Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  Ungrateful whore.

  She had to be punished. To be hurt. She and all the others had to pay, would pay for everything they’d done. They would die. And if they dared challenge his power, dared challenge his rights, they would die in agony.

  The fog ate along the ground and spilled at the edges of a circle that pulsed with a soft white glow. His lips peeled back, and a feral growl sounded deep in his throat.

  He lunged at the ring—and was repelled. Light rose from the circle, a thin, sparkling curtain of gold. In fury, he threw himself against it, time and time again. It burned, white fire scorching his skin, smoking his clothing.

  As rage devoured him, what was inside the body of Jonathan Q. Harding threw itself on the ground, howling and cursing the light.

  Nell made up two orders of the day’s lunch special. She hummed while she worked and toyed with adjustments to the menu for the wedding she was catering at the end of the month.

  Business was good. Sisters Catering had found its feet, and even in the slow winter months kept her busy and content. But not so much so that she hadn’t eked out time to work on a proposal for Mia. A cooking club in Café Book and an expanded menu were both very doable. Once she had the details more refined, she would present the idea to Mia—businesswoman to businesswoman.

  After she served the orders, she glanced at the time. Another half hour and Peg would relieve her. She had a dozen errands to run and two appointments to discuss other catering jobs.

  She’d have to move fast, she thought, to get everything done in time to put dinner together. The simple chaos of housewifely chores and business obligations piled together in overlapping layers made her happy.

  But there were serious issues to be faced, she couldn’t deny it. Dinner that night wasn’t just a social function. She understood Mac’s concern, and the need to focus her energies on what was to come. But she had already faced the worst and survived.

  Whatever had to be done to protect who and what she loved would be done.

  She strolled out to clear a table in the café, pocketed her tip. Tip money went in a special jar and was considered her splurge money. Paychecks were for expenses, catering profits would be plowed back into the business. But tip money was for fun. It jingled cheerfully in her pocket as she turned to carry the plates and bowls back to the kitchen.

  She stopped short, then rushed forward when she saw Harding standing by the counter staring blankly at the chalkboard menu.

  “Mr. Harding, what happened? Are you all right?”

  He stared at her, through her.

  “You should sit down.” Quickly, she put the dishes on the counter, took his arm. She led him around the counter and back into the kitchen. He sank into the chair she pulled out for him, and she rushed to the sink to get a glass of water.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” He took the glass gratefully, gulped down the cool water. His throat felt scorched and raw, as though it had been scored with hot needles.

  “I’m going to fix you some tea, and some chicken soup.”

  He simply nodded, staring down at his hands. The nails were full of grit, as if he’d clawed at dirt. The knuckles were abraded, the palms scraped.

  He saw that his trousers were stained with dirt, his shoes filthy. Bits of twig and briar clung to his sweater.

  It embarrassed him, a fastidious man, to find himself in such disarray. “Might I . . . wash my hands?”

  “Yes, of course.” Nell tossed a worried look over her shoulder. A red streak, like sunburn, covered half his face. It looked vicious, painful and frightening.

  She led him to the rest room, waited for him outside the door, and then walked him back to the kitchen. She ladled the soup, brewed the tea while he stood as if in a trance.

  “Mr. Harding.” She spoke gently now, touching his shoulder. “Please sit down. You’re not well.”

  “No, I . . .” He felt vaguely nauseous. “I must have fallen.” He blinked rapidly. Why couldn’t he remember? He’d taken a walk in the woods on a bright winter afternoon.

  And could remember nothing.

  He let her tend him the way the very young or the very old allow themselves to be tended. He spooned up the warm, soothing soup, and it comforted his aching throat and uneasy stomach.

  He drank her herbal tea sweetened with a generous dollop of honey.

  And he basked in the sympathetic silence she gave him.

  “I must have fallen,” he said again. “I haven’t been feeling quite well lately.”

  The scents of the kitchen were so appealing, her movements as she took and filled more orders so graceful and efficient, that his anxiety receded.

  He remembered his research on her, and the admiration he’d felt when he’d followed her path across the country. He would write a very good story—book—about her, he thought. One that spoke of courage and triumph.

  Ungrateful whore. The words echoed dimly in his head and made him tremble.

  Nell studied him with concern. “You should go to the clinic.”

  He shook his head. “I prefer seeing my own doctor. I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Todd. Your kindness.”

  “I have something for that burn.”

  “Burn?”

  “Just a minute.” She moved out of the kitchen again, spoke to Peg, who’d just come on for her shift. When she came back in, Nell opened a cabinet and took out a slim green bottle.

  “It’s mostly aloe,” she told him briskly. “It’ll help.”

  He reached a hand to his face, snatched it away again. “I must have . . . the sun’s deceptive,” he managed. “Mrs. Todd, I should tell you I came to the island for the specific purpose of speaking to you.”

  “Yes?” She uncapped the bottle.

  “I’m a writer,” he began. “I’ve followed your story. First, I want you to know how much I admire you.”

  “Do you, Mr. Harding?”

  “Yes. Yes, indeed.” Something wanted to crawl up from his belly to his throat. He forced it down again. “Initially, I was merely interested in the story for a magazine piece, but as I learned more I realized the value of what you experienced, what you did. It speaks to so many people. I’m sure you know how many women are caught in the cycle of abuse,” he continued as she dabbed the balm on her fingers. “You’re a beacon, Mrs. Todd, a symbol of victory and empowerment.”

  “No, I’m not, Mr. Harding.”

  “But you are.” He looked deep into her eyes. They were so blue. So calm. The cramps in his gut eased. “I followed your trail across the country.”

  “Really?” she replied, then her coated fingers slid over his burned cheek.

  “I spoke with people you worked with, stepped in your footprints, so to speak. I know what you did, how hard you worked, how frightened you were. You never gave up.”

  “And I never will,” she said clearly. “You should understand that. Prepare for that. I’ll never give up.”

  “You belong to me. Why do you make me hurt you, Helen?”

  It was Evan’s voice—that quiet, reasonable voice he used before he punished her. Terror wanted to burst free. But it was terror, she knew, that it wanted.

  “You can’t hurt me any longer. I will never allow anyone I love to be harmed by you.”

  His skin rippled under her fingers, as if something crawled there. But she continued to smooth on the balm. He shuddered once, gripped her wrist. “Run,” he whispered. “Get away before it’s too late.”

  “This is my home.” She fought her fear. “I’ll protect it with all that I am. We’ll beat you.”

  He shuddered again. “What did you say?”

  “I said you should go rest now, Mr. Harding.” She capped the bottle as pity for him welled up inside her. “I hope you’ll feel better soon.”

  “You let him go?” Ripley paced the station house, tugging at her hair in frustration. “Just patted him on the head and told him to take a nap?”

  “Ripley.” Zack’s voice held a quiet
warning, but she shook her head.

  “For Christ’s sake, Zack, think! The man’s dangerous. She said herself she sensed something in him.”

  “It’s not his fault,” Nell began, but Ripley whirled to face her.

  “This isn’t about fault, it’s about reality. Even if he were just some reporter with delusions of grandeur, that would be bad enough. He came here looking for you, he followed your path all across the damn country, talking to people behind your back.”

  “That’s his job.” Nell held up a hand before Ripley could snap at her again. A year before, she would have backed away from the confrontation. Times had changed. “I’m not going to blame him for doing his job, or for what’s happening to him now. He doesn’t know what’s happening, and he’s sick, he’s frightened. You didn’t see him, Ripley. I did.”

  “No, I didn’t see him because you didn’t call me. You didn’t bring me in.”

  “Is that the real problem? I didn’t ask you for advice, for help?” Nell tilted her head. “Tell me, would you have called me? Or Mia?”

  Ripley opened her mouth, then shut it again in one hard, thin line. “We’re not talking about me.”

  “Maybe we are. Maybe we’re talking about all of this. It’s a cycle, after all. What started it is inside us. What’s inside us will end it. He was hurt,” she said, appealing to Zack now. “Confused, afraid. He doesn’t know what’s going on.”

  “Do you know?” Zack asked her.

  “I’m not sure. There’s a power, and it’s dark. It’s using him. And I think . . .” It was hard to say it, hard to think it. “I’m afraid, it’s using Evan. Like a bridge, from wherever it is through Evan to this poor man. We need to help him.”

  “We need to get him off the island,” Ripley interrupted. “We need to get his ass on the next ferry to the mainland, and it doesn’t take magic to do that.”

  “He hasn’t done anything, Rip,” Zack reminded her. “He hasn’t broken any law, made any threats. We’ve got no right to order him off the island.”

  She slapped her palms on his desk, leaned forward. “He’ll come after her. He’ll have to.”

  “He won’t get near her. I won’t let it happen.”

  She spun back to Nell. “He’ll destroy what you love. It’s his reason for being now.”

  Nell shook her head. “I won’t let him.” She reached for Ripley’s hand. “We won’t let him.”

  “I’ve felt what he is, and what he’s capable of. I’ve felt it in me.”

  “I know.” Nell’s fingers linked with hers. “We need Mia.”

  “You’re right,” Ripley agreed. “And I hate that.”

  “You’re a fascinating woman, little sister.” Mia leaned on the kitchen counter and watched Nell slide pasta into boiling water. “A crisis is upon us, an event that has been brewing for three centuries. Ripley frets and curses. And you cook and serve.”

  “We all do what we do best.” She glanced up as she gave the pasta a quick stir. “What do you do, Mia?”

  “I wait.”

  “No, it’s not as simple as that.”

  “I prepare, then.” Mia lifted her wineglass, sipped. “For whatever comes.”

  “Did you see this? What’s coming?”

  “Not specifically. Only something strong, something blighted. Something that formed from blood and vengeance. It craves what birthed it,” she said. “And grows as it feeds. It uses weakness.”

  “Then we won’t be weak.”

  “It underestimates us,” Mia continued. “We should take care not to underestimate it. Evil doesn’t concern itself with rules, with what’s right and fair. And it’s clever. It can twist itself into the desirable.”

  “We’re together now, the three of us. I have Zack, and Ripley has Mac. I wish—”

  “Don’t wish for me. I have what I need.”

  “Mia . . .” Trying to find the right words, Nell got out her colander. “Even if—when—we face what’s here now, there’s one more step. Yours.”

  “Do you think I’ll fling myself off my cliffs?” Mia relaxed enough to laugh. “I can promise you, I won’t. I enjoy living entirely too much.”

  There were other ways, Nell thought, to leap into a void. She started to say so, then held her tongue. They had enough to deal with for now.

  What was wrong with them? Ripley listened to the conversation hum around the table, spiced with the scent of good food well served. Everyday words in easy voices.

  Pass the salt.

  Jesus.

  It felt as if something was simmering inside her, right on the edge of boil, ready to bubble up and spew over the lid. And everyone else kept chatting and eating as if it were just another evening.

  A part of her knew it was only a lull, that space of time used to gather forces and brace. But she had no patience with it, with Nell’s utter calm, with Mia’s cool waiting. Her own brother helped himself to another serving of pasta as if everything in his life that mattered wasn’t teetering on the brink.

  And Mac . . .

  Observing, absorbing, assessing, she thought with a helpless resentment. A geek to the last.

  There was something hungry out there, something that wouldn’t be sated with a tidy, home-cooked meal. Couldn’t they feel it? It wanted blood, blood and bone, death and anguish. It craved sorrow.

  And its need clawed at her.

  “This blows.” She shoved at her plate, and conversation snapped off. “We’re just sitting here, slurping up noodles. This isn’t a goddamn party.”

  “There are a lot of ways to prepare for a confrontation,” Mac began, and laid a hand on her arm.

  She wanted to slap his hand away, and hated herself for it. “Confrontation? This is a battle.”

  “A lot of ways to prepare,” he said again. “Coming together like this, sharing a meal. A symbol of life and unity—”

  “It’s past time for symbols. We need to do something definite.”

  “Anger only feeds it,” Mia chimed in.

  “Then it should be full to bursting,” Ripley snapped back and shoved to her feet. “Because I am supremely pissed off.”

  “Hate, anger, a thirst for violence.” Mia brought the glass of wine to her lips. “All those negative emotions strengthen it, weaken you.”

  “Don’t tell me what to feel.”

  “Could I ever? You want what you’ve always wanted. A clear answer. When you don’t get it, you pound with your fists or turn away.”

  “Don’t,” Nell pleaded. “We can’t turn on each other now.”

  “Right. Let’s keep the peace.” Ripley heard the bite in her own voice, and even while it shamed her she couldn’t soften it. “Why don’t we have coffee and cake?”

  “That’s enough, Rip.”

  “It’s not enough.” Frustrated beyond bearing, she rounded on Zack. “Nothing’s enough until this is dealt with, until it’s over. It’ll be more than a knife to her throat this time, more than a knife already coated with your blood. I won’t lose what I love. I won’t just sit here and wait for it to come after us.”

  “On that we can agree.” Mia set down her glass. “We won’t lose. And since arguing is bad for the digestion, why don’t we get to work?”

  She rose, began to clear the table. “Nell will feel better,” she said before Ripley could make some snide comment, “if her house is put in order.”

  “Fine, great.” She snatched up her plate. “Let’s be tidy.”

  She sailed into the kitchen and gave herself points for not simply heaving her plate into the sink. What control. What amazing restraint.

  God, she wanted to scream!

  It was Mac who came in quietly behind her, alone. He set the dishes on the counter, then just turned her, put his hands on her stiff and rigid shoulders.

  “You’re afraid.” He shook his head before she could speak. “We all are. But you feel that the weight of this, what happens next, is on you. It doesn’t have to be.”

  “Don’t placate me, Mac. I kn
ow when I’m being a bitch.”

  “Good. Then I don’t have to point that out, do I? We’re going to get through this.”

  “You don’t feel what I feel. You can’t.”

  “No, I can’t. But I love you, Ripley, with everything that’s in me. So I know, and that’s the next thing to feeling.”

  She let herself give, just for a minute. Let herself go into his arms and be held there. Safe within the circle of him. “It’d be easier if we’d found this after.”

  His cheek rubbed her hair. “You think?”

  “You could’ve come along when everything was normal again, and we’d’ve gotten mushy on each other and had a regular life. Cookouts, marital spats, great sex, and dental bills.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Right this minute, it sounds aces. I’d rather be mad than scared. I work better that way.”

  “Just remember, it all comes down to this.” He tipped back her head, laid his lips on hers. “Right there is more magic than most people ever know.”

  “Don’t give up on me. Okay?”

  “Not a chance.”

  She tried to curb her impatience as the preparations were made. She refused to lie down on the couch because it made her feel too vulnerable. Instead she sat in a chair in the living room, her hands on the arms, and blocked out the monitors and cameras.

  She knew she should have felt comforted by having Mia and Nell standing on either side of her, like sentinels. But she felt foolish.

  “Just do it,” she told Mac.

  “You need to relax.” He’d pulled a chair up to face hers, and sat there, almost idly holding the pendant. “Breathe slow. In and out.”

  He put her under. So effortlessly this time, so swiftly, it brought him a quick ripple of nerves.

  “She’s tuned to you,” Mia said, herself surprised at how completely Ripley had given herself over. “And you to her. That, itself, is a kind of strength.”

  They would need it, she thought, as she felt something cold shiver along her skin. In response to it, she stretched out her arm and, across Ripley, clasped Nell’s hand.

  “We are the Three,” she said clearly. “And two guard the one. While we are joined, no harm can be done.” As warmth seeped back, she nodded to Mac.