“God.” She reached up to pull the clamp from her hair, but he caught her hand.

“Don’t. Why do you do that? It’s you, working, you caught up in whatever you see in your head, then put on the page.”

“I look a little crazy.”

“No, involved.” He tugged on her hand until she relented, sat on his lap with the pad.

“Maybe both.” She let herself laugh now, coming to one of her with her head back, her eyes closed. “You could call this Sleeping on the Job.”

“No. Imagining. What were you writing?”

“A lot today. It was one of those good, long stretches. Kaylee’s grown up some—hard and fast. I’m a little sorry, but it had to happen. Losing someone that close to her, knowing one of her kind could do that, kill someone she loved—did do that to punish her—it . . . Oh! It’s her.”

She’d flipped to another page, and there was her Kaylee, in wolf form in deeply shadowed woods.

Wildly beautiful, her body the sleek and muscled wolf, and her eyes eerily human and full of sorrow. Above the denuded trees, a full moon soared.

“It’s exactly how I see her. How could you know?”

“I told you I read the book.”

“Yes, but . . . It’s her. Young, sleek, sad, caught between dual natures. It’s the first time I’ve seen her, except in my head.”

“I’ll frame it for you, then you can see her whenever you want.”

She let her head rest on his shoulder. “You drew one of the most important people in my life as if you knew her. Is that a form of seduction?”

“No.” He trailed his fingers up her side. “But I’ll show you what is.”

“Not before I walk the dog.”

“Why don’t we walk the dog, go out to dinner, then come back and I’ll seduce you?”

New floor plans, Lila remembered, were meant to be explored, tried on. “All right. But since I now have a very clear idea how I look, I need ten minutes first.”

“We’ll wait.”

He picked up his pad and pencil again as she dashed upstairs. And began to draw her from memory—naked, wrapped in tangled sheets, laughing.

Yes, he’d wait.

Twenty-one

Lila lived by lists. Words on paper, to her mind, became reality. If she wrote it down, she made it happen. A list simplified a quick trip to Italy, made for more efficient packing, and all the steps to be taken before boarding.

In anticipation, she created the packing list, then set about making piles on the bed in the guest room.

One pile to go with her, another to leave at Julie’s and a third for potential donations. Lightening her load, and leaving room for the shopping Julie would talk her into.

Ash came in. “Kerinov just called me. He’s coming over.”

“Now?”

“Soon. He has some information to pass on. What are you doing? We don’t leave for three days.”

“This is planning. A pre-packing stage. Since I won’t be setting up house, so to speak, there are things I don’t need to take. Plus my wardrobe needs a little turnover. Plus to plus, I’ll need room to pack things I can’t carry on.”

She lifted the trusty Leatherman tool she habitually carried in her purse. “Such as. And such as the travel candles I always take with me, my lighter, my box cutter, my—”

“I get it, but there’s no restrictions on those things on private.”

“Private what? Plane?” She dropped her Leatherman. “We’re flying to Italy on a private plane?”

“There’s no point in having one and not using it.”

“You . . . you have a private plane?”

“The family has one. Two actually. We each get a certain amount of air time a year—as long as the time isn’t already taken. I told you I’d take care of the details.”

“Details.” She decided she needed to sit down.

“Do you have a problem being able to take your intimidating multi-tool and box cutter on board?”

“No. And flying in a private jet is a thrill—will be a thrill. It all just makes me feel out of balance.”

He sat beside her. “My great-grandfather started it. The son of a Welsh coal miner who wanted better for his children. His oldest son made good, came to New York, made better. Along the way some of us squandered it, some expanded it. And if you let anything my father said to you get a grip, it’s going to piss me off.”

“I’m used to paying my own way. I can’t keep up with private planes.”

“Do you want me to book commercial?”

“No.” Now she smiled. “I’m not a complete neurotic. I’m just telling you I don’t need private planes. I’ll enjoy the experience, and I don’t want you to think I take it for granted.”

“It’s hard to think that when you looked like I said we were going on a jump ship instead of a G4.”

“You’re wrong. I’ve been on a jump ship. I’d have looked vaguely green. Well.” She picked up her Leatherman, turned it over in her hands. “I’ll adjust my packing strategy. I could make dinner.”

“That’d be nice.”

“I meant for Kerinov.”

“I don’t think he plans to be here that long. He’s coming by after a meeting and before meeting his wife for some family thing. You can fill him in on where we are with the Bastones.”

“Then I’ll make us dinner.” She glanced at her ordered piles of clothes. “I need to reevaluate.”

“You do that,” he said, then pulled out his ringing phone. “My father. I’ll take it downstairs.

“Dad,” he said as he started out.

She stayed as she was. She hated feeling guilty, but that’s exactly how Spence Archer made her feel.

Forget it, she ordered herself, and started a new list.

While Lila adjusted her travel strategy Ash stared out at New York while he spoke with his brother Esteban on the phone. One of the upsides of having so many siblings was a connection to almost everything.

“I appreciate it. Yeah, I thought you might. I don’t know how far Oliver went. Too far. No, you’re right, I probably couldn’t have stopped him. Yes, I’ll be careful.”

He glanced at the stairs, thought of Lila and knew he had plenty of reasons to be. “You did help. I’ll let you know what comes of it. I’ll be in touch,” he added as the house phone rang. “Yes, I promise. Later.”