Jude Deveraux (27 page)

For a moment
they looked at each other, their eyes locked. Eden was the first to look away.
'I'm sure your boss is right and that this whole thing was about that horrible
necklace.' Her head came up. 'Brad's daughter told mine that Brad wants to
marry me.'

'Is that
supposed to be news?'

'No,'
she said as she looked down at her hands. 'What am I going to tell my daughter
about all this? FBI and spies, and snakes in my bed.'

'Snakes
in your bed! You and Granville have been
lovers?!'

She
glared at him.

'Sorry.
Couldn't resist. I agree that the truth is too much, so maybe you should make
up a few lies. After spending so much time with me you should have learned a
thing or two about lying.'

Eden
smiled. 'I should probably see a therapist about this, but I'm almost going to
miss you.'

'I
could give you some great memories,' he said, his eyes hot.

'Go on,
get out of here.' Standing up, she smiled at him. When he hesitated, she said,
'If you make a pass at me, I'll tell my daughter that you're a great listener.
I'll encourage her to tell you all the dreadful things her husband has done to
her in the last week. In detail.'

He
groaned. 'If the world had referees, you'd be thrown out of the game.'

'No I
wouldn't. I'd
win!'

He
smiled at her. 'I think you would. Okay, so now I have to go. They're warming
up the chopper for me.'

'Look,
I . . . '

'If you
say one thing about it's having been fun, I'll — ' He broke off and looked at
her, and in that one second she saw the real man, not the man who joked and
laughed and told lies to cover the truth of his life, but the
real
man.
There was pain in his eyes, and a longing for a life that he couldn't have. It
was gone as fast as it came. 'I wish you and Granville the best in life. Send
me an invitation to the wedding, will you?'

'Will
you come?'

'And
cry all over your wedding dress? No thanks.'

She
laughed.

'I'll
send you a gift.' He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
'It's my cell number. Only three people in the world have that number.'

She looked
at the paper. 'I assume that one's your boss, then me, so who's the other?'

'My
mother, of course,' he said, giving her a cocky, one-sided grin. In the next
moment he grabbed his duffel bag, kissed her cheek, and left the room.

After
he left, Eden sat down on his bed and looked at the paper. Why had he given her
his cell number? Why not an address?

'Because
telephones are instant, that's why,' she whispered. 'If I call, he'll be here
quickly.'

She
looked up at the closed door, and she knew without a doubt that Jared McBride
had been lying. About what, she wasn't sure, but she knew that he was lying.
And she was sure that he wasn't going to be very far away.

'Stuart,'
Eden said into the phone, her voice pleading, 'please call Melissa. Please.' It
was the third message she'd left on his machine in the last hour. She'd lost
count of the total number of messages she'd left for him in the last two days.

The
evening of the day McBride left — that was the way she seemed to mark time now
— she'd started calling Stuart. By the time Melissa had awakened from her nap
that day, the house was quiet. All the FBI agents, along with McBride, had
roared off in the helicopter, and for a few minutes, the house had been quiet.
When Melissa came downstairs, in an instant Eden was cast back into the role of
'mom.' She tried to keep herself calm and not be resentful that she had gone
from being a
femme fatale,
with two delicious men after her, to being
plain ol' Mom in a single day.

Twice,
Eden had interrupted Melissa's nonstop complaining about how rotten her life
was to try to reason with her. But it was impossible. First of all, Eden soon
saw that it was some modern taboo to not bring up the past. Bringing up the
past was called 'garbage bagging' — or something like that. 'Mother,' Melissa
said impatiently, 'you have to deal with the here and now, not a hundred years
ago.' According to Melissa's modern-day philosophy, what this meant 
was   that   Eden   wasn't  
allowed   to   say 'When I was your age ... 'or 'When I was
pregnant . . . ' On the other hand, it seemed that Melissa was free to talk
endlessly about
her
past. She said that Eden had 'abandoned' her as a
child in one day care after another. 'I don't want what was done to me to be
done to my child,' Melissa said. 'I want
my
child to have a father. Is
that too much to ask? I remember too well my loneliness as a child. There were
times when I thought I didn't have a mother or a father.'

Eden
had kept a sympathetic face, but it hadn't been easy. Part of her wanted to defend
herself and point out that she had done the best she could. And, of course,
she'd very much wanted to tell Melissa that she had no idea what a 'bad
childhood' was really like. Eden also wanted credit for all the Saturdays that
she'd arranged all-day playdates for her daughter. And what about all the
nights she'd stayed up after midnight cooking meals for the week so her
daughter could live on something besides those hideous 'chicken nuggets' that
other children ate? Melissa was three before she'd ever eaten a french fry. Et
cetera. There were thousands of good things that Melissa seemed to have
forgotten.

But
Eden knew that to defend herself would only anger Melissa more, and what good
would that do? Right now her daughter was scared out of her mind about having a
baby, and she was afraid that her husband was never going to come after her.
Maybe Melissa's leaving of Stuart had been her daughter's last shot at being a
romantic heroine. Maybe she'd wanted to run away and have the hero come after
her. But, so far, it hadn't worked. No hero on a white horse — or in a silver
Audi, for that matter — had shown up. Nor had he called.

With
every minute that passed, Melissa grew more agitated and more determined to
make herself believe that what she'd done was the right thing. She was fighting
for her baby, wasn't she? She was trying to give him the best there was, wasn't
she? She didn't want her child to grow up feeling alone, as his mother had, did
she?

It was
close to impossible for Eden to listen to what her daughter was saying without
defending herself, but she did it. Every time she felt the blood shooting up
the back of her neck, she'd look at Melissa's big belly and think how her
daughter was going to learn. Melissa had all kinds of stories about bad mothers.
She talked of seeing women in stores as they bawled out their children. 'If
those women would just take the time to reason with their children,' Melissa
said. 'If they'd just
listen
to them.' The hint was that Eden had never
listened or reasoned with her daughter, but in spite of that, Melissa was going
to give her child what he needed.

Eden
turned away to hide her smile. She wanted to say, Wait until the kid says, 'I'm
not going to do that and you can't make me!' and wait until every secret you
have is blabbed to the world. Eden would never forget one Sunday at church when
the pastor asked the congregation if there was anyone who needed their prayers.
Melissa, only three, said loud and clear that her mother  
needed   prayers   because   she'd  
been raped. The child had no idea what 'raped' meant, but she'd listened to the
people who had whispered when they thought she couldn't hear them. All Melissa
knew was that a bad thing had happened to her mother and she wanted God to
help.

Just
you wait, Eden thought. It was terrible to want to get back at her own
daughter, but that's how she felt with every complaint that Melissa made.

Late
that evening, Eden put in her first call to Stuart. Maybe
she
could
patch up the problems between them. She didn't know how she was going to do it,
and she greatly regretted every bad thought she'd ever had about her
son-in-law, but she was going to try. If she had to grovel, she would. She'd
apologize to Stuart, tell him she'd misjudged him, and say that she thought he
was the finest son-in-law a woman could have.

But
Stuart didn't call her back. Nor did he answer the next four calls that Eden
made. She called him again at six the next morning, but there was no answer. It
wasn't until later in the day that she thought of calling the superintendent of
her building. By then Melissa's tears and complaints had so worn Eden down that
she would have paid Stuart to come and get his wife. How about if I give you a
fake sapphire necklace? she thought of saying to him. How about if I sign the
apartment lease over to you? What if
I
pay the rent?

But
Stuart didn't answer her calls, and when the super called back, he said that
the doorman had helped Stuart  into a taxi two days before and he'd had
two big suitcases with him. Eden put down the phone and went to her daughter.
Melissa was in McBride's bed — no, she was in Eden's guest room — and she was
eating chocolate-covered marshmallows. Little brown papers littered the floor
like dirty snowflakes.

'Was
Stuart home when you left?'

Melissa
looked up, surprised. 'No. He'd just left for a trip to L.A.'

'How
long was he supposed to be gone?' Eden asked, keeping her anger under firm
control.

'A
week.'

Eden
blinked at her daughter. 'Are you telling me that Stuart may not even know that
you've left him?'

Melissa
tried to roll over on her side, but her big belly kept her on her back.
'Mother, haven't you been listening to me? I didn't leave Stuart, per se. I
left an impossible situation. But of course he knows I'm not there. He always
calls me from whatever hotel he's in, so when I don't answer the phone he'll
know that I've left him. Or left that place, that is. You know something,
Mother? I really like it here in Arundel. The fresh air. The land. The water. I
like this big old house. I think Stuart and I should move in here with you.
Wouldn't that be wonderful? You'd be around your grandchild every day. You'd
like that, wouldn't you?'

Eden
didn't say a word — she might start screaming and never stop. Silently, she
closed the door, then called Stuart yet again. Didn't he pick up his messages?
No, of course not. He thought he had a wife at home who would be answering the
phone. But wait! What if Melissa had gone into labor? Surely Stuart had left a
number where he could be reached.

Eden started
to go back to Melissa's room to ask, but stopped. She very well knew that her
daughter would never give her the phone number. Eden was so desperate that she
felt no guilt when she made a thorough search of Melissa's handbag, but she
found nothing.

Eden
went to the kitchen, poured herself a big glass of wine, then took it and the
bottle outside. It was still cool, and she shivered. How things in life could
change in an instant, she thought. A few weeks ago she was living with her
daughter and loving where she was. If it hadn't been for her son-in-law, she
would have been quite happy. She was now ashamed of the thought, but if she'd
been told that Stuart had been run over by a train, she would have been
secretly glad. She would have had her daughter and her grandchild to herself.

But for
the last few weeks she'd led a very different life, one that consisted of
grown-up things, like . . . Well, like rolling in the mud with a man. Working
on an interesting project with two men. She thought of the night she and Brad
and McBride — Jared — had found the necklace. It had been exciting and scary at
the same time. And she'd done it with two men.
Two
of them! Handsome men
looking at her as though she was what they wanted most in life. Ah, yes.
Exciting and scary at the same time.

But
here she was now alone. Sitting in the garden   
alone,    sipping    wine   
alone.    In    the moonlight she could see her
cute little red truck. The back of it had half a dozen brand-new tools in it.
Was it true that it was easier to dig with a stainless steel shovel than one
that was rusty and pitted? She'd sure like to find out. Near the truck, on the
little bricked area by the potting shed, were nearly three hundred plants
waiting, crying out, to be put into the soil. The perennials and annuals were
in four-inch pots, the bulbs in bags, and she and Jared had put the bareroot
trees in buckets of water to hold them until they could be planted. That should
have been today, Eden thought, but she hadn't been able to get outside to do it.

She
drank the rest of the wine and poured another glassful. Was she now going to
get drunk alone? 'Pathetic Palmer,' she muttered.

She
knew she had to make a plan. What if Stuart was hearing her messages and not
responding because he didn't want to get back together with Melissa? If that
was so, then Eden knew that she'd soon become grandmother-in-residence. When
she thought of diapers and toilet-training and baby food, she took another deep
drink of wine and wished she'd brought her cell phone outside with her so she
could call Stuart again. Would it be too, too difficult to call every hotel in
Los Angeles and ask if he was there?

Plan,
she thought. She had to make a plan. Now that the fiasco about the necklace and
that spy swallowing her name was over, she needed to think about her future.
Had she ruined it with Brad? When Melissa had been hosing her down, Eden had
looked at Brad's sad eyes and had wanted to go to him, but her duties of
motherhood had kept her where she was.

Eden
emptied the second glass of wine, then made herself stop. It would be nice to
drink so much that she couldn't remember the last few days, but she wasn't
going to do that. Brad and Jared. She missed them both already. Jared had been
a temporary . . . What? Friend, she thought. Jared McBride had become her
friend.

As for
Brad . . . She wanted him to become more. When she stood up, she was dizzy, but
she took a few deep breaths of cool night air and managed to get up the steps
and inside the house. Tomorrow she was going to go to Brad and beg him to
forgive her. In spite of what she'd told Jared, she knew she couldn't tell Brad
the truth. 'Well, you see,' she'd say, 'I told McBride to pretend that I was a
drug dealer who was trying to get away, so he did what he could to stop me, which
meant that he leaped on top of me and pinned me down. And when I said 'Push' he
pushed me, not the truck. It was actually quite humorous. And I hit him with a
fistful of mud because . . . ' Even after two big glasses of wine none of that
sounded like it would make him forgive her.

As she
climbed the stairs, she resolved to find Brad and talk to him. Lie to him if
she had to. Do whatever was necessary to get him to forgive her. When she
reached her bed, she fell on it, facedown, fully clothed, and was asleep in
seconds.

Outside,
in a voice so quiet it could barely be heard, a man said into a radio, 'Subject
has turned in for the night. Soused.' Chuckling, he put the radio in his pocket
and leaned back against the post of the rose arbor. It was the last thing he
ever did. A knotted rope was pulled across his throat.

*   *   *

'No,'
Bill said calmly, 'you're not going to be allowed back on the case. That you're
taking the death of an operative this hard shows me that you're too involved.
You can't make unbiased decisions.'

'If by
that you mean that I will kill anyone who tries to hurt an innocent person,
you're right.'

Bill
put his hands on his flat belly and looked at Jared pacing the room. 'You want
to sit down and quit this tantrum of yours? Your girlfriend is being well
looked after.'

Jared
sat down but only to glare at Bill. 'Last night a man was killed just outside
her front door. Do you call that 'looking after'?'

'I call
that verification of what we suspected. The woman is connected to a spy ring.
She knows something, but
you
didn't find out what it was. I'm sure you
found out that she likes to walk on the beach and loves those — What were
they?' He looked at the stack of papers in front of him. 'Jelly beanies. Drinks
of seduction, I think you called them, but you didn't find out what she
knows.'
Leaning across his desk, Bill returned Jared's  glare.  'But
you've  found   out some things about her since you moved out,
haven't you?