by Nora Roberts
“He looks so predatory.”
“Sneaky bastards” was Linda-gail’s opinion.
“Maybe, but I’d like to hear one howl like in the movies.”
“I nearly forgot you’re a city girl. Weather warms enough to keep the windows open at night, you can hear them sometimes.”
“I’ll put that on my list. Thanks for stopping for the city girl.”
“No problem.” Then they were zooming down the road toward Jackson Hole, with Martina McBride’s powerhouse voice aptly claiming this one for the girls.
IF REECE CONSIDERED Angel’s Fist a rough and interesting little diamond, Jackson was big and polished and faceted with its fashionable western flair and colorful neon. Shops and restaurants and galleries spread with wooden boardwalks and busy streets. And people were busy on them, heading somewhere, Reece supposed. Maybe a stop in town before visiting one of the great parks now that summer was nearly here.
Some of the people would be in town for supplies, a lunch date, a business meeting.
Thriving, she thought, alive and active it was. But beyond the structures and speed of civilization planted here, white-frosted mountains stood in dazzling splendor. They dwarfed what man had made, and shone brighter than jewels in the blaze of the sun.
It took Reece less than two minutes to understand that though the views were breath-stealing, she’d made a better choice with Angel’s Fist.
Too many people here, she decided. Too much going on at once. Hotels, motels, recreation centers, winter sports, summer sports, real estate offices.
She was barely inside the town limits when she wanted out again.
“This is going to be fun!” Linda-gail swung through traffic as if it were a carnival ride. “If you’re feeling a little anxious or whatever, just close your eyes.”
“And miss seeing the crash?”
“I’m a terrific driver.” Linda-gail proved it by threading between an SUV and a motorcycle, waving cheerily at the drivers, then zipping around a corner on a yellow light. “I think I might go red.”
“I think I’ve already gone green. Linda—”
“Nearly there. We should do a serious splurge sometime, book the full enchilada at one of the day spas. They haveamazing spas here. I want someone to slather me with mud and rub me with herbs and—holy shit, a parking place!”
She zoomed toward it, a heat-seeking missile in a Ford Bronco. Reece’s anxiety over the crowd, the traffic, her hair, all vanished, swallowed up by the terror of certain death.
Before she could babble out a prayer, they were parked at the curb. “It’s a couple more blocks, but you never know. Besides, you’ll see a little of the place if we walk.”
“I think I’ve lost all use of my lower body.”
On a giggle, Linda-gail gave Reece a poke. “Come on. Let’s go get us some new do’s.”
Reece’s legs might have trembled, but they got her to the sidewalk. “How many tickets do you rack up a year? No, how many vehicles do you wrack up annually?”
On a cluck of her tongue, Linda-gail hooked her arm through Reece’s. “Don’t be such an old lady. Oh my God, look! Just look at that jacket!” She dragged Reece to a shop window to stare avariciously at a leather jacket in rich melted chocolate brown. “It looks so soft. Probably costs a zillion dollars. Let’s go try it on. No, we’ll be late. We’ll try it on with our new hair.”
“I don’t have a zillion dollars.”
“Neither do I, but it doesn’t cost a thing to play with it. Snug cut like that, it’ll look better on you than me, which is a pisser. Still, if I had a zillion, it’d be mine.”
“I think I need to go lie down.”
“You’ll be fine. And if you get shaky, I’ve got a flask in my purse.”
“You—” Reece stuttered a bit as Linda-gail pulled her along. “A flask of what?”
“Apple martinis, in case you need something to take the edge off. Or even for the hell of it. Mmmm, giddyup. Check it out.”
With her head spinning, Reece turned it in the direction Linda-gail indicated and spotted the tall, lanky cowboy in boots, Levi’s and Stetson.
“Slurp” was Linda-gail’s opinion.
“I thought you were in love with Lo.”
“Have been, am, will be. But it’s like the jacket, honey. Don’t cost a nickel to look. I take it you’ve been more than looking with Brody. Is the sex amazing?”
“I may actually need that martini if this keeps up.”
“Just tell me one thing. Does his ass look as good naked as it does in jeans?”
“Yes, yes, I can tell you that it does.”
“I knew it. Here we are.” She got a firmer hold of Reece’s arm and pulled her inside.
She didn’t reach for the flask, though it was tempting, and in the time they waited for their stylists, Reece nearly balked a half a dozen times.
But she learned something.
It wasn’t as bad as it had been the last time she tried. The walls didn’t seem so close together, or the sounds so harsh they made her heart palpitate. And when her stylist introduced himself as Serge, she didn’t burst into tears and sprint for the door.
He had the slightest Slavic accent, and a winning smile that faded into concern when he took her hand. “Baby doll, your hands are like ice. Let’s get you a nice cup of herbal tea. Nan! We need a cup of chamomile. And you just come with me.”
She went along like a puppy.
He had her seated at his station, swathed in a mint green cape—and his hands in her hair before her brain engaged again.
“I’m not sure I—”
“Gorgeous texture, and so thick! Very healthy. You take care of it.”
“I guess I do.”
“But where’s the style? The flair? Look at this face, and all this hair like a curtain blocking it. What would you like today?”
“I…Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t think I’d get this far.”
“Tell me about yourself. No rings? Single?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“Fancy free. And from back East somewhere.”
“Boston.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He continued to lift her hair, let it fall, study it. “And what is it you do, my angel?”
“I cook. I’m a cook.” Something inside her started to purr as his hands massaged her scalp, played with her hair. “I work with Linda-gail. Is she going to be nearby?”
“She’s fine. We don’t see nearly enough of her in here.” And with that winning smile, he met Reece’s eyes in the mirror. “Trust me?”
“I…Oh God. Okay. But do you have any Valium to put in that tea?”
SHE’D FORGOTTEN THIS, the indulgence of it. Hands in her hair, soothing tea, glossy magazines, the chatter of primarily female voices.
She was getting highlights, because Serge wanted her to. She probably couldn’t afford highlights, but she was getting them. At some point in the process, Linda-gail trotted up, her hair slathered in product and covered with plastic.
“Vixen Red,” she announced. “I’m going for it. I’m squeezing in a manicure. Want one?”
“No. No, I can’t take any more.”
But she actually drowsed over her copy ofVogue until it was time for the shampoo. And the cut.
“So now, tell me about the man in your life.” Serge began to clip and snip. “You must have one.”
“I guess I do.” My God, she had a man in her life. “He’s a writer. We’re just really starting to be together.”
“Lust. Excitement. Discovery.”
A smile flickered over her face. “Exactly. He’s smart, self-reliant and likes my cooking. He…well, he masks this incredible patience under pithy comments. He doesn’t treat me like I’m breakable, and people were, for too long. And because he doesn’t, I don’t think of myself that way as much. As breakable. Oh, I forgot this.”
Serge lifted the scissors when she leaned forward for the file. “I wonder if you recognize this woman.”
He pocketed the s
cissors long enough to take the sketch and study it. “I can’t say for certain, but I don’t think she’s been in my chair. I’d have talked her into shortening that hair—it draws down her face. Does she belong to you?”
“In a way. Maybe I could show it around, even leave a copy of it here? Someone might recognize her.”
“Absolutely. Nan!”
The ever-efficient Nan zipped by, took the sketch. Reece refocused on herself long enough to blink. “Wow. That’s, ah, that’s a lot of hair falling off my head.”
“Not to worry. Look at you! Gorgeous!” He stopped again to turn and admire the newly redheaded Linda-gail.
“Ilove it!” She spun a circle, showing off the bold red in her sassy new cut. “I’m reinvented. What do you think? What do you think?” she demanded of Reece.
“It’s wonderful. It’s really fabulous.” The bold red turned her from pretty little blonde to hot, hip and happening. “Linda-gail, you look seriously amazing.”
“I hit up the makeup samplers.” She peered around Reece to admire herself in the mirror. “And I do look amazing. When we get back, I’m going to track down Lo and make him suffer.” She turned, angled her head. “I love the highlights, subtle but effective. And I think I see where Serge is going here. Your eyes look bigger—as if they needed to—and your face is more out there. Kudos on the bangs, Serge. Sexy.”
“Damn right, frame those gorgeous eyes. All that weight’s off your shoulders, your neck. Still, nice, long layers. You’ll find it easy to style yourself, I think.”
Reece stared at the picture emerging in the mirror.I almost recognize that woman , she thought.I almost see meagain .
When her eyes filled, Serge lowered the scissors, glanced at Linda-gail with alarm. “She doesn’t like it. You’re upset. You don’t like it.”
“No, no, I do like it. I do. It’s been a long time since I looked in the mirror and saw something I did like.”
Linda-gail sniffled. “You need makeup samples.”
Serge patted Reece’s shoulder. “You’re going to make me cry in a minute. At least let me blow it out first.”
SHE WANTED TO show off. She’d had the most fantastic day, and looked the part. Of course she shouldn’t have let Linda-gail talk her into buying that shirt, even if it was the most delicious shade of yellow. Still, she’d given the salesclerk a copy of the sketch—as she had done in every store Linda-gail had dragged her into.
And she’d been right, the leather jacket looked better on Reece. Though it wasn’t quite a zillion dollars, it might as well have been. It was just as far out of her reach.
A great haircut and a great new shirt were enough reward.
She intended to go straight home, admire herself, put the new shirt on, spruce up. Then she’d call Brody and see if he was interested in coming over for dinner.
She’d found some lovely field greens in a market in Jackson, and some nice diver-harvested scallops. And saffron, which she couldn’t really afford either, but it would be nice to make a saffron and basil puree for the scallops. Then the Brie and porcini for wild rice.
While Linda-gail might have drooled over the boutiques, Reece had quivered with pleasure in the markets.
She all but danced up the steps as she carted the bags to her apartment. Humming, she unlocked the door, and was so carefree she told herself she could wait until she’d put the bags on the counter to lock it again.
“Gee, Reece, you’re going to be a real girl again before you know it.” She waltzed to the door, locked it. Then decided everything else could just wait until she’d taken another look at her happy self.
She did pirouettes toward the bathroom just for the pleasure of feeling her shorter, lighter hair swing.
And all the blood in her face drained, all the muscles in her body went saggy with shock as she stared at the mirror.
The sketch was taped to it so that she stared at the face of a dead woman instead of her own. On the walls, the floor, the little vanity, written over and over again with red marker, bright as blood, was the single question.
IS THIS ME?
Shivering, she sank down in the doorway and curled into a ball.
HAD TO BE home by now, Brody thought as he drove around the lake. How long did it take to have somebody whack at her hair anyway? She didn’t answer the phone, and he felt ridiculous as he’d called four times in the last hour.
Goddamn it, he’d missed her. And that was even more ridiculous. He never missed anyone. Besides that, she’d only been gone a few hours. Eight and a half hours. Plenty of days went by without him seeing her for longer than that.
But on those days, he knew she was right across the lake, that he could wander over and see her if he wanted.
He hadn’t yet lowered himself to trying her cell phone, like some pussy-whipped idiot who couldn’t be away from a woman for a day without dialing her number. Without hearing her voice.
He’d just go to Joanie’s for a while, hang out, maybe have a beer. And keep an eye out for her car. Casually.
Nobody had to know about it.
He spotted her car in its habitual place, and figured his luck was in. He’d just go on up, tell her he’d had to run into town for…what? For bread.
Did he have bread at home? He couldn’t remember. Bread would be his story, and he’d stick to it.
He wanted to see her, to smell her. He wanted his hands on her. But she didn’t have to know he’d been pacing around his cabin like a lost puppy for the last hour.
He was playing games, he realized as he parked. Making up excuses to come into town and see her.
Andthat made him feel like that pussy-whipped idiot.
Best way to offset that, in his opinion, was to be annoyed with her. Because it felt better, he had a scowl on his face as he went up her steps and banged with some impatience on her door.
“It’s Brody,” he called out. “Open up.”
It took her so long to answer, the scowl had turned into knitted brow concern.
“Brody, sorry, I was lying down. I have a headache.”
He tried the knob, found it still locked. “Open the door.”
“Really, it’s moving into migraine territory. I’m just going to sleep it off. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He didn’t like the sound of her voice. “Open the door, Reece.”
“Fine, fine, fine.” The lock turned, and she yanked open the door. “Do you have trouble understanding the language we speak here? I have a headache; I don’t want company. I certainly don’t feel like heating up the sheets.”
He let it roll off him because she was pale as wax. “You’re not one of those women who get weirded out if they get a bad haircut?”
“Of course I am. I, however, have a great haircut. An outstanding haircut. To get it involved a very long day and some considerable stress. Now I’m tired, and I want you to go away so I can lie down.”
His gaze tracked over, passed over the bags sitting on the counter. “How long have you been back?”
“I don’t know. Jesus. Maybe an hour.”
Headache, his ass. He knew her well enough by now to be sure she could have severed a limb and she’d still have put her groceries away the minute she walked in the door.
“What happened?”
“God, would you backoff ? I fucked you, okay, and it was great. The angels cried buckets. We’ll do it again real soon. But that doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to some goddamn privacy.”
“All true,” he said in mild tones to contrast to her furious ones. “And I’ll give you plenty of privacy as soon as you tell me what the hell’s going on. What the hell did you do to your hands?”
He grabbed one, terrified for a moment it was blood smearing her fingers and palms. “What the hell? Is this ink?”
She started to weep, silently. He’d never seen anything more wrenching than the tears simply raining down her cheeks while she made no sound at all.
“For Christ’s sake, Reece, what is it?”
; “I can’t get it off. I can’t get it off, and I don’t remember doing it. I don’t remember, and it won’t come off.”
She covered her face with her smeared hands. She didn’t resist when he picked her up and carried her to the bed to rock her in his arms.
17
PORTIONS OF the walls and the floor were smeared where she’d gone at them, Brody could see, with the wet towel now heaped in the tub. He imagined the towel was toast, which would upset her when she was calm enough to think about it.
She’d torn the sketch off the mirror, leaving ragged triangles of paper and tape behind, and had balled it up, tossed it in the wastebasket beside the sink.
He could visualize how it must have been for her, frantically grabbing the towel off the rod, dumping it into the sink to soak. Scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing while the water dripped and sloshed and her breath came out in gasps and sobs.
And still the message was clear a dozen times over.
IS THIS ME?
“I don’t remember doing it.”
He didn’t turn to where she stood behind him, but continued to study the walls. “Where’s the red marker?”
“I…I don’t know. I must have put it back.” Fogged from the headache and tears, she crossed back into the kitchen, opened a drawer.
“It’s not here.” On another spurt of desperation, she pawed through the drawer, then yanked open another, another.
“Stop it.”
“It’s not here. I must have taken it with me, thrown it away. I don’t remember. Just like the other times.”
His eyes sharpened, but his voice stayed exactly the same. Calm and very firm. “What other times?”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“No, you’re not.”
She slammed the drawer, and her eyes, red-rimmed from weeping, burned fury. “Don’t tell me what I am, what I’m not.”
“You’re not going to be sick,” he repeated as he walked over and took her by the arm, “because you haven’t told me about the other times. Let’s sit down.”
“I can’t.”
“Fine, we’ll stand up. Got any brandy?”