by Beverly Bird
Like she’d let him.
“You’re not going to move an inch, are you?” he muttered.
Tara shook her head.
It was mildly remarkable that it had taken her this long to insist upon this visit, he thought. So far she had only his word for it that the ruby was not in Carmen’s library, when she knew she’d dropped it there herself. And she’d already made it clear what she thought of his integrity. She’d spent half the day on the phone making sure he wasn’t holding anything back from her.
The way he had it figured, she was running on her last good nerve. Maybe he would get lucky and she’d pass out on him. Then he could carry her out of here bodily. It was probably the only way he was going to get her to leave until she saw for herself that there was no ruby in the house.
Fox held a hand in the direction of Carmen’s prohibitive Yankee foyer. “Ladies first.” Then she passed him and he caught that scent again, spicy but gentler than that, hot and seductive.
She was already through the inner doors and heading up the corridor by the time Fox snapped himself out of it and went after her. She had stopped suddenly in the library door.
There was no blood on the floor where Stephen had lain, Tara thought immediately. For some reason that had been her greatest fear. It could hardly be worse than taking the pulse of a dead man, yet she’d been sure that if he’d dripped any blood when he’d gotten hit in the head, if no one had bothered to clean it up—and why would they?—it would be her undoing.
The library was even darker than it had been that night because the hallway wasn’t lit. Tara put the dog down and moved along the wall, feeling for the light switch. She hit it and electricity flooded the room, then she felt her heart fall hard to her toes.
“What’s wrong?” Fox asked, reading her expression.
Tara shook her head. How could she tell him that she knew they weren’t going to find the Rose here because she couldn’t feel it? That first night, when Stephen had died, she’d been distracted. But tonight every sense, every nerve ending she possessed was painfully and exquisitely alive and if the ruby was in this room, she knew she’d sense it.
She fell to looking for it anyway. She went to the window and dragged the drapes apart, then she lifted the hems and tucked them in at the top so she could get an unobstructed view of the floor. Nothing.
She opened the window and ran her hand over the sill as a blast of cold December air tried to cut through her skin. There was no ruby. She dropped to her hands and knees and pushed her fingers under the heating vent. It wasn’t there either.
How could this be? She shot to her feet again and began moving the furniture as she ran through the events of that night again in her mind. The dog had wrapped herself around her leg. She’d swatted at her. The Rose had sailed…that way, she thought, jerking back toward the window. She went to the spot again, willing the stone to be there this time, but it wasn’t.
Stephen’s corpse had not suddenly risen to its feet, she thought giddily, staggering across the room to grab the stone in a cold hand! That was too much even for a man who’d had meanness down to a science. A fractured laugh came up Tara’s throat. Then Fox was there, in front of her. She had the sudden realization that whenever she got close to the edge of falling apart over all this, he was there.
“Darlin’, it’s no good.” His voice was as soft as a wish in the night.
Tara shook off his grip when he caught her hands. “This isn’t possible. How could it just disappear?”
“It didn’t. There’s an explanation. Just give me a little more time to find it.”
She met his eyes. There was compassion there. She wasn’t prepared for the fresh onslaught of longing that hit her. She wanted to believe him, to just give the whole mess over into his hands.
Nearly all her life, only one thing had mattered. She’d always known that when she finally held the Rose, she would have her heart’s desire, just as Tzigane and Anastasia and Letitia had before her. Tara did not want to travel to distant lands. She did not want fame or notoriety. She cared little enough for wealth. All she wanted was to trust. She wanted to believe the way Fox’s eyes were asking her to believe now.
It terrified her.
“Come sit down,” he said. “You’re white as a ghost.”
“I’m fine.”
“I apologize. I keep forgetting that part.”
She wanted to slug him, but she had no strength. “Let’s go upstairs.”
He blinked in surprise. “Unless you’ve got an arm like a major league pitcher, I just don’t see how you could have thrown it there.”
“Did anyone go through Stephen’s papers? His personal effects?”
A lot of it was piled in a storeroom at headquarters, Fox thought. Digging through it would be the next step of their investigation. He hadn’t the heart to tell her so.
“Let’s go see what we can find.”
She left the library like a shot.
Fox caught up with her in Carmen’s bedroom. Already she had every one of the dresser drawers open and she was pawing through what items had been left on the closet floor. She rifled through the clothing that hung above it, frisking every suit coat, every pair of trousers. When she was finished with each item, she flung it on the bed.
“Tara.” A small noise in her throat was the only acknowledgment that she had heard him. “What exactly are you looking for?”
She shook her head fretfully. “I don’t know.”
Fox waited.
“Stephen and I hadn’t actually lived together since I was twelve. He went off to prep school that year. Fifteen years ago.”
Fox nodded, though she never looked at him to see it.
“I didn’t really know him anymore. I knew the boy.”
Then he understood. “You don’t know what made the man tick, what he might have been capable of.”
She glanced at him quickly. “Exactly. He was always evil. But evil keeps secrets and lately I just didn’t know what the secrets were anymore.”
It was compelling enough to make him move to the closet to help her.
But Carmen’s clothing didn’t tell them anything, either. Tara finally went to the bed and sat among the clothing there, looking around the room. Then she glanced down and her gaze fastened on the ivory and jade oriental rug that was laid over wall-to-wall carpet of a lighter green. And Fox saw something change in her eyes.
“What?” he asked.
“This didn’t used to be here. This was my mother’s room. It belonged to Scott and Mom. I played there at that hearth when I was little.” She got up to look at the fireplace, then she turned back to him. “There was never this extra rug in here. Stephen added it.”
“It’s probably just his own decorating touch.”
“Maybe.”
But they bent to it together. It took a joint effort to lift the bed so they could tug it free. They rolled it up against one wall and Tara thrust a hand beneath the bed.
“There’s something here,” she said. “It feels like a brass ring.”
“I would have thought he was born with it in his hand.”
He earned a fast smile from her. “Help me. I can’t quite reach it.”
Together they leaned into the heavy four-poster. It inched backward until the door under the carpet was revealed.
“Ah,” Tara said, catching her breath. “That was the other thing about Stephen. He was always so sneaky, hiding things.”
Fox nudged her aside to pull on what was indeed a brass ring. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but there were only ledgers inside.
Tara didn’t seem disappointed. She thrust both hands into the recessed safe and pulled them out. She began opening them, her eyes scanning the pages fast. “Diaries,” she said. As she finished with each, she tossed it aside.
He saw the horror settle over her face when she found what she was looking for. Fox caught her hand as she brought it up to hold the hair back from her eyes. Her fingers were like ice. He kept he
r hand in his own to warm it as he took the book from her lap.
This one was a legitimate ledger. The last entry had been made two years ago, so Fox wagered there were probably more recent books stashed elsewhere around the house. But at that point, the man had been nearly a million dollars in debt and Fox couldn’t really see the situation improving.
They were gambling debts, he realized from notes in the margins, and they went back a way. They were the kind a man either paid up…or he got very hurt. The kind that thrived and fed on obsession and addiction, growing a little more for every dollar that paid them down. The interest alone would have bled Carmen’s bank account dry as a bone.
He took the next book Tara pushed aside—a diary this time—and finally he got a fix on what had happened. Letitia Cole Carmen had shared this home with Stephen after Scott Carmen had died. Stephen had desperately needed more money and he had fixated on the millions that selling Letitia’s Rose would bring. He’d known no court would easily accept that Letitia would cut her daughter out of her will entirely, so he focused on the one thing of true value she could explicably leave him. He threatened to kill Tara if Letitia willed the gem to her daughter.
But something was still missing, Fox thought. Something was wrong. The Rose could only save Carmen once Letitia died. As long as she lived, her will was a moot point.
Fox read through more pages. The man’s words gave him a chill in his bones in spite of all he’d seen over the years, all he knew of human nature. But he still wasn’t prepared for the depth of the groan that came from Tara’s throat as she figured it out.
Fox looked up sharply. “Ah, darlin’.” He moved to hold her but she came to her feet.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Damn you, don’t be kind.”
She was still holding the last book but when she spoke it dropped from her hands. Fox took it from the carpet and quickly scanned what was written there.
Letitia had died in a skiing accident. He’d known that. What he hadn’t known—and what her daughter apparently hadn’t either—was that she’d been suffering from terminal cancer at the time. There was his answer. Stephen Carmen had smelled opportunity. He’d taken vicious and cruel advantage of a dying woman.
Letitia had willed him the stone to protect her daughter’s life. Then she’d left the country, maybe thinking to somehow escape the curse for a few more weeks, days, hours…and a snowy mountain had come down on top of her.
Tara’s movement broke into Fox’s thoughts. She bolted for the door.
She had no defenses against him right now, so she had to run.
The truth about her mother brought sharp and fresh grief, but that wasn’t what caused this pistoning of her heart. It was for what she’d seen in his eyes. It was for what he made her want. She knew how it went…giving in to that insidious feeling of safety, of being protected, of believing that she would no longer be alone—only to blink and realize she’d been dreaming.
She hurried to the central staircase. Her palm, damp with panic, gripped the newel post there and slipped right off it again. But by then she was already several steps down.
“Tara! For God’s sake, wait!”
She jumped over the last tread of the stairs, then she ran for the front door. When she was finally outside she dragged in breath. It was crystalline and cold and it hurt her lungs, but it soothed the heat in her cheeks. For a moment she only stood, her hands cramped into fists.
The moon had vanished behind a cloud. The night was too dark now and her senses were skewed from everything she’d just learned. Tara headed for the street and ran into the crime scene tape. She swiped at it but it snapped free from a tree, floating in the cold breeze like a clever ghost before it settled around her.
“Tara. Wait.”
He didn’t yell this time. He didn’t have to. He was close. He jogged to her then stopped a step away. Tara spun back to face him.
“Go away.”
“No. I’m not going to do that.”
She felt her heart sink like a brick in water. He wouldn’t, she thought. “I don’t want you here.”
“You should have thought of that before you hid in the pantry that night and got me all interested in what you might do next.” Then he did the unforgivable. He held his arms out to her.
Tara trembled. She wanted to go into those arms. She wanted it with something that made her belly knot. But to do that would be a point of no return. It would be…needing him.
She took a step toward him anyway. He gathered her close, bringing her the rest of the way into his arms. So much for gentle Southern persuasion, she thought giddily. He was like time, inexorably moving on. Nothing could stop him or shunt him aside when he put his mind to something. Tara tucked her head against his shoulder.
Fox wondered if he was just supposed to stand here. If it came to that, he would. He would hold her and do it gladly, but…there was the problem of her scent. When she laid her head on his shoulder, he caught that hint of something almost-spicy and teasing again. Shampoo, he decided, definitely shampoo. His mind held on to that for a moment, then caromed to something more immediately important.
Her hips bumped against him and her right leg edged between both of his. She tilted her face up to look at him. And God save him, but he was only a man after all.
Tara saw his expression change. Her heart began moving too fast, pounding like thunder. His mouth was so close. She brushed her lips over his, a featherlight touch. She had time to breathe once, then his hands were in her hair.
He cupped her head, making her arch her neck backward. And when her lips had to part, his mouth cleaved to hers. Now, she thought, now he took. Fear kicked in her chest, frantic to be heard. But it wasn’t enough to make her stop.
His mouth sealed over hers again and again and she met it greedily. When he came up for air, it was only to trace the line of her jaw with kisses as soft as the breath of an angel. It made her want to weep. Every cell in her body leapt to life. Something unbearably sweet curled at the core of her. This, she thought, this was what she had needed all of her life.
Fox had the stunning certainty that he had waited for this moment—this, right here, right now—all his life. Heat scoured through his blood, so sudden he had no chance to brace himself against the near-pain of it. His fingers tightened in her hair. His saving grace was that she didn’t cry out but pressed closer to him—or maybe that was his damning moment. She moved her arms around his neck. And every sweep of his tongue was met by a parry of her own.
Maybe this was how it happened when it was the right woman after all. She gave back as good as she got. It didn’t surprise him, but it nearly debilitated him.
Then want became need. And need became desperation. He found her eyes and challenged them not to leave his. Don’t run from this, he willed her silently. Don’t lock me out again.
“I—” she whispered, but she never finished. The crack of gunfire broke the cold, quiet night.
Chapter 11
Tara’s breath expelled in a rush. It took her an incredible moment to realize that she hadn’t been shot, that Fox had thrown her to the ground. He fell with her, shielding her body with his own as the first cold wave of shock ebbed and left her shaking. She had kissed him and someone had shot at her. Her mind couldn’t quite grip either reality, or explain why either had happened.
His voice was warm against her cheek. “We’re fine. We can get to the car if we stay low. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Low,” she repeated dazedly.
“We’ll move on the count of three. One, two—” She began scrambling ahead fast. “Damn it, Tara!”
Fox headed after her. He kept his right hand on her hip to guide her in the darkness; his gun was gripped and ready in his left. His thoughts tumbled in his head like rolling dice. She hadn’t been hit. She wasn’t hurt, bloodied, dying. Relief seemed to keep the best of his breath from reaching his lungs. His vest. He wore no protective vest. He hadn’t been expecting trouble. Now he waited for a bu
llet to tear into his back as he tucked himself behind her. Coincidence? He didn’t believe in it. This guy hadn’t just gotten lucky, coming to Chestnut Hill on a chance. He’d followed them.
And most important—why hadn’t there been another shot?
“To our left, darlin’, that’s it. We’re just going to crawl around to the far side of the car.” They reached the Mustang safely. “I’m going to reach up and open the door now, but don’t get inside. The dome light is going to come on and it will put you in a spotlight. He’ll shoot your head right off.”
Something spasmed through her although she didn’t answer.
Fox reached up carefully and opened the door. The dome light came on and the passenger side window shattered in another burst of gunfire. Tara screamed then she crammed a fist to her mouth.
He stood. Tara made a strangled sound of terror and reached for his jacket to pull him back down. He got off one blind shot before he let her.
“W-What did you do that for?” She was trembling so hard now she nearly couldn’t get the words out.
“He messed up my car.”
“B-Boys and their toys.”
“It’s a rare woman who understands.”
“You wasted a b-bullet.”
“It got my point across.”
“What if we need it to d-defend ourselves? What if he pins us down and we run out of ammunition?”
Temper was bringing her back from the edge, he thought. That was good. “I’ve got more in the glove compartment. Anyway, he’s gone.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Hush. Quiet down in case I’m wrong.”
He paused to listen. Tara listened as well but she heard nothing. “He’s probably c-creeping up on the car right now.”
“I wonder if he has a machete clamped in his teeth.”
Her eyes went wild. “How can you joke about this?”
Because, he thought, it kept her from thinking too much about what a mess they were in. He didn’t dare let panic get its claws into her. He knew from experience that it could be more dangerous than any gunman. It would give the other guy an edge that Fox intended to keep for himself.