by Nora Roberts
“How sweet. I’ll check my calendar and give you a call.”
“I’d really like that. I’m free most any time. I usually try to schedule my medical appointments in the morning so I can . . .” She trailed off, cleared her throat, took a couple of labored breaths. “Oh dear. Do you have a cat?”
“A cat? No.”
“Reaction. Something.” She began to wheeze until customers and clerks looked nervously in her direction. “Allergies. Asthma.”
The wheezing and gulping air made her light-headed so that her stumble was genuine, and effective. She dragged the inhaler out of her purse, used it noisily.
“Come on. Come with me. For heaven’s sake.” Anita dragged her into the elevator, jabbed the button for the fourth floor. “You’ll upset the customers.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” She continued to suck on the inhaler while the thrill of success jolted through her system. “If I could sit down. Minute. Glass of water.”
“Yes, yes.” She dragged Tia through the office suites. “Bring Dr. Marsh a glass of water,” she called out, then all but tossed Tia into a chair. “Put your head between your knees or something.”
Tia obeyed, and grinned. In Anita’s manner was all the impatience and irritation the sturdily healthy feel for the sickly. “Water.” She croaked it, then watched Anita’s gorgeous shoes march across the gorgeous carpet.
“Bring me a damn glass of water. Now!”
By the time she spun back into the room, Tia had the last bug firmly attached to the bottom of her chair.
“I’m sorry. So sorry.” Easing up, Tia let her head fall back weakly. “Such a bother. Such a nuisance. Are you sure you don’t have a cat?”
“I ought to know if I have a goddamn cat.” She grabbed the water from her assistant’s hand and thrust it on Tia.
“Of course you would. It’s just usually cats that cause that quick and violent a reaction.” She sipped the water slowly. “Then again, it could be pollen. From the flower arrangements, which are lovely by the way. My holistic therapist is putting me on a program that combines herbs, meditation, subliminal reinforcement and weekly purges. I’m very hopeful.”
“Great.” Anita looked meaningfully at her watch. “Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, very. Oh, you’re busy, and I’ve taken up so much of your time. My father hates his workday interrupted, and I’m sure you’re the same. I hope you’ll call about lunch soon. I . . . my treat,” she added and knew she sounded pathetic. “To thank you for your help today.”
“I’ll be in touch. Let me walk you to the elevator.”
“I hope I didn’t disrupt your day,” Tia began, then stopped as Anita’s assistant got to her feet.
“Ms. Gaye, this is Detective Robbins, NYPD. He’d like to speak with you.”
Tia controlled a hysterical urge to laugh. “Oh. My. Well. I should get out of your way. Thank you so much. Thank you for the water,” she said to the assistant and hurried to the elevator. She bit the inside of her cheek until it hurt, kept right on biting until she’d gotten to the main showroom and out the door.
New Yorkers were too used to lunatics to pay any attention to a drably dressed blonde giggling hysterically as she ran down the sidewalk.
“YOU WERE BRILLIANT.” Malachi all but hoisted her into the back of the van, then caught her in a rib-crushing hug. “Bloody brilliant.”
“I was.” She couldn’t stop the giggles. “I really was. Even though I nearly wet my pants when Anita spoke to me. Then I thought, if I can just get into her office for a minute, I can put the last little mike there. But I kept wanting to laugh. Nervous reaction, I suppose. I just . . . somebody shut me up.”
“Happy to.” Malachi closed her mouth with his.
“If you kids would settle down, you might want to hear this.”
Jack switched the audio on, took off his headphones.
“. . . understand what a police detective might want with me. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thanks, Ms. Gaye, and we appreciate your time. It concerns a property you owned, a warehouse just off Route Nineteen, south of Linden, New Jersey.”
“Detective, my husband owned a number of properties, which I inherited . . . Oh, you said ‘owned.’ I recently sold a New Jersey property. My lawyers and accountants handle most of those details. Is there some problem with the sale? I haven’t heard anything to indicate it, and I know the deal was finalized earlier this month.”
“No, ma’am. No problem that I’m aware of.” There was a slight rustling sound, a pause. “Do you know this man?”
“He doesn’t look familiar to me. I do meet a lot of people, but . . . no, I don’t recognize him. Should I?”
“Ms. Gaye, this man was found inside the warehouse in question. He was murdered.”
“Oh my God.” There was a creak as Anita sat. “When?”
“Time of death is often hard to determine. We believe he died very close to the date you sold the warehouse.”
“I don’t know what to say. That property hasn’t been in use for . . . I’m not completely sure. Six months, perhaps eight. This should have been brought to my attention. I’ll have to contact the buyers. This is dreadful.”
“Ms. Gaye, did you have access to the building?”
“I did, of course. My representative was given all the keys and security codes, which would have been turned over to the purchasers. You’ll want to contact my real estate representative, of course. Let me have my assistant get you his information.”
“I’d appreciate it. Ms. Gaye, do you own a gun?”
“Yes. Three. My husband . . . Detective.” Another pause, longer. “Am I a suspect?”
“These are just routine questions, Ms. Gaye. I assume your three guns are registered.”
“Yes, of course they are. I have two at home, one in my office, one in my bedroom. And I keep one here.”
“It would help if you’d turn the guns over to us, for elimination. We’ll issue a receipt.”
“I’ll arrange for it.” Her voice was stiff now, and frigid.
“Could you tell us where you were on September eighth and September ninth?”
“Detective, it’s beginning to sound as if I should contact my lawyer.”
“That’s your right, Ms. Gaye. If you want to exercise that right, I’ll be happy to interview you, with your attorney, down at the station. The fact is, I’d just like to cross my t’s here and let you get back to work.”
“I’m hardly going to be dragged into the police station to be questioned about the murder of a man I don’t even know.” There was the slapping sound of paper against paper as she flipped through her desk calendar.
She rattled off times, appointments, business and personal time. “You can verify most of this with my assistant or, if need be, my domestic staff.”
“I appreciate that, ma’am, and I’m sorry to bother you. I know it’s upsetting.”
“I’m not used to being questioned by the police.”
“No, ma’am. Case like this, you’ve got to look at all the angles. It’s a puzzler why this guy would go all the way out to New Jersey to get shot. And in that building. Well. Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Gaye. Some place you got here. First time I’ve been inside. Some place,” he reiterated.
“My assistant will show you out, Detective.”
“Right. Thanks.”
There were footsteps, the sound of a door closing. Then, for several long seconds, nothing but silence.
“Asshole.” It was a vicious whisper and made Jack grin. “Stupid bastard. Idiot. The nerve, the fucking nerve of him coming here to question me like a common criminal. Do I have a gun? Do I have a gun?”
Something fragile broke with a sad tinkling of glass.
“Didn’t I leave the goddamn murder weapon behind where a ten-year-old could find it? But he comes here interrupting my day, insulting me.”
“Bingo,” Jack shouted, then sat back.
“She did it.” Tia shudde
red as she lowered herself into one of two chairs bolted into the van’s floor. On audio, she could hear Anita snap at her assistant to call her lawyer. “I know we believed she did, even knew it on some level. But to hear her say it, just like that, annoyed because she’s being inconvenienced. It’s horrible.”
They listened as Anita swore at her assistant when she reported the lawyer was in a meeting.
“Our Anita’s having a bad day.” Jack turned in his chair. “And we’re going to make it worse. You still in?” he asked Tia.
“Yes.” She was pale, but the hand she lifted to Malachi’s was steady. “More than ever.”
GIDEON WATCHED AS Cleo bundled her hair under a black watch cap, as she stepped back, turned in the mirror to study herself.
“What do you think?” She did a quick pirouette. “It’s the latest in nighttime B and E fashion.”
“You’ve plenty of time yet.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to check out the look.” Dressed in black jeans, black sweater, black sneakers, she gave her reflection one more hard stare. “It works on me. The Gap. Who’d have thought it?”
“You’re not nervous.”
“Not particularly. How hard can it be not to break into a place?” She did a couple of deep pliés to check the give of the jeans. “Too bad there wasn’t time to hunt up a cat suit.” When he didn’t respond, she straightened. “What’s up, Slick?”
“Come here a minute.”
Willing to oblige, she crossed to him and was surprised when he drew her into his arms, hard.
“Wow. What’s this about?”
“There’s always a chance something will go wrong.”
“There’s always a chance a satellite will fall out of the sky and land on my head. Doesn’t keep me hiding in the basement.”
“When I dragged you into this, I didn’t know you.”
“Nobody drags me anywhere. Got it?”
“I didn’t care about you then. I care about you now.”
“That’s nice. Don’t start making me all squishy.”
“Cleo, you don’t have to do this. Wait,” he said when she started to pull away. “Let me finish. Tonight’s not such a big step until you look at the whole. If things work, we’ll be taking it up a level. A very big level. The next time you put on that cap, it’ll be to break into Anita’s house, to take something from her she’ll kill to keep.”
“Something that doesn’t belong to her.”
“That’s not the point. You heard her on that tape. She killed a man, and she won’t hesitate to kill another. She knows who you are.”
“She knows who I am anyway.”
“Listen to me.” His fingers tightened on her arms. “Jack could get you out of this. He’d know the way—people, papers. You could disappear, with the money he’d give you for the statue. She’d never find you.”
“Is that what you think of me? The rat who deserts the ship even before it starts to sink?” She pushed away. “Thanks a lot.”
“I don’t want her to touch you. I won’t have her touching you.”
The restrained violence in his tone, the bubbling frustration under it, defused her own temper.
“Why?”
“I care about you, damn it. Didn’t I say so?”
“Give me another four-letter word.”
He opened his mouth. His tongue felt thick. “Hell.”
She made a buzzing sound, snapped her fingers. “Wrong answer. Care to try again? You can still win the trip for two to San Juan and the complete set of Samsonite luggage.”
“This isn’t easy for me. I don’t like being in this position.” He jammed his hands in his pockets, paced restlessly in the confined space of Tia’s little office. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it. A man doesn’t have time to think under these conditions.”
“Yeah, yeah, blah, blah.” She pulled off the cap, shook out her hair. “I think I’ll grab a snack before we head out.”
He stopped her by snagging her hair, wrapping it around his hand and using it as a rope to yank her back. “Goddamn it, Cleo, I love you, and you’re going to have to deal with that.”
“Okay.” And that slow, liquid warmth inside her became a fast flood as she put her arms around him. “Okay,” she repeated, nesting into him. “Okay.”
Here, she thought. At last.
“Okay? If that’s the best you can do—”
“Shh.” She wrapped her arms tighter. “Quiet. This is like a Hallmark moment here.”
He let out a sigh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about half the time.”
“I’ll make it easy for you. I love you back.” She eased away so their eyes could meet. “You get that?”
“Yeah.” His grip on her hair gentled until his fingers were stroking through it. “That I got.” He brought his lips to hers, slid them both into a long, sumptuous kiss. “We’ll need to talk about this, eventually.”
“You bet,” she said and locked her mouth to his again.
“I want to tell the others we need to find another way.”
“No.” Now she pulled free. “No, Gideon. I do my part, just like Tia did hers this morning. Just like we’re all doing. I owe Mikey that. And it’s more,” she continued before he could speak. “I’m going to be straight with you. I’m a bust.”
“What the devil does that mean?”
“As a dancer. I’m a bust.”
“That’s not true. I’ve seen you.”
“You saw me strip,” she corrected. “A three-minute number where I shake it, peel it and sell it to the crowd. Big fucking deal.” She dragged her hair back, huffed out a breath. “I’m a good dancer, but so is every second kid who ever took dance class. I’m not great and never will be. I liked being part of the company when I could get the gig. I liked being part of something. I never had that with my family.”
“Cleo.”
“This isn’t some deep philosophical confession of my unhappy childhood. I’m just saying, I like to dance. I liked being with other dancers because we could make something together. Sort of like that tapestry Tia was talking about before, you know?”
“Yes.” He thought of his world in Cobh—family, the business, and the need to hold both together. “I know.”
“I spent nearly ten years as a gypsy, and the only real friend I made was Mikey. I gotta figure one of the reasons for that is I was never involved enough. I’d get bored. Same show, same routines, same faces, night after night and twice on Wednesday.”
He traced a finger along her eyebrow, over the little mole at its tip. “You needed more.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know that when you’re a good dancer with a mediocre singing voice, you better have plenty of drive and ambition if you expect to make a living onstage. I didn’t. So when that bastard dangled the idea of the theater in Prague, the chance to choreograph, I jumped. Look where I landed. I had a lot of time to think when I was scraping bottom in Prague. Kept focused on getting back to New York, even though I didn’t have a clue what I was going to do once I did. I guess I know now.”
She picked up the watch cap, twirled it. “I’m part of something now. I’ve got friends. Tia, especially Tia. I guess I’ve got family, and I’m not walking away from it.”
She blew out a long breath. “And that concludes the True Confessions portion of our entertainment.”
He said nothing for a moment, then took her cap, snugged it down over her head. “It looks good on you.”
The back of her eyes stung, but her voice was cocky. “You got that backwards, Slick. I make it look good.”
THEY TOOK SHIFTS monitoring Morningside. After seven, when the place locked down for the night, it was a boring, thankless job. But they would continue monitoring, listening for any change, any sound, until the job was finished.
At three, Malachi had heard Anita’s assistant, whom they’d dubbed Whipping Girl, remind her boss of a salon appointment and her evening’s dinner engagement.
Anita
had left ten minutes later, after haranguing her attorney over the phone, and hadn’t come back.
At midnight, Rebecca was manning the listening post, from the rear of the van. When Jack climbed in the back, all she could drum up was a scowl.
“My brains are going to start leaking out of my ears if I have to do this much longer.”
“We leave in an hour.” He leaned down, his head close to hers, to study the readouts. Then sniffed the side of her neck. “What’s the perfume for?”
“To drive you mad with frustrated desire.”
“Could work.” He turned his head so his lips skimmed over hers, came back to linger. “Definitely could work. Do the run for me. Sector by sector.”
Could work, she realized, both ways. “I’ve done it for you, five hundred times already. I know what I’m doing, Jack.”
“You’ve never worked this equipment before. Practice makes perfect, Irish.”
She muttered curses, but obeyed. “I like the way you kiss me.”
“That’s handy because I plan on spending fifty years or so at it.”
“When I give a man an inch, that doesn’t entitle him to run the mile. Sector one. Alarms—silent and audible—up, motion detectors up, infrared up.” She keyed in codes she knew by heart now and scanned the readouts on her monitors. “Exterior and interior doors, secured and on-line.”
She continued through the sixteen sectors that comprised Jack’s security system for Morningside.
“Shut down alarms in sector five.”
“Shut them down?”
“Practice, baby. Take sector five down for ten seconds.”
She let out a breath, rolled her shoulders. “Shutting down sector five.”
He watched her fingers moving smoothly, briskly, over the keyboard. “There’s a beeping inside the sector. Should I—”
“That’s normal. Keep going.”
“Sector’s down.” She watched the clock now, counting off the seconds. At ten, she keyed in another sequence and watched the system come back up. “Alarm’s up in sector five.”