Here With Me (27 page)

“You, maybe more than some, know how
difficult it is to lose someone you love.”

She did. It made her feel awful that she had
tried to trick him into her bed. “I pushed you. I hope you can
forgive that,” she said.

She heard him sigh. “I’m a man, Melody. A man
more than capable of making his own decisions. You didn’t push me
into anything. I don’t want you feeling bad.”

She felt horrible. And lost. And alone. “I’m
okay,” she lied. “Maybe we should go back-”

The front door of the tasting room opened and
light spilled out into the dark night. She hardly even felt George
move but suddenly his finger was up against her lips, telling her
to be quiet.

Two men, both wearing dark suits, came out.
The men walked directly over to an SUV that was parked next to the
building. Melody realized it had been there the whole time but
she’d missed it because of the darkness. The men got in, started
the car, and pulled out of the drive, not turning on their lights
until they reached the gate.

Seconds later, Louis filled the open doorway,
once again almost blocking out the light. He stood there, staring
off toward the fading taillights. There was just enough light that
Melody could see that he looked very serious. He stood there a full
minute after the lights could no longer be seen. Then he stepped
back into the tasting room and shut the door behind him.

George didn’t waste any time. “Let’s get
inside,” he whispered. He got up and helped Melody to her feet.
Once inside he pulled the blanket off her shoulders and put it back
on the couch, just the way it had been. Then he motioned for her go
upstairs. “I’m going to clean up our sandwich mess,” he said. “Go
upstairs. Don’t turn on or off any lights.”

“What do you think that was all about?”

He shook his head. “We’ll talk later. Go now.
He could come inside any minute.”

Melody went upstairs; she’d barely gotten
into bed when George came in. The bathroom light had been on when
they left with the door cracked just a hair. It gave off enough
light that she could make out his shape as he sat on the empty side
of the bed.

“Did you know those men?” he asked.

“I don’t think so. I mean, that’s not
unusual. I haven’t been living here for many years so there are
lots of Louis’s friends that I don’t know.”

“They didn’t look all that friendly.”

“I know,” she said. “And it’s sort of late
for a wine-tasting event. Although I suppose they could be
buyers.”

“At this time of night?”

“I know it sounds weird but the wine business
is very competitive. Especially in the restaurant market. Good
placement on the wine list at a popular restaurant can make or
break a vintage. If you can get the wine steward to recommend your
wine, all the better.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” George said.

“Deals get made. Wine brokers, the people who
are in a position to influence those kinds of things, sometimes
enjoy the finer things in life, compliments of the winning
winery.”

“Bribery.”

“Yes. Grandmother is adamantly opposed but I
wouldn’t put it past Tilly or Louis.”

George rubbed his chin in contemplation. “I
guess it’s possible. Would you want to tell your grandmother?”

“I’m not sure what I’d tell her. It’s all
just speculation on my part.” It was frustrating that things were
going on and she had no reasonable explanation for them. But she
couldn’t accuse Louis of something unless she had proof. He was
family. She had to give him the benefit of the doubt. “Maybe they
were playing cards? Or maybe it was like a Mary Kay party for men
and they were getting facials?”

“Mary Kay? Facials?”

“Cosmetics. Pink cars,” she added.

“What?”

Oh for goodness’ sakes. “Never mind.”

He stood up. “We both need some sleep.” He
laid down on the carpet, with his shirt on this time. He didn’t
bother with the quilt.

Ten minutes later, she sat up in bed. “There
are two locked drawers in the wine shed,” she said. “There have
never been locked drawers before. Do you think that has anything to
do with what we saw tonight?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t think
Louis used that office.”

She lay back in bed. “You’re right. It’s
probably nothing.”

It was a good five minutes later when he
said, “I didn’t say it was nothing, Melody. Do me a favor, okay?
Keep an eye out for trouble and don’t take any unnecessary
chances.”

“George, don’t you think you’re
overreacting?”

“There is no such thing when it comes to
either yours or your child’s safety.”

The words hung in the air, then floated down,
until they lay heavy on her heart. He cared. Damn him, he cared.
But he’d loved and lost and he was afraid to love again. If there
was anything she understood, it was that.

She’d loved her parents and lost them. She’d
loved both Sarah and Miguel and they, too, had been taken. But to
lose a spouse, to lose the one person that completes you? She
pressed her hand against her belly. To lose a child before it ever
even had a chance to live?

It was horrible and her soul ached for him.
He was a good man and it hurt to think that he’d suffered so.

“George,” she said.

“Yes.” He sounded sleepy.

“Thank you for telling me about your wife and
your baby.”

He was silent for a long minute and she
wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Finally, he said, “I wanted you to
know. Not so that you’d feel sorry for me but that maybe you’d
understand me a little better.”

She understood all right. He’d loved and lost
and he’d have no part in causing that kind of pain for somebody
else.

She closed her eyes and willed herself not to
cry. He didn’t know it was too late. She’d already fallen in love
with him. But that would stay her secret. He didn’t need her adding
to his already heavy load.

***

George waited until he was sure that Melody
was asleep. Then he carefully folded back his quilt and stood up.
Something was bothering him and he couldn’t sleep until he’d put it
to rest.

He walked out into the hallway and up the
stairs to the third floor. As he expected, the two dogs lay in
front of Genevieve’s door. He took a step forward and their ears
went up and they growled menacingly. Based on Melody’s story about
how they’d reacted to Louis when he’d gotten too close, he figured
if he took another step, he’d be lucky to get away with all his
toes.

Plus, everyone in the house would be wide
awake. He needed to find another way.

He walked down the three flights of stairs.
On his way out the front door, he detoured through the dining room
and grabbed one of the candles that had been burning earlier. He
walked over to the sideboard and opened the top drawer. He felt
around, stopping when his hand came upon matches.

It wouldn’t be as good as a lantern but
better than nothing. He couldn’t take a chance and turn on any of
the electric lights. He put the candle and the matches in his
pocket and walked out the front door. It was so dark outside that
if he hadn’t known where he was going, it would have made for some
difficult travel. As it was, he walked slower than usual, making
sure that he didn’t trip over any unexpected obstacles.

When he reached the cement paddock, it took
him a minute to find the ladder that was now leaning up against the
wall, half the height it had been earlier. He grabbed it and
shifted it horizontal. Now he was thankful for the thick cover of
darkness. He didn’t need anybody looking outside and seeing what he
was up to. He carried the ladder around the side of the house and
through the arbor. When he judged that he was close to the right
spot, he set the legs of the ladder on the most even ground he
could find.

It was a damn big house and the lines of the
roof, where the second and third floor jutted out from the main
part of the house, had a steep slope. He knew from studying the
house in the daytime that the roof of the first floor had to be at
least thirty feet in the air. It took him a minute to figure out
how to extend the ladder, but once he did, he took a deep breath
and started climbing. It was so dark that each step felt like he
was edging into a big black hole.

By the time he reached a spot where he could
step off onto the roof, he was hot and generally irritated that he
had to go to such extreme measures. The ladder went on another five
or so feet but it wasn’t enough to get him to the roof of the
second floor.

It took him less than five minutes to figure
out that his best chance was crawling up the outside of the
chimney. There were just deep enough crevices between the bricks to
provide for hand and footholds.

He held his breath the whole way, hoping like
hell he didn’t dislodge some brick and send it cascading across the
shingles, only to have it bounce onto the driveway. But everything
held solid and soon he was standing on the roof of the second
floor. It had an even steeper pitch, and he dropped to his knees to
keep his balance.

He crawled over to where the third story
jutted up into the black night. It was flatter here so he stood and
felt his way around the structure until he found the window he was
looking for.

His heart was beating fast in his chest. This
was a crazy thing to be doing but he’d come too far to stop now. He
had to know. Had to start putting some explanations to the things
that he didn’t understand.

He put the heel of one hand against the
wooden frame and pushed. It made a soft noise as it slid up and he
waited to hear something from inside the room, something that would
tell him that he’d been discovered.

But it was quiet. He pushed it up farther and
stuck his head inside. It was pitch black inside. “Genevieve,” he
whispered.

No response. “Genevieve,” he said again.

He waited through another minute of silence
before climbing in the window. Once inside, he pulled the candle
and matches out of his pocket and on the second try, got the candle
lit. He held it up.

It was a big messy room. He guessed it to be
twenty-by-twenty, and there wasn’t a square foot of clear space.
There were stacks and stacks of papers, piles of clothes, and dirty
dishes everywhere.

There was a hell of a lot in the room but not
what he was looking for. There was no Genevieve. The bed was empty.
He walked past it and looked in the bath. He felt the towels that
were hanging from the hook. They were dry.

He wanted to be surprised but in his heart,
from the minute Tilly had told him and Melody that Genevieve had
disappeared into her room again, he’d known that something was
wrong. And he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that it had
something to do with him.

Where the hell was she? An old woman couldn’t
just disappear.

His knees felt weak and he sat down on the
edge of the bed. Wax dripped down the side of the candle, burning
his hand, but he ignored it and tried to figure out what to do
next. Should he wait? How could he? Melody had said before that
sometimes her aunt disappeared for days. He couldn’t hide out in
this room for that length of time.

No. He had to go about his business and
simply wait for her to come back. He stood up and walked over to
the chest of drawers on the side of the room. There was a jumble of
feathers, all sorts of colors. He picked out the most distinctive
one, a bright green one with a band of orange near the base, and he
carefully stuck it in his shirt pocket.

He blew out the candle and left the room the
same way he’d entered it. Within minutes he was back on the ground,
the ladder under his arm. He put it back where it belonged and then
returned to the house. Too keyed up to sleep, he sat down on the
swing that he and Melody had shared earlier. He lifted his legs and
braced his feet against the strong wooden railing.

Midnight visitors. Locked drawers. A missing
old woman. Was it happenstance? Or was there some twisted
connection?

He didn’t know but he damn well planned to
find out. Because whatever it was, he wouldn’t let it touch Melody
or her child. He’d failed once to protect the woman he loved. He
wouldn’t fail a second time.

His feet slipped and his boots hit the wood
floor. The sound seemed to vibrate in the quiet night air. It sort
of matched the sound his heart was making.

The woman he loved.
Christ. He didn’t
want to love another woman. And Melody sure as hell deserved to be
with somebody from her own time, somebody who belonged, somebody
who didn’t need to go home and take care of unfinished
business.

He owed Hannah. Not that it was a debt she’d
asked for or maybe even one she appreciated. He remembered that
after Dority’s death, he’d been wallowing in self-pity that he
hadn’t been able to question the man, that he hadn’t gotten
information that would lead him to the third and final killer. He’d
sworn that in the wind, he’d heard his sweet Hannah tell him that
vengeance would not heal the pain. Had been so sure of what he
heard that he’d told John Beckett about it.

She’d been right. Vengeance didn’t heal the
pain. But she’d been wrong, too. Because she hadn’t understood that
it was the need for vengeance that had gotten him up every morning,
gotten him through the day, and most important, had gotten him
through the long, lonely nights.

In George’s time, a killer and a violator of
woman walked free. He couldn’t turn his back on that. He owed
Hannah, whether she wanted the debt repaid or not.

George stayed in the swing all night. He
dozed off once or twice but mostly, he’d just stared out into the
dark night. When dawn was still just a hint, he eased his body out
of the swing and walked inside the house.

Wanting to avoid Melody, he washed up in the
downstairs bath and then made his way to the kitchen. It was too
early for Bessie to have the coffee going so he made do with cold
cereal. He ate it standing up in front of the sink.