JAKrentz - Witchcraft (24 page)

"Yes, I think you will. And I'll try to make you a good wife,
Cavenaugh
." They stood quietly for a long moment, absorbing the impact of their simple promises to each other. And then Kimberly turned to walk down the hall to her bedroom. "Good night," she said, not quite knowing what else to say. It was obvious he didn't intend to follow her. "Good night, Kim." She was almost at the door of her bedroom when his voice stopped her once more. "Kim?" Her head came up quickly. Had he changed his mind about sleeping with her? She would welcome him, she thought. She would welcome him with all her heart. "I think you should invite your grandparents to the wedding, Kim." Kimberly's mouth curved wryly and she lifted silently beseeching eyes heavenward. "You don't know when to quit, do you,
Cavenaugh
?" She slammed the door of her bedroom behind her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Starke had ignored the wedding champagne and concentrated on whiskey most of the evening. Kimberly decided he'd had enough to put him in one of his philosophical moods, and when she found herself momentarily alone she decided to talk to him. Holding her champagne glass in one hand she lifted the skirts of her wedding gown with the other and moved quickly across the crowded room. "Enjoying yourself, Starke?" She smiled. His craggy face cracked into a genuine grin.

"Would you believe this is only the second wedding I've been to in my entire life?"

"When was the first?"

"My own."

"Oh." Kimberly tilted her head, uncertain about whether or not to pry further. "Somehow, I don't see you married," she ventured. "Neither did I. But I was only nineteen and the girl claimed she was pregnant." He shrugged his massive shoulders. "I thought I ought to do the right thing."

"But she wasn't pregnant?" Kimberly hazarded. "No. And my wife quickly decided that marriage wasn't all it was made out to be. Not when you're nineteen and stone broke. We split by mutual agreement within six months."

"I see."

He gave her a sharp glance. "Hey, you're not drawing any parallels here, are you? Believe me, if you're pregnant, Dare's going to be thrilled." Kimberly felt the blush stain her cheeks and concentrated determinedly on the cluster of men across the room.
Cavenaugh
, austerely formal in his conservative wedding jacket and ruffled shirt, was the focus of the laughing, jesting group. She was married to him now, Kimberly had to remind herself. Tied to him with vows and a band of gold. But she felt more nervously uncertain about his true feelings and thoughts tonight than she had at any point during the entire time she had known him. It was no wonder she was so apprehensive. For the past six weeks they had seen relatively little of each other. Kimberly had stayed in her beach house working on Vendetta, and
Cavenaugh
`=-«/' had only come to see her on the weekends. When he was there he had slept on the sofa. On the one or two occasions when she had spent a weekend at his home, he had kissed her good night at her bedroom door. She did not fully understand his restraint or the rather cautious, distant way he treated her. Kimberly knew it probably had something to do with
Cavenaugh's
determination not to "pressure" her. But she couldn't help wondering if he intended to spend his wedding night in his own bedroom.

There was no telling how far
Cavenaugh
would let his sense of responsibility and duty take him. "Kim?" Starke's voice held a note of concern. "Don't look so uneasy. Dare won't mind at all."

"Mind what?"

She pulled her attention away from her husband's hard-edged profile. "If you're pregnant."

"That's very reassuring," she said with commendable lightness, "but as it happens, I'm not."

"Oh. Too bad. Dare should have a couple of kids." "To, uh, carry on the
Cavenaugh
name?" Kimberly asked dryly. "No, just because he'd make a good father." Kimberly peered at her oblivious husband. "Do you think so?"

"Yeah. Your grandparents would love some, too. They're having a good time tonight, aren't they?"

Starke glanced with satisfaction to the far edge of the crowd where Wesley
Marland
and his wife were chatting enthusiastically with Aunt
Milly
and several of her friends. Starke was right. They were delighted with the wedding, embarrassingly grateful to have been invited. And they would adore a couple of grandchildren. "
Cavenaugh
made me invite them, you know," Kimberly confided after another sip of champagne. "Or perhaps I should say he strongly advised it."

"Dare wanted to tie up all the loose ends," Starke said bluntly. "He's like that. How are you getting along with the
Marlands
?"

"With cautious politeness," Kimberly admitted honestly. "Well, look at it this way," Starke advised, "some people don't even have a cautiously polite relationship with their relatives!"

"I suppose you're right." "Do you really hate them?" Kimberly thought about that for a split second and then shook her head. "No." It was the truth. She still wasn't certain how she felt about her grandparents but she knew she didn't hate them.

Perhaps she was simply too much in love with
Cavenaugh
to have any emotion left over for something as useless as hate. "I told Dare he was an idiot to force you into meeting them," Starke informed her, sipping his whiskey. "But maybe he was right. Maybe it was the most efficient way of handling the situation. Dare's instincts are usually pretty solid."

"Uh-huh, well, if he ever springs a surprise like that on me again, I'll probably break his neck."

"I don't think you'll have to worry about Dare doing anything so risky for a long while," Starke said
consideringly
. "He's been handling you with kid gloves for the past six weeks." Kimberly bit her lip, knowing Starke was right and knowing, too, that she didn't really want that kind of cautious treatment from
Cavenaugh
. Determinedly she changed the subject. "Aunt
Milly
finally seems recovered from the shock of finding out Ariel was the villain of the piece. I was afraid she was going to go on blaming herself indefinitely for what happened."

"Dare wouldn't let her do that," Starke said with a wryly crooked mouth. "He insisted on taking all the blame himself."

"He' s big on assuming responsibility." Kimberly sighed. "It's in his blood," Starke opined. "Comes naturally to him. Some men are like that." Kimberly slanted him a sardonic glance. "Is that so?"

"Yeah. But there's a price tag attached."

"What do you mean?" Starke hesitated, as if trying to find the best way of saying what he had to say. "Men who have the guts to handle a lot of responsibility usually have the well, uh, the assertiveness it takes to make sure things get done right."

"Assertiveness?" Kimberly tasted the word. "You mean the arrogance, the overbearing, domineering, stubborn machismo that it takes to railroad everyone into doing things the way said male wants them done?" Starke looked pleased at her understanding. "Something like that."

"Forget assertiveness. Tell me about the dagger. What did you ever find out about it?" Starke shrugged. "Dare was right. Some of our old contacts in the import business finally recognized it. The design dates back a few centuries to a style that was used in Europe at one time by people who called themselves witches."

"How did Ariel get hold of it?" Kimberly asked. "This particular dagger wasn't really old.

It's a copy. Ariel apparently found a drawing in one of her occult books and took it to a
knifemaker
who made it up for her. We would have eventually found the guy who did it. There aren't that many good custom
knifemakers
around. But we wouldn't have found him in time."

"Did the authorities ever find out how
Zorah
and
Emlyn
came to be involved with Ariel?"

"
Zorah's
real name is Charlotte Martin.
Emlyn's
name is Joseph Williams." Kimberly grimaced. "So much for the exotic names. Ariel's doing, no doubt."

"She ran into them when she was exploring sources for some of the herbs she was always experimenting with. Charlotte ran an herb shop and Joe was her boyfriend. Poor Charlotte really wanted to believe in Ariel's power and the possibility having it passed on to her.

Joe was far more practical about the situation. He's the kind of guy who will always be looking for a fast buck. He thought Ariel's kidnapping plans might work. When they didn't he stuck around because he still thought there was a possibility of getting money out of Dare.

When Ariel said they had to kill you he went along with it because you were the only one who could identify Charlotte. You'd seen her face to face at the house the day you rescued Scott." Kimberly shuddered. "So they hired some street punk to do the job. Ariel was the one who let him onto the grounds that night, I suppose." Starke nodded. "Luckily Ariel insisted it had to be done in a ceremonial fashion. She's the one who said he wouldn't get paid unless he wore the right outfit and used the proper weapon. The punk is still complaining about the limitations she put on him, according to Cranston."

"All of which probably saved my life that night." Kimberly shook her head ruefully. "What a situation."

"Going to get a book out of it?"

"You bet!" "I like your books," Starke told her seriously. "That Josh Valerian guy's a little strange, but I like the stories." "What's wrong with Josh?" Kimberly demanded. ', he's not exactly realistic," Starke said carefully. "I mean, all that business about being able to understand the heroine isn't so weird. But having him always feel the same way about things, see them in the same way she does. That's weird."

"You think so?" Kimberly asked wistfully.

"Yup. Valerian's supposed to be a man. Men don't see things quite the same way women do. Nearly drove Dare crazy trying to figure out how he could compete with a fantasy."

"He managed." Kimberly shot back dryly.

"Does Dare know that?" Kimberly glanced up at him quizzically. "I think so," she said very seriously. "Then why's he acting so carefully around you?"

"You noticed?"

"Who hasn't?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Kimberly said evenly. Then she told herself that now was as good a time as any to ask a question that had been on her mind. She gauged the amount of whiskey Starke had had to drink and decided to take the plunge. "I've been wondering about something, Starke," she began with deceptive lightness. "What is it exactly that you and
Cavenaugh
imported and exported?" Starke blinked owlishly. "Stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Junk. Trinkets, jewelry, odd things from different corners of the world.
Cavenaugh
bought whatever took his fancy and whatever he thought he could sell."

"Starke, why do I have the feeling you are not being one hundred percent straightforward with me?"

"Uh, I think
Cavenaugh
is trying to get your attention."

"Starke ... " She gave up. "I think I'd like more champagne." "What a coincidence," Starke said brightly. "Here comes Dare and he's carrying two glasses."
Cavenaugh's
emerald eyes seemed to glitter with a curious intensity as he took in the sight of his wife, but his voice was lacking in expression. Instead he was as coolly polite as he had been for the past six weeks. "More champagne, Kim?" She smiled equally coolly, setting down her empty glass to accept the full one he handed to her. "You must have read my mind."

"I do my best. Starke, I just saw Ginny Adams. She's looking for you." To Kimberly's astonishment the normally unflappable Starke suddenly looked slightly nervous. He ran his finger around his collar and then checked his tie. "Was she?" He nodded formally at Kimberly and then muttered, "Excuse me." Kimberly stared after him as he forged through the crowd toward the attractive, forty-year-old woman near the door. ' Adams?" Kimberly asked. "I think they make a good pair. Ginny needs someone solid and dependable like Starke. Her husband left her last year."

"Oh. I hadn't realized Starke had a, uh, romantic interest in her."

"You haven't been here enough during the past six weeks to keep track of what's been going on. Finish Vendetta?"

"No, but I made a lot of progress." Kimberly gulped the champagne, feeling uncomfortable and shy around her husband. Most of their conversations lately had been like this, polite but rather distant. Kimberly had told herself everything would be all right once they were married, but now she was beginning to wonder if she'd been deluding herself. "Something wrong, Kim?"

"As a matter of fact, you can answer a question for me," she began assertively. "A question Starke wouldn't answer? Is that why he was looking so uncomfortable when I arrived?"

"I only wanted to know what it was you two really imported and exported. A simple enough question. And don't tell me it was junk."
Cavenaugh
eyed her speculatively. "A lot of it was."

"But what else was involved?" He hesitated and then shrugged.

"Occasionally Starke and I handled transactions involving information.

We were sometimes in a position to acquire useful details that regular government agents couldn't get. Does that satisfy your mystery writer's curiosity?"

"Uh, yes, but tell me-" He cut off the flow of her questions with a curious half smile. "That's it, Kim. That's all you get from me on the subject. And I hope I never see anything close to it in one of your books." His expression softened briefly when he saw the disappointment in her eyes. "I really can't talk about it."