Authors: Nora Roberts
“I’m better outside. I’m always better outside.” She drew a deep breath. “I took my first lover two weeks after you came to see me at college. I let myself think I was a little in love with him, but I wasn’t. I was in love with you. I fell in love with you when you sat down beside me on the riverbank, near the beaver dam, and you listened to me. It wasn’t a crush.”
She gathered the courage to turn then, to face him. “I was only twelve, but I fell in love with you. When I saw you again, it was as if everything inside me had just been waiting. Just waiting, Noah. After you left, I closed all that off again. You were right, what you said about my turning my feelings on and off. I could. I did. I went to bed with someone else just to prove it. It was cold, calculated.”
“I’d hurt you.”
“Yes. And I made sure I remembered that. I made sure I could pull that out so you couldn’t do it again. Even after all this time, I didn’t want to believe you could understand what I felt. About what happened to my mother, to me, to my family. But I think a part of me always knew you were the only one who really could. The book isn’t just for you.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“I don’t know if—I’m not sure—” She broke off again,
shook her head in frustration. “I wanted to make you go. I wanted to make you mad enough to go because no one’s ever mattered to me the way you do. It terrifies me.”
“I won’t hurt you again, Liv.”
“Noah, it’s not that.” Her eyes glowed against the dark. “It’s the other way around this time. What’s inside of me, what could be in there and could leap out one day and—”
“Stop it.” The order cut her off like a slap. “You’re not your father any more than I’m mine.”
“But you know yours, Noah.” Still, for the first time she reached out to touch him, laid a hand on his cheek. “Everything I feel for you . . . it fills me up inside. All the places I didn’t know were empty, they’re just full of you.”
“Christ, Liv.” His voice went rough and thick. “Can’t you see it’s the same for me?”
“Yes. Yes, I can. I’ve been happier with you than I thought I could be. More with you than I thought I wanted to be. But even with that, I’m afraid of the things that you want. The things you have a right to expect. I don’t know if I can give them to you or how long it’ll take me. But I do know I love you.”
She remembered the words he’d used to tell her and gave them back to him. “I’m so completely in love with you. Can that be enough for now?”
He reached up to take the hand that rested on his cheek, to press his lips to the center of her palm like a promise. “That’s exactly enough for now.”
Later, he dreamed of running through the forest, with the chill damp soaking through the fear sweat on his skin and his heart galloping in wild hoofbeats in his chest. Because he couldn’t find her, and the sound of her scream was like a sword slicing through his gut.
He woke with a jerk to the pale silver of oncoming dawn with the last fierce call of an owl dying in the air. And Olivia curled warm against him.
The rain was holding off. But it would come before nightfall. Olivia could just smell the testing edge of it in the air as she
guided her group into the trees. She’d done a head count of fifteen and had been foolishly grateful to see Celia among them.
The fact that she was there had been enough to help Olivia convince Noah to take some time in his quiet room to work.
She explained the cycle of survival, succession, tolerance of the rain forest. The give and take, the nurturing of life by the dead.
It was the trees that always caught the attention first, the sheer height of them. Out of habit, Olivia took the time to let her audience crane their necks, murmur in awe, snap their pictures while she talked of the significance and purpose of the overstory. It always took a while before people began to notice the smaller things.
Her talks were never carved in stone. She was good at gauging the pace and rhythm of her group and gearing a talk to suit it. She moved along to point out the deep grooves that identified the bark of the Douglas fir, the faint purple cast of the cones of the western hemlock.
Every tree had a purpose, even if it was to die and become a breeding ground for saplings, for fungi, for lichen. If it was to fall, striking others down, it would leave a tear in the overstory so that busy annuals could thrive in the swath of sunlight.
It always amused her when they moved deeper and the light became dimmer, greener, that her groups would become hushed. As if they’d just stepped into a church.
As she lectured, she followed the familiar pattern, scanning faces to see who was listening, who was simply there because their parents or spouse had nagged them into it. She liked to play to those especially, to find something to intrigue them so that when they stepped out into the light again, they took something of her world with them.
A man caught her eye. He was tall, broad at the shoulders, with a fresh sunburn on his face that indicated someone unused to or unwise in the sun. He wore a hat and a long-sleeved shirt with jeans so obviously new they could have stood on their
own. Despite the soft light, he kept his sunglasses in place. She couldn’t see his eyes through the black lenses but sensed they were on her face. That he was listening.
She smiled at him, an automatic response to his attentiveness. And her gaze had already moved on when his body jerked in reaction.
She had an avid amateur photographer in the group who was crouched by a nurse log, lens to fungi. She used his interest as a segue, identifying the oyster mushroom he was trying to capture on film.
She shifted over, pointed out a ring of lovely pure white caps. “These are called Destroying Angels and while rare here are deadly.”
“They’re so beautiful,” someone commented.
“Yes. Beauty is often deadly.”
Her gaze was drawn back to the man in the sunglasses. He’d moved closer, and while most of the others were hunting up other groups of mushroom and chattering, he stood still and silent. As if waiting.
“Any of you who go on unguided hikes or camp in the area, please exercise caution. However appealing nature may be, however lovely, it has its own defenses. Don’t think that if you see an animal has nibbled on a mushroom or a berry patch, that makes it safe. It’s wiser, and your experience in the forest will be more enjoyable, if you simply look.”
There was a peculiar tightness in her chest, a sensation that made her want to rub the heel of her hand between her breasts to loosen it. She recognized it—an early warning of a panic attack.
Stupid, she told herself, taking steady breaths as she took the group on a winding trail around nurse logs and ferns. She was perfectly safe. There was nothing here but the forest she knew and a handful of tourists.
The man had moved closer yet, close enough so that she could see a light sheen of sweat on his face. She felt cold and vaguely queasy.
“The cool dampness—” Why was he sweating? she wondered. “The cool dampness,” she began again, “in the Olympic rain forest provides the perfect environment for the exuberant growth you see around you. It supports the greatest weight of living matter, per acre, in the world. All the ferns, mosses and lichens you see live here epiphytically. Meaning they make their life on another plant, whether in the overstory of the forest, on the trunks of living trees or in the corpse of a dead one.”
The image of her mother’s body flashed into her mind. “While many of the plants we see here grow elsewhere, it’s only in this area that many of the species reach true perfection. Here on the west side of the Olympic Mountains, in the valleys of Ho, Quinault and Queets, there is the ideal blend of saturation, mild temperatures and topography in perfect proportions to support this prime-temperate rain forest.”
The routine of lecture steadied her. The smattering of comments and questions engaged her mind.
The call of an eagle had everyone looking up. Though this thick canopy barred the sky, Olivia used the moment to shift into an explanation of some of the birds and mammals found in the forest.
The man in the sunglasses bumped against her, gripped her arm. She jolted and had nearly shoved him away when she saw he’d tripped in a tangle of vine maple.
“I’m sorry.” His voice was barely a whisper, but his hand stayed on her arm. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t. The vine maple’s been tripping up hikers for centuries. Are you all right? You look a little shaky.”
“I’m . . . You’re so . . .” His fingers trembled on her arm. “You’re very good at your job. I’m glad I came today.”
“Thank you. We want you to enjoy yourself. Do I know you?”
“No.” His hand slid down her arm, brushed lightly over the back of hers, then dropped away. “No, you don’t know me.”
“You look like someone. I can’t quite place it. Have you—”
“Miss! Oh, Miss MacBride, can you tell us what these are?”
“Yes, of course. Excuse me a minute.” She skirted over to a trio of women who huddled around a large sheet of dark red lichen. “It’s commonly called dog lichen. You can see—if you use your imagination—the illusion of dog’s teeth in the rows.”
The pressure was back, like a vise around her ribs. She caught herself rubbing her hand where the man’s fingers had brushed.
She knew him, she told herself. There was something . . . She turned around to look at him again. He was gone.
Heart pumping, she counted heads. Fifteen. She’d signed on for fifteen, and she had fifteen. But he’d been there, first at the edges of the group, then close in.
She walked over to Celia. “You’re wonderful,” Celia told her and gave her a brilliant smile. “I want to live right here, with dog lichen and Destroying Angels and licorice ferns. I can’t believe how much you know.”
“Sometimes I forget I’m supposed to entertain as well as educate and get too technical.”
Celia skimmed her gaze over the group. “Looks to me like everyone is well entertained.”
“I hope so. Did you happen to notice a tall man, short gray hair, sunglasses. Sunburned, good build. Mid-sixties, I guess.”
“Actually, I haven’t paid much attention to the people. I got caught up. Lose someone?”
“No, I . . . No,” she said more firmly. “He must have been out on his own and just joined in for a bit. It’s nothing.” But she rubbed the back of her hand again. “Nothing.”
When she got back to the Center, Olivia was pleased to see several members of her group had been interested enough to head to the book area. A good guided hike could generate nice sales of books.
“Why don’t I buy you lunch?” Celia asked.
“Thanks, but I really have work.” She caught the look,
sighed a little. “You don’t have to worry. I’m going to be chained to my desk for quite a while. Then I have an interior lecture scheduled and another guided hike, then another lecture. The only place I’ll be alone until six o’clock is in my office.”
“What time’s the first lecture?”
“Three o’clock.”
“I’ll be here.”
“At this rate, I’ll have to offer you a job.”
Celia laughed, then gave Olivia’s shoulder a little squeeze. “It’s annoying, isn’t it, having people hovering.”
“Yes.” The minute she said it, she winced. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I didn’t mean—”
“I’d hate it, too,” Celia interrupted, then surprised Olivia by kissing her cheek. “We’ll get along very well, Liv. I promise. I’ll see you at three.”
Oddly amused, Olivia walked through the Center to the concession area and picked up a Coke and a box of raisins to fortify her through the paperwork on her desk.
She detoured, winding through each area on the way to her office. When she realized she was looking for the man with the sunburned face, she ordered herself to stop being an idiot.
She pulled off her cap, stuck it in her back pocket, then carried her snack to her office. As she stepped inside, she checked her watch to gauge her time.
Two paces from her desk, she froze. And stared at the single white rose lying across the blotter. The can of Coke slipped out of her hand and landed with a thud at her feet.
His face had changed. Twenty years—twenty years in prison had changed it. Somehow she’d known, but she hadn’t been prepared. Breathing shallowly she rubbed the hand he’d touched.
“Daddy. Oh God.”
He’d been so close. He’d touched her. He’d put his hand on her, and she hadn’t known who he was. She’d looked into his face and hadn’t known him.
All those years ago, with the security glass between them, Jamie had told him Olivia would never know him.
His daughter, and she’d given him the absent smile of one stranger to another.
He sat on a bench in deep shade, washed down pills with bottled water. Wiped the clammy sweat from his face with a handkerchief.
She
would
know him, he promised himself. Before another day passed, she would look at him and know him. Then it would be finished.
It irritated Noah that he couldn’t connect with Lucas Manning. Unavailable. Out of town. Incommunicado. He wanted a follow-up interview, and he wanted it soon.
Then there was Tanner himself.
Oh, they’d talk again all right, Noah thought as he pushed himself away from his laptop and paced to the window. He had a great deal to say to Sam Tanner. Maybe the son of a bitch thought the book would be a tool, perhaps even a weapon. But it was going to be neither.
When it was done, it would be the truth. And when it was done, if he had any skill, it would be a closing for Olivia.
The closing of that hideous part of her life and the opening of their life together.
She would be finished with her guided hike by now, he decided. And he could use a break from the book. So what was stopping him from going over to the Center? She might be a little annoyed, accuse him of checking up on her.
Well, that was something she’d have to get used to. He intended to spend the next sixty years, give or take, making sure she was safe and happy.
He shut down his machine and walked downstairs through the empty house. The MacBrides were at the lodge, and he imagined his mother had nudged them into having a meal with her. Bless her heart.
He checked the doors before he left, making sure they were secured. And, as a cop’s son, just shook his head at the locks. Anyone who wanted in, he thought, would get in.
He’d learned that the hard way.
Following instinct, he detoured toward the garden, and casting one guilty look over his shoulder, plucked a handful of flowers to take to Olivia.
They’d make her smile, he thought, even as she pretended to be peeved that he’d stolen them from her grandfather.
He straightened quickly at the sound of a car and remembered he hadn’t thought to hook his knife onto his belt. The wavering sun glinted off chrome and glass, then cleared so that he recognized Jamie Melbourne at the wheel.
By the time he’d walked to the car, she’d shoved the door open and jumped out. “Are they all right? Is everyone all right?”
“Everyone’s fine.”
“Oh God.” She leaned weakly against the fender, dragged a hand through her hair. She wasn’t quite as polished as usual, he noted. Her makeup was sketchy, her eyes shadowed and her simple slacks and blouse travel-crushed.
“I—all the way up here, I imagined all sorts of things.” She dropped her hand, closed her eyes a moment. “My mother called me last night, told me. She said he’d been here. Inside the house.”
“It looks that way. Why don’t you sit down?”
“No, no, I’ve been sitting. On the plane, in the car. I couldn’t get here any sooner. She didn’t want me to come, but I had to. I had to be here.”
“No one’s seen him, at least not that I’ve heard. Liv’s at the Center, and your parents are at the lodge with mine.”
“Good. Okay.” She heaved out a long breath. “I’m not a hysterical person. I think once you’ve faced the worst and survived it, you cope with anything. But I came very, very close to losing it last night. David was in Chicago, and I couldn’t reach him for what seemed like hours. It probably wasn’t more than twenty minutes until my brain clicked back and I thought of his cell phone.”
Because she looked as if she needed it, Noah gave her a smile. “I love technology.”
“I sure had good thoughts about it last night. Nothing’s ever sounded so good as his voice. He’s on his way. Canceled the rest of his meetings. We all need to be together until . . .” Her eyes went dark. “Until what, Noah?”
“Until it’s over,” was all he said.
“Well, I’d better get my bag inside—and have a good, stiff drink.”
“I’ll get it for you.”
“No, it’s just a carry-on. God knows what I threw in it this morning. I probably have a cocktail dress and hiking boots in there. And, to be honest, I could use a few minutes on my own to pull it together.”
“I just locked up.” He pulled the key Rob had unearthed for him out of his pocket.
“I bet they haven’t done that more than half a dozen times since I was born.” She took the key, studied it. “How’s my mother holding up?”
“She’s tougher than you think. Maybe than she thought.”
“I hope you’re right,” Jamie murmured as she opened the trunk and pulled out a tote. “Well, I’ve got about six thousand calls to make to finish shifting my schedule around.” She slung the tote strap over her shoulder, then glanced at the flowers in Noah’s hand. “Going to see your girl.”
“That was the plan.”
“I like your plan. I think you’re good for her.” She studied his face. “You’re a sturdy one under it all, aren’t you, Noah Brady?”
“She’ll never have to worry if I’ll be there, never have to wonder if I love her.”
“That’s nice.” The fatigue seemed to lift from her eyes. “I know just how important that is. It’s funny, Julie wanted that—no, more than that—and I found it. I’m glad her daughter has, too.”
He waited until she was in the house, until she’d locked the door behind her. With his senses alert, he walked into the trees to follow the trail to the Center.
From the shadows he watched, turning the weapon in his hand. And weeping.
Olivia was dead calm, and she was damn well going to stay that way. For ten minutes after seeing the rose, she’d sat on the floor,
shaking. But she hadn’t run. She’d fought back the panic, pulled herself to her feet.
She’d ordered herself to be calm and to act. As quietly as possible, she asked every member of the staff she could find if they’d noticed anyone going into her office. Each time the answer was no, and each time she followed it up by giving a description of her father, as she’d seen him that morning.
When she had all the answers she could gather, she walked outside and started toward the lodge.
“Hey!”
Her body wanted to jerk, and she forced it still. Then absorbed the flow of relief when she saw Noah coming across the parking lot toward her.
Normal, she promised herself. She would be normal.
“My grandfather’s going to scalp you for picking his prize lilies.”
“No, he won’t, because he’ll know I was swept away by romance.”
“You’re an idiot. Thank you.”
She gave him the smile he’d expected, but there was strain at the edges. “You need a break. Why don’t you get someone to fill in for you the rest of the day?”
“I need to do my job. It’s important to me. I was just about to go over and find Frank.” She glanced around. People were coming and going. In and out of the lodge, the Center, the forest. “Let’s sit down a minute.”
She led him around the side and to a bench in the deep shade where her father had sat a short time before.
“There’s another white rose. It was on my desk in my office.”
“Go inside the lodge.” Noah’s voice was cool. “I’ll look around.”
“No, wait. I questioned the staff. No one noticed anyone going into my office. But a couple of them did notice someone this morning when I was setting up the group out here. A tall man, short gray hair, sunburned. He wore dark glasses and a
fielder’s cap, stiff new jeans and a blue long-sleeved shirt.” She pressed her lips together. “I noticed him, too, during the hike. He slipped into the group. I kept getting this feeling, this uneasiness, but I couldn’t pin it down. He spoke to me. He touched my hand. I didn’t recognize him. He’s changed, he looks old—years older than he should and . . . hard. But part of me knew. And when I saw the rose, his face was right there. My father.”
“What did he say to you, Liv?”
“It wasn’t anything important, just that I was good at my job, that he was glad he’d come. Funny, isn’t it, twenty years down the road and he compliments me on my work. I’m all right,” she said when Noah put his arm around her. “I’m okay. I always wondered what it would be like if I saw him again. It was nothing like I imagined. Noah, he didn’t look like a monster. He looked ill, and tired. How could he have done what he did, how could he be doing this now, and just look tired?”
“I doubt he knows the answer to that himself. Maybe he’s just caught up, Liv, in the then and the now. And he just can’t stop.”
He caught a movement, a bit of color, shifted his gaze. And watched Sam Tanner step out of the forest. Noah got to his feet, gripped a hand on Olivia’s arm to pull her up beside him.
“Go into the lodge, find my father. Then stay there.”
She saw him, too, just at the moment when he spotted them, when he stopped short on the far edge of the parking lot. They stared at each other in the windy silence, as they had once stared at each other across a bloody floor.
Then he turned and walked quickly toward the trees.
“Go find my father,” Noah repeated and in a quick movement, unsnapped her knife sheath from her belt. “Tell him what happened here. Then stay.” He turned, took her hard by the shoulders. “Do you hear me, Liv? You stay inside. With my mother. Call your aunt at the house. Tell her to stay put, with the doors locked.”
“What? Aunt Jamie?”
“She got here just as I was leaving. Do it now.”
She shook herself to break out of the fog, then watched in dull horror as Noah strapped her knife to his own belt. “No, you’re not going after him.”
He simply gave her one steel-edged look, then turned her in the direction of the lodge. “Go inside now.”
“You won’t find him.” She shouted it, snatching at Noah’s arm as he strode away. “You don’t know what he’s capable of if you do.”
“He doesn’t know what I’m capable of either. Goddamn it.” He whirled on her, fury hardening his face. “Love isn’t enough. You have to trust me. Go get your cop, and let’s deal with this.”
With no choice, Olivia watched him sprint to the trees and vanish.
Noah had to rely on his senses. His hearing, straining to catch the rustling of brush. To the left? The right? Straight ahead. As he moved deeper, the false green twilight fell so that he strained his eyes, waiting to see a movement, the subtle sway of a low branch, the vibration of a thickly tangled vine.
He was younger, faster, but the forest itself could cloak prey as well as hunter.
He moved deeper, keeping his breathing slow and even so the soft sound of it wouldn’t distract him. As he walked, his boots treading silently on the cushion of moss, he could hear the low rumble of thunder.
A storm was brewing.
“There’s no point in running, Tanner,” he called out as he closed his hand over the hilt of Olivia’s knife. It never occurred to him to wonder if he could use it. “It’s already over. You’ll never get to her. You’ll never touch her.”
His own voice echoed back to him, cold and still, and was followed by the strident call of a bird and the rush of wind through high branches.
Instinct had him winding in the direction of the house, into the thick beauty of the ripe summer forest, past the gleaming
white river of deadly mushrooms, around the delicate sea of fanning ferns.
Rain began to hiss through the canopy and slither in thin trickles to the greedy green ground.
“She’s your own daughter. What good will it do you? What point is there in hurting her now?”
“None.” Sam stepped out from the bulk of a fir. The gun in his trembling hand gleamed dull silver. “There was never a point. Never a reason. I thought you knew.”
Olivia hit the doors of the lobby and burst inside. She looked frantically right and left. Guests were milling around or parked on the sofas and chairs. The hum of conversation roared in her ears.
She didn’t know where to find Frank. The dining room, the library, his own suite, one of the terraces. The lodge was a honeycomb of rooms and carefully arranged spaces where guests could loiter at their leisure.
Noah was already in the forest. She couldn’t take the time.
She spun on her heel, raced to the front desk. “Mark.”
She grabbed the young desk clerk, dragged him toward the door leading to the back rooms. “My grandparents, have you seen them?”
“An hour or so ago. They came through with some people. What’s the matter? What’s the problem?”
“Listen to me.” Panic was trying to claw through control. “Listen carefully, it’s important. I need you to find Frank Brady. He’s a guest here. I need you to find him as quickly as you can. You tell him . . . Are you listening to me?”
“Yeah.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Sure. Frank Brady.”
“You find him, and you find him fast. You tell him that Sam Tanner went into the forest. The east side, Lowland Trail. Have you got that.”
“East side, Lowland Trail.”
“Tell him Noah went after him. Tell him that. Get one of the staff to call my house. My aunt’s there. She’s to stay inside. It’s vital that she stay inside and wait to hear from me. No one’s to
go into the forest. Make an announcement. No one’s to go in there until I clear it. Do whatever you can to keep guests in or around the lodge. Whatever it takes.”
“Inside? But why—”
“Just do it,” she snapped. “Do it now.” And shoving him aside, she sprinted into the rear office.
She needed something, anything. Some kind of weapon. A defense. Frantic, she swept her hands over the desk, yanked open drawers.
She saw the scissors, the long silver blades, and snatched at them. Was it justice? she wondered as they trembled in her hand. Or was it just fate?
She slid the blades under her belt, secured the eyes of the handles and bolted.
The rain began to fall as she raced out of the clearing and into the trees.
Noah’s mind was clear as glass, detached from the physical jeopardy of the gun and focused on the man. A part of him knew he could die here, in the verdant darkness, but he moved past it and faced whatever hand fate had begun to deal him twenty years before.
“No point, Sam? All of it, all those years you spent away come down to you and me standing in the rain?”
“You’re just a bonus. I didn’t expect to talk to you again. I’ve got some tapes for you. For the book.”
“Still looking to be the star? I won’t make you one. Do you think I’ll let you walk out of here, give her one more moment’s pain? You’ll never touch her.”
“I did.” Sam lifted his free hand, rubbed his thumb and fingertips together. “I was so close. I could smell her. Just soap. She grew up so pretty. She has a stronger face than Julie’s. Not as beautiful, but stronger. She looked at me. She looked right at me and didn’t know me. Why would she?” he murmured. “Why would she know me? I’ve been as dead to her as her mother for twenty years.”