by Nora Roberts
“Your wallet,” he said to Ben as he began to stuff bills and silver into his pockets. It was his first robbery. He’d had no idea it could be so easy. But his heart was still jammed into his throat and his armpits were dripping. “Take it out slow and toss it on the counter.”
“Okay. Take it easy.” He considered reaching inside his jacket for his weapon. The kid was sweating like a pig and had as much terror in his eyes as the woman behind the counter. Instead, Ben reached for his wallet with two fingers. He held it up, watching the kid’s eyes follow it. Then he tossed it an inch short of the counter. The minute the kid looked down, he moved.
He knocked the knife away easily. The grip was slippery with sweat. It was then that the woman behind the counter started to scream, one keening wail after the next as she continued to stand rooted. And the kid fought like a wounded bear. Ben locked his arms around the kid’s waist from the rear, but even as he planted his feet, they were going over onto a display table. It cracked, going down with them. Ho-Ho’s and Chiclets scattered. The boy screamed and swore, flopping like a fish as he groped for the knife. Ben’s elbow cracked against the frozen-food cabinet hard enough to have stars dancing in his head. Beneath him, the boy was rail thin and soaked now from a nervous bladder. Ben did what seemed easiest: He sat on him.
“You’re busted, friend.” Pulling out his shield, he stuck it in front of the boy’s face. “And the way you’re shaking it’s the best thing that could’ve happened to you.” The boy was already weeping as Ben took out his cuffs. Annoyed and out of breath, he looked up at the cashier. “You want to call the cops, sweetie?”
Ed came out of the hardware store with a bag of hinges, a half-dozen brass handles, and four ceramic pulls. The pulls were a real find, as they’d pick up the color in the tile he’d chosen for the upstairs bath. His next project. Since the car was empty, he glanced across the street and saw the black and white. With a sigh, he set the bag carefully in the car and sauntered over to find his partner. He took one look at Ben’s shirt, then at the kid sobbing and shaking in the back of the patrol car.
“See you got your coffee.”
“Yeah. On the house, you bastard.” Ben nodded to the uniform, then with his hands stuffed in his pockets started back across the street. “Now I’ve got a frigging report to fill out. And look at this shirt.” He held it away from his skin where it had plastered, cold and sticky. “What the hell am I supposed to do about these coffee stains?”
“Spray ’N Wash.”
IT WAS NEARLY SIX when Ed pulled into his driveway. He’d hung around the station, dawdled at his desk, and scrounged for busywork. The simple fact was, he was nervous. He liked women well enough, without pretending to understand them. The job itself put certain limits on his social life, but when he dated, he was usually drawn to the easygoing and none-too-bright. He’d never had his partner’s flare for gathering females in droves or juggling them like a circus act. Nor had he ever experienced Ben’s sudden and total commitment to one woman.
Ed preferred women who didn’t move too fast or push too many buttons. It was true he liked long and stimulating conversations, but he rarely dated a woman who could give him one. And he never analyzed why.
He admired G. B. McCabe’s brain. He just wasn’t sure how he’d deal with Grace McCabe on a social level. He wasn’t used to a woman asking him out and setting the time and place. He was more accustomed to pampering and guiding—and would have been appalled and insulted if anyone had accused him of chauvinism.
He’d been a staunch supporter of the ERA but that was politics. Though he’d worked with Ben for years, he wouldn’t have blinked twice at a female partner. But that was business.
His mother had worked as long as he could remember, while raising three sons and a daughter. There had been no father, and as the oldest, Ed had taken over as head of the house before he’d reached his teens. He was used to a woman earning a living, just as he was used to managing her paycheck and making the major decisions for her.
In the back of his mind had always been the thought that when he married, his wife wouldn’t have to work. He’d take care of her, the way his father had never taken care of his mother. The way Ed had always wanted to take care of her.
One day, when his house was finished, the walls painted and the garden planted, he’d find the right woman and bring her home. And take care of her.
As he changed, he glanced out the window to the house next door. Grace had left her curtains open and her light on. Even as he thought about giving her a gentle hint about privacy when he saw her, she slammed into the room. Though he could only see her from the hips up, he was sure she kicked something. Then she began to pace.
WHAT WAS SHE GOING to do? Grace dragged both hands through her hair as if she could pull out the answers. Her sister was in trouble, bigger trouble than she’d ever imagined. And she was helpless.
She shouldn’t have lost her temper, she told herself. Shouting at Kathleen was the equivalent of reading War and Peace in the dark. All you got was a headache and no understanding. Something had to be done. Dropping down on the bed, she rested her head against her knees. How long had it been going on? she wondered. Since the divorce? She’d gotten no answers out of Kathleen, so Grace jumped to the conclusion that this too was Jonathan’s fault.
But what was she going to do about it? Kathleen was furious with her now and wouldn’t listen. Grace knew about drugs—had seen too often what they could do to people. She’d comforted some who’d been struggling on the road back and had distanced herself from others who’d been racing toward destruction. She’d broken off a relationship because of drugs and had pushed the man totally out of her life.
But this was her sister. She pressed her fingers to her eyes and tried to think.
Valium. Three bottles of it from three different doctors. And for all she knew, Kathleen could have more stashed at school, in her car, God knew where.
She hadn’t been snooping, not the way Kathleen had accused her of. She’d needed a damn pencil and had known that Kathleen would have kept one in the drawer beside her bed. She’d found the pencil all right. Freshly sharpened. And the three bottles of pills.
“You don’t know what it’s like to have nerves,” Kathleen had raged at her. “You don’t know what it’s like to have real problems. Everything you’ve ever touched has turned out exactly the way you wanted it. I’ve lost my husband, I’ve lost my son. How dare you lecture me about anything I do to stop the pain?”
She hadn’t had the right words, only anger and recriminations. Face up to it, goddamn it. For once in your life, face up to it. Why hadn’t she said I’ll help you. I’m here for you. That’s what she’d meant. She could go back down now and plead, grovel, scream, and get only one reaction. The wall was up. She’d faced that same wall before. When Kathleen had broken up with a longtime boyfriend, when Grace had gotten the lead in the class play.
Family. You didn’t turn away when it was family. On a sigh, Grace went downstairs to try again.
Kathleen was in her office with the door shut. Promising herself she’d stay calm, Grace knocked. “Kath.” There was no answer, but at least the door wasn’t locked. Grace pushed it open. “Kath, I’m sorry.”
Kathleen finished checking a tenth-grade paper before she looked up. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“Okay.” So she was calm again, Grace thought. Whether it was from the pills or that her temper had cooled, she couldn’t be sure. “Look, I thought I’d run next door and tell Ed we’d make it another night. Then we could talk.”
“There’s nothing more to talk about.” Kathleen put the graded paper on one pile and picked up a new paper from another stack. She was deadly calm now. The pills had given her that. “And I’m on call tonight. Go have a good time.”
“Kathy, I’m worried about you. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She meant it, she only wished she were capable of showing just how much she meant it. “And there’s nothing f
or you to worry about. I know what I’m doing.”
“I know you’re under a lot of pressure, terrible pressure. I want to help.”
“I appreciate it.” Kathleen marked an answer wrong and wondered why her students couldn’t pay more attention. No one seemed to pay enough attention. “I’m handling it. I told you I’m glad you’re here, and I am. I’m also happy to have you stay as long as you like—and as long as you don’t interfere.”
“Honey, valium addiction can be very dangerous. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I’m not addicted.” Kathleen gave the paper a C minus. “As soon as I have Kevin back and my life’s in order, I won’t need pills.” She smiled and picked up another paper. “Stop worrying, Gracie. I’m a big girl now.” When her phone rang, she got up from her desk and moved to the chair. “Yes?” Kathleen picked up a pencil. “Yes, I’ll take him. Give me the number.” She wrote it down, then pushed down the disconnect button. “Good night, Grace. I’ll leave the porch light on for you.”
Because her sister was already dialing the number, Grace backed out of the office. She grabbed her coat from the hall closet where Kathleen had hung it, then rushed outside.
The bite of early April made her think again of Florida. She might still persuade Kathleen to go. Or perhaps to the Caribbean or Mexico. Anywhere warm and relaxed. And once she had her out of town, away from the worst of the pressure, they could really talk. If that failed, Grace had memorized the names of the three doctors that appeared on the labels of the bottles of pills. She’d go to them.
Still struggling into her coat, she knocked at Ed’s door.
“I know I’m early,” she said as soon as he’d opened it. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought we could have a drink first. Can I come in?”
“Sure.” He stepped back, understanding she didn’t want an answer to any question but the last. “You okay?”
“It shows?” With a half laugh she brushed her tumbled hair away from her face. “I had a fight with my sister, that’s all. We’ve never been able to go more than a week without words. Usually my fault.”
“Fights are usually two people’s fault.”
“Not when they’re with me.” It would be too easy to open up and let it pour. He had the kind of eyes that spoke of comfort and understanding. But this was family business. Deliberately she turned to look at the house. “This is wonderful.”
Grace looked beyond the peeling wallpaper and stacks of lumber to the size and scope of the room. She saw the height of the ceiling rather than the chipped plaster, and the beauty of the old hardwood floor beneath the stains and scratches.
“I haven’t gotten to this room yet.” But in his mind’s eye, he’d already seen it finished. “The kitchen was my first priority.”
“It’s always mine.” She smiled and held out a hand. “Well, are you going to show me?”
“Sure, if you want.” It was strange, but usually he felt as though he swallowed up a woman’s hand. Hers was small and slim, but it held firmly in his. She glanced at the staircase as they passed.
“Once you strip that wood, you’re going to have something really special. I love these old houses with all these rooms stacked on top of each other. It’s funny, because my condo in New York is practically one huge room, and I’m very comfortable there, but … oh, this is terrific.”
He’d torn out, scraped, steamed, and rebuilt. The kitchen was the result of nearly two months of work. As far as Grace was concerned, whatever astronomical amount of time he’d put into it was worth every moment. The counters were a dark rose, a color she wouldn’t have expected a man to appreciate. He’d painted the cabinets in a mint green for contrast. The appliances were stark white and straight out of the forties. There was a brick hearth and oven that had been lovingly restored. There must have been old linoleum to scrape up, but now the floor was oak.
“Nineteen-forty-five, the war’s over, and living in America couldn’t be better. I love it. Where did you find this stove?”
It was strange how right she looked there, with her hair frizzed and flyaway and her coat padded at the shoulders. “I, ah, there’s an antique store in Georgetown. There was hell to pay to get parts.”
“It’s terrific. Really terrific.” She could relax here, she thought, as she leaned against the sink. It was white porcelain and reminded her of home and simpler times. There were little peat pots in the window with green sprigs already poking through. “What are you growing here?”
“Some herbs.”
“Herbs? Like rosemary and stuff?”
“And stuff. When I get a chance I want to clear a little spot in the yard.”
Glancing out the window, she saw where he’d been working the day before. It was appealing to her to imagine a little herb garden springing up, though she didn’t know thyme from oregano. Herbs in the window, candles on the table. It would be a happy house, not stilted and tense like the one next door. She shook off the mood with a sigh.
“You’re an ambitious man, Ed.”
“Why?”
She smiled and turned back to him. “No dishwasher. Come on.” She offered her hand again. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
KATHLEEN SAT IN HER chair, her eyes closed, the phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. This one wanted to do most of the talking. All she was required to do was make approving noises. Nice work if you can get it, she thought, and brushed a tear from her lashes.
She shouldn’t let Grace get to her this way. She knew exactly what she was doing, and if she needed a little help to keep from losing her mind, then she was entitled to it.
“No, that’s wonderful. No, I don’t want you to stop.”
She bit off a sigh and wished she’d remembered to fix herself a pot of coffee. Grace had thrown her off. Kathleen shifted the phone and checked her watch. He had two minutes coming. Sometimes it was incredible how long two minutes could be.
She glanced up once, thinking she’d heard a noise, then gave her attention back to her client. Maybe she would let Grace take her to Florida for a weekend. It might be good for her to get away, get some sun. And stop thinking for a few days. The trouble was that when Grace was around she never stopped thinking about her own faults and failures. It had always been that way, and Kathleen accepted that it always would be. Still, she shouldn’t have snapped at Grace, she told herself as she rubbed at her temple. But that was done now and she had work to do.
Jerald’s heart was beating like a trip-hammer. He could hear her, murmuring, sighing. That low laugh washed over his skin. His palms were like ice. He wondered how it would feel to warm them against her.
She was going to be so happy to see him. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth as he moved closer. He wanted to surprise her. It had taken him two hours and three lines of coke, but he’d finally worked up the courage to come to her.
He’d dreamed about her the night before. She’d asked him to come, pleaded with him. Desiree. She wanted to be his first.
The hall was dim, but he could see the light under the door of her office. And he could hear her voice coming through. Beckoning. Teasing.
He had to stop for a minute, rest his palm against the wall. Just to catch his breath. Sex with her would be wilder than any high he’d pumped or snorted into his body. Sex with her would be the ultimate, the pinnacle. And when they’d finished, she’d tell him he was the best.
She’d stopped talking now. He heard her moving around. Getting ready for him. Slowly, almost faint from excitement, he pushed the door open.
And there she was.
He shook his head. She was different, different from the woman of his fantasies. She was dark, not blond, and she wasn’t wearing filmy black or lacy white, but a plain skirt and blouse. In his confusion, he simply stood in the doorway and stared.
When the shadow fell across her desk, Kathleen glanced up, half expecting Grace. Her first reaction wasn’t fear. The boy who stared back at her might have been one of her students. She stood, as
she might have stood to lecture.
“How did you get in here? Who are you?”
It wasn’t the face, but it was the voice. Everything else faded but the voice. Jerald stepped closer, smiling. “You don’t have to pretend, Desiree. I told you I’d come.”
When he stepped into the light, she tasted fear. One didn’t have to have experience with madness to recognize it. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.” He’d called her Desiree, but that wasn’t possible. No one knew. No one could know. She groped on the desk for a weapon as she gauged the distance to the door. “You’ll have to leave or I’ll call the police.”
But still he smiled. “I’ve been listening for weeks and weeks. Then last night you told me I could come. I’m here now. For you.”
“You’re crazy, I never spoke to you.” She had to stay calm, very calm. “You’ve made a mistake, now I want you to leave.”
That was the voice. He’d have recognized it among thousands. Millions. “Every night, I listened for you every night.” He was hard, uncomfortably hard, and his mouth was dry as stone. He’d been wrong, she was blond, blond and beautiful. It must have been a trick of the light before, or her own magic. “Desiree,” he murmured. “I love you.” With his eyes on hers, he began to unbuckle his belt. Kathleen snatched up her paperweight and heaved it as she dashed to the door. It grazed the side of his head.
“You promised.” He had her now, thin wiry arms clamped around her. His breathing came in gasps as he pressed his face close to hers. “You promised you’d give me all those things you talk about. And I want them. I want more than talk now, Desiree.”
It was a nightmare, she thought. Desiree was make-believe, and so was this. A dream, that was all. But dreams didn’t hurt. She heard her blouse rip even as she struggled. His hands were all over her, no matter how she fought and kicked. When she sunk her teeth into his shoulder, he yelped, but dragged her to the floor, ripping at her skirt.
“You promised. You promised,” he said over and over. He could feel her skin now, soft and hot, just as he’d imagined. Nothing was going to stop him.