Icecapade (2 page)

Noel laughed. “Isn’t that the point of all sex?”

Norma, Elise’s assistant, looked up from counting the register. “Let me try to wrap my brain around this. Nash Blue turns out to be gay and in love with his plodding police nemesis Detective Richard Cross, and you’re going to
leave
it there?”

“Where do you think it should end?” Noel fished the gray silk scarf from his pocket and tied it around his neck. December seemed to be a bit colder every year. Or maybe it was him, some failure of his internal thermostat.

“I think Cross should turn out to be gay too.”

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Icecapade

“Ah. A romance reader.” Noel’s gaze met Elise’s.

Elise said, “But Cross
is
gay, isn’t he?”

Elise was one of Noel’s dearest friends. His first ever book signing had been at Odyssey Books and she had loyally supported every release since. He occasionally spent the night at her Manhattan brownstone when he was in town, and Elise and her husband visited Noel’s upstate farm every summer. He liked Elise, he respected her, he trusted her, and sincerely wished he’d never gotten drunk and told her about Robert Cuffe being the inspiration for Richard Cross.

“Your sales are off the chart anyway,” Norma said. “We can’t keep
Crawl Space
on the shelves.”

“Good. That’s what I need to hear.”

“You’re going to sell a boatload,” Elise assured him. “Although some of the more conservative book reviewers are calling for your head on a pike.”

“Is that a problem?” Noel never read his reviews. “I can’t imagine the law-and-order crowd is my demographic.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. The Nash Blue books score highly with middle-aged white male readers. The witty, ribald adventures of a dashing diamond thief and his plodding police inspector nemesis? Max and his friends eat that stuff up.”

Josh Lanyon

13

“What does Max think of Nash coming out of the closet?”

“Max knows you, so he said he always figured Nash was gay. He’s being very superior about it.”

Noel laughed. Max was as conservative as Elise was liberal, but somehow their twenty-year-old marriage worked. He envied them. Somehow he had never discovered the knack of making relationships last.

They chatted a few minutes more while Elise finished closing up, then Noel bade Norma goodnight and Elise saw him out through the side entrance to the street. She hugged herself against the chill as Noel unlocked his Porsche Boxster S.

He threw a quick, automatic look up and down the street. Old habits died hard.

“You look tired.” Elise studied him in the anemic light “It’s a long drive to Carthage. Are you sure you won’t stay over?”

Noel hesitated. He
felt
tired. More tired than he should after such a successful evening. And it
was
a long drive to Jefferson County. Nearly six hours.

And, with snow forecasted, not the best driving conditions. It was tempting to take Elise up on her offer. He said reluctantly, “I think I’d better get back. We’re supposed to be getting a white Christmas.”

“You know you’re welcome to spend the holiday with me and Max.”

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Icecapade

Another hesitation. He didn’t particularly want to spend this holiday alone. But his mood was such that he wasn’t sure he’d be very good company either.

“Thanks for asking, but I’ve got the horses to tend to.”

“Couldn’t you call someone? Don’t you pay someone to help take care of the horses?”

“I do and I could, but I don’t think I’d better.”

He kissed her cheek. Elise nodded, smoothing her hands up and down her upper arms. “You’re freezing. Go inside.”

She nodded, but waited as Noel slid behind the wheel and closed the door. He pressed a button and the automatic window slid down with a whisper.

“It was a very successful launch,” she told him.

“You should be very pleased.”

“I know. I am. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

“It wasn’t me. I only doled out the champagne and beluga. People love these books, Noel.

You’ve really got something. I’m not sure I would be in a hurry to end it.”

Noel nodded noncommittally.

Elise said suddenly, “Do you still leave Robert Cuffe drunken phone calls every New Year’s Eve?”

“I wish you’d forget I told you that.”

Josh Lanyon

15

“I have a very good memory.” She was teasing, but it was affectionate. “Unfortunately for you.”

Noel nodded, studying the dashboard, absently making sure everything was in working order, ready. He never left anything to chance. Trouble had a way of finding you even when you were prepared.

“Does Cuffe ever pick up?”

That question jerked him back to the present.

“No.”

“Are you sure you’re calling the right number?”

Noel smiled faintly. “I’m sure.”

In ten years, Cuffe had never picked up the phone. Noel had not spoken to him since their one and only night together. He no longer expected Cuffe to answer, but he couldn’t seem to break himself of the habit of calling. He’d started after his first book,
Ice Skate,
had been released.

That initial call had been largely an apology.

Noel hadn’t realized until the book came out and he’d begun to see it through other people’s eyes that he’d portrayed Richard Cross as a buffoon. A cartoon cop. Or that that anyone at the Bureau would be reading his novels and connecting Cuffe with Cross. He’d been…playing, that’s all. In some ways the novel had been his macabre version of flirting. And of course he hadn’t expected the book to be a hit, let alone turn into a 16

Icecapade

series. Writing at that time had mostly been therapy.

He’d heard through channels that Cuffe had taken a lot of heat after
Ice Skate.
That he’d ended up being sent to the far reaches of Wisconsin—the FBI equivalent of Siberia. And for that Noel was truly sorry. He regretted doing Robbie (as he’d come to think of Cuffe) harm. That had never been his intent.

In fact, had things been different…

But things were not different. Things were what they were.

He’d have liked to make it up to Cuffe—short of confessing his crimes and letting Cuffe arrest him—but there didn’t seem to be a way to do that.

Common sense, logic, told him to leave it alone.

Cuffe was liable to misinterpret the phone calls too.

He’d already told himself that this year he wouldn’t call. The book, the final book in the series, was apology enough. It was his last word on the subject. The Richard Cross character got the final laugh in
Crawl Space
. This time around it was Nash Blue who looked like a fool. He was certainly the loser in the game between himself and the Cross character.

It was Elise who had casually mentioned in passing the horrible possibility that perhaps Robert Cuffe wasn’t officially out. In which case, Josh Lanyon

17

rather than evening the score between them as Noel intended, the novel was liable to appear to be a further injury. Perhaps the final insult.

That was pretty much the way Noel’s luck went with relationships.

He realized that Elise was still waiting, still watching him, still indefinably worried. He offered her a quick, reassuring smile.

“Merry Christmas, El.”

“Be safe, Noel.”

He said lightly, “Always.”

***

Noel noticed the headlights outside of Albany.

He’d been abstractly aware of them since the New Jersey Turnpike, but it was as he merged onto the I-87 that he realized that he was being followed.

It gave him a shock. He was getting sloppy in his old age, no doubt about it. There had been a time he’d have noticed a tail within minutes. Not that there was a particular reason for anyone to follow him. He’d been straight—legally speaking—for eight years, and the statute of limitations had run out on his various business transactions.

Which wasn’t to say he didn’t have more than a few unsavory—or, frankly, badass—friends and acquaintances who might not have the warmest 18

Icecapade

feelings for him. Not everyone had taken news of his retirement with good grace, although why anyone would wait eight years to convey their disregard was a puzzle.

Maybe, irony of ironies, he’d picked up some cretin who mistook him for an easy mark.

He took quick evasive action. He was too tired to be subtle. Too tired for the nearly six hour drive home, truth to tell, and he didn’t have the patience or energy for games. He detoured into Albany, spent a good twenty minutes dragging his shadow around the primarily commercial area—with a quick and guaranteed annoying side tour of Albany International airport—before he got back on the I-87. Having lost the tail somewhere around the Latham Quality Inn, he put the pedal to the metal and the supercharged Boxster took the bit between its teeth and silently surged forward, eating up the miles.

The telephone poles zipped past, the painted lines of the highway were a blur. By two o’clock in the morning, Noel was turning onto Old State Road. He’d made excellent time. The highway behind him was reassuringly empty as he bumped onto the dirt track that led to Blackbird Farm.

His headlights picked out the skeletal lines of white oak and beech as he drove slowly down the narrow lane. It was beginning to rain again. Fat, slushy drops splattering against the windshield.

Josh Lanyon

19

As the white farm house came into view something relaxed inside him.
Home
. The house was over a hundred years old. Six thousand square feet of big rooms with pine floors and double-hung windows. It sat on two hundred acres of wooded and open meadows. Noel could still recall the exact wording of the real estate listing:
This
property offers plenty of options for your country
getaway. Excellent hunting with abundant game
and wildlife, including deer, bear, turkey, rabbits,
ducks and geese. There is a beaver pond on the
property as well. Hardwood, apple and pine
woods in the front and meadows dotted with
flowers in the back. This is the ideal investment if
you are looking for privacy. No one will ever
know you’re there.

It was the
no one will ever know you're there
that had sold him on the place. Whoever wrote that ad copy had been speaking the language of Noel’s heart.

He parked in the garage behind the house and walked down the hill to check on the horses.

It was relatively warm inside the barn, and Noel took off his coat and scarf, tossing them to a tack bench before moving down the row of stalls, distributing flakes of green, sweet-smelling hay to each box. He found the earthy smells of horse and hay comforting. Yes, it was good to be home.

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Icecapade

He didn’t think he would do anymore signings.

It had been a pleasant evening, a successful evening, but…

Pausing to stroke the long white face of Scrabble, an American Paint mare, he considered his uncharacteristic apathy.

It wasn’t that anything was wrong in his life.

Far from it. He was probably the safest and most secure he’d ever been. Unfortunately, security and safety had never been high priority for him.

Nor was it that he was bored. He’d worked hard to make a success of his horse farm, and he continued to work hard. As for the writing…while he wasn’t keen on promotion, he enjoyed the creative process. It provided a good balance to the practical, physical labor involved in horse breeding.

No, he had no complaints. Was that the trouble? Or was it something deeper? Something it might be safer not to explore.

Most likely it was the usual holiday blues.

Most people—anyone over twelve—felt let down at this time of year, didn’t they? It could be a very dark time if you were alone. That was why he did his best to keep his holidays…bright.

Noel finished in the barn, slipped back into his coat and went outside, pulling the heavy doors shut.

Josh Lanyon

21

It was still sleeting down, snow definitely in the air. He’d started back up the hill when the odd sense of being watched hit him like a thump between the shoulder blades.

He stopped, eyes raking the wet darkness.

The only light for miles was the warm glow from his front porch. The only sound was the rain pattering down, glistening on fence and roof, sparkling on the grass and in the puddles. Nothing that wasn’t rain or wind moved.

He remembered another morning when he had seemed to be the only living creature left on the planet.

It was probably nothing, but he didn’t like the coincidence. First being followed from the city and now…

Now what?

Nothing moved in the wet-speckled distance.

Rain trickled down the back of his neck. He was getting soaked standing there. Noel continued up the hill and let himself in the farmhouse.

***

Morning unfolded like a Christmas lily—snowy, cold and perfect—or like one of those glittery greeting cards. White blanketed every surface from the roof of the barn to the dark pine trees.

22

Icecapade

Noel pulled on jeans and a heavy black and white sweater he’d picked up many years ago in Reykjavik, and stumbled outside to see to the horses.

Back inside the house, he turned on the coffee machine, lit a fire in the front parlor and started breakfast.

He was cracking eggs when the doorbell rang.

Remembering his unease the night before, Noel went into the front parlor, which offered a partial view of the long porch. He could make out the outline of the man now pounding on his front door. Tall, broad shoulders, leather jacket, dark hair cut short. What he could see of the profile looked craggy and uncompromising.

Noel’s heart began to thump in hard, hopeful beats.

He went down the hall to the front door, slid the deadbolt and yanked it open.

Snow dappling his black hair and the shoulders of his leather jacket, Robert Cuffe gazed back at him.

Chapter Two