Angels Fall

by Nora Roberts

  If he'd wanted a break in the middle of the day—which he damn well didn't—he'd have preferred to take that time at Joanie's. Have some lunch, see Reece.

  At least he assumed he'd see Reece. She hadn't called to say she was still out of a job, and her car was parked in its usual place. Still, he'd like to see for himself.

  Not that he was looking after her, he assured himself. Just checking, that's all.

  If the doc hadn't been so damn cryptic on the phone, Brody figured his curiosity wouldn't have been piqued. And he'd be at his keyboard.

  His female lead was pushing him through the story. Almost dragging him through it, snapping at him to keep up, for God's sake. And to think he'd originally conceived her as a victim. A couple scenes onstage, a terrible death, then gone.

  Well, she hadn't taken that lying down.

  He wanted to get back to her. But since he was across the lake anyway, he'd get back to Maddy after he stopped off to grab a bite and see Reece. He probably should suggest to Reece that she stay at his place again tonight.

  He should probably let that alone, he corrected. Let her go back to her own apartment before things got messy and she was, unofficially, living with him.

  He'd been careful to avoid that stepping-stone to lifetime commitment with other women. No need to stumble over it now.

  He wandered to the window, wandered away again. Wandered to a bookshelf, scanned titles. As always, he was a little jolted to see one of his own books, his own name emblazoned on the spine.

  After skimming a finger down that spine, he wandered some more.

  The photographs scattered around the room caught his attention. Idly he picked one up, one of Doc and the woman who'd been his wife for aeons, it seemed to Brody. Outdoorsy shot, camping gear, Doc holding up a string offish while the wife grinned.

  They looked nice together, Brody decided. Happy. Though if his gauge of the ages was on, they'd been married a couple decades when the picture was snapped.

  He picked up another, family shot. The whole brood. Then a youngs Mr. and Mrs. Doc holding a toddler. Various graduation pictures, wedding pictures, grandparent pictures.

  The life and times. Brody thought, of a man and his family.

  What was that like?

  He didn't have anything against marriage, Brody mused as he kept pacing. It worked for some people. Obviously it had worked for Doc Wallace. It had worked, and was still working, for Brody's own parents

  It was just so… absolute, he decided. This is it, for the rest of your natural life. just this one person unless you want to go through the hellish combat of divorce.

  What if you changed your mind, or things just went wrong? Which they did, half the time.

  Even if you didn't, and they didn't, there was all that adjusting and making room and compromising. A man couldn't just do what he wanted when he wanted.

  What it he wanted to move back to Chicago, for instance? Or hell, Madagascar? Not that he did, but what if? There was no pulling up stakes on a whim when you were married.

  You weren't just a man anymore, you were a couple. Then maybe you were a father, and now—wham—you're a family. And there was no turning back. No editing it out and going in a different direction in the storyline.

  He probably wasn't in love with her anyway, any more than she was with him. It was just… involvement. Involvement was different, and the levels and intensity of it came and went.

  He turned when Doc came in.

  "'Sorry, ran over on the last couple of patients. Appreciate you coming, Brody."

  "Why did you want to see me?"

  "Come on back to the kitchen. I'll rustle us up a little lunch while we talk. Won't be what you're used to lately," he added as they started back. "But it'll fill the hole."

  "I'm not fussy."

  "I heard about what went on with Reece yesterday."

  "Have you talked to her?"

  "Not today." Doc got out some turkey, one of the hothouse tomatoes Reece disparaged, a halt head of iceberg and ajar of sweet pickles. "I did talk with Mac. He's worried about her." He took a partial loaf of whole wheat out of his bread bin. "I wondered if you were."

  "Why?"

  "Trying to get the full picture. I can't tell you anything she told me as a patient. You may feel you can't tell me anything she discussed with you as a… friend. But it you feel otherwise, I wanted to ask if she's told you anything you find troubling."

  "She told you she came back to her apartment one night and found all her clothes packed up?" Brody nodded when Doc glanced over from slicing the tomato. "That she didn't remember packing. I don't think she did the packing."

  "Who else could have?"

  "The same person who wrote all over her bathroom with a red marker and dumped out all her pills, moved her stuff around. And other similar tricks."

  Doc set down the knife. "Brody, if Reece is having memory lapses and episodes, she needs to be treated."

  "I don't think she is. I think someone's screwing around with her."

  "And you perpetuating her delusions only deepens them."

  "They're not delusions if they're real. Why does she only have these memory lapses and episodes when she's alone?"

  "I'm not qualified to—"

  "Why did they start after she saw a woman murdered?"

  Doc blew air out of his nose, then went back to building the sandwiches. "We can't know, absolutely, there weren't other episodes before that. But if they began at that time, there could be a couple of reasons. One, what she saw triggered the symptoms."

  Doc put the sandwiches on plates, added two pickles and a small handful of potato chips each. Then poured two glasses of milk.

  "I've been spending a lot of time with her. I haven't seen any symptoms. Not like you mean."

  "But you have seen something."

  "I don't like the position you're putting me in."

  "I don't like the position she may be in," Doc countered.

  "Okay, here's what I've seen. I've seen a woman fighting her way back from the abyss. Who trembles in her sleep most nights, but who gets up every day and does whatever needs to be done next. I see a survivor who gets through on spine, on heart and humor, who's trying to rebuild a life someone else shattered."

  "Sit down and eat," Doc suggested. "Does she know you're in love with her?"

  Brody's stomach jerked but he sat. And, picking up the sandwich, bit in. "I didn't say I was in love with her."

  "Subtext, Brody. Being a writer you'd know about subtext."

  "I care about her and what happens to her." He could hear the defensiveness—and was that a little fear?—in his voice. "Let's leave it at that."

  "All right. If I'm reading you correctly, you're thinking, or at least considering, that these things happening to Reece are being done by someone who wants to hurt her." With a thoughtful frown Doc picked up his milk. "The only individual who could, as far as we know, be motivated to hurt her would be the man she claims to have seen strangle the woman she claims to have seen."

  "Did see."

  "I agree, but it's still unproven." With that same frown in his eyes, Doc drank. "But if she did, and if you're right… Have you gone to the sheriff with this?"

  "Rick's just going to conclude she's a nutcase. Whatever credibility she has about what she witnessed will go right down the tubes."

  "Without all the facts, he can't do his job."

  "For now, I can look out for her. He can concentrate on finding out who was dumped in Moose Ponds, and who was killed by the Snake. I told you this in confidence."

  "All right, all right." Doc held up a hand for peace. "Don't upset your digestion. I went by the sheriff's office, had Denny show me the pictures."

  "And?"

  "I can only go by the description Reece gave me, and the sketch she approved. I can't be sure one way or the other. Is it possible it's the woman she saw. It is."

  "What about the time lag? It's been weeks since Reece saw it happen."

  "That trou
bled me, as I imagine it troubled the authorities. There were ligature marks on her wrists and ankles. She may very well have been held all this time. But it doesn't explain to me, and this is very troubling, why there was no sign these people were there, where Reece saw them. Why did this man throttle a woman violently enough for Reece to believe she was dead, then take that woman away, erasing his trail so that Rick, a man who knows tracking, found nothing?"

  "Because he saw her."

  "Saw her?'

  "Maybe not enough to recognize her, but he saw someone up on the ridge. Or he saw the things she left up there when she ran back and found me. He knew someone saw what went on."

  "Is that possible?" Doc asked. "From that distance?"

  "Reece had field glasses. Who's to say he didn't? That after he killed the woman, he scoped out the area. just another way of covering tracks, isn't it?"

  "I can't argue. But it's a lot of supposition, Brody."

  "Suppose this. Whether or not this body they found is the same woman, the man Reece saw had to know someone witnessed what happened there. There's just no reason to erase the tracks otherwise. Take the body, sure. Can't leave it there where a floater or paddler, a hiker may spot it. Take it away, wait for dark, bury it or dispose of it by other means. But cover all tracks? Not unless he knew he'd been seen."

  "Yes, of course," Doc agreed. "And if he knew he'd been seen, he'd only have to wait a short time, keep his ear to the ground, to find out who."

  "And since, someone's been screwing with her, trying to make her think she's losing her grip. I'm not going to let them get away with it."

  "I'd like to talk with her some more. I made a point of telling Mac this morning that I wasn't a shrink. But I do have some training, some experience."

  "That'd be up to her."

  Doc nodded. "'A lot of this is. That's a lot of weight for someone with her background to carry. She trusts you?"

  "Yeah, she does."

  "Weight for you, too. Tell her we spoke," Doc decided after a moment. "Don't breach the trust. But I'd like you to keep me in the loop. How's the sandwich?"

  "It's pretty good. But you're no cordon bleu chef."

  HE WENT BACK to the river. There was no sign of what had happened there, and he was sure of that. He'd been careful. He was a careful man.

  It should never haw happened, of course. Would never have happened if he'd had a choice. Everything that he'd done since was because she'd left him no choice.

  He could still hear her voice if he let himself. Screaming at him, threatening him.

  Threatening him, as it she'd had the right.

  Her death had been her own doing. He understood that, and felt no guilt over it. Others wouldn't understand, so he did what needed to be done to protect himselt.

  None of that would have been necessary if it hadn't been for the caprice of time and place.

  How could he have known someone would be on the trail, would have looked in that direction at that time, with field glasses? Even a careful man couldn't anticipate every quirk of fate.

  Reece Gilmore.

  She should have been easy to handle, too. So easy to discredit, even to herself. But she wouldn't let it go, wouldn't crack and turn it loose.

  Still, there was a way to fix it all. There was always a way to put things right. There was too much at stake to allow some refugee from a padded room to ruin things for him. If he had to turn the pressure up, he'd turn it up.

  Look at this place, he thought, drinking in the river, the hills, the trees. All so perfect, so pristine and private. It was his place, all he wanted.

  Everything he had was bound to it, rooted in its soul, fed by its waters, guarded by its mountains.

  Whatever needed to be done to protect and preserve what he had. he'd do.

  It was Reece Gilmore who would have to go. One way or the other.

  * * *

  HOME

  I was well; I would be better; I am here.

  ——ANONYMOUS

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  SINCE SHE DIDN'T have to be at work until two, Reece considered just putzmg around Brody's cabin, doing some light housekeeping, maybe some laundry. She could easily keep out of his way while he wrote, and put together tomorrow's soup of the day for Joanie.

  She was already dressed and making the bed when he got out of the shower. "Anything special you want for breakfast? I don't have to be in until this afternoon, so your wish can be my command. Gastronomically."

  "No. I'm just going to have some cereal."

  "Oh. All right." She smoothed the spread and thought idly that a few throw pillows in primary colors would liven it up. "I'm going to put together some Italian wedding soup for Joanie. You can have some at lunch, see if it passes the test. I can make a casserole or something easy to heat up for your supper since I'm working the dinner shift. Oh, and I thought I might toss in some laundry while I'm at it. Is there anything you want washed?"

  Wedding soup? Was that some subliminal message? And now she was what, going to wash his shorts? Christ.

  "Let's just back up."

  She gave him a puzzled smile. "Okay."

  "I don't need you to start planning breakfast, lunch, dinner or a damn midnight snack every damn morning."

  The smile dropped into a blink of surprise. "Well…"

  "And you're not here to do laundry and make beds and casseroles."

  "No." she said slowly, "but since I am here, I'd like to be useful."

  "I don't want you fussing around the place." There it was again, that same defensive tone he'd heard in his voice at the doc's the day before. It irritated him. "I can handle my own chores. I've been handling them for years.

  "I'm sure you have, and exactly as you please. Obviously I've misunderstood something. I thought you wanted me to cook."

  "That's different."

  "Different than, say, tossing our laundry in together. That being somehow symbolic of a level of relationship you don't want. That's completely stupid."

  Maybe. "I don't need you to do the laundry or leave me a damn casserole or any of this stuff. You're not my mother."

  "Absolutely not." She stepped back to the bed, yanked the spread down, tugged out the sheets. "There, all better."

  "Now who's stupid?"

  "Oh, trust me, you still win the prize. Do you really think