Suzanna's Surrender

Chapter Ten

Holt waited for Trent in the pergola along the sea-wail. Lighting a cigarette, he looked over the wide lawn to The Towers. One of the gargoyles along the center peak had lost its head while the other sat grinning down, more charming than ferocious. There were clematis – he recognized it now – and roses climbing up to the first terrace. The old stone glowered in the hazy sunlight. There was really no other word for it, but the flowers gave it a kind of magical, Sleeping Beauty aura. Towers and turrets speared up, arrogant of form, dignified with age.

Scaffolding bracketed the west end, and the high whine of a power saw cut the air. A lift truck was parked under the balcony, its mechanism groaning as it hefted its load of equipment to a trio of bare – backed men. A radio jolted out tough rock.

Maybe it was right and just that the house held so tenaciously to the past even while it accepted the present, Holt mused. If it was possible for stone and mortar to absorb emotion and memory, The Towers had done so. Already he felt as though it harbored some of his.

The windows of the room where he had spent most of the night with Suzanna winked back at him. He remembered every second of those hours, every sigh, every movement. He also remembered that he had confused her. No, tenderness wasn't his style, he thought, but it had been easy with her.

She hadn't asked him for softness. She hadn't asked him for anything. Was that why he felt compelled to give? Without trying, she had tapped into something inside him he hadn't known was there – and was still more than a little uncomfortable with. Finding it, feeling it left him as vulnerable as she. He'd yet to work out the right way to tell her.

She deserved the music, the candlelight, the flowers. She deserved the soft poetic words. He was going to try to give them to her, no matter how big a fool it made him feel.

In the meantime, he had a job to do. He was going to find those damn emeralds for her. And he was going to put Livingston behind bars.

Holt tossed the cigarette away as he saw Trent come out of the house. In the pergola, they would have relative privacy. The clatter of construction echoed in countertime to the beat and drum of waves. Whatever they said wouldn't carry above ten feet. Anyone looking out of the house would see two men sharing a late – afternoon beer, away from the women.

Trent stepped inside and offered a bottle.

“Thanks.” Holt leaned negligently against a post and lifted the beer. “Did you get the list?”

“Yeah.” Trent took a seat on one of the stone benches so that he could watch the house as he drank. “We've only signed on four new men in the last month.”

“References?”

“Of course.” The faint annoyance in his tone was instinctive. “Sloan and I are well aware of security.”

Holt merely shrugged. “A man liked Livingston wouldn't have any problem getting references. They'd cost him.” Holt drank deeply. “But he'd get them.”

“You'd know more about that sort of thing than I.” Trent's eyes narrowed as he watched two of the men replacing shingles on the roof of the west wing. “But I have a hard time buying that he could be here, working right under our noses.”

“Oh, he's here.” Holt took out another cigarette, lighted it, then took a thoughtful drag. “Whoever tossed my place knew about the connection almost as soon as you did. Since none of you go around talking about the situation at cocktail parties, he'd have heard something here, in the house. He didn't sign on at the start of the job, because he was busy elsewhere. But the last few weeks...” He paused as the children ran out, dogs in tow, to race to their fort. “He wouldn't just sit and wait, not as long as there's a possibility you could knock out a wall and have the emeralds fall into your hand. And where better to keep an eye on things than inside?”

“It fits,” Trent admitted. “But I don't like the idea of my wife, or any of the others, being that close.” He thought of C.C., the baby she carried, and his eyes darkened. “If there's a chance you're right, I want to move on it.”

“Give me the list, and I'll check it out. I've still got connections.” Holt's gaze remained on the children. “He's not going to hurt any of them. That's a fact.”

Trent nodded. He was a businessman and had never done anything more violent than a little boxing in college. But he would do whatever it took to protect his wife and unborn child. “I filled Max in, and Sloan and Amanda decided to break off their honeymoon. They should be here in a couple of hours.”

That was good, Holt thought. It was best having the family all in one place. “What did Sloan tell her?”

“That there was some problem with the job.” More comfortable now that wheels were in motion, Trent grinned a little. “If she finds out he's stringing her along, there'll be hell to pay.”

“The less the women know, the better.”

This time Trent laughed. “If any of them heard you say that, you'd lose three layers of skin. They're a tough bunch.”