Absolutely, Positively

  I handed her a bottle of water. “You gave a good chase.”

  Twisting off the cap, she frowned at me. “I would have caught him if not for my heel coming loose again.”

  “I know.” I felt it best to placate her. “You should have seen the look of fear on his face.”

  She perked up. “Really?”

  “Scared to death.”

  “You’re humoring me, but I don’t care. Next time, I’ll be wearing sneakers. He won’t have a chance.”

  She was tenacious; I’d give her that.

  Beaming, she shook the hat at me. “This will get me a front-page story at least.”

  “Absolutely. The Lone Ranger is the hottest story in town. You have something no one else does.”

  Running a finger along the brim of the hat, she said woefully, “Why can’t you get readings from the lost object itself?”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “Maybe you do have that power and just don’t know it yet.”

  It was true there was a lot I didn’t know about my abilities, but I knew for sure I couldn’t get a reading from an object. I’d tried. Multiple times. Hundreds. It wasn’t happening. “I don’t work that—”

  She tossed the hat at me. “Focus. Try really hard.”

  I caught it. She wasn’t going to let this go, so I closed my eyes and said, “Ohhhhm,” for a good twenty seconds.

  My eyes popped open. “It came from The Medford Millinery!”

  “Oh my God! You did it!” She jumped up and down—on one leg. The heel had broken off clean from her other boot. “This is amazing. Think of all the possibilities, Lucy!”

  I hated to burst her bubble. Flipping the hat over, I said, “Don’t get so excited. It’s on the label.”

  She snatched it away from me and growled. “You’re not funny. I don’t even know why I like you. Why do I like you?”

  “You don’t. You use me for stories.”

  A grin tugged at her lips. “Right. I forgot.”

  “And I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. But hey, it’s a lead. That’s a custom-made hat. Custom-made hats leave a trail. Someone had to order it.”

  Her eyes lit. “You’re right. Are you up for a field trip?”

  I didn’t know how long Sean’s meeting with Meaghan would be, and the paperwork on my desk could surely wait. Besides, I was just as curious about the Lone Ranger as everyone else. “Okay. But we have to swing by my father’s penthouse. I need to pick up my car.”

  “Only if I can come in for a tour.”

  “No.”

  “But, Lucy, I heard he has a Vermeer. Is that true?”

  It hung over his fireplace. “Still no.”

  “Lucy!” She huffed, then smiled deviously. “I’ll tell you about the tip I got about Tristan Rourke.”

  I said, “You should be sharing tips anyway!”

  “Why? You’re not on the case anymore.”

  Oh. Right. But still, Sean might be interested. And the sooner he was off this case, the better I would feel. Something about it had affected Sean on a deep, dark level, dredging up the pain that haunted his eyes.

  “Sean might want to know.… Suz mentioned he had taken Meaghan on as a client.”

  Preston knew my weaknesses. The urge to throttle her was slowly coming back.

  Wide-eyed, she said, “The Vermeer?”

  I slipped on my coat and gave Preston a once-over. She was super-gluing her broken heel, trying to appear innocent. I wasn’t buying it—I knew her too well. She was up to something. “What did you learn about Tristan Rourke?”

  Testing her heel, she repeated doggedly, “The Vermeer?”

  For Sean’s sake. “Okay.”

  “I’ve been calling in favors from some of my more, shall we say, shady sources. Word on the street is that Tristan Rourke has underground headquarters in Roxbury. For two hundred dollars, one informant gave me the address, but I haven’t checked it out yet. That payment will be on my expense report.”

  “You don’t have expense reports.”

  “I do now.”

  My father was going to love that. But I had to admit, two hundred dollars was nothing if it truly led her to Tristan. Now that he was the subject of a massive manhunt, he was a huge story—bigger than reuniting him with a lost love. “Is your contact reliable?”

  Offended, her face scrunched. “Of course. What kind of reporter do you think I am?”

  “A good one.” I had to give credit where credit was due.

  She glowed under the compliment, and I almost forgot how devious she could be.

  “Will you come with me? To Tristan’s secret hideout?” she asked.

  “I’m not on the case anymore, Preston, remember?”

  Her lips twisted. “Well, I am.”

  “Have fun,” I said, grabbing my satchel, several files, and my coat. “But I’d like that address for Sean.”

  She widened her eyes, blinked at me like a wounded puppy. “It’s in Roxbury. One of the worst neighborhoods. I don’t want to go alone. I mean, I will if I have to. If I disappear, you will tell the police my last known location, right?”

  I sighed. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

  “I knew I could count on you.”

  Okay, she’d completely manipulated me, but she was right. She could count on me. I was loyal to a fault, even to people who hadn’t quite earned it yet.

  In the hallway, my father’s office door was closed tight, he must have been with a client. I ran upstairs to see Sean, give him Preston’s information, but his office door was closed and I could hear Meaghan’s voice inside.

  Sam wasn’t around, and Andrew, SDI’s office assistant, must have been at lunch. I left a note on Andrew’s desk to give to Sean and headed out.

  Preston and I passed Suz (she’d scored eighty dollars) on the stairs. I told her where we were off to in case Sean came looking for me—or if the police needed a last known location.

  18

  I used my key on my father’s penthouse door, let myself in. Preston was right behind me, eager to get a glimpse at my father’s home. Or, more likely, hoping to find anything that might give her a clue into my family’s background. She wasn’t fooling me with her sudden desire to see my father’s art collection.

  There was a big clue on the console table to the right of the door—a bronze of Cupid. Preston looked right past it, her eyes sweeping in all she could in one big glance.

  Yes, so far she had kept her word about not sharing with the world that Cutter McCutchan was a Valentine, and she’d also kept the secret about my parents’ topsy-turvy relationship.… But could she keep quiet about Dad’s and Cutter’s ability to see auras? Was her loyalty to my family bigger than her desire for a national—an international—scoop?

  I really wanted to trust her, but I didn’t, so I had to do everything I could to protect the secret. Now if I could only figure out how.

  “Raphael?” I called out, setting my purse next to Cupid. “I need to pick up my car keys.”

  “Where’s the Vermeer?” Preston asked, looking around, her eyes wide.

  I gestured toward the fireplace. Dad’s waterfront penthouse had stunning views of Boston Harbor. Sunlight cascaded through floor-to-ceiling windows, setting the living room aglow. Right off I noticed three of my father’s designer suitcases stacked by the door. If he was going out of town, he hadn’t mentioned it.

  Preston started toward the painting and stopped suddenly when a tiny giggle came from the other side of the broad couch.

  She took a step backward, bumping into me. I steadied her and said, “Hello?”

  A head popped up, peering at me over the back of the couch.

  I grabbed my chest, willed my heart to beat normally. “Dad, hi.”

  Preston gave a little wave. “Hello, Oscar. I came to see the Vermeer.”

  His hair was rumpled, his eyes shiny. “Hello, girls.”

  I said, “What’re you doing home? Shouldn’t you be at work??
?? His office door had been closed when Preston and I left, and I’d assumed he was with a client.

  “Just, uh…”

  My mother’s head suddenly popped up next to his. Her short blond hair stood on end. “LucyD, this is a surprise.”

  Preston let out a little gasp, then clamped a hand over her lips.

  In addition to the unkempt hair, my parents had rosy cheeks and guilty smiles. My gaze dropped to the area rug and I noticed my father’s trousers balled up near the end table as if they’d been thrown there.…

  Realization hit hard, and I threw my hands over my eyes. I let out a squeal.

  My father said, “Just came home for some … lunch.”

  Mum giggled.

  “Is that what they’re calling it now?” Preston asked with a straight face, but humor danced in her eyes.

  Grabbing her sleeve, I dragged her through the kitchen. Raphael’s quarters were off the back hallway. “I’m traumatized,” I declared loudly. “I’m scarred for life. I’m going to need therapy.”

  “I have a good one if you want his number!” Mum called out.

  “Scarred!” I yelled back. “Is Raphael even home?”

  “In his room,” my father answered.

  Once I reached the safety of the hallway, I let my hands drop. Would I ever get used to seeing them … like that?

  Preston sagged against the wall. “You have the most interesting family.”

  “Interesting” was a good word. “Dysfunctional” also worked. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “What else is there?”

  I really had to watch what I said around her. I knocked on Raphael’s door.

  “It’s open!” he yelled.

  Raphael stood in the middle of his one-bedroom apartment surrounded by boxes.

  Preston closed the door behind her, leaned against it. “It’s safe in here, right? Maggie’s not going to pop out of one of the boxes, is she?”

  Crisp, creased black pants were specked with cardboard dust, and his white button-down had been rolled to his elbows. His dark salt-and-pepper hair had been gelled, slicked back in a style straight from the fifties. His olive skin glowed with the faint sheen of working hard. “It’s safe.”

  I looked around. “What’s all this?”

  His brown eyes warmed. “I’m packing.”

  “This is an awful lot to be taking on vacation, even if it is a month long.”

  The room was filled with cardboard boxes, taped and neatly labeled. Walls were bare, small nail holes the only hint there had been artwork and photos.

  Raphael watched me take everything in. “I’m moving out.”

  There was a sudden pain in my chest, like a thorn wedged in my heart. “Where?”

  Preston picked up some Bubble Wrap.

  “I’m moving in with Maggie,” he said. “Her house. In Cambridge.”

  Pop. Pop.

  Of course. It had been a stupid question but the only one my brain could form at that moment.

  “It seems so sudden.” There was a catch in my throat. He hadn’t mentioned a thing about it yesterday.

  His eyes locked on mine. “I woke up this morning, rolled over, and looked at the empty space next to me, and I realized I don’t want to spend a single night away from her, and that I didn’t have to.”

  “Awww,” Preston said. Pop. Pop.

  “It is rather sappy.” His fingers flexed as though he was itching to steal the Bubble Wrap from her.

  She added, “Another Oscar Valentine success story. His success rate is quite remarkable, isn’t it?”

  Raphael didn’t take her bait. “He isn’t the King of Love for nothing.”

  I couldn’t worry about Preston’s suspicions right now. My mind was too wrapped up in the moving boxes. I sat on the arm of the sofa. Selfishly, I was going to miss Raphael always being around whenever I needed him. At the same time, nothing made me happier than seeing him so happy. Loved. I wouldn’t want it any other way. He and Maggie were meant to be together. It was destiny. And I wasn’t about to stand in the way of it.

  I stood, hugged him tight. “What is Dad going to do without you here full-time?”

  He smiled. “I believe he has plans of his own.”

  “Oh?” I said. “Like what?”

  “Not for me to say.”

  There was a tap at the door. My father stuck his head in. He was freshly showered. If he’d been fazed by the interruption from Preston and me, he didn’t show it. He was as cool and calm as ever. “Preston, I thought you’d like to see the Vermeer. And I’ve just obtained a Gandolfi. You must see it. Come.”

  She snapped to attention, but as she glanced at me her eyes were wide and blank.

  Apparently, her studies of the masters were limited. Luckily, she was a quick learner and my father a good teacher. She was about to endure a crash course of Art 101.

  “Enjoy,” I said, waving as she followed him out of the room.

  Raphael said, “What is that about?”

  “Preston has a newfound appreciation of the arts.”

  Wisely he said, “Cutter?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Have you warned him?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You’d better soon.”

  “He’s due back in town this weekend. We’re having dinner. I can bring it up then.”

  Raphael picked up the Bubble Wrap Preston had left behind. “So annoying, this.”

  Yet I yearned to pop a few of the bubbles myself.

  “Is Cutter staying in town for good?”

  “I’m not sure. He’s been traveling a lot with his art. A different gallery, a different city, every other week, it seems.”

  “Mmm,” Raphael said.

  “Hmm,” I agreed.

  He lifted an eyebrow, amusement in his eyes. “Running from your father?”

  “As fast as he can. I’m hoping they will come to a compromise; otherwise I’m scared Dad may push Cutter away for good.”

  “Oscar must learn patience.”

  “And Cutter has yet to learn the value of his gift.” A lesson I had learned the hard way.

  “Did Em leave my car keys with you?” Preston and I still had to go to the millinery and then check out the tip she had received on Tristan Rourke.

  Raphael pulled a key ring from his pocket. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, “Do you want to take the back way out?”

  “My purse is on the console table. Besides, I need to rescue Preston.”

  “Ah.”

  I kissed him good-bye and as soon as I reached the hallway I heard a pop, pop. I stuck my head back in the door.

  Raphael smiled. “Irresistible.”

  I left him to his packing and popping and found Mum in the kitchen, shredding a carrot.

  “Do you have time for a salad?” she asked.

  “Sorry. We can’t.” I eyed the sofa. I’d never be able to sit on it again. “When did you start liking salads?”

  “People change,” she said, biting into the carrot with gusto.

  “Do they?” I asked, ripping the bandage off emotional wounds. “Truly?”

  She waved the carrot at me. “I hear what you’re saying, Lucy. And the truth is, I don’t know. But right now, this minute, it doesn’t matter. And if I’m okay with it, then you should be, too.”

  I didn’t think it was that easy.

  She added, “This may last one week, two. One year, two. Who knows? Life is about living, not about constant worrying.”

  Ha! She didn’t know my life very well. I sat on a stool. “But how, when you know there may be pain in the end?”

  “Life is not without pain. You ache and you move on. And you do it all again.”

  And again and again in my parents’ case.

  “This go-round happens to come with the added benefit of a lifestyle change. Your father’s so fit that he’s inspired me. I’ve also joined a gym.”

  A diet, Zumba, and now a gym as well. This curre
nt fling was pretty serious. “You’re perfect as is.”

  She smiled broadly. “Thank you, LucyD. I knew you were my favorite child.”

  “I’m your only child, unless you have something you want to tell me.”

  “Such sass. I need to do this.” She swept her hands over the salad. “I’m not getting any younger. I need to start thinking about my health.”

  “You know Dad has a gym downstairs.”

  “You’ve clearly lost your mind if you think I’m going to exercise where he might see me.”

  I laughed. “Those who exercise together stay together?”

  She threw a cherry tomato at me. The rubies on her finger glistened.

  I took hold of her hand, felt my heart tug. “The ring looks great.”

  Holding it up, she admired it. “It needs a good cleaning, but it’s really quite beautiful. I’m not sure why I ever thought it was a hunk of junk.”

  “I think it had something to do with your feelings for Dad at the time.”

  “Hmm. You may be right.”

  Murmured voices came from the hallway. As Dad and Preston appeared, her gaze pleaded with me.

  I took mercy on her—I had experience with my father’s tutorials. “We should be going, Preston.”

  “Right.” She hurried over to me. “Going.”

  As I gathered up my purse, I spotted the suitcases. “Are you going out of town?” I asked my father.

  He stood behind my mother, his arm around her waist. “In a way.”

  She smiled. “Dad is moving in with me.”

  Preston slid a look my way as she said, “That’s wonderful.”

  “Absolutely.” I meant it, but my stomach ached nonetheless.

  “We want to have a big dinner to celebrate. This Saturday. Everyone’s invited.”

  “Me?” Preston asked as though she were the gawky, unathletic kid who’d just been picked first for a game of dodgeball.

  “Of course!”

  “But I’m supposed to have dinner with Cutter on Saturday,” I protested weakly.

  “Bring him! It wouldn’t be a party without him.”

  Cutter and Preston in the same room. Great.

  As I rung for the elevator Preston said, “So just when is Cutter getting back?”