by Nora Roberts
“As tempting as that is, and believe me I’m in the mood to punch something, I don’t hit women. Go back in the house. You’re wet and half-naked.”
“I’ll go back when you go back. In the meantime we can have this out right here. You’re mad because I didn’t come running to you over that nasty bit of business. Well, I’m sorry, I did what I thought best about it.”
“You’re half-right. You did what you thought best, but you’re not sorry. I’m surprised you bothered to call me tonight just because somebody tried to kill you.”
“Ty, it’s not the same thing. It’s just a stupid picture. I wasn’t going to let it upset me, or you, or anyone.”
“You weren’t going to let. There you go. Teamwork, my ass.”
He was shouting now, such a rare occurrence she could only stare up at him. A big, furious man who’d finally snapped his leash.
“You decide what you’ll give, how much and when. Everyone’s supposed to fall in line with your schedule, your plan. Well, fuck it, Sophie. Fuck that. I just stepped out of line. Goddamn it, I love you.” He hauled her up on her toes, calloused hands against pampered skin. “You’re it for me. If it’s not the same on both sides, it’s nothing. Do you get it? Nothing.”
Furious with both of them, he dropped her back on her feet. “Now go inside and get dressed. I’ll take you home.”
“Please don’t. Please,” she said, touching his arm as he started to walk by her. “Please, God. Don’t walk away.” The shakes were back, but had nothing to do with fear for her life. This was so much more. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that by not doing something I thought would worry you, I did something to hurt you. I’m used to taking care of myself, used to making my own decisions.”
“That’s not how it works anymore. If you can’t deal with that, we’re wasting our time.”
“You’re right. And you’re scaring me because I understand this is important enough to make you walk away from me. I don’t want that to happen. You’re right and I was wrong. I wanted to handle it my way, and I was wrong. Yell at me, curse at me, but don’t push me out.”
His temper had peaked and ebbed and, as always, left him feeling annoyed with himself. “You’re cold. Let’s go inside.”
“Wait.” His voice was so final, so distant. It tied knots in her belly. “Just listen.”
She gripped his arm, her fingers digging desperately into his shirt. If he turned away now, she knew she’d be alone as she’d never been alone before in her life.
“I’m listening.”
“I was angry when it came. All I could think was that the bastard, I know it’s Jerry, the bastard’s using my own work to taunt me. To try to scare me, and I’m not going to let him. I’m not going to let him worry me, or my mother or anyone I care about. I thought I could handle it myself and protect you from the worry. And I realize standing here right now that if you’d done the same thing, I’d be just as hurt, just as angry as you are.”
Her voice hitched, and she feared she’d sob. Unfair tactics, she reminded herself and bit down on grief. “I love you. Maybe that’s the one thing I don’t know how to handle. Not yet. Give me a chance to figure it out. I’m asking you not to walk away from me. It’s the one thing I can’t take. Needing someone, loving them and watching them walk away.”
“I’m not your father.” He cupped a hand under her chin. He saw the tears brimming, and her valiant attempt to hold them off. “And neither are you. My being there for you, taking some of the weight doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t make you less, Sophie.”
“He always let someone else deal with the sticky parts.” She drew in a breath, let it out shakily. “I know what I’m doing, Ty, when I push people back so I can deal with problems on my own. I know what I’m trying to prove. I even know it’s stupid and self-serving. But I can’t always seem to stop doing it.”
“Practice.” He took her hand. “I told you before I’d stick, didn’t I?”
A shudder ran through her. “Yes, you did.” To steady herself, she brought their joined hands to her cheek. “I’ve never been it for anyone before. No one’s been it for me. Looks like you are.”
“That works for me. We square now?”
“I guess we are.” Her lips curved. He made things so simple, she thought. All she had to do was let him. “It’s been a hell of a night so far.”
“Let’s go back, finish it off.” He slid an arm around her to lead her back to the house, automatically taking her weight as she limped.
Served her right, he thought, riling him up the way she had. “Hurt your foot?”
The amused and satisfied tone didn’t escape her notice. “I stepped on a rock while I was running after this big, stupid culo.”
“Which would be me. I understand enough gutter Italian to know when the woman I love’s calling me an asshole.”
“But very affectionately. Since you’re up on the language, why don’t we finish the night off by . . .” She rose up to whisper in his ear, ending the provocative Italian with a quick nip on his lobe.
“Ummm.” He didn’t have a clue what she’d said, but the blood had cheerfully drained out of his head. “I think I’m going to need a translation on that one.”
“Happy to,” she said. “Once we’re inside.”
It surprised Pilar to see Tyler outside the kitchen door at what she imagined he’d consider the middle of the morning. It surprised her a great deal more to see the bouquet of flowers in his hand.
“Good morning.”
“Hi.” He stepped inside the Cutter kitchen, nearly shuffled his feet. “I didn’t expect to see you here or I’d’ve . . .” Embarrassed, he shook the flowers in his hand. “You know, brought more.”
“I see. You brought them for Maddy? Ty.” Delighted with him, she reached up, squeezed his cheeks. “You’re so sweet.”
“Yeah, right. Well. How’re you feeling?”
“Fine. Lucky.” She stepped toward the inside doorway and called for Maddy. “Sophia was amazing. Steady as a rock.”
“Yeah, that’s Sophie. I gave her a break, left her sleeping this morning.” He looked over as Maddy came in. “Hi, kid.”
“Hey. What’re those?”
“I think they’re flowers. For you.”
Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “Me?”
“I have to go. I’ll just say goodbye to David and Theo.” Pilar kissed Maddy lightly, absently on the cheek, and made the girl’s color come up. “See you later.”
“Yeah, okay. How come they’re for me?” she asked Tyler.
“Because I hear you did good.” He held them out. “You want them or not?”
“Yeah, I want them.” She took them, noted the little flutter in her belly as she sniffed. A kind of muscle reflex, she supposed it was. A nice one. “Nobody ever gave me flowers before.”
“They will. I figured I’d get you something for your brain, too, but I haven’t come up with it yet. Anyway, what did you do to your hair?”
“I cut it. So?”
“So . . . just asking.” He waited while she got out a vase. The new do made her look like a brainy pixie, Ty thought. Boys, he realized with a little tug of regret, were going to come sniffing at the door. “You want to hang with me today? I’ve got to check for mildew, then see how the work’s going over at the old distillery. Start on the weeding.”
“Yeah, that’d be good.”
“Tell your dad.”
When she was settled in the car beside Tyler, Maddy folded her hands on her lap. “I’ve got two things I want to ask you.”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“If I were, like, ten years older and had actual breasts, would you go for me?”
“Jesus, Maddy.”
“I don’t have a crush on you or anything. I sort of did when we first moved here, but I got over it. You’re too old for me, and I’m not ready for a serious relationship, or sex.”
“Damn right you’re not.”
“But when I am ready,
I want to know if a guy would go for me. Theoretically.”
Tyler ran a hand over his face. “Theoretically, and leaving out the breasts because that’s not what a guy looks for, if you were ten years older, I’d’ve already gone for you. Okay?”
She smiled, slipped on her sunglasses. “Okay. But that’s bull about breasts. Guys say how they look for personality and intelligence. Some of them say how they’re leg men or whatever. But it’s the breasts.”
“And you know this because?”
“Because it’s something we have you don’t.”
He opened his mouth, shut it again. This wasn’t a debate he could comfortably enter into with a teenage girl. “You said you had a couple of questions.”
“Yeah, well.” She shifted in her seat to face him. “The other’s an idea. Vino-therapy.”
“Vino-therapy?”
“Yeah, I read about it. Grape seed–based skin creams and stuff. I was thinking we could start a line of products.”
“We could?”
“I need to do more research, some experimenting. But this company’s doing it in France. We could corner the American market. See, red wine contains antioxidants—polyphenols, and—”
“Maddy, I know about polyphenols.”
“Okay, okay. But see the seeds—and you ditch them during wine production—they have antioxidants. And that’s really good for the skin. Plus, I’m thinking we could do an herbal deal, internal, too. A whole health and beauty line.”
Health and beauty. What next? “Look, kid, I make wine, not skin cream.”
“But you could,” she insisted. “If I could have the seeds when you harvest, and a place to experiment. You said you wanted to give me something for my brain. Give me this.”
“I was thinking more like a chemistry set,” he mumbled. “Let me mull on it.”
He intended to let the mulling wait until after work, but Maddy had different ideas.
Sophia was in the vineyard, watching the cutters weed with their wedge-shaped blades. Maddy headed straight for her and started before Sophia could speak.
“I think we should move into vino-therapy like that French company.”
“Really?” Sophia pursed her lips, a sure sign she was carefully considering. “That’s interesting because I’ve had that idea on a back burner for a while now. I’ve tried the facial mask. It’s marvelous.”
“We’re winemakers,” Ty began.
“And will always be,” Sophia agreed. “But that doesn’t preclude addressing other areas. There’s an enormous market for natural beauty products. I’ve had to table the idea because we’ve had a difficult year and other things demanded my attention. But maybe this is a good time to consider. Expansion rather than damage control,” she mused, and was already playing on the spin. “I’ll need to accumulate more data, of course.”
“I can get it,” Maddy said. “I’m good at research.”
“You’re hired. Once research moves toward research and development, we’ll need a guinea pig.”
As one, they turned to study Tyler.
He blanched. Actually felt the blood fall away from his face. “Forget it.”
“Chicken.” Sophia’s amused expression faded as she spotted the two figures walking toward them. “The police are here. Claremont and Maguire. It can’t be good news.”
Deliberate, Sophia thought as she sat in Tyler’s living room. The four-wheel had been tampered with, as deliberately as the wine had been. Part of her had known it, but having it confirmed now with cold, hard facts brought a fresh chill to her skin.
“Yes, I use that vehicle often. Primarily I drive my car to and from the city, but it’s a two-seater. The three of us were spending the day in San Francisco, shopping for my mother’s wedding. We needed the bigger car.”
“Who knew of your plans?” Maguire asked her.
“A number of people, I suppose. Family. We were meeting Judge Moore, so her family.”
“Did you make appointments?”
“Not really. I stopped by to see Lincoln Moore before I met the others for lunch. The rest of the day was loose.”
“And the last place you stopped, for any length of time?” Claremont asked.
“We had dinner. Moose’s at Washington Square. The car was parked about ninety minutes. From around seven to eight-thirty or so. We left for home from there.”
“Any idea, Ms. Giambelli, who would want to cause you harm?”
“Yes.” She met Claremont’s gaze levelly. “Jeremy DeMorney. He’s involved in the product tampering, in the embezzlement, in every problem my family’s had this year. I believe he’s responsible for it, that he planned it and used my cousin and whatever, whoever else came to hand. And as I’ve told him so personally, he’s unlikely to be happy with me just now.”
“Mr. DeMorney’s been questioned.”
“And I’m sure he had plenty of answers. He’s responsible.”
“You saw the ad he sent Sophia.” Frustrated, Tyler pushed to his feet. “It was a threat, and he made good on it.”
“We can’t prove DeMorney sent the ad.” Maguire watched Ty prowl the room. Big hands, she noted. DeMorney must have crumbled like plaster under them. “We’ve confirmed he was in New York when the package was mailed from San Francisco.”
“He had it sent, then. Find a way to prove it,” Tyler shot back. “That’s your job.”
“I believe he killed my father.” Sophia kept her voice calm. “I believe his hatred of my father is at the core of everything that’s happened. He may tell himself, in some skewed way, that it’s business. But it’s personal.”
“Basing that on the alleged affair between Avano and the former Mrs. DeMorney, it’s a long time to wait for payback.”
“No, it’s not.” Maddy spoke up. “Not if you want to do it right, pull everyone in on it.”
Claremont took the interruption in stride, gave Maddy a quiet, go-ahead look.
“If he goes after Sophia’s father right after the divorce, then everybody knows he’s whacked out over it.” She’d spent some time analyzing it, running theories. “Like if I want to get Theo for something, I sit back, wait, figure out how to hit him best. Then when I do, he’s not expecting it and doesn’t even know why he’s getting it.” She nodded. “It’s scientific, and lots more satisfying.”
“The kid’s a genius,” Ty commented.
. . .
“‘A dish best served cold,’ ” Claremont mused on the drive back to the city. “It fits DeMorney’s profile. He’s cool, sophisticated, erudite. He’s got money, position, impeccable taste. I can see that type waiting, planning things out, tugging strings. But I can’t get his type risking losing that position over a cracked marriage. How would you handle it if your man cheated on you?”
“Oh, I’d kick his ass, then scalp him in the divorce and do everything in my power to make the rest of his life a living hell, including sticking pins in the throat and balls of a doll made in his image. But then, I’m not sophisticated and erudite.”
“And people wonder why I’m not married.” Claremont flipped open his notebook. “Let’s go talk to Kristin Drake again.”
It was infuriating to have the police come to your place of business. People would be talking, speculating, snickering. There was nothing Kris hated more than people gossiping behind her back. And as she saw it, the blame of it was squarely on Sophia’s shoulders.
“If you want my opinion, the problems Giambelli’s been facing this year were brought on because Sophia’s more interested in promoting her own agenda than in the company or the people who work for it.”
“And that agenda is?” Claremont asked.
“Sophia is her own agenda.”
“And her self-interest, as you see it, has resulted in no less than four deaths, a shooting and what might have been a fatal accident involving herself, her mother, a friend and a young girl.”
She remembered the cold rage on Jerry’s face when she’d been in New York and Sophia and her farm
er had cornered him. “Obviously she’s pissed somebody off.”
Not her problem, Kris assured herself. Not her deal.
“Besides you, Ms. Drake?” Maguire said pleasantly.
“It’s no secret that I left Giambelli on less than amicable terms, and the reason for it was Sophia. I don’t like her, and I resent the fact that she was brought in over me when I clearly had seniority and more experience. And I intend to make her pay for it in the market.”
“How long were you being courted by DeMorney and La Coeur while you were still drawing a salary from Giambelli?”
“There’s no law against considering other offers while employed with another firm. It’s business.”
“How long?”
She shrugged. “I was first approached last fall.”
“By Jeremy DeMorney?”
“Yes. He indicated that La Coeur would be pleased to have me on their team. He made an offer, and I took some time to consider it.”
“What decided you?”
“I simply realized I wasn’t going to be happy with Giambelli as things stood. I felt creatively stifled there.”
“Yet you remained there, stifled, for months. During that period, were you and DeMorney in contact with each other?”
“There’s no law against—”
“Ms. Drake,” Claremont interrupted. “We’re investigating murder. You’d simplify the process by giving us a clear picture. We simplify it for you by asking questions here, where you’re comfortable, rather than bringing you into the station house where the atmosphere isn’t nearly as pleasant. Were you and DeMorney in contact during that period?”
“So what if we were?”
“During those contacts did you give Mr. DeMorney confidential information about Giambelli—business practices, promotional campaigns, personal information that may have come into your hands regarding members of the family?”
Her palms went damp. Hot and damp. “I want to call a lawyer.”
“That’s your privilege. You can answer the question and help us out here, maybe cop to some unethical business practices we’re not interested in using against you. Or you can hang tough and possibly end up charged with accessory to murder.”