Текст книги "Tasting Fear"

Автор книги: Shannon McKenna

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 33 страниц)

Chapter

8

He kept catching her eye, giving her that wicked grin that scrambled her brain. The grin with the dimples that carved sexy lines into his cheeks. He’d done it in the restaurant and made her screw up the orders. He’d done it on the drive to his building. He was doing it now, from behind his desk in his office. She crossed her legs and tried to catch her breath. Bastard. It wasn’t fair. It really wasn’t.

“Nell? Earth to Nell? Do you have any of those finished?”

She jerked her gaze back to Bruce. “Uh, do I have what finished?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “The manuscripts for the goblin caves! Did you get those done? I need to submit them to the graphic artists.”

“Ah…um…” She winced. What with attackers and protracted bouts of incredible sex, she hadn’t had a second to work on the game. In fact, she’d forgotten about its existence. “I’m so sorry, Bruce, but I—”

“She’s been busy,” Duncan said curtly, from behind his desk.

Bruce’s eyes narrowed. He looked from Duncan to Nell. “Busy?”

Nell began to blush. “My life’s been kind of crazy. If you want, I’ll try to whip something up right now.”

“Okay, fine, but I was hoping to brainstorm about the octagonal tower and the magic mirrors tonight. And how about the prophesies for the cursed tomb of the lost kings? Haven’t done those, either, huh?”

She resisted the urge to excuse herself for slacking off. “Not yet, but I have some ideas,” she said. “They’ll need to be encrypted.”

“I roughed out a Rosetta stone last night. Looks like we’re going to be here till midnight if we want to have a chance in hell of finishing—”

“No,” Duncan said. “She’s been waitressing all day. She needs dinner, and a rest. Plus she has an appointment, in Queens, at nine.”

Bruce stared at them, and started to grin. “Ah. I see. Does she need her beauty rest, then? So that’s the way the wind blows.”

“Shut up, Bruce,” Duncan growled.

“Tired or not, we gotta get that material churned out by Monday,” Bruce fretted. “I don’t know how you expect us to—”

“Do it tomorrow,” Duncan said.

Bruce slanted him a glance. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, Dunc.”

“So? Work doesn’t care what day it gets done.”

“I’m free tomorrow,” Nell said quickly.

Duncan looked at his brother. “See? Problem solved. Get lost.”

Bruce got up and backed toward the door. “I’ll just go on home and slave away on my Rosetta stone while you two lovebirds—”

“Out, Bruce!” Duncan’s voice was like the lash of a whip.

“I’ll just, ah, engage this lock for you.” Bruce flicked the lever, grinning, and ducked out the door. It snicked shut behind him.

“That was unnecessary!” Nell hissed. “I promised him that I’d get those goblin cave manuscripts—oh!” She squeaked as he pulled her up to her feet and dragged her around his desk. He yanked her onto his lap, so that she was straddling him. “Are you nuts?”

He stifled her protest with a hot, persuasive kiss. She grasped his wrists for balance. Wow. But this was his office, for God’s sake.

“Just a kiss,” he said, nuzzling her throat. “Every time I passed the conference room, my dick got hard. Don’t worry. Door’s locked.”

“That makes it worse!” she protested. “Everyone is speculating!”

“What everyone? Everybody’s gone home but Bruce, and he’s already drawn his conclusions.” He gripped her hips, dragging her closer. “I did a crazy thing today,” he said, between ravenous kisses.

“Oh, really?” She laughed, breathlessly. “Crazier than usual?”

“Yeah. I was supposed to convince my sister Ellie to change her major from theater back to economics.” His arms tightened, grinding his erection against the melting sweet spot. She could hardly breathe.

“So I called her,” he continued, his voice silky. “I was about to do my spiel. And then I found your petals.”

“Really?” Nell said. Her panties were a whisper-thin barrier between the scorching heat and hardness of his erection. “And?”

“And I told her to go for it.” He sounded astonished at himself.

Nell was startled into lucidity. “Just like that?”

“There I was, rose petals all over me. I couldn’t bring her down.”

Nell’s heart swelled. She cradled his face in her hands and kissed him. “Congratulations,” she whispered. “You did a great thing.”

He cupped his hand behind her head and deepened the kiss.

Her long sweater skirt was rucked up high on her thighs, over the same beige gartered stockings she’d worn the day before, and his erection pressed against the gusset of her panties, behind which was a melting, throbbing ache of rising desire. She pulled away, gasping for breath. “I’m going to give you a great big wet spot,” she warned him.

“Only one thing to do about that.” He lifted her up so she stood on her feet, cupping her bottom so she couldn’t wiggle away. He wrenched his belt loose and his pants open. His cock sprang up, empurpled and huge. He slid his finger inside the crotch of her panties and into that hot, liquid well, swirling and stroking. A tug against her hip, fabric ripped, and he pulled her back down, fitting her over himself.

Forcing the thick club of his penis slowly, insistently inside her.

She braced herself against his chest. “Hey! Hold on! I spoiled you this morning, but don’t you dare start to think you can play dangerous games with me without protection whenever you feel like it!”

He slid relentlessly deeper. “I always feel like it with you.”

“You’re not the one who pays the price if there is a mishap!”

He stopped moving, and cupped her cheek, stared into her eyes with fierce intensity. “That’s not true. I always take responsibility for what I do. I would never bail out on you, Nell.”

Um. Nice sentiment, but Nell wasn’t precisely sure of its practical applications, and she was afraid to ask. And her body was betraying her. She could barely speak, swaying on top of him, quivering around his cock, squeezing him convulsively inside herself. She coordinated her shaky voice. “How do you take responsibility for an irresponsible thing? It’s contradictory!”

His fingers bit into her hips, dragging her against him. “That’s way too deep for a guy like me,” he said. “Especially when all the blood in my body’s been diverted to my dick.”

“That’s a cheap excuse,” she shot back, writhing helplessly.

“Just doing what I can,” he said. “Your waitress friend told me I could make up for my intellectual shortcomings by being good in bed.”

Her eyes popped open. “She didn’t!”

“She did,” Duncan said solemnly.

“Oh, my God.” She covered her face with her hands, and began to laugh. “I can’t believe them. I just can’t believe it.”

“I have to admit, I found it kind of comforting,” he mused. “I figured, maybe there’s hope, you know? Even for a meathead like me.”

“Oh, you just shut up!”

“Good thing you like ’em big and stupid, right?”

She swatted at him. “Stop it! You’re making it worse!”

“Oh, no. Not worse. Better,” he said. “I won’t stop. It feels fucking amazing. Those little fluttery clenches around my dick, every time you laugh. Laugh all you want. I’ll keep you laughing as long as I can.”

She pressed her hand to his mouth, chest hitching, eyes watering with shaky giggles. “Shhh. Really. Please, Duncan, damn it. I’m serious. Stop.”

“Fuck, no.” He pulled her hand down, grinning. “So this guy walks into this bar—”

“Shhh!” She stared into his eyes. “Just don’t get me pregnant,” she said. “Do. Not. Get it? I’ve got enough to feel scared about right now. Is that clear?”

He nodded, and kissed her palm. “I won’t come inside you,” he promised. “I won’t even move. I’ll sit like a statue. Your personal life-sized sex toy. You just squeeze me, ride me, do whatever you want with me until you come. Sound good?”

Oh, boy, did it ever. So good, it stole her breath, her voice.

She did as he offered, squeezing him inside her until her lower body flushed with pleasure, shaking with firecracker jolts.

He kept his promise, though she could tell that it cost him. It took a while to get there, with him so motionless. He trembled, holding her arms in a tight grip, staring at her face as she writhed and whimpered, too lost to pleasure to be self-conscious. It was a long, slow climb, but the outcome was inevitable. He caught her as she arched back and launched into free fall, his growl of satisfaction vibrating through her.

She collapsed over his shoulder, breathless and limp. Blushing and damp with sweat as the aftershocks rippled through her. She could feel his heartbeat in his cockhead, throbbing against her womb, he was wedged so deep inside her. A deep, steady, pulsing rhythm. So close.

She lifted her head and was startled by the look on his face. It was no longer that taut, tense mask of self-control that he’d worn while she was pleasuring herself with his body. It was soft. Almost wistful.

“What are you thinking?” she asked him.

He touched her eyebrow, then her cheekbone, then her lips. “I was just wondering what a baby of ours might look like.”

The feeling that pierced her was indefinable. Joy, terror, fury. That bastard. How dare he. Playing with her emotions.

“You bastard. Don’t say crazy things like that to me,” she forced out, through shaking lips. “It’s not fair. It’s…irresponsible.”

He shrugged. “You asked.”

So she had. Her hands shook. They stared at each other. Both fully clothed, but she had never felt so naked.

She untangled her legs from his, set her feet on the ground, and lifted herself up. They sucked in air in unison at the sweet slide, the delicious friction as his cock caressed her sensitized inner flesh. The cold air that hit them when they were separated.

She stared down at his cock. It stood high and hopeful against his belly. Rigid, pulsing. Gleaming with her own juices.

She had no intention of sinking to her knees. It just happened. She grabbed his thick, pulsing handle, stroking smooth, hot skin, and licked him, tasting herself. It was a classic thousand-dollar-an-hour call-girl scenario. Riding the boss on his swivel chair in the high-rise corner office. On her knees under the desk giving him a blow job. It looked sordid, squalid. Even pornographic, from the outside.

But she wasn’t on the outside. She was so far inside, she was in a new universe, where the rules had changed. She herself was different. Softer, more joyful, more sensual. Fearless. And shameless. Just this desperate desire to give to him flowing out of her, from her chest, her face, her throat, her crotch. All aglow.

Of course. She was miles in love with him.

She let that thought slide away. She didn’t dare examine it, and besides, it took all her concentration to fellate a man as ridiculously well endowed as Duncan Burke. He was hung like the proverbial horse, and she was far from expert. But oh, so motivated.

She petted and stroked, swirled with her tongue around his cockhead, and tried to draw him deeper. Loving the sounds, the shaking grip of his hands in her hair, the shudders that went through him. She was just getting the hang of it and starting to hit her stride when his fingers tightened, and he let out a choked, desperate shout.

His come spurted into her mouth in hard, rhythmic jets.

She got to her feet after a few silent, shaking minutes, holding on to the desk for balance. She wiped her mouth, too shy to look at him.

He grabbed her and dragged her over between his legs, hugged her tightly around the waist, hid his face against her breasts.

Her chest melted, her shyness evaporated, leaving only tenderness. He felt vulnerable, too. And somehow, that made it okay.

They swayed in that clinch for a long time. Finally he looked up. “There’s a private en suite bathroom with a shower, off my office.”

She widened her eyes. “Holy cow, Burke. How luxurious and elitist of you. What, can’t bear to pee with the hoi polloi?”

His teeth flashed in the deepening twilight. “Every now and then I pamper myself,” he admitted. “I like to run to work. And I like to smell good. I keep fresh clothes here. So we can clean up. If you want.”

“You ripped my panties,” she lectured him. “Beast.”

He gave her an exaggeratedly innocent look. “If I’d stopped to peel them all the way down your legs, you’d have wimped out on me.” He caressed her buttocks through her skirt. “I’ll buy you new ones. If we hurry, we have time for dinner before we meet your sisters in Queens.”

“What about the texts that I have to write for the game? I have to have something ready for Bruce tomorrow!”

He shrugged. “You need to eat. Come on.” He grabbed her hand, and dragged her through a door and into a small but luxurious bathroom.

“Hey! Wait,” she said, laughing. “I thought we were in a hurry.”

He flashed his devilish grin in answer, grabbed a fluffy white towel off a pile on a shelf, and dropped it in her arms. “Everything’s relative.”

He shrugged off his suit jacket, and she froze at the sight of the gun strapped onto his shoulder. “Um, Duncan?” she asked, in a small voice. “What on earth are you doing with that, uh, thing?”

He slanted her an “are you kidding” look. “Being careful,” he said. “Those guys were armed. I wasn’t. It was just blind luck and timing that they didn’t kill me and take you, because I wouldn’t have been able to stop them if they’d been better organized. They weren’t expecting any resistance, but they will be the next time they go for you. Don’t worry. I can handle myself with this thing.” He unbuttoned her blouse, peeled her stretch lace chemise off over her head.

She gazed at him through the disarranged mess of curly hair that fell over her face. “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I have absolutely no doubts about your ability to handle, um…just about anything.”

He proceeded to live up to her faith in him. To the fullest.

Duncan looked around Malloy’s. Too many people crowded together. Not safe. Good thing he’d had jeans and a polo to change into at the office, because he’d have felt like a fucking clown in his suit.

He’d never been in an Irish pub, and the loud, noodling melody of the Irish tunes played by the table of musicians made his brain pound.

But whatever. He’d follow Nell D’Onofrio to the bowels of hell. Complaining bitterly all the way, sure. But he’d be there.

His attention was weirdly divided into independently functioning units. One constantly scoped the scene for attackers. Another was anxious about meeting Nell’s sisters, who might or might not want to toss his entrails into the gutter if he didn’t adhere to some incomprehensible code of behavior. A third was intensely aware of the fact that Nell wore no panties. She looked decorous and ladylike, her tidy blouse stretching slightly across her tits, her long sweater skirt reaching to her ankles.

Paradoxically, that made it even worse. Her sexy secret. If he slipped his hand under that skirt and slid it up over her stockings, he’d find just hot, velvety skin between her legs. Warm fuzz. Damp ringlets. Tender, moist pink folds inside her pussy lips. That hot, tight, slick well.

Talk about distracting.

They were the last to arrive, since he’d insisted on tanking up at a good steak and burger joint that he knew near the Midtown Tunnel, to get some protein into her. When they walked into the bar, two women leaped up and went straight for Nell, sneaking fascinated peeks at him.

He was grateful for the noise level, so he didn’t have to hear what they were whispering. Whatever it was made her blush furiously.

“Duncan, this is my sister Vivi,” Nell spoke loudly into his ear, indicating the smaller of the two, a waiflike, slender girl with long red hair and big gray eyes. “And this is Nancy.” She touched the shoulder of the other woman, a pale beauty with hazel eyes and long, curly auburn hair that reached her ass. “This is Duncan, my, ah, friend,” she told them. “And that tall guy at the table playing the fiddle is Liam, Nancy’s fiancé.”

The tune finished with a flourish and a burst of hoots and hollers. The guy whom Nell had pointed at glanced over at them, laid his fiddle on the table, and excused himself, to unanimous cries of protest. He came toward them, sizing Duncan up with keen green eyes. He had a strong grip and a clear, unwavering gaze. Nell had told him the story of how Liam had defended her sister Nancy from the Fiend.

He was a good judge of men, after years as a field agent. This Liam seemed okay to him. A guy he’d want at his back. That was good.

The musicians launched into a new tune, louder than the one before. “Let’s go sit at a table in the back!” Liam shouted over the din.

The back room was deserted. They sat down around a table and Duncan silently, stoically endured their collective scrutiny.

“So, Duncan,” the sister named Vivi finally broke the silence. “I’ll just start things off by saying thanks for saving Nell’s ass for us.”

“My pleasure,” he replied.

“Yes, I’m grateful, too,” Nancy said. “But that brings us to a very important issue. Nell, you and Vivi can’t live in New York alone anymore. You should both leave the city. Go into hiding. I know it sounds dramatic, but so is getting jumped by three guys on Lafayette.”

Sensible though that was, Duncan was instantly unhappy about the prospect of Nell leaving town. But no worries. Nell was shaking her head, true to form. As contrary with her sisters as she was with him.

“I am so close to getting my doctorate,” she said, her voice rebellious. “It’s taken me years having to work full-time while I do it, but I’m almost there. I’m not going to let this butthead take that from me.”

“But where will you live? You could stay with me and Liam, but you’d be exposed every time you traveled back and forth—”

“She’ll live with me,” Duncan cut in.

All eyes cut to him. There was a flurry of silent signals, significant glances. Nell leaned over to him. “Duncan, do you mind?” she hissed. “This is not an issue for everyone to—”

“Wrong. It is now, babe,” Vivi said sternly. “You’re my sister, and I don’t want you snatched. How’s the security in your building, Duncan?”

“Good,” he replied. “Even better when I’m with her. Which I’ll make a point of being, as much as possible. And if I can’t, for any reason, I’ll make arrangements for a professional bodyguard.”

Nell glared at him. He stared back, unrepentant. The sisters and the future brother-in-law glanced exchanged nods of cautious approval.

“I’d like to be included in the decision-making process here,” Nell snapped. “And who’s going to pay for a bodyguard? They’re expensive!”

“So Nell’s covered,” Liam went on, ignoring her. “That leaves you, Viv. You can stay with us. You shouldn’t go back on the road. At least not unless you change your name.”

Vivi looked forlorn. “You’re sweet, Liam, but staying with you guys is not a long-term solution. I’m the only one of us with no pressing reason to stay in New York. But I can’t do the crafts fair circuit if I don’t use my own name, or else I’d be starting from zero all over again. I can’t afford that now, after six years of working my ass off to build my brand.”

Nancy looked worried. “I thought you wanted to quit the circuit!”

Her younger sister looked wistful. “Sure, when I’ve saved enough to buy a little house someplace beautiful. Someplace with lots of trees, where my dog can run around. Where I can have a big studio, do sculpture again, maybe open my own shop. But that’s just fantasy. I lost thousands of bucks in registration fees when I came back for Lucia’s funeral. Then I lost more after the Boston adventure, too. I’m playing catch-up now. With my credit card.”

Duncan squinted at her, thinking hard. Trees, flowers, a big art studio, far from New York. He had an idea. A fucking awesome idea.

“I know a place you might be able to go,” he said.

They all turned. “What might that place be?” Vivi asked slowly.

“I’ve got this friend. I met him in Afghanistan,” he said. “We were on an intelligence-gathering task force. He got out of that line of work a few years ago and bought a place out in Oregon. He’s into organic gardening, horticulture, that kind of thing. Grows flowers, I think. The guy he bought the land from was an artist who’d converted the barn into a studio, with a little apartment in a loft above it.”

Liam and Nancy gave each other speculative glances.

“And why would this guy want to host me there?” asked Vivi.

Duncan shrugged. “He’s not an artist, so he doesn’t need the studio. He doesn’t raise animals, so he doesn’t need the barn. He built his own house, so he doesn’t need the apartment. He likes dogs. Maybe he’d consider renting it to you. Want me to talk to him about it?”

Bully and guilt-trip him was more like it. Jack owed Duncan his life, like Gant. Actually, they all owed each other, but Duncan would bring out the big guns to help Nell’s sister. And the best part was, Jack was a serious bad-ass. If anyone gave Vivi trouble, Jack could handle it.

That would comfort everyone. Which would earn Duncan big points. He’d take every opportunity to do that. No matter who he inconvenienced.

Vivi’s shrug was casual, but he read signs of stress in her face, in the nervous movement of her hands, her mouth. The shadow in her eyes. She looked pinched. Like Nell’s face had been, just a couple of days ago. But Nell was looking better now. Rosier, eyes sparkling.

So pretty. Jesus. It knocked him back. In fact, she was giving him a look of such shining, unmixed approval, he was almost disoriented.

She grabbed his hand under the table, and his brain went haywire at the contact. His fingers curled around hers, and for a moment, he completely lost the thread of the conversation.

“…told us about the secret drawer,” Nancy was saying when he tuned in again. “Like the many other things Lucia never told us about.”

“Secret drawer?” Duncan asked. “In what?”

Nancy glanced at Nell, Nell gave her an eloquent nod, and Nancy proceeded. “Lucia had a priceless intaglio Renaissance writing table,” she said. “It belonged to her family for the past four hundred years. It was smashed in the second B&E. You do know about our mother, Lucia? What happened? The burglaries, and all the rest of it?” she probed delicately.

“Yes, Nell told me the story,” he said. “So what’s with the table?”

“Liam’s been restoring it,” she said. “And he found a secret drawer. You push one of the flowers carved into the back, and a drawer pops out. And it had a letter in it.”

He waited for the punch line. “And? So? What’s in the letter?”

Nancy smiled at his impatience. “We don’t know,” she said. “It’s in Italian, and Nell’s the only one of us who speaks Italian.”

He looked at Nell. “You speak Italian?”

“And Spanish. And French. And Latin. And ancient Greek,” Vivi piped up, intense pride in her voice. “Our Nell, the linguist.”

Nell looked embarrassed. “My birth mother was Italian,” she explained. “I learned it from her. And I was in a foster home for a while with a couple of Venezuelan girls. I learned their Spanish before they had a chance to learn English. French was an easy step after that. So it’s not like it’s any big accomplishment.”

He grunted. “And the Latin and ancient Greek? Sure. No biggie.”

“Can I see the letter please?” she asked primly.

Nancy pulled a sheet of lightweight airmail paper out of her purse and passed it to Nell, who scanned it briefly.

“It’s dated three months ago,” she said, and began to translate.

Dearest Lucia,

Perhaps you will refuse even to read this letter. It would be no more than I deserve. Be aware that my silence was not due to lack of sentiment. On the contrary.

I have given up the search. I accept that I will never find what I seek, and yet possession of the map is still a torment to me. I have no right to destroy it, as it is not mine, and your father paid the highest price a man could pay to keep the hiding place a secret. I wish only to be free of it now. It gives me no peace, and after fifty years of fruitless searching, peace is all I can hope for. Perhaps even that is too much to hope.

I wish to bring the map back to you. You are the rightful owner. Dispose of it as you think best. I beg you, take this burden from me. Your pure heart and lack of avidity make you its perfect guardian.

I have a flight reservation that will bring me to JFK Airport on May the 16th, if you will receive me. If you do not wish to see me, or you do not wish to take custody of the map, I will respect your wishes, and you will not hear from me again. I await news from you.

Marco Barbieri

Nell put her hand over her mouth. “May sixteenth. The day she died.”

They all stared down at the letter, chilled. “So he brought this map that day,” Liam said slowly. “And led them straight to Lucia. But they still didn’t find what they were looking for.”

“But Marco didn’t bring Lucia the treasure itself. Just a map,” Nell said. “The treasure’s still lost. Marco couldn’t find it, and it sounds like he looked really hard. And then he came here, and gets murdered, still unsatisfied. Poor guy.”

Duncan looked at Liam. “Did you go over that whole table?”

“Centimeter by centimeter,” the other man replied. “No other secret drawers that I could find. But there’s still the safe. It’s a big question mark. The bad guys haven’t seen it. It was never found or forced, in either of the burglaries. I pulled the safe out and took it to my house.”

Nancy held her hand up to her throat. “But we can’t open it without all three of the necklaces, according to Lucia’s letter. And the filthy rat-bastard Fiend took mine.”

“Can’t you force the safe?” Duncan asked.

Nancy and Liam shook their heads. “It’s a trick design,” Nancy said. “God knows where Lucia found the thing. There’s a warning printed on the top. If you try to open the safe in any way other than the numerical combination, a tiny minibomb explodes and destroys whatever’s inside. Damn good safeguard. Keeps everybody honest.”

“So we’ll go at it from another direction,” Nell said briskly. “We find out more about Marco Barbieri and whatever he’s been looking for these past fifty years. Maybe someone in Castiglione Sant’Angelo can tell us.”

“So let’s go to Italy. You can ask them,” Duncan said, impulsively.

Everyone stared at him, mouths agape.

“Um, Duncan?” Nell began. “You’re going off the deep end.”

“No, I’m not.” The fantastic idea was taking hold in his mind, driving everything else out. Castles, frescos, fields of sunflowers, great pasta, thick slabs of Florentine steak, liters of kick-ass red wine. Walking with Nell on his arm through winding cobblestone streets. Her, dressed in a skimpy little sundress with lots of cleavage, getting a tan, eating gelato, getting relaxed. Having fun. Nell, naked in their rumpled hotel room bed, her eyes sultry, satiated. Yeah.

Nell snorted. “Please. Be reasonable. What about the game? And my summer school students? And your business?”

“The game will wait,” he said. “The students will live. And I haven’t taken a vacation since I started the business. It’s hard to justify vacations when you’re running your own operation.”

“Tell me about it,” Vivi said wearily.

“I cannot afford a trip to Italy,” Nell said, her voice sharpening.

“So we’ll divide the labor,” he offered. “You do all the ordering in the restaurants, and I wave my credit card around. Sounds fair to me.”

Vivi laughed with delight. “Sweet. I like your style, Duncan.”

He shrugged. “It’s a perfect way to get you out of their sights.”

“Not really,” Liam said quietly. “It’s the first place they’d expect her to go. She’d be noticed there and watched.”

Duncan was somewhat deflated by that acute observation, but even so, he couldn’t let it go. He tracked with part of his mind, taking in data while they brainstormed about the letter, the safe, Marco, the attackers, the map. The rest of him played with the Italy fantasy, like a dog with a bone. Gnawing it, licking it, loving it.

Nell began rubbing her eyes at about one-thirty in the morning, and Duncan took her hand. “We should get back, get some sleep,” he told her. “We promised Bruce you’d be at the office tomorrow.”

She stifled a yawn and smiled her agreement.

“Give them your new cell phone number,” he reminded her.

Nancy and Vivi looked at each other, mouths theatrically agape. “A cell phone? Nell? Do our ears deceive us?” Vivi breathed. “No!”

“Oh, shut up, Viv,” Nell grumbled. “He bullied me into it.”

“We’ve been trying to bully you for years!” Nancy said, aggrieved.

Nell scribbled the number twice on a cocktail napkin and ripped it into two pieces, handing one to each sister. Hugs and giggles, jokes and teasing admonitions followed among the three sisters, while Duncan and Liam eyed each other. Liam’s face was grim.

“Stay sharp,” he said. “Those fuckers are motivated.”

Duncan nodded. “I’m on it.”

“Good.” Liam looked cautiously relieved. “Let us know what your friend in Oregon says. When Vivi’s on the road, we don’t sleep nights.”

“I hear you.” They shook hands and made their way out.

Duncan and Nell were silent on the way home. He was so heavy into his Italian-vacation-with-Nell fantasy, it took him by surprise him when she spoke.

“They liked you,” she said.

That gave him a rush of pleasure. “How do you figure?”

“They said so,” she said. “But even if they hadn’t, I could tell, the way they talked about our private problems. Like it was a given that you were part of it. They would never have done that if they didn’t like you.”

“So I don’t have to worry about being disemboweled?”

Nell stifled a giggle. “Not for the moment,” she said. “You sure did throw your weight around, though. Your bank account, too.”

He glanced at her profile. “I’m sorry if that was offensive to you.”

“It seemed like you were trying to communicate to them that you’ve got money. I think they got the message loud and clear.”

He took a few seconds to breathe down the surge of anger and frustration. “You’re hung up on the money thing, Nell,” he said. “I was communicating to them that I’m willing and able to protect you. Money is protection, too, whether you like it or not. And they know it. In fact, I didn’t hear anyone objecting to it but you.”

She was silent for a moment. “Sorry if I’m oversensitive,” she said finally, her voice subdued. “And thanks for making that offer to Vivi, about your friend in Oregon. I hope that works out. She needs a break.”

“I got that sense, too,” he said. “I’ll get right on it.”