The Power of Love (7 page)

When Will placed the call, he spoke calmly, but Tristan knew that his partner was as shaken and bewildered as he. Tristan knew little more than Will about how he had first sensed that Ivy was in danger.

She needs you. The message had come to Tristan, though whether he’d heard it or simply understood it, he couldn’t say. But knowing that something was about to happen, and remembering that Lacey had said he could not rescue her himself, that he had to combine his powers with someone else’s, he had rushed right to Will, urging him to go to Ivy, to help her.

It had been a struggle, especially at the beginning. Tristan had to learn to channel his energy, and gradually Will gave himself over to his direction. Tristan wondered if Will realized he had driven up the hill at eighty miles per hour, despite the upgrade and turns. Did Will remember racing around from the front to the back of the house faster than was humanly possible?

But still not fast enough to catch Ivy’s attacker, thought Tristan. Until he knew who the attacker was, there was no way of guessing when he’d strike next, or how Will and he could protect Ivy.

Will and he. He and Will. There was no denying now that Will cared for Ivy—and that Tristan needed him to.

Tristan watched as Gregory picked up Ivy and carried her to the sofa. Ella crouched under Andrew’s desk, her eyes glowing like embers.

“Who was it, Ella?” Tristan asked. “You’re the only one who saw it. Who did this?”

Will left the room and came back with an icepack.

Gregory held it gently against Ivy’s head. “I’m here. Everything’s going to be all right,” he said over and over, continually rubbing her back and soothing her.

Before long they heard the whine of a siren. A police car swung into the driveway, followed unexpectedly by another car. Andrew’s.

“What happened?” Andrew cried, rushing into the house with the officers. “Ivy, are you all right?”

He looked at the broken window, then at Will, and finally turned his attention to Gregory. “Why are you here?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be with Maggie and Philip.”

“Why are
you?
” Gregory asked back.

Andrew glanced quickly at the police, then gestured toward his desk, “I left some papers behind, some reports I wanted to work on at the lake.”

“I came because Ivy called me,” Gregory said. “I’d told her earlier today that she should call me if she needed anything.” He gazed down at her. Ivy met his eyes with a puzzled expression.

“It was you who called me, wasn’t it?” he asked.

“No.”

Gregory looked surprised, then squeezed her hands hard and dropped them. “Whew,” he said softly. “You owe somebody big time.”

He turned to the others. “When we got to the lake, I had to run out to the store. Maggie had remembered everything for our trip, except toilet paper.

“When I returned, the man at the lodge said someone had called three times, asking for me, but didn’t leave a message. I figured it was Ivy. It’s been rough for her lately—you know that,” he said, appealing to his father. “I didn’t waste any time. I came right home.”

“Lucky girl,” remarked one of the police officers.

The police began to ask questions then. Tristan moved slowly around the room, studying faces and reading what the police were scribbling down.

Was it jealousy that he felt every time he saw Gregory touch Ivy? Or was it some kind of intuition? he wondered. Was Ivy really safe in Gregory’s arms?

Had Gregory told Eric that Ivy would be alone all weekend? If Eric was responsible for this, would Gregory cover for him?

And why had Gregory questioned his father? Did he think Andrew’s excuse for returning to the house was a little too convenient?

The police stayed a long time that afternoon and asked lots of questions, but it seemed to Tristan they were all the wrong ones.

7

When Ivy answered the door on Tuesday morning, she knew that Beth had read the local paper. Her friend stepped inside with a quick, shy “How’re you doing?” She hugged Ivy, nearly squeezing the breath out of her, then backed off, blushing.

“I’ fine,” said Ivy. “I’m really fine.”

“Are you?” Beth looked like a worried mother owl, her eyes wide, her frosted hair falling out of its knot in soft feathers. She stared at Ivy’s bruised cheek.

“It’s the newest thing since tattoos,” Ivy said, smiling and touching her face lightly.

“Your face looks like … a pansy.”

Ivy laughed. “Purple and yellow. I’m going to look great for the festival. You got anything that matches?”

Beth tried to smile, but ended up biting her lip.

“Come on back,” Ivy said, leading her to the kitchen. “Let’s get something to drink. We have to stick around here for a few minutes. I’m getting interviewed for the third time.”

“By a newspaper?”

“By the police.”

“The police! Ivy, did you tell them—” Beth hesitated.

“Tell them what?”

“About the computer messages,” Beth said quietly.

“No.” Ivy pulled out a bar stool for Beth to sit on. “Why should I? It was nothing more than a strange coincidence. You were just fooling around and—”

The look in Beth’s eyes stopped her. “I wasn’t fooling around.”

Ivy shrugged a little, then measured out some coffee beans. Since Friday evening she had been acting as if nothing much had happened, as if she had already gotten over the scare. She felt bad about ruining everyone’s weekend and tried to keep them from worrying and fussing over her. But the truth was, she was glad to have her family home with her. She was starting to get spooked.

Philip was convinced an angel had sent Gregory to save her—the same angel who had prevented him from tumbling out of the tree house, he said. Recently he had found a statue of an angelic baseball player and claimed it had been delivered to him by a glowing friend of his own guardian.

Ivy knew her brother was talking like this because he was frightened. Maybe, Ivy thought, having lost Tristan, Philip was scared of losing her, too. Maybe that was why he had warned her several times about the train climbing up the ridge to get her.

How could she blame him? With the car accident, then Friday’s close call, Ivy herself imagined hidden dangers wherever she looked. And if there was one thing she didn’t need just then, it was Beth looking at her as if she had glimpsed something frightening from beyond.

“Beth, you’re my friend, and you were worried about me being alone, the same way Suzanne and Gregory were worried. The difference is, you’re a writer and—and you’ve got a very active imagination,” Ivy added, smiling. “It’s only natural that when you worry, it comes out in a story.”

Beth didn’t look convinced.

“In any case, you’re not responsible. Even if you were psychic, psychics only know about things, they don’t make them happen.”

The doorbell rang, and Ivy quickly dried her hands. “So there’s no reason to tell the police.”

“Tell them what?” Gregory asked, coming into the kitchen.

He was up earlier than usual, dressed for a day in New York City with Suzanne.

“Tell Gregory about it, Beth, if it would make you feel any better,” Ivy advised, then went to answer the door.

A redheaded man sucking on a breath mint was pacing the front porch as if he had been waiting for hours. He identified himself as Lieutenant Donnelly and asked Ivy if he could speak with her in the office where the assault had occurred.

“I’ll see,” Ivy replied. “My stepfather didn’t go to the college today, and if he’s working—”

“Is he in? Good,” the detective said briskly. “He’s on my list, too.”

A few minutes later they were joined in Andrew’s office by Gregory. The detective had questions for all of them, but most of what they talked about were facts they had gone over before.

When they were finished, the lieutenant said, “Our reason for questioning you again is that we had a similar incident late last night in Ridgefield. Same style of break-in, victim a high-school girl, got a bag pulled over her head. If our friend is embarking on a series of such attacks, we want to find as many similarities as possible. That way we can establish a pattern, predict him—and nail him.”

“Then you’ve concluded that the attack on Ivy was a random act,” Andrew said, “rather than something done by someone who knows her?”

“We haven’t concluded anything,” the detective replied, leaning forward, raising his bushy red eyebrows, “and I’m always interested in other people’s theories.”

“I have no theories,” Andrew said crisply. “I just want to know if she is safe now.”

“Is there some reason you think she isn’t? Is there anyone you know who would want to hurt a member of your family?”

“No,” Andrew replied. Then he turned to Gregory. “Not that I can think of,” he said slowly. “Do you know of anyone, Gregory?”

Gregory let the question hang in the air for a moment. “Nope.”

Andrew turned back to the detective. “We just want to know if we can assume that Ivy is safe.”

“Of course. I understand, sir,” Donnelly said. “And of course you understand that I can’t assure you of that.” He handed Ivy his card. “If you remember anything else, give me a call.”

“About the girl in Ridgefield,” Ivy said, catching the detective’s sleeve. “Is she okay?”

The man’s mouth formed a grim line. He shook his head twice. “Dead,” he said quietly, then pushed open the door next to the newly fixed windowpane. “I can let myself out.”

As soon as he’d left, Ivy hurried out of the room, not wanting the others to see her tears. Gregory caught her halfway up the back stairs. She scrambled away from him and went down on all fours. He pulled her to him.

“Ivy. Talk to me. What is it?”

She pulled away from him and pressed her lips together.

“What is it?”

“It could have happened to me!” she blurted. “If you hadn’t come at that moment, if you hadn’t scared him away—” Tears tumbled down her cheeks.

“It didn’t happen,” he said gently but firmly, and sat her down on the steps.

Don’t leave now, Ivy begged silently. Don’t go out with Suzanne today. I need you more than she does.

Immediately she felt guilty about those thoughts.

Gregory wiped away her tears.

“Sorry,” Ivy said.

“Sorry for what?”

“For acting so—so—”

“Human?”

She rested against him.

He brushed the hair back from her face and let his fingers stay tangled in it.

“My father was right, you know. For once, old Andrew got it right. I feel sorry for the other girl’s family, but I’m pretty relieved. Now we know it wasn’t someone out to get you.” He pulled his head back to look at her. “And that lets Will off the hook,” he joked.

Ivy didn’t laugh.

“Unless Will has a career we don’t know about. He can be awfully silent and mysterious….”

Ivy still didn’t smile. She breathed as evenly as possible, trying to stifle her hiccoughs. “You’d better get going, Gregory,” she advised. “Do you realize what time it is? Suzanne doesn’t like her dates to be late.”

“I know,” he said, and held Ivy apart from him, studying her.

Does he look at Suzanne that way, she wondered, so intently, as if he’s searching out her thoughts? Does he look into her eyes the way he looks into mine? Does he care about her as much as he cares about me?

Another wave of guilt washed over Ivy; her face must have revealed it.

“What?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing. You’d better get going.”

He continued to look at her uncertainly.

“On your way out, would you stop and tell Beth I’ll be down in a minute?”

He shrugged, then let go of her. “Sure.”

Ivy hurried up the steps. She was glad she’d be spending most of her day off with Beth. If Ivy told her she didn’t want to talk about something, Beth would drop the subject. Unfortunately, she had already agreed to meet Suzanne for dinner that evening, after Gregory and she returned from New York. Ivy wasn’t looking forward to hashing over the details of Gregory’s heroic rescue and every “he said, I said” of Suzanne’s date.

Ivy had just passed Gregory’s room when his phone rang. She wondered if she should pick it up for him or let the answering machine take a message.

It’s probably Suzanne, Ivy thought, calling to find out where he is. She stopped to listen; if it was her friend, she’d pick up the phone and tell her that Gregory was on his way.

The machine beeped. There was a moment of silence, then a voice said, “It’s me. I need the money, Gregory. You know I don’t like to go to your old man. And you know what will happen if I don’t get the money. I need the money, Gregory, now.”

The caller hung up without identifying himself, but she recognized his voice. Eric.

*   *   *

Ivy drummed her fingers on the wicker chair, looked out at the pond behind the Goldsteins’ house, and checked her watch once more. Obviously Suzanne had forgotten about their plans. They were to meet there at six-thirty. It was now twenty-five minutes past seven.

Ivy was annoyed that she had waited this long, especially since she didn’t even want to see Suzanne that night. But she thought that as a loyal best friend she should stick it out.

“Always your best friend,” she murmured. At home she had a large box of tattered letters, notes that Suzanne had started writing in fourth grade whenever she got bored in class. All the letters were signed, “Always your best friend.”

Always—but the truth was, with Gregory around, things were changing between the two of them. And Suzanne was as guilty as she. Ivy got up from the chair abruptly and started down the porch steps.

From the other side of the house came the sound of a car in the driveway. A door slammed. Ivy circled around the house, then stopped. Gregory and Suzanne were walking slowly toward the house, their arms around each other, Suzanne’s head on his shoulder. Ivy wished she had left earlier, much earlier.

Gregory spotted her first and stopped walking. Then Suzanne looked up. “Hi, Ivy!” she said with surprise. A moment later, her hand flew up to her head. “Oh, no, I totally forgot! I’m so sorry. I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

Since six-thirty, and you know it, and I’m starved, Ivy wanted to say, but didn’t. But she also didn’t play Suzanne’s game by reassuring her in some way: No, no, I just got here myself. That’s what she was supposed to say, wasn’t it? Ivy just looked at her friend and let her figure it out.

Perhaps Gregory picked up on some of the tension between them. He jumped in quickly. “We decided at the last minute to get a pizza at Celentano’s. I’m sorry we didn’t know you were here, Ivy. It would have been great if you’d come with us.”

He was rewarded with two glares: Suzanne’s, for implying that dinner would have been great if Ivy had come; Ivy’s, for suggesting that she’d enjoy being with them on a date. Hadn’t he ever heard that three’s a crowd?

Gregory unwrapped himself from Suzanne, then retreated toward the car. Slipping one hand in his pocket, he propped the other on the open door, trying to look casual.

“I can see there’s going to be some talking here tonight, some dirt-dishing. Maybe I should leave before I get hooked by the soap opera.”

You are the soap opera, Ivy thought.

“You may as well,” Suzanne replied. “Most guys are amateurs at talking.”

Gregory laughed—not as much at ease as he pretended, Ivy thought—then rattled his keys at them and left.

“I’m beat,” Suzanne said, throwing herself down on the front steps and pulling Ivy down next to her. “Manhattan in the summer—I tell you, it brings out the crazies. You should have seen all the people at Times Square, waiting for another vision of—”

She stopped herself, but Ivy knew what she was about to say. She had already read about the angelic Barbra Streisand.

Suzanne reached out then and touched Ivy’s face very, very gently. “Aren’t they getting tired of seeing you in the emergency room?”

Ivy laughed a little.

“How’re you feeling?” Suzanne asked.

“All right … really,” she added when she saw the doubt in Suzanne’s eyes.

“Are you dreaming about this now, too?”

“I haven’t so far,” said Ivy.

“You’re tough, girl,” Suzanne said, shaking her head. “And I bet you’re hungry and ready to kill me.”

“Very hungry and almost ready,” Ivy replied as Suzanne pushed herself up from the steps and dug in her purse for her house keys. Peppermint, Suzanne’s Pomeranian, greeted them with yaps of joy, anticipating dinner. They headed straight for the kitchen.

While Suzanne fed Peppermint, Ivy explored the Goldstein’s refrigerator, which was always well stocked. She settled for a large bowl of homemade soup. Suzanne set a pan of brownies and some lemon frosted cupcakes on the table between them. She cut herself a brownie, then swiveled back and forth in her chair. “I’ve got him, Ivy,” she said. “Gregory’s definitely hooked. Now all I have to do is reel him in.”

“I thought you were going to reel him in last week, or maybe the week before,” Ivy recalled.