by Nora Roberts
Though she claimed to be an unenergetic woman, she walked effortlessly along the trail, keeping an eye out for anything of interest. It might be lichen clinging to a rock, a sparrow in flight or a spray of hawk–weed. She liked the scent here, the sea they were leaving behind, the green smell of trees that began to crowd in to block the view.
"I didn't realize that your job kept you on your feet most of the day."
"Which is why I prefer to stay off them at all other times." She tilted her head to look at him. "Tell you what though, the next time I have an afternoon, I'll give you a more in–depth tour. We can kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Take in the scenery, and poke around for your friend, Caufield."
"I want you to stay out of it."
The statement took her so off guard that she walked another five feet before it registered'. "You what?"
"I want you to stay out of it," he repeated. "I've been giving it a lot of thought."
"Have you?" If he had known her better, he might have recognized the hint of temper in the lazy tone. "And just how did you come to that particular conclusion?"
"He's dangerous." The voice, laced with hints of fanaticism came back clearly. "I think he might even be unbalanced. It's certain that he's violent. He's already shot at your sister, and at me. I don't want you getting in his way."
"It's not a matter of what you want. It's family business."
"It's been mine since I took a swim in a storm." Caught between sunlight and shade on the path, he stopped to put his hands on her shoulders. "You didn't hear him that night, Lilah. I did. He said nothing would stop him from getting the necklace, and he meant it. This is a job for the police, not for a bunch of women who–''
"A bunch of women who what?" she interrupted with a gleam in her eyes.
"Who are too emotionally involved to react cautiously."
"I see." She nodded slowly. "So it's up to you and Sloan and Trent, the big, brave men to protect us poor, defenseless women and save the day?"
It occurred, a bit too late, that he was on very shaky ground. "I didn't say you were defenseless."
"You implied it. Let me tell you something, Professor, there isn't one of the Calhoun women who can't handle herself and any man who comes swaggering down the road. That includes geniuses and unbalanced jewel thieves."
"There, you see?" His hands lifted from her shoulders, then settled again. "Your reaction is pure emotion without any logic or thought."
The heated eyes narrowed. "Do you want to see emotion?"
Besides brains, he prided himself on a certain amount of street smarts. Cautious, he eased back. "I don't think so."
"Fine. Then I suggest you take care with your phrasing, and think twice before you tell me to keep out of something that is wholly my concern." She brushed by him to continue toward the voices around the visitors center.
"Damn it, I don't want you hurt."
"I don't intend to get hurt. I have a very low threshold for pain. But I'm not going to sit around with my hands folded while someone plots to steal what's mine."
"The police–"
"Haven't been a hell of a lot of help," she snapped. "Did you know that Interpol has been looking for Livingston, and his many aliases, for fifteen years? No one was able to trace him after he shot at Amanda and stole our papers. If Caufield and Livingston are one in the same, then it's up to us to protect what's ours."
"Even if it means getting your brains bashed in?"
She tossed a look over her shoulder. "I'll worry about my brains, Professor. You worry about yours."
"I'm not a genius," he muttered, and surprised a smile out of her.
The exasperation on his face took the edge off her temper. She stepped off the path. "I appreciate the concern, Max, but it's misplaced. Why don't you wait out here, sit on the wall? I've got to go in and get my things."
She left him muttering to himself. He only wanted to protect her. Was that so wrong? He cared about her. After all, she had saved his life. Scowling, he sat on the stone wall. People were milling in and out of the building. Children were whining as parents tugged, dragged or carried them to cars. Couples were strolling along hand in hand while others pored eagerly through guide books. He saw a lot of skin broiled Maine lobster red by the sun.
He glanced at his own forearms and was surprised to see that they were tanned. Things were changing, he realized. He was getting a tan. He had no schedule to keep, no itinerary to follow. He was involved in a mystery, and with an incredibly sexy woman.
"Well..." Lilah adjusted the strap of her purse on her arm. "You're looking very smug."
He looked up at her and smiled. "Ami?"
"As a cat with feathers in his mouth. Want to let me in on it?"
"Okay. Come here." He rose, gave her one firm yank and closed his mouth over hers. All of his new and amazed feelings poured into the kiss. If he took the kiss deeper than expected, it only added to the dawning pleasure of discovery. If kissing her made the people walking around them disappear, it only accented the newness. Starting fresh.
It was happiness rather than lust she felt from him. It confused her. Or perhaps it was the way his lips slid over hers that dimmed coherent thought. She didn't resist. The reason for her earlier irritation was already forgotten. All she knew now was that it felt wonderful, somehow perfect, to be standing with him on the sunny patio, feeling his heart thud against hers.
As his mouth slipped from hers, she let out a long, pleased sigh, opening her eyes slowly. He was grinning at her, and the delighted expression on his face had her smiling back. Because she wasn't sure what to do with the tender feelings he tugged from her, she patted his cheek.
"Not that I'm complaining," she began. "But what was that for?"
"I just felt like it."
"An excellent first step."
Laughing, he swung an arm around her shoulder as they started toward the parking lot. "You've got the sexiest mouth I've ever tasted."
He didn't see the cloud come into her eyes. If he had, she couldn't have explained it. It always came down to sex, she supposed and made an effort to shrug the vague disappointment away. Men usually saw her just that way, and there was no reason to let it start bothering her now, particularly when she'd enjoyed the moment as much as he.
"Glad I could oblige," she said lightly. "Why don't you drive?"
"All right, but first I've got something to show you." After settling into the driver's seat, he picked up a manilla envelope. "I went through a lot of books in the library. There are several mentions of your family in histories and biographies. There was one in particular I thought would interest you."
"Hmm." She was already stretched out and thinking of a nap.
"I made a copy of it. It's a picture of Bianca."
"A picture?" She straightened again. "Really? Fergus destroyed all her pictures after she died, so I've never seen her."
"Yes, you have." He drew the copy out and handed it to her. "Every time you look in the mirror."
She said nothing, but with her eyes focused on the grainy copy she lifted a hand to her own face. The same jaw, the same mouth, nose, eyes. Was this why she felt the bond so strongly? she wondered, and felt tears burn her throat.
"She was beautiful," Max said quietly.
"So young." The words came out as a sigh. "Younger than I when she died. She'd already fallen in love when this was taken. You can see it, in her eyes."
"She's wearing the emeralds."
"Yes, I know." As he had, she traced a fingertip over them. "How difficult it must have been for her, tied to one man, loving another. And the necklace– a symbol of one man's hold on her, and a reminder of her children."
"Is that how you see it, a symbol?"
"Yes. I think her feelings for it, about it, were terribly strong. Otherwise, she wouldn't have hidden it." She slipped the paper back into the envelope. "A good day's work, Professor."
"It's just a beginning."
As she looked at him, she linked her
fingers with his. "I like beginnings. Everything that follows has such possibilities. We'll go home and show this to everyone, after we make a couple of stops."
"Stops?"
"It's time for another beginning. You need some new clothes."
He hated shopping. He told her, repeatedly and firmly, but she blithely ignored him and strolled from shop to shop. He held his ground on a fluorescent T–shirt, but lost it again over one depicting a lobster dressed like a maitre d'.
She wasn't intimidated by clerks, but sailed through the process of selection and purchase with a languid air of pure relaxation. Most of the merchants called her by name, and during the chats that accompanied the buying and selling, she would casually ask about a man fitting Caufield's description.
"Are we finished yet?" There was a plea in his voice that made her chuckle as they stepped out onto the sidewalk again. It was teeming with people in bright summer clothes.
"Not quite." She turned to study him. Harassed, definitely. Adorable, absolutely. His arms were full of bags and his hair was falling into his eyes. Lilah brushed it back. "How are you fixed for underwear?"
"Well, I..."
"Come on, there's a shop right down here that has great stuff. Tiger prints, obscene sayings, little red hearts."
"No." He stopped dead. "Not on your life."
It was a struggle, but she kept her composure. "You're right. Completely unsuitable. We'll just stick with those nice white briefs that come three to a package."
"For a woman with no brothers, you sure know a lot about men's underwear." He shifted the bags, and as an afterthought, shoved half of them into her arms. "But I think I can handle this one on my own."
"Okay. I'll window–shop."
She was easily diverted by a window filled with crystals of different sizes and shapes. They dangled from wire, shooting colored light behind the glass. Beneath them was a display of handmade jewelry. She was on the point of stepping inside to wrangle over a pair of earrings when someone bumped her from behind.
"Sorry." The apology was terse. Lilah glanced up at a burly man with a weathered face and graying hair. He looked a great deal more irritated than the slight bump warranted, and something about the pale eyes had her taking a step back. Still, she shrugged and smiled.
"It's all right."
Frowning after him a moment, she started to turn back into the shop. She spotted Max a few feet away, staring in shock. Then he was moving fast, and the expression on his face had her catching her breath.
"Max–"
With one hard shove, he had her in the shop. "What did he say to you?" he demanded with an edge to his voice that had her eyes widening. "Did he touch you? If the bastard put his hands on you–"
"Hold on." Since they had most of the people in the shop staring, Lilah kept her voice low. "Calm down, Max. I don't know what you're talking about."
There was a violence trembling through his blood he'd never experienced before. The echo of it in his eyes had several tourists edging back out the door. "I saw him standing next to you."
"That man?" Baffled, she glanced out the window, but he had long since moved on. "He just bumped into me. The sidewalks are crowded in the summer."
"He didn't say anything to you?" He didn't even realize that his hands had firmed into fists and that the fists were ready to do damage. "He didn't hurt you?"
"No, of course not. Come on, let's go sit down." Her tone was soothing now as she nudged htm out. But instead of taking one of the benches that lined the street, Max kept Lilah behind him and searched the crowd. "If I'd known buying underwear would put you in such a state, Max, I wouldn't have brought it up."
There was fury in his eyes when he whirled around. "It was Hawkins," he said grimly. "They're still here."
Chapter Five
She didn't know what to make of him. Alone, with the lamplight glowing gold, Lilah sat in the tower room, watching night fall gently over water and rock. And thought of Max. He wasn't nearly as simple a man as she had believed at first–and as she was certain he believed of himself.
One moment he was shy and sweet and easily intimidated. The next he was as fierce as a Viking, the mild blue eyes electric, the poet's mouth grim. The metamorphosis was as fascinating as it was baffling, and left Lilah off balance. It wasn't a sensation she cared for.
After he had seen the man he called Hawkins, Max had all but dragged her to the car–muttering under his breath all the way–bundled her inside, then had driven off. Her idea about following Hawkins had been briskly and violently vetoed. Back at The Towers, he'd called the police, relating the information as calmly as he would list assigned reading for a student.
Then, in a typical male move had powwowed with Sloan and Trent.
The authorities had not yet located Caufield's boat, nor, from Max's descriptions, had they identified either Caufield or Hawkins.
It was much too complicated, Lilah decided. Thieves and aliases and international police. She preferred the simple. Not the humdrum, she thought, but the simple. Life had been anything but since the press had begun their love affair with the Calhoun emeralds, and things had become only more convoluted since Max had washed up on the beach.
But she was glad he had. She wasn't sure why. Certainly she'd never considered the shy and brainy sort her type. It was true that she enjoyed men in general, simply for being men. An offshoot, she supposed, from living in a female household most of her life. But when she dated, she most often looked for fun and easy companionship. Someone to dance with or to laugh with over a meal. She'd always hoped she would fall in love with one of those carefree, uncomplicated men and start a carefree, uncomplicated life.
Sober college professors with outdated notions of chivalry and serious minds hardly met the qualifications.
Yet he was so sweet, she thought with a little smile. And when he kissed her, there was nothing sober or cerebral about it.
With a little sigh, she wondered just what she should do about Dr. Maxwell Quartermain.
"Hey." C.C. poked her head through the doorway. "I thought I'd find you in here."
"Then I must be becoming too predictable." Happy to have company, Lilah curled up her legs to make room on the window seat. "What's going on with you, Mrs. St. James?"
"Nearly finished the reconditioning on that Mustang." She sighed as she sat. "Lord, what a honey. I had an electrical system that gave me fits today, and two tune–ups." An unaccustomed fatigue was dragging at her, making her close her eyes and think about an early night. "Then all this excitement at home. Imagine, you bumping into one of the characters the cops are after."
"The curse and blessing of small towns."
"I cruised around a little before I came home." C.C. rolled her tired shoulders. "Down to Hulls Cove and back."
"You shouldn't be poking around alone."
"Just looking." C.C. shrugged. "Anyway, I didn't see anything. Our fearless men are out right now on search and destroy."
A quick bolt of alarm shot into Lilah. "Max went with them?"
On a yawn, C.C. opened her eyes. "Sure. Suddenly, they're the Three Musketeers. Is there anything more annoying than machismo?"
"Tooth decay," Lilah said absently, but there were nerves bumping along in her system she didn't care for. "I thought Max was going to stick to the research books."
"Well, he's one of the boys now." She patted Lilah's ankle. "Don't worry, honey. They can handle themselves."
"For heaven's sake, he's a history professor. What if they actually run into trouble?"
"He already has," C.C. reminded her. "He's tougher than he looks."
"What makes you think so?" Unreasonably distressed, Lilah got up to pace. The unaccustomed show of energy had C.C. lifting a brow.
"The man jumped out of a boat in the middle of a storm and almost made it to shore, despite the fact he'd been grazed by a bullet. The next day, he was on his feet again–looking like hell, but on his feet. There's a stubborn streak behind those quiet eyes. I like him
."
Restless, Lilah moved her shoulders. "Who doesn't? He's a likable man."
"Well, with everything that Amanda found out– the wonder boy stuff–you'd expect him to be conceited, or stiff–necked. But he's not. He's sweet. Aunt Coco's ready to adopt him."
"He is sweet," Lilah agreed as she sat again. "And I don't want him to get hurt because of some misguided sense of gratitude."
C.C. leaned forward to look into her sister's eyes. There was more than casual concern in them, she thought, and smiled to herself. "Lilah, I know you're the mystic in the family, but I'm getting definite vibes. Are you getting serious about Max?"
"Serious?" The word had Lilah's nerves stretching. "Of course not. I'm fond of him, and I feel a certain responsibility toward him." And when he kisses me, I go directly to meltdown. She frowned a little. "I enjoy him," she slowly added.
"He's very attractive."
"You're a married woman now, kiddo."
"But not blind. There's something appealing about all that intelligence, those romantic and scholarly looks." She waited a beat. "Don't you think?"
Lilah sat back. Her lips were curved again to match the amusement in her eyes. "Are you apprenticing with Aunt Coco as matchmaker?"
"Just checking. I guess I'm so happy I want everyone I love to feel the same way."
"I am happy." She took a long, limbering stretch. "I'm too lazy not to be."
"Speaking of lazy, I feel like I could sleep for a week. Since Trent's out playing Hardy Boys, I think I'll go to bed." C.C. started to rise when a wave of dizziness had her plopping down again. Lilah was up like a shot and bending over her.
"Hey. Hey, honey. Are you all right?"
"Got up too fast, that's all." As the light grayed, she lifted a hand to her spinning head. "I feel a little..."
Moving fast, Lilah shoved C.C.'s head between her knees. "Just breathe slow. Take it easy."
"This is stupid." But she did as she was told until the faintness passed. "I'm just overtired. Maybe I'm coming down with something, damn it."