Shattered

by Olga Bicos

  “What you’re doing with Manticore? Career suicide.” She’d dropped the lipstick in her purse with a smile. “Just a thought.”

  Not that Holly had listened. Next thing she knew, the big projects dried up. She was assigned to basic type 5 jobs. Drew convinced her to leave the firm with him. I can’t stand how they’re treating you. All because of me! That conviction.

  She’d been married and knee-deep in their new firm when she discovered the truth, that Drew had been pushed out of the company, leaving not for her sake but because he had to. Something about discrepancies in his expense account. I’m not a numbers man, sweetie. The understatement of the year.

  But Drew always had his explanations. Jealous bastards, all of them. Of course he’d been set up. That’s how they do it, honey. They grab your nuts and squeeze. And he still knew the right people, could get the jobs.

  At twenty-nine, Holly had been newly married and opening her own firm. Daniel found her three years later, divorced, her name suddenly the kiss of death in architecture circles, thanks to Drew.

  So was it all about ego, then, wanting to stay? A phoenix rising from the ashes. To say she could do this and all other considerations be damned. Or was there something else persuading her. Someone else? Ryan.

  When she’d seen Nina’s painting, there’d been confusion. And fear, too. But there’d also been disappointment that the interest she’d seen in Ryan’s eyes had not been for her.

  A woman who hadn’t had sex in three years followed around by a man with Ryan’s intoxicating persistence. Could she really be so silly?

  “You always did like a good show,” she told herself.

  “Holly?”

  She looked up from the plans to see her brother standing at the door. She hadn’t heard him come in, wasn’t expecting him. And now, he was looking at her hunched over the as-built drawings of Cutty House, reading her thoughts.

  “No way,” he said, crossing the room toward her. “No…freaking…way.”

  “I just thought—”

  “Did you even read those newspaper articles? Let me give you the Reader’s Digest version. Young man about town, all of nineteen, offs his possibly pregnant girlfriend, running her off the road. They’d had a fight, him calling off the wedding, and both of them drunk and driving, maybe even playing a little game of chicken that got out of hand. Who knows? Only, the charges don’t stick.”

  He sat down beside her on the couch, on a roll. “But the guy’s family pushes him out, see? Getting rid of the dross, possibly because they know something the cops don’t. Not that they’re turning in their own, but he has to pay a price. So, no more Cutty House for Ryan.”

  “That was twelve years ago.”

  “And isn’t it interesting that they brought you here twelve years later because, hell, they’re all over that. It’s in the past. Must be just an amazing coincidence that Danny boy hired the dead girl’s long-lost twin.”

  Harris wrestled in between her and the plans. He waved his hand in front of her eyes.

  “Holly, what the hell is this about? They lied to you. That’s enough, right? Daniel brought you here to play some sick joke on that Ryan guy.”

  She shook her head. “He said he’d let me do it my way. That he wouldn’t interfere. He said only I could save Cutty House, and looking at these plans, I think he may be right.”

  “So you’re a genius and this project will prove it. But is it worth your life?”

  “How did we go from a sick joke to murder?”

  “I have to draw you a diagram? Daniel wants to goad Ryan into a repeat performance, put the bastard in jail like he should have the first time around. Not that big a leap, I’m thinking.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being overdramatic?”

  “Listen to you, Miss calm, cool and stupidly blind!”

  “I look like Nina Travers,” she said, raising her voice, suddenly only too happy for a good fight. “So what? That doesn’t mean I can’t do the job.”

  “Don’t get all ambitious on me now, Hol. It’s not worth it. Trust me on that. Look, I’ve been a jerk. Showing up on your doorstep like some loser, letting you take care of me. But I’m ready now, okay? I’ve licked my wounds and I’m ready to go back. Get a real job. We’ll go home and you’ll hunt up some other project.”

  She shook her head. “Not like this one.”

  “Exactly like this one. Only, there’s no dead woman in the picture. You see the upside, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t push me, Harris. You’re going to push me right into staying.”

  He stood up, backing away as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She could see he wanted to yell at her, but screaming wasn’t his style. But neither was circling the room, shoving his hand through his hair, the pent-up frustration practically steaming from his ears. He wanted so badly to protect her.

  “You know it’s crazy,” he said. “Better yet? You know it’s wrong.”

  “I just can’t promise anything right now, okay? You need to let me think about this a little longer.”

  That look again. But she took it, right in the chin.

  He nodded. “You think about it real hard, kiddo. I’ll be here to help you pack when you get it straight in your head. But I can’t sit around and listen to this crap. I can’t let you just…oh, screw it!”

  Before he could say anything worse, he slammed out the door, angrier than she’d ever seen him.

  She glanced at the wrinkled plans spread out over the coffee table. She remembered how happy she’d been when she’d first gotten the idea for the sketches. She’d felt brave and strong and clever.

  How could Harris not understand why she wanted to stay? He got a kick out of trekking to places where you had to take malaria pills and five different vaccinations just to hit port. To countries where they had things euphemistically referred to as “the sleeping sickness.”

  How could he not understand his sister wanting to take a few chances?

  I’ll get a real job…you’ll hunt up some other project.

  Sure. No problem. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

  Because she knew better. She didn’t even care if it was all about ego. So what? There were too few opportunities for architects in her position and she’d already wasted her fair share on Drew.

  Which left her with the option of making a phone call. Surprisingly enough, he was listed.

  His machine picked up. She waited for the tone. “We need to talk, Ryan.” She ticked off her cell phone number. “Where should we meet?”

  14

  Harris pounded on the door, not seeing this as a polite doorbell moment. Not with him pressing off his toes, watching the knob, adrenaline pumping. He’d trained for just this sort of thing, a mission of sorts. The instant the door cracked open, he shoved it hard.

  He’d wanted it to be Daniel. God, he’d needed the bastard to be there right in front of him.

  “Where is he?” he asked Emma.

  “Daniel?”

  “No, Santa Claus.” His sarcastic best. “Where is he?”

  He could see that he’d scared her and he did feel a little crazy, coming here like this. But if he couldn’t make Holly see reason, he’d make sure someone else pulled the plug on this job.

  “He’s not here,” Emma said softly.

  He looked around the empty living room. It was the kind of place he’d expect from Danny boy. Berber carpet, white leather furniture, shelves covered with expensive designer gizmos that screamed look at me! All the books were big and glossy and unread. Like the man, the room was all polish, no substance.

  “You’re living with him,” he said.

  It was obvious. He’d come to Daniel’s apartment, but, honestly, he’d half expected to find her there.

  “No,” she said. “I have my own place. I…I spend a lot of time here.”

  “No, really?”

  He dropped down onto the couch, shoving aside a couple of dainty pillows. “So what the hell is going on? I assume you
know about this phony job of Dan’s.” He patted the cushion beside him. “Tell me a story.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “The truth, Emma. A distant concept, I’m sure. But here I am, asking just the same, using the manners my papa taught me. Why’d you bring my sister here to play Nina Redux? Come on, darling. I know you’re in on it, so why don’t you share?”

  She didn’t come anywhere near him. He could tell she was scared. Her pupils were dilated, her breath all short and shallow. And maybe something else. He could sense the tension between them.

  “It’s not what you think. The first architect was such a disaster. Everything was going so badly. Then Dan saw Holly’s picture in a magazine. He thought it was some kind of sign.”

  Harris made a rude noise. “Try another one, Mother Goose.”

  “Look, I tried to talk him out of it. I was worried it was another one of his crazy ideas. Like maybe he really believed it was Nina coming back from the dead, something weird like that. But when Daniel saw her photograph in that design magazine, saw how much she looked like Nina, he thought the job was going badly because he was meant to find Holly. He isn’t always so professional about these things.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  “He takes a lot of risks. Sometimes for silly reasons.” She shrugged. “Like the way a woman looks.”

  He could always tell when someone was lying. Strangely enough, Emma, here, was telling the truth.

  “I knew the first architect he hired was a moron,” she said. “A friend of a friend. Someone Daniel could control, who would do things his way. I thought Holly would be his disaster number two. But she wasn’t. Isn’t. She’s good.”

  “She’s more than good. And she doesn’t deserve any of this crap.”

  “It’s a wonderful opportunity for her.”

  “To impersonate a dead woman?”

  “I told you, it wouldn’t be like that.”

  He’d never moved so fast in his life, rising to loom over her, grabbing her by both arms so that he practically lifted her off the ground. He was pretty sure he was hurting her, not that little Emma would let on.

  “What would it be like, hmm?” he asked. “I’ve read the stories. Rich kid runs fiancée off the road, pretty much bringing an end to his storybook existence so that, suddenly, he’s no longer the golden boy of the Cutty clan.”

  She tried to push him away, but he kept his grip. He knew how to intimidate. He’d had lessons from the best.

  “Let me guess at some of the details you might have left out about this wonderful opportunity you’re giving Holly,” he said. “There might be some bad blood between the cousins? Something involving Nina? Now, Danny boy brings along my sister, waving the red flag.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “What if the story ends the same?” he said, giving her a good shake. “What if Danny’s little joke turns into murder?”

  “Nina’s death was an accident. They didn’t prove Ryan had anything to do with—”

  “It’s enough for me that she’s dead.” He pressed her harder. “This job is over.”

  “Holly is free to leave any time she wants.”

  “But she won’t, so you make sure she doesn’t have the option. You persuade Danny to find himself another architect.”

  Somehow, Emma, that tiny little thing, broke his grip. She pushed him on the chest hard enough that he lost his balance, actually stumbling back a step.

  “You think I haven’t tried?” she asked. She pushed him again. “You think I haven’t said it was crazy from the first?”

  Suddenly, it was Emma taking him on, that excitement in her eyes shining ever brighter.

  “But Holly,” she told him, “she’s not what I expected. She’s not some lamebrain idea of Dan’s.”

  She licked her lips, sensing how dangerously close he was to losing control, but still wanting to have her say. “She could do it. She could save us.”

  “Us?”

  “Daniel. The family. Holly could make everything good again. Save us from Nina’s curse. You must have guessed I didn’t want her here. Sure, I was jealous. Maybe I still am. But then I started thinking that she should stay.”

  She was talking as if everything she was saying was a revelation, even to her. Standing there, she was coming up with this incredible bullshit, all of a sudden seeing his sister as some sort of lucky find. Only, nothing she said made the slightest bit of sense. It didn’t have anything to do with what he knew.

  But instead of pulling away, she just kept coming, whispering up to his face. “At first, I didn’t like her. But who couldn’t like Holly, right? She’s all about heart next to Daniel’s illusions. He’s been spinning his wheels for so long and finally, through some fluke, he’s hit on something good. Your sister. Okay, I got left out. I got my feelings hurt. So what? I can get over that. And if something comes out of this, something that could finally prove Daniel to his family, then it’s worth it.”

  She watched him, pleading with her eyes. And something else, something more.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” she said, “but don’t take that away from him. I can’t.”

  She slipped her hand into his. Almost of their own volition, his fingers laced with hers.

  “What the hell are you doing?” But he knew. He knew.

  Emma made it a simple thing, easing her mouth against his. Not that he needed coaxing. Half the reason he’d come was right there in his arms. Yeah, he’d wanted her. From the first.

  They started on the couch but quickly moved to the floor. They couldn’t get their clothes off fast enough. Emma didn’t want to wait, but he did. He wanted to see her. Every bit. Her breasts, her hands, the shape of her everywhere.

  She was tiny. A slight woman with all the necessary curves, a work of art under those jeans and T-shirt. He’d gotten a glimpse with the dress last night and she didn’t disappoint.

  Emma wasn’t his first round at this sort of thing. That was part of his problem. He ran too hot sometimes, didn’t stop to ask the right questions. Instead, he’d just go forward full throttle so that, here he was again, making a mistake.

  She made these soft noises against his mouth, as if she’d never been touched like this, as if she might just burn up right there in his arms if he stroked her here…if he moved slightly and pressed there.

  And when he finally came inside her, her legs wrapped around his hips, her mouth on his, he knew he’d never done anything that felt so right and so wrong at the same time.

  The storm was over as quickly as it started. They lay in a tangle on the floor. He was the first to move, standing to gather up his clothes.

  When he’d finished dressing, her eyes locked on his. It wasn’t hard to see what she was feeling. He was good at this sort of thing, after all.

  She turned over, exposing the exquisite curve of her back to him.

  He could tell the exact moment she began to cry. He wanted to say he was sorry, knew he should say something before he left. But he didn’t. He didn’t say a damn thing. He figured, between the two of them, they’d told enough lies.

  Holly almost missed the exit, Alexander, immediately after crossing the Golden Gate Bridge.

  The road curved sharply to the right, winding down to where Richardson Bay fed into San Francisco Bay. By day, Holly’s tour book painted Sausalito as an Italian hill town. Bungalows and cottages clung to the steep hills above the yacht harbor sheltering sleek ocean-going vessels, day sailors and even a Chinese junk or two. Fab shops, galleries and restaurants crowded along Bridgeway, a gathering place for tourists delighting in the quaintness of the maritime village, while ferry passengers snapped picturesque views from the deck of dayliners. She remembered one passage in the tour book: The port city was meant to be seen from the water.

  Ryan lived on a boat, a houseboat. The “floating homes” sat all in a row, eclectic as all get-out. Painted every hue imaginable, including purple and puce, they were moored in the waterfront area known
as Waldo Point Harbor at Gate 5 Road. To any architect, his house was a miracle on water. Two stories high, wood cladding, steel-framed windows. With an enormous flagpole marking the entrance gangway and his neighbor a handshake away, it was truly a man’s house.

  Inside, the masculine theme continued with worn leather couches and an overstuffed reading chair. Dishes in the sink. Newspapers and magazines scattered over every flat surface, along with charts that appeared to measure rainfall and moisture. And books. Lots of those. On a surprising number of subjects.

  She remembered what Emma had told her. While Daniel slaved every summer at Cutty House, Ryan, ever the playboy, would sail off into the sunset.

  “Looks like he’s still living the dream,” she said to herself.

  “Living what?”

  He’d come up behind her on the deck, a platform hanging above the water so that nothing but a guardrail stood between her and the glassy blackness below. He held out the beer he’d offered when she’d first come aboard. She took the Corona and held tight to the bottle.

  When she’d driven down the curving landscape, house lights dotting the hillside, she’d thought the view beyond romantic. Here was this tiny fairy-tale town, a Portofino of sorts, sporting views of the San Francisco cityscape and jobbing sailboats with crystal lights glowing atop masts.

  She wondered just how crazy it was to come here. Would her fairy tale setting turn into a nightmare? That unstoppable curiosity of hers was at work again, risking all. When he looks at me, does he see her? Does he see Nina?

  Asking all the wrong questions.

  “Nice place.” She took a sip of the beer.

  He made some noncommittal noise. She saw that he wasn’t drinking and she felt suddenly out of sorts with her beer. She still had a headache from last night’s wine.

  He waited, obviously letting her do the talking.

  Most women would find him incredibly attractive. Dark, thick hair with just a hint of curl, eyes an incredible blue, he was the kind of man you’d expect to see on the cover of a book or a movie poster. A much younger version of Ryan had made a couple of the papers Harris had printed out. She’d halfheartedly flipped through the articles on the nightstand, even read through one, but she didn’t feel any better prepared.