The Ring on Her Finger (32 page)

“She doesn’t know anything,” Phoebe said. “She would have told me if she did. She was totally confused about everything that happened at the Wemberleys’ that night.”

Dave perked up at that. “So you have talked to her since the police tried to arrest her.”

Oh, dammit. Phoebe glanced down at her—unfinished—second cup of coffee. Five more swallows, tops, and she wouldn’t have said that. She sighed heavily. “Yeah, I’ve talked to her.”

“And you know where she’s hiding.”

That, Phoebe decided, was a question she probably shouldn’t answer yet. No amount of justifying it or fiddling with the facts would make it honest if she said no. She did know where Lucy was hiding. She had the address. So she only looked at Dave and said nothing.

“We just want to talk to her, Phoebe. We’re reasonably certain she’s not involved in the murder.”

“Have you dropped the charges?”

“No,” he conceded. “Not yet.”

“Reasonably certain,” Phoebe repeated. “That’s misleading language, Dave.”

“For what it’s worth, I personally don’t consider her a suspect. If she’ll come back and tell the authorities what she knows, we can probably drop all charges against her.”

“Probably,” Phoebe repeated meaningfully. “Not definitely.”

“We need to talk to her, Phoebe.”

She hesitated, weighing instinct against rationale. “Why should I believe you?”

“I’ll take you down to the station and let you talk to the detectives who are on the case,” he said. “They just need to hear from her what happened.”

“And then what?”

“And then she’ll probably be off the hook.”

“Probably,” Phoebe said again.

“I can’t make any guarantees, Phoebe. It’s not my case. But this is her best chance of being exonerated. She can’t stay in hiding forever.”

That was certainly true. Lucy wasn’t the kind of person who could make herself over and start from scratch and never return to the only life and family she’d ever known—even if that life and that family left a lot to be desired. For nearly a month, she’d been pretending to be someone she wasn’t, living a lifestyle totally foreign to her. She was completely alone, away from all that was familiar. She must be going through hell. She must be lonely and miserable. By now, she would be desperate to come home and return to life as she normally lived it. There was no way she could be happy living the way she’d been forced to live since going to work for the Coves.

Phoebe owed it to her friend to bring her home, where she belonged. But how to make sure Lucy was safe once she got there?

“So, Dave,” she finally said, “how about another cup of coffee?”

Lucy had never been happier in her life than she was in the weeks that followed her, ah... Hmm. What to call that night with Max? It certainly went beyond the tête-à tête they’d shared that first time. Hoo, boy, had it gone beyond that. It had been more like a...like a... Well, keeping in line with the foreign language thing, the phrase coitus maximus came to mind. Translating to English, though, the closest she could come was raging conflagration of sexual combustion. She nearly burst into flames all over again just thinking about it.

She and Max had spent every free moment together since that first time, either at her apartment or his. Mostly hers, since his wasn’t the most accommodating place in the world, though they had plans to rectify that. Lucy had made him promise to go shopping with her this weekend, to buy him a few minor luxuries that would make him happy. Even if she already knew what really made him happy.

She did.

Max made her happy, too. Since meeting him, Lucy felt renewed, refreshed, rebuilt, revamped...re-everything. She was a completely different person from the one who left Newport a month ago, and it was a person she actually liked. She had a good life here. She had love with a wonderful man and friends who felt more like a family than her own family did. She had a job. A real job. One she performed well. Okay, so maybe housekeeping wasn’t the same as cancer research. But it was honest work, and she did it well. Never in her life had she felt like she did something well. People here needed her, too. The Coves needed her to care for their home. Abby needed her for comfort and guidance. Rosemary needed her for friendship. And Max...

Well, Max just plain needed her. The same way she needed him.

Her life here was better than she had ever believed life could be. She knew there would come a time—probably in the not-so-distant future—when she would have to go back to Newport to straighten everything out. But part of her hoped that time would never come. Part of her thought she could live happily for the rest of her life being a fugitive from justice. The way she felt during those weeks after making love with Max, she never wanted to leave Glenview again.

Unfortunately, the day before they were to go shopping for his happiness, when Lucy was cleaning in one of the Coves’ front bedrooms, she looked out the window to see cars rolling to a stop in the wide, circular driveway beyond—two plain, black sedans and a gray Jefferson County police car. For a moment, she was overcome by the sensation that she was still standing in Babs and Barclay Wemberley’s ballroom, and that the last four weeks had been nothing but a bad dream, and now she could go back to living her life the way she’d always lived it, free of murder charges and not having to pretend she was someone she wasn’t. Then she remembered where she really was and was massively grateful. She didn’t want the last four weeks to have been a dream. She didn’t want to go back to her life. She wasn’t pretending to be anyone now. In many ways, for the first time in her life, Lucy felt like her true self, living where and how she belonged.

As she watched the cars spill their occupants, however, she realized there were a few things she wouldn’t have minded altering a bit. The murder charge against her, for one thing. That was going to be a little hard to explain to Max. In fact, there were going to be a lot of things that would be hard to explain to Max. In many ways, the murder charge was the least of her worries. At least that one was a mistake. The others, however...

Max! she thought frantically. Lucy needed to get to him before the authorities did. She needed to give him her version of things before he heard the incriminating side. She was about to turn from the window when she saw someone climb out of one of the black sedans who was infinitely more troubling than any police officer or Future Beautician of Idaho could ever hope to be. She watched in grim despair as Francesca Hollander straightened her skirt and touched a hand to her perfectly coiffed blond hair, primping in preparation for her daughter’s arrest.

How did they find her? They must have tortured Phoebe with unspeakable horrors. They must have strung her up by her thumbs and slipped bamboo shoots under her fingernails, and prevented her from sleeping for days on end. Then they must have gotten really ugly, and forced her to dress in polyester and eat tofu and brown rice. Then they must have made her listen while they told her the Republican party only had the best interests of the American people at heart.

Poor Phoebe.

Then Phoebe climbed out of the car behind Francesca, clearly well rested, her manicure perfectly intact, a breathable cotton batik shift covering her perfectly untortured body.

Not a good sign.

Max, Lucy thought again. She had to get to Max. She had to try to explain things before the authorities—and, worse, her mother—got to him.

She dropped her cleaning equipment and swiped her hands down the front of her worn jeans and Max’s gray Ferrari T-shirt—it had been convenient when she’d stepped out of the shower, and it had smelled like him, so she’d slipped it on. Then she raced through the house at what felt like Formula One speeds, out the back door and down the path to the carriage house. Max was polishing the Gullwing with much affection when she burst through the greenery, his blue jeans hugging his lean hips, a snug black T-shirt molded to his muscular back.

“Max!” she called as she sprinted toward him.

He spun around and smiled, that slow, sexy smile that made little fires erupt all over her body. “Hiya,” he said, as if the entire world wasn’t about to come crashing down around them. “Couldn’t stay away from me for a whole morning, huh?”

Her panic and terror ebbed some when he looked at her the way he did. Everything would be okay, she assured herself. He couldn’t possibly look at her that way unless he really, truly loved her. If he really, truly loved her, he would believe her when she explained everything, and he would understand why she’d been forced to lie to him. And he would forgive her. He had to forgive her.

He just had to.

She slowed her pace when he started walking toward her, until they met halfway, between the Gullwing and the garden path. Max dipped his head and captured her mouth with his, treating her to a brief, soft kiss that promised of many more to come. Later. After they both quit work for the day and could retire to her apartment. Until they could fix dinner together, then drink good wine together and eat good food together, then watch old movies together, then make love together. It was the perfect life. As long as they were together. She would do whatever she had to do to make sure they stayed that way.

Reluctantly, she ended the kiss. “We have to talk. There’s something I need to tell you.”

“We can talk about it over dinner tonight. I can’t take a break right now. Justin needs—”

“No, now,” Lucy interrupted him. “It’s really important.”

He looked vaguely alarmed. “Why? What is it?”

“There’s something you need to know about me, Max.”

He shook his head, but his worried expression didn’t change. “I already know everything I need to know about you.”

“No, you don’t. There’s something else.”

He shook his head again, looking more panicked now. But he said decisively, “I know you’re perfect for me. I know you make me happy. I know I love you. That’s all I need to know, Lucy.”

“No, you have to know this, too,” she insisted. She looped both arms around his neck, fearful he would pull away from her once he heard the truth. “It’s something you’re not going to like, but you have to promise you’ll let me explain. And after I explain, you have to promise you’ll remember that I love you and would never, ever, do anything to hurt you.”

She knew she sounded scared, but she was scared. More scared than she’d ever been in her life. Then she saw that Max was scared, too, and it only compounded her fear.

“Max?” she said. “Do you promise to do that?”

“Lucy...” he began.

“Promise me,” she told him.

“But...”

“Promise me!”

“I promise.” His eyes widened in alarm at her vehemence. “But why...”

His voice trailed off before he completed whatever he’d been about to ask. Lucy realized he wasn’t looking at her anymore, but at something over her shoulder. She knew then that they weren’t alone anymore, and now any explanation she’d planned to give him was going to be polluted by interpretations other than her own. On the up side, in a few seconds, she wouldn’t be a fugitive from justice anymore. On the down side, she knew she was going to be a fugitive from something far more important.

It was just as well. How was she supposed to explain to the man she loved that she had a murder charge hanging over her head? How did she expect him to forgive her after she told him she’d been lying to him since the moment they met? It wouldn’t be the others polluting interpretations. She’d done an excellent job of polluting things all by herself.

“Lucinda Hollander?” a flat male voice asked from behind her.

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, thinking that maybe, if she concentrated very, very hard, she could make this work. Concentrating very, very hard worked when she was trying to read things. Of course, she always ended up nauseous and discouraged and miserable when she did that. Then again, she was already nauseous and discouraged and miserable. It was worth a shot.

“Lucinda!”

This time it was her mother’s voice, something that jacked up the nausea, discouragement, and misery to the next level. There was no way Lucy could concentrate hard enough to make her mother go away.

“What on earth have you done to your hair?” Francesca demanded. “Why are you dressed that way? Who’s that man? Why are you letting him touch you like that?”

Leave it to her mother to put it all in perspective. It was one thing for Francesca Hollander’s daughter to be arrested for murder. It was a far worse thing for her not to be dressed appropriately or properly escorted for the occasion.

Lucy tried to meet Max’s gaze, but he was still staring at the people behind her. She found some solace in the fact that he hadn’t released her. In fact, he was holding her even more possessively. But he still didn’t look at her. And that couldn’t be good.

“Lucy.”

This time the voice was Phoebe’s, and it came from closer than the others. It came closer still as her friend continued talking, until she was standing by Lucy’s side.

“It’s okay,” Phoebe said. “They’re not going to arrest you. They promised.”

Oh, fine, Lucy thought. Now Max returned his attention to her.

“Arrest you?” he echoed. “For what? Who the hell are these people? Why are they calling you Lucin...?” His voice trailed off as he realized the woman he loved had been telling him a bunch of big, fat lies.

Before Lucy could utter a single word of explanation, a large hand clamped down on her shoulder. Even that, though, couldn’t make her tear her gaze from Max’s. Nor could the man’s blandly offered, “Lucinda Hollander, you’re under arrest for the murder of Georgi Jakov.”

“What?” But it wasn’t Lucy who uttered the outraged exclamation. It was Phoebe. “You said you weren’t going to arrest her! You promised!”

Without thinking, Lucy said, “I thought his name was George Jacobs.”

That was the moment she knew she lost Max. She could tell by the way his eyes went cold and his features went hard. Even though he didn’t know what the hell was going on, he realized Lucy did. And where he was surprised by all these new developments, Lucy wasn’t. He knew then she’d been lying to him. About who she was and why she was at Harborcourt. He probably thought everything that had happened between them over the past month was just a big, fat lie.