“I think he’d sell his soul for the right price. How high do you want to go?”
“As high as it takes. Just get the information and I’ll wire you the money.”
“It may take a few days or more,” Steve warned. “The guy operates out of a van, and he doesn’t park in one place for very long.”
“Let me know as soon as you find out something.”
“Right.”
Michele didn’t know if a description of the elusive Mr. South would do her any good at all, but, like Steve, she was doubly suspicious of anyone who paid to cover his tracks. As for the companies and men she was checking here in Atlanta, four rival construction firms had been eliminated with fair certainty; all four were currently involved in lengthy projects demanding all their resources and couldn’t possibly have taken on the Techtron contract. She had two companies left to check; if those proved doubtful as well, then she’d have to try and discover another motive for the sabotage.
—
As the days turned into weeks, his simmering rage began to boil. All the careful planning, the moves timed and executed with the precision of chess pieces on a board, had not produced the results he’d expected.
Something was wrong. They weren’t reacting as they should have done. By now, the fight should have been fully begun. They should have been tearing each other to shreds while he enjoyed the sight from the sidelines. Instead, the tense balance had somehow been maintained, with both families quiet.
He thought about it for a long time, struggling to contain his rage so that he could consider. He knew, of course, about the curious twist of fate that had entered his game; that knowledge was certainly a weapon he could use to his advantage. But he had decided to time that perfectly, to choose just the right moment to strike the final destructive blow.
Still, he had the uneasy feeling that someone else was using the very knowledge he meant as a weapon somehow to heal the damage he had already inflicted. Not them, no. They couldn’t possibly have overcome what he’d done to them; there was no way she’d trust him after he had hurt her brother. And they hadn’t seen each other, he knew that.
But he was disturbed. His plan had been meticulously arranged, yet now he could feel an alien touch, a ghostly hand deflecting or softening his blows. The conduits through which he had so carefully fed information were being severed before they could be used to further antagonize, the buffers between himself and his enemies moved silently out of the way. He was less protected now.
He looked down at the devices on the table, and his control over rage slipped another notch. So be it, then, he decided angrily. He would have to be bolder, strike with less concern of protecting himself. Another push, and if they failed to react, follow that with a deadly shove.
It occurred to him that deaths would bring the police into the situation, but he was beyond caring. No one would look further than the feud for suspects. There had been no fatalities in more than a hundred years; perhaps it was time to teach them a forgotten lesson about the power of hate.
—
Like the month before, December bowed with a cold rain designed to make warm-blooded Southerners shiver miserably. With the Christmas shopping season in full swing, the city was gaily decorated, but the bright splashes of color, vibrant lights, and glittering tinsel did little to cheer gloomy skies.
Michele, who usually scorned anything but a light jacket in winter, dug her fur coat out of the closet whenever she left for work each morning. Her workload was unusually light for this time of year, so she was able to devote most of her time to the painfully slow search for an enemy.
She had done her best to track down Jon’s informant, but that gentleman had hidden—or been hidden—very thoroughly, and she had no luck. As for the rest, she spent long hours sifting through information, frustrated by the elusive feeling that she was looking in the wrong place entirely, that there was something she was missing.
“Michele?”
She looked up from the papers spread out on her desk to find her brother standing in the doorway. It was late Friday afternoon, the leaden skies and bitter cold outside promising sleet or freezing rain within hours.
“Has something happened?” she asked instantly, her heart leaping into her throat.
“No, not that I know of.” He came into the office and sat down in the chair in front of her desk, looking as tired and tense as she felt. He’d been unusually quiet these last weeks, almost subdued, watching her from time to time with an expression she couldn’t define. He had managed to keep their father from retaliating against the Stuarts, though not without a struggle; Michele had overheard at least one bitter exchange between them and knew that the two of them were at odds for the first time she could remember.
Jon was becoming convinced despite himself. He had quietly agreed with Michele when she eliminated four of their rivals, and had offered the reluctant opinion that the remaining two firms were already stretched too thin to be able to take on the Techtron project.
“What are you doing here?” she asked finally, gathering the papers into a neat stack and tucking them into a folder.
“I came to take you home.”
“Jon—”
“Look, you’ve barely come up for air in weeks. You drag home at eight or nine o’clock at night, and you head back here before this place is even open for business. The security guard downstairs told me they’ve been letting you in and out because you’re the first one here and the last to leave. You can’t keep up this pace, Michele. You’ve lost weight, and you look so brittle I’d be afraid to touch you.”
Jon wasn’t the first to scold her, although her doctor had been even more blunt about the matter. She’d lost eight pounds he didn’t think she could spare, and even though that happened sometimes early in a pregnancy, he told her she had to start taking better care of herself. Especially now.
Michele had made an effort after the doctor’s warning, forcing herself to eat and to get enough sleep, but she hadn’t been able to slow down because what she was doing was so terribly important to her. With every day that passed, she was more and more conscious of time ticking away. Something was going to happen; she could feel it like a cold, dank fog, like something that could be seen and felt but not captured.
She set the file aside and shrugged as she gave in to her brother, feeling the tension in her shoulders and neck. “All right, all right. I’ll go home.”
“Good,” he said. “You can get some rest before the party.”
Blinking, she said, “What party?”
Patiently, he said, “Look at your calendar. It’s that annual charity do to raise money for the disadvantaged kids in the city. Christmas, remember? It’s just around the corner. You go with me every year, and I bought our tickets a couple of months ago.”
“I really don’t think—”
“It’ll do you good to get out. Jackie’ll be there. Come on, Michele.”
It was a black-tie event, the first of the glittering social functions scheduled between now and New Year’s, and Michele had attended most of them in the past. On the point of trying to get out of it this year, she suddenly remembered that Ian always went; she’d seen him across the ballroom.
Did Jon know that? Gazing at her brother’s veiled eyes, she had the uneasy feeling that he did. It would be insane for her to think she could be in the same room with Ian—even a crowded ballroom—without giving her feelings away. And she hadn’t yet told him about the baby, wanting to be with him for that, to see his face when he heard; how could she stay away from him when the longing to be in his arms tortured her?
“Come on, Michele,” Jon repeated. “You promised, and I’m holding you to it.”
“Is Dad going?” she asked slowly.
“No. He said he had things to do.”
It was madness, but she wasn’t surprised to hear herself give in. “All right.”
Jon’s eyes flickered, but that was his only reaction. He rose to his feet. “Get your coat, and I’l
l walk you to the car.”
Michele didn’t argue. Even with herself.
A few hours later, she stood before the dressing mirror in her bedroom, fastening her earrings. A long, hot bath had eased some of her physical tension, but she knew she was still edgy. She had tried to disguise at least the outward indications of that, applying makeup to soften her face and shade her eyes, and wearing a gown that was made up of flowing lines and soft material.
She wore her hair in a style less severe than usual; it was piled high on her head in a mass of loose curls, with a number of long curling strands allowed to trail over one shoulder. The gown she wore was a shimmering gray; long-sleeved and with a deep V neckline, it had a full skirt falling from a high waist.
She’d been too busy to pay much attention to her own appearance these last weeks, and for the first time, she could see the signs of strain in herself. With no excess weight to spare, the lost pounds had left her obviously thinner, but despite that she looked neither ill nor exhausted. Her eyes seemed larger, her cheekbones more prominent, but it was a finely honed look as if some drastic alteration had taken place inside her, leaving her starkly different and yet curiously more focused, more centered than she had been before.
It was too early in her pregnancy for that to cause such outward changes, but Michele thought the child she carried was at least partly responsible nonetheless—because of her emotional awareness. There was a bond between her and Ian now that could never be broken no matter what happened. Their love had created a new life, a tiny scrap of humanity both Logan and Stuart. The bridge they had sought to build between their families had become in part a living connection.
Michele held on to that awareness, because it gave her strength. She went to her closet and got the cloak Jackie had talked her into buying back in the fall. The long, hooded cloak was pale blue and trimmed in ermine; it was both exotic and dramatic, and Michele hadn’t yet worn it because she hadn’t been able to get up the nerve. Tonight she swung it around her shoulders automatically with no more than a faint inner shrug and went downstairs.
Jon didn’t say very much during the drive downtown to the hotel where the event was being held, but he did tell her something that made her believe he was well on his way to being convinced someone other than a Stuart was working against them.
“I played a little hardball with one of the electrical inspectors this morning.”
Michele looked at him, worried. “What did you do?”
Jon smiled thinly. “Since we weren’t having any luck finding my guy at city hall, I went straight to the horse’s mouth. I took with me half a dozen signed statements from other builders who are positive he took bribes to delay their projects. They didn’t have proof, mind you, but he knew damned well the statements alone would get him fired.”
“He talked?”
“He sure did. He admitted he’d been paid to delay us. The arrangements were made by phone, and he was paid in cash, by messenger; half up front and half a week after our crews were forced to stop working. His employer didn’t identify himself, but from what was said, he gathered the man was a Stuart.”
“It wasn’t,” Michele said flatly.
“No,” Jon said just as flatly, “I don’t think it was.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because the inspector had a lot more to say. And he was surprised I didn’t know.” Jon snorted almost angrily. “Serves me right for being so damned convinced the Stuarts were behind it that I never looked for anything else.”
“Tell me.”
“He said there had been a lot of quiet talk these last weeks about somebody working against us and the Stuarts. Apparently, it’s all over the grapevine: inspectors, suppliers, even the crews on both jobs. A hell of a lot of money’s been paid in bribes and kickbacks, but nobody knows who’s behind it. The thing is, it’s as if this guy has inside information; he seems to know exactly when and where to cause delays that cost both us and the Stuarts in time and money.”
“You think he’s buying the information?”
“He’s bought everything else.” Jon sounded frustrated. He was handling the car easily despite the cast on his left arm, and scowling through the windshield.
After a moment, Michele said, “Have you told Dad?”
“I’ve tried. He doesn’t believe it, Misha. He’s convinced the Stuarts are behind everything. I’ve been able to hold him back only because both projects have been stalled. But I don’t know how much longer I can manage it.”
There was little she could say to that, but something else was nagging at her. “Jon, you said a lot of money had been spent in bribes and kickbacks. How much?”
“Can’t know for sure. Tens of thousands. Maybe even hundreds of thousands.”
Recalling all the data she’d collected on the last two possible rivals, Michele said, “That’s too much. None of our rivals could spread that much money around even if they wanted to; all their capital’s tied up, and their personal fortunes just wouldn’t cover it.”
“Then who the hell’s after us?”
“I don’t know. But we have to find out.”
The remainder of the drive was silent. Michele tried to think of an answer, but all she had were questions. If not a business rival, then who? If not for the gain of the Techtron project, then why?
—
Ian had almost decided to skip the charity event. He was hardly in the mood to make polite social chitchat even for a good cause. He was here because he had suddenly remembered that Michele had attended last year.
The hardest thing he’d ever done was to stay away from her after they had agreed it was best. The brief daily phone calls had done nothing except heighten his desire to see her, to be with her, until he felt frustration gnawing at him. Simply not seeing her was bad enough; the knowledge that someone was intent on playing very nasty games with both families made him worry constantly about her safety. He wanted her with him, wanted her close, so that he could watch over her.
If anything happened to Michele, Ian knew he’d lose his mind. It was an icy fear that never left him now. He had never felt that kind of fear before, but he knew that it would always be with him, for as long as he lived. Because he loved Michele, he would never shake the terror of losing her.
But that was a fear that came from love, a natural result of giving a hostage to fortune. It was the other pressures that were so rawly painful. The pressures that came from a feud neither of them wanted any part of. He knew it was madness to come here tonight hoping to at least see her across a crowded room, because it would only be a glimpse that would torment rather than satisfy. And that aching knowledge made him all the more determined to stop the damnable feud.
The bitter legacy of his family’s hate was this—that he was forced to steal glances at the woman he loved.
He saw her when she came in with her brother. He had positioned himself across the huge room at an angle where he could best watch the entrance. There was quite a crowd, and because this was a buffet dinner, most of the people were on their feet and moving around. A pianist in the far corner played music that was no more than unlistened-to background noise.
The instant he saw Michele, Ian forgot about giving himself away to anyone who could be watching. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was wearing a gleaming gown the exact shade of her gray eyes, and as she moved into the room beside her tall brother she looked beautiful and delicate—and changed.
She had lost a little weight, and that made her appear almost fragile. Yet there was something about her that was stronger as well, an elusive intensity as if all the force of will that made Michele uniquely herself had been compressed and focused inside her. Rather than breaking from the stresses all around her, she had grown stronger and surer. Like a diamond, Ian thought, a thing of incredible beauty and unmatched strength born under unimaginable pressures.
He watched as she and her brother were joined by the red-headed Jackie and a tall, dark man who was apparently her dat
e. It was almost impossible for him to think about anything except Michele, but gradually he became conscious of something nagging at him. There was a wrongness somewhere, something he saw or didn’t see, and it disturbed him.
—
“Ian’s here,” Jackie said in a low voice, after pulling Michele from the group that had gradually formed around them. Jon and Cole Sutton were talking with a man about computers, and neither seemed to notice their dates moving away.
“I know.” Michele hadn’t dared search the room for him, but she knew he was here because she felt it.
Jackie stared at her, lips compressed. “It’s still going on, isn’t it? You and him.”
Michele had avoided her friend since they’d returned from Martinique, partly because she’d been working so hard and partly because of Jackie’s feelings about Ian. Now, steadily, she said, “I love him. And he loves me. Is that so hard for you to believe?”
“The explosion—”
“Ian wasn’t responsible for that. And neither was his father. There’s somebody else, Jackie, somebody who wants to destroy both families.”
“That’s insane.”
“Yes, it is. But true. Even Jon can see that now.”
Jackie was frowning, but her expression cleared as Cole Sutton slipped away from the group around Jon and joined them. “Did you sell him a computer?” she asked, slipping her arm familiarly through his.
“No luck. He’s the old-fashioned kind.” Cole was a tall, dark man somewhere in his thirties with a face so handsome his features were almost delicate. He had deep blue eyes and a slow smile, and he reminded Michele of someone although she hadn’t been able to decide who it was. He was a sales representative for a high-tech company that had a flourishing office in Atlanta, and like many salesmen he was a charming man with an easy manner.
Jackie had been seeing him for only a few months, but she had fallen quickly and hard. Having finally met the man, Michele could see why, but he made her just a little uncomfortable. Something about the way he stood beside Jackie gave Michele the impression that he was hardly conscious of her, and that was definitely odd considering that they were lovers.