A Dangerous Dance (3 page)

His ghost wasn't something she could see. Anything less than corporeal wasn't Magus's style. If he couldn't be larger than life, he wouldn't be. That said, she still felt him, especially here, in his Oz. He wasn't at rest and until he was, Dorothy couldn't be either. She'd have damned both her parents to hell, if she weren't sure they were already there. And if she knew Magus at all, he'd already taken over.

“Okay.” Remy rounded up his last bite of food and popped it in his mouth, then leaned back with a sigh. “That was good.”

“I'm glad you liked it.” Unfortunately, she was a little too glad he liked the food she'd prepared, though she'd bet he didn't know that. She'd wondered if she'd remember how to cook, but it had been as if she'd never stopped. Oddly enough, she'd felt satisfaction in the preparation. It had soothed and cleared her thoughts, bringing her to a tiny place of peace that she hadn't even known she needed.

An unfamiliar tension began to build in the silence between them. She was sure he wanted to speak, but didn't know how to start. She wanted him to speak, but didn't know how to help him begin without tipping her hand. This had to be his move or he wouldn't play. Remy Mistral would want to lead in this dance...or at least think he was.

She pushed her plate back, lifted her napkin and dabbed at her mouth. She knew he watched her, but kept her gaze down until the tension reached unbearable. Then, and only then, did she lift her lashes and meet his gaze.

White-hot, it seared her, before he reined it in. Despite the muggy heat of the room, she missed it. For that instant, she felt...super-charged. And it told her what she needed to know. Remy was hungry, very hungry. She'd felt the same desire in Magus all those years ago. Now how to set it loose?

Remy toyed with his glass, the hand holding the crystal, long fingered and strong. The urge to break the silence twisted her insides but she refused to give in to it. She couldn't afford to give him even the thinnest edge of the wedge.

He took a drink, lowered the glass, his gaze finding her again, but minus the heat. “Are you going to run for governor?”

She thought about stalling, because now the moment was here, she wasn't sure how it would end. She could almost hear Magus telling her to sit up straight and have some balls. Apparently, he still hadn't noticed they weren't standard equipment on his daughter.

With only instinct to guide her, she pushed back her chair and stood up. “No, I'm not.” She'd be as honest with him as she dared. There'd be less to remember. “Shall we repair to the salon? I'm sure Titus has something cold laid on for us there?”

She noted his relief before she turned and followed him toward the door.

“Titus? Magus's bodyguard?” There was an edge to his voice, but whether it was disapproval or surprise, she couldn't tell. He stopped at the door to let her pass through first.

“That's right. He's my bodyguard now.”

“Is that wise?” he asked, as he walked beside her down the long hall toward the soft glow coming from the salon off to the left.

“I trust him.” She could swear she heard a whisper of silks and satins as the past moved out of her way so she could turn into the salon. She bypassed the seating, heading straight for the window. The air was so weighted, so ominous, it was like a weight on her shoulders. The window was open, in hopes of any fugitive breeze that might find them. Insects beat against the screen, frantic for the light just out of their reach. They reminded her of what it had been like to be in politics.

“Why did you come back?”

His light-footed approach might have surprised her, but the wooden floor creaked and gave her warning. She turned to face him. To get what she wanted, she had to give him something.

“To find out who hired Verrol to kill Magus.” She waited a beat. “But you already knew that, didn't you?”

“Knew?” One dark brow arched. “Suspected, but didn't know. I'm a reporter, not a psychic.”

Dorothy smiled. “Are you sure about that?”

He looked startled for a moment, and then smiled with real amusement. It suited him dangerously well. She'd heard he had charm, but he'd never bothered to use it on her. There'd been no need. While his face was still lit with humor, she asked, “I hear you're considering a run?”

He froze, before nodding. “I am.”

She turned so she no longer looked at him. “You'd be good at it. You have passion and that vision thing. Not unlike Magus.” She hesitated. “Are you here for my endorsement?”

She looked at him then. He looked thoughtful and a bit wary.

“I didn't think...” he began, but stopped.

“...that I was adult enough not to carry a grudge for your past...third estate excesses? You disappoint me, Remy Mistral.”

“Not for the first time, I'm sure,” he shot back, his face still closed and suspicious. “Actually, there are more...credible candidates, former friends of Magus you could endorse.”

“True.” Point for him.

“Have they asked?” His tone was casual but his eyes weren't.

She chuckled wryly. “Every year since Magus died.”

Remy chuckled with her, but his gaze stayed pointed and hard. “Anyone you like?”

She shrugged. “Magus liked you. I think he even trusted you—as much as he trusted anyone.”

“And you still do what he wants?”

His tone challenged her hackles to rise, but she kept them down with an effort. “Within reason.” She turned away from him. “Of course, everyone is assuming that my endorsement would mean something after twelve years. Do you think anyone, but the politicians, remember Magus? Or cares what his daughter thinks?”

She waited, insides braced. If he wasn't honest with her, she'd stop it now.

He didn't disappoint. “No.” He stared at her for a long moment. “But they could be reminded.”

“Perhaps.” She rubbed a finger down the screen, as she felt her way through the mind field of what they weren't saying. “As a curiosity, maybe even mildly interesting, but a voice of authority? I don't think so.”

“No, but momentum could be built. You've managed Magus's holdings, kept some of them in Louisiana making jobs for people here. If you didn't matter, all those old friends wouldn't have tried, now would they?”

“No, I suppose not.” She allowed herself to look uncertain and slanted him a look. “I just assumed they were after the money.”

He grinned. “That, too.”

He was too appealing when he grinned. It softened his intensity, without making him any less dangerous. She turned away from him, and from her own vulnerability and sat down in a wing backed chair that Magus had used to good effect in the past, as she had good cause to remember. He'd looked like royalty when he sat here.

After a pause, Remy followed her, eliminating her slight, royal advantage, by dropping down onto a nearby couch. He leaned forward, his intensity hitting her in a wave. She struggled against it, keeping her back erect with an effort.

“Don't you understand how amazing Magus was? Don't you realize that what he built, that what he did and stood for resonated with people. Getting killed for it made him bigger, not smaller. He was martyred for change, for the hope he gave to ordinary people that government could be honest and real and useful.”

“What I remember—” Her voice came out stronger than she'd meant it to and she pulled it back to cool, “—is that the father I barely knew was killed in front of me. And the person who planned it has gone on breathing and living and spending time with people he cares about. That's what I remember, Remy Mistral.”

Their gazes clashed like cymbals, leaving unseen sparks to fall around them both. Now he knew what she wanted and how bad she wanted. What she didn't know is what he'd do with it.

His gaze narrowed. “Do you...know who did it?”

“I have a few ideas, a short list of names,” she admitted. “What I don't have is proof.” She lowered her lashes, needing a respite from his gaze.

“What you need,” Remy said, his voice soft as silk, “is someone to get in their way—the way Magus did.”

She didn't tense, but it wasn't easy, as he stepped in to take the bait she'd prepared for him. When she felt in control, she lifted her lashes. “The thought had occurred to me.”

“I thought it might.” He held her gaze for a long beat before he said, “I'm willing to be your bait.” He spoke slowly, as if he hadn't made up his mind, but Dorothy knew he had. She could feel his resolve beating like his heart beneath his impeccable suit, not frantic like the mosquitoes, but insistent.

“For my endorsement and some well-placed contributions to your campaign?”

“The...bargain I'd like to propose is a bit more complicated that that.”

She let the silence draw out for a moment as she studied him. What could he have in mind? She leaned forward, gesturing to the tall pitcher of lemonade and two crystal glasses waiting on a low table protected from marring the antique surface by a silver tray. Remy had never been a heavy drinker. His personal discipline was one of the things she'd admired about him.

He hesitated, watching her pour him a glass. As she handed it to him, he said, “Lemonade? You
do
remember me.”

“I'm afraid it's far more sordid and uninteresting than that. Magus kept dossiers on everyone. When I found it, it made me wonder...”

“Wonder what?” Remy leaned toward her, quick interest in his face.

“If he felt death coming. He certainly had his affairs in order.” More than in order, actually. He'd left detailed instructions for her, enabling her to look almost prescient during that rocky transition from his control of business to hers. By the time his instructions ran out, she knew what to do.

“Knowing Magus, it wouldn't surprise me,” Remy said.

Or he'd planned for her to manage his affairs while he was governor, which made him merely arrogant. Either way, she'd had much cause to feel grateful for his foresight, all the while feeling like a puppet on strings that lead to a grave.

There was a short silence, one that allowed the tension to return and begin to build again. Dorothy sipped her lemonade, enjoying the sour bite and the chill of it as it slid down her throat. More than anything she needed to keep her cool.

She felt him watching her, gathered her defenses and turned her body so that she faced him. She had to fight the urge to fill the silence with something, anything, but what she wanted him to want. Their gazes connected and this time, she realized, he wasn't going to play until she asked. He didn't know that she wanted him to win this one.

“What complicated bargain did you have in mind, Remy Mistral?”

She set her glass back on the tray, then faced him with her hands clasped in her lap, her back finishing school straight. She'd never been “finished,” but she was fast study.

He leaned back, his legs thrust out and crossed at the ankles. The folds of his expensive pants fell in perfects lines, as if they obeyed Remy. He was almost too much like Magus.

“There are going to be several candidates claiming Magus's legacy. Your endorsement would help a lot, no question, but...”

Where was he going? Dorothy only kept a frown off her face with an effort. “But...?”

“You're Magus's heir.”

“But I don't want to run,” Dorothy pointed out. “All I can do is endorse—”

“There is another way to confer Magus's power.” He stopped, holding her gaze with his for a long moment before saying, “Marriage would.”

The glass Dorothy held slipped from her hand, shattering into pieces against the hardwood floor.

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THREE

* * * *

No question that Remy had given Dorothy's dangerous dance some surprising new steps. What startled her was the fact that it didn't seem that alien. Magus would have liked the boldness of it. What shocked her is that she did, too.

She crossed to the antique vanity table and sank onto the padded seat, facing her own gaze in the aged, mottled mirror. Behind her she could see her four poster bed with its vintage mosquito netting pulled to each side. Everything about the room was to period, though the fabrics were copies, not originals, thank goodness. Vintage was good to a point, that point being when they stopped being comfortable or easy to care for. Probably because of her less-than-vintage upbringing, she thought.

In a distant sort of way, she wondered who had decorated the room. It had been like this when she arrived in Oz and when she left it wearing mourning black. The colors were good, with her favorite green dominant. Had Magus known or was it just luck?

There was so much she didn't know and wouldn't ever know. It would have been easy to recreate him as the perfect father, to set him on a high pedestal and imbue him with any trait or motive she wanted. She could even make up her own reasons for why he didn't come near her for eighteen years. He wasn't around to dispute anything. Fantasy father would have been a much more comfortable ghost to deal with the past ten years. Unfortunately, or fortunately, her mother had taught her to keep her feet firmly on the ground, to keep her fairy tales in the pages of childhood books and out of her life.

Those feet had come off the ground a bit when Remy revealed his plan. Even now, fantasy thoughts, straight out of the pages of a romance novel, whirled in her head. She stared at herself, then slowly and carefully began to debunk each one.

Remy didn't love her. He wanted Magus's power and access to the money to fuel his campaign. It wasn't personal. How could it be when he didn't know her?

She didn't know him either. There was a huge difference between the infatuation of a seventeen year old and the real, grown-up love she was capable of now.

Attraction wasn't love either.

If she wasn't careful, she could screw up both their lives. She had to keep her mind on her goal, which was to expose the man who contracted Magus's murder and quit living in Magus's shadow. She wanted her life, not Magus's life. Remy wanted Magus's life, or at least what Magus had wanted. That meant they were on different paths, moving toward different things. And if she looked into the future, she couldn't see Remy giving up what he wanted for a life of obscurity. Nor could she see herself ever being happy in the limelight. Opposites might attract, but they were both grownups and didn't have to act on that attraction.