Liar's Moon (4 page)

“A memorial service.”

“Leif—you’re crazy.”

“No, I don’t think I am. Jesse died almost a year ago. He was easily a man to be remembered and honored. Those of us who loved him did so deeply. And our lives became very tangled and entwined. My house isn’t far from the city. To get everyone together as guests at a house party to end back in New York with the service might very well be the perfect occasion to try to figure out just who had the strongest motive to want Jesse dead.”

Tracy shook her head. “They won’t all come!”

He shrugged. “Jamie’s mother will come—we’re still pretty good friends, and Jamie will be there. The last Mrs. Kuger will arrive with bells on—life has been rather dreary for her lately, I hear. You’ll be there; Jamie will be there. Sam and Tiger and I are still good friends—very good friends. They planned to come for Jamie’s final concert anyway.”

“No way, Leif. I won’t be there. And you can guarantee that neither my mother, stepfather, or grandfather will show up!”

“And why won’t you be there?”

“I can’t. I don’t ever want to go back into that house again.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“I’m not! Leif, you don’t know—”

“I don’t know what?”

“Never mind!”

“Memories you can’t handle?”

“That’s right.”

“Or memories you want to relive?”

“Leif—get out of here. Just go.”

“I am going, Tracy. Thanks for the coffee—and the hospitality.” He started down the hallway, then turned back with a pleasant smile.

“Tomorrow night is Jamie’s last concert on the tour, you know. We’ll be here one more night. Sunday morning he’s leaving with me for Connecticut. And by the way, Tracy, my plan is already in action. Your mother, stepfather, and grandfather have already agreed to come. You didn’t know that, did you? Maybe you really did break the ties that bind you, Tracy. Good for you. But if you want to see Jamie, you’d better plan on a trip to Connecticut.”

“Speak of binding ties!” she snapped.

He shrugged, and came back to her. He was smiling with a certain amount of admiration; there was just a touch of the gentle silver she had once known to his eyes.

She wanted to swear at him. The words didn’t come, nor did she move when he touched her chin again. There was no force to that touch. It was nearly tender.

Just his knuckle below her chin, lightly lifting her face to his.

“You really haven’t changed, Tracy,” he told her very softly. “You’re still very, very beautiful.”

He shouldn’t have touched her, Leif realized. He shouldn’t have come so near her—felt the brush of her nothing gown, stared into the liquid elegance of her eyes. He shouldn’t have felt the softness of her flesh, because time didn’t really heal all wounds at all; he felt as if he bled all over again. He hadn’t—surely, he hadn’t!—loved her all those years.

Maybe he had; maybe he hadn’t. Maybe time had no bearing on things at all. Maybe it was just the moment. He wanted to slip his arms around her as if she had never been gone, touch her lips and feel the magic, hold her agains
t him and never let her go…

Madness. There was nothing between them. Nothing except for mistrust and bitterness
…
and magic. He wanted her now. Desperately. To hold her, touch her, feel her hair cascade upon his naked flesh, the heat of
her body meld with his own…

He forced a crooked smile to his face; forced his lids to fall, to break the spell.

“Very, very lovely, Tracy,” he said lightly. Release her, fool! his mind cried.

She couldn’t think of a reply. She couldn’t make a sound. The cast of his e
yes, the touch of his hand…
Again, time slipped away and the traitorous sensation eclipsed all else. All she could do was stare at him, caught in the web of a strange spell once again.

He released her at last—and walked down the hall. She still didn’t move nor speak. Until the door closed softly in his wake.

Then, swearing, she leapt to her feet. She bolted the door. And when that was done, she hurried to the sliding-glass balcony doors, drew them shut—and locked them.

CHAPTER THREE

I
t was almost dawn when Tracy had finally slept, so she shouldn’t have been terribly surprised that it was well after noon when she was awakened by a phone call.

It was Jamie to tell her that he’d just ordered breakfast up from room service—would she come over and join him.

She hesitated just a second, then asked him, “Where’s Leif?”

Jamie hesitated just a little bit longer than she had. “He’s still in his room. Why?”

“No reason,” she said quickly—and then again she paused. She couldn’t avoid Leif—not if he was with Jamie. Nor did she want to create friction between the two of them.

“Tracy?”

“Give me a few minutes. You just woke me up. Okay?”

“Sure.”

Jamie rang off and Tracy hurried into the shower. Last night she had been off guard—she simply hadn’t known that Leif was with Jamie. Well, today she knew. And the past was ancient history. She wouldn’t allow her emotions to control her; she would be polite and cordial and so calm that he couldn’t get beneath her skin.

With that in mind, she swept her hair off her neck into
a neat little chignon and wore three-inch boot heels with a sweeping leather skirt and tailored silk shirt. She chided herself about her attempt at sophistication. After all, it had been her ability to appear mature and sophisticated that had been her original downfall. But she couldn’t help wanting to feel taller. Jamie was tall, and Leif was around six foot three, and somehow his knack for staring down at her was intimidating. Not that she could wear heels high enough to face him eye to eye—she was only five foot four. But any little bit of help seemed warranted here. She was not a child now; she had paid vast dues to become an adult, and she was going to be treated as one.

Still, her hands grew clammy as she traversed the short distance of hall between her suite and Jamie’s. She took a deep breath before knocking and was still exhaling it when Jamie instantly flung the door open.

“Wow,” he told her with a flattering appreciation. “You really are a knockout.”

“Thanks, Jamie.” She gr
inned, looking over his silver-
buttoned black cavalry jacket, tight black jeans, and head full of gold-blond hair—hair worn a little
lon
g at the neck, but thick, wavy, and very attractive with his soulful eyes and youth.

“So are you.”

He grimaced. “I’m ‘cute.’ You’re beautiful.”

She inclined her head to him, grinning. “Again, thank you. Have you got coffee in here?”

“Sure—
voila!
I ordered everything I could think of because I have no idea what you like. Isn’t that something? You’re my sister, and I don’t know anything about you at all. I mean, are you a vegetarian? A health freak? Do you jog? What’s your sign? Do you use sugar?”

Tracy started laughing at his rapid fire of questions while he led her to a table elegantly set before the windows of the balcony. He really had ordered everything. There were chafing dishes all over the table and baskets of toast, muffins, hard rolls, and bagels.

“Jamie—this is wasteful!” she chided him.

“But
I’
m immensely wealthy!” he replied innocently, reaching for a silver coffee urn.
“Coffee, madame! See—I don’t even know how you take it!”

“Black,” Leif replied from behind them before Tracy had a chance to form the word.

She spun around—defensive already. And then she was annoyed with herself that she could be so quickly unnerved. She would have never imagined that after all this time the mere sound of his voice could cast her into uneasy quivers that swept away all poise and control.

Get it back, get it back! she warned herself. And she didn’t do badly at all. She glanced briefly at Leif, then smiled at Jamie. “Yes, black, please.”

She accepted the cup of coffee, nervously aware that Leif was by then right behind her, reaching around her for the coffeepot that Jamie had set down. She didn’t really look at him, but he was next to her, so she was very aware of him. He’d just come from the shower and he smelled wonderfully of soap and after-shave. His dark hair was still damp and very sleek. He seemed exceptionally tall, sinewed, and tan in a yellow polo shirt and dark cords.

She moved away from him, choosing a chair that looked out over the balcony. He seemed oblivious to her, too, sipping his coffee as he gazed out at the day, then sliding into the chair across from Tracy.

She felt his eyes on her, and despite her will not to do so, she felt her gaze pulled from the window to meet his.

She wanted to scream. Instead, she smiled pleasantly
and felt all the more uneasy. Last night had been different. He had stared at her, but it had seemed a more natural curiosity. Today it was as if he wondered something, or had a clue to something—something that did not endear her to him in the least. Did he have her on the top of
his
list of suspects?

“Gee,” Jamie murmured, interrupting her thoughts. “Just when did you two meet?” he asked innocently.

Leif arched his brows, glancing Jamie’s way, then looking back at Tracy. “Oh, years ago,” he replied idly. “We met at a party.” His steady gaze remained on her. “We really didn’t know one another very long; her grandfather whisked her off to Europe shortly after we met.”

“Wow. You’ve led an exciting life, Tracy!” Jamie said.

“Umm. Wonderful,” Tracy managed to say, unable to tear her gaze from Leif’s. He looked tired, she thought. He was leaning back, almost looking comfortable and casual in his chair, but the tiny lines about his eyes were evident in the sunlight, as if he hadn’t slept well.

“What’s he really like, Tracy?”

“What?” she murmured, disconcerted, drawing her eyes from Leif to look at Jamie at last.

“Arthur Kingsley—billionaire. They say he owns half of the U.S. interests around the whole world.”

“I—uh—guess he does.”

Leif was still staring at Tracy. “He’s a very powerful man,” he told Jamie. “Accustomed to buying anything he wants.”

“What are they estimating you at these days, Mr. Johnston?” Tracy asked acidly. “A rather high figure, last I heard. And if you did nothing more than whistle Dixie through an entire album, it would still sell in the millions, so I really don’t think you have a right to judge Arthur.”

“Arthur? You call him Arthur?” Jamie asked.

I don’t call him anything, Tracy almost answered. But she didn’t want Leif to know that she had spent the last five years carefully severing the yoke that Arthur Kingsley had attempted to tie around her neck. She called him occasionally and she spent each Christmas with her family—but other than that, she kept carefully away.

“More importantly, Tracy, what are you calling yourself?” Leif asked her.

“Kuger,” she told him.

“You are not using that name,” Leif responded instantly.

“Why do I feel like I never know what’s going on here?” Jamie complained.

“How do you know that I’m not using my name?” Tracy demanded of Leif.

“Guys—” Jamie tried.

“Because I’ve had detectives looking for you for the last year, too. I got as far as a remote town in northern Scotland, and then no one could get any further.”

“I like my privacy,” Tracy said.

“So much so that your mother didn’t even know where you were?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Guys—listen—everything is getting cold. We’ve got eggs Benedict, steak and eggs, French toast—I mean, this is some fluffy French toast we’ve got going here—”

“Dammit, Tracy, what do I have to do to get through to you! You were waltzing around a balcony forty floors up to get to your brother, so you know that I’m telling the truth—”

“All right! You’re telling the truth about my father, but what has that got to do with anything else? It’s none of
your business where I went, or what I did, or what I do, or—”

“It is my business, Tracy. You want to make me your number one murder suspect, and you don’t want to admit that you’re on the outs with your own family. Tracy! You have to accept that someone in your immediate family might very well be the conspirator!”

“Oh, God,” Jamie groaned, sinking back into his chair. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

Tracy looked over at Jamie and was instantly sorry. “Jamie,” she murmured. “I—”

He shook his head. “I’m a big kid, Tracy.” He stared at Leif then. “So what are we going to do?”

Leif stood up and walked over to the balcony, staring out at the beautiful spring day and Central Park, stretching out across the street. He shrugged. “I’ve got a few irons in the fire,” he said softly. “It’s just going to be a difficult thing to prove, because everyone involved could have easily come up with the money. I was telling Tracy last night that I thought a memorial service might be a good idea. Get everyone together and see where the discussions flowed.”

“Get everyone together—where? Your house in Connecticut?” Jamie asked.

“That’s what I had in mind—yes.”

Tracy wasn’t sure why, but little shivers suddenly went down her spine. Leif wasn’t looking at her; he was watching Jamie. Leif was leaning against the edge of the window, sipping his coffee. His stance seemed negligent but she knew it really wasn’t. Looking him over, she decided he really wasn’t slender at all—his height gave him that appearance. Clad in the knit polo shirt, the breadth of his shoulders was very visible, as were their muscles. She swallowed, suddenly remembering that when he was
shirtless, his abdomen had little ripples of tautness, that he was wired and taut as a drum and his grip was like iron. He’d fought in jungle warfare, and he’d never forgotten the movements—how to stalk, how to spin, how to remain on guard—and how to snap shut a trap.

“Is that why we’re going there tomorrow?” Jamie asked unhappily. “And why Sam and Tiger are coming in tonight and going with us?”

“Yes,” Leif said simply.

Tracy lifted her hands in her annoyance. “I still don’t see what you’re trying to prove.”

“Who had a motive?” Jamie demanded.

“Everyone,” Leif and Tracy replied simultaneously, bringing their eyes back to one another again.

“But I don’t—”

“Leif, Tiger, and Sam inherited Dad’s share of their mutual holdings,” Tracy said.

“Right. The three of us are broke,” Leif drawled sarcastically, “so we were after more money.”

Tracy ignored him.
“Then there’s Lauren, the widow
—she inherited the majority of his estate. And the last I heard, she’s writing a book on his one great and real love affair—theirs.”

“Don’t forget Jamie’s mother,” Leif reminded her. “Sorry, Jamie, things never did go smoothly after that divorce.”

“My mother didn’t—”

“I certainly don’t think that she did,” Tracy said softly, simply because she cared for him. She owed Carol nothing—Carol hadn’t wanted her around when she was a child.

“And then,” Leif announced, sitting across from Tracy and staring at her again, “then we have Tracy’s collection. Her grandfather—the great Arthur Kingsley. A
man so irate that his daughter should fall in love with a penniless musician that he dragged her away and married her off to an accountant before the fruit of such an affair should appear. Only things backfired a bit because the steady and reliable accountant had a heart and a conscience. And we have Tracy’s mother—who never really forgave Jesse for not panting after her the rest of her life. Then there’s Tracy’s stepfather, Ted Blare himself. Perhaps he couldn’t bear the years of his wife yearning for the man she had lost.”

Tracy was on her feet by then, her palms flat on the table while she glared across at him in a red fury. “Then there’s Leif himself! Did he ever tell you, Jamie, that there was a whole year when he and Dad didn’t speak to one another? Did he ever tell you that it became violent and physical between them and he was flattened out on the floor!”

Leif was calmly watching Tracy, leisurely lighting a cigarette, inhaling, exhaling, and pointedly returning her stare. She was barely aware of what she was saying; he knew exactly what she was spewing, and was quite ready for Jamie’s natural question.

“Over what?”

Too late, she looked from Leif to her brother and saw his troubled frown. And, too late, she realized that she had practically spelled the whole thing out. She focused uneasily on Leif again and noted his satisfied smile and wondered suddenly if he hadn’t been maneuvering her into telling her brother exactly what he wanted her to tell him.

He inclined his head slightly toward her and said quietly, “Well, Tracy? Go on. He wants to know why I might have wanted to kill your father.”

What the hell was his game? she wondered. Should she call his bluff or what? She felt trapped, needed more time.

“All right, Tracy, I’ll tell him.”
He smiled very politely at her and turned to Jamie. “Your sister—”

“We had an affair,” Tracy blurted out. God! She didn’t want Leif telling the story. Not from his point of view.

His lashes shielded his eyes; it still appeared that he was secretively smiling, as if she had played exactly into his hands.