Triple Dare

by Candace Irvin

  He had.

  That was what had saved her—from that thug and that van. But he couldn’t have done it on his own. He’d been too screwed up that night as he’d staggered out of the concert hall.

  She scrubbed her cheeks again. “I wish I was more like you. Maybe then I wouldn’t be in this mess. My brother wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  “It will get better, I promise. Brian will get better.”

  “Really?” His heart tore as she took yet another futile swipe at the tears. “And what am I supposed to do until then? Dammit, I don’t even know why someone is after me.” She stabbed a finger toward the open case. “I play the violin for crying out loud. I’m not designing some top-secret military system. What if whoever tried to drug me does it again—and succeeds? What happens to Brian then? Hell, even if we do figure this out, how long can I isolate him from the world? And what happens when Brian does remember? Will the shock send him over the edge? Even if it doesn’t, will he understand why I lied to him? Will he forgive me? And what if—” His heart nearly split in two as she paused to drag her air in deep, along with the full measure of her terror. “What if, despite your guards, that monster gets to him first?”

  Dare could not just stand there and do nothing. He stepped all the way in, reached out and smoothed his fingers down her face, erasing the tears she’d missed. Absorbing the panic, but leaving the rest. A moment passed, then two as she calmed down. And then her soft sigh washed into the shadows.

  “How do you do that?”

  He jerked his hand away—but she grabbed it. She brought his fingers back to her cheek, threaded hers among them. “It’s okay. It’s just that you touch me and it’s like…I still feel it, but it’s not as scary anymore. It’s you, isn’t it?”

  Yes. But it was also them.

  He knew the difference. He could feel the difference.

  He could feel her.

  As much as he was willing to accept from others, they never absorbed anything of him in return. She did. Somehow she was able to diffuse the darkness and the demons that simmered within, plaguing him. As if he found balance in her light. Especially here in the heady shadows.

  “Dare?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you think I should have given the note to Pike?”

  “No…and yes.”

  He felt rather than saw her lips quirk. “Now, there’s a definitive answer if I ever heard one.”

  She was right.

  He chuckled. “I apologize. I’m afraid I know the good detective too well to offer a more solid opinion, especially an unbiased one.”

  Silence crowded between them. Thickening the shadows.

  But she didn’t ask. She was right about one thing. She was patient. Dangerously so.

  He sighed. “I left another message with the FBI agent. According to his voice mail, he’s tied up on another case. We’ll give him until tomorrow afternoon. If he calls, we’ll offer the note to him first.” His note, as well. Though he wouldn’t offer an explanation regarding the triquetra beyond the fact that he had one tattooed on his chest.

  “What if he doesn’t call?”

  Dare shrugged. “Then I’ll have to stop by my father’s again. See if he can’t recommend another agent.”

  Not his preferred choice of action.

  But she nodded. “Okay.” She released his hand, then used her fingers to push the bulk of her hair past her shoulders.

  He wished she hadn’t.

  Standing in the dark as they were, with the city lights glowing behind her, he could make out the enchanting curves of her breasts clearly. For once his reaction was based solidly in the physical—and it didn’t help his concentration.

  She dropped her hands to the sill and sighed. “Who knows? Maybe something good will come from all this.”

  He blinked.

  “You and your dad. You guys are talking again.”

  Dare couldn’t help it, he laughed. “I doubt that. No one talks to Victor Sabura. Victor talks. Everyone else listens. And I stopped doing that a long time ago.”

  “Why?”

  He turned then and stepped up to the stool she’d placed near the window. One of his sleeves loosened as he reached out to trail his finger down the violin’s satin finish.

  “Dare?”

  He kept his stare on the violin as he rerolled his sleeves, stopping below his elbows. He should probably button the shirt and tuck the tail in, but he was comfortable and she didn’t seem to mind. Nothing left to do to stall, he turned and faced her, grateful for the dark. “Victor isn’t my father. Not really.” Not in the ways that counted.

  “Then…the rumors in that magazine are true?”

  “Which one would that be?” He didn’t know why he pushed it. He didn’t need to hear her voice it. He’d lived it long enough to understand her hesitation. Like most societies, the majority of New York’s upper crust was sanctimonious as hell. But Abby wasn’t. “I take it you’re referring to the one that concerns my mother. The speculation that she’d had an affair around thirty years ago, an affair I’m reputed to be the untimely offspring off.”

  “Are you?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. But it doesn’t matter. The irony of it is that Miranda wasn’t my mother either. I discovered that yesterday, too.”

  Once again, silence settled into the shadows.

  He felt her form the words half a dozen times before she finally forced them out. “Then you’re adopted.”

  “Hmm. In a way.”

  “In a way?” She straightened against the window. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “Neither do I. Victor was a bit sketchy on the details, evidently because my mother had been sketchy decades before. He did tell me they were having problems in their marriage. Some of those problems involved fertility. Miranda reacted the way a woman of her unlimited means and inclination could.”

  “And how was that?”

  “Some women purchase puppies. She purchased a son.”

  Abby gasped.

  He shrugged. “In her defense, she did it to try and save her marriage. But the marriage was doomed anyway. Miranda only married Victor because her father forbade it. She soon learned firsthand why.”

  He didn’t need to see Abby stiffen against the window to feel her shock. Suspicion followed. Given what she’d learned about how he and Charlotte filled their days, he supposed it wasn’t out of order either. “Dare, your father didn’t abuse your mother, did he?”

  “No. Not physically. He had his unique brand of abuse, centering around the Expectations of Victor.”

  “And if you didn’t live up to those expectations?”

  “You heard about it. Day in and day out. Week after week until he wore you down or you got out.”

  “So you got out. That’s why you went to boarding school.”

  He nodded.

  “But your mother couldn’t leave…or wouldn’t.”

  “Correct.”

  “That must have been hard for you, growing up like that. I mean, in my house things were pretty tight financially, especially after my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. After that the bank owned more of my dad’s store than he did. But I was encouraged to follow my dreams. So was Brian. Sure, we stumbled a bit. Made a lot of mistakes, too—especially me. But there was always plenty of love and forgiveness to go around. And there was always Brian. You haven’t exactly seen my brother at his best so you’ll have to take my word for it, but Brian can make anyone smile.”

  He felt her own smile blossom from within.

  He cherished the gift more than he normally would have because until that moment, he hadn’t realized he’d never actually seen his mother smile. Not a real smile.

  Nor did he remember feeling it.

  Just that polite mask. That stark void beneath.

  A void she’d desperately tried to flood with alcohol.

  He heard Abby’s approach as the inevitable melancholy leached in. Felt her essence grow stronger, close
r. But it wasn’t until she reached out to cover his hand that he also realized he’d been absently rubbing his tattoo.

  “You’re upset.”

  He shook his head. “Not really.” More regretful and resigned. “Let’s just say it explains a lot.”

  When he didn’t add more, she released his hand and turned to the stool. She smoothed the cloth over the violin again and closed the case, returning it to the trunk he’d noticed several feet away. She locked the trunk and returned to his side. “You’re going to look for your birth mother, aren’t you? Find out if you have any brothers or sisters.”

  Though he’d only made the decision minutes before he’d climbed down his balcony to come here, he didn’t mind sharing it with her. “Yes.”

  “Good. I think you should.”

  “I’m glad you approve. Unfortunately, there’s a good chance I won’t be successful.”

  “Surely with your money and connections—”

  “Miranda’s money. My trust came from her, with a mere stipend diverted to Victor. The same money she used to ensure that no records survived.”

  “You can do it.”

  Again that heady faith. It was more addictive than the adrenaline he’d used to buffer himself from the world. But a few moments later, her faith gave way to curiosity and apprehension and he asked, “You want to know about the other rumor, don’t you?” The more lurid one.

  She shook her head. “No. It’s—”

  He took her hand, welcoming the essence that came with it. “It’s okay. I’ve read the magazine. I know what the article says. Part of it’s true.”

  “Which part?”

  He lowered himself to the stool, drawing her hand with him and settling it on his thigh so she would know her touch was welcome. “Yes, my mother was struck by a subway train and killed instantly. As to the rest—namely, was there alcohol in her system? Yes, to that, too. But was it because she was a drunk, as my father claimed, or had she simply swallowed the necessary courage? An interesting question.” One that had haunted him for years.

  As had the setting and the timing.

  His mother had headed down into that subway station three days after Janet’s murder, two days after he’d discovered his roiling emotions had spilled over into Miranda that fateful night. His mother had sensed his terror and his horror. Only, she hadn’t wanted to accept it. Not the emotions, or the knowledge of Dare’s power; he could feel from anyone and everyone if he tried.

  Why was a woman who never went anywhere without her driver suddenly alone on a crowded, rush-hour subway platform? Or was his mother really there hoping to use those people and their emotions to obscure the connection she’d learned she shared with him? A connection she didn’t want.

  Dare swallowed the doubts.

  It didn’t help.

  He still choked on the guilt. And his voice still came out raw, hoarse. “After Randall murdered his wife, I went to see my mother. I asked her to stop drinking. I begged her. I even told her in no uncertain terms what her pain had done—was still doing—to me. That was the last time we spoke. The next day she was dead. Did she slip or did she jump? I just don’t know.” He never would.

  He felt Abby’s warm, gentle fingers on his cheek. On the scar that had started it all. “What happened with your mom…is that why you’ve shut yourself off from everyone except for Charlotte and those who help you both?”

  “That’s part of it.”

  A large part.

  She threaded her fingers into his hair. “And what about me? Is it why you’re so afraid of me? Us?”

  He sucked in his breath, gripped it tight.

  Gripped the truth even tighter.

  Her fingers slipped over his jaw and trailed down his chest. She tucked them beneath the open edges of his shirt and traced his tattoo. “It’s okay. You don’t have to answer. You will when you’re ready.” She turned in his arms and leaned back into him, settling her head over his heart.

  He knew it was for the best.

  But the urge to unburden the worst was still there.

  He strangled it for now, gently combing his fingers through Abby’s hair instead, using the slow, soothing motion along with their physical contact to help draw her into the restful sleep she would need to face the following day. He already knew where he planned on taking her. Somewhere where whoever was after them would be forced to stand out—whether the bastard wanted to or not.

  It was the only way.

  He had to end this. To keep her safe, yes. But also because he was finally ready to tell her the rest. He had to risk it. He had to see if they could make this—them—work.

  He watched Abby’s eyelashes sink lower and lower as he continued to comb her curls with his fingers, felt her slip deep into sleep as her slender weight eased into his. When he was sure she wouldn’t wake, he bent down and lifted her in his arms, carrying her out of the music room, down the hall and into her bedroom before he changed his mind. Fortunately, her bedcovers were already pushed to the side. He settled her head on her pillow and smoothed the ivory comforter up to her chin, then pressed a light, selfish kiss to her lips.

  Then he turned to leave the way he’d come.

  But as he slipped out into the night and raised the window, he caught her soft, heartfelt whisper.

  “Please, don’t fall.”

  Unfortunately, it was too late. He already had. He was utterly and completely in love with her.

  Chapter 9

  Abby forced the butterflies in her belly to still as she craned her neck to take in the massive slab of quartzite stretching up into the midmorning sky. Though Dare had sworn the cliff was barely sixty feet high, it might as well be six hundred—at least to her. Because as soon as Dare finished anchoring the woefully slender rope attached to her waist to the makeshift pulley he was currently rigging between two trees at the top of that cliff, she’d be scaling it. The fact that she was still standing here, waiting, meant she was either insane or she’d fallen head over heels for this guy.

  While the latter thought didn’t give Abby pause, she did pray it was the only falling she’d be doing today.

  When Dare had shown up at her apartment this morning at the ungodly hour of six, wanting to know if she was interested in accompanying him on a trip a half hour north of the city to visit the Shawangunk Mountains and check out a potential first top-roping site for a fellow climber’s kid, she’d jumped at the chance—but only if Dare would agree to give her a first lesson in climbing while they were at it.

  Dare had been stunned. Heck, with her aversion to heights, she’d been stunned, too. Despite the butterflies still crowding into her belly, she did want to do this. She needed to. More than anything, she wanted to know what it was about scaling a thousand feet of sheer rock that made Dare come back to do it again and again—without the benefit of the very length of nylon he’d insisted she use.

  Was it really just for the adrenaline?

  Or was it more?

  As much as she’d learned about this man over the past few days, Abby suspected it was the latter. She was also pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that there was no one around for miles. At least, no one they could see. Just winding trails, stark cliffs and lush trees filled with the soothing symphony of chirping birds. The scenic drive into the Gunks had done them both good. She hadn’t had a flashback to that horrible knifing since they’d left the city.

  Even more amazing, Atlas had lost his globe.

  She wasn’t exactly sure when it had happened, but she definitely remembered the moment she’d looked across the front seat of Dare’s SUV and realized that for the first time since they’d met, Dare was completely relaxed…until he’d caught her eye, reached across the armrests and taken her hand. Within seconds his contentment had faded, and her pulse had quickened as she felt another emotion sear into its place.

  Desire.

  She’d known then that not only did Dare want her, he also wanted a them. Everything about this trip confirmed it.
That he was willing to bring her here, to let her inside his private world, inside the real him, meant more to her than any amount of money Katherine or anyone else could shower on her. Startlingly, it even meant more than soloing with the New York Philharmonic at the ripe old age of fifteen…and at twenty-four. Yeah, she’d definitely fallen for the guy—right there in her music room, no less. How could she not, knowing the horror he’d gone through as a boy—and knowing the man he’d managed to become despite that horror? After Dare’s kiss had roused her the night before, she’d lain in bed awake for some time thinking about it. Thinking about him. Wondering and worrying.

  Not that Dare would fall off their building and injure himself. Despite his nickname, he was much too cautious. She’d seen evidence of that all morning. No, she was more concerned with the other, more painful blows Dare had suffered, those inner scars she’d sensed from the beginning. Not so much from Randall’s vile deeds, as from his parents’ rejection. Dare hadn’t needed to repeat the details for her to recognize the depth of his pain. She’d seen it in the shadows of his eyes.

  Worse, she felt it in the desperate, desolate shadows still cloaking his heart.

  It was a testimony to Dare’s strength that he’d survived at all. But he had survived. He’d also gone on to devote his time and resources to those who truly needed it. Pike was wrong. She might not have known Dare long, but she did know him better than any other man she’d ever met. The best part was, she liked what she knew. She only wished she could introduce him to Brian. She’d give anything for them to get to know each other. And if she was lucky—

  What the—

  Panic surged as Abby swung around, only to flee just as rapidly as several small rocks—not Dare—skittered down the side of the cliff. Unfortunately, the panic snapped back, this time with a vengeance, as she spotted Dare standing precariously close to the leading edge of the cliff, loosely coiling the second half of the rope already attached to the safety harness he’d purchased for her on the way here.

  “Heads up, Abby!”

  She stepped away from the base of the cliff as Dare tossed the rope over the side. The rope played out down the quartzite slab, a healthy excess pooling near her feet. She craned her neck as Dare turned to double-check the makeshift pulley. Despite the distance separating them, she could make out his breathtaking shoulders and broad, tapered back. She savored the sight.