Ties That Blind

TIES THAT BLIND Maybe life did begin at forty. Sylvia felt more content than she had in a long time. There was much to be said for marrying a younger man. She was at the top of the narrow stairs that led down to the chalet’s living room when she heard a key being turned in the front door lock. Damn! Hadn’t she told Jessie to notify the security patrol she was going to be here? She started down. Just inside the front door, an all-too-familiar man in a ridiculous yellow slicker stood silently fumbling with something in the deep pocket of his coat. “What are you doing here? Has something happened?” Sylvia snapped, torn between annoyance and concern. The heels of her slippers clattered as she hurried down the steep steps. The man shook his head. The unexpected menace in his cold eyes stopped her in her tracks. “Then get out. I told you I needed some time here alone.” Instead of replying, he drew a snub-nosed revolver from his pocket and aimed it deliberately at her chest. Before it sank in that the oaf actually intended to shoot her, Sylvia heard a loud blast and felt a heavy blow as if someone had kicked her in the left breast. She didn’t hear the second shot. Sylvia Anne Langdon Smythe Farnsworth March had been mistaken. For her, life ended at forty.

PRAISE FOR TIES THAT BLIND

“5 Stars!…I found this book hard to put down or forget about once finished. This author will keep you guessing right up to the end!” —Aimee McLeod WordWeaving Reviews “5 Stars!…A magnificent romantic suspense! A very enjoyable book. I couldn’t put it down. Ms. Lloyd starts off with a bang and never lets up. She pulls it all together wonderfully for a very satisfying ending.” —Sabrina Edwards Scribes World Reviews “4 1/2 Stars!…Has a plot that is simple, yet keeps the reader intrigued. It begins with a punch and rises higher and higher as events occur…Dee Lloyd is a master at mystery writing. She creates a plot that never disappoints. The twists and turns that pop up keep the reader alert. What I loved the most was how the killer wasn’t easily identified. Every time I thought I knew who did it, another clue would appear, taking me in a different direction. Readers interested in a serious mystery with romance thrown in for good measure should get a copy of Ties That Blind.” —Beverly A. Rearick Sime~Gen Reviews

“4 Stars!…A definite page turner.” —Brandy Hunt genrEZONE “4 Stars!…A fast-paced novel that never lets up. Once you begin, it will be hard to stop reading it. If you like a good plot with believable characters, this book is for you.” —Patsy Cobb Word Museum “Ms. Lloyd has a flair for bringing all her characters to life through their actions and dialogue, giving them each a distinct persona.” —Lily Martin Romance Communication Reviews “…A fast-paced thriller, with all the tension and suspense without the gore. Ms. Lloyd has managed, again, to keep me at the computer—not working, but reading.” —Sue Waldbeck The Road to Romance “…What impressed me most about this book is how well balanced it is. The romance is the major story, but the mystery is every bit as enjoyable. It’s a well-balanced mix of romance, suspense, and humor.” —Cheri Murphy The Romance Journal

“If you’ve been waiting to take a chance on an electronically published book, I’d like to go on record as saying this is the best one I’ve read to date.” —Lynn Turner Writers Club Romance Group on AOL

ALSO BY DEE LLOYD Change Of Plans Ghost Of A Chance Mine Unquiet Spirits

TIES THAT BLIND BY DEE LLOYD

AMBER QUILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

TIES THAT BLIND AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2006 by Dee Lloyd ISBN 1-59279-550-1 Cover Art © 2006 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To Laura for her encouragement and unwavering support And to Terry who shares my life and owns my heart

TIES THAT BLIND

PROLOGUE

Maybe life did begin at forty. Sylvia rolled onto her back and stretched lazily. The action drew the navy satin sheet off the bare torso of the fair-haired man sprawled on the bed beside her. Philip had earned his rest, she thought with a satisfied smile. He’d always been a talented lover, but her threat to sue for divorce had spurred him to previously unattained heights last night. His stamina had been truly incredible. Long after he had collapsed in exhausted slumber, every nerve ending in her body still purred gently. Sylvia felt more content with her life than she had in a long time. She took a deep breath. Wood smoke from the fireplace below blended with her perfume, Philip’s cologne and the musky smell of sex. She didn’t have any illusions about what made her so necessary to her husband’s happiness, but she’d never found anyone else as talented in bed as her occasionally devoted husband. She held up her hand to admire the way the exquisite sapphire ring he’d brought as a peace 1

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offering caught the morning light slanting in the tall window of the loft. As she slipped out of bed, she ran a finger lightly along the silky hair of Philip’s forearm. He didn’t stir. She sighed and shrugged on her fleecy white robe. There was no reason the man shouldn’t sleep, while she made herself some much-needed coffee. She would keep Philip a while longer. A delicious shiver of anticipation snaked along her spine when she imagined his response to that news. There was much to be said for marrying a younger man. She was at the top of the narrow stairs that led down to the chalet’s living room when she heard a key being turned in the front door lock. Damn! Hadn’t she told Jessie to notify the security patrol she was going to be here? She started down. Just inside the front door, an all-too-familiar man in a ridiculous yellow slicker stood silently fumbling with something in the deep pocket of his coat. “What are you doing here? Has something happened?” Sylvia snapped, torn between annoyance and concern. The heels of her slippers clattered as she hurried down the steep steps. The man shook his head. The unexpected menace in his cold eyes stopped her in her tracks. “Then get out. I told you I needed some time here alone.” Instead of replying, he drew a snub-nosed revolver from his pocket and aimed it deliberately at her chest. Before it sank in that the oaf actually intended to shoot her, Sylvia heard a loud blast and felt a heavy blow as if someone had kicked her in the left breast. She didn’t hear the second shot. Sylvia Anne Langdon Smythe Farnsworth March had been mistaken. For her, life ended at forty.

2

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CHAPTER 1

Chinese water torture was too tidy. How about hanging the perpetrator by his thumbs in a steamy sauna—wearing tweed underwear. The corner of Adam’s mouth twitched for a second. No. There was no punishment diabolical enough for the person who’d designed the economy class seat he was crammed into. He’d hitched rides on military aircraft that were more comfortable. His body ached to move freely and his lungs craved air that hadn’t been recirculated through the plane’s overworked air conditioning system. Shifting his weight and easing one leg out into the aisle, he rotated his foot to work some of the kinks out of his cramped muscles. Three rows ahead of him, a female ankle was being put through the same gyrations. Ever since he’d started noticing the more subtle differences between male and female bodies, he’d been a fan of slender ankles. He was sure he’d admired that fine example before. 3

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Unfortunately, all he could see of its owner, apart from her foot and ankle, was part of a glossy, dark brown French braid. He could wait. She’d stop leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the landing and turn her face towards him when the plane touched down. When the seat belt sign flashed off, the mystery woman stood up to get her things from the overhead bin, giving him a clear view. Even though the rest of her more than lived up to the promise of her shapely ankle, he still couldn’t place her. She was tall, at least five-ten, and leaner than the women who usually appealed to him, however, her well-cut slacks and bulky white sweater hinted at interesting curves. But it was her face that was absolutely breathtaking. Those strong cheekbones and large, tiger eyes were tantalizingly familiar. She glanced down the crowded aisle between them. Then her face lit up in a broad smile. “Adam Taggart!” she called, her low voice sounding genuinely pleased. “Is it really you?” Good Lord! The memory of that same broad grin displaying gleaming metal braces flashed through his mind. Only Risa Vitale had a beacon of a smile like that. This beautiful woman was Marco Vitale’s skinny little pest of a sister. “Risa,” he replied, stumbling to his feet. Lord, but she’d grown into an attractive woman! Adam wished he’d been faster off the mark getting his coat from the overhead storage. Not anxious to rush into the depressing situation at his mother’s, he’d chosen to allow the rest of the passengers to precede him off the plane. “It was great to have this chat with you,” Risa called over her shoulder with a wry smile, as the crowd of impatient passengers swept her away from him towards the exit. He couldn’t leave it at that. That smile of hers had already dispelled some of the gloom. “Will you wait for me by the baggage carousel?” he called after her. 4

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The intensity of his relief when she nodded her assent caught him by surprise. He definitely needed this break. *

*

*

As she waited for her luggage to come around on the carousel, Risa told herself to simmer down. So Adam Taggart had asked her to wait for him. He’d probably stay long enough to get his luggage and exchange a few polite words. She lifted her bag off the belt and placed it on the floor beside the bulky carton of samples and swatches of fabrics Garth wanted her to consider for the new bathing suit line. Any minute now she would see Adam’s shock of dark hair above the crowd. She was still reeling from her first glimpse of his unforgettable eyes across the crowded aisle. That combination of silvery blue-gray eyes and thick, brown lashes had to be unique. Then, he’d stood up. He was taller than she remembered. Over the years, she’d caught him on network news reporting from one war torn country or disaster area after the other, but it must be fifteen years since he and most of the high school ski team had hung around their house with Marco. It was amazing that Adam even remembered her name. She’d had an embarrassing preadolescent crush on him, but, if he’d thought about her at all, it was only as a tomboy nuisance who insisted on tagging along after him and Marco on the ski hills. Of course, Adam was seventeen at the time with a real girlfriend—a bouncy, busty blonde. Risa, miserably sure she’d never develop breasts herself, had hated her. Good Heavens! That would make Adam thirty-two now. He materialized a few feet away from her. The flutter she felt as she watched him swing a well-traveled bag off the carousel and start towards her took her back fifteen years. This was ridiculous. She was a divorced, savvy businesswoman, not an impressionable twelve-yearold. However, she was having trouble maintaining her hard won composure in the face of his appreciative grin. He rolled his eyes 5

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heavenward in mock astonishment. “Well, Risa, Risa, pesky Risa.” He grasped both her hands, then stepped back, cocked his head slightly, and looked her up and down. “Who’d have thought you’d grow up to be such a knockout?” His voice was fuller and even more resonant in person than it was on television. “Is anyone meeting you?” “I drove myself. My van’s in the parking garage across the way.” “Good. Then you can join me for an early supper.” He caught himself. “I should ask,” he said with an apologetic smile. “I’m too used to calling the shots with my crew. Will you please join me for a little supper and conversation?” She smiled back. The teenaged Adam had been single-minded and forceful, too. She didn’t know anything about the adult Adam except that his lanky body had filled out and his handsome face had become a little craggy and bore a few lines that showed he’d done some living. She wondered if he had a special woman to share some of that living with him. He had a predatory bachelor gleam in his eye and he wasn’t wearing a ring. That didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t married. Why should that matter? An hour or so touching base with a childhood acquaintance wasn’t a date, she assured herself. In the course of business, she had meals with married men all the time. And her exhusband had taught her to be wary of charismatic men with exceptional good looks. “I’d like that.” She didn’t have to lose his company just yet. When she’d boarded the plane, she’d felt totally wiped. Four days of living the Vitale public persona always left her feeling flat. Adam’s frank admiration of just plain Risa had lifted her spirits. “Do you mind eating here in the airport?” he suggested. “I have to rent a car, but I’m too hungry to wait around for them to do the paper work before I eat. I skipped the airline’s plastic chicken lunch and, with the fog delay in Chicago, I’m starved.” 6

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“It won’t take much longer to get my van and go somewhere quieter,” she suggested. “Then, after we’ve eaten, I can drop you off wherever you’re staying and you can rent your car from there.” “The restaurant part sounds great, but I can take a cab home from the restaurant,” Adam said, zipping up his leather jacket and pulling on his gloves. Before he could pick up Risa’s carton, she directed a porter to load it and the bags onto a trolley. “That’s probably best. I’m sure my mother has a car I can borrow for a few days,” he added. “Your family still lives in Denver?” Risa realized she’d offered to drive the man home and had no idea where to take him. Fifteen years ago, Marc would have teased her unmercifully if she’d asked him where one of his buddies lived. She’d admired Adam from afar like the rock stars whose posters had covered the walls of her bedroom. And he’d been off to college or somewhere before she got into high school. Adam looked at her strangely. “My stepfather would never leave the city. Actually, he’s very ill. That’s why I’m here.” “Oh, Adam, I’m so sorry,” she said, feeling a twinge of guilt for her uncomplicated joy at seeing him. “I’ll drive you straight home.” “Let’s get something to eat first,” he said. “I want to hear everything about you. We have years of catching up to do. How are your parents? And Marco?” She told him that her parents were well and enjoying a longanticipated visit to her father’s relatives in Italy. The trip was a fortieth wedding anniversary gift from her and Marc. “Marc hasn’t changed much. He’s just as bossy. Maybe a bit heavier than he was in high school,” she told him. “He’s still single. Says he doesn’t have the kind of spare time it would take to keep one woman happy.” “Hazel told me Marc was a rising star in the district attorney’s 7

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office.” He must have caught the question in her eye. “My mother. When my brother turned thirteen, she insisted she was too young to be called Mom by a teenager.” He gave her a “that’s life” kind of smile. “Anyway, who’d have thought that Nutzo Marco, the wild man hotdogger of the team, would take up law?” “Most of the team are pretty staid and settled these days. You’re one of the few who found a high adrenaline career.” “I’ve never thought of writing as life-threatening,” he said. The incredulous snort Risa emitted didn’t fit her recently acquired elegant image. “Don’t give me that. I’ve caught your news reports from some scary places over the years,” she told him. And she’d made sure she caught every news item during the months he’d been held hostage in the Middle East last year. They piled their luggage and Risa’s carton into the back of the crowded van that ran a shuttle service to the long-term parking lot and slid into the last two empty seats. “Are you here between assignments?” she asked, trying to ignore the muscular thigh that pressed against hers in the suddenly small seat. “I’m taking an indefinite leave,” he told her. “Ah, your stepfather.” She nodded. *

*

*

“Hazel’s call decided the timing, but, to tell the truth, I was already thinking I needed time off to do some serious thinking. My boss tells me there’s a desk waiting for me in Washington if I want it.” “Wouldn’t you find that dull?” She seemed truly interested. “Dull doesn’t sound all that bad to me right now,” he told her. He couldn’t imagine why he was telling this stunning stranger with the familiar smile about the offer he hadn’t mentioned to another living soul. The silence was threatening to become awkward when she asked, “Has your stepfather been ill a long time?” 8

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“Almost a year. I’ve been home a few times since he was diagnosed, but last week, Hazel called to say his condition was deteriorating and he wanted to see me.” He realized a Vitale would have been on the next plane home. But Risa had no idea how complicated his relationship with Sam was. “I was almost seventeen when he married Hazel,” he said. “Then I went away to college.” He didn’t want to get into details. Not if Risa truly didn’t know his mother had married Sam Langdon. “But what about you, Risa?” Even though there was no wedding ring on her slender finger, she was too attractive not to have some significant man in her life. “Are you visiting, too?” “I’ve been back in Denver for almost five months. My company.” She paused, then gave him another of those delightful, big smiles. “I love to say that. ‘My company.’ I really share it with my partner and the bank. My company makes casual wear and last winter Langdon Industries decided to buy out the Canadian department store chain we had a contract with. So here I am—back in Denver.” Her open grin and her casual mention of Langdon Industries tempted him to believe Risa had no idea of his connection with her employers. Then it hit him. “You’re that Vitale!” You couldn’t open a magazine or turn on the radio these days without being bombarded with the name. When he’d come home for one of his short visits early last spring, his brother, Robert, had been boasting to anyone who would listen that Langdon’s Stores had an exclusive contract to launch the Vitale après ski line in their designer boutique departments this fall. “I should’ve made the connection,” he said. There was another connection niggling at his mind. Sylvia had been upset about the deal. Of course, his stepsister usually found some reason to bicker with Robert. “When you weren’t underfoot on the slopes as a kid, you were hogging the big table in the family room making bizarre Barbie outfits 9

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on your mother’s sewing machine.” “I still have most of them. And I proved I was right. My designs were a lot more important than your old card games.” “Bite your tongue. Poker is a male rite of passage. Even if you never play it again, learning poker is mandatory when you’re seventeen. Seriously, I really am impressed by your success.” To his surprise, the lovely cheeks of the internationally acclaimed designer flushed red. It was a long time since he’d seen a woman blush. “Is your factory here in Denver?” “The new one is. Our original shop is in Toronto, but with our big contract with Langdon’s, Garth felt we needed to build here.” He wanted to ask her who the devil Garth was, but the shuttle had stopped and it was time to get out and rescue their luggage from the pile in back. He handed Risa her suitcase and, over her protests she could handle it herself, he swung the fairly light but bulky cardboard box onto his shoulder and grabbed his own bag. “Are you living at home then?” he asked after the van pulled away and left them in the relative silence of the chilly dusk. He wasn’t going to ask her directly about Garth. “For now. While Mom and Dad are in Italy, I’m looking after their dog. I didn’t think I’d have to go out of town before they got back, but this publicity blitz in Chicago and Toronto came up suddenly. Poor Fang! He’s never been boarded before.” “Fang?” Adam raised a questioning eyebrow. Her unrestrained hoot of delighted laughter took him back to the warmth of the Vitales’ kitchen a decade-and-a-half ago. “Papa thought Fang was a hilarious name for a cuddly Golden Retriever puppy. But it turned out to be even more ridiculous for the placid sweetheart he grew into.” Her indulgent smile spoke volumes about her relationship with her parents. “So Garth has the apartment to himself for six glorious weeks while I dog sit.” 10

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After casually tossing in the tidbit that she and Garth were sharing an apartment—or had been sharing one—she led him between the snow-dusted rows of automobiles towards a gleaming white van with a discreet but stylish navy-blue Vitale logo emblazoned on its doors. Sitting decidedly crooked in its slot, the van looked as if it had been hastily abandoned rather than parked. Risa frowned, shook her head slowly, then, with a shrug, took a remote door lock opener from her purse and pressed the button. “Just throw your bags in there,” she said, heading for the driver’s side of the van. Pondering the role of the unknown Garth in Risa’s life, Adam absentmindedly slid open the large central door on the passenger’s side. He reached around to slide the carton into the rear section, but changed his mind when he noticed a large dark spot that could have been oil on the otherwise pristine pale blue carpet. Instead, he put the box and luggage down just inside the door and climbed around them towards the roomy passenger seat. “Let me get those.” Risa reached across and retrieved two crumpled paper lunch bags that had been lying on the seat. Judging from the vaguely fishy aroma that overlaid the van’s new car smell, Risa was a fan of tuna sandwiches. “Sorry,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Rotten housekeeping. I’d better find a trash can soon.” “Why can’t they make aircraft seats like this?” he sighed, as he sank into the seat and stretched out his legs. “Mind putting my purse under your seat?” Adam grunted as he took the large leather bag with both hands. “The airline didn’t count this as carry-on luggage?” Uninspired, Adam. He’d have to do better than that. She had him clowning and mugging like a teenager to earn another of her megawatt smiles. He tried to tuck the purse into the space between his pedestal chair and the gearshift but met an obstruction. He reached down and 11

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picked it up. When he saw what he was holding, he couldn’t believe his eyes. “Tell me, Risa,” he asked dryly, presenting the Smith and Wesson.38 snubby revolver on the palm of his gloved hand, “does someone usually ride shotgun?” Her smile faded rapidly to a look of confusion, then anger. “Why are you waving that gun around, Adam? I’m not impressed. Put it away.” “Back under my feet? That’s no place for a loaded gun.” “Under your feet?” Risa switched off the ignition and glared at him. “Guns are no joke,” she bit out. “Put it back in your pocket or wherever you got it from. Then you can get out of my van.” What was going on? Did she think that he’d been carrying that gun? He replaced the revolver on the floor. “Don’t leave it in my van.” She gestured towards the door and flicked her fingers impatiently in a shooing motion. “That’s where I found it.” Her fingers stilled and her eyes widened in what looked to him like honest bewilderment. “But that’s not possible,” she whispered. “If that gun doesn’t belong to you,” he said, handing back her purse. “We’d better both get out without touching anything else and notify the police that someone left you an unwelcome gift.” Without further argument, she yanked her key from the ignition, accepted the purse, and exited the van. “I’m the only person who has driven this van,” she told him. “I only took delivery three weeks ago.” She met his eyes. “And when I left it here Friday, there was no revolver on the floor.” “Maybe that guy Garth used it while you were out of town.” “Not possible. Garth’s been in Toronto on the same business I was. 12

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He’s still there. Besides, he hates guns.” “Who else had access to the keys?” “No one.” *

*

*

That wasn’t exactly true. Oh, Lord, she prayed she was wrong. She leaned back against the van and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Adam pulled her gently into his arms and she went to him as if they’d done it a hundred times before. His strength and warmth surrounded her for a fleeting moment. Then, apparently realizing they were virtual strangers, he released her, but lifted her chin so she had to look at him. She thought she saw concern in his silvery eyes. “Who else, Risa?” “I don’t know.” Adam’s touch helped calm the quaking in her stomach, but it couldn’t wipe out the fact he’d found a revolver in her locked vehicle. “Somebody snatched my purse when I was leaving the store two weeks ago. All my keys were in it.” The full horror of the situation hit her. The thief had the keys to the plant, to her apartment and her parents’ house! She began to rummage in her purse. “I have to call the police. The officer I reported the purse snatching to gave me a number to call if anything else happened.” “Before you do that, we’d better call your brother. Marc will know the best way to handle this.” “You think someone used the van to commit a crime.” Adam’s grim expression confirmed her suspicion. “I remember noticing Friday morning that I still had fifteen hundred miles to go before I reached the magic five thousand mark.” She switched on the light and looked at the number on the dashboard. “Somebody’s put close to a hundred miles on it since then.” She took a deep breath and dug in her purse for her cell phone. “I’d better call the police.” 13

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“I’d call Marc first. He might be able to ensure that some rookie doesn’t decide to give you a hard time about the gun.” Adam looked so concerned she decided not to argue with him. A taped message in Marc’s secretary’s voice told her that the office was closed for the day. When Risa dialed her brother’s apartment, she got the answering machine. She left a message saying it was urgent she talk to him, and the number of Adam’s cell phone. “Was Marc expecting to hear from you when your plane got in?” Adam asked. “I usually call around dinnertime. He worries about me,” she explained. That was an understatement. After the divorce, the only way she’d been able to take control of her own life had been to leave the state. “So he’ll probably check his messages soon.” Adam pursed his lips. “The best plan is for me to rent a car after all.” Her face must have showed her dismay because he caught her hand and squeezed it. “I’m not leaving you alone to deal with this, Risa,” he reassured her. “Marc will probably call before I’ve finished renting the car. But I’ll hang around until you’re safely home.” “You don’t have to do that,” she protested feebly, “but, you’re right. I should talk to Marc.” “Then let’s get our hand luggage out and get back to the shuttle stop.” Risa accepted her little wheeled overnight case and strode out across the snowy parking lot with it, trying to recapture her usual composure. “You have troubles of your own. You want to get home to your family.” Then she heard herself asking, “Is your wife joining you?” “No wife,” he said. “Never had one. You married?” “Not any more.” She didn’t elaborate. 14

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At that moment, Risa caught sight of the shuttle. When she shouted and started to run towards it, the driver stopped to wait for them. As they climbed back on board, he looked at them curiously and asked, “Got a problem, folks?” Adam’s brusque reply that they had everything under control didn’t encourage further conversation. In the terminal, Risa spotted an unoccupied bench. “I can wait here with the bags,” she offered. Adam swung his scuffed leather bag onto the bench and handed her his phone. “Good idea. You’ll need this,” he said and turned as if to leave. “Risa,” he said, swinging back. He looked at her hesitantly. “Would you like me to hang around until Marc calls?” “Good heavens, no!” she exclaimed. It had been a long time since anyone but Marc had thought she needed help handling anything life threw at her. “Thanks for the thought, though.” As she watched him stride through the crowd toward the “Rentals” sign, she wished she could recapture the carefree excitement she’d felt before they’d found that gun. Adam’s broad shoulders disappeared from view, but she could still feel his vital presence. No man had made her pulse race like this since the first bloom of infatuation had worn off her marriage about seven years ago. She’d been divorced four years now and enjoyed being in control of her life and her emotions. She’d promised herself no one was going to mesmerize and use her again. No matter how powerful Adam Taggart’s brand of male magnetism was, Risa Vitale was determined to remain unaffected by it. The cell phone in her pocket startled her back to the present. “Are you okay, Reese?” her brother demanded. “I’m fine.” When Risa told him about meeting Adam, then finding the revolver and discovering the extra mileage on the van, the expletive that 15

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exploded in her ear wasn’t one she’d ever heard Marc use. “I can’t possibly leave the meeting I’m in right now, honey. The team is fine-tuning strategy for a big case that’s coming up tomorrow. But I’ll look after everything. I’ll get hold of Paul,” he said. Marc’s long-time friend, Paul McIntyre, was a police detective with the city. “He’ll know if anything’s gone down in the last few days where a missing gun figures.” He paused. “The guy who stole your purse would have your keys, wouldn’t he? Damn! You can’t go home alone and I’m stuck here. You could—” “Marc,” Risa interrupted, “you get in touch with Paul. I’ll act on his advice. If it makes you feel better, Adam said he’d make sure I got home safely.” “Look,” he said, as if she hadn’t spoken, “you stay at the airport. Get something to eat. I’ll get back to you after I talk to Paul. More than likely, he’ll say all you have to do is bring in the gun. Tell Adam I appreciate his offer. And stay with him! I’ll be in touch.” He hung up. You’d think she was still twelve years old! “Judging by the frown you’re wearing, you’ve been talking to your big brother and he’s been laying down the law,” Adam said, cheerfully waving a set of car keys. “Where to?” “I’m not sure,” she said and filled him in on her conversation with Marc. “Food would be nice,” she concluded a little wistfully. “Fast food,” Adam agreed. “Massive burgers and mountains of fries.” They found a restaurant, ordered and actually managed to eat most of their meal before his phone beeped again. Adam took the call. After agreeing it had indeed been too many years since he and Marc had spoken, Adam’s side of the conversation was mostly monosyllabic. “Sure, I remember Paul McIntyre. Slalom, right?…Fine,” he concluded. “We’ll go back to the parking lot to meet him.” 16

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Risa took a last swallow of her cola and hurriedly buttoned her coat as she stood. “McIntyre agreed to check out the van,” he informed her. “I’m glad it’s Paul,” she said. “He’ll make this as easy as he can. He and Marc still do a lot of skiing together. They try to get in at least one ski weekend a year.” *

*

*

Unbidden, a picture of a laughing, young Risa barreling full tilt down a mountain ski run filled Adam’s mind. He didn’t think he’d ever known that kind of wholehearted laughter. An unfamiliar emotion clutched his heart. It didn’t matter she was no longer that girl, and that she probably shared that fierce joy and her ski weekends with a man named Garth. He didn’t want ugliness to touch her. And he suspected there was some serious ugliness connected with that revolver. “I’ll be glad to quit toting these suitcases.” Adam tossed the bags into the trunk of the mid-sized, white rental car. “Back to the parking lot,” he announced, starting up the engine. He found a parking spot not far down the aisle from the Vitale van. Shortly, a dark sports car with ski racks drew up and a big, sandyhaired man wearing jeans and a brown leather bomber jacket almost as well-worn as the one Adam was wearing climbed out of it and stood with his hands on his hips studying Risa’s van. Paul McIntyre swung around when Risa called his name. The frown on his square face softened slightly when he saw them. “Risa. And Tagg.” He held out a large hand to grasp Adam’s. “Been a long time. So, Risa,” he said, getting right down to business, “Marc said you found a firearm. Fill me in.” Risa unlocked the van. McIntyre listened intently while she told him what little she knew, compared the mileage figures in the notebook she had in her purse to the reading on the odometer and flipped on the overhead light. He leaned into the van and was drawing a rough sketch 17

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of the position of the revolver when Adam spoke up. “I’m afraid I picked the gun up before I realized what it was. Neither of us touched anything else after that and we were both wearing gloves.” He pointed to the large sample box. “I put that carton into the van first, then our bags in front of it. I didn’t want to put anything down on that stain in the back.” Paul looked where he was pointing and cursed under his breath. He made his way back and called out, “I need the flashlight from the door pocket of my car.” Adam got it for him, then stood next to Risa by the van’s open door. When the flashlight beam illuminated the dark area on the carpet, she wheeled around to face him. “You didn’t mention that stain to me. Didn’t you think I might be interested?” He saw the full realization of what they might be dealing with dawn on her. “Oh, God, Adam, what do you think it is?” “It’ll be all right, Risa,” he said and hoped he was right. Paul emerged from the van and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “I’m afraid you’ll have to leave your van here, Risa,” he said, gruffly, not meeting her eyes. “What is it?” she whispered. Her eyes were over-large in her pale face. “Something or somebody lost a fair amount of blood back there, as far as I can see. I’m calling in a crime scene squad to go over the whole van carefully. You’ll have to come down to the precinct so we can take your prints.” “My fingerprints?” Risa sounded aghast. “Only to eliminate them from the ones that don’t belong.” “Surely that can wait,” Adam stepped in. “Your people are going to be busy here for quite a while and Risa’s exhausted. She’ll come in first thing in the morning. I guarantee it.” Adam could see McIntyre’s hackles go up at his interference. 18

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“I could insist.” The detective’s voice was chilly. “You know she couldn’t be a witness to anything. She’s been out of the country since…” The steam went out of his argument. He didn’t know. “Friday morning,” Risa told them. “I left the van here at six-thirty Friday morning.” Adam watched her turn the full power of a beseeching smile on poor McIntyre. “Couldn’t I go home now, Paul? I’ll have Marc take me in to be printed first thing tomorrow.” McIntyre gave in. “First thing in the morning then.” Risa and Adam were soon on their way out to the Vitale house with their luggage. “I hope you don’t mind driving me out this far. Mom and Papa didn’t need the space after we all left home.” Adam felt a real twinge of regret for the warmth of Mom Vitale’s old aromatic kitchen. For the rest of the half-hour drive, Risa appeared to be lost in grim thoughts, and Adam was dealing with an unpleasant realization of his own. When Risa had mentioned she was divorced, he should have made the connection. The day Robert had smugly announced the Vitale deal to the family, Sylvia had been furious because, with all the designers in the world to choose from, he had deliberately chosen her current husband’s ex-wife. Adam could still hear her ranting. Didn’t Robert know the woman was a sore loser, who was still trying to break up Sylvia’s marriage? Adam hadn’t paid much attention because, unfortunately, his stepsister had proved too often that she was perfectly capable of breaking up her marriages without outside assistance. He swore silently. Whatever the truth was, he wasn’t about to get involved with a woman who was tangled up in one of Sylvia’s messes. He’d been torn between his obligation to be with his mother and Sam and his bewildering need to keep Risa safe from gun-toting pursesnatchers and suspicious policemen. Now his duty was clear. He’d 19

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better hurry back into the city the minute he got Risa home. Her problems had nothing to do with him. Besides, he could keep tabs on her situation through Marc. Following Risa’s directions, he drove through the dark, winding streets of a subdivision that had sprung up since he’d left Colorado. They came to a stop in the driveway of a neat, attractively landscaped back-split bungalow. “Thank you, Adam,” Risa began. “I’ll be fine now.” “Not yet.” So much for dropping her off. “We have to check your parents’ house from top to bottom before I leave.” He opened the trunk and picked up the cardboard box for what seemed the hundredth time. “Where do you want this?” She rummaged in her purse and pulled out a remote control with a triumphant little smile. “In the garage,” she directed, aiming the remote at garage door. Her smile froze on her lips as she focused on something on the floor of the garage. Adam followed her gaze. What he saw lying in the glare of the headlights stopped him in his tracks. “Holy Christ!” he breathed. On a blood-smeared yellow slicker sprawled the half-clad body of a woman. At first glance, all he could make out was that she was small, blond, and wearing some kind of white robe. From her unnatural posture and the amount of dark blood on her chest, he guessed she was also very dead. He heard Risa gasp behind him as he advanced into the garage and leaned closer to press two fingers against the woman’s icy throat. Her skin was as cold as the snowy pavement under his feet. “Adam!” Risa’s voice was a hoarse whisper. “Who is it?” He stood up and caught her as she tried to move around him. “Don’t!” He pressed her face against his chest to try to shield her 20

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from the ghastly sight. He wasn’t quick enough. She made a choking sound, then spun free of his grasp and stared again at the dead woman. When she turned to look at him, her eyes were wide with confusion and shock. “It’s Sylvia Langdon,” she whispered, almost voiceless with horror.

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CHAPTER 2

Risa was chilled to the bone. Although the heater of the rental car was blasting hot air at her feet, she was cold—inside and out. Adam’s whole attention was on the cell phone in his hand. She had the physical comfort of his arm around her shivering shoulders, but the gruesome discovery on the floor of the garage had cooled the fragile beginning of emotional warmth between them. “I’ve called 911,” he was saying. She could hear the unintelligible crackle of a voice on the other end. “No. We’re not going into the house until the uniforms get here. She’s all right, Marc. Still in a state of shock, but all right. Just contact McIntyre and get your ass over here.” When he cut the connection and turned to her, his silvery blue eyes had shards of ice in them. “All right, Risa, before the police get here, is there anything you can tell me about why my stepsister’s body was dumped in your garage?” 22

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“Your stepsist…” Her whirling thoughts were lurching too raggedly to put them into coherent speech. “You can’t be. She’s…was…a Langdon.” He slowly raised one eyebrow. “Right,” he drawled. “And you had no idea we were related.” *

*

*

His sarcasm was the punch line in Fate’s latest sick joke. Risa was shocked and appalled by the pitiful sight of the dead woman, covered in congealed blood, sprawled awkwardly on the cold concrete garage floor. But she could have been anyone. Risa had never had any personal contact with Sylvia Langdon March. She’d seen newspaper photographs, but Sylvia seemed almost like the villainess in a soap— powerful, but not quite real. The only time Risa had ever seen her in person was in the audience from a fashion show runway. She’d been the reported irresistible siren Philip had divorced her for. Not this alltoo-real dead woman. But it was unfair! Risa felt as if some unpleasant deity was deliberately taunting her by having Sylvia’s body appear here in the family garage. When the wealthy socialite was alive, she had deliberately stolen Risa’s husband, lying worm that he was. In death, she was again, totally without provocation, throwing Risa’s life into turmoil. It all spewed out at Adam. “No, I didn’t know, you conceited jerk! Why would I? I was a kid. I didn’t know anything about Adam Taggart, except he was a hunk and a demon on the downhill.” She was on the brink of losing control. “And, for your information,” she made herself speak more softly and enunciate each word slowly, “I managed to avoid ever meeting your stepsister.” “Even when she married your ex-husband?” There was that heavy irony again. “Especially then,” she muttered. She’d made sure of it by moving as 23

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far away from Denver as she could after the divorce. Adam didn’t look convinced. However, the flashing lights and pulsating sirens of two patrol cars ended the discussion. Two additional sets of headlights illuminated the grisly sight in the garage, then a third. A sturdy, grim-faced uniformed policewoman and a younger male officer got out of the first car. The woman bent over the body briefly, then left her partner to stand guard, while the officers from the second car dealt with the reporter who’d pulled in behind them and the curious neighbors who were beginning to gather in small groups on the other side of the street. Adam and Risa got out of the car to speak to the policewoman who identified herself as Officer Watson. They had just begun to explain how they came to discover the body when Marc’s Volvo screeched to a stop in front of the house, just ahead of Paul McIntyre’s sports car. The two men stopped briefly by the open garage to speak in hushed tones to the officer there, then hurried over to Risa and Adam. Under the harsh headlights, the familiar lawn and shrubbery resembled a surrealistic stage set. Drained of color, it was as cold and bleak as an alien planet. Even the elongated shadows cast by the familiar figures of Marc and his friend looked strange and grotesque. Risa had never felt so alone, or so out of place. Marc gave her a quick hug. Paul greeted Officer Watson, nodded at Risa, then turned to Adam. “Did either of you enter the garage?” “I checked to see if Sylvia had any pulse.” Adam seemed to choke on his words. “Touched her neck. That’s all.” Paul took out a pad of paper and a pencil. “When was the last time you saw your stepsister alive, Tagg?” He used the old nickname, but his manner was impersonal. Risa couldn’t believe he was going to make Adam answer questions now…with Sylvia lying murdered a few feet away. “Paul McIntyre,” she hissed, “don’t you have any sensitivity at all? 24

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That’s Adam’s sister.” Paul fixed her with a steely glare. Her brother’s bluff skiing buddy was gone. In his place was a pale, distant police officer. “Reese, honey,” her brother cut in, gathering her to his side, “you look about ready to collapse yourself. We’d better get you inside.” He reached over with his other hand to clasp Adam’s shoulder. “I don’t know what to say, Tagg. What a hell of a thing for you to walk in on. I’ll do what I can to speed things up here so you can get home to your family.” He turned to Paul McIntyre. “Why don’t we all go inside and you can get what information you need from Adam and Risa where it’s more comfortable?” “First, we’d better check the house.” Paul’s suggestion was more of an official order. She felt Marc’s hand tighten on her waist. What did Paul think they might find in the house? “Stay here with Adam,” Marc told her. Adam, wordlessly, opened the door to the rental car. Risa normally would have resented being shunted around like a mindless piece of luggage, but she couldn’t help being relieved she didn’t have to find the strength to take control just yet. She settled herself in the passenger seat for another indefinite wait. The bland anonymity of the little car was the only non-threatening thing in sight. Adam turned up the car’s heater. His features were set in a scowl as he stared blankly out the side window, seemingly unaware she existed. *

*

*

However, that impression was false. Adam was keenly conscious of Risa, frightened and tense beside him. He was fighting himself not to take her in his arms and tell her he’d look after her. He had to remind himself he was finished with the white knight bit. He’d been lucky to survive the Middle East fiasco. 25

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Then, too, largely because of his years as a reporter, Adam didn’t trust coincidences. The odds of his meeting Risa Vitale by pure chance this afternoon and of their discovering his stepsister’s murdered body in the Vitale’s garage a few hours later were extremely long. Nevertheless, he’d swear Risa’s shock and bewilderment were genuine. He didn’t sense any guilt. And even if she was a good enough actress to carry off this innocent act, he couldn’t imagine what she had to gain by dragging him along to discover Sylvia’s body. For that matter, if Risa was involved with the shooting, wouldn’t this be the last place she’d choose to drop the body? He wished he could banish the horror in Sylvia’s staring eyes from his mind. No matter how spoiled and self-centered she’d been all her life, she didn’t deserve to be shot and dumped like so much trash. Her killer couldn’t be allowed to get away with that. He didn’t know where the tempting Ms. Vitale fit in but he’d play along until he learned the truth about their fortuitous meeting and the events that brought them to this moment. While she was still off balance from finding the body, she might let something slip. Steeling himself to be ruthless, he turned to face her. Her bleak expression shook his resolve. Every bit of color and vivacity had drained out of Risa’s face; the golden lights were gone from her wide hazel eyes. Wisps of dark hair from her braid drifted across her cheeks. She looked like a fragile glass figurine that would shatter at a single harsh word. He wasn’t going to be the one to badger her. What did it take for him to learn? The last beautiful woman he’d tried to protect had led him into an ambush. But this was different. Wasn’t it? Of their own volition, his hands reached for her cold fingers and began to rub some warmth into them. “Adam”—when Risa spoke after a minute, her voice sounded tight and a little shrill—“who could’ve done this?” 26

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“I don’t know,” he told her, “but, count on it, I’m going to find out.” “And why, in the name of heaven, would anyone leave her in my parents’ garage?” Risa’s eyes were brimming with tears. She gulped and blinked to keep them from spilling over. “Mom and Papa never met her. I never did. Why here?” Her voice broke. Adam would have wrapped his arms around her then, but he knew that would trigger the flood of tears she was fighting to hold back. He had to be satisfied with chafing her fingers more vigorously. That’s as intimate as an acquaintance should get anyway. By the time Marc and Paul came out of the house, she no longer looked as if she were going to fall apart. She nodded stiffly when Paul requested that they join him at the station to answer a few questions and be fingerprinted. “This will make it easier for us to isolate any latents that don’t have any reason to be at the scene,” he stated. “Not that this appears to be the murder scene. My first impression is that she was killed somewhere else.” “But not in Mom’s house, Risa,” her brother was quick to reassure her. “I couldn’t see anything out of place in there. Even Papa’s revolver was still in the bedside table. And Paul checked. It hadn’t been fired.” The icy wind blew a lock of sandy hair across Paul’s eyes. He brushed it away with a clenched fist. “Thanks to the freezing temperatures this past week, we probably won’t even be able to pinpoint when she was killed. Come on, Risa,” he said tightly. “I’d like you to do a fast walk through the house to see if you notice anything missing. We can’t forget that a set of your keys was stolen.” “You’re not staying here or at your apartment until we get the locks changed,” Marc stated. “You’re staying with me.” “Good idea,” Paul agreed. “It could be a day or two before the crime scene crew is finished here anyway.” 27

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*

*

*

“We’ll talk about that later,” she said. All she wanted to do was get away from here and gather herself together. Her walk through the house was quick. Seeing for herself that nothing had been disturbed reassured her a little. At least something in her life looked normal. The hours at the overheated police station were long and dreary. Risa sat and waited to be fingerprinted. That done, she sat in Paul’s office while Paul asked her innumerable questions about her relationship with her ex-husband and his wife. Then she sat while another officer asked the same questions. After that, Paul rephrased them. Every now and then she stared at her inky fingers in disbelief. This was really happening to her! She was being questioned in a murder case. By the time she weaved, exhausted and unprotesting, into Marc’s solid little Volvo for the short drive to his downtown apartment, the sun was creeping over the horizon. “I hope they didn’t keep Adam this long.” She hadn’t seen him for hours. “He went home to break the news to his parents. Officer Watson went along with him before going on to Boulder to find Philip. The police haven’t been able to find Phillip March. Adam tried to phone him at the condo, but couldn’t get an answer.” So Philip hadn’t changed his ways. He apparently still couldn’t be depended on to sleep in his own bed. She yawned. “I don’t envy Adam the job of telling his parents. They’re coping with enough already. Adam told me his stepfather is very ill.” It still rankled that he hadn’t believed her about not knowing who his stepfather was. “Marc, when we were kids, did you know Adam was Samuel Langdon’s stepson?” “Tagg never talked much about himself. As a matter of fact, I didn’t 28

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discover it until a couple of years ago. I was having a drink at the Laurel Club with Robert Langdon and a guy who was thinking of joining the weight lifting group he was starting. When one of Adam’s news reports flashed on the TV set over the bar, I bragged about being on the ski team with him. “Robert topped that by announcing he was Adam Taggart’s brother. Robert took the Langdon name when his mother remarried, but Adam kept his father’s. I gathered that caused some serious friction between Sam Langdon and Tagg.” “Adam assumed I knew because his stepsister stole my husband.” Risa gave Marc a weary smile. “Not that she got much of a prize.” “You’re lucky Philip met her when he did,” Marc snorted. “You weren’t as good a meal ticket six years ago as you are now, Reese, honey. You could still be stuck with the snake.” Risa shivered and extended her fingers towards the heat vents on the dashboard. She wondered if she’d ever warm up. Hours in the overheated stuffy police station hadn’t dispelled the soul-shriveling cold that had crept into her mind and body while she’d stared at the contorted form of Philip’s formerly beautiful wife. She wondered if that image would be burned into the retina of her mind forever. She expected to lie awake for hours, but, mercifully, by the time she crawled into bed at Marc’s downtown apartment, she was so exhausted she fell immediately into a deep sleep. *

*

*

At about the same time as Risa was falling asleep in Marc’s guest room, Adam, still on his feet if not wide awake, was standing at the dining room window of Sam Langdon’s rambling mansion not many city blocks away. He stared unseeingly at the snow-covered, ruthlessly pruned formal garden that was Hazel’s pride and joy. Behind him, Hazel and Robert’s wife, Elizabeth, talked in hushed voices while they all waited for Robert to get off the phone at the other end of the room. 29

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He’d been calling Philip’s friends and acquaintances for half an hour without any success. Adam and Officer Watson had arrived less than an hour earlier. In spite of the emotionally charged news that he’d shared with his mother and brother, Adam felt strangely isolated from them. Maybe it had to do with fatigue or the oddly dead air in this overly soundproofed house. Voices sounded as if they were being strained through cotton wool. Even odors seemed to lack sharpness. He could swear that the vase of fresh carnations on the buffet beside him had no perfume at all. And not one person had showed a sign of genuine grief at the news of Sylvia’s violent death. Hazel, abruptly awakened from a sound sleep, had blanched when he told her, then had tolerated his comforting embrace for a few seconds. His mother’s fragile appearance fooled a lot of people. “We can’t tell Sam,” was her first comment. “You had better call Robert. He can make the arrangements.” It was typical of Hazel to think of Sam first, then delegate the chores. Sam was the one person who would be truly broken up about Sylvia’s death. She was his darling girl, the only child of his blood. In his eyes, all her faults were forgivable. Robert and Elizabeth, summoned from across the street, at first insisted Adam must be mistaken. Sylvia could not possibly be lying dead in a garage in one of the new subdivisions north of the city. She was spending the week at her favorite spa in the mountains. The policewoman’s presence eventually convinced them that Sam’s daughter was indeed dead, but they were indignant when she questioned them about when and where they had last seen Sylvia. “But Hazel”—Elizabeth turned her narrowed eyes towards her mother-in-law for confirmation—“didn’t Sylvia tell us right here in this room last Tuesday after dinner that she was stressed out and going to spend the next week or even two at the Tree of Life? That’s the name 30

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of the spa,” she explained to Officer Watson. “That was the last time we saw my sister,” Robert volunteered. “She was very upset. Her marriage was falling apart and the doctors had just told us nothing more could be done for Father. She said she needed to get away to reassess her life. You’re sure it wasn’t suicide?” That was all either of them could contribute. They had no idea why Sylvia would be anywhere near the Vitale house. They were suitably shocked by her violent death, but not really devastated. Of course, Sylvia had never bothered to hide her resentment when Sam had married Langdon’s accountant’s widow—especially as she came with two attention-grabbing, teenaged stepbrothers. Hazel was enough of a realist to accept she might never overcome her stepdaughter’s hostility. Robert bent over backwards to be agreeable, but he never won Sylvia over. And Adam had seen no point in trying to get on with a spoiled stepsister who was eight years older than he was. He’d actually felt a little sorry for the unhappy woman, but had avoided her when he could. Besides, as soon as he could manage it, he made sure he stayed at least half a continent away from Denver. “Well,” Robert said as he joined them, “I don’t know who else to try.” “There can’t be many people this side of the Front Range you haven’t wakened,” Adam commented dryly. “Philip has to be informed.” Robert, puffed up and indignant, verged on being a caricature of himself. “Tell me again, Adam. I still don’t understand how you came to be out in that new development with Risa Vitale, of all people.” Adam bit his tongue. What was the point of picking a fight with the tedious, self-important man his brother had inexplicably turned into? Elizabeth turned her cold blue gaze on him. “Robert’s right. You knew Hazel was anxious. And Sam’s been going on for days about wanting to talk to you.” She made an impatient noise with her thin lips. 31

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“If you’d come directly home, you wouldn’t have had to arrive with a policeman in tow.” “For God’s sake, Elizabeth, Sylvia would still be dead!” Adam exploded. “My refusing to spend some time reminiscing with a high school friend wouldn’t have changed that.” “Be that as it may,” Robert told them, “it’s unfortunate that you were there. I’m going over to police headquarters to make sure they don’t drag their heels about doing whatever it is they have to do before they release Sylvia’s body to the family for burial. The sooner we have the funeral, the better it will be for everyone.” Hazel nodded her agreement. “Tell them we want to make as little fuss as possible because we’re trying to keep her death from Sam. We don’t know how long he has. He may never have to know.” Adam saw the first crack in her composure. He suspected that dynamic, hard-driving Sam Langdon had been the only real love of her life. “You’ll be wasting your breath, Robert,” Adam warned. “Sylvia didn’t just die. She was shot. There’s no way they can rush the investigation or keep it quiet.” “We’ll see about that.” Adam watched his older brother march out of the room. Robert kept himself in amazing physical condition for a thirty-eight-year-old, deskbound businessman. His body was well muscled and lean. It was only when he spoke that he gave the impression he was at least twenty years older. “How long are you expecting to stay, Adam?” his mother asked. “I haven’t decided.” He’d almost said he’d be there as long as he was needed, but he wasn’t sure anyone here needed him at all. Perhaps that wasn’t true. Anxious tiger eyes filled his mind. He was definitely sticking around long enough to find out where Risa Vitale fit into the odd 32

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circumstances around Sylvia’s death. “I’d planned to stay here with you a week at least,” he said. They’d get Sylvia’s funeral over with. After that, he’d probably find a place of his own. “Good. I had your old room prepared. You must be tired.” Tired didn’t begin to describe the weariness he felt, but there was something he should do first. “I do need some rest,” he said, “but I want to see Sam before I go up.” “He won’t be at his best at this hour. Why don’t you wait until he’s had his medication and something to eat?” “He insisted I hurry out here, Hazel. I think I should hear what he has to say.” Hazel straightened her shoulders and gave him a long level look. He met it. “He may not know you,” she said quietly. “He has good days and bad ones.” He nodded his acceptance of that disturbing piece of news. “You won’t say anything about Sylvia?” “I won’t.” Hazel’s reluctance to have him see Sam underlined the seriousness of his condition. “You don’t know what he wants to talk about?” “I got the impression he wanted to mend some fences, while he still could. I hope it’s not too late. Well, come on then.” In Adam’s estimation, most of the fences had been mended. He and Sam had been at loggerheads for too many years to ever be close, but during Adam’s sporadic visits over the past few months, they had covered a lot of ground in their long, late-night talks. In the course of arguing about politics and the future of world commerce in an electronic age, they’d discovered more than a few dreams and concerns in common. Adam regretted that they’d waited until Sam’s days were 33

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numbered to begin to get to know each other. He wondered what the manipulative old devil meant by mending fences. He smiled inwardly. More than likely, whatever he intended would demand huge concessions on Adam’s part. The spacious library at the back of the ground floor had been converted to hold Sam’s hospital bed, massage table, and all the other paraphernalia that the various nurses and therapists used to keep his muscles toned. Sam sat in an armchair by the window. The first glimpse of his stepfather stopped Adam in his tracks. Sam had always been an intelligent bulldozer of a man—larger than life— louder, more assertive, more short-tempered, more intolerant, extreme in his affections for his wife and his daughter. This slack-jawed, sweetfaced man was someone else entirely. “Sam, dear,” Hazel said when they entered, “Adam has come to see you.” “Yes?” Sam’s gentle smile said plainly that he had no idea who Adam was. “Just wanted to see how you were doing,” Adam said, shooting a quick glance at his mother. Hazel’s sad eyes said it all. The brain tumor was wiping out all traces of the man she loved. “I’m fine,” Sam replied. “Just fine.” Sam’s nurse bustled into the room and shooed them out of the room so she could do her patient’s ablutions in private. Adam and Hazel walked, side by side, down the hall to his old room. “He does have good days,” Hazel said. “I just never know when he’s going to come back for a while. It could happen today or not until next week. All I know is that he’ll want to see you when he does. You were all he could talk about this last week. He’s very concerned about something he thinks only you can fix.” He grasped her cold fingers. “I’ll be available when he does. If I’m 34

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away from the house, I’ll have my cell phone with me.” “Thank you, dear.” Hazel slipped her fingers out of his grasp, but her gaze held his for a moment. “I’m glad you’re here. Go on now. Have a rest. There’s nothing you can do tonight.” He left her in the upper hall and went into the large, bright room that had been reserved for his rare visits. Too weary to notice his surroundings, he drew the drapes and stripped down to his boxers. He lay down on top of the spread, pulled the comforter over him and set his internal alarm for six hours. Having a rest wouldn’t bring him any closer to learning who had killed Sylvia or why. However, a few hours of solid sleep should rejuvenate him. Possibly when he awoke, Sam would be lucid. And maybe the police would have located Philip March. The husband was usually their first choice for a suspect. Philip was the obvious link to Risa and someone had left a pool of blood and a revolver in Risa’s van. He was too tired to think clearly. But he would sort it out. He was going to get personally involved in finding out who’d killed his stepsister. Like it or not, Marc Vitale, assistant D.A. and old skiing buddy, would have an investigative journalist attached to him like a limpet. Yes, Tagg was going to join forces with Nutzo Marco because they both had personal stakes in solving this murder. Not that those stakes were identical, he reminded himself sternly.

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CHAPTER 3

Waking that day was like climbing out of a slippery, deep black hole. By the time Risa had fought her way slowly and reluctantly back to semi-consciousness, the sun was high in the sky and pouring through gauzy sheers onto her pillow. She opened one eye, then closed it quickly against the light. Nothing looked familiar. Those nondescript beige walls could belong to a hotel room anywhere. She opened both eyes just a slit and made herself concentrate. She did recognize the brown satin comforter and the boring maroon drapes. She’d been with Marc when he’d selected them for what he called his unisex guest room. Then she remembered all too clearly last night’s events. She wished she could pull the comforter over her head and try to recapture the blessed oblivion of sleep, but that wouldn’t solve her problems and she still had a business to run. She glanced at the digital clock on the mahogany dresser. It was 36

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after one o’clock! She had an appointment with Philip about Langdon’s claim of ownership of the Vitale label at two. Her own lawyer felt Langdon’s didn’t have a hope of taking it over on the strength of one exclusive contract for a single line of casual wear, but she’d worked too hard building her company to lose anything by default. Risa leapt out of bed, picked up the cordless phone, punched in the numbers that called up her voice mail and headed for the bathroom. She hadn’t checked it since she left Vitale’s at four o’clock Thursday afternoon. She seemed to have more than the usual number of hangups, then two actual messages from people she could get back to any time in the next couple of days. She was brushing her teeth when she heard the third message, which the electronic voice told her, had been recorded last Thursday evening. She had turned off the ringer on her telephone because she was leaving for the airport so early the following morning. “I’m really sorry, Pet,” Philip’s smooth voice greeted her. She’d heard those blissfully unrepentant words so often during their marriage. He was relentless with the endearments. She hadn’t been his Pet for almost six years. “We’ll have to postpone our meeting. Something has come up and I’ll be tied up all of next week. Please give Suzanne a call. I’ve told her to arrange an appointment at any time that suits you.” Poor feckless, irresponsible Philip. Not even the cushy job Sylvia had invented for him as head of Langdon’s legal department could keep him from having “something come up” when the urge took him. Was he aware yet that he was a widower? Hey! She didn’t have to rush anywhere or face anyone this afternoon! That momentary surge of relief somehow slipped the catch on the lid she’d clamped down on her emotions. She couldn’t forget that some faceless person had killed Sylvia March, then violated her parents’ home by dumping her body there. That someone hated Risa enough to implicate her in murder made her flesh crawl. It made her stomach 37

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queasy. Finally, it made her furious. That creep had made a malicious, unprovoked attack on her. More important, he’d attacked her family. She could cower here in Marc’s apartment until someone else made it all right or she could damn well do her best to find out who the enemy was. Some choice! But what could she do? Her only connection with Sylvia had been Philip. And that was years ago. She wondered if the police had found Philip yet. Once they had, she’d have a better idea of what was going on. Right now, all she could do was try to get her own life back on line. To start with, she’d get the locks changed on her apartment, and then do the same on her parents’ house as soon as the police let her near the place. The minute the apartment was secure, she’d get Fang out of the boarding kennel. She was staying at her parents’ house with its fenced yard because Mom had stated flatly that she couldn’t enjoy an anniversary trip if her Fang was in a doggy prison. Marc’s condominium group had strict rules against pets. So did Risa’s apartment complex. But she was taking the retriever home with her. What did it matter if the landlord canceled her lease? Garth would fuss at having to move, but she could handle that. Their current living arrangement was only temporary and Garth certainly didn’t like the location well enough to keep the apartment after she found her own place. She found Marc’s note in the kitchen, propped up against the toaster. “Gone to work. Big court case this morning. Be home late afternoon bearing Chinese for dinner. DON’T LEAVE THE CONDO.” Across the bottom was scrawled, “Love M.” Big brother never changed. She shrugged and flipped through the yellow pages for the name of a locksmith. After a frustrating half hour, she had to accept that the earliest she could get one to come would be the following morning. Breathing out a long, exasperated breath, she picked up the receiver once more to inform the boarding kennel that 38

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she’d pick up Fang at about ten-thirty the next morning. It seemed she would be staying home like an obedient little sister after all. She was tempted to put some dismal music on the stereo and indulge in a serious bout of self-pity. “Get your act together, Risa,” she told herself. “You can open that box of swatches Garth packed and choose the swimsuit materials so Gretta can get started making them up.” She took a deep breath and set to work. *

*

*

At ten-thirty the next morning, right on schedule, Risa retrieved her parents’ ecstatic Golden Retriever. The wagging of Fang’s tail began just behind his pale wheat-colored ears. He bounced happily in place while the whole length of his heavy torso whipped back and forth. She crouched in front of him and attempted to fasten his collar. No matter how she twisted her body, it was impossible to stay within arm’s length and keep her face out of the way of his long, pink tongue. “Yeuchh! Simmer down, boy.” She couldn’t help laughing at his exuberance. “I’ve sprung you.” She finally understood why her parents were so foolishly fond of this beast. His unadulterated joy at seeing her was irresistible. Actually things were going pretty smoothly, she thought as she allowed Fang to tow her across the parking lot, so eager to get into the car that his feet skittered across the asphalt. Last night, she’d managed to convince Marc that she should move back into the apartment, and this morning, Ace Locksmiths’ serviceman was waiting when she arrived and had the new deadbolts installed in less than half an hour. As soon as Fang got into the familiar back seat of Marc’s Volvo, he settled right down. She hoped the location of her apartment near the back door would enable her to sneak the dog in and out without alerting the building superintendent for a few days. When she’d informed Garth that the apartment she’d sublet for 39

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them was on the ground floor at the very back of the building, he’d been truly miffed. Garth did “miffed” better than anyone she knew. She smiled. Her partner’s theatrical mannerisms put some people off, but it had been a lucky day for her when her roommate had proudly introduced her to her cousin, Garth. He’d been so enthusiastic about her designs he had offered to buy in as a partner in Vitale Inc. Risa freely admitted it was Garth who had made the company the success it had become. It would have remained an exclusive boutique with a small, loyal clientele without his keen business sense and the scores of contacts he’d made during two decades as a buyer for a major Canadian department store chain. She was fond of Garth Hartmann, but he was much easier to work with than to share an apartment with. She checked her watch. She had plenty of time to stop at the loft, give Gretta her decision on the fabrics and call Garth to tell him his old apartment key wouldn’t work. Thank goodness he had business in Toronto for the next week or so. Gretta took one look at her and exclaimed, “What did they do to you in Toronto, child? You look terrible.” “The Toronto trip was great,” Risa replied, then went on to give her a capsule version of what had happened to her since she got back to Denver. Garth’s aunt, Gretta Hartmann, managed the loft and its two owners with equal gusto. Everything about Gretta was dependable and built on heroic lines. Her solid body was clad, as usual, in a sturdy black jumper and white blouse, her graying blond hair coiffed in a bouffant sixties style. Her bright eyes were perceptive and compassionate. “You’ll come and stay with us,” she stated. “Thank you, Gretta. But I’m staying at the apartment,” Risa countered. “I have Mom’s dog. We wouldn’t want to start up Pete’s allergies.” “There are kennels.” 40

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“I promised Mom.” After a long, measuring look, Gretta put an arm around her and drew her against her formidable bosom for a quick hug. “If you’re at all nervous staying alone, put the dog in a kennel and come to us.” She cleared her throat. “Garth called this morning to ask what I thought of the samples he’d sent. I suppose he knows nothing of this.” “I’ll call him now.” Risa indicated the carton she’d placed on Gretta’s desk. “I put a list of my fabric choices inside. Take a look and tell me what you think.” By the time she hung up after her call to Garth, Risa felt as if she had physically wrestled her partner to the ground. He’d been as upset as she’d expected about her grisly experience. It had taken all her persuasive ability to convince him of how terrible she would feel if he disrupted his plans to be with her. “I’ll be fine here,” she assured him. “The police are doing everything they can.” “But, Risa, my dear,” he expostulated, “they never found the man who stole your purse. I won’t have a moment’s peace of mind knowing you’re in danger half a continent away.” “Garth,” she said firmly, “I’ve had the apartment locks replaced with ultra-secure deadbolts. And don’t forget I have the fearsome Fang with me.” Garth gave a derisive snort. “He has a ferocious bark. Hey, who knows what he’d do if he was ever confronted by an enemy.” She realized how ineffective that argument was. “Besides, you know Marc will hover.” Eventually, Garth grudgingly agreed to stick with his original plans and Risa was able to head for the relative peace and solitude of her apartment. As the building superintendent’s apartment was just off the front 41

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foyer, Risa parked close to the back door that led in from the parking lot and waited until she knew Mrs. Martin would be settled in front of her TV watching her midday soaps. She felt guilty about sneaking in the back way and breaking rules in the lease she’d signed, but Risa told herself that Fang wouldn’t bother anyone. The short distance between the back door and the apartment seemed interminable, but they met no one in the hallway. All the same, by the time they got inside, she felt like sagging against the door in relief. Fang pranced impatiently. “All right, Fang,” she said. “Let’s get you some water and something to eat.” She tossed the dog’s blanket onto the floor of her bedroom, took him into the kitchen and put water and some dry kibble she’d brought from the kennel into mixing bowls for him. She’d have to do some grocery shopping to tide them over until she could go back to the house. That could wait until tomorrow. She wondered how Adam was coping. She was sure he wasn’t thinking about her. The gruesome discovery of Sylvia’s body had effectively killed his budding interest. Why did his automatic assumption she was a liar hurt? Only a fool would mourn a relationship that had never existed. She heaved her suitcase onto the bed, and, with the skill of an exmodel who had lived out of one for weeks on end, began to unpack. She was reaching into the closet to hang up her black silk jacket when she noticed it. A man’s freshly ironed white shirt hung slightly apart from her blouses. Around its collar was draped one of the subdued tri-colored regimental ties that Philip affected. But, to her knowledge, Philip had never set foot in the apartment. Uneasily, she looked around the room for anything else that was out of place. There! There on the vanity, beside her brush and comb, was a 42

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pair of men’s hammered silver cuff links. It was the pair she’d given Philip for their fourth wedding anniversary a couple of weeks before he’d announced he was in love with Sylvia Langdon and wanted a divorce. Had Philip been using her apartment while she was away? That didn’t make sense. How did he get in? She dug in her purse for her address book. Early this year when Robert Langdon had insisted she communicate with Philip about the legal aspects of manufacturing and selling her line in both the United States and Canada, Philip had given her his home number in case she couldn’t reach him at Langdon Industries. She snatched up the telephone and punched in the number. The curt male voice that answered was unfamiliar and threw her off balance for a moment. “I’d like to speak to Philip March, please,” she announced, a little uncertainly. “He’s not available right now,” the voice said. “But I can take a message. Who is this?” The words were right but the abrupt manner suggested police. Did they suspect Philip of killing Sylvia? In the mystery novels she read, the husband was always a prime suspect. But that didn’t ring true with Philip. He would never get his emotions involved deeply enough to kill. The vulnerability of her own position struck her and she quietly broke the connection. She didn’t want to give the police any false ideas about her relationship with Philip. Had he been hiding in her apartment from whoever had killed Sylvia? She hurried into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. All it contained was a small piece of cheese, an apple and a few eggs. Before she left last Friday morning, she’d thrown out anything she thought might spoil. If Philip had been here, he hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t stocked the fridge with the mineral water he insisted on drinking either. The 43

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trash container under the sink was empty. She checked her watch. It was only three o’clock. Marc should still be at his office. He was. “Don’t touch anything else,” he said. “We’ll be right there.” He didn’t identify the “we” before he hung up, but she didn’t have long to wonder. In less than twenty minutes, he was pounding on her door. The fuss that Fang made over Marc’s arrival covered Risa’s confusion when Adam Taggart followed her brother into the apartment. She wished she could ignore the current that crackled between them as easily as he apparently could. Forty-eight hours ago, he had been eager to get to know her better, then he’d lowered that impermeable plastic shield around his emotions. In his face right now, she saw only the distanced curiosity of an experienced reporter. Luckily, Marc was there and there was no need to try to make small talk. “Show me,” was Marc’s greeting. She led the way into her bedroom. She had never realized before how apt Garth’s description of her room as “the nunnery” was until the moment Marc and Adam stormed into it. She’d always preferred simplicity and clean lines in her decorating, but had probably overdone it in here. The only splash of color in the white room was the oil painting of great drooping red poppies that Garth had presented to her the day they signed their partnership papers. She wondered what Adam made of the odd combination of the virginal white room and its sensual scarlet focal point. “I don’t like this,” her brother muttered. His dark eyes were fixed on the cuff links as if they could tell him something. “March hasn’t ever been in here, has he?” “What do you think?” She was outraged he would even ask. “I want Adam to hear it from you,” her brother insisted. “Never,” she bit out. “Not in this room. Not in this apartment.” 44

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“Strange that his cuff links are on your dressing table,” Adam commented. “Why are you here, Adam?” She was in no mood for snide comments. “Marc called me.” She flinched. *

*

*

Adam regretted his terse reply the minute the words left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. Damn it! He wanted to believe she was still the straightforward kid he’d known and liked. But what could he say? He wasn’t sure. “I’m trying to convince Adam to help us.” Marc peered into the open closet. “Yeah. That looks like one of Philip’s ties, all right. Why would anyone want it to look like he’d been here?” “Sylvia told the family when I was home in March that her marriage was rocky because Philip’s ex-wife was trying to lure him back.” Adam kept his voice matter-of-fact, but he needed to hear Risa’s response to the accusation. Risa whirled to face him and allowed him to meet her eyes for the first time since he’d arrived. The connection between their minds could not have been stronger if he’d known her intimately all his life. He watched outrage momentarily color her cheeks, then as the implications of Sylvia’s allegation dawned on her, he could feel her anger fade to dismay, then slowly chill to fear. “No,” she whispered. “That’s not true.” “No, it isn’t,” her brother said. Marc looked even more shaken than he had when he’d poured out his fears to Adam over lunch. “But I had a long talk with Paul McIntyre this morning before I called you, Tagg. Your brother must’ve mentioned Sylvia’s suspicions when he was throwing his weight around at the station yesterday. The D.A. is actually considering the cockeyed idea that Risa and Philip could’ve 45

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acted together to kill his wife.” “Right,” Risa said bitterly, “and I tossed the gun into my van, where I made sure her stepbrother would find it. Then I took him out to find her body in our garage. Not only do I have lousy taste in men but I’m severely lacking in brains. Surely Paul doesn’t believe that.” “He says he can’t ignore the physical evidence, even if he does find the idea darned hard to swallow. The theory is that Philip was supposed to get rid of the body after you left, but the two of you had some kind of falling out—” “It’s called a divorce!” Risa exploded, turning on her heel and striding out of the bedroom. “And it happened over four years ago. This is insane.” She flung herself onto the living room sofa. “And you”—she glared at Adam—“what do you believe?” He stared into her angry eyes. It should be easy to tell her what she wanted to hear, but he couldn’t lie to her. “I believe you were surprised and upset by the revolver.” That much was true. But the surprise reunion on the plane still bothered him. “And that you were as shocked as I was to find Sylvia’s body at your parents’ house.” Her unswerving gaze dared him to go on. He maintained eye contact for another second or two, but was the first to break away. She was right. The police theory didn’t make sense. He was having a hard time picturing Risa, even as a naïve young girl, being taken in by a womanizer like Philip March. It was impossible to imagine the woman she was today chasing after him. Almost as hard as it was to accept their coincidental meeting. He shook his head slowly. “But you’re not sure if I knew she was going to be killed. Is that it?” He should have known she wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily. 46

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“Stop that! Both of you,” Marc snapped. Adam had almost forgotten his presence. “The three of us are going to have to pull together. We all want to find out who killed her. Think, Reese. Why would Philip sneak in and leave these things in your apartment?” “I don’t even see how he could. Garth certainly wouldn’t let him in. Besides, Garth left for Toronto before I did.” She stopped short. “What do you mean, the three of us?” Marc took her hand. “I’m in a tricky position. Someone is trying to make it look as if you are involved in Sylvia March’s death. If you were arrested”—Risa blanched—“they would never assign the case to me, and, if I want to keep my job, I won’t be able to be too visibly involved in trying to find the real murderer. We have to get some expert help. And fast. Paul says he’s already been told there’s a lot of pressure on for a quick arrest.” “But I never even met the woman!” Risa protested. Her eyes flashed a challenge at Adam. “Although Adam has trouble believing that.” She was feisty; he’d give her that. “We have to trust him, Risa. Tagg’s whole reputation is based on his objectivity and sense of fairness. He has the experience and a talent for investigating. Most importantly, he wants to find out who killed his stepsister as much as we do, and he’d just as soon not have a private investigator digging into her life. With his skills and my access to inside information about the investigation, we’ll get at the truth.” “I have a hunch we don’t have time to waste,” Adam said, extending his hand to Risa. “Do we have a deal?” He could tell she wasn’t eager to do it, but she did take his hand. “We’d better check every inch of this apartment, in case there are more little treasures that don’t belong here,” he said with a tight smile. He didn’t like to see someone being set up. And try as he might, he couldn’t see why Risa would call Marc about this if she were involved 47

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with her ex-husband. “I need rubber gloves, if you have them. And a large plastic bag. I want to get that shirt and the cuff links out of here before McIntyre or someone else comes looking for them.” The only other thing they found during their intensive search was a part bottle of Chivas Regal scotch whiskey in the kitchen cupboard beside the cooking sherry. “That’s the brand March used to drink a few years ago,” Marc affirmed. “I don’t drink hard liquor,” Risa said in answer to Adam’s enquiring look. “The occasional glass of wine, that’s all.” “How about the man you’re living with?” He’d been trying not to think about the man whose expensive wardrobe they’d pawed through. “Garth? He doesn’t drink at all,” she told him. “And neither of us has had time to entertain since we moved in here.” Marc gave him a funny grin. Adam didn’t return it. He hadn’t found anything amusing in the last day-and-a-half. Adam put the scotch bottle into a second bag and took it out to join the other one in the roomy trunk of Sam’s Lincoln. “Time we made some plans,” he said as he rejoined Risa and Marc in the surprisingly large and bright apartment kitchen. “We need to hear what Philip has to say for himself. He has the most to gain from Sylvia’s death. If she’d gone through with the divorce, he’d have inherited nothing. Now, he’ll come into some real money. Just the trust fund her mother left her is probably in the seven or eight digits.” “He’s the police’s first choice,” Marc agreed. “But as of this morning, they hadn’t been able to locate him.” “If anyone knows where Philip is, it’s his sister Christine,” Risa said thoughtfully. “She covered for him enough times when we were married. But I don’t think Philip killed Sylvia. He’s a cheat and a user, but I can’t see him shooting anyone.” The doorbell chimed loudly. Fang leapt up from his bedding in the 48

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corner of the kitchen and tore, barking, towards the door like an angry German shepherd. “Quiet, Fang,” Risa cried, grabbing at his collar. “You’re going to get us evicted.” “What a guard dog!” Marc encouraged, patting him vigorously. Adam stepped around them and opened the door. Paul McIntyre stepped in. “Hello, Risa,” he said, ignoring everyone else. “There are a couple of things I’d like to clear up with you if you have a minute.” “She’s given you her statement,” Marc said coldly. “I wouldn’t say anything else without counsel, Risa.” “Come on, Marc. I’m not trying to pull anything here. There’s just some confusion about when she left Denver last Friday.” “It’s all right, Marc,” Risa interrupted. “I told you several times, Paul, I was on the first morning flight to Chicago. I had a lunch meeting with Langdon’s Special Events Coordinator there.” “That’s the problem,” Paul said. “Margo Brown says you cancelled that lunch.” “Risa,” Marc warned, “you don’t have to say anything.” “I went straight to the restaurant and waited around for quite a while before I discovered someone had cancelled the reservation. So I called Margo and met her at the store just before the fashion show.” “That wasn’t until four o’clock. We have to consider that there are later flights you could’ve taken to get there by then. Is there anyone who can confirm your movements?” “You’re making it hard to believe this is a simple clarification, McIntyre,” Adam interrupted, stepping in front of Risa. “I suggest you leave Risa alone, unless you’re prepared to make your questions formal.” “What are you doing here, Taggart?” Paul snapped. “People keep asking me that.” Adam gave Risa a conspiratorial grin. “I guess I’m trying to renew some friendships I regret allowing to 49

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lapse.” “Believe it or not, I’m acting out of friendship, too.” Paul looked as if he hadn’t had any more sleep than the rest of them. “We have some major questions concerning timing. The receptionist who does the bookings at the Tree of Life denies that Sylvia March had a reservation there any time this month. We don’t know yet where she went or where she was killed. The whole state is on the lookout for her car. “Last time anyone saw her alive was at dinner at the Langdons’ ten days ago. With the freezing temperatures we’ve had since and finding her body in that unheated garage, I don’t think we’ll ever know the exact time of death. That’s why we have to know where everyone was during that week.” “That’s why you’re here?” Marc’s posture was still aggressive. Paul had the grace to look embarrassed. “We’re still trying to locate Philip March and I have reason to believe he’s been staying in this apartment.” “Let me guess,” Adam drawled. “An anonymous call?” “I’m not at liberty to say.” “Philip has not been here, but you’re welcome to look around,” Risa told him, ignoring her brother’s cautioning look. Paul took her at her word and spent the next hour methodically checking the apartment. Finally, he appeared to be satisfied that he’d received false information. “Someone is determined to drag you into this, Risa,” he said before he left. “For what it’s worth, I was around when Philip dropped you for the Langdon money and I don’t believe you’d ever fall for his line again. The D.A., however, is pushing the theory that you are, at least, an accessory. Watch your back.” After McIntyre left, it was almost a full minute before Marc broke the silence. “I don’t know if you’re aware, Tagg, that Jamieson is retiring and 50

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won’t be handling the case. Since I’d have an obvious conflict of interest, Craig Carson will be handling it.” “And he’s your main competition for the D.A.’s job.” Risa was beginning to get the picture. “If he can get me convicted, he wins two ways. Your sister is a murderer and he gets great publicity for putting me behind bars.” “The media will love this story,” Marc said with a worried frown. “It has everything—sex, money, jealousy. Carson gets a quick conviction and he’s a shoe-in for D.A.” “We’re not going to let that happen.” Adam was surprised at how angry he was that some unscrupulous lawyer was attempting to use Risa to further his career. “All right, Risa, when was the last time you heard from March?” “I was supposed to meet with him yesterday at his office to try to work out some kind of agreement about the ownership of the Vitale label. But when I checked my messages from your place, Marc, I found one from Philip canceling the meeting. I called his office this morning to reschedule the appointment and Suzanne said he was out of town and unavailable for the next week.” “I hope you didn’t wipe the tape,” Adam said, punching the play button on the answering machine sitting that sat on the little telephone table by the front door. While they waited impatiently for the first two messages to play through, Adam studied Risa’s face. She looked worried and inexpressibly appealing. Blast! He knew better. The most treacherous woman he’d ever known had worn the face of an angel. Dainty, deceitful Halle had protested she loved him, even as she led him into the trap that resulted in his spending two miserable months in an Arabian stable while the government and the network negotiated his release. However, the instincts he had depended on all his life told him Risa 51

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wasn’t capable of conspiring with a lover to kill his wife. “I’m really sorry, Pet.” Philip’s taped voice was confident and strong. He sounded like a man who had the world by the tail. “We’ll have to postpone our meeting. Something has come up…” Pet! The man she’d been divorced from for five years called her “Pet”? The expression on Marc’s face shouted the same question.

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CHAPTER 4

Risa grimaced. “Philip didn’t explain what had come up or where he was going to be. Of course, he never did, even when I had every right to know.” Surely she knew that wasn’t the major question the taped message raised. “What did he mean by ‘Pet’?” Marc asked, beating Adam to it by a split-second. “Marc, you ass.” She looked surprised at the question, then chuckled. “He always called me that. Now he does it because he knows it annoys me. It is necessary for us to speak occasionally about business, you know. I think I make him uncomfortable.” Her graceful hands were in constant motion. Adam loved to watch her. “Uncomfortable!” Marc snorted his disgust. “He has the nerve of a canal horse! And no sense of guilt. You drop out of college, support 53

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him through law school, then he cons you into accepting a small cash settlement when he moves on to bigger bucks.” He turned to Adam with a sheepish look. “Oh, sorry, Adam. I keep forgetting she was your stepsister.” “We hardly knew each other,” Adam muttered. Put in simple words, his relationship with Sylvia sounded unnatural. Had he become so good at turning off his compassion for the victims of the horrors he’d covered that his stepsister’s death left him unmoved? Granted, he was angry someone had killed her and he wanted her murderer caught, but he didn’t honestly feel any deep sense of loss. “I know this is hard for you,” Marc went on, deepening Adam’s sense of guilt, “but I have a feeling Carson is going to move quickly on this. He’ll have Philip arrested the minute they find him.” “Then we’d better find Philip while he’s still at large,” Adam bit out, slamming an angry fist into his palm, “and convince him to tell us where he’s been and why he’s trying to frame Risa.” “His sister is a pediatric nurse at Children’s Hospital.” Risa headed for the cordless telephone in her bedroom. “I’ll see if I can find out what shift she’s working.” She had her first stroke of good luck since her plane set down at Denver International. “Pediatrics. Christine March speaking.” Her bright voice sounded a lot pleasanter than it had the last time they’d spoken. It was just after the divorce. Christine had torn a strip off Risa that day for insisting on a cash settlement when poor Philip was just getting nicely settled in his new office. “Christine, this is Risa. I need to talk to you about Philip.” “What is it?” the older woman demanded. “Can you find time to see me after your shift?” she added quickly before the older woman could hang up on her. “Have you been talking to Philip?” 54

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Risa’s hopes fell at the relief in Christine’s voice. “In a way,” she hedged. “Can I come by?” She could hear voices in the background and someone on a public address system calling insistently for Ms. March. “I’ll be home at six o’clock.” Christine’s response was rushed. “Same house.” She hung up. Risa depressed the button on her own receiver and turned to the two men who were watching her from the doorway. “I don’t know if she can tell us anything, but she agreed to meet me at her house at six.” “I’ll go with you,” Adam announced. “I wish I didn’t have to get back to the office,” Marc said with a grimace. “But you don’t need me. I’ll be at Silvano’s when you’re through. If you’ll tell me what you found out, I’ll treat you both to his zuppa di pesca.” “Ah, Marco, you know my weaknesses.” She turned to Adam. “Have you tried my cousin’s restaurant?” “Not yet.” “Then prepare to be amazed. Hope you like seafood.” “Sometimes,” he answered cautiously. “But I’ve never thought of Denver as a seaport.” “Silvano will make you believe it,” Marc promised. “I’d better check with Hazel and tell her I won’t be there for dinner if she doesn’t need me.” An emotion Risa couldn’t decipher—guilt, indecision, perhaps regret—flashed across Adam’s face. “I’m so wrapped up in my own problems,” Risa apologized, “I forgot you have other priorities. I’ll go to Christine’s on my own.” Adam turned those mesmerizing silvery eyes on her. “I want to go with you. If I can use your phone,” he said, “I’ll call Hazel.” He took the cordless, disappeared with it into her bedroom, and closed the door. 55

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“Poor guy. Imagine living in a family where brothers and sisters hardly know each other,” Marc said, giving her a good-bye peck on the cheek. “See you about seven-thirty. But don’t get your hopes up,” Risa warned. “I got the impression Christine’s hoping I can tell her where Philip is.” “Keep your chin up, Reese.” Keep my guard up, too, she thought as the door closed behind her brother. Adam was a fascinating man, but he was an enigma she couldn’t afford to read wrong—no matter what messages she was tempted to read in his eyes. It would be foolish to think he had her interests at heart. She knew too little about him. Had he ever been married? Engaged? Did he have ambitions? Hopes? “That’s settled. Hazel’s fine. My sister-in-law, Elizabeth, is staying with her,” Adam announced as he came back into the living room. “Should we feed Fang and take him for a short stroll to make sure he’ll be all right while we’re gone?” The brisk walk to the small neighborhood park was pleasant and reminiscent of normal living. She and Adam were almost falling into a kind of fragile easiness with one another. “I haven’t walked a dog since I was in college.” Adam picked up a stick and threw it for Fang to retrieve. “The woman I was engaged to had an English setter.” “I gather you didn’t marry the woman with the setter,” Risa said after a moment. “Nope.” Adam didn’t seem to be inclined to elaborate. “You know about my failed marriage,” Risa prodded. “Be fair. Tell me about it.” “Very little to tell,” he said, accepting the returned stick and hurling it halfway across the park. “I met Melissa when we were working on the college newspaper. We were going to be world correspondents, 56

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traveling the globe in search of adventure and the Truth.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “The truth was she never looked past the Langdon money. I should’ve clued in when she kept telling me that my refusing to take Sam’s name was unfair to him. When she finally accepted I wasn’t going to take a position with Langdon Industries, we parted ways. I realized later that I was more in love with the dream than with Melissa.” “You ever been married?” “Never found a woman who could put up with me.” He clipped the leash back on Fang’s collar. “We’d better head back, don’t you think?” They got the dog back in undetected and left him curled up on the kitchen floor by his water dish. “Be a good dog,” Risa told him. “Otherwise we’re both homeless.” “We’ll take my car,” Adam said, hustling her out to the parking lot. “You can fill me in on Christine March on the way.” Christine was not easy to explain, but Risa tried. She was still doing her best to be fair to the woman as Adam parked the Lincoln in front of the house. “What do you mean, she thinks you took advantage of him?” he exclaimed. “Marc said your modeling supported him most of your married life.” “You’ll see when you meet her, Adam.” She grinned at him. “Christine has her own way of looking at things. She raised Philip after their mother died and resented me for taking away her baby.” As she got out of the car, she paused with her hand on the door latch. “No matter how nasty she gets, Adam, I want you to let me do the talking.” “That’s something I’m not very good at,” he admitted, “but I’ll try.” Risa had always marveled at how well Christine’s house suited its capable owner. It was small, neat, square and predominantly beige. A 57

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low, neatly trimmed hedge bordered its tidy little front lawn and a nononsense walk of rectangular concrete slabs led up to the shiny brown front door. They stepped out of the car into the biting cold wind. Immediately, the outside light flashed on. Christine apparently was watching for them. The door flew open as Risa rang the doorbell. “And who is this?” Christine asked briskly, staring up at Adam. Philip’s sister was still wearing her snowy nurse’s uniform. She was as fair as her brother, but that was where the resemblance ended. She was ten inches shorter than Philip’s six feet, but only about twenty pounds lighter. She should have been chubby and comfortably round, but, for some reason, her body gave the impression of having more corners than curves. Planting herself in the middle of the open doorway, she peered up at them through metal-rimmed glasses while Risa quickly introduced them. “Yes, well, come in. Come in,” she said, scooting ahead of them down the dim center hall. “Close the door,” she called over her shoulder. “Let’s not heat the out-of-doors.” They followed her into the brightly lit, surprisingly cozy-looking living room. With a sharp motion of her hand, she indicated they should sit on the chintz-covered sofa. She stared hard at Adam for a moment, then settled herself on the edge of a needlepoint-upholstered bench across from them. “You have a message from Philip?” she asked. “I’m afraid you misunderstood,” Risa began. “I misunderstood nothing,” Christine snapped. “You told me you’d been speaking to Philip. Don’t lie to me. Where is he?” Her bluster lost some of its effectiveness when her eyes began to fill with tears. “We came because we thought you might know how to find him,” Risa admitted. “The last word I had from him was a message on my answering machine canceling a business appointment. When I called 58

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his office, Suzanne said he was unavailable.” “He hasn’t called me. Not in almost two weeks. Not even when that wife of his was killed.” She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. “I had to find that out from the newspaper. Then her brother phoned, and policemen came looking. I’ve been calling his home, his office. I even called you,” she added bitterly. That explained some of the hang-ups on her answering machine. She could see why Christine was worried. During their marriage, Philip had never missed his Sunday phone calls to his big sister. Risa couldn’t imagine why he wouldn’t contact her now. Christine would do anything for him. “I was out of town on business.” “You were together! I can always tell when Philip is trying to hide something from me. When you got the contract with Langdon’s, I was afraid he’d take up with you again. Tell me where he is.” Risa was used to Christine’s irrational hostility. “I’ll say this once,” she said calmly. “I have absolutely no interest in renewing any kind of personal relationship with Philip. And I have not seen him in weeks.” “Ms. March…” Adam’s patience had apparently run out. “We’re hoping you can help us find him. It is vital that Risa and I talk to Philip before the police find him.” “Police!” Christine mouthed the word silently. She suddenly looked much older than her forty-five years. “They haven’t had the chance to notify him about Sylvia’s death,” he said. “You’re her other brother, aren’t you? The one who does the news?” She went on the attack again. “The newspaper as much as said that Philip killed his wife and ran away. Well, here’s a quote for you. I’m telling you straight. My Philip wouldn’t kill anyone.” “That’s what Risa said,” Adam told her. Christine shot Risa an incredulous glance. 59

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“I have it on good authority that your brother and Sylvia had separated,” Adam pressed on. “Is there anyone special Philip’s been seeing lately?” “So even the big network newsman does that kind of sleazy gossip. Philip is a married man! And I’ll have you know, he has always honored his marriage vows!” Christine’s ability to delude herself was truly amazing. “But your sister was a busy little person.” Her little eyes glittered behind the thick lenses. “Philip almost wept when he told me about the artist she was ‘helping.’ Then she started up with some policeman.” Adam’s best effort could get no more than that out of her. Apparently Philip had never told her the name of Sylvia’s artist or her policeman and Christine steadfastly denied Philip had another woman in his life. According to her, only Risa had the power to tempt him away from his current wife. Christine’s theory was that Philip was so devastated by Sylvia’s death that he was holing up somewhere, too upset to speak to anyone yet. “Can I count on you to let me know if you hear from him?” Christine asked as she saw them out. “What do you say we agree to call each other if he contacts either one of us?” She grudgingly agreed. They were no farther ahead. “I can’t get rid of the feeling something horrible has happened to Philip,” Risa said as she got into the car. “Yeah. He killed his wife and is on the run,” Adam said slowly, his sharp eyes perusing her face. He concentrated on his driving for a few minutes, then added, as if the words tasted bad, “But you don’t want me to believe that, do you?” “I don’t think it’s true.” They left the car in the small lot behind Silvano’s and were just 60

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stepping under the red awning over the restaurant entrance when a slight, balding man in a bulky beige jacket planted himself in front of Risa and shoved a small tape recorder in her face. “Ms. Vitale, I’m Bill Sands.” His words were a rapid-fire volley. “Our readers are very interested in your reactions to discovering Sylvia March’s body in your family garage.” “I…I don’t…” Risa stammered, too startled to reply. *

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“She has no comment,” Adam barked, hustling her along. “Get inside, Risa.” “Adam Taggart!” The reporter hurried along beside them. “How did you happen to be with Ms. Vitale at the scene?” Adam stepped in front of the man and blocked him from following Risa through the doorway. “We have no comment,” he said, not budging from his position just outside the outer glass doors. “You know you can’t keep me out of a public restaurant,” Sands said smugly. A blond giant in a waiter’s uniform emerged from the restaurant. “Risa tells me there’s a problem,” he said in a surprisingly soft voice. “Mr. Sands was harassing her,” Adam told him. “I simply asked her a question. Now I’d like to go in and have some dinner,” he announced with a triumphant look at Adam. “I’m dreadfully sorry, sir,” the waiter said, “but we’re fully booked. We don’t have a table free.” Adam edged past, leaving the massive young man who knew Risa well enough to call her by name to cope with Sand’s protests. Risa, looking annoyed and gorgeous, was waiting for him in the small foyer. “You all right?” he asked. She nodded. “Who’s the friendly bouncer?” He had to ask. 61

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“My cousin, Joseph,” she replied. “He’s Silvano’s son.” “He seems to be getting rid of the reporter. But I’m afraid you’re in for a lot more of that,” he warned. “In fact, it’s amazing no one has found you before now.” “I’ll be on the lookout,” she said. The brush with Sands had put the fiery golden lights back in her eyes. Adam held the inner door open for her and inhaled deeply. “There’s something about the aroma of a good Italian restaurant,” he said, with what he hoped was a companionable smile. “Don’t you think?” *

*

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She grinned back hesitantly and took a deep breath. Yes. The subtle blend of herbs, garlic, olive oil and wine in the air were exactly what she remembered. “Just wait,” she said. The smiling, dark-eyed hostess, who had apparently missed the interplay outside, dropped her menus and hurried to greet them. “Silvano,” she called, “they’re here.” “Marci,” Risa cried happily, giving her cousin a hug. “This is Adam.” If anything, Marci’s smile grew bigger. “It really is! Marc told us Adam Taggart was joining him but…” Risa found herself hauled against the massive chest of Silvano himself. “At long last,” he boomed, “Risa comes to see us.” Silvano stayed with them only long enough to be introduced to Adam. Then, with an expansive gesture, he indicated the table where Marc was already seated. “First, I bring you the most delicious food you ever tasted,” he sang out. “And wine. Then we talk. You tell me why you stayed away so long. Enjoy!” Risa laughed. “Silvano was born in northern Italy, but he’s been in 62

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the States since he was three years old. He talks that way because he thinks his customers expect it.” “And he’s done it so long, I believe it’s the way he thinks,” Marc added. “Hello, Tagg. Silvano wouldn’t let me order. So you get what you get. Was Broomhilda any help to you?” “Broomhilda?” Adam’s laugh was wonderfully deep and reminded Risa of the tantalizingly brief carefree minutes they’d managed to share before the nightmare began. “You’re right. But she’s an extremely unhappy witch right now. She has no idea where her brother is and she’s worried sick about it.” “He could be out of the country by now,” Marc muttered, shaking his head. “She did say a couple of things that were interesting, though,” Adam said. “Along with the barbs she tossed at Risa, she mentioned Sylvia was involved with an artist.” “And, believe it or not, a policeman,” Risa broke in. “Maybe one of them had a reason to kill her.” “I doubt if his motive would be as convincing as Philip’s,” Marc said, “but, at least, no one could try to connect either of them with you.” At that moment, a beaming Silvano bore in a variety of antipasto dishes and a large wicker basket containing slices of whole grain Italian breads. Risa turned her whole attention to the feast in front of her, banishing the ugly thoughts of violent death and greed and infidelity from her mind. Over the course of the next two hours and a parade of delectable dishes, the conversation meandered through a number of topics, ranging from the current status of their careers to memories of their antics on the ski trails fifteen years ago. Although they avoided the ominous implications of Sylvia’s murder as long as possible, Marc had some news he had to pass on. 63

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“I was trying to get some work done on a case I’m preparing,” Marc told them, “but every time I began, someone else came in and started talking about the murder. Paul dropped by to say the pathologist couldn’t pinpoint the time of death, but estimates Sylvia was shot some time on Friday. “They found evidence of recent sexual activity, but no bruises or signs that she’d been forced. And the A.P.B. they had out on Philip has netted them exactly zero so far. Then your brother Robert plunked himself down in my office determined I should use whatever influence I have to get Sylvia’s body released for burial.” “Don’t look at me,” Adam said, as he dug a succulent chunk of sea scallop out of his mound of pasta. “I told him no one could hurry the medical examiner.” Risa pushed her own plate away. She supposed Adam was hardened to talk of autopsies. She watched him pop the scallop into his mouth. He had an attractive mouth—wide, square, with hard-looking lips. She wondered if they relaxed and softened when he was making love. Enough! “So how did you get rid of Robert?” she blurted. Focusing on Marc was much safer. “I couldn’t get rid of him. Finally, I announced I was taking you out to dinner to try to get your mind off your gruesome experience and left him sitting there.” “Robert can be tenacious,” Adam acknowledged with a resigned twist of his fascinating lips. She had to make herself stop looking at him! “The only way I ever won an argument with him was to leave town.” “Speaking of leaving,” she said, shrugging into the coat she’d draped over the back of her chair, “I’d better go. I don’t want to leave Fang alone too long in a strange apartment. He’s a good dog, but there 64

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are limits.” “I’m ready to go,” Adam agreed. “Stay,” she urged. “If one of us doesn’t have dessert, Silvano will be upset. You and Marc have a lot to catch up on. I can take a cab.” “I’ll take you home, Risa. We’ll come back when we’re both in a better frame of mind to appreciate the food and have Silvano’s dessert.” That sounded as if he expected they would still see each other occasionally after life got back to normal—when she was no longer suspected of being an accessory to murder. She forced the latter idea out of her mind. Taking his cue from Adam, Marc announced he really should try to mend his bridges with the friend he’d broken a late date with Tuesday night when he’d raced to Risa’s side after she and Adam had discovered the body. Risa’s plan to slip away was well and truly scuppered. As a result, after they all showered praise on Silvano for the exceptional meal and apologized for not being able to have the visit he’d planned, she and Adam didn’t arrived at her apartment building until almost ten o’clock. Mrs. Martin was lying in wait. They had barely set foot inside the door when she steamed up to them. “You have a dog!” the elderly woman accused, waggling a long bony finger at her. “I’ve had several complaints this evening about loud barking from your apartment.” “I’m sorry,” Risa said. “I realize dogs aren’t allowed, but we had an emergency at my mother’s house and I had to bring him here. I promise it’s only for a day or two.” “You’ll have to get that dog out of here tonight.” She eyed Adam narrowly. “If it’s still here in the morning, I’ll have to get William to evict you and that other fancy friend of yours. You know I’ve had to warn him about his loud music more than once.” William was Mrs. Martin’s large, stolid—and, Risa suspected—not65

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too-bright son who actually did the cleaning and minor repairs in the building. To hear his mother speak, the big, gentle man became Conan the Destroyer when she sicced him on offending tenants. Mrs. Martin peered more closely at Adam. Her mouth fell open. “Why, you’re him! On television. I’ve seen you,” she gasped. “Yes.” Adam beamed a smile at her that would melt paint. “Adam Taggart is my name and you are…?” “Edith. Edith Martin,” she said. “Is there a chance, Edith,” he asked, pulling some bills out of his pocket, “that you could look the other way for a day or two, to allow Ms. Vitale to make other arrangements for her mother’s dog?” If she hadn’t seen the thin hand whip out to take the money, Risa would never have believed the woman could move that fast. “She’ll have to keep it quiet, though. I could lose my job,” Mrs. Martin muttered before she nodded abruptly and hurried away down the hall. “Do you bribe a lot of old women?” Risa inserted the key in the lock. “You’d be surprised,” he said. Adam didn’t look all that pleased with himself. “I don’t hear the dog,” he commented. “Fang rarely barks,” Risa said. “Even when he hears a strange voice?” “He met you this afternoon,” she said, opening the door. She stopped suddenly. The carpet runner was bunched up halfway down the hallway that ran the length of the apartment. The telephone table was upside down and the large fern that had been sitting on it was lying a couple of feet away, bare roots in the air. Its light soil was spread across the living room rug half way to the kitchen. In the midst of the mess stood the culprit, tail wagging enthusiastically. “I guess he did get pretty frantic about something,” Risa said with a 66

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frown. She reached down and rubbed Fang’s ears. “It’s all right, boy. I’m here now.” “Wait here,” Adam told her, moving cautiously through the living room to peer through the wide archway into the kitchen. “All clear.” Risa opened the door to the hall closet. Nothing had been disturbed. She was reaching for the doorknob of Garth’s room when Adam came up behind her. He put his hand over hers. “I think the new locks and Fang discouraged whoever was trying to get in here,” he said quietly. His breath was warm against her ear. “But I want you behind me while I check the bedrooms.” Garth’s black-and-white bedroom had a military neatness that, to Risa, always seemed at odds with her partner’s flamboyant personality. “See anything out of place?” Adam bit out. “Garth would know better.” Risa’s reply was matter-of-fact, but she was surprised at his tone of voice. The idea he might be jealous was too ridiculous to consider. They quickly checked her bedroom and the bathrooms. Nothing. They would probably never know what had upset the dog. Adam offered to help her clean up, but she was adamant that he go home. Before he left, Adam examined the outside of her apartment door. “Look at the scratches on this keyhole, Risa,” he said. “We should let Paul know someone was trying to get in here.” She looked up at him. “The scratches will still be there in the morning.” She didn’t want to deal with any of this. All she wanted to do was clean up the mess Fang had made and go to bed. She must look as bone-tired and pathetic as she felt because Adam swore under his breath and pulled her into his arms. It felt good to lean against his solid chest, but the comfort lasted only a moment. Adam raised his hands to rest lightly on either side of her face. He tilted up her chin. The intensity of his silvery gaze made her shiver. 67

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Gently, slowly, he moved his thumb across her lower lip. The slight roughness of his skin dragging across her lip affected her more than a kiss. Then he took a deep breath. “I could stay if you’re nervous,” he said. “I have Fang here,” she found the strength to say. “Go home.” “Right.” Neither of them moved. “I told Hazel I wouldn’t be late. You’ll call Paul in the morning?” He took a step back from her. Taking a card out of his pocket, he scribbled something on it, and pressed it into her hand. “You have my cell phone number. This is my parents’ home number. If you hear anything, if anything unusual happens, any time of day or night, call me. I can be here in minutes.” He paused as if he was going to say something more. “I’ll call you around noon.” Then he was gone. When Risa realized how long she’d been standing there, staring at the closed door and pressing his card to her lips, she told herself she was a fool. To Adam Taggart, she was part of the investigation into his stepsister’s murder. She dragged out the vacuum cleaner and attacked the earth that Fang’s paws had ground into the living room rug. When the last speck of dirt had disappeared into the canister, the unanswerable questions that had been hovering at the edge of her consciousness insisted on being recognized again. However, the third time she found herself asking why this was happening to her, she decided enough was enough. She looked at the streaks of dirt on the white tile floor. Scrubbing floors was Mom’s favorite cure for stress. She’d scrub the kitchen floor. Forget the mop. She’d do it on her hands and knees! She changed into an old pair of jeans and went at the chore like a mad woman. She moved everything she could budge. By the time she had rolled the refrigerator out from the position where she suspected it had sat for the past ten years, she was tired enough to fall asleep on the 68

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wet floor. However, she was almost done. She picked up bits of paper, a kitchen knife, two pencils and a pen, then used the last of her energy to scrub away the accumulated dirt. She put her find on the counter, rolled back the fridge and was congratulating herself on a job well done, when her eyes happened to focus on the pen she’d found. It was white, and had a tiny gold crown embossed on the lid. She looked at it more closely. It was a Mont Blanc pen. She’d been going to treat herself to one of those when she signed the big contract with Langdon’s, but had never gotten around to it. She thought it was probably Garth’s. She slipped it into her purse so it would be handy when she saw Garth. She brushed her teeth and stumbled into bed. She’d shower in morning. And call Paul. Enigmatic silvery blue eyes filled her mind. She smiled as she drifted off to sleep with the words, “Around noon…” floating in her head.

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CHAPTER 5

Adam was surprised and pleased to find Hazel alone at the breakfast table when he came down. He’d been hearing people bustling downstairs for over an hour. If there was no one else around, his mother might be frank with him. “Good morning, Adam.” She sounded amazingly cheerful this morning. “Lena set out croissants, juice and coffee on the sideboard. And she’ll will bring in your ham and eggs and hash browns as soon as they’re ready.” He mumbled his thanks, tossed off a glass of orange juice and poured himself a mug of coffee. He always found it annoying that Hazel always insisted on being served, even at breakfast, but she did know what kind of sustenance a man needed in difficult times. “Sam’s having a good day,” she announced. That explained the smile. “He said to send you in as soon as you’ve had breakfast.” After Adam had slept late yesterday afternoon, Sam had known 70

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him, but was too exhausted for conversation. He managed to stay awake long enough to assure Adam everything was “under control—no problem now.” When Adam had asked what exactly was under control, Sam had smiled wearily and said, “Don’t worry, Adam.” Then, just as he dozed off, he mumbled, “Fine. Exactly the way we discussed it.” Which of the dozens of things they’d talked about was being done the way they’d discussed it? A few weeks ago, Adam had sounded out the people Sam wanted for his new telecommunications network. What was he supposed to do now? Had Sam talked to them? Or was Adam left with egg on his face to deal with people whose respect was important to him? He hoped to hell Sam would be able to clarify his cryptic comments this morning. Adam concentrated on his coffee. “You had dinner with Marc and Risa Vitale last night.” His mother waited, then added, “I thought that was odd.” He didn’t rise to the bait. “Considering that the papers are implying she’s involved with Sylvia’s murder.” His surge of anger caught Adam by surprise. He’d been telling himself for two days that Risa might not be totally innocent, but he found his mother’s statement offensive. “Do you actually think an intelligent woman like Risa Vitale would lead me to her victim’s body which she’s casually dropped off on her own parents’ property?” He hadn’t meant to give away his position so clearly. She looked at him with sharpened interest. “Perhaps not. Elizabeth says Robert is convinced Philip killed Sylvia. That he wanted her money and the chance to get back with his ex-wife. You don’t think Risa Vitale was involved?” Hazel liked to pretend she never had an opinion of her own in her 71

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neatly coiffed blond head. Sam liked it that way, but Adam knew better. He also knew she’d give him that opinion in her own good time. Lena loomed up beside them and placed a heaping breakfast plate in front of him. It always amazed him how quietly the housekeeper moved her considerable bulk on her large, sensibly shod feet. “Bacon, eggs over lightly and hash browns,” she muttered glumly. “You’d better be hungry.” “Lena, my love, this looks perfect. I’m starving.” He tackled his food with enthusiasm. Lena might not be a cheerful presence, but she was a marvelous cook and was devoted to the family. When Adam’s father had been alive, Lena had cleaned their house once a week. Hazel had kept her with her when she moved into the big Langdon house. Lena gave the impression she was deeply indebted to Hazel for giving her steady employment and the chance to live in the pleasant apartment over the garage with her son. Then, when Robert had rescued Claude from some adolescent scrape he’d been in a few years back, Adam caught some of the spillover of all that gratitude. He demolished one of the eggs and made considerable inroads into the hash browns before he asked, “And what does Hazel think?” His mother stirred her coffee thoughtfully. “I’ve never met the young woman, but from what I’ve heard, she’s no fool. Philip March is a clever, charming, self-indulgent man, with the morals of an alley cat. I don’t know whether or not he killed Sylvia, but I can’t imagine a smart woman getting involved with him twice.” Adam swallowed another large mouthful and reached for his coffee. “Someone suggested Sylvia had been doing a little wandering of her own. Some artist she was helping?” “Sylvia has never confided in me.” Hazel obviously found the subject distasteful. “Would you like more coffee?” “Please.” He waited until she had refilled his cup. “I’d like to talk to the man. Find out if he could possibly have a motive to kill her, but I 72

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didn’t get his name.” “Elizabeth mentioned Sylvia had invested in Charlie Farnsworth’s gallery and was unusually interested in the career of that young portrait painter, Anatole Christofides,” she admitted. “Anatole Christofides.” He filed the name away in his memory and managed not to smile at Hazel’s face-saving ploy. “Did…Elizabeth happen to mention that Sylvia was spending time with a policeman?” “Really?” He had surprised her. “That doesn’t sound like Sylvia. I never heard about a policeman. It might interest you to know Sylvia was suspicious enough to hire a private detective to find out if Philip was seeing his ex-wife.” Adam frowned. “Do you think Philip shot Sylvia?” “It would surprise me,” his mother said. “It isn’t as if he has a desperate need for her money. He’s made a comfortable niche for himself with the company and he wouldn’t have lost that if Sylvia had gone ahead with the divorce. “I don’t think their feelings ran deep enough for a crime of passion. They seemed to be playing some kind of adolescent game. One of them would have an affair, the other would say, ‘I can do that, too. So there.’ I was half expecting them to reconcile out of boredom. Of course, you never know. Sylvia could be unpleasant enough to goad anyone into doing something stupid when she set her mind to it.” She stood up. “I’ll go ahead and sit with Sam while the therapist puts him through his paces. She’ll be through in about an hour. Perhaps you should join us then.” He picked up the newspapers Hazel had been reading. Sylvia’s murder and Philip’s flight were front page news. One quoted “a member of the Langdon family” as saying Philip and Sylvia were having marital problems due in part to “Philip’s obsession with international fashion figure Risa Vitale.” 73

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Only a few months ago, Robert had been throwing that phrase “international fashion figure Risa Vitale” around with glee. Didn’t that ass know enough to keep his mouth shut around Adam’s former colleagues? Or had he said it for the free publicity? Surely he hadn’t descended to that, Adam fumed. Then it hit him. When had he started thinking of reporters as former colleagues? He hadn’t decided to quit the news business. When Elizabeth breezed in a few minutes later, he didn’t give her a chance to take off her coat before he started in on her. “What was Robert thinking about, spouting that garbage about Philip March’s obsessions?” he said, waving the offensive article at her. “He shouldn’t have said it with all those reporters around,” she acknowledged. “But it’s true, you know. Sylvia’s investigator had records of all the phone calls he made to her. And Robert feels terribly guilty about being responsible for bringing that woman back to Denver. He feels as if it’s all his fault.” “He’s making a lot of assumptions…” he began. Then he stopped. You can’t argue with someone who is quoting what she’s convinced is the ultimate source. He wasn’t about to waste time listening to Elizabeth’s view of the world as dictated by Robert while he waited for Sam’s therapist to leave. “Excuse me, Elizabeth. I have to make a phone call.” When he reached the privacy of his room, he punched in a number he hadn’t even been aware of memorizing. He let the phone ring long enough that the answering machine kicked in. He listened to a brief taped message in a male voice that he recognized as Marc’s and had barely identified himself when Risa came on the line. “Hello, Adam.” Her voice was husky with sleep. “Sorry about the machine. I’m avoiding reporters. Other reporters, I mean.” “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was so 74

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early.” “That’s all right.” He heard her yawn and could picture her stretching. Not a good idea. “I wasn’t really asleep. I got a call from the store that woke me a few minutes ago. I was steeling myself to get up and face the day. You were going to call at noon.” “Hazel thinks Sylvia’s artist might be a portrait painter named Anatole Christofides. Ever hear of him?” “Sorry. I haven’t had time to follow the Denver art world since I came back. But that’s great.” Her voice was only slightly brighter. Apparently, Risa didn’t rush into the day. “Are you going to see him?” “If you went with me, we could say I wanted him to paint your portrait,” he suggested. “This morning?” she responded, wide awake now. “I can be ready in half an hour.” “Sam said he wanted to speak to me this morning. I don’t know how long that will take. How about this afternoon?” “That call I mentioned was from my friend, Fran Simmons, who does promotion and publicity for Langdon’s. She said we needed to go over the last details for tomorrow’s fashion show in the Garden Court Restaurant, but she’s probably been worrying about me ever since she heard about our finding the body. I’m meeting her at two o’clock. I’ll be at the store a couple of hours, I suppose.” “Then I’ll try to make an appointment with Christofides for around five. If you don’t hear from me, I’ll pick you up about four-thirty. Wait for me in your friend’s office,” he said. “Oh, and don’t forget to call Paul McIntyre about the attempted break-in.” That was the way they left it. Adam had no problem getting Anatole Christofides to agree to meet them at his studio outside Boulder at five o’clock. The artist was eager for the opportunity to paint Risa’s 75

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“fabulous face.” Adam was at the bottom of the stairs and heading towards Sam’s room when a decidedly red-faced, solidly-muscled woman in a navy sweat suit flew out the door, yanking on her coat as she went. She clipped him with her elbow as she passed, and muttered an apology. Apparently, Sam’s therapy was finished for the day. The moment he entered the room, Adam knew something dreadful had happened. Sam was in the same wing chair by the window, but this time, his head was bowed and his shoulders heaving with great racking sobs. Hazel was bent over him and a woman in a nurse’s uniform was attempting to get him to take some medication. “I don’t want any damned pills,” he bellowed. “My Sylvia is gone!” The howl of anguish Sam emitted was something Adam never wanted to hear again. He was hesitating in the doorway when his mother caught sight of him. “Adam,” she said urgently, “we need your help.” Eventually, using persuasion and a lot of straight bullying, they got Sam to take the sedative. It was not strong enough to knock him out, but it did curb the dreadful weeping. Sam was all too keenly aware of the world today. He recognized Adam. “Adam,” he said, shaking his head, “the business doesn’t matter any more. Nothing matters. Too late.” So the urgent reason he’d wanted to see Adam was simply to try one last time to have him take an interest in his beloved stores. Poor sick man! Adam and Hazel stayed with Sam until he fell asleep. “How did he find out?” Adam asked. “That stupid therapist brought in a newspaper.” Anger momentarily displaced the gray devastation in Hazel’s eyes. “She got him into his chair and, while she fiddled with the weights, he picked up the paper. Of course, it’s all over the front page.” 76

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*

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Risa curled the newspaper into a tight roll so she could no longer see her own face smiling up at her or the headline that screamed… VITALE’S EX SOUGHT IN WIFE’S MURDER The sub-headline was worse. RUMORS OF LOVE TRIANGLE PERSIST …was its unfounded statement. Muttering a most impolite expletive, she rammed it viciously into the wastepaper basket. She and Fang had fled when a customer of the convenience store where she’d picked up a few staples and the paper had recognized her. Her distinctive features that were such an asset to her business made her too easy to recognize. She poured herself another cup of coffee and stared at the untouched wholewheat bagel in front of her. Idly, she wondered if she’d ever have an appetite again. She forced herself to eat a couple of mouthfuls. The bagel had all the flavor of dust. She had a couple of hours to kill before she was to meet Fran. She wouldn’t have an answering machine to screen the reporters out there. They would probably be right in her face with their insinuations and accusations until she got behind the closed door of Fran’s office. What was the matter with her? She dealt with the media all the time. Last week in Toronto she’d been interviewed on two radio shows, one morning television talk show and done guest appearances at three fashion shows. No reporter could force her to say anything incriminating. Her conscience was clear. She left a message about last night’s attempted break-in for Paul at the station. Then, to get her mind off ugly topics, she called Gretta to 77

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get her reaction to the swimsuit fabrics. It didn’t work. Her manager had her own ideas about what she wanted to discuss. “Risa, I’m hurt. When I try to introduce you to a nice young man, you always tell me you’re finished with men. Now I see in the paper you’ve been seeing Philip March? Am I not a friend?” Until now, Risa had always appreciated Gretta’s directness. “Gretta, I don’t know where the newspapers got that story. Philip is the last man in the world I’d ever become involved with. I know him too well.” “Then sue them. They can’t ruin your reputation like this,” Gretta sputtered. “I have a nephew who is a lawyer. What am I saying? Your brother is a lawyer. Yes. Marc can fix them.” Gretta elaborated with gusto on the pound of flesh that would be demanded on Risa’s behalf. Her indignation at the unfairness of the press’ treatment raised Risa’s spirits. When they finally got around to settling their little bit of Vitale business, Risa hated to bring the conversation to a close. It was great to talk with someone who actually believed her a hundred per cent. “You shouldn’t be alone right now,” Gretta urged. “Put the dog in a kennel and come.” “I can’t do that, Gretta,” Risa told her. “But if I feel the slightest bit nervous I’ll call.” That brought back Adam’s words when he pressed the card into her hand last night. He’d almost sounded as if he cared what happened to her. And there was that electrifying moment when he’d touched her lips. The sound of the doorbell triggered a wild bout of deep-throated barking. In full cry, Fang barreled from his improvised bed under the kitchen table to leap against the door. She pushed him out of the way and peered through the security hole in the door. Paul McIntyre’s serious face brought her crashing back to the present. 78

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“I got your message,” he said, when she opened the door. His redrimmed eyes indicated he still hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep. Fang, fast-switching from watchdog to exuberant greeter, was attempting to lick Paul’s face. He pushed him down and pulled a face. “Lord, you have bad breath, dog!” Risa grabbed Fang’s collar, and kept a firm grip on it while she led him into her bedroom and shut him in. “If I ever get a dog of my own,” she said, “I’m going to make sure I live someplace that has doors. All these open arches are useless.” “I took a look at your lock,” he said, brushing retriever hairs off his trousers. “I’m afraid those scratches aren’t going to tell us anything except that you had an attempted break-in. Lucky you had the ferocious beast to scare the intruder off.” “Suddenly, he’s a watchdog. Mom’s going to be surprised. She’s always going on about how quiet he is.” He grinned. It was more of a grimace, but it was the first hint of humor she’d seen in him since they’d called him when they discovered Sylvia March’s body. “There’s been a rash of break-ins in this part of the city the last few weeks,” he went on. “The guy Fang scared off was probably a burglar. They seem to have targeted people who have expensive jewelry. Might have heard about the rocks your buddy Garth wears.” “But Garth’s most valuable rings are either in his safety deposit box or with him in Toronto. He doesn’t figure he’ll be in this apartment long enough to bother having a safe installed.” “The burglar wouldn’t know that.” Paul took a deep breath. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you where things stand at the moment. The.38 you found in the van was registered to Philip. It had been wiped clean of prints. And the blood in the van is A negative, the same blood type as Sylvia’s. No one has seen Philip since a week ago Wednesday. No one’s seen his Mercedes either.” 79

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“Well, I have no idea where he’d go.” She was fed up with insinuations. “When are they going to allow me to move back into the house, Paul? I can’t keep Fang in the apartment much longer. The superintendent is threatening to evict me.” “Another couple of days, they tell me. The forensic team should be finished by the beginning of the week.” He pulled out a notepad. “Now I want you to tell me again. When was the last time you spoke to Philip?” Risa gritted her teeth and repeated everything she’d told him two nights ago. Then added, “He did leave a message on my answering machine canceling a business appointment we had on Wednesday.” “I need to hear that tape,” he demanded. When she explained she’d been using the machine to screen her calls to avoid the press, he swore. “Come on, Risa. You must’ve known that tape could have been important.” “Marc and Adam and I listened to it together. I can repeat the message word for word.” And she did—omitting only the offensive “Pet.” Then she told him about Christine’s insistence that Philip would never be unfaithful, but that he’d been unhappy because Sylvia had been seeing an artist and a policeman. Paul thought about that for a moment, then confirmed what Adam had told her. “The artist is Anatole Christofides. He lives in Boulder. When I went to see him last night, all he could tell me was he hadn’t seen her since April and he was visiting a friend in San Francisco for the last couple of weeks. Just got back. He says his ‘association’ with Sylvia ended when she went back to her brute of a husband.” “Brute?” Risa laughed. “Philip?” “That’s what he said.” He paused. “I’ll look into the suggestion she was seeing someone on the force. Christine March didn’t mention that to me. Did she have the cop’s name?” 80

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“Not for either man. I don’t think she ever heard the names.” “Can’t see Sylvia March fooling around with a cop. She was on that committee for the mayor’s combined charities drive I served on last winter and I think the only person she ever said a sociable word to was the mayor. She sure didn’t act like she’d stoop to being involved with a cop. Maybe I just wasn’t her type. I’ll have to ask around.” That was more than she’d ever heard Paul McIntyre say on one subject. Risa wondered if he was smarting from making a move on Sylvia and having it rebuffed. When he finally left, Risa looked at her watch. If she hurried, she could walk Fang and still get to the store before noon. Maybe she’d have a word with Philip’s secretary, Suzanne, before lunch. Fran was picking up a couple of salads from the cafeteria so Risa wouldn’t have to brave the lunch-hour crowds. Fran was a good friend and she might even have an idea where Philip could be hiding out. She’d known him since they were kids. In fact, when Risa and Fran were studying fashion design in college and supporting themselves by modeling, it was Fran who had introduced her to Philip. One of the reasons Christine resented Risa so much was that she’d always thought Fran would be a much more suitable match for her little brother. Luckily, Fran had never agreed. Risa reached the sixth-floor corridor of the Langdon Building, where the executive offices of Langdon Industries were located, without encountering any reporters en route, even on her short trek through the store to the staff elevator. Nothing she was wearing was designed to draw undue attention to her. Her full-length, chocolate, down-filled coat had a large hood that shaded her face and her brown cords and fisherman’s knit sweater, although they fit well, were commonplace. She was about to enter Philip’s office, when she almost bumped into Suzanne Klein on her way out. “Ms. Vitale,” Suzanne said, stopping short. 81

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She had stopped calling her Risa six years ago, about the same time, Risa discovered later, that she stopped sleeping with Risa’s husband. Philip’s secretary’s hostility was a mystery to Risa. After all, it was the advent of Sylvia Langdon into their lives that had ended Suzanne’s tenure, even though Philip had brought her along with him from the law firm where he’d been employed to Langdon Industries’ executive suites. Now that Risa was being forced to focus on Philip’s private life again, she wondered precisely what his relationship with his secretary was these days. “Ms. Klein,” Risa replied, just as formally. She usually didn’t hide how amusing she found their stilted verbal jousts, but today she hoped to get some information. “As I had to be in the building anyway, I thought I’d confirm with you that my appointment with Philip is still on for next Tuesday.” Suzanne turned briskly and made a show of finding and looking at Philip’s calendar. Her shoulder-length hair, turned auburn since Risa saw her last, swished back and forth with every agitated movement of her head. “I see no change.” Then, not able to maintain the pose any longer, she burst out bitterly, “Of course, you’re the only one who would know. Aren’t you?” “I haven’t heard from Philip, Suzanne,” Risa denied. Suzanne whirled to look at her. Her face worked as if she was trying to hold back tears. “What a crock!” she exploded. “I hope you’re satisfied now that you’ve ruined his life. How did you do it? I thought he was finished with you. And with Sylvia. And now he’s killed Sylvia for you and he’ll never be able to stop running.” Tears had begun to spill over down her cheeks, but her eyes were hot with hatred. Risa found it hard to believe Philip could inspire such 82

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passion. “Suzanne, please believe me. Whatever feelings Philip and I had for each other were dead long before the divorce. And I have no intention of ever reviving them.” “Don’t bother to lie about it.” Suzanne’s raw pain was hard to witness. “I know about the phone calls to Toronto and the weekends he spent there. I told the police about them, too. Besides, last week, he told me.” “Told you what?” Risa was almost frantic with frustration. This nightmare just went on and on. “What do you think?” she spat out. “Get out of my sight. Or, so help me, Risa, I won’t be responsible for what I do to you.” Had the whole world gone crazy? The string of lies tightening like a noose, Risa fled to the sanctuary of Fran’s office. Fran took one look at her, gave her a quick hug, closed the door, and ushered her to the one comfortable chair in the tiny, crowded room. Her office was so crammed with boxes of samples it was difficult to move, but everything about Fran Simmons’ personal appearance shrieked style. Her flaming hair framed even features that were exquisitely and subtly made up. Her suit was beautifully made, and not another redhead in the world could have carried off that crimson blouse. But what made her the one friend Risa needed today was the sympathy and understanding she could count on finding in Fran’s dark eyes. It was as blissfully constant as her brisk, competent manner. “Bad, hmm?” Fran murmured as she perched on the edge of her desk, folded her arms in front of her and turned her intent gaze on Risa. “It hasn’t been good,” Risa replied, with a shuddering sigh. “None of the garbage I’ve been reading in the papers makes any sense. What does Marc say about it all? And Paul?” Fran’s admiration of Paul McIntyre was of long duration and, 83

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unfortunately,, unreciprocated. According to Marc, he was emphatic about his intention to steer clear of “man-eating fashion plates.” “Your favorite macho male is trying to find a way to counter a ton of evidence that says I helped Philip kill his wife. But everything he finds out points the wrong way.” “Tell me everything,” Fran said. “Then we’ll get at those salads I put in Robert’s bar fridge.” Fran was a good listener. She gave a low whistle every time Adam Taggart’s name came into the narrative, but, with very few exclamations and questions, she allowed Risa to recite the events of the last three days uninterrupted. “Somebody’s determined to make you pay for something, Risa,” was her assessment. “Who hates you that much?” “Judging by the way she lit into me a few minutes ago, Suzanne Klein heads the list.” Risa sighed. “Right! But I can’t see her scheming and sneaking around doing things like leaving Philip’s clothes in your apartment. If Suzy is upset about something, she doesn’t keep it bottled up. Last Wednesday, after Philip took off, she invited me to her place to share a bottle of wine and a lot of misery with her. She was in terrible shape. “According to her, a few months ago, Philip informed her his marriage to Sylvia was over and, being on the loose and typically selfish, he gave old Suzy a tumble, for old times’ sake. “She thought that meant he’d finally discovered she was the only woman he really cared for. The poor nit! Then, Wednesday morning, he told her to cancel his appointments because he was taking you into the mountains for an extra-long weekend. The final straw was, even knowing Suzy was crazy about sapphires, he showed her a sapphire ring and told her he’d bought it for you to celebrate your long-delayed reconciliation.” “For me?” Risa could hardly speak. “Fran, he couldn’t have told her 84

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it was for me. You know how hard I try to avoid even having a working lunch with Philip.” “I told her that, but she insisted she knew what she knew. She said Philip was in a strange mood and had a lot more to drink than usual. He started to go on about being no good for anyone. He’d treated you badly…was just a user. He said he wasn’t going to see Suzy any more, insisted she should find a man who appreciated her. Then he said maybe the sapphire could resurrect a dead marriage.” “He must’ve been talking about Sylvia.” “That’s the only explanation that makes any sense. I only hope Suzanne hasn’t told too many people that story.” Fran patted her on the shoulder. “Come on, Vitale. Let’s forget this for a while. I’ll get our lunch from Robert’s office. Sit here and try to relax. I’ll be right back.” When she returned, she had Robert Langdon on her heels. The vice-president and managing director of Langdon Industries was exuding hostility. What Robert really thought at any given moment was something Risa had never been able to figure out. Even when he had welcomed her into the Langdon fold last winter with a hearty, “So this delightful woman is the incomparable Vitale! We are indeed fortunate,” she’d doubted his sincerity. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Langdon,” she said, hesitantly offering her hand. “I’m surprised to see you here, Ms. Vitale.” He ignored the hand. “Under the circumstances.” “Risa and I are going over the details of tomorrow’s fashion show, Robert.” Fran’s tone was brisk and businesslike. He seemed grateful for the chance to turn his attention to Fran. “Given the dreadful publicity the Vitale name has received over the past few days, I believe we should rethink allowing Ms. Vitale any role in a Langdon’s show. One’s reputation is a fragile thing.” “Don’t forget the contract you signed. Those are my fashions and 85

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it’s my show.” Risa’s height enabled her to look Robert Langdon straight in the eye. “Before I allow you to indicate to the world that you think I was involved in some way in your sister’s death, I’ll pull every piece of Vitale stock out of your stores.” “And go bankrupt?” Robert’s smile was not pretty. “If I have to.” “Hold everything!” Fran’s voice cut through the anger in the room. “Let’s sit down and discuss this. Dealing with the Vitale show is a business decision. I haven’t had a chance to talk to you about the recent publicity, Robert. The press stories may be distressing, but they’re selling casual wear.” “You can’t know that. The line is being launched this afternoon.” His brown eyes fairly snapped with irritation. “True. But we featured two velvet lounging suits in the fashion show fliers as a pre-launch special and, thirty minutes after the store opened this morning, we were sold out,” she crowed. “The factory is delivering a supplementary order this afternoon. We’re putting out twice as much stock as we had planned for the rush we expect after the show. Apparently, the theory that there’s no such thing as bad publicity is right on the money.” Robert scowled but deigned to look at the stock list Fran handed him. He obviously disliked being proven wrong and would rather have banished Risa from the premises. However, greed won out. “Carry on then,” he muttered ungraciously before turning on his heel and stalking out of the office. Fran watched him go and closed the door behind him. “What a shame. Such gorgeous wide shoulders and such a narrow little mind.” Risa sagged back into her chair. “Why don’t we eat?” Fran passed her one of the salads. The seafood salad plate was large and tasty, but Risa only nibbled at it. 86

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“Is that really true about the lounging suits?” she asked. “Hey, fashion wiz, you’re a hit before the line even sees the light of day.” Fran’s open grin banished some of the resentment Risa felt at Robert Langdon’s complete lack of support. The line was going to sell! At least something in her life was going right. And, in two or three hours, Adam would arrive. “Every cloud must have a silver lining,” Fran intoned, then actually giggled. “To coin a phrase. Which brings me to the boss’s gorgeous brother. I seem to recognize that sappy look you get when you mention his name. I hope you’re not falling for another love ’em and leave ’em man?” “Of course not.” The words didn’t sound convincing, even to her. “I learned that lesson. The D.A. thinks he can make a case that Philip and I killed Sylvia March. Adam wants to be sure the police get the right person. He and I have a common goal.” That was it. That was why she was eager to see him. He didn’t fit neatly into either the friend or the foe camp, but they did have a common goal.

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CHAPTER 6

Adam arrived at Langdon’s almost an hour before he was supposed to pick up Risa. He told himself it wasn’t that he was particularly eager to see her. He simply wanted to get on with their investigation. Anatole Christofides might be able to throw some light on the kind of life Sylvia had been leading. The store was brighter and less crowded looking than Adam remembered and the new layout of the ground floor was unusual. He stopped and looked around him, trying to figure out the pattern of the aisles. As he did so, he spotted a familiar figure ducking behind a mannequin. Bill Sands was a small man, but not that small. “You looking for me?” Adam accosted him. The reporter gave him a wry grin. “You’ll do. But I got a tip that Vitale was in the store. Thought I’d take another shot at getting a quote from her. Or maybe you’d like to tell me how you happened to be with her when she found the body.” 88

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“I’m here to see my brother,” Adam said, striding off in the direction of the elevators. “Let’s go then,” Sands said, matching him stride for stride. “Can’t keep me out of the store.” Adam rang for the staff elevator. “This elevator is not open to the public.” When it arrived, he blocked the open door with his arm. Sands didn’t fight him. “You’re both going to have to talk to someone sooner or later.” He handed Adam his card. “I’ll give her a fair shake, which is more than she’s getting now.” Adam looked at the card. “I’ll tell her that,” he said, tucking the card into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. The sixth floor brought back memories. The aroma of floor polish and paper hadn’t changed since he’d visited his father here when he was a boy. He and Robert had spent quite a number of hours in Matthew Taggart’s office, while Hazel shopped in the store downstairs. Dad would settle them at an empty desk, take out the Scrabble™ game or checkers, and send one of his assistants to get them something to drink. Every once in a while, he’d come by and find something to laugh with them about. Those times were more special than any of them realized at the time. Adam had been only fifteen when Dad had been struck down by a massive stroke. And now someone else ran the accounting department and Robert sat in the big office at the end of the hall. The same middle-aged dragon who had guarded the office in Sam Langdon’s time ushered him right into the inner sanctum. His brother kept right on making notations on the typed sheets in front of him. Adam sat down on one of the armchairs grouped to the side of the large lacquered desk and waited. “Adam,” Robert acknowledged at last, “this is the last place I expected to see you.” 89

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“I saw Sam this morning.” Robert’s heavy dark brows drew into a forbidding line. Adam could read him like a book. Robert always hated anyone encroaching on his territory. Adam chuckled. “You’re safe from me. I have no desire to get involved with the stores.” “Then what’s he been so determined to talk to you about?” “I don’t know. Sam was in no shape to talk after he found out about Sylvia’s murder.” “You irresponsible bastard!” Robert rose from his desk. He was surprisingly impressive in his anger. “Back off!” Adam countered, his own anger flaring. “Sam saw the headlines in his therapist’s newspaper. Then he fell apart.” “Is he all right?” “Hazel talked to his doctor on the phone. He said since the nurse had gotten a sedative into him almost immediately, he wouldn’t come by until later to see him. The nurse will keep a close eye on him. Of course, Hazel and Elizabeth are there, too.” “Is that what you came to tell me?” “Not all of it. I wanted to talk to you about Risa Vitale.” Robert sat down again. “Moving her here was a mistake. I had no idea Philip would take up with her again.” “People who know her insist she wouldn’t give Philip the time of day except for Vitale business. Why are you so sure she’s involved with him?” “Because Sylvia was convinced of it. But they were careful. Even the private investigator Sylvia hired couldn’t come up with anything more than a few phone calls. I wish she’d listened when I told her she called the detective off too soon. Anyway, the police will come up with something. Those two did it. I’m sure of it.” “Robert, think about it. Sylvia’s body was left in Risa’s parents’ 90

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garage. Why would they transport it there? There are miles of empty country outside the city.” “Why ask me? Maybe they split up after the murder.” “Yeah. And he accidentally left his revolver in her van. Come on, Rob. This is someone’s clumsy attempt to throw suspicion at them. I know Philip was Sylvia’s heir, but too much of this doesn’t make sense.” Robert’s eyes narrowed. “You’re falling for the Vitale woman yourself!” he accused. “I’ve met her twice since we were kids.” His tone was derisive, but he found it hard to believe it was only three days since their meeting on the plane. Maybe he was allowing his fascination with her to skew his judgment. “But she’s a victim here. And I don’t like to see her hassled and her reputation trashed.” “If you insist on associating with her, you’d better watch your own reputation,” Robert warned, with a superior smile. “Your career depends on it.” “The hell it does!” Adam ground out as he got to his feet. As he strode down the hall to Fran Simmons’ office, he congratulated himself on controlling his tongue. Now all he had to do was maintain a safe distance from Risa. Fran’s assistant, an engaging young man in his late twenties, greeted Adam by name. “They’re expecting you.” As Adam approached the open door, he heard Risa’s low laugh. “You’re not serious,” she was saying. “Sure I am. Garth’s a silver fox. And a sweetheart. If he weren’t gay, I could be very interested.” That was the best news he’d heard lately. He knew the exact moment she caught sight of him. The flash of joy in her eyes was vintage Risa. Its intensity caught him off-guard and slipped by his defenses. The warmth that filled his chest and flooded 91

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his veins was at once foreign and intensely familiar. It was also unwelcome. Risa was the last woman in the world he wanted to spark this reaction. She smiled. He found himself involuntarily moving towards her. “Hello, Adam Taggart.” The attractive redhead standing at the other side of the desk, frankly looking him over, held out her hand. “I’m Fran Simmons.” Her grip was firm. “I’m glad to meet you, Fran. Risa tells me you’ve been friends since college,” he said. “Too true. I’m glad you’re here. Risa needs someone else in her corner.” Her shrewd hazel eyes met his as he shook her hand. Uneasy that his presence seemed to be making a statement he wasn’t quite ready to make, he turned to Risa. “I’m afraid I’m pretty early.” “I’m finished here. All that’s left for me to do is turn up tomorrow in time to make an appearance at the luncheon show.” She moved to his side. “Did you get the appointment with Anatole Christofides?” “He’s panting at the chance to meet you.” Fran’s eyes widened. “You know Christofides?” “We’re going to meet him this afternoon. Have you met him?” Risa asked. “I only wish.” Her friend sighed. “Philip got me an invitation to his showing last Christmas, but I didn’t get near him. Sylvia was always possessive of her protégés. And this one is tall, dark and gorgeous.” “I didn’t know Sylvia had been so open about her men friends,” Adam commented. “She was discreet enough, I guess,” Fran said, “but Philip bends my ear from time to time.” “Well, are you ready to leave, Risa?” He started to move towards the door. This discussion of his sister’s affairs made him uncomfortable. “We certainly don’t want to keep the gorgeous Mr. 92

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Christofides waiting.” With gratifying speed, Risa collected her coat and purse and left with him. “Bill Sands was lying in wait on the main floor by the staff elevator when I came up,” he told her. “Maybe we should take the stairs down.” “Good idea.” Adam held open the door to the utilitarian concrete stairway. Risa stepped past him and gave him a killer grin, before she cried, “Race you to the bottom,” and plunged down the stairs, her leather boot heels echoing on every step. As he tore down the six flights of stairs behind Risa, Adam forgot all the reasons he couldn’t afford to get closer to her. He loved her energetic attack on the steep stairs and her delightful laughter every time she glanced over her shoulder to see how far he was behind her. And he didn’t try too hard to overtake her. He was enjoying the back view of her lean, sexy body in action. He waited until the very last flight of stairs, when Risa’s energy was starting to flag, to make his move. He spurted past her and spun around to catch her at the bottom, when her determined lunge to regain the lead hurled her into his arms. “Whoa there, sweetheart,” he said, bracing himself for the impact of her body. “That’s not a snow bank you’re headed for.” His arms went around her and, to steady them both, he tightened them. She was tall enough that he was looking directly into her goldflecked greenish eyes. He was exquisitely conscious of the softness of her breasts against his chest and of some part of her coat trapped between his groin and her lower body. Her laughing lips, just inches away, drew him like a magnet. He didn’t intend to claim more than a light kiss as the victor’s prize, but the first light brushing of their lips changed his mind. Risa’s startled eyes locked with his for a full second before he lowered his head again. This time she met him halfway. 93

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He nibbled at her lips. She had a delicate, slightly tart sweetness that he suspected might become addictive. Without a moment’s hesitation, Risa joined him in the frantic need to expand the dimensions of this kiss. When she touched the tip of her tongue to his, he felt the jolt all the way to the soles of his feet. Mindlessly, he plunged his tongue deeper into her mouth and, when he heard her moan, he lost all sense of where they were. Suddenly, he felt Risa stiffen. He surfaced enough to hear the pounding of rushing footsteps on the stairs above them. With a muttered curse, he jerked away from her. She turned without a word; coolly shook out the coat that had been crushed between them, slipped her arms into the sleeves and opened the door to the parking garage. “Where are you parked?” she asked. Everything in her body language told him she’d throw the apology he was about to offer back in his teeth. Still stunned by the intensity of his own reaction to the kiss, Adam had to admire her infuriating composure. He would play it her way for the moment. But if Risa Vitale thought denying the explosive attraction between them would make it go away, she was deluding herself. “Just down here,” he replied just as casually. On second thought, maybe Risa had the right idea. He wasn’t in the market for a significant relationship—now or ever. He didn’t trust his judgment where women were concerned. The last time he’d succumbed to a healthy attack of lust and tried to play white knight, he’d paid for it. Then it hit him. His desire for Halle couldn’t begin to compare with this need he felt for Risa. Whoa! He’d better simmer down and think about that. In spite of the sexual tension that trembled in the air of Sam’s Lincoln, Adam was relieved to find he and Risa seemed to be falling into a good working relationship. He told her everything he’d learned 94

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that day and believed she was being just as open with him. When he’d asked for whom she thought Philip had bought the sapphire ring if he hadn’t intended it for her, she’d said frankly, “Philip and I never talked about our personal lives. Once he accepted I wasn’t interested in rekindling any long defunct ashes, he concentrated on trying to steal legal title to my company label.” She certainly wasn’t holding back any damaging details. It was a good thing March wasn’t the murder victim. Risa had plenty of reasons to resent him—although, probably none of them strong enough to kill for. Adam glanced at the odometer. The drive to Boulder had passed quickly. “We’d should start watching for Christofides’ side road,” he said. “And give some thought to how we’re going to handle this interview.” “All we have to go on is second- or third-hand gossip,” Risa said. “We don’t know anything about his relationship with Sylvia.” “When I told him we were interested in a portrait, his first question was whether I wanted you painted nude.” Adam glanced over at her and grinned when he saw the color tingeing her cheekbones. Risa wasn’t as sophisticated as she appeared. “I suppose,” he went on, “most men who commission portraits want them done of their wives or their lovers.” *

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“I hope you told him you didn’t want a nude.” Good grief! She sounded like an outraged virgin. “I said I’d see what you thought of the idea,” he said. “But seeing he already assumes we’re lovers, I don’t think we should set him straight.” “Adam, I want you to get something straight.” She’d hoped to avoid this discussion. “I have no intention of getting involved with you or anyone else. What happened at Langdon’s—” 95

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“You mean the incredible kiss,” he interjected. “Yes, well…” Damn him anyway! She could feel the heat in her face. “It’s not going to happen again.” “No. Of course not. I’m in complete agreement.” Adam sounded sincere, but his silvery-blue eyes were dancing. “All I’m proposing is a simple cover story. We are not engaged. But we are very much in love and I want to be able to remember your beauty exactly as it is today. Can you handle a little pretended passion for a few minutes?” No matter what she said, she was going to look foolish. That once upon a time a little passion with Adam Taggart would have been the answer to her dreams was no reason to refuse. She could carry this off. “I can if you can, Tagg,” she said, hoping the nickname from the era when she’d been “rotten Risa” would send him a message. “I’m a little nervous about exactly what kind of portrait we’re talking about. Have you ever seen any of Christofides’ work?” “Never. We could take a fast trip into town and check out what he has at Charlie Farnsworth’s Gallery, then double back to the studio. It wouldn’t hurt to talk to Charlie. Sylvia bought into his gallery a couple of years back. I wonder if the partnership worked out better than their marriage did.” “We should have time,” Risa said. The Farnsworth gallery turned out to be only minutes away. The building was an odd combination of a rustic barn board exterior with a gleaming, off-white, hard-line, marble and enamel interior. Somehow it worked. Risa liked the way nothing distracted from the paintings that lined the walls. The only visible gallery employee, a trim woman with iron-gray hair, greeted them, but did not approach them. Apparently this gallery allowed the paintings to do their own selling. There were several artists represented in the two large rooms. Risa’s eyes flicked over rugged mountain scenes and powerful horse pictures, 96

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but it was the large, well-lit Christofides paintings that dominated the walls. There was nothing restful or passive about his portraits. A suggestion of aggression lurked in the eyes of a dignified, middle-aged man, smoldering passion in the curved lip of a pale-haired Madonna. The pièce de résistance, however, was the artist’s self-portrait. He had painted himself as an elemental spirit, a sort of cross between a coarse Caliban and an ethereal Ariel. Large eyes like black coals glowed out from under heavy lids and dark brows. Long black hair blew in the wind and framed finely boned cheeks and jaw. His wide, sensuous lips were relaxed in a youthful yet sensual smile. “Do you think he used a little artistic license?” Adam asked. “If he didn’t, I can see why Sylvia was so interested in his work.” “Hey, don’t ruin my fantasy,” he said. “You’re supposed to be fascinated with me…not Christofides.” “Don’t worry. I won’t have any problem resisting his charms.” To Risa’s relief, most of the subjects of the portraits were at least partially clothed. Some were in formal dress, some in filmy drapery. Of course, there were a couple of lifelike nudes. “He does marvelous flesh tones,” remarked the gallery employee, who had appeared on the far side of Adam. She was looking at him uncertainly. “Among other things,” he commented, straight-faced. “You’re Adam, aren’t you?” the woman blurted out. “I’m Jill Farnsworth, Charlie’s sister. I remember you from Charlie and Sylvia’s wedding. What happened to Sylvia must be very hard for you. Charlie is so broken up about it that I offered to come in and cover the gallery for him today.” Adam made pleasant noises about wondering where he’d seen her before and informed her that he was contemplating having Anatole Christofides do a portrait of Risa. At the mention of the artist, Jill pursed her lips and looked at him 97

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curiously over her glasses. “Your sister was most interested in Anatole’s work,” she said. “And even after she lost interest, Charlie decided to continue hanging his stuff. Anatole is talented and he sells well. If you decide to go with him, your portrait will be a good investment.” As they drove away from Boulder, Adam chuckled. “Damned if I’m not wishing we really were going to have Christofides paint you.” He caught her look of disbelief. “No. No, not nude. I’d like to see what he’d do with a head and shoulders picture of you wearing something like that hand knit sweater you have on today. He might be able to capture that sultry fire you try to hide from the world.” “In your dreams, Tagg,” she said, then covered her pleasure he saw her that way by commenting on the blustery wind that was changing the light drizzle to driving rain. “We could be in trouble up here if the temperature drops much lower,” Adam said, with an anxious look at the darkening sky. He turned the Lincoln onto a snowy side road and almost immediately pulled to a stop in front of a rambling wooden building. “What do you think? Shall we go in and commission a painting, sweetheart?” He grinned and reached across the front seat to give her a brief, one-armed hug. She didn’t move. Something about this charade unnerved her. “Come on. You can look friendlier than that,” he urged, kissing the tip of her nose. “You’re supposed to be crazy about me and happy to go along with everything I want. All right?” “Anything you say, sweetheart,” she agreed with a tight smile. “But remember the real reason we’re here.” Adam’s first knock on the weathered wooden door did not get a response. With the second, however, a strong baritone voice bellowed an invitation to come in out of the rain. The first door on the right was wide open and framed the figure of the artist himself working at his 98

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easel. Even though the scene was obviously staged, Risa had to admit it was effective. Anatole Christofides, in tight faded jeans and a black Tshirt whose sleeves had been artistically torn off, was an imposing sight. Light from the huge window beside him and the skylight over his head pointed up every line of his body. He was a big man, muscular, with a full head of flowing, dark brown hair. He waved them in. “Good timing,” he proclaimed in a booming, slightly accented voice. “I’ll be right with you. I’ve just about lost the light.” With a fine brush that barely protruded from his large fist, he swiped one last highlight onto the face he was working on. The sensuous, recumbent nude woman looked real enough to rise from the canvas. Whatever else he was, this man was talented. Only then did he turn to greet them. “Mr. Taggart,” he said, as he plunged the paintbrush into a jar that sat on a table beside the easel. But his heavy-lidded dark eyes were focused on Risa. “And the magnificent Vitale! Such a pleasure this is for me!” He took her hand and planted a lingering, moist kiss on it. It was all she could do to resist wiping it off on her cords. “Adam and I both admire your work, Mr. Christofides,” she announced instead. “Anatole, please,” he urged. “Anatole,” she and Adam said together. “And we’re Adam and Risa.” Adam clamped a distinctly possessive hand on her waist. “I decided you were the one to do my Risa’s portrait.” “You, Adam, are a most fortunate man.” Anatole’s eyes swept over Risa again, then lingered on her face in what she supposed was intended to be a heated gaze. “But come, sit. Have some wine.” They sat on the surprisingly comfortable couch and convinced their host that they couldn’t stay long enough to enjoy his hospitality this 99

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visit. They discussed the kind of painting Adam wanted him to do for them. Adam rejected the idea of a nude painting, saying he would prefer to be tantalized by the sight of Risa as she presented herself to the outside world. “After all,” he added with a smile that spoke of shared private moments, “I have the original in my bed.” Risa covered her gasp with what she hoped sounded like a low, intimate laugh. “I can paint this woman in the clothes she wears today and still reveal the passionate woman you love,” Anatole said, turning to look directly at Adam. “But is this the real reason you came to see me?” Before Adam could reply, Anatole went on. “I know that you are Sylvia March’s brother. You are wondering if I could have killed her.” There was anger and deep sorrow in his face. “The possibility crossed my mind,” Adam admitted. “I resent your suspicion, but, because you are her brother, I will say this once. I would no more kill Sylvia than I would cut off my painting hand.” Anatole’s words were extravagant, but Risa thought they might be sincere. “I loved her. And, for a while, she loved me.” “You strike me as the kind of man who would fight for his woman,” Adam said. “Ah, but the woman I loved no longer wanted me. That murdering bastard she was married to had her under a spell. He abused her and had other women, but she still went back to him. Philip March I could kill. Not my Sylvia.” “Did Sylvia actually say he abused her?” Risa asked incredulously. That didn’t fit what she knew of Philip. “Many times.” Anatole’s voice was a hollow whisper. “Did you see the bruises?” Adam didn’t seem to sense how painful this topic was to the artist. “She would not let me see her until they healed. She said she 100

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couldn’t bear to have me see her at less than her best.” Anatole turned to Risa. “He held some kind of power over her. And she was wildly jealous of you. For a while, she thought she had lost him to you and she turned to me. But she learned she was mistaken. That you were not the one. Then, when March beckoned, she went to him. And he killed her.” He stared at the floor for a moment. “You’re right. I should have fought for her. Kept her away from him. But I had too much pride to grovel. And now she’s dead.” The only real information they got was the confirmation of what Paul had told her—that Anatole hadn’t seen or spoken to Sylvia since April. “Not even in the course of business?” Risa asked. “Charlie Farnsworth runs the gallery. Sylvia put some money into it two years ago so he would give me my big one-man showing.” His eyes brightened. “Because of her, I receive the acclaim I deserve. I will never forget your sister,” he said. “I did love her. “And”—Anatole came back to business—“the Vitale portrait?” “I want you to do it. We’ll get back to you about appointments for the sittings.” Risa couldn’t believe her ears. However, having agreed to follow Adam’s lead in this interview, she listened in appalled silence while the two men came to an agreement about the financial details. As they stepped out into the blustery night, she gave Anatole a tight smile and nodded when he said he was looking forward to seeing her soon. “Adam,” she exploded when they were safely inside the car, “what did you think you were doing? I can’t afford to commission a painting I don’t even want. And we’re not going to learn anything more from Christofides. Besides, some of his story just isn’t true.” Adam raised an enquiring eyebrow. “I was married to Philip March for four years. I can’t imagine him 101

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hitting a woman. He’s cold and cutting when he’s angry—not physical. Philip’s not an admirable man. He’s greedy and untrustworthy, but I can’t see him making love to a woman, then shooting her twice and running away. I think he’s hiding and really frightened. Otherwise, he’d be in touch with Christine.” “Maybe so.” Adam obviously didn’t agree with her. “But I’m not so sure Christofides doesn’t have more to tell us about Sylvia’s life,” he insisted. “And, if you’d agree to sit for Anatole as a favor to me, I would very much like to buy the painting.” “But…” When he leaned over and kissed her lightly on the mouth, she lost whatever she was going to say in her overwhelming confusion about what was real and what was pretense in their relationship. Darkness had fallen during the hour they had spent in the studio and the temperature was plummeting. The snowy side road was wet and slippery. Even with its top quality all-weather tires, the heavy Lincoln slewed as it inched along to the main road. Adam eased the vehicle slowly onto the empty highway, but even the slightest pressure on the accelerator caused the wheels to spin. After a few tense minutes, he said, “There’s a motel and restaurant up ahead. We’d better stop and have something hot to eat at least. I’m afraid we’re not going to make it to Denver tonight.”

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CHAPTER 7

The motel flashed a red No Vacancy sign, but the warm lights of the restaurant beckoned through the sleet. Risa was thankful for her full-length coat as she clung to Adam’s arm and half-ran, half-slid towards the steamy windows of Sal’s Family Restaurant. Sal had a full house. All ten tables were occupied by what appeared mostly to be family groups of disgruntled, stranded skiers. The air smelled of re-used grease and fairly fresh coffee, and was full of the sounds of busy cutlery and tired children. A lone, middle-aged waitress was bustling around the crowd while an immense, red-haired man worked with surprising speed at the grill. The four plastic-covered stools at the counter were empty. The flushed waitress started to beckon them in, then scanned the room quickly and gave a helpless shrug. “There’ll be a bit of a wait for a table,” she said. “The counter’s fine,” Risa told her. 103

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The large man tossed a laminated menu onto the counter in front of them without breaking his burger-flipping rhythm. “We’re out of soup, Sal,” the waitress complained. “Open a couple of cans, will you? I can’t leave the grill,” Sal said. “Rotten night!” He flashed a huge smile over his shoulder at Adam and Risa. “We weren’t expecting the freezing rain.” “I don’t suppose there’s any mistake about the No Vacancy sign,” Adam said. “Rented the last unit about half an hour ago.” The proprietor couldn’t hide his satisfaction. “Sorry.” Risa glanced at the menu. “I’ll have a bowl of chili and whole wheat toast,” she told him. “And coffee.” “Make that two.” Adam frowned. “I wonder how much luck we’ll have finding a vacancy down the road.” The prospect looked bleak. Road conditions were treacherous and most of the weekenders seemed to have pulled off the road already. Whatever happened next, she was destined to spend more time in close quarters with Adam Taggart than was wise. He had figured in more fantasies than she liked to admit over the years and today she’d discovered his real kisses were even more potent than her wildest imaginings. “Well, there is the family chalet,” Adam suggested. “If we can get there. It’s only ten or twelve miles from here. Ten on the highway and a couple on a sideroad. If we don’t find a motel before the turn-off, I think we should give that a try.” One of her favorite fantasies was of her and Adam in front of a blazing fire. But the Adam of her dreams would have no doubts about her innocence. “Or we could wait here until they can get the road sanded,” she said. 104

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“That probably won’t be for hours.” “Shouldn’t you be trying to get back?” she protested. “After this morning, who knows what shape your stepfather is in?” “If Hazel wanted me there, she’d have called. She has my cell phone number.” Risa had obviously overstepped some kind of line. Adam’s dealings with his family were not up for discussion. “I’ll call her when we get to the chalet,” he conceded. Risa suddenly thought of a legitimate reason she had to get back to Denver. “What am I going to do about Fang?” she cried. “He’s been alone for hours already.” Adam handed her the phone. “Call Marc. He has your new key. Tell him it’s his turn to look after his mother’s dog. He shouldn’t have any trouble getting there. The rain’s probably not freezing at that altitude.” Marc was home and had no objections to feeding Fang. Risa accepted the inevitable. She was going to spend the night at the Langdon chalet with Adam. Why shouldn’t she? She was making too much of one kiss. One incredible kiss, Adam had called it. But he had agreed it was not to be repeated. She gave the little phone back to him, along with a fairly good imitation of a confident smile. After downing the chili, which tasted much better than she expected it to, and drinking some of the coffee which didn’t, she and Adam put their damp coats back on and left Sal’s. It took them forty minutes to travel the twelve miles to the sideroad where the Langdon chalet was located. “That’s it up at the bend of the road,” Adam said, indicating a large A-frame about five hundred yards from the two-story clapboard house where he was stopping. “I want to tell the Barrows we’ll be at the chalet overnight. Jessie and Fred have looked after the place for years.” The woman who answered the door was brisk and cheerful-looking, 105

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but although she was obviously glad to see Adam, Jessie Barrow refused to let them any farther into the house than the front hall. “I wouldn’t want you or Miss Vitale to catch the bug we’ve had. It’s a real bad one. I think we’re over the worst of it. The grandkids and I are feeling pretty good today, but Bess and my Fred are still in their beds with pails on the floor beside them. Just wait here. I’ll get you the keys.” Adam agreed they didn’t want to catch the bug. “I don’t need the keys, Jessie. Sam keeps his in the glove compartment. We just wanted you to know who was at the chalet.” “I hate to tell you, but I haven’t been in to set the place to rights. I’m sorry, but when I didn’t see any sign of life up there this week, I figured Mrs. March changed her mind. She said she’d do for herself and her company and for us not to bother about the place for the next two weeks. I should’ve checked, but it was all I could do to drag my bones up to the two places I had to get ready for the folks who let me know they were coming up to ski this weekend. I was going to do your place up tomorrow.” “You say Sylvia was going to come up here?” Adam asked. “She was here. Her little red car got here—let’s see—in the morning, a week ago Wednesday. Yes. Then the little black one got here that night. And Friday the big white van was here all morning. She must’ve gone off with the people in the van after lunch, we figured, because we’ve had a couple of light snow falls this week and there’s no tracks in or out of your place. Besides, the only lights on are the outdoor security lights.” Risa bit her lip. The van had been at the chalet on Friday morning after she’d left for Toronto! Was the little black car Philip’s Mercedes? She felt sick. Were she and Adam about to discover the real site of the murder? “Anyway, Adam,” Jessie concluded, “I’m real sorry, but your beds 106

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haven’t been changed.” “We’ll manage fine.” Adam was quiet for a moment, then began gently, “I guess you haven’t seen the newspapers, Jessie. Sylvia’s dead. Her body was found three days ago.” Jessie Morrow’s round face lost what little color the flu bug hadn’t taken from it. Adam grasped her arms and steadied her for a moment. The caretaker’s honest shock brought the ugly reality of Sylvia’s death back into sharp focus. “I’m all right,” Jessie said, brusquely shaking off Adam’s hands. “I hadn’t heard. I don’t read the papers any more. They’re too depressing. Everywhere you look there’s so much evil. And this week, I let the kids take the TV into their room to keep them quiet. Fred was too sick to care about the news anyway. Oh, poor little Sylvia.” Jessie insisted they should get on their way and not bother about her because she’d never forgive herself if they caught the bug. “I guess we do have to go to the chalet,” Risa said hesitantly when they got back to the car. “We don’t have any other options right now,” Adam said. “We were lucky to get this far on the highway.” “I wonder if she was killed there.” The words hung in the air for a long second. From Adam’s grim expression, he’d been wondering the same thing. “I hope not,” he said. At a snail’s pace, they crept along the icy road to the chalet and turned into the unplowed driveway. Even over the relentless swish and beat of the windshield wipers, Risa could hear the Lincoln’s tires crunch through the crust of ice that coated the unbroken snow in front of the impressive cedar plank and glass A-frame. Thickly encrusted branches of the towering spruce trees along the sides of the broad driveway glistened in the light from the electric lanterns on either side of the front door. Beyond those lights, the chalet loomed silent and 107

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dark. “Stay here where it’s dry,” Adam told her, as he sorted though the ring of keys he’d found in the glove compartment. “I’ll get the place opened up.” “Not on your life!” Risa decided. They were in this together. She had a strong hunch they weren’t going to like what they found inside, but she wasn’t going to let Adam encounter it on his own. *

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Realizing Risa had made up her mind, he didn’t argue, but said simply, “I’ll break trail.” Adam led the way, stamping through the ice crust with every step. He unlocked the door and, keeping in front of her, cautiously stepped into the white tiled entrance hall. He switched on the overhead lights and released the breath he’d been holding. At first glance at least, everything looked normal. The doors on either side of them that, he remembered, hid a large walk-in closet and a washroom were closed. Beyond the tiled area, the large open area with hardwood floors, oriental rugs, granite fireplace and leather armchairs and sofas looked welcoming. The central heating had been left on. He was happiest that the only residual smells he could discern were those of wood ash and scented wax from the candles sitting on the mantle and tables in the event of power outages. He removed his wet boots. Risa did the same. He opened the door to the closet and found nothing sinister. It did contain several pairs of boots of various styles and sizes, a man’s overcoat, and about a dozen ski jackets. A suede jacket looked like one he’d seen Sylvia wear. He added his coat to the rack. Risa wanted to keep hers for a while. Her face wore the tight I-amin-control-I-am-ready-for-anything expression he was beginning to 108

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recognize, but she was clutching her bulky coat tightly around her. He took her hand. “I’ll show you around,” he said. The living areas on the ground floor looked as if someone intended to return at any time. In the kitchen, a few rinsed dishes were stacked in the dishwasher. The refrigerator contained a few wilted salad vegetables, a quart of skim milk and a dozen eggs. On the living room coffee table, they found two used brandy snifters. In the two guest bedrooms at the back of the main floor, undisturbed stacks of bedding and pillows rested on bare mattresses. Nowhere were there any signs of violence. Adam commented on each of those discoveries, but Risa was, for the most part, silent. “So far, so good,” he said when they’d completed the circuit back to the front hall. What a fatuous remark! Risa was looking at him out of eyes that could be burned holes in a blanket and that was the best he could come up with to reassure her. “There are two nice warm bedrooms in the loft,” he told her. “You get first choice.” She muttered something he didn’t quite catch about not being silly, then took a deep, shuddering breath. “All right,” she said. Her grip on his hand was almost painful as she planted a stocking-clad foot on the first step. “Let’s see what’s up there.” The stairs were too narrow to climb side by side and Risa seemed determined to lead the way. At the top, however, he took over. The first bedroom, the smaller one Adam used whenever he visited, held no surprises. The bed had been made up, but not slept in. “Nothing here,” he announced unnecessarily and closed the door behind them. “Sylvia always used the master bedroom.” When he opened the door to the larger bedroom, both he and Risa 109

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stopped on the threshold. Here was the confirmation of Jessie Morrow’s story. From the state of the satin sheets and the duvet that had found its way onto the floor, Sylvia had not been alone when she used the master bedroom for the last time. However, to Adam’s relief, the room showed evidence only of a night of strenuous sex, not of violent death. “Philip was here,” Risa said, pointing to a leather suitcase lying on the floor of the open closet. “I gave him that set of monogrammed luggage the day he was called to the bar. And”—she waved in the direction of the burgundy brocade chaise lounge on the far side of the room—“he always folds his clothes like that before getting into bed.” There was something particularly repugnant about the idea of Philip March folding his clothing into a neat pile before climbing into bed with Risa. Her graceful brows were knotted in a frown. Was she worried about March or simply puzzled? Of course, there was the real possibility she still loved him. Adam forced his attention onto the scene before him. The door to the bathroom connecting the two bedrooms was slightly ajar. Jars of face cream and bottles of lotions and perfume littered most of the marble counter; lipstick, eye shadow and blush spilled out of a large makeup case. A man’s hairbrush, shaving kit and gold wristwatch were lined up neatly on the other side of the sink. There were barely visible brownish smears in the peach-colored porcelain sink and tub. Several hastily discarded bath towels lay on the floor. “If Philip left of his own volition, he’d never have left his Rolex behind,” Risa stated. Everything in here was consistent with the condition of the bedroom, but there was something else. He didn’t know if he actually detected a trace of the ugly smell of death in the perfumed air, or if the sense of foreboding that had been flickering at the back of his mind led him to imagine it. 110

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“Adam, why do you imagine there’s no shower curtain in here?” He looked at the empty rings on the chrome rod and swore. “I don’t like this,” he muttered. “Have you touched anything in here, Risa?” “Nothing. Most of the time since we came upstairs, my hands have been in my coat pockets. Do you think this is where Sylvia was killed?” He was afraid so. “At least, she spent some time here. We’d better call Paul. His crime scene squad will be able to tell us for sure. I’ll get my cell phone from the car.” Leaving Risa in the living room, huddled on one of the beige leather sofas, Adam went out to retrieve the telephone. To the right of the house was a four-car garage, big enough to take the family cars and store their skis and snow machines. It would be easy to check if Sylvia’s car was parked inside. Or Philip’s. But he’d be wiser to leave the snow in its unmarked state for the police. All his instincts warned him this was the scene of Sylvia’s murder. Risa was as spooked by the place as he was. He hated to see her jumping at shadows. Before he came back inside, he made a quick call to Jessie Barrow. “We don’t have to stay here tonight, Risa,” he announced as he stepped back inside. “Jessie’s going to open a chalet up the road for us in a few minutes. The owners, Tom and Georgia Wilson, are old friends of Hazel and Sam’s. According to Jessie, they plan to stay in Arizona with their kids until after Christmas. I said I’d call them to make sure they didn’t mind me using the place.” While Risa watched out the front window for the Morrows’ pickup to drive by, Adam made a quick call to the Wilsons in Arizona, then set about to reach Paul McIntyre. “Georgia Wilson said of course we can use the chalet,” he reported. “And to make ourselves at home. She said you were welcome to any of the clothes in the closet that might fit. 111

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“I couldn’t get Paul. He’s out on a case, but I left my cell phone number again with the message I have important information for him,” he reported when he joined Risa at the window. “I expect he’ll call tonight, but the earliest he’d be able to get up here with a crime scene crew is tomorrow morning.” At that moment, three sharp blasts on a car horn alerted them Jessie was driving by. Within seconds, they were in the Lincoln following her down the road. When the pickup drew up in front of an A-frame very like the one they had just left, Adam leapt out of the car to prevent Jessie from climbing down from the cab. “You’re just getting over the flu. I feel badly enough about getting you out in this kind of weather,” he told her. “I don’t want you to get any wetter. We can look after ourselves tonight.” *

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The grateful look on Jessie Morrow’s face struck a responsive chord in Risa’s heart. But what Risa was feeling for Adam was much more powerful than gratitude. Why did he have to come into her life now, under these circumstances? “You’re still the same dear boy,” Jessie told him. “Here’s the Wilsons’ key. And I packed a box of staples so you and your lady won’t starve to death before they sand and salt the roads. You said everything was okay at your place?” Adam reassured her the Langdon chalet was in tiptop condition. “Don’t be upset if there are a lot of people coming and going for the next day or so,” he warned her. “The police have been trying to trace Sylvia’s movements and nobody knew she’d been up here.” “She wasn’t here that long. Last time we saw smoke coming out of that chimney was a week ago Thursday night. And nobody’s been in or out since that van left the next day just after lunch.” Jessie looked embarrassed at her intimate knowledge of her neighbors’ activities. “I was watching for the doctor when I saw him leave,” she explained a 112

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little defensively. “You’re sure the driver was a man?” Adam asked quickly. “Well, now…” She paused, a little uncertainly. “I’m not sure why I thought so. He was wearing a snowmobile suit. Could’ve been a big woman. But I seem to remember the driver walked like a man.” “Try to remember exactly what you saw, Jessie,” he said. Her description of the driver didn’t fit Risa and there didn’t seem to be a large woman in the picture. “It could be important. The police will no doubt be asking you about it.” As soon as Adam unlocked the door and flicked on the inside lights, Jessie gave them a quick double blast on the horn and drove off. As she stepped inside, some of the tension lifted from Risa’s shoulders. This building did not exude the chill aura of death that its twin down the road did. Adam was fiddling with the thermostat. “Not bad.” He, too, sounded more relaxed. “The maintenance setting in here is fifty. It won’t take long to warm up. Leave your coat on. I’ll turn the hot water tank up to high and light a fire.” “You mean I can have a hot shower?” Maybe she would actually stop shivering. “A long one, if you want.” Adam shot her a smile that jump-started her warming process. “Then I’ll show you the choice of bedrooms. You’ll recognize the floor plan. Hazel and Georgia both fell in love with this design and hired the same contractor.” Her mind said she should be relieved Adam wasn’t pushing her any farther along the path they’d begun to explore at the foot of Langdon’s emergency stairs this afternoon. Her perverse body, however, was eager to find out where those incendiary kisses could lead. If one kiss could make her forget they were in a public place, could making love with Adam wipe out the memory of a dead body and all the fabricated evidence that pointed to her? 113

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When Adam headed for the basement to adjust the temperature on the water heater, Risa looked around her. Although the layout of the two ground floors was identical, the bright colors in this living room reflected a very different life style. The Wilson’s chalet was geared to grandchildren. Nothing breakable sat on tables or shelves below shoulder height, and the lower bookshelves were stacked with colorful picture books and puzzles. The massive yellow toy box on one side of the antique brick fireplace was balanced by a huge pink dollhouse on the other. She would probably like her absent hosts if she ever met them. “While you get the fire going, I’ll unpack Jessie’s survival pack,” she called as he started up the stairs. “There’s a pound of coffee on top. If I can find the coffee maker, would you like some?” The coffee was almost ready and she was putting the last of the perishables in the refrigerator when she sensed Adam standing in the kitchen doorway. She didn’t have to see him to know he was there. The man carried his own force field. The electricity of his presence sent shivers up her spine. She made herself speak to break the connection. “I called Marc, but got the answering machine. I told him I was safely off the highway at the chalet of a friend of yours. I left your number again,” she told him. “Jessie sent enough food for half a dozen active skiers’ breakfasts. Ham, eggs, bread. And a week’s worth of canned goods. Even a homemade apple pie and a wedge of cheese. Maybe she thinks we’ll be here a while.” Now she was babbling. She had to get a grip. “I wouldn’t mind taking your friends up on the offer of some dry clothes. The water is starting to seep through my coat and the legs of these jeans are totally soaked.” That sounded a bit whiny, but at least sensible. “Upstairs?” Then she met his eyes. The heat she saw there would warm her if she let it. Adam wanted her. He wasn’t a man for the long run, but, at this moment, he wanted her. She wished she was the kind of woman 114

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who could snatch a few hours of intense pleasure, then move on, satisfied with the moment and the memories. But she knew one night of lovemaking with Adam would leave her aching for more, much more than he would ever be willing to give. She hurried up the stairs, trying to ignore the fact Adam was following close behind—close enough she imagined she could feel his heat. Without making eye contact, they made quick work of making up the beds in both bedrooms, as if neither was fantasizing about sharing one of them. When they finished making the queen-sized bed in the master bedroom, Risa could not help giving a quiet sigh of relief. Adam gave her a knowing grin. “Yeah.” He sighed back. The breathy sound almost undid her. He knew it too. She could tell by the devilish twinkle in his eyes. “There’s enough hot water in the tank for each of us to have a quick shower. You can have the first one,” he offered. Then he leered and twirled an imaginary moustache. “Unless you’d prefer to share and have a much longer one?” He could almost be serious, she thought wistfully. “Sorry, Tagg,” she responded with exaggerated nonchalance. “I have a headache.” “Too bad.” He took her face between his hands and pressed a firm, lingering kiss on her mouth. “Go shower. Get into some dry clothes and sit by the fire. I’ll call Hazel and join you for coffee and some of Jessie’s pie as soon as I’ve had my own shower.” Risa sincerely hoped she wasn’t falling in love with Adam. He intrigued her. Even more, he puzzled her. At moments like this, he could be so tender and passionate, then, in the blink of an eye, he could become a distant stranger. It was infuriating he didn’t trust her completely. The dresser in the master bedroom of the loft was a treasure trove of 115

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warm socks and sweat suits. As Georgia Wilson, according to Adam, was a little shorter than Risa but heavier, the cozy American Beauty red sweat suit she chose should fit loosely but fine. A very few minutes later, Risa sat in front of the roaring fire in the family room downstairs. She breathed in Georgia Wilson’s flowery shampoo and tried to ignore the fact the man who dominated her thoughts was standing naked in the steamy shower she had just vacated. She stared at the shifting flames that became streams of hot water coursing over Adam’s face, down his solid chest… and beyond. She was much warmer after the shower, but just as uncertain, wondering which Adam Taggart was going to come downstairs to join her. Whichever one arrived in a few minutes, she was going to try to induce him to talk about himself. He’d indicated he wasn’t close to his family. He seemed to be ambivalent about his mother. He’d come home when Hazel needed him, but Risa sensed he wouldn’t stay long. What did he really care about? He said he was considering leaving television reporting. What kind of life did he have in Washington? Was there a woman back there who was special to him? Was he the kind of man who could kiss her the way he did and be involved with someone else? What did she really know about the man she was going to spend the night with in this isolated chalet? Except that he had haunted her dreams for fifteen years. And he was coming down the stairs.

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CHAPTER 8

Halfway down the stairs from the loft, Adam stopped, his foot suspended in mid-step. Risa sat quietly gazing into the blazing fire. Her air of sophistication was gone. She had the natural allure of an exotic flower as she rested on the big green sofa. Her dramatic face was scrubbed free of makeup and her silky hair, freed from its braid, flowed in a dark torrent over her shoulders. Her long legs were curled under her and, for once, her expressive hands were folded peacefully in her lap. She looked serene and exquisitely touchable. When his foot landed on the step, she started and turned in his direction. “Adam,” she said with a slow smile. “I was almost asleep. Would you like that coffee now?” “Don’t get up,” he said. “Do you want pie with yours?” “I’m not hungry,” she said softly. “Just coffee then.” He said hurried into the kitchen before he 117

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succumbed to the fierce temptation to take her in his arms. He had an almost irresistible urge to kiss every inch of her incredibly appealing body and bury that unruly part of himself that was making itself forcefully evident deep inside her. He leaned his forearms on the kitchen counter and gulped several deep breaths. What was happening to him? He had not come within six feet of Risa and he’d almost lost that cool control he maintained in every aspect of his life. This was more than infatuation. This was enchantment, witchcraft, black magic. He refused to allow his brain to form that insidious word that trapped other people. He took two mugs down from the cupboard and filled them with coffee. Risa took hers black. See! He was capable of rational thought. He was simply in the grips of the worst case of lust he’d ever imagined. Lust wasn’t bad. Lust had a limited life. It was something you could give in to and use up. He’d felt lust before. But not like this. Risa was just a woman. He’d been attracted to women before and tired of them. A little niggling voice repeated, But not like this. He needed to get himself under rigid control. Rigid! Oh, yeah! But he had to get serious. There was nothing remotely amusing about the situation he and Risa found themselves in. They were caught up in the tangles of Sylvia’s messy life, therefore, any relationship with Risa wouldn’t have the chance to run the usual course from fascination to satiation to boredom. That nasty little voice sneered, What makes you think you would ever get your fill of her? He made his way back into the living room with the coffee, telling himself that he had no intention of seducing Risa Vitale. Her stiffened posture and the pert tilt of her head told him that Risa had come to the same conclusion. “Did you talk to your mother, Adam?” “Sam’s sleeping peacefully. And Hazel is glad we’re safely off the road.” He deposited her coffee mug on the well-used wooden coffee 118

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table in front of her. “While I was talking to Georgia about staying here, Tom interrupted to tell me where he kept the key to the liquor cabinet. I think I could use a touch of cognac with that coffee. How about you?” Risa agreed and he was able to keep moving a little longer finding snifters and pouring the cognac. Finally, he ran out of busy work and had to sit down on the sofa beside her. “To the generosity of absent friends.” He raised his glass, pleased at the lack of intimacy of the toast. Then he made the mistake of meeting Risa’s eyes. “To generosity,” she murmured, lowering her eyes as she took a sip. “I appreciate yours, Adam.” Those tiger eyes met his again. “You’ve gone out of your way for me, even though you hardly know me and you have plenty of worries of your own.” “I care what happens to you, Risa,” he heard himself saying. “And I’d like to learn more about you.” He let another sip of cognac burn a fiery trail down his throat. “Tell me about starting Vitale Inc.,” he prompted. She threw him one of her megawatt smiles and asked, “The short version? It’s a pretty boring story.” “The long one. I’m interested in everything that happened during the amazing metamorphosis from Rotten Risa to the glamorous Vitale.” “Glamorous?” She laughed and took a handful of the large, soft sweatshirt and held it out from her body. The urge to hold her was becoming unbearable. “You asked for it. I used my divorce settlement to get as far from Denver as I could,” Risa began. “After two years of studying design in New York, I was hired by a fashion designer in Toronto who taught me a lot. I got brave and started to freelance. “Mattie, the friend I was sharing an apartment with at the time, introduced me to her cousin Garth Hartmann, who was a buyer for a 119

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string of major Canadian department stores. He gave me my first big contract. He was so taken by my casual wear designs that he suggested we pool our resources—my designs and his money and contacts in the business—and set up our own company. Voila…Vitale Inc. was born.” “I’m glad I didn’t ask for a short version,” he drawled. He could let it go at that, but the question of Garth had been eating away at him for a week. Fran apparently thought he was gay. “Tell me about Garth Hartmann.” “Garth is one of my closest friends.” She gave him a long look. The outer rim of the ever-changing irises of her tiger eyes was emerald green. Fascinating. “I think you’ll like him. He should be back next week.” She continued to scrutinize him so intently he rubbed his hand over his face. “Did I leave lather on my face?” he asked. “No. No. I’m trying to find a resemblance to your brother, Robert. The only thing you have in common is brown hair.” “Robert takes after my mother’s side of the family. I look more like my dad.” Of its own volition, his hand moved across the back of the sofa to lift a lock of Risa’s dark hair off her shoulder and rub its silkiness between his fingers and thumb. “I can’t believe you grew up together,” Risa whispered. “He’s six years older than I am. That was a big gap when we were kids. The big split came when Hazel remarried. He was eager to become a Langdon and I was a real pain.” Risa looked down at his hand, then slowly turned to face him. She raised her hand to touch his cheek. “Not a pain,” she whispered and tilted her face up to his. He couldn’t resist those slightly parted lips. His mouth covered them greedily, joyfully. Risa’s luscious lips nibbled back eagerly and her tongue met and swirled about his. There was nothing coy in her 120

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response. Adam’s body reacted to Risa’s hunger for him the way a flame does when it receives a blast of oxygen. One moment, they were sitting side by side with inches of space between them, and the next, Risa was on his lap. In the time it took to take a breath between kisses, he had yanked his shirt off. His hands skimmed the smooth skin of her torso as she raised her arms to allow him to remove hers. She undid the catch of her bra and slipped her arms free of the straps. She was reaching for him when he grasped her upper arms and held her away from him. “Wait,” he said with what voice he could muster. “I want to see you.” Her breasts were beautiful and surprisingly large for such a slender woman. Their upturned tips were dark and enticing. “More beautiful than…” he rasped and surrendered to the need to feel those bare breasts against his naked chest. They were both breathing heavily when he pulled her back into his arms. Risa moaned and writhed against him. He could feel her softness and the hard nubs of her nipples pressing into his chest. It still wasn’t enough. “We have too many clothes on.” He hardly recognized his own voice. It was so rough and unsteady. Her marvelous eyes were glazed with passion. “Too many,” she murmured. A tiny shard of reason penetrated his own haze. “Risa, are you taking anything for protection?” Her body stilled. He knew the answer. He held her tightly for a moment more and then released her while he still could. “I should carry something,” he muttered. They could get creative. No. The first time he made love to her had 121

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to be perfect for both of them. He shook his head. “It’s been a while for me and I wasn’t expecting this.” Risa was mortified. The moment Adam’s lips had touched hers, she’d been all over him. He hadn’t needed a lot of encouragement, but she, whom Philip had accused of being cold, had taken the lead. She’d been ready and willing to make love right there on the Wilsons’ family room couch. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, sliding off his lap and hastily pulling on her sweatshirt. “This is all wrong. I don’t know what came over me.” “The same thing that’s been making me crazy since I caught sight of you on the airplane, tiger eyes.” Adam sounded as thrown by their burst of passion as she was. “We can’t pretend there’s not something extraordinary going on between us, Risa. We can’t explore it tonight, but sooner or later, you and I are going to make love.” Adam’s statement was punctuated by the insistent beep of the cell phone he’d left on the mantelpiece. *

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Glad of the chance to pull herself together, Risa watched him move to pick it up, putting his shirt back on as he went. “Yes,” he snapped. “Yes, Marc, we’re safely in out of the sleet. We’re both fine. I expect you’d like to speak to your sister.” Risa was on the point of reaching for the receiver, but he held onto it and turned slightly away from her. He listened intently for a few minutes, then said in an odd voice, “But he’s going to be all right? Yes, I will speak to Paul. Hold on a minute, though. I want to tell Risa what happened.” “Who’s going to be all right?” Had something happened to Papa? “It’s Fang,” Adam said. “He’s at the vet’s. He’s had his stomach pumped and he’s fine. Marc found him unconscious when he got to your apartment earlier. He took him to the clinic right away and the vet washed his stomach out. Somebody apparently cut the screen, jimmied 122

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your kitchen window open from the parking lot and threw in some meat saturated with barbiturates. Once Fang was unconscious, they came in through the window and tore the place apart.” “Let me talk to him.” Risa took the receiver from him. “Marc? Is Fang really going to be okay?” “Dr. Thompson says he’ll be fine once he sleeps off the drugs he absorbed.” “Did the burglars take my new computer?” She had invested in a whole new system with expanded graphics capabilities. Although she’d made some back-ups, most of next season’s designs were stored on the computer’s hard drive in one form or another. “Didn’t touch it. I’m not sure they took anything, honey.” Marc sounded tired. “They didn’t take the TV or the stereo either. And from what I could see, your jewelry is all there. But I have to warn you, they made a mess. They were sure looking for something. Let me know when the roads are clear in the morning, and I’ll meet you at the apartment. We’ll check it together.” “I don’t know when that’ll be. The freezing rain is still coming down hard.” “The forecast says it’ll clear before dawn. We can only hope they’re right.” Marc expelled a deep breath. “Oh, I called Garth. He said he was flying back in the morning. He’s worried about some files on his laptop.” “Did you call the police?” “First thing. Paul and a couple of other officers were there by the time I got back from the vet’s.” “You’re sure Fang’s going to be all right?” “Dr. Thompson didn’t see any reason he wouldn’t be back to normal in a day or so. I said I’d check with him late tomorrow afternoon and make arrangements for one of us to pick Fang up. I do have some good news. Mom’s house is no longer out of bounds. You 123

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can move back any time.” At least there would be no more hassles with Mrs. Martin about the dog. Paul’s voice in the background was becoming more insistent that he speak to Adam. She thanked Marc for all he’d done and handed over the phone. While Adam reported Jessie Barrow’s story about Sylvia’s stay at the chalet and told him about the state of her bedroom, Risa straightened her clothing and tried to do the same with her thinking. She should never have come that close to making love with Adam. She was already in danger of falling in love with him. She told herself she was relieved. They’d be out of here in the morning and this enforced proximity would be over. She leaned against the arm of the sofa, poised to take flight as soon as he was off the phone. “Paul says he’ll get his crew together and they’ll follow the sanders up the highway first thing in the morning.” For a moment, she thought Adam was going to reach out for her, however, instead, he stood there with a world of compassion in his silvery eyes, apparently waiting for her to make the next move. “I’m sorry about your apartment, Risa.” His quiet voice calmed her a little. “Have you any idea what they could be looking for?” “No, but nothing that’s happened in the last week has made any sense to me,” she said, starting towards the stairs, before she changed her mind. “If the police are going to be here first thing in the morning, I think I’ll say good night.” He snagged her hand as she went by him and brushed a quick kiss on her lips. All the way up the long, narrow flight of stairs to the loft, she could feel his gaze on her back “Good night, Risa.” *

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Adam watched her leave. He wanted Risa Vitale with an intensity that transcended physical pain. During the hours he’d spent with her, 124

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he’d felt more alive than he had in years—perhaps ever. The vital spark that arced between them alarmed him, though. He didn’t like being in uncharted territory. He’d had a couple of relationships he’d considered serious for a time, but he’d deftly avoided investing too much of himself in them. This time, he sensed he was consciously stepping into the most tenacious kind of emotional quicksand. Already, before knowing how Risa felt about him, before they had even made love, he suspected he might not get out of this whole. Self-preservation demanded he go directly to his own bed. And try not to think about Risa’s sweet, lush lips and slim, yet voluptuous body. *

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About seven-thirty the next morning, the penetrating notes of the doorbell woke him from his first hour’s deep sleep after a restless night. Paul had arrived. Adam stumbled out of bed, pulled on Tom Wilson’s sweat pants and ran down to answer the door. “I’ll need you to let us into the chalet, Tagg,” Paul greeted him. No unnecessary friendly chatter here. “Unless you want to give me the keys.” “Give me a minute to throw some clothes on. Wait here,” Adam said and dashed back up the stairs. If the doorbell hadn’t already wakened her, he should let Risa sleep in. As quietly as he could, he eased the door to the master bedroom open to see if she was awake. Risa had pulled her pillow over her head and was still sound asleep, or pretending to be. He lifted the pillow off. Her cheeks were flushed with sleep. From the tangled state of her long hair, she’d had a disturbed night. He wished he’d had a part in mussing her hair and putting that color in her cheeks. She opened one sleepy eye. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I’m going down the road to let 125

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the police in. I’ll wake you as soon as I get back.” He couldn’t resist kissing her soft lips just once. “Okay,” she mumbled, burrowing back under the covers. She probably wouldn’t remember he’d spoken to her. Outside in the gray early morning light, the whole world gleamed eerily. A quarter inch of ice coated every twig and wire. “The highway’s not bad,” Paul told him as they picked their way down the icy road. “I left the guys taking pictures of the driveway. How many times were you and Risa in and out of the house last night?” “Risa, in and out once. Me, twice. I had to get the cell phone. All the footprints are ours.” Paul took out a notebook and jotted something down. He greeted the small group of officers and technicians who were drinking coffee in the police van, while they waited for the chalet to be unlocked. “First, let’s see what’s in that garage,” he said. A thin sheet of ice cracked and slid off the garage door as Paul raised it. The two men ducked. The garage was far from empty. In front of the clutter of snow machines and skis sat a pair of gleaming his and hers Mercedes-Benz SLKs. “So she was here with March.” Paul’s voice was tight. Adam’s eyes flashed to his high school teammate’s face, but the professionally bland expression revealed nothing. Could Paul be the policeman she’d had a fling with? Adam didn’t know McIntyre well any more, but he could swear the man was personally affected by Sylvia’s murder. Over the years, his stepsister had left the landscape littered with men who’d believed she’d cared more about them than she had. Two members of the special team were already snapping pictures of the vehicles from every angle. While Adam stood quietly with his shoulders hunched and his back against the biting damp wind, Paul held short discussions with several of them. Finally, he indicated he 126

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was ready. Adam led the way to the chalet, unlocked the door and waved McIntyre in past him. “When was the last time you stayed here, Tagg?” Paul’s words were casual; his voice was not. “Late February. I was in town for a week just after they discovered Sam’s tumor. I snuck off for a couple of days’ skiing up here.” “Well, let’s take a look at that bedroom.” Paul was two steps up the stairs to the loft when he added, “Up here, is it?” Adam followed, trying to remember if he’d mentioned on which level Sylvia’s bedroom was located. Paul took one perfunctory look at the master bedroom strewn with Sylvia’s clothing before he turned and headed back downstairs. “Yeah, they were here all right. You don’t mind if I keep the keys?” he said. “We’ll be a while here, I’m afraid, but I’d like you and Risa to wait at the Wilsons’ for a couple of hours, in case we find something we need to ask you about.” “Risa has a fashion show at two o’clock and she’s pretty anxious to see what’s happened to her apartment.” “Of course,” Paul said, his mind obviously on other things. “I’ll get over to see you as soon as I can.” Adam had to be satisfied with that. As he slipped and slithered back along the road to the Wilson’s chalet, his mind was busy with the implications of finding the cars. Neither Philip nor Sylvia had left here under their own power. Philip couldn’t have been the person driving the Vitale van. It would be ridiculous to assume Philip would kill Sylvia and leave his clothes and his car behind. Then where was he? The odds of finding Philip alive were getting longer. Adam suspected they would find his body soon—probably with a bullet in it from the same gun that killed Sylvia. The gun they’d found in Risa’s van. Given Philip’s lifestyle and Sylvia’s, the police would be more convinced than ever that they were dealing with a crime of passion. 127

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If you believed what the tabloids were saying about her relationship with Philip, Risa was the prime suspect. But the motive fit any of Sylvia’s discarded lovers as well. Including, he suspected, the detective in charge of the case! It was time he stopped fooling himself. He’d relied on his instincts in tricky situations for years and every instinct he had told him that Risa was no killer. He might be mistaken about her feelings for March, but he wasn’t mistaken about that. *

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Risa was out of breath. Paul had questioned them so long at the chalet that she and Adam had arrived at Fran’s office with only minutes to spare. Fran had helped her dress and adjusted her hair and makeup for her on the run. Now Risa, feeling thrown together, stepped up to the microphone on the improvised stage in the Garden Court Restaurant of Langdon’s flagship store. She made herself take two measured breaths before she confronted the sea of faces with a professional smile and, thank heaven, a controlled voice. Every avid face at every crowded table was focused on her. To the crowd, she was not a private person. She was Vitale, the designer of the moment and a featured player in what the tabloid press was calling a tragic love triangle. Her ninety minutes in the limelight seemed to last forever. Fran’s brilliant idea that Risa do the fashion commentary herself had sounded good a month ago when they were planning the launch, but today, under the lights, she felt as helpless as a butterfly pinned to a display board. The emerald green of her daringly cut, satin lounge suit could have been inspired by a butterfly’s wing, and she was certainly pinned to her microphone under the keen scrutiny of the press and public. She was sure that more photographers’ flashes had been aimed at her than at the models. Finally, it was over and she’d endured her necessary chat with the 128

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people whose egos would have been bruised if she’d avoided them at the champagne reception afterwards. The store security men managed to keep all but the invited members of the press away from her, but it was Adam’s solid presence that gave her the strength to maintain her fixed smile while she fought her way through the crowd to the staff elevator. He had not moved far from her side any second she was not on the stage. “You’re amazing,” Adam said as he and Risa preceded the security man onto the elevator. “You were magnificent. Cool and capable under fire. And beautiful at the same time.” “I got through it,” she said. Adam’s possessive hand on the small of her back made her want to sag back against his strong, warm body. “But I can’t let down yet. I have to get to the apartment and see what’s happened to my things.” She could never have carried off the on-stage Vitale this afternoon if Adam hadn’t been hovering in the background. He was becoming much too important to her. “You don’t have to wait for me, Adam,” she announced, as the elevator doors opened on the sixth floor. “It’ll take me a few minutes to change and take off my stage makeup. I’ll call a cab when I’m ready. And Marc will meet me at the apartment. I know you want to see for yourself what the situation is at your mother’s.” “I’ll be staying with her anyway, sir,” the security man broke in. “Mr. Langdon told me to be sure no harm came to Ms. Vitale while she was in the store. I’ll wait here by the elevator.” “Fine,” Adam said. His crooked smile said he understood her need to distance herself, but he wasn’t about to go along with it. “I’ll talk to Hazel from Fran’s reception desk while you change.” Her perverse heart filled with joy at his refusal to leave her. It gave her the first reason she’d had all day for a genuine smile. She was still smiling when she left him dialing at the reception 129

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desk. Eager to get changed and out of the building, she hurried into Fran’s office, pushed the inner door closed with her foot and reached both hands behind her to pull down the long hidden zipper of her satin jump suit. She was totally unprepared for the attack when it came.

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CHAPTER 9

Risa had just grasped the satin firmly with one hand and found the zipper tab with the other when she heard the door lock click behind her. Before she could turn all the way around to see who was there, someone lunged at her and knocked her off her feet. As Risa tried to bring an arm around to break her fall, she caught a glint of metal out of the corner of her eye. However, all of her concentration was on the desk chair that she was about to hit with her face. She tried to jerk her head out of the way, but her cheekbone hit the base of the chair leg with a painful crack. The starburst of pain in her head eclipsed the smaller twinge she was vaguely aware of on her left side. More than slightly stunned, she attempted to push her assailant off her and sit up. “You killed him,” croaked a tear-choked voice Risa almost recognized. 131

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She opened her eyes. Through a haze of pain, she recognized her attacker. Suzanne Klein was straddling her legs and wielding a razor sharp letter opener. This wild-eyed woman was not the Suzanne she knew. Risa grabbed her wrist with both hands and strained to hold off the narrow blade as Suzanne tried to plunge it into her chest. Someone, probably Adam, was pounding on the door. She called out to him and the pounding became a heavy crashing. Risa was in better condition than the other woman, but her need to protect herself did not seem to be strong enough to counter the irrational fury and hatred fueling Suzanne’s assault. Suddenly, she grabbed a handful of Risa’s hair and yanked hard. The unexpected stab of pain weakened Risa’s grip for a dangerous second. The unbelievable fact hit her that she could die here this afternoon at the hands of Philip’s silly lover. She would never have the chance to know Adam’s lovemaking or find out if they had any future together. She refused to be cheated of that! Risa wrenched her torso hard out of the way of the descending blade, but she was trapped between two large sample boxes. She almost avoided the cold steel that sliced her side. At that moment, Adam and the Langdon’s security man broke down the door. Adam dragged Suzanne off her. Risa tried to get herself up off the floor, but with two large men and a wildly flailing woman in the small office, it was impossible. Adam wrapped one arm firmly around Suzanne’s middle and held her left wrist with the other hand, but before he could trap her other arm, Suzanne’s sharp elbow caught him hard in the solar plexus. She managed another quick swipe at Risa with the letter opener. This time, Risa could see it coming and yanked her arm back out of the way. The vicious slice cut through the satin sleeve, but barely touched her flesh. An interminable second later, the security man caught Suzanne’s 132

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wrist and pried the letter opener from her fingers, twisted her arms behind her back and handcuffed her. Then he set the weeping woman none too gently in the leather armchair beside Fran’s desk. Risa scrambled to her feet and swayed unsteadily as she stared down at herself in disbelief. The midriff of her suit was in tatters and wet with blood. The world swam for a moment. Then she was being picked up and cradled in Adam’s solid arms. “We have to stop the bleeding,” he said, setting her down gently on Fran’s desk. He ripped back the sodden satin to reveal two long gashes along her ribcage. The security guard was already calling emergency services. “I’m fine,” Risa said, amazed at the amount of blood streaming from her wounds. “It doesn’t hurt.” “It will.” Adam grabbed a folded cotton T-shirt from one of the cartons on the floor, wadded it up and pressed it against her side. “Lie still. We have to stop the bleeding.” “I wish I’d killed you,” Suzanne spat. “You deserve to die for killing Philip!” “Killing Philip?” That didn’t make sense. “We don’t know Philip is dead,” Adam said. Suzanne glowered at him. “The noon news report said they’d found his body at some chalet in the mountains. And I know he was there with her.” Risa looked stunned by the news. Adam told himself that was only natural. No matter what a poor human being Philip had been, she had been married to the man. Adam cursed under his breath. There was no satisfaction in having his hunch that two murders had been committed at the chalet prove to be right. Alive, March had meant virtually nothing to him, but dead— he was no longer the prime suspect. In the eyes of the police, Risa would be first in line for the position he had vacated. 133

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He had to find them a viable alternative fast. Suzanne had just shown she was capable of a crime of passion, but her rage at Risa and her grief seemed to eliminate her as a suspect. It was not unusual, though, for a woman to kill her faithless lover and still mourn him. He doubted if Suzanne was devious and smart enough to stage the attack on Risa to give the impression she believed Risa was the killer. *

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By the time the ambulance arrived, the bleeding from Risa’s wounds seemed to have slowed down. As the shock wore off, the pain hit her full force. The left side of her rib cage felt as if it was on fire and her right cheekbone burned. Even her teeth ached. Adam continued to bend over her, holding the folded T-shirt firmly against her side and murmuring encouragement in his deep voice. She moaned a protest when the ambulance attendants edged him away from her side. They quickly checked her wounds and decided not to disturb Adam’s improvised pressure bandage until they got her to the hospital. Within seconds, she was cocooned in a red blanket, lifted onto a stretcher and hustled out of the office. “Adam,” she protested, suddenly feeling more alone than she could ever remember being. “I’ll follow the ambulance,” he said. She had to be content with that. It would be a relief to leave behind the accusation in Suzanne’s eyes. Although the uniformed officers who had arrived about the same time as the ambulance were still questioning Suzanne and the Langdon’s security man, Risa could still feel her exhusband’s lover’s hate-filled eyes burning into her as she was trundled out to the ambulance. Good as his word, Adam arrived at the emergency room almost as soon as she was wheeled into one of the little cubicles. “Marc is on his way over,” he said and bent over to kiss her lips as 134

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if he always greeted her that way. He took her hand and held it until a fortyish, sandy-haired doctor in rumpled green operating scrubs hurried in to examine her. The only comment he made as he stitched the longest of the shallow cuts and bandaged Risa’s side was a muttered, “Blade hit a rib. You’re hung with horse shoes, Ms. Vitale.” He sent her for x-rays, then sped off again. An amazingly short time later, she and Adam were back in the cubicle being congratulated that neither her rib nor her cheekbone had been fractured. The doctor gave her a prescription for painkillers and instructions to get some bed rest and have her family doctor take a look at the wound early next week. He didn’t anticipate she’d have any trouble with it. Marc arrived as they were about to leave. “Ah, Reese, honey,” was all he could say when he saw her. He raised his arms weakly and dropped them again. “I don’t dare hug you.” “I appreciate that,” she said with a forced smile. “You didn’t tell me she’d had her face beaten,” Marc said to Adam. “I hit a chair when I fell. Nothing’s broken. It looks worse than it really is.” She refused to behave like a victim. “Suzanne said the police found Philip’s body. Was he shot, too?” “That wasn’t mentioned in the news report. And I don’t know anything more than that. From what they did say, I gather his body was found not far from your family chalet, Adam. I suspect I’ll get all the details tomorrow. “As for you, honey, we’d better get you out to the house. You’ll face the apartment better after a night’s rest. And you’ll rest better in your old bed.” “Sounds good. The doctor recommended several days’ bed rest,” Adam told him. The men were agreed. Risa, however, knew she wouldn’t be able to 135

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sleep until she had seen the damage to the apartment for herself. Finally, Marc agreed to go ahead out to their parents’ house and open it up for her, on the condition that Adam swear they would stop by the apartment for no more than a fast look. “Just long enough to pick up some clothes and a few essentials,” Marc told her as Adam helped her into the car. “Then you’re coming back to the house.” “Fang!” Risa exclaimed. How could she have forgotten? “Is he all right?” “Dr. Thompson says Fang’s fine. A little groggy but fine,” Marc assured her. “He suggested I wait until the morning to pick him up.” By the time she and Adam reached the apartment, hardly a trace of sunset remained in the darkening sky and she was all too aware she should be home in bed. “All right, if you’re determined to do this, let’s get this over with, Risa. Prepare yourself for a mess,” he warned. “I’m in better shape than I look,” she lied. Her whole body ached and she was thankful for Adam’s supporting arm. Through the open door of the apartment, she could hear Garth’s rich, indignant voice protesting, “Of course I’m sure, officer. I know precisely which items normally occupy that drawer and the exact positions they used to inhabit. Everything else is in that tangle. But my two gold nugget rings are definitely missing.” “Garth!” Her partner’s irascibility was one endearingly unchanged thing in this bizarre, unpredictable world she’d been living in. The moment he caught sight of her, Garth stopped his precise gesticulating and hurried over to her, leaving the officer standing with her pencil hovering over her notebook. “Risa, my dearest love,” he said, grasping her free hand in both of his. “What have they done to you?” Adam kept his arm firmly around Risa’s waist. He didn’t know 136

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what he expected Garth Hartmann to look like, but it wasn’t this silverhaired, barrel-chested, aggressively handsome man, who looked more like a well-dressed boxer than an expert in women’s fashions. Adam didn’t like Garth’s possessive attitude, but there was no question the man was genuinely concerned about Risa. “I had a bit of an accident, Garth, but I’m fine now.” Georgia Wilson’s loose fitting sweats concealed Risa’s bandages. However, her partner was too perceptive. “Risa. Risa, love of my life,” Garth scolded, “come clean. What happened to you?” Risa capitulated and gave him a shortened and tame version of Suzanne’s attack and her trip to the hospital. “So all I have to do is rest for a few days,” she finished off. “You haven’t met Adam Taggart. Of course, you’ve seen him…” Risa’s voice drifted off as she began to notice the shambles that someone had made of her cozy apartment. From the widespread chaos, perhaps several someones had torn the place apart. Living room furniture lay upside down, seat cushions tossed here and there; Garth’s precious paintings had been torn off the walls and tossed onto a haphazard pile of books and papers in the middle of the floor. “You don’t want to go into the kitchen, love,” Garth cautioned. “They emptied every cupboard, every container—flour, sugar— everything. Dumped it all on the floor.” “And what about my room?” Risa asked. Had they destroyed her clothes? Every article of clothing in the walk-in closet held a special memory—commemorated an event in her life. Most were her own designs, but a few had been gifts from talented friends. And had anything happened to the almost-completed designs she’d been working on with the new graphics program? “Did you check my computer?” 137

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“The police haven’t allowed me into your room. But, if it’s any consolation, all my computer files are intact and I have backups of all your completed designs,” Garth assured her. “I found your cameras undamaged under a sofa cushion in here.” The officer, who had been waiting patiently to this point, decided to interrupt. “Ms. Vitale? I’m Officer Watson.” When Risa said she remembered her from Tuesday night, the policewoman went on, “Lieutenant McIntyre called to say he will speak to you in person later this evening, but I’m to tell you it’s essential you tell me exactly what, if anything, of yours is missing.” “I’ll try,” she said. Wincing as she had to lift her feet high to step over the coats and boots littering the hall, Risa led her towards her bedroom. Adam followed close behind. The bedroom was in as bad shape as the living room. She didn’t think anything had been destroyed, but she couldn’t bring herself to look carefully at the tangle on the bed and on the floor where the contents of her closet and her dresser drawers had been flung. Her carefully selected pieces of costume jewelry had been dumped out of their boxes into her open top drawer. Her jewel case that contained her few expensive pieces, however, looked not to have been touched. “They didn’t take my pearls or my gold chains and bangles,” she marveled as she pulled out the drawers of the little enameled case one by one. “These guys seem to be searching for something specific,” the policewoman said. “They didn’t take the stereo or the computers or anything else that we could see. Mr. Hartmann seems to think they took a couple of his rings.” “Oh,” Risa gasped. She was staring into the bottom drawer of her jewel case where she kept her gold earrings and diamond studs. “What is it?” Adam hurried to her side. 138

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“That isn’t mine,” she whispered, pointing to a sparkling sapphire ring that lay on top of the earrings. *

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The large blue gemstone had to weigh at least two carats. Adam knew, without a doubt, that the ring Suzanne insisted Philip had bought for Risa had turned up. And he also knew it had not been in that jewel case on Thursday afternoon when the three of them had searched her bedroom after finding Philip’s cuff links there. His last lingering doubts fled. Every bit of color drained from Risa’s face. Adam righted a white leather bench that he assumed usually sat in front of the vanity and guided Risa gently down onto it. “That’s all you can handle today, Risa. The doctor said you were supposed to spend the next day or two in bed. You’re going to pass out any minute.” He turned to Officer Watson. “I’m taking her home.” “I’m just a little dizzy,” Risa protested. “I want to check something on my computer before we go.” Officer Watson suddenly became very protective of the site. “We’ll want to fingerprint everything in here before anyone touches anything else,” she said. “You’ll all have to leave now. I’m calling in a special squad. Lieutenant McIntyre will contact you about when you can come back.” “Now she wants everything left the way it was when I arrived,” Garth, who had been observing from the doorway, huffed. “Well, I haven’t unpacked my bags. Gretta has offered to take me in.” He looked at Risa and dropped the exasperated pose. “Come to Gretta’s with me, love. You know she’ll look after you as if you were one of her own.” Adam glared at him. There was no way he was going to allow Risa to go anywhere with Garth Hartmann. He didn’t like the cozy endearments Garth used and he sure didn’t like the way the other man 139

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was looking at her right now. Risa and Fran might think Garth was gay, but Adam wasn’t convinced. Garth caught his hostile stare and met it for a long beat. Then he gave an almost imperceptible nod, as if to say, “I’ll back off for now. But you’d better not hurt her.” “I’m going to my parents’, Garth,” Risa said, standing up cautiously. “If you or Gretta run into any snags in the next few days, you have my number.” “In case we’re out in the car, maybe you’d better give him my cell phone number, Risa.” Hartmann might as well understand Adam would be with her wherever she was. Risa sat down again and dug around in her purse for a pen. She pulled out the white enameled one she’d found and began to write numbers on the back of one of her business cards. “Risa, you brat, when did you get yourself a Mont Blanc pen?” Garth exclaimed. “I was planning to get you one for Christmas.” “I found it on the kitchen floor the other night,” she said. “It had rolled under the fridge. I thought it was yours.” “Mine doesn’t have a gold crown on it.” Garth looked a little envious. “Let me see that,” he said, holding her hand so he could examine the pen more closely. “That’s a laurel wreath, not a crown. It’s the Laurel Club crest.” “Do you belong to the L.C.?” Adam asked. “I’m not into sweaty sports,” Garth stated, as if it should be obvious. “Doesn’t your brother belong, Risa?” Risa said he did. “I wonder if most of the members have those pens,” Adam mused. This could be what the intruder had been searching for. Marc should be able to get a membership list. When Risa finished writing the numbers, she handed Garth the card and kissed him on the cheek. 140

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“I’ll leave you to Adam’s care then,” he said. The effete facade was back in place. “And don’t you worry about business, love. Gretta and I can look after everything at the plant and, as soon as the constabulary lets us back in, we’ll make sure this place is cleaned up and put back together. You rest until you’re healed.” He reached out to steady her. “Can you walk, love? You don’t look so good.” “She’s lost a lot of blood,” Adam said, sweeping Risa up into his arms and heading for the door. He’d had enough of Garth Hartmann’s little touches and endearments. “And all she’s had to eat today is a piece of toast early this morning.” “Adam, put me down.” He ignored her. “I’m sorry about all the mess, Garth,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll call you in the morning at Gretta’s.” “Adam,” she hissed again when they reached the hall, “you can put me down any time. I can walk.” However, she put up so little struggle Adam knew she had reached the limit of her endurance. She wouldn’t tolerate being manhandled long, but as far as Adam was concerned, she was fine right where she was. “Would you get the door handle, sweetheart?” he said, enjoying Risa’s anger. This was the real Risa. He could see golden glints in her tiger eyes when she glared at him. However, when they stepped into the parking lot and the cold blast of wind hit them, she tucked her head under his chin and snuggled closer. He held her firmly against his chest and told himself what he was feeling was compassion. And a fair belt of lust. While Risa dozed on the seat beside him on the way to the Vitale house, Adam was able to turn his mind to the day’s discoveries. None of them looked good for Risa. The sapphire ring turning up where it did 141

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under the nose of Officer Watson would strengthen the police belief that Risa and Philip were indeed together again. He wished he knew where they had found Philip’s body. He knew it wasn’t anywhere inside the chalet. Philip and Sylvia had been very much alive during the time they spent in the loft bedroom. The “where” of Sylvia and Philip’s murders didn’t matter as much as the “why.” Someone needed Sylvia and Philip dead—possibly someone who was jealous that they were mending their rocky marriage. Suzanne? Suzanne wouldn’t hesitate to frame Risa for the murders. But his gut feeling was that she really did think Risa was guilty. Try it from another angle. Everywhere you turned there was one of Sylvia’s ex-lovers. She had dumped Anatole Christofides who still loved her and hated Philip. Her ex-husband and partner in the art gallery, Charlie Farnsworth, had been too “broken up” by the news of her death to go in to work at the gallery Sylvia’s money had bought. He’d have to check who inherited Sylvia’s half of the gallery. There was also the mysterious “policeman” who might or might not be Paul McIntyre. For a member of a particularly straight-laced family, Sylvia sounded like a character out of one of the sleazier soap operas. There were plenty of candidates for a crime of passion. But somehow that theory didn’t ring true. Both Sylvia and Philip were self-centered creatures. It was more likely one or both of them could be single-mindedly embarked on a course that threatened to ruin someone. Neither would be concerned about whom they hurt. They might not even be aware that they were doing it. Adam had the feeling he was missing something obvious— something that was lurking at the edge of his consciousness. When they got to the house, Marc’s Volvo was parked in the driveway and every light in the house had been turned on in welcome. Adam felt a twinge of envy he recognized from years ago. It must be 142

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wonderful to be a member of a family like the Vitales. He couldn’t remember anyone ever caring about him the way Marc cared for his sister. Risa was asleep on the seat beside him. Her eyes were closed and her tempting lips were curved in a faint smile. He hated to waken her to the threatening world she was facing. “We’re here, sweetheart,” he said softly, then he leaned over and kissed her warm lips. She sighed contentedly and began to raise her arms to embrace him. Her little cry of pain as she lowered them quickly told him she’d been jolted back to the real world. He got out, went around to her side of the car. “Can I give you a lift, lady?” “I’m not an invalid,” she said, ignoring his proffered arms. Respecting her need to show some semblance of independence, he stayed one small step behind her as she walked unsteadily up the walk to the house. They were at the front steps when Marc opened the door. “Adam,” he said, reaching out to help his sister up the last step, “your brother has been trying to reach you. He said it’s important.” Adam cursed. “I didn’t turn that damned phone back on,” he said over his shoulder as he rushed back to the car. He was back before Risa could take off her coat. “Sam’s had a heart attack. I have to get to the hospital.” And he was gone.

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CHAPTER 10

Twelve hours later, bone weary and hurting, Risa awoke in her parents’ bed, not quite certain how she got there. She vaguely remembered Marc badgering her to eat some canned soup he’d heated, then pointing her in the direction of bed. When she tried to sit up, the pain brought back all the ugliness of the previous day. Philip was dead. And that sapphire he’d shown Suzanne had turned up in her apartment. What next? Did she, Adam and Marc have a hope of finding the real culprit before the police decided to arrest her? She wondered if Adam’s stepfather had survived his heart attack. Should she wait for Adam to call? They were friends, weren’t they? As soon as she was dressed, she’d look up his parents’ number. She could smell coffee the moment she opened her bedroom door and followed the scent to her mother’s bright kitchen where she found Marc reading the paper. “Didn’t you go to work?” she asked. 144

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Marc gave her a tired smile and scratched the dark stubble on his chin. “It’s Sunday, Pest,” he told her, laying his newspaper on the table. “As it’s almost noon, how about a world-famous Vitale omelet this morning?” “I’d like that!” she said. Suddenly, she was hungry. “Have you heard from Adam?” “About half an hour ago,” Marc told her. “His stepfather was dead on arrival at the hospital last night. All Tagg had time to say was the burial is this afternoon.” “That soon?” “Mr. Langdon left specific instructions that the ceremony should be before sundown the day after his death. Immediate family only. So Robert is rushing around to make sure it happens that way. Adam said his mother is in a pretty bad state and he’s staying close to her. He’ll call when he can, but it probably won’t be until tomorrow.” “And they still have to endure Sylvia’s funeral.” “Yeah. Adam said the coroner has released both Sylvia’s and Philip’s bodies for burial. Robert is trying to make arrangements to have a quiet service for both of them first thing tomorrow morning.” “They must all be devastated,” Risa said quietly. She wished she could be there for Adam. But she had no right to attend. And no matter how much outsiders wished they could lessen the pain, there was never anything they could do. “I’ve sent flowers from the two of us, Reese. Come on. Let’s have some brunch, then go spring the dog.” While they were eating Marc’s fabulous everything-in-the-fridge omelet, Risa told him about the discovery of the sapphire ring in her jewel case. “You, Adam and I did a thorough search of your things on Thursday.” “We told the police that. And that Paul did his own search after he 145

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got the anonymous tip. Oh, I just thought of something. Could you get my purse from the guest room?” “Sure.” He was back in a flash. “Recognize this?” she said, holding up the Laurel Club pen. “I found it when I was cleaning under my refrigerator Thursday night.” “Thursday night? Under the fridge?” Marc’s voice was heavy with disbelief. “Don’t ask. So, is it yours?” “Nope. Mine is black and has a white crest. The white and gold ones are awards. Championship teams get them. Founding members. That kind of thing. Should be a list of award winners somewhere. I’ll try to get one tomorrow.” When they had finished eating, Marc broached the subject weighing on both their minds. “I talked to some people in the police department this morning,” he began. “Paul?” “He hasn’t got back to me yet. But I did learn where Philip’s body was found. Someone had wrapped it in a shower curtain and hauled it a few hundred feet back of the chalet on a toboggan. They toppled a big woodpile on top of it, then put the toboggan back in the garage. “Philip weighed a good hundred and seventy-five pounds. The guy I was talking to admits you aren’t strong enough to hoist that much weight around, but they haven’t given up on you. Carson is pushing the theory that you had help.” “No doubt the murderer has a handy accomplice all picked out for the police to stumble over.” “Carson’s theory is developing holes you could drive a truck through. All we need is a break, Risa. Someone has to have seen something that will nail the real murderer.” Risa shuddered. She couldn’t get the horror of the scene Marc 146

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described out of her mind. She could picture the terrain around the chalet. She couldn’t remember seeing a woodpile. Of course, she and Adam had arrived after dark and she hadn’t been at the Langdon chalet in the morning. “Do they know when?” “They figure before noon on the Friday you left for Toronto. The van left around one o’clock as near as they can figure.” Her van. According to Jessie Barrow, a man in a bulky snowmobile suit was driving it. The police could argue a tall woman. Not for the first time, she cursed her height. “And someone canceled my lunch appointment in Chicago,” she whispered half to herself. “Don’t panic, Reese,” Marc said. “You were on the plane’s passenger list. And we’ll find someone who noticed you waiting around the restaurant. You don’t exactly blend into the wallpaper, you know.” “Were Philip and Sylvia killed in the chalet?” “They think so. Whoever killed them did a pretty good job of cleaning up, but the police found blood traces several places. On the stairs, in the front hall and in the upper bathroom. Of course, until they get the results from all the blood tests, they won’t know where each of them was killed.” A quiet rapping at the side door was a welcome distraction. “I’ll get it,” Marc said. The moment he opened the door, Risa recognized the rapid-fire speech of her parents’ next-door neighbor, Lorna Cicci. She was her mother’s best friend and the main reason the Vitales had moved to this suburb. “Risa, child, I read in the paper about that crazy woman attacking you.” Her iron-gray hair seemed to quiver with nervous energy. “I’m glad you finally came home. Joe saw Marc’s car this morning and did everything but tie me up to keep me from coming over before now. Are 147

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you all right?” Risa summoned up a reassuring smile. “I’m fine, Aunt Lorna. I was lucky. The cuts hurt a little, but they weren’t deep.” “We’ve been so worried about you since that woman was found in the garage. Then all that garbage about you in the newspapers! As if my goddaughter would behave that way! Joe says you should sue them. Marc, can’t you sue them?” Risa’s laugh was more spontaneous this time. Gretta had said much the same thing. “We’ll just make them eat their words when they find out what really happened,” Marc said, draining his coffee mug and putting it in the dishwasher. “Why don’t you have a cup of tea and keep Risa company while I pick up Fang from the vet’s? She’s determined to come with me, but she was told to rest for a day or two.” “She can tell me about her visit to Canada.” As Lorna bustled about topping up Risa’s coffee and making herself a pot of tea, Risa told her about her successful publicity engagements in Chicago and Toronto. “So you did take the morning flight. Joe thought maybe you’d missed it when he saw the van here for a while that afternoon.” Since his stroke a year ago, Joe Cicci spent much of his time stationed in his chair at a front window that gave him a good view of most of the street. “I guess Uncle Joe didn’t see who was driving the van.” That would be too much too hope for. “Most of the time the van was around the other side of the garage, but he caught a glimpse of the guy as he drove away.” “He was sure it was a man?” Risa held her breath. “That’s what he said. He wondered if Garth was driving it while you were away. But with his thick glasses and all, the police didn’t 148

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seem convinced he could see well enough to say.” That made two vague impressions that a man had driven the van. She wished someone had taken a better look at the driver. He certainly had a nerve driving her van around in broad daylight, dropping off bodies as if he thought he was invisible. “…so I brought it over.” Lorna waited. “Don’t you want to know what your Mom had to say?” “Yes, of course.” She gathered her mother had sent Aunt Lorna a letter from Italy. She must try to keep her mind on her visitor. Mom’s words about the great time she and Papa were having, blissfully unaware of the trouble at home, reassured her that there really was a rational, generally predictable world out there. Out of nowhere, she wondered how Adam was dealing with another death in his family. The telephone rang. When Lorna answered it and handed her the receiver, Risa was not surprised to hear, as if she had summoned him, Adam’s voice on the line. “Risa, I’ve been worried about you, but this is the first time I’ve had a minute alone today. I just got back from picking up my Aunt Ann at the airport. How is your side?” “Not too sore. I took one pain pill when I got up about three hours ago and I’m still okay. I was sorry to hear about your stepfather, Adam.” “Thank you.” “How are you coping?” “If I could get some sleep one of these days, I’d be fine,” he said. He did sound exhausted. “Hazel has been running on adrenaline, but now her sister’s here, maybe she’ll be able to let down a little. Hopefully, when the service is over in a few hours, she’ll give in and rest.” “Marc told me you might have another funeral tomorrow.” “Yes, at eight o’clock. Just the family and Philip’s sister in 149

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attendance, we hope. Then Sam’s lawyer insists we get the reading of the will over with.” “Oh, Adam, your mother shouldn’t have to deal with all of that, too,” Risa exclaimed. “She will definitely need all of you around her for the next little while.” “That’s the other reason I called. My aunt is determined to take Hazel back to Florida with her the minute the formalities are over tomorrow. She’s been widowed herself for only a couple of years and is convinced she knows what’s best for her little sister. If Aunt Ann has her way they’ll be taking the company jet down tomorrow afternoon. I should be able to come out to see you then.” There was a sound of voices in the background. “Sorry. Robert just came back with the minister. I’ll call you when I know more.” All his news was sad but she couldn’t help smiling as she put down the receiver. She might see Adam tomorrow. “Nice voice,” her godmother prodded. “Nice man.” Risa grinned at her. “He’s an old friend of Marc’s.” “Ha!” Lorna rolled her eyes. “Marc’s nice, old friend brings a sparkle to your eyes. Dora will be pleased. She has been worried you would never take time to find a ‘nice, old friend.’ And Joe and I are impatient for you to produce babies for us to spoil.” “Don’t get carried away, Aunt Lorna.” “So tell me about the old friend with the nice voice.” Risa decided to try another tack. She picked up her mother’s letter. “Mom says she had a good visit with your brother and his family.” “That Guido!” Lorna began, her eyes shining, easily sidetracked into a long monologue about her brother and his warm heart and elaborate hospitality. Not too much later, they were interrupted by a burst of excited barking and Marc was towed into the kitchen by a tail-wagging, hairy, golden projectile. 150

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“Down!” All three of them shouted. Fang dropped down, but his forward momentum carried him, bellycrawling along the floor, to Risa’s feet. His great wet tongue swiped her ankles and the wagging of his tail almost lifted him off the floor. Even though it hurt her side to lean down to pat his head, Fang’s delight made it worth it. “Yes,” she crooned, “I’m glad to see you looking so well, Greedy Guts. Maybe that’ll teach you not to gulp down everything that lands on the floor.” That evening, Risa was lying on the living room sofa with Fang on the floor beside her, watching a football game when Marc got a phone call. After the caller identified himself, Marc announced he’d take the call in the other room. She couldn’t hear what he was saying over the television commentary, but she knew from his voice that her brother was furious. When he came back to the living room a long time later, he was still scowling. “That was Jamieson,” he told her, pressing the mute button on the remote. He met her eyes, then looked away uneasily. “They’ve located an important witness in the big fraud trial I’m handling, but the guy is in hospital in Sydney, Australia, and can’t be moved. The D.A. is determined that I should go to take his deposition right away.” “Does it have to be you?” “He gave me a long list of reasons why no one else would do.” Risa had a sinking feeling. “They’re going to arrest me for Philip and Sylvia’s murder, aren’t they?” This couldn’t be happening to her. Marc turned the TV set off completely. “I couldn’t change his mind. Carson’s convinced him they have enough evidence for a conviction and the D.A. wants me out of town when they make the arrest. Seems they’re afraid some reporter will get me to say something critical of Carson’s treatment of the case. In his last term, Jamieson doesn’t want public criticism by a member of his department.” 151

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Marc sat beside her and took both her hands. “I made the best deal I could. I said I’d bring you in early tomorrow morning and go to Australia, only if he personally guaranteed to have you arraigned before noon and didn’t ask that bail be denied. He also agreed to request a trial date at least two months away. I wanted longer, but that’s as far as they’d go.” Her stomach did a flip-flop. She swallowed hard. “I have to go to jail?” “They won’t keep you. You’ll be back here by tomorrow afternoon.” She wanted to run as fast and far as she could from this nightmare that just wouldn’t end. “How long will you be gone?” “Probably a week. Less if I can manage it. But I’ve made some arrangements. We had some real luck. Don Fisher is the best trial attorney in the state and he’s agreed to act for you. He’ll meet us downtown at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.” This was really happening. “But, Marc, the police can’t have enough evidence to convict me. I wasn’t even in Colorado when they must have been killed.” “Carson thinks you were. Your alibi in Chicago is shaky. If the private detective I hired could find a witness who remembers seeing you waiting at the restaurant, he’d have to back off. There’s still a good chance he will. You have a memorable face, Reese.” He gave her a reassuring hug, then resumed his depressing news. “Carson believes you and Philip had been having an affair since his first trip to Toronto in connection with the department store takeover. Suzanne Klein told them Philip had been seeing you. Now that we know Philip was killed and is no longer the prime suspect in Sylvia’s murder, Carson has decided when you found out Philip was lying to you about his relationship with his wife, your Latin temper boiled over. 152

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“His scenario has you so furious at being cheated on again with the same woman that you turned up at the chalet, shot him and Sylvia, lugged his body onto the toboggan, dragged it out back and knocked a woodpile over on it.” “Was I wearing my Wonder Woman costume at the time? Oh, Marc,” she cried, “can’t he see how ridiculous all that is?” “He says desperate people have been known to perform amazing feats of strength. Anyway, my brilliant colleague figures hiding Philip’s body took longer than you expected and you needed to catch a plane. So you wrapped Sylvia’s body in the slicker you’d worn over your snowmobile suit and put it in the van, cleaned up the blood and drove the body to the house, where you dumped it in the garage until you could dispose of it.” “Then, silly me, I forgot where I’d put it and asked Adam to put a carton of samples in the garage a few days later. He thinks he can sell that idea to a jury?” Marc gave a noisy, exasperated sigh. “The fact the murderer cleaned up the blood is a big selling point for him. According to him, a woman would be more likely to do that.” “Let’s hope Mr. Fisher gets an all female jury. The voting public needs to find out what a vacuum there is behind Carson’s poster boy smile,” Risa said. “I agree. But if I want to continue to work in the D.A.’s office, I have to go and get this deposition. This ploy of Jamieson’s to get me out of town can work for us. It’s given us time to find the real murderer first.” He stood up and walked over to the telephone table. “Now, I want you to listen to me, Reese,” he said, “without flaring up. Fact one—we don’t know who shot Sylvia and Philip and has made you the patsy. Fact two—Suzanne is out on bail and she wants you dead. Fact three—you’re not in very good physical shape right now and 153

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Fang is a washout as a watch dog.” “What’s your point?” Risa didn’t like the direction this was leading. “My point is I’m not leaving you alone while I fly off to the other side of the world.” Marc was watching her warily. Was she that touchy about her independence? “I agree. I’ll call Fran in the morning. I’m pretty sure she’ll be free to stay with me until my wounds heal.” “I don’t know what good Fran would be if someone else decided to attack you. You need someone who’s used to dealing with dangerous situations.” “I have Papa’s revolver, and you made sure I learned how to use it. I’m not going to let you hire a bodyguard. I’ll go and stay with Gretta and Pete first.” “Never considered a bodyguard, but it’s a thought if Tagg’s mother changes her mind about going to Florida and he has to stay with her.” Before she could protest, Marc forged ahead. “It’s the logical solution. Tagg’s determined to find out who killed his stepsister and he knows it isn’t you. He was planning to come here anyway, after he sees his mother off tomorrow to talk about doing some serious investigating.” “You didn’t ask him!” “I called him right after I talked to Jamieson. Tagg is willing and I can’t think of anyone better equipped to protect you.” Marc checked his watch. “We’d better try to get some rest.” She was already stretched taut as a piano wire. All she needed was to have Adam Taggart living under the same roof. Perversely, she wished he could be by her side when she faced tomorrow’s ordeal. *

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The following afternoon, Adam was headed back across the city after seeing Hazel and her sister off to Florida. His mind was not on his driving. He had turned on the radio on the way to the airport to avoid 154

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discussing the astounding provisions of Sam’s will when they’d heard the newsflash. “This just in. Risa Vitale, well-known fashion designer, who was arrested for the murders of Philip and Sylvia March earlier this morning has been released on bail.” He tuned out the announcer as he went on to give details of the case that Adam was too familiar with. He should have been with her. When Marc had called him last night to ask him to stay with Risa while he was out of the country, he had warned Adam that she was going to be arrested this morning. The injustice—the wrongness—of the move raised Adam’s hackles. The instinctive response that he should be the one to stand between Risa and anyone who tried to harm her was so strong it scared him. He was uneasy about Marc leaving them alone together, but he had resented Garth trying to take charge the other night. And he wouldn’t feel confident that Fran or Gretta or anyone else could keep her safe. He’d sworn not to go the white knight route again. Adam wanted to run as fast and as far as he could from Risa Vitale. On the other hand, who else could he trust to help her to deal with the police, the press, and, only God knew, how many other attackers? He felt like a man trying to drive a powerful car with one foot on the brake and one pressed hard on the accelerator. “You don’t believe she did it, do you?” Hazel had said, when he’d punched off the radio. “She couldn’t have. She’s having trouble proving it, but she was out of town,” he told her. His mother looked at him with sad eyes for a long moment. “Are you going to help her?” “I’m going to see her the minute you’re on the plane.” She seemed satisfied with his reply and was still wrapped in her own silent misery when he saw her strapped into her seat in the Langdon jet. 155

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And now, driving almost on autopilot, he was finally speeding to Risa’s side. In his mind, he’d been with Risa through every step of the arrest and wondering how the hearing was going the whole time Sam’s will was being read this morning. He’d actually had to ask Will Fulton to repeat the mind-boggling part of the will that concerned him. Since the moment he’d set foot on Colorado soil less than a week ago, his mind and his emotions had been in turmoil. Losing Sam had been much harder than he would have believed possible. His relationship with his stepfather had changed in the year since Sam’s tumor had been diagnosed. At first, Adam had returned to Denver at Hazel’s insistence, but the last few visits had been his own idea. Unexpectedly, he and Sam had begun to seek each other out. The first of their late night conversations over a decanter of fine old brandy had been stilted. Sam had asked to hear about Adam’s more hair-raising experiences, and Adam had inquired politely about Sam’s future plans for Langdon Industries. Neither told the complete truth at first. Every evening Adam was in town, they’d talked. They covered business and politics and the effect of the media on both. As time went on, the discussions became more heated and intense. More often than not, Adam was forced to defend the electronic fifth estate. Although Sam liked to insult the morality of his career and make him angry, Adam found himself reluctantly looking forward to hearing Sam’s fix on whichever world crisis was in the headlines at the time. And this morning he’d found out that the old man had listened. Adam had filed into Fulton’s office with the others for the reading of Sam’s will expecting to be primarily an observer. He couldn’t have been more mistaken. Sam had effectively left him at the helm of his conglomerate, Langdon Industries. Robert was still the Chief Executive Officer of Langdon’s; that is, the chain of department stores and their associated businesses. 156

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However, Adam was the new president of Langdon Industries, which, he discovered, had wide-ranging interests in addition to the stores, not the least of which was a newly licensed telecommunications network. The old fox! Fifteen years ago, his bulldozing tactics to get Adam involved in the business had failed. Now he had him roped in. Sam knew how the burgeoning telecommunications industry fascinated, yet concerned, Adam. He knew he wouldn’t be able to walk away from the plum he’d bequeathed to him. Sam had won. Adam Taggart would be a Langdon in all but name. He brushed away a drop of the dampness that had been plaguing his eyes for the past couple of days. Robert had been understandably upset. Hazel informed them in a distant, flat voice that Sam had given his decision to revise his will a lot of thought. He had intended to talk to all of them about it, but after Sylvia, his original heir, had been killed, everything changed. Adam had tried to tell Robert he had no intention of interfering in his empire, but his brother had jerked away from him and stalked out of the office in a fury. Elizabeth had scurried after him. Neither had put in an appearance at the airport. In a few minutes, Adam would see Risa. He wished she’d been there this morning. The realization surprised him. He faced everything on his own. He liked it that way. But Risa’s presence would have eased the deep sense of loss he was coping with. And, in spite of the weight of her own troubles, she would have understood and shared his anticipation of facing the huge challenge Sam had left him. Probably, in time, his mother would be glad for him, but in that bright, sterile office this morning, he’d been alone. Hazel had been wrapped in her own impenetrable fog, and Robert and Elizabeth’s faces had been stiff with disbelief and anger. He was almost there. He pushed aside the question of how he was going to deal with the temptation of being with her day and night. She was so damned beautiful. He was having trouble remembering why he 157

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was resisting his attraction to her. All he could think of was how much he needed, right now, that special look of welcome in Risa Vitale’s fascinating eyes.

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CHAPTER 11

The last thing Risa wanted to see when she and Marc arrived home from the most anxious morning of her life was Paul McIntyre’s saltflecked sports car parked in the driveway. Her nerves were so strung out she was ready to scream. When the judge had granted her bail a couple of hours ago and tersely instructed her not to leave the greater metropolitan area, she had fervently prayed for a few hours without seeing another police officer. As Marc pulled in beside him, Paul got out of the car. “You all right?” he said to Risa. When she said she was fine, he walked around his car and indicated that she and Marc should follow him. Silently, he opened the passenger door. Risa stared at the familiar lime green-and-navy paisley patterned scarf in the plastic bag on the front seat, positive she didn’t want to know how it had come to be there. 159

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“Don’t say a word,” Paul cautioned, closing the car door and locking it. “I’m not asking you to identify this scarf, although I know it’s very much like one I’ve seen you wear.” He flashed an eloquent look at Marc. “It’s a piece of evidence that happens to be in my car because I wanted to take it to the lab in person.” That Paul was convinced enough of her innocence that he’d stretch the legalities of his job for her was the first good news she’d had in a while. They were still standing there, pretending to ignore the presence of her favorite head scarf in an evidence bag and making inane comments about the changeability of the weather for the benefit of her parents’ always curious neighbors, when Adam’s black Lincoln pulled up by the curb. He emerged from the car looking only at her. She moved towards him as if drawn by a magnet. There were dark shadows under his heavily lashed gray-blue eyes. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you this morning,” he said. He was standing very close. If they’d been alone, she thought he might have kissed her. “How do you feel?” “Almost normal,” she replied with a grin. “Some say that’s as close as I get.” “Not me,” Marc said. “Did your mother and aunt get away all right?” “I saw them off less than an hour ago,” Adam told him. “Tagg,” Paul greeted him. “Sorry to hear about your stepfather.” “Yes. Thanks,” Adam said, rather curtly, Risa thought. He turned his searching gaze away from Risa to look at the two men who flanked her. “Has something else happened?” Paul hesitated, then admitted, “Quite a lot, as a matter of fact. Maybe we’d better go inside. We don’t want to give Joe Cicci anything more to talk about. Try to laugh a bit, Risa, as if you’ve just had good news.” 160

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“Better than that, give him something else to think about and greet me properly,” Adam said, edging her brother out of the way and taking her face gently between his hands. His kiss was firm and possessive and much too short. Marc slapped Paul on the back and, giving a fairly creditable hoot of laughter, led the way inside out of the thin December sunshine. Risa held Adam back and pointed at the bagged scarf on the seat of Paul’s car. “That’s my scarf,” she said. “Paul showed it to me, then prevented me from saying anything about it. He didn’t say where they found it.” “Wherever it could do the most damage, I imagine,” Adam said. “Let’s see what he did come to say.” In the living room, Paul and Marc were waiting. She could read their faces. Paul was wondering how much to trust Adam, and Marc was wondering what the hell was going on between him and his little sister. Marc got quickly to his feet. “Let’s get your bags, Adam, and I’ll show you where you’re sleeping. You know where the sodas and beer are, Paul. Don’t let Risa get them. She’s supposed to be resting.” “He does like to give orders, doesn’t he? Want something?” Paul asked. “A diet cola, please.” A beer would taste good, but she couldn’t afford to relax. “Sounds good,” Paul agreed. “I’m still on duty.” Paul returned quickly with their cold drinks. “I’ve spoken to the security guard who was there when Suzanne Klein came after you with a blade, but I need to ask you a few questions about exactly what happened before he and Adam arrived.” When Marc and Adam returned a few minutes later, each carrying a small mug of beer, Marc looked somewhat more relaxed. She wondered what Adam had told him about their relationship. Maybe 161

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later one of them would explain it to her. Adam started to sit down beside Risa on the couch, but apparently changed his mind. Instead, he slammed his mug down on the end table and turned towards Paul. “I don’t suppose you want to tell me what the hell you thought you were doing at a private family funeral this morning,” he bit out. “My mother endured two funerals in less than twenty-four hours. She didn’t need a policeman, a total stranger, snooping around, watching her break down.” Paul didn’t flinch from his angry glare. “You’re right. It was an unforgivable intrusion. However, the chief was determined I should go. I tried to be unobtrusive, but there were no crowds to get lost in.” He got up and went to Adam. “And you’re wrong about my being a total stranger, Tagg. I did know your stepsister. We worked together on the mayor’s charities committee last winter. I do sympathize with your family and I’ll do my best to make the right person pay for killing her.” Adam held his gaze for a beat longer, then gave him a sharp nod. “So why are you here his afternoon?” “Officially, to get Risa’s and your version of the stabbing, but, before Marc has to leave, I want to give you what information I can about some recent developments.” “I got Carson’s assessment of the case against Risa from Jamieson last night,” Marc said, as both men sat down and made a show of taking a swallow of their drinks. “I told him I’d go to Australia only if he promised to ask for a delayed trial date.” “That explains it,” Paul exclaimed. “The D.A. must really want you out of here, buddy. Yesterday, he wanted to get the show on the road as quickly as possible. But he still wouldn’t listen when I tried to tell him that the other arrest we made this morning threw serious doubt on the case against Risa.” “Arrest?” Adam almost choked on a mouthful of beer. 162

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“The man who ransacked Risa’s apartment must’ve taken his gloves off to get Hartmann’s rings out of their special case because he left two good prints on it. We ran them through the computer and identified him as Claude Hubert. His mother, Lena, works for your parents, Tagg. Do you know him?” “Claude.” Adam frowned. “I’ve only met him a few times, but I know his mother well. My impression has always been that Claude’s a pleasant enough little guy. I think he hands out towels at some health club. Why would you have his fingerprints?” “That pleasant little guy was arrested for car-theft ten years ago. Hubert was barely eighteen and didn’t serve any time because your brother got him a job and convinced the judge to release him into his custody. But his prints are still on file.” “What would he be looking for in my apartment?” Risa asked. “That’s what we want to know,” Paul said, “but Hubert refuses to tell us anything. When I left about an hour ago he had some pretty high-priced legal help working on getting him out on bail and telling him to keep his mouth shut.” “But letting him out on bail could get him killed,” Adam pointed out. “I can’t see Claude as the killer. But he must know who the killer is. We all know that sapphire wasn’t in Risa’s jewelry box before the break-in. Either the killer took it off Sylvia’s body or Philip still had it.” Paul made an exasperated sound. “Carson thinks I missed it or ignored it when I checked the apartment earlier. He warned me not to allow my friendship with you to jeopardize my career. He thinks Philip gave it to Risa. The press has latched onto that sapphire ring. Did you see the Bill Sands’ interview with Suzanne Klein in the paper? He weaseled his way in to see her in the clinic where she’s undergoing a psychiatric evaluation. He quotes her confused story about Risa seducing Philip into giving her the ring he originally intended for 163

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Suzanne.” “Did she explain why Philip was with Sylvia when I supposedly killed them?” Risa asked. “No. But she insists even Sylvia knew he was seeing you.” He paused for a moment. “When I was talking to her earlier, she was in pretty bad shape. She wouldn’t stop talking about the last time she and Philip were together. It seems Philip had too much to drink and was feeling guilty. He told Suzanne she should find a man who appreciated her. Not a user like him. He was almost weeping when he talked about how badly he treated you, Risa. “Then he said he couldn’t see Suzanne any more because he was going to try to resurrect your dead marriage. He laughed at her when she tried to talk him out of it and said, ‘She’ll take me back. Women are suckers for sapphires.’” A dull beeping sound filled the silence occasioned by that last statement. “Damn that thing,” Paul said, pulling a small black rectangle out of his back pocket and striding into the next room. “Okay, I’m on my way,” he said, reappearing almost immediately. “I have to go. We’ve had a break in another case I’m involved with. I know you need to get to the bottom of this, Risa, but it’s too risky for you and Tagg to chase around the area stirring up possible suspects. This guy has killed two people. He won’t hesitate to kill two more. Let me follow up any leads you find. If I can’t, I’ll make sure some other qualified person does. Leave it to us.” He was halfway out the door when he turned and said, “I’ll be in touch. Have a good flight, Marc. And don’t worry. We’ll keep looking for the killer.” She liked that “we.” Marc saluted. “Message received and understood, sir.” “Oh, another thing,” Paul added. “You might be interested to know 164

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the crime scene crew found an unusual silk scarf in the chalet’s garage under the toboggan that had been used to transport Philip’s body. Odd the killer should lose that, don’t you think? And, if anyone ever asks, the reason for this visit was to check your statements about the knife attack and make sure you understood the caution not to leave the area.” He gave them a tired smile and left. The adrenaline that had been keeping her functioning deserted her with Paul’s departure. She couldn’t even argue when Adam and Marc insisted she go up to her room and lie down. She didn’t think she’d sleep, but it was several hours later when Marc awakened her to say his taxi had arrived and he was leaving for the airport. “I left the name of my hotel with Adam. I’ll call you every day. With the time difference, I expect it would be best if I try to reach you between seven and eight in the morning your time. Not tomorrow, but I will call Wednesday morning. Do you want me to turn your beside lamp off again?” “I think I’ll get up,” she told him. “Hang in there, honey.” He gave her a quick good-bye kiss. After he left, Risa sat up slowly. Not too bad! If she didn’t move too fast, the pain in her side was only an uncomfortable pulling sensation. She flexed her left arm. Those cuts had already begun healing. They only hurt when she touched them. She could hear Adam’s footsteps on the half flight of steps up from the living area. She got to her feet, straightened the bedclothes and started towards the door. She wasn’t going to begin her stay alone with him anywhere near a bed. Adam paused in the doorway. He was still wearing the dark suit he’d arrived in, but he’d taken off his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his white shirt. She remembered all too well the taste and texture of that tempting hollow at the base of his throat. She could feel 165

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the warmth in his gaze right through to her bones. It would be so easy to reach for him. But she knew what his kisses did to her. She had enough problems without asking for a broken heart. “Hello, Adam,” she said as casually as she could and made herself turn back to straighten the bedspread. “You look…much better now,” Adam said. He cleared his throat. “Some color in your cheeks. Are you hungry? I just ordered pizza.” He felt as awkward as she did! She turned back to him with a real grin. “I’m starving!” she said. “Pizza sounds great.” *

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“You didn’t even ask what kind. What if I ordered anchovies?” Adam teased. Her full-throated laugh was the one that drove him crazy. “I like anchovies,” she told him, “and lots of cheese and pepperoni. Everything except pineapple.” “Uncanny,” he said. “I’m going out on a limb here. How do you feel about hot curried lamb?” “The hotter the better.” If he was reading her correctly, the dancing lights in Risa’s eyes were becoming brighter and had less to do with humor than desire. He had never wanted a woman… Correct that, he’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted Risa right now. “Steak and kidney pie?” He couldn’t help it. His tone of voice was more suited to, “Will you make love with me tonight?” “My favorite,” she said slowly and moistened her lips. “I guess we’re meant for each other, sweetheart.” He didn’t know how it happened, but in the blink of an eye, he was holding Risa in his arms. His mouth tasted her parted lips. Then his tongue was tangled with hers. Each time he kissed her, the salty, sweet taste of her mouth was more satisfyingly familiar—yet, more 166

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tantalizing. He wanted the kiss to go on forever. His tongue plunged deeper and hers responded. His pounding heartbeat accelerated with the action of their tongues. His hands moved over her back in ever widening circles until they reached her beautifully rounded buttocks. He squeezed them and she eagerly tilted her pelvis to fit the rigid part of him that was hard and straining against her. “Too many clothes.” His thought came out in Risa’s voice. She was fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He was raising the hem of her sweatshirt when his fingers grazed the bandage on her ribs. He felt more than heard her sharply indrawn breath. “Oh, Lord, sweetheart, I forgot about your cuts,” he rasped, struggling to regain control. Where was his brain? Considerably lower than his skull. “I’m sorry.” She took half a step back. She was breathing as heavily as he was, her breasts lifting the light cotton of her shirt with every breath. Her lips were slightly swollen from the kiss and her green-gold eyes were still darkened by passion, but he could see no confusion in them this time. “I’m not sorry. I like the way you kiss. A lot,” she said with a wicked smile that made him want to kiss her again. “It’s just too soon.” “I would never intentionally hurt you, Risa,” he said. From out of nowhere came the thought that she could inflict some serious damage on him. He relinquished his hold on her. “Adam,” she said and her smile became, if possible, more seductive. “You should know—I usually heal very quickly.” With that cheerful thought, he watched her turn and lead him out of the bedroom. Strangely, the atmosphere became less strained between them with the tacit acceptance that they were ultimately going to give in to the attraction between them. The pizza arrived and was eaten. They sat on the living room sofa, side by side, drinking coffee and talking quite 167

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comfortably about non-threatening topics for a while. Then Adam steered the conversation to Paul’s visit this afternoon. “Paul’s a good man to have in your camp,” he began. “He’s risking a lot to continue looking for other suspects.” “I doubt if he can devote much manpower to the search, though. Marc said the chief’s instructions are to concentrate on making their case against me.” She was absolutely right. “We’re not going to wait around for Paul. You and I will get to the bottom of this, Risa. I have some contacts in Chicago. I’ll get them mobilized to find a witness you were there for your luncheon date. And people who knew Sylvia and Philip might mention things to us they wouldn’t tell the police.” They lapsed into silence. “For instance, Lena will talk to me. I’ll bet poor Lena is racking her brains to find someone to blame for getting her little Claudie in trouble. All I know about him is that he’s a quiet grasshopper of a man who works at some health club and occasionally does some driving and gardening for Elizabeth. Occasionally for Hazel,” he added. “Could he be one of Sylvia’s cast-offs?” “I doubt it. Judging by the men I know Sylvia was involved with, she wouldn’t have given Claude the time of day.” Claude’s involvement hit a little too close to home. It forced Adam to face the unpalatable task of scrutinizing the members of his own family. “His connection with your family is probably a coincidence,” Risa said, hesitation in her voice. “What about the health club you said he worked for? You don’t think it could be the Laurel Club, do you?” “I wonder. I distrust coincidences, Risa,” Adam said slowly. “I’m trying to look at my family as objectively as I can.” “You can’t imagine your mother could be involved,” Risa protested. 168

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“I couldn’t see Hazel killing anyone,” Adam agreed. “And Robert didn’t gain anything from Sylvia’s death. They didn’t get along, but they didn’t make waves in each other’s lives. Robert lives for Langdon’s Stores and, as far as I know, Sylvia was never interested enough to try to interfere with his running of them. All Sylvia cared about was getting her dividends.” “Who inherited her shares?” “They reverted to Sam when she died.” They sat in silence for a few minutes. Adam thought about the hostility that Sylvia had always felt for Robert and himself. He’d never felt threatened by it and he couldn’t see any reason why Robert would. “Would Lena know if Claude came into any sudden money lately?” Risa asked. “I’ll go see her in the morning and find out.” “We,” Risa corrected him. “We go together. Waiting patiently at home is not my style. Besides, I have a brilliant idea.” He didn’t doubt that. But the gleam in her eye and the defiant tilt of her head told him he wasn’t going to like it. “Fran and I were together when I bought my lime-green-and-navy paisley scarf. She bought one, too. I can borrow hers and wear it when we talk to people who might have a reason to want Sylvia or Philip out of the way.” “Not if I have anything to do with it! The guy who left it under that toboggan isn’t anyone to play games with, Risa. He kills people.” “And he’s trying to make me take the blame for it!” she countered. “The only way I’m going to stay out of prison is to go after him aggressively, Adam. We don’t have a clue who he is and we haven’t a lot of time to find out.” “We’re not going to do it by dangling you as bait.” He wasn’t going to budge on this. “I don’t want the killer to decide that you’re a danger to him.” 169

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“Adam, stop and think. You’ll be with me every minute.” She smoothed the frown off his forehead with her soft fingers. He grasped them and pressed her knuckles against his mouth. No. She was becoming too precious to risk losing her. “Claude Hubert’s reaction when he sees the scarf might tell us a lot,” she insisted. “And Anatole’s. Maybe Charlie Farnsworth’s. Even Suzanne’s.” She waited. “No,” he said. “What do you mean, ‘No’? It’s the only hope we have of startling an honest reaction out of the murderer.” “For God’s sake, Risa, think! You’re talking about jabbing a pin into a killer to test his reflexes. What do you think he’s going to do if you do surprise him into giving himself away? Pat you on the head?” “You’ll be with me, won’t you? Unless you’d rather that I do this on my own?” He raised his hands in surrender. “Claude is still in jail where I hope he’ll stay. You can come with me to talk to Lena. I’ll make the arrangements while you’re seeing your doctor in the morning.” “After my appointment, we’ll go and see Fran.” She flashed a triumphant grin. “We’ll discuss that in the morning.” He hoped that on mature reflection overnight she would see that his fears for her safety were all too valid. “Right! In the morning,” she said quietly. Risking the brief contact, he brushed her lips with a quick kiss. “Good night, Risa,” he said. Somehow he was able to resist the electricity that vibrated in the air between them and make himself follow her up the stairs to their separate bedrooms. 170

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CHAPTER 12

The sight of Adam leaning against the Lincoln’s shiny fender in the morning sunshine outside the medical building put a new bounce in Risa’s step and a touch more swing to her hips. What could be more appealing on an unexpectedly warm December day? In his well-worn jeans and open leather jacket, with his dark unruly hair gleaming in the sunlight, he was her nightly fantasy in the flesh. He hurried up the steps to meet her. “What did he have to say?” “I am an amazingly quick healer. He couldn’t see any sign of infection in the wounds so I don’t even have to wear a bandage,” she rattled off happily. “Did you get the Laurel Club awards list from Marc’s office?” “His secretary said her contact is still working on that. She didn’t sound too confident about when she’d have it so I called a friend who has a talent for getting information out of computers. She said tapping into the Laurel Club’s system should be no problem and she’ll have 171

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copies of the membership and awards lists for us this afternoon,” he said as he opened the car door for her. “Great! I did phone Fran. She’s taking a few days’ vacation time to stay with Christine because she’s not dealing with Philip’s death very well. They go back a long way. Anyway, I said we’d pick up the scarf at Christine’s around ten-thirty.” “We’re going to have a busy morning then.” Apparently, since the standoff at breakfast, Adam had reconsidered his autocratic pronouncement that she was not to flaunt Fran’s scarf in front of possible killers. He didn’t look happy about it, but he had stopped arguing. “I called Lena to say I was stopping by to pick up my laptop and a couple of other things from the house. She wants to talk to me and offered to make us a quick lunch. I said we’d be there by one.” Risa got into the car and he hurried around to climb into the driver’s seat before he added, “I made an appointment with Anatole Christofides for your first sitting at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. You can try out the scarf on him.” His silvery eyes were almost colorless in the bright morning sun and impossible to read, but the grim lines of his face showed how worried he was. “There’s no point is asking you to reconsider, I suppose,” he said as he began to move the Lincoln away from the curb. “You know we have to try it.” It was time to change the subject. “I’ve been thinking. That Laurel Club pen wasn’t covered in dust like the other things I found under the fridge. It couldn’t have been there very long. I figure it must have happened while I was on the Toronto trip. Maybe while someone was planting the scotch in my kitchen cupboard.” “Risa!” Adam exclaimed. “The police don’t know about the scotch and Philip’s things being left in your apartment. The murderer had to 172

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get them from Philip and Sylvia’s condo, and the police probably never questioned the neighbors about seeing anyone coming or going after the murder.” “Maybe someone finally got a good look at the guy. So far, you’d think he was the invisible man.” “We’ll find out. Maybe later today.” A few minutes later, Adam said, slowly, “How well do you figure Paul knew Sylvia?” Risa hesitated a moment. “When he mentioned to me the other day that he’d met her on the combined charities committee, he said she wouldn’t give the time of day to a lowly cop.” “I got the impression yesterday he was going to say something more about their relationship but changed his mind.” Then he told her about Paul’s reaction when they’d found Philip’s and Sylvia’s cars at the chalet and his behavior later in the bedroom. “I wondered, at the time, if he’d known her.” “Even if he was the policeman Philip told Christine about, that doesn’t mean he killed her.” Even as Risa defended the man she’d known and liked all her life, she could hear a lack of certainty in her voice. “He’s been conditioned to accept killing as a regrettable possibility in his job,” Adam said slowly. “But I can’t see Paul trying to implicate you.” They had reached Christine’s house. When they got out of the car, they could hear voices from the back garden. Risa braced herself for an unpleasant encounter, then led the way around the side of the house. Christine and Fran were seated at a wrought iron table on a small flagstone patio. In the sun and out of the wind, the air warm enough that their jackets were unbuttoned. But judging by her dejected posture, Christine was oblivious to the beauty of the morning. “Christine,” Risa said, as she approached slowly, not sure of her reception. 173

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Philip’s sister raised her teary eyes to Risa, evidently too miserable to care about old resentments, and extended her hand. Risa took it in both of hers. There was nothing she could say. “Thank you for coming,” Christine said, in a flat, emotionless voice. “This is terrible for you,” Risa said. “I know how close you were.” After giving her a long, considering look, Christine said, “I never liked you, Risa. But I don’t think you killed him.” “I didn’t.” Christine motioned them to sit down and sank back into depressed silence. “I wasn’t sure if I should ask you to come here,” Fran said. This was the first time Risa could remember seeing Fran without makeup. Philip had been like a brother to her. “I didn’t know what seeing you would do to her, but I guess her mind is working better than I thought it was. Hello, Adam,” she added. For Fran not to notice an attractive man immediately showed how deeply she felt the loss of her childhood friend. “You look better than I expected, Risa, all things considered. Are you still in pain?” she asked. “Hardly any. I was lucky,” Risa assured her. “By the time the models were gone and the show cleared away on Saturday, the ambulance had come and gone and the police were questioning the security guard about what happened. I should’ve called you, but the news about Philip hit me hard.” “The police kept asking me if Philip had taken up with you again,” Christine’s voice intruded. “I don’t think they believed me when I told them it was Suzanne. I didn’t tell you the truth the last time you were here. I was ashamed that he wasn’t faithful to his vows. I tried to bring him up to be an honorable man. But he was seeing Suzanne again. Not you.” 174

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For what it was worth, someone was telling the police she wasn’t involved with Philip. “I told you what Philip said, Chris,” Fran said gently. “I told you he was going to try to make this marriage work.” “Did you remember the name of the policeman he said Sylvia was involved with?” Adam asked. As if she’d just noticed his arrival, Christine offered him her hand. “Oh, Mr. Taggart. Thank you for coming.” She sighed. “No. I never did learn his name. I was curious about that, too, but no one seems to know anything about him. I talked to Philip’s neighbors at the condo when I was looking for him last week. “Of course, people in buildings like that never know much about what’s going on. The couple on one side of their condo did mention that they heard Philip banging cupboard doors on Sunday night. But it couldn’t have been Philip, could it?” Her little brother had most likely been dead since Friday. Silent tears began to flow down Christine’s round cheeks. “That scarf you wanted to borrow is in the house, Risa.” Fran rose to her feet, apparently deciding they had intruded on Christine’s grief long enough. “You don’t have to come in yet, Chris. The fresh air will do you good. I’ll be right back.” After offering Christine her sympathy again, Risa accompanied Adam and Fran around to the front of the house. As soon as they were out of earshot, Fran stopped and faced them. “Don’t waste your time looking for the cop Sylvia dated. He didn’t have anything to do with her death.” “How do you know that?” Risa asked, afraid she already knew the answer. “Because he told me so.” Fran glared at them both as if daring them to contradict her. “It was Paul, wasn’t it?” Risa said. 175

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“Paul’s not the only police officer I know,” Fran began. “Oh, hell! You’ll find out from someone else. Paul told me he only had a few dates with her and it was all over almost six months ago. He met her on that committee where he represented the Police Association charities. “He told me about it last summer. He was embarrassed that he’d let her make a fool of him for even a few weeks. He’d believed her story she was getting a divorce because of Philip’s infidelities. When Paul found out that he wasn’t the only man consoling her, he stopped seeing her.” Risa hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d hoped the policeman would turn out to be someone she didn’t know. “You’re more than likely right, Fran,” Adam said. “It’s unlikely Paul would become homicidal about Sylvia getting back with her husband after all this time. However, the only person I’m certain is innocent is Risa.” “That’s fair enough, Adam,” Fran said. “We both agree Risa didn’t kill anyone, and I’m certain Paul didn’t and that he’s doing his best to find the murderer. Can’t you talk Risa out this risky plan of hers?” “It scares me, too.” “Hey,” Risa broke in, “I’m right here. And I realize this could be dangerous. But, if we don’t do something about finding the real killer, all that planted evidence is going to get me convicted of murder. Trust me. I’m not planning to make any dramatic Nancy Drew moves. After the first shock, whoever it is will know it can’t be the scarf he left under the toboggan. But we’ll have seen his reaction and know who to concentrate on.” “All right, Vitale. If you could handle all those whispers and smirks when you were on the runway Saturday with a smile on your face, you can probably carry this off. But I have to go on record. This is the worst idea you ever had.” Fran threw up her hands in surrender. “Wait here. I’ll get the damned scarf for you.” 176

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A couple of minutes later, with the scarf neatly folded in Risa’s big purse, they were on their way. When they arrived at the Langdon house, Adam pulled a short way into the circular driveway in front of the Langdon house and parked back of a huge Colorado blue spruce that shielded them from view. “How are you holding up, sweetheart?” His deep voice was filled with warmth and real concern. “I’m not looking forward to meeting Lena,” she told him. “Let me do the talking,” he said. He reached over and placed his hands on either side of Risa’s face, and tilted her face up to his. “Are you still in pain?” “I’m ready for anything,” she murmured. “So am I,” he admitted as he lowered his head. This kiss was different from any of the others they had shared. Passion lay just below the surface, like molten lava. She opened her mouth to his tongue, not to stimulate their senses, but because she needed the additional closeness, some kind of union. Only their mouths touched for a long important minute. When it ended, Adam whispered, “Tonight, Risa.” Tonight, she would know what it was like to be loved by Adam Taggart. It was time. She was resigned to the fact he would head back to his exciting life as soon as he had done what he could to find Sylvia’s killer. Adam was a man who would make exquisite memories, but no promises of forever. Risa wasn’t even sure she believed in forever anymore. But she was going to have very real memories of this night. “Tonight,” she whispered back. Adam turned his gaze away and put his hands firmly on the steering wheel. Without another word, he drove the last hundred feet along the drive to the flagstone walk that led to his mother’s elegant home. 177

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CHAPTER 13

Close up, the house was just as impressive as Risa had imagined it would be from catching glimpses of it from the street. It was massive, Tudor style, with chiseled gray stone blocks below and dark timbers against white stucco above. Twin bay windows fitted with leaded glass flanked gleaming wooden doors with wrought iron fittings. They opened into a paneled entrance hall almost the size of Risa’s apartment. Lena Hubert, however, was not remotely like the sweet-faced family retainer she had pictured. The woman’s bulk was draped in a tent-like gray garment and an unruly fringe of tightly permed orange hair framed her disgruntled-looking, square face. Planted in the middle of the kitchen with her arms folded, she acknowledged Adam’s introduction with a silent nod. Then she stared impassively at Risa for an uncomfortable few seconds. “I’ve laid out your lunch in the breakfast room,” she announced. “We’ll talk after you’ve eaten.” 178

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“If that’s what you’d prefer, Lena,” Adam agreed. He led Risa through an archway at the end of the hall to a sunny alcove full of greenery and tropical flowering plants where a small round table was set for two. Lena followed bearing a steaming casserole, which she laid on an iron trivet beside a basket of whole grain rolls, and a wooden bowl filled with crisp greens. “I’ll let you serve yourselves and bring dessert when you’re done,” Lena said and was gone. Risa opened her eyes wide. “That was Claude Hubert’s mother? The woman you said was beside herself?” “She is.” Adam dipped out a large ladleful of delicious-smelling creamy chunks of chicken with mushrooms and tiny peas and emptied it onto her plate. “But she won’t talk to us until we’ve eaten. Wait until you taste this. It’s one of my favorite dishes.” He waited until she put a forkful into her mouth and made appreciative faces at him before he reached down to the ice bucket beside his chair for the bottle of white wine chilling there. “Will you have a glass of chablis? Lena will bring ice water if you prefer.” “Wine would be perfect.” She could see how Lena’s expertise in the kitchen could make up for a multitude of personality flaws. “To a few minutes of peace, Risa,” Adam said, filling their glasses and raising his in a toast. She raised her glass in response. It would have been heaven if she could actually enjoy this delightful room and ignore the fact she was in the house where Sylvia Langdon March had grown up. Marc often teased her about not having a poker face. “Don’t think about it,” he urged. “Tell me about Canada. Did you do any skiing while you lived up there?” “I spent a lot of weekends with friends who had a ski chalet not far from Toronto. And I did manage one trip to the Laurentians. It was 179

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good skiing, but there’s no place like the Rockies.” “I felt the same way about the Alps,” Adam said. The time passed quickly. When Lena arrived on silent feet with a plate of lacy cookies and an assortment of fruit and cheeses, Adam insisted she join them so they could talk while they had dessert and coffee. “I’m sorry about Claude’s trouble with the law,” Adam began. Lena did not respond directly. Instead, she turned to Risa. “It was your apartment they say Claudie broke into,” she stated calmly. “You didn’t invite him?” “I’ve never met your son,” Risa replied. “I didn’t think you had.” The down turned lines around Lena’s mouth deepened. “He’d have bragged about knowing you. He always tells me how popular he is with the women in the aerobics class he teaches.” “I didn’t know he was teaching,” Adam said. “They gave him his own class last year. He started sweeping floors and handing out towels, then got the chance to assist one of the instructors for a while. To hear him tell it, the women find him irresistible.” “We need to know who put him up to breaking into Risa’s apartment, Lena. He left a ring there that could send her to jail for murder.” “The police want to know that, too.” The large woman breathed a heavy sigh. “He wouldn’t tell them and he won’t talk to me. Claudie’s been so different lately. Elizabeth even complained that he’s almost rude to her and you know what a polite boy he is.” “When did you first notice the change, Lena?” “I think it was just after he got the instructing job. At first, I thought it was just that he felt more important. And of course, he was making more money. But I think he’s made some new friends. He started 180

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staying out later at night and spending a lot of money. Now he’s moved into his own bachelor apartment. Maybe he’s involved with some rich woman.” She threw up her hands. “Oh, I don’t know what he’s been up to.” Adam got up and put his arm around her shoulders. “I wish I could help, Lena. Maybe Claude can make some kind of deal if he tells the police who he was working with.” “That’s what the lawyer told him, but he won’t listen. Claudie keeps on saying the police must have mixed up the fingerprints. He wouldn’t even talk to Robert. He’s probably too ashamed after the faith Robert’s shown in him. Claude’s in real trouble, Adam. He admires you. Would you talk to him?” “I’ll try, but I don’t know if they’ll let me in to see him.” “Oh, he’s not in jail any more. The judge who granted him bail said he had to stay with me until his trial. I was told he’d be free to come home late this afternoon. Could you come back?” “Risa and I have some appointments this afternoon, but I’ll let you know as soon as we’re finished,” Adam promised. “Or maybe it would be better for you to call me when he gets here. You have that number?” “Hazel told me it was in the card index on her desk if I needed to get in touch with you.” “I’ll just get my laptop and those books from Sam’s den,” he said giving her shoulder a sympathetic pat before he strode off towards the back of the house. “Thank you again, Adam, for offering to see Claudie,” Lena said when he rejoined them at the door. Her massive shoulders heaved in a sigh. “Things were going so well for him at the Laurel Club since the manager finally noticed what a good worker he was. And now he probably won’t even have a job there any more.” Adam’s expression did not change at the mention of the Laurel Club, but Risa was sure her eyes had opened wide with shock. They left 181

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the Langdon house without delay. “Claudie couldn’t be the one who dropped the pen,” Adam said thoughtfully as they pulled out onto the street. “Not unless he stole it. Those things are expensive.” “I wish we had that membership list.” “I made a call from the house. Stella was able to get it. She was heading out for a late lunch anyway so she’ll meet us with the list in the restaurant parking lot.” “Stella?” “She was with one of the news services in Paris for a while. Probably a lot of what she does on that computer is less than legal but she’s been a big help to me over the years.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Maybe things are starting to go our way, Risa.” Adam’s description of a friendly computer whiz didn’t prepare Risa for the bouncy blonde who hurled herself into Adam’s waiting arms the moment he stepped out of the car in the restaurant parking lot. The enthusiastic greeting didn’t cheer Risa at all. Nor did the kiss she planted on Adam’s mouth. “Adam, sweetie,” warbled the woman, who didn’t look like any computer hacker Risa had ever met, “we’ve been wondering what’s happened to you.” “I’m here on family business.” The affectionate Stella apparently wasn’t a close enough friend to know about the connection between Adam Taggart and the Langdon family. He brought her over to the car where Risa was seated. “I want you to meet my friend, Risa,” he said. Risa knew the moment Stella’s broad smile froze that she had recognized her. Stella’s eyes flashed to Adam’s briefly, then, apparently reassured, turned a warm smile on Risa. “I’m glad to meet you,” she said, then turned to Adam. “If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.” 182

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“Thanks, Stella. Give the twins a hug for me and tell Bart I’ll be in touch. You don’t know how much I appreciate your doing this,” he said when she handed him a manila envelope. “What are friends for? Be sure you make time to come for a meal before you head off again.” She patted him on the shoulder and beamed a smile at Risa. “I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Risa. When things calm down.” Stella hurried off to her fast food lunch. The brief brush with someone from Adam’s real life reminded Risa that she had no part in it. Adam would be there only until his stepsister’s killer was in the hands of the police. She could indulge herself by enjoying a physical relationship with him if she chose. But that’s all it was going to be. He wanted her. He was determined to protect her. He might even actually like the real woman he seemed to know was behind the Vitale image, but she would never be an important part of his life. She was a fool to think of making love with him. He was too important to her already. She must have made some kind of sound because Adam turned to look at her, his silvery eyes filled with concern. “You’ve done too much today for a woman who’s recovering from knife wounds.” His deep voice wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket. “We’ll be home soon, sweetheart, so you can rest.” She placed her hand lightly on his knee and left it there. When he pulled up at a stoplight and turned to her, there was a question in his eyes. She met it boldly. Her decision was made. Her fingertips traced a lazy figure eight part way up his solid, denim-covered thigh, then back to his knee for a moment. His muscles quivered under her touch. “I wasn’t really thinking about resting,” she said, already aroused by his reaction. His eyes widened for a split-second. “Risa?” 183

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She enjoyed being able to throw him off balance, even for a second. “I’d like to lie down for a while, though,” she said, with a slow smile. She licked her lips. “Join me?” Adam swallowed. “Hold that thought,” he said, as the Lincoln leapt away from the light. The twenty-minute drive took exactly fourteen-and-a-half. After her brazen behavior in the safety of the moving car, Risa was afraid she might get cold feet when they actually reached the house. Philip had told her in words as well as deeds that she was inadequate in the lovemaking department. In fact, as she undid her seat belt, she did feel uncertain for a split second, but Adam did not give her time for second thoughts. Before she could reach for the door handle, he stopped her. With his hands on either side of her face, he looked deeply into her eyes. “Never,” he said, slowly shaking his head from side to side. “Never before, have I wanted like this.” As his head lowered, she closed her eyes. His open mouth covered hers. She could feel the slight roughness of his tongue swiping along her lower lip and then it delved inside to stroke the inside of her mouth. Adam nibbled and sucked lightly at her lips, then drew her tongue slowly into his mouth. She heard herself moan. He suckled at it gently at first, then more avidly, as if her taste was intoxicating him. His fingers touched only her face, but she could feel the effects everywhere. Her body arched against thin air, her breasts swelled to fit hands that did not reach for them. And lower in her body, an aching emptiness urged her to move closer. When the need to breathe forced them to end the kiss, she looked into hooded eyes that had deepened into the gray-blue of a stormy sky. “We need more privacy,” he grated as he released her and all but tumbled out the driver’s door. 184

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Risa caught her breath, jerked open the passenger door and ran towards the house. She fumbled in her purse for her door key. Adam’s attempts to help her find it simply slowed the process and struck them both as hilarious. Somehow, between them, gasping with laughter, they got the door open, stepped inside and slammed it behind them. Still laughing and more aroused than she had ever been in her life, Risa dropped her purse, shrugged her jacket off, let it fall to the floor and moved towards him. The laughter fading from his eyes, Adam deliberately removed his own jacket and tossed it beside hers. Then she was in his arms. This was where she wanted to be, held tightly against Adam’s hard body, breathing in his unique musky scent, surrounded by his warmth. Her fingertips reveled in the roughness of the afternoon stubble on his cheeks, then in the smooth texture of his thick, dark hair as he bent to nuzzle her neck. She threw her head back to give him greater access. The action of his lips and tongue against the side of her neck and across her collarbone was incendiary. She was trembling. So was he. Standing on tiptoe, she arched against him so she could feel his urgent hardness against the part of her body that needed it so badly. The hand on her lower back holding her against him was like a branding iron. She could feel its heat through her slacks and right to the hot center of her own body. She needed him now. She squirmed against him and felt his body’s vigorous response. *

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This was too fast! Adam didn’t know how he was going to slow down, but he was damned if he was going to make love with Risa for the first time on the braided mat in her front hall. He had to regain control. She was not completely over her injuries. In his mind he’d invented a dozen ways to make love to her without hurting her since this morning’s promise that it would really happen tonight. None of 185

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them involved a hard wood floor. He wished he hadn’t indulged his imagination quite so completely. He was already supercharged before they got here. “I want you, Adam,” she said, her hands busy at his belt. “Oh, yes,” he rasped, stilling her hands. “Upstairs.” “Here. Right now.” Risa had slipped out of her shoes and was unbuttoning her slacks. She pushed them down and stepped out of them. Her long legs stretched enticingly from her white cotton socks to a narrow band of white satin panty. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen, standing there in her partially unbuttoned blouse. The naked, honest need for him in her face almost ended it all right there. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was and how he wanted to love every inch of her body until she couldn’t stand any more pleasure, but he didn’t think he could both speak and move. He chose to move. He swept her up into his arms and, taking two steps at a time, carried her up the stairs. Risa protested, but her laugh was delighted. Apparently, he’d made the right decision. Her bedroom door was open. No bed had ever looked as inviting as that double bed with its lacy white spread.

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CHAPTER 14

Adam’s sprint up the stairs, difficult as it was, enabled him to draw back from the brink of losing it altogether. Risa didn’t make it easy for him. She kept her left arm firmly hooked around his shoulders but, with her right hand, she was busily undoing the buttons of his shirt. As she undid each one, she pressed open-mouthed kisses on the skin she had bared. When he reached her bedroom, he stood there for a moment, breathing deeply and enjoying her moist kisses. His heart was pounding from exertion, but when he placed his tongue on the tantalizing pulse at the base of her throat, hers seemed to be beating just as fiercely. “You still have all your clothes on,” she whispered, as he lowered her down his body until her feet touched the floor. Her gold-flecked green irises were narrow bands around dilated black pupils. “You’ve done fine so far,” he said, drawing her hands to his belt. Risa undid the belt and the button at his waist, then eased the zipper 187

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down over what he proudly considered a fairly heroic erection. She flashed him an appreciative smile. “A little thing, but mine own,” he quoted with a cocky grin. “I’m willing to share, though.” “Oh, yes,” Risa murmured and dropped to her knees to help him take off his shoes. In the short time it took him to remove the shoes and socks and the rest of his clothes, Risa had pulled back the bedspread and was lying naked in the middle of the bed. He drew a handful of little plastic envelopes out of his pants pocket, thrust them under the pillow and lay down beside her. Her eyes widened. “I wanted to be prepared,” he said, a bit defensively. One condom would have been less threatening, he supposed, but he had waited so long for this moment he couldn’t help hoping tonight’s lovemaking would turn into a marathon that would leave them both sated. That might finally free him of the constant urgent need for her that was rapidly becoming an obsession. “Risa,” he whispered. He should tell her how exquisitely beautiful she was, how much he wanted her, even how important she was becoming to him, but first, he needed, desperately, to taste again the uniquely sweet flavor of her mouth. Miraculously, her hands were in his hair and she was drawing him to her parted lips. The first touch of her tongue sent a shot of lightning to his groin. This was going too quickly again. She threw one leg over his hip. He thrust his thigh between hers. She began to rock against it. “Risa, I wanted this time to be a total pleasure for you,” he gasped. “You aren’t ready. But, I…” Her only reply was to take his hand and place it between her legs. She was wet and hot. 188

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He muttered incoherent thanks to the deity of uncontrollable passion as he searched under the pillow for a condom. Although her fingers were trembling as much as his, Risa helped him to roll it on. “You can be an artist next time,” she said. And as he covered her with his body, she wrapped her long, long legs around him and drew him home. *

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Her body was being entered and filled by Adam at long last. The surge of joy brought tears to her eyes. She could feel his whole body go rigid with the strain of keeping still long enough for her body to adapt to him. She was conscious of the size and heat of his organ, then it seemed to swell and fill her so completely that the gnawing emptiness that had always been inside her, even in the height of passion with Philip, was gone. Adam might never realize it, but Risa knew she was meant for him. The revelation was electrifying. There would never be anyone else for her. Then he began to move and his rhythm became her rhythm. He was the driving, pounding drumbeat and she, the seductive melody that swirled and swelled around it. Together they were a powerful song that spoke of longing and need and blissful fulfillment. Not to mention— Risa’s heart recognized—love. *

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When the first rays of pale December sunlight touched Risa’s bed at about seven o’clock, Adam’s eyes snapped open. The white bedroom was not his, but the warm, smooth woman his body was spooned around was wonderfully familiar. He rolled onto his back and stretched. Lord, but he felt good! He shouldn’t. He had taken the step he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. But he would take it again. Actually… He reached over and touched a strand of Risa’s long, tangled hair. It was so silky. Gently, he ran a finger down the 189

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deliciously soft skin of her arm. She murmured something and nuzzled more deeply into the pillow. Even after reducing the store of condoms under that same pillow by a number that still surprised him, he wanted her. In fact, he was having trouble thinking of a situation or a time when he wouldn’t want her. The thought was unsettling. Look out, Taggart, he warned himself. You’ve never wanted the forever after scene. But, when Risa slowly opened eyes the color of a sun-dappled forest and looked at him, he had an uneasy feeling she might be the woman who had the power to change that. If he let her. A sleepy smile lit her face. For a moment too long, he resisted the temptation to lean over and kiss her. Just long enough for some of the joy to fade out of her smile. When he did kiss her, it was too late. Morning-after insecurity had set in with a thud. The kiss was more of a bumping of lips than a caress. “’Morning, Adam.” Risa swung her legs out of bed and headed for the bathroom in one liquid motion. “Beat you to the shower!” she said too cheerfully. “I’ll make it fast.” He wouldn’t bet on it. He cursed his lack of finesse. That moment of cowardice about where their relationship was headed had given Risa the wrong impression. Her reaction indicated she thought she’d been involved in a one-night stand. Well, he didn’t know what exactly they were involved in, but it was no insignificant, isolated sexual encounter. He picked up his clothes from the flowered bench at the foot of the bed. When they had gone downstairs around midnight to have a bite of long-delayed supper, they had picked up the trail of Risa’s clothing that started at the front door. The memory of their first frantic coupling brought a smile to his lips. The slow loving that followed had made him realize what he’d been missing all those years. What a woman! He’d never met another like her. Now that he’d 190

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finally experienced what lovemaking could be between a man and a woman who truly cared about each other, he realized Halle’s pretence of passion that had taken him in so completely had been a colorless imitation of the real thing. He would be a fool to let the best thing that ever happened to him slip away without exploring it thoroughly. He tossed his shirt and pants on the guest room bed, got a clean shirt, jeans and underwear from his suitcase, and headed for the en suite off the Vitale’s master bedroom for his own quick shower. He remade Risa’s rumpled bed and sat on it, waiting her out. Finally, she emerged from the bathroom, wearing a white terry cloth bathrobe and a lovely, meaningless runway smile. She looked surprised he’d made the bed but didn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks,” she said, gesturing towards it. “You didn’t have to do that. Well, if we’re supposed to be in Boulder at nine o’clock, I suppose I’d better get dressed,” she said, reaching into her closet. This was no way to begin the day. He came up behind her and slipped an arm around her waist. When she turned towards him, he lifted her chin with the tip of one finger. “Look at me, Risa,” he urged quietly. “If I live to be a hundred I’ll never forget last night. I’m a different man after making love with you. Please tell me you don’t regret any of it.” “It was special for me, too, but neither of us wants promises,” was not quite the answer he was hoping for. Her smile was a little more natural, but there was nothing joyous about it. Perhaps their lovemaking was causing her the same kind of emotional turmoil that it was him. Maybe she, too, wished they were dealing only with unbelievably great sex. And maybe he was seeing her as he wished she was. “I wish I’d met you before Philip,” she half-whispered. “I don’t think I’ll ever have the courage to try to share my life again.” “Sometimes trusting is too big a gamble,” he admitted. 191

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He respected her for being candid with him. And he wished he could wipe away the sadness from her expression. “Tell me about her.” Risa’s eyes softened in unexpected understanding. “It was the woman who was involved with the hostagetakers, wasn’t it?” “Yes.” He never talked about the fiasco with Halle, but he needed to be open with Risa. “There’s very little to tell. I was a gullible fool to become involved with Halle, but I’d been alone too long and believed in the love she pretended to offer. She worked for the local newspaper and got herself in deep trouble with the powers that be. So deep she had to get out of the country in a hurry. We made plans to leave together. She led me into a trap. I was just a way to finance their political movement.” Risa stood quietly in his arms. He might as well tell it all. “She wept and said she hadn’t lied about loving me as they dragged me away.” “Apparently love means different things to different people,” Risa agreed. He reluctantly dropped his arms. This was marginally better than the cool statement that neither of them wanted promises. Everything they had said was true, but he couldn’t just walk away from the special kind of joy he had experienced last night. He was saved from trying to salvage anything more from the wreckage when his cell phone began its unpleasant beeping. “It’s in my jacket pocket downstairs.” The look on Risa’s face was undisguised relief. Feeling like a coward, he ran downstairs. “Taggart,” he announced. “Cora Daniels,” countered a husky female voice that could only have been developed over a few decades of cigarette smoking. “Sam Langdon hired me to head up the task force gathering personnel for the 192

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new Nebula Network. I was sorry to hear about Sam’s death. He will be missed. Will Fulton tells me that you are the man I’ll be dealing with in future.” “Thank you, Ms. Daniels,” Adam said. Much as he was looking forward to the complex challenges that Nebula presented, they would have to wait for his attention until Risa was cleared. To his surprise, sometime in the last two weeks, the focus of his mission had changed from finding Sylvia’s murderer to keeping Risa from being convicted. “Please…it’s Cora. We’re going to be working closely together.” “And call me Adam,” he agreed. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Cora.” “We have to get moving on the hiring,” she hurried on. “I have background files on people Sam and I were considering for key positions. I’d hoped to start the interviews some time next week. I assume you’ll want to be involved and have some suggestions of your own. I’d like to go over the dossiers with you.” “Actually, I’d already given Sam some names. I do want to sit in on the interviews, but I can’t pin down a time to meet with you right now. Why don’t you fax me those dossiers at the store, care of Robert Langdon’s office? I’ll look them over and get back to you. “You’re right about moving quickly. I’d like to have key staff in place by the beginning of the year. But I have to warn you. I probably will have very little free time for the next couple of weeks. I haven’t even been able to find a minute to look through Sam’s papers.” Risa entered the room as he was saying, a trifle impatiently, “I know. I’m sorry I can’t spend the time I should with you right now, Cora. I have some urgent matters that must be resolved first. I’ll call you as soon as I can.” Risa’s spirits plunged. So there was a woman. He’d never mentioned Cora. But there was no mistaking the sincerity in Adam’s voice when he said he wished he could be with her. Risa really hadn’t 193

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believed Adam would make love to one woman while he was involved with another. Philip had taught her that she didn’t have what it took to hold a man, but she’d allowed herself to hope, after the magical night they’d spent together, that she was more to Adam than an urgent matter to resolve. Apparently she wasn’t. She still was drawn to men of no moral fiber. “Don’t let me hold you back from whatever it is you should be doing, Adam,” she said. “I can talk to the people we planned to see today on my own. Can I get you some breakfast?” Adam looked at her oddly. “What I should be doing is staying close to you. And that’s exactly what I want to do.” She gave him the look Garth said could freeze a man at twenty paces. “I am not your urgent matter to resolve.” “Destroying the case against you is vitally important to me. More important than the business matter Sam left me to deal with.” He sounded so sincere she was tempted to believe him. “Cora?” “Haven’t met the woman yet.” He grinned at her. Her obvious jealousy contradicted what she’d said about not wanting anything from him and the rat was enjoying it. “Sounds like she’s more Sam’s generation than mine. Besides, you’re the only woman in my life.” He caught her hand and tugged her into his arms. His kiss was firm, exquisitely tender and seemed to promise more than passion. She knew she was being foolish, but she could not resist him. “Let’s start again. Good morning, sweetheart!” His grin melted the thin, protective wall she’d barely begun to erect around her fragile self-confidence. Then he kissed her again with even more authority. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Vitale. You and I have things to do and people to s—” A vulgar expletive exploded from his lips. “Lena! I’m a total idiot. I didn’t call her about seeing Claude last night. And I don’t know if we’d 194

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have heard my phone if she called me.” He picked up the receiver again and punched in a number. “Lena,” he said when she answered. “I didn’t hear from you last night.” Risa was standing close enough to know that the voice on the other end of the line was agitated. She couldn’t imagine the formidable Lena weeping, but it sounded very much as if that’s what she was doing. “I can see why you’re concerned, Lena,” he said. “If you’ve called all those people, I don’t know what to suggest. Risa and I have an appointment in Boulder at nine, but you have my number. Call me if you hear from him.” “Claudie didn’t come home,” Risa hazarded. “And a condition of his release was that he move back in with Lena. He apparently was at his apartment long enough to pick up his car and take off. I hope the guy he was doing errands for hasn’t decided he can’t count on Claude to keep his mouth shut forever.” “We forgot all about the Laurel Club membership list.” Risa made an exasperated sound with her lips. “We’ll have to see what it can tell us while we have breakfast.” “It’s still in the car,” Adam said with a sheepish grin. “I’ll get it.” He hadn’t reached the door when the telephone rang again. It was Marc, making his promised call from Sydney. She motioned to Adam to get on the extension. “You could be calling from down the street,” Risa told him. “Oh, Marc, it’s great to hear your voice.” “Not only am I halfway around the world, little sister,” Marc said, “but it’s ten minutes after midnight here. Tomorrow!” After commenting on the strangeness of time zones, she and Adam filled him in on the bits of information they’d gathered. “The reason I called was to tell you that Pete Brown, the private investigator I hired, thinks he can get in touch with the restaurant 195

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hostess you talked to in Chicago, Reese,” Marc told her. “She’s on holiday in Hawaii, but he has a lead on where she’s staying. I’ll let you know what he finds out. Eight o’clock tonight—your time.” On that piece of good news, he hung up. “That sounds hopeful.” Adam looked at his watch. “If we expect to be at Christofides’ place at nine o’clock, we’ll have to grab breakfast at a drive-thru and check the list on the way.” They made it to the turnoff onto Christofides’ sideroad with ten minutes to spare. The carrot-raisin muffin, which Adam had insisted she eat, sat like lead in her stomach. Her spirits weren’t any lighter. Almost everyone who had even a flimsy motive for killing Sylvia and Philip apparently belonged to the Laurel Club. Marc, Robert, Paul, Charlie Farnsworth, even the assistant D.A., Craig Carson, were members. She’d noticed Fran’s name on the women’s roster. When Adam pulled off onto the shoulder around the corner from the studio, Risa commented, “We wouldn’t want to look too eager.” Adam sat silently for a minute, then erupted. “We’re getting nowhere! I have a hunch we’re looking at this all wrong, Risa. And we don’t have the time for trial and error. As things stand right now, we don’t have any idea who is trying to railroad you. Why do you think he’s targeted you?” “I’ve racked my brains and I can’t think of anyone who hates me that much. I have a few business rivals, but none of them would have any reason to kill Sylvia and Philip. They wouldn’t even have all that much to gain by my being in jail. Vitale Inc. isn’t big enough yet to be much of a threat to anyone.” “I just can’t get a handle on the way this guy thinks.” “The killer could be a woman,” Risa said, without much conviction. “The two witnesses who caught a glimpse of him around the van thought he was male.” “I can’t believe I’m quibbling about equal rights,” she said, shaking 196

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her head at her knee jerk reaction. One corner of Adam’s mouth softened into a smile. “You’re right, though. It could be a large woman. But, for the sake of argument, let’s assume it’s a man. One minute I see him as a meticulous planner, the next as a haphazard bungler. Maybe we’re dealing with two people. Yeah.” Adam paused. “Let me run some ideas past you. The trail of evidence pointing to reconciliation between you and Philip was laid months ago. Sylvia was convinced of it as early as last April. She even had a private investigator looking into your life in Toronto.” “Did she actually do that?” Risa recoiled at the thought. “According to Hazel, she fired him when he couldn’t find any evidence beyond a few phone calls and one lunch meeting.” “Somebody planted that idea in her mind. Do you think one of the men she was involved with could’ve had ambitions to be her next husband?” She sighed. “That’s pretty weak. Why would he kill her then?” “I have a hunch the killer wanted to give Philip another motive for killing Sylvia besides her money and the insurance.” “I guess the killer didn’t know about Suzanne. Otherwise she’d have been the one he framed.” “And that’s a damned shame.” The vehemence of Adam’s anger at Suzanne surprised her. “Fran and Christine knew he was seeing her,” he went on. “Not that they were really in the picture.” “The killer knew my van would be at the airport. So he had to know I was expected in Chicago later that day. Maybe it was supposed to look as if I ran out of time after getting rid of Philip’s body and cleaning up the chalet. Or maybe the murderer needed to be somewhere and ran out of time. But for some reason he didn’t want to leave Sylvia’s body at the chalet.” “And he chose your parents’ place to bring you to the police’s 197

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attention right away. Using the Vitale van was important. The pursesnatching to get the keys must’ve been part of the advance plan. “It was Philip turning up at the chalet that screwed him up!” he exclaimed, slamming his fist on the steering wheel. “The murderer needed Philip alive. He didn’t expect him to be at the chalet, but once he discovered Philip was there, he was forced to kill him, too.” “Then he had to try to twist things to look as if I killed them,” Risa agreed. At last, things were beginning to make sense. “Sylvia told everyone she was so stressed out she needed two weeks alone at her favorite spa to get a grip on her life.” “I can’t believe she wouldn’t put her own needs aside to be at her dying father’s side,” Risa said. “You didn’t know Sylvia. Somehow the murderer found out where she was really going. But he expected her to be alone. Suddenly, all his careful planning to frame Philip was useless and he had to fly by the seat of his pants. If he’s the kind of person who falls apart in a crisis, it could explain some of the more absurd things he did—like dumping Sylvia’s body in your parents’ garage.” “We have to try to find out who Sylvia might’ve talked to before she left. If she was still stringing along Anatole or Paul or even Charlie Farnsworth, any one of them could be a possibility. Did she have any female friends?” “I wish Hazel were here,” he said. “She’d know who Sylvia’s friends were.” “Sylvia called Jessie Barrow to prepare the chalet. Would anyone else have to know her real destination?” Risa wondered aloud. “She did a lot of volunteer work. We have to get a look at her calendar. Paul probably has that.” He frowned. “Yes,” Risa said quietly. “The question is how far we can trust Paul.” “Marc could easily have mentioned to Paul that you were leaving 198

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on that publicity trip.” “But Paul told Fran he hadn’t seen Sylvia for months.” “A man who’d kill a woman wouldn’t hesitate to lie to one. But what would he have to gain by killing Sylvia? For that matter, why would anyone, except possibly Philip, want her dead? I’m beginning to think this whole crime of passion issue is a smoke screen. The man who planned Sylvia’s murder was not motivated by a burst of lust or rage or jealousy. There’s too much attention to detail in the original plan.” “If we’re right,” Risa said with a sigh, “this meeting with Anatole is probably a waste of time.” “However, he is expecting us,” Adam said as he got the car moving again. The lime green-and-navy paisley scarf felt as if it was throttling her, even though it was loosely draped under the collar of her black silk blouse. She took a deep breath and slipped the gold button that fastened the collar of her black wool cape through its braided silk frog to hide the scarf. “It’s not too late to change your mind about wearing that.” Adam looked as tense as she felt. “If Marc’s right and we can prove your alibi, this charade isn’t necessary.” “I already know I didn’t kill them,” Risa snapped. “This could tell us if Anatole is the one who killed them and tried to frame me.” Adam probably had no idea how hard it was for her to wait for someone else to bail her out of trouble. He knew how to make her body sing, but he didn’t know her any better than she knew him. For the last five years she had made her own decisions, taken her own risks. Of course, she understood the risks of the fashion world. In this bizarre situation, she had no idea what the rules were, or if there even were any. Anatole must have seen them drive up because he was out his front 199

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door and opening Risa’s car door before she could make a move to do it. “Good. Good. You’re right on time.” His darkly handsome face beamed at her as if she had done something terribly clever. “Come inside out of the wind.” As he reached for her hand, he studied her face. With a practiced gesture, he halted her progress. “The wind. That’s it! We will ruffle the surface perfection of the magnificent Vitale that the whole world knows. You must be painted with wind-swept hair. With smoldering passion in your eyes, and lips that show they’ve been well-kissed.” Adam locked the car and joined them as they entered the studio. “You’re planning to remain for the sitting?” That seemed to dampen the artist’s enthusiasm a little, however, he added, “You are welcome, of course.” Adam grinned. “I’ll even do my part to ensure my lady’s lips look well-kissed.” She didn’t need Adam’s help to handle Christofides. Normally, she would resent Adam’s bald statement of ownership, but she couldn’t dig up any genuine indignation at being called his lady. Talk about being a slow learner! “Have you considered whether this portrait will be a head and shoulders, a medium or a full length view?” Anatole asked, whisking Risa’s cape off her shoulders and onto a hanger, which he hung in the hall closet. “I trust your artistic eye,” Adam said, watching Anatole’s every move. “So long as Risa’s expressive hands are part of the pose.” “I’d thought I’d place her by the window, in profile”— Anatole gestured towards the bow window where his easel was set up—“with her hands folded in her lap. Turned slightly, so.” His fingers touched her chin gently and began to move her head to the left. 200

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Suddenly, the fingers tightened on her chin. “That scarf!” His face broke into a delighted smile and he dropped his hand from her face. “The raw colors are perfect. They bring out the glow of your cheeks and the golden glints in your eyes. And the black blouse.” He kissed his fingers. “I salute your color sense, Vitale. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to immortalize you on canvas. Come, we will begin.” Over the course of the next hour-and-a-half, Anatole devoted his complete attention to dashing off several charcoal sketches. Adam chose the one showing Risa’s reaction to his suggestion that she think of skiing the Thunderball run on a fresh powder day. The resultant smile was far removed from her professional one. Only when Anatole began to lay paint on canvas did he relax enough to say more than a few words to them. “Ah, yes,” he began, “this will be good, very good. I wish we could begin sittings right away, but, unfortunately, I have a major show coming up next week. We’ll have to put off our appointments until after Christmas.” “You didn’t mention a show when we were here before,” Adam said. “Charlie Farnsworth decided this was a perfect time to mount a retrospective for my sweet Sylvia. He wants to celebrate her life and, at the same time, thank her for leaving him her half of the gallery.” He pulled a face. “I know capitalizing on the news coverage of her death is crass and déclassé, but the publicity is worth thousands. And I happen to have many paintings of her in my private collection. You haven’t seen any of the publicity?” “No.” Even Anatole must be conscious of the effort Adam was making to control his temper. Risa was appalled that Sylvia’s ex-lover and her ex-husband could 201

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exploit her murder so callously. However, Anatole was painting away as if he was totally unaware he was talking to Sylvia’s stepbrother and the woman accused of her murder. Good heavens! If Adam didn’t buy this portrait, she wouldn’t put it past Christofides to use it as a major drawing card and sell it at Sylvia’s retrospective. From the way Adam was glaring at the artist, he’d just had a similar thought. “Philip March told his sister that Sylvia was seeing a policeman around the same time as you were involved with her,” Risa blurted out. Anatole whirled around, holding his paintbrush like a dart aimed at her heart. Raw anger flared in his eyes for a split second. He turned back to dab at the canvas. “No,” he said. “Sylvia loved only me. For that short, perfect time, she loved only me.” He sighed deeply. “Then she bowed to her duty and went back to her abusive husband.” “Philip never raised a hand to me.” She felt compelled to set the record straight. Adam flashed her a look that might have been either a warning not to antagonize the artist or a jealous reaction. “You are a stronger woman than Sylvia,” Christofides growled. “He beat her and he killed her.” “Philip was killed at the same time,” she protested. “Yes!” Anatole drew the word out with great satisfaction. He made a few deliberate strokes on the canvas, then spoke in a more conversational tone. “At the time she was struggling with the decision to end our love affair, she was devoting much of her time to the meetings of the mayor’s combined charities committee. Perhaps the sister-in-law was referring to a representative of the police charities on that committee.” “That is possible,” Risa murmured. “And, for what it is worth, Vitale,” the artist said, “I do not believe for one minute that you killed either of them.” She wished he would stop saying her name so reverently. She also 202

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wished she was as sure about his innocence. His reaction to the scarf had been in character. But had his enthusiasm been a bit overdone, even for the dramatic Christofides?

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CHAPTER 15

Adam tried to hide his distaste as he listened to Sylvia’s second husband gloating. Charlie Farnsworth wasn’t even trying to hide his delight at the big bucks he was going to make from “the unbelievable publicity spill-over from the murder investigation.” Sylvia could really pick them. “Speaking of the investigation,” Adam broke into Charlie’s enthusiastic monologue on how successful “Sylvia— The Retrospective” was going to be, “I guess the police have asked you about your whereabouts a week ago Friday.” The older man’s ruddy cheeks quivered indignantly. The years hadn’t been kind to Farnsworth. A third-string football player running out of playing years when he’d married Sylvia, he had long since lost his athletic physique. “Why would they? I had no reason to kill Sylvia. Philip either, for that matter. Sylvia and I had a very good working relationship.” He 204

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fixed Adam with a cold eye. “But if you want to know, I never left the gallery that Friday. And I’d have no difficulty proving it.” Adam was about to ask him about the rest of the weekend, when Charlie continued, “It occurs to me there are a number of people with more interesting motives to kill them than grateful ex’s like your lovely Vitale and myself.” Charlie had a malicious smile on his lips. Adam waited. “Sylvia liked to get a rise out of people. She regaled Jill and me with gleeful detail about Robert’s reaction when she teased him about intending to sell off Langdon Stores after Sam died. She always told that kind of anecdote well.” “She couldn’t have been serious.” Adam tried to believe what he was saying, but Charlie’s smile didn’t change. “Probably not.” Robert! No, his brother was stodgy and set in his ways. But he wouldn’t kill his sister to maintain the status quo. Surely not. Adam couldn’t wait to get away from Charlie’s knowing smirk. He had to think. Was he actually considering that his older brother could be capable of murder? It was too ridiculous. Unbidden, the memory of Robert’s face just after he’d accidentally spilled a full glass of red wine down the front of Sylvia’s dress at his twenty-first birthday party flashed across his mind. She had been determined to steal the spotlight from the birthday boy. “Sorry, Sylvia,” he’d said. “Must’ve had too many of these.” Then he’d given her a slightly inebriated but decidedly unpleasant smile. “It is my birthday.” But a glass of wine was not a bullet. “Charlie Farnsworth is a revolting, slimy slug!” Risa said as they pulled away from the gallery. “Unfortunately, he says he can prove he was at the gallery all day 205

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on the Friday Sylvia was killed. We’ll have to check that, but I tend to believe him.” “His sister told me he hosted a dinner party for potential clients on the Sunday night Philip’s neighbors heard someone banging around in his closet. And,” Risa added, “as far as I could see, he didn’t even notice the scarf.” She yanked the now repugnant silk square from around her shoulders. “So much for that idea.” “Christofides reacted to it strongly enough,” Adam said, dragging his mind away from the disturbing insinuation about Robert. “He covered himself quickly, but I still wonder about him.” “Paul said his statement that he was in San Francisco on holiday checks out. But Anatole could be the poster boy for passion and jealousy. At least, he likes to project that image. Oh, I don’t know!” The speed at which Risa’s hands were flying showed how frustrated she was. “Not everything Christofides says checks out. He says Sylvia told him in April that she was going back to Philip, but, according to the family, she was still talking divorce at Thanksgiving.” “She lied to him about being abused. It could’ve been another lie to get her out of a relationship she was tired of.” Adam couldn’t help wondering if Risa’s insistence that her dead exhusband wasn’t a brute was only misplaced loyalty. The idea she might still be in love with the self-serving womanizer was ridiculously annoying. Risa deserved a man who could love her wholeheartedly. He wished he were capable of doing that. “Maybe we’re looking at this all wrong. Philip was killed, too. What if he was the main victim and Sylvia was the one who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?” “Who inherits Philip’s estate? He got a bundle from Sylvia.” “Christine, I imagine.” Risa thought for a minute. “Fran would know.” 206

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“I have a hard time believing Christine was faking the night we went to her house. She seemed truly upset that she hadn’t heard from Philip.” “She was frantic.” “He wouldn’t have left anything to Suzanne, would he?” “I’ll see what Fran knows about Philip’s will when I return this treasure to her.” Risa held up the folded paisley scarf. “I can stop by after I’ve been to the loft tomorrow. I need to check some details about the new lines with Garth and Gretta.” Adam wished she’d get rid of the thing right now. He knew it wasn’t the same piece of material that had been found at the murder scene, but it gave him the creeps to see Risa holding it. He shuddered. And the blue Volkswagen with the dark tinted windows that had been riding his tail for the last few miles was getting on his nerves. He’d be glad to get home. Now that was an odd thought. Risa Vitale’s parents’ house was not his home. He’d better not start thinking that way either. He glanced over at her. He’d never met a woman—make that anyone—as alive as Risa. Just looking at her energized him. It did a lot more than that to him. He smiled at the memory of Risa naked and on fire with passion in his arms. “Why don’t you meet me at the store then,” he said. “I’ll be in a meeting with Robert and the comptroller most of tomorrow morning, but we can have lunch together.” *

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His smile seemed to promise more than lunch. He turned his eyes back on the road as he neared a particularly sharp turn, but that smile lingered at the corners of his mouth. Risa tried to analyze what there was about him that turned her on in a way no one else ever had. The sound of Adam’s voice made her heart beat faster. The trace of spicy aftershave and warm musky male made her ache to have his hands and his mouth loving her again. Not risk falling for 207

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him? It was too late. “The more I think about that Laurel Club award pen, Risa,” Adam broke into her thoughts, “the more I think it is what Claude was sent to find. The killer believes we can identify him by it. Even if there’s no comprehensive list of the award winners, someone should know if any of the people we’re interested in ever won one.” “Robert is a member—” Risa began. “So is Marc,” he cut her off. He didn’t want to analyze why he didn’t want to ask his brother about the pen. “And we’ll be talking to him tonight.” *

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He concentrated on his driving. After the next tight corner, the road would straighten out for a few hundred yards and the dark blue Volkswagen that had been annoying him most of the way from Farnsworth’s gallery would finally have a chance to pass. However, right where the straight stretch opened out before them, several pieces of lumber were scattered on the right side of the road. When Adam tried to wheel out into the left hand lane to avoid the lumber, he found the Volkswagen speeding out there beside him. To his right, the mountain dropped off steeply. Adam cursed and slammed on the brakes. The Lincoln spun on its axis. A piece of gravel or something hit the door, then another. A third pinged off the hood of the car. “Get your head down, Risa,” he shouted, fighting the steering wheel and wrestling the car away from the sheer drop-off on their right. The big car came to rest on the paved shoulder on the mountain side of the road facing back the way they had come. Risa was sitting bent over with her arms covering her head. He couldn’t see any blood. She shook her head in disbelief, unbuckled her seat belt and started to sit up. “That idiot,” she exploded. “We could’ve been killed.” 208

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Roughly, Adam pushed her back down and slid as low as he could in his own seat. “Stay down,” he said sharply, scanning the mountainside above them. “I think that was the general idea.” Nothing moved on the rock-strewn slope. “You think someone deliberately tried to run us off the road?” “Yeah. And someone else was shooting at us. Sounded like a rifle.” He’d heard enough rifle fire to be pretty sure. “You’re sure the wheels didn’t kick up some pebbles?” He pointed out a small starred hole in the windshield on his side of the car. “I’m afraid not.” He brushed a lock of dark hair off her face. Thank God she hadn’t been hit. “Are you all right?” “I will be when you let me up,” she said. He held her firmly against his side and peered over her shoulder out the side window. “There!” he said pointing up the mountain. High above them was a lone horseman riding off. The bastard must have used a telescopic sight. Only the excellent brakes on Sam’s car had saved them. “It must have been one of those nuts I’ve read about. A random shooting!” Risa’s eyes were huge, but she seemed determined to play down the incident. “Maybe,” Adam granted. “What do we do now?” “We call the police and wait.” He punched out 911 on his car phone. After he’d explained what had happened to the emergency services operator and been told that a car had been dispatched, he cautiously opened the car door and stepped out. As he’d expected, there were bullet holes in the door and hood of the Lincoln. And the rifleman was long gone. The blue car had been behind them for miles. But how had the 209

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rifleman known when they’d get here? *

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Hours later, they were in the Vitale kitchen, tidying away the remnants of the take-out fried chicken they’d had for dinner. The highway patrol officers had come to the same conclusion Risa had. They dismissed the incident as an unfortunate incident of random violence. They pointed out they’d been lucky not to be injured. Adam doubted it was that simple, but there was no point in airing his suspicions. His worry that the campaign against Risa was heating up was just one of the things he and Risa were not talking about. Neither of them had once referred to the fact they had made love last night. They did, however, decide not to mention the shooting to Marc. When he asked about their day, Risa would tell him they needed his help in identifying the owner of the Laurel Club award pen. When Marc called at eight o’clock, he didn’t want to waste time talking about the pen. “Sorry, Reese,” he said impatiently when she asked him. “I just use the handball courts and once in a while have a drink in the bar. I don’t bother with their meetings. Paul might know. But hold onto your hat, honey. I have some important news. Get Tagg on the line.” “He’s here. Right beside me.” “Pete Brown just called. He spoke to the hostess from the Rendezvous Restaurant this afternoon. She confirms that you were waiting in their lobby from eleven forty-five until twelve-thirty on Friday, just as you said. He has her notarized statement and she’s perfectly willing to testify to it.” Risa tried to speak but her throat was too full. Adam’s arm tightened around her waist. “That means the charges will be dropped, doesn’t it?” he asked. “I can’t see how Carson can justify proceeding now that Risa’s alibi 210

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stands up. I called Don Fisher the minute I heard and I’ve sent a fax to Paul about it. Don said he’d get moving on getting the charges dropped right away.” “The nightmare is over then,” Risa choked out. She felt like cheering, but all she could do was cry. “It should be, honey,” Marc said. “I wish I could be there with you. I figure I’ll be back in the city by Monday at the latest. By then we should have something official to celebrate. Look after her, Tagg.” They both gave Marc their heartfelt thanks and broke the connection. Adam turned her in his arms and kissed her hard. She could taste the salt of her own happy tears on his lips. He tasted of elation and hope. Her body was at once limp with relief and tautly humming with excitement. Adam held her closer. The kiss did not last long enough. The euphoria of having the threat of jail lifted couldn’t keep from her mind the cold, hard fact that a ruthless killer was still out there—a killer who, for some reason, had chosen to frame her for his murders. He might even have shot at her this afternoon. “It’s not really over, is it?” “You aren’t going to prison,” Adam reminded her. “You can leave the investigation to the police now.” “But you aren’t going to stop digging.” “I have too many questions.” “We both do. But don’t think now. Kiss me.” Risa knew that every time he kissed her she was drawn deeper and deeper under his spell, but she needed Adam’s lovemaking to drive away a nagging sense of impending doom. Adam hesitated a second before he covered her mouth with his. With the first touch of his tongue, she melted against him. She wanted him now. He drew back his head and gave her a cocky grin. 211

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“Can’t get enough of me, Vitale?” Suddenly, a surge of happiness hit her. The case against her was all but withdrawn. She was with Adam and he wanted her. Tonight, she decided, she was going to make such passionate, joyous love to Adam that he would forget a lovely, treacherous woman named Halle ever existed. “Believe it,” she said reveling in the desire she saw flaring in his silvery eyes. “Take me to bed.” Eagerly he swept her into his arms as he had last night. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Your wish is my command.” She threw back her head in an exultant laugh. “I’ll remember you said that,” she said, wondering if this uninhibited, joyous woman had been imprisoned inside her all her life waiting for Adam Taggart to set her free.

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CHAPTER 16

She smelled coffee. Without opening her eyes, Risa rolled onto her back. Then the rich, soapy-mint scent of shaving cream tantalized her nostrils. When warm lips that tasted slightly of coffee and toothpaste touched hers, Risa returned Adam’s kiss and reached for him. Her eyes snapped open when her fingers touched smooth woolen cloth. “You’re dressed already,” she protested, looking up at him. “I couldn’t wait for you to wake up any longer, sleepy head.” He kissed her again. “I almost left you a note on the toaster, but decided against it. I needed another kiss before I tackled the business world.” His smile was out of every woman’s dreams. It radiated warmth and genuine approval. But, she told herself, more than likely it was simply the look of a completely satisfied male. It surely couldn’t be love beaming out of Adam’s fascinating blue eyes. Neither of them wanted to deal with that. 213

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“There’s coffee made.” He straightened and made a wry face. “I have to go, sweetheart. I don’t like to leave you alone after that shooting incident yesterday. Promise me you’ll let the company driver take you wherever you want to go this morning.” He was getting very good at reading her expressions because he added quickly, “It’s no big deal. Langdon’s keeps the man on retainer for occasions when one of the executives would rather not drive. I’ve left the number by the phone in the den. I told him to expect your call.” “You’re right. Thank you, Adam.” As soon as the police had Sylvia and Philip’s murderer in custody, Adam would have to learn she didn’t take kindly to having plans made for her. But in this situation, his precautions made sense. It took a lot of will power not to pull him down for another kiss, but he’d be very late for his important meeting if she did. This was a new challenge for Adam and she knew he would tackle the beginning of the telecommunications network the way he did everything else, energetically and brilliantly. But it would take him away from her. When he’d told her he would be taking over Langdon Industries, she’d thought that meant he was going to be in Denver. This network, however, would no doubt be run from his familiar base on the East coast. She shook off the chill that the thought of Adam leaving her sent skittering down her spine. “I’ll wait for you in Fran’s office,” she murmured and watched the lean, well-muscled body that she now knew so intimately walk out of the bedroom. At that distance and in a well-tailored dark suit, Adam was every inch a corporate executive, yet still devastatingly sexy. She sighed. There was no denying it. She loved him. What she felt for Adam was more powerful than the young girl’s first love she had felt for Philip. This was the full swell of a woman’s love. So much for keeping her emotions under control. At least this time, she knew up 214

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front that the man wasn’t hers for the long run. Still she smiled, remembering the incredible pleasure and soaring emotions of the last two nights. The only thing to do was focus on enjoying the fantastic short run! She dressed, ate her single piece of whole wheat toast quickly, then called the loft while she drank her coffee. Gretta was on the floor and unavailable, but Garth had been hoping to talk to her. He was relieved to hear her cuts were healing well and informed her that the après ski line was such a big hit at Langdon’s they’d had to hire extra help to keep up with the orders. There were, however, a couple of matters requiring her personal attention. Reassured that one aspect of her life seemed to have a rosy future, she told Garth that she would be there shortly. Then, she called the number Adam had left her. *

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Adam had plenty to think about as he quickly strode out of the paneled boardroom towards Fran’s office to meet Risa. He was later than he’d expected because it had taken a while for Langdon’s comptroller and his staff to present a concise yet thorough picture of the corporation’s complex finances. Adam had always known Sam was wealthy, but the actual dollar figures were staggering. Thank goodness Sam had surrounded himself with such competent executives! He was anxious to get a better look at the copious notes Sam had left on what he’d already done about setting up the new Nebula network. Adam knew he had his work cut out for him and could hardly wait to get at it. He felt better about Robert’s attitude. His older brother’s report on the state of the stores looked good and, although he was more subdued than usual, Robert seemed to have gotten over the shock of Sam’s will. Adam had made sure everyone present understood that the management of the stores and dealings with the manufacturers of their own brand name items were entirely under Robert’s control. Adam would be 215

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primarily involved with Nebula. As Robert had shown no inclination to chat before the meeting, Adam was surprised when he hurried after him down the corridor. “Adam,” he said, placing a hand on Adam’s arm. “Slow down a bit. I’ve been hoping we’d have a chance to talk. With all the grim things that’ve happened in the last few weeks, we haven’t been able to touch base at all. I’ve been so involved in my own black thoughts I haven’t wanted to see anyone. I know there was nothing anyone could do about Sam, but I can’t help but wonder if I could’ve prevented Sylvia’s death if I’d been around more. “The Good Lord alone knows why I chose to be in Dallas the day she was killed. But this kind of thinking is nonproductive.” He hesitated. “I wondered… Now that you’re going to be around… We’ve grown apart over the years. I thought we might try to get to know each other better. Go skiing or something.” Sincere brown eyes looked steadily into his. Robert was up to something. Adam had learned long ago that his big brother never looked more forthright than when he was trying to put one over on you. Of course, there was a chance he meant what he was saying. Maybe they did have something in common besides parents. Adam had wished he and Robert were closer when they were kids, but the six years’ age difference had been insurmountable then. It seemed much smaller now that they were both in their thirties. Adam couldn’t refuse the first overture he could remember Robert ever making. Besides, Sam’s will ensured they were going to have to work together. “I’d like that,” he said, “as soon as—” “Super!” Robert cut him off. “Remember tackling old Thunderball with Dad? It isn’t an active run any more, but it’s still there.” “How could I forget?” Adam said as they reached Fran’s outer office. He, Robert and Dad used to ski the hair-raising downhill run on Dad’s birthday every year. 216

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Risa was seated at the desk in Fran’s outer office and was busily digging in her purse. Apparently, Adam thought, she hadn’t seen Fran because the scarf was still on the desk beside her. She looked up with a welcoming smile. “Thank goodness I didn’t miss you, too,” she said. She pulled the Laurel Club pen out of her purse and made an exasperated face. “I must’ve left my pen at the loft. I was just leaving a note for Fran.” Her smile dimmed a little when she saw Robert standing behind him. “Hello, Mr. Langdon.” “Robert,” he said, with a startlingly friendly smile. “Please.” “Robert,” Risa repeated uncertainly. She wondered why Mr. Langdon had switched into his affable mode today. Considering what Adam had told her about his reaction to Adam’s new role in the corporation, it was surprising, to say the least. “Well, can you make it this weekend, Adam? After last night’s snowfall, the conditions on Thunderball should be great. We could go on Saturday.” “My dad, Robert and I used to ski Thunderball every year on my dad’s birthday,” Adam explained, “and Saturday is the anniversary.” For the first time, Risa saw a genuine emotion on Robert Langdon’s face. Who would have thought he would still feel the pain of his father’s death so keenly? Adam looked at her with a question in his eyes. “I’ll be fine on my own,” she said. “You’re sure?” She nodded. “Those were good times,” Adam said after a moment. “Yes, Robert. Let’s go early before the hills get crowded.” “Fine. But since they stopped grooming it, Thunderball is never crowded,” his brother assured him. “Saturday, then,” he said, as he made a typically abrupt exit. 217

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“Fran had to be at a business luncheon and I got held up in traffic. I missed her by five minutes,” Risa explained, indicating the scarf. “A couple of inches of snow and traffic stands on its nose. The driver left after I convinced him I’d be going home with you. Right?” “After lunch,” Adam said, leaning over to kiss her. Even the brief touch of his lips set off that delicious tingling. “Shall we try to make it through the slush to Silvano’s?” “I could make us something light at home,” Risa suggested with a slow smile. She couldn’t believe that seductive low voice was coming out of her. Amazing what the right company could do. “Perfect.” As Adam helped her into her coat, he nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear. “We’ll beat the traffic.” They did beat the traffic. The snow plows had been by while Risa was at the store and they made good time. Risa fully expected lunch to be delayed, but not the way it was. They were only a few minutes from the Vitale house when Adam’s cell phone beeped. The conversation was brief. “Paul got Marc’s message about your alibi, but he has some other things to talk to us about. He says he’ll arrive about the same time we do.” *

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“It’ll break Carson’s heart,” Paul told them, when the three of them were seated around the table in the Vitales’ bright kitchen. Because Adam had insisted he was starving, they had hauled the makings out of the fridge and were all three busily crafting their own sandwiches. “But with a witness that you were in Chicago at noon on the fourth, the D.A. is sure to drop the charges. All we have to do is find the person who actually did commit the murders.” “At least, you’ll be officially looking now. Hey, you want to see a real sandwich?” Adam held aloft a kaiser bulging with ham, cheese and lettuce. “Risa and I have been checking out alibis for the Friday 218

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morning and Sunday night of the weekend Sylvia and Philip were killed.” “Sunday night?” Paul’s sandwich stopped halfway to his mouth. “Christine March said one of Philip’s neighbors heard cupboard doors slamming in the condo on Sunday night.” “Tell him about the cufflinks,” Risa said. Paul was less than thrilled with their removal of the planted items from Risa’s apartment. He took out his notebook. “I want those items. We might get lucky and find a fingerprint on something—if you haven’t destroyed them. And we’ll question the neighbors again. Someone sure wants us to think you were involved, Risa.” “Well, I can prove I was in Toronto on Sunday night,” she told him and went on to give him what they had discovered about the whereabouts of the other suspects. “While we’re at it, Paul,” Adam cut in, “where were you?” “Skiing alone on Friday,” Paul said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “And working Sunday night. But I hadn’t seen Sylvia since the middle of March.” He certainly didn’t seem surprised at the question. “You know I’m the cop she was seeing,” he stated. “Fran said she’d told you. I’m not proud of getting mixed up with a married woman, even if she did say she was in the midst of getting a divorce. It only lasted for a few weeks. “Sylvia got her kicks playing one man off against another. When she laughed about poor Christofides believing she was waiting for bruises to fade before she would allow him to see her, I said good-bye. Until then, I really thought I was the only one. Sorry, Tagg, but your stepsister was one mixed-up lady.” “So I’m discovering,” Adam mused, getting the coffee pot and refilling their mugs. “I wonder if Christofides ever found out.” They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Risa took the Laurel 219

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Club pen out of her purse and told Paul where she’d found it. He took it from her and examined it thoughtfully. “If we knew who received these awards, it could be a real clue to the killer’s identity,” Adam said. “It might be the real object of Claude’s search of Risa’s apartment. I have a list of club members with anyone we know had a connection with Sylvia or Philip highlighted.” “Marc said founding members got these award pens, but he didn’t know who else did,” Risa added. Paul took the list. “I wish I’d paid more attention to the awards. Let me think. Sometimes they give them to an especially popular retiring coach or a winner of some interstate competition. Your brother would know. He may even have won one last year. I’ll look into it.” He scribbled in his notebook for a minute, then flipped back a few pages. “Something else,” he said. “I went back to see Suzanne Klein yesterday. She’s still convinced you killed Philip, Risa, and to prove it she said something very interesting.” He consulted his notes. “She said before Philip left, he asked her to cancel a Friday morning appointment she’d made for him with a lawyer in Colorado Springs, who wanted to arrange an out-of-court settlement for a big personal injury claim against Langdon’s. “When she phoned to cancel, the guy said he had no appointment with Philip. What’s more, he had no client suing Langdon’s. Now Ms. Klein is perplexed because she was the one who had taken the original call to arrange the appointment.” He sat back and waited for this to sink in. “We were right, Adam! Philip was being set up,” Risa gasped. “The murderer didn’t know Philip was going to be at the chalet with Sylvia,” Adam said. “He must’ve killed Philip on the spur of the moment. That changes everything.” “It knocks the crime of passion theory out the window. This was 220

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planned.” “I wonder how far back,” Risa murmured. “Someone put the idea in Sylvia’s head that Philip was seeing me months ago.” “It didn’t work, sweetheart,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her closer. Paul looked at them for a moment, then stood up. “Before I go,” he said, “for the record, I have to ask where you were between six and nine last evening, Risa.” “Here,” Risa replied. Adam nodded. “Together? Good,” Paul said. “I have one more bit of unpleasant news, then I’ll get out of here. Claude Hubert didn’t make it home Tuesday after he made bail. A couple of photographers, out getting some fresh snow shots this morning, found his body near an abandoned mine. His Volvo had been driven off the road, but he’d been shot first with his own gun. Word is he was killed early last evening.” It took a few seconds to assimilate the news. “Lena knows?” Adam asked. Poor woman was all alone now. “She was notified this morning,” Paul said. “We checked out his apartment, but someone had ransacked it before we got there. We did find your partner’s rings, though, Risa. And your key ring.” “Then Claude must’ve snatched my purse,” she figured. “And left the sapphire in my apartment.” “He didn’t drive the van, though. He was too small to fit Jessie’s description,” Adam said. “Well, be careful, Risa,” Paul said as he got up to leave. “The killer is sure not lying low. I saw the report that someone took some pot shots at you yesterday. I don’t know that I buy the random shooting theory, but I don’t know why anyone would be shooting at you either. I can’t see that you’re a threat to anybody.” “I’m going to stick close until you have the killer in custody,” 221

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Adam assured him. “Very, very close,” he murmured after the door closed behind Paul. As he drew her into his arms, Risa tried to dispel the echo of his last words to Paul. Until he’s in custody. She wanted the killer caught, but the fantastic short run was almost over. Choking back the tears beginning to well up in her eyes, Risa threw her whole being into the kiss.

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CHAPTER 17

When Adam put down the receiver early Friday evening, he felt a little like Alice in Wonderland. Robert’s behavior was definitely becoming “curiouser and curiouser.” The warm, nostalgic man insisting that they ski in cross-country from the road to the ski run, “Just the way we used to do it with Dad,” wasn’t anything like the disapproving stuffed shirt who’d been living in Robert’s skin for the past few years. “Remember how he used to pack hot chocolate for us, Adam?” he had enthused. “I’ll get Elizabeth to make some.” He did remember. James Taggart had been a quiet, gently affectionate man, whose death shortly after Adam’s fifteenth birthday had left a huge gap in Adam’s life. Perhaps it had been the contrast between Hazel’s two husbands that had made Adam so hostile to Sam Langdon when she married him two years later. Feeling a little nostalgic himself, Adam was reaching for the phone to see how his mother was coping when it rang. 223

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“We seem to be on the same wave length,” he said when he heard Hazel’s voice. “I was about to dial your number.” “That’s probably because you’ve been on my mind all day. This was the big meeting, wasn’t it? Has Robert calmed down any?” “He’s more than calmed down. I think he’s had a personality transplant,” Adam told her. “The best I’d hoped for was that he’d settle down and be businesslike for the meeting, but he’s going the extra mile. He’s remembered we’re brothers and invited me to go skiing with him tomorrow. We’re going to the hill where Dad used to take us.” “I’m so relieved.” Adam could swear that Hazel was choking back tears. “I’ve been so angry at Sam for pitting my two boys against each other. But you know Sam. The business always came first and he didn’t think Robert had the vision to run the new network.” “Maybe Robert has realized what he has always wanted is his own way to run the stores and, down deep, he knows I’ll never interfere with him there.” “Poor Robert. He’s had so many worries lately. Sylvia had threatened to sell the stores outright as soon as she inherited them. He was furious and told Sam about it. Of course, Sam always intended you should run the network, but he stewed about the stores for months before deciding to change his will and leave you in charge of all of it so Robert wouldn’t have to worry about them being sold. Then it wasn’t necessary after all.” That must have been the problem Sam wanted to talk to him about, Adam realized. The one he’d tried to assure him was under control before he found out Sylvia had been killed. “Poor Sam.” Hazel’s voice broke. Then she caught hold of herself. “Oh, Adam, you don’t know how relieved I am that Robert has accepted the situation.” “So am I.” 224

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“I saw in the paper…” Hazel paused, as if she didn’t know how to continue. “I saw a picture of that Risa Vitale when she was arrested for the murders.” There were so many developments that his mother didn’t know about. Not the least of which was what had happened to Claude. “The charges should be dropped any time now, thank God. Marc has finally found a witness who can back up Risa’s alibi. But there is something else you should know. Claude Hubert has been murdered.” “Lena’s Claudie?” Hazel’s voice rang with disbelief. Adam told her what he could about Claude’s involvement. “Lena must be devastated,” she said. “I’m going to call her immediately and tell her I’ll be home as soon as I can get there.” “Do you want me to make the arrangements?” “No. I’ll do that. Lena and I can mourn together,” she said. “I was about to come home anyway. I guess there’s no way to run away from grief. And, Adam, I do hope you and your brother can begin to build a new relationship on the ski slopes tomorrow.” *

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Twelve hours later, Adam wasn’t sure he was building a new relationship, but he was definitely building some new leg muscles. His calves and thighs ached and his lungs were working hard. For what seemed like hours, he and Robert had been taking turns breaking trail across paths that hadn’t been tended in some time. Adam was beginning to think nostalgia was highly overrated. Right now, he’d much rather be alighting from a chair lift at the top of a mountain, ready to plunge down a carefully groomed slope. There was no point complaining. He had agreed to this trip down memory lane. And Robert was being exactly the same bossy pain he’d been when they were kids, insisting they recreate every possible detail of the old birthday outings. When they had set out across the unbroken drifts, Adam asked him why this trail had been superceded by a newer 225

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one. Robert just shrugged and smiled his old, infuriating, superior smile. Adam had forgotten the little control devices his older brother liked to employ to keep him off balance. When they’d put on their skis at about a quarter to ten, the sun had been sparkling on the powdery snow, but the sky was now an unbroken pewter color and light snow was sifting down. The crisp air bit the inside of his nostrils and the tips of his ears not covered by his toque were burning. If he remembered correctly, it used to take about an hour to ski this trail. That is, when it was a trail. He checked his watch. It was only ten-thirty. They had at least fifteen or twenty minutes to go. Now his arms and shoulders were beginning to ache from the heavy poling. He vowed to start working out again soon. The fact that the terrain looked only vaguely familiar was beginning to concern him a little. He sincerely hoped Robert knew where he was going. To take his mind off his physical discomfort, he switched his thoughts to Risa. There had been a disturbing kind of frantic gaiety to her lovemaking last night. Of course, that could be because of her relief at having her alibi supported. But he couldn’t dismiss the idea that she was trying to make their loving exceptionally good for him—almost as a farewell gesture. Then, this morning, after she’d kissed him good-bye, he’d caught a tinge of sadness in her eyes. She was behaving like a woman regretfully ending an especially memorable fling. A few weeks ago, he would have accepted that at face value. He’d been convinced all women were insincere, flighty. But Risa was not. Risa was the most open, loving woman he had ever known. Then why was it that every time she said, “When this is over…” lately, he had the feeling she meant more than, “When the murderer is apprehended…”? Was he fooling himself about her feelings for him? Had he been taken in again? 226

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He didn’t want his relationship with Risa to end. Not for a long time yet. Hell! Only a fool tries to fool himself. He didn’t want it ever to end. Risa belonged in his life. That realization almost stopped him in his tracks. In fact, it caused him to lose the rhythm of his strides. For a fraction of a second, he lost his balance and almost toppled over into the powdery snow. “So a few minutes of breaking trail has the big network newsman wiped,” Robert chortled as he caught up and passed him. “I’ll take over. Can’t have you passing out on me.” His derisive laugh sounded more like the big brother who had always resented Adam’s achievements. Adam, however, wasn’t about be teased into pitting his endurance against his brother’s. He was happy to concede the honor of being first to plow through this shin-deep snow on what used to be a trail. His burning muscles could use a bit of a reprieve. They had slogged on for another interminable twenty-five minutes when Robert slowed down and signaled Adam to come forward to join him. They had arrived at the top of the old Thunderball run. “There it is,” Robert said. “Pretty isn’t it? Fresh powder and all.” An odd gloating note had crept into his voice. Adam glanced over at him, but Robert was wearing a perfectly ordinary, happy grin. The Thunderball began here about three-quarters of the way up the mountain on a relatively flat ridge that formed part of a network of cross-country trails that connected several of the ski slopes. Those trails, he could see from where they stood, had been groomed. The run had not. It was smooth and narrow and steep as ever. Not a track marred its tempting surface. Adam felt a thrill of anticipation. “You always fought to be the first one down Thunderball,” Robert told him. “So I’ll let you lead today.” “Great!” Adam said, still breathing heavily. “Let me catch my 227

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breath.” “Why not?” Robert’s smile was so genial that Adam admitted wryly, “It’s been too long since I’ve skied cross-country. Maybe a shot of Elizabeth’s hot chocolate will boost my energy.” “I was just going to suggest that,” his brother said while reaching into his backpack. “I want you to enjoy your run.” He dawdled for ten or fifteen necessary minutes over Elizabeth’s excellent chocolate, then proclaimed himself ready and eager to tackle the mountain. “You remember the turns?” Robert described the contours of the course with long sweeps of his arm. “I could ski it with my eyes closed.” As a matter of fact he had done just that a few times when he’d needed to zone out of whatever misery was surrounding him at the time. “Well, keep your eyes open today, little brother,” Robert said. He grinned broadly. His cheeks were as red as his jacket and his breath rose in little clouds as he spoke. “I wouldn’t want you to veer off the course. I’ll give you a minute’s head start, then I’ll be right behind you.” Adam looked at the unbroken whiteness in front of him. It seemed almost a crime to mark that sparkling perfection, but it was irresistible. Two running steps and he was in flight. He’d almost forgotten the thrill of speeding down a powdery surface. *

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Not long after Adam had left her earlier this morning, Risa began to wish she hadn’t been so stubborn about resisting his suggestion she go to Gretta’s or to Fran’s while he was gone. She’d been equally stubborn about not joining him and Robert at Thunderball. Adam had been terribly sweet about not wanting to leave her alone. He’d even waxed her skis and checked her harness, in case she changed her mind about 228

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joining them at the last minute. But this was his chance to get reacquainted with his brother. She had no place there with his family. It was only eight-thirty. Adam would be meeting Robert at the Pancake House about now. He’d been gone only an hour and she was ready to climb the walls. She didn’t know what was making her so nervous, but she jumped every time the rising wind dragged a tree branch across a windowpane. She had promised Adam she’d stay in the house with the doors locked and to allow no one in. Now she was stuck here. Waiting. When the telephone rang, she snatched it up after the first ring and snapped, “Yes?” “Reese, what’s happened?” Paul snapped back. “Sorry I answered that way. Nothing has happened here. It’s just the waiting around is beginning to get to me.” “I hope it’ll be over soon. Is Tagg around?” “He’s gone skiing. Do you have some new horrors from the outside world to report?” “No. No horrors. I don’t know how important this is, but you wanted to know when I got that list of Laurel Club awards. The only name that leaps out at me is Robert Langdon. He was given an award last year for organizing the weight-lifting club.” “Robert,” Risa said under her breath. She disliked the man, but she couldn’t imagine him killing his sister. “Maybe the pen isn’t important, Risa,” Paul said. “Robert Langdon is a pompous ass, but he has an alibi for the day of the murders. He gave me the names of the men he had a dinner meeting with in Dallas that day and they checked out. Besides, he didn’t inherit a penny from his stepsister. Listen, if you’d like some company…I mean, while Adam is skiing…it’s my day off and I’m just hanging around the apartment.” “No. No, I’m fine,” she answered. 229

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“Well, call me if you change your mind. You know where to get me.” She replaced the receiver thoughtfully. She didn’t need company. She needed to know Adam was all right. That’s what was bothering her! She took a sip of her coffee. Burnt! Well, it had been on the burner since six o’clock when Adam had made it. She didn’t have to sit here drinking terrible coffee while she worried. She could do it just as well with decent coffee. Fresh coffee didn’t help. Neither did the fragrant cinnamon roll she heated in the microwave. Something was dreadfully wrong. What if they were still looking at the situation from the wrong perspective? What if that rifleman had been shooting at Adam, not her? Who had a reason to kill Adam? She was just beginning to explore that thought when the doorbell rang. It was probably Aunt Lorna checking on her. She hoped not. Lorna Cicci could talk the hind leg off a dog, Papa always said. And Risa needed time to think. However, Aunt Lorna knew she was home and would worry if she didn’t get an answer. The last thing she expected to see when she peered through the little, oval window was the ravaged face of Lena Hubert. She opened the door wide. “Come in,” Risa urged, as a blast of fine snow swirled in around her slippered feet. The last five days had left their mark. Lena’s large face, never cheerful, was a hollow-eyed mask of sorrow. She stamped her feet on the mat and swept in past Risa. “I had to tell you first. Before the police.” Her movements were agitated as she looked around wildly. “Is Adam here?” The snow that covered Lena’s kinky red hair was beginning to melt and drip down her face. She swiped impatiently at the drops with her bare hand. 230

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“He won’t be back for a couple of hours,” Risa said. “Can I help?” Lena shook her head and flopped down on the living room couch. She took a tissue out of her pocket and carefully wiped off the red leather cover of the small notebook she held in her hand. “This was Claudie’s,” she said. Her voice was so low Risa had to strain to hear what she was saying. “I found it in his hidey-hole in the garage where he always hid things when he was little. In here”—she turned to a page marked by a flowered bookmark—“he says he took your purse. Claudie wouldn’t have hurt you. Not ever!” Lena’s eyes pleaded with Risa to believe her. “But he told Claudie he needed the keys to get something you had stolen from him.” “Who did?” Risa asked urgently. Lena didn’t reply. She seemed determined to tell her story her own way. “Then he sent him to find the pen and leave the ring. My Claude never would have hurt anyone. That’s why he killed him. It says here that Claudie followed Adam’s car and called him to say where Adam was. Then Robert shot at him. Claudie didn’t know Robert was going try to kill Adam. “He said he’d tell what Robert had done if he didn’t give him enough money to get away and start a new life somewhere far away. He was meeting Robert to get the money. He must have sneaked back into the garage to leave the book.” She raised her swollen-lidded eyes to Risa. “He couldn’t face me.” She pointed blindly at another page of the notebook. She didn’t try to stem the tears that flowed steadily down her cheeks. “But Robert killed him instead.” Robert. And Adam was alone with Robert at Thunderball. Adam didn’t suspect his brother had killed three people. And wanted him dead. While Risa punched out Paul’s number, she was trying to figure out 231

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how she was going to get word to Adam. “Paul McIntyre,” he answered on the second ring. “Paul, it’s Risa. Robert’s going to kill Adam. Lena found Claude’s notebook and it’s all there. And he’s alone with him. We have to stop him.” “Reese, calm down. Now tell me slowly exactly what this is all about.” She took a deep breath. She couldn’t fall apart. Adam’s life depended on it. She told Paul exactly what she had learned, and that Adam and Robert were skiing into Thunderball from the road. “Thunderball?” Paul exclaimed. “But Thunderball’s been closed for a year because of a rock fall. You know that sharp curve we called the Rush? Right at the cliff? There’s a couple of tons of rock across it now.” “But… My God, Paul! At the speed you’re going when you hit the Rush, you can’t stop. If you couldn’t take that turn, you’d end up flying off the cliff!” “Don’t worry, Reese. I’ll stop him first. I’d better see if I can get a copter.” Paul hung up. Somehow Robert intended to send Adam down that run alone. He wouldn’t be able to see the rock fall until he started into his turn into the Rush. Seconds counted if they were going to intercept Adam in time. She couldn’t assume Paul would be able to get a police helicopter at a moment’s notice. If he had to drive, she was at least twenty minutes closer to the ski club than Paul was. Risa turned to Lena. “Did you drive here? Good. I need your car.” She filled the housekeeper in as she yanked on her ski clothes and boots. Thank goodness, Marc stored his skis here and still kept his season’s lift pass in the drawer of the telephone table. The minutes it would take to buy a lift ticket could be important. She debated taking Papa’s revolver. Without it, she would be no 232

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match for a man who had already killed three people. She wondered if she would be, even with it. She could hit a paper target, but could she aim at a human being? Damn it! This was no time for indecision. She loaded the gun and rammed it into the pocket of her lime green ski jacket. As she threw her skis and poles into the back of Lena’s station wagon, she told her, “If Paul McIntyre calls, tell him I’ve gone to the ski club to try to stop Adam before he starts down Thunderball. I’ll be taking the cross-country trail from the top of the number three lift.” The roads were relatively clear of traffic, but even breaking the speed limit the way she was, the trip to the club seemed to take forever. She abandoned Lena’s wagon at the nearest point to the lifts and raced to number three chair lift where she barged in at the head of the short line. She was hardly aware of the grumbles and no one tried to stop her. Every second that she hung suspended over the snowy slope seemed an eternity. She wished she knew what was happening to Adam. She prayed he hadn’t started down the run. She looked at her watch. Ten forty-five. She’d be on the upper cross-country trail that cut across from number three to the top of Thunderball in about five minutes. It would take about fifteen more to reach the open section where she’d be able to see across the gully to the top third of the Thunderball run. The timing would be awfully close, but there was a chance she could beat Adam and Robert there. Their trek in from the road was a long one and on an ungroomed trail. She had to believe she’d make it ahead of them. Risa’s legs were beyond tired and her lungs were burning from the exhausting pace she’d set herself when got to the top of the gully. Visibility was only fair. Tiny snowflakes were falling and being blown about by the freshening wind. Then she saw them. Two men were 233

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standing at the top of the ridge. She recognized Adam’s red jacket. The shorter man wearing the black suit with the yellow stripe must be Robert. He was pointing down the run. “Adam,” she shouted into the teeth of the wind. Neither of them apparently heard her. Adam took a couple of running steps and pushed off. “Nooooo!” she screamed. She was too late. She looked down the steep side of the ravine below her. Maybe there was a chance. If she could get down this almost perpendicular cliff, she could cut Adam off before it was too late. Dismissing the thought she was probably going to kill herself, Risa plunged down the steep incline. The biting wind blew snow into her face and her skis sprayed drifts of the white stuff high into the air behind her. She cut first to the right, then to the left. She dodged bushes and jumped half-submerged logs as she flew down on a course that would intercept him. Always, she was aware of the streaking flash of red that was Adam’s jacket. Yes, she was going to make it. “Stop! Adam. Stop!” she screamed. She thought she saw him look towards her and begin to cut his speed. Then a tiny branch snagged her right ski and threw her high into the air. In spite of the intense pain in her leg, she tried to roll as she somersaulted down the rest of the way to the spot where her path intersected with the Thunderball run. By the time she stopped moving, she was unconscious. *

*

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Adam caught a glimpse of lime-green out of the corner of his eye. He executed a couple of sharp turns to slow himself down, then took a more careful look. When he saw Risa hurling herself down the cliff towards him, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Was she insane? She was going to kill herself. 234

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She was shouting something. Stop? Was she telling him to stop? He’d stop all right. He threw himself viciously into the turns that cut across the slope and slowed his forward momentum. He only hoped it wasn’t to pick up pieces of Risa’s broken body. Oh, God! She had caught her ski. By this time, he had managed to come to a complete stop. It wasn’t easy getting to her through the deep snow and the low bushes that caught at his skis. How on earth had she made it down the side of the ravine? He finally made it to the place where her body had come to rest. “Risa! Risa, sweetheart.” She lay still. His heart was in his mouth as he yanked off his mitts and felt for a pulse at the point of her jaw. He didn’t feel it immediately. But then, he caught the strong, steady throb. She was alive. Unconscious, but alive. Her right ankle was sticking out at a strange angle. As gently as he could, he worked his hands down her leg. Her knee seemed to be all right, but that ankle was, at the very least, badly sprained. He could hear a helicopter, but couldn’t see it yet. He hoped it was headed in this direction. Maybe he could wave it down. If not, he and Robert should be able to get her out of here. Where was Robert? He’d thought he was right behind him. Adam glanced back up the mountainside. There he was. He was certainly taking his own sweet time. “Sorry, Adam. I lost a ski back there. It took me a while to get it.” Robert drew closer. “What’s she doing here?” “I wish I knew. She’s hurt.” “Seriously?” “I don’t know.” Some part of Adam’s mind was aware Robert didn’t say a word or come any closer, but all his attention was on Risa. He continued, as gently as he could, to check her body for other injuries. 235

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He encountered something unexpectedly hard and heavy in her jacket pocket. He unzipped the pocket and eased the object out. Why would Risa be carrying a revolver? He kept it in his hand, but instinctively chose to keep it down by the side away from Robert, out of his sight. He turned to face him. And found himself staring into the barrel of another gun. Robert had skied silently to within fifteen feet of him and was leveling a tiny, but lethal, revolver at him. “Damn you, Adam. I didn’t want to have to shoot you,” Robert said petulantly. “If you’d raced another hundred yards, you’d have been forced off the cliff. It would’ve looked like an accident. But you never have done what I wanted you to do. My luck has been rotten right from the beginning. I wasn’t going to kill Vitale, but I guess I have no choice now.” Adam couldn’t see how he could get a shot away before Robert did. Not unless something drew his attention away. And Robert was terribly focused at the moment. Even though the sound of the helicopter was getting louder, Robert seemed to be oblivious to it. Perhaps the pilot would use the loud hailer or swoop low to distract his attention. Until then, perhaps Adam could gain some time by playing on his brother’s conceit. “Your plan to get Philip to take the blame for killing Sylvia should’ve worked,” he said. “You’re right. It should have. But, just my luck, the slut had to chose that weekend to sleep with him again. Did you know she was going to sell the stores?” In any other circumstance, his indignation would’ve been comical. “Well, you can see I had to do something.” “Then you had to switch the blame to Risa.” At that moment, Risa moaned. The moment Robert glanced towards her, Adam shot from the hip. The bullet hit Robert’s shoulder and spun him around. He cried out 236

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and tumbled down into the deep snow. Adam leapt on top of him and pressed the revolver to his brother’s temple. The wind created by the propellers of the helicopter descending beside them whipped the snow up around them in a man-made blizzard. Paul’s voice, magnified by a bullhorn, blared down at them. “This is the police. Hold him there, Tagg. We’re coming down.” When Paul reached him, Adam was still standing with the gun clenched in his fist. He was stunned by the revelations of the past few minutes. His brother had been trying to murder him. And Risa— beautiful, brave Risa—had risked her life to save his. She loved him! Paul, taking the gun out of his hand, snapped him out of it. His skis having come off in the struggle, his feet sank deep as he waded through the hip-high snow to her side. She was conscious. He shouldered aside the police officers who were hurrying over to her with a stretcher and bent over her. Her lovely eyes were narrowed and her jaw was clenched against the pain, but she managed a little smile for him. “You’re here,” she whispered. “Always,” he replied with a lump in his throat. “I love you, Risa.” “…love you,” she whispered. “Excuse me, sir.” A determined-looking police officer steered him away from her side while a paramedic quickly checked Risa for injuries, and bundled her onto a stretcher. “We need to get this lady to the hospital.” He wanted desperately to go with her, but, with Robert, the lawmen and the paramedic, there simply wasn’t room. Paul brought his skis over to him and held them while he put them on again. “They’re sending another copter back for us. Follow me. I want you to see something,” he said. As soon as the helicopter was out of sight around the curve of the mountain, Adam followed Paul as he zigzagged a few precipitous yards 237

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down the old Thunderball. Immediately after the sharp turn, across the steepest section of the run, was a massive pile of boulders. It had to be at least twenty feet high. A skier going full speed down the run could not avoid being killed. The only way to avoid smashing into the rock fall was to fly off the course and over the cliff. So that’s what Robert had meant. If Risa hadn’t risked her own life to make that daredevil plunge down into the gully, he would be dead. He owed her. More important than that, he loved her with his whole being. He wanted her to be his wife, the mother of his children, and the center of his life. He had to tell her. No. He shook his head ruefully and smiled. He had to ask her. Where was that helicopter?

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EPILOGUE

Risa Vitale Taggart trailed her hand slowly over her husband’s chest and tweaked a tiny nipple. “It must be your turn,” she murmured, nibbling gently on his earlobe, “and you do owe me.” “You bring up that little debt every time Sammy wakes up in the night.” “Little debt?” Risa brought her hand lower. “I saved your life, ungrateful wretch!” “In more ways than one, love.” Adam had told her this before, but she couldn’t hear it enough. “You’ve given me a life.” He raised himself on one elbow and kissed her slowly and tenderly, the way only a man in the lazy aftermath of a wonderful storm of lovemaking could. “I guess it’s worth changing one more soggy diaper.” He swung his legs off the bed. “But I’ll be back. And I’ll have company.” “Hurry,” she said. 239

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She sat up and piled pillows behind her. As soon as the cast had come off her leg, she and Adam had stolen away to be married in Las Vegas. Neither had wanted to wait until enough time had passed for people to forget the terrible events of last December. This past year had changed their lives in so many ways. Not the least of which was the arrival of the ruling tyrant, Samuel Marco Taggart. Robert was in prison. Marc was now District Attorney Vitale. And Risa was happier than she had ever dreamed she could be. The reasons were entering the bedroom. Adam placed her beautiful blue-eyed son at her breast, then settled himself in his favorite position with pillows at his back and his arms around them both. She snuggled against him, then looked up into his silvery eyes that glowed with love and contentment. She knew the ties their love had forged were strong enough to endure for all time. “I do love you, Adam,” she said solemnly. “And, the truth is, I’m the one who owes you.” “And I’ll see to it that you pay up,” he said with the low, sexy laugh she loved. She could hardly wait.

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DEE LLOYD Award-winning author Dee Lloyd credits her upbringing in Timmins, a Northern Ontario gold mining town, for her love of dramatic scenery and her conviction that nothing is impossible to a person who is willing to work for it. When she was thirteen years old, she told a reporter for the Timmins Daily Press that she was going to be a writer. Many careers—ranging from sales clerk in a record store to teacher of literature and creative writing—and years later, she is doing just that. She is fascinated by electronic publishing and the fresh new settings and story lines, which this new medium encourages. Married to Terry Sheils, EPPIE award-winning author of horror, humorous mystery, and historical novels, Dee states, “Writing is as essential as breathing in our house.” A former Senior Editor with LTD Books, Dee is a popular speaker at Romance and Mystery conferences. She enjoys coordinating her Library In Your Hand workshops in which authors introduce readers to the pleasures of reading novels on handheld readers, PDAs and Pocket PCs. Dee’s Ties That Bind won an EPPIE Award for Best Contemporary Romance. When asked where she lives, Dee says, “We live in Toronto and enjoy the kind of shopping, theater, art, museums and the great zoo that this great city offers. However, Terry and I suspect that we really live on an island in the beautiful lake country of Central Ontario. That’s where we

get to spend time with our daughters and their families. I’m sure the grandchildren think of us being there. It’s our natural habitat.”

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