Now You See It

by Cáit Donnelly

  “Medium Phillips.”

  She heard him rootling around in the toolbox, and then the sound of his footsteps as he followed her into the kitchen. He held up a medium Phillips-head screwdriver with an eight-inch handle. “Think this thing’s long enough?” he asked.

  “It’s physics. The longer the handle, the more torque at the screw head. More leverage, less muscle.”

  “What do you do in a tight space?”

  “I cheat and use a socket wrench with an angled extension handle.” She laughed up at him. “Mike got our dad’s height. I’m built like Mom. And when you’re, um, vertically challenged,” she said, “you learn to use physics.”

  Brady chuckled. “I really could help, you know”

  “I thought you were making my world safe from predators.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Then you can help me. I need an extra hand with these wires for a few minutes.”

  “I’m thinking about getting rid of my landlines altogether,” Gemma said. “And changing my cell number. This last few days, I’ve realized one good thing about not having a phone would be Ned’s mother couldn’t reach me.”

  “In-law problems?” Brady asked around the nail he was holding in his mouth.

  “She really hates me.”

  “Yeah. I noticed.”

  “You and a couple hundred other people. And I don’t know why. She’s terrifyingly genteel, in this creepy Southern way. Until Ned died, I’d never heard her raise her voice, or ever seen her actually stoop to a sneer, but the disapproval always just drips off her like Spanish moss or something. When Ned introduced us the first time, she wouldn’t even speak to me.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Gemma shook her head and handed him the wire strippers. “Nope. In fact, after the first shocked head-to-toe once-over, she didn’t even look in my direction. I might have been a napkin on the table. Oh, excuse me, serviette. The old witch.”

  “My family say ‘serviette,’ too, but they’re French Canadian.”

  “O, pardon,” she said, and laughed. She couldn’t remember when she’d laughed so much, or had so much fun just doing nothing special. Actually, she could. Being with Trevor had been like that—just seeing him, talking to him, had been enough to make her feel happy, as if she had balloons in her chest. She always remembered how they had laughed at little things, and his dry, silly sense of humor that had sent her into peals of laughter. His touch, that had made her feel as if the world was tinged with gold dust.

  Brady’s voice broke her reverie. “So, what are we doing after this? Want to send out for pizza?”

  “It’s not even noon yet. Sheesh! Let’s be a little serious, here, okay? My goal for today is to make enough space for the furniture,” Gemma said, taking back the wire strippers. “What’s left of it. I think most of what was actually destroyed was furniture. As soon as I get access to some money, I’ll get more—maybe a huge trip to IKEA.”

  “IKEA?”

  “Why do you sound so surprised? I love their stuff. When I go in there, it’s like a trip to Disneyworld, only in Swedish. It’s great.”

  Brady stared at her, brows raised and pulled together. He looked so comical she laughed again.

  “Okay,” she said. “When this is all over, we’ll go. Some afternoon. Have meatballs and pickled herring and lingonberries and look at all the fun stuff.”

  “Swedish Disneyworld? It’s a furniture store, Gemma.”

  “You sounded just like Mike right then. And that just shows what you know. All those cool little lights, and big floor lamps with paper shades like huge white flowers—what?”

  “I was just thinking that Swedish Minimalist is quite a step down from all those antiques you used to have in your living room.”

  “Well, those antiques are all mostly kindling, now. And I’m looking forward to comfortable stuff I don’t have to devote my life to caring for. Furniture should serve people, not the other way around. Besides, they have such cool accessories. You’ll see.” She almost sang the last two words, and she realized she was flirting with him.

  God, Gemma, you should be ashamed of yourself. Ned’s been dead less than a week, and here you are flashing your tail feathers at this rogue male. She tried to feel guilty, but just didn’t. And when he stretched to loop co-ax cable over a nail he’d tacked lightly into the wall, his shirt rode up to reveal taut, tan skin at his waist and one extremely fine male butt. Her mouth started to water, and she had to swallow hard. She hadn’t looked on purpose, she insisted to the outraged nun in the back of her conscience. Not entirely on purpose. She was just so aware of him, and he was so totally...yummy came to mind, along with Dante-esque visions of leaping flames. Oh, man, I am so doomed. It had been a long time since she’d felt so female and alive.

  He even goes through doors sexy, she decided, watching him stride back out of the house. It was sheer body reaction—it had to be. Brady was physically different from Ned—different build, different coloring. And he was the first new male she’d met since Ned moved out. It had been so long since she’d had good sex. She wondered if all the years of faking it, staying alert to what was going on in bed, had eroded her ability to really enjoy it. Maybe she’d just have to find out. The thought brought a rush of heat.

  “Okay,” he called. “When you see the drill come through, I need you to feed your end through the hole, okay?”

  “Okay. Give me a minute.” She clambered up to kneel on the back of the couch.

  Nikki thundered down the stairs into the living room with a high, yodeling bark.

  “Hello? Gemma?” Doug called from the front doorway.

  “Doug! Hi. Come on in,” she said. This was starting to look like a Peter Sellers movie, with people coming in one door, going out another...

  He wound his way through boxes. “What on earth are you doing up there?”

  “Waiting for—”

  The sound of a drill vibrated through the wall, and the tip of the bit appeared.

  “Having some work done?”

  “Sound system,” she said over her shoulder. The lie came easily. She’d promised Mike she wouldn’t talk about the security arrangements at her new place, but she wasn’t sure she liked how easy it was becoming to distort the truth. That was what she got from hanging around with a bunch of damned spooks.

  “How are you doing?”

  “A lot better today. Busier than I’d expected.”

  “You should treat yourself to some downtime. You’ve had more than enough reason. No one could blame you. Maybe a few days at a good spa, getting pampered.”

  Irritation flashed. Spa, my ass. “Too much to do,” she said as she passed the cable through the hole to Brady. Why did Doug’s nurturing, protective suggestions set her teeth on edge? “Mike sent movers over this morning, and between scrambling with that and then with the cleaners later, sorting what was left after the raid—”

  “Raid?”

  She grimaced. The coils of the cable had tangled just enough they’d tighten into a knot at the wall unless she straightened them out before they got there. “That’s what it reminded me of. The old stories of Viking raids. It makes me feel better to think of them as horned monsters.”

  “Vikings didn’t really wear those helmets, you know.”

  “Don’t mess me up with facts here,” she said. “I’m the victim, remember?”

  “I’m hardly likely to forget.” He paused and looked around, as if he wasn’t sure what to
say next. “Well, it’s good to see you keeping your spirits up. I wanted to come by and make sure you’re all right after the article this morning.”

  “What article?”

  “You haven’t seen the Chronicle?”

  “The Chronicle? That reactionary rag? Not a chance. I haven’t even seen CNN in a couple of days, much less the local news. I got out of the habit lately. At least they’ve moved on to newer scandals and sensations, so now I won’t need to be afraid every time I turn on the TV to see what lurid new development they’ve scraped up on Ned. Why?”

  He didn’t answer, but looked so distressed a trickle of fear dropped into a lump in her stomach.

  “Brady,” she said to the wall, “did you bring the paper over this morning?”

  Brady’s voice came back. “It’s in the office. I’ll get it.”

  Doug opened his mouth, then closed it helplessly. “Don’t you think this is just a little too domestic?”

  She stared at him in surprise.

  He spoke quickly, glancing up in the direction Brady had gone. “What’s he doing here again? I’d think, with all that’s been happening, you’d be more careful about letting strangers into the house.”

  She’d never seen him so intense.

  “Gemma, it’s important to have someone you can depend on right now. I’d hoped you would let me really help, let me be there when you need someone. You haven’t known—what’s his name? Grady?—very long. You don’t know much about him.”

  “You know perfectly well it’s Brady. And Mike trusts him. I told you that before. That’s good enough for me, until I have a reason to think any different.” She heard the stress in her voice, and took a deep breath. It was more than just trust, and she had a strong feeling Doug knew that—and he didn’t like it one bit. Time to change the subject. “I haven’t thanked you for all your help. It’s just been a strange time.”

  “Not to worry.”

  “This can’t last too much longer. Maybe when it’s all over, I can work on your campaign. Answer phones, distribute flyers, sell T-shirts.”

  His laugh was short and humorless. “Let’s hold that thought, shall we?”

  Brady worked his way back through the stacks, clutching the rolled-up newspaper. As he reached them, he slid the rubber band off the paper and onto his wrist, and spread the pages open on a breast-high stack of cartons. “Jesus,” he said, and looked up at Gemma. “Sam Dawkins? He was at the memorial yesterday.”

  Gemma turned the paper so she could read more clearly, but she had seen enough to make her tremble and turn her irritation into fear. “Sam Dawkins is dead? I can’t believe this.” She looked up at him. “What happened?”

  “Someone broke into his office late last night and found him there. Whoever it was beat him to death and ransacked the place.”

  She knew when she got shaky like this her face turned shockingly pale, and that had been happening way too often the last few days. Her eyes sought Brady’s.

  “You really didn’t know.” Doug’s voice was softer.

  Gemma drew herself up, stung. “Why would I lie about that?” She couldn’t believe Doug had said something so insulting.

  “So the police haven’t been here yet,” he said.

  “Why would they come here?” Brady asked.

  Doug reached to touch Gemma’s arm, but she jerked away from him. His voice sounded hollow when he spoke. “I think we’re all extremely stressed and confused right now. I know I am. I’m sorry, Gemma. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question,” Brady said. He was wearing his cop eyes again.

  “Mark Taylor’s office was vandalized last night, too. Fortunately, no one was there to get hurt. This morning he cancelled all his appointments for the week and dropped off the map.”

  The implications of Brady’s question hit her like a physical slap. “It says here Dawkins’s office was part of a string of break-ins at downtown legal offices,” Gemma said. “Why would the police question me?”

  “That’s what I’m asking, too.” Brady said. “But you’ve danced neatly around the answer, counselor.”

  “Sam Dawkins was representing Ned in the divorce,” Gemma said. “Mark Taylor is my divorce attorney. I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “It’s too much of a coincidence,” Doug said, looking anxiously at Brady. “All these things seem to be centering on Gemma. I think that’s a cause for concern, but then I care about her,” he added with a nasty edge in his voice, “not just what I can get from her.”

  “Enough! That is e-fucking-nough!” Gemma said. Mike had used that expression all their lives, his eyes blazing green, and it had always stopped their youthful spats cold. She was delighted to find out it worked just as well on posturing males.

  Brady looked as if he were about to start laughing. God, she hated that. If he did, she just might punch him. Doug looked shocked, and she realized she had never used any language stronger than “dammit” in his hearing. Well, too bad about his country club sensibilities. At least the two of them weren’t squabbling.

  “Doug, I think you’d better go,” she said.

  “I know how upset you are, Gemma. I’ll talk to you later—I’ll keep checking in to be sure you’re all right.”

  Gemma gritted her teeth but nodded and let him have his exit line.

  She closed the door behind him, shut her eyes and gave her head a quick shake.

  Now Brady did laugh. “Does he always treat you like a piece of fluff?”

  “A what?” She let the words flow past her. “He’s just well-mannered.”

  Brady snorted derisively and then turned serious. “Hey, are you all right?” He moved closer and rubbed her arms.

  Strength and warmth seemed to flow into her from his hands, and she dropped her head against his chest, breathing him in. Warm skin, sandalwood, male. She could stay like this forever, pressed against him, holding him, being held. Shutting out the world because this was home. She started to nuzzle his chest, caught herself, turned it into a head-shake. “I don’t know why this is happening, Brady. People are dying. I haven’t done anything to cause this. I don’t understand.”

  “People die, Gemma. People kill other people. It doesn’t necessarily center on you, no matter what Doug the Sleaze there says about it.”

  “Doug the—”

  “I know several Dougs. That’s how I keep ’em all straight.” He reached to her face and brushed away a tear. “Hey, it worked for Homer: ‘Rosy-fingered Dawn,’ ‘Bronze-headed Achilles,’ and all that.”

  She gave him a lopsided smile.

  “Gemma, if this centers on anybody, it’s Ned. Not you. And we’ll figure it out, or whoever it is will find whatever he’s hunting for, and it will be over. I promise you.” His voice grew softer, but no less intent. “I promise you.”

  Gemma looked up at him, standing there all dark and angular and intense. Watching her as if he were trying to hear through her head. She felt a chill and turned away down the short hall.

  He didn’t say a word, but padded silently after her into the kitchen, so close behind her she could feel him inside her personal space. She turned around to confront him, and he kissed her, firmly, exploring, questioning, asserting—even before he brought his hands up to her face, into her hair. A sharp jolt raced through her as his tongue slid against hers. Suddenly she couldn’t get close enough to him. Then just as suddenly, she could. Nikki whined, and Gemma had a clear flash o
f the dog trapped in the closet, and she remembered telling Brady someone could stuff her in a closet just that way.

  She broke away from him, confused. Even as he let go, she still felt him against her. She stepped away, but got no sense of distance until she had put a good six feet between them. She stood, blinking, trying to integrate what was happening. “I—what just happened?” Her lips still tingled.

  * * *

  “I don’t know,” Brady said. It came out more harshly than he’d intended. He read her doubt and wasn’t sure how to deal with it. Her allure, whatever they were creating here, was so powerful. He needed her to trust him. But he just plain needed her, even more.

  “I’ve got some wine in the fridge,” she said. She still looked blank and shocked.

  “That won’t help. Hell, maybe it will.”

  “I’m not sure where the glasses are. Um. Paper cups?”

  Maybe it was time to tell her at least part of the truth. “Wineglasses? Come with me.”

  Halfway across the living room, their way was blocked by a jumbled pile in the middle of the floor—a nightgown, a spiral notebook, a can of tomato soup, a twenty dollar bill, some keys, and the Pegasus in its stone egg. “Okay,” he said slowly. “This wasn’t here when we went to the kitchen.”

  She dropped her eyes. “No.”

  “You don’t have a poltergeist. They don’t move from house to house. “

  She shook her head.

  “You want to tell me what this is?”

  “Well, that’s the Pegasus you were holding the other morning at my house. When it disappeared...” she stopped, looking mortified.

  “You thought, what, that I’d taken it?” The insult hit quick and sharp. “Did you think I’d taken your paperweight as some kind of romantic souvenir?”

  She blushed even harder and looked away. “No. I didn’t think that. It never even occurred to me.”

  “What about the rest of this?”

  She snatched the nightgown up before he could touch it, wound it around her hand and hugged the wad to her chest. “I bought this nightgown when I got my first apartment. Those keys are from a car we owned when I was pregnant.”