Page 47 of For the Love of Lilah
“Aunt Coco, are you pumping poor Max?” Lilah strolled in, yawning.
“What a thing to say.” Coco heated the griddle and clucked her tongue. “Max and I were having a nice conversation. Weren’t we, Max?”
“It certainly was a fascinating one.”
“Really?” Lilah took the cup from him, and since he didn’t make the move, leaned over to kiss him good morning. Watching, Coco all but rubbed her hands together. “I’ll take that as a compliment, and since I see blueberry pancakes on the horizon, I won’t complain.”
Because the kiss had delighted her, Coco hummed as she got out dishes. “You’re up early.”
“It’s becoming a habit of mine.” Sipping Max’s coffee, Lilah sent him a lazy smile. “I’ll have to break it soon.”
“The rest of the brood will be trooping down any minute.” And Coco liked nothing better than to have all of her chicks in one place. “Lilah, why don’t you set the table?”
“I’ll definitely have to break it.” With a sigh, she handed Max back his coffee. But she kissed Coco’s cheek. “I like your hair. Very French.”
With what sounded almost like a giggle, Coco began to spoon up batter. “Use the good china, dear. I feel like celebrating.”
Caufield hung up the phone and went into a small, nasty rage. He pounded the desk with his fists, tore a few pamphlets to bits and ended by smashing a crystal bud vase against the wall. Because he’d seen the mood before, Hawkins hung back until it passed.
After three calming breaths, Caufield sat back. The glaze of blank violence faded from his eyes as he steepled his fingers. “We seem to be victims of fate, Hawkins. The car our good professor was driving is registered to Catherine Calhoun St. James.”
On an oath, Hawkins heaved his bulk away from the wall. “I told you this job stinks. By rights he should be dead. Instead he plops right down in their laps. He’ll have told them everything by now.”
Caufield tapped the tips of his fingers together. “Oh, assuredly.”
“And if he recognized you—”
“He didn’t.” Exercising control, Caufield laced his fingers then laid them on the desk. “He never would have waved in my direction. He doesn’t have the wit for it.” Feeling his fingers tighten, he deliberately relaxed them. “The man’s a fool. I learned more in one year on the streets than he in all of his years in higher institutions. After all, we’re here, not on the boat.”
“But he knows,” Hawkins insisted, viciously cracking his knuckles. “Now they all know. They’ll take precautions.”
“Which only adds spice to the game and it’s time to begin playing. Since Dr. Quartermain has joined the Calhouns, I believe I’ll pay one of the ladies a call.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Have a care, old friend,” Caufield said mildly. “If you don’t like my rules, there’s nothing holding you here.”
“I’m the one who paid for the damn boat.” Hawkins dragged a hand through his short wiry hair. “I’ve put over a month in this job already. I’ve got an investment.”
“Then leave it to me to make it pay off.” Thinking, Caufield rose to go to the window. There were pretty summer flowers in neat borders just outside. It reminded him that he’d come a long way from the tenements of south Chicago. With the emeralds, he’d go even further.
Perhaps a nice villa in the South Seas where he could relax and refresh himself while Interpol ran in circles looking for him. He already had a new passport, a new background, a new name in reserve—and a tidy sum gathering interest in a discreet Swiss account.
He’d been in the business most of his life, quite successfully. He didn’t need the emeralds for the percentage of their value he’d cull by fencing them. But he wanted them. He intended to have them.
As Hawkins paced and abused his knuckles, Caufield continued to gaze out of the window. “Now, as I recall, during my brief friendship with the lovely Amanda, she mentioned that her sister Lilah knew the most about Bianca. Perhaps she knows the most about the emeralds, as well.”
This, at least, made some sense to Hawkins. “Are you going to grab her?”
Caufield winced. “That’s your style, Hawkins. Credit me with a little more finesse. I believe I’ll pay a visit to Acadia. They say the naturalist tours are very informative.”
Lilah had always preferred the long, sunny days of summer. Though she felt there was something to be said for the long stormy nights of winter, as well. In truth, it was time she preferred. She didn’t wear a watch. Time was something to be appreciated just for its existence, not as something to keep track of. But for the first time in her memory, she wished time would hurry.
She missed him.
It didn’t matter how foolish it made her feel. She was in love and giddy with it. When the feeling was so strong, she resented every hour they weren’t together.
It was stronger. She had fallen in love with his sweetness, his basic goodness. She had recognized his insecurity and, as she had with broken wings and damaged paws, had wanted to fix it.
