The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 3

by Nora Roberts

  “I don’t. And don’t baby me.”

  “You’re too smart to beat yourself up for having anxiety. And too bullheaded not to. Tough spot for you, Dunbrook. Sit.” He pushed her onto the sofa, tossed the blanket over her. “Shut up one minute before you make me take back the smart part. You’ve had nothing but stress, tension, shocks and work for over a month. You’re human. Give yourself a break.”

  He pulled out a bottle of water, opened it, handed it to her.

  “I had a nightmare.” She bit her lip because it wanted to tremble. “And I woke up, and I was alone and I couldn’t breathe.”

  “I’m sorry.” He sat beside her. “I went out to look around, just checking on things. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

  “It’s not your fault.” She took a long drink of water. “I don’t scare easy.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  “But I’m scared now. You tell anybody that, I’ll have to kill you. But I’m scared now, and I don’t like it.”

  “It’s okay.” He put an arm around her, pressed his lips to her temple.

  “When I don’t like something, I get rid of it.”

  His lips curved against her skin. “Don’t I know it,” he repeated.

  “So I’m not going to be scared.” She took one long breath, relieved when it didn’t catch in her lungs or her throat. “I just won’t be scared. I’m going to find out what I need to know. I’m going to Virginia, and the Simpsons are going to tell me what I need to know. I want you to go with me.”

  He lifted her hand, kissed it. “You’d better get dressed first.”

  Nineteen

  With the last strips of a pound of bacon snapping in the black iron skillet, Jake beat two dozen eggs in a bowl. He’d browbeaten Callie into making the coffee before she’d gone up to shower, so that was something. But if anybody wanted toast, somebody else was going to have to deal with it.

  He didn’t mind cooking. Not when it was breakfast in bulk and didn’t require any fancy touches. In any case, they all had to eat, and no one else had worked up the interest or energy to put food together.

  A team—or a tribe—whatever their rituals and customs, required fuel to carry them out. A member’s death forced a new intimacy among the survivors. Food was a symbol, and the preparation, presentation and consumption of it a ceremony common to many cultures during mourning for a good reason.

  Like sex, food was life. Along with sorrow, the guilt and the relief of still claiming life while one of your own was lost had to be acknowledged.

  That enforced intimacy was temporary, he reminded himself, thinking of Callie. Unless you worked, very hard, to maintain it.

  When Doug stepped into the kitchen, he saw the man he thought of as Callie’s ex-husband leaning a hip against the stove, a dishrag dangling out of the waistband of faded jeans, while he whipped what looked like a garden fork in a mixing bowl.

  It was an odd enough picture, but odder yet when he considered he’d been admitted to the house by some guy in his underwear with gray-streaked hair down to his butt, who had gestured vaguely toward the kitchen before crawling back onto a ripped-up sofa.

  Doug had stepped over two lumps on the floor, which he assumed by the snoring were people.

  If this was the kind of place Callie chose to live in, he was going to have to go a long way before he understood her.

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  Jake kept beating the eggs. “If you’re looking for Callie, she’s in the shower.”

  “Oh. Guess I figured you’d all be up and around by now.”

  “Late start today. Coffee’s fresh.”

  “Thanks.” There were several mugs and cups lined up on the counter. Doug chose one at random and reached for the pot.

  “Milk’s on the counter if you want it. That’s fresh, too. Just picked it up on the way back from the dig this morning.”

  “You were working all night?”

  “No.” Jake stopped beating the eggs, turned to flip the bacon. “I thought you’d come by to see how she was doing. But I don’t guess you’ve heard.”

  “What do you mean how she’s doing? What happened?”

  Instant concern, Jake noted. Blood could run thick. “One of our team drowned last night. In Simon’s Hole. We don’t know how. Cops’re looking into it. Callie and I took the night shift. Top off that blue mug, will you?”

  “You’re awfully cool about it.”

  Jake glanced up from the skillet. “We’ve got a team to keep together. People make up that team, and Callie and I are responsible for those people. She’s taking this hard. I’m not going to do her any good if I do.”

  He looked up as the ceiling creaked. She was in the bedroom now, Jake thought. So he had another minute or two. “Somebody killed that boy,” he said quietly.

  “You just said he drowned.”

  “I think somebody helped him. I think two people are dead because Callie’s digging up the past—one that doesn’t have anything to do with the site.”

  Doug stepped closer to the stove, lowered his voice as Jake had. “Ron Dolan and this guy were killed because Callie’s looking for whoever took her out of that stroller in 1974? That’s a reach.”

  “Not as much as you think. She’ll be down in a minute—doesn’t take her any longer to pull on a shirt and pants—so I’ll cut to the point. I don’t want her alone, not for so much as an hour. When I can’t stick with her, you will.”

  “You think someone’s going to try to hurt her?”

  “I think the closer she gets, the more they’ll do to stop her. I’m not going to let anyone hurt her, and neither are you because you were raised in a culture where a brother—especially an older brother—is schooled to look out for his sister. The fact that circumstances robbed you of that task during the formative years will make you, as an adult male, only more determined to step into the role at this point.”

  “So I’m going to help you look out for her because my culture demands it?”

  “That, and because the blood connection’s already kicked in with you.” A little baffled by it, Jake concluded as he studied Doug’s face. A little embarrassed by it, but it’s kicked in. “Because she’s a female, and it’s your nature and upbringing to stand up for a female. And because you like her.”

  Doug supposed that covered all the bases. “What’s your excuse?”

  Jake shoved the skillet off the heat. “My excuse is coming down the stairs right now, and will shortly start nagging me to put cheese in these eggs.”

  He tugged the dishcloth out of his jeans and used it as a pot holder on the handle of the skillet while he poured off still sizzling grease into a empty can of pork and beans.

  “I’m leaving it to Leo to wake up the slugs we’ve got spread all over the house,” she said as she came in. “Doug,” she added after a moment’s surprise. “Um. How’s it going?”

  “Jake just told me about what happened. Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, a little fogged up yet.” Still looking at him, she held out a hand. Jake put a mug of coffee into it. “I heard you were out of town.”

  “I got back yesterday. I came by the site, but you were busy.”

  “Oh. Well. You put cheese in those eggs?” she asked Jake, and was already opening the refrigerator to dig some out.

  “Not everybody likes cheese in their eggs.”

  “Everybody should like cheese in their eggs.” She passed him the cheese, skirted around him to open a loaf of bread. “Put some in my share, and if it gets in someone else’s that’s too bad.”

  Doug watched Jake hold out a hand for the knife she’d taken out of a drawer, watched her pop bread into the toaster, then take the plate he handed her.

  It was like a little dance, he decided, with each knowing the steps and rhythm the other would take even before they were taken.

  “I just dropped by to give you something I picked up in Memphis.”

  There was another moment of surprise, obvious on her face, bef
ore she worked up a smile. “Barbecue?”

  “No.” Doug handed her a small brown bag. “Just a little souvenir from Graceland.”

  “You went to Graceland. I always wanted to go to Graceland. I have no idea why. Wow, look at this, Graystone, it’s an official Elvis beer cozy.”

  “You can never have too many beer cozies.”

  Jake studied the red cozy dutifully. “You better keep that out of Digger’s reach. He likes a good beer cozy.”

  “Well, he can’t have this one.” She took a step toward Doug, hesitated. What the hell was she supposed to do? Should she kiss him, punch him in the arm? “Thanks.” She settled for patting his shoulder.

  “You’re welcome.” And they, Doug thought, just didn’t know the steps and rhythm of their dance. “I’d better get going.”

  “Have you had breakfast?” She opened a drawer, took out a spatula even as Jake poured the eggs into the skillet behind her.

  “No.”

  “Why don’t you stay? There’s plenty, right, Jake?”

  “Sure.”

  “I wouldn’t mind, and lucky for me, I like cheese in my eggs.”

  “Grab a plate,” she told him. Jake shifted to the right as she bent down, opened the oven door and took out the platter of bacon he’d already fried.

  “Leo told me to come straight back,” Lana announced as she walked in. “Doug, I saw your car outside. I guess you heard what happened.”

  “Grab two plates,” Callie told him, refilling the toaster. “Do we need a lawyer?”

  “Leo has some concerns. I’m here to alleviate them. The legal concerns anyway. As to the rest.” She lifted her hands. “It’s awful. I don’t know what to say. I spoke with Bill just yesterday afternoon. He let Ty talk his ear off about that damn deer bone.”

  “Where’s Ty?” Doug handed her a paper plate from the stack on the counter.

  “What? Oh, with Roger. I don’t really think I could eat. I just want to speak with Leo.”

  “When I cook, everybody eats.” Jake got an enormous jar of grape jelly out of the fridge, passed it back to Callie. “You’d better get a seat before the horde piles in and takes them all. How many we got, Dunbrook?”

  “Rosie and Digger are at the site. So counting our guests here, we’ll be eleven for breakfast this morning.”

  They came in and out, in various states of dress and undress. Some scooped up food, then wandered off with their plates. Others found a space at the long scarred table Rosie had picked up at the flea market.

  But Jake was right. When he cooked, everyone ate.

  Callie concentrated on the meal, deliberately putting food on her fork, and the fork in her mouth. She didn’t bother to tune in as Lana went over the legal ground with Leo.

  “People might make us stop,” Sonya commented. She shredded a piece of toast, scattering crumbs over the eggs she’d barely touched. “I mean, the police, or the town council or something like that. They might want the dig shut down.”

  “The Preservation Society has bought the land,” Lana told her. “We’ll settle on it in a matter of weeks. As a member, and having spoken with another key member only this morning, I can promise you that none of us blames your team for what happened. The work you’re doing there isn’t responsible for what happened to Bill McDowell.”

  “He died when we were all just sitting there. We were all just sitting there.”

  “Would you have just sat there if you’d known he was in trouble?” Jake asked her.

  “No, no, of course not.”

  “Would you have done whatever you could to help if you’d known he needed help?”

  Sonya nodded.

  “But you didn’t know, so you couldn’t help. The dig was important to him, don’t you think?”

  “Oh yeah.” She sniffed, pushed her fork through her eggs. “He was always talking about it, getting all revved up every time there was a new find. If he wasn’t talking about the work, he was talking about Callie.” She stopped, winced, shot Callie a glance. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “In many cultures, many societies,” Jake continued, “you show respect for the dead by honoring their work. We’ll dig.”

  “I don’t mean to stir up trouble,” Dory began. “I just wondered what would happen if Bill’s family sues. The landowner, and the team leaders, something like that. People do that sort of thing over a broken toe, so it seems they might do it over Bill. How would that kind of legal trouble affect the grant? Could it be pulled?”

  “People suck.” After the statement, Matt shrugged, then reached for more bacon. “I just mean Dory’s got a point. In a litigious, materialistic, self-absorbed society, it’s a natural progression to go from emotion to calculation. Who’s going to pay for this, and how much can I get?”

  “Let me worry about that,” Lana told him. “My advice at the moment is to continue as if you mean to go on. Cooperate with the police, and with the media, but before giving statements to either, you should consult with me or other counsel.”

  “We’re also going to employ a strict buddy system.” Leo pushed his plate aside, reached for his coffee. “Nobody wanders into the woods at any time alone. Those team members who remain throughout the week will share night-shift duties on-site. No less than two members per shift. We’re not losing anyone else.”

  “I’ll work out a schedule,” Callie agreed.

  “Good. I need to be back in Baltimore tonight, but I’ll be back here midweek. I think it’s best if we take today off. Anyone who’s remaining should be ready to work tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got some personal business in Virginia today.” Callie glanced at Jake. “Dory and the West Virginia turtledoves can relieve Rosie and Digger this afternoon. We’ll put Bob and Matt and Digger on the night shift. I’ll have a daily schedule worked out by tomorrow.”

  “I’ll take KP here, before I leave.” Sonya got to her feet. “I know what you’re saying’s right,” she said to Jake. “In my head. But I can’t get past it. I don’t know if I’ll be back. I’m sorry to let everyone down, but I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “Take a few days,” Callie suggested. “I need to get some things together. And I need complete reports, and all film from yesterday from everyone by end of day.”

  She went into Jake’s office to print out the article on Simpson, to make a file folder for the lists, the chart.

  “What’s in Virginia?” Doug asked from the doorway.

  “Who. Someone I need to talk to.”

  “Is this about . . . Does it have to do with Jessica?”

  “Yeah.” She stuffed the file in a shoulder bag. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Jake’s tagging along. I’ve got it handled.”

  “I’m going with you,” he said again, then shifted aside as Lana nudged through.

  “What’s this about?”

  “I’ve got some information I need to check out.”

  “Are you going?” Lana asked Doug.

  “Yeah, I’m going.”

  She frowned at her watch. “Let me call Roger, see if he can handle Ty until we get back.”

  “What is this ‘we’?” Callie demanded.

  “I think it’s what you refer to as a team. I’m the legal portion of that team. Let me just make that call, then you can fill me in on the drive.”

  “I might end up doing something illegal,” Callie muttered as Lana dug out her cell phone.

  Lana tucked her hair behind her ear. “Then you definitely need me along.”

  She couldn’t even manage to take the wheel, and had to settle for sitting shotgun in Jake’s SUV instead of her own. To give herself time to sulk in silence, she handed the file back to Doug so he and Lana could read it over in the backseat.

  But silence was short as both of them began to pepper her with questions.

  “Look, what I know is in there. What I’m going to find out is in Virginia.”

 
“She’s always grumpy when she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep,” Jake commented. “Right, babe?”

  “Just shut up and drive.”

  “See?”

  “How long was Simpson your mother’s doctor?” Lana unearthed a legal pad from her bag and began taking notes.

  “I don’t know. At least since 1966.”

  “And he wasn’t married to Barbara Halloway at that time?”

  “No, I think that was closer to 1980. He’s got a good twenty years on her.”

  “And according to your information, she worked at Washington County Hospital from July or August of ’seventy-four until the spring of the following year, and was on the maternity floor when Suzanne Cullen was admitted. In the spring of the following year, she relocated. You don’t know where.”

  “I’m going to find out where, and you can bet your ass that at some time between spring of ’seventy-five and ’eighty, she spent time in Boston.” She shifted to look into the backseat. “She was still working in Hagerstown when Jessica Cullen was kidnapped. You don’t forget something like that. But when we talked to them back in July, it was all news to her. News to both of them, and that doesn’t play.”

  “It’s circumstantial.” Lana continued to write. “But I agree.”

  “Circumstantial, my ass. You look at the time line, the focal points, and it’s a simple matter to put together a picture of events. Halloway was one of Carlyle’s organization. One of his key medical contacts. An OB nurse. She gets word that he’s in the market for an infant, preferably female, most likely the order comes in with a basic physical description of the clients, maybe some of their heritage. Suzanne Cullen delivers a baby girl who fits the bill.”

  “But they didn’t take the baby for over three months,” Doug pointed out.

  “Even a desperate couple might get suspicious if they request a child for adoption purposes and have it served up to order immediately. Wait a couple months, make sure the kid stays healthy, doesn’t come up with medical problems, take the time to learn and study the family routine, wait for the best opportunity. And pile up additional fees during the waiting period.”