“Her uncle thinks she’s...not right. He has her under constant care in his home, though he’s rarely there himself. She’s not allowed to leave. He didn’t let her attend school, had her tutored instead.”
She blinked as if he’d slapped her, her body jerking in response to the blow. Brigit closed her eves.
“And, Brigit, she’s still there...”
She felt her facial muscles contort as grief overwhelmed her. God, all these years she’d wondered, dreamed even, of having a sister. That possibility of Bridin being real. The ideal image of her that Brigit had built up in her own mind. To learn this...it was worse than learning Bridin had never existed.
The book. If her poor sister was mentally ill, it was because of that stupid fairytale! Whoever gave those books to two unsuspecting babies ought to be horsewhipped. Didn’t they know the kind of confusion that would have to result?
She hadn’t been aware of curling up against Adam’s legs, or of lowering her head to his lap, or of the way her tears were soaking through his pant legs. But then he was stroking her hair, and calming her. Helping her. She didn’t deserve this. And she lifted her head to tell him so.
“How do you know all of this?” was the question that came out instead. And then she answered it herself. “That private investigator you had checking me out. It was him, wasn’t it?”
Adam nodded. “Mac’s good, and he has low friends in high places. His methods aren’t always...ethical, but he gets the information he needs.” He licked his lips. “He used to date a woman who knows the nurse who cares for Bridin.”
She blinked, sniffling.
“When he found out that this twin of yours was probably real, I asked him to keep digging “
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Because I think I was supposed to. And because you’d told me...how much it meant to you. I just...”
“And what about me? Is he still investigating me?”
Adam shook his head. “I told him to drop it.”
“Why, Adam? Why would you do that, when you know . . .”
“Know what, Brigit?” He got to his feet and stepped away from the spot where she sat on the floor, then he faced her, accusation and a dull ache in his eyes. “That you’re still lying to me? Still keeping things from me?”
She flinched away from the accuracy of his words. But he held her eyes, dove into them, probing and searching. “Maybe I’m hoping it won’t matter. Maybe I just don’t want to know anymore. Dammit, Brigit, maybe I’m hoping you’ll forget about this whole thing, whatever the hell it is, and just...just start over.”
Her tears brimmed anew, and she had to avert her face. She knew he was waiting for her reply. But she couldn’t lie to him again. She wouldn’t.
He sighed, turning away from her and tugging at his hair. They stood that way, afraid to face each other, for a long, tense moment. Moments in which Brigit could barely contain the urge to fling herself into his arms and tell him she was sorry.
Finally, Adam cleared his throat. “Either way, I think you ought to see your sister.”
She gave her head a fast, firm shake. “Not now, Adam. Not yet.”
“It’s a short trip, Brigit. God, we could drive there in a couple of...”
She climbed to her feet, feeling more tired than she ever had in her life. Physical and emotional exhaustion tugged at her. “I don’t want her...involved. Not until...”
“She’s been locked up like a prisoner for most of her life, Brigit. If she doesn’t belong there, even one more day is too long.”
Brigit stopped and stood motionless in front of the fireplace, her eyes scanning the hot coals for answers. “She thinks she’s a character from a fairytale, Adam. How can she not belong there?”
He didn’t answer. He went silent, and when she turned, she saw the way he was stroking the lush green leaves of the geranium on the end table, the way his eyes danced over the riots of ruby blossoms that had exploded to life overnight. The wonder in his face. The childlike wonder.
“I think maybe she is exactly what she thinks she is. And I think you know it. You must know it by now, Brigit. Don’t you?”
She blinked at him, unable to believe he was actually saying what she’d been thinking, afraid to voice. “She can’t be,” she whispered. “I can’t be. It isn’t...”
“You made me come to you last night,” he said softly. “You touched this plant and made it flourish. You taste like honey. You have the mark—”
She held up her hands. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t deal with this right now. Not yet.”
“We could visit her for an hour or two. Drive right back. It would barely qualify as a trip.”
She licked her lips, fear twisting around her heart.
“She’s your sister,” he told her. “And I think you two need to touch base. I think there’s probably a lot more riding on it than you could even imagine.”
She frowned at him. “Adam, what could you possibly know about this?”
“I just—”
“No. Not now. I’ll see her...but later...after...”
“After what Brigit? After you steal the painting for Zaslow?”
She stood there as long as she could, holding that gaze. And then a storm of emotion washed over her. She burst into tears, and she shook all over. Sobs tore at her breastbone.
She heard him swear, his voice loud and harsh, and then he was there, pulling her against him, holding her so hard and so close she felt he’d never let go. His palms slipped over her back, and up to her nape beneath her hair. His mouth moved over her face, dropping kisses and whispers at the same time.
“I’m sorry, Adam. I never meant to hurt you. God, I’m so sorry . . .”
“I don’t care, Brigit. Can’t you get that through your head? Hmm? Take the painting if you have to. It doesn’t matter to me. Just let me help you. Tell me what’s happening and let me help, dammit.” His hold on her tightened still further. “Let me take the damned painting to Zaslow. Or be there, beside you, when you do. I’ll protect you, I promise. That bastard won’t ever hurt you again.”
“No.” She sniffed, and straightened away from him, brushing at her eyes with the backs of her hands, getting her sobs under control.
“Adam, he’s already threatening to kill one man I care about. I can’t risk him hurting you, too.”
“Raze?” Adam asked.
She nodded. “How did you know?”
“Doesn’t matter. Is he holding the old man, is that it? And threatening to hurt him unless you get the painting?”
“Yes.” She hugged him harder. “Yes, Adam, but please don’t get involved in this. If you care about me at all, don’t get involved. If he hurt you, too, it would kill me. Just let me handle it.”
“When do you deliver the painting to him?” Adam asked, tipping her chin up and searching her face.
“Two more days,” she told him, and she saw in his eyes that he wasn’t going to stay out of it. He wasn’t. He was going to try to be a hero, and probably get himself killed, and that was something she couldn’t let him do.
So it would have to be sooner. It would have to be...tonight.
Tears welled in her eyes again. This would be the last night for them. Even if she pulled this off, and got Raze back in one piece, Zaslow would never leave her alone. Not now. She’d have to run, change her name, start again somewhere else and pray he’d never find her. But she’d always know he was only a few steps behind.
She wouldn’t put Adam through that.
Before she disappeared, though, she’d do as Adam suggested, and see her sister. At least that one dream could come true. And maybe Bridin would know something more about these apparent...powers. Where they came from. What they meant.
But for now...it was her last night in Adam’s arms, and she was going to make the most of it. She tipped her chin up, and let him cover her mouth with his, and she tasted her tears on his lips.
“I don’t deserve this,” she told him, when she pau
sed for a breath. And Adam’s troubled eyes caressed her face. “You’re so good to me, Adam. But I’m not. I’m no good at all.”
“Shhsh.” He pushed her hair out of her eyes, kissed her forehead. “Don’t.”
And he kissed her again.
Adam recognized the desperation in her kisses. He knew it well, because he felt it himself. He made love to her. Right there on the floor in front of the hearth. And it was different. Yet another facet of what he felt for her. Because this time it was a healing. A comforting. And a sharing that he’d never experienced before.
And when she’d started to claim her unworthiness, and he’d told her “don’t,” he’d been silently saying so much more. Don’t ruin my fantasy by reminding me you’re going to leave me in the end. Don’t destroy me, Brigit, because you can. With just a flick of your fingers, you can.
It didn’t matter. Adam’s obsession was complete. He was captivated by her, and until she broke him to bits, he’d go on being her willing worshipper. He’d do anything for her, go anywhere. He’d protect her, and God forbid he got his hands on the man who was hurting her this way—this Zaslow creep—because he’d probably murder the bastard.
And when Brigit walked away, as she must, she’d be leaving behind a mannequin. A body without a soul. A man with a heart pulverized to dust. And he knew it, and there was not one damn thing he could do about it.
Two more days. For two more days, he could love her.
And then he’d personally see to it that Zaslow got his precious painting. And he’d keep the one Brigit had made, and love it all the more. He’d see to it that old Raze was safe and sound, and then he’d reunite Brigit with her sister. And somehow, he’d find the ability to lead them to that place in the woods he wasn’t even sure he could find anymore. And somewhere, he’d find the strength to let her go.
* * *
She couldn’t wait. She couldn’t put this off. Not any longer. Not now that she knew Adam would try to intervene. To protect her. He’d get himself killed.
He’d never forgive her for going ahead without him. She knew that. But the way she saw it, she had little choice. Raze’s life was hanging in the balance and so would Adam’s be, if she waited.
She had to get this over with, and the sooner the better.
The thought of hurting Adam by leaving this way twisted her insides into hard knots. He’d found her sister. He’d given her something more precious to her than anything in the world. He deserved so much more in return.
She slipped away from him late that night.
They’d made love for hours, with the French doors open wide, so they could hear the soft, swishing sounds of the lake in the autumn breeze. He was exhausted, now, and lay sleeping soundly as she tiptoed across the floor, through those doors, and over the deck to slip into her own rooms.
And for one fanciful moment in time, she wished that cave Adam had imagined in the woods would turn out to be a real one. Because she’d like to go there. She’d like to crawl through it and find herself in another world. A fantasy world without such things as hurt and betrayal.
Was there such a place? Could there be? Would she ever see it?
She went to the closet to check the painting one more time. She’d make sure it was perfect before she continued in this dangerous plan. She opened the closet door, and brought her painting out. She held it at arm’s length, her eyes running over its familiar colors and swirls.
And then they halted on something she hadn’t seen before. She squinted, still unsure. It might just be a twig, or a falling, misshapen leaf.
But no, it couldn’t be. She set the painting down and took her glasses from where she’d left them on the dressing table. She slipped them on, picked the painting up again, and studied it intently.
The shape rested in a spot that would be right about the breastbone of the woman who stood in the water. Though that part of her body was hidden by leaves and rushes. The pendant shone through. No more than a darker shadow amidthe greenery. But there, all the same.
Brigit lifted her hand, her fingertips clasping her own pewter fairy and quartz crystal.
“No,” she whispered, blinking in shock. “It can’t be...”
But it was. She knew, deep in her gut where you knew things despite what made sense and what didn’t—she knew. That fairy in the painting, the one who looked so much like Brigit, only untamed and wild, wore the same necklace. “How?”
The telephone’s shrill call made her jerk her head around. Her eyes widened at the thought of its noise waking Adam, and she laid the painting across the bed, snatching the thing up before it could jangle again.
“Brigit?”
She grated her teeth at the sound of Zaslow’s voice. “What do you want?”
“Is it done?”
“It’s done.” She closed her eyes, the finality of her words weighing heavy on her shoulders.
“Good. We can make the exchange—”
“Tonight,” she said quickly. “I want this over with, Zaslow. The sooner the better.”
“Good.”
She thought about Adam, thought about how hurt he’d be when he realized what she’d done.
“Maybe...maybe tomorrow would be—”
“No. Tonight, like you said. Don’t try changing your mind, now.”
“But—”
“Raze is sick, Brigit.”
The blood left her head in a rush that made her dizzy. Her stomach convulsed at the words. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what I said. He’s sick. Feverish. Talking crazy and thrashing around in his sleep. He has the shakes.”
“Get him to a hospital, Zaslow. Do it now. Call an ambulance and—”
“Not on your life, honey. Listen and listen good. Make the switch. Do it tonight. Bring the original to Binghamton. You know where that is, don’t you? About an hour south of you.”
She gave her head a shake at the shock that rippled through her at his words. Binghamton. That was where her sister was...”
“Why there?” she whispered, unable, suddenly, to speak in a normal tone of voice.
“Because my client is meeting me there later. Bring the painting to the ball park, Brigit. Raze says you know where that is.”
She knew, all right. She and Raze had gone there often to watch the local double-A team play baseball.
“The place will be deserted this time of night. There’s a chain-link fence between the diamond and the parking lot. You know where I mean?”
She nodded and said yes, tears scalding her cheeks as she heard a hoarse moan in the background that had to be Raze.
“Meet me there in two hours,” Zaslow went on.
“One hour,” she shot back. “Sooner if I can make it. Bring Raze, Zaslow. Bring him with you or I swear I’ll slash that damned painting to ribbons.”
“I’ll bring him all right. And if you try to pull anything on me, Brigit, I’ll be the one doing the slashing.”
The phone clicked in her ear. Brigit drew a deep, shuddering breath, and replaced the receiver. Then, trembling all over, she stepped out onto the deck and crossed to Adam’s doors, to peer inside.
He thought he heard the phone, but he fell back into a contented doze so fast, he was never sure. And moments later, he vaguely recognized her scent. That intoxicating, roses and honey aroma she seemed to exude, and he relaxed again. Good, he thought, in the mists of his slumber. She’s coming back to bed. I just want to hold her. Forever. Two days will never be long enough.
She came close, very close. He felt her presence as surely as he felt the cool breeze rushing in through the open doors, even in his half-asleep state. And then he felt her lips on his cheek, feather-light, so brief. Barely lifting away from his skin, they moved, and her whisper was no more than a fairy’s breath in his ear, barely audible. Perhaps he even imagined it. Because it couldn’t be real. She couldn’t have just whispered, “I love you, Adam Reid.”
And like the autumn breeze, she blew away. The doors closed, and
that sense of her was gone.
Adam waited, groggily expecting to feel her body rolling up against his, her arms wrapping around his waist as she came back to bed. But he didn’t. And gradually, that lonely feeling woke him up. He rolled over, sat up in bed, his lips forming her name, though he didn’t speak it aloud. His body shook, and his throat tried to close itself off. Where was she? What was going on?
Drawing a shaky breath, Adam tried to tell himself the feeling of foreboding that crept up his spine was imaginary and didn’t mean a damned thing. He tossed the covers aside and put his feet down on the soft carpeting. Imagination took wing, telling him he could feel the warm imprints her bare feet had made in the pile. Foolishness, of course.
He half-turned, reaching for the lamp, but something glimmered there on the pillow, and he paused, frowning. And then he saw it and drew in a sharp breath. The necklace. The one she never took off, lay there on his pillow. My God, she’d left it for him. And that could only mean she didn’t plan to come back.
Adam’s heart sank in a quagmire, even as he lunged from the bed. His hand closed around the dainty fairy as he lifted it, held it front of him and stared for a split second, as it swung from its chain. Moving automatically now, and quickly, he fastened the thin chain around his own neck. The pain constricting his heart was almost crippling. But somehow, he managed to get moving. To pull on the jeans he’d left tossed on the floor. To stuff his feet into shoes. He didn’t even bother with a shirt.
He couldn’t let her leave. He just couldn’t. Not like this. Not until he talked to her, told her...
He yanked the bedroom door open and stepped into the hall. From where he stood he had a clear view of the study below. And he saw the stepladder under his painting of Rush—or was it hers? And he heard the door slam, and then a car spitting gravel as it tore away.
Jesus Christ. She was going ahead with this thing alone! He raced down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to snatch his keys off the stand where he always left them. But they weren’t there. Instead, there was a note.
And he picked it up, his hands trembling.
Fairytale (Fairies of Rush) Page 23