All You Desire (7 page)

Or would she?

Haven's eyes popped open again. She hadn't told Iain about her visit to his mother. Instead she had lied to him, broken his trust. And for what? A fortune that was never hers to begin with? Haven felt fear grab her by the throat. For a moment she could scarcely breathe. Had Virginia Morrow been right? Was this the first sign of the terrible things that she had predicted Haven would do?

 

IAIN ROLLED OVER to face Haven. “You're back,” he said. “I was starting to worry.” He drew her closer and kissed her. The world could have ended, and Haven wouldn't have noticed. Then, at last, she pulled away.

“I went to see your mother,” Haven confessed. “I rented a car and drove out there this morning.”

“I know,” Iain said. “The car company called to confirm the reservation.”

“You knew? And you didn't try to stop me?”

Iain grinned at the thought. “Haven, I've loved you for two thousand years. I figured out a long time ago that once you get an idea in your head, no one can stop you from seeing it through. Anyway, I thought it might be good to let you meet Mommy Dearest. Now you know what kind of a fight we're in for.”

The fact that he'd known about the trip just made Haven feel worse. “You were right all along, Iain. The woman's a monster. I don't know how you managed to survive with a mother like that.”

Iain propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Haven lying beside him on the bed. “You don't know? I do,” he said as if it should have been obvious. “I knew you were out there, and I had a feeling that this time I'd find you. That's how I got through the first nineteen years of my life. It's as simple as that.”

“Still,” Haven said. “She didn't have to make it so hard for you. A mother should love her child no matter how many lives he's led.”

“That's over now. You're all the family I've ever needed. Which reminds me,” he said, suddenly jumping up from the bed. “There was something I meant to give you before you hauled me out of that restaurant last night.”

He went to the closet and searched through the pockets of the jacket he'd worn the previous evening. When he returned, he held a small wooden box in his hand.

“I did manage to make one final purchase before we lost the farm.”

Haven opened the box without a word. Inside was a simple ring with a wide gold band and a cabochon in the center.

“It's glass,” Iain remarked nervously as Haven watched the golden flecks inside the pale blue gem glitter in the light of the bedside lamp. “Just like the last one. I mean the first one. The first ring I ever gave you.”

“When we ran away to Rome together two thousand years ago?” Haven asked.

“Yes. And I spent our last penny on that ring too, and I didn't have many pennies to spend back then. That's why the jewel was glass, not something fancier. But now it's an antique and . . .”

“It's perfect,” Haven announced.

“Good.” Iain exhaled with relief. “I saw it in a shop right before we left Rome and I—”

“What does it mean?” Haven asked.

Iain sat down beside her and swept away a curl that had fallen across Haven's cheek. “It means that we belong to each other and always will. It means that whenever you're ready, we can get some government's stamp of approval. Or we can continue to wallow in heavenly sin for the next sixty years. It means whatever you want it to mean, Haven.”

“Thank you.” The lump in Haven's throat kept her from saying any more. She had never thought of herself as the kind of girl who could get weepy over a piece of jewelry. And Iain's feelings came as no surprise to her. But somehow Haven felt different with the lovely Roman ring on her finger. It had a power she'd never anticipated. She knew her mother would have argued that Haven was too young for such things. Mae Moore still prayed that her nineteen-year-old daughter would one day return to east Tennessee. She didn't seem to understand that Haven was already home.

“You're very welcome,” Iain said, ending the conversation with a kiss.

 

LATER, AS SHE lay beside Iain, with little more than a sheet twisted around them, Haven dreamed of the Florentine girl she'd been seven hundred years before. Beatrice was standing in an empty room, examining a fresco. The house's furniture was gone, strapped to wagons that had fled the city the day before. Looters were bound to follow, stealing whatever was left and leaving only the brightly colored paintings that decorated the walls. The one Beatrice was studying showed the massacre of the innocents—the execution of all the male infants in the village of Bethlehem as ordered by King Herod. Frantic women ran through the streets of town, trying to save their babies from the swords of Roman troops. In the top left corner of the fresco, a motionless figure watched the slaughter from a window.

The girl in Haven's dream had just stepped toward the painting for a better look when she heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She turned to see a group of women enter the room, some young and some old. Some were peasants and others the daughters or wives of rich men. There was even one woman disguised as a soldier. At the head of the group stood a young girl who couldn't have been more than eleven years old. Her face was dirty and her clothing torn, yet she spoke with an unexpected authority.

“You've changed your mind?” she demanded to know.

“I have,” Haven heard herself say.

She woke suddenly to the ringing of the phone.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Mom?” Haven groaned into the receiver. The room was perfectly dark, and all Haven could see was a faint glow from her phone's screen. “You do remember we're six hours ahead of you, right? It's three o'clock in the morning here.”

“I'm sorry for waking you, honey,” said Mae Moore. “But Ben Decker just asked me to call. It's a little bit urgent.”

Haven sat up. “Is something wrong with Beau?” she asked, a thousand horrific scenarios bombarding her mind at once.

“Well, see, that's the problem. We don't know. We were hoping you might.”

“Might
what
, Mama?” For most of Haven's life, her mother had done her best to avoid the real world. Devastated by cruel rumors surrounding her husband's death, Mae Moore had turned inward. She rarely spoke above a whisper, and she couldn't look anyone in the eye. In the year since the truth had finally come out, and her husband's name had been cleared, Mae Moore had made remarkable progress. She was almost the sunny, charming woman she'd once been. But she still had a hard time getting straight to the point.

“We were hoping you might know where Beau is.”

Haven fell back on her pillows. It was typical Beau—leaving town without letting anyone know where he was going. “He went to New York,” Haven said. “I'll tell you everything in the morning once I've had some sleep.”

“Ben knows about the trip,” Mae said before Haven could hang up. “Beau was supposed to call when he got there last night. The plane landed at ten, but he never phoned. You haven't heard from him, have you?”

“No.” Haven felt suddenly cold.

“Oh.” Mae's voice was small.

“Is Mr. Decker really worried?” Beau's father had spent twenty years in the Army. He wasn't the sort who fretted for no reason.

“He's getting there,” Mae said. “I guess he wasn't too happy about Beau going up to New York in the first place, but there wasn't much he could do. Now that he hasn't been able to reach him, he's feeling pretty nervous. Ben said Beau's usually real good about checking in. Unlike some people I know.”

Haven let the jibe pass without comment. “I'm sure he's fine,” she said, more to convince herself than her mother.

“So you know this person he went to see?”

“I haven't met him, but I know his name. Roy Bradford.”

“That's what Beau told his father. He said he met this Roy character on some website. But Ben visited the site this evening, and he couldn't find anyone who goes by that name.”

“Tell Mr. Decker he should call Columbia University,” Haven said. “Beau said the guy goes to school there.”

“Ben tried that too. They don't have any students named Roy Bradford.”

“Did he check the telephone listings?” Haven asked.

“There were three people with that name in Manhattan. None of them had ever heard of Beau.”

Haven searched her brain for another clue, but there wasn't one to be found.

“Haven?” Her mother interrupted her thoughts. “I know you're officially an adult and all. And I know you have your own money, but don't you think it might be time to come home? It would sure help Ben if you were here.”

“Beau's fine,” Haven repeated. This time she didn't believe it. “He'll call one of us soon.”

Mae sighed. “If he calls you, would you tell him to phone his father?”

“Of course,” Haven promised.

“Well then, you go back to sleep, honey,” Mae said. “I'm sorry I had to wake you.”

There was no way Haven was going back to sleep. After the call, she sat with the phone still gripped in her hand.

“What is it?” Iain asked. “What's wrong? Was that your mom?”

“Beau's missing.” The light radiating from the phone's display switched off, and Haven stared into the darkness. She had tried to sound upbeat on the call, but now her fears were threatening to swallow her. “He left for New York last night, and no one's heard from him since. Beau's dad has been trying to find Roy Bradford, but the guy doesn't seem to exist.”

Iain's warm hand gripped her shoulder. “Is there a chance Beau might have sent you a note?”

Haven felt a rush of hope. She'd been traveling all day, and she hadn't had a chance to check her messages. “Maybe,” she said, typing in the password to her e-mail account. “Yes!” she shouted at the sight of an unopened envelope next to Beau's name. She clicked the icon and the note opened.

PAN-PAN, PAN-PAN,
was the only thing he'd written. The phone slipped out of Haven's fingers as soon as she saw the words. Seized by terror, her mind was no longer in control of her body.

“Haven, are you okay?” Iain picked up the device and read the note for himself. “What's ‘pan-pan'?”

“It's something Beau and I used to say when we were kids,” Haven said as soon as she was able to speak. “It means he's in trouble. Beau sent that note a few hours after his plane landed. Something must have happened when he got to New York, but he hasn't called anyone for help. Which probably means he
can't
. Either he's hurt or being held against his will.
Dammit!
I should have known Roy Bradford was too good to be true! Just because he knew Beau in another life doesn't mean they were meant to be together. What if Naddo was some kind of psychopath? What if Piero broke his heart, and Naddo's been waiting seven hundred years to get his revenge? What if . . .”

There were too many terrible possibilities to contemplate. When Beau had told her about his trip, Haven had hoped for the best. But she should have prepared for the worst. She knew better than anyone that reincarnation was responsible for creating as many vendettas as soul mates.

“Well, that settles it,” Iain announced. Haven felt him climbing out of bed.

“What?” Her sight blurred by tears, she followed the sound of Iain's voice across the room. “Settles what?”

“I'm going to book a flight to New York right now. I'll scrape together enough money when I get there to hire a detective to hunt down Roy Bradford. There's someone I used to know. . . .”

“We don't need a detective, Iain. We need the
police
. I've got to call Beau's dad and have him contact the NYPD.”

She heard the flip of a switch, and a lamp lit up the room. When Haven wiped her tears, she could see the worry on Iain's face. “They might not start looking right away, Haven. Beau's an adult, and he's been missing for less than a day.”

“But they can't wait! What if Beau's already been hurt?!” Her fists clenched at the thought. If only she could travel back in time, she'd kill Naddo with her own hands before he had a chance to harm Beau. She could feel her fingers around a throat, but she still couldn't visualize a face. “Hold on! What do you remember about Naddo? Was there anything unusual about him back then? Was he like us—did he have a talent that set him apart? Don't most people who've been reincarnated have a special gift of some sort?”

“Let me think for a second.” Iain closed his eyes. “I remember Piero telling me that Naddo was well-spoken. He worked for one of the men who ran Florence. But that's not going to help us identify Naddo in this life. I wish I'd had a chance to meet the guy before I died.”

An idea was starting to form in Haven's mind. “Do you think
I
might have known Naddo back then?”

“It's possible, I guess. Piero and Beatrice were really close. He would have wanted his sister to meet his boyfriend.”

“Then maybe I know something.” Haven peered up at Iain. “Do you think I might know something about Naddo that could help us find him?”

Iain sat down on a chair by the window and ran a hand through his hair. “It's a long shot, Haven.”

“Are you sure?” It was Haven's best hope and she clung to it. “I already had one vision of that life today. Maybe if I go back to that palazzo we saw I can summon another one!”

“Hold on, Haven. Let's think this through for a second. Suppose you find out that Naddo
did
have an unusual talent. Maybe he was the greatest lute player in Italy. Or a gifted equestrian. What would you tell the police? If you start talking about reincarnation, they'll think you're nuts. We need to find someone who would take us seriously. That's why—”