Chapter 13
"Did Kwest bite?" Tommy asked his brother later that afternoon.
"Like a hound on a skunk's trail. But if you ask me, what you're doing stinks just as much."
"That from a con man?" Cameron had sought to ease the pain of their parents' death by getting back at the slick swindler who'd cheated their father out of his savings in search of a miracle cure. Now he did the same for the underdog. Too bad it couldn't be on the right side of the law.
As usual, the comment slicked off Cameron's duck-smooth back. "You should have done it my way. He's not stupid, you know. He'll see through your trick."
"I know."
"What about the woman?"
Tommy's grip tightened on the receiver. His back teeth slid noisily against each other. "What about her?"
"Shouldn't she know you're rewriting her life?"
"I'll take care of her."
"She'll need to stop taking trips to the hospital in Nashua."
He took a deep breath. Jude would balk at that. Her grandmother seemed to mean the world to her. "I'll take care of her. Just set the trail, and hope Kwest stays on the scent. If you do your part properly, it'll buy me enough time."
There was silence on the other end, and Tommy could have sworn his brother was smiling.
"You've fallen for her!"
"It's not like that."
"If you say so." Cam chuckled. "But if you want my advice—
"Not on this subject." He swiped a hand through his hair. "Thank you, Cameron, for your help."
"No problem."
As Tommy placed the receiver back on it's cradle, he saw Jude standing at the library door. How much of his conversation with Cam had she overheard?"
"Jude—just who I wanted to see."
"About what?" She asked, instant suspicion visible in the growing tension of her body.
"Your grandmother."
"Something's happened?" Panic trembled through her voice.
"No, no." He rounded the desk, rushing to relieve her fear. This wasn't going as he'd planned. "We have a problem. If you keep visiting her, it'll attract Jamie's attention and put everything in jeopardy."
She turned away from him, fidgeting with the objects on his desk. She picked up the French tiger paperweight, caressed its curves, and scrutinized its surfaces. "I hope you didn't pay too much for this. It's been reground."
"I know, but I have a sentimental attachment to it."
She carefully placed the half globe on his desk and speared him pointedly with her gaze. "I have to go see her, Tommy. You promised—"
"Your brother—"
"Isn't dependable—"
"Jude…"
Before he had a chance to explain, Jamie's footsteps clipped loudly up the corridor.
"The traffic in the city was just beastly," Jamie said as he pushed his way into the library. He headed for the silent butler and poured himself a drink.
Tommy slipped an arm around Jude's waist and led her to the sitting area. He felt her shudder beneath his fingers, along with the unnerving zing of contact between them. But whatever attraction might exist was soiled by suspicion. Her spine was rigid against his bicep, her shoulders scrunched enough to leave a stiff space between them. As soon as she could, she sat in the chair next to Jamie's and broke their contact.
Tommy stood behind her and massaged the resistant muscles of her shoulders.
"How was your day, darling?" He asked her, putting reassurance in his hands and in his voice.
"Very revealing," she answered and looked up at him. Her smile carried with it a veiled threat. Good God, not her, too. It was bad enough Jamie's visit with Kwest had probably yielded him a sleeve-full of juicy tidbits with which to trip Jude.
"Really," said Jamie, "how so?" He leaned back in his seat and took a long sip from his drink. His mustache twitched. His eyes narrowed as he focused on her face.
"I realized I'd forgotten to mail the invitations to the fete. I can't imagine why I forgot. I'm usually such an organized person when it comes to things like that."
"It happens to the best of us," Jamie said.
"You've been so busy lately. How did you like that new composer, Serge Montreuil? I heard you went to his premiere last month."
Jude waved a hand as grandly as Alana had ever done. "His scores were ambitious and could stand some polishing, but he does have some potential in the future."
Tommy's fingers tightened unconsciously on Jude's shoulder. How had she known? Those were Alana's exact words to him the day after the premiere.
"How much money did you raise with your celebrity gala for the children's hospital last Labor Day?" Jamie asked.
"Unfortunately, not as much as expected." She placed a hand on one of Tommy's and looked up at him.
"Would you get me a drink, darling. I'll skip the gin and just have the tonic." She smiled at Jamie. "I've been trying to cut down. Maybe it'll help with the weight a bit."
Tommy forced his hands to release their hold on Jude's shoulder. Too spooky. It was as if Alana herself sat in that chair. Those thoughts were hers, too, not Jude's. He headed for the silent butler and splashed tonic water into a glass.
"I was quite disappointed at the turnout for the gala," Jude continued. "But then the mayor had his golf tournament the same weekend. I guess doctors prefer golfing to dancing!"
Tommy handed her the glass. He didn't like the gleam in her eyes. Too bright, too sharp, and sliced by anger.
"I trust the spill at the gala didn't cause permanent scar," Jamie said, glancing toward Tommy. Tommy wanted to loosen his tie. It felt like a noose around his neck. He headed to the bar to serve himself a drink instead, and regretted his decision when the liquor burned his throat and scorched his stomach.
"I think the dress bore the biggest brunt of the fall," Jude said. "It's ruined, but my knee feels much better." She lifted her right leg and moved the knee joint back and forth to prove her point. She'd chosen the correct one. How had she known? "It won't affect my enjoying the skiing season one bit, according to the doctors."
Watching her handle every one of Jamie's curveballs with ease was like watching Alana in action. Was he viewing a hallucination? Was Alana sitting before him, or Jude? He rubbed a fist over his eyes. Has he created a monster with his ambition?
He could almost hear Alana laughing at him from her grave.
Revenge, she'd sworn she'd have it.
She'd hated this place as much as he loved it. She's hated his decision to closet himself with his research as much as he reveled in the focus it afforded him. She'd hated his vision as much as it fired him.
Everything—his duty, his vision, his future—hung on the thin threads of fragile lies, and the complicated web he'd woven was falling around him, the strands ripping apart, the knots trapping him beneath.
Even dead, Alana would make sure she won.
Even dead, she would find a way to cut him to pieces.