Firebird Page 8

  Juliet stopped before her. “Do you hear that, Aunt Zan? Wind chimes. And… Bach? There, through the pines.” She pointed behind her. “The music is so beautiful. So sad. I think there must be someone there.”

  Alexandra jumped to her feet. “We should leave, Jules. I don’t want - ”

  But it was too late. Like Alice following the white rabbit, Juliet spun toward the notes of the cello and disappeared into the wall of leaves. Alexandra muttered an oath, grabbed the book of legends and followed her niece into the woods.

  CHAPTER 10

  “We have heard the chimes...”

  Shakespeare, Henry IV

  Alexandra took several steps into the sea pines, and then the leaves parted like a curtain.

  Juliet was standing very still in front of a small cottage, framed by an arbor of flaming maples, that stood on the edge of the rocks. It was all angles and eaves and tall mullioned windows with blue shutters, green vines creeping untamed across its weathered shingles. Beyond the cottage, she could see the glint of bright cove water.

  Okay, Alexandra told herself, taken by the pure beauty of the place. Nothing dangerous here. She cocked her head, listening. Only the wind chimes, beckoning softly. Had she really heard the cello?

  The front door was slightly ajar. Uh-oh. “Jules,” she called, “don’t even think about – ” Before Alexandra could stop her, Juliet bounded up the porch steps and disappeared into the darkness. Alexandra muttered an oath and ran after her.

  “Must we add Breaking and Entering to our list of sins?” she murmured, glancing around the silent room as she caught up to her niece. The space was large and shadowed by dark drapery that covered the full expanse of the rear wall. Alexandra moved cautiously forward. A fireplace and overflowing bookcases to the left. Dusty sheets shrouded a sofa and chairs. An old radio - silent now - stood on a small table. To the right, by a shuttered window, an iron staircase curved upward. And in the corner, the dark, hulking shape of a grand piano, bathed in shifting shadow. But no cello…

  Alexandra’s fingers felt for the curtain cord and pulled. With a soft whoosh of sound, the curtains slid open.

  “Sweet Mary,” whispered Alexandra. She reached for Juliet’s hand.

  Dust motes spun in the dazzling light that spilled into the room. The whole back wall of the cottage, facing the far side of the cove, was one huge glorious window filled with the blues of sea and sky. Ivory walls caught the late morning sun, so that the whole room shimmered with blue-gold light. “It’s like living beneath a sunlit sea,” she breathed.

  Both women were drawn to the window. Alexandra lifted her face to the sun’s warmth and let the island’s light wash over her like a benediction. “Jules,” she began, “maybe we – ”

  The door shot open with a crash. Juliet cried out and Alexandra pushed her niece behind her as a huge black animal lunged at them.

  Paws the size of hands hit her shoulders, hard, and she staggered back under the heavy weight. A dog, her frantic mind registered, a Lab. A friendly Lab. He dropped to nuzzle her hip and she bent to scratch the silky ears.

  “Jesus, I thought you were a bear! Hello there, fella. You live here? Are you the fan of cello music?”

  “That would be me,” said a deep voice from behind her. “Easy, Hoover.”

  The women spun around as a tall figure, his face in shadows, stepped from behind a door and moved toward them.

  “Aunt Zan!” cried Juliet.

  “I’ll clock you if you come any closer,” said Alexandra, taking a quick protective step in front of her niece. When he kept coming toward them, panic bloomed in her and she flung the book of fairytales at him.

  “Dios!” The book smashed him in the cheek before he caught it. With a muttered oath in Spanish, he stepped into the light. “Clock me? Who says that?”

  Alexandra kept Juliet behind her. Somehow, part of her was able to register the rangy height, the curling black hair. He stood glaring down at her, with the sunlight behind him, and she saw the temper flare like strikes of lightening in the hard mahogany eyes. Then she saw the deep blue windbreaker, thrown carelessly across the piano bench.

  “You!” Her gaze whipped from the man to the dog. “You’re the man with the black Labrador.”

  “You know him?” gasped Juliet.

  “You know me?” he asked at the same time. His gaze narrowed. Very slowly he reached out as if to tip the baseball cap off her head.

  “Don’t touch me!” Alexandra jerked back, threw up an arm to ward him off.

  “Leave her alone!” cried Juliet.

  He froze, then turned to the girl. “Whoa, sorry, kid. I just wanted to see your mother’s face.”

  “Puh-leese. She’s nothing like my mother. She’s my aunt.”

  “My mistake.” He peered down at the girl. “You, however, do look familiar…” Juliet backed away, one hand reaching for the Lab.

  “It’s okay, Jules.” Alexandra took a deep breath, stepping deliberately out of reach. “We’ve never met,” she said to him. As if to prove the point, she pulled off the cap and lifted her face to his. Her hair, which had been caught-up beneath the Mets hat, fell in a sudden spill of copper-red to her shoulders.

  “Madre de Dios!” he said softly.

  “It was the cello,” she heard herself say. “I - thought you were someone else. What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Me? I own the bloody place, lady.” His voice was softly accented and as deep as the ocean. “Now why don’t you tell me why you two are trespassing on my property?”

  “Trespassing!”

  “No? Are you thieves, then?”

  “Your dog doesn’t think so.”

  He glared at the Lab, now wedged against Juliet’s thigh – who, for once, was mercifully silent. “Et tu, Hoover,” he said softly. “You’re supposed to be a guard dog.”

  “We didn’t even know this house was here, hidden behind the trees,” said Alexandra. “But I heard the music...”

  A dark brow arched in amusement. “Ah. So you were going to steal my radio.” His eyes were on Alexandra’s bare feet. “Or perhaps my boots?”

  Exasperated, she pushed the hair over her shoulder with a fluid gesture and watched the brown eyes deepen with surprise.

  “You!” he said suddenly. “I saw you - when? - last night? On the edge of the dunes.”

  “That would be me.” Grammar be damned. It felt right.

  He thrust out his hands. “And now here you are again, making yourself quite at home,” he murmured. “Coincidence?”

  “Do I look like a stalker to you?” she demanded. “It seems we are just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She glared at Juliet, who was now on the floor with her arms around the Lab, whispering into his fur and ignoring the adults.

  He smiled down at the girl and the dog. “At least allow us to welcome you both to La Casa que Canta.”

  The crooked smile, and the happy thump of the dog’s tail, eased her fears. “The House that Sings? It’s perfect.”

  “You speak Spanish?”

  “Some. Along with bits of Italian, French, Latin - and Russian, from my grandmother.” She grinned self-consciously. “I’m great with menus.”

  “Russian? I’m impressed. The only Russian I know I learned in Moscow. The word ‘bar’.”

  She hid her smile by turning once more to the window. “This room is like being inside a Monet painting,” she breathed.

  He stared at her. “You like this old place?”

  She waved a hand toward the glimmering walls. “Who wouldn’t?”

  “It’s for sale.”

  Alexandra glanced at the sheet-draped furniture. “So you live here now? Like this?”

  “Hardly. No, my Madre lived here, before she moved to the village. I’m just here visiting her and... I needed a quiet place to think.” He stopped abruptly. “Madre wants to live in the village full time, so she’s selling the cottage.”

  “I can see a young family living here.”

 
; “Won’t be me. Hoover and I live in a marina on the Potomac River, in Washington, D.C. A boat called the Vaya con Dios.”

  “Washington...” A small alarm went off in her head. “So I take it Hoover is named for the President?”

  “The vacuum.”

  Juliet’s head came up, and her trill of laughter filled the room.

  Alexandra remained silent, watching him. The lopsided grin was quite disarming, she had to admit. Very tall and angular, he was dressed in boots, jeans, a loose white cotton shirt. Narrow-hipped. Big, strong hands. A hint of dark stubble shadowed his high, chiseled cheekbones and sun-browned skin. Thick black brows furrowed over the deep-set Spanish eyes. Something in those eyes startled her - they were so serious, remote and lonely, reminding her of a man used to keeping his distance. Except for the jeans, he looked as if he’d stepped out of a painting by Goya.

  “Well,” said Alexandra, suddenly flustered, “we’ll leave you to your thoughts, then.” She glanced down at Juliet, who was actually smiling as she scratched Hoover’s stomach. “Let’s go, Jules. Time to get back to New York.”

  “Oh!” Juliet’s shocked cry cut the air. “How could you?”

  Alexandra spun around. “What’s wrong?”

  Juliet pointed to the Lab. “He has scars all over his body, Aunt Zan! And he only has one eye!” She shifted her body as if to protect the dog and glared at the stranger with deep suspicion.

  He squatted on his heels, eyes level with Juliet’s. “Hoover is a rescue dog,” he said quietly.

  “Rescue?” repeated Juliet. “As in, he needed to be rescued?”

  He nodded, his body very still. “As in.”

  “Oh, God.” Juliet ran her hands gently over the Lab’s fur. “Sweet brave baby,” she murmured. Then she raised her head. “What happened to him?”

  For a brief moment the man’s eyes touched Alexandra’s. Then he said, “Let’s just say Hoover’s previous owner didn’t win any ‘animal lover of the year’ awards.”

  Juliet buried her head against Hoover’s neck. “I hope you shot him,” she muttered. And then, her words muffled against the sleek ebony fur, “I’m glad Hoover found you.”

  “So am I, kid. That’s a fact.”

  Juliet shot a meaningful look at Alexandra. “When you’re trying to rescue someone, you’re usually trying to rescue yourself.”

  He stared at her, dark eyes glittering and hard as diamonds. “Tough cookie, aren’t you, kid?”

  She raised her head, smiled faintly. “I’m Juliet.”

  “Juliet. Very Shakespearian.” He smiled back at her. “I think Hoover is smitten.” He turned to Alexandra, extending his hand. “You have a name, too, Red? Mine’s Garcia. Jon Garcia.”

  Alexandra froze. Garcia! The man Eve had mentioned in her recording.

  I don’t think I can trust him, Zan. He’s no stranger to violence.

  She felt the blood drain from her face as she backed away from him. Her eyes flew to Juliet, but the girl was concentrating on the Lab and appeared not to have heard his name. “We’ve got to leave.”

  She watched him stiffen and drop his hand to his side. She was suddenly very aware that his eyes, dark on the surface, hid a greater darkness underneath. He remained very still, watching her.

  “Come on, Jules,” she said to the reluctant girl. “Now!” Juliet gave Hoover a last kiss and, with a final questioning glance at Garcia, ran to the door. Alexandra hurried after her.

  “Close the door on your way out,” Garcia said into the tense silence. Very deliberately he turned his back on them and clicked on the radio.

  The dark chords of Bach crashed around her as she pulled Juliet out the door.

  * * * *

  Garcia stood at the window watching them disappear into the pines. The woman was like a doe running from a hunter. No doubt about it, he’d caused the fear sparking in the depths of those wary eyes. What the devil was with this woman?

  He didn’t believe in coincidence, not in his line of work. Okay, maybe Hoover had trusted them. But Hoover would trust an axe murderer if her hair sparked like firelight...

  He remembered the moment the woman pulled off her cap and tucked the long coppery strands behind her ear with those slender, nervous fingers. Light, transparent as water, had touched her face. Dios, he’d never seen eyes like hers. Bright with intelligence and anger. Shining, silvery, like the color of a mirror...

  He leaned to scratch the Lab’s smooth head. “She had some forearm, old boy, I’ll give her that.” He rubbed the bruise on his cheek, where she’d hit him with the book, while the dog gave a soft bark of agreement.

  Yes, he’d scared her at first. And she’d stayed on guard, ready to take him on - he could still see the deliberate squaring of slender shoulders under the worn sweatshirt, the small chin thrust up. He’d liked that she was protecting the girl. And she was, what? Five foot nothing… But then she’d recognized him from the beach, seemed to understand he was no threat to her. He’d actually caught her smiling, hadn’t he?

  Until he’d introduced himself, and watched her skin go sheet-white while the fear flared like lightening on water in those remarkable eyes. And she’d whirled away from him, her hair swinging out like a red cloak around her shoulders.

  He looked down at the dog. “Just because you walk out of a movie, Hoove, doesn’t mean it’s over.”

  Once more he gazed out the window at the now empty beach. Who the devil was she? And why was she so damned afraid?

  CHAPTER 11

  “...horror, of falling into naught.”

  Joseph Addison

  The Grandfather clock in the front hallway of Cliff House was chiming noon when the intruder heard the kitchen door open.

  At last. He’d been waiting for her.

  He stood very still, almost invisible in the shadows of the dining room.

  Low voices, footsteps. Rustling.

  He took a step closer.

  “We’ll need to leave for the ferry at two, Jules. Cross your fingers that the fog holds off.” The woman’s voice was low and musical. “I‘ll make us some lunch, why don’t you go upstairs and pack your things?”

  Silence.

  “Did you hear me?”

  A brief, tight response.

  “Please, Jules.”

  The sound of footsteps stomping up the back stairs.

  He raised his head. Quieter now. Her purse was open on the countertop. Was it in her purse? Her jacket? Her jean pockets?

  He heard a long sigh, then water filling a kettle, the radio softly tuned to an Italian opera. She began to hum along.

  She liked Puccini.

  For the first time, she moved across his vision.

  He swallowed, watching her.

  Watery light drifted through the window, turning her thick hair to crimson. She bent down. He stared at the bare feet, the outline of her body in the narrow jeans.

  Slipping the dark nylon mask over his face, he moved silently toward the kitchen.

  * * * *

  With the Puccini aria echoing in her head, Alexandra stood at the kitchen door gazing out at the broad terrace. She’d never liked it, remembered only too well how high it was, perched on the very edge of the cliff. More than 100 feet above the water. So damned high...

  Follow me, she heard her sister whisper in her ear. I dare you.

  She opened the door slowly, forced herself to step outside onto the slate. Waves crashed against rock, so far below her, and she felt the paralyzing fear grip her spine. I can’t do it, Eve.

  She stood frozen while the sun disappeared beneath a great cloud of grey fog that billowed toward the cliffs. Already the air was gauzy, mist sliding like slender fingers across the black stones. The fog rushing toward her was like a wave of thick smoke. In moments the pines and the terrace would disappear.

  And so would the ferry ride to the mainland. Oh, no, she thought. Not another night stranded here with Juliet. She stood on the terrace, thinking about her sister’s child, as the fog closed
in around her.

  A small sound scraped behind her, and her skin prickled. Elusively, subtly, the sweet scent of a man’s cologne drifted on the air. She glanced uneasily over her shoulder. Her breath caught in her throat as she heard the sound of a soft footstep in the kitchen. A long shadow moved suddenly across the tiles.

  A jolt of sheer terror washed through her. She swung around.

  Just an impression of a tall stranger, lunging toward her through the swimming mist.

  “No!” She started to scream, but his hand closed painfully over her mouth. A sickening scent of cologne gagged her.

  “Don’t cry out, Shura.”

  Shura! Even through the haze of fear she recognized the Russian nickname her grandmother had called her. “Please!” She dragged at his arm, felt the smooth nylon of his sleeve, saw a flash of dark navy-blue against the light. “Do you know me?”

  “If you make another sound,” he said against her hair, “the girl will come downstairs to see what’s wrong. Is that what you want?”

  She shook her head in terror.

  Strong fingers gripped the neck of her sweater. She glimpsed the shine of heavy gold, the shape of a bird’s wing.

  “Come here,” he whispered.

  She twisted in his arms and saw the masked face. Through the black slits, eyes blue as a northern sea stared back at her. She bit her lip to stop the scream in her throat. Don’t let Juliet hear you!

  He bent toward her and gripped her, curling her body tightly against his.

  “Good girl,” he breathed against her hair. His voice was intimate, sexual.

  “Don’t,” she whispered, shrinking away.

  “Do you like this, Shura?” She felt his lips hot against the pulse in her neck as his free hand roamed roughly, searching, over her body. Horror exploded inside her. She struggled harder, kicking wildly, crying out as his fingers pushed beneath the waistband of her jeans.