The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 2 Read online

  “I decided to explore anatomy instead.” Comfortably drunk, Kirby spread more of Brian’s excellent duck pâté on a Ritz cracker. “And I like it.”

  “We all know about your work, Jo, but is there someone special in your life?” Kirby asked, trying to steer the conversation in Jo’s direction.

  “No. You?”

  “I’ve been working on your brother, but he isn’t cooperating.”

  “Brian.” Jo choked on her wine, sucked in air. “Brian?” she repeated.

  “He’s single, attractive, intelligent.” Kirby licked her thumb. “He makes great pâté. Why not Brian?”

  “I don’t know. He’s ...” Jo gestured widely. “Brian.”

  “He pretends to ignore her.” Lexy sat up and reached for the pâté herself. “But he doesn’t.”

  “He doesn’t?” Kirby looked over, eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

  “An actor has to observe people, their role playing.” Lexy waved a hand airily. “You make him nervous, which irritates him. Which means you irritate him because he notices you.”

  “Really?” Though her head was spinning, Kirby finished off her wine and poured another glass. “Has he said anything about me? Does he—Wait.” She held up a hand and rolled her eyes. “This is so high school. Forget I asked.”

  “The less Brian says about anything, the more it’s on his mind,” Lexy told her. “He hardly ever mentions your name.”

  “Really?” Kirby said again and began to perk up. “Is that so? Well, well. Maybe I’ll give him another chance after all.”

  She blinked as a light flashed in her eyes. “What’s that for?” she demanded as Jo lowered her camera.

  “You looked so damn smug. Shift over closer to Lex, Ginny. Let me get the three of you.”

  “Here she goes,” Lexy muttered, but she flipped her hair back and posed nevertheless.

  It was rare for her to take portraits, even candid ones. Jo indulged herself, letting them mug or preen for the camera, framing them in, adjusting the angle, letting the burst of light from her strobe flash illuminate them.

  They were beautiful, she realized, each in her own unique fashion. Ginny, with her bottle-blonde frizz and wide-open smile; Lexy, so self-aware and sulky; Kirby, carelessly confident and classy.

  They were hers, Jo thought. Each one of them, for different reasons, was part of her. She’d forgotten that for too long.

  Her vision blurred before she knew her eyes had flooded with tears. “I’ve missed you all. I’ve missed you so much.” She set the camera aside hastily, then rose from her crouch. “I’ve got to pee.”

  “I’ll go with her,” Kirby murmured as Jo rushed out of the clearing. She snagged a flashlight and hurried after. “Jo. Hey.” She had to double her pace to catch up, grab Jo’s arm. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

  “My bladder’s full. As a doctor, you should recognize the symptom.”

  When Jo started to turn, Kirby simply tightened her grip. “Honey, I’m asking as your friend, and as a doctor. Granny would have said you look peaked. I can tell from this brief session that you’re run-down and stressed out. Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know.” Jo pressed a hand to her eyes because they wanted to fill up again. “I can’t talk about it. I just need some space.”

  “Okay.” Trust always had to be gained by degrees, Kirby thought. “Will you come and see me? Let me give you a physical?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll think about it.” Jo steadied herself and managed a smile. “There is one thing I can tell you.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve got to pee.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” Chuckling, Kirby aimed the light on the path. “You go running out of camp without a light, you could end up gator bait.” Cautious, Kirby scanned the thick vegetation fringing the near pond.

  “I think I could walk this island blind. It stays with you. I missed it more than I realized, Kirby, but I still feel like a stranger here. It’s a shaky line to walk.”

  “You haven’t been home two weeks. Give yourself that time you said you need.”

  “I’m trying. Me first,” Jo said and ducked into the little outhouse.

  Kirby started to laugh, then found herself shuddering. The minute Jo closed the door she felt completely alone, completely exposed. The sounds of the slough seemed to rush toward her, over her. Rustles and calls and plops. Clouds drifted slyly over the moon and had her gripping her flashlight in both hands.

  Ridiculous, she told herself. It was just a leftover reaction to her experience in the woods that afternoon. She was hardly alone. There were campsites pocketed all through the area. She could even see the flicker of lights from lanterns and fires. And Jo was only a single wooden door away.

  There was nothing to be frightened of, she reminded herself. There was nothing and no one on the island that meant her any harm.

  And she nearly whimpered with relief when Jo stepped out again.

  “You’re up,” Jo told her, still buttoning her jeans. “Take the flash. I nearly fell in. It’s black as death in there, and nearly as atmospheric.”

  “We could have walked over to the main toilets.”

  “I wouldn’t have needed them by the time I got there.”

  “Good point. Wait for me, okay?”

  Jo hummed assent and leaned back against the door. Then almost immediately straightened when she heard footsteps padding softly to her right. She tensed, told herself that the reaction was a by-product of city living, and watched a light bob closer.

  “Hello, there.” The male voice was low and pleasant.

  She ordered herself to relax. “Hello. We’ll be out of your way in a minute.”

  “No problem. I was just taking a little moonlight walk before I turned in. I’m over at site ten.” He took a few steps closer but stayed in the shadows. “Beautiful night. Beautiful spot. I never expected to see a beautiful woman.”

  “You never know what you’ll see on the island.” Jo squinted as the light from his lantern reflected into her eyes. “That’s part of its charm.”

  “It certainly is. And I’m enjoying every bit of it. An adventure in every step, don’t you think? The anticipation of what’s to come. I’m a fan of ... anticipation.”

  No, she realized, his voice wasn’t pleasant. It was like syrup—too sweet, too thick, and it carried that exaggerated drawl that Yankees insultingly believed mimicked the South.

  “Then I’m sure you won’t be disappointed in what Desire has to offer.”

  “From where I’m standing, the offerings are perfect.”

  If she’d had the flashlight, she would have abandoned manners and shined it in his face. It was the voice coming out of the dark, she told herself, that made it seem so eerie and dangerous. When the door creaked beside her, she turned quickly and reached for Kirby’s hand before Kirby had stepped all the way out.

  “We’ve got company,” Jo said, annoyed that her voice was too high and too bright. “This is a popular spot tonight. Number ten was just passing through.”

  But when she looked back, raising Kirby’s hand that held the flash, there was no one there. With a panicked sound in her throat, Jo grabbed the flashlight and waved it frantically over the dark grass and trees.

  “He was here. There was someone here. I didn’t imagine it. I didn’t.”

  “All right.” Gently, Kirby laid a hand on Jo’s shoulder, concerned by the trembling. “It’s all right. Who was he?”

  “I don’t know. He was just there. He talked to me. Didn’t you hear?”

  “No, I didn’t hear anything.”

  “He was almost whispering. That’s why. He didn’t want you to hear him. But he was there.” Her fingers gripped Kirby’s like a vise, the panic beating like bat wings in her stomach. “I swear he was right over there.”

  “I believe you, honey, why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because he’s gone, and ...” She trailed off, rocked he
rself for a moment to regain her balance. “I don’t know. Christ, I’m a mess. It was dark, he startled me. I couldn’t see his face.” She blew out a breath, dragged her hair back with both hands. “He creeped me out, I guess.”

  “It’s no big deal. I got spooked in the woods today walking to Sanctuary. Ran like a rabbit.”

  Jo let out a little laugh, scrubbed her clammy palms dry on the thighs of her jeans. “Really?”

  “Jumped gibbering into Brian’s arms. Made him feel big and male enough to kiss me, though, so it wasn’t a complete loss.”

  Jo sniffled, grateful that she could feel her legs solidly under her again. “So, how was it?”

  “Terrific. I believe I’ll definitely give him another chance.” She gave Jo’s hand a squeeze. “Okay now?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “No problem. Spooky place.” Her grin flashed. “Let’s sneak back and scare the hell out of Lex and Ginny.”

  AS they started off, hands linked, he watched them from the shadows. He smiled to himself, enjoying the music of quiet female voices drifting away. It was best, he realized, that she had come with the other one. He might have felt compelled to move to the next stage if Jo Ellen had wandered so neatly into him alone.

  And he wasn’t ready, not nearly ready, to move from anticipation to reality. There was still so much to prepare, so much to enjoy.

  But, oh, how he wanted her. To taste that sexy, top-heavy mouth, to spread those long thighs, to close his hands around that pretty white throat.

  He closed his eyes and let the image of it roll through his brain. The frozen image of Annabelle, so still and so perfect, shifted into hot life and became his. Became Jo.

  A portion of the journal he carried with him played through his head.

  Murder fascinates us all. Some would deny it, but they are liars. Man is helplessly drawn to the mirror of his own mortality. Animals kill to survive—for food, for territory, for sex. Nature kills without emotion.

  But man also kills for pleasure. It has always been so. We alone among the animals know that the taking of a life is the essence of control and power.

  Soon I’ll experience the perfection of that. And capture it. My own immortality.

  He shuddered in pleasure.

  Anticipation, he mused as he turned on his light again to guide his way. Yes, he was a huge fan of anticipation.

  NINE

  THE cheerful whistling woke Nathan. As he drifted in that nether-world just under full consciousness, he dreamed of a bird chirping happily on the near branch of the maple tree outside his window. There had been one in his youth, a mockingbird that sang its morning song every day for a full summer, greeting him so reliably that he had named it Bud.

  Hazy, hot days filled with the important business of bike riding and ball playing and Popsicle licking.

  The insistent wake-up call caused Nathan to greet every morning with a grin and a quick salute to Bud. He’d been devastated when Bud deserted him in late August, but Nathan’s mother said that Bud had probably gone off early for his winter vacation.

  Nathan rolled over and thought how odd it was that Bud should know how to whistle “Ring of Fire.” In the half dream the bird hopped onto the windowsill, a cartoon bird now, a Disney character with sleek black feathers and Johnny Cash’s weathered, been-there-done-that face.

  When the bird began executing some sharp choreography that included high kicks and fancy spins, Nathan jerked himself awake. He stared at the window, half expecting to see a richly animated cartoon extravaganza.

  “Jesus.” He ran his hands over his face. “No more canned chili at midnight, Delaney.”

  He rolled over facedown on the pillow. Then he realized that while the bird wasn’t there, the whistling was.

  Grunting, he crawled out of bed and stepped into the cutoffs he’d stepped out of the night before. Brain bleary, he blinked at the clock, winced, then stumbled out of the room to find out who the hell was so cheerful at six-fifteen.

  He followed the whistling—it was “San Antonio Rose” now—out the screened porch, down the steps. A shiny red pickup was parked behind his Jeep in the short drive. Its owner was under the house, standing on a stepladder and doing something to the ductwork while whistling his heart out. The ropy muscles rippling outside and under the thin blue T-shirt had Nathan readjusting his thoughts of quick murder.

  Maybe he could take Whistling Boy, he considered. They looked to be close to the same height. He couldn’t see the face, but the gimme cap, the snug jeans, and scruffy work boots said youth to Nathan.

  He’d think about killing him after coffee, he decided.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Whistling Boy turned his head, shot a quick, cheerful grin from under the bill of his cap. “Morning. You got some leaks here. Gotta get it up and running right before AC weather hits.”

  “You’re air-conditioning repair?”

  “Hell, I’m everything repair.” He stepped off the ladder, swiping a hand clean on the seat of his jeans before holding it out to Nathan. “I’m Giff Verdon. I fix anything.”

  Nathan studied the friendly brown eyes, the crooked incisor, dimples, the shaggy mess of sun-streaked hair spilling out of the cap, and gave up. “You fix coffee? Decent coffee?”

  “You got the makings, I can fix it.”

  “They got some sort of cone thing with a ...” Nathan illustrated vaguely with his hands. “Pot.”

  “Drip coffee. That’s the best. You look like you could use some, Mr. Delaney.”

  “Nathan. I’ll give you a hundred dollars for a real pot of coffee.”

  Giff gave a chuckling laugh, slapped Nathan smartly on the back. “You need it that bad, it’s free. Let’s go fix you up.”

  “You always start work at dawn?” Nathan asked as he shuffled up the steps behind Giff.

  “Get an early start, you enjoy more of the day.” He headed directly to the stove, filled the kettle at the sink. “Got any filters?”

  “No.”

  “Well, we’ll jury-rig her, then.” Giff tore off some paper towels, folded them cleverly, and slipped them into the plastic cone. “You’re an architect, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Nathan ran his tongue over his teeth, thought fleetingly about brushing them. After coffee. Worlds could be conquered, oceans could be crossed, women could be seduced. After coffee. Life would be worth living again. After coffee.

  “I used to think I’d be one.”

  “Used to think you’d be one what?” Nathan prompted as Giff dug into the cabinet over the stove for coffee.

  “An architect. I could always see these places in my head, houses mostly, windows, rooflines, shades of brick and siding. Right down to the fancy work.” Giff scooped coffee out of the can and into the cone with the careless precision of habit. “I could even walk myself inside, go through the layout. Sometimes I’d shift things around. That stairway doesn’t belong over there, it’s better over here.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Well, I could never afford the schooling or the time to go off and study, so I build instead.”

  In anticipation, Nate got out two mugs. “You’re a builder?”

  “Well, now, I don’t know if I’d say that. Nothing that fancy, really. I do add-ons, fix things up.” He patted the tool belt cocked with gunslinger swagger on his hip. “Swing a hammer. Always something needs to be done around here, so I keep busy. Maybe one of these days I’ll take one of the houses in my head and build it from the ground up.”

  Nathan leaned back against the counter and tried not to drool as Giff poured boiling water into the cone. “Have you done any work at Sanctuary?”

  “Sure. This and that. I worked on the crew that remodeled the kitchen for Brian over there. Miz Pendleton’s got in her mind to add on a little bathhouse. A solarium, like. Something where she can put a Jacuzzi tub and maybe an exercise room. People look for that kind of thing now when they’re on vacation. I’m putting toge
ther a design for her.”

  “The south side,” Nathan said to himself. “The light would be right, and it could be worked right into the gardens.”

  “Yep, just what I was figuring.” Giff’s smile widened. “I guess I’m on the right track there if you thought the same.”

  “I’d like to see your drawings for it.”

  “Yeah?” Surprise and pleasure zipped through him. “Great. I’ll bring them by sometime when I got them a little more complete. Better payment than a hundred bucks for the coffee. Drip takes time,” he added, noting the way Nathan was eyeing the slowly filling pot. “The best things do.”

  When Nathan was in the shower, sipping his second cup while hot water pounded the back of his neck, he had to agree that Giff was right. Some things were worth the wait. His mind was clear again, his system all but singing with caffeine. By the time he was dressed and had downed cup number three, he was primed for the hike to Sanctuary and set for an enormous breakfast.

  Both the pickup and Giff were gone when Nathan walked down the steps again. Off to fix up something else, Nathan decided. He knew Giff had been amused when he’d asked him to write down the instructions for brewing drip coffee, step by step. But Nathan dealt better with a clear outline.

  He caught himself whistling “I Walk the Line.” Back to Johnny Cash, he thought, with a shake of his head. And he didn’t even like country music.

  When he stepped into the forest, dim and green, he deliberately slowed his steps and followed the gentle bend of the river under the arching sway of limbs and moss. Because it always struck him as entering a church, he stopped whistling.

  A flutter of color caught his eye, and he stopped to watch a sunny yellow butterfly flit along the path. To the left, the lances of palmettos, tangled vines, and twisted trunks formed a wall that reached up and up, giving him glimpses of scarlet from the flowering vine, snatches of vivid blue sky through the forks of branches.

  Though it was a detour, he kept to the river path a bit longer, knowing that the water would widen and lead him deeper into the cool stillness.