Best Of Nora Roberts Books 1-6. Nora Roberts
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loves you—”
“Love?” Melanie cut Kirby off with a laugh. “I don’t give a damn for love. It won’t buy what I need. You may have taken my mother, but that was a minor offense. The men you snatched from under my nose time and time again is a bigger one.”
“I never took a man from you. I’ve never shown an interest in anyone you were serious about.”
“There have been dozens,” Melanie corrected. Her voice was as brittle as glass. “You’d smile and say something stupid and I’d be forgotten. You never had my looks, but you’d use that so-called charm and lure them away, or you’d freeze up and do the same thing.”
“I might’ve been friendly to someone you cared for,” Kirby said quickly. “If I froze it was to discourage them. Good God, Melly, I’d never have done anything to hurt you. I love you.”
“I’ve no use for your love any longer. It served its purpose well enough.” She smiled slowly as tears swam in Kirby’s eyes. “My only regret is that you didn’t fall for Stuart. I wanted to see you fawn over him, knowing he preferred me—married you only because I wanted it. When you came to see him that night, I nearly came out of the bedroom just for the pleasure of seeing your face. But…” She shrugged. “We had long-range plans.”
“You used me,” Kirby said quietly when she could no longer deny it. “You had Stuart use me.”
“Of course. Still, it wasn’t wise of me to come back from New York for the weekend to be with him.”
“Why, Melanie? Why have you pretended all these years?”
“You were useful. Even as a child I knew that. Later, in Paris, you opened doors for me, then again in New York. It was even due to you that I spent a year of luxury with Carlyse. You wouldn’t sleep with him and you wouldn’t marry him. I did both.”
“And that’s all?” Kirby murmured. “That’s all?”
“That’s all. You’re not useful any longer, Kirby. In fact, you’re an inconvenience. I’d planned your death as a warning to Uncle Philip, now it’s just a necessity.”
She wanted to turn away, but she needed to face it. “How could I have known you all my life and not seen it? How could you have hated me and not shown it?”
“You let emotions rule your life, I don’t. Pick up the painting, Kirby.” With the gun, she gestured. “And be careful with it. Stuart and I have been offered a healthy sum for it. If you call out,” she added, “I’ll shoot you now and be in the passage with the painting before anyone comes down.”
“What are you going to do?”
“We’re going into the passage. You’re going to have a nasty spill, Kirby, and break your neck. I’m going to take the painting home and wait for the call to tell me of your accident.”
She’d stall. If only she’d woken Adam… No, if she’d woken him, he, too, would have a gun pointed at him. “Everyone knows how I feel about the passages.”
“It’ll be a mystery. When they find the empty space on the wall, they’ll know the Rembrandt was responsible. Stuart should be the first target, but he’s out of town and has been for three days. I’ll be devastated by the death of my oldest and dearest friend. It’ll take months in Europe to recover from the grief.”
“You’ve thought this out carefully.” Kirby rested against the table. “But are you capable of murder, Melly?” Slowly she closed her fingers around the bottle, working off the top with her thumb. “Face-to-face murder, not remote-control like this morning.”
“Oh, yes.” Melanie smiled beautifully. “I prefer it. I feel better with you knowing who’s going to kill you. Now pick up the painting, Kirby. It’s time.”
With a jerk of her arm, Kirby tossed the turpentine mixture, splattering it on Melanie’s neck and dress. When Melanie tossed up her hand in protection, Kirby lunged. Together they fell in a rolling heap onto the floor, the gun pressed between them.
“What do you mean Hiller’s been in New York since yesterday?” Adam demanded. “What happened this morning wasn’t an accident. He had to have done it.”
“No way.” In a few words McIntyre broke Adam’s theory. “I have a good man on him. I can give you the name of Hiller’s hotel. I can give you the name of the restaurant where he had lunch and what he ate while you were throwing chairs through windows. He’s got his alibi cold, Adam, but it doesn’t mean he didn’t arrange it.”
“Damn.” Adam lowered the transmitter while he rearranged his thinking. “It gives me a bad feeling, Mac. Dealing with Hiller’s one thing, but it’s a whole new story if he has a partner or he’s hired a pro to do his dirty work. Kirby needs protection, official protection. I want her out.”
“I’ll work on it. The Rembrandt—”
“I don’t give a damn about the Rembrandt,” Adam tossed back. “But it’ll be in my hands tomorrow if I have to hang Fairchild up by his thumbs.”
McIntyre let out a sigh of relief. “That’s better. You were making me nervous thinking you were hung up on the Fairchild woman.”
“I am hung up on the Fairchild woman,” Adam returned mildly. “So you’d better arrange for—” He heard the shot. One, sharp and clean. It echoed and echoed through his head. “Kirby!” He thought of nothing else as he dropped the open transmitter on the floor and ran.
He called her name again as he raced downstairs. But his only answer was silence. He called as he rushed like a madman through the maze of rooms downstairs, but she didn’t call back. Nearly blind with terror, his own voice echoing back to mock him, he ran on, slamming on lights as he went until the house was lit up like a celebration. Racing headlong into the dining room, he nearly fell over the two figures on the floor.
“Oh, my God!”
“I’ve killed her! Oh, God, Adam, help me! I think I’ve killed her!” With tears streaming down her face, Kirby pressed a blood-soaked linen napkin against Melanie’s side. The stain spread over the rose silk of the dress and onto Kirby’s hand.
“Keep the pressure firm.” He didn’t ask questions, but grabbed a handful of linen from the buffet behind him. Nudging Kirby aside, he felt for a pulse. “She’s alive.” He pressed more linen to Melanie’s side. “Kirby—”
Before he could speak again, there was chaos. The rest of the household poured into the dining room from every direction. Polly let out one squeal that never ended.
“Call an ambulance,” Adam ordered Cards, even as the butler turned to do so. “Shut her up, or get her out,” he told Rick, nodding to Polly.
Recovering quickly, Fairchild knelt beside his daughter and the daughter of his closest friend. “Kirby, what happened here?”
“I tried to take the gun from her.” She struggled to breathe as she looked down at the blood on her hands. “We fell. I don’t—Papa, I don’t even know which one of us pulled the trigger. Oh, God, I don’t even know.”
“Melanie had a gun?” Steady as a rock, Fairchild took Kirby’s shoulders and turned her to face him. “Why?”
“She hates me.” Her voice shook, then leveled as she stared into her father’s face. “She’s always hated me, I never knew. It was the Rembrandt, Papa. She’d planned it all.”
“Melanie?” Fairchild glanced beyond Kirby to the unconscious figure on the floor. “She was behind it.” He fell silent, only a moment. “How bad, Adam?”
“I don’t know, damn it. I’m an artist, not a doctor.” There was fury in his eyes and blood on his hands. “It might’ve been Kirby.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Fairchild’s fingers