“Oh, money matters, all right. Don't forget, I'm a cop. I've seen how many times money matters too much. Why'd you marry a rich man, one old enough to be your father?”
She actually looked like he'd punched her in the stomach. “Thatâthat isn't very kind of you, Dix. Why I married him is really none of your business.”
“What do your folks think of your husband?”
“My parents are dead. A long time ago. I've been on my own for a while now.”
“How long have you been married?”
“If you must know, three years.” Her voice sharpened. “Any more questions, Dix?”
“Yeah, let's cut to it, Charlotte. Why did you invite me to have lunch with you?”
She wouldn't look at him. With her eyes down, she looked so much like Christie he nearly lost his breath. She was wearing a wrap-around silk dress in a pale shade of blue that Christie had favored. It had a deep V-neck, and very long sleeves that fell nearly over her fingers. He saw that her breasts were bigger than Christie'sâbut that could be simple surgery. What the hell was he thinking?
He wanted to leave. He didn't want to know if she wanted to jump his bones. He never wanted to see this Christie look-alike again in his life. It didn't matter that she probably had some issues with her brother. He didn't care. He wanted to go home. He wanted to hug his boys. He wanted to make love to Ruth and call her sweetheart again. He wanted Brewster to jump on him when he walked through the front door, his tail wagging furiously.
Charlotte leaned forward. “You want to know why I called you? Okay, Sheriff Noble, last night you couldn't stop staring at me. You said I reminded you of someone you knew a while back, someone beautiful. I'm not stupid, I know it had to be your wife Christie. You said your wife's dead, Dix. That means she's gone. For a long time now. So, what's wrong with me?”
So she wanted to amuse herself with him, nothing more than that. He rose, pulled a fifty out of his wallet and laid it next to his plate, realized it wasn't enough, and tossed down two more twenties. “Nothing's wrong with you, Charlotte. You're a beautiful woman and you know it. Now, I've got to get to the airport.” He looked one more time at her face, couldn't help himself. He tried to be a cop, dammit, he was a cop, good at seeing what was in a person's mind, but he couldn't get beyond Christie's expression, one he'd seen on her face when she didn't know exactly what to say to get what she wanted.
He forced himself to smile, to step back both physically and emotionally, and gentled his voice. “I have to go home, Charlotte. I have to forget your face, forget how you look so much like her it freezes my heart. Go back to your husbandâyour choice, your life.”
She rose quickly, grabbed his shirtsleeve. “Wait, Dix, wait!” The long dress sleeve fell back. He clearly saw the bracelet around her right wrist, the beautifully faceted diamonds glittering in their small circular settings.
Dix froze. It looked like the bracelet he'd given Christie in Rome on their second honeymoon, on the day of their eighth wedding anniversary, the bracelet she'd worn every single day since that magic drizzling afternoon they'd watched Pietro Magni himself meticulously etch in the words Dix wanted, so pleased with his creation he couldn't stop kissing Christie's hand.
CHAPTER 15
Dix picked up Charlotte's purse and jacket, grabbed her hand, and pulled her out onto the sidewalk into a cacophony of noise, cars, and people thick on Lombard Street during the noon hour. He walked quickly with her close to his side, away from the restaurant, across Lombard, to the parking garage. He pulled her up the stairs to the second level. It was quieter up here, above the din on the street below.
She was trying to pull free of him, panting now. “What's wrong, Dix? What's going on with you? You're frightening me!”
Maybe she was frightened, he wasn't sure. He realized almost any woman would be frantic to get away from a man who'd dragged her into a garage without any people around. He saw questions in her eyesânot Christie's eyes, hersâand something else. Excitement? He didn't release her. He looked down into her face and said very precisely, “Tell me where you got that bracelet.”
Charlotte Pallack blinked. She was clearly surprised. “Bracelet? Whatâoh, this.” She shook back the sleeve and rolled her hand back and forth, making the individual diamond circles sparkle and dance. “Why ever do you want to know about this bracelet?”
“Where did you get it, Charlotte?”
“Oh, all right. My husband gave it to me as a wedding present. He said he got it in Paris. Why, for God's sake? Why do you care?”
In that instant Dix the husband became Dix the cop. He smiled at her, released her wrist, stepped back from her, and managed, somehow, to smile. “Sorry about this, Charlotte.” He looked down a moment, felt his breathing hitch. He tried to shrug it off, but couldn't quite do it. “Your braceletâmy wife Christie had a bracelet a lot like yours, and it shook me to my feet. She loved that bracelet, always wore it. Seeing it on your wristâwellâ”
Her hand was on his forearm and the bracelet winked and glittered. “Oh, Dix, I'm so sorry. I had no idea at all. Well, that's a coincidence, isn't it? Maybe Christie and I are more alike than just our looks. What do you think?”
He said honestly, looking at her again, “I don't know you, Charlotte. I have no idea how alike you and Christie are.”
“Dix? Are you okay now? Look, do you want to examine the bracelet?”
It was exactly what he wanted. He had to be careful not to grab it from her. “Yes, please, that would be very kind of you.”
He watched her gracefully unfasten the bracelet, watched the glittering pile of diamonds slide through her fingers as she dropped it into his hand.
He knew exactly where to look. He was so afraid of what he'd find his hands were shaking.
He slowly turned the bracelet until he was looking at the underside of the clasp. He knew what should be there:
At Least Forever.
And right below that Pietro Magni's individualized mark, a “p” intertwined with an “m.”
He held the bracelet up, examined it closely.
The underside of the clasp was blank. He could see no sign that anything had been scored off. So close, it was so close, so much like Christie's bracelet it made him want to scream because what he'd believed a precious instant ago simply wasn't true. Another chimera, a gossamer veil that hid nothing at all.
In the end this woman wasn't Christie and this diamond bracelet wasn't Christie's either. He hated coincidence, really didn't much believe in it, and now he'd slammed into two that had nearly torn his heart out.
He handed her the bracelet, and she fastened it on her wrist with the ease of long practice.
“I'm sorry, Charlotte, it is very similar, but I see now that it's different. Please forgive me for alarming you.”
He gave her his most natural smile, a smile that often made Ruth pause a moment, grab him, and pull him down to her. Ruth had told him to patent that smile.
Not good. He took a step back.
Charlotte reached out and touched his forearm. “I'm so sorry I even wore it, Dix. The last thing I want to do is to cause you pain. This must be very hard for you.” She paused a moment, cocked her head to the side, just like Christie did, and said slowly, her eyes on his face, “This is why you're here in San Francisco, isn't it? Someone who knew your wife told you about me and you came to see if I was Christie. We look that much alike?”
He looked down into that beautiful face and had to force himself to think clearly:
This woman isn't Christie. The bracelet she's wearing isn't Christie's bracelet. Let it go. Go home. Forget all of it.
But she was very smart. She'd figured her way through everything quickly.
“Partly, yes. Someone saw you, believed you were Christie.”
“I see. My husband wondered why Corman Sherlock had called him at the last minute when he knew there was little chance the judge would ever have a change of heart about politics. ” She paused. “Do you know Thomas was pleased as punch that you kept staring at me all evening? He really liked it that a sexy young gun seemed envious of him. So, you are the reason for the dinner last night, Dix? So you could see me?”
“As I said, that was part of the reason. Fact is, I'm a very close friend of Judge Sherlock's daughter and her husband. I'm here to speak at a law enforcement conference. I'll admit itâseeing you nearly drove me to my knees. Talk about an unlikely coincidence, but there you have it. Now it's over.
“You've been very patient with me, Charlotte. Thank you. I have to leave now. I have to go home. Come, I'll walk you to your car. Where are you parked?”
Before he left her beside her silver Lexus on Level One of the same parking garage, she said, “You asked me why I invited you to lunch.”
He waited.
“I'm not a young girl, Dix, and the truth is I'm drawn to you. Even though I'm married”âshe shruggedâ“I'm drawn to you. Thomas is very kind, butâ” Always a but, Dix thought, as if that were somehow a valid excuse.
When he didn't say anything, she said, “Will I ever see you again, Dix?”
He thought of all the coincidences, of the two bracelets, and wondered:
Why hadn't her husband had something engraved on the back of the clasp if it was a wedding present?
And then he wondered,
Was it a new clasp? That wouldn't be difficult, simply change out a clasp on a bracelet.
Something settled in him, it was a decision made, and he felt calm, in control again. He smiled down at her. “Never say never.”
CHAPTER 16
SAN FRANCISCO
Early Sunday morning
Julia looked down at her boy, his skin so pale it was nearly translucent. He'd gone easily, simply faded away as she'd held his small hand, and that was a blessing. But he didn't look peaceful, he looked empty and gray.
She watched Dr. Bryer's hand disengage the monitor, the soft flatline hum now silent. Time passed, a lifetime, a moment. He squeezed her arm, trying to comfort her, but didn't. He wanted her to say good-bye and walk out of this sterile cold room and leave Linc.
“He's not here, Julia,” Dr. Bryer said. “He's at peace. Come with me now.”
Come where?
She saw herself shooting baskets with him down at Skyler Park, saw him doing his favorite hair-raising maneuver in the half-pipeâhis back foot smacking the tail of his skateboard against the ground while his front foot pulled the board up high in the air, oh God, too high, then he would pivot, nearly
stopping her heart even as his friends shouted “Real tight, Linc, sweet.” How very odd, she thought, staring down at him, Linc had never hurt himself riding his skateboard. Yet a skateboard had killed him.
She saw his small intense face as he sketched her and their rental house, waiting until high tide so he could draw the ocean waves nearly kissing the house pilings. She felt his arms around her neck, squeezing until she squeaked, a longtime game between them, not so comfortable anymore because he was stronger every month.
Julia stared at his slack mouthâno more wet kisses on her cheek, welcoming her home. He had his father's smart mouth, always with an answer, but even his father was dead, gone three months now.
Linc was gone too. She had to accept it. But not yet, not yet. She picked up his limp hand as she stood beside the obscenely efficient hospital bed. At least there were no more tubes attached to him. They dangled from quiet machines.
She was more alone than she'd ever been in her life.
Please wake up, Linc, please,
but he didn't.
He would have turned seven in two weeks.
“Mrs. Taylor, come with me now. It's time.”
“Thank you, Dr. Bryer, but I would like to stay here with Linc a while longer.” She nodded to the older doctor, Scott Lyland, who'd known her all her life. There were tears in his pale eyes. It nearly broke her.
Time passed, a sluggish cold parade of minutes, before she
heard his deep hypnotic voice, August Ransom's voice, say next to her ear:
“I can tell you what Lincoln is thinking and feeling, Julia. He misses you, but he's happy, never doubt that. He's with his grandfather. You know how much he loved PawPaw. And yes, there's his father. Ben loved Linc, Julia, don't doubt that. I can help you talk with Lincoln, Julia, let me do that.”
Then suddenly that compelling smooth voice wasn't talking anymore, but she heard something, not his voice, butâ she heard something move, whispery, vague with distance, as elusive as those long-ago feelings that still wouldn't settle. It wasn't close yet, but it was coming.
She heard soft creaks in the oak floor in the corridor, coming closer.
What corridor?
Julia jerked awake, her breath hitching, disoriented. She realized she'd been dreaming, felt the old pull of the deadening helplessness, the emptiness she'd felt when she'd stood beside Linc, breathing in the nauseating scent of alcohol and disinfectant that seamed the air itself.
No, I'm not in Hartford, I'm here in San Francisco, at home, in bed. It was the dream, the dream again.
It was a dream she'd had many times over the years, so maybe what she'd heard was simply some new threads woven into the fabric of the dream. Maybe she hadn't really heard anythingâ
But she heard them again, slow, soft footfallsâDear God, someone was here in her house, someone was coming toward her bedroom, coming to kill her. Like he killed Linc. No, he didn't kill Linc, that was a stupid accident that shouldn't have happened. But someone killed August and he wanted to kill her too. This time he came to do it right, he'dâ