The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 3

by Nora Roberts

  “David. Give me some credit. They came directly to your office, and stayed in here long enough for there to have been something. Word travels,” she finished. “I have a right to know.”

  He said nothing for a moment, but studied her face. Yes, she had a right to know, he decided. And he had no right to take that away from her.

  He picked up his phone. “Ms. Giambelli and I will be a few minutes late for the meeting,” he told his assistant. He nodded to a chair as he hung up. “Sit down.”

  “I’ll stand. You may have noticed, I’m not delicate.”

  “I’ve noticed you handle yourself. The police had some questions that sprang, at least in part, from the fact that I’m seeing your mother.”

  “I see. Do they have some theory that you and Mama have been engaged in some long, secret affair? That could have been put to rest easily enough by the fact that until a couple of months ago you lived a country apart. Added to the fact that my father had been living openly with another woman for several years, a few dinner dates is very small potatoes.”

  “I’m sure they’re covering all angles.”

  “Do they suspect you or Mama?”

  “I’d say they suspect everyone. It’s part of their job description. You’ve been careful not to comment, to me in any case, on how you feel about my relationship with your mother.”

  “I haven’t decided how I feel about it, precisely. When I do, I’ll let you know.”

  “Fair enough,” he said equably. “I know how I feel about it, so I’ll tell you. I care very much about Pilar. I don’t intend to cause her trouble or upset. I’d be sorry to cause you any, either, first because she loves you and second because I like you. But I was just in the position of choosing between causing you both some upset or having my kids interrogated and doing nothing to stop the investigation from wandering down a dead end.”

  She wanted to sit down now. Something told her she’d need to. Because of it, pride kept her on her feet. “What did you tell the police that’s going to upset me?”

  Truth, he thought, like medicine, was better given in one fast dose. “Your father had been embezzling from the company for several years. The amounts were spread out, and relatively moderate, which is one reason they went undetected as long as they did.”

  The color drained out of her face, but she didn’t flinch. Didn’t flinch even as the fist of betrayal slammed hard into her heart. “There’s no mistake?” she began, then waved him off before he could answer. “No, of course there isn’t. You wouldn’t make one.” There was a light lick of bitterness in the statement. She couldn’t stop it. “How long have you known?”

  “I confirmed it the day of the party. I intended to meet with your father within the next couple of days to discuss—”

  “To fire him,” she corrected.

  “To ask for his resignation. As per your grandparents’ instructions. I reported the embezzlement to them the day after the party. He would have been given the opportunity to pay back the funds and resign. They did that for you—for your mother, too, for the company, but mostly for you. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, turning away as she rubbed her hands over her arms. “Yes, of course. I appreciate your being honest with me now.”

  “Sophia—”

  “Please, don’t.” She closed in as he stepped forward. “Don’t apologize again. I’m not going to fall apart. I already knew he was a thief. I saw one of my mother’s heirloom brooches on Rene’s lapel. It was to come to me, so I know my mother didn’t give it to him. I knew when I saw her wearing it, on her widow’s black, that he’d stolen it. Not that he’d have thought of it that way. Any more than he’d have thought of the money he siphoned from the company as stealing. Pilar, he’d think, has so many trinkets. She wouldn’t mind. The company, he’d tell himself, can afford to lend me a bit more capital. Yes, he was a champ at rationalizing his pathetic behavior.”

  “If you’d rather go home than attend the meeting, I can make your excuses.”

  “I have no intention of missing the meeting.” She turned back. “Isn’t it odd? I knew what he did to Mama all those years—I saw it for myself. But I managed to forgive him, or to tell myself it was just what he was, and make it, if not all right, somehow marginally acceptable. Now he’s stolen money and jewelry, so much less important than stealing a person’s dignity and self-respect as he did with my mother. But it took this for me to face fully that he was worthless as a human being. It took this for me to stop bleeding for him. I wonder why that is? Well, I’ll see you at the meeting.”

  “Take a few minutes.”

  “No. He’s already had more of my time than he was entitled to.”

  Yes, he thought as she walked out of his office. Very much like her grandmother.

  Since it was Sophia’s turn to drive, Tyler rode back from the city in silence. Unless, he thought, you counted the blast of the radio. He’d turned it down twice, only to have her snap the volume back up again. Departmental meetings gave him a headache and so did the opera currently screaming out of the speakers, but he decided to let it go. It certainly prevented any pretext of conversation.

  She didn’t look to be in the mood for conversation. He wasn’t sure just what she looked in the mood for, but it sure as hell wasn’t talk.

  She drove too fast, but he’d gotten used to that. And even with whatever storm was brewing inside her, she wasn’t careless as she swung around the curves and slopes of the road.

  Still, he nearly sighed when he spotted the rooftops of home. He was about to get there, in one piece, where he could shrug out of his city clothes and fall into blessed silence and solitude.

  Even with her mouth so firmly shut, he thought, the woman just wore him out.

  But when she stopped at the end of the drive, she turned off the engine and was out of the car before he was.

  “What’re you doing?”

  “Coming in,” she called over her shoulder, adding a brief, glittering look to her words.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t feel like going home.”

  He jangled his keys in his hand. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Hasn’t it just?”

  “I’ve got things to do.”

  “That’s handy. I’m looking for things to do. Be a pal, MacMillan. Buy me a drink.”

  Resigned, he jabbed his key in the lock. “Buy your own drink. You know where everything is.”

  “Gracious to the last. That’s what I like about you.” She strolled in and headed straight to the great room and the wine rack. “With you, Ty, there are no pretenses, no games. You are what you are. Surly, rude, predictable.”

  She chose a bottle at random. Variety and vintage didn’t matter at the moment. While she uncorked it, she looked around the room. Stone and wood—hard materials, expertly and cleanly worked into a dignified setting for big, simple furnishings and plain colors.

  No flowers, she thought, no soft edges, no polish. “Take this place, for example. No frills, no fuss. A manly man lives here, it says, who doesn’t have time for appearances. Don’t give a flying fuck about appearances, do you, Ty?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “That’s so damn stalwart of you. You’re a stalwart individual.” She poured out two glasses. “Some people live and die by appearances, you know. They’re what matter most. Me, I’m more of a happy-medium type. You can’t trust someone who has appearances as his religion, and the ones who don’t give that flying fuck, you end up trusting too much.”

  “If you’re going to drink my wine and take up my space, you might as well tell me what’s put you in this mood and get it over with.”

  “Oh, I have many moods.” She drank the wine, too quickly for pleasure, and poured a second glass for herself. “I’m a multifaceted woman, Tyler. You haven’t seen the half of me.”

  She crossed to him, slowly. A kind of sexual gunfighter’s swagger. “Would you like to see more?”

  “No.”

  “Oh
now, don’t disappoint me and lie. No games, no pretenses, remember.” She trailed a fingertip up his shirt. “You really want to get your hands on me, and conveniently, I really want to be handled.”

  “You want to get drunk and get laid? Sorry, doesn’t suit my plans for the evening.” He plucked the glass out of her hand.

  “What’s the matter? Want me to buy you dinner first?”

  He set the glass down. “I think more of myself than that. And surprise, more of you.”

  “Fine. I’ll just find someone who isn’t so picky.” She took three strides toward the door when he grabbed her arm. “Let go. You had your chance.”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “I’m not going home.”

  “You’re going where I take you.”

  “I said let go!” She whirled. She was prepared to scratch and claw and slap, could already feel the release of it gush through her. And was more surprised than he when she grabbed on hard and collapsed into tears.

  “Shit. Okay.” He did the only thing that came to mind. He picked her up, carried her to a chair and sat with her on his lap. “Get it all out, and we’ll both feel better.”

  While she wept, the phone rang from somewhere under the sofa cushion where he’d lost it the last time. And the old mantel clock began to bong the hour.

  She wasn’t ashamed of tears. They were, after all, just another form of passion. But she preferred other methods of release. When she’d cried herself dry, she stayed where she was, curled warm against him and comforted more than she’d imagined.

  He didn’t pat and stroke, didn’t rock or murmur all those foolish and reassuring words people tended to use to sop up tears. He simply let her hold on and purge herself.

  As a result, she was more grateful than she’d imagined as well.

  “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, that makes two of us.”

  The response made her relax. She drew a long breath, breathing in the scent of him, holding it in, as she held on to him. Then letting go.

  “If you’d taken me up on the jungle sex, I wouldn’t have blubbered all over you.”

  “Well, if I’d known my choices at the time . . .”

  She laughed, and let her head rest on his shoulder just a moment before she climbed out of his lap. “We’re probably better off this way. My father stole from the company.”

  Before he could decide how to respond, she took a step toward him. “You knew.”

  “No.”

  “But you’re not surprised.”

  He got to his feet, sincerely hoping this wasn’t the start of another battle. “No, I’m not surprised.”

  “I see.” She looked away from him, stared hard into the hearth where last night’s fire had burned to ashes. Apt, she thought. She felt just like that—cold and empty. “All right. Well.” She stiffened her spine, wiped away the last traces of tears. “I pay my debts. I’ll fix you dinner.”

  He started to protest. Then weighed the options of solitude against a hot meal. The woman could cook, he recalled. “You know where the kitchen is.”

  “Yes, I do.” She stepped closer, rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Down payment,” she told him, and shrugged out of her jacket as she left the room.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “You didn’ t call me back.”

  Margaret tracked Tyler down in the MacMillan winery. She’d had several satisfying and successful meetings since her return from Venice. Her career was advancing well, she was certain she looked her best after two carefully outlined shopping forays before her return to California. She was developing the polish she’d always believed international travel sheened on a woman.

  There was one last goal she intended to achieve while she was stateside. Bagging Tyler MacMillan.

  “Sorry. I’ve been swamped.” February was a slow month in winemaking, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t work. Sophia had scheduled a wine-tasting party that evening on his turf. While he wasn’t particularly pleased about it, he understood the value. And knew the importance of making certain everything was in place.

  “I can imagine. I looked over the plans for the centennial campaign. You’ve done a terrific job.”

  “Sophia has.”

  Margaret wandered with him as he moved into the tasting room. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Ty. When are you coming over to take a look at the operation in Italy? I think you’d be impressed and pleased.”

  “There’re noises about it. I don’t have time now.”

  “When you do, I’ll show you the area. Buy you some pasta at this terrific little trattoria I found. They’re serving our wine there now, and I’m negotiating with some of the top hotels to spotlight our label this summer.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been busy, too.”

  “I love it. There’s still a little resistance with some of the accounts that were used to Tony Avano and his style of business. But I’m bringing them around. Do the police have any more on what happened to him?”

  “Not that I’ve heard.” How soon, Tyler wondered, would word of the embezzlement leak?

  “It’s terrible. He was a very popular guy with the accounts. And they loved him in Italy. They’re not as open to sitting around drinking grappa and smoking cigars with me.”

  He stopped, smiled at her. “That’s a picture.”

  “I know how to play with the boys. I have to head back end of the week, make several stops here in the States on my way. I was hoping we could get together. I’ll fix you dinner.”

  What was with women offering to cook for him? Did he look hungry? “That’s—” He broke off as he saw Maddy come in. The kid always lifted his spirits. “Hey. It’s the mad scientist.”

  Secretly delighted, Maddy sneered at him. “I’ve got my secret formula.” She held up two peanut butter jars filled with dark liquid.

  “Looks pretty scary.” Ty took it, tipped the one she held out to him side to side and watched it swish.

  “Maybe you could try it at your tasting tonight. See what people say.”

  “Hmmm.” He could only imagine the comments of the wine snobs after a sip of Maddy’s kitchen wine. And because he could, he began to grin. “It’s a thought.”

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” It wasn’t that Margaret didn’t like children, mostly at a safe distance. But she was trying to make some time here.

  “Oh, sorry. Margaret Bowers, Maddy Cutter.”

  “Oh, you must be David’s little girl. Your father and I had some meetings today.”

  “No kidding.” Resentment at being called a little girl simmered. “Me, too. Can I stay for some of the tasting?” She turned to Ty, ignoring Margaret. “I’m going to do this whole report on the wine, so I want to, like, observe and stuff.”

  “Sure.” He opened the jar, nosed it. Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “I’d like to observe this one myself.”

  “Ty? How about tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Dinner.” Margaret kept her voice casual. “There’s a lot regarding the Italian operation I’d like to discuss with you. I’m hoping you can educate me a bit, pump up my weak areas. There are some aspects I’m cloudy on, and I think talking to an expert vintner who has English as his primary language would really help.”

  “Sure.” He was much more interested in Maddy’s wine at the moment, and moved behind the bar to get a glass.

  “Seven? I’ve got a lovely Merlot I brought back with me.”

  “Great.” The liquid Ty poured into the glass would never be a lovely anything.

  “See you then. Nice to have met you, Maddy.”

  “Okay.” She gave a quick snort when Margaret went out. “You’re such a dork.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “She was hitting on you and you’re, like, oblivious.”

  “She wasn’t hitting on me and you’re not supposed to talk that way.”

  “Was too.” Maddy slid onto a stool at the bar. “Women know these
things.”

  “Maybe, but you don’t qualify as a woman.”

  “I’ve had my period.”

  He’d started to drink, had to set the glass back down as he winced. “Please.”

  “It’s a biological function. And when a female is physically able to conceive, she is, physically, a woman.”

  “Fine. Great.” It wasn’t a debate he wanted to enter into. “Shut up.” He let the wine, such as it was, lie on his tongue. It was unsophisticated to say the least, highly acidic and oversweet thanks to the sugar she must have added.

  Still, she’d succeeded in making wine in a kitchen bowl. Bad wine, but that wasn’t the point.

  “Did you drink any of this?”

  “Maybe.” She set the second jar on the counter. “Here’s the miracle wine. No additives. I read about how sometimes they add ox blood for color and body. I didn’t know where to get any. Besides, it sounds disgusting.”

  “We don’t approve of that kind of practice. A little calcium carbonate would deacidify it some, but we’ll just let it stand on its own. Altogether, it’s not a complete failure as a jug wine. You pulled it off, kid. Nice going.”

  A brave man, he poured a swallow of the miracle wine, examined, nosed, sipped. “Interesting. Cloudy, immature and biting, but it’s wine.”

  “Will you read my report and check my charts when I’m done?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good.” She fluttered her lashes. “I’ll fix you dinner.”

  God, she tickled him. “Smart-ass.”

  “At last,” David said as he came in. “Someone who agrees with me.” He walked over, hooked an arm around his daughter’s neck. “Five minutes, remember?”

  “We got distracted. Ty said I could come to the tasting.”

  “Maddy—”

  “Please. He’s going to put my wine in.”

  David glanced over. “You’re a brave man, MacMillan.”

  “You never spent an evening chugging any Run, Walk and Fall Down?”

  With a grin, David covered Maddy’s ears. “Once or twice, and fortunately I lived to regret it. Your wine club might object to the addition.”

  “Yeah.” The thought of that tickled Ty, too. “It’ll broaden their outlook.”