by Nora Roberts
“I’ll explain everything, but right now I want everybody to juststop talking at once. I’ve been banged up, which is obvious, and all this badgering isn’t helping. Now—”
“Mama.”
As the verbal slap had shut down the hysteria, so did the single, quivering word stop what Duncan assumed might have been an irritated rant. Phoebe turned toward the little girl who stood holding a bright red ball.
“I’m all right, Carly. I know I don’t look it, but I am. I will be. I got hurt, but I’m okay.”
“Mama.” The ball went bouncing away as Carly ran forward to grab Phoebe, to press her face against her mother’s waist. From his vantage point, Duncan saw the ripple of pain, and the way it leached all color out of Phoebe’s cheeks.
“Hey, sorry. I know this is a bad time, but, you know, I think Phoebe needs to lie down.” He moved forward as he spoke and simply lifted Phoebe off her feet. “Carly, maybe you could show me where your mama’s bedroom is.”
“It’s upstairs.”
“I can walk. Duncan, I can walk.”
“Sure, but hey, I already got you. Miz Mac Namara? They gave Phoebe some medication. I think it might be time for her to take it, if she had some water.”
“Of course, of course.”
“I’ll get it.” Ava touched Essie’s arm. “You go up with Phoebe. I’ll get the water, and some ice. Carter, help me get some ice for Phoebe.”
“I’m going up to fix the bed. I’m going right up to get it ready.” Essie dashed up the stairs.
“Did you fall?” Carly’s voice still shook as she walked up beside Duncan, with her fingers closed over the hem of the scrubs.
“That was part of it. I had a bad fall, and I had to go to the hospital. They fixed me up and let me come home. You know they don’t let you go home if you’re not fixed enough. Right?”
“Is your arm broken?”
“No. It’s just hurt, so it’s in this sling for a while so I don’t bump it around.”
“How come you didn’t catch her when she fell?” Carly demanded of Duncan.
“I wish I could have. I wasn’t there when she fell.”
He carried Phoebe into the bedroom where Essie had already turned down the spread, fluffed the pillows. “Just lay her right on down. Thank you so much, Duncan. Phoebe, I’m sorry, I just lost my head.”
“It’s all right, Mama. Everything’s going to be all right.”
“Of course it is.” Though her lips quivered visibly, Essie sent Carly a big smile. “We’re going to take good care of your mama, aren’t we? She needs some medicine now.”
“It’s in my purse. I—”
“Right here.” Duncan set it on the bed.
“You’re good with details,” Phoebe commented.
“Wouldn’t you like to go down and sit in the parlor, Duncan?” Essie began. “Carter, he’ll fix you a drink. And…” She rubbed her fingers on her temple. “And you’ll stay for dinner. You’ll stay for dinner, of course.”
“That’s nice of you, but I’ll leave y’all to tend to Phoebe. I hope I can have a rain check.”
“You’re welcome anytime. Anytime at all. I’ll walk you down.”
“You stay right here.” He gave Essie’s shoulder a pat before he looked down at Phoebe. “That goes for you, too.”
“I think I’m going to do just that. Duncan—”
“We’ll talk later.”
As he left, Carter bounded up the stairs. Carter stopped, gripping a pair of ice bags. “Sorry about jumping on you out there.”
“Forget it. Natural.”
“Do you know who punched my sister in the face? I took enough fists in the face to know what the results look like,” he said when Duncan lifted his brows.
“I don’t know who hurt her, but I’m going to find out.”
“When you do—if it’s before I do—I want to know.”
“Sure.”
“Carter Mac Namara.” Carter shifted ice bags, held out a hand.
“Duncan Swift. See you around.”
Duncan let himself out, glanced up toward the bedroom window as he walked to his car. Gorgeous house, he thought, and just full of problems. He had enough experience with problems to know they came in all flavors and varieties.
Just as he knew, without question, that whatever the problems, Phoebe was the glue that held the family together.
Gift or burden? he wondered. And decided it was probably a good chunk of both.
A smart man would drive away from the gorgeous house with its variety of problems. Drive away and keep on going. That’s what a smart man would do.
Then again, Duncan thought, there were times it was more interesting, and certainly more rewarding, just to be dumb.
He ended up at a bar. The after-work crowd wouldn’t flood into Slam Dunc for nearly an hour, so despite the multiple flat screens rolling out ESPN, and the scatter of customers playing pool or air hockey, Duncan figured it was quiet enough for a meeting.
Anyway, he wanted a beer, and felt after the afternoon he’d put in, he’d earned it. He kept an eye out for Phin, and when he saw his friend come in, Duncan signaled the bar.
“Already ordered you a Corona, and some nachos.”
Phin slid into the booth. “Left me hanging today.”
“I know, I’m sorry. Couldn’t be helped. What do you figure?”
Phin puffed out his cheeks. “Jake, who you also left hanging as he got there two minutes after you split, did a walk-through. He’s going to work up a detailed estimate of what it’ll cost you to do what you want with the building. But his eyeball opinion? You’re going to have to sink minimum of one-point-five into it, over and above the cost.”
“Okay.”
Phin leaned back as the nachos slid between them and the waiter set the Corona with its slice of lime on the table. “You ever look back, wonder how we got to be sitting here talking about a million and a half dollars like it was pocket change?”
“How much did that suit cost?”
Phin grinned, picked up his beer. “Fine-looking suit, isn’t it?”
“Dude, you’re my fashion god. Figure two for the overhaul; let’s not be pikers. Add in what I’ll pay that squirrel for the property.”
“Does look like a squirrel,” Phin commented.
“Maybe he’ll take some of the buy money and spring for a decent toupee. Anyhow…Got a pen?”
Phin took a Mont Blanc out of his inside jacket pocket. “Why don’t you ever have a damn pen?”
“Where am I going to put it? And you always have one.” Duncan scribbled figures on a napkin.
And that said it all, Phin thought. The man might look like your average guy—the worn jeans, the untucked, rolled-up-at-the-sleeves shirt, the hair begging for a trim. He might come across to most as an extraordinarily lucky guy who happened to pick the right numbers at the right time. Appearances didn’t mean dick when it came to Duncan Swift.
He’d use that borrowed pen and a napkin to figure out cost runs, overlay, buffer, outlay and potential income. He’d do it while eating nachos and drinking a beer, and by the time he was done, he’d have his projected cost and future returns figured as close to the mark as any fleet of accountants.
The man had a knack, Phin decided as he—with care—transferred some loaded nachos from platter to plate. “Where’d you take off to?”
“That’s something I want to talk to you about. Or more specifically, with your lovely wife.”
“Loo’s in court.”
Duncan glanced up, over, and smiled. “Not now, she’s not.”
She wore a conservative blue suit that managed to showcase her mile-long legs. Her sexy curls were tamed back into a clip so that her sharp cheekbones, deep brown eyes, wide mouth were subtly framed. Her skin was the color of rich caramel.
Duncan always wondered how any judge or jury could look at that face and not give her whatever she wanted.
Duncan slid out of the booth, wrapped his arms around her and spok
e into her ear just loud enough for Phin to hear. “Dump him. I’ll buy you Fiji.”
She had a big, strong laugh, and let it rip. “Can I just keep him to play with when you’re busy?”
“Give me back my wife.”
“Not done with her.” Taking his time with it, Duncan gave her a long, dramatic kiss. “That’ll hold me. Thanks for coming, Loo.”
“Thought you were in court.”
“I was.” She sat next to Phin, nuzzled her lips to his. “Prosecution asked for a recess. I’ve got them on the ropes. Now, which of you handsome men is going to buy me a martini?”
“Being shaken even as we speak. One minute. Here’s what we’ll offer the squirrel and here’s where we top off.” Duncan pushed the napkin over to Phin. “Okay?”
Phin glanced at the figures, shrugged. “It’s your money.”
“Yeah. Isn’t that a kick in the ass?” Duncan picked up his beer. He knew Phin and Loo would be holding hands under the table. They had the thing, theit , whatever thatit was that locked people together and kept them damn happy about it.
“Y’all want something more than nachos?” Duncan asked them.
“Just that martini. As our gorgeous and brilliant offspring is spending the night with her cousin, I’m going to have this fine-looking man take me out to dinner.”
“Are you?”
“I am, but not until I’ve had that drink and am finished playing footsie with my lover here.” Loo winked at Duncan. “So, baby doll, what can I do for you?”
Duncan said nothing for a moment, then grinned. “Sorry, my mind went in all sorts of interesting directions.” He listened to that terrific laugh of hers again. “It’s about something that happened to a friend of mine today, and my curiosity over what gets done to the guy who did it when he gets caught.”
“Criminal or civil?”
“It’s pretty fucking criminal.”
Loo raised her eyebrows at the tone, then accepted the martini she was served. She took the first, slow sip. “Should this individual be charged and indicted, I take it you’d object if I or my firm represent him.”
“I can’t tell you what to do, but I figured you’d know the ins and outs of what he might try to pull, legally, when they get him.”
“Not if, but when.” She broke off a minute corner of a chip. “Okay, tell me what this man allegedly did.”
“Before I tell you what he did, I’d better tell you, he’s a cop.”
“Oh. Well. Shit.” Loo blew out a breath, drank again. “Tell me.”
Interesting. From his seat at the bar, he nursed a beer, ate some cheese fries and pretended to be interested in the reports on March Madness that dominated the near screen.
He had a perfect view of the booth where Phoebe’s screw-buddy sat with the duded-up black couple. Interesting, damn interesting—and fortunate that he himself had been watching the house on Jones when the fancy car pulled up.
Phoebe hadn’t been looking so good.
He had to smother a laugh he knew might draw attention his way. No sir, the redheaded bitch hadn’t been looking her best.
She was going to be looking worse before it was over. But for now, he’d take a little time, a little trouble, to find who Mr. Fancy Car and his friends were.
You never knew who might be useful.
9
With one ear cocked toward Phoebe’s room, Essie carefully folded the white-on-white bedspread with its stylized pattern of lovebirds. The intricate stitching had kept her mind calm, as it tended to. She often thought that being productive—and creative with it, if she could brag a bit—held a firm rein on her mind and refused to allow it to wander into those places where panic waited.
It was good work, she could think that, and the bride who received it as a wedding gift would have something unique and special, something that could be passed on for generations.
She arranged the dark silver tissue. Even that, the fussing with the finished product, the meticulous packaging of it, helped keep her hands busy and her mind steady.
Because she didn’t want to be afraid every time Phoebe went out of the house, didn’t want to whittle her family’s world down to walls, as she’d whittled her own. She couldn’t allow herself to let that fear in, to let it take over. It snuck up, she knew, inch by inch, stealing little spaces, little movements.
First it might set your heart thumping, it might shut your lungs down in the grocery store, right there in Produce while you’re surrounded by tomatoes and snap beans and romaine lettuce with Muzak playing “Moon River” until you want to scream.
Until you had to run, just leave your cart there, half full of groceries, and run.
It might be the dry cleaner’s next, or the bank where the teller knew you by name and always asked about your children. It might sneak up then, dropping rock after rock after rock on your chest until you were buried alive.
Your ears ringing, the sweat pouring.
You let it win all those little spaces, all those little movements, until it had them all. Until it owned everything outside the walls.
She could still go out on the terraces, into the courtyard, but that was getting harder and harder. If it wasn’t for Carly, Essie didn’t think she could push herself even that far. The day was coming, she could feel it sliding closer, when she wouldn’t be able to sit on the veranda and read a book with her precious little girl.
And who was to say she was wrong? Essie thought as she put the pretty oval sticker with her initials on the folded tissue to close it in place.
Terrible things happened in the world outside the walls. Hard, frightening and terrible things happened every minute of every day, on the streets and the sidewalks, at the market and the dry cleaner’s.
Part of her wanted to pull her family inside those walls, lock the doors, bar the windows. Inside, she wished she could keep them inside, where everyone would be safe, where nothing terrible could happen to any of them, ever.
And she knew that was her illness whispering, trying to sneak in a little closer.
She lay the card that detailed instructions for the care of the lovebird spread, then closed the bright silver box.
While she gift-wrapped the box as the customer had ordered, she was calmer. Her gaze strayed to the windows now and then, but that was just a check, just a peek at what might be out there. She was pleased it was raining. She loved rainy days when it seemed so cozy and snug andright to be inside the house, all tucked in like the lovebirds in the silver box.
By the time she had the gift cushioned in its shipping box, sealed and labeled, she was humming.
She carried it out, pausing to peek into Phoebe’s room, and smiling when she saw her baby girl sleeping. Sleep and rest and quiet, that’s what her baby needed to heal. When she woke from her nap, Essie decided she’d bring Phoebe up a tea tray, a nice little snack, and sit with her the way she had so many years ago when her daughter had been down with a cold or a touch of flu.
She was halfway down the steps with the big box when the doorbell rang. The jolt shot through her like a bullet, driving her right down, legs folding, heart slamming, to sit on the steps with her arms wrapped around the box as if it would shield her.
And she could have wept, could have dropped her head down on the box and wept at the instant and uncontrollable terror.
The door was locked, and could stay locked if she needed it to. No one in, no one out. All the pretty birds inside the silver box.
How could she explain to anyone,anyone, the grip of the sudden, strangling fear, the way it set the little white scar on her cheek throbbing like a fresh wound? But the bell would ring again if she didn’t answer—hear that, it’s ringing again. It would wake Phoebe, and she needed to sleep.
Who was going to protect her baby if she ran away and hid?
So she was not going to cower on the steps; she was not going to allow herself to fear opening the front door, even if she was unable to walk out of it.
She got up, made herself walk
to the door, though she did continue to clutch the box in front of her. And the relief made her feel foolish, and a little ashamed, when she saw Duncan on the other side.
Such a nice boy, Essie thought as she took a moment, just one moment more, to get her breath back. A solid, well-mannered young man who’d carried her hurt baby girl up to bed.
There was nothing to be afraid of.
Shifting the box, Essie unlocked the door and beamed a smile. “Duncan! How nice of you to come by. Look at you, all that rain and no umbrella! Come in the house.”
“Let me take that for you.”
“No, that’s all right. I’m just going to set it down here.” She turned as she did, hoped he couldn’t see her hands still shaking. “I’ve got a pickup scheduled for it. How about some coffee?”
“Don’t trouble. Hey.” He took her hands, so she knew he had seen. “Are you all right?”
“I’m a little on edge, that’s all. Foolish.”
“Not foolish at all, not after what happened. I’ve been jumpy myself.”
No, Essie thought, no, he hadn’t. He wasn’t the type to jolt at sounds and shadows. But it was sweet of him to say otherwise. “Don’t tell Phoebe I said so, but it calms my nerves having a big, strong man in the house.”
“Someone else here?” he said and made her laugh. “Secret’s safe. I just stopped by to see how the patient’s doing.”
“She had a restless night.” Essie took his arm, steered him into the parlor. “But she’s sleeping now. Sit down and keep me company, won’t you? Ava’s at the flower shop. She works there a couple, three days a week when they can use her. My daughter-in-law’s going to come by later. Josie’s a nurse, a private-duty nurse. She took a look at Phoebe yesterday, and she’s going to stop in later, with Carter, after his classes. And you know why I’m talking so much?”
“Are you?”
“Duncan, I’m so embarrassed by the way I acted yesterday.”
“You shouldn’t be. You had a shock.”