Heart of the Hunter (8 page)

“All right.” Jeb traced the proud profile of the wolf, then dropped his hand away. “Not that it's any of your business.”

“Nicole, and anyone who might hurt her, is my business.”

“Not that it's any of your business,” Jeb repeated mildly, “but I'll tell you.”

“So tell.” Annabelle's tiny feet were planted firmly before him. With her arms folded over her considerable bosom, she was the embodiment of the immovable object. “I'm waiting.”

“It's simple. She'd had a rough day, little or nothing to eat. Fatigue, frustration, hunger and two quick glasses of red wine combined for an unexpected circumstance. When I arrived at her door, she was, shall we say, a bit unsteady on her feet.”

“Nicole never drinks too much.”

“I can't and won't dispute that. It wouldn't have been too much then, if someone had seen to it she hadn't neglected to eat.”

“You mean me.”

“No, Annabelle, at least not just you. Nicole herself should have seen to it.”

“She was distracted, and then Mrs. Atherton came in spewing her ugliness.” She was quicker to defend Nicole than herself.

“Did Nicky say what was bothering her?”

“Nicole, Nicky as you call her, doesn't talk about her problems. She's a good listener if you need one, but she doesn't expect the same in return.” Black eyes narrowed as a thought occurred. “She's never mentioned any family, or you. I knew she was from California, because I'm good with accents, remember. We do talk about it and her schooling. Not a pleasant experience from the little I can gather. But nothing else.”

“Does she mention her brother?”

“Only to say you were her brother's friend. And that was only after I grilled her unmercifully the day you first came to the gallery.”

Jeb wanted to hear more, but he dared not raise this astute woman's mistrust any more. “She's done well here.” A gesture encompassed the gallery, Charleston, the island. “How did it all happen?”

“It happened because she's a smart, savvy lady. Because she worked like a slave, practically nonstop from the first.”

“What was the first? Help me understand, Annabelle.” He could have been an interested old friend, a hopeful lover. His first judgment of her career was of a wasted mind, but as he recognized her instinctive knowledge and understanding of the world of art, he viewed her choice in a new perspective.

Annabelle inclined her head, as if she understood his burning need to know. “She began on a small scale, dealing with estate sales, taking stock on consignment. She was so young people were leery at first. But she was honest to a fault, and her knowledge of art was so incredible, so far reaching, it wasn't long before word spread. One dowager was so pleased with her, and with the collection Nicole helped her acquire, she appointed herself Nicole's patron. When she died, to Nicole's complete bewilderment, she bequeathed her this building, a goodly portion of her art and the single on Jessamine Street.”

“How long have you worked for her?”

“From the first. With the exception of some packers called in before and after a sale or auction, there is only one other employee. Ravenel Rollins, a retired professor, who knows nearly as much about the business as Nicole.”

“That means you have known her, how long?”

“Seven years.”

“In all that time, Nicole has never mentioned her family?” He was doubling back, asking the same question more than once, in different contexts. An old and tried interrogator's trick.

“Never.” Annabelle was adamant and unwavering.

“Tell me of the men in her life.”

Shoulders lifting in an expression of uncertainty, her arms spread for emphasis, Annabelle said, “Who knows? If there has ever been anyone, he was only a passing fancy. If one has ever been more than that, she kept him a dark secret. She kept you secret.”

“There was nothing to keep secret, Annabelle. Fifteen years ago, she was fifteen, I was twenty-two. For a while we were friends, nothing more.”

“You're certain?”

Jeb inclined his head once, sharply. “Certain.”

A dark, hot gaze swept over him, the lids nearly slitted. “Then, Jeb Tanner, I think you must be a fool.”

“You two are certainly deep in serious conversation. Private? Or can anyone join in?”

Jeb had been so intent on his questions and the responses they elicited, he hadn't heard Nicole until she spoke. He turned now, superimposing a smile over the frown Annabelle's last remark had drawn from him. In an instant everything was forgotten.

Nicole had taken the time to freshen the makeup that was a mere dusting of color over her even features. Only the jacket she'd worn had been changed for another. He wouldn't have believed the addition of a single garment could make such a startling transformation.

The first was loose, unconstructed, with a collar buttoned about her neck. The discarded pale blue-green silk blended with, but was not a match to the darker, full skirt. The fitted jacket that replaced it was the same, rich turquoise, completing a charming suit. From the sliver of black lace visible between its classical lapels, he knew beyond any doubt the only garment she wore beneath it was a chemise.

Images of her strong and supple young body wrapped in scant gossamer and moonlight streaming through her bedroom window assailed him. The vagaries of memory turned silk to lace, and turquoise to sultry black. He knew before he looked that her eyes would no longer be blue.

“You're stunning.” He meant it literally. Looking at her dazed him. She was a vision in wonderful hues that turned her dusky skin tawny, and her ever changeable eyes to sultry green.

“Flattery, sir?” She slipped her arm through his.

Jeb didn't answer. He was struck again by her complete lack of conceit.

“Of course it's flattery, of the best kind. The truth,” Annabelle groused. With a wave and a wiggle of her fingers she urged them to the door. “You two have better things to do than hang out here. Just remember, tomorrow I expect a play-by-play report.”

“One question before we go,” Nicole insisted.

“For whom?” Jeb asked.

“Both of you.”

“Shoot,” Annabelle chimed in.

Nicole looked from one to the other. “There was no telephone call, was there?”

Jeb glanced at Annabelle, and she at him.

“Never mind,” Nicole said thoughtfully. “The two of you made this whole fiasco up as you went along.”

“You needed to eat,” Jeb offered as his alibi. “You aren't big enough to afford skipping meals two consecutive days.”

“Anything to get Mrs. Atherton out of your hair.” Annabelle looked no less contrite than Jeb.

“In other words, you've appointed yourselves my guardian angels, whether I like it or not.” Nicole's tone was stern.

“Yes,” a masculine and a gruff feminine voice declared in unison.

The scowl on Nicole's face faded. A radiant smile replaced it. “Thank you,” she said. “For caring.”

Nicole was still smiling as she walked arm in arm with Jeb down the street.

“Be careful, boss lady,” Annabelle mused as she watched them out of sight. “There's a wolf at your door, a handsome, dangerous wolf.”

* * *

Where there had been sun, now there was moonlight. The city streets were quiet, subdued in the lazy gentility that seemed to descend with the night.

After dinner, Jeb strolled with Nicole over uneven brick walks, past walled gardens with their ornate gates and lush foliage peeking from them. Old houses displaying curious earthquake bolts, cul-de-sacs with cloistered shops, and horse-drawn carriages with drivers dressed in top hat and tails, creating an aura of the past that enchanted and enfolded them.

As they walked, Jeb could visualize Charleston as early travelers had seen it. Wooded shores, deep bays, accessible harbors. Church spires towering over Adamesque and Georgian mansions, singles with graceful porches and piazzas. He understood why they'd stayed, why Nicole had chosen the city and the island for her homes.

Nicole equated his silence with her own wonder at the enduring memory of a gentler life-style. “You can almost see them, can't you?”

“The people of old Charleston?”

Nicole looked into the facade of one of the larger singles as they passed it. “Imagine it. Supper would be over by this hour. They've dined on vegetables brought down the rivers from plantation gardens, oranges from Florida, pineapple from Cuba, the finest wines of France, and coffee from South America. After the table is cleared the gentlemen tarry in the dining room over port or brandy, the ladies retire to the drawing room for tea.”

“An idyllic time, if one didn't look too closely.” Jeb hadn't intended the cynical edge in his comment. The evening had gone too well to blunder now. “Sorry.” He shrugged. “Didn't mean to spoil your mood.”

“You haven't. The system wasn't really so pretty. But warts and all, the golden era of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries contributed in making Charles Towne Colony the city it is today.”

“With modern warts.”

“Yes.” She burst out laughing and took his arm as they crossed the street to Waterfront Park. “With modern warts.”

The park was unexpectedly deserted and they wandered alone through ancient magnolias and sword-leafed palmettos. At a railing overlooking the harbor, Nicole stopped, leaning her elbows on the iron. “I love this place.”

“Do you come here often?”

“Only when dashing gentlemen offer dinner at Saracen.”

“Have there been many gentlemen, Nicole?”

“Alas, no.” She turned her back to the harbor, leaning again against the iron rail.

“Why not?” It was beyond conception that the gallants of Charleston wouldn't pursue her. If there hadn't been men in her life, it wouldn't be of their choosing.

“At first, I think it was that I was too busy. Getting established in Charleston wasn't easy. Later...” She lifted a shoulder in an eloquent expression of her loss for words. “I suppose it was the gallery then.”

“Or that you lacked the inclination?” Jeb suggested.

“Perhaps.” She pushed away from the fence to wander the path again.

The subject was closed, and Jeb needed to know why. He would have his answer, but not tonight. He wouldn't push. His subtle interrogation over dinner beneath the towering arched windows of the Saracen had been enough. He was content to know that Nicole's version of her early days in Charleston matched her assistant's.

A third source wouldn't be overlooked, Mitch or Matthew, not Jeb, must speak with Mrs. Atherton. Tomorrow, while she was still angry and would put no sugar coating on what she knew.

Nicole moved deeper into the shadows. Away from the light, into darkness that would be her shield. Jeb mustn't see by any telltale look she couldn't hide that it was more than lack of inclination that destroyed any budding liaisons before they began. Far more.

The sound of water splashing from a fountain faded, and for a while they walked side by side, neither speaking. Each lost in thoughts of guilt.

A twig cracked. A low sweeping tree limb rustled where there was no wind. The park was suddenly still.

Jeb caught her arm, his grip hard, commanding. A finger to his lips stopped her startled protest. He drew her closer, his body as much shield as the darkness. Not moving, not daring a breath, he listened.

Nothing. No buzzing insects, no flutter of birds' wings, no furtive scurrying of tiny night creatures.

Too quiet.

Too still.

Something, or someone, had disturbed the natural order of the night.

Jeb's stare probed the shadows, distinguishing small shrubs and plants, park benches and low signs. In the concealing cover of a drooping magnolia, there was only utter blackness.

“What?” Nicole breathed the question as she clutched the open throat of his shirt.

Jeb shook his head. His breath ruffled her hair as he leaned closer. “I'm not sure.”

“Then how...”

“Shh.” He stopped her with a palm over her mouth. “Listen,” he said quietly as he moved his hand away. “What do you hear?”

Head tilted in an air of concentration, she did as he ordered. “Nothing,” she said at last. “I don't hear anything. The park is quiet.” With a sudden gasp she raised a stricken gaze to his. “Too quiet.”

Jeb's hold on her tensed, his head turned right, then left, then ever so slowly, right again. “Almost.”

Nicole didn't know if he meant almost too quiet, or that he'd almost discovered the source of the intrusion. Before she could ask, he was turning her into his embrace, holding her so close her breasts were crushed against his chest.

“Kiss me,” he muttered. A command not an invitation.

“What?” Nicole jerked her face toward his. “Why—”

“Shut up and do as I say.” Gray eyes as passionless and cold as ash in the moonlight bored into hers. “Put your arms around my neck and kiss me.”

When she hesitated, a low growl rose from the depths of his chest. “Now, dammit.”

She would have refused. In sheer perversity in the face of masculine audacity, she would have told him in less than ladylike terms what he could do with himself. And kissing wasn't one of them. Maybe it was the park, a stillness too still, a silence too silent. Maybe it was the urgency she heard beneath the arrogant command that had her sliding her hands over his chest to his shoulders, then his nape. Drawing him down as she rose on tiptoe, her mouth played over his. A chaste kiss, a taste, given with trembling lips that nearly betrayed her.

As she sank back to the pavement, she was visibly shaking. Her eyes were wide and luminous, rivaling the moon. But Jeb had no time to admire or to comfort.

“Again,” he commanded in a guttural hiss. “This time as if you mean it.”

“Jeb.” Nicole put a staying hand on his chest, needing room to think. To breathe.