Dance Upon the Air by Nora Roberts Page B

people.
    Nervous. She’d visibly cringed at the relatively mild byplay between Ripley and Mia. Well, Ripley decided with a shrug, some people couldn’t handle conflict, even when it had nothing to do with them.
    All in all, she thought Nell Channing was harmless. And a hell of a good cook.
    The meal put her in such a good mood that she took the time to go by the counter on her way out. It was easier to decide to do so since Mia was occupied elsewhere.
    â€œWell, now you’ve done it.”
    Nell froze. She deliberately kept her face blank, her hands loose. “I beg your pardon?”
    â€œNow I’m going to have to start coming in hereregularly, something I’ve managed to avoid for years. Lunch was great.”
    â€œOh. Good.”
    â€œYou may have noticed, Mia and I aren’t exactly chummy.”
    â€œIt’s none of my business.”
    â€œYou live on the island, everybody’s business is your business. But don’t worry, we manage to stay out of each other’s way for the most part. You won’t get squeezed in the middle. I’m going to take a couple of those chocolate chip cookies for later.”
    â€œYou save if you buy three.”
    â€œTwist my arm. Three, then. I’ll give one to Zack and be a hero.”
    Relaxed now, Nell bagged the cookies, rang up the bill. But when she took the money from Ripley and their hands touched, the bright shock had her gasping.
    Ripley glared, one long, frustrated stare. Snagging her cookies, she strode toward the stairs.
    â€œDeputy—” Clenching her hand tight, Nell called after her. “You forgot your change.”
    â€œKeep it.” She bit the words off as she stomped down the stairs. There was Mia at the bottom, hands folded, brow lifted. Ripley simply snarled and kept going.

    A storm was coming. Though the sky stayed clear and the sea calm, a storm was coming. Its violence roared through Nell’s dreams and tossed her helplessly into the past.
    The huge white house sat on a verdant carpet of lawn. Inside, its edges were sharp, its surfaces hard. Colors were pale—sands and taupes and grays.
    But for the roses he bought her, always bought her, that were the color of blood.
    The house was empty. But it seemed to be waiting.
    In sleep she turned her head away, resisted. She didn’t want to go into that place. Not ever again.
    But the door opened, the tall white door that opened into the long, wide foyer. White marble, white wood, and the cold, cold sparkle of crystal and chrome.
    She watched herself walk in—long, pale hair sweeping past the shoulders of a sleek white dress that sent off an icy glitter. Her lips were red, like the roses.
    He came in with her, close behind. Always so close behind. His hand was there, lightly on the small of her back. She could still feel it there if she let herself.
    He was tall, slim. Like a prince in his evening black with his hair a gold helmet. She had fallen in love with the fairy-tale look of him, and she had believed his promises of happy-ever-after. And hadn’t he taken her to this palace, this white palace in this fantasy land, and given her everything a woman could want?
    How many times had he reminded her of that?
    She knew what happened next. She remembered the glittery white dress, remembered how tired and relieved she was that the evening was over, and that it had gone well. She’d done nothing to upset him, to embarrass him, to annoy him.
    Or so she’d thought.
    Until she’d turned to say something about how nice an evening it had been, and had seen his expression.
    He’d waited until they were home, until they were alone, to make the transformation. It was one of his best skills.
    And she remembered the fear that had clutched her belly even as she scrambled to think of what she’d done.
    Did you enjoy yourself, Helen?
    Yes, it was a lovely party. But a long one. Would you like me to fix you a brandy before we go to