No Desire Denied

Reaching into the top drawer of his desk, he brought out the copy of Nell’s book, It’s All Good. Curious, he’d bought it a year ago when it had first been published, and when he read it, he’d thoroughly enjoyed it. She’d been six when he had stood beneath the portrait, and he had been as transfixed by the story she’d woven as by the sapphires. Even then she had had a gift for narrative, and in her book, she managed to bring Angus and Eleanor’s story vividly to life. Despite the fact that it was a children’s story, it had gripped his interest and his imagination right to the end.

Of course he’d known the ending ahead of time. The standard fairy-tale myth. True love would triumph over all and last forever.

Right.

In Reid’s experience, nothing lasted forever, and true love was a rare commodity, if it existed at all. His mother’s first marriage was testimony to that because it had nearly destroyed her. It might have destroyed them all.

Reid set down Nell’s well-crafted fairy tale and let his mind drift back to the night when the police and the FBI had come to their home and arrested their father, David Fedderman. Reid and his brothers had been nine. Gradually they had learned the details behind the arrest. For several years, their father had been running a very successful Ponzi scheme in the investment firm that his grandfather had founded. Being born to wealth and privilege hadn’t been enough for David Fedderman. He’d used his charm and intelligence to build a financial house of cards that had tripled the worth of Fedderman Investments.

At least on paper.

Duncan, the behavioral analyst in the family, believed their father was addicted to the thrill of running a con, and living on the edge had been worth more to him than wealth or family. Reid glanced down at Nell’s book and wondered if David Fedderman had ever loved his mother at all. What he did know was that she had loved him, and he had broken her heart.

The image of his father being handcuffed and dragged from their home was indelibly imprinted on Reid’s mind. He and his brothers had stood in a protective line in front of their mother, and that was symbolically where they’d remained during the turbulent years that had followed.

The Feddermans had sued for the triplets’ custody, and what had begun with their father’s arrest had changed all of their lives.

On the advice of her attorney, their mother had continued to pursue her doctoral studies. She landed a job teaching at a small college on the outskirts of Chicago, while Reid and his brothers had pitched in to help. Reid had been the idea man and organizer, and he’d been able to turn to Duncan for analysis and Cam to carry out any missions. Together they’d made sure that their mother had time for her academic pursuits.

In the preteen years that followed, Reid and his brothers had been as prone to mischief and getting into scrapes as most boys their age. More so. If two heads were better than one, three active and imaginative minds could hatch some adventures that, at the very least, might have distracted their mother. When they’d gotten into some of their worst scrapes, he’d run interference in an effort to protect them all. Perhaps because of that, she’d come to confide in him. The saddest thing she had ever told him was that she’d not only loved their father very much but believed that he’d loved her, too.

But their “true” love hadn’t been enough.

One thing he knew for sure. What had happened had made his mother gun-shy with men. In fact, it was a key reason behind her love of research and choice to steep herself in scholarships and writing.

The triplets all believed that their mother and A. D. MacPherson initially fell in love during the summer that she’d first visited Castle MacPherson, but she’d waited over a decade to trust in the idea of true love again.

And though Reid had recently seen his two brothers take that risky fall and wished them well, Reid didn’t have the time or the inclination to follow in their footsteps. He loved his career, and he was fully capable of allowing his work to consume him.

In that sense he believed that he was like both his father and his mother. He liked it that way, even though he’d seen up close what total focus on a career had done to his father, and the price his family had paid. He was determined not to risk boxing himself into the same position.

Still he had to hand it to Nell: in her book, she’d done an excellent job of making the myth seem real. As he flipped through the pages again, he noted the illustrations—the stone arch and other landmarks that surrounded the castle. He’d read in an article that the illustrations had been drawn by Eleanor herself. Nell’s ancestor had the same talent Nell had for capturing significant details on the page. Studying them brought vividly to mind the little fairy-tale princess of a girl that he’d done his best to protect that long-ago summer.

He fervently wished that was the only image of Nell that lingered in his mind. But there was another one that he couldn’t quite shake loose. At their parents’ wedding, she’d still looked a bit like a fairy-tale princess with her long blond hair. But she hadn’t been a little girl anymore. She’d been eighteen, just on the brink of womanhood, and she’d been beautiful.

Stunning actually. Her resemblance to Eleanor Campbell MacPherson had been striking. He’d caught himself looking at her more than once during the brief wedding ceremony, and when he’d met her gaze, for a moment he hadn’t been able to see anyone or anything else. And he’d felt...well, the only way he could describe it was a kind of recognition—a knowledge that she was the one for him. It was as if they stood alone beneath the stone arch, and he’d wanted her with an intensity that he’d never felt before or since.

Later when he returned to college and the demands of finishing his senior year, he’d convinced himself that what he’d felt was a fluke, a onetime thing that had been triggered by the emotions of the day and his twenty-two-year-old hormones. Still he’d been careful to avoid Nell. A pretty easy task given the demands of his career.

But once the sapphires started popping up, he’d known that he would see Nell again—and he was enough of a Scot to believe that perhaps it was destined.

And if what he’d felt beneath the stones hadn’t been a fluke?

Well, he wasn’t twenty-two anymore, and he’d always been able to handle Nell. As he recalled, she’d been eager to please and meticulous about following orders, so he didn’t expect any problems in that regard.

Rising from his desk, he tucked the book into his duffel bag. But the ringtone on his cell had him crossing back to his desk quickly. It was Duncan. Why was he calling again when his earlier mission had been accomplished?

Unless...

“Problem or favor?” Reid asked.

“A big problem,” Duncan replied, his tone grim.

3

AS A FICTION WRITER, Nell knew that a good story always began on the day the trouble started. There was no mistaking that the letter with the threat to her family meant trouble.

If you choose to ignore your mission, someone in your family will die.

The numbing chill that had streaked through her when she’d first read the words hadn’t surprised her. Neither had the fear she felt, fluttering like a trapped bird in her throat. Those were standard reactions any of her fictional characters might have felt. But the spurts of anger and excitement had been both unexpected and helpful. Because of those feelings, she’d been able to keep her smile in place, and get herself and her sister Piper halfway down the block and seated in the little sidewalk café before she handed over the letter.

Now, Piper, ever the lawyer, was reading it for at least the third time. Nell suppressed an urge to pinch herself to see if she was just imagining it all.

The setting couldn’t have been more perfect if she’d been writing it. The morning sun was already high in the cloudless blue sky, the temperature was in the low eighties and the humidity tolerable. The sidewalks were bustling with happy shoppers and tourists. The whole lovely scene offered a stark contrast to the threat in the letter.

“I don’t like this,” Piper said. Then she read the message again, this time out loud.

Nell didn’t like it, either. Hearing the threat helped her to focus on the fact that this wasn’t some story she was making up. No need to pinch herself; this was real. And it was up to her to do something about it.

Excitement sparked again. She’d spent her entire life reading, imagining and writing stories, and now she was going to live one of her own. Wasn’t that just what she wanted? Where would the adventure take her? Would she have the courage and the know-how to do what any one of her fictional heroines would?

One thing she knew for certain. No one was going to hurt anyone in her family—not if she could prevent it.

The waiter set down two chocolate and caramel Frappuccino drinks. Nell took a long sip of hers. She’d learned a long time ago that chocolate helped smooth over life’s rough patches. Not that she’d had very many. As the youngest of three sisters, her life had always run pretty smoothly. She’d been a baby when her mother had died, and their father had turned into a recluse. So she hadn’t known either of them long enough to really miss them. Then their aunt Vi had moved in with them, and Nell had always thought of Viola MacPherson as her mother.

People had always taken care of Nell. Adair had been the idea person, and based on her inspirations, Nell would invent stories that the three of them could act out during playtime. When Nell’s plotlines had landed the MacPherson girls in trouble, Adair landed on her feet and thought of a way out. Or Piper, always the negotiator, would find a way to fix things with their aunt.

It wasn’t until Nell went to college that she’d had to solve problems entirely on her own. Her goal from the time she was little had been to become a published writer and tell the stories she was always spinning in her mind. On the surface, the fact that she’d signed a publishing contract for her first book within a year of graduation might look like pretty smooth sailing. But she’d worked hard to achieve it.

The federal grant she had landed had allowed her to visit cities across the United States, offering writing classes to children and promoting her book at the same time. Several of the schools she’d visited had added It’s All Good to their required reading lists, and they were passing the word on to other schools and libraries. Adair called what she was doing “networking.”

The signing at Pages bookstore earlier today had been the last stop. It had only stalled her return to the castle by a few days. How could she have known that the delay could put those she loved in jeopardy?

“My best guess is that whoever sent this is the person Deanna Lewis was working with. Or at least someone who shares her belief that Eleanor did not have a right to the sapphires.” Piper glanced up and met Nell’s eyes. “Agreed?”

“Yes.”

“One thing I don’t get,” Piper said. “Why did they send this letter to you? You’ve been traveling the country. And Adair and I have a proven track record. We each found one of the earrings.”

They think it’s my turn, Nell thought. What she said was, “The two of you stirred up quite a bit of publicity. Anyone paying attention knows that Adair is now engaged to a CIA agent, and you’ve hooked up with an FBI profiler. I don’t come with that kind of baggage.”

Piper studied her for a moment, before she nodded. “Okay. Makes sense. But another thing puzzles me.” She tapped a finger on the last sentence. “Why do they say ‘if you refuse your mission again’?”

Guilt stabbed at Nell, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks. She hadn’t told Piper about the first letter. Whatever excuses she’d come up with in Louisville for keeping it a secret vaporized the instant she’d read that last sentence. She took a deep breath. “I received a letter very similar to that one a week ago.”

Piper stared at her for two beats. “You what?”

Nell dug into her purse, pulled out the letter and laid it next to the other one so that Piper could read it. “I put it in a plastic bag, like the evidence bags they use on TV shows. Any fingerprints, including mine, are preserved. You can see it’s the same message—except for the last line.”