The Edge of Recall (13 page)

“Should it have?”

Her hand clawed the bedspread, tears escaping her closed eyelids. “I don’t know.”

“Sink back into that moment. Before he pushed away.”

She felt Smith’s lips on hers, his arms around her. She had felt his frustration, but something else, something tender. Something that might be the way a kiss was supposed to be. “I liked it.”

“Stay there a moment.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

A tear streamed down her temple. “Because he pulled away.”

“How did that feel?”

“Like rejection. Desertion.”

“Stay with that feeling.”

That one was familiar. She let the hurt take over, let it morph with all the other hurts she knew.
Daddy? Daddy!

She jolted up from the bed, eyes wide, gasping for breath, as though she’d run hard.

“Tessa.”

“There’s something . . . wrong. I think he’s in trouble.”

“Smith?”

“No. My dad.”

The silence she expected. “Tell me what you saw.”

“I didn’t see anything. Just the feeling.”

“Go back to that feeling.”

“No.” She started to shake. “Please.”

“Lie down.”

How had he known she’d sat up? Experience. Years of treating her. She sank back.

“We’re going to your safe place.”

“Yes.” She closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Relax your face.” He led her through each part of her body until she’d released the tight muscles and the shakes had stopped. “How do you feel?”

She pictured a meadow filled with wild flowers so thick their delicate scents were pungent. “Peaceful.”

“Good. Go to sleep. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She hung up. Tomorrow.

In the small trailer bedroom, Smith unbuttoned his shirt. “Maybe we’ve attracted a spy.”

Bair’s brow creased. “What for?”

“He could be looking for Petra or Gaston.”

“Who knows this is their place?”

“Things have been filed in his name.”

Bair considered that. “Maybe whoever it is wants us to report the strange activity. Petra’s into the paranormal. You heard her talking about the unsettled energy of the property.”

Smith nodded. “Petra likes anything sensational.”

“In her defense, there is a feeling I get sometimes. I swear I’m being watched, yet when I look there’s nothing there.”

“I’ve felt it too. And heard things. Mostly at night. But there must be an explanation.”

“Should we say something?”

“And have Gaston down here holding our hands?” Smith shook his head. “Keep our eyes and ears open.”

“Still. Fouling the doorstep . . .”

Smith splashed his face with water and rubbed away the tension. “Very odd.”

“Odd doesn’t touch it. It’s barmy.”

Smith brushed his teeth and rinsed his brush, thankful whatever was out there had distracted Bair from Tessa. He didn’t want to think about tonight. He just wanted to sleep. He got into bed and bunched his pillow into shape.

Bair took his turn in the bathroom, then sat on the edge of his bed. “Could be a nature reservist who doesn’t want us to build. Maybe he thinks it’s a mall or theme park as well.”

Smith raised his head. “Did you get Katy off that?”

Bair sighed. “Persistent girl.”

“No having her back.”

“I suppose not—even if she wanted to.”

“She’d want to.”

Bair shrugged. “I had no chance to show my charming self.”

“Girls don’t want you charming. They want to bring you home and take care of you.”

Bair scowled. “Katy’s not like that.”

True. She seemed more interested in taking care of herself. “I hope you’re not simply her ticket out.”

“Thank you very much.”

“A charming ticket.”

Bair heaved his pillow. “She wanted to know about you and Tessa.”

“Nothing to know.”

“She picked up on it that first lunch at Ellie’s. Like sheet lightning arcing over the table.”

“Ridiculous.” Smith tossed Bair’s pillow back.

“And then tonight. The very air singed.”

Smith buried his head in his arms. “Enough already.”

“Have you thought about the morning?”

He groaned.

“If Tessa comes back—”

“She’ll be back.” That much he knew. “Nothing will keep her from that labyrinth.”

“But you do plan to . . .”

“Grovel?”

“Whatever it takes.”

Smith sighed. “I’ll protect this job, and that goes for Katy and Tessa and whoever’s out there.”

They lay in the darkness. Smith had just started to hope that was it when Bair murmured, “How was it? Kissing her.”

“You really think I’m going to say?”

“I mean being back in the match.”

“If you’re asking whether the specter of Danae hung over me, then no.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Smith released a slow breath. In the kitchen with Tessa, Danae had not entered his mind. He closed his eyes. What was he doing? He hadn’t planned to reenter the match. He would let her know she didn’t need to worry about a repeat performance. Her reaction had warned him off anything more personal than progress reports.

CHAPTER

12

Tessa had hoped when she went to work that Smith would avoid her indefinitely, but he was waiting outside the office dressed in pressed jeans and a crisp Oxford shirt. In spite of meticulous grooming, he looked haggard, as though his night had not been restful. She’d slept after her therapy as if Dr. Brenner had ordered her mind to comply.

She sometimes believed he possessed that power. Like the old hypnotist movies.
You’re getting sleeeepy.
Maybe that was why she’d resisted that particular therapy. No thanks. No spooky pendulums. But his voice did seem to convey her to whatever state she needed. Now she wished she’d stayed in bed.

She got out of the car and raised a hand to stem whatever Smith might say. “Let’s just forget last night happened.” She could deal with anything today if Smith left it alone—and if she didn’t whiff his cologne and hear his voice and see the look he was giving her, his serious face, no hint of underlying humor, and more than a little concern.

“I need to know you’re all right.”

He’d called her an egg, but he would see how thick her shell was. No danger she’d break. “I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

“I’m fine.” She couldn’t be more direct than that.

He drew himself up, cool and reserved again, professional. “So back to work?”

“Sure. I think I’ll wander around with my eyes shut for a while.”

He showed a flashing remorse for yesterday’s comment, then inclined his head. “You’re the expert.”

She ducked into the office for her sketchbook and laptop, but before she could escape, Bair looked up.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes. Sorry about Katy.”

Bair flushed, drowning out his freckles. “It was getting awkward anyway. With the non-disclosure and whatnot.”

“Curious girl.”

“I hope it didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

She almost laughed. Of all the things that had stressed her, Katy’s curiosity came in a pitiable last. “No, Bair. It didn’t.”

“I know the meal . . . wasn’t . . . great. . . .”

“It’s the thought that counts. I’m sure Katy appreciated it.” Though if anyone could be oblivious to Bair’s effort, Katy fit the bill.

Bair looked as if he wanted to correct her misinterpretation, but Tessa grabbed the laptop before he could go on and escaped. Smith was busy with his palm device as she swept past, wanting nothing more than to immerse herself in her work and forget either of them existed.

She found a spot overlooking the labyrinth to finish constructing the preliminary CAD drawing she would submit to Smith. As she worked, the breeze stirred around her. A lazy bee droned by. Ordinarily she’d be at her desk, in the office. That Smith’s presence made it impossible she considered a blessing.

After several hours of working in the sun, Tessa went back to her car for the cooler that held her lunch and fortified water. Her forehead and the back of her neck were damp with perspiration. She put the cool bottle to her cheek and closed her eyes until the sound of a car caught her attention—mainly the fact that it was being driven hard with the sonorous proof that it was built for it.

A high-performance roadster whizzed through the open gate and stopped a few yards away. The woman who stepped out could only be Petra Sorenson. Her legs alone appeared to be six feet long, with shin bones that looked as though they’d been pressed to a crease. Her features were gaunt, and her eyebrows angled out to a point. She wore her platinum white hair styled close to her head with a fan of black hair across the back of her neck. The effect was a little Cruella De Vil, but Petra made it stunning.

Tessa remained perched against the trunk of her rental car as the woman gave her the once-over and said, “Wife or girlfriend?”

She closed the lid of her bottle. “Tessa Young. Landscape architect. I’m in charge of your labyrinth.”

The woman raised her brows. “The Neanderthals hired a female?”

“It’s my specialty. Smith had no choice.” And probably regretted it now.

Petra’s mouth pulled, and the overweening smile really worked on her. Tessa watched her enter the trailer without knocking and wished she could have seen the effect.

A moment later, Bair ducked his head out. “Er, Tessa, would you . . . join us, please?” He held the door as she closed up the cooler and went inside.

Smith slanted her a glance. “Petra wants to share some ideas.”

Bair brought his desk chair around and awkwardly bumped it into the back of Petra’s legs. Anyone else would have toppled, but she managed a controlled descent. Her slick short skirt left more than enough leg to hold both men’s attention.

Petra folded her fingers around her knee. “I’d like to see the blueprints.”

“They’re still in process,” Smith told her. “I have the preliminary design.” He reached for his portfolio. “Dictated by what Mr. Gaston described and elements of the etchings he provided.”

Tessa recognized Smith’s exacting hand in the drawings he handed over.

Petra looked from one sketch to the next. “What’s this?”

“The master suite.”

Tessa saw the round window figuring prominently in the design. Somehow she hadn’t thought of it in Petra’s bedroom.

“Where’s the Roman bath?”

“I . . . hadn’t heard about a Roman bath. Mr. Gaston spec’d an Italian marble soaking tub there.” He pointed.

Petra raised an eyebrow. “Marble’s fine. I want it sunken. Five steps at least and much bigger.” She studied the drawing, then pressed her finger. “Here?”

Tessa startled when Petra directed the question to her. “Smith would have to—”

“Maybe circular? Beneath the window?”

Tessa imagined Petra bathing beneath the window that overlooked the innermost sanctum of the labyrinth. So much for sacred geometry.

Smith straightened. “It’s not possible to put a sunken bath in an upper level. It would have to be raised.”

“Why?”

“Because . . . there’s a ceiling underneath.”

Tessa caught the hint of condescension he struggled to conceal.

Petra thrust out her lower lip. “Move it to the first floor, then.”

“The bath?”

“The master suite.”

Smith did a slow blink. “Mr. Gaston located it in that upper central position.”

“Then find a way to sink the tub. Now, I’ll need a runway from the closet. Mirrored. I have to see how an outfit performs.” She glanced over, probably realized Tessa didn’t share that need, and turned back to the plan. She touched the closet section of the sketch. “Longer through here. Mirror both walls. I’ll need at least six strides.”

Smith tried for a smile. “Maybe the three of us should sit down, you and Rumer together, before I proceed.”

“I want to surprise him.”

Smith leaned back. “These are major change orders. I’ll have to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

“Rumer wants me happy.”

Bair covered a snort with a cough.

“I’m sure,” Smith said ingenuously. “But something as monumental as relocating the master suite—”

“Monumental?”

“Mr. Gaston was firm on its placement. He wants to look out from there, over the maze and gardens.”

“Oh, that old maze.” She turned. “Do we need it?”

Tessa hid her alarm. “The labyrinth will be the centerpiece of the whole property. Unique and chic. The window in the upstairs room mirrors its center in perfect symmetry. Really good stuff.”

Petra frowned. “Make it a gallery or something, then. I’ve loads of photos and covers.”

With all those pictures of herself, would she ever think to look out the window?

Petra counted off on her impossibly long fingers. “The Roman bath, the runway, oh, and the massage room.”

Smith saw his escape. “We could locate your Roman bath and massage room in the solarium.” He flipped the page back to the main level. “Here.”

“Solarium.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s so last century.”

“Mr. Gaston envisions it a cigar room. But we could incorporate a sunken tub, massage table, and even a sauna, without doing violence to the plan.”

Petra skewered him with a look. “Se-
ve-
riously. Why would I open my pores in his cigar room?”