Pull Of The Moon
Pull Of The Moon
Sylvie Kurtz
Pull of the Moon
Sylvie Kurtz
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#uba744569-2ee3-50ae-af5e-f1d5f0a5348b)
Title Page (#uc14434ec-a529-5016-8981-c15e647d28a5)
About the Author (#u4d97319f-4fe8-5640-938c-5b85cc917ef2)
Prologue (#ulink_b1c3991f-89b2-5919-a838-e41e17dac3ec)
Chapter One (#ulink_310b5385-3775-52d1-b646-b01b53b7e4f0)
Chapter Two (#ulink_875c3a84-167c-525f-a99f-9f5b476dbec5)
Chapter Three (#ulink_3b52986d-cf5f-5a83-8612-f47282141e02)
Chapter Four (#ulink_fbadcf3e-3fa6-57a6-90bc-7f9bcc50f3b9)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Flying an eight-hour solo cross-country in a Piper Arrow with only the areorplanes crackling radio and a large bag of M&Ms for company, Sylvie Kurtz realised a pilots life wasnt for her. The stories zooming in and out of her mind proved more entertaining than the flight itself. Not a quitter, she finished her pilots course and earned her commercial licence and instrument rating.
Since then, she has traded in her wings for a keyboard, where she lets her imagination soar to create fictional adventures that explore the power of love and the thrill of suspense.
You can write to Sylvie at PO Box 702, Milford, NH 03055, USA. And visit her website at www.sylviekurtz. com.
For Chuck for telling me Im wonderful no matter what. For Ann, Joyce and Lorrie for your continuing friendship. I would like to extend a special thank-you to the following people for their help: Jennifer LeDuc Cusato, Marianne Mancusi, Denise Robbins and Jared Shurtliff.
Prologue (#ulink_0aa812d9-0706-561d-bf94-56874454cbd8)
October brought out the ghosts. Not that they werent always there for Rita Meadows, but in October, they crowded her, pressured her, demanded she set them free.
Alone in her big bed, she couldnt sleep. Returning home to Moongate tended to do that to her, especially now that the anniversary was fast approaching. She had to readjust to the mansion, to the eerie weight of the leaden memories its wooden facade held prisoner. This was her first night home since her secret trip to Chicagoone Nicolas wouldnt approve ofand already she wished she could leave again, if only for a little while longer.
Maybe she should just skip October this year, come back in November when the ghosts grip lost its fierceness. After all these years of vigil, her aging bones deserved a rest. She could spend October bobbing on a yacht in the Caribbean or tasting her way through Napa Valley.
Oblivion. That would be nice.
She bolted up at the renegade thought. No, baby, I didnt mean that.
Her fault. Her cross to bear. She hadnt given up hope; she never would. But sometimes, she just wanted the pain to end.
Outside a storm boiled over Mount Monadnock and down into the valley, spilling into Moonhill. Like a brew bubbling over from a witchs pot, rain flooded against the roof and deluged the windowpanes with waterfalls. Wind pounded against the walls, and thunder reverberated through the empty halls. A tomb would feel much like this: cold, dark and empty.
The plague of insomnia had her staring at the ceiling, finding the face of evil in the plaster as a necromancer might in a scrying bowl. One answer to one question. Thats all she wanted. Why was it so hard to find?
The storms fury ebbed, and the faint whimpers of a babys cries imprinted themselves on the air. She slid under the covers as the frightened pitch increased. Closing her eyes, fisting her hands against her ears, did nothing to vanquish the childs terror.
Only one thing would.
Tears coursing down her cheeks, she rose from her bed. As shed done on countless other nights, she crept into the hallway and wound her way toward the third-floor tower room. There she pressed the plunger of the antique iron latch. The door creaked open and the cries instantly ceased.
The cries werent real. They were just a trick of her mind, giving form to her guilt. There were no babies here, dead or otherwiseonly her misguided hope.
Wrapping one arm around her stomach, she stepped into the yellow pool of artificial light burning from the night-light that had made Valentina feel safe. An expectant hush weighted the room as if the walls were listening for the missing four-year-olds return.
Nothing had changed in this room. For twenty-five years the tic-tac-toe play rug, the childs bed with its princess-pink canopy, the pile of stuffed animals on the butterfly-stenciled storage chest had remained as they were on the day Valentina had disappeared.
The static landscape her daughter had left behind stared back, ripe with accusation, and a lightning jag of pain, raw and deep, clawed at Ritas heart. Im so sorry, baby, so sorry.
If she could do it all over againBut no, there was no rewinding time.
As Rita turned to leave, a gray shape formed along her peripheral vision.
A sigh, no more than an exhale, seemed to sough against her ear. Mama.
Breath held, Rita stopped and pressed a hand to her thundering heart. Valentina?
The hope, so sharp in her voice, cut through the thick fog of memories. Of course not. What had the doctor called it? Projection? The disappointment of reality resettled heavily on her shoulders.
No, Rita. Its me, Holly.
Rita swiveled toward the doorway where her faithful friend and housekeeper stood, her long gray braid a beacon in the night.
I thought I heard Ritas hand fluttered like a surrender flag toward the window. I thought Valentina washome.
Hollys solid arm wrapped around Ritas waist, supporting her, and gently led her away from the center of her agony.
You must think me a fool.
No, of course not, Rita. It was just the storm. Let me walk you back to your room.
Im okay. Shoulders stooped, Rita shook off Hollys helping hands and made her way back into her bedroom alone, fading into the shadows of the housejust another ghost.
Chapter One (#ulink_1cfeeecb-a7af-5905-83fa-142575104fca)
Pewter shrouded the October afternoon as Valerie Zea and Mike Murakitaher photog and soundman for the shootmade their way to Moonhill, New Hampshire. Here and there a red maple leaf or a yellow beech leaf, still clinging stubbornly to a limb, flickered like a tongue of fire.
Valerie had seen photos of the White Mountains blazing with fall color, of the misty lakes like milky beads of moonstone wreathing the endless vistas from high atop the mountains, of the bellowing moose that required warnings to motorists every few miles on the highway. And shed wanted to see all that rugged beauty, so different from the lush flatness of Central Florida she was accustomed to.
Shed been disappointed enough when shed read that the Old Man of the Mountaina nature-made Indian head of stacked boulders perched precariously on the side of a mountain for centurieshad fallen a few years ago and no longer watched over Franconia Notch. Just the nameFranconia Notchconjured up a grand and magnificent picture. Not that they were anywhere near the White Mountains, since Moonhill was located in the southern part of the state. But the fog was cheating her out of her anticipated sense-stunning experience.
She compared the MapQuest directions shed gotten online against the road signs popping up out of the low clouds on the narrow road. Turn here.
Mike jerked the car onto the country lane. A little more warning next time.
Aye, aye, captain.
On the right side, a low stone wall framed a cemetery whose granite headstones and statuary poked out of the mist. Not quite on the scale of a mountaintop view, but filled with mystery, suspense and intrigue.
On the left, a Stick-style Victorian with a wraparound porch glared through the murk like some sort of movie set haunted house. Orange fairy lights dripped from the eaves. Giant glow-in-the-dark spiders and webs clung to the decorative trusses. A life-size mummy with arms out-stretched seemed poised to lumber out of the six-foot tall black coffin leaning against the oak by the front walk. On the lawn, strobes blasted on and off at intervals, lighting up red-eyed bats, moaning zombies and shrieking gar-goyles. There were enough special effects there to make a Hollywood techie jealous.
Talk about overkill, she said. The overblown drama of the scene would make an interesting segment of its own, though, especially if she could find a Florida angle to it. Maybe the owners parents were part of the snowbirds that flocked to the Sunshine State every winter. She made a mental note to look into the possibilities before she pitched the idea to Higgins, her executive producer. Hed appreciate maximizing the bang for his travel-expense buck.
She peered at the web-encrusted mailbox by the entrance for the address. Weve got a way to go yet.
Mike warbled his voice to make it sound spooky, but it came out sounding more like the Count on Sesame Street. Maybe its the local haunted house for Halloween. He shot her a mischievous grin. At thirty, he still looked like a kid with his boyish face that couldnt grow a beard, except for a sparse tuft on his chin that looked like a smudge of dirt. Want some B-roll of that for your segment?
Yeah, Higgins would go for that. Hes already ticked off Kristas doctor wouldnt let her fly, and he had to send second-choice me to do the job. The assignment was high priority since it had come down as a special order from Edmund Meadows, the stations owner. Hed requested a package about the kidnapping of his great-niece twenty-five years ago in hopes of stirring up some new evidence that could lead to finding the missing girl.
On the plus side. He put you above Bailey.
Bailey-the-Beautiful who had Higgins wrapped around her long legs. Valerie snorted. There was too much at stake for Higgins to risk needing to mop up after Bailey. Efficiency won out over looks.
Either that or he couldnt give her up for four whole nights.
There is that.
High on Windemere Drive, Moongate Mansion materialized out of the shifting mist. First the six-foot granite wall and the black iron gate, canted open, daring intruders to trespass. Then the estate itself, a gray nineteenth-century Victorian with an eclectic mix of Italianate and Queen Anne. Each generation of Meadowses, seeking no doubt to stamp their mark, had added to the original two-story, four-room house until it sprawled over 13,000 square feet, looking like some sort of Frankenstein creature.
Valerie couldnt imagine living in such a dreary place, especially with its constant bruise of painful memories. But she also understood why Rita Meadows stayed. For Valentina. If she came back, her home would be there, waiting for her, lights shining bright, and her mother would be there, too, arms open wide.
Valerie swiped surreptitiously at the moistness in her eyes. Her mother called Valeries tendency toward the melodramatic maudlin. But what could she say, she liked happy endings. There were so few of them in real life.
Mike crunched the rental up the gravel drive. She rolled the window down for a better look at the house. The scent of decomposing leaves and wood smoke infiltrated the car. Dark trees on each side of the lane swayed and whispered as if in warning. Ahead light gleamed from what seemed like a hundred windows, brightening the gloom of the day with their glow. But even that wasnt enough to dispel the aura of decay that clung to the houses wooden boards like ivy.
Her blood quickened as the voice-over wrote itself in her head. Cohost Dan Milleges deep bass vibrated with gravity in her brain, hitting just the right emotional tone for the introduction to a twenty-five-year-old kidnapping. She ripped out her portfolio and scratched furious notes to capture the inspiration before it vanished. Cant you just feel the mystery in the air? We have to get the fog on tape before it lifts.
Off to the side of the house, Mike shoved the rental into Park. Dont you ever look at anything without seeing it from a story angle?
Valerie shrugged. The story was everything. She couldnt explain it to Mikeor to her motherbut some inner force drove her to ferret information, any information, about everything. Her mother called it a disease and, although Valerie preferred to label her flaw as curiosity, she couldnt quite disagree. She couldnt remember a time when she wasnt looking for something, anything, to fill the hollowness in her soul.
We give you everything, Valerie. Isnt that enough?
It should be, and that it wasnt, truly pained her.
This curiosity had landed her the job as coordinating producer for Florida Alive, a half-hour magazine format program that aired Monday through Friday at seven, right after the nightly news, and showcased people, places and things of interest in the state.
So, okay, Florida Alive was considered soft news and didnt exactly hit life-altering issues. That didnt mean she couldnt find the deeper meaning in a sand sculpture competition or the creation of pastry masterpieces or the raising of camels. What fired up other people, what gave their lives purpose, what made them feel alive fascinated her. Passion fascinated her. And traveling all over the state to see new places and meet all sorts of different people was an amazing bonus for a girl with wanderlust who hadnt traveled more than fifty miles from home until after graduating from college.
Mike peered at the massive house, no doubt gauging shot angles. So, you think shes dead?
Valeries gaze climbed up the polygonal tower, and a shiver rippled down her spine. Crazy, but the childs frantic cries seemed to vibrate against Valeries chest and the childs panic to shudder down Valeries limbs, making her hands cold and clammy.
She reached for the French vanilla coffee shed bought at the Dunkin Donuts a few towns back and warmed her hands against the paper cup. With a fervor that rocked her, she wanted that baby to be safe somewhere. Who took a child from her own bedroom? Who could purposely cause such grief? And why?
Valerie swallowed and ripped her gaze back to Mike. After twenty-five years
Its kind of sad to think of this lady pining away for her dead kid for so long.
But what else could a mother do? Without proof of death, she couldnt give up. As much as Valerie and her mother didnt see eye-to-eye on practically anything, her mother would search the ends of the earth to find her, and Valerie would do the same for her mother. Recalling their argument that morning, Valerie winced and made a mental note to call once she got back to the inn and apologize. Thats why we have to do the best job we can with the story.
Mike slanted her a knowing grin. You just want Kristas job when she goes off on maternity leave.
Valerie had eyed the news producers job ever since Krista had announced her pregnancy. It was a stepping-stone to producing harder-hitting stories, one Valerie had to cross if she ever wanted to get to New York. So what if I do?
Mike cranked off the engine and shot his hands up. Hey, Im just saying, word is, youve got competition for the spot.
Bailey-the-Beautiful. Sure and steady wins the race.
Only in fables, babe.
Dont call me babe.
Racking up a mental to-do list, Valerie juggled her cell phone, purse, portfolio of notes and cup of coffee. Ill introduce myself to Ms. Meadows and set up a time to look through her archives tomorrow. Ill see if I can find more potential witnesses. I have that prison interview set up for Thursday. Then we can shoot Ms. Meadowss interview on Friday. Which would mean spending the whole weekend editing to get the package ready to air next week. No wonder she didnt have a social life. That wouldnt be so bad, except for the coming-home-to-only-a-dog part. You can get started on the exteriors. Can you get a tracking shot coming up the drive? Low angle so the house seems to pop out of the fog? Maybe a Dutch angle to make it look spooky?
No problem.
Mike had a great eye. She could count on him getting her the shots she needed. She pointed at the third-floor room of the turret. Thats where she disappeared from. Make sure you get some shots from all angles. And this living room window, too. Thats where the party was held. I want the window to look as if its glowing so the viewer can imagine the party in full swing.
Got it. Mike got out of the car. Keep it short, will ya? I havent eaten anything all day, except for those stale airline pretzels.
Valerie nodded distractedly. Shed add festive sounds during editing for the full effect. Sipping on her coffee, she stared at the window. What was it like to realize that while you were entertaining guests someone had sneaked upstairs and stolen your only child while she slept? Her heart tripped on a beat. The guilt had to crush poor Rita Meadows.
Mike was sorting through his gear in the trunk of the rental by the time she reached the solid-oak front door. She was about to ring the antique bell when the door blew open and the hard body of a man, carrying a briefcase and an air of hurry nearly crashed into her.
Who are you? What do you want? The timbre of his voice was deep and vibrant, echoing in the cavern of the foyer behind him. Costumed in a thousand-dollar suit and a hundred-dollar haircut, he exuded the righteous bearing and win-at-all-costs menace of a corporate sharpshooter. At the sight of those eyes, so dark and primal, a flash of awakening skittered through her brain and a choked jolt of something more acute than simple recognition made her catch her breath.
Nicolas Galloway. The man Rita Meadows had hired to run her fathers investment firm after Wallace Meadowss death.
And, wow, Nick-the-Pit-Bull certainly lived up to his reputation as a rabid guardian. Voted most eligible, yet most elusive bachelor of New England by Boston Magazine. Smooth, charming and appealing. And definitely effective, if his investment track record was true. Although why anyone would want to pursue a man who ran his love life like an investment was beyond her understanding.
Somewhere over Virginia, shed decided that he was going to be a problem. Meeting him did nothing to change her mind. But she could put personal prejudices aside. She pinned on a smile, freed one hand and stuck it out. Hi, Im Val
He fired a poison eye-dart at her. Good God, dont tell me youre one of them
Im
How did you get past the security?
The gate was
I dont have time for this today. Go away and dont bother coming back. We wont even talk to you unless you agree to a DNA test, and youll need to contact our lawyers office for that.
He tried to bulldoze his way past her, posture straight, a relentless quality on a face with an unsmiling mouth and a strong bone structure. Armored with her portfolio, purse and cup of coffee, she stepped in front of him, blocking his path. She may look small enough to squash, but he wasnt going to step all over her that easily.
Their eyes connected like lightning, and Valerie had a sense of space rushing dizzily. Wow, those eyes. Beneath the power, they bore a scar of pain. And sadness. How could that be when his bio spelled out an idyllic childhood?
Get real, Valerie. She shook her head. Figuring out what made Nicolas Galloway tick wasnt on her busy agenda.
Im Valerie Zea, like sea. Her namelike her lifeseemed an abbreviation of something bigger. Im the coordinating producer for WMOD-TV in Orlando, Florida. Ms. Meadows is expecting me.
What for? His icy calm chilled the already cool air and made her wish shed put on more layers under her blazer.
Stay professional. You were invited. You have the right to be here. Were producing two segments on her daughters kidnapping twenty-five years ago.
Without a word, he pulled her inside.
Hey, let go of me!
He slammed the door shut behind them. Panes in the narrow windows framing the door reverberated in their casings. Light glazed the walls of the foyer with false warmth, clouding details, reviving that dizzy feeling. For a moment, her system went haywire at the thought of being caged with him inside this house. Reaching for the closest solid thing, she steadied herself on the firm bicep of her captor, then recoiled with pinball speed at the thought of seeking safety there.
She yanked her arm to free her elbow from the hand hed clamped around it and frowned at him when he didnt immediately let go. Id say a refresher course is in order.
Pardon me?
Manners. Last time your style was in, men wore mammoth skins and carried clubs.
He jerked her arm down as if to plant her in place and gave a sharp growl. Stay here and dont move.
Movements tight and controlled, he spun on his heel and headed into the bowels of the house.
Sure thing, Mr. Galloway. Ill be right here when you come back to apologize.
NICK FOUGHT HIS TEMPER all the way to Ritas sitting room on the second floor. He hated that the mere sight of the intruder had saturated him with a sense of fullness the way food, water and air never could, just because she looked like Valentina would, and part of him was still searching for his childhood friend.
A mask. A fraud. Just another scam artist out to separate Rita from her fortune. How could his brain let itself get fooled so easily?
Valentina was dead.
The womans pale blue eyes had met his straight and clear, dancing with eager life and a streak of stubborn resistance. Shed done her homework, all right. Hair the color of moonlight. Natural, not bottle-bought like so many others. Hed noted things about her he hadnt wanted to noticelike the gingery smell of her skin, like the crescent scar at her temple, like the heat of certainty that she belonged in this house.
He liked even less the twitch in his chest that had been much too close to panic. Just the thought of her now shocked him all over again.
Valentina. When would she stop haunting him?
And pseudo-Valentinas, would they ever stop showing up on Moongates doorstep preying on Ritas hopes?
He hung on to his control long enough to stop and knock on Ritas door rather than barrel right through.
Rita looked up, a flush creeping over her too-pale skin, like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Her hands folded over the age-progressed image of Valentina that had arrived in that mornings mail. His heart sank. Why did she insist on torturing herself like this every October?
Did you forget something, Nicolas? Though still regal in bearing, she seemed to have shrunk in the past few years, as if the burden of hope was finally getting too much to bear. He wanted to ease her pain, but she wouldnt buy any of his proofsthe blood, the DNA, even the conviction.
Hand still on the brass doorknob, he squeezed it with all his might to keep his irritation out of his voice. Theres a woman downstairs who claims youre expecting her.
From Edmunds television station?
He nodded.
Yes, shes the coordinating producer wholl help me air Valentinas story. Ritas spine straightened and her chin jutted out as if she were readying for a fight. That wasnt how he wanted things to stand between them.
How could Edmund Meadows have let his niece talk him into this folly? I wish youd talked to me.
Why? So you could tell me I was a doddering old fool?
Shell hurt you. Like all the others. Nick had gotten good at sniffing out frauds. He knew this womans type. The kick in the gut hed gotten when hed seen her outside determined to get in only proved she was nothing more than another opportunist.
He jerked his chin at the photo beneath Ritas hand. Shed be embarrassed if he told her he knew about her nightly supplications with God in the tower room. But if he told her, then hed have to admit his own guilt, and he couldnt bear the look of disappointment in her eyes. She looks just like the picture.
Ritas gaze went wide and a little desperate. Her hands flattened over the photo, covering it completely. She works for the station.
This pretenders good. Ill give her that. Patient and resourceful. Hitting just the right notes to instantly win Ritas confidence. The worst kind of con artist. He should know; that same blood ran through his veins. She couldve been using her job to dig deeper into your past.
Youre reaching, Nicolas. Rita searched through the Notes section of her red leather agenda and tapped a paragraph on the page. Valerie Zea has worked at WMOD for six-and-a-half years. She started as an intern right after college and has moved up to coordinating producer. She took a year off after her father died, but came back. Last year she won an Emmy for a segment she produced on a private investigator who specializes in missing children. Simon Higgins, the executive producer, tells me shes the best person for the job.
Was Higgins in on this farce? What would he gain by it? Time to run some background checks and stop this before the situation got out of control. Im trying to protect you from another fraud.
I understand. Rita glanced at her notes. Shes requested access to the archives for research, and Ive agreed to let her sort through my collection.
A growl formed at the base of Nicks throat, but he swallowed it back. Youre inviting trouble, and you hired me to keep you out of trouble.
You do your job well, Nicolas. This time, though, youre wrong.
Rita
Rita closed her agenda with a snap. Shell want to interview you and Holly, as well.
Something in Nick froze. No, thats not going to happen. Im not going to put my mother through public humiliation again.
Ritas lips quivered into a tremulous smile. Its the twenty-fifth anniversary. I have to do something. Someone knows where my baby is. I just want to bring her home.
And like that, a mountain of shame swamped him. Rita had exhausted every possible avenue to find Valentinathe police, private detectives, offering exorbitant rewards for information and promising no questions asked if only her daughter was returned. Shed followed every lead, no matter how thin. Once, on another anniversary, shed even admitted shed take a body just to know for sure what had happened to her precious daughter.
Rita, he started, but had no idea what to say to ease her grief and make her see that her desperation would only add to her pain.
Her pale blue eyes turned to him. I know you think Im a fool, but I dont care. I know Valentina is alive. She banged her chest with a fist. I can feel her in my heart.
How could he argue with that? Which didnt mean he had to set her free with the wolves. Okay, but Im not leaving you alone with her.
Rita stood, tucked her agenda against her chest, blood-red against her ice-blue blouse. Dont you have a meeting with Emma Hanley and Carter Stokke about the Valentina Pond project?
Another scam as far as he was concerned, but Ritas friend, Emma, had made a killing on Phase One, and Rita thought that, if she got in on Phase Two, it would add value to the acreage she owned on the back side of the pond. So hed run the numbers for her and give her the black-and-white proof of his initial gut feeling. Itll wait. Youre more important.
She rounded her desk and squeezed him into a quick hug. Thank you, Nicolas, for indulging me.
Stepping back, he nodded. She was no more than a small and fragile bird in his arms. Ill go get her. Well meet you in the library.
Nicks steps ate up the Oriental runner lining the hallway. Cripes, he didnt need this.
Loyalty to Rita as much as love for this place kept him rooted at Moongate. Though he was raised at the mansion, he didnt mistake himself for something he wasnt. And although Rita treated him like a son, he was ultra-aware he wasnt family. He was CEO of Meadows Investments. Nothing more. He understood that his value here was in his achievements. Which was why hed worked at building an identity for himself outside the mansion walls with the soccer and the tutoring and the carpentry. Yet he was determined not to let Rita down, to prove she could count on him to watch out for her best interestsjust as shed once watched over him and his mother when they were helpless.
Mostly, he needed to prove that his will was stronger than the tainted blood that ran through his veins.
He wouldnt let anyone con Rita out of a single penny. He knew all the tricks. After all, hed learned from a master.
No pseudo-Valentina with dreams of easy riches was going to get the best of him, no matter how realistic her mask.
Chapter Two (#ulink_2735ed37-6758-51cd-a970-a301569ed2b2)
Valerie waited, as ordered, in the foyer. Not because she was afraid of Nicolas Galloway, even though his dark look and sharp bite were enough to intimidate anyone, but because there was no point in stirring up trouble until she absolutely needed to.
Save your spit for the important stuff, kiddo, Higgins had told her early in her career. Learn to pick your fights.
She was expected at Moongate. After all, Rita Meadows had requested the interview. She would allow Valerie to do her job.
The station could always send someone else, Valerie supposed. Bailey, for example. But there wasnt enough time. Not if the package was going to air in time for the anniversary as Ms. Meadows wanted. And in a time crunch, Valerie could get things done that would send Bailey in a tizzy.
Valerie glanced at her watch, then sipped the last cold drop of the French vanilla coffee, clinging to her otherwise empty cup, and wished for more. Her restless feet paced the foyer, and her gaze speared into the hall, anticipating Nicolas Galloways return.
The slow bong of a grandfather clock reverberated from somewhere far inside and echoed in the chambers of her head. The baneful peal shot her back to the middle of the night when shed woken up a prisoner in her tangled sheets, bitter terror clinging to her skin along with the sweat. She had an overpowering urge to rub the hairs writhing on the back of her neck, to run.
Its just a house. And she wasnt stressed. Tired because of the early flight, maybe, but not stressed. So there was no reason for her to think of the dream.
But the hall boring into the dark heart of the house had the cold breath of a mausoleum. The smell of dusty funeral roses drifting from it plucked at her memory. One too many creepy black-and-white movie, Valerie.
She toyed with the empty coffee cup, looking for a place to dispose of it. What was taking Nicolas Galloway so long? How long did it take to say, Hey, the person youre expecting is here?
Faraway giggles echoed somewhere over her shoulder. Well, it was about time. Valerie turned toward the stairs and the foyer shifted before her, setting off a jerky projector-like run of memories she had no right to own.
As if the outside fog had crept inside, the edges of the room blurred. The cream paint on the walls darkened to caramel. A cut glass vase filled with pumpkin-colored mums appeared on the small marble-topped table. A gilded mirror reflected the bouquet, making it pop. A red kick ball sailed in from the open front door, bounced with a wet thwack on the polished pine floor and right into the vase, knocking it to the floor. Water, broken flowers and jagged pieces of glass spread over the floor like some sort of modern art mosaic. Two sets of childrens hands reached for the shards.
Its okay. Here. Nobodyll know.
One pulled open the drawer of the decorative table and hid the broken glass inside. The other gathered the flowers.
Shh, dont tell.
Valerie shook her head and the smoky scene vanished. The table and mirror were still there, but the bouquet and vase were gone. She looked down at her coffee cup. Wow, that was some potent stuff.
Before she could stop herself, she stepped to the table and opened the drawer. Empty. What, you expected to find broken glass?
With a half laugh that rebounded against the ceiling of the foyer, she closed the drawer. She stopped midslide when the chandeliers light caught the glint of something shiny trapped in the seams.
She ran a finger along the inside edge and gasped an Ouch when something pricked her skin. On the tip of her index finger stood a splinter of clear glass. She drew it out and sucked on the bead of blood left behind.
Doesnt mean anything, she told herself. Could be from anythinga mirror, a lightbulb or a glass. Pocketing the bloody splinter, she willed her racing heart to slow. She left her hand balled inside the pocket of her blazer to dampen its shaking.
Obviously, youve had too much coffee. She shouldnt have stopped for that last large cup. Bad for her nerves. Bad for her heart. Hadnt the doctor warned her just last month to cut back to stop the palpitations?
Shed probably read about the vase incident during her research and it had stuck in her mind. Wouldnt be the first time. This feeling of dj? vu happened to her more often than she liked to admit. Shed read something, see a photograph, and then, once she got on location, shed have that feeling of having been there before.
But never this real. A tight feeling coiled in her gut.
Get a grip. Nothing to get spooked about. One of her high school teachers had called this ability of hers to recall almost everything shed ever seen eidetic memory and seemed fascinated by it. Of course, that was after hed accused her of cheating on a test, and shed had to prove to him that everything on the page had come straight from her brain and not Mark Peachs paper.
Spinning away from the scene of the mirage, she forced herself to concentrate on the collection of Currier & Ives prints, showing off the same scene of a country lane and pond in four seasons. The house in the background looked remarkably like Moongate Mansion. Maybe she could use them as a montage to show the passage of time.
Thats better. Work was her salvation. When it came to work, her fate was in her hands, not in some monsters from a dream. She could do this. Shed done it hundreds of times before. The only pressure on her was the one she was putting on herself. Stick to the plan.
Houses, according to a psychologist shed once interviewed for a segment on dream analysis, were a metaphor for the human psyche. This one seemed rusted in time. Haunted almost, like a restless mind. Maybe thats what Rita wanted by looking back into the pasta cure. If she understood what had happened to Valentina, then she could let go of her child and finally find peace.
The floor of the hall thundered, and Nicolas Galloway reappeared, long, determined strides making short work of the distance between them.
About time, she mumbled, tugging her blazer back in place with her free hand.
His expression remained frozen in the feral position, and instead of an apology, he barked, Follow me.
Sheesh, he didnt even pause to see if she followed, just assumed she would. She was used to following directions, but unbending commands were another thing. And shed had just about enough of going through an intermediary to get to her appointment. I really need to speak with Ms. Meadows.
Youre in luck. Youre getting your wish.
As she scrambled after Nick, the raspberry brambles on the hall wallpaper shifted as if rustled by a breeze. The smell of burned toast stung her nose. The scraping of a knife against dry bread scratched at her brain.
Itll be just fine. See? A womans voice. Now, which do you want, strawberry or blueberry preserve?
Valerie stopped and peered into the dining room, set with Lenox china, Pairpoint crystal and silver-plated dinnerware.
What are you doing?
At the boom of Nicks voice, the image vanished, leaving behind an empty table and chairs. Valerie swiveled her head to look at Nick frowning at her from the library entrance. At least this time she remembered where the flash of memory had come fromthe photograph from Victorian Homes of a Thanksgiving dinner at Moongate the year before Valentina disappeared. I thought I smelled toast burning.
Someones bringing tea. He disappeared into the room.
Valerie hurried to catch up with him. Tea was good. Tea meant Rita Meadows would let her see the archives. Tea meant that Nicolas Galloway owed her an apologynot that she was holding her breath for one. And maybe it also meant food. Which made her think of Mike. He was going to be royally cranky that she was taking so long. A well-fed Mike was a happy Mike, and a happy Mike got her good footage. Payback from Mike, on the other hand, was never a good thing.
Sit, Nick ordered.
Arguing right now would be a waste of breath, so she chose a wing chair that gave her width and height, and deposited her portfolio and purse on the floor at her feet and the empty coffee cup on the side table. She didnt play games, but she didnt make easy prey, either.
Nick paced the marble hearth of the fireplace as if he was drawing up some sort of war plan, and she pulled back her shoulders readying her defenses.
We need to set some ground rules, he said. One, you are not to wander unaccompanied on the grounds or in the house at any time. That goes for your friend with the camera outside, too. Ive already sent someone to detain him.
Detain Mike? Good luck to anyone who tried to separate Mike from his camera. Ms. Meadows has already given her permission to shoot.
This is nevertheless Ms. Meadowss private home and intrusion into her privacy will not be tolerated. We do not want a tabloid expos that will exploit Ms. Meadowss pain at the tragedy of her daughters kidnapping.
What bug had crawled up his butt? Look, youve made it clear you dont want me here, but if you think you can intimidate me into leaving, youre wrong.
He rounded on her with High Noon intensity. Right now, Im cooperating, but dont cross me, or youll regret the day you showed up on our doorstep.
Jeez, Louise, what did he think she was going to do? Blow her career by ticking off the man who paid her salary? An expos is certainly not our intention. At his nieces request, Mr. Meadows asked his executive producer to put together these segments on Valentinas kidnapping. Mr. Meadows expects clean and true reporting any time his station airs a package. This will be no exception.
Ms. Meadows is the constant target of people who would prey on her pain for gain. There are certain facts we would rather not make public in order to protect the family from scam artists.
Okay, she could see why he might be a tad touchy on the subject. Her task was to mollify him and wow him with her ability to present a fair and balanced portrait of the familys misfortune. I understand your point, Mr. Galloway. As I said, were not out to prey on Ms. Meadows. But she was the one who asked that we tell her daughters story with the hopes of bringing her home.
Its been twenty-five years. The statement sounded remarkably like a trick question.
I understand. But finding the childslocation would allow Ms. Meadows closure, dont you think?
His presence was an iceberg in a room too small to contain him, and she was uncomfortably aware of his proximity, of his stark and grim gazeof his pain. Then, like the incidents in the foyer and the dining room, for a flash, his face wavered. A play of light and shadows had her chest heaving with a sweet ache of longing and her arms yearning to loop themselves around his neck.
A chill pierced her skin, raised a crop of goose bumps. Her fingers clawed around the arms of the chair to keep herself from slipping into the unwanted fog once again. Her breath hitched in her throat and a pang of loss nearly swallowed her. How could that be? She shook her head and, when her gaze reconnected with his, the same un-yielding glower glared back at her.
Nicolas Galloway was no friend.
Yet his eyes stirred dark echoes of her recurring dream and spiked her blood with unease. Why?
Are you okay? he asked, frowning.
Too much coffee. She flashed him a smile that, to her horror, wobbled.
With a sudden jolt as if shed hit him, he turned his back on her and resumed his pacing. Two, well need approval over the final product.
Valerie shot to her feet. With the amount of blood, sweat and tears she spilled to write, shoot and edit a package, there was no way she was going to let him mess with her baby. It doesnt work that way.
We have to be sure you havent inadvertently leaked privileged information.
She had the station owner and the interview subject on her side. Why was she letting him get under her skin? She forced a smile. Well, then, youll have to take that up with the executive producer. Keep in mind that I do have a tight production schedule to adhere to if Ms. Meadowss story is to air in time for the kidnappings anniversary.
Wrong tactic, of course. She knew that the second she uttered the words. Keeping the package off the air was exactly what Nicolas Galloway wanted.
That, of course, is your problem. Nicks pacing came to an abrupt halt and his gaze fixed on the doorway.
Rita Meadows paused at the entrance to the door, holding on to the door frame as if she were dizzy. There was a lot of that going on today. Someone needed to check the furnace and see if the carbon monoxide level was okay.
Ritas recovery was quick. She pasted a work-the-room smile on her sculpted face, extended a hand and welcomed Valerie with the practiced ease of someone used to dealing with people. You must be Valerie. Mr. Higgins speaks highly of you.
As he does of you. Ritas hand was cold and brittle in Valeries and a wave of sympathy made Valerie squeeze warmth into her grip.
Close-up, even with her understated makeup, Rita looked hollow-eyed, a little too thin, a little too pale. Her hair, the color of expensive champagne, was twisted ele-gantly at her nape, giving her a fragile kind of beauty that seemed somehow tragic to Valerie.
Nick rushed to Ritas side, cupped her elbow and led her to the sofa, where he stood beside her on guard like the pit bull of his reputation. Stray out of line, get too personal, his cutting expression said, and Ill rip you to shreds.
Aye, aye. Message received, she telegraphed back, and his frown deepened.
She could see why some women might fall for him. The primitive quality he exuded told a woman that, as long as he was there, she would be safe from predators. For manyher friend Sheree among themthat promise of savage protection was the fodder of dreams. Personally, Valerie already had too much overprotection in her life. The last thing she needed was to add a mans shadow to the one already stalking her.
Rita looked up at Nick, touched his arm. Is Holly bringing tea?
Nick gave a sharp nod, but his quick eye shift toward the door betrayed his uncertainty. He wasnt going to leave to check on tea when there was an intruder sitting in his employers library waiting to pounce on her.
Chill, she wanted to say. I dont bite.
I know you must be tired from the flight, Rita said to Valerie, so I wont keep you long.
I just wanted to introduce myself and set up a convenient time to go over your archives. I have another interview on Thursday, but Id like to tape yours on Friday.
You may come by to look at the archives at any time.
Eleven. The sharpness of Nicks voice coated the air with rime. Its the only time I have available.
Ill be here, Nicolas, Rita said. I can walk her through my collection.
His jaw tightened and antagonism bristled from him, but he didnt say a thing. What was it costing him to keep silent? She was starting to understand just how much Rita Meadows meant to him, how far hed go to protect her. How could Valerie reassure this many-times-bitten pit bull she meant no harm?
Eleven will be fine. Valerie injected light and air into her voice. My photographer will also need access to Valentinas room and the living room, as well as the grounds.
Yes, of course, Rita said.
Well keep our visit as short as possible.
Take all the time you need. I want Valentinas story retold in all its details. You never know what will trigger someones memory.
As Rita explained what she wanted to accomplish by airing Valentinas story, Nick stared at Valerie until the room was sucked dry of air and her head grew light.
Nick! Nick! Watch me! A splash of water.
I have better things to do than watch a baby play.
Im not a baby.
Are, too.
Well, forget it, then. Im not telling you my secret.
A lakeside gazebo with green-and-white striped awnings. Green water. Green trees. Eye-hurting blue sky. Valerie remembered seeing a picture of Nick and Valentina sipping lemonade at Ritas feet on a dock. Why was that picture coming back to her now?
May I ask you a personal question? Rita asked Valerie, changing subjects.
Sure.
How old are you?
Ill be thirty next May. By then shed planned on being in New York, working as a producer for a major network in the news divisionat least according to the life plan shed drawn up when she was eighteen. Come to think of it, shed only checked one item off that long list. That probably sounds as if I dont have much experience
Oh, no, dear, I dont doubt your qualifications. How tall are you?
Wow, where was this coming from? And what did it have to do with her ability to shoot an interview? Five-four. With three-inch heels. My mothers short. Thats where I get it. The shortness, I mean. Oh, good, now she was babbling. Definitely time to get solid food in her.
Ritas face crumpled. Her body curled into itself and spasmed in time to a coughing fit. The red agenda she clutched in her lap fell to the ground, spilling its contents. A photograph fluttered and landed upside down at Valeries feet.
Rita? Moving with speed and athletic grace, Nick knelt at his employers side, a glass of water in hand. Here.
Rita sipped the water Nick offered her, but the coughing only worsened. Nick gently stood her up.
Not knowing what to do to help Rita, Valerie picked up the agenda and put the pages back in place.
Stay here, Nick ordered, glaring at her, then escorted Rita out of the library.
Valerie picked up the photograph, turned it over and gasped. The hairstyle was wrong, and the smile was too stiff, but otherwise, the picture could be hers. What in the world?
Why did Rita have her picture? And why didnt she remember posing for it? What kind of twilight zone had she walked into?
After ten minutes of waiting for Nicks return, questions running laps in her mind as she studied the photograph from Ritas agenda, the coffee Valerie had had on the car ride up was putting pressure on her bladder. The tinkling of water in the brass tranquility fountain on an accent table didnt help.
A middle-aged woman entered the library, looking more like a shadow than a person with her black dress, gray hair and pale skin. Did no one in this house believe in the health benefits of a touch of sun? She carried a silver tray of tea and shortbread cookiesno toast, Valerie notedand studied the unwelcome guest with decided wariness.
The woman clucked, her dark-brown eyes troubled. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft, but unfriendly. Ms. Meadows will be down shortly.
She was coughing. Valerie stuck the photograph behind her back. Mr. Galloway took her up to her room.
Oh, no. The womans silver braid snaked over her shoulder as she slapped the tray onto the coffee table and hurried away, her feet making no noise on the rose-adorned carpet.
Is there a bathroom nearby? Valerie called after her.
The woman waved a hand vaguely to her right. Around the corner. The woman stopped her flight. Her small hand clutched the door frame as if her nails were fangs. Closet vampire? Itd be best if you left now.
I want to be sure Ms. Meadows is okay.
No good will come of you digging up bones.
Were taping the segments at Ms. Meadowss request. Valerie was starting to feel like a broken record.
Your act, the woman warned, shaking her head. It wont wash. Nickll see right through it. She turned and vanished into the dark hall.
Good to know Im so wanted. What was going on here? Had Higgins set her up for failure so he would have a good reason to promote Bailey over her? Something wasnt right. Not just with the room, but with the whole house.
She glanced around the library with its floor-to-ceiling stacks, its comfy chairs and cozy fireplace. Nothing about the elegant decor triggered her unwarranted fear, but she couldnt help the chill crawling up her spine.
Maybe she should leave and come back in the morning when everybody had calmed down and shed had some food.
First, though, she had to find a bathroom.
Valerie slipped the photograph into her portfolio. She wanted to study it further, see if she could remember when it was taken. She stepped into the hall. At least this time the walls didnt ripple. The first door she tried opened into a laundry room that smelled like summer rain. The next door opened into a dark room that looked like a closet, but smelled of rose potpourri and water. Valerie fumbled for a switch and found one in the hallway. Ah, finally, a bathroom.
She relieved herself and admired the painted mural that made it seem as if she were in some enchanted gardena watercolor background of mossy-green with pink roses, golden grasses and birds. A single blue butterfly hovered on one side of the mirror as if it were going to drink a sip of water from the sink while she washed her hands. Shed always liked butterflies, especially blue ones. As she reached to touch the gossamer wings, the lights went out, leaving her swallowed by darkness.
She sucked in a breath and wrapped her hands around the cold marble of the sink to anchor herself in the pitch-black space. Blinking madly, she tried to orient herself. A power failure? It happened a lot in old houses, didnt it?
Tamping back her irrational fear of small, dark places, she forced her frozen fingers to let go of the sink. She turned with small baby steps to keep her balance, then groped blindly for the door.
Out of the darkness, a slice of light materialized and crept into the gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. She frowned. The power was still on in the rest of the house?
A board creaked outside. She froze. Hello? Is anybody out there?
She stared at the paring of light, but no shadow rippled across its path.
Just an old house settling into its bones, she told herself, but the shaky sound of her voice didnt reassure her. Open the door and get out of here.
Her trembling fingers bumped against the hard wood of the door. With her heart pounding an SOS against her ribs, she patted the smooth oak until she found the knob. Her damp palms slipped on the glass knob. It wouldnt budge.
She tried again, pulling and twisting. A kind of desperate madness swept over her. Hey! Turn on the lights! Open the door!
She panted as she tried to control the sense of impending doom sweeping over her. The burn of tears stung her eyes and, hanging on to the knob as a child would, the craziest need to call Mama bubbled on her trembling lips.
Not that her mother was the kind whod fussed over emotional outbursts. You dont need a night-light, Valerie. Youre a big girl, and big girls dont cry.
Valerie blinked madly, survival instinct kicking back in. She banged on the door with the flat of her hand. This isnt funny!
Nicolas Galloway. Hed done this. Did he really think locking her in the bathroom was going to send her crying home? It would take a lot more than that to make her go crawling back to the station empty-handed.
Her grip tightened on the doorknob, and she pushed, turned and tugged with all her might. When she got out of there, she was going to strangle him. Open the door!
Chapter Three (#ulink_6a462862-802d-5f9c-a499-3b4bcb6870d9)
Teeth bared, Valerie jammed her shoulder into the bathroom door and grunted. Shed barely connected with the wood when the door burst open, and she tumbled into Nicks arms.
His hands held her forearms in a vise-tight grip to keep her from colliding with his chest. Even through the wool blend of her blazer sleeves, the vibrating heat of his anger burned her.
What on earth are you doing? he asked.
The door was stuck. She spied the wooden doorstop in his hand. This little thing was what had caused her full-blown panic attack? She snatched the offending piece of wood from his hand and held it up. Its going to take a lot more than locking me in the bathroom to discourage me.
Even if his cheap bathroom trick had worked at scaring hermomentarilyit wasnt going to make her disappear.
Guarded tension stretched his features taut. He pushed her away, breaking the heated hum of contact where his hard fingers had dug into her forearms. Trust me, Val, if I choose to intimidate you, youll know.
Valerie. She rubbed her arms against the sudden need to bury herself deeper into his embrace and breathe in the alluring scent of citrus and sandalwood of his aftershave. How crazy was that? One little scare, and like a two-year-old, she was ready to seek solace in the first pair of arms that turned up.
So if you didnt lock me in the bathroom, who did? The woman with the braid? These peoples overprotective-ness of Rita Meadows made Valeries mothers watchful smothering seem like neglect in comparison. How many people work here?
Thats none of your concern. Val.
Valerie, she insisted, narrowing her eyes at him. Had someone bribed the staff in the past? Was that where his wariness was coming from? And it does concern me when someone locks me in the bathroom. What if you hadnt come by?
You made enough racket. Someone wouldve heard you eventually.
Thats not the point
Ill handle the matter.
She stuffed the doorstop in the kerchief pocket of his suit and gave it a pat. Fine. See that it doesnt happen again. She didnt really have a choice other than to let him handle the matter. She wasnt here to investigate the staffs juvenile intimidation tactics. She was here to conduct interviews. How is Ms. Meadows?
His eyes softened for a second. Just a cold. Shell be fine.
But something in his expression told her he was more worried than a simple cold would warrant. Ill come back tomorrow, then. When shes feeling better.
That would be best.
Valerie buttoned her blazer, adding an extra buffer between them. The photograph? From the agenda? Why does Ms. Meadows have it?
A muscle in his jaw jumped. Its an age progression. She has one done every year on Valentinas birthday.
Valeries heart went out to Rita. Had she had the photo done as a way to watch her baby grow? No, Valerie decided. So shed know what Valentina would look like if she saw her on the street somewhere. Maybe airing the segment would provide Rita with the resolution she needed.
It, uh, looks like me. The resemblance was uncanny and the memory of that likeness sent a shiver prickling over her scalp. Had Rita thought that Valerie was her daughter? Was that why shed asked the personal questions? Although what height had to do with anything was a puzzle.
Nicks gaze hardened and bored into her with a warning that seemed to aim straight at her heart. His voice rode a flat line that reverberated with threat. But it isnt you, Val. Something youd best remember. Valentina is dead. I have proof. There wont be a fat payday. Not if I can help it.
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Is that why youre being such a jerk? You think I think Im Valentina? Thats ridiculous.
Whatll it take to make you disappear?
What?
He whipped out a checkbook from the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. How much?
One hand covered her heart. You cant be serious. You think I want money?
He stepped closer until his breath was a warm flutter against her lips. Thats all they want in the end.
Her mind was blurring again. No, Nick, no. You know thats not true. They?
All the other girls over the years whove come knocking at the door pretending theyre the long-lost Valentina. He lifted a strand of her hair, rolled it between his fingers, then tucked it behind her ear. She leaned into his hand as if shed done this very thing before. As if he had. Jeez, Louise, she really needed some food before she went totally over the edge.
His thumb skimmed the outline of her cheek in a way that let her know that he could kill her just as easily as kiss her. Wow, where had that come from? As if shed ever want a kiss from someone who thought she was using her job to extort money.
Im not like all those girls. Im not like anyone youve ever met. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She searched the hard planes of Nicks face, looking forwhat? An explanation as to why she thought he would know her? Even stranger, that she should know him? That if she could just squeeze the right place on his waist, he would double over in helpless laughter?
He flattened a hand on the door frame beside her face, caging her against the wall. Thats where youre wrong. Ive met a hundred girls like you. Theyve all convinced themselves theyre the one.
A restless menace lurked right beneath the suit. But as much as he growled and barked and bared his teeth, he would never hurt her. The truth of that knowledge resonated soul deep. Which didnt mean she wanted to test that theory quite yet.
She planted a palm against his chest and pushed him away. I have a mother and a good life in Florida. I dont need to borrow anybody elses. So chill, okay? You said Valentina was dead. That you had proof? What kind?
Thats really none of your concern.
Well, see, thats where I dont agree. Everything that concerns Valentina concerns me.
And you think Im just going to hand you ammunition?
She tipped her head and squinted at him. To fleece Ms. Meadows? No. To help me put on the best segment I can? Yes. If you have proof that Valentina is dead, then it means I need to take a different angle with the interviews.
He refused to yield. Knowing Valentina is dead doesnt stop the crazies from showing up for a handout. The body was never found. Until it is, they prey on Ms. Meadowss hopes.
She sighed. I can see your point, but what if she isnt dead? As if drawn by a black hole, all she could do was look deep into the impenetrable dark brown of his eyes. Let me in, Nick. Let me see. That he was shutting her out hurt in a way that was beyond crazy. So was the compelling childish urge to pat his cheek and tell him that everything was going to be okay. What if she is alive?
She isnt. End of conversation, his tone said. But something flickered in his eyes, leaving her with the impression he was lying. Or at least not telling her the whole truth.
A door slammed somewhere down the hall, startling Valerie out of her strange connection with Nick. Never before had she been so aware of someone. The give-and-take of his breath. The galloping pulse of blood at his neck. The prickly hint of beard along his tense jawline. And that sadness, that heavy sadness that was eating at his soul and made her want to cry.
Its time for you to leave now. Nick straightened, yawning a canyon of space between them, and Valerie ran her hands over her arms to keep warm.
Heavy boots tromped on the floor, heading their way. A stout man with a white lions mane poking out from a well-worn khaki fishing hat stepped into the hall. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. Took me a while, but Ive got the gentleman under control like you asked. Hes in the car with the doors locked. He grinned, showing off square, white teeth. Chomp is watching over him. He wont go anywhere he aint supposed to go.
Thanks, Lionel.
My pleasure. Lionel doffed his fishing hat and swept it in front of him, showing Valerie the way to the front door. Ill escort you out now, maam. Chomp, he dont take too kindly to strangers.
She pointed toward the library. My things.
Nick nodded his permission, and she held her breath until she reached the library. She shook her head as if the simple gesture could release her from the grip of Nicks presence still clinging to her skin. The way hed short-cir-cuited her usually ordered thinking wasnt normal. Especially when it came to work.
You only have to deal with him for a couple of days, Valerie. And shed be too busy with all the details; shed forget he was even around.
She slipped Valentinas photograph out of her portfolio, took one last look at the woman who could be her twin and tucked it back into Ritas agenda. As sick as she was, Rita would need the comfort of her daughters picture. Definitely spooky, though.
But Valerie Grace Zea was born on May 13, not October 31. She was six months older than Valentina. She owned a baby album filled with pictures that featured Marissa and Ludlow Zea cradling her in the home where shed spent all of her life, until four years ago when shed bought her own little shoe box of a house just a mile from her parents.
Her memory was crowded with snapshots of her life in Florida. No mansion. No fog-shrouded landscape. No Rita Meadows.
A creak made her look up and sweep the room with a glance.
Nothing there to warrant the itch between her shoulder blades, but she couldnt help trying to roll away the feeling of being watched. Portfolio clutched to her chest, she hurried back into the hall where Nicks long shadow loomed, waiting for her.
Ill see you tomorrow, then. She adjusted her purse over her shoulder and yearned for a cup of coffee. To look through the archives.
Eleven.
Eleven it is. She slanted her head and gave him her most serious look. Ill do a good job.
His mouth flattened. Valentina needs to be buried, not revived.
To bury her, you have to find her. Someone out there knows where she is, and airing those segments could bring you the information you need for closure.
Dont you think that if anyone knew where she was, theyd have said something by now? Claiming the one-million-dollar reward is much easier than pretending to be a dead child all grown-up.
So were back to that, huh? Actions spoke more clearly than words. In the end, hed see she was true to her word.
His voice, low and rough, rumbled with warning. Secrets are called that for a reason, Val. And sometimes people want to keep their secrets buried.
Oh, yeah? Whats yours? Im not her. But Im not one of your pretenders, either. Im just a woman trying to do her job. Why was it so important that he believe her?
A terrifying flicker of a smile sprang to his lips. Make sure thats all you do.
NICK STOOD TO ONE SIDE of the window, surveying the scene below him. Valerie walked with both a dancers grace and a sprinters efficiency. Although she couldnt see him standing in the shadows of the third-floor tower room, she paused before entering the car and looked up. Not at Lionel and the barely controlled Doberman the caretaker held by the studded collar on the doorstep. But at him. Their gazes met across the barrier of glass and shadows, and she seemed to shiver before she disappeared into the safety of the car.
Good. She should be afraid. Fear would keep her from following through on her plan to blind Rita with her likeness to Valentina.
He wouldnt be as easy to fool.
Hed already paid a hefty price for his mistake. He picked up the floppy-eared dog that had been Valentinas favorite and buried his nose in the fur that had long ago lost its little-girl smell. In its place came the remembered sweet-and-spicy ginger scent Valerie wore. He hurled the dog back to the storage chest and scraped a hand over his face. His weakness had cost him his best friend and the only person whod understood him.
Protecting Rita, protecting Valentinas memory were the most important things in his life. A man had to take care of his own.
He followed the track of the car down the driveway until the fog devoured it. This woman was good. Better than the rest, judging by the instant connection shed made with Rita.
Its her, Nicolas. I can feel it. Ritas words echoed in his empty soul. Shed been ready to open her arms, her home and her heart to the charlatan. Thats why she didnt come before. She doesnt know.
He couldnt bear the toll the inevitable pain would cost Rita. Its not her, Rita. It cant be.
His gaze zoomed in on the golden pine of the floor, and that horrible night sucked him back into its darkness. Rita had had the floor sanded and refinished, but Nick could still see the dark stain spreading.
The blood, hed never stop seeing all that blood.
Or her eyes. Those half-closed, dead eyes.
His fault that she was gone.
Yet there was something about Valerie that seemed to reach back too far to be faked. His chin dropped to his chest and his eyes closed. How could she possibly have learned the quirks that were Valentinas? Little things like the half dimple that creased her right cheek when she smiled. The way her fingers played unconsciously with the hem of her blazer when she was nervous. How many sweaters had Valentina unraveled with that nasty habit? The way she tilted her head and looked at him with implicit trust. Hed never been able to scare Valentina, except with ghost stories, and then shed looped her arms around his neck, pressed her cheek against his. Are they gone, Nick? Are the ghosts gone?
And he really didnt like the way looking at her kicked up his blood.
Could Rita be right? Could Valentina have finally come home? Or was Valerie pulling the ultimate con by pretending she wasnt Valentina, but seeding all the right clues?
No, Valentina was dead. He had proofthe DNA, the blanket, the deathbed confession of Ritas former chauffeur. For crying out loud, there was even a guy in prison, serving time for the kidnapping.
And the blood. All that blood.
He rubbed his eyes to blot out the sight.
Damn Valerie for showing up.
And damn him for doubting what his own eyes showed him.
Nick stalked away from the window and marched to Ritas office. He ripped the phone from the cradle and dialed the P.I. he had on retainer.
Joe Aveni might as well have called himself Joe Average. Brown hair, brown eyes in an unmemorable face. Under the layer of fat he cultivated, he hid hard muscles he exercised five days a week. He dressed forgettably and appeared no threat to either males or females. All of which rendered him incredibly efficient at cajoling information from even the most unwilling of sources. No would-be Valentina had ever been able to stand up to his scrutiny.
I need a background check, Nick said when Joe answered.
Hey, man, Im backed up. Itll take me a couple of days to get to it.
Ill double your rate.
Ah, shoot, Nick, dont tell me you got another Valentina.
The twenty-fifth anniversary is going to bring out all the crazies.
Give me what youve got.
Nick gave the information hed found on Valerie in the agenda hed brought up from the library along with the empty take-out coffee cup.
Ill have a quick-and-dirty for you by the end of the day, Joe said.
Sooner.
You realize its already past three, dont you?
Nick swallowed a growl. Soonest you can.
How deep do you want me to go?
Nick sought the age-progressed picture from the back of Ritas agenda. Valeries face superimposed itself on Valentinas dead eyes and stiff smile in a way he didnt like. Alive, so alive. Her blond hair rippling with light, her eyes blue beams of determination, her teasing mouth taunting him in a too-familiar way. He squeezed the tension at the back of his neck and willed the mirage to disappear. I want to know everything about her from the first breath she ever took to what she had for breakfast this morning.
Joe cleared his throat. Going that deepll mean travel and a couple of days delay. Maybe a week, depending on what turns up.
Bill me.
The click-click of Joes pen pecked at Nicks eardrum. Can I ask whats different about this one?
What about Valerie had made him fall for the illusion in a way none of the other frauds had?
The con, he realized. Too slick. Too choreographed. Shes too good.
Joe bellowed out a laugh. Ive got to meet this woman who has Nicolas Galloway all tied up in knots.
Nick had known only one person who could slide so smoothly through a lie and make anyone believe it was the truth. He still bore the scars of that misplaced trust, and he wasnt going to let anyone add to them.
Was he back? Because of the anniversary?
A deep, disturbing gush of anger spewed up and shook Nick to the core.
What you have to do is get me the ammunition I need to stop her cold. Nick picked up the empty take-out cup that, even through the brown paper bag, still smelled faintly of vanilla and coffee. Can your DNA guy extract what he needs from a cup of take-out coffee?
Ill find out.
And while youre at it, Ill need a financial on Simon Higgins. Hes the executive producer at WMOD-TV in Orlando. Nick took a deep breath. And find me Gordon Archers current whereabouts.
What Nick needed was facts. Basic, logical, hard facts. With those he could fight them allArcher, Higgins and Valerie. Especially Valerie.
Shed come back in the morning. And hed have to be ready for her.
AT THE OTHER END of the phone, the woman burst into tears. Valeries gone. Was there no end to the river she could cry? I tried everything, but she still went.
He slapped a stack of reports into his briefcase. Ill take care of it.
A nervous tick of nails clicked against the phone. You wont hurt her, will you?
He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and shook his head. What do you take me for?
After all hed done for her, the least she could do is show him a little respect and gratitude. He wasnt an idiot. Why would he want to bring attention to a mistake when he was so close to payback?
Im sorry. She sniffed. I didnt mean
Of course you didnt. He softened his voice. Trust me. Ill take care of everything.
She swallowed a large bubble of air.
Everythings fine, he insisted.
But what if
Shes just doing her job.
But She sighed. Okay, if youre sure.
Im sure. He hung up, snatched the brochure from the desk and sneered at the mansion used as a logo. Theyd airbrushed out the weeds and the neglect, but they couldnt quite hide the self-important haughtiness. He pitched the brochure into his briefcase, snapped it shut and locked it.
Valerie was at Moongate.
He reached for the custom-tailored suit jacket on his bed. Shed been warned. If she couldnt take a hint, if she got in his way, shed have to suffer the consequences.
Then a zing of new possibility burst in his chest. He smiled as he adjusted his tie in the mirror. On the other hand, if he couldnt keep her away, maybe he could use her to his advantage.
Hed get his chance. Hed always known it would come.
Briefcase in hand, he hummed as he left the room. This time, hed get it right. This time, no one would mistake him for shoe scumleast of all the high-and-mighty Rita Meadows.
Chapter Four (#ulink_b89f8c05-97bb-50f0-b5be-15b8e9082071)
When Valerie arrived at Moongate the next morning, shed expected to give Rita Meadows a quick greeting, then get down to the archives while Mike taped his interior shots. But plans had a way of twisting themselves around, especially when time was at a premium. Really, if a shoot ever ran smoothly, shed think the end of the world had arrived.
She stifled a sigh. One out of two was better than none. At least Mike was on his way up to the tower room escorted by the burly Lionel.
A whippet-thin and rumpled man sat with Rita in the library. The only plus side Valerie could see to the delay was that Nick seemed even less happy to see the new arrival than hed been at seeing her.
Nick wore a charcoal suit today, and with his crisp white shirt and power-red tie, he presented the perfect picture of the successful businessman. His protective stance at Ritas side left no doubt that, should anyone try to harm her, they would suffer his wrath.
Then there were those eyes, guarded and restrained. But an undeniable frisson of something passed between Valerie and him when their gazes connected, and she couldnt help the hint of a smile that twitched her lips or the bubbly desire to play that infiltrated her limbs.
Do not even go there, Valerie. Nick wasnt part of the job and was way too complex for her to deal with in three days.
Valerie! Im so glad youre finally here. Ritas smile beamed. A strong red painted her cheeks, as if shed gone too heavy with the blush. Her eyes had a feverish gleam to them that made Valerie think Rita should still be in bed. Theres someone I want you to meet. She patted her hand on the sofa next to her, inviting Valerie to sit.
.
.
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Sylvie Kurtz
Pull of the Moon
Sylvie Kurtz
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#uba744569-2ee3-50ae-af5e-f1d5f0a5348b)
Title Page (#uc14434ec-a529-5016-8981-c15e647d28a5)
About the Author (#u4d97319f-4fe8-5640-938c-5b85cc917ef2)
Prologue (#ulink_b1c3991f-89b2-5919-a838-e41e17dac3ec)
Chapter One (#ulink_310b5385-3775-52d1-b646-b01b53b7e4f0)
Chapter Two (#ulink_875c3a84-167c-525f-a99f-9f5b476dbec5)
Chapter Three (#ulink_3b52986d-cf5f-5a83-8612-f47282141e02)
Chapter Four (#ulink_fbadcf3e-3fa6-57a6-90bc-7f9bcc50f3b9)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Flying an eight-hour solo cross-country in a Piper Arrow with only the areorplanes crackling radio and a large bag of M&Ms for company, Sylvie Kurtz realised a pilots life wasnt for her. The stories zooming in and out of her mind proved more entertaining than the flight itself. Not a quitter, she finished her pilots course and earned her commercial licence and instrument rating.
Since then, she has traded in her wings for a keyboard, where she lets her imagination soar to create fictional adventures that explore the power of love and the thrill of suspense.
You can write to Sylvie at PO Box 702, Milford, NH 03055, USA. And visit her website at www.sylviekurtz. com.
For Chuck for telling me Im wonderful no matter what. For Ann, Joyce and Lorrie for your continuing friendship. I would like to extend a special thank-you to the following people for their help: Jennifer LeDuc Cusato, Marianne Mancusi, Denise Robbins and Jared Shurtliff.
Prologue (#ulink_0aa812d9-0706-561d-bf94-56874454cbd8)
October brought out the ghosts. Not that they werent always there for Rita Meadows, but in October, they crowded her, pressured her, demanded she set them free.
Alone in her big bed, she couldnt sleep. Returning home to Moongate tended to do that to her, especially now that the anniversary was fast approaching. She had to readjust to the mansion, to the eerie weight of the leaden memories its wooden facade held prisoner. This was her first night home since her secret trip to Chicagoone Nicolas wouldnt approve ofand already she wished she could leave again, if only for a little while longer.
Maybe she should just skip October this year, come back in November when the ghosts grip lost its fierceness. After all these years of vigil, her aging bones deserved a rest. She could spend October bobbing on a yacht in the Caribbean or tasting her way through Napa Valley.
Oblivion. That would be nice.
She bolted up at the renegade thought. No, baby, I didnt mean that.
Her fault. Her cross to bear. She hadnt given up hope; she never would. But sometimes, she just wanted the pain to end.
Outside a storm boiled over Mount Monadnock and down into the valley, spilling into Moonhill. Like a brew bubbling over from a witchs pot, rain flooded against the roof and deluged the windowpanes with waterfalls. Wind pounded against the walls, and thunder reverberated through the empty halls. A tomb would feel much like this: cold, dark and empty.
The plague of insomnia had her staring at the ceiling, finding the face of evil in the plaster as a necromancer might in a scrying bowl. One answer to one question. Thats all she wanted. Why was it so hard to find?
The storms fury ebbed, and the faint whimpers of a babys cries imprinted themselves on the air. She slid under the covers as the frightened pitch increased. Closing her eyes, fisting her hands against her ears, did nothing to vanquish the childs terror.
Only one thing would.
Tears coursing down her cheeks, she rose from her bed. As shed done on countless other nights, she crept into the hallway and wound her way toward the third-floor tower room. There she pressed the plunger of the antique iron latch. The door creaked open and the cries instantly ceased.
The cries werent real. They were just a trick of her mind, giving form to her guilt. There were no babies here, dead or otherwiseonly her misguided hope.
Wrapping one arm around her stomach, she stepped into the yellow pool of artificial light burning from the night-light that had made Valentina feel safe. An expectant hush weighted the room as if the walls were listening for the missing four-year-olds return.
Nothing had changed in this room. For twenty-five years the tic-tac-toe play rug, the childs bed with its princess-pink canopy, the pile of stuffed animals on the butterfly-stenciled storage chest had remained as they were on the day Valentina had disappeared.
The static landscape her daughter had left behind stared back, ripe with accusation, and a lightning jag of pain, raw and deep, clawed at Ritas heart. Im so sorry, baby, so sorry.
If she could do it all over againBut no, there was no rewinding time.
As Rita turned to leave, a gray shape formed along her peripheral vision.
A sigh, no more than an exhale, seemed to sough against her ear. Mama.
Breath held, Rita stopped and pressed a hand to her thundering heart. Valentina?
The hope, so sharp in her voice, cut through the thick fog of memories. Of course not. What had the doctor called it? Projection? The disappointment of reality resettled heavily on her shoulders.
No, Rita. Its me, Holly.
Rita swiveled toward the doorway where her faithful friend and housekeeper stood, her long gray braid a beacon in the night.
I thought I heard Ritas hand fluttered like a surrender flag toward the window. I thought Valentina washome.
Hollys solid arm wrapped around Ritas waist, supporting her, and gently led her away from the center of her agony.
You must think me a fool.
No, of course not, Rita. It was just the storm. Let me walk you back to your room.
Im okay. Shoulders stooped, Rita shook off Hollys helping hands and made her way back into her bedroom alone, fading into the shadows of the housejust another ghost.
Chapter One (#ulink_1cfeeecb-a7af-5905-83fa-142575104fca)
Pewter shrouded the October afternoon as Valerie Zea and Mike Murakitaher photog and soundman for the shootmade their way to Moonhill, New Hampshire. Here and there a red maple leaf or a yellow beech leaf, still clinging stubbornly to a limb, flickered like a tongue of fire.
Valerie had seen photos of the White Mountains blazing with fall color, of the misty lakes like milky beads of moonstone wreathing the endless vistas from high atop the mountains, of the bellowing moose that required warnings to motorists every few miles on the highway. And shed wanted to see all that rugged beauty, so different from the lush flatness of Central Florida she was accustomed to.
Shed been disappointed enough when shed read that the Old Man of the Mountaina nature-made Indian head of stacked boulders perched precariously on the side of a mountain for centurieshad fallen a few years ago and no longer watched over Franconia Notch. Just the nameFranconia Notchconjured up a grand and magnificent picture. Not that they were anywhere near the White Mountains, since Moonhill was located in the southern part of the state. But the fog was cheating her out of her anticipated sense-stunning experience.
She compared the MapQuest directions shed gotten online against the road signs popping up out of the low clouds on the narrow road. Turn here.
Mike jerked the car onto the country lane. A little more warning next time.
Aye, aye, captain.
On the right side, a low stone wall framed a cemetery whose granite headstones and statuary poked out of the mist. Not quite on the scale of a mountaintop view, but filled with mystery, suspense and intrigue.
On the left, a Stick-style Victorian with a wraparound porch glared through the murk like some sort of movie set haunted house. Orange fairy lights dripped from the eaves. Giant glow-in-the-dark spiders and webs clung to the decorative trusses. A life-size mummy with arms out-stretched seemed poised to lumber out of the six-foot tall black coffin leaning against the oak by the front walk. On the lawn, strobes blasted on and off at intervals, lighting up red-eyed bats, moaning zombies and shrieking gar-goyles. There were enough special effects there to make a Hollywood techie jealous.
Talk about overkill, she said. The overblown drama of the scene would make an interesting segment of its own, though, especially if she could find a Florida angle to it. Maybe the owners parents were part of the snowbirds that flocked to the Sunshine State every winter. She made a mental note to look into the possibilities before she pitched the idea to Higgins, her executive producer. Hed appreciate maximizing the bang for his travel-expense buck.
She peered at the web-encrusted mailbox by the entrance for the address. Weve got a way to go yet.
Mike warbled his voice to make it sound spooky, but it came out sounding more like the Count on Sesame Street. Maybe its the local haunted house for Halloween. He shot her a mischievous grin. At thirty, he still looked like a kid with his boyish face that couldnt grow a beard, except for a sparse tuft on his chin that looked like a smudge of dirt. Want some B-roll of that for your segment?
Yeah, Higgins would go for that. Hes already ticked off Kristas doctor wouldnt let her fly, and he had to send second-choice me to do the job. The assignment was high priority since it had come down as a special order from Edmund Meadows, the stations owner. Hed requested a package about the kidnapping of his great-niece twenty-five years ago in hopes of stirring up some new evidence that could lead to finding the missing girl.
On the plus side. He put you above Bailey.
Bailey-the-Beautiful who had Higgins wrapped around her long legs. Valerie snorted. There was too much at stake for Higgins to risk needing to mop up after Bailey. Efficiency won out over looks.
Either that or he couldnt give her up for four whole nights.
There is that.
High on Windemere Drive, Moongate Mansion materialized out of the shifting mist. First the six-foot granite wall and the black iron gate, canted open, daring intruders to trespass. Then the estate itself, a gray nineteenth-century Victorian with an eclectic mix of Italianate and Queen Anne. Each generation of Meadowses, seeking no doubt to stamp their mark, had added to the original two-story, four-room house until it sprawled over 13,000 square feet, looking like some sort of Frankenstein creature.
Valerie couldnt imagine living in such a dreary place, especially with its constant bruise of painful memories. But she also understood why Rita Meadows stayed. For Valentina. If she came back, her home would be there, waiting for her, lights shining bright, and her mother would be there, too, arms open wide.
Valerie swiped surreptitiously at the moistness in her eyes. Her mother called Valeries tendency toward the melodramatic maudlin. But what could she say, she liked happy endings. There were so few of them in real life.
Mike crunched the rental up the gravel drive. She rolled the window down for a better look at the house. The scent of decomposing leaves and wood smoke infiltrated the car. Dark trees on each side of the lane swayed and whispered as if in warning. Ahead light gleamed from what seemed like a hundred windows, brightening the gloom of the day with their glow. But even that wasnt enough to dispel the aura of decay that clung to the houses wooden boards like ivy.
Her blood quickened as the voice-over wrote itself in her head. Cohost Dan Milleges deep bass vibrated with gravity in her brain, hitting just the right emotional tone for the introduction to a twenty-five-year-old kidnapping. She ripped out her portfolio and scratched furious notes to capture the inspiration before it vanished. Cant you just feel the mystery in the air? We have to get the fog on tape before it lifts.
Off to the side of the house, Mike shoved the rental into Park. Dont you ever look at anything without seeing it from a story angle?
Valerie shrugged. The story was everything. She couldnt explain it to Mikeor to her motherbut some inner force drove her to ferret information, any information, about everything. Her mother called it a disease and, although Valerie preferred to label her flaw as curiosity, she couldnt quite disagree. She couldnt remember a time when she wasnt looking for something, anything, to fill the hollowness in her soul.
We give you everything, Valerie. Isnt that enough?
It should be, and that it wasnt, truly pained her.
This curiosity had landed her the job as coordinating producer for Florida Alive, a half-hour magazine format program that aired Monday through Friday at seven, right after the nightly news, and showcased people, places and things of interest in the state.
So, okay, Florida Alive was considered soft news and didnt exactly hit life-altering issues. That didnt mean she couldnt find the deeper meaning in a sand sculpture competition or the creation of pastry masterpieces or the raising of camels. What fired up other people, what gave their lives purpose, what made them feel alive fascinated her. Passion fascinated her. And traveling all over the state to see new places and meet all sorts of different people was an amazing bonus for a girl with wanderlust who hadnt traveled more than fifty miles from home until after graduating from college.
Mike peered at the massive house, no doubt gauging shot angles. So, you think shes dead?
Valeries gaze climbed up the polygonal tower, and a shiver rippled down her spine. Crazy, but the childs frantic cries seemed to vibrate against Valeries chest and the childs panic to shudder down Valeries limbs, making her hands cold and clammy.
She reached for the French vanilla coffee shed bought at the Dunkin Donuts a few towns back and warmed her hands against the paper cup. With a fervor that rocked her, she wanted that baby to be safe somewhere. Who took a child from her own bedroom? Who could purposely cause such grief? And why?
Valerie swallowed and ripped her gaze back to Mike. After twenty-five years
Its kind of sad to think of this lady pining away for her dead kid for so long.
But what else could a mother do? Without proof of death, she couldnt give up. As much as Valerie and her mother didnt see eye-to-eye on practically anything, her mother would search the ends of the earth to find her, and Valerie would do the same for her mother. Recalling their argument that morning, Valerie winced and made a mental note to call once she got back to the inn and apologize. Thats why we have to do the best job we can with the story.
Mike slanted her a knowing grin. You just want Kristas job when she goes off on maternity leave.
Valerie had eyed the news producers job ever since Krista had announced her pregnancy. It was a stepping-stone to producing harder-hitting stories, one Valerie had to cross if she ever wanted to get to New York. So what if I do?
Mike cranked off the engine and shot his hands up. Hey, Im just saying, word is, youve got competition for the spot.
Bailey-the-Beautiful. Sure and steady wins the race.
Only in fables, babe.
Dont call me babe.
Racking up a mental to-do list, Valerie juggled her cell phone, purse, portfolio of notes and cup of coffee. Ill introduce myself to Ms. Meadows and set up a time to look through her archives tomorrow. Ill see if I can find more potential witnesses. I have that prison interview set up for Thursday. Then we can shoot Ms. Meadowss interview on Friday. Which would mean spending the whole weekend editing to get the package ready to air next week. No wonder she didnt have a social life. That wouldnt be so bad, except for the coming-home-to-only-a-dog part. You can get started on the exteriors. Can you get a tracking shot coming up the drive? Low angle so the house seems to pop out of the fog? Maybe a Dutch angle to make it look spooky?
No problem.
Mike had a great eye. She could count on him getting her the shots she needed. She pointed at the third-floor room of the turret. Thats where she disappeared from. Make sure you get some shots from all angles. And this living room window, too. Thats where the party was held. I want the window to look as if its glowing so the viewer can imagine the party in full swing.
Got it. Mike got out of the car. Keep it short, will ya? I havent eaten anything all day, except for those stale airline pretzels.
Valerie nodded distractedly. Shed add festive sounds during editing for the full effect. Sipping on her coffee, she stared at the window. What was it like to realize that while you were entertaining guests someone had sneaked upstairs and stolen your only child while she slept? Her heart tripped on a beat. The guilt had to crush poor Rita Meadows.
Mike was sorting through his gear in the trunk of the rental by the time she reached the solid-oak front door. She was about to ring the antique bell when the door blew open and the hard body of a man, carrying a briefcase and an air of hurry nearly crashed into her.
Who are you? What do you want? The timbre of his voice was deep and vibrant, echoing in the cavern of the foyer behind him. Costumed in a thousand-dollar suit and a hundred-dollar haircut, he exuded the righteous bearing and win-at-all-costs menace of a corporate sharpshooter. At the sight of those eyes, so dark and primal, a flash of awakening skittered through her brain and a choked jolt of something more acute than simple recognition made her catch her breath.
Nicolas Galloway. The man Rita Meadows had hired to run her fathers investment firm after Wallace Meadowss death.
And, wow, Nick-the-Pit-Bull certainly lived up to his reputation as a rabid guardian. Voted most eligible, yet most elusive bachelor of New England by Boston Magazine. Smooth, charming and appealing. And definitely effective, if his investment track record was true. Although why anyone would want to pursue a man who ran his love life like an investment was beyond her understanding.
Somewhere over Virginia, shed decided that he was going to be a problem. Meeting him did nothing to change her mind. But she could put personal prejudices aside. She pinned on a smile, freed one hand and stuck it out. Hi, Im Val
He fired a poison eye-dart at her. Good God, dont tell me youre one of them
Im
How did you get past the security?
The gate was
I dont have time for this today. Go away and dont bother coming back. We wont even talk to you unless you agree to a DNA test, and youll need to contact our lawyers office for that.
He tried to bulldoze his way past her, posture straight, a relentless quality on a face with an unsmiling mouth and a strong bone structure. Armored with her portfolio, purse and cup of coffee, she stepped in front of him, blocking his path. She may look small enough to squash, but he wasnt going to step all over her that easily.
Their eyes connected like lightning, and Valerie had a sense of space rushing dizzily. Wow, those eyes. Beneath the power, they bore a scar of pain. And sadness. How could that be when his bio spelled out an idyllic childhood?
Get real, Valerie. She shook her head. Figuring out what made Nicolas Galloway tick wasnt on her busy agenda.
Im Valerie Zea, like sea. Her namelike her lifeseemed an abbreviation of something bigger. Im the coordinating producer for WMOD-TV in Orlando, Florida. Ms. Meadows is expecting me.
What for? His icy calm chilled the already cool air and made her wish shed put on more layers under her blazer.
Stay professional. You were invited. You have the right to be here. Were producing two segments on her daughters kidnapping twenty-five years ago.
Without a word, he pulled her inside.
Hey, let go of me!
He slammed the door shut behind them. Panes in the narrow windows framing the door reverberated in their casings. Light glazed the walls of the foyer with false warmth, clouding details, reviving that dizzy feeling. For a moment, her system went haywire at the thought of being caged with him inside this house. Reaching for the closest solid thing, she steadied herself on the firm bicep of her captor, then recoiled with pinball speed at the thought of seeking safety there.
She yanked her arm to free her elbow from the hand hed clamped around it and frowned at him when he didnt immediately let go. Id say a refresher course is in order.
Pardon me?
Manners. Last time your style was in, men wore mammoth skins and carried clubs.
He jerked her arm down as if to plant her in place and gave a sharp growl. Stay here and dont move.
Movements tight and controlled, he spun on his heel and headed into the bowels of the house.
Sure thing, Mr. Galloway. Ill be right here when you come back to apologize.
NICK FOUGHT HIS TEMPER all the way to Ritas sitting room on the second floor. He hated that the mere sight of the intruder had saturated him with a sense of fullness the way food, water and air never could, just because she looked like Valentina would, and part of him was still searching for his childhood friend.
A mask. A fraud. Just another scam artist out to separate Rita from her fortune. How could his brain let itself get fooled so easily?
Valentina was dead.
The womans pale blue eyes had met his straight and clear, dancing with eager life and a streak of stubborn resistance. Shed done her homework, all right. Hair the color of moonlight. Natural, not bottle-bought like so many others. Hed noted things about her he hadnt wanted to noticelike the gingery smell of her skin, like the crescent scar at her temple, like the heat of certainty that she belonged in this house.
He liked even less the twitch in his chest that had been much too close to panic. Just the thought of her now shocked him all over again.
Valentina. When would she stop haunting him?
And pseudo-Valentinas, would they ever stop showing up on Moongates doorstep preying on Ritas hopes?
He hung on to his control long enough to stop and knock on Ritas door rather than barrel right through.
Rita looked up, a flush creeping over her too-pale skin, like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Her hands folded over the age-progressed image of Valentina that had arrived in that mornings mail. His heart sank. Why did she insist on torturing herself like this every October?
Did you forget something, Nicolas? Though still regal in bearing, she seemed to have shrunk in the past few years, as if the burden of hope was finally getting too much to bear. He wanted to ease her pain, but she wouldnt buy any of his proofsthe blood, the DNA, even the conviction.
Hand still on the brass doorknob, he squeezed it with all his might to keep his irritation out of his voice. Theres a woman downstairs who claims youre expecting her.
From Edmunds television station?
He nodded.
Yes, shes the coordinating producer wholl help me air Valentinas story. Ritas spine straightened and her chin jutted out as if she were readying for a fight. That wasnt how he wanted things to stand between them.
How could Edmund Meadows have let his niece talk him into this folly? I wish youd talked to me.
Why? So you could tell me I was a doddering old fool?
Shell hurt you. Like all the others. Nick had gotten good at sniffing out frauds. He knew this womans type. The kick in the gut hed gotten when hed seen her outside determined to get in only proved she was nothing more than another opportunist.
He jerked his chin at the photo beneath Ritas hand. Shed be embarrassed if he told her he knew about her nightly supplications with God in the tower room. But if he told her, then hed have to admit his own guilt, and he couldnt bear the look of disappointment in her eyes. She looks just like the picture.
Ritas gaze went wide and a little desperate. Her hands flattened over the photo, covering it completely. She works for the station.
This pretenders good. Ill give her that. Patient and resourceful. Hitting just the right notes to instantly win Ritas confidence. The worst kind of con artist. He should know; that same blood ran through his veins. She couldve been using her job to dig deeper into your past.
Youre reaching, Nicolas. Rita searched through the Notes section of her red leather agenda and tapped a paragraph on the page. Valerie Zea has worked at WMOD for six-and-a-half years. She started as an intern right after college and has moved up to coordinating producer. She took a year off after her father died, but came back. Last year she won an Emmy for a segment she produced on a private investigator who specializes in missing children. Simon Higgins, the executive producer, tells me shes the best person for the job.
Was Higgins in on this farce? What would he gain by it? Time to run some background checks and stop this before the situation got out of control. Im trying to protect you from another fraud.
I understand. Rita glanced at her notes. Shes requested access to the archives for research, and Ive agreed to let her sort through my collection.
A growl formed at the base of Nicks throat, but he swallowed it back. Youre inviting trouble, and you hired me to keep you out of trouble.
You do your job well, Nicolas. This time, though, youre wrong.
Rita
Rita closed her agenda with a snap. Shell want to interview you and Holly, as well.
Something in Nick froze. No, thats not going to happen. Im not going to put my mother through public humiliation again.
Ritas lips quivered into a tremulous smile. Its the twenty-fifth anniversary. I have to do something. Someone knows where my baby is. I just want to bring her home.
And like that, a mountain of shame swamped him. Rita had exhausted every possible avenue to find Valentinathe police, private detectives, offering exorbitant rewards for information and promising no questions asked if only her daughter was returned. Shed followed every lead, no matter how thin. Once, on another anniversary, shed even admitted shed take a body just to know for sure what had happened to her precious daughter.
Rita, he started, but had no idea what to say to ease her grief and make her see that her desperation would only add to her pain.
Her pale blue eyes turned to him. I know you think Im a fool, but I dont care. I know Valentina is alive. She banged her chest with a fist. I can feel her in my heart.
How could he argue with that? Which didnt mean he had to set her free with the wolves. Okay, but Im not leaving you alone with her.
Rita stood, tucked her agenda against her chest, blood-red against her ice-blue blouse. Dont you have a meeting with Emma Hanley and Carter Stokke about the Valentina Pond project?
Another scam as far as he was concerned, but Ritas friend, Emma, had made a killing on Phase One, and Rita thought that, if she got in on Phase Two, it would add value to the acreage she owned on the back side of the pond. So hed run the numbers for her and give her the black-and-white proof of his initial gut feeling. Itll wait. Youre more important.
She rounded her desk and squeezed him into a quick hug. Thank you, Nicolas, for indulging me.
Stepping back, he nodded. She was no more than a small and fragile bird in his arms. Ill go get her. Well meet you in the library.
Nicks steps ate up the Oriental runner lining the hallway. Cripes, he didnt need this.
Loyalty to Rita as much as love for this place kept him rooted at Moongate. Though he was raised at the mansion, he didnt mistake himself for something he wasnt. And although Rita treated him like a son, he was ultra-aware he wasnt family. He was CEO of Meadows Investments. Nothing more. He understood that his value here was in his achievements. Which was why hed worked at building an identity for himself outside the mansion walls with the soccer and the tutoring and the carpentry. Yet he was determined not to let Rita down, to prove she could count on him to watch out for her best interestsjust as shed once watched over him and his mother when they were helpless.
Mostly, he needed to prove that his will was stronger than the tainted blood that ran through his veins.
He wouldnt let anyone con Rita out of a single penny. He knew all the tricks. After all, hed learned from a master.
No pseudo-Valentina with dreams of easy riches was going to get the best of him, no matter how realistic her mask.
Chapter Two (#ulink_2735ed37-6758-51cd-a970-a301569ed2b2)
Valerie waited, as ordered, in the foyer. Not because she was afraid of Nicolas Galloway, even though his dark look and sharp bite were enough to intimidate anyone, but because there was no point in stirring up trouble until she absolutely needed to.
Save your spit for the important stuff, kiddo, Higgins had told her early in her career. Learn to pick your fights.
She was expected at Moongate. After all, Rita Meadows had requested the interview. She would allow Valerie to do her job.
The station could always send someone else, Valerie supposed. Bailey, for example. But there wasnt enough time. Not if the package was going to air in time for the anniversary as Ms. Meadows wanted. And in a time crunch, Valerie could get things done that would send Bailey in a tizzy.
Valerie glanced at her watch, then sipped the last cold drop of the French vanilla coffee, clinging to her otherwise empty cup, and wished for more. Her restless feet paced the foyer, and her gaze speared into the hall, anticipating Nicolas Galloways return.
The slow bong of a grandfather clock reverberated from somewhere far inside and echoed in the chambers of her head. The baneful peal shot her back to the middle of the night when shed woken up a prisoner in her tangled sheets, bitter terror clinging to her skin along with the sweat. She had an overpowering urge to rub the hairs writhing on the back of her neck, to run.
Its just a house. And she wasnt stressed. Tired because of the early flight, maybe, but not stressed. So there was no reason for her to think of the dream.
But the hall boring into the dark heart of the house had the cold breath of a mausoleum. The smell of dusty funeral roses drifting from it plucked at her memory. One too many creepy black-and-white movie, Valerie.
She toyed with the empty coffee cup, looking for a place to dispose of it. What was taking Nicolas Galloway so long? How long did it take to say, Hey, the person youre expecting is here?
Faraway giggles echoed somewhere over her shoulder. Well, it was about time. Valerie turned toward the stairs and the foyer shifted before her, setting off a jerky projector-like run of memories she had no right to own.
As if the outside fog had crept inside, the edges of the room blurred. The cream paint on the walls darkened to caramel. A cut glass vase filled with pumpkin-colored mums appeared on the small marble-topped table. A gilded mirror reflected the bouquet, making it pop. A red kick ball sailed in from the open front door, bounced with a wet thwack on the polished pine floor and right into the vase, knocking it to the floor. Water, broken flowers and jagged pieces of glass spread over the floor like some sort of modern art mosaic. Two sets of childrens hands reached for the shards.
Its okay. Here. Nobodyll know.
One pulled open the drawer of the decorative table and hid the broken glass inside. The other gathered the flowers.
Shh, dont tell.
Valerie shook her head and the smoky scene vanished. The table and mirror were still there, but the bouquet and vase were gone. She looked down at her coffee cup. Wow, that was some potent stuff.
Before she could stop herself, she stepped to the table and opened the drawer. Empty. What, you expected to find broken glass?
With a half laugh that rebounded against the ceiling of the foyer, she closed the drawer. She stopped midslide when the chandeliers light caught the glint of something shiny trapped in the seams.
She ran a finger along the inside edge and gasped an Ouch when something pricked her skin. On the tip of her index finger stood a splinter of clear glass. She drew it out and sucked on the bead of blood left behind.
Doesnt mean anything, she told herself. Could be from anythinga mirror, a lightbulb or a glass. Pocketing the bloody splinter, she willed her racing heart to slow. She left her hand balled inside the pocket of her blazer to dampen its shaking.
Obviously, youve had too much coffee. She shouldnt have stopped for that last large cup. Bad for her nerves. Bad for her heart. Hadnt the doctor warned her just last month to cut back to stop the palpitations?
Shed probably read about the vase incident during her research and it had stuck in her mind. Wouldnt be the first time. This feeling of dj? vu happened to her more often than she liked to admit. Shed read something, see a photograph, and then, once she got on location, shed have that feeling of having been there before.
But never this real. A tight feeling coiled in her gut.
Get a grip. Nothing to get spooked about. One of her high school teachers had called this ability of hers to recall almost everything shed ever seen eidetic memory and seemed fascinated by it. Of course, that was after hed accused her of cheating on a test, and shed had to prove to him that everything on the page had come straight from her brain and not Mark Peachs paper.
Spinning away from the scene of the mirage, she forced herself to concentrate on the collection of Currier & Ives prints, showing off the same scene of a country lane and pond in four seasons. The house in the background looked remarkably like Moongate Mansion. Maybe she could use them as a montage to show the passage of time.
Thats better. Work was her salvation. When it came to work, her fate was in her hands, not in some monsters from a dream. She could do this. Shed done it hundreds of times before. The only pressure on her was the one she was putting on herself. Stick to the plan.
Houses, according to a psychologist shed once interviewed for a segment on dream analysis, were a metaphor for the human psyche. This one seemed rusted in time. Haunted almost, like a restless mind. Maybe thats what Rita wanted by looking back into the pasta cure. If she understood what had happened to Valentina, then she could let go of her child and finally find peace.
The floor of the hall thundered, and Nicolas Galloway reappeared, long, determined strides making short work of the distance between them.
About time, she mumbled, tugging her blazer back in place with her free hand.
His expression remained frozen in the feral position, and instead of an apology, he barked, Follow me.
Sheesh, he didnt even pause to see if she followed, just assumed she would. She was used to following directions, but unbending commands were another thing. And shed had just about enough of going through an intermediary to get to her appointment. I really need to speak with Ms. Meadows.
Youre in luck. Youre getting your wish.
As she scrambled after Nick, the raspberry brambles on the hall wallpaper shifted as if rustled by a breeze. The smell of burned toast stung her nose. The scraping of a knife against dry bread scratched at her brain.
Itll be just fine. See? A womans voice. Now, which do you want, strawberry or blueberry preserve?
Valerie stopped and peered into the dining room, set with Lenox china, Pairpoint crystal and silver-plated dinnerware.
What are you doing?
At the boom of Nicks voice, the image vanished, leaving behind an empty table and chairs. Valerie swiveled her head to look at Nick frowning at her from the library entrance. At least this time she remembered where the flash of memory had come fromthe photograph from Victorian Homes of a Thanksgiving dinner at Moongate the year before Valentina disappeared. I thought I smelled toast burning.
Someones bringing tea. He disappeared into the room.
Valerie hurried to catch up with him. Tea was good. Tea meant Rita Meadows would let her see the archives. Tea meant that Nicolas Galloway owed her an apologynot that she was holding her breath for one. And maybe it also meant food. Which made her think of Mike. He was going to be royally cranky that she was taking so long. A well-fed Mike was a happy Mike, and a happy Mike got her good footage. Payback from Mike, on the other hand, was never a good thing.
Sit, Nick ordered.
Arguing right now would be a waste of breath, so she chose a wing chair that gave her width and height, and deposited her portfolio and purse on the floor at her feet and the empty coffee cup on the side table. She didnt play games, but she didnt make easy prey, either.
Nick paced the marble hearth of the fireplace as if he was drawing up some sort of war plan, and she pulled back her shoulders readying her defenses.
We need to set some ground rules, he said. One, you are not to wander unaccompanied on the grounds or in the house at any time. That goes for your friend with the camera outside, too. Ive already sent someone to detain him.
Detain Mike? Good luck to anyone who tried to separate Mike from his camera. Ms. Meadows has already given her permission to shoot.
This is nevertheless Ms. Meadowss private home and intrusion into her privacy will not be tolerated. We do not want a tabloid expos that will exploit Ms. Meadowss pain at the tragedy of her daughters kidnapping.
What bug had crawled up his butt? Look, youve made it clear you dont want me here, but if you think you can intimidate me into leaving, youre wrong.
He rounded on her with High Noon intensity. Right now, Im cooperating, but dont cross me, or youll regret the day you showed up on our doorstep.
Jeez, Louise, what did he think she was going to do? Blow her career by ticking off the man who paid her salary? An expos is certainly not our intention. At his nieces request, Mr. Meadows asked his executive producer to put together these segments on Valentinas kidnapping. Mr. Meadows expects clean and true reporting any time his station airs a package. This will be no exception.
Ms. Meadows is the constant target of people who would prey on her pain for gain. There are certain facts we would rather not make public in order to protect the family from scam artists.
Okay, she could see why he might be a tad touchy on the subject. Her task was to mollify him and wow him with her ability to present a fair and balanced portrait of the familys misfortune. I understand your point, Mr. Galloway. As I said, were not out to prey on Ms. Meadows. But she was the one who asked that we tell her daughters story with the hopes of bringing her home.
Its been twenty-five years. The statement sounded remarkably like a trick question.
I understand. But finding the childslocation would allow Ms. Meadows closure, dont you think?
His presence was an iceberg in a room too small to contain him, and she was uncomfortably aware of his proximity, of his stark and grim gazeof his pain. Then, like the incidents in the foyer and the dining room, for a flash, his face wavered. A play of light and shadows had her chest heaving with a sweet ache of longing and her arms yearning to loop themselves around his neck.
A chill pierced her skin, raised a crop of goose bumps. Her fingers clawed around the arms of the chair to keep herself from slipping into the unwanted fog once again. Her breath hitched in her throat and a pang of loss nearly swallowed her. How could that be? She shook her head and, when her gaze reconnected with his, the same un-yielding glower glared back at her.
Nicolas Galloway was no friend.
Yet his eyes stirred dark echoes of her recurring dream and spiked her blood with unease. Why?
Are you okay? he asked, frowning.
Too much coffee. She flashed him a smile that, to her horror, wobbled.
With a sudden jolt as if shed hit him, he turned his back on her and resumed his pacing. Two, well need approval over the final product.
Valerie shot to her feet. With the amount of blood, sweat and tears she spilled to write, shoot and edit a package, there was no way she was going to let him mess with her baby. It doesnt work that way.
We have to be sure you havent inadvertently leaked privileged information.
She had the station owner and the interview subject on her side. Why was she letting him get under her skin? She forced a smile. Well, then, youll have to take that up with the executive producer. Keep in mind that I do have a tight production schedule to adhere to if Ms. Meadowss story is to air in time for the kidnappings anniversary.
Wrong tactic, of course. She knew that the second she uttered the words. Keeping the package off the air was exactly what Nicolas Galloway wanted.
That, of course, is your problem. Nicks pacing came to an abrupt halt and his gaze fixed on the doorway.
Rita Meadows paused at the entrance to the door, holding on to the door frame as if she were dizzy. There was a lot of that going on today. Someone needed to check the furnace and see if the carbon monoxide level was okay.
Ritas recovery was quick. She pasted a work-the-room smile on her sculpted face, extended a hand and welcomed Valerie with the practiced ease of someone used to dealing with people. You must be Valerie. Mr. Higgins speaks highly of you.
As he does of you. Ritas hand was cold and brittle in Valeries and a wave of sympathy made Valerie squeeze warmth into her grip.
Close-up, even with her understated makeup, Rita looked hollow-eyed, a little too thin, a little too pale. Her hair, the color of expensive champagne, was twisted ele-gantly at her nape, giving her a fragile kind of beauty that seemed somehow tragic to Valerie.
Nick rushed to Ritas side, cupped her elbow and led her to the sofa, where he stood beside her on guard like the pit bull of his reputation. Stray out of line, get too personal, his cutting expression said, and Ill rip you to shreds.
Aye, aye. Message received, she telegraphed back, and his frown deepened.
She could see why some women might fall for him. The primitive quality he exuded told a woman that, as long as he was there, she would be safe from predators. For manyher friend Sheree among themthat promise of savage protection was the fodder of dreams. Personally, Valerie already had too much overprotection in her life. The last thing she needed was to add a mans shadow to the one already stalking her.
Rita looked up at Nick, touched his arm. Is Holly bringing tea?
Nick gave a sharp nod, but his quick eye shift toward the door betrayed his uncertainty. He wasnt going to leave to check on tea when there was an intruder sitting in his employers library waiting to pounce on her.
Chill, she wanted to say. I dont bite.
I know you must be tired from the flight, Rita said to Valerie, so I wont keep you long.
I just wanted to introduce myself and set up a convenient time to go over your archives. I have another interview on Thursday, but Id like to tape yours on Friday.
You may come by to look at the archives at any time.
Eleven. The sharpness of Nicks voice coated the air with rime. Its the only time I have available.
Ill be here, Nicolas, Rita said. I can walk her through my collection.
His jaw tightened and antagonism bristled from him, but he didnt say a thing. What was it costing him to keep silent? She was starting to understand just how much Rita Meadows meant to him, how far hed go to protect her. How could Valerie reassure this many-times-bitten pit bull she meant no harm?
Eleven will be fine. Valerie injected light and air into her voice. My photographer will also need access to Valentinas room and the living room, as well as the grounds.
Yes, of course, Rita said.
Well keep our visit as short as possible.
Take all the time you need. I want Valentinas story retold in all its details. You never know what will trigger someones memory.
As Rita explained what she wanted to accomplish by airing Valentinas story, Nick stared at Valerie until the room was sucked dry of air and her head grew light.
Nick! Nick! Watch me! A splash of water.
I have better things to do than watch a baby play.
Im not a baby.
Are, too.
Well, forget it, then. Im not telling you my secret.
A lakeside gazebo with green-and-white striped awnings. Green water. Green trees. Eye-hurting blue sky. Valerie remembered seeing a picture of Nick and Valentina sipping lemonade at Ritas feet on a dock. Why was that picture coming back to her now?
May I ask you a personal question? Rita asked Valerie, changing subjects.
Sure.
How old are you?
Ill be thirty next May. By then shed planned on being in New York, working as a producer for a major network in the news divisionat least according to the life plan shed drawn up when she was eighteen. Come to think of it, shed only checked one item off that long list. That probably sounds as if I dont have much experience
Oh, no, dear, I dont doubt your qualifications. How tall are you?
Wow, where was this coming from? And what did it have to do with her ability to shoot an interview? Five-four. With three-inch heels. My mothers short. Thats where I get it. The shortness, I mean. Oh, good, now she was babbling. Definitely time to get solid food in her.
Ritas face crumpled. Her body curled into itself and spasmed in time to a coughing fit. The red agenda she clutched in her lap fell to the ground, spilling its contents. A photograph fluttered and landed upside down at Valeries feet.
Rita? Moving with speed and athletic grace, Nick knelt at his employers side, a glass of water in hand. Here.
Rita sipped the water Nick offered her, but the coughing only worsened. Nick gently stood her up.
Not knowing what to do to help Rita, Valerie picked up the agenda and put the pages back in place.
Stay here, Nick ordered, glaring at her, then escorted Rita out of the library.
Valerie picked up the photograph, turned it over and gasped. The hairstyle was wrong, and the smile was too stiff, but otherwise, the picture could be hers. What in the world?
Why did Rita have her picture? And why didnt she remember posing for it? What kind of twilight zone had she walked into?
After ten minutes of waiting for Nicks return, questions running laps in her mind as she studied the photograph from Ritas agenda, the coffee Valerie had had on the car ride up was putting pressure on her bladder. The tinkling of water in the brass tranquility fountain on an accent table didnt help.
A middle-aged woman entered the library, looking more like a shadow than a person with her black dress, gray hair and pale skin. Did no one in this house believe in the health benefits of a touch of sun? She carried a silver tray of tea and shortbread cookiesno toast, Valerie notedand studied the unwelcome guest with decided wariness.
The woman clucked, her dark-brown eyes troubled. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft, but unfriendly. Ms. Meadows will be down shortly.
She was coughing. Valerie stuck the photograph behind her back. Mr. Galloway took her up to her room.
Oh, no. The womans silver braid snaked over her shoulder as she slapped the tray onto the coffee table and hurried away, her feet making no noise on the rose-adorned carpet.
Is there a bathroom nearby? Valerie called after her.
The woman waved a hand vaguely to her right. Around the corner. The woman stopped her flight. Her small hand clutched the door frame as if her nails were fangs. Closet vampire? Itd be best if you left now.
I want to be sure Ms. Meadows is okay.
No good will come of you digging up bones.
Were taping the segments at Ms. Meadowss request. Valerie was starting to feel like a broken record.
Your act, the woman warned, shaking her head. It wont wash. Nickll see right through it. She turned and vanished into the dark hall.
Good to know Im so wanted. What was going on here? Had Higgins set her up for failure so he would have a good reason to promote Bailey over her? Something wasnt right. Not just with the room, but with the whole house.
She glanced around the library with its floor-to-ceiling stacks, its comfy chairs and cozy fireplace. Nothing about the elegant decor triggered her unwarranted fear, but she couldnt help the chill crawling up her spine.
Maybe she should leave and come back in the morning when everybody had calmed down and shed had some food.
First, though, she had to find a bathroom.
Valerie slipped the photograph into her portfolio. She wanted to study it further, see if she could remember when it was taken. She stepped into the hall. At least this time the walls didnt ripple. The first door she tried opened into a laundry room that smelled like summer rain. The next door opened into a dark room that looked like a closet, but smelled of rose potpourri and water. Valerie fumbled for a switch and found one in the hallway. Ah, finally, a bathroom.
She relieved herself and admired the painted mural that made it seem as if she were in some enchanted gardena watercolor background of mossy-green with pink roses, golden grasses and birds. A single blue butterfly hovered on one side of the mirror as if it were going to drink a sip of water from the sink while she washed her hands. Shed always liked butterflies, especially blue ones. As she reached to touch the gossamer wings, the lights went out, leaving her swallowed by darkness.
She sucked in a breath and wrapped her hands around the cold marble of the sink to anchor herself in the pitch-black space. Blinking madly, she tried to orient herself. A power failure? It happened a lot in old houses, didnt it?
Tamping back her irrational fear of small, dark places, she forced her frozen fingers to let go of the sink. She turned with small baby steps to keep her balance, then groped blindly for the door.
Out of the darkness, a slice of light materialized and crept into the gap between the floor and the bottom of the door. She frowned. The power was still on in the rest of the house?
A board creaked outside. She froze. Hello? Is anybody out there?
She stared at the paring of light, but no shadow rippled across its path.
Just an old house settling into its bones, she told herself, but the shaky sound of her voice didnt reassure her. Open the door and get out of here.
Her trembling fingers bumped against the hard wood of the door. With her heart pounding an SOS against her ribs, she patted the smooth oak until she found the knob. Her damp palms slipped on the glass knob. It wouldnt budge.
She tried again, pulling and twisting. A kind of desperate madness swept over her. Hey! Turn on the lights! Open the door!
She panted as she tried to control the sense of impending doom sweeping over her. The burn of tears stung her eyes and, hanging on to the knob as a child would, the craziest need to call Mama bubbled on her trembling lips.
Not that her mother was the kind whod fussed over emotional outbursts. You dont need a night-light, Valerie. Youre a big girl, and big girls dont cry.
Valerie blinked madly, survival instinct kicking back in. She banged on the door with the flat of her hand. This isnt funny!
Nicolas Galloway. Hed done this. Did he really think locking her in the bathroom was going to send her crying home? It would take a lot more than that to make her go crawling back to the station empty-handed.
Her grip tightened on the doorknob, and she pushed, turned and tugged with all her might. When she got out of there, she was going to strangle him. Open the door!
Chapter Three (#ulink_6a462862-802d-5f9c-a499-3b4bcb6870d9)
Teeth bared, Valerie jammed her shoulder into the bathroom door and grunted. Shed barely connected with the wood when the door burst open, and she tumbled into Nicks arms.
His hands held her forearms in a vise-tight grip to keep her from colliding with his chest. Even through the wool blend of her blazer sleeves, the vibrating heat of his anger burned her.
What on earth are you doing? he asked.
The door was stuck. She spied the wooden doorstop in his hand. This little thing was what had caused her full-blown panic attack? She snatched the offending piece of wood from his hand and held it up. Its going to take a lot more than locking me in the bathroom to discourage me.
Even if his cheap bathroom trick had worked at scaring hermomentarilyit wasnt going to make her disappear.
Guarded tension stretched his features taut. He pushed her away, breaking the heated hum of contact where his hard fingers had dug into her forearms. Trust me, Val, if I choose to intimidate you, youll know.
Valerie. She rubbed her arms against the sudden need to bury herself deeper into his embrace and breathe in the alluring scent of citrus and sandalwood of his aftershave. How crazy was that? One little scare, and like a two-year-old, she was ready to seek solace in the first pair of arms that turned up.
So if you didnt lock me in the bathroom, who did? The woman with the braid? These peoples overprotective-ness of Rita Meadows made Valeries mothers watchful smothering seem like neglect in comparison. How many people work here?
Thats none of your concern. Val.
Valerie, she insisted, narrowing her eyes at him. Had someone bribed the staff in the past? Was that where his wariness was coming from? And it does concern me when someone locks me in the bathroom. What if you hadnt come by?
You made enough racket. Someone wouldve heard you eventually.
Thats not the point
Ill handle the matter.
She stuffed the doorstop in the kerchief pocket of his suit and gave it a pat. Fine. See that it doesnt happen again. She didnt really have a choice other than to let him handle the matter. She wasnt here to investigate the staffs juvenile intimidation tactics. She was here to conduct interviews. How is Ms. Meadows?
His eyes softened for a second. Just a cold. Shell be fine.
But something in his expression told her he was more worried than a simple cold would warrant. Ill come back tomorrow, then. When shes feeling better.
That would be best.
Valerie buttoned her blazer, adding an extra buffer between them. The photograph? From the agenda? Why does Ms. Meadows have it?
A muscle in his jaw jumped. Its an age progression. She has one done every year on Valentinas birthday.
Valeries heart went out to Rita. Had she had the photo done as a way to watch her baby grow? No, Valerie decided. So shed know what Valentina would look like if she saw her on the street somewhere. Maybe airing the segment would provide Rita with the resolution she needed.
It, uh, looks like me. The resemblance was uncanny and the memory of that likeness sent a shiver prickling over her scalp. Had Rita thought that Valerie was her daughter? Was that why shed asked the personal questions? Although what height had to do with anything was a puzzle.
Nicks gaze hardened and bored into her with a warning that seemed to aim straight at her heart. His voice rode a flat line that reverberated with threat. But it isnt you, Val. Something youd best remember. Valentina is dead. I have proof. There wont be a fat payday. Not if I can help it.
Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. Is that why youre being such a jerk? You think I think Im Valentina? Thats ridiculous.
Whatll it take to make you disappear?
What?
He whipped out a checkbook from the inside breast pocket of his suit jacket. How much?
One hand covered her heart. You cant be serious. You think I want money?
He stepped closer until his breath was a warm flutter against her lips. Thats all they want in the end.
Her mind was blurring again. No, Nick, no. You know thats not true. They?
All the other girls over the years whove come knocking at the door pretending theyre the long-lost Valentina. He lifted a strand of her hair, rolled it between his fingers, then tucked it behind her ear. She leaned into his hand as if shed done this very thing before. As if he had. Jeez, Louise, she really needed some food before she went totally over the edge.
His thumb skimmed the outline of her cheek in a way that let her know that he could kill her just as easily as kiss her. Wow, where had that come from? As if shed ever want a kiss from someone who thought she was using her job to extort money.
Im not like all those girls. Im not like anyone youve ever met. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She searched the hard planes of Nicks face, looking forwhat? An explanation as to why she thought he would know her? Even stranger, that she should know him? That if she could just squeeze the right place on his waist, he would double over in helpless laughter?
He flattened a hand on the door frame beside her face, caging her against the wall. Thats where youre wrong. Ive met a hundred girls like you. Theyve all convinced themselves theyre the one.
A restless menace lurked right beneath the suit. But as much as he growled and barked and bared his teeth, he would never hurt her. The truth of that knowledge resonated soul deep. Which didnt mean she wanted to test that theory quite yet.
She planted a palm against his chest and pushed him away. I have a mother and a good life in Florida. I dont need to borrow anybody elses. So chill, okay? You said Valentina was dead. That you had proof? What kind?
Thats really none of your concern.
Well, see, thats where I dont agree. Everything that concerns Valentina concerns me.
And you think Im just going to hand you ammunition?
She tipped her head and squinted at him. To fleece Ms. Meadows? No. To help me put on the best segment I can? Yes. If you have proof that Valentina is dead, then it means I need to take a different angle with the interviews.
He refused to yield. Knowing Valentina is dead doesnt stop the crazies from showing up for a handout. The body was never found. Until it is, they prey on Ms. Meadowss hopes.
She sighed. I can see your point, but what if she isnt dead? As if drawn by a black hole, all she could do was look deep into the impenetrable dark brown of his eyes. Let me in, Nick. Let me see. That he was shutting her out hurt in a way that was beyond crazy. So was the compelling childish urge to pat his cheek and tell him that everything was going to be okay. What if she is alive?
She isnt. End of conversation, his tone said. But something flickered in his eyes, leaving her with the impression he was lying. Or at least not telling her the whole truth.
A door slammed somewhere down the hall, startling Valerie out of her strange connection with Nick. Never before had she been so aware of someone. The give-and-take of his breath. The galloping pulse of blood at his neck. The prickly hint of beard along his tense jawline. And that sadness, that heavy sadness that was eating at his soul and made her want to cry.
Its time for you to leave now. Nick straightened, yawning a canyon of space between them, and Valerie ran her hands over her arms to keep warm.
Heavy boots tromped on the floor, heading their way. A stout man with a white lions mane poking out from a well-worn khaki fishing hat stepped into the hall. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. Took me a while, but Ive got the gentleman under control like you asked. Hes in the car with the doors locked. He grinned, showing off square, white teeth. Chomp is watching over him. He wont go anywhere he aint supposed to go.
Thanks, Lionel.
My pleasure. Lionel doffed his fishing hat and swept it in front of him, showing Valerie the way to the front door. Ill escort you out now, maam. Chomp, he dont take too kindly to strangers.
She pointed toward the library. My things.
Nick nodded his permission, and she held her breath until she reached the library. She shook her head as if the simple gesture could release her from the grip of Nicks presence still clinging to her skin. The way hed short-cir-cuited her usually ordered thinking wasnt normal. Especially when it came to work.
You only have to deal with him for a couple of days, Valerie. And shed be too busy with all the details; shed forget he was even around.
She slipped Valentinas photograph out of her portfolio, took one last look at the woman who could be her twin and tucked it back into Ritas agenda. As sick as she was, Rita would need the comfort of her daughters picture. Definitely spooky, though.
But Valerie Grace Zea was born on May 13, not October 31. She was six months older than Valentina. She owned a baby album filled with pictures that featured Marissa and Ludlow Zea cradling her in the home where shed spent all of her life, until four years ago when shed bought her own little shoe box of a house just a mile from her parents.
Her memory was crowded with snapshots of her life in Florida. No mansion. No fog-shrouded landscape. No Rita Meadows.
A creak made her look up and sweep the room with a glance.
Nothing there to warrant the itch between her shoulder blades, but she couldnt help trying to roll away the feeling of being watched. Portfolio clutched to her chest, she hurried back into the hall where Nicks long shadow loomed, waiting for her.
Ill see you tomorrow, then. She adjusted her purse over her shoulder and yearned for a cup of coffee. To look through the archives.
Eleven.
Eleven it is. She slanted her head and gave him her most serious look. Ill do a good job.
His mouth flattened. Valentina needs to be buried, not revived.
To bury her, you have to find her. Someone out there knows where she is, and airing those segments could bring you the information you need for closure.
Dont you think that if anyone knew where she was, theyd have said something by now? Claiming the one-million-dollar reward is much easier than pretending to be a dead child all grown-up.
So were back to that, huh? Actions spoke more clearly than words. In the end, hed see she was true to her word.
His voice, low and rough, rumbled with warning. Secrets are called that for a reason, Val. And sometimes people want to keep their secrets buried.
Oh, yeah? Whats yours? Im not her. But Im not one of your pretenders, either. Im just a woman trying to do her job. Why was it so important that he believe her?
A terrifying flicker of a smile sprang to his lips. Make sure thats all you do.
NICK STOOD TO ONE SIDE of the window, surveying the scene below him. Valerie walked with both a dancers grace and a sprinters efficiency. Although she couldnt see him standing in the shadows of the third-floor tower room, she paused before entering the car and looked up. Not at Lionel and the barely controlled Doberman the caretaker held by the studded collar on the doorstep. But at him. Their gazes met across the barrier of glass and shadows, and she seemed to shiver before she disappeared into the safety of the car.
Good. She should be afraid. Fear would keep her from following through on her plan to blind Rita with her likeness to Valentina.
He wouldnt be as easy to fool.
Hed already paid a hefty price for his mistake. He picked up the floppy-eared dog that had been Valentinas favorite and buried his nose in the fur that had long ago lost its little-girl smell. In its place came the remembered sweet-and-spicy ginger scent Valerie wore. He hurled the dog back to the storage chest and scraped a hand over his face. His weakness had cost him his best friend and the only person whod understood him.
Protecting Rita, protecting Valentinas memory were the most important things in his life. A man had to take care of his own.
He followed the track of the car down the driveway until the fog devoured it. This woman was good. Better than the rest, judging by the instant connection shed made with Rita.
Its her, Nicolas. I can feel it. Ritas words echoed in his empty soul. Shed been ready to open her arms, her home and her heart to the charlatan. Thats why she didnt come before. She doesnt know.
He couldnt bear the toll the inevitable pain would cost Rita. Its not her, Rita. It cant be.
His gaze zoomed in on the golden pine of the floor, and that horrible night sucked him back into its darkness. Rita had had the floor sanded and refinished, but Nick could still see the dark stain spreading.
The blood, hed never stop seeing all that blood.
Or her eyes. Those half-closed, dead eyes.
His fault that she was gone.
Yet there was something about Valerie that seemed to reach back too far to be faked. His chin dropped to his chest and his eyes closed. How could she possibly have learned the quirks that were Valentinas? Little things like the half dimple that creased her right cheek when she smiled. The way her fingers played unconsciously with the hem of her blazer when she was nervous. How many sweaters had Valentina unraveled with that nasty habit? The way she tilted her head and looked at him with implicit trust. Hed never been able to scare Valentina, except with ghost stories, and then shed looped her arms around his neck, pressed her cheek against his. Are they gone, Nick? Are the ghosts gone?
And he really didnt like the way looking at her kicked up his blood.
Could Rita be right? Could Valentina have finally come home? Or was Valerie pulling the ultimate con by pretending she wasnt Valentina, but seeding all the right clues?
No, Valentina was dead. He had proofthe DNA, the blanket, the deathbed confession of Ritas former chauffeur. For crying out loud, there was even a guy in prison, serving time for the kidnapping.
And the blood. All that blood.
He rubbed his eyes to blot out the sight.
Damn Valerie for showing up.
And damn him for doubting what his own eyes showed him.
Nick stalked away from the window and marched to Ritas office. He ripped the phone from the cradle and dialed the P.I. he had on retainer.
Joe Aveni might as well have called himself Joe Average. Brown hair, brown eyes in an unmemorable face. Under the layer of fat he cultivated, he hid hard muscles he exercised five days a week. He dressed forgettably and appeared no threat to either males or females. All of which rendered him incredibly efficient at cajoling information from even the most unwilling of sources. No would-be Valentina had ever been able to stand up to his scrutiny.
I need a background check, Nick said when Joe answered.
Hey, man, Im backed up. Itll take me a couple of days to get to it.
Ill double your rate.
Ah, shoot, Nick, dont tell me you got another Valentina.
The twenty-fifth anniversary is going to bring out all the crazies.
Give me what youve got.
Nick gave the information hed found on Valerie in the agenda hed brought up from the library along with the empty take-out coffee cup.
Ill have a quick-and-dirty for you by the end of the day, Joe said.
Sooner.
You realize its already past three, dont you?
Nick swallowed a growl. Soonest you can.
How deep do you want me to go?
Nick sought the age-progressed picture from the back of Ritas agenda. Valeries face superimposed itself on Valentinas dead eyes and stiff smile in a way he didnt like. Alive, so alive. Her blond hair rippling with light, her eyes blue beams of determination, her teasing mouth taunting him in a too-familiar way. He squeezed the tension at the back of his neck and willed the mirage to disappear. I want to know everything about her from the first breath she ever took to what she had for breakfast this morning.
Joe cleared his throat. Going that deepll mean travel and a couple of days delay. Maybe a week, depending on what turns up.
Bill me.
The click-click of Joes pen pecked at Nicks eardrum. Can I ask whats different about this one?
What about Valerie had made him fall for the illusion in a way none of the other frauds had?
The con, he realized. Too slick. Too choreographed. Shes too good.
Joe bellowed out a laugh. Ive got to meet this woman who has Nicolas Galloway all tied up in knots.
Nick had known only one person who could slide so smoothly through a lie and make anyone believe it was the truth. He still bore the scars of that misplaced trust, and he wasnt going to let anyone add to them.
Was he back? Because of the anniversary?
A deep, disturbing gush of anger spewed up and shook Nick to the core.
What you have to do is get me the ammunition I need to stop her cold. Nick picked up the empty take-out cup that, even through the brown paper bag, still smelled faintly of vanilla and coffee. Can your DNA guy extract what he needs from a cup of take-out coffee?
Ill find out.
And while youre at it, Ill need a financial on Simon Higgins. Hes the executive producer at WMOD-TV in Orlando. Nick took a deep breath. And find me Gordon Archers current whereabouts.
What Nick needed was facts. Basic, logical, hard facts. With those he could fight them allArcher, Higgins and Valerie. Especially Valerie.
Shed come back in the morning. And hed have to be ready for her.
AT THE OTHER END of the phone, the woman burst into tears. Valeries gone. Was there no end to the river she could cry? I tried everything, but she still went.
He slapped a stack of reports into his briefcase. Ill take care of it.
A nervous tick of nails clicked against the phone. You wont hurt her, will you?
He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and shook his head. What do you take me for?
After all hed done for her, the least she could do is show him a little respect and gratitude. He wasnt an idiot. Why would he want to bring attention to a mistake when he was so close to payback?
Im sorry. She sniffed. I didnt mean
Of course you didnt. He softened his voice. Trust me. Ill take care of everything.
She swallowed a large bubble of air.
Everythings fine, he insisted.
But what if
Shes just doing her job.
But She sighed. Okay, if youre sure.
Im sure. He hung up, snatched the brochure from the desk and sneered at the mansion used as a logo. Theyd airbrushed out the weeds and the neglect, but they couldnt quite hide the self-important haughtiness. He pitched the brochure into his briefcase, snapped it shut and locked it.
Valerie was at Moongate.
He reached for the custom-tailored suit jacket on his bed. Shed been warned. If she couldnt take a hint, if she got in his way, shed have to suffer the consequences.
Then a zing of new possibility burst in his chest. He smiled as he adjusted his tie in the mirror. On the other hand, if he couldnt keep her away, maybe he could use her to his advantage.
Hed get his chance. Hed always known it would come.
Briefcase in hand, he hummed as he left the room. This time, hed get it right. This time, no one would mistake him for shoe scumleast of all the high-and-mighty Rita Meadows.
Chapter Four (#ulink_b89f8c05-97bb-50f0-b5be-15b8e9082071)
When Valerie arrived at Moongate the next morning, shed expected to give Rita Meadows a quick greeting, then get down to the archives while Mike taped his interior shots. But plans had a way of twisting themselves around, especially when time was at a premium. Really, if a shoot ever ran smoothly, shed think the end of the world had arrived.
She stifled a sigh. One out of two was better than none. At least Mike was on his way up to the tower room escorted by the burly Lionel.
A whippet-thin and rumpled man sat with Rita in the library. The only plus side Valerie could see to the delay was that Nick seemed even less happy to see the new arrival than hed been at seeing her.
Nick wore a charcoal suit today, and with his crisp white shirt and power-red tie, he presented the perfect picture of the successful businessman. His protective stance at Ritas side left no doubt that, should anyone try to harm her, they would suffer his wrath.
Then there were those eyes, guarded and restrained. But an undeniable frisson of something passed between Valerie and him when their gazes connected, and she couldnt help the hint of a smile that twitched her lips or the bubbly desire to play that infiltrated her limbs.
Do not even go there, Valerie. Nick wasnt part of the job and was way too complex for her to deal with in three days.
Valerie! Im so glad youre finally here. Ritas smile beamed. A strong red painted her cheeks, as if shed gone too heavy with the blush. Her eyes had a feverish gleam to them that made Valerie think Rita should still be in bed. Theres someone I want you to meet. She patted her hand on the sofa next to her, inviting Valerie to sit.
.
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Sylvie Kurtz
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Pull Of The Moon, электронная книга автора Sylvie Kurtz на английском языке, в жанре современная зарубежная литература