Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  "There's no reason for you to take this attitude."

  He started to swear, stopped himself. As a precaution, he took one slow breath. "Natalie, I'm tired." His voice was quiet now, nearly reasonable. "I've got a job to do here, and I can't do it if you're in my way. So cooperate. Please."

  He was right, she knew he was right. She turned away, picked up her purse. "Keep my car. I'll arrange to have it picked up tomorrow."

  "I appreciate it."

  She gave him the car keys and the keys to the shop. "I'll be here tomorrow, Ry."

  "I figured you would." He lifted a hand and rubbed his knuckles along her jawline. "Hey—try not to worry. I'm the best." She nearly smiled. "So I've been told."

  It was nearly eight the following morning when the cab dropped Natalie off in front of Lady's Choice. She noted, without surprise, that her car was out front, a fire-department sign visible through the windshield.

  Instead of bothering with the buzzer, she used the spare set of keys she'd picked up that morning at the office and let herself in.

  She couldn't smell the smoke. That was a relief. She'd spent a great deal of time during the night worrying and calculating the possible losses if the stock already in place had been damaged by smoke.

  The first floor looked as pristine and elegant as it had the night before. If Ry gave her the go-ahead, she'd contact her manager and reestablish business as usual.

  She took off her coat and gloves and started upstairs.

  For Ry, it had been a long and productive night. He'd stopped in at the station after he dropped Natalie off, to change and to pick up his tools. He'd worked alone through the night—the way he preferred it. He was just sealing an evidence jar when she walked in.

  "Good morning, Legs." Crouched on the floor amid the rubble, he didn't bother to look past them.

  She scanned the room, sighed. The carpet was a blackened mess. Charred pieces of wood trim had been pried from the sooty walls and lay scattered. The elegant Queen Anne desk was blackened and scored, and the Irish-lace drapes were a heap of useless rags.

  Despite the open window where the light wind shook in thin snow, the air stank with stale smoke.

  "Why does it always look worse the next day?"

  "It's not so bad. A little paint, new trim."

  She ran a fingertip over the wallpaper, the violet-and-rosebud pattern she'd chosen personally. Ruined now, she thought.

  "Easy for you to say."

  "Yeah," he agreed, labeling the evidence jar. "I guess it is."

  He glanced up then. Today she'd scooped her hair up. The style appealed to him, the way it showed off the line of her neck and jaw. This morning's suit was royal purple, military in style. It looked, he thought, as though the lady were ready for a fight.

  "How'd you sleep?"

  "Surprisingly well, all in all." Except for one bone-chilling nightmare she didn't want to mention. "You?"

  He hadn't been to bed at all, and merely shrugged. "Have you called your adjuster?"

  "I will, as soon as his office opens." Her voice cooled automatically. "Are you going to interview me again, Inspector?"

  Annoyance flared briefly in his eyes. "I don't think that's necessary, do you?" He began to replace his tools in their box. "I'll have a report by tomorrow."

  She closed her eyes a moment. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you, Ry. I'm just angry."

  "Fair enough."

  "Can you—?" She broke off, turning quickly at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. "Gage." She forced a smile, held out her hands when he walked in.

  "I heard." With one quick glance, he took in the damage. "I thought I'd come by and see if there was anything I could do."

  "Thanks." She kissed him lightly on the cheek before she turned back to Ry. He was still crouched—very much, she thought, intrigued, like an animal about to spring. "Gage Guthrie, Inspector Ryan Piasecki."

  "I've heard you do good work."

  After a moment, Ry straightened and accepted the hand Gage offered. "I've heard the same about you." Feeling territorial, Ry measured the man as he spoke to Natalie. "Are you two pals?"

  "That's right. And a bit more." She watched, fascinated, as Ry's eyes kindled. "If you can follow the connections, Gage is married to my brother's wife's sister."

  The fire banked; Ry's shoulders relaxed. "Extended family."

  "In a manner of speaking." Judging the situation quickly and accurately, Gage decided to do a little checking on the inspector himself. "Are you looking at the same fire starter here?"

  "We're not ready to release that information."

  "He's got his official hat on," Natalie said dryly. "Unofficially," she continued, ignoring Ry's scowl, "it looks the same. When we came in last night—''

  "You were here?" Gage interrupted her, gripping Natalie's arm. "You?"

  "I had a few things I wanted to check on. Fortunately." Blowing out a breath, she took another scan of the room. "It could have been a lot worse. I happened to have a veteran fire fighter along."

  Gage relaxed fractionally. "You've got no business going around the city alone, at night."

  "Yeah." Ry took out a cigarette. "You try to tell her."

  Natalie merely lifted a brow. "Do you go around the city, Gage, alone? At night?"

  He tucked his tongue in his cheek. If she only knew. "It's entirely different. And don't give me a lecture on equality," he went on, before she could speak. "I'm all for it. In the home, in the workplace. But on the street it comes down to basic common sense. A woman's more of a target."

  "Mmm, hmmm…" Natalie smiled pleasantly. "And does Deborah buy that line from you?"

  Now his lips did curve. "No. She's every bit as hardheaded as you." Frustrated that he'd been on the other side of town when Nat needed him, Gage tucked his hands in his pockets. "If I can't do anything else, I can offer you any of the facilities or staff of Guthrie International."

  "I'll take you up on that if it becomes necessary." She sent him a quick, hopeful look. "I don't suppose you could use your influence to keep your wife from calling my brother and Cilia and relating all of this?"

  He patted her cheek. "Not a chance. Maybe I should mention that she talked to Althea last week and filled her in on what happened at the warehouse."

  Giving in to fatigue, Natalie rubbed her temples. Althea Grayson, her brother's former partner on the force, was very pregnant. "I'm surrounded by cops," she muttered. "There's no reason to get Althea upset in her condition. She and Colt should be concentrating on each other."

  "It's a problem when you have so many people who care about you. Stay out of empty buildings," Gage added, and kissed her. "Nice to meet you, Inspector."

  "Yeah. See you."

  "Give Deborah and Addy my love," Natalie said as she walked Gage to the doorway. "And stop worrying about me."

  "I'll do the first, but not the second."

  "Who's Addy?" Ry asked before he heard the downstairs door close behind Gage.

  "Hmmm? Oh, their baby." Distracted, she circled around a charred hole in the carpet to examine her antique filing cabinets. It was some consolation to see that they were undamaged. "I really need to clear this up, Ry. Too many people are losing sleep."

  "You've got a lot of close ties," He walked to the open window and put out his cigarette. "I can't make this work any faster to please them. Just take your friend's advice. Stay off the streets at night and out of empty buildings."

  "I don't want advice. I want answers. Someone broke in here last night and tried to burn me out. How and why?"

  "Okay, Ms. Fletcher, I can give you the how." Ry leaned a hip against the partially burned desk. "On the night of February twenty-sixth, a fire was discovered by Inspector Piasecki, and Natalie Fletcher, owner of the building."

  "Ry…"

  He held up a hand to stop her. "After entering the building, Piasecki and Fletcher started up to the second floor when Piasecki detected the odor of an accelerant, and smoke. Piasecki then ordered Fletcher to flee
the building. An order, I might add, that she stupidly ignored. Finding an extinguisher in the storeroom, Piasecki proceeded to the fire, which had involved an office on the second floor. Streamers of paper, clothing and matchbooks were observed. The fire was extinguished without extensive damage."

  "I'm very aware of that particular sequence of events."

  "You wanted a report, you're getting one. An examination of the debris led the investigator to believe that the fire had been started approximately two feet inside the door, with the use of gasoline as an accelerant. No forced entry into the building could be determined by the inspector, or the police department. Arson is indicated."

  She took a careful breath. "You're angry with me."

  "Yeah, I'm angry with you. You're pushing me, Natalie, and yourself. You want this all tidied up, because people are worried about you, and you're concerned with selling your pantyhose on time. And you're missing one small; very important detail."

  "No, I'm not." She was pale again, and rigid. "I'm trying not to be frightened by it. It isn't difficult to add the elements and come up with the fact that someone is doing this to me deliberately. Two of my buildings within two weeks. I'm not a fool, Ry."

  "You're a fool if you're not frightened by it. You've got an enemy. Who?"

  "I don't know," she shot back. "If I did, don't you think I'd tell you? You've just told me there was no forced entry. That means someone I know, someone who works for me, could have gotten in here and started the fire."

  "It's a torch."

  "Excuse me?"

  "A pro," Ry explained. "Not a very good one, but a pro. Somebody hired a torch to set the fires. It could be that somebody let him in, or he found a way to bypass your security. But he didn't finish the job here, so it's likely he'll hit you again."

  She forced back a shudder. "That's comforting. That's very comforting."

  "I don't want you to be comforted. I want you to be alert. How many people work for you?"

  "At Lady's Choice?" Frazzled, she pushed at her hair. "Around six hundred, I think, in Urbana."

  "You got a personnel list?''

  "I can get one."

  "I want it. Look, I'm going to run the data through the computer.

  See how many known pros we have in the area who use this technique. It's a start."

  "You'll keep me up-to-date? I'll be in the office most of the day. My assistant will know how to reach me if I'm out."

  He straightened, walked to her and cupped her face. "Why don't you take the day off? Go shopping, go see a movie."

  "Are you joking?"

  He dropped his hands, shoved them in his pockets. "Listen, Natalie, you've got one more person worried about you. Okay?"

  "I think it's okay," she said slowly. "I'll stay available, Ry. But I have a lot of work to do." She smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Starting with getting a cleaning crew and decorators in here."

  "Not until I tell you."

  "How did I know you'd say that?" Resigned, she glanced toward the wooden cabinets against the left wall. "Is it all right if I get some files out? I only moved them out of the main office a few days ago so I could work on them here." She lifted a shoulder. "Or I'd hoped to work on them here. More delays," she said under her breath.

  "Yeah, go ahead. Watch your step."

  He watched it, as well, and shook his head. He didn't see how she could walk so smoothly on those skyscraper heels she seemed addicted to. But he had to admit, they did fascinating things to her legs.

  "How are your hands?" she asked as she flipped through the files.

  "What?"

  "Your hands." She glanced back, saw where his gaze was focused, and laughed. "God, Piasecki, you're obsessed."

  "I bet they go all the way up to your shoulders." He skimmed his eyes up to hers. "The hands aren't too bad, thanks. When's your doctor's appointment?"

  She turned away to give unmerited attention to the files. "I don't need a doctor. I don't like doctors."

  "Chicken."

  "Maybe. My throat's a little sore, that's all. I can deal with that without a doctor poking at me. And if you're going to lecture me on that, I'll lecture you on deliberately sucking smoke into your lungs."

  With a wince, he tucked away the cigarette he'd just pulled out. "I didn't say anything. Are you about done? I want to get this evidence to the lab."

  "Yes. The fact that the files didn't go up saves me a lot of time and trouble. I need Deirdre to run an audit after we've dealt with this other mess. I'm hoping things look solid enough for me to scout around and open a branch in Denver."

  The little flutter under his heart wasn't easily ignored. "Denver? Are you going to be moving back to Colorado?''

  "Hmmm…" Satisfied, she tucked the paperwork in her briefcase. "It depends. I'm not thinking that far ahead yet. First we have to get the stores we have off the ground. That isn't going to happen overnight." She swung the strap of her briefcase over her shoulder. "That should do it."

  "I want to see you." It cost him to say it. Even more to admit it to himself. "I need to see you, Natalie. Away from all this."

  Her suddenly nervous fingers tugged at the strap of her briefcase. "We're both pretty swamped at the moment, Ry. It might be smarter for us to concentrate on what needs to be done and keep a little personal distance."

  "It would be smarter."

  "Well, then." She took one step toward the door before he blocked her path.

  "I want to see you," he repeated. "And I want to touch you. And I want to take you to bed."

  Heat curled inside her, threatening to flash. It didn't seem to matter that his words were rough, blunt, and without finesse. Poetry and rose petals would have left her much less vulnerable.

  "I know what you want. I need to be sure what I want. What I can handle. I've always been a logical person. You've got a way of clouding that."

  "Tonight."

  "I have to work late." She felt herself weakening, yearning. "A dinner meeting."

  "I'll wait."

  "I don't know when I'll be finished. Probably not much before midnight."

  He backed her toward the wall. "Midnight, then."

  She began to wonder why she was resisting. Her eyes started to cloud and close. "Midnight,'' she repeated, waiting for his mouth to cover hers. Wanting to taste it, to surge under it.

  Her eyes sprang open. She jerked back. "Oh, God. Midnight." Her cheeks had gone white again. Ry lifted his hands to support her. "What is it?"

  "Midnight," she repeated, pressing a hand to her brow. "I didn't put it together. Never thought of it. It was just past twelve when we got here last night."

  He nodded, watching her. "So?"

  "I got a call when I was dressing for dinner. I never seem to be able to ignore the ring and let the machine pick up, so I answered. He said midnight."

  Eyes narrowed, Ry braced her against the wall. "Who?"

  "I don't know. I didn't recognize the voice. He said—Let me think." She pushed away to pace out into the hall. "Midnight. He said midnight. The witching hour. Watch for it, or wait for it—something like that." She gestured toward the charred and ruined carpet. "This must be what he meant."

  "Why the hell didn't you tell me this before?"

  "Because I just remembered." Every bit as angry as he, she whirled on Ry. "I thought it was a crank call, so I ignored it, forgot it. Then, when this happened, I had a little more on my mind than a nuisance call. How was I supposed to know it was a warning? Or a threat?"

  He ignored that and took his notebook out of his pocket to write down the words she'd related. "What time did you get the call?"

  "It must have been around seven-thirty. I was looking for earrings, and rushing because I'd gotten held up and was running late."

  "Did you hear any background noises on the line?"

  Unsure, she fought to remember. She hadn't been paying attention. She'd been thinking of Ry. "I didn't notice any. His voice was highpitched. It was a man, I'm sure of that, but it
was a girlish kind of voice. He giggled," she remembered.

  Ry's gaze shot to her face, then back to his book. "Did it sound mechanical, or genuine?"

  She went blank for a moment. "Oh, you mean like a tape. No, it didn't sound like a tape."

  "Is your number listed?"

  "No." Then she understood the significance of the question. "No," she repeated slowly. "It's not."

  "I want a list of everyone who has your home number. Everyone."

  She straightened, forcing herself to keep calm. "I can give you a list of everyone I know who has it. I can't tell you who might have gotten it by other means." She cleared her aching throat. "Ry, do professionals usually call their victims before a fire?"

  He tucked his notebook away and looked into her eyes. "Even pros can be crazy. I'll drive you to your office."

  "It's not necessary."

  Patience. He reminded himself he'd worked overtime so that he could be patient with her. Then he thought, the hell with it. "You listen to this, real careful." He curled his fingers around the lapel of her jacket. "I'm driving you to your office. Got that?"

  "I don't see—"

  He tugged. "Got it?"

  She bit back an oath. It would be petty to argue. "Fine. I'm going to need my car later today, so you'll have to get yourself wherever you're going after you drop me off."

  "Keep listening," he said evenly. "Until I get back to you, you're not to go anywhere alone."

  "That's ridiculous. I've got a business to run."

  "Nowhere alone," he repeated. "Otherwise, I'm going to call some of my pals in Urbana P.D. and have them sit on you." When she opened her mouth to protest, he overrode her. "And I can sure as hell keep your little shop here off-limits to everyone but official fire- and police-department personnel until further notice."

  "That sounds like a threat," she said stiffly.

  "You're a real sharp lady. You get one of your minions to drive you today, Natalie, or I'll slap a fire-department restriction on the front door of this place for the next couple of weeks."

  He could, she realized, reading the determination on his face. And he would. From experience, she knew it was smarter, and more practical, to give up a small point in a negotiation in order to salvage the bottom line.