The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 3

by Nora Roberts

  “She’s cold,” Tia said quietly. “All the way through, I think. It makes her more dangerous because she doesn’t care—not on any level—about anyone but herself. She wouldn’t hesitate to hurt someone to get what she wants. She probably thinks she deserves it. I’m getting analytical again,” she apologized. “All those years in therapy, and suddenly I’m a psychologist.”

  “I think you make sterling sense,” Rebecca agreed. “And I haven’t met the woman as yet. I’m getting a clearer picture of her from you than I did from Malachi. His description was colored with his own embarrassment, I think, and his anger. Once she knows we’ve outwitted her—as, by God, we will—what do you think she’ll do?”

  “She’ll try to take it out on at least one of us. Your family,” Tia said. “Because it started with Malachi.”

  “Cleo? You agree with that?”

  “Yeah.” She blew out a breath. “Yeah, I do.”

  “As do I. So, we have to make certain she can’t reach us. Whatever happens, we have to expose her for what she is. And take away her power.”

  “I’ve sort of started working on that.” Tia rose, walked into the kitchen to finally start the coffee. “Money gives her power, and if you look at her marriage, you have to conclude money is vital to her. I thought it might be helpful to find out how much she has. Then we’d have an idea how much we need to . . . what’s the word?” She stopped with the coffee scoop in one hand. “Hose her for. Is that right?” she asked Cleo.

  “Isn’t she great? Amateur, my ass. Tia honey, I think you could make a living out of this.”

  Downstairs Gideon jiggled the loose change in his pocket. “They’re taking a lot of time putting together coffee and tea.”

  Jack glanced at his computer clock, shrugged. “They went up there to huddle. But . . .” He turned to his monitors, danced his fingers over a keyboard and engaged the apartment cameras.

  When the women appeared on-screen, Malachi let out a low whistle. “You’ve spy cameras in your own flat? Does the word paranoia have any personal meaning for you?”

  “I prefer to think of it as thorough.”

  “They’ve crisps up there,” Gideon pointed out. “Should’ve known Cleo would nose out crisps. Almost looks like a party. Christ, they make a pretty picture, don’t they?”

  “Classy blonde, gorgeous redhead, sexy brunette.” Jack scanned the screen. “Covers all the bases. Take a good look because we’re going to have to decide how far into this we’re going to take them.”

  “I don’t see as we have much choice,” Gideon commented.

  “There’s always a choice.”

  “You’re meaning we can hold things back from them.” Malachi had leaned closer to the screen and now straightened. “Keep certain parts of the plan from them, tucking them up, as it were, to protect them from Anita.”

  “She’s responsible for two deaths so far. She’s got no reason to quibble about a third.”

  “It won’t do, Jack.” Malachi watched Tia pour milk into a small pitcher. “They’d figure it out in any case. Rebecca would, I can guarantee that.”

  “Too right,” Gideon agreed.

  “Moreover, I started this thing lying to Tia. I don’t want to lie to her again. They deserve the full truth of the matter. We’ll just have to find a way to protect them despite it.”

  “I could keep them in that apartment for a week. Locked in, cut off. A week’s about all we need if we move fast and move right. They’d be pissed off when they got out, but they’d be safe.”

  “Are you serious about my sister?”

  Jack shifted his gaze from the screen, from Rebecca, and looked at Malachi. “Down to the ground serious.”

  “Then take my advice and put thoughts like that out of your head. She’d peel the skin off your face for it, and when she was done . . . Gideon?”

  “She’d walk away, erase you from her life the way you do letters on a chalkboard. And as for me, I won’t cut Cleo out. She lost a friend and deserves taking part in avenging him.”

  “If we make a mistake, even one mistake, someone could get hurt.” Jack tapped a finger on the screen. “It might be one of them.”

  “Then we won’t make a mistake,” Malachi said. “They’re coming back down. I’d turn off those monitors if I were you, unless you want your coffee poured down your crotch.”

  “Good point.” He blanked the screen, then swiveled in his chair. “So, it’s the Musketeers’ thing?”

  “All for one,” Malachi began.

  “And one for all,” Gideon finished.

  Jack nodded, then disengaged the locks so the women could get in. As he did, the phone rang. He glanced at the light blinking on his multiline unit. “Upstairs, office line.”

  Behind him, Tia nearly bobbled the coffee when she walked in to the sound of Anita’s voice.

  “Jack, Anita Gaye. I expected to hear from you by now.” The answering machine picked up the irritation in her voice. “It’s urgent. This Toliver woman is harassing me, and I want it to stop. I’m counting on you, Jack.” There was a pause, then the tone of her voice changed, became soft, shaky. “You’re the only one I can count on. I feel very alone, very . . . vulnerable. Please, call me as soon as you can. I’d feel so much better if I knew you were looking out for me.”

  “And the Oscar goes to . . .” Cleo dropped into a chair. “What a load of bullshit. Oh, Jack.” She hitched up her voice, fluttered her lashes. “I feel very alone, very vulnerable.” She stretched out, gave Jack a considering look. “Did you ever do her?”

  “Cleo! You can’t—”

  “No.” Rebecca waved off Tia’s flustered protest. “I’d be interested in the answer to that.”

  Both Malachi and Gideon became extremely busy with the coffeepot. So much, Jack thought sourly, for all for one.

  “Thought about it. For about five seconds. Kept getting this image of one of the vegetable slicers. You know.” He made quick, chopping motions with his hand. “And her running my dick through it. Not real appealing,” he added as both other men winced.

  “Why do you work for her?”

  “First, I don’t work for her. Her husband hired my company as security consultants. I liked him. Second, a job’s a job. Do you only take people on your tour boat who you approve of?”

  “Fair enough,” Rebecca decided, and offered him the bowl of chips as a peace offering.

  “Are you going to call her back?” Tia asked him.

  “Eventually. We’ll let her stew and steam awhile. I figure my pal Bob will pay her a visit tomorrow. That’ll give her more to stew and steam about. She won’t like being questioned by the police. Then tomorrow night we’ll give her the first real kick in the teeth with the break-in at Morningside.”

  “Tomorrow?” Tia sat down heavily. “So soon? How can we be ready?”

  “We’ll be ready,” Jack assured her. “Since we’re going to fail—or at least, it’ll look like we did on first glance. You’re going to take the first step tomorrow morning.”

  “I am?”

  Tia listened, stupefied, as her assignment was explained to her.

  “Why Tia?” Rebecca demanded. “Of the six of us, I’m the only one Anita or one of her monkeys hasn’t seen.”

  “You can’t be sure of that,” Jack corrected. “It’s very likely she’s seen photos of you. Besides, we need you here. Next to me, you’re the best tech.”

  “Tia knows how to think on her feet,” Malachi added, and had the woman in question gaping at him.

  “I do?”

  “And best,” he said, taking her hand, “she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. She’s a way of making herself invisible and seeing what’s around her. Remembering what’s around her. And if she’s seen and recognized, no one will think too much of it.”

  He squeezed her hand. “I’m the one who suggested you for this part,” Malachi told her. “I know you can do it. But you have to agree. If you don’t want to take it on, we’ll find another way.”

/>   “You think I can do this?”

  “Darling, I know you can. But you have to know it as well.”

  It was the strangest thing, Tia realized. For the first time in her life she was the object of someone’s complete confidence. It wasn’t scary at all. It was lovely.

  “Yes. Yes, I can do it.”

  “Okay.” Jack rose. “Let’s go over the steps.”

  IT WAS AFTER midnight when Jack and Rebecca stepped into his apartment again. He knew she wasn’t completely satisfied by the developing plan. He’d have been disappointed in her if she had been.

  “Why do you and Cleo get to be cat burglars?”

  He knew that was one of the sticking points for her and was pleased to detect the faintest hint of what he liked to think was jealousy in her voice. Or maybe it was wishful thinking on his part.

  “First, to make it look like a genuine attempt at a break-in, I need more than two hands. Want a drink?”

  “No, I don’t. Why Cleo’s hands and not Mal’s or Gideon’s?”

  “They’ll be patrolling the area, watching out for cops or bystanders and so on. Sure you don’t want a brandy?” he asked as he poured himself a snifter.

  “Yes. That doesn’t explain—”

  “Not finished yet.” He swirled, sipped, watched with deep affection as her eyes heated at his interruption. “Despite great strides in equality, a woman wandering the streets of New York in the middle of the night is more likely to get hassled than a guy. So, your brothers take the street watch, you run tech in the van with Tia, and Cleo and I do the job.”

  It was too sensible to argue with, so she picked another angle. “Tia’s nervous about the morning.”

  “Tia’s nervous about her shoe size. It’s part of her makeup. She’ll be fine. When push comes to shove, she comes through. Besides, she’ll make it work because Mal believes she’ll make it work, and she’s in love with him.”

  “Do you think she is?” Something softened inside her. “In love with him.”

  “Yeah. It’s going around.”

  She kept her eyes on his as she stepped forward, took the snifter from him for one short sip. “Well then, we’ve a busy day ahead of us. I’m going to bed.”

  “Good idea.” He set the brandy down, took her arms and backed her slowly against the wall.

  “Alone.”

  “Okay.” He kept his eyes open and on hers as he lowered his mouth to hers, as he took the kiss from a teasing brush of lips into quiet urgency.

  When her eyes began to blur, when her hands gripped his hips, he shot them both into turbulent heat. He felt the tremor run through her, through himself, heard the strangled moan that caught in her throat.

  And still, he knew, she held back.

  “Why?” He jerked her back. “Tell me why.”

  The ache for him was almost a pain. “Because it matters. Because it matters, Jack.” She laid her cheek on his. “And that scares me.” She turned her head, just enough to trace her lips over his cheek, then, easing away, walked down the hall and into her room.

  Twenty-two

  IT was a perfectly beautiful September morning with the first hint of fall brisk in the air.

  At least Al Roker had said so during one of his cheerful reports outside 50 Rock. But when you were caught in the vicious war of pedestrian and vehicular traffic, had already stepped on gum and were on your way behind enemy lines, sparkling air wasn’t a major concern.

  She felt guilty. Worse, Tia was certain she looked guilty. At any moment she expected the people who crowded the sidewalk and street to stop and point their fingers at her.

  She stopped at the corner, stared hard at the DON’T WALK signal just to keep herself focused. She had a desperate urge for her inhaler, but was afraid to dig in her purse for it. There was so much else in there.

  So much illegal else.

  Instead, she counted her own breaths—in out, in out—as she joined the flood that poured across the intersection an instant before the signal changed.

  “Half a block more,” she said to herself, then flushed when she remembered she was wired. Tia Marsh, she thought incredulously, was wearing a wire. And everything she said, or that was said to her, was being picked up on the equipment in the van that was even now parked in a lot two blocks south of Morningside.

  She resisted clearing her throat. Malachi would hear her and know she was nervous. If he knew, then she’d be more nervous.

  It was like a dream. No, no, it was like sliding into a television show. Her scene was coming up, and for once in her life, she was going to hit her cue and remember her lines.

  “Okay.” She said it quietly and purposefully this time. “Here we go.”

  She opened the door of Morningside’s main showroom and stepped inside.

  It was more formal than Wyley’s, and lacked, if she did say so herself, Wyley’s quiet charm.

  She was aware that security cameras were recording her now. She knew precisely where they were located, since Jack had gone over the diagram with her, again and again.

  She walked over to stare blindly at a display of Minton China until she calmed herself.

  “May I help you, madam?”

  Tia considered it the height of willpower that she didn’t simply leap out of her shoes and cling by her fingernails to the ornately plastered ceiling at the inquiring voice.

  Reminding herself there wasn’t a flashing GUILTY sign on her forehead, she turned to the clerk. “No, thank you. I’d like to look around a bit.”

  “Of course. I’m Janine. Please let me know if you need any help or have any questions.”

  “Thank you.”

  Janine, Tia noted as the clerk slipped discreetly away, was dressed sharply in a black suit that made her look skinny as a snake and nearly as exotic. And quick as that snake, she’d summed up and dismissed Tia as beneath notice.

  It stung a bit, even though Tia reminded herself that was the point. She’d worn a dull brown suit and a cream-colored blouse—both of which she intended to throw out as soon as she got home—because they helped her fade into the woodwork.

  She wandered to a rosewood secretary and saw out of the corner of her eye that the other clerk, male this time, was as disinterested in her as Janine.

  There were other clerks, of course. She had the layout of Morningside flipping through her mind as she wandered. Each showroom on each floor would be manned by at least two eagle-eyed clerks. And each floor would have a security guard.

  They would all be trained, just as they were at Wyley’s, to separate the customers from the browsers, and to recognize the signs of a possible shoplifter.

  She remembered enough of her own training to have geared her wardrobe and her mannerisms for the job at hand.

  The expensive and unflattering suit. The good, practical shoes. The simple brown purse, too small for serious pilfering. They gave her the look of a woman with money but no particular style.

  She didn’t linger long at any display, but moved from spot to spot with the vague and abstracted air of a browser killing time.

  Neither the clerks nor the guards were likely to pay more than minimal attention to her.

  Two women came in—a mother and daughter by the look of them, Tia decided. Janine pounced. Tia gave her points for speed and smoothness, as she’d scooped up the two potentials before the male clerk had gotten off the mark.

  While attention was focused across the room, Tia slipped the first listening device out of her purse and stuck it under the front lip of a secretary.

  She waited for alarms to sound, for men with guns to burst through the door. When the blood stopped pounding in her ears, she heard the women discussing dining room tables with Janine.

  She continued around the room, giving a pate-de-verre paperweight in the shape of a frog a long study. And attaching another bug to the underside of the George III refectory table on which it sat.

  By the time she’d worked the first floor she felt so competent she began to hum. She plugge
d another bug under the railing as she walked up to the second level. She brought Jack’s diagram back into her mind, located the cameras and did her job.

  Each time a clerk approached, she smiled wispily and declined their help. When she reached the third floor, she saw Janine showing her customers a Duncan Phyfe dining room table, seating for twenty.

  None of them so much as glanced at her.

  She had one bug left, contemplated where it would do the most good. The Louis XIV sideboard, she decided. Angling her body away from the camera, she opened her purse.

  “Tia? It’s Tia Marsh, isn’t it?”

  The word eek sounded clearly in her head, nearly fell off her tongue as she spun around and stared at Anita.

  “I, um, oh. Hello.”

  “Casing the joint?”

  The blood that was pounding between Tia’s ears drained into her toes. “Excuse me?”

  “Well, you are the daughter of a competitor.” Anita chuckled, but her eyes were sharp as sabers as she slid an arm around Tia’s waist. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in Morningside before.”

  In the van, Malachi had to be forcibly restrained from charging out the door. “Hold on,” Jack snapped. “She’s fine. She’ll handle it. She knows this was a possibility.”

  “I haven’t been,” Tia managed and felt a smile try to wobble onto her face. Use it, she ordered herself. Use your fumbling ineptitude. “It seems so odd, you know, never having been inside. I had an appointment a few blocks away, so—”

  “Oh, where?”

  “With my holistic therapist.” The lie brought a blush to her cheeks and gave the claim perfect credence. “I know a lot of people think alternative medicine is hoodoo, but honestly, I’ve had such good results. Would you like her name? I think I have a card.”

  She started to open her purse again, but Anita cut her off. “That’s all right. I’ll just call you if I have a need for . . . hoodoo.”

  “Actually, well, that was just an excuse. I came in because I thought I might run into you. I had such a nice time at our lunch the other day, and I . . . I hoped we might be able to do it again.”