Suzanna's Surrender

Chapter Ten

Holt waited for Trent in the pergola along the sea-wail. Lighting a cigarette, he looked over the wide lawn to The Towers. One of the gargoyles along the center peak had lost its head while the other sat grinning down, more charming than ferocious. There were clematis – he recognized it now – and roses climbing up to the first terrace. The old stone glowered in the hazy sunlight. There was really no other word for it, but the flowers gave it a kind of magical, Sleeping Beauty aura. Towers and turrets speared up, arrogant of form, dignified with age.

Scaffolding bracketed the west end, and the high whine of a power saw cut the air. A lift truck was parked under the balcony, its mechanism groaning as it hefted its load of equipment to a trio of bare – backed men. A radio jolted out tough rock.

Maybe it was right and just that the house held so tenaciously to the past even while it accepted the present, Holt mused. If it was possible for stone and mortar to absorb emotion and memory, The Towers had done so. Already he felt as though it harbored some of his.

The windows of the room where he had spent most of the night with Suzanna winked back at him. He remembered every second of those hours, every sigh, every movement. He also remembered that he had confused her. No, tenderness wasn't his style, he thought, but it had been easy with her.

She hadn't asked him for softness. She hadn't asked him for anything. Was that why he felt compelled to give? Without trying, she had tapped into something inside him he hadn't known was there – and was still more than a little uncomfortable with. Finding it, feeling it left him as vulnerable as she. He'd yet to work out the right way to tell her.

She deserved the music, the candlelight, the flowers. She deserved the soft poetic words. He was going to try to give them to her, no matter how big a fool it made him feel.

In the meantime, he had a job to do. He was going to find those damn emeralds for her. And he was going to put Livingston behind bars.

Holt tossed the cigarette away as he saw Trent come out of the house. In the pergola, they would have relative privacy. The clatter of construction echoed in countertime to the beat and drum of waves. Whatever they said wouldn't carry above ten feet. Anyone looking out of the house would see two men sharing a late – afternoon beer, away from the women.

Trent stepped inside and offered a bottle.

“Thanks.” Holt leaned negligently against a post and lifted the beer. “Did you get the list?”

“Yeah.” Trent took a seat on one of the stone benches so that he could watch the house as he drank. “We've only signed on four new men in the last month.”

“References?”

“Of course.” The faint annoyance in his tone was instinctive. “Sloan and I are well aware of security.”

Holt merely shrugged. “A man liked Livingston wouldn't have any problem getting references. They'd cost him.” Holt drank deeply. “But he'd get them.”

“You'd know more about that sort of thing than I.” Trent's eyes narrowed as he watched two of the men replacing shingles on the roof of the west wing. “But I have a hard time buying that he could be here, working right under our noses.”

“Oh, he's here.” Holt took out another cigarette, lighted it, then took a thoughtful drag. “Whoever tossed my place knew about the connection almost as soon as you did. Since none of you go around talking about the situation at cocktail parties, he'd have heard something here, in the house. He didn't sign on at the start of the job, because he was busy elsewhere. But the last few weeks...” He paused as the children ran out, dogs in tow, to race to their fort. “He wouldn't just sit and wait, not as long as there's a possibility you could knock out a wall and have the emeralds fall into your hand. And where better to keep an eye on things than inside?”

“It fits,” Trent admitted. “But I don't like the idea of my wife, or any of the others, being that close.” He thought of C.C., the baby she carried, and his eyes darkened. “If there's a chance you're right, I want to move on it.”

“Give me the list, and I'll check it out. I've still got connections.” Holt's gaze remained on the children. “He's not going to hurt any of them. That's a fact.”

Trent nodded. He was a businessman and had never done anything more violent than a little boxing in college. But he would do whatever it took to protect his wife and unborn child. “I filled Max in, and Sloan and Amanda decided to break off their honeymoon. They should be here in a couple of hours.”

That was good, Holt thought. It was best having the family all in one place. “What did Sloan tell her?”

“That there was some problem with the job.” More comfortable now that wheels were in motion, Trent grinned a little. “If she finds out he's stringing her along, there'll be hell to pay.”

“The less the women know, the better.”

This time Trent laughed. “If any of them heard you say that, you'd lose three layers of skin. They're a tough bunch.”

Holt thought of Suzanna. “They think they are.”

“No, they are. It took me quite a while to accept it. Individually they're strong – velvet – coated steel. Not to mention stubborn, impulsive and feverishly loyal. Together...” Trent smiled again. “Well, I'll admit I'd rather face a pair of sumo wrestlers than the Calhoun women on a roll.”

“When it's 'over, they can be as mad as they want.”

“As long as they're safe,” Trent finished, and noted that Holt was watching the children. “Great kids,” he commented.

“Yeah. They're okay.”

“They've got a hell of a mother.” Trent drank contemplatively. “Too bad they don't have a real father.”

Even the thought of Baxter Dumont made Holt's blood boil. “How much do you know about him?”

“More than I like. I know he put Suzanna through hell. He nearly broke her with the custody suit”

“Custody suit?” Stunned, Holt looked back. “He went after the kids?”

“He went after her,” Trent corrected. “What better way? She doesn't talk about it. I got the story from C.C. Apparently he was annoyed that she filed for the divorce. Not good for his image, particularly since he's got his eye on a senate seat. He dragged her through a long, ugly court battle, trying to prove she was unstable and unfit.”

“Bastard.” Choking on rage, Holt turned away to flick the cigarette onto the rocks.

“He didn't want them. The idea was to ship them off to a boarding school. Or that was the threat. He backed off when Suzanna made the settlement.”

His hands were on the stone rail now, fingers digging in. “What settlement?”

“She gave him damn near everything. He dropped the case so the arrangements could be made privately. He got the house, ail the property, along with a chunk of her inheritance. She could have fought it, but she and the kids were already an emotional mess. She didn't want to take any chances with them, or put them through any more stress.”

“No, she wouldn't.” Holt drank in a futile attempt to wash the bitterness from his throat. “He's not going to hurt her or the kids anymore. I'll see to it.”

“I thought you would.” Trent rose, satisfied. He pulled a list out of his pocket and exchanged it for Holt's empty bottle. “Let me know what you find out.”

“Yeah.”

“The séance tonight.” Trent saw Holt grimace and laughed again. “It may surprise you.”

“The only thing that surprises me is that Coco talked me into it.”

“If you plan on sticking around, you'll have to get used to being talked into all manner of things.”

He was going to stick around, all right. Holt thought as Trent walked away. He just needed to find the right way to tell Suzanna. After glancing at the names on the list. Holt tucked it away. He'd make a couple of calls and see what he could dig up.

As he started across the lawn, the dogs galloped up to him, Fred devotedly pressing to Sadie's side. When they stopped jumping long enough to be petted, Fred lapped frantically at her face. Sadie tolerated it, then turned away and ignored him.

“They've got a name for women like you,” Holt told her.

“Remember the Alamo!” Alex shouted. He stood spread legged on the roof of his fort, a plastic sword in his hand. Because he counted on his challenge being answered, his eyes gleamed as they met Holt's. “You'll never take us alive.”

“Oh yeah?” Unable to resist, Holt moved closer. “What makes you think I want you, monkey brain?”

“'Cause we're the patriots and you're the evil invaders.”

Jenny popped her head through an opening that served as a window. Before Holt could evade it, he was hit dead center of the chest with a splat of water from her pistol. Alex let out a triumphant hoot as Holt scowled down at his shirt.

“I suppose you know,” Holt said slowly, “this means war.”

As Jenny shrieked, he grabbed her and pulled her through the window. To her delight, he held her upside down so that her two blond ponytails brushed the grass.

“He's taken a hostage!” Alex bellowed. “Death to the last man.” He scrambled inside then burst out of the doorway, brandishing his sword. Holt barely had time to right Jenny before the little missile plowed into him. “Off with his head,” Alex chanted, echoed by his sister. Holt let his body go lax and took them both to the ground with him.

There were screams and giggles as he wrestled with them. It wasn't as easy as he'd supposed. They were both agile and slick, wriggling out of his hold to attack. He found himself at a disadvantage as Alex sat on his chest and Jenny found a spot on his ribs to tickle.

“I'm going to have to get rough,” he warned them. When he took a spray of water in the face, he swore, making them both howl with laughter. A quick roll and he dislodged the pistol, then snatched it up to drench them both. With shrieks and giggles, they fell on him.

It was a wet and messy battle, and when he finally managed to pin them, they were all out of breath.

“I massacred you both,” Holt managed. “Say uncle.” Jenny poked a finger in his ribs, making him twitch. In defense he lowered his cheek to her neck and rubbed a day's worth of stubble over her skin.

“Uncle, uncle, uncle!” She screamed, gurgling with laughter. Satisfied, he used the same weapon on Alex until victorious, he rolled over and lay stomach down on the grass.

“You killed us,” Alex admitted, not displeased. “But you're morally wounded.”

“Yeah, but I think you mean mortally.”

“Are you going to take a nap?” Jenny climbed onto his back to bounce. “Lilah sleeps in the grass sometimes.”

“Lilah sleeps anywhere,” Holt muttered.

“You can take a nap in my bed if you want,” she invited, then pressed a curious finger on the edge of the scar she saw beneath his hitched-up T-shirt. “You have a hurt on your back.”

“Uh – huh.”

Alex was already scrambling to look. “Can I see?”

Holt tensed automatically, then forced himself to relax. “Sure.”

As Alex pushed up the shirt, both children's eyes widened. It wasn't like the neat little scar they had both admired on his leg. This was long and jagged and mean, slashing from the waist so high up on his back they couldn't push the shirt up enough to see the end of it.

“Gee,” was all Alex could think to say. He swallowed, then gamely touched a finger to the scar. “Did you get in a big fight?”

“Not exactly.” He remembered the pain, the incredible flash of white heat.

“One of the bad guys got me,” he said, and hoped it would satisfy. When he felt Jenny's little mouth lower to his back, he went very still.

“Does it feel better now?” she asked.

“Yeah.” He had to let out a long breath to steady his voice. “Thanks.” Turning over, he sat up to brush a hand through her hair.

Suzanna stood a few feet away, watching them with her heart in her throat. She'd seen the battle from the kitchen doorway. It had touched her to see how easily Holt had joined in the game with her children. She'd been smiling when she'd started out to join them – then she had watched Jenny and Alex examining the scar on Holt's back, and Jenny's kiss to make it better. She had seen the look of ragged emotion on Holt's face when he'd turned to sweep his hand over her little girl's hair.

Now the three of them were on the grass, Jenny cuddled on his lap, Alex's arm slung affectionately around his shoulder. She took a moment to make certain her eyes were dry before she continued toward them.

“Is the war over?” she asked, and three pair of eyes lifted. “He won,” Alex told her.

“It doesn't look as though it was an easy victory.” She scooped Jenny up when the girl lifted her arms. “You're all wet.”

“He blasted us – but I got him first.” “That's my girl.”

“And he's ticklish,” Jenny confided. “'Real ticklish.”

“Is that so?” Suzanna sent Holt a slow smile. “I'll keep that in mind. Now you two scat. I noticed nobody put away the game you were playing.”

“But, Mom –” Alex had his excuses ready, but she stopped them with a look.

“If you don't clean it up, I will,” she said mildly. “But then I'll have your share of strawberry shortcake tonight.”

That was a tough one. Alex agonized over it for a minute, then caved in. “I'll do it. Then I get Jenny's share.”

“Do not.” Jenny sprinted toward the house with her brother giving chase. “Very smooth, Mom,” Holt commented as he rose.

“I know their weaknesses.” She put her arms around him, surprising and pleasing him. It was very rare for her to make the first move. “You're all wet, too.”

“Sniper fire, but I picked them off like flies.” Bringing her closer, he rested his cheek on her hair. “They're terrific kids, Suzanna. I'm, ah...” He didn't know how to tell her he'd fallen in love with them, any more than he knew how to tell her he'd fallen in love with their mother. “I'm getting you wet.” Feeling awkward, he drew away.

Smiling, she touched a hand to his cheek. “Want to take a walk?”

He thought of the list in his pocket. It could wait an hour, he decided, and took her hand.

He'd known she would head to the cliffs. It seemed right that they would walk there as the shadows lengthened and the air cooled toward evening. She talked a little of the job she'd finished that day, he of the hull he'd repaired. But their minds weren't on work.

“Holt.” She looked out to sea, her hand in his. “Will you tell me why you resigned from the force?” She felt his fingers stiffen, but didn't turn.

“It's done,” he said flatly. “There's nothing to tell.” “The scar on your back –”

“I said it's done.” He withdrew and pulled out a cigarette.

“I see.” She absorbed the rejection. “Your past and your personal feelings about it are none of my business.”

He took an impatient drag. “I didn't say that.”

“You certainly did. You have the right to know all there is to know about me. I'm supposed to trust you with everything, unquestioningly. But I'm not to pry into what's yours.”

He turned angry eyes on her. “What is this, some kind of test?”

''Call it what you like,” she tossed back. “I'd hoped you trusted me by now, that you cared enough to let me in.”

“I do care, damn it. Don't you know it still rips me up to remember it? Ten years of my life, Suzanna. Ten years.” He whirled away to flick the cigarette over the edge.

“I'm sorry.” Instinctively she put her hands on his shoulders to soothe. “If anyone knows how painful it is to dredge up old wounds, it's me. Why don't we go back? I'll see if I can find you a clean shirt.”

“No.” His jaw was clenched, his body tight as a spring. “You want to know, you've got a right. I tossed it in because I couldn't handle it. I spent ten years telling myself I could make a difference, that none of the crap I had to wade through would affect me. I could rub shoulders with dealers and pimps and victims all day and not lose any sleep at night. If I had to kill somebody, it was line of duty. Not something you want to think about too much, but something you live with. I saw a few cops burn out along the way, but it wasn't going to happen to me.”

She said nothing, just continued to rub at the knotted muscles of his shoulders while she waited for him to go on. He kept looking out to sea, smelling her, and the dusky scent of the wild roses that were at peak.

“Vice takes you into the pits, Suzanna. You get so you understand the people you're trying to wipe out. You think like them. You have to when you go under, or you don't come out again. There are things I'm never going to tell you, because I do care. Ugly things, and I just...” He closed his eyes, and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I just didn't want to see it anymore. I was already thinking about coming back here – just sort of kicking it around.”

Suddenly weary, he lifted his hands to rub the heels over his eyes. “I was tired, Suzanna, and I wanted to live like a normal person again. The kind who doesn't strap on a gun every day or make deals with slime in back rooms. We were on a routine investigation, looking for a small – time dealer who we thought we could pressure information out of. Doesn't matter why,” he said impatiently. “Anyway, we got a tip where to find him, and when we cornered him in this little dive, he snapped. Turned out the jerk had about twenty thousand in coke strapped under his clothes, and more than a couple lines in his system. He panicked. He dragged some halfstoned woman with him and bolted.”

His palms were beginning to sweat, so he wiped them against his jeans. “My partner and I separated to cut him off. He pulled the woman out in the alley. With us on either end, he didn't have any hope of getting away. I had my weapon out. It was dark. The garbage had turned.”

He could still smell it, rank and fetid, as the sweat began to run down his back. “I could hear my partner coming up the other side, and hear the woman crying. He'd sliced her up a little and she was balled up on the concrete. I couldn't be sure how bad she was hurt. I remember thinking the creep was going to be up for more than distribution. Then he jumped me. He had the knife in before I could get off a shot.”

He could still feel it ripping through his flesh, still smell his own blood. “I knew I was dead, and I kept thinking that I wouldn't be able to come home. That I was going to die in that damn alley with the stink of that garbage. I killed him as I went down. That's what they told me. I don't remember. The thing I remember next was waking up in the hospital feeling like I'd been sliced in half and sewn back together. I told myself that if I made it, I was coming back here. Because I knew if I had to walk down another alley, I wouldn't come back out.”

Suzanna had her arms tight around him now, her cheek pressed against his back. “Do you think because you came home instead of facing another alley, you failed?”

“I don't know.”

“I did, for a long time. No one had put a knife in my back, but I came to understand that if I stayed with Bax, if I'd kept that promise, part of me would die. I chose survival, do you think I should be ashamed of that?”

“No.” He turned, taking her shoulder. “No.”

She lifted her hands to cup his face. In her eyes was understanding, and the sympathy he couldn't have accepted even a week before. “Neither do I. I hate what happened to you, but I'm glad it brought you here.” Offering comfort, she touched her lips to his. Slowly, with a sweetness that was unbearably moving, she felt him let go.

His body relaxed against hers even as he pulled her closer. His mouth softened even as it heated. Here, at last, was the next level. There was not only passion, not only tenderness, but trust. As the wind whispered through the wild grass and the bright, brave flowers, she thought she heard something else, something so quiet and lovely that it brought tears to her eyes. When he lifted his head, when she saw his face, she knew he'd heard it, too. She smiled.

“We're not alone here,” she murmured. “They must have stood in this same spot, holding each other like this. Wanting each other like this.” Filled with the moment, she pressed his hand to her lips. “Holt, do you believe that fate and time can run in a circle?”

“I'm beginning to.”

“They still come here, to wait. I wonder if they ever find each other. I think they will, if we can make things right.” She kissed him again, then slipped an arm around his waist. “Let's go home. I have a feeling it's going to be an interesting evening.”

“Suzanna,” he began as they started back. “After the séance...” He trailed off, looking pained, and made her laugh.

“Don't worry, at The Towers we only have friendly ghosts.”

“Right Just don't expect me to put much stock in chanting and trances, but anyway, I was wondering if after – look, I know you don't like to leave the kids, but I thought you could come back to my place for a little while. There's some stuff I want to talk to you about.”

“What stuff?”

“Just – stuff,” he said lamely. If he was going to ask her to marry him, he wanted to do it right. “I'd appreciate it if you could get away for an hour or two.”

“All right, if it's important. Is it about the emeralds?”

“No. It's...I'd rather wait, okay? Listen, I've got a couple of things to do before we start calling up spirits.”

“Aren't you going to stay for dinner?”

“I can't. I'll be back.” As they came up the slope and passed the stone wall, he pulled her against him for a brief hard kiss. “See you later.”

She frowned after him and might have pursued, but her name was called from the second – level terrace. Shading her eyes, she saw her sister.

“Amanda!” With a laugh, she raced across the lawn and up the stone steps. “What are you doing back?” She gathered the new bride into her arms and squeezed. “You look wonderful – but you were supposed to be gone nearly another week. Is anything wrong?”

“No, nothing.” She kissed both of Suzanna's cheeks. “Come on, I'll fill you in.”

“Where are we going?”

“Bianca's tower. Family meeting.”

They climbed up, then went inside to ascend the narrow circular stairs that led to the tower. C.C. and Lilah were already waiting.

“Aunt Coco?” Suzanna asked.

“We'll let her know what we discuss,” Amanda answered. “But it would look too suspicious if we pulled her up here now.”

With a nod, Suzanna took a seat on the floor at Lilah's feet. “So I take it this is women only?”

“No more than they deserve,” C.C. said, and crossed her arms. “They've been skulking off to have their boy's club meetings for days now. It's time we set things straight.”

“Max has definitely got something up his sleeve,” Lilah put in. “He's acting much too innocent. And, he's been hanging around the construction crew for the last couple of days.”

“I don't suppose he wants to learn how to set tile,” Suzanna murmured.

“If he did, he'd have twenty books on it by now.” Lilah rolled her shoulders and leaned back. “And this afternoon when I got home from work, I saw Trent and Holt powwowing in the pergola. Somebody who didn't know better might have thought they were just hanging out and having a beer, but something was going on.”

“So they know something they're not telling us.” Thoughtful, Suzanna drummed her fingers on her knees. She'd had a feeling something was going on, but Holt had done such a good job of distracting her, she hadn't acted on it.

“Sloan had a long, mumbling conversation with Trent on the phone two days ago. He claimed there was some problem with materials that he had to see to personally.” Tossing her hair, Amanda gave a sniff. “And he thought I was stupid enough to buy it. He wanted to get back because they're on to something – and they want to keep the little women out of the way.”

“Fat chance,” C.C. muttered. “I'm for marching downstairs right now and demanding they tell us whatever they know. If Trent thinks I'm going to sit around twiddling my thumbs while he handles Calhoun business, he's got another think coming.”

“Bamboo shoots and brass knuckles,” Lilah mused, not terribly displeased with the image. “That'll just make them more stubborn. Male egos on the line, ladies. Get out your hard hats and flak jackets.”

Suzanna laughed and patted her leg. “You've got a point. Let's see what we know... Sloan gets called back so they must think they're getting close. I can't see them being secretive if they thought they'd hit on the location of the emeralds.”

“Neither can I.” Because she thought best on her feet, Amanda paced. “Remember how stiff – necked they got when we decided to look for the yacht Max had jumped off? Sloan threatened to...what was it? Hog – tie,” she said viciously. “Yes, that was it. He threatened to hog – tie me if I so much as thought about trying to find Livingston on my own.”

“Trent won't even discuss Livingston with me,” C.C. added, then wrinkled her nose. “It isn't good for me to be upset in my delicate condition.”

From her sprawled perch on the window seat, Lilah gave a hoot. “I'd like to see any man go through childbirth then have the nerve to call a woman delicate.”

“Holt says that Livingston is out of our league. Ours,” Suzanna explained, making a circular motion with her finger. “Not his.”

“Jerk.” C.C. plopped down on the window seat beside Lilah. “So are we agreed? They've got a line on Livingston and they're keeping it to themselves.”

The vote was unanimous.

“Now, we need to find out what they know.” Amanda stopped pacing and tapped her foot. “Suggestions?”

“Well...” Suzanna looked down at her nails and smiled. “I say divide and conquer. The four of us should be able to dig information out of the meach in our own way. Then we rendezvous here, tomorrow, same time, and put the pieces together.”

“I like it.” Lilah sat up to put a hand on Suzanna's shoulder. “The poor guys haven't got a chance.”

Suzanna reached up to lay her hand on Lilah's as Amanda and C.C. added theirs. “And when it's over,” she said, “maybe they'll realize the Calhoun women take care of their own.”