Best Of Nora Roberts Books 1-6. Nora Roberts

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 tightened on his daughter’s shoulder. “You’re right.”

      “I found the Rembrandt,” Kirby murmured. If it was shock that was making her light-headed, she wouldn’t give in to it. She forced herself to think and to speak clearly.

      Fairchild looked at the empty space on the wall, then at the table where the painting lay. “So you did.”

      With a cluck of her tongue, Tulip pushed Fairchild aside and took Kirby by the arm. Ignoring everyone else, she pulled Kirby to her feet. “Come with me, lovie. Come along with me now, that’s a girl.”

      Feeling helpless, Adam watched Kirby being led away while he fought to stop the bleeding. “You’d better have a damn good explanation,” he said between his teeth as his gaze swept over Fairchild.

      “Explanations don’t seem to be enough at this point,” he murmured. Very slowly he rose. The sound of sirens cut through the quiet. “I’ll phone Harriet.”

      Almost an hour had passed before Adam could wash the blood from his hands. Unconscious still, Melanie was speeding on her way to the hospital. His only thought was for Kirby now, and he left his room to find her. When he reached the bottom landing, he came upon an argument in full gear. Though the shouting was all one-sided, the noise vibrated through the hall.

      “I want to see Adam Haines and I want to see him immediately!”

      “Gate-crashing, Mac?” Adam moved forward to stand beside Cards.

      “Adam, thank God.” The small, husky man with the squared-off face and disarming eyes ran a hand through his disheveled mat of hair. “I didn’t know what’d happened to you. Tell this wall to move aside, will you?”

      “It’s all right, Cards.” He drew an expressionless stare. “He’s not a reporter. I know him.”

      “Very well, sir.”

      “What the hell’s going on?” McIntyre demanded when Cards walked back down the hall. “Who just got carted out of here in an ambulance? Damn it, Adam, I thought it might be you. Last thing I know, you’re shouting and breaking transmission.”

      “It’s been a rough night.” Putting a hand on his shoulder, Adam led him into the parlor. “I need a drink.” Going directly to the bar, Adam poured, drank and poured again. “Drink up, Mac,” he invited. “This has to be better than the stuff you’ve been buying in that little motel down the road. Philip,” he continued as Fairchild walked into the room, “I imagine you could use one of these.”

      “Yes.” With a nod of acknowledgment for McIntyre, and no questions, Fairchild accepted the glass Adam offered.

      “We’d better sit down. Philip Fairchild,” Adam went on as Fairchild settled himself, “Henry McIntyre, investigator for the Commonwealth Insurance company.”

      “Ah, Mr. McIntyre.” Fairchild drank half his Scotch in one gulp. “We have quite a bit to discuss. But first, Adam, satisfy my curiosity. How did you become involved with the investigation?”

      “It’s not the first time I’ve worked for Mac, but it’s the last.” He sent McIntyre a quiet look that was lined in steel. “There’s a matter of our being cousins,” he added. “Second cousins.”

      “Relatives.” Fairchild smiled knowingly, then gave McIntyre a charming smile.

      “You knew why I was here,” Adam said. “How?”

      “Well, Adam, my boy, it’s nothing to do with your cleverness.” Fairchild tossed off the rest of the Scotch, then rose to fill his glass again. “I was expecting someone to come along. You were the only one who did.” He sat back down with a sigh. “Simple as that.”

      “Expecting?”

      “Would someone tell me who was in that ambulance?” McIntyre cut in.

      “Melanie Burgess.” Fairchild looked into his Scotch. “Melly.” It would hurt, he knew, for a long time. For himself, for Harriet and for Kirby. It was best to begin to deal with it. “She was shot when Kirby tried to take her gun away—the gun she was pointing at my daughter.”

      “Melanie Burgess,” McIntyre mused. “It fits with the information I got today. Information,” he added to Adam, “I СКАЧАТЬ