In the Garden Trilogy (70 page)

She stopped. She hadn’t finished that talking to, she thought. In her current mood, it would’ve been a waste of time. “You never surprise me.”

“Oh, I think I do and will again. I wasn’t sure you’d be here tonight.” His expression turned sly, and smug. “I heard somewhere that you’d dropped your membership.”

“That’s the thing about rumors, they’re so often lies. Tell me, Bryce, what are you getting out of all this effort? Writing letters, making phone calls, risking criminal charges by falsifying credit cards.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Nobody here for the moment but you and me.” She gestured up and down the empty corridor. “So let’s move straight to the bottom line. What do you want?”

“Everything I can get. You’ll never prove I made any calls, wrote any letters, used any credit cards. I’m very careful, and very smart.”

“Just how long do you think you can keep it up?”

“Until I’m bored. I had a lot of time and effort invested in you, Roz, and you flicked me off. I don’t like being flicked off. Now I’m back, and you won’t get through a day without remembering that. Of course, if you were to make me a private, monetary offer—”

“That’s never going to happen.”

“Your choice.” He gave a shrug. “There are things I can do to keep chipping away at you. I think you’ll come around. I know just how important your reputation, your standing in Shelby County is to you.”

“I don’t think you do.” She kept her eyes on his even when the lounge door opened several feet behind them. “You can’t touch me, either, where it counts, no matter how many lies you spread, how many people you convince to believe them. Quill isn’t a complete fool, and it won’t take long for him to realize you’re taking him for a ride. A costly one.”

“You give him too much credit. What he is, is greedy. I know how to play on greed.”

“You would, having so much of it yourself. Tell me, how much have you taken poor Mandy for so far?”

“Nothing she can’t afford to lose. I never took what you couldn’t afford, Roz.” He skimmed his fingers over her
cheek, and she let him. “And I gave you good value for your money. If you hadn’t been so narrow-minded, we’d still be together.”

“If you hadn’t stolen from me, cheated on me with another woman in my own home, we might be—so I’ll have to thank you for that. Tell me, Bryce, what is it about Mandy that appeals to you?”

“She’s rich, but then so were you. After that, she’s young and you weren’t, and she’s remarkably stupid. You weren’t that, either. A little slow, but never stupid.”

“Are you really going to marry her?”

“She thinks so.” He took out a gold lighter, idly flicking the lid open and closed. “And who knows? Money, youth, malleability. She may just be the perfect wife for me.”

“It does seem small of you to be going around, making prank calls, complicating her life—oh, and screwing with Quill and Jan, losing Quill clients. I think you need more constructive work.”

“Two birds, one stone. It keeps them sympathetic to me and chips away at you.”

“And what do you think will happen when they find out the truth?”

“They won’t. As I said before, I’m careful. You’ll never prove it.”

“I don’t think I’ll have to. You always did like to boast and brag, Bryce.” This time she patted him on the cheek, and thought of it as her kill shot. “Only one of your many failings.” She gestured behind him to where Jan and Mandy stood, faces shocked, bodies still as statues.

Beside them, Cissy began to applaud lightly. Roz took a small bow, then walked away.

It was her turn to be surprised when she saw Mitch at the end of the corridor.

“Caught the show,” he said casually, and slipped his hand over hers. “I thought the female lead was exceptional.”

“Thank you.”

“You okay?”

“Probably, but I wouldn’t mind some air.”

He led her out on the terrace. “Very slick,” he said.

“Very impromptu,” she corrected, and now, after it was done, her stomach began to jump. “But there he was, just dying to nip at me and posture around, and there they were, those pitiful, annoying women. The bonus being Cissy’s presence, too. That little play will be making the rounds, word-for-word, in a New-York minute.”

On cue, there was the sound of raised female voices from inside the ballroom, an abrupt crash, hysterical sobbing.

“Want to go in for the second act?”

“No, I don’t. I think you should ask me to dance, right here.”

“Then I will.” He slipped his arms around her. “Beautiful night,” he said while the scene played out through the open doors behind them.

“It really is.” With a long sigh, she laid her head on his shoulder and felt all those sharp edges smooth out. “Just smell that wisteria. I want to thank you for not riding to my rescue back there.”

“I nearly did.” He brushed his lips over her hair. “But then, I thought you had it so completely under control, and I was enjoying my front-row seat.”

“Lord, listen to that woman wail. Doesn’t she have any pride? I’m afraid Bryce had one thing right. She is stupid, bless her heart. Dim as an underground cave on a moonless night.”

“Dad!” Josh charged through the doorway. “You’ve
got
to come see this.”

Mitch just continued to circle Roz on the terrace, though the music had long stopped, giving way to shouts and scuffling feet.

“Busy here,” he replied.

“But Shelby’s dad just clocked this guy. Punched him
out
. And this woman ripped into him—the other guy, not Shelby’s dad. It’s all about teeth and nails. You’re missing it.”

“Go on back, you can give us the play-by-play later. I’m going to be busy kissing Roz for a while.”

“Man. I’ve got to come to country clubs more often.” With that, Josh rushed back inside.

And Mitch lowered his mouth to Roz’s.

S
HE NEEDED TO
relax. She’d handled herself, Roz thought as she replaced her jewelry in its case, and she believed that what she’d been able to do had finally pried the monkey of a vindictive ex-husband off her back.

But the cost had been yet another public scene.

She was tired of them, tired of having her dirty linen flapped around for avid eyes to see. And she’d have to get over it.

She undressed, slipped into her warm flannel robe.

She was glad they’d been able to leave the club early. Hardly any reason to stay, she thought with a sharp smile. The place had been a glorious mess of overturned tables, spilled food and drink, horrified guests, and scrambling security.

And would be the talk of the gossip circuit for weeks, as she would be.

That was fine, that was expected, she told herself as she ran a warm bath. She’d ride it out, then things would get back to as close to normal as they ever did.

She poured in an extra dose of bubble bath, a lovely indulgence for a midnight soak. When she was done, all relaxed and pink and fragrant, she might just wander down to the library and crook a finger at Mitch.

Bless him for understanding she needed a little alone time. With a sigh, she slid into the tub, right down to the
tips of her ears. A man who recognized a woman’s moods, and accepted them, was a rare find.

John had, she remembered. Most of the time. They’d been so beautifully in tune, moving in tandem to build a family, enjoying their present and planning their future. Losing him had been like losing an arm.

Still, she’d coped, and damn well if she said so herself. She’d raised sons she, and John, could be proud of, kept a secure home, honored her traditions, built her own business. Not bad for a widow woman.

She could laugh at that, but the tension gathered at the base of her neck as she moved to the next phase. Bryce. A foolish, impulsive mistake. And that was all right, everyone was entitled to a few. But this one had done such damage, caused such upheaval. And public speculation and gossip, which in some ways was a bigger score to her pride.

He’d made her doubt herself so often during their marriage, where she’d always been so confident, so sure. But he had an eroding way about him, slick and sly with all those insistent little rubs under the charm.

It was a lowering thing to admit she’d been stupid—and over a man.

But she’d cooked him good and proper tonight, and that made up for a lot of irritation, embarrassment, and pain. He’d served himself up on a goddamn platter, she thought, and she’d stuck the fork in. He was done.

So good for her. Woo-hoo.

Now maybe it was time for yet another phase in the Life of Rosalind. Was she ready for that? Ready to take that big, scary step toward a man who loved her just as she was? Nearly fifty, and thinking about love and marriage—for the
third
time. Was that just insane?

Idly she played her toes through the trickle of hot water she’d left running to keep the bath warm.

Or was it a gift, already wrapped in pretty paper, tied with a big fat bow, and tossed in her lap?

She was in love, she thought, her lips curving as she let the tension drain away, closed her eyes. In love with an interesting, attractive, considerate man. A good man. With enough flaws and quirks to keep him from being boring.

She sighed, as contentment began to settle over her. And a thin gray mist crawled along the tiles.

And the sex? Oh, thank God for the sex, she thought with a lithe stretch and a purr in her throat. Hot and sweet, tender and exciting. Stimulating. Lord, that man was stimulating. Her body felt
juiced
again.

Maybe, just maybe they could have a life together. Maybe love didn’t have to come at convenient and sensible times. And maybe the third time was the charm. It was something worth considering, very, very seriously.

Marriage. She drifted, drowsy now, trailing her fingers through the frothy water while the mist thickened, rising off the floor like a flood.

It came down to making an intimate promise to someone you not only loved, but trusted. She could trust Mitch. She could believe in him.

Would her sons think she’d lost her mind? They might, but it was her life, after all.

She’d enjoy being married—probably. Having someone else’s clothes in the closet, someone else’s books on the shelf. The man wasn’t what you’d call tidy, but she could deal with that if . . .

The foamy water went ice cold. On a gasp, Roz shoved up from her lounging position, instinctively clutching her arms. Her eyes popped wide when she saw the room was full of fog, so dense she couldn’t see the walls, the door.

Not steam, she realized, but a kind of ugly gray mist, as cold as the water and thick as iced soup.

Even as she started to stand, to climb out, she was dragged under.

With a leap in the belly, shock came first, before the fear. The utter shock of the frigid water, the sensation of being yanked down, held under, froze her before she began to fight. Choking, kicking, she strained to surface as the cold stiffened her limbs. She could
feel
hands clamped on her head, then nails digging into her shoulders, but through the film of the water, she saw nothing but floating bubbles and swirling mists.

Stop!
Her mind screamed it. Using all her strength, she braced hands and feet and pushed up in one desperate lunge. Her head came up, broke through into the icy fog. She took one frantic gulp of air before the steely pressure on her shoulders shoved her under again.

Water sloshed over the rim of the tub as she struggled, burned her eyes and throat. She could hear her own muffled screams, as she flailed against what she couldn’t see. Her elbow slammed against the side of the tub, shooting pain through terror.

For your own good. For your own good. You have to
learn!

The voice was a hiss in her ear, a hiss that cut through the frantic beat of blood. Now she saw it, the face swimming above her, over the churning water, its lips peeled back on a grimace of fury. She saw the madness in Amelia’s eyes.

He’s no different. They all lie! Didn’t I tell you? Why don’t you listen? Make you listen, make you stop. Tainted blood. His blood’s in you. Ruined you after all.

She was dying. Her lungs were screaming, her heart galloping as she fought wildly to find purchase, to find
air
. Something was going to burst inside her, and she’d die in the cold, scented water. But not willingly, not easily. She pounded out, with her hands, her feet. And with her mind.

Let go of me. Let go! I can’t listen if I’m dead. You’re killing me. If I die, you’ll stay lost. If I die, you’ll stay trapped. Murderer. Trapped in Hell.

She gathered herself again, fueled her straining muscles with the strength of survival, and rocketed up.

Water fumed, sliced through the mists to splash walls and floor in a small, violent tidal wave. Gripping the edge of the tub, she leaned over, choking, coughing out what she’d swallowed. Her stomach heaved, but she locked her arms around the rim. She wouldn’t be pulled under again.

“Keep your hands off me, you bitch.”

Wheezing, she crawled out of the tub and dropped weakly onto the soaked mat. As shudders racked her, she curled into a ball until she could find her breath. Her ears rang, and her heart thudded so brutally she wondered if she’d have bruised ribs to add to the rest.

She heard weeping.

“Your tears don’t mean a lot to me at the moment.” Not trusting herself to stand, she scooted over the floor until she could reach for a towel with a shaking hand, and pull it around her for warmth.

“I’ve lived with you all my life. I’ve tried to help you. And you try to drown me? In my own tub? I warned you I’d find a way to remove you from this house.”

The words didn’t come out nearly as strong or angry as she wanted. It was hard to sound in charge when her teeth were chattering, as much with fear as cold.

She jolted when the robe she’d hung on the back of the door drifted down and settled over her shoulders. “Why, thank you,” Roz said, and did manage sarcasm well enough. “How considerate of you, after trying to kill me, to see that I don’t catch cold. I’ve had about enough.”

She shoved her arms in the robe and drew it close as she got shakily to her feet.

Then she saw Amelia, through the thinning mists. Not
the madwoman with crazed eyes and wild hair who’d loomed over her while she’d fought for her life, but a shattered woman with tears on her cheeks, and her hands clasped as if in prayer.