Authors: Nora Roberts
Nothing much had changed, she realized. Her car was still there, the building still stood. A couple of kids who didn't mind getting wet were tossing a Frisbee in the side yard, as if it was an ordinary day in ordinary lives.
"Wait for me to come around." She dragged up her purse from the floor, found her keys. Of course, he didn't listen, and was standing on the sidewalk when she came around the hood. "You can lean on me," she murmured, sliding an arm around his waist. "Just lean on me, Jack."
"It should be all right to be here," he decided. "At least for a little while.
We may have to move again soon." He realized he was limping, favor ing an ache in his right leg that he hadn't noticed before.
Her heart had stopped stuttering and was numb. "We'll just get you cleaned up."
"Yeah. I could use a beer."
"I'll get you one,' she promised as she led him inside. Though she habitually took the stairs, she steered him to the elevator. "Let's just get you inside."
And then to a hospital, she thought. She had to see how bad it was first. Once she'd done what she could, she was dumping it all and going official. Cops, doctors, FBI, whatever it took.
She sent up a small prayer of thanksgiving when she saw that the corridor was empty. No nosy neighbors, she thought, ignoring the police tape and unlocking her door. No awkward questions.
She kicked a broken lamp out of her way, walked him around the overturned couch and into the bath. "Sit," she ordered, and flicked on the lights. "Let's have a look." And her trembling hands belied her steady voice as she gently lifted his bloody shirt over his head.
"God, Jack, that guy beat the hell out of you."
"I left him with his face in the dirt and his hands cuffed behind his back."
"Yeah." She made herself look away from the blooming purple bruises over his torso and wet a cloth. "Have you been shot before?"
"Once, in Abilene. Caught me in the leg. Slowed me down awhile."
Ridiculous as it was, it helped that this wasn't the first time. She pressed the cloth to his side, low along the ribs. Her eyes stung with hot tears that she wouldn't shed. "I know it hurts."
"You were going to get me a beer." Didn't she look pretty, he thought, playing nurse, with her cheeks pale, her eyes dark, and her hands cool as silk.
"In a minute. Just be still now." She knelt beside him, steeling herself for the worst. Then sat back on her heels and hissed. "Damn it, Jack, it's only a scratch."
He grinned at her, feeling every bump and bruise as if in a personal carnival of pain. "That's supposed to be my line."
"I was ready for some big gaping hole in your side. It just grazed you."
He looked down, considered. "Bled pretty good, though." He took the cloth himself, pressed it against the long, shallow wound. "About that beer…"
"I'll get you a beer. I ought to hit you over the head with it."
"We'll talk about who conks who after I eat a bottle of aspirin." He got up, wincing, and pawed through the mirrored cabinet over the sink. "Maybe you could get me a shirt out of the car, sugar. I don't think I'm going to be wearing the other one again."
"You scared me." Anger, tears and desperate relief brewed a messy stew in her stomach. "Do you have any idea how much you scared me?"
He found the aspirin, closed the cabinet and met her eyes in the mirror. "I've got an idea, seeing how I felt when I saw you trying to draw that puss-for-brain's fire. You promised to head for the mall."
"Well, I didn't. Sue me." Out of patience, she shoved him down again, ignoring his muffled yelp of pain. "Oh, be quiet and let me finish up here. I must have some antiseptic here somewhere."
"Maybe just a leather strap to bite on while you pour salt in my wounds."
"Don't tempt me." She dampened another cloth, then knelt down and began to clean his face. "You've got a black eye blooming, your lip's swollen, and you've got a nice big knot right here." He yelped again when she pressed the cloth to his temple. "Baby."
"If you're going to play Nurse Nancy, at least give me some anesthesia first."
Since she didn't seem inclined to give him any water, he swallowed the aspirin dry.
He continued to complain as she swabbed him with antiseptic, slapped on bandages. Out of patience, she pressed her lips to his, which caused him equal amounts of pain and pleasure. "Are you going to kiss everywhere it hurts?" he asked.
"You should be so lucky." Then she laid her head in his lap and let out a long, long sigh. "I don't care how mad you are. I didn't know what else to do. He was coming. He'd have had you. I only knew I had to draw him away from you."
He weakened, stroked her hair. "Okay, we'll get into all that later." He noticed for the first time the raw skin on her elbow. "Hey, you've got a few scrapes yourself."
"Burns some," she murmured.
"Aw. Come on, sugar, I'll be the doctor." He reversed their positions, grinned.
"This may sting a little."
"You'd love that, wouldn't—Ouch! Damn it, Jack."
"Baby." But he kissed the abraded skin, then bandaged it gently. "You ever scare me like that again, and I'll keep you cuffed to the bed for a month."
"Promises, promises." She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around him. "They're dead, aren't they? They couldn't have lived through that."
"Chances are slim. I'm sorry, M.J., I never got anything out of them. Not a clue."
"We never got anything out of them," she corrected. "And we did our best." She struggled to bury the worry, straighten her shoulders. "There's still the creeps," she began, then went pale again, remembering. Odds were at least one of the Salvini brothers was dead.
But it hadn't been Bailey in there, she reminded herself, and took two deep breaths. "Well, at least now I can get myself some fresh clothes and some cash.
And I'm calling into the pub." This was a dare. "I'll wait until we're ready to head out again, but I'm checking in, letting them know I'm okay, giving them the schedule for the rest of the week."
"Fine, be a businesswoman." He stood up, held her still. "We'll find your friends, M.J. I promise you that. And as much as it goes against the grain, it's time to call in the cops."
She let out a wavering sigh of relief. "Yeah. Three days of this is enough."
"There'll be a lot of questions."
"Then we'll give them the answers."
"I should tell you that a man in my line of work isn't real popular with straight cops. I've got a couple of contacts, but when you start moving up the ranks, the tolerance level shoots way down."
"We'll handle it. Should we call from here, or just go in?"
"Here. Cop shops make me itchy."
"I'm not giving them the stone." She planted her feet, prepared for an argument.
"It's Bailey's—or it's her decision. I'm not turning it over to anyone but her."
"Okay," he said easily, and made her blink. "We'll work around it. She and Grace come first, with both of us now."
Her smile spread. And the jangling ring made them both jolt. "What?" She stared down at her purse as if it had suddenly come alive and snapped at her. "It's my phone. My phone's ringing."
He touched a hand to his pocket, reassured when he felt the gun. "Answer it."
Barely breathing, she dug into the purse she'd dropped on the floor, hit the switch. "O'Leary." The tears simply rushed into her eyes as she sank down on the floor. "Bailey. Oh, my God, Bailey. Are you all right? Where are you? Are you hurt? What—What? Yes, yes, I'm fine. In my apartment, but where—"
Her hand reached up, gripped Jack's. "Bailey, stop asking me that and tell me where the hell you are. Yeah, I've got it. We'll be there in ten minutes. Stay."
She clicked off. "I'm sorry," she told Jack. "I've got to." Then burst into tears. "She's all right," she managed as he rolled his eyes and picked her up.
"She's okay."
It was a quiet, established neighborhood with lovely old trees. M.J. gripped her hands together on her lap and scanned house numbers. "Twenty-two, twenty-four, twenty-six. There! That one." Even as Jack turned into the driveway of a tidy Federal-style home, she was reaching for the door handle. He merely hooked a hand in the waist of her jeans and hauled her back.
"Hold on, wait until I stop."
Even as he did, he saw the woman, a pretty blonde of fragile build, come racing out of the front door and across the wet grass. M.J. shoved herself out of the car and streaked into her arms.
It made a nice picture, Jack decided as he climbed out, gingerly. The two of them standing in the watery sunlight, holding on as if they could swallow each other whole. They swayed together on the lush grass, weeping, talking over each other and just clinging.
And as touching and attractive a scene as it was, there was nothing he wanted to avoid more than two sobbing women. He spotted the man standing just outside the door, noted the smile in his eyes, the fresh bandage on his arm. Without hesitation, Jack gave the women a wide berth and headed for the front door.
"Cade Parris."
Jack took the extended hand, measured his man. About six-two, trim, brown hair, eyes of a dreamier green than M.J.'s. A strong grip that Jack felt balanced out the glossy good looks.
"Jack Dakota."
Cade scanned the bruises, shook his head. "You look like a man who could use a drink."
Despite his sore mouth, Jack's lips spread in a grateful smile. "Brother, you just became my best friend."
"Come on in," Cade invited, with a last glance toward M.J. and Bailey. "They'll need some time, and we can fill each other in."
It took a while, but Jack was feeling considerably more relaxed, with his feet propped up on a coffee table, a beer in his hand.
"Amnesia," he murmured. "Must have been tough on her."
"She's had a rough few days. Seeing one slimy excuse for a stepbrother kill her other slimy excuse for a stepbrother, then come for her."
"We dropped in on Salvini's. I saw the results."
Cade nodded. "Then you know how bad it was. If she hadn't gotten away… Well, she did. She still doesn't remember all of it, but she'd already sent one of the diamonds to M.J. and one to Grace. I've been working the case since Friday morning, when she came to my office. You?"
"Saturday afternoon," Jack told him and cooled his throat with beer.
"It's been fast work all around." But Cade frowned as he looked toward the window. "Bailey was scared, confused, but she wanted answers and figured a private investigator could get them for her. We had a major breakthrough today."
Jack lifted a brow, gesturing toward the bandage. "That part of it?"
"The remaining Salvini," Cade said, his eyes level and cold. "He's dead."
Which meant one more dead end, Jack mused. "You figure they set the whole thing up?"
"No. They had a client. I haven't tracked him yet." Cade rose, wandered to the window. M.J. and Bailey were still standing in the yard, talking fast. "Cops are on it too, now. I've got a friend. Mick Marshall."
"Yeah, I know him. He's a rare one. A cop with a brain and a heart."
"That's Mick. Buchanan's over him, though. He doesn't much like P.I.'s."
"Buchanan doesn't much like anybody. But he's good."
"He's going to want to talk to you, and M.J."
The prospect had Jack sighing. "I think I could use another beer."
With a laugh, Cade turned from the window. "I'll get us both another. And you can tell me how you spent your weekend." His eyes roamed over Jack's face. "And how the other guy looks."
"Timothy," M.J. said with surprise. "I never liked him, but I never pictured him as a murderer."
"It was as if he'd lost his mind." Bailey kept her hand linked with M.J.'s, as if afraid her friend would vanish without the connection. "I blanked it all, just shut it out. Everything. Little pieces started to come back, but I couldn't get a grip on them. I wouldn't have made it through without Cade."
"I can't wait to meet him." She looked into Bailey's eyes, and her own narrowed in speculation. "It looks as though he works fast."
"It shows?" Bailey asked, and flushed.
"Like a big neon sign."
"Just days ago," Bailey said, half to herself. "It all happened fast. It doesn't seem like just a few days. It feels as if I've known him forever." Her lips curved, warmed her honey-brown eyes. "He loves me, M.J. Just like that. I know it sounds crazy."
"You'd be surprised what doesn't sound crazy to me these days. He makes you happy?" M.J. tucked Bailey's wave of hair behind her ear. "That's what counts."
"I couldn't remember you. Or Grace." A tear squeezed through as Bailey shut her eyes. "I know it was only a couple of days, but it was so lonely without you.
Then, when I started to remember, it wasn't specifics, more just a feeling. A loss of something important. Then, when I did remember, and we went to your apartment, you were gone. There'd been the break-in, and I couldn't find you.
Everything happened so fast after that. It was only hours ago. Then I remembered that phone you cart around in your purse. I remembered and I called. And there you were."
"It was the best call I ever got."
"The best I ever made." Her lips trembled once. "M.J., I can't find Grace."
"I know." Drawing together, M.J. draped an arm around Bailey's shoulders. "We have to believe she's all right. Jack and I were just up at her country place this morning. She'd been there, Bailey. I could still smell her. And we found each other. We'll find her."
"Yes, we will." They walked toward the house together. "This Jack? Does he make you happy?"
"Yeah. When he's not ticking me off."
With a chuckle, Bailey opened the door. "Then I can't wait to meet him, either."
"I like your friend." Jack stood out on Cade's patio, contemplating after-the-rain in suburbia.
"She likes you, too."
"She's classy. And she's come through a rough time holding her own. Parris seems pretty sharp."
"He helped get her through, so he's aces with me."
"We filled in most of the blanks for each other. He's got a cool head, a quick mind. And he's crazy about your friend."