She moved away from him, choosing a chair that looked out over the balcony. He seemed oblivious to her, too, sipping his coffee as he gazed out at the day, then sliding into the chair across from Tracy.

  She felt his eyes on her, and despite her will not to do so, she felt her gaze pulled from the window to meet his.

  She wanted to scream. Instead, she smiled pleasantly and felt all the more uneasy. Last night had been different. He had stared at her, but it had seemed a more natural curiosity. Today it was as if he wondered something, or had a clue to something—something that did not endear her to him in the least. Did he have her on the top of his list of suspects?

  “Gee,” Jamie murmured, interrupting her thoughts. “Just when did you two meet?” he asked innocently.

  Leif arched his brows, glancing Jamie’s way, then looking back at Tracy. “Oh, years ago,” he replied idly. “We met at a party.” His steady gaze remained on her. “We really didn’t know one another very long; her grandfather whisked her off to Europe shortly after we met.”

  “Wow. You’ve led an exciting life, Tracy!” Jamie said.

  “Umm. Wonderful,” Tracy managed to say, unable to tear her gaze from Leif’s. He looked tired, she thought. He was leaning back, almost looking comfortable and casual in his chair, but the tiny lines about his eyes were evident in the sunlight, as if he hadn’t slept well.

  “What’s he really like, Tracy?”

  “What?” she murmured, disconcerted, drawing her eyes from Leif to look at Jamie at last.

  “Arthur Kingsley—billionaire. They say he owns half of the U.S. interests around the whole world.”

  “I—uh—guess he does.”

  Leif was still staring at Tracy. “He’s a very powerful man,” he told Jamie. “Accustomed to buying anything he wants.”

  “What are they estimating you at these days, Mr. Johnston?” Tracy asked acidly. “A rather high figure, last I heard. And if you did nothing more than whistle Dixie through an entire album, it would still sell in the millions, so I really don’t think you have a right to judge Arthur.”

  “Arthur? You call him Arthur?” Jamie asked.

  I don’t call him anything, Tracy almost answered. But she didn’t want Leif to know that she had spent the last five years carefully severing the yoke that Arthur Kingsley had attempted to tie around her neck. She called him occasionally and she spent each Christmas with her family—but other than that, she kept carefully away.

  “More importantly, Tracy, what are you calling yourself?” Leif asked her.

  “Kuger,” she told him.

  “You are not using that name,” Leif responded instantly.

  “Why do I feel like I never know what’s going on here?” Jamie complained.

  “How do you know that I’m not using my name?” Tracy demanded of Leif.

  “Guys—” Jamie tried.

  “Because I’ve had detectives looking for you for the last year, too. I got as far as a remote town in northern Scotland, and then no one could get any further.”

  “I like my privacy,” Tracy said.

  “So much so that your mother didn’t even know where you were?”

  “What business is it of yours?”

  “Guys—listen—everything is getting cold. We’ve got eggs Benedict, steak and egg
s, French toast—I mean, this is some fluffy French toast we’ve got going here—”

  “Dammit, Tracy, what do I have to do to get through to you! You were waltzing around a balcony forty floors up to get to your brother, so you know that I’m telling the truth—”

  “All right! You’re telling the truth about my father, but what has that got to do with anything else? It’s none of your business where I went, or what I did, or what I do, or—”

  “It is my business, Tracy. You want to make me your number one murder suspect, and you don’t want to admit that you’re on the outs with your own family. Tracy! You have to accept that someone in your immediate family might very well be the conspirator!”

  “Oh, God,” Jamie groaned, sinking back into his chair. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

  Tracy looked over at Jamie and was instantly sorry. “Jamie,” she murmured. “I—”

  He shook his head. “I’m a big kid, Tracy.” He stared at Leif then. “So what are we going to do?”

  Leif stood up and walked over to the balcony, staring out at the beautiful spring day and Central Park, stretching out across the street. He shrugged. “I’ve got a few irons in the fire,” he said softly. “It’s just going to be a difficult thing to prove, because everyone involved could have easily come up with the money. I was telling Tracy last night that I thought a memorial service might be a good idea. Get everyone together and see where the discussions flowed.”

  “Get everyone together—where? Your house in Connecticut?” Jamie asked.

  “That’s what I had in mind—yes.”

  Tracy wasn’t sure why, but little shivers suddenly went down her spine. Leif wasn’t looking at her; he was watching Jamie. Leif was leaning against the edge of the window, sipping his coffee. His stance seemed negligent but she knew it really wasn’t. Looking him over, she decided he really wasn’t slender at all—his height gave him that appearance. Clad in the knit polo shirt, the breadth of his shoulders was very visible, as were their muscles. She swallowed, suddenly remembering that when he was shirtless, his abdomen had little ripples of tautness, that he was wired and taut as a drum and his grip was like iron. He’d fought in jungle warfare, and he’d never forgotten the movements—how to stalk, how to spin, how to remain on guard—and how to snap shut a trap.