Haunting Rachel

by Kay Hooper

  Adam nodded slowly. “I agreed to that from the start.”

  “So—I have to find a way around having control of Rachel’s shares.”

  “What are you doing right now?”

  “Bluffing.”

  “And if Walsh calls the bluff?”

  “Damned if I know,” Nicholas said. “I’ll figure out something.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then Adam drew a sheaf of papers from inside his jacket. “Take a look at this.”

  Nicholas bent forward over the table, squinting in the dim light to study the copies Adam had made earlier at Rachel’s. “JW,” he said softly. “Unless you believe in coincidence—Jordan Walsh.”

  “That was my take. If so, he was on the hook to Duncan for five million.”

  Nicholas looked over the remaining copies, including the ones from the notebooks. He shook his head. “I knew Duncan was handing out money, but I had no idea it was this extensive.”

  “Neither did I. He left Rachel with a hell of a financial headache.”

  “Maybe not. When all his papers have been gone through, you may discover that he planned carefully to make sure she wasn’t harmed by this. I never met a smarter man about finances.”

  “We’ll see. There’s still plenty to go through at the house.”

  “And Rachel is welcoming your help?”

  “I think so. I was invited back for tomorrow.”

  Nicholas sat back and looked at him for a moment, then tapped the papers on the scarred table between them. “You do realize that Walsh is just a possibility? That any one of these three people could have enough to hide to want to make these loans disappear?”

  “I know that. But you have to admit, finding initials matching Walsh’s name tells us we’re on the right track.”

  “I hate to admit anything. And there is one huge question about this, if the five-million loan was made to Walsh.”

  “Why.”

  Nicholas nodded. “Why. Duncan wouldn’t have done business with the man. Especially not a handshake deal.”

  “So?”

  “So there’s more to this than we know about. Maybe a lot more.”

  “And in the meantime, someone wants Rachel out of the way.”

  “So it seems.”

  Adam scowled at him. “I’m not happy about that, Nick.”

  “Do you think I am?”

  “For all I know—”

  “Don’t even finish that sentence.”

  After a moment, Adam nodded. “Okay, okay. I’m a little tense about the subject.”

  “No shit.”

  “Look, keeping Rachel occupied in going through Duncan’s private papers is also keeping her close to home, and right now that house looks like the only haven she’s got. So she’s safe—and out of the way. But she’s leased the property on Queen Street, and she’s going to want to get to work on her boutique. She’ll be out in the open, Nick. And that means trouble.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “We’re running out of time.”

  “Then we’ll have to pick up the pace, won’t we?”

  Adam said, “There’s something else.”

  “Oh, great. What?”

  “Max Galloway’s in Richmond.”

  Nicholas said softly, “Son of a bitch.”

  “Yeah.”

  “A wild card.” Nicholas shook his head in disgust. “Are you ever involved in anything where a wild card doesn’t turn up?”

  “Not so you’d notice.”

  “This is getting old, Adam.”

  “Tell me about it. And don’t shoot the messenger. I didn’t invite the bastard to visit, you know.” “Any idea why he’s here?”

  “We haven’t talked. But I’d be willing to lay you good odds that he’s here to even the score.”

  “I don’t suppose you could ask him to wait his turn. Maybe put off revenge until next year?”

  Adam laughed shortly. “Not likely. As long as I watch my back, though, he shouldn’t be able to get close. Sneaking up from behind is his favorite tactic.”

  Nicholas sighed. “Okay. So that’s another complication in an already dizzying situation.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, you be sun and watch your back.”

  Adam nodded. “Yeah.” He paused, then added absently, “By the way, I was supposed to ask you if you told anybody about Rachel’s plans for the boutique. You didn’t, did you?”

  “Not a soul. So unless Becket did—or somebody at the house, I suppose—you’ve got a very short list of people who could have mentioned it to that real estate agent. Always assuming, of course, that it was mentioned, and she didn’t say so just to cover her ass.”

  “I hadn’t even thought about that.”

  “That’s your trouble, Adam. You assume people tell you the truth.”

  “And you assume they lie.”

  Nicholas smiled. “That assumption, my friend, has saved my skin many times. And yours, once or twice.”

  “It’s a hell of a way to live, Nick.”

  “Don’t waste any time feeling sorry for me. My life is just the way I want it.”

  “I’m glad. Mine could use some work.”

  “Then after we get this situation taken care of, work on it.”

  “More cheap advice.”

  “Which is the easiest kind to take.” Nicholas pushed his half-finished beer away and slid out of the booth.

  “One more thing,” Adam said casually.

  “Yeah?”

  Adam cleared his throat and sent Nick a somewhat guarded look. “In the course of my confession earlier today, I sort of mentioned that you’d done some work for the government.”

  “Oh, you did, did you?”

  “Sorry. I guess I got caught up in the narrative.”

  “Don’t get caught up again,” Nicholas warned grimly.

  “I won’t. And I doubt Rachel would say anything about it, except to you or me.”

  “Sometimes,” Nicholas said, “I wish you’d never stepped in front of that bullet in Rome.”

  “I imagine so.”

  “Just be careful, will you?”

  “I will. You too.”

  “Always.” Nicholas turned and walked back through the bar, along the wide path drunken men made for him.

  The warm day had become a chilly night. Nicholas stood outside The Tavern and let out a long breath, watching it turn to mist. A crash from behind him in the bar made him look over his shoulder briefly, but he didn’t go back inside to find out what had happened.

  Despite his propensity for stopping bullets meant for other people, Adam was more than capable of taking care of himself.

  But the deck was stacked against them this time. They were running out of time. And, as usual, there was a wild card in the game.

  Max Galloway.

  Nicholas swore, watching his baleful words turn to mist. Then he walked slowly to his car. He got in and started the engine, but for a long while just sat gazing off in the direction of Mercy’s apartment, his hand idle on the gearshift.

  “I’m a fool.”

  He pulled away from the curb, and at the corner hesitated again.

  Then he turned the car toward Mercy’s apartment. “I’m a goddamned idiot.”

  • • •

  It was still a little before midnight, but Mercy was nevertheless surprised to look through the peephole and find Nicholas at her door—considering the way they’d said good-bye at the office. But she opened the door and stood looking at him, wondering if she would ever be able to read his face. Not tonight, that was for sure.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi. May I come in?”

  “Sure you want to? I mean, I might accuse you of trying to blow up my best friend.”

  “Not without evidence, I hope.”

  She stepped back and gestured for him to come in, but kept her face expressionless. She hoped. Since she hadn’t been expecting him, or company of any kind, sh
e was already dressed for bed in a long, football-jersey-style sleepshirt, which she felt put her at a distinct disadvantage.

  But at least she wasn’t wearing her damned fuzzy pig slippers.

  “I was having a glass of wine,” she told him. “Want one?”

  “Please.”

  She left him in the living room, returning a couple of minutes later with the glasses to find he’d loosened his tie but hadn’t removed his jacket, and had not sat down. Definitely not the usual drill. Nicholas never seemed to take their relationship for granted, but they had reached a level of ease with each other, and he usually made himself at home in her apartment.

  Then again, they’d never gotten as angry with each other as they had that day.

  She handed him his glass and then curled up in the big armchair at a right angle to the fireplace, leaving the sofa for him. “Have a seat.”

  He did, and sipped his wine. He didn’t take his eyes off her. “I suppose I should apologize,” he said. “But I’ll be damned if I know why.”

  “If you don’t know, it wouldn’t be worth much.”

  “I got mad. I had reason. I wasn’t the only one at fault, Mercy. You had no business following me.”

  “Granted. I apologized for that.”

  “And then asked me if I was trying to kill Rachel.”

  “That’s not what I asked. And I won’t apologize for it,” Mercy said steadily. “You ask for my trust and offer nothing. I’ve known you for five years, Nick, and I don’t have a clue what you’re about outside the walls of the bank. Are you trustworthy in business? Absolutely. Honest? I’d have to say yes. Good with finances? No question. Enigmatic and secretive as hell? You bet. Do I know your favorite color? No. The music you like? No. Whether you would do something not in Rachel’s best interests for a good enough reason? No. I don’t know that, Nick. So I asked.”

  “You never asked before,” he said. “Not about my favorite color, or the music I like. Or what I’m about outside the walls of the bank. It didn’t seem important to you, Mercy. You didn’t ask, I didn’t answer.”

  “You didn’t want me to ask.”

  He was silent for a moment, his gaze now fixed on the wineglass that he rolled back and forth slowly between his palms. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? Be honest, Nick. You weren’t about to let me get that close.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “I think it’s obvious.”

  He set his wineglass down on the table and got to his feet. Then he crossed the space between them and went down on one knee beside her chair, his arms reaching for her. “I want you as close as I can get you,” he said, his voice low, almost harsh.

  Mercy wasn’t at all sure she would have protested, but in any case she wasn’t given time to say a word. He was kissing her, his arms so tight around her that it was almost painful. She supposed he must have taken her glass away from her, or maybe she’d dropped it, but either way her hands were free, and her fingers were tangled in his hair.

  Against her mouth he murmured huskily, “My favorite color is green.”

  Mercy tried to catch her breath when his lips left hers, and she tipped her head back when he began to explore her throat. “It is?”

  “I love classical music, especially piano concertos.”

  “Do … you?”

  “And I can’t think of a good enough reason to do anything that would hurt Rachel.”

  She tightened her fingers in his hair and tugged until he drew back and looked at her.

  “Good,” she whispered.

  Nicholas picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.

  “You are a wonderful lover,” Mercy observed a long time later.

  “I know.”

  She grinned at him. “Modest, aren’t you?”

  Raised on an elbow beside her with his free hand lying on her stomach, Nicholas smiled slightly. “I figured out by the time I was sixteen that if I wanted women, I’d have to be good enough in bed for them to look past this ugly mug of mine.”

  That startled her. She was wary of asking, but raised her brows in a questioning expression.

  Surprising her again by answering readily, Nicholas said, “When you’re a teenage boy enslaved by your hormones, you’ll do just about anything to get laid. Girls my age wouldn’t look twice, not even on a bet. But I was lucky. There was an older woman in my neighborhood who was interested in things other than looks. She wanted a young lover, I needed a teacher. It lasted about a year. She taught me how to please a woman, and gave me confidence in myself. I’ll always be grateful to her.”

  Mercy reached up a hand and slid her fingers into his dark hair. It was his one beauty, thick and shining, a little longer than was fashionable, incredibly sensuous and silky to the touch. “I imagine there have been quite a few women since your teacher.”

  “A few. I’m forty, Mercy. And I’ve been on my own since I was seventeen. There’s a lot of road behind me.”

  “No relationships? Just women along the way?”

  “More or less. I’ve never lived with a woman. Never fathered a child as far as I know. Until I came to Richmond, I’d never spent more than a year in any one place.”

  “You never wanted a family?”

  “I never thought I’d have one.” He shrugged, and his voice was not quite careless when he said, “I’m a realist, love. Being good in bed is one thing, but the prospect of spending thirty or forty years staring at this mug across a breakfast table is enough to daunt any woman. And that’s okay. I don’t mind being alone. Sometimes I even prefer it.”

  “Do you?”

  He smiled. “One thing my life has taught me is to live day to day. And night to night. Tonight I have you. A beautiful, warm, giving woman beside me in bed. Some men have passed through their entire lives never knowing that.”

  Mercy wondered why her throat was hurting, why it was difficult to hold her voice steady. “We’ve never talked like this before. You’ve never talked like this before.”

  “You never asked, love.” He caught her hand against the side of his face and pressed his lips to her palm.

  Somewhat fiercely, she said, “You’re damned sexy, in case you didn’t know that.”

  He chuckled, the bedroom nimble of the laugh much softer than his usual harsh one. “I’m glad you think so.”

  “And I’ve looked at your face across many a breakfast table. It hasn’t bothered me so far.”

  “I’m glad of that too.” He leaned down and kissed her, his lips playing lightly with hers in a teasing seduction that instantly sent her senses whirling and her entire body throbbing.

  Mercy put her other hand up and pulled at his hard shoulders until she could feel his weight on her. He was wonderfully heavy.

  And he definitely knew how to please a woman, how to touch and taste and caress, how to bring her body alive. More than knowledge, though, was infinite patience and empathy. He had very quickly learned all Mercy’s most sensitive spots, learned to read her responses and build her desire until she burned in his arms.

  But for the first time, Mercy didn’t allow herself to be merely a passive lover, accepting his astonishing skill and the control it demanded of him. She didn’t want him to feel that he had to give some extraordinary performance, that he had to remain detached, critical of what he was doing, striving to be the perfect lover. She wanted a mutual passion.

  And she knew how to get it.

  He wasn’t the only one who had learned from a lover. Mercy had paid attention as well.

  Her fingers and lips found the most sensitive spots on his hard body, and she used all the skill and passion at her command to arouse him past his ability to control what he felt, to push him beyond his detachment. She used the fire in herself to make him burn.

  She had the dim awareness that what she was doing was dangerous, that Nicholas with his control in splinters just might be more than she or any woman could handle. But she didn’t care.

  For once, just this once, he was
going to be as ensnared by her as she was by him.

  “God, Mercy, what are you doing to me?” His voice was hoarse, almost gone, and his fingers bit into her shoulders.

  “Making love to you,” she murmured huskily. “You don’t want me to stop, do you?” Her lips moved slowly down his hard stomach.

  He groaned. “Christ, no.”

  Mercy had learned a lot. And by the time his control shattered and his heavy body covered hers, she was so wildly aroused herself, she could only hold him and cry out in a pleasure so intense she wasn’t sure she would survive it.

  And didn’t care.

  The lamp on her nightstand burned low, but Nicholas didn’t bother to turn it off. He didn’t want to let go of her long enough to move.

  They were on their sides facing away from the light, curled up back to front. Spooning, he thought it was called. Mercy’s silky back pressed against his chest, her warm bottom curved into his loins. His arms were wrapped around her.

  She was sleeping.

  Careful not to wake her, he rubbed his cheek against her hair and breathed in the sweet scent. He loved the way she smelled. Her hair, her skin. He wanted to absorb the smell of her, make it his own.

  Make a memory.

  Something had changed tonight. He had been so careful, and still it had happened. She had made it happen, had made him lose control. So now she knew.

  She had to know.

  It was only a matter of time now. Maybe not tomorrow or next week, but it was inevitable. He had known that from their first night together.

  He rubbed his cheek gently against her hair and listened to the soft sounds of her breathing.

  Making another memory.

  It was very quiet.

  All she heard was that soft rustling sound, the sound that made her skin crawl and terrified without definition.

  Rachel walked on.

  She didn’t know where she was going.

  She was in a building, one with many hallways and rooms, and doors that were locked. She tried some of the doors, but most remained stubbornly closed. Then one opened for her, and she blinked in surprise.

  Just a brick wall with a mask hanging on it

  Rachel closed the door and walked on. She passed by a room that held odd lights and shadows, and when she paused to look in, she found more masks. Hanging on the walls. Dangling from the ceiling.