Finding Laura (3 page)

“IT’S UGLY,”
C
ASSIDY
said, taking her eyes off the road long enough to glance aside at the mirror held gently in Laura’s lap. “And you got it for five dollars. How good can it be if it costs five dollars?”

“It won’t be ugly when I polish it,” Laura said. “And
you know as well as I do that auctions are great places to find bargains. This mirror is old, Cass. Real old.”

“Old doesn’t make it beautiful.”

“You’re just being grumpy because that guy outbid you for the table you wanted.”

“It was
my
table,” Cassidy said rather fiercely, her competitive and possessive nature outraged by the loss.

Laura couldn’t help smiling, however distractedly; she didn’t take her gaze off the mirror in her lap. She still felt as shaken and exhilarated as she had when she’d first seen the mirror, and could hardly wait to get home and polish away years of tarnish. She wanted to see it, to explore the intricate design of the metal, to learn everything she could about it. She could feel something stamped into the brass on the back, numbers or letters set unobtrusively within the intricate design, but due to tarnish and age couldn’t make out what it was.

There was a nick on the side of the handle, as if the mirror had struck a sharp edge at some point. And a worn spot where many thumbs must have rested over the years. And Laura was certain the original glass part of the mirror had been somehow broken and replaced.

It could no doubt tell some tales, this mirror, Laura thought.

“…  then again, I could always just go on talking to myself.”

Laura blinked, and turned her head to look at her friend. “Oh, sorry.”

“Never mind.” Cassidy shook her head, her expression wry. “We’re home now.” She was just turning her two-year-old Mazda into the parking lot of the apartment complex where they lived.

“I’m sorry you lost that table, Cass, really.”

“Oh, never mind the damned table. I suppose you’ll be drooling over your mirror all afternoon and not be fit for company.”

“I never drool,” Laura protested mildly. “But as a matter of fact, I thought I’d spend the rest of the day at home.” She didn’t try to defend her desire to close herself away with the mirror, because she knew Cassidy wouldn’t understand.
Hell, I don’t understand it myself!

The two women went into the lobby of their building, waved at the security guard, and went up in the elevator. Cassidy got off on the third floor to go to her apartment, still not in the best of moods and declaring that she was going to order a pizza for lunch and then spend the rest of the afternoon at the pool. Laura continued on to the fourth floor, where her apartment was.

They had both lived in the building for five years, meeting in the laundry room and hitting it off instantly. Both came from large families they weren’t particularly close to, and with time and space to themselves for the first time in their lives, neither was in any hurry to exchange the single life for couplehood or kids. Cassidy worked in a bank and considered Laura’s job as a commercial artist far more glamorous than her own, while Laura envied Cass her ease with people and her ability to flirt.

Laura didn’t flirt, and she was by nature a loner. She had always been intense in her emotions, perhaps because she was creative, and that intensity made her wary of any casual relationship. She had friends, of course, but most were acquaintances she saw infrequently, with the exception of Cassidy.

As for men, in the years since college she had gotten involved with two men seriously enough to contemplate taking them home at Christmas to meet her family. Neither man had made it to the small coastal Georgia town where she had grown up, the relationships faltering and then failing even before the tinsel and lights of downtown Atlanta began to pall on everyone. Laura accepted the blame for the breakups, knowing herself to be moody and emotional around the holidays, but comforted herself with
the certainty that someday, someone would sense and understand her peculiar whims and moods.

Today, however, she just wanted to be alone with her mirror.

She went into her corner apartment, which was bright and airy due to numerous windows and the southeastern exposure she had requested. The small kitchen was divided from the much larger space of the living room by a breakfast bar with two high stools that took the place of a dining table. There was space for a dining table just beyond the kitchen, but that was occupied by Laura’s drafting table and, sometimes, an easel and stool.

There was an easel there now, holding a half-finished painting that was Laura’s latest attempt to discover whether or not she could
really
paint and make her living that way instead of working on ad layouts and the like. The verdict on this attempt was no, a conclusion Laura had dismally reached a couple of days ago. Whatever spark it took to inflame the creative soul of an artist was lacking in Laura. For now, at least. But she refused to give up. Someday …

To the right of the living room, beside the doorway that led to the short hall and two bedrooms of the apartment, Laura’s collection of hand mirrors was displayed, some on a set of freestanding shelves and some artfully arranged on the wall above it. It was a varied collection, with mirrors fashioned from brass, silver and silver plate, copper, pewter, and two from gleaming wood. They ranged in size from hardly more than palm sized to nearly twenty inches long, and the mirrors themselves were formed in nearly every possible shape. There was even one small triangular mirror set in wrought iron.

Laura didn’t even glance toward them.

She went into the living room, dropping her shoulder bag onto the comfortable overstuffed chair and pausing only long enough to set the mirror carefully on the polished
wood of her coffee table before going in search of what she would need to clean her prize.

I
T WAS AFTER
five o’clock that evening when the security guard downstairs called up to tell Laura that she had a visitor.

“Who is it, Larry?”

“It’s Mr. Peter Kilbourne, Miss Sutherland,” the guard replied, unaware of the shock he was delivering. “He says it’s in reference to the mirror you bought today.”

For just an instant, Laura was conscious of nothing except an overwhelming urge to grab her mirror and run. It was nothing she could explain, but the panic was so real that Laura went ice-cold with it. Thankfully, the reaction was short-lived, since her rational mind demanded to know why on earth she felt so threatened. After all, she had bought the mirror legally, and no one had the right to take it away from her. Not even Peter Kilbourne.

Trying to shake off uneasiness, she said, “Thank you, Larry. Send him up, please.”

She found her shoes and stepped into them, and absently smoothed a few strands of hair that had escaped from the long braid hanging down her back, but Laura didn’t think or worry too much about how she looked. Instead, as she waited for her unexpected visitor, she stood near the couch and kept glancing at the mirror lying on several layers of newspaper on the coffee table.

It looked now, after hours of hard work, like an entirely different mirror. The rich, warm, reddish gold color of old brass gleamed now, and the elaborate pattern stamped into the metal, a shade darker, showed up vividly. It was a curious pattern, not floral as with most of the mirrors she had found, but rather a swirling series of loops and curves that were, Laura had discovered, actually made up of one continuous line—rather like a maze.

It was around the center of this maze that Laura had discovered the numbers or letters stamped into the brass, but since she hadn’t yet finished polishing the back, she still didn’t know what, if anything, the writing signified.

A quiet knock at her door recalled her thoughts, and Laura mentally braced herself as she went to greet her visitor. She had no particular image in her mind of Peter Kilbourne, but she certainly didn’t expect to open her door to the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

It was an actual, physical shock to see him, she realized dimly, a stab of the same astonishment one would feel if a statue of masculine perfection suddenly breathed and smiled. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome—and more. Much more. Black hair, pale blue eyes, a flashing smile. Perfect features. And his charm was an almost visible thing, somehow, obvious even before he spoke in a deep, warm voice.

“Miss Sutherland? I’m Peter Kilbourne.”

A voice to break hearts.

Laura gathered her wits and stepped back, opening the door wider to admit him. “Come in.” She thought he was about her own age, maybe a year or two older.

He came into the apartment and into the living room, taking in his surroundings quickly but thoroughly, and clearly taking note of the mirror on the coffee table. His gaze might have widened a bit when it fell on her collection of mirrors, but Laura couldn’t be sure, and when he turned to face her, he was smiling with every ounce of his charm.

It was unsettling how instantly and powerfully she was affected by that magnetism. Laura had never considered herself vulnerable to charming men, but she knew without doubt that this one would be difficult to resist—whatever it was he wanted of her. Too uneasy to sit down or invite him to, Laura merely stood with one hand on the back of
a chair and eyed him with what she hoped was a faint, polite smile.

If Peter Kilbourne thought she was being ungracious by not inviting him to sit down, he didn’t show it. He gestured slightly toward the coffee table and said, “I see you’ve been hard at work, Miss Sutherland.”

She managed a shrug. “It was badly tarnished. I wanted to get a better look at the pattern.”

He nodded, his gaze tracking past her briefly to once again note the collection of mirrors near the hallway. “You have quite a collection. Have you … always collected mirrors?”

It struck her as an odd question somehow, perhaps because there was something hesitant in his tone, something a bit surprised in his eyes. But Laura replied truthfully despite another stab of uneasiness. “Since I was a child, actually. So you can see why I bought that one today at the auction.”

“Yes.” He slid his hands into the pockets of his dark slacks, sweeping open his suit jacket as he did so in a pose that might have been studied or merely relaxed. “Miss Sutherland—look, do you mind if I call you Laura?”

“No, of course not.”

“Thank you.” He nodded gravely, a faint glint of amusement in his eyes recognizing her reluctance. “I’m Peter.”

She nodded in turn, but didn’t speak.

“Laura, would you be interested in selling the mirror back to me? At a profit, naturally.”

“I’m sorry.” She was shaking her head even before he finished speaking. “I don’t want to sell the mirror.”

“I’ll give you a hundred for it.”

Laura blinked in surprise, but again shook her head. “I’m not interested in making money, Mr. Kilbourne—”

“Peter.”

A little impatiently, she said, “All right—Peter. I don’t want to sell the mirror. And I did buy it legitimately.”

“No one’s saying you didn’t, Laura,” he soothed. “And you aren’t to blame for my mistake, certainly. Look, the truth is that the mirror shouldn’t have been put up for auction. It’s been in my family a long time, and we’d like to have it back. Five hundred.”

Not a bad profit on a five-dollar purchase
. She drew a breath and spoke slowly. “No. I’m sorry, I really am, but … I’ve been looking for this—for a mirror like this—for a long time. To add to my collection. I’m not interested in making money, so please don’t bother to raise your offer. Even five thousand wouldn’t make a difference.”

His eyes were narrowed slightly, very intent on her face, and when he smiled suddenly it was with rueful certainty. “Yes, I can see that. You don’t have to look so uneasy, Laura—I’m not going to wrest the thing away from you by force.”

“I never thought you would,” she murmured, lying.

He chuckled, a rich sound that stroked along her nerve endings like a caress. “No? I’m afraid I’ve made you nervous, and that was never my intention. Why don’t I buy you dinner some night as an apology?”

This man is dangerous
. “That isn’t necessary,” she said.

“I insist.”

Laura looked at his incredibly handsome face, that charming smile, and drew yet another deep breath. “Will your wife be coming along?” she asked mildly.

“If she’s in town, certainly.” His eyes were guileless.

Very dangerous
. Laura shook her head. “Thanks, but no apology is necessary. You offered a generous price for the mirror; I refused. That’s all there is to it.” She half turned and made a little gesture toward the door with one hand, unmistakably inviting him to leave.

Peter’s beautiful mouth twisted a bit, but he obeyed
the gesture and followed her to the door. When she opened it and stood back, he paused to reach into the inner pocket of his jacket and produced a business card. “Call me if you change your mind,” he said. “About the mirror, I mean.”

Or anything else
, his smile said.

“I’ll do that,” she returned politely, accepting the card.

“It was nice meeting you, Laura.”

“Thank you. Nice meeting you,” she murmured.

He gave her a last flashing smile, lifted a hand slightly in a small salute, and left her apartment.

Laura closed the door and leaned back against it for a moment, relieved and yet still uneasy. She didn’t know why Peter Kilbourne wanted the mirror back badly enough to pay hundreds of dollars for it, but every instinct told her the matter was far from settled.

She hadn’t heard the last of him.

I
T WASN’T UNTIL
late Sunday morning that Laura was finally able to make out what was stamped in the mazelike pattern on the back of the mirror. It was almost unnoticeable, designed so cleverly that it seemed a part of the pattern, but in the center of the maze had been stamped a tiny heart. There was a curving line through the heart, dividing it in half, and in each half was a letter.
S
in one half and
B
in the other.

Below the tiny heart was a date. 1778.