by J. D. Robb
“You’re right, I did. And that’s been my stomach growling this whole time?”
“Well, you haven’t actually been here a whole time; it’s only been a tiny bit of time.”
“What is a tiny bit of time to you?”
“Same as you: a couple of seconds.”
“What?”
“When you first got here you asked if you were dead or in a coma or hallucinating and I said No, not exactly. You didn’t ask about dreaming, and I avoided the subject of daydreaming.”
“What?”
“Daydreaming. Wandering around inside your own head, thinking, fantasizing—”
“Fantasizing?”
“Trying to decide what you want to be, who you want to be, how you’ll go about—”
“Fantasizing? I made you up? I made it all up? Me? It’s been me all along?”
“Of course.” He looked like he wanted to tickle under her chin and call her a silly button. “Who knows you better than you know yourself?”
“I—”
“That’s right. You. You’re in control.”
She stood perfectly still. “So you, Martin, you’re not magic? You’re just . . . me?”
His smile was lopsided and lovable. “Elise. We make our own magic, you know that.” He gazed deep into her eyes and sighed. “Time for you to go.”
Her reluctance surprised her.
“Will I forget all this?” He turned his head first to one side, then slowly to the other; then did it again when she asked, “Can I come back if I do?”
“You need to go now. Molly will start to worry about you.”
“How?” She turned in a circle. “Where?”
“Just put the mask down.”
“What? No, wait . . .”
“Put the mask down, Elise.”
Martin and the corral of costumes around them started to fade away. But slowly, growing clearer and clearer into focus, was a reflection of a Noh theater mask with golden-green hazel eyes peering through from behind. Her eyes.
“. . . Max is a sweetie. He’s really smart and he’s funny. And I think he’s serious. He likes you. You can see it when he looks at you,” Molly was saying. “Why do you keep pushing these guys away?”
Elise lowered the mask from her face, bit by bit. She pressed a cool hand to her flushed cheek and blinked back tears—a combination of the relief to be back and sadness for the loss of Martin. She turned the mask over, examined it, saw nothing askew.
“Elise?”
“Yes?” She turned with a start. “What?”
“I don’t understand why you keep pushing these guys away.”
Lifting her gaze to Darth Vader’s mask, she waited for him to speak.
“Elise!”
“Yes.” She looked straight at Molly this time, delighted to see her. “It’s safe. I push men away to feel safe. But in truth, all I feel is empty and alone.”
“What?” Molly couldn’t have looked more shocked if she’d been hit by a bus.
“And you’re right, by the way—about that guy, John? He was sort of charming, but he texts during movies. It made me crazy. And Max—you’re right about him, too. He is nice and sweet and smart and funny and serious. He does like me—I can see it when he looks at me, too. He loves me, in fact. And I love him.”
“What?”
“Look, I know you left Roger at home to feed the kids tonight so you and I could eat at Ferdinand’s, but I need to take a rain check. I’ll buy. But I have to leave right now. I have to find Max and tell him that I’m not a dope anymore. I’ve never been much of a groveler, but . . . well, it’ll be a new adventure, won’t it?”
“What?” Apparently, she’d stunned Molly speechless.
Elise laughed and hurried over to take Molly’s face between her palms—then laughed again, threw her arms around her and squeezed tight. “I love you, too! I know I don’t say it often enough—but that’s going to change. And I want you to know that while I’ll never understand why you married Roger, I’m so very, very glad you did.” She giggled at Molly’s wide-eyed expression and kissed her cheek. “Give my love to him and the kids and tell him thanks for being a great brother. And—ha! Do you hear that? My stomach’s growling. I’ll take Max out to eat . . . I can be dessert.”
“Elise, honey, are you feeling all right? I can drive you home if—”
She chuckled and started to leave, but then stopped. She looked back at the dark display of the dishonored Jedi knight and, despite what she knew to be the truth, she felt a deep and warm gratitude. Risking a tacky straitjacket in a shade outside her color wheel, she walked over to stand before him and murmur softly, “Thanks, Martin.”
“Elise?”
When she turned back to Molly’s fretful expression, she paused a moment to calm down and gather her wits.
“Listen,” she said. “Tell your friend Liz that I’d rather swallow a piano than play one at her party but I am looking forward to attending the event. And tell her, too, that if she can think of something reasonably sane . . . er, more traditional, more inside the box or . . . dull, probably. I don’t know. Just tell her if she decides to do another fund-raiser for dyslexia research I’d like to help.”
“What?”
“Ha! Poor Molly. I promise you, I’m fine. I’m better than fine. I’ll explain everything later, but right now I have to find Max.” She stopped short. “Oh! I have it! I’m brilliant! Your costumes are Roger and Jessica Rabbit—goofy and gorgeous. Max should be Dick Tracy—intelligent, steadfast and fearless. And I’ll be his Tess Trueheart—because I am.”
FALLEN
R. C. RYAN
For all who believe.
And for Tom, who believed in me always.
PROLOGUE
NEW YORK, 1990
“Highlands?” The four-year-old girl lifted wide, trusting eyes to her grandmother. “Why do they call it that, Gram?”
“It is high country, and very rugged. It’s where my ancestors in Scotland lived, my darling. It’s also wild and grand and beautiful.”
“I love your story about the Beast of the Highlands. Why was he called that?”
“A spell had been cast upon him. At the dawn of each new moon the man was turned into a huge, wild stag, with great, punishing antlers. No one ever saw the creature, though many claimed to have heard his dangerous hooves pounding the earth as he raced through their villages. Of course, it was all a myth.” The old woman smiled. “Now, to finish the story. Thanks to the wonder of magic, the beast was once more turned into a handsome man who embraced the lovely woman who saved him, and they lived happily ever after.” Evelyn Campbell’s voice lowered to a purr as she glanced down to see her little granddaughter’s eyes closing.
As she started to get up, little Beth’s hand shot out, stopping her. “More, Gram. Did the beast ever return?”
“No more tonight, my darling. It’s time for dreamland.”
“Do you think Mommy and Daddy are living happily ever after in heaven?”
The simple question had the old woman blinking back a rush of scalding tears. The loss of her son and his wife on the slick, curving highway in California was a hole in her heart that would never close. “I’m sure of it, love.”
“When I grow up I’m going to tame a beast who is really a handsome prince and we’ll live happily ever after like Mommy and Daddy.”
Evelyn bent over to kiss her granddaughter, looking like a tiny princess in the pretty canopied bed. “That is my hope for you, too. But remember, darling girl, that handsome isn’t what matters. He must have a good heart.”
“How will I know if his heart is good?”
“As we get to know people, they reveal their true selves. Our job is to listen and learn all we can, and then we must trust our own heart.”
“I will, Gram. I promise. ’Night.”
“I love the stories you make up, Gram.”
The old woman stood a moment beside the bed, watching as her granddaughter drifted into sleep.
If only she could do the same. But sleep, as well as peace of mind, had eluded her since the accident and the arrival of her precious grandchild.
To add to her pain, just today the doctor had confirmed the dreadful diagnosis, telling her she had little time left. And when she was gone, her son’s last wish would be denied.
He had left behind a letter, written shortly after the birth of his child, asking that his mother assume custody of Beth should anything happen to him and his wife. He had specifically requested that his daughter never fall into the hands of his sister, Darda, with whom he’d had an explosive relationship his entire life.
Richard had been a loyal, loving son. An athlete who also embraced academics. A lawyer who championed the down-and-out. His wife, Cybil, had supported his causes and had worked tirelessly alongside him in the law firm that carried their name.
Darda, on the other hand, was the pampered darling of her father and his first wife. From an early age she’d shown a tendency toward cruelty, and had learned how to wrap her weak father around her finger and obtain her every wish. And, oh, the exotic, outrageous, selfish things she’d wished for. Despite Evelyn’s repeated pleas to her husband to stop giving in to his daughter’s demands, he had adamantly refused. It had brought a painful end to their marriage, and Darda had grown up a spoiled, self-absorbed, bitter young woman.
Evelyn Campbell sighed as she walked from the room. When her illness became too advanced to care for little Beth, she feared what would happen to this sweet, innocent child, since there was no other family member to care for her. She couldn’t bring herself to consider offering her only grandchild up for adoption. There seemed to her only one road left open. As distant as they had become, Darda was all the family left to her.
Evelyn could only hope that the years had changed the spoiled, mean-spirited girl Darda had been into a more compassionate, caring woman who would see the goodness in this child. In the meantime, Evelyn vowed to spend whatever time she had left preparing Beth to resist the temptations of this sometimes selfish world to become a fine woman her parents would be proud of.
She fervently hoped the lessons of childhood would stay with the girl for a lifetime.
CHAPTER ONE
NEW YORK, PRESENT DAY
“Beth.” Darda Campbell ushered her niece into an exquisitely appointed office. “I’d like you to meet Alan Connifer.”
Beth’s eyes widened. “Of Connifer-Goldrich?”
“The same.” The handsome, prematurely gray-haired man offered a handshake before indicating a pair of chairs across from his desk.
Following her aunt’s lead, Beth sat.
She could feel the top executive studying her. “Darda and I have had several long, intense meetings, both here in New York and at my firm in London.”
Beth folded her hands primly in her lap. Since joining her aunt’s firm, she’d worked harder than any of her contemporaries, hoping to prove to Darda that she was worthy of the position. Darda had taken over her late brother’s small law firm and turned it into one of the most prestigious in the state. As president and sole owner of the Darda Campbell Agency, Darda had a reputation for being a tough, take-no-prisoners negotiator who showed not a drop of mercy. Now, with a contingent of top foreign firms paying court, rumors were rampant that they were about to be swallowed up by a giant conglomerate and half the firm would be sent packing. A second rumor speculated that they would all receive promotions and huge bonus checks to go along with the firm’s expansion.
Beth figured the truth lay somewhere in the middle.
Without preamble Alan announced, “The Darda Campbell Agency has accepted our offer to merge with Connifer-Goldrich.”
Beth blinked. So, it was true. Her father’s once-tiny firm would now be part of a multibillion-dollar international conglomerate that specialized in negotiating impossible deals for developers coveting exotic properties around the globe.
Alan fixed Beth with a look. “I’m sorry to say we’ll be cutting back on your department, since we already have enough in-house lawyers.”
Beth braced herself for the ax that was about to fall on her head.
Instead, Alan’s next words had her looking up in surprise.
“But, since you’re part of Darda’s family, we’d like to keep you on.”
He turned to Darda. “Why don’t you tell her the rest?”
Darda’s lips were carved into her famous ice-princess smile. A smile that never reached her eyes. “You’re being offered the deal of a lifetime. The firm is sending you to Scotland to meet with a . . . difficult client. He happens to own a huge tract of land that a client of Connifer-Goldrich wishes to develop. There are stepsiblings, I understand, who very much want to sell, as the will states that they will be given one-third of any profit from a sale. But the client has sole discretion on the entire estate, and right now he’s resistant to any sale. If you can get him to sign a contract, you’ll be given a title with our new firm and a very generous bonus.”
Beth didn’t bother to ask what would happen if her impossible mission failed. One fact had been drilled into her from the time she was a little girl: If she wished to please Darda Campbell, failure was not an option. “Do you have the particulars?”
Alan picked up a USB flash drive and passed it across the desk. “This is everything we have on Colin Gordon, whose nickname is the Beast of the Highlands. He’s called that because he’s known as an angry, no-nonsense loner who would rather hike the mountains or fish in an icy stream than sit by the fire in his grand lodge. We’ve tried in the past to entice him to sell, but he has no need of more money, and he’s impossible to deal with.”
“The stepsiblings?” Beth looked hopeful. “Can they be counted on to persuade him?”
Alan shrugged. “Let’s hope so. Though Colin Gordon calls his estate a humble hunting lodge, it’s actually a palatial estate set in the heart of the Highlands, where the people are often as fierce as the land and the weather.”
“Why would anyone want to plan a development in such a place?”
Alan looked over. “It’s a privately owned paradise for sportsmen. Lakes teeming with fish. A forest, closed to hunters for hundreds of years, that is home to many rare species, including red deer and even the occasional Scottish wildcat. Quaint villages nearby would be snapped up by upscale retailers, eager for a new venue.” He paused a moment before asking, “So? Think you’re the one who can make this happen?”
Beth felt the weight of the world descending upon her shoulders. This was a test. She would have the opportunity to prove that she could be as shrewd a businesswoman as Darda. Winning at any price was Rule One in Darda’s world.
She pasted on her best smile. “I’ve always wanted to visit the Highlands. My grandmother was born there. Besides, you had me at . . . title and bonus.”
Darda shot Alan a smug smile before turning to Beth to offer a handshake. There had been no hugs in her household. And here at work, she wouldn’t permit her niece to even hint at anything personal. Whether at home or at work, she was ma’am or Darda. Never Aunt Darda.
“The firm is counting on you, Beth. I’ve spent a lifetime playing hardball with the best of them. Now it’s your turn to show me that you can do whatever it takes to close this deal.”
“I won’t let you down.”
“Of course you won’t. Your place with the firm is depending on it.”
Darda turned to Alan. “If we’re finished here, I have some details to see to.”
Beth winced, certain that the “details” involved giving notice to dozens of young lawyers like herself that their jobs had just disappeared.
When they were alone, Alan sat ba
ck, looking relaxed and relieved to have finished with his business.
“I knew your father. He and I were in law school together.”
At that, Beth brightened considerably. “Oh, how grand. What was he like?”
She had no idea of the absolute hunger in her voice, in her eyes.
Alan gave her a gentle smile. “Darda told me about her brother’s accident. How old were you?”
“Four. I lived with my grandmother for almost two years before she passed away, and then I was taken to live with my au . . . with Darda.”
Hearing the slight hesitation, he nodded. “I’m sure you were too young to remember much about your father. He was positively brilliant. The rest of us had to work twice as hard just to keep up. But what struck me most was his compassion. I do believe Richard Campbell was the kindest man I’ve ever met. And your mother, Cybil, suited him perfectly. The two of them made the title ‘lawyer’ not only respected, but revered. They took on impossible cases, often pro bono, and won against all the big dogs. They were known as dragon-slayers.”
“I’d heard this firm was well-regarded in his day, even though it was quite small.” Beth was positively beaming. “I wish I could have been a part of it then.”
Alan looked away. “You have your aunt. And now you have the power of Connifer-Goldrich behind you.”
“Yes. Well . . .” Beth got to her feet, clutching the flash drive. “I’ll familiarize myself with the details of this client, and, as Darda promised, I’ll close the deal for you.”
As she turned away, Alan Connifer said, “Beth.”
“Yes?” She turned back.
He merely looked at her for long moments. Then, shrugging, he smiled. “You remind me of Richard.”
“Thank you. I can’t think of a finer compliment.” Beth floated away on a cloud. But minutes later she began to wonder if it had been meant as a compliment, or if Alan Connifer considered her to be, as Darda had often complained, too softhearted to fit into the corporate world.