“If this is how you get before a dinner party”—Laurel stretched her arms above her head to grasp the top of his headboard as she let out a satisfied sigh—“we might need to reevaluate your decision to retire from a life of crime.”
Nathan rested his chin on her naked belly, circling his index finger around her navel as she drifted down from what he hoped was a memorable climb. He pressed his lips against her warm skin as she dropped her hands into his hair. “I do feel an overabundance of energy.” He had since the dinner confessional at Sheila’s the other evening. “But it’s looking like Nemesis is retiring after tomorrow night.”
“Are you sure about that? Seems like an awful waste of potential.”
He loved the wistful sound in her voice, the dazed, relaxed tone he’d been waiting for. “Tell me something.” He shimmied up her naked body, taking extreme pleasure in watching her eyes dilate as her arms and legs drew him in. “What do you want to do?”
“Right now?” She bit her lower lip. “Guess.”
He smoothed her tousled hair out of her face and when her gaze skittered from his, he caught her chin and forced her to look at him. “You know what I mean. After all . . . this. What do you want to do?” When she didn’t answer, he pressed harder. “Laurel?”
She skimmed her bare feet up the backs of his calves. “Why do we have to talk about the future? Can’t we just enjoy this?”
“I thought you were a planner.” Maybe teasing it out of her would work.
“About some things, yes. What about you?” There was that grin he loved so much. “What do you want to do?”
“Ah, deflecting, okay.” He brushed his mouth over her lips. “I’m thinking of buying Fielding’s Gym. I want to open it up to groups, host all different types of classes, give kids a place to come if they want to hang out. Learn to box, self-defense. That kind of thing.” An idea he’d been mulling since Lydia’s party. He wanted his nieces and nephews to know how to defend themselves if need be.
“Okay.” She sighed.
“Okay?” He shifted over her and stared into her sultry eyes. “That’s it?”
“You’re an adult, Nathan. You can do whatever you want to do. I’m sure you’ve thought this out.”
“It means quitting the family business.”
She frowned. “And you want me to talk to your dad for you?”
“No.” Well, maybe. “Laurel, I want you to help me decide what to do. I want you to have a say. I want you to stay.” The instant he said the words he knew he’d never been more serious in his life. He’d never wanted anything more. “You and Joey and Poppy, too. I want to start a life with you.”
Laurel sighed, shook her head, and attempted to roll away, but he locked his arms around her, keeping her in place. He was done letting her evade. He wanted an answer.
“Why is it so hard to accept that I love you?”
“Because it is.” She shoved at him, determined hands strong against his shoulders, and he rolled off her and onto his back. “Stop it, Nathan.”
“You haven’t said it back.”
She hauled the sheet up and around herself as she dropped her feet over the edge of the bed and turned her back on him. “What we’re dealing with, all this crap with Alastair, it isn’t real, Nathan. It’s danger and excitement and adventure and scary as hell which all make for a great aphrodisiac, but it’s not going to last. Real life is going to crash in soon enough and you’ll realize this was all just . . . convenient.”
“It’s more than convenient.” He reached out his hand, his fingers inches away from her spine, but he stopped himself from touching her. “What’s wrong with real life? You can’t be worried about stability or an income. Family aside, I’ve made a good living. I can give you and Joey a good life. Sure I’ll take a financial hit, but I’ve got enough saved you wouldn’t have to—”
“How can you be thinking about all this now?” When she tugged the sheet free and started to get out of bed, he’d had enough. He grabbed for the sheet and hauled her back. “There’s no guarantee any of this is going to work, Nathan. Alastair could have a backup plan for all we know. He could be getting ready to lob a grenade at any one of us and blow everyone’s lives apart. Besides.” She blinked over-wide brown eyes at him. “I have no idea who I am. Where I come from. I choose my own names for God’s sake. I’m . . . this?” She lifted a hand to her face. “This is an illusion. And you can’t love an illusion.”
Her words stung sharp enough for him to move away. “You’re saying I don’t know how I feel about you.”
“I’m saying why can’t we enjoy what we have without putting strings on it? We have fun together. Why can’t that be enough?”
“Because I want strings. With you and Joey. I want what Morgan and Gage have. I want what Sheila has. What my parents had.” Dammit, he wanted everything.
“I don’t know how to give you those things.”
“You’re a smart girl. Learn,” he snapped. Why wasn’t she willing to fight for them? What was she so scared of?
“Now who’s telling who how they feel?” He hated the confusion he saw on her face, but he didn’t understand the anger. What did she have to be upset about? She wasn’t the one having her dreams thrown back in her face.
“I can’t be who you want me to be, Nathan. I can’t be until I understand who I am. Alastair’s controlled my life for so long, I can’t let myself get caught up in something else. In someone else. When do I get to be free?”
“You’re comparing me loving you to Alastair Manville.” He reached for his jeans and tugged them on.
“Of course I’m not.” She shoved her hands in her hair and sighed. “You’re not hearing what I’m saying.”
“You’re the one who’s not listening.” He planted his hands on the mattress and stared into her dazed eyes. “I want to marry you, Laurel, not clip your damned wings.”
“That’s not what I said.” But by the expression on her face it was what she meant.
“Maybe you were right. I shouldn’t have started this conversation.” He should have waited until that yoke was off from around her neck.
“I care about you, Nathan. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone, but”—she shrugged, as if she’d run out of words—“you’re asking me to believe in something that’s not possible.”
“Bullshit. You’re scared.” As much as his heart broke for her, he couldn’t just placate her and let her come around on her own. “You’ve been so scared for so long you don’t know what it’s like not to be. You can’t use your past to hide behind with me, Laurel, because I know it all. You can’t hide behind your daughter because guess what? There’s little I want more on this earth than to be a father and you can’t even use Alastair as an excuse because by tomorrow night, he’ll be out of all our lives. I love you, Laurel. Either I’m worth the risk or I’m not.”
She closed her eyes. A solitary tear trickled out the corner of one eye and nearly had him on his knees. “I told you this would happen. I told you I’m toxic.” She scrambled to her knees and slid off the bed, grabbed her clothes.
“You told me you’re toxic to other people, but you’re wrong.” He shoved his arms into a clean T-shirt and glared at her. “You’re toxic to yourself. You won’t let yourself hope, even for a moment, that we could have everything you’ve always dreamed of. You won’t even tell me you love me.”
“Did it ever occur to you I don’t know what love is?” she cried.
“No.” He shook his head. “Because I’ve seen it on your face when you talk to Joey. I’ve heard you say it to Poppy. I know you love me, Laurel. I know it. In here.” He pounded a fist against his chest. “But if you won’t even admit it to yourself, maybe you’re right. Maybe it is better if we end this now before one of us says something we’ll regret.”
***
“Friday night at Caprianos is a bit of a Lantano Valley tradition.” Sheila sidled up beside Laurel Friday evening. “But I bet the private dining room hasn’t contained such an interesting faction of individuals since it was opened. I mean, honestly? When was the last time a group of thieves, a con artist, the district attorney, the commissioner of police, two reporters, and a lawyer occupied the same space without killing each other?”
“The night should definitely prove entertaining.” Laurel sipped at her club soda. Caprianos was a pleasant European surprise in the heart of downtown, as was the light summer buffet Sheila had chosen for the occasion. Not that Laurel, or apparently Sheila, had any appetite, but their guests certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves.
“This has always been one of my favorite restaurants,” Sheila said. “The one-night complimentary gift cards we sent to the local TV stations seemed to have paid off. You can’t turn around without running into someone from the press.”
“The offer of free alcohol does possess a magic all its own,” Laurel agreed as the sound of Commissioner Granger’s laugh rang through the room. A large congenial man with a kind face, there was a steel and strength in his countenance and expression that a lawbreaker like Laurel found a little off-putting. “All the better once word gets out Nemesis is back. Any word yet on our guest of dishonor?”
“The plane landed two hours ago but so far.” Sheila shrugged. “Alastair has yet to check in at the Empire.”
“Great.” Laurel hadn’t been able to shake the uneasy sensation that started shifting through her this morning. Something was wrong. She could feel it. “So much for everything running smoothly.”
“It’s going to be hard to get our hands on that crown if he’s a no-show.”
“Your dad was smart to hold off having Veronica turn over those witness statements,” Laurel said. “Makes for one hell of a backup plan. I take it Rylan’s keeping himself occupied this evening?”
“Last Malcolm heard, Rylan’s Lantano Valley Nemesis excursion is proving profitable, but having to set off burglar alarms all over the city is kicking a hole in his ego.”
“Then we’d better get things rolling. Phones are going to start ringing any minute.” They’d narrowed Malcolm’s extensive target list down to four, including the diamond necklace of a mistress to a very wealthy real estate mogul, a rare autographed first edition of Huckleberry Finn belonging to a proponent of censorship (Rylan wasn’t a fan of hypocrisy, it seemed), a recently acquired Fabergé egg with questionable lineage, and a collection of rare, untraceable stock certificates from a recently exposed embezzler. The perfect Nemesis collection.
“Is everything okay with you and Nathan?” Sheila asked, glancing toward where Nathan and Malcolm were chatting with the private bartender.
“Fine, why do you ask?” Laurel glanced at her phone as yet another picture of Joey appeared in her messages. She couldn’t help but smile. Poppy had been sending them like a flood for the last couple of hours.
“Things just feel a little, well, chilly between you.”
Laurel resisted the urge to squirm. Chilly? Try arctic. Especially since she’d moved back into the guest room the night before last. She and Nathan had gone from amorous lovers to tolerant roommates in what felt like the blink of an eye. A new personal record for her when it came to destroying relationships. Except the sting of this one continued to burn. “Things just got a little complicated.”
“Really? Huh.” Sheila smoothed a hand down the front of her elegant black dress. “That’s never been a word I’ve used when it came to my brother.” The off-the-shoulder neckline and knee-skimming fabric accentuated her beauty-pageant figure, as did the needle-thin black pumps. “I can’t remember ever being this jumpy before a job.” Sheila rotated her shoulders in an odd display of nerves. “I feel like I’m showing. Am I?”
“You are not.” Laurel couldn’t help but smile “But if you keep petting your belly, you won’t have to worry about when to tell Malcolm. He’ll guess.”
“Crap. Can’t help it.”
“Yeah, I remember.” She’d loved being pregnant. Probably because she’d finally felt as if she was doing something meaningful. Excitement bounced in her own stomach. This time tomorrow she’d be holding her little girl again. This time she wouldn’t have to let go. Regret settled in her chest. At least not of Joey.
“Miss Scott. Laurel.” Evan Marshall ducked out of his conversation with Cal Ruttledge and Madeline Parker from the Lantano Valley Times to join them, setting his finished plate on the side table. “Sheila. You’re looking stunning as always.”
“Same old Evan.” Sheila’s phone rang and she backed away. “Apologies. It’s Morgan. Probably having a tough time getting out of the house.” She held up a finger and moved away.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why we’ve all been summoned here this evening, are you?” Evan turned the smile that had been known to sway a jury or two on her. Typical California boy with his blond hair and sun-kissed skin, she could see how the district attorney had a reputation as a favorite among the female population.
“My lips are sealed.” Laurel caught Nathan’s gaze on her and she shifted slightly, moving to keep him out of her line of sight. She didn’t need to dwell on her emotional failings at the moment. “I understand you’re gearing up for a new trial next week. How’s the prep going?”
“It would go better if the accused would take the plea deal I offered.”
“And here I thought you preferred the spotlight,” Laurel teased. When he didn’t smile, she backed off. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine a murder trial is any fun.”
“Fun? No. Challenging, usually. Mark Stanton was a friend. A good friend. One minute I’m eulogizing him and the next I’m prosecuting his widow for his murder. Trust me, Laurel. Some spotlights are better left turned off. I assume you’ll be moving on from Lantano Valley soon.”
“It’s looking that way,” Laurel murmured. She was back to thinking the sooner the better.
“That’s too bad. That you didn’t find anything enticing enough to make you stay, I mean.”
“Careful, Mr. District Attorney, or I might think you’re flirting with me.”
“She wouldn’t be the only one.” Nathan slipped in behind Evan and wrapped a very visible, very possessive arm around Laurel’s waist. “Good of you to come tonight, Evan. Dad should be here any minute. Feel free to get yourself a drink. I think you’re going to need it.”
“Ah.” Now Evan’s blue eyes sparked with humor as he glanced down at Nathan’s hand. “Right. A drink definitely feels in order.”
“I think it’s best we keep focused on Nemesis and Manville tonight, don’t you?” Nathan said.
“And here I thought I’d play the role of bitch tonight.” Laurel reached up and tapped her fingers against his cheek. “But feel free.” She started to move away, but Nathan grabbed hold of her wrist and kept her in place. Anger radiated as she looked at his tightening fingers. “Given what’s at stake tonight, I don’t think you want me making a scene.” She moved in and shifted her foot so her heel dug into his toes. He flinched. “Now isn’t the time or place to discuss your wounded”—she looked down at his belt—“ego. Let go. Now.”
He released her wrist, but the fire was still in his eyes. “We aren’t finished, Laurel. No matter what you might think.”
“What I’m thinking at the moment might surprise you.” Like how she’d hurt even more than she realized. Guilt entwined with regret. “Nathan, I’m so—Sheila? What’s wrong?” Nathan’s sister approached them on shaky legs, her hand trembling around her phone.
“That was Gage.” Sheila rubbed her fingers over her forehead and frowned as if she couldn’t find the words. “They aren’t coming. They, um. It’s Lydia.” Tears filled her eyes. “She’s not going to make it through the night.”
“Shit.” Nathan shoved his hands into his pockets and dropped his chin.
“I’m so sorry,” Laurel whispered. “Is there anything—”
“There’s nothing anyone can do,” Nathan said. “Except end this ridiculous farce so we can get over there before she’s gone. Agreed?” He looked at his sister who nodded before she headed toward Malcolm.
“I didn’t mean . . .” Laurel didn’t know what to say. His words felt like a slap and sent her reeling.
“I know you didn’t.” He moved in again only this time, he pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips over her forehead. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Laurel.”
She wanted to say she understood, that she forgave him, that she’d changed her mind and was willing to try things his way, but all she could manage was to squeeze her eyes shut and memorize this moment. If for no other reason than so she could remember in the days, the weeks, even the months to come, how perfect she’d felt being in his arms.
“Dad’s here,” he murmured.
Laurel glanced around as Jackson and Veronica appeared in the doorway. “Commissioner Granger.” Jackson walked over to greet his old friend. “Natalie, Cal. Good of you all to come. I realize this is a bit unorthodox, but we Tremaynes are known for being unpredictable.”
“If you’re hoping to kill our story—” Madeline Parker, all five foot three and pixie-blond attitude folded her arms across her chest. From what Nathan had told her, Laurel knew the reporter to be tenacious, but a bit over-anxious when it came to breaking big stories. She was looking for her big break. Too bad she’d chosen the wrong family.
“We’re not hoping for anything.” Veronica, wearing a bloodred Mandarin-inspired dress, took instant command of the conversation and the room. “But given your paper’s recent allusions of my client’s coercion and improper influence over law enforcement. we thought it best to present our recent findings to all of you at the same time.”
“What recent findings?” Evan asked.
“Shall we?” Veronica took a step back and gestured to the round banquet table in the center of the room. “Everyone?” She set her briefcase on a chair and headed to the bar while Laurel took a seat between Nathan and Jackson.
“I thought dinner would be a nice way to break the ice and get everyone on the same page,” Jackson said. “I know there’s been some confusion recently as far as my behavior.”
“Medications all straightened out now, Jackson?” Cal Ruttledge, a man that to Laurel looked as if he should be living under a bridge collecting fairy tale tolls, attempted levity and struck out. “Look, our story about your connection to Nemesis and recent thefts is ready to run. And while we were amenable to hold off publication as a courtesy—”
“You mean my threat of litigious action on my client’s behalf had no effect?” Veronica set her glass of white wine down. “That’s disappointing. I must be losing my touch.”
Laurel sat back and crossed her legs. This might have been her plan, but this was definitely Jackson’s—or was it Veronica’s—show? Laurel caught a quick smirk of admiration on Nathan’s face, which promptly vanished when he caught her looking at him.
“In these folders.” Veronica passed a stack of files around the table. “You’ll each find copies of my client’s fingerprints, recently obtained by the Lantano Valley Police Department at my client’s request. There’s also the full forensic report of the crime scene taken the night of the theft along with the follow-up examination that was conducted after Nathan and Laurel discovered the means by which the thief absconded with the crown.”
“I knew I should have taken the SATs,” Laurel mumbled. This must be what she’d heard referred to as lawyer speak.
“As you can see, the fingerprint found on the display case does not match those of my client. There’s also a signed affidavit from Laurel Scott attesting her belief that Johnny Saxon, a well-known thief out of Los Angeles, and not Jackson Tremayne, was responsible for the theft. Given Mr. Tremayne was clearly not anywhere in the vicinity of the stolen paintings at the time in question, he also has no connection to Nemesis. Laurel has also submitted this file to her bosses at TransUnited Insurance, who are taking her suggestions and findings under advisement.”
“That doesn’t explain what happened to the crown,” Madeline stated, her frown increasing by the second. “And who is this Johnny Saxon person?”
“You can ask the Los Angeles coroner about Mr. Saxon. As far as finding the crown, that’s not my concern.” Veronica sat on the edge of her chair and folded her hands on the table. “Furthermore, video evidence proves the last time Mr. Tremayne stepped foot in the museum itself was four days before the robbery. I have multiple witness statements that prove Mr. Tremayne has solid alibis for most, if not all the Nemesis burglaries. All that taken into account, and since you asked, Miss Parker, we’ve come to the conclusion the crown was stolen for the purposes of insurance fraud, perpetrated by one of the major players at SylEctus out of San Francisco. Why Mr. Tremayne was targeted is unknown, but I hope the authorities will investigate that further.”
Laurel coughed. Further investigation was the last thing they needed. She winced when Veronica shot her a look that could have shriveled a blooming rose. “Sorry,” Laurel choked and reached for her water. “Swallowed wrong. Go on.”
“Should TransUnited follow through,” Veronica continued, “The case will be handled as a joint investigation between the San Francisco authorities and those here in Lantano Valley.”
“I don’t understand,” Cal said as he skimmed through the papers and looked at his employee. “You said you had irrefutable proof—”
“I said my source had proof.” Madeline set her file down and shifted in her chair. She could have looked a tad more contrite to Laurel’s eyes.
“You didn’t write your story without requesting an update from the police on the investigations, did you?” Veronica tsked. “My goodness but it’s disappointing they don’t hold journalists up to very high standards anymore.”
Laurel shifted her eyes toward one of the glass partitions looking out into the restaurant. The crowd in the bar was growing, as was the line at the reservation desk. Where was Alastair? What had she missed? She wanted him here to witness the frame fall apart, to know he couldn’t do anything to hurt Jackson and the Tremaynes without exposing his own connection to the crown. How had she underestimated . . .
Or had he anticipated this move? Her hands twisted together, fighting off the nerves. Had he seen through this veil of vengeance long enough to realize they’d been enticing him to Lantano Valley in the hopes of exposing him as the one responsible for the theft of the crown?
“Given this new information,” Commissioner Granger said. “I think it’s safe to say that the Lantano Valley Police Department will not be filing any charges against Mr. Tremayne in either case.”
“I should hope not,” Sheila said.
“But that doesn’t settle the Nemesis matter,” Madeline insisted. Laurel tensed. The young reporter might be reckless, but she didn’t give up easily.
“Ah, yes. The Nemesis matter.” Veronica sighed. “You make it sound like a science fiction film. There is no Nemesis matter. Not in regards to my client. But if you meant to continue down this ridiculous path that claims Mr. Tremayne is somehow connected to or responsible for the crimes perpetrated by this Nemesis character—”
“Actually, he’s the one who said it,” Evan reminded the table.
“And we’ve provided medical reasons for that misjudgment on his part. Have you any actual evidence against him that contradicts these witness statements?”
“Of course not,” Evan said, but Laurel caught a sliver of confusion on the D.A.’s face even as relief washed over her like a cleansing tide.
Finally. She reached over and slipped her hand into Nathan’s and breathed easy when he squeezed her fingers.
Evan’s phone rang, quickly followed by the commissioner’s. Even through the closed door into the restaurant, the echoes of cell phones erupted.
“Well, that can’t be good,” Cal said as he looked around the room then caught sight of one of the TVs in the bar on the other side of the glass. The breaking story logo erupted on the screen. “What the—”
“What’s going on?” Sheila asked in an innocent enough tone she could have won an Oscar. “Dad?”
“No idea.” Jackson looked to Evan and the commissioner as they glanced uneasily at each other. “Evan?”
Evan lowered his phone. “It seems as if Nemesis has paid a few residents a visit this evening.” He looked out the side door into the night sky. “Fast worker tonight. Looks like he’s hit at least four homes in the last two hours. Making up for lost time.”
“He’s slipping,” Commissioner Granger added. “Set off at least two alarms.”
“We’re going to have to cut this evening short,” Evan said. “We need to get ahead of this with the media—” He shot a warning look at Cal and Natalie as Jackson pulled open the door and stepped into the restaurant, followed quickly by Nathan, Sheila, and Malcolm, Veronica right on their heels. Laurel stayed back, standing by the door so she could watch the final part of her plan unfold.
The tables around the bar had emptied of the dozens of TV, print, and Internet reporters, who alternated between yelling into their phones and pointing at the large screen TV over the back of the bar. Text message alerts blared. A reporter on-screen remained silent as the sound had been muted, but the chyron flitting under him clearly noted the fact that Nemesis had struck again. Not once, not twice, but four times in various locations around Lantano Valley.
“Sound!” Laurel yelled over the din of the crowd. “What’s he saying?”
When the volume was raised, the reporter continued, “ . . . recent claims that longtime Lantano Valley businessman and philanthropist Jackson Tremayne is the nefarious thief remain uncorroborated at this time, but . . .”
A blast of silence erupted in the bar as everyone turned to look at Jackson. The ensuing laughter was deafening and lightened Laurel’s heart before the throng of reporters converged, cell phones outstretched, diving for Jackson as he stood in the midst of the restaurant clientele prepared for the erroneous claim that he was the notorious thief.
Laurel wedged herself into the back corner, tears burning her throat as she covered her mouth, a relieved smile stretching her lips. Between the fingerprint evidence, the witness statements Veronica had collected, and the fact that he was having dinner with the D.A. and commissioner, not to mention being dead center of a crowd of witnesses, minutes after Nemesis’s latest excursion was exposed, no one would ever believe Jackson Tremayne—or any of the Tremaynes—were responsible.
An icy chill raced up her arms as an odd charge sparked the air. She looked around, her eyes glazing over at the sight of the dark-suited, silver-haired figure standing at the reservation podium. Steeled dead eyes locked onto hers before Alastair Manville’s gaze skittered to Jackson, to the television, and back to her.
Laurel looked down at the briefcase in Alastair’s hand. Her heart skipped. His knuckles went white around the handle, but before she could look him in the face again, he stepped back.
And disappeared into the crowd.