Key Trilogy (47 page)

She walked to the bathroom, took a bottle of Extra-Strength Tylenol out of the medicine cabinet, and washed two down with tap water.

Maybe she should have opted for a nap instead of company. But despite the headache, the vague nausea, this was one time she didn’t want to be alone.

She nearly flew to the door at the knock.

“Are you all right?” Zoe stepped in, dropped the bags she carried on the floor, then gathered Dana in her arms. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”

“It’s okay. I’m all right.” No, Dana realized, this was much better than a nap. “I’m just really glad you’re here. What about Simon?”

“Flynn took him. It was really nice. He and Jordan are taking Simon over to Bradley’s. He can run around with Moe, play with guys, eat junk food, watch football. Simon’s thrilled. Isn’t Mal here yet? She left before I did.”

“Right behind you.” Malory came hurrying down the hall, then held up a bakery box before she stepped inside the apartment. “I made a stop. Brownies—double fudge.”

“I love you guys.” Dana’s voice broke as she said it and, appalled, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Oh, Jesus, I’m in worse shape than I thought. It’s been a very crappy day so far.”

“Sweetie, you come sit down.” Taking charge, Zoe drew her across the room to the sofa. “You just relax for a minute. I’m going to fix you something to eat.”

“I got Chinese. In the kitchen.”

“That’s fine. You just take it easy, and Malory and I will take care of everything.”

They fixed plates, brewed tea, tucked a throw over her
legs, and generally did all the things women instinctively know how to do to offer comfort.

“Thanks. I mean it. I didn’t realize I was that close to cracking. Bastard really got to me.”

“Tell us what happened.” Malory stroked Dana’s hair.

“I went over to our place, to paint. I woke up cranky and needed something to do.” She slid a glance at Malory. “Sorry about siccing Moe on you so early.”

“Not a problem.”

“So.” She soothed her throat with tea. “I started painting. It felt good, and I was thinking about how everything was going to look. Then he was there.”

She started to tell them, as coherently as she could, and Zoe interrupted with an indignant oath.

“That’s just bullshit! That’s just a lie. Of course you matter. He doesn’t know a damn thing about it.”

“He’s just playing on my weaknesses. I know it. Leaving the library bothered me, more than I’ve been willing to admit. I guess I’ve been feeling like what I did there didn’t really matter to anyone but me. He uses things like that, then makes them bigger, more hurtful.”

She picked up her tea again and told them how he’d transformed the rooms into her finished bookstore. “It was my vision of it,” Dana said. “One I hadn’t completely realized I had. Not just the way it looked but the way it felt, too. And, of course, loaded with customers.”

Her dimples made a brief appearance in her cheeks. “He made it seem like it couldn’t be that way unless he did it for me. That was a mistake, because it can be. Okay, maybe not bursting at the seams with customers, but the way it looked, the way it felt. It can be that way because it’s mine. It’s ours. And we’ll make it that way.”

“Damn straight.” Seated on the floor at her feet, Zoe gave Dana’s knee a squeeze.

“Then he shifted to Jordan. I’ve got to have a brownie now.” She leaned forward and took one off the plate that
Malory had loaded with them. “There’s this fabulous bedroom, one of my dream rooms, you know? The place you build in your head if you could have a room done any way you want it? And Jordan’s kneeling at my feet, like a supplicant. He’s all but in tears, telling me how he loves me, how he can’t live without me. All this junk he would never say in a million years. The kind of thing I’ve had him say in my head, so I could kick him in the teeth after. Payback stuff.”

She blew out a breath. “Jeez, he’s even telling me to kick him, beat him, whatever.” She broke off at the snicker and aimed a look at Zoe. Then her lips twitched. “Okay, maybe it is funny when you think about it. The Hawke, weeping at my feet, begging me to let him spend his life worshiping me.”

Malory decided it was time for a brownie as well. “What was he wearing?”

After one long pause, Dana burst out laughing. All the aches, the tension, the illness vanished. “Thanks. Man, when I think I was next to sobbing like a baby. I was even feeling guilty because the deal with Jordan was close to a couple I used to toy around with. How he would realize his horrible mistake, come crawling back and beg. It seems satisfying in your head, you know. But let me tell you, when it really happens—or seems to—it’s just horrible. So, basically, I told Kane he could kiss my ass, and I was back where I’d started.”

Zoe took off Dana’s shoes and began to rub her feet. “You had a pretty lousy morning.”

“There’s one more thing. There was writing on the wall, in this greasy black. ‘Drown thyself!’ I painted over it.”

“That’s horrible. He was trying to make you remember the island, the storm,” Zoe muttered. “He’s just huffing and puffing, that’s all. He couldn’t even make you think anything he did this morning was real. You knew it was him all along.”

“I don’t think he wanted it any other way,” Dana mused. “I think he was trying a new line of attack. But the writing? Not about the island. It’s a line from
Othello
. I recognized it almost immediately, just as I’ve now realized he knew I would. I went running out of our place like a maniac to get back here and look it up. To look for the key in the book.”

“It’s from a book?” Zoe swiveled around to pick up one of the copies from the coffee table. “I don’t know how you’d remember something like that. It’s a real talent. But why would Kane give you a clue to the key?”

“Now, quick wit—that’s a real talent.” Dana sighed. “I got suckered in. All I could think was that I knew the line, and how I’d been focused on that play, with the way Iago mirrored Kane in so many ways. So I went haring off, half-cocked, sure the key was going to fall right into my hot little hand.”

She flopped back against the seat. “Even when the light finally dawned, I just had to follow through. Hence, half a day wasted chasing the wild goose.”

“It’s not wasted if you figured it out. You knew he was lying about the bookstore,” Malory pointed out. “Know the truth from his lies? Isn’t that how it went? You did. And you realized he’d written a kind of lie to throw you off. But if you hadn’t followed through, you wouldn’t be sure.”

“I guess. I’m still going to be snatching at every copy of that play I come across.”

“I’ll tell you something important you figured out today.” Malory patted her knee. “You knew the truth was we’re in this together, so you called us. And you know, however satisfying the fantasy might be when you’re hurt or mad, you don’t want Jordan to be a lapdog.”

“Well . . . maybe just for a couple of days. Especially if Zoe can teach him how to give a foot rub.” She leaned her head back, tried to relax.

“The thing is . . . I’m in love with him. Stupid jerkoff.”
She let out a long, long sigh. “I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about it.”

Malory picked up the plate. “Have another brownie.”

IF she dreamed, Dana didn’t remember it when she woke in the morning. And when she woke, the drum of rain and the gloom had her turning over, with the plan to go directly back to sleep.

Moe had other ideas.

Without much choice, she threw on clothes, added a fielder’s cap and her oldest boots. Choosing a mug of coffee over an umbrella, she walked Moe in the rain and revved up her system with caffeine.

They were both soaked when the deed was done, forcing her to drag him into the bathroom. He whined, cried, tried to dig his paws into the floor as if she were taking him to slaughter.

By the time she’d toweled him off, she smelled as much like wet dog as he did.

A shower and another hit of coffee helped. She was just about to decide which one of her books to settle in with for the rainy morning when her phone rang.

Ten minutes later, she was hanging up the phone and grinning down at Moe.

“You know who that was? That was Mr. Hertz. You may not be acquainted with Mr. Hertz or Mr. Foy, who are involved in the longest-running trivia contest in our fine county. Apparently, the contestants assumed yours truly was on vacation and therefore unable to play master of ceremonies in my usual fashion.”

Amused and ridiculously delighted, she walked into the kitchen to pour her third cup of coffee. “However, this morning Mr. Foy stopped into the library and was informed I was no longer on staff.”

She leaned back on the counter, sipped coffee as Moe
appeared to listen with avid attention. “Questions were asked and answered, mostly answered by the detestable Sandi. Mr. Foy, according to Mr. Hertz, gave the opinion that my departure was, quote, a downright, dirty shame, unquote, and vacated the premises.”

As if riveted, Moe cocked his head and panted.

“Shortly thereafter, the two trivia aficionados held an informal meeting over at the Main Street Diner and decided that if the powers that be at the Pleasant Valley Library didn’t appreciate a treasure such as myself, they no longer wished to have that institution involved in their daily information pursuit. I’ve just been asked if I would continue as emcee on a freelance basis.”

Because it was just Moe, and he was nothing if not sympathetic, she didn’t feel embarrassed when a tear trickled down her cheek. “I know it’s probably stupid to feel this touched, but I can’t help it. It’s just nice to know I’ve been missed.”

She sniffed back the tears. “Anyway, I’ve got to go on-line and find out when Chef Boy-Ar-Dee manufactured its first box of pizza mix.” She headed off, coffee in hand, to her desktop. “Where do they think up these things?”

IT kicked her into gear. Dana decided it was symbolic. She’d received validation of her purpose, her place in the community. The simple fact was, the Valley was vital to her, and this in-between stage—post-library, pre-bookstore—had left her feeling disenfranchised.

It wasn’t the amount of work she had to do but the fact that the work she’d done in the past hadn’t seemed to have any significance to anyone other than herself.

She dived in with a vengeance, placing orders for books, opening accounts, ordering her displays. Her mood was lifted to the point that when she was deep into the key books and the knock interrupted, she wasn’t irritated.

“Time to come up for air anyway.” She pulled open the door, then frowned at the young man who stood there, holding a single red rose in a clear bud vase. “Trolling for girls? You’re pretty cute, but a little young for me.”

He flushed, red as the rose. “Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. Dana Steele?”

“That’s right.”

“For you.” He passed her the vase, then took off.

Still frowning, Dana closed the door, then tugged off the card tied to the vase.

Reminded
me of you,

Jordan

In his mind, Jordan was in the forest of the Pacific Northwest. Hunted. He had his wits, his will, and his need to see his woman again as his weapons. If he could survive for the next five minutes, he could survive for ten. For ten, he could survive an hour.

For the hunter wanted more than his life. It wanted his soul.

Fog slithered, gray snakes along the ground. The blood from the hastily bound wound in his arm seeped through the bandage and dripped into the mist. The pain kept him sharp, reminded him that he had more than blood to lose.

He should have seen it for a trap. That had been his mistake. But there was no going back, no point in regrets, no point in prayers. His only option was to keep moving. And to live.

He heard a sound. To his left? A kind of whispering the fog could make when parted by mass. He melted into the trees, pressed his back against bark.

Flight, he asked himself, or fight?

“What the hell game are you playing?”

“Christ Jesus.” He popped back from the world in his
mind, the one speeding onto the screen through the rush of his fingertips over keys.

The speed of the trip had the blood roaring in his ears as he stared at Dana.

She stood in the doorway, hands on hips, eyes full of suspicion.

“This is the little game I call writing for a living. Go away, come back later.”

“I’m talking about the flower, and I’ve got just as much right to be here as you do. It’s my brother’s house.”

“And this is, currently, my room in your brother’s house.”

She gave it one derisive scan. There was a bed, unmade, her own childhood dresser that she’d passed to Flynn when he’d bought the house, an open suitcase on the floor. The desk where Jordan worked had been Flynn’s during his teenage years and was missing one of the three drawers that ran down the side. On it was a laptop, some files and books, a pack of cigarettes, and a metal ashtray.

“Looks more like a weigh station,” she commented.

“It doesn’t have to be pretty.” Resigned, he reached for his cigarettes.

“That’s a brainless habit.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He lit it, deliberately blew out smoke. “Half a pack a day, and mostly when I’m working. Get off my back. What’re you riled up about, anyway? I thought women liked getting flowers.”

“You sent me a single red rose.”

“That’s right.” He considered her more thoughtfully now. Her hair was pulled back, so she’d been working. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, so she hadn’t planned on leaving the house. She was wearing jeans, a very faded Penn State sweatshirt, and shined black-leather boots with a stubby heel.

Which meant, he deduced from his knowledge of her, that she’d been planning to work around the apartment,
then had grabbed the first pair of shoes that came to hand because she’d been in a hurry.

And that meant the flower had done the job.

“The single-red-rose gambit is supposed to be romantic.” He smiled when he said it, just a little smugly.

She stepped into the room, skirted the suitcase. “You said it reminded you of me. Just what’s what supposed to mean?”

“It’s long and sexy, and it smells good. What’s the problem, Stretch?”