Нора Робертс - The Search

He recognized by the pitch of her voice she jiggled midway between fury and a crying jag. It damn well couldn’t be helped.

“If you try to run this next class I’ll make a scene and you’ll lose every client in it. Believe me, I’ll make sure of it.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” She shoved him with considerably more strength than her pale face advertised. “Giving me ultimatums, threats, blackmail. Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the one who loves you. Goddamn it.”

“Don’t use that on me.”

“It’s what I’ve got.” Stupid, he realized. He’d let temper bump aside sense—and strategy. This wasn’t the way to handle her, and he knew it. “I can’t stand it.” He gave her the truth, harder for him than the threats. “I can’t stand seeing you like this.” He pulled her in. “You need a break. I’m asking you to take a break.”

“You weren’t asking.”

“Okay. I’m asking now.”

She sighed, hugely. “I look like shit.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“But that doesn’t mean I can’t handle my work, or that you get to call in the reserves without asking me.”

“We’ll make a trade.”

“What?” She pulled back. “A trade?”

“You take the break, Mai gets to cut off Jaws’s balls.” An ace in the hole, Simon figured, needed to be used sooner rather than later.

“Oh! That’s ridiculous. That’s wrong. That’s...” She fisted her hands at her temples. “Low. You’re using my belief in responsible pet ownership.”

“A couple hours down for you, a lifetime of never knowing the thrill of a woman for him. You get the shiny end on this.”

She shoved him back, strode out of the bathroom. Then she turned and scowled at him as he leaned against the doorjamb. “You’re going to do it anyway.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Part of me figures he ought to at least have a shot at a couple of willing bitches first. A guy should have some memories.”

“You’re stringing me.” But he only shrugged, let the silence hang. “Damn it. You’ll call Mai now, today, make an appointment?”

He opened his mouth and swore he felt his own balls shrink up. “No. You do it.”

“Okay, but no backing out.”

“What do you want, a pinkie swear? A deal’s a deal. Go take a shower.”

“I will, after I call Mai—and give Sylvia the roundup for the classes she’s taking.”

“Fair enough. You know how they have those weird-ass dog spas and dog salons and boutiques?”

She huffed, struggling to settle... somewhere. “Not everyone thinks they’re weird-ass, but yes.”

“They ought to have dog bordellos for times like this. A guy could at least have a bang before he becomes a eunuch.”

“You ought to look into that. There are enough people who think like you do that you’d probably make a fortune.” She glanced toward the front door as the dogs gave the alert. “That’s Syl now.”

He moved to the door ahead of her, checked for himself.

“Are you that worried?” she asked him.

“I don’t see any reason to take chances. Meg’s with her.”

“Oh.” She stepped out. “Hi. First, sorry, second, thanks.”

“First, don’t be sorry. Second, you’re welcome. It was my afternoon off, and Meg and I were doing a garden exchange. I’m overrun with daylilies and she’s got extra purple coneflowers.”

“So, I tagged along.” Meg spoke with calculated cheer. “You’ve got co-instructors.”

“And Simon’s right. Honey, you do look tired.”

“So I’ve been told,” Fiona said, shooting him one burning stare, “in less tactful terms. Come on in. I’ll give you the overview for the classes—and we’ve got some sun tea.”

“Sounds good.” Sylvia walked onto the porch, rose to her toes and kissed Simon on the cheek. “Good job.”

He smirked at Fiona over Sylvia’s head.

“Don’t encourage him.” Fiona went inside. “The first is a beginners’ class, and we’re working on the basics. You’re going to want to keep the sheltie mix away from the Goldendoodle. He’s determined she’s the love of his life, and he’ll hump her every chance he gets. There’s a border collie,” she continued as they reached the kitchen. “She’s honor-bound to try to spend the entire class herding everyone.”

“Any snappers?” Sylvia asked while Fiona got out glasses.

“No. They run in age from around three to six months, so there’s short attention span and some screwing around, but pretty good temperaments. In fact there’s... Meg?”

Fiona paused when she caught the stunned look on Meg’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“This is him.” She pressed a finger to the sketch on the counter. “The guy in our cabin. This is Frank.”

The glass started to dissolve in Fiona’s hand. She set it down before she dropped it. “Are you sure? Meg, are you sure?”

“It’s him. It’s not perfect, but it’s him. The eyes, the shape of the face. I know this is him. It’s a police sketch, isn’t it? Oh my God.”

“This is a police composite of what Eckle looks like now?” Sylvia’s voice was utterly calm and seemed to come from inside a wind tunnel. “Fee!”

“Yes. Yes. Davey brought it over earlier. Tawney sent it in to the sheriff.”

“Meg, go out and get Simon. Right now. Right now. Fee, call Agent Tawney. I’m calling the sheriff.”

But before she called the FBI, Fiona went upstairs and got her gun.

When she came down she’d found her calm, and ignored the quick look of distress on Sylvia’s face when her stepmother saw the gun strapped to her belt.

“The sheriff’s on his way.”

“So’s the FBI. They’ll coordinate with the sheriff en route. Everything’s under control.” Fiona laid a hand on Meg’s shoulder as her friend sat at the counter.

“I was alone with him in that cabin. I showed him through it last spring, chatted with him. And yesterday... Oh sweet Jesus, that poor woman was in the trunk while I was making small talk. That’s why Xena kept sniffing all around it. I should’ve known—”

“Why? How?” Fiona demanded. “Let’s just be grateful you’re okay, and you’re here, and you recognized the sketch.”

“I shook his hand,” Meg murmured, staring at her own. “And that makes me feel... God, I have to call Chuck.”

“I already did.” Sylvia moved behind Meg and began to rub her shoulders. “He’s coming.”

“You may have saved that reporter’s life,” Fiona pointed out. “You may have saved mine. Think of that. Simon.” She walked out of the kitchen to the living room, kept her voice low. “I know what you want to do. I can see it. You want to go over there, drag him out of that cabin and beat him to a pulp.”

“The thought crossed. I’m not stupid,” he said before she could speak. “And not willing to risk even the slim chance that he’d get away from me. I know how to wait.”

She took his hand, squeezed it. “He doesn’t. Not like Perry. It was wildly stupid to come here like this, and to bring her—he must’ve brought her.”

“Stupid, yeah, but if he got away with it? A big splash if they found the reporter dead all but in your goddamn backyard. Perry just wanted to kill. This guy wants to be somebody.”

“He’ll never get away.” Still, she rubbed her arms to warm them as she checked through the front window again. “He won’t get off the island. But he’s had her for two days now. She may already be dead.”

“If she’s got a chance, it’s because of you.”

“Me?”

“You’re not stupid. He brought her here to unravel you, to hurt you. He’s boxed himself in, and he may have hurt you, but he hasn’t unraveled you.”

“I like having you around.”