Double Trouble (45 page)

Leslie frowned at the change of subject. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything.” He lifted it from the hall table and put it into her hands.

Matt was cocksure, though Leslie couldn’t imagine why. His manner would have been puckish if she hadn’t sensed a tremendous anger in him. Was it directed at her? What had she failed to do? She thought again of the triumphant smile that had lit his face when the verdict had been announced the day before and watched him for a long moment, unable to understand this man she had thought she knew so well.

“Chicken?” he asked, eyes bright with challenge, and she flicked the paper open without further delay.

She took a deep breath, knowing there would be a picture of a triumphant James Coxwell crossing the courtroom to shake his opponent’s hand, victor in a landmark court case that had, in an ironic twist of fate, pitted him against his younger brother, Matt. The press had gone wild when James had made that move and the flash from their cameras had been almost blinding.

But that picture wasn’t on the front page. Instead there was a file shot of Leslie’s father-in-law, Robert Coxwell—the potent patriarch: handsome, confident, successful and rich—with the headline “Prominent Former Judge Dead”.

She had to read the headline twice, it was so different from her expectation, then she looked to Matt for an explanation.

The glint in his eyes was definitely hostile. “I don’t suppose you heard the phone ring last night?”

Leslie shook her head, still confused. “No. You know that I unplugged the extension in the bedroom when that Chinese take-out place was assigned almost exactly the same number as ours...”

“My father phoned last night,” Matt said, interrupting her with a savage tone that she’d never heard him use before. “He summoned me to the house in Rosemount. I didn’t want to go, but he promised we’d never talk about the Laforini case again if I agreed. It seemed like a good deal at the time.” His lips twisted in a parody of a smile. “But he meant exactly what he said. We didn’t talk again and we never will.”

“I don’t understand.” Leslie glanced at the paper in her hands.

Dead? Matt’s father was dead?

“He killed himself, Leslie,” Matt said her tersely. “He committed suicide because I fucked up that case, the one he wanted so badly to win.” He shrugged, his eyes glittering. “In fact, as a special present to me, he killed himself while I was driving to Rosemount. He made sure that I found him while he was still warm.”

Leslie shook her head, unable to accept that even disliking Robert Coxwell as she did. “But how can you know for sure? Maybe somebody else killed him. Maybe someone broke into the house, or he confronted a burglar, or...”

“No, Leslie, this was his way of getting even with me for letting him down yesterday.”

Leslie looked at her husband, saw the mingled anger and shock and hurt in his eyes, and knew she couldn’t hold back the one question she had to ask. “Then why did you do it?” she whispered. “Why did you lose the case on purpose?”

She was hoping that Matt would deny it, that he hadn’t lost deliberately. For some reason, she could have accepted incompetence better than an unwillingness to comply with expectation.

But Matt’s eyes brightened to vivid green, a sign she recognized as a mark of his strong feelings. “Don’t you know? I thought you, of all people, would know. Don’t you?”

Leslie could only shake her head, because she didn’t understand. His lips tightened to a thin line and the shame she had felt in her dream, the certainty that she had let down expectations, flooded through her again.

Matt drained the last sip of Scotch from his glass, then dropped the empty glass into her hand so abruptly that she nearly let it slip through her hands. It was heavier than she remembered, smoother, and she barely caught it. He tilted his head to regard her, almost snarling. “I thought you of all people would get it. I had hoped that you would understand.”

“But I don’t.” As soon as the words left her lips, Leslie knew she’d failed a test, one she hadn’t even known she’d been taking. “Tell me.”

“There’s no point.” Matt’s lips drew to a taut line. He stepped past her, his manner dismissive. He straightened his collar and tie as he looked in the mirror. He ran a hand through his hair, ran a hand over the stubble on his chin with what might have been regret.

Leslie remembered the suitcase then, a bit later than was ideal, and a couple of points got together to make a line. “You’re leaving? Just because I don’t understand why you did what you did?”

She might not have spoken for all the response she got. Matt checked what looked like a computer printout before tucking it into his jacket pocket and reaching for the suitcase.

“There was a time when we would talk about things,” she said with some desperation. “There was a time when we would give each other a chance.”

“We were different people then,” he said softly, the murmured words breaking her heart.

She stepped after him, put a hand on his arm. “Where are you going?”

“To get Zach out of jail, of course.” Matt smiled then, looking more rakish than Leslie knew him to be. “But then, I doubt you’ll miss me anyway.”

“That’s not true...”

“No?” He considered her for a heartbeat, then suddenly caught her nape in his hand and kissed her. He tasted of alcohol and of himself. Leslie felt the stubble on his chin and smelled his cologne mingled with his own scent. she felt that old black magic stir between them once more. She had a heartbeat to realize that she wasn’t the only one savoring this long-overdue kiss.

Then Matt stepped away. “One last kiss,” he said, which made Leslie panic. He smiled that crooked smile, the one that melted her knees, which softened his retreat a little.

“Be good, or at least be careful,” he murmured as he ran his thumb along the line of her jaw. Leslie leaned into his caress without meaning to do so, loving the feel of his hand against her skin, yearning.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

But he was gone, striding out the door with purpose, as if he had already forgotten her. There was an airline limo idling at the curb. Matt put the Samsonite in trunk, then made for the door to the back seat.

This had all been arranged in advance.

“Wait!” Leslie shouted. “Where are you going?” She was standing barefoot on her porch, which had a dusting of snow on it, her sapphire silk peignoir visible to all, and for once in her life, she didn’t care what the neighbors thought.

Matt turned back and grinned, as if he had been possessed by the devil himself. He gave her a look of such pure mischief that she dreaded his words. She always loved his affection for the truth, his ability to be candidly honest about everything, although right here right now, she realized she’d never been afraid of the truth before. “New Orleans.”

Leslie’s heart headed for her toes. “Are you coming back?”

“Why would I?” He waited two beats for her shocked response, then blew her a showy kiss—her husband’s cocksure twin—and stepped into the cab.

“You have to come back!” she shouted, but the cab was already at the end of the block and no one was looking back.

* * * * * *

One More Time

Now Available in a New Edition.

Deborah also writes as Claire Delacroix.

Read on for an excerpt from

Love Potion #9

A Romantic Comedy

by Claire Delacroix

Chapter One

L
ilith was in a funk. She rattled through her house, picking listlessly at this crystal or that astrological chart. She was dimly aware of the moving van disgorging possessions next door, but wasn’t really interested.

She was hot in more ways than one.

It was their 579th anniversary and—just like the last 578 times—Sebastian hadn’t shown.

Yet, even given that, today Lilith couldn’t evict Sebastian from her mind. The memory of the evening they’d spent together tormented her. The echo of his last pledge rang in her ears. She had dreamed of him the night before, relived that precious time so vividly that she’d been sure she could feel his hands on her when she awakened in the morning.

But he wasn’t there.

Lilith was alone.

Still.

Maybe it was the heat that tried her patience.

Maybe it was this marathon run of celibacy that was getting on her nerves. Lilith had been patient, but immortality alone wasn’t a lot of fun. She was tired of being resilient and optimistic. She was tired of being cheerful in solitude.

Lilith was done with the waiting.

And Sebastian was late, but any calculation.

Tarot card reader, astrologist and crystal therapist, Lilith had adopted all the trappings of the occult to mask her Gift. She was reluctant to give any hint of the real nature of her talent, so she blamed everything on the tarot cards. People found it easier to believe that a stack of cardboard cards held the secrets of the future than that Lilith could see the truth in their eyes.

For the fact was that the draught for immortality—when Lilith had ultimately earned the right to a sip—had added an interesting twist to her innate Gift. After drinking that elixir, Lilith could see anyone’s match right in their eyes. Regardless of where that lovematch was in the world, she could set anyone on the path to connecting with his or her soul mate.

Maybe it was because her heart had been so full of Sebastian when she had that precious sip.

It was a bitter kind of irony to make her living consoling the lovelorn when she was so lonely herself. Lilith didn’t even know how many weddings she’d been invited to attend, mostly because she had in some way been responsible for introducing the bride and groom.

Always a bridesmaid, as the saying went.

The experience was getting old. She’d stopped going stag to weddings five years before, but it didn’t make her feel any better. The invitations were bad enough.

Sebastian was taking his own sweet time returning to her, that much was for certain. Lilith remembered the way he had kissed her and her skin heated. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her favorite chair to remember every caress, one more time.

The only time.

So much for promises made on the gallows.

Lilith frowned at the room, and caught the knowing glint in D’Artagnan’s eyes. That cat saw too much, and it was a blessing he couldn’t talk. He had moved in with purpose two years before, characteristically disinterested in Lilith’s opinion of his presence.

She wondered whether the cat knew that she only let him stay in deliberate defiance of
Rom
norms. Cats licked themselves, polluting inside with outside. Cats were dirty in
Rom
terms. Cats were
mahrime
.

But then, Lilith had been
mahrime
herself for a long time. Maybe there was a twisted kind of justice in D’Artagnan’s deliberate adoption of her. Maybe they belonged together.

That wasn’t the most optimistic thought she could have had.

Lilith wondered why she had any concern with
mahrime
conventions. It wasn’t as if the
Rom
and their ideas had anything to do with her. Nope, she was just a witch who told fortunes, not a gypsy at all. She had studied
gadje
witchcraft, learned to mix potions and cast spells, draw circles for the moon and read astrological charts, too.

She was not
Rom
.

She refused to be
Rom
.

And that was that.

D’Artagnan started cleaning himself—always fastidious—and even the sight of his little darting tongue made Lilith fidget.

She had definitely been alone too long.

What was keeping Sebastian?

Lilith picked up her deck of tarot cards, shuffled and considered the riddle of what to do. She fanned the cards across the table and plucked one from their midst, her heart skipping a beat when she turned it over.

The Magician.

A card about making things happen. A card for the creative and the powerful. A card hinting that it was time things got done.

By her.

It was a card that demanded immediate action.

Lilith considered it. Why was she just waiting for Sebastian? In every other area of her life, she was the one to take the initiative and make a difference. She had to admit that it would be a lot more romantic if Sebastian just swept into her life again on his own.

He had promised, after all.

Was his promise a lie?

No. She wouldn’t think along those lines. She stood up and went to the mirror. One more time she looked deeply into her own eyes and one more time, she caught no glimpse of Sebastian. Obviously, her Gift didn’t extend to herself. Magick was like that.

But maybe some of the things she had learned over the centuries could help.

The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than Lilith was on the way to her kitchen. She checked the calendar and discovered that both sun and moon were right for a love spell.

That had to be a sign that she was on the right track.

Whether her actions provoked a response or not, it was good just to be doing something. Lilith turned on the radio and tuned into the oldies station. The first song made Lilith smile and turn up the volume.