The Sign of Seven Trilogy (37 page)

Those alert and compassionate eyes narrowed on Layla's face. “She thought about killing the baby?”

As she nodded, Layla drew air in slowly. “She feared it, and hated it, and still she loved it. It, not she. I mean—”

“Hester thought of the baby as ‘it.' ”

“Yes. Yes. But still, she couldn't kill the baby. If she had—I thought, when I understood that, if she had, I wouldn't be here. She gave me life by sparing the child, and now she was going to kill me because I was trapped with her. We walked, and if she heard me she must've thought I was one of the voices driving her mad. I couldn't make her listen, couldn't make her understand. Then I saw you.”

She paused to drink again, to steady herself. “I saw you, and I thought, Thank God. Thank God, he's here. I could feel the stones in my hand when she picked them up, feel the weight of them dragging down the pockets of the dress we wore. There was nothing I could do, but I thought—”

“You thought I'd stop her.” So had he, Fox mused. Save the girl.

“You were calling out, telling her it wasn't her fault. You ran to her—to me. And for an instant, I think she heard you. I think, I felt, she wanted to believe you. Then we were in the water, going down. I couldn't tell if she fell or jumped, but we were under the water. I told myself not to panic. Don't panic. I'm a good swimmer.”

“Captain of the swim team.”

“I told you that?” She managed a small laugh, wet her throat again. “I told myself I could get to the surface, even with the weight, I'm a strong swimmer. But I couldn't. Worse, I couldn't even try. It wasn't just the stones weighing me down.”

“It was Hester.”

“Yes. I saw you in the water, diving down, and then . . .” She closed her eyes, pressed her lips hard together.

“It's okay.” Reaching over, he closed a hand over hers. “We're okay.”

“Fox, I don't know if it was her, or if I . . . I don't know. We grabbed on to you.”

“You kissed me.”

“We killed you.”

“We all came to a bad end, but it didn't actually happen. However vivid and sensory, it wasn't real. It was a hard way for you to get inside Hester Deale's head, but now we know more about her.”

“Why were you there?”

“Best guess? We've got this link, you and me. I've shared dreams with Cal and Gage before. Same thing. But there was more this time, another level of connection. In the dream, I saw you, Layla. Not Hester. I heard you. That's interesting. Something to think about.”

“When you juggle.”

He grinned. “Couldn't hurt. We need to—”

His intercom buzzed. “Mr. Edwards is here.”

Fox rose, flipped the switch on his desk. “Okay, give me a minute.” He turned back to Layla as she rose. “We need some more time on this. My last appointment today's at—”

“Four. Mrs. Halliday.”

“Right. You're good. If you're not booked, we could go upstairs after my last appointment, do some work on this.”

It was time, Layla thought, to suit up. “All right.”

He walked to the doors with her, slid them open. “We could have some dinner,” he began.

“I don't want you to go to any trouble.”

“I have every delivery place within a five-mile radius on speed dial.”

She smiled a little. “Good plan.”

He walked out with her to where two hundred and twenty pounds of Edwards filled a chair in reception. His belly, covered in a white T-shirt, pillowed over the waistband of his jeans. His scrubby gray hair was topped by a John Deere gimme cap. He pushed to his feet, held out a hand to clasp the one Fox offered.

“How you doing?” Fox asked.

“You tell me.”

“Come on back, Mr. Edwards. We'll talk about it.”

Works outside, Layla decided as Fox led his client back. A farmer maybe, or a builder, a landscaper. A couple clicks over sixty, and discouraged.

“What's his story, Alice? Can you tell me?”

“Property dispute,” Alice said as she gathered up envelopes. “Tim Edwards has a farm a few miles south of town. Developers bought some of the land that runs with it. Survey puts some eight acres of Tim's land over the line. Developer wants it, so does Tim. I'm going to run to the post office.”

“I can do that.”

Alice wagged a finger. “Then I wouldn't get the walk or the gossip. I've got notes here on a trust Fox is putting together. Why don't you draft that out while I'm gone?”

Alone, Layla sat, got to work. Within ten minutes, she wondered why people needed such complicated, convoluted language to say the straightforward. She picked her way through it, answered the phone, made appointments. When Alice came back, she had questions. She noted that Edwards walked out looking considerably less discouraged.

By one o'clock, she was on her own and pleased to print out the trust Alice had proofed for her. By page two, the printer signaled its cartridge was out of ink. She went to the supply closet across from the pretty little law library hoping Fox stocked backups. She spotted the box on the top shelf.

Why was it always the top shelf? she wondered. Why were there top shelves anyway when not everyone in the world was six feet tall? She rose to her toes, stretched up and managed to nudge a corner of the carton over the edge of the shelf. With one hand braced on a lower shelf, she wiggled it out another inch.

“I'm going out to grab some lunch,” Fox said from behind her. “If you want anything— Here, let me get that.”

“I've almost got the damn thing now.”

“Yeah, and it's going to fall on your head.”

He leaned in, reached up, just as she turned.

Their bodies brushed, bumped. Her face tipped up, filled his vision as her scent slid around him like satin ribbons. Those sea-siren eyes made him feel a little drunk and a lot needy. He thought: Step back, O'Dell. Then he made the mistake of letting his gaze drop down to her mouth. And he was done.

He angled down, another inch, heard her breath draw in. Her lips parted, and he closed that last whisper of distance. A small, soft taste, then another, both feather light. Then her lashes swept down over those seductive eyes; her mouth brushed his.

The kiss went deeper, a slow slide into heat that tangled his senses, that filled them with her until all he wanted was to sink and sink and sink. And drown.

She made some sound, pleasure, distress, he couldn't tell with the blood roaring in his ears. But it reminded him where they were. How they were. He broke the kiss, realized he was essentially shoving her into the storage closet.

“Sorry. I'm sorry.” She was working for him, for God's sake. “I shouldn't have. That was inappropriate. It was—” Amazing. “It was . . .”

“Fox?”

He jerked back an entire foot at the voice behind him. When he whirled around, he could feel his stomach drop straight to his knees. “Mom.”

“Sorry to interrupt.” She gave Fox a sunny smile, then turned it on Layla. “Hi. I'm Joanne Barry. Fox's mother.”

Why was there never a handy hole in the floor when you needed one? Layla thought. “It's nice to meet you, Ms. Barry. I'm Layla Darnell.”

“I told you Layla's helping me out in the office. We were just . . .”

“Yes, you were.”

Still smiling, she left it at that.

She was the kind of woman you'd probably stare at even if you weren't stunned stupid, Layla thought. There was all that rich brown hair waving wild around a strong-boned face with its full, unpainted mouth, and long hazel eyes that managed to look amused, curious, and patient all at once. Joanne had the tall, willowy build that carried the low-slung jeans, boots, and skinny sweater look perfectly.

Since it appeared Fox had been struck dumb, Layla managed to clear her throat. “I, ah, needed a new cartridge. For the printer? It's on the top shelf.”

“Right. Right. I was getting that.” Fox turned, managed to collide with Layla again. “Sorry.” Jesus Christ. He'd no more than pulled the box down when Layla snatched it away, and fled.

“Thanks!”

“Do you have a minute for me?” Jo asked sweetly. “Or do you need to get back to what you were doing when I came in?”

“Cut it out.” Fox hunched his shoulders, led the way back to his office.

“She's very pretty. Who could blame you for playing a little boss and secretary?”

“Mom.” Now he dragged his hands through his hair. “It wasn't like that. It was . . . Never mind.” He dropped into a chair. “What's up?”

“I had some things to do in town. One of which was to drop by your sister's for lunch. Sparrow tells me she hasn't seen you in there for two weeks.”

“I've been meaning to.”

Jo leaned back against his desk. “Eating something that isn't fried, processed, and full of chemicals once a week won't kill you, Fox. And you should be supporting your sister.”

“Okay. I'll go in today.”

“Good. Second, I had some pottery to take into Lorrie's. You must've seen what happened to her shop.”

“Not specifically.” He thought of the smashed windows, the corpses of crows on Main Street. “How bad's the damage?”

“It's bad.” Jo lifted a hand to the trio of crystals that hung from a chain around her neck. “Fox, she's talking about closing. Moving away. It breaks my heart. And it scares me. I'm scared for you.”

He rose, put his arms around her, rubbed his cheek against hers. “It's going to be okay. We're working on it.”

“I want to do something. Your dad and I, all of us, we want to do something.”

“You've done something every day of my entire life.” He gave her a squeeze. “You've been my mom.”

She eased back to take his face in her hands. “You get that charm from your father. Look right at me and reassure me it's going to be okay.”

Without hesitation or guile, his eyes met hers. “It's going to be okay. Trust me.”

“I do.” She kissed his forehead, his cheek, then the other, then gave him a light peck on the lips. “But you're still my baby. I expect you to take good care of my baby. Now go have lunch at your sister's. Her eggplant salad's on special today.”

“Yummy.”

Tolerant, she gave him a light poke in the belly. “You ought to close the office for an hour and take that pretty girl to lunch with you.”

“The pretty girl works for me.”

“How did I manage to raise such a rule follower? It's disheartening.” She gave him another poke before starting for the door. “I love you, Fox.”

“I love you, Mom. And I'll walk out with you,” he added quickly, realizing his mother would have no compunction about stopping by Layla's desk and pumping the pretty girl for information.

“I'll have another chance to get her alone and grill her,” Jo said casually.

“Yeah. But not today.”

THE SALAD WASN'T BAD, AND SINCE HE'D EATEN at the counter he'd had a little time to hang with his baby sister. Since she never failed to put him in a good mood, he walked back to his office appreciating the sunny, blustery day. He'd have appreciated it more if he hadn't run into Derrick Napper, his childhood nemesis, as the now Deputy Napper came out of the barbershop.

“Well, hell, it's O'Dell.” Napper slipped on his dark glasses, looked up, then down the street. “Funny, I don't see any ambulances to chase.”

“Did you get that buzz cut on the town nickel? Somebody overpaid.”

Napper's smile spread thin on his tough, square face. “I heard you were at the scene yesterday when there was trouble at the Square. Didn't stand by and give a statement, or come in to file a witness report. Being the town shyster, you ought to know better.”

“You'd be wrong on that, nothing new there. I stopped by and spoke to the chief this morning. I guess he doesn't tell his bootlickers everything.”

“You ought to remember how many times my boot kicked your ass in the past, O'Dell.”

“I remember a lot of things.” Fox walked by. Once a bully, he thought, always an asshole. Before the Seven was over, he imagined he and Napper would tangle again. But for now, he put it out of his mind.

He had work to do, and as he opened the door of his office, admitted he had a road to smooth out. Might as well get it done.

As he came in, Layla walked toward reception holding a vase of the flowers Alice Hawbaker liked having in the offices. Layla stopped dead.

“I was just giving these fresh water. There weren't any calls while you were gone, but I finished the trust and printed it out. It's on your desk.”

“Good. Listen, Layla—”

“I wasn't sure if there was anything to type up regarding Mr. Edwards, or—”

“Okay, okay, put those down.” He settled it by taking the vase out of her hands and setting it on a table.

“They actually go over—”

“Stop. I was out of line, and I apologize.”

“You already did.”

“I'm apologizing again. I don't want you to feel weirded out because in the office we've got the employer-employee thing going on, and I made a move on you. I didn't intend . . . Your mouth was just there.”

“My mouth was just there?” Her tone changed from flustered to dangerously sweet. “As in on my face, under my nose, and above my chin?”

“No.” He rubbed his fingers in the center of his forehead. “Yes, but no. Your mouth was . . . I forgot not to do what I did, which was completely inappropriate under the circumstances. And I'm going to start pleading the Fifth in a minute, or maybe just temporary insanity.”