Three Fates

Malachi, “is in antiques. As a matter of fact—” She had to bite back a yelp when his hand vised on hers again. “Ah, she’s one of the top dealers in the country,” she finished weakly.
    “You flatter me. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Sullivan.” There was a laugh in her voice, but the tone of it made Tia want to shiver. It was so predatory. “Are you in the business . . . of antiques?”
    “No.” The single syllable was clipped and as rude as a slap. Anita only purred and touched a hand lightly to Tia’s shoulder.
    “Our table’s ready, so I won’t keep you. We must have lunch sometime soon, Tia. I read your last book and was just fascinated. I’d love to discuss it with you.”
    “Of course.”
    “Give your parents my best,” she added, and sent one last, laughing look at Malachi as she glided away.
    Deliberately, Tia drew her hand from his, then reached for her water glass to soothe her throat. “You know each other.”
    “What?”
    “Don’t.” She set her glass down again, then folded her hands together in her lap. “You must think me the perfect fool, both of you. She’s never said two words to me in my life. Women like her don’t notice women like me. I’m not her competition.”
    His blood was up, which made it difficult to think clearly. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say.”
    “Stop it.” She gathered herself, let out a breath. “You knew each other, and you were surprised, you were angry when she came over. And you were afraid I was about to mention the Fates.”
    “That’s a great deal of conclusions for such a short interlude.”
    “People who stay in the background tend to develop good observation skills.” She couldn’t look at him, not yet. “I’m not wrong, am I?”
    “No. Tia—”
    “This isn’t the place to discuss it.” Her voice was dismissive, as was her slight shift away from him when he touched her arm. “I’d like you to take me home.”
    “All right.” He signaled for the check. “I’m sorry, Tia, it’s—”
    “I don’t want an apology. I want an explanation.” She rose and, because her legs were unsteady, kept moving. “I’ll wait outside.”
    She didn’t speak in the cab, which was just as well. He needed time to figure out how and where to begin. He should have anticipated Anita would muck up the works; he should have anticipated her making a move. And he’d wasted valuable time. Wasted it, he admitted, because he enjoyed being with Tia and hadn’t been able to make himself push her too hard and fast toward the goal.
    And, he thought, because the longer he knew her, the more he wished he’d approached the whole matter differently. Instead he’d tangled himself up in lies.
    Still, she was a reasonable woman. All he had to do was make her understand.
    She ignored the hand he offered to help her out of the cab. He began to feel a little sick. When they reached the door to her apartment, he braced for her to try to slam it in his face, but she walked inside, left it open, and walked straight across the room to the windows. As if, he thought, she still needed air.
    “It’s a complicated business, Tia.”
    “Yes, deceit and underhanded behavior often are.” She’d had time to think. Concentrating on the puzzle of it helped distance her from the hurt. “It all deals with the Fates. You and Ms. Gaye want them. I’m a link. She’d work on my parents, and you . . .” She turned back now, her face cool and set. “You’d work on me.”
    “It’s not like that. Anita and I are in no way partners.”
    “Oh.” She nodded. “Competitors, then, working against each other. That does make more sense. Did you have a lovers’ spat?”
    “Christ.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “No. Listen to me, Tia, she’s a dangerous woman. Ruthless, completely unscrupulous.”
    “And you’re just loaded with scruples? I suppose you misplaced all those scruples when you lured me away from my hotel in Helsinki, spent all that time charming me, making me believe you were interested in me so someone could break into my hotel, search it. Did you really think I carried clues to the Fates around on a book tour?”
    “I didn’t have anything to do with the break-in. That was Anita. I’m not a fucking criminal.”
    “Oh pardon me. Just a fucking liar, then?”
    He reined in his fury. What right did he have to be pissed off? “I can’t deny I lied to you. I’m sorry for it.”
    “Oh, you’re sorry? Well, that’s different, then.