Envy Mass Market Paperback

by Sandra Brown

  She sat as close to Blume as possible without actually sharing the same chair. Her breast was making itself cozy beneath his arm. Blume’s hand was on her thigh—high on her thigh. Proprietary.

  Noah was certain that these public displays of affection were for his benefit. Nadia was being deliberately seductive. She was gloating. It made him want to reach across the table and slap the shit out of her.

  She had set him up. She had planned this little scenario. He had called her on his drive back from Massachusetts—following that pathetic attempt of Maris’s to incriminate him—and had invited her to join him this evening. “We’re free to be seen together now,” he had told her.

  Nadia had been her sexy self, every word suggestive, every breath an erotic promise. She had named the time and place as though she couldn’t wait to see him. Instead, he’d walked into a goddamn female trap.

  Okay. If she wanted to flaunt her new boyfriend in front of him, fine. It didn’t change anything—except that her sex life would take a severe downward plunge. Judging by Blume’s pallid coloring, getting blood to his penis would be a chore.

  After thanking the waiter for his drink, Blume turned to Noah. “My secretary told me that you called today requesting a meeting.”

  “That’s right. In light of my recent family tragedy—”

  “My condolences, by the way.”

  “Thank you.” He brushed an invisible speck off the cuff of his shirt. “Daniel’s death imposed a temporary postponement of our schedule. Now we’re able to pick up where we left off. You’re going to be very pleased by the developments that have taken place since we last spoke. What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

  “I really don’t see the need for a meeting now.”

  “Now” was a troubling adverb. “Now” indicated that circumstances had undergone a change. Noah avoided looking at Nadia and kept his features carefully schooled. “Why is that?”

  “Noah and I were getting to this when you joined us, Morris,” Nadia said. “Apparently there’s been some confusion.” She gave Noah a pained look. “I’m terribly embarrassed.”

  “Well, since I seem to be the only one in the dark here, perhaps you’ll enlighten me.”

  She glanced toward Blume as though asking his advice, but he merely shrugged. Pulling her lower lip through her teeth, she turned back to Noah. “I thought someone would have told you by now. Out of respect for Daniel, I’ve been sitting on this story for a week.”

  Noah was growing uncomfortably warm inside his clothes. One martini couldn’t account for the sweat trickling down his ribs. He felt like a man about to hear the result of a biopsy on testicular tissue. “What story?”

  Taking center stage, Nadia readjusted herself even closer to Blume. “Out of the blue, Daniel Matherly invited me to his house for breakfast. It was the same morning you left for the country. Who could have guessed that your retreat would end so tragically? I wish I’d had the foresight then to urge him not to go.” She looked squarely at Noah and let that sink in.

  “Anyhow,” she said, shaking her head slightly as though to get back on track, “he gave me a scoop, but asked me to sit on it for a few days, at least until Maris returned from Georgia.”

  Blume was gazing at Nadia as though he might begin sucking on her neck at any moment. She was absently stroking the back of his hand still resting on her thigh. Noah forced himself to smile. “You still haven’t told me the nature of this exclusive story.”

  “Daniel appointed Maris as chairman and CEO of Matherly Press. I thought perhaps Daniel would tell you while you were away together in the country. No? Well… he probably thought it only fair that Maris be informed first.”

  Eyeing him closely, she ran her fingers up and down the stem of her martini glass. “You had led me to believe that Daniel Matherly was borderline senile. Having talked with him at length, I found the opposite to be the case. He was in total command of his faculties. He knew exactly what he was doing.”

  Every capillary in Noah’s body had expanded. Behind his eyeballs, his eardrums, behind every square inch of skin, he could feel the increased pressure of his pulse. Somehow he managed to smile. “Daniel didn’t think too highly of you, Nadia. I think he played a cruel practical joke on you.”

  “The possibility crossed my mind. He was known to be cagey. So I had the story corroborated by a Mr. Stern, the Matherlys’ attorney. He verified it. Maris’s appointment is irrevocable and incontestable. Her authority can be revoked only if she chooses to resign.”

  Noah pried loose his tongue from the roof of his mouth where it had become stuck. “I’m curious as to why you didn’t mention this to me earlier, Nadia. For instance when we spoke earlier today.” Or the night I talked to you by phone from the country, he thought. The bitch had known then. She had been amusing herself with him.

  “It wasn’t my place.”

  “But now it is?”

  “I’m sparing you having to read it in my column. The story runs tomorrow.” She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Honestly, Noah, I thought that by now you would have been officially informed. I suppose that since your marriage is over, you’re no longer in the inner circle. You’re only hired help.”

  “Would you like another drink, Noah?”

  “No, thank you, Morris. I’m late for another appointment.” If he didn’t get out of here, away from Nadia, he was either going to kill her or explode. He’d rather not do either in front of witnesses.

  “Oh, please stay,” Nadia said in a cajoling voice. “We’ve got so much to celebrate. One of Morris’s fondest desires has been fulfilled. WorldView has acquired Becker-Howe. You know Oliver Howe, I’m sure, because he and Daniel were old friends. In fact, it was Daniel who put Morris in contact with him. Daniel knew that WorldView was shopping for a publishing house and that, unlike him, Ollie Howe would welcome their interest.”

  “I had my heart set on Matherly Press,” Blume said. “But since Maris will be at the helm—”

  “I felt it only fair to tell him,” Nadia interjected.

  “And Maris has made absolutely clear her intention never to sell it, so I decided to acquire another company.”

  Noah was clenching his jaw so tightly it ached. “How nice for you.”

  “I paid too much for it, but what the hell?” he chuckled. “It’s a profitable outfit. We’ll easily earn back our investment. Becker-Howe is only slightly smaller than Matherly Press. But not for long.” He winked at Noah. “I’ll be your competitor now. Watch out.”

  And the horse you rode in on, you bloodless son of a bitch, Noah thought. He made a show of checking his wristwatch. “I really hate to break up the party, but I must get on my way.”

  “Wait! That’s not the only good news.” Nadia thrust her left hand across the table. “You failed to notice—or were too polite to mention—that I’m wearing an obscenely enormous diamond ring. Morris and I are getting married next Sunday at the Plaza.” She beamed at Morris, then turned back to Noah. “Three o’clock. We’ll be crushed if you’re not there.”

  Chapter 33

  Damn Michael Strother.

  Cursing his friend—former friend, it appeared—was the only fresh thought in Parker’s mind. Angrily he switched off his computer, concluding another unproductive session of writing. He had sat all day, hands poised above the keyboard, waiting for a burst of inspiration that never came. It was a condition that was recurring with alarming frequency.

  He had been working on the next Mackensie Roone book. Deck Cayton had turned into a real dullard with nothing clever to say. He was no longer roguish or engaging. The villain wasn’t innately evil; he was a caricature. And the girl… Parker didn’t like the girl, either. She was shallow and stupid.

  He hadn’t heard from Mike since he had announced his resignation and left the house. He hadn’t composed a readable sentence since then, either. The old man must have put a hex on him, something he’d learned from the Gullahs who lived on the southern tip of St. Anne. Mike had been fasc
inated by their language and customs, which had been passed from generation to generation dating back to their African ancestry. Parker dismissed spells and potions and such as hogwash. But maybe there was something to them after all.

  When Mike was there, Parker had constantly sought solitude and silence in which to write. But it was amazing how much he missed having the old man puttering around. He found himself subconsciously listening for Mike’s footsteps or the clang of pots and pans in the kitchen, the closing of a door, the whirr of the vacuum cleaner somewhere in the house. The sounds would be welcome distractions now. Comforts. Because he felt terribly alone.

  Years back, while he lay in hospital wards with strangers in neighboring beds, being attended by capable but impersonal nurses, he had felt utterly friendless. Completely alone. That’s when Hatred became his companion. His imaginary friend. His security blanket.

  Through the years that followed, there were times when Hatred was an exhausting sidekick. Particularly after he’d succeeded with the mystery series, he grew tired of it constantly hanging around, never going home. It grew to be a nuisance. He wished to be rid of it.

  Sometimes he kicked it around, hoping that it would leave of its own accord, but it never did. It stayed, and he could never bring himself to abandon it. Instead, he had fed it daily, keeping it loyal to him, until his relationship with it became codependent. It needed him to survive. He needed it for motivation.

  Now Mike was gone, and he was left again with only Hatred, his trusty but parasitical ally.

  He was feeling awfully sorry for himself, but the irony didn’t escape him. His misery was self-imposed. “Poor you. But look at it this way, Parker,” he whispered to himself. “The end is in sight.”

  The last die had been cast when he sent the Envy manuscript to Noah. It was too late now for second-guessing. One way or another it would soon be over and he’d have closure. Everything he had done, said, or written in the past fourteen years had been with this goal in mind. It all funneled down to here and now.

  Whatever the outcome, whether in his favor or not, it hadn’t come cheaply. He had achieved worldwide acclaim, yet no one knew his name. He had sacrificed fame in exchange for anonymity. He had money but nothing to spend it on. He owned a beautiful house, but it wasn’t a home. He shared the empty rooms with only a hanging man’s ghost. His need for vengeance had cost him his one true friend. Ultimately it had cost him Maris.

  He missed her with a physical ache. If he were a woman or a child, he would cry himself to sleep each night. He moved through the house touching things he had seen her touch, inhaling deeply in the hope of catching a whiff of her fragrance. He was pathetic, as daffy as Professor Hadley’s jilted aunt who lived in the attic with only bittersweet memories and her fear of fresh fruit.

  Maris had been essential to his plot, but he hadn’t expected her to become essential to him. In the brief time she had been in his life, she had become the most important element of it.

  Second most important, he corrected.

  If she were the most important, he would leave Noah to the devil as Mike had advised and spend the rest of his life loving her and letting himself be loved. At night when he couldn’t sleep, he’d get downright sappy. He envisioned them on the beach, tossing a stick to a golden retriever and supervising a couple of sturdy, laughing kids building a sand castle. A greeting-card tableau. A Kodak commercial.

  Too often for his mental health, he relived making love to her. God, it had been sweet. But perhaps the sweetest part had been holding her. Just that. Holding her close. Feeling her heartbeat beneath his hand, her breath against his skin. Allowing himself to forget for a few moments that he had only this one night with her and that, come morning, he would hurt her terribly and irreparably.

  Maris was the one plot element that might have caused him to change his outline and end the thing differently.

  But he couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to. Because the revenge he sought wasn’t only for himself. It was for Mary Catherine. He might not deserve restitution, but Sheila damn sure did. By most moral measuring sticks, she would come up short. But he knew better. That spectacular body had been home to a kind and generous spirit. In many respects, she was innocent.

  And Noah had killed her.

  As surely as he had killed Daniel Matherly.

  Parker hoped that Maris and the authorities were thoroughly investigating Matherly’s death, because Noah’s account of it smelled to high heaven. It stank of Noah. It was doubtful they’d find anything that implicated him. He would make certain they didn’t. He would have made the old man’s death look like a tragic accident, and his explanation for how it had come about would be perfectly plausible. He was gifted that way.

  Overt aggression wasn’t his style. He was smarter and more subtle than that. Oh, he could hold his own in a fistfight. Parker still had the scar above his eyebrow to prove it. But Noah’s real power wasn’t physical. It was cerebral. His strength was his cunning. He maneuvered insidiously. You didn’t see him coming until it was too late. Which made him the most dangerous kind of animal on the planet.

  But he had a major flaw: his intolerance for anyone getting the best of him.

  When Noah read the Envy manuscript, he would come south on the next flight. He’d be unable to resist. The book would be a red flag waved in his face, and it simply wasn’t in Noah Reed to ignore it.

  During these intervening years, if Noah thought of Parker at all, he had probably imagined him as he’d last seen him—a vanquished enemy, a threat he had eliminated.

  If for no other reason, he would come to St. Anne out of curiosity. He’d come to see how old Parker had fared. He would come to see for himself what his wife had found so interesting about his former roommate.

  Noah would come.

  And when he got here, Parker would be waiting.

  * * *

  Eight o’clock classes were just about to convene when Maris parked her rental car in a lot reserved for campus visitors. It was the summer session, so there weren’t as many students rushing into the classroom buildings as there would be when the fall semester began after Labor Day.

  Although she had never been here before, she didn’t need to be oriented or to ask for directions. The university campus wasn’t similar to the one described in Envy. It was the one described in Envy.

  And it was a long way from the police station in rural Massachusetts where she had been less than twenty-four hours ago.

  With Noah’s words replaying inside her head, his death was convenient, she’d driven back to New York with a sense of urgency. Using her cell phone, she had reserved her airline ticket to Nashville as she sped down the parkway, breaking every speed limit between Chief Randall’s police department and the Matherly Press offices in Midtown Manhattan.

  She had planned to be in the office only long enough to consult briefly with her assistant and check her mail, before returning to Daniel’s house to pack, then to dash to the airport in time for the late evening flight.

  It didn’t quite go according to plan.

  Her appearance in the office had galvanized her assistant. “Thank God you’re here. I’ve been trying to reach you on your cell.”

  “My battery ran out about an hour ago.”

  “Don’t move.” The secretary placed a call. “Tell Mr. Stern she just came in.” She depressed the hold button. “He told me it was mandatory that he speak with you today, Maris.”

  “Concerning what? Did he say?”

  “No, but he’s been calling since early morning. He assumed you’d be coming in.”

  “I had an errand out of town.” She hadn’t had time for a lengthy conversation with the attorney and had said so.

  Her assistant apologized. “He made me swear to notify him the moment I spoke to you. He’ll be on line two.”

  Maris went into her office and sat down behind her desk. And it was fortunate that she’d been seated, because the news Stern had imparted was staggering.

&nb
sp; “Mr. Matherly had in mind to announce his decision when you returned from Georgia. I think he wanted it to be a ceremonious occasion. Unhappily, he didn’t have that opportunity, but, as it turns out, his timing for putting this into place was extraordinary.” He paused, then said, “I hope you’re pleased.”

  She was deeply touched to know that her father had placed so much confidence in her. “Enormously.”

  Stern had continued to go over the details with her, but the important thing she heard was that her father had entrusted her with the business that had been his life’s work. She wouldn’t take the responsibility lightly. But very proudly.

  Stern had coughed delicately, then said, “It’s at your discretion whether or not to keep Mr. Reed on staff. Mr. Matherly intimated to me that having him there even in a menial position might be awkward for you considering your pending divorce.”

  So he had known. Of course he had known. His timing hadn’t been as extraordinary as Mr. Stern believed. Probably Daniel had been planning this for some time, realizing that upon the dissolution of her marriage, an ugly battle for control would have been waged. Daniel had seen to it that such a battle would never take place.

  “Frankly, your father no longer trusted Mr. Reed to perform in the best interest of the publishing house,” the lawyer had told her. “But, as I said, his continuance with the company is up to you.”

  They had talked a few minutes longer. Maris wrapped it up by saying, “Thank you, Mr. Stern. Thank you very much.”

  “No thanks necessary. I hope you’ll want me to continue in my present capacity.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “I’m honored.” He paused, then asked, “Tell me, Ms. Matherly, how does it feel to be one of the most powerful women in New York?”

  She laughed. “Right now? I feel very rushed to make a flight.”

  Following that conversation and a swift delegation of duties to her assistant, she opted to leave her car in the parking garage near the office building and take a cab to Daniel’s house.