Suzanna's Surrender

  “I suppose you know,” Holt said slowly, “this means war.”

  As Jenny shrieked, he grabbed her and pulled her through the window. To her delight, he held her up­side down so that her two blond ponytails brushed the grass.

  “He's taken a hostage!” Alex bellowed. “Death to the last man.” He scrambled inside then burst out of the doorway, brandishing his sword. Holt barely had time to right Jenny before the little missile plowed into him. “Off with his head,” Alex chanted, echoed by his sister. Holt let his body go lax and took them both to the ground with him.

  There were screams and giggles as he wrestled with them. It wasn't as easy as he'd supposed. They were both agile and slick, wriggling out of his hold to at­tack. He found himself at a disadvantage as Alex sat on his chest and Jenny found a spot on his ribs to tickle.

  “I'm going to have to get rough,” he warned them. When he took a spray of water in the face, he swore, making them both howl with laughter. A quick roll and he dislodged the pistol, then snatched it up to drench them both. With shrieks and giggles, they fell on him.

  It was a wet and messy battle, and when he finally managed to pin them, they were all out of breath.

  “I massacred you both,” Holt managed. “Say un­cle.” Jenny poked a finger in his ribs, making him twitch. In defense he lowered his cheek to her neck and rubbed a day's worth of stubble over her skin.

  “Uncle, uncle, uncle!” She screamed, gurgling with laughter. Satisfied, he used the same weapon on Alex until victorious, he rolled over and lay stomach down on the grass.

  “You killed us,” Alex admitted, not displeased. “But you're morally wounded.”

  “Yeah, but I think you mean mortally.”

  “Are you going to take a nap?” Jenny climbed onto his back to bounce. “Lilah sleeps in the grass sometimes.”

  “Lilah sleeps anywhere,” Holt muttered.

  “You can take a nap in my bed if you want,” she invited, then pressed a curious finger on the edge of the scar she saw beneath his hitched-up T-shirt. “You have a hurt on your back.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Alex was already scrambling to look. “Can I see?”

  Holt tensed automatically, then forced himself to relax. “Sure.”

  As Alex pushed up the shirt, both children's eyes widened. It wasn't like the neat little scar they had both admired on his leg. This was long and jagged and mean, slashing from the waist so high up on his back they couldn't push the shirt up enough to see the end of it.

  “Gee,” was all Alex could think to say. He swal­lowed, then gamely touched a finger to the scar. “Did you get in a big fight?”

  “Not exactly.” He remembered the pain, the in­credible flash of white heat. “One of the bad guys got me,” he said, and hoped it would satisfy. When he felt Jenny's little mouth lower to his back, he went very still.

  “Does it feel better now?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He had to let out a long breath to steady his voice. “Thanks.” Turning over, he sat up to brush a hand through her hair.

  Suzanna stood a few feet away, watching them with her heart in her throat. She'd seen the battle from the kitchen doorway. It had touched her to see how easily Holt had joined in the game with her children. She'd been smiling when she'd started out to join them—then she had watched Jenny and Alex exam­ining the scar on Holt's back, and Jenny's kiss to make it better. She had seen the look of ragged emo­tion on Holt's face when he'd turned to sweep his hand over her little girl's hair.

  Now the three of them were on the grass, Jenny cuddled on his lap, Alex's arm slung affectionately around his shoulder. She took a moment to make cer­tain her eyes were dry before she continued toward them.

  “Is the war over?” she asked, and three pair of eyes lifted.

  “He won,” Alex told her.

  “It doesn't look as though it was an easy victory.” She scooped Jenny up when the girl lifted her arms. “You're all wet.”

  “He blasted us—but I got him first.”

  “That's my girl.”

  “And he's ticklish,” Jenny confided. “'Real tick­lish.”

  “Is that so?” Suzanna sent Holt a slow smile. “I'll keep that in mind. Now you two scat. I noticed no­body put away the game you were playing.”

  “But, Mom—” Alex had his excuses ready, but she stopped them with a look.

  “If you don't clean it up, I will,” she said mildly.

  “But then I'll have your share of strawberry short­cake tonight.”

  That was a tough one. Alex agonized over it for a minute, then caved in. “I'll do it. Then I get Jenny's share.”

  “Do not.” Jenny sprinted toward the house with her brother giving chase.

  “Very smooth, Mom,” Holt commented as he rose.

  “I know their weaknesses.” She put her arms around him, surprising and pleasing him. It was very rare for her to make the first move. “You're all wet, too.”

  “Sniper fire, but I picked them off like flies.” Bringing her closer, he rested his cheek on her hair. “They're terrific kids, Suzanna. I'm, ah...” He didn't know how to tell her he'd fallen in love with them, any more than he knew how to tell her he'd fallen in love with their mother. “I'm getting you wet.” Feel­ing awkward, he drew away.

  Smiling, she touched a hand to his cheek. “Want to take a walk?”

  He thought of the list in his pocket. It could wait an hour, he decided, and took her hand.

  He'd known she would head to the cliffs. It seemed right that they would walk there as the shadows lengthened and the air cooled toward evening. She talked a little of the job she'd finished that day, he of the hull he'd repaired. But their minds weren't on work.

  “Holt.” She looked out to sea, her hand in his. “Will you tell me why you resigned from the force?” She felt his fingers stiffen, but didn't turn.

  “It's done,” he said flatly. “There's nothing to tell.”

  “The scar on your back—”

  “I said it's done.” He withdrew and pulled out a cigarette.

  “I see.” She absorbed the rejection. “Your past and your personal feelings about it are none of my business.”

  He took an impatient drag. “I didn't say that.”

  “You certainly did. You have the right to know all there is to know about me. I'm supposed to trust you with everything, unquestioningly. But I'm not to pry into what's yours.”

  He turned angry eyes on her. “What is this, some kind of test?”

  ','Call it what you like,” she tossed back. “I'd hoped you trusted me by now, that you cared enough to let me in.”

  “I do care, damn it. Don't you know it still rips me up to remember it? Ten years of my life, Suzanna. Ten years.” He whirled away to flick the cigarette over the edge.

  “I'm sorry.” Instinctively she put her hands on his shoulders to soothe. “If anyone knows how painful it is to dredge up old wounds, it's me. Why don't we go back? I'll see if I can find you a clean shirt.”

  “No.” His jaw was clenched, his body tight as a spring. “You want to know, you've got a right. I tossed it in because I couldn't handle it. I spent ten years telling myself I could make a difference, that none of the crap I had to wade through would affect me. I could rub shoulders with dealers and pimps and victims all day and not lose any sleep at night. If I had to kill somebody, it was line of duty. Not something you want to think about too much, but some­thing you live with. I saw a few cops burn out along the way, but it wasn't going to happen to me.”

  She said nothing, just continued to rub at the knot­ted muscles of his shoulders while she waited for him to go on. He kept looking out to sea, smelling her, and the dusky scent of the wild roses that were at peak.

  “Vice takes you into the pits, Suzanna. You get so you understand the people you're trying to wipe out. You think like them. You have to when you go under, or you don't come out again. There are things I'm never going to tell you, because I do care. Ugly things, and I just..
.” He closed his eyes, and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I just didn't want to see it anymore. I was already thinking about coming back here—just sort of kicking it around.”

  Suddenly weary, he lifted his hands to rub the heels over his eyes. “I was tired, Suzanna, and I wanted to live like a normal person again. The kind who doesn't strap on a gun every day or make deals with slime in back rooms. We were on a routine investigation, look­ing for a small-time dealer who we thought we could pressure information out of. Doesn't matter why,” he said impatiently. “Anyway, we got a tip where to find him, and when we cornered him in this little dive, he snapped. Turned out the jerk had about twenty thou­sand in coke strapped under his clothes, and more than a couple lines in his system. He panicked. He dragged some half-stoned woman with him and bolted.”

  His palms were beginning to sweat, so he wiped them against his jeans. “My partner and I separated to cut him off. He pulled the woman out in the alley.

  With us on either end, he didn't have any hope of getting away. I had my weapon out. It was dark. The garbage had turned.”

  He could still smell it, rank and fetid, as the sweat began to run down his back. “I could hear my partner coming up the other side, and hear the woman crying. He'd sliced her up a little and she was balled up on the concrete. I couldn't be sure how bad she was hurt. I remember thinking the creep was going to be up for more than distribution. Then he jumped me. He had the knife in before I could get off a shot.”

  He could still feel it ripping through his flesh, still smell his own blood. “I knew I was dead, and I kept thinking that I wouldn't be able to come home. That I was going to die in that damn alley with the stink of that garbage. I killed him as I went down. That's what they told me. I don't remember. The thing I remember next was waking up in the hospital feeling like I'd been sliced in half and sewn back together. I told myself that if I made it, I was coming back here. Because I knew if I had to walk down another alley, I wouldn't come back out.”

  Suzanna had her arms tight around him now, her cheek pressed against his back. “Do you think be­cause you came home instead of facing another alley, you failed?”

  “I don't know.”

  “I did, for a long time. No one had put a knife in my back, but I came to understand that if I stayed with Bax, if I'd kept that promise, part of me would die. I chose survival, do you think I should be ashamed of that?”

  “No.” He turned, taking her shoulder. “No.”

  She lifted her hands to cup his face. In her eyes was understanding, and the sympathy he couldn't have accepted even a week before. “Neither do I. I hate what happened to you, but I'm glad it brought you here.” Offering comfort, she touched her lips to his. Slowly, with a sweetness that was unbearably moving, she felt him let go.

  His body relaxed against hers even as he pulled her closer. His mouth softened even as it heated. Here, at last, was the next level. There was not only passion, not only tenderness, but trust. As the wind whispered through the wild grass and the bright, brave flowers, she thought she heard something else, something so quiet and lovely that it brought tears to her eyes. When he lifted his head, when she saw his face, she knew he'd heard it, too. She smiled.

  “We're not alone here,” she murmured. “They must have stood in this same spot, holding each other like this. Wanting each other like this.” Filled with the moment, she pressed his hand to her lips. “Holt, do you believe that fate and time can run in a circle?”

  “I'm beginning to.”

  “They still come here, to wait. I wonder if they ever find each other. I think they will, if we can make things right.” She kissed him again, then slipped an arm around his waist. “Let's go home. I have a feel­ing it's going to be an interesting evening.”

  “Suzanna,” he began as they started back. “After the séance...” He trailed off, looking pained, and made her laugh.

  “Don't worry, at The Towers we only have friendly ghosts.”

  “Right Just don't expect me to put much stock in chanting and trances, but anyway, I was wondering if after—look, I know you don't like to leave the kids, but I thought you could come back to my place for a little while. There's some stuff I want to talk to you about.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Just—stuff,” he said lamely. If he was going to ask her to marry him, he wanted to do it right. “I'd appreciate it if you could get away for an hour or two.”

  “All right, if it's important. Is it about the emer­alds?”

  “No. It's...I'd rather wait, okay? Listen, I've got a couple of things to do before we start calling up spirits.”

  “Aren't you going to stay for dinner?”

  “I can't. I'll be back.” As they came up the slope and passed the stone wall, he pulled her against him for a brief hard kiss. “See you later.”

  She frowned after him and might have pursued, but her name was called from the second-level terrace. Shading her eyes, she saw her sister.

  “Amanda!” With a laugh, she raced across the lawn and up the stone steps. “What are you doing back?” She gathered the new bride into her arms and squeezed. “You look wonderful—but you were sup­posed to be gone nearly another week. Is anything wrong?”

  “No, nothing.” She kissed both of Suzanna's cheeks. “Come on, I'll fill you in.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Bianca's tower. Family meeting.”

  They climbed up, then went inside to ascend the narrow circular stairs that led to the tower. C.C. and Lilah were already waiting.

  “Aunt Coco?” Suzanna asked.

  “We'll let her know what we discuss,” Amanda answered. “But it would look too suspicious if we pulled her up here now.”

  With a nod, Suzanna took a seat on the floor at Lilah's feet. “So I take it this is women only?”

  “No more than they deserve,” C.C. said, and crossed her arms. “They've been skulking off to have their boy's club meetings for days now. It's time we set things straight.”

  “Max has definitely got something up his sleeve,” Lilah put in. “He's acting much too innocent. And, he's been hanging around the construction crew for the last couple of days.”

  “I don't suppose he wants to learn how to set tile,” Suzanna murmured.

  “If he did, he'd have twenty books on it by now.” Lilah rolled her shoulders and leaned back. “And this afternoon when I got home from work, I saw Trent and Holt powwowing in the pergola. Somebody who didn't know better might have thought they were just hanging out and having a beer, but something was going on.”

  “So they know something they're not telling us.” Thoughtful, Suzanna drummed her fingers on her knees. She'd had a feeling something was going on, but Holt had done such a good job of distracting her, she hadn't acted on it.

  “Sloan had a long, mumbling conversation with Trent on the phone two days ago. He claimed there was some problem with materials that he had to see to personally.” Tossing her hair, Amanda gave a sniff. “And he thought I was stupid enough to buy it. He wanted to get back because they're on to something—and they want to keep the little women out of the way.”

  “Fat chance,” C.C. muttered. “I'm for marching downstairs right now and demanding they tell us whatever they know. If Trent thinks I'm going to sit around twiddling my thumbs while he handles Calhoun business, he's got another think coming.”

  “Bamboo shoots and brass knuckles,” Lilah mused, not terribly displeased with the image. “That'll just make them more stubborn. Male egos on the line, ladies. Get out your hard hats and flak jackets.”

  Suzanna laughed and patted her leg. “You've got a point. Let's see what we know... Sloan gets called back so they must think they're getting close. I can't see them being secretive if they thought they'd hit on the location of the emeralds.”

  “Neither can I.” Because she thought best on her feet, Amanda paced. “Remember how stiff-necked they got when we decided to look for the yacht Max had jumped off? Sloan threatened to...w
hat was it? Hog-tie,” she said viciously. “Yes, that was it. He threatened to hog-tie me if I so much as thought about trying to find Livingston on my own.”

  “Trent won't even discuss Livingston with me,” C.C. added, then wrinkled her nose. “It isn't good for me to be upset in my delicate condition.”

  From her sprawled perch on the window seat, Lilah gave a hoot. “I'd like to see any man go through childbirth then have the nerve to call a woman deli­cate.”

  “Holt says that Livingston is out of our league. Ours,” Suzanna explained, making a circular motion with her finger. “Not his.”

  “Jerk.” C.C. plopped down on the window seat beside Lilah. “So are we agreed? They've got a line on Livingston and they're keeping it to themselves.”

  The vote was unanimous.

  “Now, we need to find out what they know.” Amanda stopped pacing and tapped her foot. “Sug­gestions?”

  “Well...” Suzanna looked down at her nails and smiled. “I say divide and conquer. The four of us should be able to dig information out of them—each in our own way. Then we rendezvous here, tomorrow, same time, and put the pieces together.”

  “I like it.” Lilah sat up to put a hand on Suzanna's shoulder. “The poor guys haven't got a chance.”

  Suzanna reached up to lay her hand on Lilah's as Amanda and C.C. added theirs. “And when it's over,” she said, “maybe they'll realize the Calhoun women take care of their own.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Holt had never felt more ridiculous in his life. He was about to take part in a séance. If that wasn't bad enough, before the night was over, he was going to ask the woman who was currently laughing at him, to be his wife.

  “It isn't a firing squad.” Chuckling, Suzanna pat­ted his cheek. “Relax.”

  “Damn foolishness is what it is.” From the foot of the table, Colleen scowled at everyone in general. “The idea of talking to spirits. Hogwash. And you—” She stabbed a finger toward Coco. “Not that you ever kept an ounce of sense in that flighty head of yours, but I'd have thought even you would know better than to raise these girls on such bilge.”

  “It isn't bilge.” As always, the steely gaze made Coco tremble, but she felt fairly safe with the length of the table between them. “You'll see after we be­gin.”

  “What I see is a table full of dolts.” Though her face remained in stern lines, Colleen's heart melted as she looked up at the portrait of her mother, which had been hung over the fireplace. “I'll give you ten thousand for it.”

  Holt shrugged. She'd been dogging him for days about buying the painting. “It isrv't for sale.”

  “If you think you're going to hose me, young man, you're mistaken. I know a hustle.”

  He grinned at her. He would have bet his last nickel she'd hustled plenty herself. “I'm not selling it.”

  “It's worth more, anyway,” Lilah put in, unable to resist. “Isn't that right, Professor?”

  “Well, actually, yes.” Max cleared his throat. “Christian Bradford's early work is increasing in value. At Sotheby's two years ago, one of his sea­scapes went for thirty-five thousand.”

  “What are you,” Colleen snapped, “his agent?”

  Max swallowed a grin. “No, ma'am.”

  “Then hush. Fifteen thousand, and not a penny more.”

  Holt ran his tongue around his teeth. “Not inter­ested.”

  “Maybe if we got on with the matter at hand.” Coco held her breath, waiting for her aunt's wrath to fall. When Colleen only muttered and scowled, she relaxed. “Amanda, dear, light the candles. Now we must all try to empty our minds of all worries, all doubts. Concentrate on Bianca.” When the candles were glowing, and the chandelier extinguished, she gave a last glance around the table. “Join hands.”

  Holt grumbled under his breath but took Suzanna's hand in his right, Lilah's in his left.

  “Focus on the picture,” Coco whispered, closing her eyes to bring it into her mind since it was behind her on the wall. Tingles of anticipation raced up and down her spine. “She's close to us, very close to us. She wants to help.”

  Holt let his mind drift because it helped him forget what he was doing. He tried to imagine what it would be like when he and Suzanna were alone in the cot­tage. He'd bought candles. Not the sturdy type he kept in the kitchen drawer for power outages, but slender white tapers that smelted of jasmine.

  There was champagne chilling beside the six-pack in his refrigerator, and two new clear flutes beside his coffee mugs. Even now the jeweler's box was burning a hole in his hip pocket.

  Tonight, he thought, he'd take the step. The words would come exactly as he