The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 3

by Nora Roberts

  “It would, in a nutshell. We won’t risk losing you, Cleo, for your own sake. And I don’t think you’ll risk the whole of the matter just for the chance to thumb your nose in her face.”

  “Okay, point taken. I’m a risk, so I stay covered.”

  “And next time, Gideon,” Eileen said, “you might ask reasonably instead of tossing orders about. You make a fine cup of tea for a Yank, Tia.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan.”

  “Let’s just make it Eileen, why don’t we? From what I gather here you’re a clever girl in other areas.”

  “Not really. I’m just good at following directions.”

  “Modesty’s very becoming.” Eileen poured another half cup of tea from the pot. “But when it’s misplaced or untrue, then it’s just foolishness. You found a way to get this woman’s financial information.”

  “Actually, it was my friend who . . . Yes,” Tia amended at Eileen’s lifted eyebrows. “I found a way.”

  “And so you know how much to demand from her for the Fates.”

  “We haven’t decided, exactly, but I thought . . .”

  “Does the girl always worry about speaking her mind?” Eileen asked Malachi.

  “Not as much as she did. You’re making her nervous.”

  Though color rose into her cheeks, Tia straightened her shoulders. “She can liquidate up to fifteen million. Twenty, really, but that adds considerable time and complications, so fifteen’s better. So I thought we should ask for ten and give her a buffer. The Fates are worth a great deal more. She’ll know that with a little work and research she can sell them to the right collector for at least double her investment. My father verified that he, as a dealer, would offer ten. As a businesswoman, she’d think the same way.”

  “Very sensible,” Eileen said with a nod. “Now all you have to do is figure out how to have her turn over that kind of money without giving her the Fates. Have her charged with the insurance fraud and end it all with her being arrested for murder. With that done, we can get down to planning a wedding and get back to running Sullivan Tours. Your cousins are doing a fine job with the day-today of it,” she told Malachi, “but we need to have our hands back in it again.”

  “It’ll hold a bit longer, Ma,” Malachi assured her.

  “If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be here. Just as I believe the lot of you will come up with the solution to the whole of it. You’ve gotten this far, after all. And speaking of that, isn’t it time someone offered to show me the Fates?”

  “I LIKE YOUR mother.”

  Malachi’s lips twitched as he watched Tia neatly turn down the bed. “She terrifies you.”

  “Just a little.” Out of habit, she switched on the white-noise maker on the bedside table.

  When she moved away to adjust her bedroom air filter, Malachi switched it back off as he did every night. She never noticed.

  “Rebecca was so happy to see her. It was a lovely thing for Jack to do, bringing her here.” Restless, Tia walked into the bath, carefully removed her hypoallergenic makeup with hypoallergenic cleanser.

  “A nice surprise for you, too,” she added when Malachi came to the doorway. “I’m sure you’ve missed her.”

  “I have, very much.” He loved to watch her this way—the tidiness of her, the pretty sweetness of her face without any trace of cosmetics. “You know what they say about Irish men.”

  “No, what do they say?”

  “They may be drunks or rebels, brawlers or poets. But to a man, they love their mothers.”

  She laughed a little, stood there opening and closing the top of her moisturizer. “You’re not any of those things.”

  “What an insult. I can drink and brawl with the best of them. Sure I’ve got some rebel in me. And . . . do you want poetry, Tia?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had any.”

  “Do you want it quoted or made up?”

  She wanted to smile, was sure she could, but it collapsed on her. “Don’t do this.”

  “What?” Baffled, and a little alarmed, he stepped to her. And she stepped away.

  “I’m not going to make it difficult for you.”

  “That’s good to know,” he said carefully. “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not crying.” She sniffed. “I won’t cry. I’ll be reasonable and understanding, just like I always am,” she said and set the moisturizer on the counter with a snap.

  “Maybe you should tell me what you’re going to be reasonable and understanding about.”

  “Don’t laugh at me. Knowing people laugh at me doesn’t make it any less horrible.”

  “I’m not laughing at you. Sweetheart . . .” He reached out for her and she smacked his hand aside.

  “Don’t call me that, and don’t touch me,” she added as she pushed by him and strode back into the bedroom.

  “Don’t call you sweetheart, don’t touch you. You won’t cry and you’ll be reasonable and understanding.” His head began to throb. “Give me a clue here.”

  “We’re almost done. I know it, and I’ll finish it out. This is the only important thing I’ve done in my life, and I won’t leave it unfinished.”

  “It’s not the only important thing you’ve done.”

  “Don’t placate me, Malachi.”

  “Damned if I’m placating you, and bloody hell if I’m going to stand here arguing without any idea what I’m arguing about. Christ, I’m getting one of your headaches.” He scrubbed his hands roughly over his face. “Tia, what is it?”

  “You said you should have told me before. Maybe you should. Maybe, even though I knew, it would have been better that way.”

  “Told you . . . ah.” And he remembered what he’d been about to say before Cleo had interrupted them that morning. He frowned, jammed his hands into his pockets. “You know, and it pisses you off?”

  “I’m not allowed to have feelings?” she tossed back. “I’m not allowed to be angry. Just grateful? Grateful that we’ve had these weeks together. Well, I am grateful and I’m angry. I’ll be furious if I want.” She glanced around. “God! There must be something to throw.”

  “Don’t think about it,” he advised. “Just grab the first thing and let it fly.”

  She snatched up her hairbrush, heaved it. It cracked solidly against the jewel-toned shade of her bedside lamp. “Damn it! Damn it, that was Tiffany. Can’t I even have a successful temper tantrum?”

  “You should have thrown it at me.” He grabbed her arms before she could go clean up the mess she’d made.

  “Just let me go.”

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  “I’m stupid.” The fight went out of her. “All I’ve done is embarrass myself and break a beautiful lamp shade. I should’ve taken a Xanax.”

  “Well, you didn’t, and I prefer fighting with a woman who’s not hazy on some tranquilizer. These are real feelings, Tia, and you’ll have to deal with them. Whether you want mine or not, you’ll have to deal with them.”

  “I’ve been dealing with them.” She shoved at him. “I’ve been dealing with them all along. And it’s not fair. I don’t care that life doesn’t have to be fair, because this is my life. And I can’t make it easy on you, no matter how often I told myself I would. I want you to go stay at Jack’s. You can’t be here with me, it’s too much.”

  “You’re tossing me out? Before I go, I’ll know why,” he said and grabbed her.

  “It’s too much, I said. I’ll finish what we started, and I won’t let the others down. But I won’t, I will not be the quiet, unassuming lover who makes it convenient for you when it’s over and you walk away, when you go back to Ireland and pick up your life where you left it off. Where you leave me off. For once, I’m doing the ending, and I’m telling you to go.”

  “Have I ever asked you to be quiet or unassuming?”

  “No. You changed my life, thank you very much. There.” She tried to twist away and was hauled back. “You want more? Fine. It’s very considerate of
you to be honest enough to tell me it’s all temporary—lives bumping together and moving on. You’ve got a home and a business to run in Ireland. So good luck.”

  “You’re a confusing woman, Tia, and a great deal of work.”

  “I’m a very simple woman, and extremely low maintenance.”

  “Bollocks. You’re a maze, and constantly fascinating to me. Let’s just back all this up, for clarity’s sake. In your opinion, I was about to tell you this morning that it’s been nice, it’s been fun, and very pleasurable as well. I’d probably add that I’m quite fond of you, and knowing you to be a quiet, unassuming woman—ha ha—I’m sure you’ll understand that when this business is done, then so are we.”

  The image of him was hazed through tears. For the first time she wished, viciously, that he was ordinary—to look at, to speak with. To make love with.

  “It doesn’t matter what you would have said because I’m saying it now.”

  “Oh it matters,” he disagreed. “I’m thinking it matters. So I’ll tell you what it is I realized I should have told you before. I love you. That’s what I should have told you before. What do you think of that?”

  “I don’t know.” A tear spilled over now, but she didn’t notice. “Do you mean it?”

  “Of course not.” He laughed as her mouth fell open, then scooped her off her feet. “What, I’m a liar now as well? I love you, Tia, and if I changed your life, you changed mine right back. If you think I can pick up where I left off before you, then you are stupid.”

  “Nobody ever said that to me before.”

  “That you’re stupid?”

  “No.” She touched his face as he sat on the side of the bed with her in his lap. “‘I love you.’ No one’s ever said that to me.”

  “Then you’ll have to make do with me telling you, until you’re tired of hearing it.”

  She shook her head as her heart swelled. “No one’s ever said it to me, so I never had the chance to say it back. Now I do. I love you. I love you, Malachi.”

  Spinning threads, she thought as she pressed her lips to his. Spinning them into yet another pattern. If her thread was cut short, she could look back at this moment and have no regrets.

  Twenty-eight

  SHE was close. She knew it.

  She’d spent hours combing trinket shops, more paying calls on antique and art houses with the pretense of doing business. She’d had endless, and so far fruitless, conversations with local collectors she’d tagged thanks to Stefan.

  To reward herself Anita enjoyed a long, cold drink at a shady table by the sparkling pool beside the Nikoses’ guest house.

  Despite his introductions to collectors, Stefan wasn’t being as helpful as she’d hoped.

  Hospitable enough, she mused as she sipped her frothy mimosa. He and his dull wife had welcomed her with open arms. Another time, she’d have relished the time in the spectacular white house flowing over the hills above Athens, with its acres of gardens, its army of servants and its cool, fragrant courtyards.

  It was very satisfying to stretch out here on thick cushions beside a shimmering pool fed by a fountain depicting Aphrodite, to scan the sheltering trees and flowers under a hot blue sky and know that she had only to lift a finger and anything—anything—her appetites craved would be brought to her.

  That was the silken shelter of true wealth, true privilege, where there was no need to concern yourself with anything beyond your own immediate desires.

  And that was her life’s ambition.

  In fact, she thought it was time she looked into similar accommodations for herself. Once she had the other statues, and she would have them, she might consider a partial retirement. After all, she’d be hard-pressed to top the coup of acquiring and selling the Three Fates. Morningside would have outlived its purpose for her.

  Italy might be more her style, she mused. Some elegant villa in Tuscany where she would live in staggering expatriate style. Of course, she’d keep the house in New York. She’d spend a few months there every year. Shopping, socializing, entertaining and gathering the envy of others like rose petals.

  She’d grant interviews. But after the initial flurry of media, she’d slip away. That veil of mystery would be thin, and when she lifted it on her own whim, they’d run scrambling for her.

  She would put Morningside up for sale, regretfully. And would reap all the profits due her after the investment of twelve tedious years of marriage.

  It was the life she’d been meant for, Anita decided as she eased back on the chaise. One of indulgence, fame and great, great wealth.

  God knew she’d earned it.

  She’d find that infuriating Cleo Toliver and remove that obstacle from her path. It was only a matter of time. She couldn’t hide forever. At least Stefan had been of some help interpreting in a few of the shops, inquiring for her about the brunette and a small silver statue.

  The Toliver woman was certainly getting around. And twice now, according to the shopkeepers, Anita had missed her by less than an hour.

  It only meant she was closing in, Anita assured herself. Imagine that slut believing she could outwit Anita Gaye.

  It was going to be a very costly mistake for Cleo Toliver.

  “Anita?”

  Still floating on the current of her fantasies, Anita tipped down her shaded glasses and looked at Stefan. “Hello. Beautiful out here, isn’t it?”

  “Perfect. I thought you might enjoy a fresh drink, some refreshment.” He gestured to the trays of fruit and cheese a servant arranged on the table, then handed her another mimosa.

  “I’d adore it, thanks. I hope you’re going to join me.”

  “I will.”

  His silver hair glinted in the sun as he took the chair beside her.

  His arms were tanned and muscled, his body fit, and his face interestingly craggy. He was worth, at conservative estimates, a hundred and twenty million.

  If she’d been in the market for another husband, he’d have been a top contender.

  “I want to thank you again, Stefan, for being my guide and liaison. It’s bad enough I’m taking advantage of your hospitality by coming into your home on hardly a moment’s notice, but I’m taking up so much of your time. I know how busy a man of your stature and position is.”

  “Please.” He gestured her words away as he picked up his own drink. “It’s nothing but a pleasure. And exciting as well, this treasure hunt. Such things make me feel young again.”

  “Oh. As if you’re not.” She leaned toward him, offering him a deliberate view of lush breasts barely contained by her thin bikini. She may not have been in the market for a husband, but lovers were always a consideration. “You’re an attractive, vital man in his prime. Why, if it wasn’t for your wife . . .” She trailed off, tapped a finger on the back of his hand in a flirtatious manner. “I’d make a play for you myself.”

  “You flatter me.” Calculating and pitifully obvious woman, he thought. And felt another twinge for his good friend who hadn’t seen this creature for what she was.

  “Not in the least. Like wine, I prefer men with a certain age and body to their credit. I hope, one day, I’ll be able to repay you for your kindness.”

  “What I do,” he said, “I do for Paul. And, of course, for you, Anita. You deserve all I can do for you, and more. As it happens, I fear I have not been successful in helping you with your treasure hunt. Naturally, as a collector my interest isn’t completely altruistic. What a prize it would be, to add the Moerae to my collection. I trust, when the time comes, we can do business.”

  “How could it be otherwise?” She tapped her glass against his. “To future dealings, business and personal.”

  “I look forward to it, more than I can say. I should tell you that on the other front, I have had some small success.”

  He paused, studied the fruit and sliced off a branch of fat purple grapes. “Will you not sample some? From our own arbors.”

  “Thank you.” She took the branch from him. “You we
re saying?”

  “Eh? Oh yes, yes.” He took his time, selected a branch of grapes for himself. “Yes, some small success on the matter of the woman you seek. The name of the hotel where she was booked.”

  “You found her.” Anita swung her legs over the chaise so that her feet smacked against the tiles. “Why didn’t you say so? Where is this place?”

  “In an area of the city I would never recommend for a lady of your delicacies. Cheese?”

  “I need a car and driver,” she snapped. “Immediately.”

  “Of course, all is at your disposal.” He cut a thin slice of cheese, added it to the small plate that held the grapes she’d yet to taste. “Ah, but you think to go to this hotel to see her. She is not there.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Obvious, Stefan thought again. Yes, she was obvious. And now the cat peeked out behind the mask, showing its nasty little fangs and ugly temper. “She was booked,” he explained, “but has checked out only today.”

  “Where did she go? Where the hell is she?”

  “Alas, I was unable to learn this. The clerk said only that she checked out, shortly after meeting with a young man. British or Irish, the clerk wasn’t certain. They left together.”

  The color that temper and excitement had thrown into her cheeks slid away until her face was white as bone, hard as stone. “That can’t be.”

  “Naturally, there could be some mistake or confusion, but the clerk seemed cooperative enough, and very certain. I can arrange for you to speak with him yourself tomorrow if you like. He has no English, but I will be happy to interpret. Still I must insist you meet him away from this area. I could not, in good conscience, take you there.”

  “I need to talk to him now. I need to find her now. Before . . .” She paced the hot white tiles around the pool, and thought murderously of Malachi Sullivan.

  “Calm yourself, Anita.” His tone all comfort, Stefan got to his feet. A servant approached and apologized for the interruption.

  Stefan took the envelope the servant held out, then dismissed him.

  “Anita, you have a telegram.”