The Ugly Duckling (23 page)

“W
hat on earth is he doing?” Nell asked, her gaze on Peter on the floor in a corner across the room. The boy was sitting cross-legged, unmoving, his gaze fixed un-blinkingly on Sam, who was lying beside the fire a few yards away. “He reminds me of a snake charmer.”

“According to him, you’re the snake charmer,” Nicholas said dryly.

She shook her head. “He was very upset with me. He thought I was too rough with the snake.” She went back to the original subject. “Does he think that he can
will
Sam to like him?”

“Maybe.” Tanek poured her another cup of coffee from the carafe at his elbow. “It could happen. If he wants it hard enough. Dogs are sensitive to feelings.”

“He ignored Peter all through dinner.”

Nicholas leaned back in his chair. “Stop fretting. You can’t make Sam like him.”

“I’m not fretting. I just—I think he may have had a hard life. It wouldn’t hurt the blasted dog to wag his tail at him.”

“He doesn’t know that. It pays to be cautious.”

“Like you.” She lifted her gaze. “With your electric fences.”

He nodded. “Contrary to your present view on the subject, life can be sweet. I’ve no intention of giving up even a minute of it. I’ll fight to the last breath.”

She could believe that of him. Beneath that cool mask lay a passionate determination. Power, intelligence, and a passion for life; it was a riveting combination. She tore her gaze away. “But you’re willing to risk it to get Gardeaux.”

“Not if I can help it.” He lifted his cup to his lips. “I intend to have it all.”

“What if you can’t?”

“I will.” He paused. “And I won’t let you get me killed because you want to move too fast.”

“You don’t understand. I
have
to do this. It’s hard to wait.” Her hand clenched on the coffee cup. “Do you think I don’t know why I’m here? You think you can convince me not to go after them.”

“That’s one agenda. The other is to keep you from making me chase after you and blundering into a trap.”

“You wouldn’t have to chase after me.”

“Yes, I would.”

“Why? I told you that you weren’t responsible for what happened on Medas.”

“We all set our own boundaries of responsibility.”

“And I’m within yours?”

He smiled. “For the time being. Boundaries sometimes shift.”

She didn’t want to be anyone’s responsibility, much
less a man like Tanek’s. Responsibility implied a certain closeness. She had already been forced to form attachments to Tania and Peter. Tanek must remain on the outside.

“You don’t like that? But you used it to make sure I helped you.” He lifted a mocking brow. “You have to be consistent, Nell.”

Damn him. There would be no problem keeping Tanek at a distance. “I don’t have to be anything I don’t want to be.” She changed the subject. “Why do you want Gardeaux dead?”

The mockery faded from his expression. “He deserves to die.”

“That’s no answer.”

He didn’t answer for a moment. “The same reason you want him dead. He killed someone I cared about.”

“Who?” Again, she thought of how little she knew about Tanek. “Your wife? Your child?”

He shook his head. “A friend.”

“He must have been a close friend.”

She could sense him shutting her away. “Very close. More coffee?”

She shook her head. It was clear he was not going to talk any more about himself. She tried another path. “Tell me about Gardeaux.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Whatever you know.”

He smiled crookedly. “I guarantee you don’t want to know everything I do about him.”

“How did you come to meet him?”

“We ran into each other several years ago in Hong Kong. We were in the same business at the time. Though he was more diversified.”

“You mean you were both criminals,” she said bluntly.

He nodded. “But my network was more limited. I liked to keep it that way.”

“Why?”

“I never planned on making it my life work.” He added gravely, “I wanted to be a brain surgeon.”

She stared at him, stunned.

He chuckled. “Just joking. I wanted to make enough money and then get out. You get big in the rackets and one of two things happen. Either you dip into the drug trade and the law never leaves you alone, or you get addicted to the power and you can’t let go. I didn’t like either prospect, so I made sure I stayed unobtrusive.”

“I can’t imagine you being unobtrusive.”

“Oh, but I was.” He added, “Relatively.”

“But Gardeaux wasn’t.”

“No, Gardeaux wanted to be God.” He thought about it. “Or maybe Cesare Borgia. I was never quite sure. Probably God. The mystique surrounding Borgia would have attracted him, but the prince came to a bad end.”

She smothered a flicker of exasperation. “How did you get to know him?”

“There was a Tang vase we both wanted to ‘acquire.’ He told me to back off.”

“What did you do?”

“I backed off.”

She felt a ripple of shock.

“It was good business. He had more muscle, and a war would have cost me more than a dozen Tang vases.”

“I see.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t. You think I should have taken him on, been like Dirty Harry and fought the bastard in the trenches.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I learned a long time ago that you weigh the consequences
carefully before you dive into battle. I had a fortune to acquire and people who depended on me.”

“Phil?”

“He was with me then.”

“And he still works for you.”

“Occasionally. When I had enough money, I broke up the network. Some of my associates decided they didn’t want to go to other organizations where their talents would have been welcomed.”

“So you helped them make new lives.”

“I couldn’t walk away.” He added simply, “They were within the boundaries of my responsibility.”

Loyalty. She didn’t want him to have any qualities she admired. When she had started to question him, she had wanted to know only about Gardeaux, but she was learning too much about Tanek. She tried to get back on track. “Backing down didn’t do any good? He still killed your friend?”

“No, that was later.” He stood up and stretched. “Time for bed.”

He had shut the door again. She said quickly, “You haven’t told me nearly all I want to know about Gardeaux.”

“There’s plenty of time. You’ll be here awhile.”

She stood up. “I don’t want to waste time.” She paused. “You obviously have contacts. If we can’t do anything concrete, will you try to find out why Gardeaux sent Maritz to kill me?”

“Why?”

“Why? I have to know because I have to try to make sense of all this. I’ve been stumbling around in a nightmare for too long.”

“Is it going to change your mind or your purpose?”

“No.”

“Then I’d say any motive was of secondary importance.”

“Not to me.”

He gazed at her without speaking.

He wasn’t going to do it. “All right. Then tomorrow will you start teaching me how to do what you did to Wilkins?”

“Don’t you ever give up?”

“If I’d known how to fight him, Maritz would never have been able to push me off that balcony. I would have been able to defend myself.”

And Jill.

The words were unsaid, but they lingered between them. He nodded curtly. “Day after tomorrow. I have to go to see Jean at the Bar X tomorrow.”

She stared at him suspiciously. “You’re not just trying to put me off?”

“I wouldn’t think of it. I’ll teach you anything you want to know about death and mayhem. But it won’t be as much as Gardeaux and Maritz can teach you.”

“It will be enough.”

“It won’t be enough. And even if it is, what will you do after it’s over? It takes a certain type of character to survive murder.”

“It wouldn’t be murder,” she said, stung.

“You see, you’re shying away from it already.” He repeated deliberately, “Murder. To take a life is murder. No matter what the reason, the act is the same. Nice people like you are trained from childhood to back away from it with revulsion.”

“Nice people like me seldom have the same impetus I’ve been given.”

“That’s true, and you’re not the woman I met on Medas. But the core is the same. As the tree is bent …”

“Bullshit.”

“Is it? You want to be hard and cold and push everybody away, but it’s not happening. Oh, I’m easy, but what about Tania? What about Peter?”

“That’s different. They have nothing to do with Maritz and Gardeaux.”

“But they have everything to do with who you are.”

“You don’t think I can do it? You’re wrong.”

“I’m betting I’m right.” He added wearily, “I
want
to be right.”

She shook her head.

“Day after tomorrow. Eight in the morning. Wear workout clothes and don’t eat breakfast.” He turned and left the room.

He was wrong, she told herself. He had to be wrong. It would be better if she could keep up barriers, but, if she failed, it didn’t mean her determination would waiver.

“Peter.” She turned toward the far corner. “It’s time to go to—”

Sam’s head was on Peter’s knee and the boy was stroking the dog’s throat. Peter’s expression was lit with infinite delight.

It could happen. If he wants it enough
.

She felt a wave of happiness for him sweep over her. It appeared Peter had wanted it enough.

I
want
to be right
.

Her smile faded as she remembered Tanek’s words. His will was much stronger than Peter’s and he intended to focus that will on her.

Well, she was not Sam. It would do him no good.

“Come on, Peter,” she said brusquely. “Time for bed. You can play with Sam tomorrow.”

D
ead. The woman was dead.

Maritz replaced the receiver of the telephone with a rush of satisfaction. He hadn’t failed. It had taken a little time, but the Calder woman had died. He could tell Gardeaux the job was done.

Maybe.

A thorn of uneasiness pierced his satisfaction. Gardeaux had said he had failed, that the woman would recover. The bastard wasn’t often wrong.

He would look a fool if it turned out the woman’s death records had been fixed and she had been whisked away. Gardeaux didn’t like fools.

It wouldn’t hurt to make sure.

He looked down at the information on the notepad. The hospital?

Too many people.

John Birnbaum Funeral Home.

He smiled and stuffed the notepad into his pocket.

“H
ere.” Tanek tossed a large package on the couch beside Nell. “A present.”

Nell looked at him in confusion. “I thought you were going over to the other ranch to see your foreman.”

“I did. I swung by town on the way back. Open it.”

She fumbled with the tape on the package. “Peter hasn’t come back from the ranch yet.”

“He won’t be coming back. Jean has taken a liking to him and gave him permission to stay a few days. If he works out, Jean may take him to the high country when he goes to bring the sheep in.”

“Will he be safe?”

“Safe enough. He was crazy to go. Dogs
and
sheep.”

She could see how that would prove irresistible to Peter. She began to tear off the brown wrappings. Canvas, easel, sketch pad, pencils, and a box of paints. “What is this?”

“You said you wanted to paint Michaela.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But you do.”

“I’ll be too busy.”

He snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes, I forgot the mayhem. Well, I’ve decided to charge for lessons. I need some paintings to decorate my walls.”

She asked sarcastically, “To hang beside your Delacroix?”

“Local art. My people, my mountains.”

The same possessiveness she had seen in him when they’d arrived. She set the canvas on the floor. “Hire someone else to do it.”

“I want you. One hour of violence and mayhem for every two you spend on my paintings. Deal?”

She turned to look at him. “What is this? Am I supposed to undergo some miraculous metamorphosis from this half-baked therapy?”

“Maybe. I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

“It can waste my time.”

“At one point in your life you didn’t think it a waste of time.” He met her gaze. “I’ll keep my promise. You’ll get an hour of training every day from me regardless of whether or not you paint. But the only way you’ll get more is to give me what I want.”

“This won’t do you any good.”

“It won’t hurt me.” He smiled. “And it won’t hurt you, will it?”

She slowly shook her head.

“Deal?”

Why not? It would be a way of controlling the tempo of her training without having to ask Tanek. She glanced at the canvas and felt a faint stirring of excitement. Her gaze went to the direction of the kitchen, where she could hear Michaela preparing dinner. That wonderful face …

“If you can persuade Michaela to let me paint her.”

“I never try to persuade Michaela to do anything. You want her, go after her.”

“More therapy?”

He smiled. “Terror. She scares me to death.”

T
he Birnbaum Funeral Home glowed in the darkness like a small plantation home. Its three columns were lit by a spotlight hidden in the evergreen bushes on the sweeping front lawn.

What a waste, Maritz thought. Mansions for the dead.

Well, not only for the dead. Undertakers reaped a hefty profit from disposal of corpses. Fucking bloodsuckers. They had bled him white when he had buried his father.

But Maxwell and Son had never had a place like this. The mortuary had been on a busy street in the Detroit slums, and he had been too poor and unimportant to rate attention. He had been shuttled to Daniel Maxwell, the son. He had been filled with helpless rage as he had sat there while that acne-scarred pipsqueak tried to steal every dollar he could from him.

He had wanted to squeeze the bastard’s throat until his eyes popped.

But that was before he had found the knife.

The door of the mortuary was opening and a number of people were streaming out. Swollen eyes, quiet voices, furtive relief at leaving the dead and joining the living again.

He checked his watch. Nine o’clock. Closing time. He’d give the stragglers fifteen more minutes.