“Sounds good to me.”
Inside the house, Anita stormed up the stairs. She should have killed Jasper. Killed him when she’d had the chance, then hired fresh muscle, one with a brain, to track down Malachi. Now she would have to find a way to do it anyway, and before the police found him.
It had to have been Malachi who’d called the cops about the Fates. Who else could it be? But why? Had he been the one who tried to break into Morningside?
She balled her hands into fists as she paced her bedroom. How could some tour captain circumvent that layer of security? He could have hired someone, she supposed. But the man wasn’t rolling in money.
It had to go back to him, all of it. And oh,
oh,
would she make him suffer for it.
She snatched up the phone on the first ring and snarled into the receiver. “What?”
“Rough day, darling?”
She bit back the curses on her tongue and all but cooed. “Well, well. Malachi. Isn’t this a surprise.”
“The first of many. How did you find Athens?”
“I turned left at Italy.”
“Good one. I don’t recall you being quick with a joke, but it’s nice to see you’ve your good humor in place. You’ll need it. Guess what I’m looking at? Lovely silver ladies. A little birdie told me you were working very hard to find them. Looks as if I beat you to it.”
“You want to deal, we’ll deal. Where are you? I’d prefer discussing this face-to-face.”
“I’ll just bet you would. We’ll deal, Anita, indeed we will. I’ll be in touch with you about the when and where, but I want to give you time to recover from the shock.”
“You don’t shock me.”
“Why don’t you go see how your own little silver lady fared while you were turning left at Italy? And stick around the house, won’t you? I’ll ring you back in thirty minutes. You should be conscious again by then.”
When the phone clicked in her ear, she slammed the receiver down. He wasn’t going to shake her. So, he had two to her one, but that was all right. All he’d done was save her the trouble of getting them through customs and smuggling them back to New York herself.
She glanced toward the closet and, unable to resist, walked over and inside. Her fingers trembled with fury as she opened the panel, opened the safe.
Cleo was right. At that distance and that angle, they could just hear the scream.
Twenty-nine
OW that she was naked, facedown on the floor and trying to get her breath back, Cleo figured letting Gideon have at her had been worth the rug burn. In spades.
And since she’d had at him right back, she didn’t think she’d hear any complaints from him either.
They had, she thought, a really fine rhythm going between them. The kind she could dance to endlessly.
“Doing okay there?” he asked her.
“I think some of my brains might have leaked out my ears, but I’ve got more. How about you?”
“Well, I can’t see yet, but I’m hopeful the blindness is temporary. Still, ending up blind and brain-damaged doesn’t seem like such a high price to pay.”
“You sure are a cutie, Slick.”
“At such a time, a man prefers being called a tiger or some other sort of wild beast rather than a cutie.”
“Okay. You’re a regular mastodon.”
“That’ll have to do. We should get up, put ourselves back together.”
“Yeah. We should.”
And they lay as they were, a tangled and sweaty heap with clothes scattered around them.
“I heard, through the grapevine, that you’re thinking of opening a club or a school or some such.”
She managed to move one shoulder in what passed for a shrug. “I’m thinking about it.”
“So, you’re not set on going back to dancing, spinning around on Broadway and that sort of thing.”
“I never did a hell of a lot of spinning on Broadway anyway.”
“I think you’re a wonderful dancer.”
“I’m not bad.” She turned her head, rested her cheek on the rug. “But you’ve got to know when to move on or you end up a blown-out gypsy being bounced from audition to audition.”
“So, you’re more in mind to stay put.”
“You could say.”
He trailed his finger up her spine, down again. She had such a lovely, long back. “You know, they have clubs and dance schools in Ireland.”
“No kidding? And here I thought all they had were shamrocks and little green fairies.”
“You forgot the beer.”
She ran her tongue around her teeth. “Could use one right now.”
“I’ll get us both one, when I can feel my legs again. Cobh’s not so big and crowded as New York . . .” Thank the lord. “But it’s a good-sized village, and we get lots of tourists. It’s not such a ways from Cork City, if there’s a need for the urban sort of crowds and traffic. We’re very big on dancing in Ireland, whether it’s the doing it or the learning it. You know, a dancer’s a kind of artist, and we hold our artists as national treasures.”
“Is that so?” She could feel her heart begin to thud, but stayed very still. “Maybe I should check it out.”
“I think you should.” His hand began to rub light, lazy circles on her butt. “So, do you want to get married?”
She closed her eyes a moment, let the honey of it—warm and sweet—slide through her. Then she turned her head, looked him in the eye. “Sure.”
Their grins spread, and, laughing, they reached for each other just as the front door opened.
“Oh, Mother of God! My eyes.” Malachi slammed his shut, covered Tia’s with his hand. “Is it so hard to find the bed in this place?”
“We were in a hurry.” Gideon grabbed for jeans and had them nearly to his knees before he realized they were Cleo’s. “Just hold on.”
Cackling with laughter now, Cleo tossed Gideon his pants, then snagged his shirt for herself. “It’s okay. We’re getting married.”
“Married?” Tia shoved Malachi’s hand aside and, caught up in the thrill, rushed over to hug Cleo. “This is wonderful. It’s just wonderful. Oh, oh, you can have a double wedding! You and Gideon and Rebecca and Jack. A double wedding. Wouldn’t that be fabulous?”
“It’s a thought.” Cleo peeked around Tia at Malachi, who was staring hard at the ceiling. “Aren’t you going to congratulate me, welcome me to the bosom of the Sullivans and all that jazz?”
“This isn’t the time to mention bosoms. Put some clothes on. I can’t come over there when you’re naked.”
“I’m only mostly naked.” With Gideon’s shirt skimming her thighs, Cleo got up, walked to him. “Is this cool with you? Mister Head of the Family?”
He looked down and, relieved the shirt was buttoned, took her face in his hands, kissed both her cheeks. “I couldn’t have chosen better for him myself. Now I’m begging you, put some pants on.”
“Thanks, and I will. I really need to talk to Tia a minute.”
“We’ve got a lot to tell you about Anita, and what’s about to happen.”
“Just five minutes,” she whispered. “Please. Take Slick up on the roof for a smoke, a man-to-man or something.”
“Five minutes,” he agreed. “It’s all in the timing now.” He signaled his brother. “Up on the roof.”
“I need my shirt.”
“Well, you’re not having the one she’s wearing and sending me into another heart attack. Your jacket’s good enough.”
Obliging, Gideon pulled his jacket over his bare chest. “I haven’t kissed her yet.” So he did, warmly enough to have Malachi looking at the ceiling again. “I’ll be back.”
“I’m counting on it.” When the door shut behind them, Cleo sighed. “Wow, who’d’ve thought?” She walked back to Tia, dropped down on the floor. “Have a seat.”
Curious, Tia sat on the rug facing her. “Is anything wrong?”
“No. Definitely not. Don’t cry, okay, because I’ll get all choked up. I just want to say . . . Okay, I’m going to get choked up anyway. So . . .” She took a deep, cleansing breath. “I’ve been thinking about stuff. Takes some longer than you to get down there. You’re the brainy one.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Sure you are. Tia, you’re like, deep.”
“I am?”
“You get stuff. You see the connections and the layers and, hell, all that neat shit. That’s part of what I was thinking about. If it wasn’t for the Fates, you and me, we wouldn’t be sitting here on the floor together right now. We didn’t exactly circle the same wheel. Anyway, I think about what happened to Mikey, and that’s hard. Part of me feels lousy because I’m so fucking happy. I know that’s stupid,” she said even before Tia could speak. “I’m working on it. Anyway, it’s like the things I’ve heard you say. Threads, and what is it, lots?”
“The apportioning of lots. Lachesis.”
“Yeah, that one was mine. I never figured this would be my lot, you know? Having a friend like you, having somebody like Gideon love me. And the rest of them. Like a family. I never figured that kind of thing was in the cards for me. I’m not going to screw it up.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“I’ve screwed up plenty before. I guess I could figure I was meant to. It’s weird thinking that I swiped a pair of Levi’s when I was sixteen, or tanked a history test so I could get here, mostly naked on your living room rug, sniveling because there’s this great man up on the roof who loves me.”
She shoved her hair behind her shoulders, swallowed back the tears. “I guess I’d better get my pants on before Malachi comes back in and goes ballistic.”
She reached for her jeans, stopped. “There is one more thing. I was wondering if you’d stand up for me. Like the maid-of-honor deal when we get married.”
“Oh, Cleo.” Tia threw her arms around her, hugged tight. And blubbered. “I’d love to. I’m so happy. I’m so happy for you.”
“Jeez.” Sniffling, Cleo hugged back. “I feel like such a girl.”
AT PRECISELY SEVEN-thirty, Anita walked into Jean Georges. Though she had dressed with meticulous care, and in Valentino, she didn’t bother with the ploy of keeping her date waiting.
She turned toward the bar, noted that Jasper was in place. And enjoyed the idea of this being Malachi Sullivan’s last meal.
The bastard thought he had her by the throat, ordering her to meet him in this upscale and very public restaurant so that he could lay out the terms of the deal. She’d play him through to coffee and dessert, then he was going to find out who held the cards.
She was greeted by name and shown to the window table where Malachi was already waiting. He was wise, she noted, to sit with his back to the wall. Not that it would help him.
He got to his feet, took her hand and brought it to within an inch of his lips. “Anita. You look very well . . . for a hissing viper.”
“And you clean up decently for a second-rate tour guide with delusions of grandeur.”
“Well, now that the pleasantries are over.” He took his seat, gestured so that the waiter poured the champagne waiting on ice. “It seems appropriate that we have this meeting in pleasant surroundings. No need for business dealings to be uncomfortable, after all.”
“You didn’t bring your little tart.”
He sampled the wine, approved it. “Which little tart would that be?”
“Cleo Toliver. I’m surprised at you. I credited you with more taste than that. She’s nothing but a professional slut.”
“Don’t be jealous, darling. In the slut department, she can’t hold a candle to you.”
The waiter cleared his throat and continued to pretend he’d been born deaf. “Would you care to hear about this evening’s specials?”
“Absolutely.” Malachi leaned back. He listened and, before the waiter could slip away to give them time to consider, ordered grandly for both of them.
“You take a great deal for granted,” Anita said coldly, when they were alone again.
“True enough.”
“You broke into my house.”
“Someone broke into your house?” He feigned surprise. “Well then, call the garda. I should say, police. And what, I wonder, would you tell them was taken?”
While she steamed, he reached down and lifted an attaché case. “I thought you might like to see all the pretty silver ladies in a row.” He handed her a large color printout of a digital photo his sister had taken only hours before. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”
Rage wanted to choke her. Greed trembled straight down to her fingertips. “What do you want?”
“Oh, a great many things. A long, healthy life; a fine, faithful dog. And an embarrassing amount of money. But we don’t want to discuss that on an empty stomach. I’ve individual photos, as well, for you to study. I want you to rest assured you’ll get what you pay for.”
She studied each photo, and at every new angle she increased the pain level she’d make him suffer before she killed him. She laid the photographs in her lap when their appetizers were served. “How did you get into my house? Into my personal safe?”
“You’re giving a lot of credit to a—what was it?—second-rate tour guide. And I must take exception to that estimation, Anita, as you’ve yet to take a Sullivan tour. We’re quite justifiably proud of our little family business.”
Anita speared a sautéed mushroom. “Maybe I should have gone after your mother.”
Though his blood ran cold, Malachi kept his calm. “She’d fry you up for breakfast, and serve the leftovers to the neighbor’s cat. But let’s not get personal. You were asking me a question. You want to know how it happened I recovered what it was you stole from me.”
“I don’t believe you called the police either.”
“I made it easy for you, no mistake there. Foolish of me, believing you to be a reputable businesswoman and handing the Fate over to you for, yes, testing and appraisal, it was. Lessons learned.” He sampled a bite of crab meat. “You judged that one correctly. How could I go to the authorities accusing the respected owner of the renowned Morningside Antiquities of stealing from a client? And stealing what, by all accounts, was at the bottom of the Atlantic?