Necessary Evil (30 page)

He
shrugged. “It’s a small world. I know people that he knows and word gets around
about these projects, especially a figure with a reputation like Randall’s.” It
was not a compliment. “He’s been asking questions and some of them got back to
me. It wasn’t hard to put together the pieces. What did he want?”

“He
wants what everyone wants.” I did pull my hands out of his then, and turned
away to lean on the side of his shiny convertible. The metal felt cool under my
hands. “He wanted a crack at finding the treasure.”

“And
then what happened?”

It
was an odd thing to ask. I frowned and shook my head. “I thought we agreed that
there was nothing to find.”

“That’s
not what I meant,” he said, stepping closer. “Did you let him look for it?”

My
heart was pounding and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. That must have alarmed
Joe, because he reached out and turned me back to him, firmly but gently. I
looked up at him, but his face was in shadow.

“Maddie,”
he asked. “Did you allow him to look?”

“Yes.”

It
came out as a whisper, a frightened little noise that at any other time, I
would have despised. I felt absolutely defeated, like a small child who has
failed her parents. I almost wanted to run away; but like that small child, I
didn’t want to leave the man who faced me. His opinion still mattered.

His
hands tightened on my shoulders. “Randall is the man you let me think was a
writer, the one you said wrote trash. Right?”

I
nodded.

“Maddie,
why did you lie to me? Couldn’t you trust me?”

His
plaintive tone cut deep. “I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want to involve
you. I thought, after a few weeks, he’d get discouraged and go away again. But
he didn’t and he – I… And he…”

I
trailed off. What was I trying to say? That he’d remained convinced that there
was something to find? That he’d sucked me into the search as well? What would
Joe say then?

Joe’s
hands dropped from my shoulders suddenly, leaving me stranded in the middle of
the dark while he took a step back.

“Why?”
he asked. “Maddie, I thought
we
… Did he ask to see the
Beaumont letter?”

I’d
always known that Joe was sharp, but I’d never realized just how quick he was.
It unnerved me.

“He
didn’t have to, Joe,” I said simply. “He knows
I
forged it.”

His
look was measured, cautious. “And the letter itself?” he asked. “Did you burn
it, like you said you were going to?”

My
throat tightened. I had promised him I would do just that and I hadn’t. Joe had
warned me long ago that Maddox’s word was only good as long as no one looked
too hard. As long as the letter remained in existence, the truth was only a few
short tests from exposure. He’d warned me, and I’d promised.

And
the letter was still in the bank.

“No,”
I whispered hoarsely. 

There
was a sharp intake of breath. And then Joe Tremonti turned away from me. He was
walking away, leaving me. My heart lunged after him, dragging me along with it.

 “Joe!”
I said and he stopped short. “Joe, please…”

He
looked at me, and this time I could see his face clearly. Etched in it was the
disappointment I’d heard in his voice.

“I
told you to burn it. I told you that you were safe, all you had to do was burn
it and no one would ever know.”

“But
it didn’t make a difference, Joe. It
didn’t
. Gregory didn’t need to see
the original. He knew it was fake before he came to see me – whether or not he
has the letter in his hand, he can prove it. In the end it just didn’t matter.”

I
was pleading now and his face, shadowed as it was, was impossible to read.

Then
he said simply, “Maddie, why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you trust me?
Why did you go to Randall, of all people?”

“I
didn’t, Joe. Once he knew about the letter, I had no
choice
. It was that
or exposure.” And then, as his fists began to clench, I went on, gaining
confidence as I went. “But that doesn’t matter now. He’s on to something. I’m
sure of it. I thought he was a fraud at first, but he knows what he’s talking
about. There’s really something out there, Joe. I couldn’t believe it at first,
but it’s true – there is something. We just found…”

“He’s
a thief, Maddie.”

The
statement cut me off mid-sentence, leaving me gulping for air. As I stared, he
stepped close to me, looming above me until his head and shoulders blocked the
moon and I was covered in his shadow.

“What
are you talking about?” I asked, when I could finally speak.

His
voice was like honey - smooth, sweet, smothering.

“Gregory
Randall is a thief, Madeleine. An intellectual thief. Oh, he made that
Revolutionary War find all right, but it was a lucky break, one that gave him a
reputation far beyond his ability. It made him into a quasi-celebrity, and when
he realized that he couldn’t make lightning strike twice, he surrounded himself
with talented underlings, and stole their research.”

I
was trembling, shaking as though I was standing in my short sleeves on a winter’s
day.

No.

“But
Joe,” I protested feebly.

He
interrupted. “I’m not saying he’s without talent. He’s smart enough to
negotiate his way out of that fiasco with only the slightest stain to his
character. But he’s without scruples, and he’s been known to use little events
like this one to build his legacy.” He looked around, rubbing his face with his
hand. “It doesn’t matter to Randall whether or not there’s actually a treasure
here, Maddie. All that matters is that he gets a story, a book out of it. If he
doesn’t write about the treasure, he’ll write one about the family that ruined
itself chasing fool’s gold. It’s what Randall does.” Then, through clenched
teeth: “And now he’s got
you
in his clutches.”

My
head was whirling. This didn’t make sense, yet Joe was saying it and I had no
reason to doubt him. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’d always dealt squarely
with me, while Gregory had blackmailed his way into my house. I’d instinctively
mistrusted him from the start. Perhaps I’d been right.

But
he promised... He rides the trails with me…

But
couldn’t that just be another snow job? Didn’t Gregory Randall have a vested
interest in making sure I didn’t give in to the trespassers? Didn’t he have a
reason to keep me indebted to him?

The
letter – I didn’t make up the clue in the letter. I found that clue, not
Gregory. Whatever he might be playing at, he didn’t fake that. 

But
that meant only that his gamble had paid off this time. It didn’t mean anything
more, and it certainly didn’t mean…

I
didn’t finish that thought.

As
I struggled through these conflicting emotions, Joe was sating, “You’ve got to
get rid of him, Maddie. He’s nothing but bad news. You can’t let him use you.”

I
was shaking again, but my voice was steady when I answered him. My tone was
flat, almost dead.

“I
can’t do that, Joe.”

He
was taken aback. “Why not? Has he threatened you?”

He
had. There was no real guarantee that Gregory wouldn’t expose the Beaumont
letter if I threw him off the property now. In fact, it might goad him into
keeping his promise, a promise I’d nearly forgotten about.

But
Joe didn’t need to know that. In fact, I decided that he’d better not know. I
trusted Joe, but not to keep his temper where I was concerned. And Gregory must
not be harmed.

“No,”
I snapped then calmed myself. “No. We made a deal. Whatever his motivations, I
promised and I’m sticking with it. It’s as simple as that.”

“Maddie…”

I
put my hands up and shook my head.

“I
can handle this,” I said, even though I didn’t believe it. “I think Randall’s
on to something and, when he finds it, I’m going to be there to make sure it’s
claimed for the Chase family, if only for Uncle Michael’s sake. I don’t think
Randall’s playing me, but if he is, it doesn’t matter. Two can play at that
game, and I
am
going to be there when he finds it.”

My
determination gave an edge to my voice, cutting off any protest on Joe’s part.
We stood in silence for a few moments.

Joe
ran a hand through his hair, looked around, then stared at me. His smile was
enigmatic, somehow menacing.

“If
he hurts you, I’ll kill him,” he said.

I
stared, stunned. He stepped forward and I held my ground, letting him come
close to me. Our eyes met and held and everything but his presence faded to the
background.

“Will
you let me run him out of here for you?” he asked gently.

I
swallowed hard and looked at my feet. “No. Not yet. Please…”

He
was turning from me again, turning to his car, nearly stomping his feet in
frustration.

“Madeleine
Warwick,” he said and pulled open his car door. “You are the most stubborn
woman I’ve ever met.”

He
couldn’t leave, not now, not like this. Not angry. Yet I would not stop him any
more than I could stop the little audible cry that involuntarily left my lips,
nor the sudden tears that stung my eyes.

He
heard the cry, then he saw my tears. And before I knew it was happening, I was
in his arms.  

“And
Madeleine Warwick,” he said, his face so close to mine that his breath caressed
my face. “You drive me absolutely crazy.”

Then
he kissed me.

It
was confusing and overwhelming. He was insistent, demanding, and my physical
senses were so overwhelmed that all thought fell away. As his arms tightened
around me, a dizzying, triumphant feeling rushed over me: here, after all this
time, was the moment I’d been waiting so long for.

I
responded, leaning into his kiss, my arms snaking around his neck. One thought
emerged clearly:

So
this is what it’s like to be kissed by a strong man.

I
don’t know how long the kiss lasted. It seemed both an eternity and a moment
later when he pulled away, stepping back from me. He was as breathless as I;
but where I was weak-kneed and confused, he seemed to have gained in
confidence. He smiled at me, then reached to trace my face with his hand.

“That’s
dangerous,” he whispered. “A man could get addicted.”

Taking
my head in his hands, he kissed me again, lightly. Then, without another word,
he got back into his car and drove off, leaving me alone in the driveway.

I
stood watching him go, my thoughts a jumbled riot, wondering,
What
happens now?

“Well,
well.”

The
familiar voice cut through the night air like a knife.

My
first thought was:
He saw
.
Guilt swept over me, chased just as
quickly by the thought,
I’ve done nothing wrong, whatever he might think.

I
turned to face Gregory.

He
was silhouetted on the porch steps, the light glinting off of his glasses. His
arms were folded, and he leaned against the post in a pose that normally would
denote ease and disinterest. But I knew him pretty well now, and I knew better.

 “You’re
back,” I said. My voice was surprisingly steady. I forced myself to walk up to
the porch under his unblinking scrutiny.

“I
am,” he said, in a tone that was flat - so void of emotion it was almost
frightening.

“I
wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,” I said.

I
was on the porch at that point, leaning on the post opposite of his. I tried
not to look at him; but his presence, for once, was more overwhelming than
Joe’s had been.

He
was staring out into the night, and I studied the outline of his face. The light
created deep shadows, and the man looked haggard, aged beyond what travel
fatigue could explain.

“I
caught an early plane,” he said, then nodded towards the road. “So we had a
visit from the great Joseph Tremonti. I wonder what he wanted.”

“Do
you know him?” I asked.

He
laughed. It was a brittle sound. “Better than I’d like. What did he want?”

There
was a harsh note in his tone, one that made me lift my chin in defiance.

“Dinner,”
I said, and when Randall looked at me, I explained, “He came for a visit. We’re
old friends.”

“So
I saw,” he said dryly.

I
was glad that my face was in shadow.

“Is
that all he wanted? Dinner and… Dessert?”

Anger
swept over me, righteous and dangerous. I clenched my fists, but my words made
for a far more effective weapon.

“Not
exactly,” I said, matching his tone. “He came here to warn me against a
Professor Gregory Randall.”

Eyebrows
raised, he turned to me.