by Nora Roberts
“You said Moe sensed Kane, or danger at least, when you went into the building where he’d separated Malory from Dana and Zoe.”
“Yeah.” Remembering it, Flynn rubbed Moe’s big head. “And he charged up those stairs ready to rip out throats. Didn’t you, you wild thing?”
“So, he could be a sort of early-warning system. And if he carried on the way you said he did before, he would alert the neighbors. Potentially, he could keep Dana grounded.”
“It’s a good idea,” Brad agreed, and began to pick a few of Moe’s hairs off his trousers. “But just how are you going to talk Dana into taking Moe as a roommate?”
“I can cover that,” Flynn said smugly. “I’ll tell her I’m moving in at her place, and we’ll have the expected argument. I’ll give in, then ask her if she won’t at least compromise by taking Moe so I can sleep at night. She’ll feel sorry for me and agree so she doesn’t come off as bitchy.”
“I’ve always admired your sneaky, serpentine methods,” Brad commented.
“Just gotta keep your eye on the goal. Which brings us back to the key.”
“My schedule’s still the most flexible,” Jordan began. “I can take all the time needed to dig into this. Research, brainstorming, legwork. You’ve got your journalist’s resources,” he said to Flynn. “Plus Malory’s willing and able to work with you, and Dana and Zoe have already let you in—as far as women ever let men in—to their group. Brad’s got the HomeMakers’ advantage. He can drop by their building most anytime—How’s it going, ladies? Looks good. Can I give you a hand with that?”
“I can do that. Maybe you could casually mention to Zoe that I’m not now, nor have I ever been, an axe murderer.”
“I’ll see if I can work it into our next conversation,” Flynn promised.
IT was time, Dana told herself, to roll up her sleeves and get to work. To do something positive, something to offset the nasty seed of helplessness Kane had planted inside her.
She’d be damned if she would let it take root.
If her key was knowledge, then she’d get smart. And what better place to seek knowledge than the library?
It galled her to go back as a patron rather than an employee. But she would just swallow the bile and do the job.
She didn’t bother to go home first, to change, but in her paint-splattered clothes walked straight into what had been a key in her life.
The smell caught her instantly. Books, a world of books. But she buried the sentimentality. Inside books, she reminded herself as she headed straight to one of the computer stations, were answers.
She’d read everything available on Celtic lore and mythology, so now she would expand on that. She ran a search for titles that related to sorcery. Know your enemy, she thought. Knowledge isn’t just a defense. Knowledge is power.
Noting down her top choices, she ran other searches using what she thought of as the main code words from Rowena’s clue. Satisfied that she’d made a good start, she headed toward the stacks.
“Did you forget something?” Her irritating toothy smile in place, Sandi stepped into her path.
“I keep trying to, but it’s tough when you keep getting in my face. Fuck off, Sandi,” she said in her sweetest tone.
“We don’t appreciate that kind of language here.”
With a shrug, Dana skirted around her and kept going. “I don’t appreciate your overly rosy perfume, but there you go.”
“You don’t work here anymore.” Chasing after her, Sandi snatched at Dana’s arm.
“This is a public building, and it happens I have a library card. Now take your hand off me, or I’m going to mess up those pearly whites that your daddy probably paid a lot of money for.”
She took a deep breath to find her calm. She wanted to get her books and get the hell out. “Why don’t you run up and tell Joan I’m here, nefariously checking out library books. Unless she’s off in Oz picking on a scarecrow.”
“I can call the police.”
“Yeah, do that little thing. It’ll be interesting to see what my brother writes in the Dispatch about how card-carrying patrons are treated these days in the local library.”
She flipped a little wave at Sandi’s face and swung into the stacks. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he spells your name right.”
Bile was a little harder to swallow than she’d thought, Dana admitted as she began selecting her books. It was painful, every bit as much as it was maddening, not to be able to come here, even as a patron, without being hassled.
But she wasn’t going to be chased away by the yappy little pom-pom queen. And she wasn’t going to be frightened off by some hell-bent sorcerer.
They had a lot in common as far as she was concerned. They were both riddled with petty jealousy that lashed out and caused pain.
Jealousy, she thought, pursing her lips. It was, in a way, the opposite of love. As lies were to truth, as cowardice to valor, and so on. Another angle, she decided, and detoured to grab a copy of Othello, the king of stories on jealousy.
As she carted her load to checkout, Dana worked up a smile for one of the women she’d worked with for years. She dumped the books on the counter, dug out her card. “Hi, Annie. How’s it going?”
“Good. Fine.” In an exaggerated motion, Annie slid her gaze to the right and cleared her throat.
Following the direction, Dana spotted Sandi, arms crossed, lips tight, watching. “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Dana said under her breath.
“Sorry, Dana. Sorry about everything.” Keeping her voice low, Annie scanned the books, stacked them.
“Don’t worry about it.” After jamming her card back in her purse, Dana scooped up her armload of books. She sent Sandi a wide, wide smile and walked out.
ONE of the perks of having a mature adult relationship with a woman, to Flynn’s mind, was coming home from work and finding her.
The smell of her, the look of her, the simple presence of her, made everything just a little clearer.
And when that woman, that pretty, sexy, fascinating woman, was cooking, it added just one more delight to the day.
He didn’t know what she had going on the stove, and he didn’t care. It was more than enough to see her, stirring something in a pot while Moe sprawled under the table, snoring like a freight train.
His life, Flynn thought, had found its true rhythm when Malory Price had walked into it.
He stepped up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pressed his lips to the side of her neck. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“I certainly am.” She turned her head so she could meet his lips with hers. “How are things?”
“Things are good.” He nudged her around for a longer, more satisfying kiss. “And better now. You didn’t have to cook, Mal. I know you were working all day.”
“I just punched up some jarred spaghetti sauce.”
“Still, you don’t.” He took her hands, then frowned as he turned them over. “What’s this?”
“Just some blisters. I’m telling myself they’re good for me. Shows I’m pulling my weight.”
He kissed them. “You know, if you’d wait for the weekend, I could give you a hand with the place.”
“We really want to do it ourselves, at least start on it ourselves. I’ve got a few blisters and pretty much ruined a pair of jeans, but we have the most beautifully painted porch in the Valley. I wouldn’t complain if you poured me a glass of wine, though.”
He got out a bottle and two of the wineglasses she’d bought. It seemed to him there were more glasses in the cabinet than there had been the last time he’d looked.
She was always slipping things in.
Glasses, fluffy towels, fancy soaps that he hesitated to actually use. It was one of the oddities and interests of having a woman around the house.
“Jordan told me what happened with Dana.”
“I thought he would.” Though it wasn’t quite dark, she lit the long oval candle she’d picked u
p for the table. “We both know how horrible it must have been for her. I know how much you love her, Flynn. I love her too. But we can’t shield her from this as much as we can just be there for her.”
“Maybe not, but Jordan had an idea that might do a little of both.”
He poured the wine, told her about using Moe.
“It’s brilliant,” Malory decided, then laughed down at the still snoring Moe. “She’ll certainly agree to it, and if nothing else, she won’t feel so alone at night.” After a sip of wine, she moved to the sink to fill a pot with water for the pasta. “I suppose Jordan told you they’re going out Saturday night?”
He’d been staring at the candle, thinking how odd it was to see it flickering away on the ancient picnic table he used in the kitchen. “Who’s going out?” As it hit him, Flynn swallowed wine in one hard gulp. “Jordan and Dana? Going . . . out?”
“So he didn’t tell you.”
“No, it didn’t come up.”
“And,” she concluded as she set the pot on the stove, “you’re not too keen on the idea.”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to get into it. Damn it, I don’t want them messing each other up again.” Knowing that Jordan was working upstairs, Flynn glanced at the ceiling. “It’s the person who ends up in the middle, and that would be me, who gets his ass kicked from both sides.”
“She still loves him.”
“Loves who?” Shock jumped into his eyes. “Loves him? Jordan? She loves him? Shit. Shit! Why do you tell me these things?”
“Because that’s what people in love do, Flynn.” She got three woven place mats from a drawer he wasn’t sure he’d known was there and set them neatly on the table. “They tell each other things. And I don’t expect you to go running to Jordan with this information.”
“Man.” Pacing now, he shoved a hand through his hair. “See, if you didn’t tell me, I wouldn’t have to think about not saying anything to him, or not saying anything to her. I would just exist in a nice bubble of ignorance.”
“And I think Zoe’s interested—extremely reluctantly—in Brad.”
“Stop it. Stop this flood of information right now.”
“You’re a newspaperman.” Enjoying herself, she pulled out the salad she’d put together and began to dress it. “You’re supposed to thrive on information.”
He’d never seen the salad bowl before, or the wooden things she was using to toss the greens. “I’m going to get a headache.”
“No, you’re not. You want your friends to be happy, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“We’re happy, aren’t we?”
Cautious now, he replied, “Yes.”
“We’re happy, and we’re in love. Ergo, you want your friends happy and in love, too. Right?”
“This is a trick question. So rather than answer it, I’m going to distract you.”
“I’m not making love with you while dinner’s cooking and Jordan’s upstairs.”
“That wasn’t my idea, but I really like it. I’m going to distract you by telling you that the kitchen guys are coming on Monday to start the remodel.”
“Really?” As he’d planned, every other thought spilled out of her mind. “Really?” she repeated and leaped at him. “Oh, this is great! This is wonderful!”
“I thought that would do it. So, are you going to move in with me?”
She touched her lips to his. “Ask me again when the kitchen’s done.”
“You’re a tough one, Malory.”
AFTER a day of manual labor, Dana longed for a soak in a hot tub before she dived into her new resource books. But she lacked the courage to do it.
Since that realization was too mortifying to dwell on, she fantasized about the house she’d buy one day. The big, secluded house. With a library the size of a barn.
And a Jacuzzi, she added as she pressed on the ache at the small of her back.
But until that happy day, she would settle for her apartment. Eventually, for all the rooms in her apartment, which included the one with the tub in it.
She could join a gym, she thought as she settled down to her books for an evening of research.
She hated gyms. They were full of people. Sweaty people. Naked people who would insist on sharing her Jacuzzi time.
It just wasn’t worth the aggravation. Better to wait until she could afford her own place. Of course, when she could afford her own place—with Jacuzzi—it was unlikely that she’d be spending eight hours scraping and painting until her back ached.
Ordering herself to settle down, she started on Othello. She had her own copy, of course. She had a copy of everything Shakespeare had written, but she wanted a different volume. A kind of fresh look, she thought.
It was jealousy and ambition that had driven Iago, she mused. He had planted “the green-ey’d monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on” in Othello, then had watched it devour him.
It was jealousy and ambition that drove Kane, and so he watched as his monster devoured.
She could learn from this, she thought, of what made a man—or a god—soulless.
She’d barely started when the knock on the door interrupted.
“What now?” Grumbling to herself, she went to answer it. Her irritation only increased when the door opened on Jordan.
“This had better not become a habit.”
“Let’s go for a ride.”
Her response was to slam the door, but he anticipated her, slapped a hand on it, braced it open. “Let me put that another way. I’m heading up to Warrior’s Peak. Do you want to come?”
“What are you going up there for? You’re a bystander in this deal.”
“That’s a matter of opinion. I’m going up because I have some questions. Actually, I decided to get out of Flynn’s place after dinner. To give the lovebirds a little space.” He leaned comfortably on the jamb as he spoke but kept that hand firm on the door. “Found myself heading out of town and up the mountain road. Figured I might as well keep going, have myself a chat with Pitte and Rowena. Then I thought, You know, it’s just going to tick Dana off if I do that without running it by her. So I turned around and came back. I’m running it by you.”
“I suppose you want points for that.”
His mouth curved. “If you’re keeping score.”
“I don’t see that you have anything to talk to them about.”
“Let’s put this one more way. I’m going, with or without you.” He straightened, let his hand drop from the door. “But if you want to come along, you can drive.”
“Big deal.”
“My car.”
The image of his gorgeous, muscular, classic T-Bird flashed into her mind. She had to make a conscious effort not to drool. “You fight dirty.”
He took his keys out of his pocket. And dangled them.
Her internal war lasted about three seconds before she snatched the keys out of his hand. “Let me get a jacket.”
WHATEVER his flaws, Jordan Hawke knew cars. The Thunderbird climbed the hills like a mountain cat, all sleek grace and muscle. It clung to curves and roared down straightaways.
Some might think of it as a vehicle, others as a toy. But Dana knew it was a machine. A first-class one.
Being behind the wheel wasn’t just a sexy pleasure. It let Dana shift the situation as smoothly as she shifted gears. She was in charge now. The trip to the Peak might have been Jordan’s idea, but by God, she was driving.
The evening was brisk, and grew brisker yet as they climbed to higher elevations, but the top was down. She was glad to trade chilly fingers and the bite of the wind for the sheer joy of zipping along the roads in the open air.
The trees were at their peak, the force of colors made only more brilliant by the sheen of gold from the setting sun. Fallen leaves skipped and skittered across the road where light and shadow danced.
It was like driving into a story, she mused, where anything could happen around the next turn.
“How’s it handling
for you?” Jordan asked her.
“She’s got style. And muscle.”
“I always thought the same about you.”
She slid her gaze in his direction, balefully, then focused on the road. However much fun she was having, it didn’t mean she couldn’t take a poke at him.
“I don’t see why you need a car like this when you live in an urban environment where mass transit is not only readily available but efficient.”
“Two reasons. First, for those times when I’m not in an urban environment, such as now. And second, I lusted after her.”
“Yeah.” She couldn’t blame him. “Fifty-seven was the primo year for T-Birds.”
“No question. I’ve got a ’63 Stingray.”
Her eyes went glassy. “You do not.”
“Four-speed, 327. Fuel injection.”
She felt the long, liquid pull in her belly. “Shut up.”
“I had her up to 120. She’d’ve given me more, but we were just getting to know each other.” He waited a beat. “I’ve got my eye on this very sweet Caddy convertible. Fifty-nine. Single quadajet carb.”
“I hate you.”
“Hey, a guy’s got to have a hobby.”
“The ’63 Stingray’s my fantasy car. The one I’m going to have one day, when all my dreams come true.”
He smiled a little. “What color?”
“Black. Serious business black. Four-speed manual tranny. Doesn’t have to be the 327, though that’d be the cream. Gotta be the convertible, though. The coupe just won’t do.”
She fell silent for a few minutes, just enjoying the ride.
“Zoe mentioned you’d fixed her car.”
“I stopped over. Timing was off, and the carb needed a little work. Nothing major.”
She made herself say it. “It was a nice thing to do.”
“I had the time.” He shrugged a shoulder, stretched his legs out a little more. “Just figured she could use a hand with it.”
Suddenly she understood, and felt ashamed for her initial reaction when she’d heard he’d gone to Zoe’s. The hardworking single mother, raising a young boy.
Just like his mother.