“I love you, Lucy Valentine.” He pulled me to him, brought his lips hard against mine, and kissed me.
I’d waited my whole life for a kiss like that. One so full of love, of promise. Of babies and houses and happily ever afters.
I felt a twinge, a twist of pain deep in my soul, but I wouldn’t let it surface. Not now, not today. I was just going to enjoy.
“Excuse me.” I felt a tug on my sleeve. Someone cleared a throat. “Pardon.”
Sean and I pulled apart.
A pair of close-set blue eyes peered up at us. I placed the woman around my mother’s age, early fifties, with soft reddish blond hair. She was tiny, with delicate features and a birdlike frame, but that didn’t stop her from wearing multiple strands of vintage beads and numerous rings on her fingers. A smile stretched the remaining collagen in her cheeks to its limits, and her eyes sparkled almost as much as the large sunburst earrings she wore. “The romance section is downstairs,” she admonished with a wink.
“Sorry,” Sean mumbled.
She fanned her face. “I’m surprised the two of you didn’t set off the fire alarm.”
“Really sorry,” I echoed.
Waving a hand in dismissal, she said, “Not a worry. But perhaps this isn’t the place for such,” she paused, searching for the right word, “affection.”
I looked around. The library was all dark woods and muted light. Several people sitting at nearby tables were openly staring, and one man in the corner was giving Sean a thumbs-up.
My cheeks flamed. “We were just looking for the children’s section.”
One of her thin, penciled-in eyebrows shot up. “Really now?”
“Well, you know, we were a little sidetracked, with the stairs and his heart and—” I snapped my lips closed. There was no need to get into that.
There was laughter in Sean’s voice as he said, “What I think Lucy is trying to say is we’re looking for Mary Ellen Spero.”
As he spoke, I noticed her lanyard. “Catherine M.”
Wrinkles formed in a deep V on her forehead, reminding me, oddly, of a flock of geese flying south for the winter.
“Are you Catherine Murphy?” I asked. “Mary Ellen’s sister?”
With a wave of her hand, she beckoned us to follow her. I felt a bit like Gulliver in the children’s area, towering over bookcases and tiny tables and chairs. Little faces peered up at us curiously, and in the quiet a soothing, rhythmic voice could be heard reading.
In a colorful nook filled with floor pillows, children sat rapt, listening to the woman read from The Velveteen Rabbit. Mary Ellen was heavyset, with a kind face and sad eyes. I liked her instantly, maybe because of knowing what she had endured the last twenty years.
“Story time will be over in ten minutes,” Catherine said. “Who are you two?”
Sean handed her a card and related the story of Tristan Rourke.
Her fist closed over the card and her eyes clouded over. She motioned with her head to a corner where two desks had been pushed together, creating a separate work space. Sitting down, she said, “I had a feeling I’d hear his name again, but I had expected it three years ago when he was released from prison.”
“You thought he’d come after Anthony again?” I asked, sitting in a chair in front of the desk. Sean took the other one.
“Absolutely. And I can’t say I would have blamed him. I heard what Anthony had said to that boy.… It was unforgivable.”
“By all accounts,” Sean said, “Tristan isn’t violent.”
I glanced at her desk. It was piled with everything from Dr. Seuss to William Sachar. There was a stack of adult titles in the corner. Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park was on top, but a bright yellow spine beneath that caught my attention. I pulled the book loose. The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook. I smiled as I paged through it. It had everything from how to land a plane to how to run atop a speeding train. Handy, that one. I especially liked the chapter on how to wrestle an alligator.
I set the book down, picked up Mansfield Park. It was the only Jane Austen book I wasn’t crazy about.
“Don’t you think, Mr. Donahue, that every person has their limits? That there is only so much pain a person can endure without striking back? I assume you do, since you’re here.”
For a moment there it seemed as though she wasn’t talking about Tristan.
Sean conceded with a nod.
“We felt it only right to warn you that Tristan now knows the truth,” I said. “He also knows Meaghan is looking for him, trying to reunite.”
“You say he knows where I live?”
Sean shifted uneasily in his seat. “He must have followed us there.”
“I see. I’ll need to make reservations at a hotel. I won’t feel safe going home tonight. Imagine how easy it would be for him to set the house on fire while we slept? Or to break in? My house is old. The locks are old. The windows could easily be jimmied. I don’t have an alarm system, not even a dog.” She blinked rapidly. “I never felt the need before. It’s a safe neighborhood. It was a safe neighborhood.”
“Ms. Murphy,” Sean began, but she held up a hand to stop him.
“No, no. I’m all right. It’s simply a little jarring.” She pulled in a deep breath. “I’ll call a hotel. We’ll have Anthony meet us there.” Her brow crinkled again. “Do you think Tristan will follow him?”
I wanted to talk her out of it, to assure her Tristan would do no harm. Deep down, however, I felt his anger, his need to lash out over everything that had been taken away from him. Catherine, I feared, had reason to worry.
“It’s probably best if he’s careful,” Sean said, “and takes precautions. Watches his rearview mirror, doubles back, takes side streets. Makes it easier to tell if someone is following you.”
“Right,” she said, shuffling papers nervously. “We’ll do the same. He was a smart boy, and I could see him following us instead of Anthony, leading him right to his target. No need to take chances.”
A knot of dread puckered in my stomach. Maybe we ought to talk to the FBI after all. It felt like we were in over our heads.
“Did you know Tristan well?” I asked.
“Of course. I knew all the kids. Tristan was bad news from the start, but Mary Ellen had a soft spot for the tougher cases, and especially Tristan. She felt as though he was only wearing a veneer to protect himself from more pain. We had a rough childhood ourselves. She felt she could make a difference in his life. And I have to say, it seemed like she was making a difference with him. He was making good grades, smiling more. Meaghan may have had something to do with that, too.”
“How about Anthony?” Sean asked. “How’d he feel about the foster children?”
She rolled her eyes. “He was rarely home, which was mostly a blessing to those kids. If there was a male counterpart to Cinderella’s evil stepmother, it would be Anthony Spero.”
“Catherine!”
We turned and found Mary Ellen Spero staring at her sister, her mouth open in shock. “To say such a thing.”
Catherine squared her shoulders, fiddled with her necklaces. “I speak the truth.”
I certainly believed her.
Catherine introduced us and related why we were there.
Mary Ellen paled. Her hand fluttered at her throat, then went to her earlobe, where she tugged on a pearl earring. But all she said was, “The library is closing soon. You two better be on your way.”
13
Dovie must have been waiting for us to get home. No sooner had Sean shut off the car than Rufus was dragging her across the lawn toward us.
I unlocked the door to my cottage while Sean let Thoreau and Rufus get to know each other. Rufus looked as though he could eat the Yorkie in one bite.
I turned off the alarm system and detached Grendel from my slacks. I lifted him up, murmured sweet nothings until he purred his contentment.
My Maine coon had a bit of separation anxiety, but he was easily appeased. He’d be even happier now that Th
oreau was here. The two had an interesting relationship.
“I’m afraid to take Rufus off the leash outside,” Dovie was saying as she came in. “He might go racing and fall off the bluff.”
As soon as Grendel spotted Rufus, he clawed his way up my chest and onto my shoulder. His back arched; his fur stood up. Hissing, he dug his claws in deeper.
“Ow, ow, ow!”
Sean helped pull him off and set him on the floor. Grendel took off on his three legs toward my bedroom. Rufus chased him, obviously thinking he was a furry rubber chicken.
“Huh,” Dovie said.
“Either he’s jealous that Thoreau has a new friend or he doesn’t like dogs bigger than him,” I said, rubbing my shoulder. I checked for blood. Only a few drops.
Grendel dove under my bed. Hissing ensued.
I was pretty sure he’d stay under there until mollified that the big scary dog was gone. Cheese would go a long way in earning Grendel’s forgiveness. He loved cheese.
Sean turned on the gas fireplace, caught my eye, and waggled his eyebrows.
My blood pressure ratcheted up a notch. I hadn’t forgotten what he’d said earlier about him and me, me and him, in front of the flames.
Feeling myself flush, I said, “Tea, anyone?” Anything to distract from the lust in my eyes. No need to scandalize Dovie.
Who was I kidding? Dovie could probably teach me a thing or two, though I’d certainly never ask. Some things a granddaughter should never know.
“Lovely,” Dovie said, settling in a leather chair. “I’m worried about the pup. He’s not eating. I’ve tried everything.”
“Did you call Marisol?” Sean asked.
“She’s coming by tomorrow to take a look at him. Poor thing. He probably misses home.”
I glanced at Sean. Unfortunately for us, Dovie looked like she was staying for the long haul. Damn it. I had plans that included Sean being naked and me having my way with him.
“You want tea?” I asked him, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
He gave me a look, half regret, half promise. “No.” He went to the fridge, pulled out a Sam Adams, and popped the top.
I put the kettle on, then checked on Grendel. He’d stopped hissing but was refusing to look at me. Rufus sat on his haunches, his tail wagging as he waited for Grendel to come out and play. Fat chance.
Thoreau paid no attention. He’d curled up in front of the fireplace. Apparently he’d had enough excitement tonight, being dognapped and all, and had worn his little doggy self out.
“Anything on Mac?” Dovie asked.
Sean sat on the sofa, dragged a hand over his face. He looked tired. “Not yet. We were trying to figure out if the theft of some of his prints a few years ago had anything to do with his disappearance now.”
Dovie’s eyes widened. If I tried hard enough, I could picture her aura. A golden glow that pulsed with energy. A pang of remorse hit me hard. Sometimes I really missed my ability to see the colors of the people I loved.
She said, “There’s a connection?”
The kettle started a slow whistle. I pulled it from the flame. “It’s not looking like it.”
While I poured, Sean explained about Meaghan Archibald and Tristan Rourke.
“How gothic,” Dovie enthused. “A wanted man, the woman who loves him.”
I poured hot water into the mugs. “Sounds more like a Lifetime movie.”
Sean smiled. “Or a disaster waiting to happen. Now that the FBI is involved.”
Dovie gasped. “How do I miss all the good stuff?”
By the time we explained, my tea was cool enough to drink. I settled on the couch next to Sean, my legs curled under me, my thigh pressed against his. He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. I pressed against him a little harder.
Dovie set her mug on the table. “So we’re back to square one with Mac?”
“Essentially,” Sean said.
She stood up. “Then you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you, young man.”
Sean looked at me. “Did she just ‘young man’ me?”
“ ’Fraid so.”
“Should I be worried?” he asked.
“I’m standing right here!” She stomped her foot in case we weren’t paying attention.
“Definitely,” I answered him.
Wagging a finger at us, she said, “This other case can surely wait, LucyD?”
It was as much of an order as she was going to issue. “We can do both.”
She arched an elegant eyebrow. “You think so?”
Fighting a yawn, I said, “I know.”
“And just how can you be so sure?”
“I’m psychic?” I said, lifting a shoulder in a shrug.
A smile split her face. “Rub it in, why don’t you?”
Dovie was forever moaning about marrying into a psychic family instead of being psychic herself. But I wasn’t so sure. Dovie seemed to have some pretty special powers.
“Rufus, come! Come on. Let’s go.”
Case in point. Rufus bounded over, sat at Dovie’s heel, and gazed up at her adoringly. Animals loved her.
Dovie clipped his leash, straightened the pink bandanna still tied around his neck. It reminded me to check on Christa to see if she wanted to visit the dog. I stood, kissed Dovie’s cheeks. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow. Promise.”
She clucked my chin, motioned for me to follow her to the door. Outside, she said, “Have you asked him yet?”
I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth. “Asked him what?”
“To move in, of course!”
For a second there, I thought she was going to stamp her foot again, but she only leveled me with a stare I couldn’t look away from.
“It’s too soon.” How many times was I going to have to say it?
“What are you waiting for?” she asked.
“I don’t know, Dovie.”
Her green gaze softened and filled with compassion that twisted my heart. “I may not be psychic,” she said, “but I know love when I see it, LucyD. And I know you’re no fool. So do what needs to be done. I’m too old to be worrying about your love life.”
“Em’s is up for grabs.”
Dovie swatted me. “Sass! I’m leaving. See me leaving?”
“I see.”
“Don’t beg me to stay. I won’t.”
I laughed as Rufus pulled her down the walkway. “Rufus wouldn’t let you anyway.”
“And don’t think I’ve forgiven you for dumping him on me!” she called, her voice rising above the crashing waves.
She wasn’t fooling me for a second. She already adored that dog. I went back inside, my teeth chattering.
I walked over to the hearth, held my hands out to the flames. My palms warmed. Sean came up behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled my hair aside so he could have free access to my neck. He kissed and nuzzled.
In between he said, “Did that conversation outside have anything to do with what you saw earlier when you held my hand?”
I stiffened, pulled away. “No.”
“What did you see, Lucy?”
I fluffed a pillow and decided now might be a good time to check for loose change in between the cushions. “I saw Thoreau with Rourke.”
“What else did you see?”
Shit. Only one quarter and lots of crumbs. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re a lousy liar.”
Huh. Twice I’d heard that today. I gave up looking for loose change—and made a mental note to vacuum in between those cushions more. “Lying? Me? Ha!”
He dared to smile. As if that dimple of his could distract me enough to tell him the truth.
He knew me too well.
“All right,” I said, about to spill my guts. “It was you and me and we were … and well—” Damn, this was harder than I thought.
“And?”
My cell phone rang.
“Let it go,” he said.
I jumped for it. “I
t may be important! Really important. Life-or-death important.”
He rolled his eyes as I answered.
“Talk me off the ledge,” Mum said.
“What ledge?” To Sean I whispered, “See? Life or death.”
“The cheesecake ledge.”
Or maybe not. “Is this about the diet?”
Sean went into the bedroom, lay flat on the floor, and lifted the bed skirt. A loud hiss filled the air.
“Try cheese,” I told Sean.
“Are you talking about cheese to me?” Mum said. “I’m dying!”
“Not of the cake variety. The cheese is for Grendel.”
“Oh. Okay. Like that makes it all right.”
“You’re cranky.”
“I’m starving.”
“You don’t need to diet. You’re perfect the way you are.”
“Yes, I do. You’ve seen those girls your father usually goes for. All size minus zeros, jutting cheek- and hip bones. I couldn’t find my hip bone if I had a map with a big X on it and a shovel.”
“Mum.” I dropped into my favorite chair.
“Lucy.”
“Eat the cheesecake.”
“What kind of help are you?”
“Dad obviously likes you as is.”
“As is? Like I’m a used car without a warranty?”
My call-waiting beeped. Thank God. “Gotta go, Mum.”
“Wait! What about the cheesecake?”
“One little tiny bite won’t hurt. Just do some extra cardio tomorrow.”
“Extra cardio? Brilliant! Smooches.”
I clicked over to the other call. “Lucy Valentine.”
“It’s Meaghan,” she said. “I just got your message. I can’t believe Tristan is wanted by the FBI! What do they think he did?”
Interesting wording. She wasn’t ready to believe the worst of him. Yet. “Technically not wanted. Just a person of interest at this point.” I explained about the theft ring.
“Wow.”
“What I need to know from you is how you want us to proceed. Or if you want us to at all.”
The fridge opened, closed. I heard the crinkle of a cellophane wrapper. There was a long stretch of silence over the phone line. I didn’t want to tell Meaghan we had met with Tristan, spoken with him. Not yet. Not until she knew whether she wanted to continue with the case. “Meaghan?”
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