Fairytale (30 page)

He’d gone and let himself care for her. The
fool. The poor, wonderful fool.

He sat, now, in the study, staring into the
dying embers that glimmered cherry red in the hearth. He’d gone off
to the university this morning, just like always. And with the
painting finished, Brigit had spent the day at Akasha, tending to
the plants that had been a bit neglected these last few days. She’d
tried to get back that old feeling of peace the shop usually gave
her. She’d slipped a Clannad CD into the stereo, adjusted the music
nice and low. She’d set a few sticks of vanilla incense aglow.
She’d opened a window to admit the autumn breeze, just enough to
set all the wind chimes tinkling.

But it hadn’t worked. Nothing could ease her
mind. Not now. And she knew why. For a brief space in time, she’d
been allowed to touch paradise. Adam had let her in, admitted her
to that secret place inside his heart.

It had been over too soon. For some reason
she could only guess at, he’d changed his mind. He’d tossed her out
and locked the iron door to the room where he kept his heart
prisoner. And she didn’t think he was going to let her back in
again.

It had been bad enough before she’d known how
sweet it felt to love someone the way she loved him. Now...now it
was nothing short of sheer torture.

She hadn’t expected to see him waiting up for
her when she’d come home from Akasha. It was almost midnight, after
all. And she winced again as she noticed the marked change in him,
since she’d first met him. He sat just as tall, there in the
leather chair nearest the hearth. His shoulders were every bit as
wide as before. But he seemed wounded. Someplace so deep it didn’t
show. Except to her. She could see him bleeding.

“Sit down, Brigit. I have to talk to
you.”

She came forward, realized her knees were
shaking, and weak. If he were going to ask her again for her
reasons...

“I have something for you,” he said softly,
not even meeting her eyes as he took the slip of paper from his
pocket. She took it from him as she passed him on her way to the
sofa. But her feet stuttered to a halt when his fingertips touched
hers. And she saw him close his eyes, and she felt the shaft of
pain that shot through him.

An answering bolt of guilt assaulted her.
God, she was so glad this would soon be over. A few more days. Long
enough for the paint to dry thoroughly. And then she’d be gone.

And that was a damned lie. She wasn’t glad.
Because she knew that once she left him, she could never see him
again. For his sake, she had to get out of his life.

She took the paper, unfolded it, and read
aloud. “310 Park Street, Binghamton, New York.” Her vision blurred
as she skimmed the next line, and she didn’t feel herself sinking
to the floor. She just ended up there, legs folded beneath her, the
paper trembling in her hands.

“Bridin McCallister,” she whispered, and she
felt dizzy. “Bridin...”

“Your sister was adopted by Rebecca and James
McCallister in 1969,” Adam said softly, slowly. “But they were
killed in an auto accident ten years later. James’s brother,
Matthew, took custody of Bridin after that, but something went
wrong.”

Brigit looked up at him, met his eyes. She
parted her lips to question him, but no words emerged. Through her
tears she saw the struggle in his eyes. The indecision. And finally
he sighed, and reached out a hand to stroke her face.

“I can wish I’d never set eyes on you until
hell freezes over. You know that, Brigit? But even then I can’t
stand to see you hurting.”

She sniffed, blinking her vision clear.
“You...you’ve found her? You know where she is? Jesus, Adam, you’ve
found my sister?” she whispered, then shook her head in
disbelief.

Adam’s lips thinned, and it seemed he had to
force himself to continue. “Yeah. I know where she is. But like I
said, Brigit, something went wrong.” He closed his eyes and sighed.
“Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you any of this.” He opened his eyes,
stared hard into hers.

“I’ve been dreaming about Bridin all my
life,” she whispered, still unable to coax her voice to full life
or any real volume. Unable to force any solid sound through the
tightness of her throat. “You have to tell me.”

He nodded, bit his lip. “She started having
dreams, right after the accident that killed her adoptive parents.
Only, she called them visions, and began insisting her parents had
been murdered by some supernatural force. She started talking about
her memories of her true home, ‘on the other side.’ Kept claiming
she was only half-mortal. That the other half. . . was fay.”

Brigit shook her head slowly. It seemed all
she was able to do as she let the information sink into her brain
and felt a blade slice her heart.

“Her uncle thinks she’s...not right. He has
her under constant care in his home, though he’s rarely there
himself. She’s not allowed to leave. He didn’t let her attend
school, had her tutored instead.”

She blinked as if he’d slapped her, her body
jerking in response to the blow. Brigit closed her eves.

“And, Brigit, she’s still there...”

She felt her facial muscles contort as grief
overwhelmed her. God, all these years she’d wondered, dreamed even,
of having a sister. That possibility of Bridin being real. The
ideal image of her that Brigit had built up in her own mind. To
learn this...it was worse than learning Bridin had never
existed.

The book. If her poor sister was mentally
ill, it was because of that stupid Fairytale! Whoever gave those
books to two unsuspecting babies ought to be horsewhipped. Didn’t
they know the kind of confusion that would have to result?

She hadn’t been aware of curling up against
Adam’s legs, or of lowering her head to his lap, or of the way her
tears were soaking through his pant legs. But then he was stroking
her hair, and calming her. Helping her. She didn’t deserve this.
And she lifted her head to tell him so.

“How do you know all of this?” was the
question that came out instead. And then she answered it herself.
“That private investigator you had checking me out. It was him,
wasn’t it?”

Adam nodded. “Mac’s good, and he has low
friends in high places. His methods aren’t always...ethical, but he
gets the information he needs.” He licked his lips. “He used to
date a woman who knows the nurse who cares for Bridin.”

She blinked, sniffling.

“When he found out that this twin of yours
was probably real, I asked him to keep digging “

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Because I think I was supposed
to. And because you’d told me...how much it meant to you. I
just...”

“And what about me? Is he still investigating
me?”

Adam shook his head. “I told him to drop
it.”

“Why, Adam? Why would you do that, when you
know . . .”

“Know what, Brigit?” He got to his feet and
stepped away from the spot where she sat on the floor, then he
faced her, accusation and a dull ache in his eyes. “That you’re
still lying to me? Still keeping things from me?”

She flinched away from the accuracy of his
words. But he held her eyes, dove into them, probing and searching.
“Maybe I’m hoping it won’t matter. Maybe I just don’t want to know
anymore. Dammit, Brigit, maybe I’m hoping you’ll forget about this
whole thing, whatever the hell it is, and just...just start
over.”

Her tears brimmed anew, and she had to avert
her face. She knew he was waiting for her reply. But she couldn’t
lie to him again. She wouldn’t.

He sighed, turning away from her and tugging
at his hair. They stood that way, afraid to face each other, for a
long, tense moment. Moments in which Brigit could barely contain
the urge to fling herself into his arms and tell him she was
sorry.

Finally, Adam cleared his throat. “Either
way, I think you ought to see your sister.”

She gave her head a fast, firm shake. “Not
now, Adam. Not yet.”

“It’s a short trip, Brigit. God, we could
drive there in a couple of...”

She climbed to her feet, feeling more tired
than she ever had in her life. Physical and emotional exhaustion
tugged at her. “I don’t want her...involved. Not until...”

“She’s been locked up like a prisoner for
most of her life, Brigit. If she doesn’t belong there, even one
more day is too long.”

Brigit stopped and stood motionless in front
of the fireplace, her eyes scanning the hot coals for answers. “She
thinks she’s a character from a fairytale
,
Adam. How can she
not belong there?”

He didn’t answer. He went silent, and when
she turned, she saw the way he was stroking the lush green leaves
of the geranium on the end table, the way his eyes danced over the
riots of ruby blossoms that had exploded to life overnight. The
wonder in his face. The childlike wonder.

“I think maybe she is exactly what she thinks
she is. And I think you know it. You must know it by now, Brigit.
Don’t you?”

She blinked at him, unable to believe he was
actually saying what she’d been thinking, afraid to voice. “She
can’t be,” she whispered. “I can’t be. It isn’t...”

“You made me come to you last night,” he said
softly. “You touched this plant and made it flourish. You taste
like honey. You have the mark—”

She held up her hands. “It doesn’t matter. I
can’t deal with this right now. Not yet.”

“We could visit her for an hour or two. Drive
right back. It would barely qualify as a trip.”

She licked her lips, fear twisting around her
heart.

“She’s your
sister,”
he told her. “And
I think you two need to touch base. I think there’s probably a lot
more riding on it than you could even imagine.”

She frowned at him. “Adam, what could you
possibly know about this?”

“I just—”

“No. Not now. I’ll see her...but
later...after...”

“After what Brigit? After you steal the
painting for Zaslow?”

She stood there as long as she could, holding
that gaze. And then a storm of emotion washed over her. She burst
into tears, and she shook all over. Sobs tore at her
breastbone.

She heard him swear, his voice loud and
harsh, and then he was there, pulling her against him, holding her
so hard and so close she felt he’d never let go. His palms slipped
over her back, and up to her nape beneath her hair. His mouth moved
over her face, dropping kisses and whispers at the same time.

“I’m sorry, Adam. I never meant to hurt you.
God, I’m so sorry . . .”

“I don’t care, Brigit. Can’t you get that
through your head? Hmm? Take the painting if you have to. It
doesn’t matter to me. Just let me help you. Tell me what’s
happening and let me help, dammit.” His hold on her tightened still
further. “Let me take the damned painting to Zaslow. Or be there,
beside you, when you do. I’ll protect you, I promise. That bastard
won’t ever hurt you again.”

“No.” She sniffed, and straightened away from
him, brushing at her eyes with the backs of her hands, getting her
sobs under control.

“Adam, he’s already threatening to kill one
man I care about. I can’t risk him hurting you, too.”

“Raze?” Adam asked.

She nodded. “How did you know?”

“Doesn’t matter. Is he holding the old man,
is that it? And threatening to hurt him unless you get the
painting?”

“Yes.” She hugged him harder. “Yes, Adam, but
please don’t get involved in this. If you care about me at all,
don’t get involved. If he hurt you, too, it would kill me. Just let
me handle it.”

“When do you deliver the painting to him?”
Adam asked, tipping her chin up and searching her face.

“Two more days,” she told him, and she saw in
his eyes that he wasn’t going to stay out of it. He wasn’t. He was
going to try to be a hero, and probably get himself killed, and
that was something she couldn’t let him do.

So it would have to be sooner. It would have
to be...tonight.

Tears welled in her eyes again. This would be
the last night for them. Even if she pulled this off, and got Raze
back in one piece, Zaslow would never leave her alone. Not now.
She’d have to run, change her name, start again somewhere else and
pray he’d never find her. But she’d always know he was only a few
steps behind.

She wouldn’t put Adam through that.

Before she disappeared, though, she’d do as
Adam suggested, and see her sister. At least that one dream could
come true. And maybe Bridin would know something more about these
apparent...powers. Where they came from. What they meant.

But for now...it was her last night in Adam’s
arms, and she was going to make the most of it. She tipped her chin
up, and let him cover her mouth with his, and she tasted her tears
on his lips.

“I don’t deserve this,” she told him, when
she paused for a breath. And Adam’s troubled eyes caressed her
face. “You’re so good to me, Adam. But I’m not. I’m no good at
all.”

“Shhsh.” He pushed her hair out of her eyes,
kissed her forehead. “Don’t.”

And he kissed her again.

Adam recognized the desperation in her
kisses. He knew it well, because he felt it himself. He made love
to her. Right there on the floor in front of the hearth. And it was
different. Yet another facet of what he felt for her. Because this
time it was a healing. A comforting. And a sharing that he’d never
experienced before.

And when she’d started to claim her
unworthiness, and he’d told her “don’t,” he’d been silently saying
so much more. Don’t ruin my fantasy by reminding me you’re going to
leave me in the end. Don’t destroy me, Brigit, because you can.
With just a flick of your fingers, you can.

It didn’t matter. Adam’s obsession was
complete. He was captivated by her, and until she broke him to
bits, he’d go on being her willing worshipper. He’d do anything for
her, go anywhere. He’d protect her, and God forbid he got his hands
on the man who was hurting her this way—this Zaslow creep—because
he’d probably murder the bastard.