Eight Classic Nora Roberts Romantic Suspense Novels Read online

  His hands clenched at his sides. There was a black, bubbling rage in him, geysering up from the pit of his stomach until he tasted the vileness of it in his throat. He recognized the signs, and at another time they might have frightened him.

  He wanted to hurt something, smash it, pull it apart and grind it to dust.

  His eyes were wild when he opened them. In a headlong rush he was racing into the house, up the steps. In his room he grabbed for his keys and gave himself the satisfaction of smashing a lamp. He snatched a shirt from the arm of a chair and shoved his arms through as he stalked out again.

  “Tuck?” Heavy-eyed and wrapped in a red silk robe, Josie started down the hallway. “Tuck, I have something to tell you.” The one violent glance he sent her before he flung himself down the stairs cleared the sleep from her brain. She streaked after him, calling, “Tuck! Wait!” She caught up with him as he was yanking open the door of his car. “Tucker, what’s wrong?”

  He shook her off, fighting to hold the animal inside him on a choke chain. “Stay away from me.”

  “Honey, I just want to help. We’re family.” She made a grab for the keys, then gasped when his hand clamped tightly around her wrist.

  “Get the hell away.”

  A film of tears coated her eyes. “If you’ll just let me talk to you. Tucker, Tucker, I went out with the doctor last night. The FBI doctor.” She raised her voice to a shout as the Porsche gunned to life. “Edda Lou wasn’t pregnant. There wasn’t a baby, Tuck. It was a trap, just like I told you.”

  His head whipped around, his gaze speared into hers. “I know.” He sent gravel flying as he tore up the drive.

  Josie hissed and grabbed her calf where one of the stones struck. Furious, she snatched up a handful and flung them after the car.

  “Jesus H. Christ. What’s all this racket?”

  Josie turned to see Dwayne on the porch. His hands were over his eyes. He squinted out from under them, swaying, wearing nothing but his Jockey shorts.

  “It’s nothing,” Josie said on a sigh as she started back up the steps. There didn’t seem to be anything she could do for Tucker, but she could tend to Dwayne. “Let’s go get us some coffee, honey.”

  The wheel vibrated under Tucker’s hand when he whipped it to make the turn toward town. He was too furious to give a damn when the rear end fishtailed and the tires sang.

  She wasn’t going to get away with it. That single thought ran circles in his head. She was damn well not going to get away with it. Teeth clenched, he punched the accelerator and jumped up to eighty.

  Even with the curves and twists the road took, he could see for miles. The heat waves shimmied up from the patched road and turned distance into a watery mirage. He didn’t know where he was going or what he was going to do, but it would be done now. Right now.

  He closed a hand over the gearshift, preparing to downshift for the curve just before the McNair place. But when he tugged the wheel, the car stayed arrow straight. He had time to swear, to wrestle the wheel, and to tramp on what turned out to be nearly useless brakes.

  With one of her grandmother’s wide-brimmed hats shading her face, Caroline attacked the overgrowth beside her lane. Despite the heat and her aching arms, she was having the time of her life. The clippers were sharp as a razor, and their wooden handles were worn smooth by time and use. The short gardening gloves she wore protected her hands from blisters. She imagined her grandmother wearing them to perform this same homey chore.

  She knew she could have waited and assigned the task to Toby. But she was enjoying it, the sun, the dusty heat, the verdant smell of green. She was enjoying the simple accomplishment of caring for her own. All around her was a chorus of birds, the hum of the afternoon, the heaviness of solitude. It was precisely what she wanted, and after taking a moment to rub her aching shoulder, she sheared off a vine as thick as her thumb.

  She heard the roar of a car engine. Before she shaded her eyes and looked down toward the slice of road she could see at the end of her lane, she knew it was Tucker. The car was coming so fast, and she recognized the powerful purr of his engine.

  One of these days, she thought as she put a hand on her hip, he was going to turn that car into a Tinker Toy and put himself in the hospital. And if he was heading her way, she would tell him so. Why the man was …

  Her thoughts spun off as she heard the high squeal of rubber on pavement. She heard the shout, and though it contained more fury than fear, she was already running before she heard the crash of glass and rending of metal.

  The clippers went flying out of her hands. Above the roaring of her heart all she could hear was the bouncy strains of the young Carl Perkins warning everybody off his blue suede shoes.

  “Oh my God!” She saw the ruts torn into the grassy shoulder an instant before she spotted the Porsche sitting drunkenly against the post that had held her mailbox. Shattered glass winked like diamonds over the surface of the road. She saw Tucker slumped over the wheel, and screaming his name, ran to the car.

  “Oh, God, my God. Tucker.”

  Terrified to move him, terrified to leave him, she touched gentle hands to his face. She squeaked out a fresh scream when he jerked his head back.

  “Fuck.”

  She inhaled in three shaky gasps. “You idiot! I thought you were dead. You should be dead the way you drive. A grown man, tearing down the road like some hyped-up, irresponsible teenager. I don’t see how you can—”

  “Shut up, Caro.” He put a hand to his pounding forehead and discovered he was bleeding. What else was new? When he fumbled for the door handle, she jerked it open herself.

  “If you weren’t hurt, I’d punch you.” But she leaned over to help him to his feet.

  “I’m in the mood to punch back.” His vision grayed, infuriating him, and he leaned on the undamaged rear fender. “Turn the radio off, will you? Get the keys.”

  She was still muttering to herself when she ripped them out of the ignition. “You killed my mailbox. I suppose we should be thankful it wasn’t another car.”

  “I’ll make sure you have a new one tomorrow.”

  “It’s so easy for you to replace things, isn’t it?” Fear sharpened her voice as she put an arm around his waist and took his weight.

  “Most things.” His fucking head was going to fall off, he thought. That might not be so easy to replace. She was still ripping into him as she guided him down the lane toward the house. The sharp stab of gravel reminded him he’d neglected to stop for shoes. He felt a trickle of blood skim down his temple. “Back off, Caroline.”

  There was something in his voice—not the anger, but the misery—that made her subside. “Lean on me a little more,” she murmured. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  “You look like something a good breeze would blow away.” The house wavered in his vision, and he was afraid he might faint. He squinted, which hurt his bruised eye enough to clear the dizziness. “You’ve got this fragile look about you. Never appealed to me before.”

  “I’m sure I’m supposed to be flattered.”

  “But you’re not fragile. You’re a tough one, Caro, and you’re pissed at me. Just hold off yelling for a little while.”

  “Why should I yell?” She could tell from the hollowness in his voice that he was close to passing out. Keep him angry, keep the adenaline up, she told herself. If he went down, she wouldn’t be able to get him up. “It certainly wouldn’t make a difference to me if you wrecked your car and ended up a smear on the road. I’d prefer you do it somewhere other than next to my lane, though.”

  “Do what I can. Honey, I gotta sit down.”

  “Almost to the porch.” She half dragged him another foot. “You can sit down there.”

  “Never liked bossy women.”

  “Then I’m safe.” When she got him to the porch and he was still upright, she pulled him along inside.

  “You said I could sit—”

  “I lied.”

  He gave a weak, somehow grim laugh.
“Women always do.”

  “Now you can.” She eased him down on the couch with the bullet hole through the cushion. After heaving his legs up, she propped a pillow under his head. “I’m going to call Doc Shays, then I’ll clean you up.”

  He made a grab for her hand, and missed, but the movement stopped her. “Don’t call him. It’s just a bump and I’ve got plenty more.”

  “You could be concussed.”

  “I could be a lot of things. All he’ll do is give me a shot of something. I really hate needles, you know?”

  Because she did know, and sympathized, she wavered. The bump didn’t seem so bad, and he was certainly lucid. “I’ll clean you up, then we’ll see.”

  “Fine. How about a bucket of ice with a beer in it?”

  “Ice yes, beer no. Just lie still.”

  “Woman never will get me a beer,” Tucker said under his breath. “I’m lying here bleeding to death and all she does is bitch and nag.”

  “I heard that,” Caroline called from the kitchen.

  “They always do.” On a sigh, Tucker let his eyes close. He didn’t open them again until Caroline pressed a cold cloth to the cut on his forehead. “How come you’re wearing that ugly hat?”

  “It’s not ugly.” She felt a trickle of relief as she studied the wound and found it shallow.

  “Honey, you may be wearing it, but I’m looking at it, and I’m telling you, it’s ugly.”

  “Fine.” Annoyed, she tossed it off, then took a bottle of iodine from the coffee table where she’d set her medical supplies.

  Tucker sent the bottle a baleful glance. “Don’t do that.”

  “Baby.”

  Smiling, he took her wrist. “I think you’re real cute, too, sugar.”

  “That wasn’t an endearment.” She merely switched the bottle to her other hand and dabbed on the iodine. He yelped and swore. “Oh, get a grip, Tucker.”

  “Least you can do is blow on it.”

  She did. His hand snuck from her wrist to her thigh. Caroline gave the cut one last blow, then slapped his hand aside.

  “Jesus. Have some respect for the injured.”

  “Just be still while I bandage this.” She snipped some gauze and tape. “And if your hand starts wandering again, I’ll give you a lump twice as big as this one.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Her hands were gentle, and except for the sledgehammer pounding his brain, he was feeling considerably better.

  “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

  Her hands felt soft and cool as raindrops. “Can’t say. Why don’t you check?”

  She ignored the smirk in his voice and unbuttoned his shirt. “I certainly hope this teaches you … oh, God, Tucker.”

  His eyes jerked open. “What? What?”

  “You’re all black and blue.”

  He took a moment to be grateful she hadn’t found a rib sticking out. “Those’re old. Austin.”

  “Why, that’s hideous.” Horror stung her voice and turned her eyes green as emeralds. “He should be locked up.”

  He had to smile. “He is locked up, darlin’. Right and tight in the county jail. Carl transported him yesterday.”

  Caroline laid gentle fingers on his bruised ribs. “He really hurt you.”

  Pride nettled. “He didn’t walk away smiling.”

  “Of course, that makes it all right.” Caroline jerked her hands away and popped open a bottle of painkiller Dr. Palamo had prescribed for her stress headaches. “Men are all idiots.”

  Carefully, Tucker propped himself on his elbows. “I didn’t start it. He came after me.”

  “Just shut up and take one of these.”

  “What am I taking?”

  “Something that won’t laugh at that headache I imagine you’ve got.”

  He took the pill, grateful, but also scanned the label of the bottle. If it did the job, he’d have to ask Doc Shays to get him some for the rest of his pains. Tucker swallowed it with a sip of the water she offered. “Can I have that beer if I’m able to stand up?”

  “No.”

  He laid his head back against the cushion. “Just as well. Darlin’, do me a favor and call Junior Talbot. He’s going to have to come on down and tow my car.”

  “I’ll take care of it.” She rose, then shot him a warning look. “Don’t go to sleep. You’re not supposed to sleep if you have a concussion.”

  “Why not?”

  Frustration added an edge to her voice. “I don’t know why not, I’m not a doctor. It’s just something you hear all the time.”

  “I won’t go to sleep if you promise to come right back and hold my hand.”

  Caroline lifted a brow. “If you go to sleep, I’m calling Doc Shays and telling him to bring his longest needle.”

  “Christ, you’re a mean one.” But his lips curved as she walked out.

  She gave him less than three minutes to consider drifting off before she returned with an ice pack. “Junior said he’d be out as soon as he could get away.” When he only grunted, she laid the ice pack on his head, and the grunt turned into a long “ah” of gratitude. “I didn’t know whether I should call your family.”

  “Not yet. Della’ll be in town awhile longer. I forgot she was running a bake sale today. Josie’s not likely to go anywhere, especially if Dwayne wakes up with his usual Sunday head.” Lord, he was tired. Not the pleasant, sleepy tired of a lazy afternoon, but tired clean to the bone. “Anyway, wrecking cars is kind of a hobby in my family.”

  She frowned at him. Since his color was coming back, she felt she had a right to demand an explanation. “Then the lot of you should take up croquet or needlepoint. Where the hell were you going in such a hurry?”

  “I don’t know. Anywhere.”

  “Anywhere’s a stupid place to go barefoot at a hundred miles an hour.”

  “More like eighty. You tend to exaggerate.”

  “You could have killed yourself.”

  “Since I felt like killing somebody else, it was a better bet.” He opened his eyes, and though she could see the pain had misted away—Dr. Palamo’s magic worked quickly—there was something else, something deeper and more poignant.

  “Did something happen?”

  “There wasn’t a baby,” he heard himself say.

  “Excuse me?”

  “She wasn’t pregnant. She lied to me. She stood there, looked me right in the eye, and told me she had my baby inside her. And it was a lie.”

  It took Caroline a moment to realize he was talking about Edda Lou—the Edda Lou she had found floating in the pond. “I’m sorry.” She folded her hands in her lap, unsure what to say or how to say it.

  He didn’t know why he was telling her, but once started, he couldn’t stem the words. “These last few days … it’s been eating at me. Thinking about her dying that way. She meant something to me once. Almost meant something to me. Thinking about that, and thinking that a part of me died with her was … but there wasn’t any part of me in Edda Lou, except for a lie.”

  “Maybe she made a mistake. She might have thought she was pregnant.”

  He gave a short laugh. “I hadn’t slept with her in nearly two months. A woman like Edda Lou keeps close track of that kind of female business. She knew.” He closed his eyes briefly, and when they opened again, a trace of the wild rage glowed in them. “Why am I so mad that there wasn’t a baby? She lied, so that means no baby died, and I don’t have to hurt thinking about it anymore.”

  Caroline did hold his hand, even brought it up to her cheek for a moment in comfort. She hadn’t realized he had feelings that traveled that deep and difficult a road. The part of her that softened for him would never be able to harden again.

  “Sometimes we hurt more for what might have been than for what is.”

  He turned his palm so that their fingers linked. She had the loveliest and the saddest eyes he’d ever seen. “You sound like you know what I’m talking about.”

  She smiled, and didn’t object when he kissed her knuckles. “
I do.” Always cautious, she drew her hand free before it lingered too long in his. “Why don’t I go out and see if Junior’s made it yet?”

  He didn’t want to break the contact yet, not quite yet. With an effort he pushed himself up. “Why don’t we both go?” The room revolved once, slowly, then settled. “If you’ll give me a hand.”

  She looked down at his outstretched hand. It was foolish, she supposed, to think he was asking for more than momentary support. Shaking off the feeling, she reached out and joined her hand with his.

  chapter 10

  Junior Talbot stepped out of the cab of his tow truck, stuck a finger under his Atlanta Braves fielder’s cap, and dug through his tangled mop of red hair to scratch his head. He made a long, slow circle around Tucker’s mangled Porsche, his J. C. Penney work boots crunching on shards of glass. His pale blue eyes were sober in his round, powerfully freckled face. Thoughtfully, he pulled at his full bottom lip.

  Caroline thought he looked like Howdy Doody on tranquilizers.

  “Seems like you got yourself some trouble here,” he said at length.

  “Little bit,” Tucker agreed. “Got a smoke, Junior?”

  “Guess so.” Junior pulled a pack of Winstons from the breast pocket of his grease-stained work shirt. He shook the pack, shooting a cigarette out to the filter, carefully replacing the pack after Tucker had taken it. Then he crouched down to contemplate the mashed fender. There was another long moment of silence. “Sure used to be a pretty car.”

  Tucker knew Junior wasn’t rubbing his nose in it. It was simply his nature to state the obvious. Leaning over, Tucker opened the glove compartment and found a pack of matches. “I s’pose they can fix her up, down in Jackson.”

  Junior thought about that awhile. “I s’pose,” he decided. “Could be you bent the frame, though. They got a way of straightening them out now. Used to be, you bent the frame and that was all she wrote.”

  Tucker smiled through a haze of smoke. “You just can’t stop progress.”

  “That’s the truth.” Taking his time, Junior straightened, then studied the torn grass on the verge of the road, the shower of glass, and the lack of skid marks. After some consideration, he decided to have a cigarette himself. “You know, Tucker, I always said you were the best driver I’ve seen, outside of the time I went down to Daytona to watch the 500.”