Suzanna's Surrender tcw-4

by Nora Roberts

  On the girl, young Colleen, he had been the hardest. Fearing a harsher, perhaps a physical reprisal, Bianca had sent the children and the dog up to their nanny.

  The argument that had followed was bitter. She did not tell me all, but her tremors and the flash of fear in her eyes said enough. In his fury, he had threatened and abused her. It was then I saw in the light of my lamp, the marks on her throat where his hands had squeezed.

  I would have gone then. I would have killed him. But her terror stopped me. Never before and never again in my life have I felt a rage such as that. To love as I loved, to know that she had been hurt and frightened. There are times I wish to God I had gone, and had killed. Perhaps things would have been different. But I'll never be sure.

  I didn't leave her, but stayed while she wept and told me that he had gone to Boston, and that when he returned he intended to bring a new governess of his choosing. He had accused her of being a poor mother, and would take the care and control of the children from her.

  If he had threatened to cut out her heart, he could not have done more damage. She would not see her children raised by a paid servant, overseen by a cold, ambitious father. She feared most for her daughter, knowing if nothing was done, Colleen would one day be bartered off into marriage even as her mother had been.

  It was this great fear that forced her decision to leave him.

  She knew the risks, the scandal, the position she would be giving up. Nothing could sway her. She would take her children away where she knew they would be safe. Her wish was for me to go with them, but she did not beg or call upon my love.

  She did not need to.

  I would make the arrangements the next day, and she would prepare the children. Then she asked me to make her mine.

  For so long I had wanted her. Yet I had promised myself I would not take her. That night I broke one promise, and I made another. I would love her eternally.

  I still remember how she looked, her hair unbound, her eyes so dark. Before I touched her I knew how she would feel. Before I laid her in my bed, I knew how she would look there. Now it is only a dream, the sweetest memory of my life. The sound of the water and the crickets, the smell of wildflowers.

  In that timeless hour, I had everything a man could want. She was beauty and love and promise. Seductive and innocent, shy and wanton. Even now, I can taste her mouth, smell her skin. And ache for her.

  Then she was gone. What I had thought was a beginning was an end.

  I took what money I had, sold paints and canvases for more and bought four tickets on the evening train. She did not come. There was a storm brewing. Hot lightning, vicious thunder, heavy wind. I told myself it was the weather that turned my blood so cold. But God help me, I think I knew. There was such a sharp, terrifying pain, such unreasonable fear. It consumed me.

  For the first time, and the last, I went to The Towers. The rain began to slash as I beat on the door. The woman who answered was hysterical. I would have pushed past her, run through the house calling for Bianca, but at that moment, the police arrived.

  She had jumped from the tower, thrown herself through the window onto the rocks. This is unclear now, as it was even then. I remember running, shouting for her over the howling wind. The lights of the house were blinding, slashing through the gloom. Men were already scrambling on the ridge and below with lanterns. I stood, looking down at her. My love.

  Taken from me. Not by her own hand. I could never accept that. But gone. Lost.

  I would have leaped off that ridge myself. But she stopped me. I will swear it was her voice that stopped me. Instead, I sat on the ground, the rain pouring over me.

  I could not join her then. Somehow I would have to live out my life without her. I have done so, and perhaps some good has come from the time I have spent here. The boy, my grandson. How Bianca would have loved him. There are times I take him to our cliffs and I'm sure she's there with us.

  There are still Calhouns in The Towers. Bianca would have wanted that. Her children's children, and theirs. Perhaps one day another lonely young woman will walk those cliffs. I hope her fate is a kinder one.

  I know, in my heart, that it is not ended yet. She waits for me. When my time comes at last, I will talk with Bianca again. I will love her as I once promised. Eternally.

  Chapter Ten

  Holt waited for Trent in the pergola along the sea-wail. Lighting a cigarette, he looked over the wide lawn to The Towers. One of the gargoyles along the center peak had lost its head while the other sat grinning down, more charming than ferocious. There were clematis – he recognized it now – and roses climbing up to the first terrace. The old stone glowered in the hazy sunlight. There was really no other word for it, but the flowers gave it a kind of magical, Sleeping Beauty aura. Towers and turrets speared up, arrogant of form, dignified with age.

  Scaffolding bracketed the west end, and the high whine of a power saw cut the air. A lift truck was parked under the balcony, its mechanism groaning as it hefted its load of equipment to a trio of bare – backed men. A radio jolted out tough rock.

  Maybe it was right and just that the house held so tenaciously to the past even while it accepted the present, Holt mused. If it was possible for stone and mortar to absorb emotion and memory, The Towers had done so. Already he felt as though it harbored some of his.

  The windows of the room where he had spent most of the night with Suzanna winked back at him. He remembered every second of those hours, every sigh, every movement. He also remembered that he had confused her. No, tenderness wasn't his style, he thought, but it had been easy with her.

  She hadn't asked him for softness. She hadn't asked him for anything. Was that why he felt compelled to give? Without trying, she had tapped into something inside him he hadn't known was there – and was still more than a little uncomfortable with. Finding it, feeling it left him as vulnerable as she. He'd yet to work out the right way to tell her.

  She deserved the music, the candlelight, the flowers. She deserved the soft poetic words. He was going to try to give them to her, no matter how big a fool it made him feel.

  In the meantime, he had a job to do. He was going to find those damn emeralds for her. And he was going to put Livingston behind bars.

  Holt tossed the cigarette away as he saw Trent come out of the house. In the pergola, they would have relative privacy. The clatter of construction echoed in countertime to the beat and drum of waves. Whatever they said wouldn't carry above ten feet. Anyone looking out of the house would see two men sharing a late – afternoon beer, away from the women.

  Trent stepped inside and offered a bottle.

  “Thanks.” Holt leaned negligently against a post and lifted the beer. “Did you get the list?”

  “Yeah.” Trent took a seat on one of the stone benches so that he could watch the house as he drank. “We've only signed on four new men in the last month.”

  “References?”

  “Of course.” The faint annoyance in his tone was instinctive. “Sloan and I are well aware of security.”

  Holt merely shrugged. “A man liked Livingston wouldn't have any problem getting references. They'd cost him.” Holt drank deeply. “But he'd get them.”

  “You'd know more about that sort of thing than I.” Trent's eyes narrowed as he watched two of the men replacing shingles on the roof of the west wing. “But I have a hard time buying that he could be here, working right under our noses.”

  “Oh, he's here.” Holt took out another cigarette, lighted it, then took a thoughtful drag. “Whoever tossed my place knew about the connection almost as soon as you did. Since none of you go around talking about the situation at cocktail parties, he'd have heard something here, in the house. He didn't sign on at the start of the job, because he was busy elsewhere. But the last few weeks...” He paused as the children ran out, dogs in tow, to race to their fort. “He wouldn't just sit and wait, not as long as there's a possibility you could knock out a wall and have the emeralds fall into your hand. An
d where better to keep an eye on things than inside?”

  “It fits,” Trent admitted. “But I don't like the idea of my wife, or any of the others, being that close.” He thought of C.C., the baby she carried, and his eyes darkened. “If there's a chance you're right, I want to move on it.”

  “Give me the list, and I'll check it out. I've still got connections.” Holt's gaze remained on the children. “He's not going to hurt any of them. That's a fact.”

  Trent nodded. He was a businessman and had never done anything more violent than a little boxing in college. But he would do whatever it took to protect his wife and unborn child. “I filled Max in, and Sloan and Amanda decided to break off their honeymoon. They should be here in a couple of hours.”

  That was good, Holt thought. It was best having the family all in one place. “What did Sloan tell her?”

  “That there was some problem with the job.” More comfortable now that wheels were in motion, Trent grinned a little. “If she finds out he's stringing her along, there'll be hell to pay.”

  “The less the women know, the better.”

  This time Trent laughed. “If any of them heard you say that, you'd lose three layers of skin. They're a tough bunch.”

  Holt thought of Suzanna. “They think they are.”

  “No, they are. It took me quite a while to accept it. Individually they're strong – velvet – coated steel. Not to mention stubborn, impulsive and feverishly loyal. Together...” Trent smiled again. “Well, I'll admit I'd rather face a pair of sumo wrestlers than the Calhoun women on a roll.”

  “When it's 'over, they can be as mad as they want.”

  “As long as they're safe,” Trent finished, and noted that Holt was watching the children. “Great kids,” he commented.

  “Yeah. They're okay.”

  “They've got a hell of a mother.” Trent drank contemplatively. “Too bad they don't have a real father.”

  Even the thought of Baxter Dumont made Holt's blood boil. “How much do you know about him?”

  “More than I like. I know he put Suzanna through hell. He nearly broke her with the custody suit”

  “Custody suit?” Stunned, Holt looked back. “He went after the kids?”

  “He went after her,” Trent corrected. “What better way? She doesn't talk about it. I got the story from C.C. Apparently he was annoyed that she filed for the divorce. Not good for his image, particularly since he's got his eye on a senate seat. He dragged her through a long, ugly court battle, trying to prove she was unstable and unfit.”

  “Bastard.” Choking on rage, Holt turned away to flick the cigarette onto the rocks.

  “He didn't want them. The idea was to ship them off to a boarding school. Or that was the threat. He backed off when Suzanna made the settlement.”

  His hands were on the stone rail now, fingers digging in. “What settlement?”

  “She gave him damn near everything. He dropped the case so the arrangements could be made privately. He got the house, ail the property, along with a chunk of her inheritance. She could have fought it, but she and the kids were already an emotional mess. She didn't want to take any chances with them, or put them through any more stress.”

  “No, she wouldn't.” Holt drank in a futile attempt to wash the bitterness from his throat. “He's not going to hurt her or the kids anymore. I'll see to it.”

  “I thought you would.” Trent rose, satisfied. He pulled a list out of his pocket and exchanged it for Holt's empty bottle. “Let me know what you find out.”

  “Yeah.”

  “The séance tonight.” Trent saw Holt grimace and laughed again. “It may surprise you.”

  “The only thing that surprises me is that Coco talked me into it.”

  “If you plan on sticking around, you'll have to get used to being talked into all manner of things.”

  He was going to stick around, all right. Holt thought as Trent walked away. He just needed to find the right way to tell Suzanna. After glancing at the names on the list. Holt tucked it away. He'd make a couple of calls and see what he could dig up.

  As he started across the lawn, the dogs galloped up to him, Fred devotedly pressing to Sadie's side. When they stopped jumping long enough to be petted, Fred lapped frantically at her face. Sadie tolerated it, then turned away and ignored him.

  “They've got a name for women like you,” Holt told her.

  “Remember the Alamo!” Alex shouted. He stood spread legged on the roof of his fort, a plastic sword in his hand. Because he counted on his challenge being answered, his eyes gleamed as they met Holt's. “You'll never take us alive.”

  “Oh yeah?” Unable to resist, Holt moved closer. “What makes you think I want you, monkey brain?”

  “'Cause we're the patriots and you're the evil invaders.”

  Jenny popped her head through an opening that served as a window. Before Holt could evade it, he was hit dead center of the chest with a splat of water from her pistol. Alex let out a triumphant hoot as Holt scowled down at his shirt.

  “I suppose you know,” Holt said slowly, “this means war.”

  As Jenny shrieked, he grabbed her and pulled her through the window. To her delight, he held her upside down so that her two blond ponytails brushed the grass.

  “He's taken a hostage!” Alex bellowed. “Death to the last man.” He scrambled inside then burst out of the doorway, brandishing his sword. Holt barely had time to right Jenny before the little missile plowed into him. “Off with his head,” Alex chanted, echoed by his sister. Holt let his body go lax and took them both to the ground with him.

  There were screams and giggles as he wrestled with them. It wasn't as easy as he'd supposed. They were both agile and slick, wriggling out of his hold to attack. He found himself at a disadvantage as Alex sat on his chest and Jenny found a spot on his ribs to tickle.

  “I'm going to have to get rough,” he warned them. When he took a spray of water in the face, he swore, making them both howl with laughter. A quick roll and he dislodged the pistol, then snatched it up to drench them both. With shrieks and giggles, they fell on him.

  It was a wet and messy battle, and when he finally managed to pin them, they were all out of breath.

  “I massacred you both,” Holt managed. “Say uncle.” Jenny poked a finger in his ribs, making him twitch. In defense he lowered his cheek to her neck and rubbed a day's worth of stubble over her skin.

  “Uncle, uncle, uncle!” She screamed, gurgling with laughter. Satisfied, he used the same weapon on Alex until victorious, he rolled over and lay stomach down on the grass.

  “You killed us,” Alex admitted, not displeased. “But you're morally wounded.”

  “Yeah, but I think you mean mortally.”

  “Are you going to take a nap?” Jenny climbed onto his back to bounce. “Lilah sleeps in the grass sometimes.”

  “Lilah sleeps anywhere,” Holt muttered.

  “You can take a nap in my bed if you want,” she invited, then pressed a curious finger on the edge of the scar she saw beneath his hitched-up T-shirt. “You have a hurt on your back.”

  “Uh – huh.”

  Alex was already scrambling to look. “Can I see?”

  Holt tensed automatically, then forced himself to relax. “Sure.”

  As Alex pushed up the shirt, both children's eyes widened. It wasn't like the neat little scar they had both admired on his leg. This was long and jagged and mean, slashing from the waist so high up on his back they couldn't push the shirt up enough to see the end of it.

  “Gee,” was all Alex could think to say. He swallowed, then gamely touched a finger to the scar. “Did you get in a big fight?”

  “Not exactly.” He remembered the pain, the incredible flash of white heat.

  “One of the bad guys got me,” he said, and hoped it would satisfy. When he felt Jenny's little mouth lower to his back, he went very still.

  “Does it feel better now?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He had to let out
a long breath to steady his voice. “Thanks.” Turning over, he sat up to brush a hand through her hair.

  Suzanna stood a few feet away, watching them with her heart in her throat. She'd seen the battle from the kitchen doorway. It had touched her to see how easily Holt had joined in the game with her children. She'd been smiling when she'd started out to join them – then she had watched Jenny and Alex examining the scar on Holt's back, and Jenny's kiss to make it better. She had seen the look of ragged emotion on Holt's face when he'd turned to sweep his hand over her little girl's hair.

  Now the three of them were on the grass, Jenny cuddled on his lap, Alex's arm slung affectionately around his shoulder. She took a moment to make certain her eyes were dry before she continued toward them.

  “Is the war over?” she asked, and three pair of eyes lifted. “He won,” Alex told her.

  “It doesn't look as though it was an easy victory.” She scooped Jenny up when the girl lifted her arms. “You're all wet.”

  “He blasted us – but I got him first.” “That's my girl.”

  “And he's ticklish,” Jenny confided. “'Real ticklish.”

  “Is that so?” Suzanna sent Holt a slow smile. “I'll keep that in mind. Now you two scat. I noticed nobody put away the game you were playing.”

  “But, Mom –” Alex had his excuses ready, but she stopped them with a look.

  “If you don't clean it up, I will,” she said mildly. “But then I'll have your share of strawberry shortcake tonight.”

  That was a tough one. Alex agonized over it for a minute, then caved in. “I'll do it. Then I get Jenny's share.”

  “Do not.” Jenny sprinted toward the house with her brother giving chase. “Very smooth, Mom,” Holt commented as he rose.

  “I know their weaknesses.” She put her arms around him, surprising and pleasing him. It was very rare for her to make the first move. “You're all wet, too.”

  “Sniper fire, but I picked them off like flies.” Bringing her closer, he rested his cheek on her hair. “They're terrific kids, Suzanna. I'm, ah...” He didn't know how to tell her he'd fallen in love with them, any more than he knew how to tell her he'd fallen in love with their mother. “I'm getting you wet.” Feeling awkward, he drew away.