Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evie (6 page)

“Evie?” he said, and she lifted her gaze to him. Man, she had gorgeous eyes. Clear blue. Stunning blue. Wary and suspicious blue.

She slowly blinked those big blue eyes and tilted her head as if asking him what he wanted.

“Allergic to shellfish?” he asked, gesturing to her plate.

“Oh, no,” she said, lowering her lashes. “I, uh, I have an emotional aversion to crab.”

“An
emotional
aversion? Like what? An edible complex?”

Across the table, James snorted.

With a little shake of the head she said, “Detective Galloway, you are far too immature to understand. Forget I said anything.”

He sat back in his chair and narrowed his eyes on her. Twirling the stem of his wineglass in his fingers, he said, “No, really. I want to know.”

Evie carefully readjusted the napkin on her lap. She was wearing a soft pink dress that complimented the richness of her auburn hair and brought out the scatter of freck
les across her nose. It also ac
centuated the tantalizing swell of her bosom as the scooped neckline displayed creamy skin and a hint of deep cleavage. Encircling her throat, a gold chain held a sparkling crescent moon. She pursed her lips and looked at him steady on, and he felt himself tighten all over.

“It’s a silly thing,” she said finally. “You wouldn’t understand—”

“Not true,” he interrupted, feigning insult. “I’m a very understanding guy.” Giving her an encouraging grin, he urged, “I’m sure Madame Grovda and Ms. Whitney, not to mention old James over there, would be interested in the story.”

Across from Evie, Max could see that Madame Grovda’s mouth was full, but she encouraged Evie with a poof-cheeked smile, while Lorna and that dickhead James both nodded their approval.

Evie stared at Max for a moment, then relaxed. “All right. Okay, last year, I showed my sixth grade class a marine documentary—”

“Hoo-ha!”

She halted and looked over at James, who was grinning.

“No, Mr. James,” she said patiently. “Not ‘Marine,’ as in ‘a few good men,’ but marine as in sea creatures. Besides, ‘Hoo-ha’ is the Army. I believe ‘ooo-rah’ is the Marines.”

Max considered this. “What’s the Air Force?”

Her brows dipped together as she glanced at him in obvious irrita
tion. “I’m guessing ‘up-up-and-
away.’ ”

“Negative. That’s Superman.” Max crossed his arms over his chest. “What about the Navy?”

“ ‘Glub-glub,’ for all I know,” she snapped. “Do you
want to hear the story or not?
”

“I do.”

Madame Grovda swallowed and said,
“Pozba-
lujsta, milaya moya.
Please s
peak to us of seeing the craps.
”

“The
sea crabs,”
Evie corrected. “Fine. Anyway, the documentary was about the reproductive habits of crabs.”

“Oh,” Max said dryly. “Did I miss that one? And I had so wanted to tape it.”

“You’re ruining the moment,” she said icily.

“What
moment
? You’re talking about the sex life of
crustaceans,
for Christ’s sake.”

She condemned him with the arch of a brow. “I knew you’d have s
ome juvenile response. Which re
minds me. You hated Thomas, so why did you agree to join the treasure hunt?”

“None of your beethwaxth,” he growled.

“Are you making fun of me again?”

“Would I do that?”

“Yeth,
”
she said, mimicking herself. “I’m participating so I can keep the island and the l
lamas, be
cause I grew up here and I can’t imagine living anywhere else, and if I had millions of dollars, I wouldn’t have to teach anymore and could live here all the time. Why are
you
here?”

He shrugged. “Curiosity, mostly. Then there’s all
that money. I figure Heyworth owes me, and I mean to collect.”

“Owes you? For what?”

Glaring at Evie, he said, “Let us return to your fascinating crab story, shall we?”

She sent him a stern, teacherly look, and said, “Are you going to behave?”

Max stifled a laugh and put up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll be good,” he said smoothly, like when he was seventeen and
he’d tried to get Merilee Van
dermore into the backseat of his car. “So, what about the mating habits of marine crabs? Do they have little bumper stickers that say, ‘Crabs Do It in a Pinch?’ ”

“You are
such
a jerk.”

Okay, so she was no Merilee Vandermore. And maybe that was a good thing.

Evie ignored his apologetic smile, sent him a glare, and continued.

“It seems that when two crabs mate, the female must first completely shed her shell.”

“Works that way for humans, too.” Max waggled his brows.

“When a female and a male crab get together, she sheds the shell, and he, uh, crawls on top of her, sort of like nesting tables, you know?” She demonstrated this by cupping one hand over the other. “Then, very gently, he uses all his legs to turn her onto her back, underneath him. He has to be extremely gentle, because she doesn’t have her shell anymore to protect her. Then he lowers himself onto her until their bodies are touching, um, intimately.”

Max willed Evie to look up at him, but she wouldn’t.

“As they m-mate,” she stumbled softly, “he curls his legs around her body, sort of like an embrace. Then he, you know, um, deposits his sperm.”

Max took another slug of wine, but said nothing. Was it getting hot in here, or was it just him? Who would have thought the sex life of some ugly-assed crabs could be so erotic?

“When he’s done,” she continued, “very, very gently, he uses all his legs to turn her right side up again, then he stands over her, guarding her, with his legs acting as a sort of bulwark against predators. They
stay like that until her new shell hardens. It’s the most vulnerable time of her life. She has completely let her guard down, and must rely totally on him for protection, and somehow they both know it.”

Lorna reached out and patted Evie’s hand, sympathy plain to see in her eyes. “And then?”

Evie lifted her chin to stare at Max. “He leaves her, of course, pregnant, to fend for herself. Just goes on his merry way, feetloose and fancy free.”

Madame Grovda shook her head then knocked back the rest of her wine. “So typical. Men.
Phooey.”
She made a rude noise with her lips.

Lorna’s mouth flattened. “How true.”

“Wait just a minute,” Max said. “He probably thought she used protection. Besides, just how many baby crabs does she have?”

“Two million.”

His brows shot up. “Well there you go. What guy crab in his right mind would stay? Two
million
? What if the little crablettes needed braces or glasses?” He grinned at her. “Why, the cost of bac
k-
to-school shoes alone would be staggering.”

Shifting her gaze to the rose-and-cream flocked wallpaper, Evie murmured, “That’s beside the point. A
decent
crab would have stayed. They were half his responsibility, after al
l, whether he loved her or not.
”

Max studied Evie’s profile as she continued to ignore him. He’d been mistaken when he first saw her and thought she was passably pretty. She was absolutely stunning, in a fresh and unassuming way. The dock out front should be crammed with motorboats from her hoards of suitors, but there were none. Just why was that? he wondered.

With a wistful smile, she said, “Well, you’d have to have seen it, I suppose. It was a beautiful thing, really. I mean, he
knows
to protect her, and she
knows
she needs to let h
im because at that very mo
ment she’s completely vulnerable.
I
…
I sort of thought it was romantic.”

Romantic? Horny crustaceans, romantic
?
“It’s ridiculous, I guess,” she continued, “but ever since I saw that documentary, I can’t eat crab.” As she took a sip of water, Max studied her. Sure, her story was silly, but it was also very tender, and enormously revealing.

He wondered if she had any idea just how revealing.

Chapter 6

D
ear
D
iary:

A
dam
Bl
a
n
e is like, a total
sn
ot.
h
e t
h
inks
h
e’s
s
00000
g
reat
just because
h
is daddy’s a cop. Adam said that
h
is daddy told him t
h
at
h
e knows my mommy really well.
h
e said s
he ha
s a reputas
h
an. T
he way h
e said that made m
e so mad, I punched him in the n
ose,
h
e squealed and even cried just like a bi
g baby. I
know you’re not supposed
t
o
h
it, but
I
just couldn’t
h
elp it!

Evang
eli
ne—ag
e
9

T
he atrium garden at Mayhem Manor was exquisite. As Max meandered down flagstone pathways, through thick stands of leafy palms, around tropical ferns and flowers, he was amazed at the visual beauty of the place, the mix of heady scents. The
warm, damp air made him want to strip off his clothes and dive into the deep pool at the base of the waterfall, submerge
himself in the cool water…

He glanced at Evie, walking next to him, pointing out various flora
and fauna. Naked, under the wa
terfall, Evie and him. The mental picture was enough to make his fingers tremble.

Dinner had ended an hour ago. It was nearly eight, and even though chairs had been set up in the garden in anticipation of Felix Barlow’s arrival—and the start of the treasure hunt—the attorney hadn’t yet arrived.

“It’s not a greenhouse,” Evie was explaining, flashing those big blue eyes at him. “It’s a fully enclosed atrium, three stories tall, and takes up the entire south side of the mansion. This time of year, the glass panels on top are open, but in the winter they’re closed so the more exotic species can be kept at an even temperature.”

And so you could swim naked under the waterfall,
he added silently, envisioning her pale skin under the splash of water, her rich mahogany hair flowing down her bare back, a fairy nymph in some secret woodland grotto.

Disconcerted by his own thoughts, he flipped back the edges of his jacket and slid his hands into his pockets. As he did, his right hand met the uneven edges of the coin, and he automatically curled his fingers around it.

He didn’t have to take it out and look at it; over the years, its every detail had been etched into his brain. Since his mother had given it to him, he’d carried it with him and invariably found himself
clutching it whenever he needed to clear his thoughts, focus his mind on something important
—
something emotional.

Remove his thoughts from something emotional was closer to the truth.

He ran the tip of his finger over the face of the coin, over the smooth swell of the image struck there ages ago in a land far removed in time and place from the world he knew. He skimmed the metal with his thumb, wishing, in a way, it was Evie he was touching, glad, in a way, it was not.

He’d come to perceive the crudely struck gold disk much as he did his own heart. Like his heart, the coin was warm or cold, depending on whether someone touched
i
t…
or not. It was a thing separate from his body, away. He sensed its presence and could touch it when he needed to, but it did not touch him.

Sitting now in his palm, the coin reminded him he could look all he wanted, b
ut his heart would re
main his own. It had been a hard lesson for him to learn, but between his father and Melissa, he had learned it well.

He’d tried it once, giving away his heart, but she’d given it back. A little battered, a bit bruised, still, it was his own again, and it was going to stay that way.

Inside his head, his father’s words jabbed at his brain.

Women make you soft. You start screwing up. Everything goes to hell. You can’t let them get to you. Do that, and you’re only half a man.

Was Evie getting to him? He couldn’t help but
wonder. When he decided to join the treasure hunt, he hadn’t counted on running into somebody like Evie Randall. As a cop, he wasn’t fond of surprises. As a man, however, he seemed to come alive with her in a way he hadn’t for years.

His arms remembered the weight of her body as he carried her to the house that first night. At dinner tonight he’d wondered what it would be like to have sex with her, but he knew enough about women to know Evie Randall probably wouldn’t have sex
…
she would make love.

As they passed a trio of exotic palms, she caressed a shiny leaf, and he focused on her fingertips, imagining them gliding down his chest, followed by that moist, plump mouth—

“
…
capable of sucking the whole thing down, no matter how big it is, until it dissolves into a gelatinous ooze.”

He shot her a confused look, then looked at the plant she was pointing to.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat. “My mind seems to have wandered.”

“A rare occurrence, I’m sure,” she said dryly. “I was referring to the Venus flytrap over there. When a fly wanders in—”

“Never mind. I know what happens next. Tell me about the flowers.”

“Sure. In the past hundred years,” she explained, “flowers and trees have been collected from all over the world. The waterfall is made up of island rock—”

“And here I took it for granite.”

She stopped and stared at him, fighting a grin, if the dimples in her cheeks were any sign.

“There are children in my class,” she said, “who have an infinitely more sophisticated sense of humor than you, Detective.”

He shrugged and smiled down into her eyes. “Damn kids these days. I’ll bet they don’t even know any good elephant jokes. Why, when I was a kid—”

“And when was that, last week sometime?”

“Don’t let these boyish good looks fool you.”

Pursing her lips, she gave him the once-over. “Not a problem.” She turned to the rocks in question and said, “The waterfall is three stories high and takes up the entire west side of the atrium. It was designed to look like a cataract Thomas sketched years ago while on safari.”

“It’s like a jungle in here,” Max said, lifting his gaze to a coconut palm that nearly touched the skylights. “Very ‘Me Tarzan, you Jane’ kind of thing.”

She slid him a glance. “Sorry. No Tarzan, no Jane, no Cheetah.”

He shrugged. “And cheetah’s nevah prospah?”

“Just because you’re funny doesn’t mean I will ever like you,” she said evenly. “Thomas had some pretty disparaging things to say about you, Detective.”

“Likewise, I’m sure.” He stopped and tried to catch her gaze, but she avoided him. “So why’d he invite me to join the treasure hunt?”

“Believe me,” she said, “I’ve been wondering
that
myself. After the things he said concerning your mother and how—”

“Leave my mother out of this.”

She looked shocked. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I only meant, well, he adored her. She died just before I came here, but Thomas has kept her portrait hanging above the fireplace in his room all these years. She was very beautiful, Max. You
…
you look like her.
”

Max tightened his jaw. There was no way in hell he would be drawn
in
to a conversation about his mother, Thomas Heyworth’s one and only wife. He’d been against the marriage and had told his mother so. He’d even gone so far as to boycott the ceremony, but she married the son of a bitch anyway, and within months was dead. He had never even had a chance to say good-bye. In the sixteen years since, his hatred of Heyworth had only increased.

Turning away from Max, Evie continued on up the path. “The at
rium’s my favorite place at May
hem Manor,” she said lightly, obviously changing the subject. “When I first arrived, I felt very unsettled, especially at night. I’d bring the quilt from my bed, and sneak down and sleep in here on the deep grass by the waterfall. The rhythm of the falling water seemed to soothe me. I didn’t feel so lonely then.”

“How old were you when you came here, Evie?” He knew the answer, knew her whole history, but he wanted to keep her talking. He liked her voice, the slight huskiness of it. It was the kind of voice a man liked to hear whispering his name in the dark. His name, and other things.

“Eleven,” she said, and walked away from him to face the waterfall.

Light from the dying sun bounced and glimmered off the ribbons of water slithering and splashing down the rough edges of the rocks. He could see why she had slept here when she’d been afraid. The sound of the water was calming, musical, maybe even healing. He imagined her as a little girl, alone and frightened, and he wished suddenly he’d known her then. He would have stood by her, protected her, been her stalwart defender. There was something about Evie that brought out the knight gallant in him, and even knowing how destructive those feelings were, he hesitated shoving them away.

Just then the glass doors at the far end of the atrium swung wid
e, allowing in a distinguished-
looking man in a black suit. Mid-sixties, balding, elegant, he held a briefcase in his left hand as though it were a natural extension of his arm.

“Felix Barlow,” Evie said under her breath. She crossed her arms under her breasts and stared across the garden. While she focused on the lawyer, Max stole a quick look at her alluring breasts, then flicked his glance away. Dumbasses stared and drooled, which pissed women off. Smart men knew how to get a quick eyeful without offending. He considered himself a very smart man.

Edmunds stepped through the door next, holding it open as Madame Grovda swooped in, chattering away in a blur of Russian. She wore a black velvet dress and a thousand scarves in various shades of red, yellow, and orange, all of which fluttered about her as she walked, giving the impression she was on fire.

The cook and gardener—Ada Stanley and her
husband Earl—shuffled in, neither one apparently enthused about a treasure hunt in which they would not take part.

The little parade culminated with Lorna, looking pretty in the yellow sundress she’d worn to dinner, and Dabney James, who had slipped his arm through hers and was apparently spouting more “poetry.” His slacks and white shirt made him appear as if he’d just jetted in from Palm Beach. He caught sight of Max and scowled, then returned his attention to the enraptured secretary.

After the guests had entered, Edmunds released the door and followed a wide flagstone path to the waterfall, where everyone was busy seating themselves.

Conversation trickled off as Barlow rose from his chair and prepared to address the group, the twenty foot red banana tree at his back making him look like an overdressed castaway.

A hush fell over the guests. Even the loquacious Madame Grovda had zipped her lips and seemed to be holding her breath. Next to Max, Evie sat on the edge of her chair, her hands folded neatly on her knees, her attention fully on the lawyer. Inhaling, Max let her soft floral scent wrap around his senses like a silk ribbon—a ribbon that tied him into more knots each time he looked at her.

Barlow cleared his throat, clasped his hands behind him, and began to pace in lawyer like fashion. Max half expected him to begin with, “If it please the court.”

A smile on his lips, Barlow said, “Welcome to the treasure hunt. Except for the Stanleys and myself,
of course, all of you in this room are participants in my late client’s plan to dispose of his sizable fortune through an elaborate game of hide and seek.”

He paused for a moment, then shifted direction and paced back the way he’d come. “Be that as it may, the game will officially begin as soon as this meeting has concluded and any questions have been answered. You already know who your partners are, and that you have two weeks from midnight tonight to find the final clue and claim the Heyworth estate, which, as of this morning, is worth somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty million dollars.”

“Nice neighborhood,” Dabney mumbled.

As Barlow cleared his throat to continue, Edmunds rose from his seat, clutching a thin packet. “Beg pardon, Mr. Barlow.”

All eyes turned toward Edmunds, who stood looking so regal as to be a long-lost member of the royal family.

Barlow raised his brows. “What is it, Edmunds?”

“A package was delivered via certified mail a few hours ago.” He raised the packet for all to see. “It contained this sealed envelope addressed to Miss Evangeline. An accompanying letter to me instructed she open it at the commencement of the treasure hunt when everyone had assembled.”

Next to Max, Evie made a small sound of surprise. Rising from his chair, he stretched out his hand. “May I see that, Edmunds?”

The butler sketched a brief bow and handed the packet to Max, then returned to his seat. The address on the envelope was a prominent law firm in Seattle.

“Do you know what’s in it, Edmunds?”

“No sir. I do not.”

Max looked down at Evie. “Do you?”

She shook her head. “No. I can’t imagine
…
”

“Barlow? You know anything about this?”

The lawyer stared at the envelope in dismay, as though it had just plopped to earth from the outer reaches of space. “I couldn’t begin to guess. However, if its contents involves the game, it should come to me.”

“I couldn’t begin to second-guess Heyworth,” Max said, handing the envelope to Evie. “But if he addressed it to her, I’d say he wanted it to go to her.” Everybody looked at everybody else, and a small hum of anticipatory conversation bubbled through the group.

Standing, Evie moved to the front and turned to face the others. She broke the seal on the packet and opened it, pulling out a single sheet of paper.

Barlow reached over to snatch it from her hand, but she quickly turned away, smashing it against her chest. “Excuse me, Mr. Barlow.”