chapter
20

Smith got out of the shower, thinking it was a damn shame he'd missed taking one with Grace. Even though they'd made love three times during the course of the night, he wanted more. He couldn't believe he'd thought a single_: night with her would be enough. He was going to need, months, maybe even years.

It was a tragedy they didn't have that kind of time.

Waking up next to her had been another revelation. After years of leaving women as soon as he could get his pants back on, he'd rolled over next to Grace and had no interest in being anywhere else. He'd watched her as she'd slept, absorbing the look of her lashes against her cheek, the slight parting of her lips, her hair as it flowed over the pillow.

Smith toweled off, threw on some clothes and went out, expecting her to still be in her dressing room. When she wasn't, he looked at her bed and got caught up in remembering what she'd done to him in the night. As she'd grown more comfortable and confident with him, she'd become bold, demanding ... innovative. His body began to overheat.

He was definitely taking a shower with her tomorrow morning.

Smith was about to go out and find her in the kitchen when he saw the count's rings on the top of her bureau. He picked up the engagement one. The thing was heavy, the stone a glorious dark blue, the diamonds on the sides sparkling with white fire.

What kind of ring would he give her? It'd be nothing like the carats and carats of sapphire he was holding. It would be simple. A band, maybe—

He shook his head. He wasn't buying rings for anyone.

And certainly not for her.

He was a reformed juvenile delinquent, an ex-military man, a former spy. He sure as hell wasn't the right guy to become the second husband of Grace Woodward Hall, previously known as the Countess von Sharone.

Period, end of story.

He let the sapphire slip out of his fingers and watched as it bounced and then wobbled to a standstill.

He was surprised he'd even thought about marriage at all, even if it was just hypothetical. Wives were even more of a no-no than girlfriends in his line of work, because families were the ultimate threat to clear thinking. The more ties you had to people, the more stability you courted, the more chances you had to be vulnerable.

He'd always thought it was a mistake for people to assume that if they had a home and a wife and a couple of kids that somehow the world was a safe place. A lot of them figured that just because they had a cup of coffee sitting across the table from the same person every morning they were somehow secure. Smith knew otherwise. Like everyone else, those folks were bargaining with fate; they just didn't know they were at the negotiating table.

He knew he was better off alone, because as long as he was a solo operator, all he had to worry about was death.

And that was one force of nature that didn't scare him. Once you were dead, nothing mattered.

His clarity of thinking about the pitfalls of families had always been a source of pride but now, he wasn't feeling quite so self-satisfied. Meeting Grace was changing what he thought about having a home. For the first time, he could understand the attraction of dependents. The truth was, he liked hearing her move around at night. He liked seeing her in her bathrobe in the morning with her hair a mess. He liked the way she snored softly when she slept on her back. He liked her warmth next to him—

Smith's instincts pricked to attention.

He listened carefully to the silence of the penthouse for only a moment and then he ran down the hall. He looked in the living room, the dining room, and then pushed his way into the kitchen. When he burst out into the front hall, a voice inside of his head had started screaming.

 

* * *

 

As Grace stared up at the woman, she blinked away the rain that was falling into her eyes. She felt the hard pavement under her butt, the cold, wet sweatshirt hanging off her shoulders, a hot stinging pain in her leg.

So this had to be real, she thought.

“I don't have a sister," she whispered even though her eyes were telling her otherwise. The resemblance to her father was subtle but undeniable and a feeling of betrayal came over her in a sickening rush.

"How do you know about Starfish?" she demanded roughly.

The reply was soft and full of pauses, as if the woman wasn't sure how Grace would react.

"When I was little, I saw a picture of you and him in the newspaper and I asked who you were. He said you were his other daughter and I wanted to know what your name was. He told me it was Starfish. I've always thought of you as that. Even when I learned your real name."

Grace felt a sting of jealousy go through her, that this other person, this stranger, knew the special name her father had given her.

How dare he be dead when this all comes out, she thought, irrationally.

As she struggled to her feet, the woman put out her hand hut Grace refused the gesture.

The woman's arm slowly fell to her side. "I should have written to you first but I figured you'd think I was some kind of crook. You probably do, anyway. I just needed to meet you in person. I've seen you in pictures for so many years. It was like you weren't real. So beautiful and glamorous. I used to pretend..." A sad smile stretched her lips. "I just wanted to meet the other part of him. The bigger part... of my father."

Grace stared at the woman. Rain was darkening her red hair, laying it flat and wet on her scalp. Her blue eyes seemed to have old shadows behind them.

"What's your name again?" Grace asked.

"Callie. Actually, it's Calla Lily."

A shiver went through Grace. The name. The name she'd heard her father say in the dream.

She shook her head, feeling reality shift and spin as her brain struggled to reorder her life.

Grace refocused on the woman. "You look like him."

"I know. It's the red hair, I think."

"Your eyes, too." Grace heard the anger in her own voice.

She wanted to tell the woman to go to hell, to accuse her of lying. At the very least, she wanted to have never gone out for the run, as if that would have somehow magically prevented their meeting.

"I know this must be a shock."

Now there was an understatement.

Grace began to wrack her childhood memories for signs of her father's double life. He had been gone a lot. He was a very successful man, so of course, he always seemed to be on the way to a meeting or coming home from one. Had those trips been excuses to go to his other life? She thought about how busy her days at the Foundation were. Before he'd died, he'd done everything she was doing as well as looked after the family's extensive investments. Where had he found the energy?

"Well, obviously it had come from somewhere, she thought. Somehow, he had found the time to lead another life. To create another life.

Callie raised a hand and wiped some hair out of her face. "Now that I'm standing here with you, I don't know what I thought I'd accomplish."

Grace looked deeply into the woman's eyes.

Her father's daughter.

"It was you," she said abruptly, focusing on the slicker. "Watching me when I went in and out of work, waiting for me outside of restaurants. You followed me to the funeral, didn't you."

"Yes." Callie looked away. "It was hard to approach, you. I kept thinking I could just go up to you but you were never alone and I—I didn't want to cause a scene. As for the funeral, I just had to see him buried because a part of me refused to believe he was gone. The papers didn't say where the services were going to be held, just the date. I followed you because I didn't know how else I could say good-bye to him."

Grace's stomach lurched and she started shaking her head again.

"I have to go," she mumbled.

As she began walking blindly, she felt the rain flowing down her face. Or it might have been tears.

Calla Lily.

Her father's voice echoed in her head.

She'd gone a couple of yards when she paused and looked back.

The woman was staring after her, looking small underneath the slicker.

That coat was not expensive, Grace thought. Just a cheap, plastic rain jacket. And her shoes were old, serviceable. She wasn't dressed like someone who had money.

Was she looking to contest the will? Was she really just after some cash?

Grace thought of John. He could find out exactly who the woman was and sniff out whether she was someone with ulterior motives.

"It's cold out here," Grace said. "Do you live nearby?"

"Not really. My apartment's in Chelsea."

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Grace thought. Words to be damned by.

"Then come back with me and get dry."

Blue eyes regarded her warily. "Are you sure?"

No, she wasn't.

Grace nodded anyway and Callie approached with caution.

"You're bleeding," she said, pointing with alarm.

Grace glanced down at herself. She could see the scrape on her leg through a tear in the sweatpants. Blood was staining her running shoes.

That should probably be hurting, she thought. Funny, she felt nothing at all.

"Are you sure you can walk?" Callie asked. "I can get us a cab."

"I'll be fine."

Whenever this horror movie of a life of mine stops adding new scenes. And new characters.

They went back to the street together, moving slowly in spite of the rain because Grace was limping.

"You really didn't know, did you?" Callie said softly. “I'd always wondered if you might have guessed. It must be really hard to find out... It's been twenty-seven years and I still find the whole thing difficult to deal with."

Hearing Callie's age set off another cascade of anger. Twenty-seven years. Her father had been living a lie for over a quarter century. He'd made them all live a lie.

Grace thought bitterly back to that lecture of his on the importance of staying with Ranulf. He'd even thrown in a line about the significance of the vows they'd taken, a comment that was now harder to stomach than his recitations of the von Sharone family's prominence. Courtesy of Callie chasing her down, his words stank with hypocrisy and Grace found herself wanting those three extra months she'd spent with Ranulf back.

As well as all those years she'd believed her father was an honorable man.

When they stepped under the awning of Grace's building, Callie paused and shook the rain out of her jacket and her hair. Looking uncomfortable, she followed Grace inside, her eyes moving over the uniformed man who opened the door for them, the luxurious lobby, the brass and glass elevator.

"This is a beautiful building," she murmured as they rode up to the top floor.

When they stepped out of the elevator, Grace frowned. Her front door was wide open and an unfamiliar blond man, who was big as a linebacker and dressed in black, was standing in her front hall. When he caught sight of her, his smile wasn't friendly.

"I believe your countess is back," he said dryly.

John exploded into the doorway and Grace took an involuntary step back. He was livid with rage.

"Where the hell did you go?" he bellowed.

She had to fight the urge not to get back on the elevator and disappear again.

Clearing her throat, she said very quietly, "I went out for a run. I'm sorry I didn't come and get you—"

"What the fuck were you thinking!" He jabbed his forefinger at her. "You don't go anywhere without me. That's our agreement. You want to tell me what the fuck was going through your head?"

She glanced back at Callie, who seemed to be trying to melt into the wall. Grace didn't blame her.

"You need to calm down," she whispered to John. "Everything is fine."

"Yeah, everything is just fine. I'll go call off the police now and tell all my men to go home because everything is a-okay. No fucking problem, Countess." As he marched back into the living room, he put his phone to his ear and started talking in short, angry bursts.

"Maybe this isn't the best time," Callie said softly.

"No, he'll calm down."

Hopefully, she added to herself.

As Grace stepped inside, she saw three other men in her living room, all tall, wide-shouldered guys in dark clothes.

They looked like some kind of military squad even though they weren't wearing uniforms. When their eyes settled on her all at once, she felt like a kid who'd violated curfew.

Or an agitator who needed to be eliminated.

"Hello," she said to the group.

The man who'd been at the door when they'd arrived, the handsome blond one, barely inclined his head. The rest showed no response at all.

John clipped his phone shut and addressed them. "Marks and his boys are turning around and heading back to the station. Thanks for coming."

"Glad she showed," said the blond one. He shot John a sardonic grin. "Otherwise we were going to hog-tie you to a chair before you hurt yourself."

"Fuck you, Tiny."

Tiny threw a beefy arm around John and grabbed him on the back of the neck, giving him a shake. In a much lower voice, he said, "You okay?"

John said something under his breath and Grace watched as the two men's eyes met and held.

"Okay, we're outta here, ladies," Tiny said to the men. As they walked past her, he paused and said, "Do us all a favor, Countess, and stick close to home, will ya?"

"Good-bye, Tiny," John said with warning.

The man rolled his eyes and smiled over his shoulder.

"If I keep talking to her, you gonna start calling me Itty-Bitty?"

Tiny waved over his shoulder as he led the men out the door.

Grace looked at John. He had his hands on his hips and he was staring at the floor. His jaw was rigid.

Callie spoke up. "Look, I really think I should go."

John's head snapped upright. "Who the hell are you?"

"This is Callie," Grace offered. “My—er... half-sister."

John's eyes narrowed on the woman. "I didn't know you had one."

"Neither did she," Callie answered.

"Well, welcome to the goddamn family. I'll talk to you later," John said to Grace before heading down the hall.

"Will you excuse me?" Grace said quickly as she went after him.

She was right on his heels when he stopped her in front of his room. "You need to get the hell away from me until I calm down."

With that, he shut the door in her face.

Grace released a breath.

As she returned to the living room, she regretted bringing Callie back with her, especially because she should have known how upset John was going to be.

She was just making bad call after bad call today.

"Would you like to take your jacket off?" she asked the woman.

Callie's eyes were somber as she shrugged the raincoat from her shoulders. She put it over her arm, holding it close to her body even though it was wet.

"Here, let me have that." Grace noted that Callie's damp clothes were clean but not fashionable and that she wore no jewelry of any kind.

When she turned around from the closet, Callie was standing over the picture of Grace with their father. As she picked up the frame, Grace's heart contracted.

Damn him, she thought.

"Ah—I'm going to go take a shower," she said in a strained voice. "Would you like some clothes to change into?"

Callie put the picture back and looked down at herself. "That would be great."

A little while later, Grace sat at the edge of her bed in her bathrobe and waited for Callie to come out of the dressing room. When she did, Grace was surprised by the transformation. The woman's long red hair was drying into loose curls and, dressed in a pair of Grace's slacks and a fitted jacket, she looked sophisticated, not at all the drowned waif.

We wear the same size clothes, Grace thought.

"This is a gorgeous outfit." Callie stroked the fine cloth.

"The red is perfect for your coloring." Grace tilted her head to one side. "What do you do? "

"I'm an art conservationist, but right now I work as a receptionist at a gallery. I need to find another job, but for the past few years, things have been... difficult."

There was an awkward moment.

"How can I reach you?" Grace asked, going over to the bed stand and taking out a small pad of paper. As Callie's eyes lit up with what seemed like genuine happiness, she felt a spasm of guilt. The woman seemed to be looking for a friend, but Grace didn't think they could ever have that kind of relationship.

Callie jotted down a number and Grace was struck by the fact that she wrote with her left hand. Just like Grace did. Just as their father had.

"You know, you don't have to call," Callie said, handing the pad back. " I really only wanted to meet you. To see you up close once. To make sure you were real."

Grace looked down at the number.

"Can we give you a ride home?" she offered, wondering where the woman lived in Chelsea. "We'll be going downtown very soon."

Callie glanced out of the window at the rain, which was still coming down. "That would be great. Thanks."

As Callie went out to wait in the living room, Grace approached John's door cautiously. Knocking quietly, she opened it when she heard his curt answer.

He was doing pull-ups at, the bar he'd installed in the bathroom doorway. At a driving pace, he was pumping his body up and down, the muscles in his arms hard and heavily veined from exertion. She wondered how long he'd been at it.

"I'm really sorry I went off like that," she said tentatively as she shut the door. "I just needed to get outside for a minute. I wasn't thinking straight."

He stopped and dropped from the bar. "It was a goddamn dumb thing to do."

"I know. I won't do it again."

"You better the hell not. I'm not even going to bother telling you what could've happened." He reached for a towel and wiped the sweat off his face. "Are we going down to the Foundation?"

As he refused to look at her, she wished there was a way to take it all back, wished she could return to the moment when she'd put her running shoes on.

“I’m sorry I upset you."

“I’m not upset." He walked over to the bureau and began checking his gun. She heard the clicking sound of metal moving against metal.

"Yes, you are."

He turned to her, his eyes narrowed with anger. "Go get dressed, Grace."

Instead of cowering from him, she saw through the harsh words, to the fear she sensed was underneath them.

"I came back. I'm fine." When he didn't reply, she said, "John, I'm okay."

He put the gun back on the bureau and slipped on a black watch. "Did you think maybe the police had caught that nut job who's knocking off your friends? Because they haven't, you know. You could have damn well not come home after a stunt like that."

"But I did."

John cursed. "You should be smart enough not to believe in luck."

She tried to approach him but he stepped away. "You hired me to make sure you come out of this alive. Don't put me in the position of failing you again."

He went over to the door and threw it open.

"Countess?^” he muttered, motioning with his arm.

She waited for him to look at her. He didn't.

As she brushed by him, she said softly, " Please don't use this as an excuse to push me away."

She didn't wait for his response.

 

* * *

 

As soon as Eddie pulled up behind the building, the three got into the Explorer. Callie gave out an address in Chelsea and Grace watched as the neighborhoods went from luxurious high-rises to brownstones to walk-ups. When they pulled up in front of one that was not quite as dilapidated as the others, Callie opened the door.

"Thanks for the ride," she said. "And I'll send back the suit."

"Don't worry about it," Grace replied.

The woman shook her head. "Thanks, but I can't keep it."

With a parting wave, she shut the door and disappeared into the dingy building.

Grace turned to John as the car surged forward. He was staring out the window, a brooding expression on his face.

"John?" His eyebrows rose but he didn't look across the seat. "Would you be willing to check into her background?"

"I've already started."

She stared at his profile, getting the terrible sense that something had changed between them. Perhaps irrevocably.

 

* * *

 

 

Ten minutes later, she and John walked into the lobby of the Hall Building. There were few employees around because of the holiday, but there were plenty of tourists visiting the museum. After stopping briefly to check in with the security guard at the front desk, they went into an elevator.

When they got upstairs, Grace was surprised to see Kat at her desk and a man standing in front of her. He had his hands on his hips and a cocky expression on his face.

"I didn't know you were coming in today," Grace said to Kat in an even voice. She gave the man a quick once-over. Slick suit, slick hair, god-awful tie.

It had to be a lawyer, she thought, wondering how he'd gotten past the security man downstairs.

Kat smiled tightly. "Mr. Lamont called and said he needed me to come in. I guess his assistant has quit again. This man—er, won't leave."

The guy flashed Grace a sparkling smile as he stuck out his hand. "I'm Fritz Canton. I believe you know who I am."

"Oh, of course, you're Ranulf's attorney. Did we have a meeting scheduled?" she asked, knowing they didn't.

"No, but I'd like to have a word with you." The man's gaze shifted over to John. "Alone, if I may. I won't take Jong."

When Smith approved as long as the door was left ajar, she said, "Very well."

Grace led him into the office and took a seat behind her father's desk.

Canton looked around and smiled. "This is some beautiful art you've got."

"Thank you." Grace leaned forward. "I don't mean to rush you, but could you tell me why you're here ?"

He sat down across from her, put his hands together in a bridge and leaned his chin on them. "My client isn't satisfied with the cash settlement you're proposing."

Grace frowned. "Considering how much of my money he's already run through, I don't think one cent is appropriate. And frankly, I resent having to pay him for the privilege of a divorce."

"He only wants what's fair."

"Then let him leave with what he came with. I'll even give him back the ring."

Canton's eyes flashed and she knew he was estimating the sapphire's value. "You and I both know it's not that simple."

"Mr. Canton, if you're here to try and negotiate, you need to call my lawyer." She got to her feet. "Now if you will excuse me."

The attorney smiled. "I think you'll want to hear me out."

"Why?"

"I understand that you were photographed yesterday evening with a man. Outside of your building. My client received a copy of that picture." Canton rose. "It would be quite damaging to you if such a thing made it to the press— and your mother didn't have a chance to get it buried again. Adultery never looks good, especially on a woman, and I can imagine how important it is for you to be perceived as an upstanding citizen right now. With your father having passed and your just taking the helm of this venerable institution, it would be bad timing if a scandal were to come out now. Very bad."

As he ambled over to the bank of windows, Grace thought of that joke about lawyers, that a hundred of them at the bottom of the sea was a good start. She had an urge to get the trend started.

"Are you blackmailing me?" she asked.

"Not at all." He turned to her. "And neither, of course, is my client."

When she remained silent, his brows rose.

"So, what do you say, Countess? If we come to an agree-ment on a figure right now, this messy part can be over with. The two of you can issue a joint statement to the press indicating that it is all very amicable and no one will ever see the photo that suggests you've cheated on your husband. Ranulf and I, we were thinking something with eight digits will be sufficient."

Grace's first thought was that he and his client could go to hell.

Instead, she smiled calmly. "Thank you for coming by."

"There's nothing you want to say to me?"

Telling the guy to go screw himself probably wasn't such a hot idea, she thought.

"I believe you've stated your position clearly and I'm not negotiating anything without my own counsel present."

Grace walked over to the door and waited for the man to leave.

As he was walking out, he said, "Don't be foolish about this."

"Thanks for the advice," she said wryly.