Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  He'd have made better time on foot.

  Nearly an hour had passed by the time he arrived at Natalie's door.

  Maureen gave serious thought to calling Security. "It's company policy—''

  He gave a one-word assessment of company policy and pulled out his ID. "Do you see this? I'm in charge of the arson investigation. I've got information Ms. Fletcher requires immediately. Now, if you don't let me know where to reach her, I'll have to go to my superiors."

  He let that hang, and hoped.

  Torn, Maureen bit her lip. It was true Ms. Fletcher had ordered her specifically not to divulge her itinerary. It was also true that during the harried phone call the night before, nothing had been mentioned specifically about information from Inspector Piasecki. And if it was something to do with the fires…

  "She's staying at the Ritz-Carlton, Atlanta."

  Before she'd finished the sentence, Ry was out the door. It was best, he decided, if a man was going to whimper, to do it in private.

  Fifteen minutes later, he burst into his office, startling his secretary, and slammed the door behind him. "Ritz-Carlton, Atlanta. Get them on the phone."

  "Yes, sir."

  He paced his office, muttering to himself, until she signaled him. "Natalie Fletcher," he barked into the phone. "Connect me."

  "Yes, sir. One moment, please."

  One endless moment, while the line whispered, then began to ring. Ry let out a long, relieved breath when he heard Natalie's voice at the other end.

  "Natalie—what the hell are you doing in Atlanta? I need to—" Then he could only swear as the phone clicked loudly in his ear. "Damn it all to hell and back, get that number for me again."

  Wide-eyed, his secretary hurriedly placed the call.

  Calm, Ry ordered himself. He knew how to be calm in the face of fire and death and misery. Surely he could be calm now. But when the phone continued to ring and he pictured her coolly looking out the window of her hotel room and ignoring it, he nearly ripped the receiver out of the wall.

  He didn't bother to knock, but used the key she hadn't thought to demand back from him.

  There was no welcome this time, no cozy sense of coming home. He knew the minute he stepped inside that she wasn't there. Denying it, he called out for her and began a dripping search through the apartment.

  So he'd wait, he told himself. She'd come home sooner or later, and he'd be there. Make things right again somehow. He'd grovel if he had to, he decided, pacing from the living room to the bedroom.

  She'd probably gone to her office. Maybe he should go there. He could call. He could send a telegram. He could do something.

  Good God, the woman was in love with him, and he'd used both hands to shove her out the door.

  He dropped to the side of the bed and snatched up the phone. It was then that he saw the note, hastily scrawled, on the nightstand.

  Atlanta—National—8:25

  National, he thought. National Airlines. The airport. Ry was out of the apartment and harassing the doorman for a cab in three minutes flat. He missed her plane by less than five.

  "No, Inspector Piasecki, I don't know precisely when Ms. Fletcher expects to return." Cautiously, Maureen smiled. The man looked wild, as though he'd spent a very rough night in his clothes. Things were upended enough, with the boss's sudden trip, without her having to face down a madman at 9:00 a.m.

  "Where is she?" Ry demanded. He'd very nearly caught the next flight out to Atlanta the night before, but then it had occurred to him that he didn't have a clue where to find her.

  "I'm sorry, Inspector. I'm not allowed to give you that information. I will be happy to relay any message you might have when Ms. Fletcher calls in."

  "I want to know where she is," Ry said between his teeth.

  "Call the airport," Ry ordered while his secretary goggled at him. "Book me on the next available flight to Atlanta."

  She was gone when he got there.

  He couldn't believe it. More than ten hours after his rushed departure, Ry was back in Urbana. Alone. He hadn't even managed to see her. He'd spent hours on planes, more time chasing her around Atlanta, from her hotel to the downtown branch of Lady's Choice, back to her hotel, to the airport. Each time he'd missed her by inches.

  It was, he thought as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment, as if she'd known he was behind her. He dropped down on the couch, rubbing his hands over his face.

  He had no choice but to wait.

  "I'm so glad to see you." Althea Grayson Nightshade smiled as she rubbed a hand over her mountain of a belly.

  "That goes double." Natalie laughed. "Literally. How are you feeling?"

  "Oh, like a cross between the Goodyear blimp and Moby Dick."

  "Neither of them ever looked so good." It was true, Natalie mused. Pregnancy had only enhanced Althea's considerable beauty. Her eyes were gold, her skin was dewy, her hair was a fiery cascade to her shoulders.

  "I'm fat, but I'm healthy." Althea's lips twitched. "Colt's been a demon about seeing that I eat right, sleep enough, exercise, rest. He even typed up a daily schedule. Mr. Play-It-By-Ear went into a tail-spin when he found out we were expecting."

  "The nursery's wonderful." Natalie wandered the sunny mint-and-white room, running her fingers over the antique crib, the fussy dotted-swiss curtains.

  "I'll be glad when it's filled. Any time now," Althea said with a sigh. "I feel great, really, but I swear, this has been the longest pregnancy in recorded history. I want to see my baby, damn it." She stopped and laughed at herself. "Listen to me. I never thought I'd want children, much less be itching to change the first diaper."

  Intrigued, Natalie looked over her shoulder. Althea sat in a rocking chair, a small, poorly knit blanket in her hands. "No? You never wanted to be a mom?"

  "Not with the job and my background." She shrugged. "Didn't figure I was cut out for it. Then along comes Nightshade, and then this." She patted her belly. "Maybe gestating isn't my natural milieu, but I've loved every minute of it. Now I'm antsy to get on to the nurturing. Can you see me," she said with a laugh, "sitting here, rocking a baby?''

  "Yes, I can." Natalie came back, crouched, and took Althea's hands. "I envy you, Thea. So much. To have someone who loves you, to make a baby between you. Nothing else is as important.'.' Defenses crumbled. Her eyes filled.

  "Oh, honey, what is it?"

  "What else?" Disgusted with herself, Natalie straightened.

  "A man."

  "A jerk." She fought back the tears and stuffed her hands in her pockets.

  "Would this jerk be an arson investigator?'' Althea smiled a little when Natalie scowled at her. "News travels, even to Denver. The fact is, your family and Colt and I have been biting our tongues, trying not to ask what you're doing out here."

  "I explained. I'm siting. I want to open another branch here. I was traveling, anyway."

  "Instead of being in Urbana for your opening."

  She resented that, laid the blame for it right at Ry's doorstep. "I was in Dallas for the opening there. Each of my branches is of equal importance to me."

  "Yeah, and word is it was a smash."

  "The tallies for the first week's sales look promising."

  "So why aren't you back home, basking in it?" Althea inclined her head. "The jerk?"

  "I'm entitled to a little time before I… Well, yes," she admitted. "The jerk. He dumped me."

  "Oh, come on. Cilia said the guy was crazy about you."

  "We were good in bed," Natalie said flatly, then pressed her lips together. "I made the mistake of falling in love with him. A real first for me. And he broke my heart."

  "I'm sorry." Concerned, Althea pushed herself out of the chair.

  "I'll get over it." Natalie squeezed Althea's offered hands. "It's just that I've never felt this way about anyone. I didn't know I could. I've managed to get through my whole life without being hurt like this. Then, pow. It's like being cut into very small pieces," she murmured. "I just haven't been abl
e to put them all back together yet."

  "Well, he's not worth it," Althea said loyally.

  "I wish that were true. It'd be easier. He's a wonderful man, tough, sweet, dedicated." She moved her shoulders restlessly. "He didn't mean to hurt me. He's called several times while I've been on the road."

  "He must want to apologize, to make things up with you."

  "Do you think I'd give him the chance?" Natalie's chin angled. "I'm not taking his calls. I'm not taking anything from him. He can send me flowers all over the country, for all the difference it would make."

  "He sends you flowers." A smile was beginning to lurk around the corners of Althea's mouth.

  "Daffodils. Every time I turn around, I'm getting a bunch of idiotic daffodils." She set her teeth. "Does he think I'm going to fall for that again?"

  "Probably."

  "Well, I'm not. One broken heart's enough for me. More than enough."

  "Maybe you should go back, let him beg. Then kick him in the teeth." Althea winced at the twinge. The third one, she noted with a glance at her watch, in the past half hour.

  "I'm thinking about it. But until I'm ready, I'm not—" Natalie broke off. "What is it? Are you all right?"

  "Yeah." Althea let out a long breath. This twinge was lasting longer. "You know, I think I could be going into labor."

  "What?" The blood drained out of Natalie's face. "Now? Sit. Sit down, for God's sake. I'll get Colt."

  "Maybe I will." Gingerly Althea lowered herself back into the chair. "Maybe you'd better."

  Deirdre was glad she'd decided to take the work home with her. The miserable cold she'd picked up from somewhere was hanging on like a leech. At least she could take her mind off her stuffy head and scratchy throat with work.

  She sniffed disinterestedly at the cup of instant chicken soup she'd zapped in the microwave and indulged herself with the hot toddy instead. Nothing like a good shot of whiskey to make a cup of tea sit up and sing.

  If she was lucky, very lucky, she'd have the cold on the run and the preliminary figures in before Natalie got back from Denver.

  She took another hefty slug of the spiked tea and tapped keys. She stopped, frowned, and adjusted her glasses.

  That couldn't be right, she thought, and tapped more keys. No way in hell could that be right. Her mouth became drier, and a thin line of sweat rolled down her back that had nothing to do with the slight fever she was fighting.

  She sat back and took a couple of easy breaths. It was simply a mistake, she assured herself. She'd find the discrepancy and fix it. That was all.

  But it didn't take much longer for her to realize it wasn't a mistake. Or an accident.

  It was a quarter of a million dollars. And it was gone.

  She snatched up the phone, and rapidly dialed. "Maureen. Deirdre Marks."

  "Ms. Marks, you sound dreadful."

  "I know. Listen, I need to talk to Natalie, right away."

  "Who doesn't?"

  "It's urgent, Maureen. She's with her brother, right? Let me have the number."

  "I can't do that, Ms. Marks."

  "It's urgent, I tell you."

  "I understand, but she's not there. Her plane left Denver an hour ago. She's on her way home."

  A son. Althea and Colt had a son, a tiny and beautiful boy. It had taken Althea twelve hard hours to push him into the world, and he'd come out howling.

  Natalie remembered it now as her plane traveled east. It had been a thrill to be allowed in the birthing room, to support Colt when he was ready to climb the walls, to watch him and Althea work together to welcome that new life.

  She hadn't wept until it was over, until she'd left Colt and Althea nuzzling their new son. Boyd had left the hospital with her. He'd either been too deep in the memories of his own children's births or had sensed her mood. Either way, he hadn't badgered her.

  Now she was going home, because there was work to do. And because it was cowardly to keep jumping from city to city because she was hurt.

  It had been a good trip. Professionally successful. Personally soothing. She was going to give some thought to moving back to Colorado. She'd found an excellent site. And a new branch in Denver would benefit from her personal touch.

  If the move would have the added benefit of escape, whose business was it but hers?

  She would have to wait, of course, until they had unearthed whoever had paid Clarence Jacoby. If it was indeed one of her people in Urbana, that person had to be weeded out. Once that was done, Donald could take over that office.

  It would be a simple matter. Donald had the talent. From a business standpoint, the change would be little more than having him move from his office to hers, his desk to hers.

  Desk, she thought, frowning. There was something odd about the desk. Not her desk, she realized all at once. The desk that had been damaged at the flagship.

  He'd known about that. Her heart began to thud uncomfortably. How had Donald known the desk in the manager's office was an antique? How had he known specifically that it had been damaged?

  Cautiously she began to think over the details, recalling her movements from the time of the second fire to the day she and Donald had visited the flagship. He hadn't been in the office there since it had been decorated. At least not to her knowledge. So how could he have known the desks had been switched?

  Because he'd been there. That was all, she tried to assure herself. He'd swung by at some point and hadn't mentioned it. It made sense, more sense than believing he had had something to do with the fires.

  Yet he'd been at the warehouse the morning after it had burned. Early, she remembered. Had she called him? She couldn't be sure, didn't recall. He could have heard about it on the news. Had there been reports that early? Detailed reports? She wasn't sure about that, either, and it worried her.

  Why should he do something so drastic to harm a business he was an integral part of? she wondered. What possible motive could there be for him to want to see stock and equipment destroyed?

  Stock, equipment, and, she thought on a jolt of alarm, records. There'd been records at the warehouse, and at the flagship—at the point of the fire's origin.

  Determined to keep calm, she thought of the files she'd given Deirdre, of the copies still in the safe at her office. She'd check them herself the minute she landed, just to ease her mind.

  She was wrong about Donald, of course. She had to be wrong.

  She was late. It was a hell of a thing, Ry thought as he paced the gate area at the airport, for a woman who was so fixated on being on time. Now, when he was all but jumping out of his skin, she had to be late.

  It didn't matter that the plane was late, and she just happened to be on it. He took it as a personal affront.

  If Maureen hadn't taken pity on him, he wouldn't have known she was coming back tonight. It grated a bit, to know that Natalie's secretary felt sorry for him. That she must have seen that he looked like a lovesick mongrel.

  Even the men at the station were starting to talk about him behind his back.

  Oh, he knew it all right. The mutters, the snickers, the pitying looks. Anybody with eyes in his head could see that the past ten days had been torment for him.

  He'd made a mistake, damn it. One little mistake, and she'd paid him back. Big-time.

  They were just going to have to put that behind them.

  He clutched the daffodils, paced, and felt like a fool. His heart took one frantic leap when her flight was announced.

  He saw her, and his palms began to sweat.

  She saw him, turned sharply left, and kept walking.

  "Natalie." He caught up with her in two strides. "Welcome home."

  "Go to hell."

  "I've been there for the past ten days. I don't like it." It wasn't hard to keep up with her, since she was wearing heels. "Here."

  She glanced down at the daffodils, cutting a scathing look up to his face. "You don't want me to tell you what you can do with those stupid flowers, do you?"

&nbs
p; "You could have talked to me when I called."

  "I didn't want to talk to you." Deliberately she swung into the closest ladies' room.

  Ry gritted his teeth and waited.

  She told herself she wasn't pleased that he was still there when she came out. Saying nothing, she quickened her pace toward the baggage-claim area.

  "How was your trip?"

  She snarled at him.

  "Look, I'm trying to apologize here."

  "Is that what you're doing?" With a toss of her head, she stepped onto the escalator heading down. "Save it."

  "I screwed up. I'm sorry. I've been trying to tell you for days, but you won't take my calls."

  "That should indicate something, Piasecki, even to someone of your limited intelligence."

  "So," he continued, biting back hot words, "I'm here to pick you up, so we can talk."

  "I've ordered a car."

  "We canceled it. That is…" He had to choose his words carefully, with that icy look in her eyes freezing him. "I canceled it, when I found out you were coming in." No need to make Maureen fry with him, he decided. "So I'll give you a lift."

  "I'll take a cab."

  "Don't be so damn stubborn. I'll get tough if I have to," he muttered as they joined the throng at Baggage Claim. "I can have you up in a fireman's carry in two seconds. Embarrass the hell out of you. Either way, I'm driving you home."

  She debated. He would embarrass her. There was no point in giving him the satisfaction. Nor was she going to tell him of her suspicions, not until she had something solid. Not until she had no choice but to deal with him on a professional level.

  "I'm not going home. I need to go to the office."

  "The office is closed. It's almost nine o'clock."

  "I'm going to the office," she said flatly, and turned away from him.

  "Fine. We'll talk at the office."

  "That one." She pointed to a gray tweed Pullman. "And that one." A matching garment bag. "And that." Another Pullman.

  "You didn't have time to pack all this before I got to your apartment that night."

  Interested despite herself, she watched him heft cases. "I picked up luggage and clothes along the way."