CHAPTER TWELVE

 

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DREAMLAND? OR SOMEWHERE between? The images in Calder's brain were in vivid Technicolor. Not the least bit hazy, but as clear and sharp as a bright summer's day. She smiled when she realized she wasn't dreaming. Who needed an altered universe created by her sleeping brain?

Without a doubt. Reality rocked.

Calder stretched her arms over her head. She felt good. No. Better than good. Hopeful. Oddly lighter. As though divested of weight she hadn't been aware she carried. She hadn't crawled into bed until nearly two thirty. Nonetheless, her body and mind were loose and relaxed.

"You look happy."

"Until ten seconds ago, I was."

Calder groaned as the mattress—supposedly designed to be anti-bounce—jiggled like a bowl of Jell-O. She lifted one eyelid. Bryce, fully dressed, smiling—damn her—lay facing her, stretched out on top of the covers. When had her bed become the go-to meeting place for her sisters?

"Come on." Bryce nudged Calder's shoulder. "Don't turn that smile upside down."

In spite of herself, Calder laughed.

"I love you, Bryce. I'd give you a kidney. Bone marrow. The last scrap of bread on my plate. My final dime. Imagine how pained I am, darling twin, to discover you don't feel the same." Calder peered over Bryce's shoulder at the illuminated clock. And groaned. "Just as I suspected. If you loved me a smidgen as much, you wouldn't disturb my sleep before the crack of dawn."

"Quarter to eight is hardly the crack of dawn."

"Depends on your point of view."

"My point of view says you better roll your butt out of bed. Pronto." Bryce rolled to her feet. "Sisters' meeting in fifteen minutes."

Sisters' meeting did the trick. Still a bit groggy, but interested, Calder sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Which parent did what? And when can we post bail?"

Bryce let out a snort. Half laugh, half been there, done that. Criminal on rare occasions, mostly self-destructive, at one time or another, each sister had dealt with their fathers' idiocy. As for Billie, she'd yet to find herself behind bars. But, they'd watched their mother's missteps time and time again.

Money could buy a lot of things. Common sense wasn't one of them.

"What is the scariest thing you can imagine?" Bryce asked in lieu of an answer.

A chill raced across Calder's skin. Her sister fashioned stories of psychological horror. Blood, guts, and decapitations? Child's play. Bryce understood the shadow creatures of the mind were a thousand times more terrifying.

When she asked Calder about the scariest thing she could imagine? The answer wouldn't be pretty.

Prepared for the worst, Calder took a deep breath.

"Tell me."

"Ingo Hunter. In our dining room. Dressed in nothing but a robe and slippers."

Horrific indeed. With an image imprinted in her mind no amount of soap would ever wash away, Calder pulled the covers over her head. She jumped a foot when Bryce's voice—low, creepy, and only inches away—added another layer of awful. Words were her job. She knew their effect.

"Billie's with him. Serving him breakfast. Giggling. Like a cross between a Geisha and a demented schoolgirl."

When Calder shuddered, Bryce gave a satisfied laugh.

"Awake now?"

"What do you think?" Calder padded toward her bathroom, grumbling every step of the way.

"My job is done. Fifteen minutes," Bryce called through the closed door.

"I'll be there."

Bryce didn't tell her where. Calder didn't have to ask.

 

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LITTLE CHANGED IN the room that as little girls, they'd appropriated as their own.

The furniture, still old, still worn, was wonderfully familiar. Calder ran her hand over the arm of the faded sofa. She'd lost track of the hours spent curled up on the cushions with her sisters. Laughter and tears. Secrets and sorrows.

The room represented a huge chunk of their childhood. If they were upset when they entered, each felt a little better by the time they left.

Destry wrapped an arm around Calder's waist.

"I used to think magic lived in here."

"What changed your mind?"

"When I realized the four of us make the magic, not the room."

Calder nodded. "The Benedict sisters. Together, nothing can beat us."

"We should have our own superhero movie," Bryce chimed in.

She carried a tray filled with cups, and one of Mrs. Finch's hand-painted china teapots.

"A superhero would have been smart enough to take the elevator," Andi puffed.

Right on Bryce's heels, her tray was laden with a breakfast of sweet rolls, strawberries, and bacon. Mrs. Finch knew them well.

"Why didn't you take the elevator?" Calder took the food, setting the tray on the table.

"My schedule is too tight for a trip to the gym today. I thought six flights of stairs would be a good trade-off."

Never one to wait, Destry pilfered a berry.

"And?" she asked before she took a generous bite.

"I hate exercise. However, my thighs will thank me later."

Except for Destry, they all hated to work out. Yet, for one reason or another, they forced themselves.

Andi liked to eat. If she wanted cheesecake with her lunch, she refused to deny herself. As a result, she had to counterbalance the calories with some kind of vigorous activity. Like today, and the stairs.

Bryce had been blessed with a faster than normal metabolism. Curvy in all the right places, she ate what she wanted, whenever she wanted. Weight gain aside, she prescribed to the belief that a sharp body equaled a sharp mind. If her body turned to mush, and her mind followed, her writing career would be over.

Like Bryce, Calder was lucky. She could eat to her heart's content and never gain an ounce. Which would be fine if she didn't care about muscle tone. Or the fact every woman she'd met on her father's side of the family followed the same pattern. Thin as rails—until they reached a certain age. Practically the day after they turned fifty, they proceeded to gain a corresponding number of pounds.

Calder considered every mile she ran, every squat thrust she suffered through, to be pure preventive medicine.

As for Destry, she was a finely tuned, high-powered machine. Boundless energy from birth, extra pounds never had a chance to fix themselves to her. She excelled at martial arts. However, she liked to mix up her routines and would try everything and anything at least once.

Andi handed Calder a filled cup. She sniffed the contents and frowned.

"The consensus vote was for coffee," Andi informed her "If you want tea, you know where to find the kitchen."

"When did we vote?"

"While you were still asleep." Destry filled her plate, heavy on the bacon. "We all wanted mega-caffeine. Your opinion would have been moot."

Calder didn't bother to point out that tea had just as much caffeine as coffee—with more health benefits. Smart, educated women, they undoubtedly already knew. And couldn't have cared less.

Each picked their favorite place, settling in with food and drink. A bit of reminiscing was, as always, their favorite side dish.

"When we were little, our room was supposed to be a no-swearing zone." Andi's gaze landed on Destry. "The second you learned your first curse word, all bets were off. Mrs. Finch threatened you with a bar of soap—to no avail."

The memory made Destry smile.

"I can say shit in twelve different languages."

"Anyhow," Andi continued before Destry could prove her claim. "Ingo Hunter is worse than any curse word. Thanks to Billie, we need more than soap and water to get rid of him."

The earlier image Bryce had painted of Billie and Ingo Hunter engaged in a warped game of domestic bliss wasn't the way Calder wanted to start her day. Ever. Their home was a sanctuary, and through no fault of their own, scum had oozed under the door.

"Who saw them?"

Destry waved her roll, drawing Calder's attention.

"Burned into my retinas." She took a ferocious bite. "Hunter made himself at home. I couldn't miss his hairy legs. Put on some pants, for Christ's sake."

A detail Calder could have done without. However, one thing was obvious. Ingo Hunter spent the night.

"A trip to Florida? Now, a sleepover? Sounds serious." At least by their mother's past standards.

"Very little sleep. According to Billie."

"Come on!" Calder poked Destry's arm. "Too much sharing."

"If I must live with that disgusting bit of information, so do all of you."

"So much for my appetite." Bryce set aside her plate. "We need to make a move. Have you heard from your friend? The private investigator?"

"Busy." Destry shrugged. "What about Adam Steel? Trustworthy or a bust?"

Three pairs of eyes turned Calder's way. How she felt last night—even a few hours ago—seemed less clear when faced with her sisters' questioning looks.

"I need to get to know him better before I can say for certain." Calder hedged her bets. Which sounded wishy-washy. And, oddly, disloyal to Adam. Annoyed with herself, she decided to follow her instincts. "He's a good man."

"But can we trust him?" Andi prodded.

Calder took a deep breath.

"Yes."

"Good enough for me. Besides, we need the name of a reliable private investigator. Adam doesn't need to know why."

Destry made a smart, logical point.

"I think we should tell him."

To Calder's surprise, the words came from Andi.

"Why?" Bryce asked.

Andi must have sensed the disbelief swirling around the room. After Destry, she was the first to question and argue. They shouldn't give a virtual stranger ammunition he could use against them.

"We've decided to hire an investigator," Andi explained. "Information will have to be provided. The more Adam knows about why we need his services, the easier time he'll have finding just the right person."

"And, Calder likes him," Bryce added.

Smiling, Andi nodded. Her gaze met Calder's.

"A definite point in his favor."

"Do we need to take a vote?" Destry asked.

"Before we make a definitive decision, invite Adam to stop by. So we can meet him."

So much for Andi's unqualified support, Calder thought.

"You know Mrs. Finch already put Adam through her afternoon tea test?""

"I didn't." Andi tapped her perfectly manicured scarlet-tinted nail against the rim of her cup. "How'd he do?"

"She hired him," Calder said with pride.

"I'll talk to her." Andi wasn't ready to give Adam a pass quite yet. "Mrs. Finch's opinion is gold."

"Meaning mine is what? Pewter?"

"I didn't mean to imply anything of the kind, Calder."

"Save the patented placating tone for hysterical models and hard-to-handle buyers."

"My tone is patented?" Not the least bit offended—pleased would be a better description—Andi looked from Bryce to Destry for confirmation.

"Should be." Destry's lips twitched. "Damn effective, as I can attest."

"Don't ask me." Bryce held up her hands, the universal sign she declared herself neutral. "Besides, I'm so even-keeled, Andi doesn't need to placate me."

"Oh, come on," Destry scoffed. "Every time you start a book, you rail over your lost inspiration. Who always talks you down?"

"Huh. I guess you're right." Bryce seemed genuinely impressed. "Maybe you should apply for a patent."

Calder's sisters were the bedrock of her life. She adored each one of them. However, they tended to drift off subject with only the slightest provocation. To be fair, she could be the worst offender. And, they always found their way back on track. But sometimes? So annoying!

Taking out her phone, she sent a quick text. Warmth spread through the vicinity of her heart when, seconds later, she had her response.

"Adam's free at two o'clock. I assume all of you will be here?"

"Works for me," Bryce declared.

Mouth full, Destry nodded.

"Good." Andi set her cup on the tray. "I'm going to do some sketching in my home office. What are your plans?"

Calder's eye's narrowed on Andi's satisfied expression.

"I've been played."

"Played is such an unsavory expression."

"But accurate."

Andi grinned.

"Eventually, you would have asked Adam to meet us. I simply expedited the process. As you pointed out, we know each other very well."

Calder wasn't upset. More perturbed at herself for falling so easily into Andi's obvious, yet clever, trap.

"You're kind of spectacular." Calder hugged Andi. "Of all my oldest sisters, I love you the most."

Andi's laugh was warm—and equally loving.

"Why the change of heart?" Calder looked into Andi's blue eyes. "Trust a man? Really?"

"I finally hit the saturation point on self-pity."

"After what Noah did to you—"

"What did he do?" With a sigh, Andi's unfocused gaze shifted toward the window as if filled with memories only she could see. "He decided I wasn't the one he wanted to spend his life with. No crime there."

Calder had sworn a silent oath if she ever had the opportunity, she would tear a strip off Noah Brennan's hide. In her opinion, he deserved much worse for the pain he'd caused her beloved sister.

"Is crazy a crime?"

Andi chuckled.

"Should be. However, not in Noah's case. He… I…" Andi let out a frustrated growl. "I'm tired of the same old pattern. Poor Andi. Damn it. I'm not a victim!"

"I never thought you were."

Calder was angry. For her sister. At the man who'd hurt her. Andi was nobody's victim.

"I've acted like one. Three years." Andi sighed—as if she couldn't believe so much time had passed. "I haven't lived like a nun. But I haven't moved on either."

"Billie doesn't set the best example."

"About Billie. And my father. I must stop using them as a relationship barometer. I'm an adult. Time to act like one."

Andi's blue eyes blazed with more passion than Calder had witnessed in a long time.

"Where do we start?" Calder asked. Andi's energy was contagious.

Andi's brows shot up.

"We?"

"To some extent, everything you said applies to all of us." Calder nodded to where Bryce and Destry had their heads together, laughing. "Last night, I was positive I could trust Adam. This morning…?"

"Doubt set in?" With understanding and affection, Andi bumped her shoulder against Calder's. "Been there, done that. Want some advice? Though I have no right to give any."

"Shoot." Big sister's advice had never steered her wrong before.

"Take your time. Get to know Adam. Chances are, he's a good man. Some do exist."

"If he's not?"

"Heart's mend. Mostly." Andi gave herself a shake. "To prove my point, I finally agreed to go out with Gerry Norton."

"You're kidding?"

On paper, Gerry Norton had all the attributes of a winner. Good looks. Money. A New York City assistant district attorney on the rise, he made no secret about where his ambitions lie. Mayor. Governor. Someday, the White House.

Gerry never missed an opportunity to ask Andi out. Until now, she'd politely, but firmly, turned him down.

"Gerry is intelligent. Interesting."

"Slick." Andi's word, not Calder's. Though she had to agree.

"On the surface, yes," Andi conceded. "I've decided to look a little deeper. I might be surprised."

"Or, you'll end up with greasy hands."

"I'll let you know tomorrow."

Calder gathered up the dishes. Andi was right. They could all do with a new attitude toward men. Less cynicism. More hope. She wanted to believe Adam was exactly what he seemed.

Kind and funny absolutely. Did he have a hidden dark side? Something unsettling she had yet to witness? Time would tell.

Calder hoped Adam Stone didn't turn out to be a liar. Or a cheat. But she could take one thing to the bank. He was handsome, scorching hot, and boy, could he kiss. Nobody—not even the most experienced con man—could fake sexy.