Three Fates

at him.
    “I do?”
    “And best,” he said, taking her hand, “she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. She’s a way of making herself invisible and seeing what’s around her. Remembering what’s around her. And if she’s seen and recognized, no one will think too much of it.”
    He squeezed her hand. “I’m the one who suggested you for this part,” Malachi told her. “I know you can do it. But you have to agree. If you don’t want to take it on, we’ll find another way.”
    “You think I can do this?”
    “Darling, I know you can. But you have to know it as well.”
    It was the strangest thing, Tia realized. For the first time in her life she was the object of someone’s complete confidence. It wasn’t scary at all. It was lovely.
    “Yes. Yes, I can do it.”
    “Okay.” Jack rose. “Let’s go over the steps.”
     
     
    IT WAS AFTER midnight when Jack and Rebecca stepped into his apartment again. He knew she wasn’t completely satisfied by the developing plan. He’d have been disappointed in her if she had been.
    “Why do you and Cleo get to be cat burglars?”
    He knew that was one of the sticking points for her and was pleased to detect the faintest hint of what he liked to think was jealousy in her voice. Or maybe it was wishful thinking on his part.
    “First, to make it look like a genuine attempt at a break-in, I need more than two hands. Want a drink?”
    “No, I don’t. Why Cleo’s hands and not Mal’s or Gideon’s?”
    “They’ll be patrolling the area, watching out for cops or bystanders and so on. Sure you don’t want a brandy?” he asked as he poured himself a snifter.
    “Yes. That doesn’t explain—”
    “Not finished yet.” He swirled, sipped, watched with deep affection as her eyes heated at his interruption. “Despite great strides in equality, a woman wandering the streets of New York in the middle of the night is more likely to get hassled than a guy. So, your brothers take the street watch, you run tech in the van with Tia, and Cleo and I do the job.”
    It was too sensible to argue with, so she picked another angle. “Tia’s nervous about the morning.”
    “Tia’s nervous about her shoe size. It’s part of her makeup. She’ll be fine. When push comes to shove, she comes through. Besides, she’ll make it work because Mal believes she’ll make it work, and she’s in love with him.”
    “Do you think she is?” Something softened inside her. “In love with him.”
    “Yeah. It’s going around.”
    She kept her eyes on his as she stepped forward, took the snifter from him for one short sip. “Well then, we’ve a busy day ahead of us. I’m going to bed.”
    “Good idea.” He set the brandy down, took her arms and backed her slowly against the wall.
    “Alone.”
    “Okay.” He kept his eyes open and on hers as he lowered his mouth to hers, as he took the kiss from a teasing brush of lips into quiet urgency.
    When her eyes began to blur, when her hands gripped his hips, he shot them both into turbulent heat. He felt the tremor run through her, through himself, heard the strangled moan that caught in her throat.
    And still, he knew, she held back.
    “Why?” He jerked her back. “Tell me why.”
    The ache for him was almost a pain. “Because it matters. Because it matters, Jack.” She laid her cheek on his. “And that scares me.” She turned her head, just enough to trace her lips over his cheek, then, easing away, walked down the hall and into her room.

Twenty-two
     
     
     
     
    I T was a perfectly beautiful September morning with the first hint of fall brisk in the air.
    At least Al Roker had said so during one of his cheerful reports outside 50 Rock. But when you were caught in the vicious war of pedestrian and vehicular traffic, had already stepped on gum and were on your way behind enemy lines, sparkling air wasn’t a major concern.
    She felt guilty. Worse, Tia was certain she looked guilty. At any moment she expected the people who crowded the sidewalk and street to stop and point their fingers at her.
    She stopped at the corner, stared hard at the DON’T WALK signal just to keep herself focused. She had a desperate urge for her inhaler, but was afraid to dig in her purse for it. There was so much else in there.
    So much illegal else.
    Instead, she counted her own breaths—in out, in out—as she joined the flood that poured across the intersection an instant before the signal changed.
    “Half a block more,” she said to