Sometimes he'd bark out an order or a veiled insult, but she barely listened because her senses transformed whatever brusque words he was speaking into the ones he really meant.
I want you.
And she wanted him back. For sex, she told herself. Only for sex. Nothing more. No intimate entanglement, no exchange of feelings, only sex.
When her body grew so hot she feared it would burst into flame, she made herself think of other things: her growing friendship with Kristy, Edward's excitement as he told her about his day, and the Kennedy chest.
Each night she walked to the notch at the top of Heartache Mountain and gazed down at the house where she had once lived. She had to get inside so she could resume her search for the chest, but she couldn't take the chance that he'd be there. He hadn't said a word about the missing key, and, with the drive-in opening just two weeks away, she could only hope he'd forgotten about it. Surely he would have said something if he hadn't. She wanted to scream in frustration. If only he'd go away so she could get inside.
Nine days after the night she'd first broken into his brother's house, she finally got the opportunity she'd been waiting for.
He came up to her as she was fastening new chrome knobs to the storage cabinets in the snack shop. Even before she heard his footsteps, she caught the scent of pine and laundry detergent and wondered how someone who did manual labor always managed to smell so clean.
"Ethan and I have business to take care of. I'll be away for the rest of the afternoon, so lock up when you're done."
She nodded and her heart raced. While he was occupied with his brother, she could finally get into the house.
She finished her job in record time, then drove to Annie's cottage where she fetched the key from its hiding place in the back of her dresser drawer and set off down the mountain. By the time she reached the bottom, a light drizzle had started to fall.
The full skirt of the housedress she was wearing that day, a worn pink cotton printed with turquoise squiggles, grew damp, along with her heavy shoes and the tops of her socks. She took them off in the laundry room so she didn't leave any telltale tracks and proceeded barefoot up the stairs of the silent house.
She searched the nursery first, firmly repressing all those nostalgic pangs that made her want to curl up in the old rocker that still sat by the window and remember the feel of Edward's downy little head at her breast. When she didn't find the chest there, she headed for her former bedroom.
This room had changed more than any other, and as she gazed at the high-tech equipment positioned on a modern, L-shaped work station near the window, she wondered about Dr. Jane Darlington Bonner, Gabe's physicist sister-in-law. Was she as happy with her marriage as she'd looked in the magazine photo?
She made a quick search of the room's closet and bureau, but found nothing. The large bottom drawer set into one end of the work station was the only other place to look, but the idea of going through a stranger's desk seemed more an invasion of privacy than anything else she'd done. Still, she had to know, so she slid the drawer open, then drew in her breath as she saw the chest tucked inside.
She felt its contents shift as she took it out. Her breath quickened as she lifted the small hinge and saw a stack of multicolored computer diskettes lying inside. She withdrew them and placed them in the bottom drawer, then tucked the chest under her arm and rushed for the stairs. She felt light-headed with relief. As soon as she got the chest back to the cottage, she could search it, even take it apart if she had to.
Just as she hit the top step, Ethan Bonner pushed open the front door. She froze, but it was too late. He spotted her immediately.
His expression grew stony. "Adding larceny to your other sins?"
"Hi, Ethan. Gabe sent me over to pick this up."
"Did he?"
She forced herself to smile as she came down the steps, her feet bare and her damp skirt clammy against her legs. Nothing was going to make her give up this chest. "Don't ask me why he wants it. I'm just the hired help, and he doesn't tell me anything."
"Maybe he'd explain if I asked him."
"Oh, that's not necess—"
"Gabe!" Ethan tilted his head toward the front door, which he'd left open. "Come in here, will you?"
Panic rushed through her. "That's all right. I can talk to him when I get back to work." With a jaunty wave, she tucked the chest higher under her arm and made a dash across the cold marble floor for the back of the house.
Ethan caught her before she crossed the foyer and grabbed her by the arm with more force than was necessary for a man of God. "Not so fast."
Gabe appeared in the doorway. "Eth? What's going—Rachel?" For a moment, he stood frozen. Then he came inside and closed the door behind him. "I wondered when you were going to use that key."
"You gave her a key?" Ethan said.
"Not exactly. Let's just say I knew she had a spare."
He had set her up, and that made her furious. "If you knew I had it, why didn't you say something? And what are you doing here, anyway?"
The fact that she'd gone on the attack when she was clearly in the wrong seemed to rob Ethan of speech, but Gabe simply shrugged. "Cal said Ethan could take the dining-room table for the community room at church. We were loading it into the truck."
His eyes drifted downward over her damp pink dress, mud-splattered calves, and bare feet. She told herself it was the chill that turned her skin to gooseflesh. She regarded him accusingly. "You said you had business. This isn't business. This is moving furniture!"
Gabe said nothing, but Ethan had finally recovered. "I don't believe it. Are you actually going to stand there and let her attack you? She's the one who broke into the house!"
"Sometimes it's easier to give Rachel a chance to unwind before you try to talk to her," he said in his low, toneless voice.
"What's going on between you two?" Ethan's face grew redder. "Why are you even listening to her? She's a liar and a con artist."
"And those are her good points." Gabe gestured toward her feet. "Lose those sexy shoes of yours?"
"I didn't want to track mud."
"Considerate."
Ethan broke away and headed for the phone. "That's the box Jane uses to store her computer diskettes. I'm calling the police. There's been something strange about Rachel showing up here right from the beginning."
"Don't bother. I'll take care of her. Hand over the chest, Rachel."
"Stuff it."
He arched one dark eyebrow. "Take the truck, Eth. I've got the tarp over the table so it won't get wet."
"I'm not leaving. After everything you've been through you shouldn't have to put up with this, too. I'll take care of her."
Once again little brother had jumped in to shelter big brother. Rachel gave a snort of disgust.
Ethan heard and whirled to confront her, his expression indignant. "What?"
"Tragedy doesn't make people helpless," she pointed out. "Stop coddling him."
That seemed to shock even Gabe. He had never spoken to her about his loses, although he must have known Kristy would have said something to her by now.
Ethan's hostility had developed a cold edge. "What right do you have to comment on anything between my brother and me? Gabe, I don't understand this. I thought she was just working for you, but…"
"Go on, Eth."
"I can't do that."
"You have to. Remember you're on the town council, and, if you actually witnessed someone getting murdered, you'd need to report it."
"I don't think you should be alone with her," he said flatly.
"I won't be alone." Gabe gave her a thin smile. "I'll have Rachel's screams to keep me company."
Chapter Ten
« ^ »
Ethan left the house reluctantly. Rachel realized that all she needed was a few minutes alone with the chest, a few minutes to look beneath the lining or find the secret compartment and she could go.
She wrapped her fingers more securely around the corners and
tried to buy herself some time. "Your brother's a grouch. I guess it runs in the family."
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against one of the elaborate columns that led to the living room. "I'm surprised you didn't unbutton your dress and offer to take him on to keep him quiet."
"Everything happened too fast. I didn't have time to think of it."
He lifted an eyebrow and took a lazy step forward. "Hand it over."
Her heart felt as if it were moving toward her throat. "No way, Slick. This is mine. It was a present from my grandmother on my sixth birthday."
"Give it to me."
"She sold zucchinis in the broiling sun one entire summer so she could give this to me, and she made me swear always to keep it."
"We can do this easy or rough, it's up to you."
She swallowed hard. "Okay, you win. I'll give it to you. But first I need to dry myself off. I'm freezing." She edged away from him toward the family room.
He stepped in front of her, blocking the way. "Nice try."
With one swift movement, he pulled the chest from her arms.
Ignoring her gasp of dismay, he headed for the stairs. "Go ahead and dry off while I put this away. And I'll take that key when you're done."
"Stop it!" She couldn't let him do this, and she charged after him across the marble. "You're being a sadistic ass! Just let me look at it."
"Why?"
"Because I might have left something inside."
"Such as?"
She hesitated. "An old love letter from Dwayne."
He regarded her with disgust and turned back toward the stairs.
"Stop!"
He kept going.
"Wait!" She grabbed his arm, then wished she hadn't touched him, and quickly let go. "Okay, maybe Dwayne might have left something in it."
He paused with one foot on the bottom step. "Like what?"
"Like—" Her mind raced. "A lock of Edward's baby hair."
"You're going to have to do a lot better than that." He began to climb.
"All right! I'll tell you." She struggled to come up with another lie, but couldn't think of anything that would be even mildly convincing. She would either have to tell him the truth or let him take the chest away. It was no choice. She couldn't let the chest disappear again until she'd looked inside it, and she'd have to take the risk.
"Like the secret behind where he hid five million dollars."
That brought him up short. "Now we're getting somewhere."
She gazed up at him and worked hard to swallow. "The money's mine, Bonner. It's Edward's legacy. There are still some debts left, but the rest belongs to him. I earned every penny!"
"How do you figure?"
She got ready to give it to him—her smartest, sassiest, most wiseassed response. But then, just as the words were coining out, something happened inside her throat, and her voice broke. "Because I sold my soul for it," she whispered.
For a moment he didn't say anything. Then he tilted his head toward the top of the stairs. "I'll get you a robe. Your teeth are chattering."
Half an hour later, she sat across from him in the kitchen wearing nothing but her panties and his maroon terry-cloth robe as she stared down at the Kennedy chest. Her eyes were dry—she'd never cry in front of him again—but inside, she felt desolate.
"I was so sure." She shook her head, still unable to believe the chest held no clues. They had examined every microscopic inch of it and found nothing: no secret compartment holding a safe-deposit key, no Swiss bank-account number etched into the wood beneath the lining, no map or microfilm or computer password.
She wanted to slam her fists against the table, but instead, she forced herself to think. "The county sheriff was there along with the Salvation police, so there was a lot of law enforcement. One of them must have looked in the chest when he confiscated it and found something. One of them must have it."
"That doesn't make sense." Gabe picked up her coffee mug and carried it to the sink, where he refilled it from the pot on the counter. "You told me you checked the box before you got into the car. You looked and didn't find anything, so why would they? Besides, if the sheriff or one of our local police had stumbled on that kind of cash, we'd have seen some evidence of it by now, and the only person in the community who's spent any big money has been Cal."
"Maybe he—"
"Forget it. Cal made millions while he was in the NFL. Besides, if he or Jane had found anything in that box, they wouldn't have kept it a secret."
He was right. She slumped back into the red-velvet banquette in the kitchen's eating alcove. In her day the alcove had been wallpapered with gruesome full-blown metallic roses on the verge of decay, but they were gone now, replaced with small yellow rosebuds. The wallpaper was so completely out of place that it could only be some kind of private joke on the part of the current owners.
Gabe set the fresh mug of coffee in front of her and brushed her shoulder in a surprisingly gentle gesture. She wanted to tilt her cheek against the back of his hand, but he removed it before she could give in to the impulse. "Rachel, the odds are the money's at the bottom of the ocean."
She shook her head. "Dwayne had to leave the country too fast to handle any kind of complicated transaction. He couldn't possibly have taken that much money with him on such short notice."
Gabe sat across from her and set his arms on the table. Her eyes lingered there. His forearms were strong and deeply tanned, sprinkled with dark hair. "Tell me again everything he said that day."
She repeated the story, leaving out nothing. When she was done, she twisted her hands on the table. "I wanted to believe him when he told me he had to say good-bye to Edward, but I knew something was wrong. I suppose Dwayne loved Edward in an abstract way, but not in any way that counted. He was too self-centered."
"Then why didn't he just tell you to bring him the chest? Why did he bother asking you to bring Edward at all?"
"Because we were barely speaking at that point, and he knew that saying good-bye to his son was the one thing I couldn't refuse him." She cradled her coffee mug. "During my pregnancy with Edward, I finally came out of denial about what was going on at the Temple, and I made up my mind to leave him. But when I told him, he went ballistic. Not out of sentiment, but because, in those days, I was popular with his electronic congregation." Her mouth twisted bitterly. "He said he'd take Edward away from me if I ever tried to leave. I had to stay where I was, go on television with him for every broadcast, and not give any sign I was unhappy. Otherwise, he told me he knew men who would testify that I'd seduced them, and he'd prove I was an unfit mother."
"Bastard."
"Not the way he saw it. He found scripture to justify it."
"You said he also told you to bring his Bible."
"It was his mother's. He was sentimental about—" She straightened, and her gaze locked with his. "Do you think the clue might be in the Bible?"
"I don't think there is a clue. The money's in the ocean."
"You're wrong! You don't understand how frantic he sounded on the phone that evening."
"He was about to be arrested, and he was getting ready to flee the country. That would make anybody frantic."
"Fine! Don't believe me." She sprang to her feet in frustration. She had to find that Bible. Locating the money was the only hope she had for the future, but he didn't care about that.
Her nose was beginning to run from too much emotion, and she sniffed as she stalked toward the laundry room where her dress was tumbling in the dryer.
He spoke from behind her, his voice as gentle as the soft patter of rain outside. "Rachel. I'm on your side."
She wasn't prepared for his support, and she was so tired of fighting that it nearly undid her. She wanted to lean against him, if only for a moment, and let those sturdy shoulders bear some of the burden she carried. The temptation was so strong that it terrified her. The only person she could depend on was herself.
"You're all heart," she sneered, dete
rmined to put up a barrier between them that was so big he'd never cross it again.
But he didn't get angry. "I mean it."
"Thanks for nothing." She whirled on him. "Who are you kidding? After what happened to your family, you're so twisted inside that you can't even help yourself, let alone me."
The words were barely out before she caught her breath. What was happening to her? She hadn't meant to sound so cruel, and she felt a wave of dislike for the sharp-tongued woman she'd become.
He didn't respond. Instead, he turned away without a word.
Not even desperation was an excuse for the kind of nastiness she'd just administered. She stuck her hands in the front pockets of his robe and followed him into the kitchen. "Gabe, I'm sorry. I should never have lashed out at you like that."
"Forget it." He snatched his keys from the counter. "Get dressed and I'll take you home."
She came closer. "I don't mean to be a bitch. You were acting like a nice guy for a change, and I shouldn't have struck out like that. I really am sorry."
He didn't respond.
The dryer buzzer went off, and she knew there wasn't anything more she could say. He would either accept her apology or reject it.
She returned to the laundry room where she pulled out the pink dress. It was a dismal mass of wrinkles, testifying to its pre-permanent press origins, but since she had nothing else to wear, she pushed the door shut, slipped out of Gabe's robe, and stepped into it, wrinkles and all.
She had just pulled the dress over her arms when the door opened. She drew the bodice together and turned to him.
He looked hostile and unhappy: furrowed brow, tightly set lips, hands driven into the pockets of his jeans. "I just want to get one thing straight. I don't need anybody's pity, especially yours."
She dropped her gaze to her buttons, because it was easier than meeting his eyes, and began fastening them. "I don't pity you, exactly. You're too self-reliant for pity. But knowing that you lost your wife and son makes me feel sick."
He said nothing for a moment, but as she lifted her gaze, she saw that the tendons in his neck had relaxed. He pulled his hands from his pockets. His eyes drifted to her breasts, and she realized her fingers had stalled on the button there. She finished fastening it.
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