by Nora Roberts
“Just put it on the damn table.”
Jordan walked over to the bag and ripped it open. “And look, he got one with pretty pink rosebuds on it.”
“Matching napkins,” Flynn added, pulling them out of the bag.
“What a sweetie. I didn’t know you had a feminine side.”
“When we’re done here, I’m going to kick your asses just to reestablish my manhood—and because I’ll enjoy it.” Brad took out the champagne flutes he’d brought along, held them up to check for smudges. “Then maybe I’ll tell the women this was my idea and negate your points.”
“Hey, I sprang for the flowers,” Flynn reminded him.
“I bought the cookies.” Jordan shook the bakery box.
“Ideas get more points than cookies and flowers, my friends.” Brad twitched the tablecloth to straighten it. “It’s all about ideas and presentation. Which proves being in touch with your feminine side bags more women.”
“Then how come Flynn and I are the only ones here getting laid?”
“Give me time.”
“I really should clock you for saying that as regards my woman and my sister.” Flynn studied Jordan’s grin. “But it’s not only an accurate statement, it rubs it in Brad’s face, so I’m letting it pass. How much time we got?”
“A while yet,” Jordan said. “Settlement should be pretty straightforward, but you’ve got lawyers, bankers, and papers, so it’ll take twice as long as you think it will.”
He stepped back, looked at the table set up in the foyer. He had to admit it was a nice touch there among the drop cloths and paint supplies. A splash of color and celebration against the primer-coated walls.
The women, he knew, would melt like ice cream in July.
“Okay, damn good idea, Brad.”
“I’ve got a million of them.”
“I don’t see why we have to clear out before they get here,” Flynn complained. “I’d like champagne and cookies, not to mention the big sloppy kisses this is going to generate.”
“Because it’s their moment, that’s why.” Satisfied, Brad leaned against the stepladder. “Recognizing that will only generate more big sloppy kisses in the long run.”
“I like instant gratification.” But Flynn paused, looked around. “It’s going to be a hell of a place, really. Innovative idea, good location, attractive setting. It’s good for the Valley. Good for them. You should see some of the stuff Mal’s setting up for stock. Over the weekend we went to see a couple of the artists she’s going to feature. Cool stuff.”
“He went with her to see art,” Jordan pointed out, and with a grin tucked a finger in his mouth, then pulled up the side to mime a hook. “Can opera be far behind?”
“We’ll see who’s smirking when you’re sitting in Dana’s bookstore drinking herbal tea.”
“That’s not so bad. Brad here’s probably going to have to get a facial to win Zoe over.”
“There are lines that can’t be crossed, no matter what the prize.” But Brad looked up the stairs. “They’re going to need to decide on lighting. And some of the trim needs to be replaced. Could use a new sink in the john up there.”
“You’re planning on seducing Zoe with bathroom fixtures?” Flynn asked. “You devious bastard. I’m proud to call you friend.”
“Seducing her could be a very satisfying side benefit—after all, the stepladder got me a chicken dinner.”
“Chicken dinner? You can get a chicken dinner at the Main Street Diner, Tuesday-night special.” Sorrowfully, Flynn shook his head. “My pride in you is waning.”
“I’m just getting started. But the fact is, they could use a little help here. There’s some tile work, some carpentry, a little plumbing and electrical. They’ve got to upgrade some of the windows. We could pitch in with more than champagne and cookies.”
“I’m in for that,” Jordan agreed.
“Sure. Already figured on it.” Flynn shrugged. “Hell, it looks like my house is going to be Remodel Central for a while anyway. Might as well spread the wealth. And driving a few nails should help keep us all from going crazy over the keys.”
“Now that you mention it.” Jordan glanced toward the windows as rain began to splat. “I’d better fill you in on what happened last night.”
“Something happened to Dana?” Flynn pushed away from the wall. “Is she okay?”
“Nothing happened to her. She’s fine. Hell, I need a smoke. Let’s go out on the porch.”
They stood outside, the rain drumming on the overhang. He took them through it—the colors, the sounds, the movements, building the story much as he’d done for them in tents pitched in a backyard, or around a campfire in the woods.
But this time it hadn’t come out of his imagination. However active and agile that imagination was, it couldn’t rake slashes down his chest. They burned still. It was some consolation to hear Flynn’s sharply drawn breath and see Brad’s wince of sympathy when he tugged up his shirt to show them.
“Christ, those look nasty.” Flynn studied the raw, red grooves. “Shouldn’t they be bandaged or something?”
“Dana put something on them last night, but she’s not exactly Nurse Betty. I smeared some more crap on them this morning. Point is, our guy was seriously pissed—enough to take a genuine shot at me. Where does that leave the women?”
Heat flashed into Flynn’s eyes. “He didn’t touch Malory. Never physically touched her. It was bad enough, scary enough, the way he messed with her mind. But this . . . We’ve got to take him down.”
“I’m open to ideas.” Jordan spread his hands. “Problem is, as far as magic goes, I can’t even pull a rabbit out of my hat.”
“Some of it’s just misdirection, tricking the eye,” Brad mused.
“Let me tell you, son, when that guy’s got his claws in you, it’s no trick of the eye.”
“No, I mean from our stand,” Brad told Jordan. “We direct him toward us, it gives the women more space. He had a reason for going after you. If we can figure that out, exploit it, it might take his attention away from Dana for the next couple of weeks. And from Zoe when her time comes around.”
“I haven’t got anything concrete. It just feels like I know something, but I can’t reel it in.” Frustrated, Jordan jammed his hands into his pockets. “Something I know, or did, or have, that’s the answer. Or one of them. Something from before, that plays into the now.”
“Something between you and Dana,” Brad prompted.
“Has to be connected, doesn’t it? Otherwise it wouldn’t follow the pattern. And if it isn’t something important, why did he fuck with me?”
“Maybe it’s time for a meeting,” Brad began.
“For you suits, it’s always time for a meeting,” Flynn shot back.
“I’m forced to point out that I’m not wearing a suit.”
“Inside you are. It’s probably pin-striped. And I bet you’re wearing a tie too. But I digress. Maybe the suit’s right,” he said to Jordan. “The six of us should put our heads together. Your place.” He patted Brad on the shoulder. “You’ve got more furniture and better food.”
“That works for me. The sooner, the better.” Brad glanced at his watch. “Ha-ha, I have a meeting. Set it up with the women, let me know.”
He stepped back inside to snag his jacket, then jogged out into the rain toward his car.
Jordan stood watching as Brad drove away. “We get through this one and get to the last round, his head’s going to be on the block.”
“You think he doesn’t know that?”
“No, I figure he does. I was wondering if Zoe does.”
THE only thing Zoe knew at that moment was that this was one of the biggest days of her life. She clutched the keys, her keys, in her fist. They were brand spanking new, to go with the brand spanking new lock sets she’d bought to replace the old ones.
She was going to put the lock on the main door herself—she knew how—first thing. A kind of rite, she decided. A kind of claiming.
/> She parked, ran through the rain to the front porch, then waited as her friends pulled in behind. Malory had the original keys. Besides, it was right that the three of them went in together.
And wasn’t it right, somehow symbolic, that Malory had the original key? That she and Dana would wait while Malory unlocked the door. The first door.
Malory had completed her part of the quest, and had held her key. Now it was Dana’s turn. Then, God willing, it would be hers.
“Rain’s going to strip a lot of the leaves off the trees,” Malory commented as she rushed under the overhang. “There won’t be much color left after this.”
“It was nice while it lasted.”
“Yes, it was.” Malory started to unlock the door, then stopped. “It just hit me. It’s ours now. Really ours. Maybe we should say something profound, do something symbolic.”
“I’m not carrying either of you across the threshold.” Dana scooped back her damp hair.
“Booty shake,” Zoe decided and made Dana laugh.
“Booty shake,” she agreed. “On three.”
The few people driving by might have been slightly surprised to see three women standing on a pretty blue porch wiggling their butts in front of a closed door.
Giggling, Malory turned the key. “That felt right. And here we go.” She opened the door with what she considered a very nice flourish, then her mouth dropped open.
“Oh, my God, look!”
“What?” Instinctively, Zoe grabbed her arm to yank her back. “Is it Kane?”
“No, no! Look. Oh, this is so sweet! Look what they did.” She rushed inside and all but buried her face in the roses set on the card table. “Flowers. Our first flowers. Flynn’s going to get such a big reward for this.”
“It was really thoughtful of him.” Zoe sniffed at the flowers, then opened the bakery box. “Cookies. The fancy kind. What a sweetheart you’ve got, Malory.”
“He didn’t do it alone.” Dana pulled the champagne out of the bucket, arched her eyebrows at the label. “This has Brad’s fingerprints all over it. Not just champagne but stupendous champagne.”
Zoe frowned over the label. “That’s expensive, isn’t it?”
“Not only, but very classy. Only time I ever had it was when Brad gave me a bottle for my twenty-first birthday. He always had style.”
“The three of them did this together, for us.” With a long sigh, Malory danced her fingers over petals. “I’d say all three of them have style.”
“Let’s not disappoint them.” Dana popped the cork, poured champagne into the three flutes set on the table.
“We need to have a toast.” Zoe picked up the flutes, passed them out.
“Let’s not do one that makes us cry.” Malory took a steadying breath. “The flowers have me half started already.”
“I’ve got it.” Dana raised her glass. “To Indulgence.”
They clinked glasses, sipped. And cried a little anyway.
“I’ve got something I want to show you.” Malory set down her glass, picked up her briefcase. “Just something I was playing with. I don’t want you to feel obligated. You won’t hurt my feelings if you don’t like the concept. It’s just . . . just an idea.”
“Stop killing us with suspense.” Dana picked up a cookie. “Give.”
“Okay. I was thinking about a logo, you know something that incorporates all three businesses. Of course, we might all want separate ones anyway, but we could use one logo for letterhead, business cards, the Web page.”
“Web page.” Pursing her lips, Dana nodded. “You’re way ahead of me.”
“Pays to plan. You remember Tod.”
“Sure. Really cute guy you worked with at The Gallery,” Dana supplied.
“Right. He’s a good friend, too, and he’s great at computer design. We could ask him to fiddle with looks and features for a Web page. Actually, I’m hoping to be able to offer him a job here. Down the road a little, but being optimistic, I’m going to need help. We all will.”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Dana admitted. “But yeah, I’ll need at least one part-time bookseller who can handle brewing tea, serving wine. I guess I might need two people, realistically.”
“I’ve got feelers out for a stylist, a nail consultant. Some others.” Zoe pressed a hand to her jumpy stomach. “Jeez. We’re going to have employees.”
“I like that part.” Dana lifted her champagne glass again. “It’s good to be boss.”
“We’re also going to need a tax consultant, office equipment, signage, an advertising budget, phone systems . . . I have lists,” Malory finished.
Dana laughed. “I bet you do. Now what else is in the briefcase?”
“Okay. For the logo. This is just something I did from an idea I had.”
She pulled out a folder, opened it, then set the drawing on the table.
The figure of a woman sat in a salon chair, tipped back in a pose of easy relaxation. A book was open in her hands, a glass of wine and a single rose in a bud vase on the table beside her. All this was inside an ornate border that framed it like a stylized portrait.
Above the border was the single word: INDULGENCE.
Below the name, it read FOR THE BODY, THE MIND, AND THE SPIRIT.
“Wow.” Managing only the single word, Zoe put a hand on Malory’s shoulder.
“It’s just a thought,” Malory said quickly. “Something to unify what we’re all doing. Since we’re using the one name for everything. Then we could have this sort of thing on our individual cards, letterheads, invoices, whatever, with something like—I don’t know—‘Indulgence. For Beauty. Indulgence. For Books. Indulgence. For Art.’ And that would differentiate each aspect while keeping it under one umbrella.”
“It’s wonderful,” Zoe exclaimed. “It’s just wonderful. Dana?”
“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect, Mal.”
“Really? You like it? I don’t want to box you in just because—”
“Let’s make a pact,” Dana interrupted. “Any time any of us feels boxed in, she just says so. We’re girls, but we’re not weenies. Okay?”
“That’s a deal. I can give this to Tod,” Malory went on. “He could make up a sample letterhead. He’d do it as a favor. He’s better at the desktop-publishing stuff than I am.”
“I can’t wait!” Zoe let out a hoot and did a little dance around the room. “First thing in the morning, we’re going to start some serious work around here.”
“Hold on.” Dana spread her arms to indicate the walls. “What do you call all this painting we’ve been doing?”
“The tip of the iceberg.” Still dancing, Zoe grabbed her champagne.
DANA had never considered herself a slacker. She was willing to work hard, insisted on pulling her weight, and she got the job done. Anything less was unacceptable.
She’d always viewed herself as a woman with high personal standards—both personally and professionally, and she tended to sneer at those who skimmed over work, who complained that the job they’d agreed to take on turned out to be too hard, too involved, too much trouble.
But compared to Zoe, Dana decided as she dashed into the market to pick up a few supplies, she was a malingerer. She was a wimpy-assed crybaby. The woman had worn her out in the first twenty-four hours.
Paint, wallpaper, trim samples, light fixtures, hardware, windows, floor coverings—and the budget for all that and more. And it wasn’t just the thinking and deciding, Dana realized as she pondered a bunch of bananas, that was enough to make your head explode. It was the labor as well.
Scraping, hauling, stacking, unstacking, drilling, screwing, hammering.
Well, there was no doubt about it, she mused as she picked through the oranges. When it came to the organization, delegation, and implementation of labor, Zoe McCourt was in charge.
Between the work, the decisions, the worrying search for the key, and her struggle to keep her head above her heart regarding Jordan, she was completely worn out.
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br /> But could she just go home, fall on the bed, and sleep for ten hours? Oh, no, she thought with a hiss as she moved on to the dairy aisle. No, indeed. She had to attend a big meeting at Brad’s place on the river.
She really needed about two solid hours of absolute solitude and quiet, but she’d had to trade a portion of that for groceries if she didn’t want to starve to death in the coming week.
On top of that, she no longer had any confidence that she would find the answer to the key in the stacks of books she’d accumulated. She’d read and read, followed every lead, but she didn’t seem to be any closer to a concrete theory, much less a solution.
And if she failed, what then? Not only would she let down her friends, her brother, her lover. Not only would she disappoint Rowena and Pitte, but her inadequacy would doom the Daughters of Glass until the next triad was chosen.
How could she live with that? Depressed now, she tossed a quart of milk in her basket. She’d seen the Box of Souls with her own eyes, ached to watch those blue lights battering frantically at their prison walls.
If she couldn’t find the key, slide it into the lock as Malory had done with the first, everything they’d done would be for nothing.
And Kane would win.
“Over my dead body,” she declared, then jolted when someone touched her arm.
“Sorry.” The woman laughed. “Sorry. It looked like you were arguing with yourself. I usually don’t get to that point until I hit the frozen dessert section.”
“Well, you know. Whole milk, low fat, two percent? It’s a jungle in here.”
Then the woman angled her cart so another shopper could get through.
Pretty, brunette, late thirties, Dana observed, trying to place her. “Sorry. I know you, don’t I? I just can’t place it.”
“You helped me and my son a couple of weeks ago in the library.” She reached for a gallon of milk. “He had a report due the next day for American history class.”
“Oh, right, right.” Dana made the effort to tuck her dark thoughts away and answer the smile. “U.S. history report, Mrs. Janesburg, seventh grade.”
“That’s the one. I’m Joanne Reardon.” She offered her hand. “And the life you saved was my son, Matt’s. I stopped back in the library last week to thank you again, but I was told you weren’t there anymore.”