But Marco Porcini had heard of his old friend Henri Mendoses’ troubles and offered his own small circus instead through his agent, who also happened to be his wife. It would be no trouble—the Porcini Family Circus had been planning an American tour for years. They wouldn’t mind the rush in the slightest. And the location of the proposed benefit should be no problem. The spacious grounds surrounding Regina Merriam’s mansion should be fine, and no one would be bothered by the noise of the animals but the staid patrons of the adjoining Museum of Decorative Arts. Since Regina’s family had built and endowed the huge, sprawling museum and given the land in the first place, not to mention the fact that both she and her son still sat on the board of directors, there should be no objections whatsoever.
It must have been her worries about Blackheart that had caused her groundless fears concerning the Porcinis. It had been luck, wonderful luck that had brought the Committee for Saving the Bay together with the Porcini Family Circus, just as it had been bad luck that Henri Mendoses had been set on by a pair of thugs. She couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that things had been a little too convenient.
She was getting neurotic as well as forgetful in her old age. She needed to go to the party, to flirt with handsome lion tamers, if the Porcini circus came equipped with such things, and drink too much champagne. Maybe the handsome lion tamer would have to drive her home, and maybe she’d invite him in and have him make her forget all about Blackheart.
Who was she kidding? She didn’t want anyone else showing her anything. She was planning to enjoy a nice healthy bout of celibacy, maybe for a year or two before she made another mistake like blindly trusting a convicted felon with her hand and heart. She’d even tossed her birth control pills in her certainty that she wouldn’t be needing them. She couldn’t afford to change her mind at this point.
She took one last, critical look at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Not bad, she thought as she wiped the ice cream mustache from her upper lip. She’d left her dark hair loose around her elegantly boned face, her bright red lipstick had faded a bit from the ice cream, but her green eyes were as cold as the famous Von Emmerling emeralds she had once held so briefly. No one would ever guess she’d just broken her engagement to a man she loved with such passion that it frightened her.
Had loved, she corrected herself. No. Still loved. But it would fade, it would disappear, with time and his palpable lack of interest it would vanish. You can’t love a man you don’t trust, she told herself. And the brightness of her eyes was simply the reflection of the lights, not the brilliance of unshed tears.
In fact, the lion tamer was in his late fifties, a roly-poly Armenian with an equally roly-poly wife. No one even to tempt her, she thought as she glided through the crowds filling Regina’s spaciously appointed downstairs rooms. She could drink as much champagne as she wanted, smile brilliantly, and take a taxi home. For tonight she didn’t even need to remember her heart was broken, didn’t have to think about Stephen McNab and his unsettling questions, didn’t have to think about anything but the exotic, brightly dressed circus people mingling with the richest blood on the upper west coast of California. Just for tonight she didn’t have to think about anything.
She’d drained her first glass of champagne and was standing there looking for a refill when a hand reached out from behind her, deftly removing the empty glass and replacing it with a full one. She turned with a smile of gratitude, a smile that died on her lips as she looked into Blackheart’s fathomless dark eyes.
“Cat got your tongue?” he murmured, his expression wickedly amused and completely unrepentant.
She considered throwing her champagne in his face, but it would have been a waste of good Moet. She opened her mouth, to blister him with her anger and contempt, then shut it again. Over his shoulder, back by the doorway, stood two familiar figures deep in conversation. If she’d thought the person she least wanted to see was Blackheart, she knew now that she was wrong.
She didn’t want to see Phillip Merriam, her ex-fiancé and Regina’s only son, now that she was once more unattached. And she certainly didn’t want to see S.F.P.D. Detective Stephen McNab’s clear gray eyes boring into Blackheart’s elegant back with an expression that could only be called determined.
She turned back to Blackheart with a despairing sigh. “If I were you I’d get the hell out of here,” she said under her breath, giving him a completely false smile.
He was more fascinated than fooled by her affable expression. He could probably hear her grinding her teeth. “Why?”
“Because that man wants you,” she replied grimly.
He turned and followed her gaze, looking into McNab’s eyes with no expression whatsoever. “As long as someone does,” he said sweetly. And without another word he walked away.
Chapter Five
Family Plot
(Universal 1976)
I CAN’T TAKE THIS, Ferris thought, draining her champagne and looking in desperation for a quick escape route. There were some things too difficult for even the strongest of humans, and being in a crowded, noisy room with Blackheart, Phillip and a burglar-hungry police detective was one of them. Not to mention the fact that it seemed as if half of San Francisco was watching her, watching her reaction to the presence of her two ex-fiancés.
The main exit was blocked by a surge of latecomers, and the French doors leading to the terraces were similarly inaccessible. That left sneaking through the kitchens. Not an unattractive alternative, since she’d already managed to finish the shrimp puffs within reach and she knew Mrs. Maguire, Regina’s cook, would have another five dozen stashed out back. She set down her glass and began to slither through the crowd, doing her best to blend in with the other chattering magpies. She’d almost made it, the swinging door was just within reach, when Phillip’s mellifluous, politician’s tones reached her.
The curse under her breath was short and succinct, then she turned, giving him a brilliant smile that never faltered even as she realized he was still accompanied by McNab, and that fully half the occupants of the crowded room were avidly observing their little encounter.
“Hello, Phillip,” she replied dutifully, reaching up to kiss his smoothly shaven cheek.
“You’re looking radiant as ever. Breaking engagements must agree with you.” There was just the faintest edge beneath Phillip’s voice, an edge that surprised Ferris. It was unlike Phillip to let anything ruffle his carefully guarded emotions. He’d never shown any hint that she might have hurt him six months ago when she, or rather Blackheart, had severed their engagement. Apparently she’d been wrong.
“I’ve decided I’m not the marrying kind,” she said with a light laugh. “Clearly I’m the love them and leave them type.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I think you just made a mistake.”
Oh, no, she thought miserably, still keeping her smile firmly planted on her stiff face. Don’t tell me he’s going to try to get me back.
Leaning forward, Phillip slipped a smooth, perfectly manicured hand beneath her elbow, turning her in his companion’s direction. “Let me introduce you to Detective McNab.”
“We’ve already met,” McNab said brusquely.
Phillip’s smile was surprisingly cheerful. “Then you know why he’s here.”
“It’s not really any of my concern.” She tried to pull her arm out of Phillip’s grasp, but his fingers tightened their grip.
“He doesn’t think Blackheart’s retired.”
“How interesting.” She began edging toward the kitchen door, but the shifting crowds had blocked her one and only exit, and she was trapped. She didn’t know how completely trapped she was until she saw Blackheart within hearing distance, flirting with a newly-divorced redhead with seeming rapt attention. She knew by the tension in his shoulders that he was listening to every word of their conversation, even as he flirted. Damn him.
<
br /> “You don’t think he’s retired, either,” Phillip said with sudden acumen. “You’ve been so besotted with him that it could only take something of that nature to break you up.”
“Phillip, I find this tiresome.” In desperation she reached for another glass of champagne as it whizzed by on a silver tray. “Blackheart and I had several differences, none of them concerning his former line of work. Why should it matter to you?”
“Perhaps my hurt pride?”
“I wouldn’t think Detective McNab would find the bruised ego of a politician to be of much help in an impartial investigation.”
McNab was as fully aware of Blackheart’s proximity as was Ferris. “I never said I was impartial, Ms. Byrd. I have every intention of putting John Patrick Blackheart exactly where he belongs. Which is behind bars for a good long time.”
Even the eavesdropping Blackheart had his limits. Excusing himself from the redhead with his usual grace, he sauntered over to the threesome by the kitchen door. “It’ll be a cold day in hell, McNab,” he remarked pleasantly. “I’ve done nothing.”
“Maybe not within my jurisdiction,” McNab allowed. “But I know you, Blackheart, I know you better than you know yourself. Sooner or later you’re going to slip up. You can’t keep flying off to Europe, pulling a heist, and then coming back here expecting to be welcomed with open arms. It’s a sickness with people like you, and sooner or later the craving will come over you and you’ll try it again in your own backyard. In my city. And this time I’ll get you.”
Blackheart’s yawn was perfection. “Have you always had such a well-rounded fantasy life, McNab? Or is it just part of a mid-life crisis?”
His casual pose might have fooled the others, but Ferris knew him too well, knew his body too well. She could sense the tension radiating from the corners of his dark brown eyes, could see the faint tightness in his thin-lipped mouth, could feel the anger and something else emanating from him, going straight to her heart with that inexplicable emotional telepathy that lovers sometimes had.
But they were no longer lovers. And he was lying, lying to everyone. Lying through that sexy mouth of his, lying with his eyes.
“Gentlemen,” Phillip said smoothly, his fingers still clutching Ferris’s arm. “Let’s not have a quarrel in my mother’s living room.”
Blackheart’s expression was no longer affable, it was downright dangerous. “Good idea, Phillip. If you just take your hands off Ferris there’ll be no need to flatten you.”
Phillip was an inch or two taller than Blackheart and much broader. “Try it,” Phillip said, digging his fingers in harder.
“I should warn you, Phillip, that I don’t fight fair, and I don’t like people manhandling my ex-fiancée.”
“She happens to be my ex-fiancée, too.”
“For heaven’s sake, let go of me, Phillip,” Ferris snapped, yanking her arm out of his grasp. This time he let her go, but the tightness of his earlier grip had left red marks she could only hope Blackheart wouldn’t notice. “I’m not an old bone to be fought over by a pair of pit bulls.”
Blackheart laughed, some of the tension vanishing. “Hardly a pit bull. Phillip’s more of an overbred Afghan. Big on looks and short on brain.”
“What about you?” she couldn’t keep from asking. For a moment his hard brown eyes softened, and they were alone in the crowded room.
“Nothing but an old alley cat, darling. Not worth the bother.”
“There you are!” Regina’s sonorous voice cut through the sudden hush, and Ferris greeted her intrusion with real relief. “I wanted to introduce you all to the Porcinis. We wouldn’t be here tonight without their gracious offer, and I know you’ll want to welcome them,”
Danielle and Marco Porcini were more what Ferris had had in mind when she envisioned circus performers, she thought as Regina made her usual effortless introductions. Marco was tall, dark and handsome, the epitome of European allure. He practically glistened in the soft light, from his shiny black mustache, his perfect mane of hair to his small, white teeth and bulging biceps. If he’d been an unmarried lion tamer and Ferris even dumber than she was, she would have gone off with him in a flash.
But he came equipped with a small-boned, delicate English wife. Danielle Porcini had blue eyes and blond hair, a pale rose complexion, and no expression on her face whatsoever as she smiled and said all the right things. Strange, Ferris thought, momentarily distracted from her own troubles.
None of them, with the possible exception of McNab, had any illusion as to why Regina felt it necessary to introduce the Porcinis to the hostile little group by the kitchen door. As usual Phillip was suddenly all charm, and Ferris was tempted to remind him that Mr. and Mrs. Porcini couldn’t vote. She bit her tongue, stealing a look at Blackheart.
She didn’t like what she saw, didn’t like it one tiny bit. He was staring at Danielle Porcini and pretending not to. He was pale beneath his tan, and for Blackheart the rest of the crowd, herself included, failed to exist.
Madame Porcini seemed unmoved by his covert attention. Her eyes were on her husband, her delicate hand tucked into his burly arm. She treated the three men, McNab included, with impartial politeness, but it was as if part of her simply wasn’t there.
Ferris felt such a sweeping of unfathomable jealousy wash over her that she was more than willing to hope the woman was a mental incompetent rather than a rational human being who might possibly succumb to Blackheart’s wiles. As any rational human being would, she thought morosely.
And then Danielle Porcini’s eyes briefly met hers, before moving back to her husband, and Ferris realized that far from being slow-witted, the circus owner’s wife was one smart cookie indeed. Dangerously so.
“Ferris, I was just going to show Danielle the powder room. Would you do so for me?” Regina requested in the tone she occasionally used for royal decrees. Clearly she wanted to break up the unpleasant little scene in the corner, and she did so with her customary dispatch.
While part of Ferris was amused at Regina’s highhanded disposition, another part was grateful. “Of course. Mrs. Porcini?”
As they made their way through the crowded room toward the hallway and the curving staircase, Ferris could feel any number of eyes boring into her back. It was an unnerving feeling, since she didn’t for a moment suppose any of those interested gazes were particularly friendly.
The crowds thinned out as the two women slowly climbed the flight of stairs. Mrs. Porcini seemed unnaturally composed for someone so young, and without meaning to Ferris blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“How old are you?”
The self-contained woman beside her smiled briefly. “Twenty-four. How old are you?”
“Thirty. I’m sorry, that was a very rude question. It’s just that you seem older.”
“I am,” Danielle Porcini said briefly.
There was no response she could make to that. As she preceded the younger woman into the bathroom that was larger than half her apartment, she cursed the convention that women should accompany each other to the powder room. Mrs. Porcini made her acutely uncomfortable for many reasons, not the least of which had been the expression on Blackheart’s face when he saw her. The young Englishwoman had appeared not to notice, but Ferris’s misery and guilt hadn’t blunted her powers of observation. Mrs. Porcini might never have seen Blackheart before, but she knew who he was.
Ferris sank onto a tufted velvet stool in front of the wall-size mirror and disconsolately surveyed her reflection. Her hair was still in place, but she’d managed to chew off the rest of her lipstick, and despite the artful application of foundation and blusher she looked pale, wan and depressed.
Would Blackheart regret what he’d thrown away? For all that she knew him so well, she couldn’t read the emotions in his carefully shuttered eyes. He was still very angry with her, t
hat much was certain.
Danielle sat down beside her, running a brush through her silvery-blond mane, her face perfectly composed. “An interesting group of men,” she murmured in an indifferent tone of voice. “Tell me about them.”
Ferris’s instincts, already on edge, swung into overdrive. For a moment she considered telling the girl to mind her own business, then decided otherwise. She wouldn’t tell her anything Danielle couldn’t find out from anyone at the party. If she told her, she could control the information.
“They were an interesting bunch,” Ferris conceded, tossing back her hair and admiring her own casual response. If Danielle Porcini could act, so could she. “Phillip is a politician, looking for more power than he’s got. McNab is a cop, and that’s about all I know.”
“And the other man?”
You know as well as I do his name is Blackheart, sweetie, Ferris thought. “He’s the most interesting one of all. His name is John Patrick Blackheart, and he’s a retired jewel thief. You’ve never heard of him?”
“As a matter of fact, I haven’t,” Danielle said, and Ferris didn’t believe her for a moment. “And is he friends with this McNab?”
“Sworn enemies, more likely.”
Danielle Porcini smiled, a small, vengeful cat’s smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared. But not so quickly that Ferris missed it. And her unease about the self-contained Madame Porcini increased tenfold.
BLACKHEART WAS in a foul mood, one of the foulest moods he’d ever suffered through in his entire life. Every time he turned around there was a new stumbling block, a new disaster or complication looming on the horizon.
There was no way out. He couldn’t walk away from the incredible mess his life had become, for the simple reason that he hadn’t made the mess. He might have contributed a bit in the past, but right now someone was diabolically intent on framing him for the recent rash of robberies plaguing the major cities of Europe. And he was damned if he was going to sit back and play the patsy anymore.