Upon a Mystic Tide (22 page)

From the creaking floorboards, she’d paced a hundred miles in her room before coming to him, claiming herself cold. It was warm in here, quickly growing hot. She wasn’t frigid, she was frightened, but he’d give her the lie—and the hug. And no more. Not even if it killed him.

Never would she regret needing him and telling him she did. He reached for her.

Grunting, she shifted farther onto her side of the bed, away from him. She’d clearly changed her mind. Disappointment so sharp he swore it cut through his soul stabbed him.

It’s only a piece of paper
 . . .

Chump.

His chest went tight and, though he was furious with her for taunting him, he still ached to hold her. He lay on his hand, trapping it under his hip, to keep from pulling her into his embrace. It’d been such a long, long time. And he might never again have the chance to hold her. Might never again feel the sweet agony of her needing him.

“What are those boxes? I’ll have a bruise on my hip the size of Maine.”

“Case files.” The moment had passed. He hadn’t responded quickly enough. She’d pulled out her armor and hidden back behind it.

“Dixie Dupree’s files?”

“Yes.” Here it came. More censure. The desire swelling in his heart fell like a rock off a cliff. Resentment replaced it.

“So you’re up here following a lead.”

“I’m here to settle the property dispute.”

“But there’s a chance of a lead too.”

Was she pleased or upset? “Possibly. Hopefully. A man in Portland might have some information. He’s checking it out.”

“I see.”

“Don’t say that, Bess.” He tunneled his fingers through his hair. Maybe he should just tell her he needed the hug. What would she say? Do? “I hate it when you say that.”

“Why?”

Likely she’d laugh at him, or sear his ears with some scathing remark. She certainly wouldn’t respect his honesty. Needs were weaknesses to Bess. In herself, and in her husband. “Because too often you don’t see and it really sets me off that you say you do.”

“Oh.” She sighed. “I hope your lead pans out.”

She didn’t. But saying she did was proper and right. Vintage Bess. Push all the right buttons. Even if nothing’s hooked up to them. He played her game. “Thank you.”

She rolled over onto her side, facing him, and lowered her voice. “I have to tell you something. I should have told you before, but the time just hasn’t seemed quite right. No, that’s not true. I didn’t want to talk about it, but now I do.”

He waited. She’d get around to it, as she did everything else: in her own sweet time. His heart rate sped up a notch. Was she finally going to tell him why she’d left him?

“I’m sorry about Elise.” Bess’s voice went ragged. “I can imagine what you think of me, not showing up at her funeral, but I didn’t know she’d died until
 . . .
recently. Long after the funeral.” Bess swallowed hard, saying things in the dark she’d never have said to him in the light of day. “If I’d known, I’d have been there, Jonathan. You know I would have.”

“Would you?” He hated the hope in his voice as much as he’d hated her for not coming to the funeral. That she’d brought up Elise stunned him. And it made him wary.

“Of course.”

The woman was lying through her teeth. “You hated Elise.”

“I didn’t. I envied her.”

That took a moment to digest. A lot of people probably did envy Elise, especially those who only saw the image of her: wealthy, powerful, answerable only to herself and to God. But he’d seen the real woman. The widow who continued year after year to grieve the loss of her husband, Clayton. The mother who didn’t know if her daughter was dead or alive and feared with every breath
that
moment was
the
moment Dixie was being tortured, raped, or murdered. The woman who’d taken him under her wing and had called him
dear heart:
rich words to his motherless ears that had helped soothe the pain of empty years of longing to be considered dear to anyone.

“I really am sorry. I know you loved Elise and she loved you.”

“She didn’t,” he said. “She never said she did.”

“She loved you, John. Trust me on this. Elise Dupree loved you with all her heart.”

A tear slid down his cheek and his voice went gruff. “I felt as if she did. But just once
 . . .
”

“You wanted to hear the words.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes.”

Bess patted his upper arm, then lay back down on her pillow. “Did you ever tell her you loved her?”

“No.” And, God, but did he regret that now. “I thought she’d—It doesn’t matter anymore. She’s gone.”

They fell quiet, then a long moment later, Bess turned back toward him, onto her side. “John?”

Her perfume settled over him like a soothing blanket.
Ritz.
God, but nothing else in this world ever smelled so good. “Hmmm?”

“You can still tell her.”

Face to face with Bess in the darkness, he saw only her shadowy outline. “She’s dead, honey. How can I—”

“By pretending that I’m her.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No, but it will give you a sense of closure. You need that.” Bess cupped his chin. “Please, do it. Say to me whatever you wish you had said to her.”

Foolish, but this seemed really important to Bess. Maybe the idea of helping him appealed to her—though, after his stunt with Silk, he couldn’t imagine why she’d want to do anything but wring his neck. And yet the night Tony had called the station, he’d mentioned her using her skills to help others, and her needing to now use them to help herself. Maybe in doing this for John, she would be helping herself. Maybe she too needed to feel needed. And maybe before, John had failed to let her know she had been.

A
second chance. Don’t blow it
.

A memory. Not Tony. John swallowed hard. “All right.”

He closed his eyes, thought back to the night Elise had died. Remembering it now just as it had happened then, with him walking into the hospital weak-kneed, knowing he’d failed her, and not wanting to watch her die
 . . .

“I knew you’d come, John Mystic.”

He stood beside Elise’s hospital bed. It was dark outside, but the dim glow of the fluorescent light above her bed glared on the window pane and her ruby amulet flickered in it. Swaddled in white linen, she looked so pale and wan, so little. He had a hard time reconciling the vibrant woman of a few months ago and this small, frail-looking woman with sunken, frightened eyes. “Where else would I be?”

She managed a semblance of a smile. “Sit down, dear heart. I need to say some things and there isn’t much time.”

A nurse he hadn’t seen before came into the room and checked Elise’s blood pressure. When she was done, she frowned down at Elise. “Oh, my. Someone missed this.” She reached for the clasp on Elise’s amulet.

“No.” Fumbling, Elise reached up and palmed the necklace.

John sat up straighter. “Leave it alone.”

The startled nurse looked at him. “But a patient wearing jewelry here is not advisable.”

Because he knew the importance of the amulet to Elise and the nurse didn’t, he softened his voice. “Leave it.” On the day Elise’s only child, Dixie, had been born, Elise’s beloved husband, Clayton, had given mother and daughter matching amulets. He’d died a long time ago, and Dixie had been missing for nearly seven long years. “She’s more comfortable with it on.”

“All right, Mr. Mystic. But the hospital can’t accept responsibility.”

Responsibility. Didn’t anyone care about comfort and meaning and compassion anymore? Did everything have to be judged, ruled, and settled based on finances? “No problem,” he said more sharply than he intended.

The nurse’s expression sobered. Wordlessly, she tucked the blood-pressure cuff under her arm, then left the private room. Her shoes squeaked down the hallway, then faded into silence.

“John?”

He scooted nearer to the bed, then clasped Elise’s hand in his. “I’m right here.”

“It’s getting close,” she whispered, her lips dry and cracked, her eyelids drooping. “I feel my body shutting down.”

His heart wrenched and a wall of regret and guilt and grief slammed through his chest. He dammed it deep inside. “Shh, save your strength.”

“I have to tell you—”

“It can wait until you’re stronger.” She couldn’t die on him, too. Not now.
Please, not now. Not yet!

“You have to face it, dear heart. I’m not going to get stronger.”

“Don’t say that.” She had to get stronger.
Had
to.

“John, I’m dying. We both know it. Please, let me say what I have to say.”

He dipped his chin and stared at the white sheet draping over her thin chest. His eyes burned like fire. It was wrong, but he had to do it. Had to give her what peace he could. “You’ve got to get stronger.” He forced his gaze to meet hers. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life. “I reached that lead at Dockside—the bar in Portland.”

“Keith?”

Heat gushed up John’s neck, flooded his face. “Yes.” He blinked, unable to hold her gaze. “We’ve found Dixie and . . . and she’s coming home.” God forgive him, what was he doing? Lying to her? Lying to Elise?

“Wonderful. I never doubted you’d find her. From the moment I hired you, I knew you’d never give up.” She winced and dragged in a deep breath. “That’s why I made you executor of my will. Everything is in trust for Dixie under your care. When you find—When she gets here, you tell her I love her. Tell her I never gave up hope, and neither did you.”

A knot of tears clogged his throat. Elise knew he’d lied. Even in this token attempt at offering her comfort and peace, he’d failed.

“Promise me.” Her eyes misted.

“You know I’ll take care of Dixie.” He gently squeezed Elise’s cool fingers. “You know I will.”

“I do know, dear heart.” Her breathing grew more shallow, as ragged as if she had to fight for each puff of air. “I want another promise from you.”

Her grip was weakening. He was losing her. His throat went tight. “Anything.”

“Go on with your life.”

“Elise, don’t.” God, this hurt so bad. Why did losing someone have to hurt so bad?

“Promise me.” She brought her free hand to her amulet and breathed deeply. “Your devotion to me cost you your marriage. I know it did. You needed a mother’s love and, not knowing what happened to Dixie
 . . .
” Elise swallowed a sob then looked at him, regret shining in her damp eyes. “I needed a child’s love just as badly, John. But I was selfish. I thought after you found Dixie, then you could go back
 . . .
” Regret, self-directed anger, flooded her voice. “I was a foolish old woman, insisting you neglect your wife to find my daughter. I’m sorry. I want your promise that you’ll set matters right with Bess.”

“
I
chose.
I
wanted to find Dixie. You didn’t break up my marriage, Elise. I did that all by myself. Not intentionally, but I did it.”

“Bless you for trying to spare me, but I know the truth.” Pain twisted her expression and her voice cracked. “I just—I can’t bear to die knowing you love her and it’s my fault you’re apart. Once I’m gone, you’ll be alone.”

Tears in the old woman’s eyes fell to her soft, wrinkled cheeks. “I can’t bear—”

His heart ached as if it were ripping right out of his chest. Unable to hold her gaze, he lowered his to her amulet. “I promise,” he whispered the words she needed to hear, knowing full well he wouldn’t live up to them. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right with Bess.” At that moment, to give Elise peace, he’d have told her anything, agreed to do anything.