Suzanna's Surrender

“Jerk.” C.C. plopped down on the window seat beside Lilah. “So are we agreed? They've got a line on Livingston and they're keeping it to themselves.”

The vote was unanimous.

“Now, we need to find out what they know.” Amanda stopped pacing and tapped her foot. “Suggestions?”

“Well...” Suzanna looked down at her nails and smiled. “I say divide and conquer. The four of us should be able to dig information out of the meach in our own way. Then we rendezvous here, tomorrow, same time, and put the pieces together.”

“I like it.” Lilah sat up to put a hand on Suzanna's shoulder. “The poor guys haven't got a chance.”

Suzanna reached up to lay her hand on Lilah's as Amanda and C.C. added theirs. “And when it's over,” she said, “maybe they'll realize the Calhoun women take care of their own.”

Chapter Eleven

Holt had never felt more ridiculous in his life. He was about to take part in a séance. If that wasn't bad enough, before the night was over, he was going to ask the woman who was currently laughing at him, to be his wife.

“It isn't a firing squad.” Chuckling, Suzanna patted his cheek. “Relax.”

“Damn foolishness is what it is.” From the foot of the table, Colleen scowled at everyone in general. “The idea of talking to spirits. Hogwash. And you –” She stabbed a finger toward Coco. “Not that you ever kept an ounce of sense in that flighty head of yours, but I'd have thought even you would know better than to raise these girls on such bilge.”

“It isn't bilge.” As always, the steely gaze made Coco tremble, but she felt fairly safe with the length of the table between them. “You'll see after we begin.”

“What I see is a table full of dolts.” Though her face remained in stern lines, Colleen's heart melted as she looked up at the portrait of her mother, which had been hung over the fireplace. “I'll give you ten thousand for it.”

Holt shrugged. She'd been dogging him for days about buying the painting. “It isn't for sale.”

“If you think you're going to hose me, young man, you're mistaken. I know a hustle.”

He grinned at her. He would have bet his last nickel she'd hustled plenty herself. “I'm not selling it.”

“It's worth more, anyway,” Lilah put in, unable to resist. “Isn't that right, Professor?”

“Well, actually, yes.” Max cleared his throat. “Christian Bradford's early work is increasing in value. At Sotheby's two years ago, one of his seascapes went for thirty – five thousand.”

“What are you,” Colleen snapped, “his agent?” Max swallowed a grin. “No, ma'am.”

“Then hush. Fifteen thousand, and not a penny more.” Holt ran his tongue around his teeth. “Not interested.”

“Maybe if we got on with the matter at hand.” Coco held her breath, waiting for her aunt's wrath to fall. When Colleen only muttered and scowled, she relaxed. “Amanda, dear, light the candles. Now we must all try to empty our minds of all worries, all doubts. Concentrate on Bianca.” When the candles were glowing, and the chandelier extinguished, she gave a last glance around the table. “Join hands.”

Holt grumbled under his breath but took Suzanna's hand in his right, Lilah's in his left.

“Focus on the picture,” Coco whispered, closing her eyes to bring it into her mind since it was behind her on the wall. Tingles of anticipation raced up and down her spine. “She's close to us, very close to us. She wants to help.”

Holt let his mind drift because it helped him forget what he was doing. He tried to imagine what it would be like when he and Suzanna were alone in the cottage. He'd bought candles. Not the sturdy type he kept in the kitchen drawer for power outages, but slender white tapers that smelted of jasmine.

There was champagne chilling beside the six – pack in his refrigerator, and two new clear flutes beside his coffee mugs. Even now the jeweler's box was burning a hole in his hip pocket.

Tonight, he thought, he'd take the step. The words would come exactly as he planned. The music would be playing. She would open the box, look inside....

Her hands were draped with emeralds. He frowned, giving himself a little shake. That wasn't right. He hadn't bought her emeralds. But the image focused so clearly. Suzanna on her knees holding emeralds. Three glittering tiers flanked by icy diamonds and centered by a glowing teardrop stone of dreamy green.

The Calhoun necklace. He felt the chill on his neck and ignored it. He'd seen the picture Max had found in the old library book. He knew what the emeralds looked like. It was the atmosphere, the humming silence and the flickering candles that made him think of them. That made him see them.

He didn't believe in visions. But when he closed his eyes to clear it from his mind, it seemed imprinted there. Suzanna kneeling on the floor with emeralds dripping from her fingers.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked around.

There was no one there, only shadows and light thrown by the candles. But the feeling remained, with an urgency that had his hackles rising.