Now You See It

by Cáit Donnelly

  “Those downloads must be just about finished. I’m going to go have a look. Is it okay if I take my tea with me?” he asked as he started toward the stairs with the dog at his heels.

  Chapter Five

  Gemma put the dishes in the sink and wandered into the living room, ready to plunge back into the task of sorting and packing. Someone had been in her house. A stranger had come here while she slept at Mike’s, and gone through her files. Her journals were in there. Her private thoughts, private records. All her business files—not that anyone would care enough about the arcana of grants management to break into her damned house for them.

  Her mind refused to deal with any of it. She looked over the half-packed shelves and sighed. The CDs had been the easy part: nothing to wrap, nothing to fold. Let’s get it over with. Soft sunlight glowed through the sheer curtains in the front window, so she dragged a short stack of empty boxes over nearer the square of sunshine and began filling them with books and odds and ends from the shelves, cushioning the fragile pieces in bubble wrap and blank newsprint.

  She tried not to think about the things in front of her. Too many memories, too much anger.

  She smiled with relief when she saw Ned’s partner heading up the walkway, stonily ignoring two pursuing reporters. Anything for a distraction on a day like this.

  She met him at the door. “Doug! I didn’t expect you to come by. Come in for a minute. There’s no need to stand out in the sun.” She shut the door against the inquisitive eyes of the press and led the way into the living room.

  Doug stopped at the threshold and swept her into a brief hug. She stiffened in surprise and he released her, taking a step backward. “I came to see if you were all right, if there was anything I can do. God, Gemma. Since you called last night, my phone hasn’t stopped ringing.”

  “It’s not because I called,” she said, her tone sharper than she’d planned. But it sounded almost as if he was blaming her for the intrusions on his time. “I didn’t want you to find out the way I did, with police banging on your door.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through something like that. It must have been awful for you. How are you holding up?”

  She took a long breath. “Okay, so far. At first the cops seemed suspicious. But after my interview this morning—”

  “Interview? Gemma, why didn’t you call me? You shouldn’t have talked to them without an attorney.”

  He may have been stressed and grieving, but so was she, and his patronizing tone ran down her spine like nails on a chalkboard. “My brother is an attorney. Or had you forgotten?” She watched him struggle with that one. Ned had never even tried to hide his contempt of Mike’s legal qualifications, and Doug had only been a bit more circumspect. Editor of the Law Review at UC San Diego didn’t meet their lofty standards as middle-of-the-class graduates of Yale Law. Ned never passed up an opportunity to sneer at “Sea Lawyers.” Doug had always been more polite, but from time to time he’d made his feelings of innate superiority clear enough.

  His lips compressed. “You’re packing?”

  She shrugged. “Just some of Ned’s stuff that he hadn’t moved yet. I’m not sure what to do with it, under the circumstances.”

  “You probably shouldn’t make any decisions right now, Gemma.”

  “It’s not as if I just decided. I told you weeks ago I was going to sell the house as soon as Ned filled out the paperwork for the property settlement.”

  “I thought you were just reacting to the divorce. This is a terrible time to be selling. You stand to lose quite a bit in this market.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want this place. And I don’t want that stuff, either.”

  He took in the masks and hangings from the walls, and pointed to a little stone fetish sitting on a nearly empty shelf. “You’re not tossing that?”

  “Would you like it? I think it’s hideous.” There, she’d finally said it. What Ned had seen in the stone doll with its distended lips, bug-eyes and engorged phallus was beyond her comprehension.

  “I’ve always liked that piece.” Doug smiled. “Thank you.”

  “You’re free to take any of this you want. I’m getting rid of all the Sub-Saharan stuff. And everything orange.”

  “Political statement?” he asked with a light laugh. “Erin go bragh, and all that?”

  “Nope. Just not my color. Ned knew that, so he went out of his way to—never mind.” Tears rose, and one spilled over. “It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” So why couldn’t she stop crying? Gemma thought she had used up all her tears in an hour-long crying jag just before dawn. She’d have sworn she was past crying for that sorry s.o.b., but obviously, she’d been wrong.

  Doug held her gaze for a beat, then turned back to a woven wall hanging. “You know, some of these things are quite valuable.”

  “Really?” She sniffed. “That’s hard to get my mind around. I can’t believe anyone but Ned would pay money for them.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll take these, look through them, and give you a fair price for the things I keep. I don’t think you know how much money we’re talking about.”

  She cocked her head a little to one side and sniffled again. “How much?”

  “Several thousand dollars, at least. Some of the wall hangings may be worth considerably more. What I don’t keep I’ll find a broker for. Fair enough?”

  “I was going to send them to St. Vincent de Paul, so that would be great.”

  “I’m surprised Ned left them here when he moved out.”

  “He said it was only until he could arrange proper display space, but I think he was just marking territory.”

  Doug looked down at the statue in his hand. “I knew you and Ned were having problems, but I didn’t know you disliked him so much.”

  “I’m only coming to realize it myself.” She sat abruptly on the arm of the leather chair. “I am sorry, though. I shouldn’t be dumping all my emotional garbage on you.”

  “Gemma,” he said his voice soft and intimate. “There’s no need to apologize. You’re going to need to talk to someone, sooner or later. This isn’t the kind of thing anyone should have to go through all alone. I just want you to know I’m there for you.” He stared at her intently, and then looked away, as if he were thinking or remembering. “This has to be about the worst time for you I can imagine. I wish you’d let me help. You know I care—cared—about you and Ned. Tell me what I can do. Please.”

  His voice was soothing. The muted light coming through the window glowed gold off sun-streaks in his razor-cut dark-blond hair, and darkened his gray eyes to misty blue. So handsome, she thought, touched by his unusual hesitation. She had never seen him at a loss.

  Over the last few months he’d made it clear he was interested in more than just friendship. Life would be so much easier if she could only feel the same way about him. But she didn’t, and in her present state of overload, she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  He took a short breath and brushed his blond forelock to one side. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked again. “I’d be glad to talk to Ned’s attorney and get all the divorce details cleared up.”

  “Mike will deal with all that.” She’d done it again. She hadn’t meant to snap at him this time, either. “Sorry. I’m just on edge. I really am sorry, Doug. I’ve got to make funeral arrangements first—I don’t know when they’ll release the body.”

  “Let me take care of it, Gemma. Ned left instructions with me.”

  “He did?”

  “Some time ago,” he said with a sad little smile. “He didn’t want you to have to deal with all of it, if anything ever happened to him. I’m pretty sure he was thinking more in terms of a traffic accident, after his last DUI. Certainly nothing like this. In any case, he just wanted a memorial service, so that can be any time you decide on.�
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  “I don’t know what I can afford.”

  Doug laughed. “Ned gave me a big retainer. That’ll more than cover it.”

  “Where did he get the money for a retainer? Retainer for what?”

  “For being his financial manager. Yours, too.”

  Her stomach twisted. “You’re not serious?” She looked hard at him, but his expression was nearly as surprised as she knew her own must have been. “You are serious. My God.”

  “Ned’s salary and bonuses from the law firm were in the high-six figures every year, and your portfolio has been growing nicely. And there’s plenty of insurance, as well—that will be yours as soon as the investigation clears you. Gemma, I don’t know why he didn’t tell you, but you’re not going to be hurting for money. Believe me.”

  She stared at him, unable to take it in. “Well, that tears it. I’ve been worried sick about money for months—Ned always said we were running on the edge, that with his Porsche and the house, there was barely enough to pay the utilities. I should have known better.” She pressed both hands against the sides of her head and exhaled sharply to ease the rage that flashed through her. “You know, I thought I was as pissed off as I could get. But I’m finding new depths it seems like, every day.”

  “I knew you weren’t happy, but I was totally floored when Ned told me you were filing for divorce. I didn’t realize things were that bad.”

  “I’d just had enough.” She flicked a glance at him, then stared into the distance. “It’s not important now.”

  He looked surprised. “Sorry,” she added. “That was rude. We were just too different—we had too little in common. I should never have married him.” Doug’s intensity was making her nervous, and she looked away.

  He made a tentative move toward the door. “Look, I’ll stop by tomorrow. Will you be here?”

  “Probably. Probably still packing, at the rate I’m going, but it keeps my mind busy.” Suddenly she was tired of talking about Ned and divorce and death. “Is all this going to hurt your campaign?”

  “No. I don’t think so. It may take a while to find a campaign manager as good as Ned, but I’ll be all right. The publicity and the sympathy factor might even help. How’s that for a comment on twisted values?”

  “Let me help you with that stuff,” she offered, gathering up an armful of folded fabric art. “I need the exercise, or I’m going to start smashing things.”

  “Gemma.” He paused. “Would you like to go somewhere for dinner?”

  The idea made her twitchy. “Thanks, Doug, but I just want to veg.”

  “Just a friendly gesture,” he said with a light shrug. “I didn’t want you to have to cook, but you know best what you need right now. Don’t worry about it.”

  Guilt nipped at her. She could see he was making an effort not to let his disappointment show. “Maybe tomorrow,” she said.

  He reached to touch her hand, but jerked back at the sound of footsteps on the staircase.

  Brady stalked into the room, Nikki at his side. He looked at the two of them, then his eyes lasered on Doug and turned to brown flint.

  Gemma blinked. Brady looked cold, even dangerous. What had happened to the smiling, funny guy Nikki had knocked over? She swallowed and shifted a little closer to Doug, who seemed comfortable and familiar by comparison.

  “Doug Wheeler, this is Brady—” she blushed, realizing she’d lost Brady’s last name in a stress-induced brain cramp.

  “Braden McGrath,” he finished for her, his expression now politely bland. “Of course I know you, Mr. Wheeler. You’re the senior partner at Wheeler, Epstein and Carrow. And maybe a candidate for AG next election.”

  Doug put down the box he was holding. As the two men shook hands Gemma could see forearms flexing. She was halfway surprised she couldn’t see ice crystals form in the air between them. “Doug came by to make sure I’m all right,” she said.

  “Don’t mind me,” Brady said. “I’m just here to do a home inspection.” He made it sound like a quick throwaway and eased back a fraction of an inch.

  “I know most of the building inspectors and major contractors on the Eastside,” Doug said. “I’ve never heard of you.”

  “If you had, it would mean I screwed up.”

  It was clear Doug didn’t get the reference, and Gemma looked away, embarrassed. There was no reason Doug should be familiar with SEAL taglines, but it just emphasized the gulf between his life and hers.

  Doug gave a short, puzzled laugh. “Look, I’d better take off.” He turned to Gemma and took the load out of her arms, piling it on top of the box. “Will you be all right, Gemma?”

  The softer, possessive tone of his voice irritated her, and all at once she felt more than fed up with posturing males and wanted them both gone. “I’ll be fine,” she said, as pressure built around her chest. What would she do if they started to fight? Doug wouldn’t have a chance against this feral stranger. Feral? Where did that come from? Too bad, it freaking fits. “I’m okay,” she said, trying to defuse the tension. “I’ll be fine. Doug. Thanks for stopping by. And I’m looking forward to dinner tomorrow,” she added, deliberately not looking at Brady.

  “I’ll pick you up at seven,” Doug announced. “McGrath,” he added with something like his usual self-satisfaction.

  Brady’s smile was amused, challenging. “Nice to meet you, counselor.”

  * * *

  That was interesting. Brady watched Gemma walk Doug to the entryway.

  She slammed the door and turned on him. “What was that all about?”

  He was still standing on the balls of his feet, glaring at the door. He shifted his gaze to her, and saw her shiver.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” she raged at him. “Doug is a friend.” She crossed her arms. “He’s a good friend. And I don’t appreciate your coming into my house and spraying testosterone all over my guests—”

  Brady felt his own temper rising. It was hard enough to bank down the instant dislike he’d felt for Doug. And for his perfect blond hair and upper-class diction. And that wasn’t even talking about the guy’s perfect teeth, cleft chin and square, manly jaw.

  Damn. The situation didn’t call for this strong a reaction. As much as it stung, he could admit—to himself, at least—he wanted Doug to be a bad guy because he was raging jealous. He hadn’t realized there was another man in the picture. Gemma hadn’t behaved as if—

  Back to the basics, McGrath. Observe, investigate, assess. He’d been jumping too many steps. Gemma had to be stressed nearly to breaking, and he was surprised by a sudden overwhelming need to protect her. She’d probably hand him his hide if he tried. She looks as if she’s about to burst into flames. I bet if I touched her—don’t go there. His traitor body stirred at the thought.

  “Look,” he said with more control than he’d thought he could muster, “I’m just trying to do the job Mike asked me to do. That doesn’t include playing nice with some slick politician in a two-thousand-dollar suit. I’m trying to keep you safe. And if testosterone is what it takes, then that’s what you’ll get.” He watched her face go from an angry flush to the dead white of sheer rage, and was about to meet her temper for temper when he saw a nearly full glass of orange juice on the shelf behind her head wink out of existence.

  Oh, fuck!

  He softened his expression to neutral, and he reached idly down to scratch Nikki’s head with one hand, trying to get his thoughts together.

  So it did run in Mike’s family, as he’d suspected. Right along with the red hair and scary temper. She didn’t seem to have any idea what had just happened. She just stood in the same position, taut as a bow, chin in a truculent tilt and eyes challenging. Did she even know what she could do? Just what could she do?

  Shit! Everything had just become a lot more complicated. By a factor of a zil
lion or so. That must be why her energy had felt so clear to his touch.

  Now what? “I’ll leave as soon as the locksmith gets here. You shouldn’t be alone in this house until the locks are changed.” He straightened and glanced back at her. “We can work on the password later.”

  She pulled out her cell phone, flipped it open and listened for a second. “I’m fine, Mike,” she said.

  There was another pause, and without answering, she handed Brady the phone.

  “Yeah,” he said abruptly.

  “Gemma sounds pissed.”

  “That, too. Listen, Mike, I’ve got cops coming to the office at four. I’m installing a couple of extra layers of security, and as soon as that’s done I’m out of here.”

  “Ouch. She’s that mad, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “But she’s okay? Let me talk to her.”

  “Right. Maybe we should take a rain check on tonight. Tomorrow okay?”

  Gemma’s chin came up another notch at that, and when he held out the phone, she snatched it from his hand and turned her back.

  * * *

  An hour after Brady left, Gemma was still furious, and that told her just how close she was to the edge. She never stayed mad after she’d blown off steam. Almost never, she amended.

  The locksmith had come and gone, and the security company had reset her alarm codes. The whole time, Brady had behaved as if nothing had happened. She’d been half hoping he would do something outrageous so she could yell at him again, but he’d been courteous, professional, cool and detached. By the time he finally left she wanted to throw things at him, or say something devastating, but he never gave her an opening.

  “Get a grip, Gemma,” she muttered. She was through packing for today—in this mood she was likely to start smashing things, or worse, spiral back into the grief and resentment she’d been feeling earlier.

  And nothing that serious had happened, after all. Just schoolyard posturing, like two boys arguing over a ball. She resented being the object of their contention.