worked his way through the explanation.
“They might have been hasty. No offense,” Fairchild added indulgently. “Stuart might’ve been caught, but his accomplice would probably have gotten away. And, I confess, it was the intrigue that appealed to both of us. It was irresistible. You’ll want to corroborate my story, of course.”
“Of course,” McIntyre agreed, and wondered if he could deal with another loony.
“We’d have done things differently if we’d had any idea that Melanie was involved. It’s going to be difficult for Harriet.” Pausing, he aimed a long look at McIntyre that was abruptly no-nonsense. “Be careful with her. Very careful. You might find our methods unorthodox, but she’s a mother who’s had two unspeakable shocks tonight: her daughter’s betrayal and the possibility of losing her only child.” He ran a hand over Kirby’s hair as he stopped by her. “No matter how deep the hurt, the love remains, doesn’t it, Kirby?”
“All I feel is the void,” she murmured. “She hated me, and I think, I really think, she wanted me dead more than she wanted the painting. I wonder…I wonder just how much I’m to blame for that.”
“You can’t blame yourself for being, Kirby.” Fairchild cupped her chin. “You can’t blame a tree for reaching for the sun or another for rotting from within. We make our own choices and we’re each responsible for them. Blame and credit belong to the individual. You haven’t the right to claim either from someone else.”
“You won’t let me cover the hurt with guilt.” After a long breath she rose and kissed his cheek. “I’ll have to deal with it.” Without thinking, she held out a hand for Adam before she turned to McIntyre. “Do you need a statement from me?”
“No, the shooting’s not my jurisdiction, Miss Fairchild. Just the Rembrandt.” Finishing off the rest of his Scotch he rose. “I’ll have to take it with me, Mr. Fairchild.”
All graciousness, Fairchild spread his arms wide. “Perfectly understandable.”
“I appreciate your cooperation.” If he could call it that. With a weary smile, he turned to Adam. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten your terms. If everything’s as he says, I should be able to keep them out of it officially, as we agreed the other day. Your part of the job’s over, and all in all you handled it well. So, I’ll be sorry if you’re serious about not working for me anymore. You got the Rembrandt back, Adam. Now I’ve got to get started on untangling the red tape.”
“Job?” Going cold, Kirby turned. Her hand was still linked in Adam’s, but she felt it go numb as she drew it slowly away. “Job?” she repeated, pressing the hand to her stomach as if to ward off a blow.
Not now, he thought in frustration, and searched for the words he’d have used only a few hours later. “Kirby—”
With all the strength she had left, all the bitterness she’d felt, she brought her hand across his face. “Bastard,” she whispered. She fled at a dead run.
“Damn you, Mac.” Adam raced after her.
Chapter 12
Adam caught up to her just as Kirby started to slam her bedroom door. Shoving it open, he pushed his way inside. For a moment, they only stared at each other.
“Kirby, let me explain.”
“No.” The wounded look had been replaced by glacial anger. “Just get out. All the way out, Adam—of my house and my life.”
“I can’t.” He took her by the shoulders, but her head snapped up, and the look was so cold, so hard, he dropped his hands again. It was too late to explain the way he’d planned. Too late to prevent the hurt. Now he had to find the way around it. “Kirby, I know what you must be thinking. I want—”
“Do you?” It took all of her effort to keep her voice from rising. Instead it was cool and calm. “I’m going to tell you anyway so we can leave everything neat and tidy.” She faced him because she refused to turn her back on the pain or on the betrayal. “I’m thinking that I’ve never detested anyone more than I detest you at this moment. I’m thinking Stuart and Melanie could take lessons on using people from you. I’m thinking how naive I was, how stupid, to have believed there was something special about you, something stable and honest. And I wonder how I could’ve made love with you and never seen it. Then again, I didn’t see it in Melanie, either. I loved and trusted her.” Tears burned behind her eyes but she ignored them. “I loved and trusted you.”
“Kirby…”
“Don’t touch me.” She backed away, but it was the tremor in her voice, not the movement, that stopped him from going to her. “I don’t ever want to feel your hands on me again.” Because she wanted to weep, she laughed, and the sound was as sharp as a knife. “I’ve always admired a really good liar, Adam, but you’re the best. Every time you touched me, you lied. You prostituted yourself in that bed.” She gestured toward it and wanted to scream. She wanted to fling herself on it and weep until she was empty. She stood, straight as an arrow. “You lay beside me and said all the things I wanted to hear. Do you get extra points for that, Adam? Surely that was above and beyond the call of duty.”
“Don’t.” He’d had enough. Enough of her cold, clear look, her cold, clear words. “You know there was no dishonesty there. What happened between us had nothing to do with the rest.”
“It has everything to do with it.”
“No.” He’d take everything else she could fling at him, but not that. She’d changed his life with hardly more than a look. She had to know it. “I should never have put my hands on you, but I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted you. I needed you. You have to believe that.”
“I’ll tell you what I believe,” she said quietly, because every word he spoke was another slice into her heart. She’d finished with being used. “You came here for the Rembrandt, and you meant to find it no matter who or what you had to go through. My father and I were means to an end. Nothing more, nothing less.”
He had to take it, had to let her say it, but there’d be no lies between them any longer. “I came for the Rembrandt. When I walked through the door I only had one priority, to find it. But I didn’t know you when I walked through the door. I wasn’t in love with you then.”
“Is this the part where you say everything changed?” she demanded, falling back on fury. “Shall we wait for the violins?” She was weakening. She turned away and leaned on the post of the bed. “Do better, Adam.”
She could be cruel. He remembered her father’s warning. He only wished he believed he had a defense. “I can’t do better than the truth.”
“Truth? What the hell do you know about truth?” She whirled back around, eyes damp now and shimmering with heat. “I stood here in this room and told you everything, everything I knew about my father. I trusted you with his welfare, the most important thing in my life. Where was your truth then?”
“I had a commitment. Do you think it was easy for me to sit here and listen, knowing I couldn’t give you what you were giving me?”
“Yes.” Her tone was dead calm, but her eyes were fierce. “Yes, I think it was a matter of routine for you. If you’d told me that night, the next day or the next, I might’ve believed you. If I’d heard it from you, I might’ve forgiven you.”
Timing. Hadn’t she told him how vital timing could be? Now he felt her slipping away from him, but he had nothing but excuses to give her. “I was going to tell you everything, start to finish, tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Slowly she nodded. “Tomorrows are very convenient. A pity for us all how rarely they come.”
All the warmth, all the fire, that had drawn him to her was gone. He’d only seen this look on her face once before—when Stuart had backed her into a corner and she’d had no escape. Stuart had used physical dominance, but it