The Spellbinder (5 page)

“I didn’t say that. We’re pretty sure she’s David Brownlett’s daughter. That would make her your fourth cousin.”

“David Brownlett? I never heard of him.”

“A distant cousin of Raymond’s. He toured in the same show and was in Budapest during that identical period. All the preliminary investigation links him with the girl’s mother. We should get final confirmation in a few days.”

“I see,” Brody said slowly. “Where is this Brownlett now?”

“Dead.”

“Did he have any family?”

Cass shook his head. “None. Why?”

“No reason.” That meant Sacha was still alone. The thought sent a poignant pang of regret through him as he remembered her face as she looked up at him and told him how much she wanted someone of her own.

“Do you want me to break the news to her?” Cass asked.

“What?” Brody’s thoughts were still on Sacha and he forced his mind back to the present. “No, I’ll tell her.”

“It would be kind to do it soon so they can get on with their lives. They’ve been living hand to mouth for the last two months, while they’ve been following you around. They’ve got to be able to find better jobs than the ones they have now.”

Brody’s eyes met Cass’s in the mirror. “What do you mean? What are they doing?”

“The girl is washing dishes and busing tables in a hash house down the street from the Majestic, and Benoit’s delivering packages for a department store.” Cass’s glance returned to the report. “They’ve had similar jobs in every town since they began following you from city to city. They evidently had to take what they could get on short notice.”

“Evidently.”

“So tell the girl right away, okay?”

Brody nodded slowly. “Do me a favor? Take Benoit out to dinner and send Sacha in to see me.”

Cass unwound his long legs and stood up. “Sure. No problem.”

The door shut behind him.

No problem. Brody’s lips curved in an ironic smile. Very simple. Just tell Sacha she belonged to no one. Maybe he could even offer her an exchange. How about trading a long-lost brother for a one-night stand? She should jump at a great deal like that. Hell, it was an offer he’d probably make her before the evening was over, if he ran true to form.

He muttered a low curse as he stood up and pushed the chair back from the dressing table. Dammit, he didn’t want to feel sorry for the girl. He wanted to take off her clothes, pull her into the shower, and … He closed his eyes, feeling the arousal flood him as it had last night as he’d
lain in bed, remembering that velvety skin and the clean, sweet smell of her.

His eyes flicked open, and he moved toward the bathroom, a faint reckless smile curving his lips. Well, why not? She was no child, and he sure as hell was no saint. Why shouldn’t he take what he wanted as he had always done before? According to Cass, Sacha was practically destitute, and it wasn’t as if he were planning on victimizing her. He would take care of her while she was with him, then give her a generous amount of money when the time came for—

Settlement. Protection. So it was to be no one-night stand after all. The realization came as no real surprise. He must have been planning this on some deep level since the first moment he had realized he wanted Sacha Lorion. Even then he had known that once would not be enough.

“For Pete’s sake, get out of there!” Cass Radison jerked open the shower door and reached in to turn off the spray. “I think your long-lost ‘sister’ is going to be turned into mincemeat in another two minutes.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Brody stepped from the shower and accepted the towel Cass handed him. “What’s happening?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t hear it.” Cass tossed him his white terry-cloth robe. “The stagehands are laying bets who’s going to knock out whom. Naomi is the odds-on favorite at the moment.”

Brody jerked on his robe and hurriedly tied the belt. “Sacha and Naomi are
fighting
?”

“What else could I have been trying to tell you?” Cass asked impatiently. “And we can’t break it up. Come and see if that damn little tiger cat will
listen to you.” He ran his fingers through his thinning hair, leaving strands sticking up like graying stalks in a winter wheatfield. “Naomi is going to kill her.”

Brody raced from the bathroom and through the dressing room. He heard shouts and laughter the moment he reached the hall. Both sounds were issuing from a crowd at the far end of the corridor. He ran down the hall, pushing through the little circle until he came to the nucleus of the disturbance. Naomi, still in her nun’s costume from the last scene, and Sacha were entangled on the floor. Even as he watched, Sacha lifted her knee in a wicked blow to the soprano’s midsection. Then she flipped Naomi over on her back and leapt astride the larger woman.

Sacha’s hair was no longer sleek but a wild aureole around her flushed face. A triangular tear marred her white cotton blouse and the pocket of her jeans had been ripped off entirely. Her eyes blazed fiercely as she gazed down into Naomi’s furious face. “You will not do it again, you understand? Never again.”

“Bitch,” Naomi spit back.

“Perhaps.” Sacha’s hand tangled in Naomi’s blond hair and pulled hard. “But if you are in the mood to slap someone, you’ll call me and not vent your anger on a child.”

“I’ll do what I choose,” Naomi said venomously. “You can’t do this to me.”

“I can do whatever I want—” Sacha broke off as Brody’s arms encircled her waist and unceremoniously
jerked her off Naomi’s prone body. “No, you don’t understand; it’s not finished.”

“Oh, yes, it is,” Brody said grimly. “That amazon is almost half again your weight.”

“I am not!” Naomi struggled to a sitting position, glaring at both of them. “Does this—this juvenile delinquent belong to you, Brody?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Brody’s voice was curt as he tried to subdue Sacha’s wriggling body.

Naomi’s expression took on added malice as she struggled to her feet. “Good, then I’ll be even happier to tear her hair out.”

“I told you it wasn’t finished,” Sacha said. “You heard her. If you stop us now, I’ll have to do this all over again.”

“Cass, get Naomi into her dressing room and don’t let her out until she calms down,” Brody ordered. His gaze fell on Louis Benoit, leaning lazily against the wall, a faint smile curving his well-shaped lips. “Why the devil are you just standing there watching all this? She’s supposed to be your ‘friend,’ blast you. Do you like seeing her get hurt?”

Benoit shrugged. “Sacha knows what she is doing. She wouldn’t thank me for interfering.” His gaze went to Naomi. “And I’ve seen her take on far tougher opponents than this woman.”

“You just think she has,” Naomi hissed. “I’ll get back at her and the boy too. You just wait. I’ll show—” The vicious threat was abruptly cut off as Cass jerked her into her dressing room and slammed the door.

“Let me loose,” Sacha cried. “Brody, this is none of your business.”

“You’ve made yourself my business. I didn’t ask to be referee in a catfight. Now stop struggling, dammit.” He cast a glacier glance at the grinning circle of spectators surrounding them. “The show is over, break it up.”

There was a sudden cessation of laughter, and the crowd immediately began to drift away.

Louis Benoit straightened and strolled toward a small towheaded boy dressed in the costume of a medieval peasant. He clapped the boy on the shoulder. “It was fun while it lasted, eh? What’s your name?”

“Jimmy Marsden.” The boy’s freckled face lit with a mischievous smile. “Your friend’s pretty good. Not that I couldn’t have handled Naomi myself.”

“Of course, you could.” Louis’s eyes were twinkling. “But it never hurts to have help, and Sacha’s a good friend to have in your corner.”

“Jimmy, stay away from her until I think of a way to resolve this,” Sacha said urgently. “She’ll be more vicious than ever until we convince her it will do her more harm than good. Brody stopped us much too soon.”

“Too soon?” Brody was outraged. “She would have
murdered
you.”

She stopped struggling. “You were worried about me? That’s very sweet. I suppose I must forgive you for interfering.”

“Forgive me?” Brody repeated. He counted to five. “I may decide to murder you myself.”

“But the fault was not mine. Jimmy only played a small trick on Guenevere.”

“Naomi,” Brody corrected.

“Whatever. I’ve seen her so often as Guenevere that it’s hard to think of her by any other name.” She frowned. “How could such a horrible person act the part of a queen and make it believable? Anyway, Jimmy played a small trick on—”

“It wasn’t that small,” Jimmy interrupted indignantly. “I thought it was pretty cosmic.”

“But not very original.” Louis tilted his head consideringly. “A frog in her cold cream jar? It’s been done many times before. And you should never have hidden in her dressing room to see her reaction. It would have been smarter to have come in with the crowd when she screamed and pretended complete innocence.”

Jimmy grinned. “It was worth getting slugged to see her face when she opened the jar.” He rubbed his cheek that was already showing a livid mark. “Though she’s got a lot of power for a soprano.” His admiring glance shifted to Sacha. “But you’re even better. What a great left.”

“Thank you.” Sacha smiled. “And Louis is too critical. The frog in the cold cream jar is a classic. It can never be overdone.”

Brody let Sacha slip from his arms but retained an iron grasp on her arm. “Do you suppose we could disperse this mutual admiration society?”
he asked caustically. “I’m still wet, and it’s damn cold standing in this hallway.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Sacha said quickly. “We’ll go to your dressing room at once.” She took a long look at him for the first time, her gaze encompassing his bare feet and legs, the wet hair plastered flat to his head, and the rivulet of water running down his cheek. “Good heavens, you could catch a terrible cold. How foolish of you to run out into this chilly hall with nothing on.”

“Foolish?” He enunciated the word very slowly and with great precision. “I was rescuing you, dammit.”

“Were you?” She gazed up at him, startled. Then her face lit with a glowing smile. “Oh, Brody, how wonderful. I’m sorry I scolded you. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone rescue me before.”

Her expression was filled with such innocent delight that his indignation began to fade. A wry smile twisted his lips. “I can tell. You don’t carry off the role very well.”

Cass opened the door of Naomi’s dressing room and dashed into the hall with the air of a man in flight. He hurriedly shut the door and leaned back against it with a sigh of relief. “I feel as if I’ve been through a tank attack.”

“How is she?” Brody asked.

“Cursing, swearing vengeance, throwing things,” Cass enumerated. “Shall I go on?”

“No.” Brody turned away. “Suppose you take Louis and Jimmy out to dinner. I need to talk to Sacha.”

“Fine,” Cass said. “If they don’t mind a restaurant with dim lights and soothing music. An old man like me needs to recuperate after facing a shrew like Naomi.”

“Sacha?” Louis gazed at Sacha, waiting.

She nodded. “I’ll see you back at the hotel.” She turned to Jimmy. “Remember what I said. Stay away from her. I’ll take care of it.”

Jimmy nodded and waved, as Cass whisked both Louis and Jimmy toward the boy’s dressing room.

“May we go now?” Brody asked politely.

“Yes, of course.” Sacha linked her left arm through Brody’s and strolled down the hall. “And I do thank you for your rescue. It was truly very—”

“Sweet,” Brody finished for her. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been called sweet before.” He opened the door to his dressing room and motioned for her to precede him. “Nor have I ever attempted to rescue a woman before. It feels exceptionally odd.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderfully good for your character.” Sacha entered the room, plopped down in the beige easy chair by the door and stretched out her jean-clad legs. “This feels good. I think I’m a little tired.”

Brody suddenly found himself laughing helplessly. He closed the door and leaned against it, his face alight with mirth. “Amazing. You’ve just been through a knock-down-and-drag-out fight and you
think
you’re a little tired. You’re damn lucky you weren’t hurt.”

“I’m always lucky,” she said lightly. “Now, get
dressed quickly. You mustn’t catch cold or I’ll feel most guilty.”

“Heaven forbid.” There was a lingering smile on his lips as he took his street clothes from the closet and disappeared into the bathroom.

He dressed quickly in jeans, sweatshirt, and loafers and ran a comb through his damp hair. He opened the bathroom door. “Was that quick enough? I’d hate to give you a guilt tri—”

Sacha’s head was tilted back against the high rise of the chair, her eyes closed and her lips thinned in unmistakable pain. Her lids flew open, and she straightened hurriedly as soon as she heard his voice. She smiled. “That was very quick. You were most accommodating. Now, perhaps—”

“What’s wrong?” Brody asked curtly.

“Nothing. I told you I was tired.” Sacha struggled to her feet. “Let me tidy up a little and then I’ll be ready to go.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Brody crossed the room in three strides. “You’re in some kind of pain. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fine. I just need a little rest.”

“Sacha, answer me,” Brody ordered with dangerous softness. “We’re not leaving here until you do.”

Her gaze met his and she made a face. “You’re being difficult again, Brody.”

“Right.”

“And you’re not going to give up?”

“Right again.”

She sighed. “I didn’t think so.” She held out her
arm. “It’s my right wrist. Guenevere twisted it and—”

She was interrupted by a round of unprintable words as he saw her swollen and bruised forearm. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“It isn’t important. It will be fine once I get back to the hotel and bathe it. It’s probably only a little sprain.”

He took her right hand gently in both of his. “It could be broken,” he said thickly. “Your bones are so damn delicate.”

“No,” she assured him. “I only look delicate. I’m actually very tough.”