Three Fates

less.”
     
     
    CLEO DIDN’T HAVE a chance to try out Malachi’s advice. It was hard to fight—words or tears—with someone who avoided you as if you carried the plague. It was hard to have a showdown with a man who’d rather spend the night sleeping on the roof of an apartment building in New York than share a corner of the bed with you.
    It hurt, in parts of her she hadn’t known she had to hurt. And was worse because she was afraid she deserved it.
    “Go there, get it, come back,” Malachi repeated as a gritty-eyed Gideon gulped down a second cup of morning coffee.
    “So you’ve said already.”
    “Best not to take a straight route either way. The bank’s near enough . . . the other flat,” Malachi decided, with a glance at Cleo. “She might have people watching that general area yet.”
    “We kept these guys off our asses all over Europe.” Gideon set his empty cup on the counter, then, at Tia’s meaningful clearing of the throat, picked it up again and rinsed it out in the sink. “We can handle this.”
    “Just watch your back. And the rest of you as well.”
    Gideon nodded. “Ready?” he asked Cleo.
    “Sure.”
    Tia linked her fingers together, barely resisted wringing them when Gideon and Cleo walked out her door. “You don’t need to worry about them,” she said as much to herself as Malachi.
    “No. They can handle themselves all right.” But he stuck his hands in his pockets and wished, passionately, he hadn’t given up smoking. “It’ll be good to see it, have a good look at it. Be sure it’s authentic.”
    “Yes. Meanwhile, I have a lot of work to catch up on.”
    “This is the first time we’ve been alone, really. There are things I’d like to say.”
    “You’ve said them.”
    “Not all of them. Not things I thought of after you’d given me the boot.”
    “They’re not applicable now. I haven’t been able to work on my book for days. I’m behind schedule. You can watch television, listen to the radio, read a book. Or go up and jump off the roof. It’s all the same to me.”
    “I appreciate the ability to hold a grudge.” He moved, smoothly, into her path as she started toward her office. “I’ve told you I’m sorry. I’ve told you I was wrong, and that hasn’t budged you a bit. So why not listen to the rest of it?”
    “Let’s see . . . could it be that I’m not interested? Yes, that could be it.” She enjoyed hearing the sarcasm in her own voice. It made her feel in charge. “The personal portion of this relationship is over.”
    “I disagree with that.”
    He took a step toward her; she took one back.
    And the retreat, however slight, made her feel vulnerable all over again. “You want to argue about it?” She shrugged, trying to put a little Cleo into it. “I’m not very good at arguing, but in the interest of putting this aside once and for all, I’ll do my best. You treated me like a fool, and worse than that, you made sure I believed you found me attractive, even desirable. And that, Malachi, is contemptible.”
    “It would be, right enough, if it were true. The fact is I did find you attractive and desirable, and that was a major dilemma for me.” He watched irritation cross her face. Irritation he knew was rooted in disbelief. So he ignored it. “And so I made my first of several mistakes. Do you know what started me on that series of mistakes where you’re concerned?”
    “No. And I don’t care. I’m getting a headache.”
    “You’re not. You’re hoping you get a headache so you’ll have something else to think about. It was your voice.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Your voice. When I was sitting in that auditorium, and your voice was so pretty, just a little nervous around the edges at first, then it got stronger. Such a nice, flowing voice. I admit I was bored witless about what you were saying, but I liked hearing you say it nonetheless.”
    “I don’t see what that—”
    “And there were your legs.” He wasn’t stopping now, not when he could see the nerves tangling up with her temper. “I passed the time listening to your voice and admiring your legs.”
    “That’s ridiculous.”
    Ah, he considered. Now she was flustered, and flustered was better than irritated, better than nervous. Because a flustered Tia wouldn’t be able to stop him from saying things he so much needed to say. “But that wasn’t the main thing. I liked how shy and tired and confused you seemed when I came up to you with my book. Oh,