The Raven Master Page 9

  “Uh-huh.” She hooked a finger over her lower teeth and stared at the ground. “Yesterday was my birthday.”

  “It was? That’s wonderful, sweetie. How old are you now?”

  Sara held up six fingers.

  “Well, that definitely calls for a celebration.” Janine stood and brushed off her jeans. “What would you say to some chocolate chip cookies and a big glass of milk?”

  “I’d say yeah,” Rodney replied without hesitation.

  Tugging her brother’s sleeve, Sara whispered, “You’re supposed to say thank-you.”

  “That’s after,” the boy explained with exaggerated patience. “First you gotta get the cookies, then you can say thank-you.”

  Sara’s nose wrinkled adorably. “Oh.”

  Because she couldn’t help herself, Janine caressed the little girl’s soft blond hair. “Why don’t you park your bikes by the picnic table and I’ll see what kind of birthday goodies I can scrounge up?”

  With a grin and a giggle, the children steered their bicycles across the emerald lawn. Janine watched, smiling. They were so precious she could have hugged them both until they squeaked.

  As she considered how lucky their parents were to have such wonderful children, a sudden stab of envy shocked her to the core. Shaken, she turned away and touched her belly, feeling empty. Cheated.

  She thought back to the betrayal that shattered her trust and nearly destroyed her sanity. After three years of marriage without a pregnancy, Janine had been elated to discover a fertility specialist who, she had heard, could perform miracles. And she had so desperately wanted that miracle, a child of her own to love and to nurture always.

  So she’d scheduled an appointment. After her own examination, the doctor had been so encouraging that Janine had nearly exploded with excitement. There was no reason she couldn’t get pregnant, he’d told her, but before a treatment could be determined, Charles had to be examined.

  Only Charles had adamantly refused to go. In fact, he’d been furious with her for having seen the specialist without his permission. In the midst of their bitter argument, he had angrily admitted that he’d had no intention of ever becoming a father. That was why he’d secretly had a vasectomy the month before their wedding.

  Janine had been devastated by her husband’s cruel deceit and by the realization that there would be no babies: not then, not ever. She had turned to her parents for consolation but they’d been more concerned about the disgrace of divorce than by their daughter’s shattered dreams. Charles’s family was old-money, the social elite. As long as Janine had been his wife, her parents had enjoyed an elevated status not otherwise possible for their middle-class lifestyle.

  Since Janine’s decision would have a decidedly adverse effect on their own social position, they’d berated her angrily, denouncing her pain as a petty grievance and consistently pointing out the material advantages of continuing the marriage. Although deeply hurt by her parents’ attitude, Janine had quietly gone through with the dissolution. Then, ostracized by her family and feeling completely alone, she’d gathered her few possessions and moved north.

  Three years later, the pain of betrayal was as acute as the day it had happened, and her empty womb still longed for fulfillment.

  Shrugging off the familiar yearnings, Janine reminded herself that her young guests were waiting for cookies, so she entered the kitchen and went to work.

  After placing three glasses of milk on a hand-painted tea tray, she pulled a fresh bag of cookies out of the pantry. A couple of test tugs didn’t budge the stubborn cellophane so she opened the utensil drawer and reached for her scissors. Instead she came up with the missing master key.

  Stunned, she stared from key to drawer. “How on earth did it get in there?”

  The answer was obvious. She must have put it there during a preoccupied moment. That conclusion was unsettling. She realized that she’d been distracted—she just hadn’t understood how distracted. Apparently she’d fallen victim to whatever unknown mental virus was responsible for the increasingly bizarre behavior of the other tenants.

  Vowing to be more careful in the future, she pocketed the key, finished fixing the children’s snack and carried the heaping tray out to the delighted youngsters.

  While they enjoyed the chewy treat, she slid onto the bench to chat with them, laugh at their childish jokes and brush the occasional crumb from a smiling little mouth.

  Since Janine was thoroughly enjoying herself, she was disappointed when Rodney announced that they had to leave. “So soon?”

  The boy straddled his bike and nodded. “Ma wants us to bring home some bread and stuff from the store.”

  Sara smoothed her bibbed overalls. “Maybe we can come back tomorrow.”

  Janine touched the girl’s flushed cheek. “I’d like that.”

  “We’ll ask, okay?” Sara waved goodbye, climbed onto the padded banana seat of her birthday bike and pedaled madly to catch up with her sprinting brother.

  When they’d disappeared from view, Janine traced the rim of the empty cookie plate and sighed.

  A male voice startled her. “It looks like we’re too late.”

  Janine whirled, pressed a palm over her racing heart and exhaled, all at once. “If you don’t stop sneaking up on me, I’m going to chain a cowbell around your neck.”

  Quinn smiled without apology. Not until a fluttering black wing caught her attention did she notice the bandaged bird perched on his forearm.

  The raven sidled to his master’s cocked elbow, tilted his head and emitted a rasp that could have been interpreted as a greeting. Quinn idly stroked the glossy black head and glanced toward the gravel road. “Since Edgar needed some fresh air and exercise, I thought the children might have enjoyed meeting him.”

  “I’m sure they would have.” Clasping her hands safely behind her back, Janine warily eyed the obsidian beak. “From a distance, of course.”

  “He’s really quite docile.” As though to prove that point, Quinn reached into his pocket and extracted an apple slice. The bird cawed with excitement, then ripped away a jagged hunk of juicy white flesh. “Would you like to pet him?”

  “I’d rather stick my hand in a drill press.”

  “He won’t hurt you.”

  “I have bruises that say otherwise.”

  With an indulgent smile, Quinn laid the apple slice on the redwood table, then extended his arm, allowing the raven to hop beside the treat. “A territorial instinct is natural for birds. He was protecting his perch.”

  “And quite effectively at that,” Janine murmured, cringing as the raven’s razor-sharp beak sheared off another piece of apple.

  Edgar cocked his head and stared up at her, then hopped across the tabletop to investigate the plate of cookie crumbs. The bird emitted a delighted screech and settled down to dispatch the remaining morsels.

  Janine couldn’t help smiling at its antics. Despite misgivings about Edgar’s volatile temperament, she had to concede a certain admiration for the determined creature. In spite of its handicap and constraining bandage, the plucky little fellow had displayed undeniable courage.

  She sighed. “I suppose that as birds go, Edgar isn’t so bad.”

  “So you are an animal lover.” Quinn sat on the bench, extending his long legs and resting his back against the tabletop. “I suspected as much.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Janine sat on the same bench a reasonable distance away. “I respect animals but I certainly don’t have the instinctive rapport with them that you do.”

  “I think you’re confusing instinct with experience.”

  She disagreed and said so adding, “There isn’t one person in a thousand who relates to wild creatures the way you do.”

  His eyes crinkled. “Do you think I’m a reincarnated Dr. Dolittle?”

  Feeling her face heat, she avoided his gaze and feigned interest in removing a splinter from the weathered wooden seat. “I believe that animals recognize inner kindness.”


  From the corner of her eye she saw him cup his hands behind his head. After a moment, he replied tersely, “You’re mistaken, Janine. I’m not a kind person.”

  Startled by the unexpected change of tone, she responded without thinking, “Of course you are.”

  He considered her assertion for a moment. “I chased off a hungry cat. Don’t read anything else into it.”

  “It’s more than that,” Janine insisted. “I’ve seen your kindness every day, in your tenderness with Edna, your tolerance for Althea’s brazen behavior, allowing Jules to win at chess even though you’re obviously the better player—all these things prove that you are caring and…and…” The words dissipated under the force of Quinn’s probing pewter gaze.

  “I’m flattered that you hold me in such high regard,” he said slowly. “Unfortunately, you’re wrong.”

  Janine would have responded but her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth.

  “You should be more cautious,” Quinn told her. “When offered too freely, trust empowers one’s enemies and provides a dangerous weapon. The fact that I won last night’s chess game should quash any idealistic notion you have about the purity of my motives.”

  “Jules lost?” Janine was so surprised by that news that the veiled warning about enemies and weapons slipped quietly to the back of her mind. “So that explains his foul mood.” When Quinn lifted a brow, she explained. “Jules refused to come down for breakfast this morning. Poor Edna was beside herself. It was all she could do to coax him out long enough to drive her to work.”

  “Edna doesn’t drive?”

  Janine considered that. “Come to think of it, I’m not sure. She has a license, but as far as I know, Jules does all the driving.”

  “How do you know she has a driver’s license?”

  The blunt question startled her. “I requested identification when she and Jules first moved in. It’s standard procedure when the rent is paid by check rather than cash.”

  “Was it a Washington license?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You mentioned that Edna and Jules came from the Seattle area. Was her driver’s license issued by the state of Washington?”

  “No. Actually it was from California. I remember commenting on it because their car had Washington license plates.” She interpreted Quinn’s half smile and responded, “So you see, when I made note of your van’s license plates, it was nothing personal.”

  “I didn’t presume that it was.” He turned sideways, cocking one knee over the hard bench. “Was there an address on the license?”

  “Only a P.O. box.”

  “Didn’t you think that odd?”

  “Not really.” Janine frowned. “Why the interrogation?”

  “Just making conversation.” Quinn smiled without depth and gazed up at the gloomy sky. “Is Jules still in his room?”

  “I suppose so.” She chose not to mention that after taking his grandmother to work Jules had made a brief telephone call before stomping upstairs and slamming his bedroom door. Quinn’s intense interest in Jules’s schedule didn’t make much sense considering that he had followed the young man and his grandmother out of the driveway. Moments after Jules’s return, she’d noticed Quinn’s van parked in its usual location. At the time she’d assumed the timing to be sheer coincidence. Under the barrage of pointed questions, however, she was beginning to wonder.

  As though sensing her discomfort, Quinn suddenly switched subjects. “Do the Drake children visit you often?”

  “No. I’ve seen them hiking through the ravine once in a while but this is the first time they’ve stopped to chat.”

  “You seemed to be enjoying their company.” He responded to her quizzical expression by gesturing toward an upstairs window overlooking the yard. “I couldn’t help overhearing.”

  “I hope we didn’t disturb you.”

  “Laughter is never a disturbance.” He folded his arms, regarding her. “I like seeing you happy.”

  She looked away. “I’m always happy.”

  “Are you?”

  “Of course,” she lied. “Why wouldn’t I be? I have everything I want.”

  “Do you?”

  She fidgeted with the metal tab on her jacket zipper. “Are you going to charge for this session?”

  His startled expression melted into one of bemusement. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “But you did.” Propping her elbow on her thigh, she nested her chin in her open palm and gave him a Freudian stare. “How do you feel about that?”

  He chuckled softly. “How would you like me to feel?”

  She shifted sideways on the bench and faced him. “So you do have a sense of humor.”

  “Occasionally.” He casually tapped the tabletop, bringing the curious raven’s attention to a wayward cookie crumb. “Unfortunately, cynicism is a pitfall of my profession. To the vast majority of people I worked with, life wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience. People frequently equate unhappiness with failure and refuse to acknowledge sad feelings. It was my job to recognize what my patients denied.”

  She stiffened indignantly. “I’m not one of your patients, Mr. Coulliard…or do you prefer Dr. Coulliard?”

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “Actually I prefer Quinn.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “I have a Ph.D. in psychology so technically I am but I’ve never cared much for titles.”

  Somehow that didn’t surprise her. “Well, then, Quinn, I’ll dispense with formalities and say simply that I don’t appreciate being psychoanalyzed in my own backyard.”

  “That wasn’t my intention.” With a sigh, he rolled his head and massaged his neck. “When I saw how uninhibited you were with the children and how filled with joy, I found myself wondering why you’d never married and started a family of your own. It’s none of my business, of course.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Janine stared at the tightly curled fists in her lap. “What…” She cleared her throat. “What makes you think that I’ve never married?”

  A strange expression crossed his face. “Have you been?”

  She moistened her lips. “Yes.”

  After a strained silence, he said simply, “I’m sorry.”

  Startled, she glanced up. “Sorry that I was married?”

  He took one of her hands and gently unfurled her bent fingers. “I’m sorry that the marriage ended. You must have been deeply hurt.”

  “It was my choice,” she said defiantly. “I divorced Charles.”

  “Divorce is usually a painful process.”

  Her confident veneer cracked. “It’s worse than dying.”

  Still holding her hand between his strong palms, he gently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “Sometimes there are no other options.”

  Quinn’s quiet acceptance warmed Janine to the core. “You’re the first person I know who has acknowledged that. Most people treated me as though I’d committed a cardinal sin.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “In our social circle, marriage is big business, more of a company merger than a human relationship. A divorce is considered a kind of boardroom mutiny, financial treason of the most dastardly sort.”

  He considered that a moment. “So your family didn’t support your decision?”

  A lump rose in her throat. “They were horrified.”

  “That must have hurt you very much.”

  Swallowing hard, she managed a curt nod. “It wasn’t entirely their fault. Charles’s family was third generation La Jolla elite but my parents had worked hard to get where they were. Acceptance meant everything to them. When Charles and I married, they felt as though they finally belonged. The divorce humiliated them. They were outcasts. That nearly killed them.”

  Quinn squeezed her hand. “Most parents would be more concerned for the happiness of their child. Perhaps your guilt has exaggerated the extent of their disappointment.”

  She emitted a dry laugh. “To my parents,
money was happiness. As to exaggeration, I was informed that if I filed for divorce, they no longer had a daughter.”

  Unable to meet his gaze, Janine inspected the strong fingers encircling her own thin hand. Where his flesh touched hers, a peculiar energy flowed through her body and radiated into her very soul. She felt strangely comforted, cared for, understood. She was telling him things that she’d never revealed before and there was a sense of relief in exposing the pain that had been locked inside for so very long. The man had a way about him, an uncanny ability to draw out a person’s most intimate secrets.

  Now he simply observed her quietly, stroking the sensitive pulse point at her wrist. When he spoke, his voice was soft, soothing, hypnotic. “You must have been very unhappy to risk losing your entire family.”

  She looked up. It was a mistake. She was instantly enraptured by the empathy in his eyes, a tenderness that was mesmerizing. “Yes,” she whispered. “I was.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Yes.” Was that her voice? She blinked, unable to believe that, even now, the forbidden words were forming in her mind. “When you wondered why I hadn’t started a family, I felt sick inside. Even when I was a little girl, being a mother was the only career I ever wanted. I dreamed of having babies, a dozen of them, all healthy and beautiful and filled with the joy of knowing that they were deeply loved. But it didn’t work out that way.”

  His eyes filled with silent sympathy. “You weren’t able to conceive?”

  Using her free hand to massage her eyelids, she took a shuddering breath, then slowly, methodically, she revealed how Charles had deceived her. She spoke carefully, withholding the most intimate details of their marital problems, yet with each whispered word the pressure eased until she felt oddly buoyant and free.

  Quinn listened intently, with a sincere interest that satisfied her secret emptiness. She saw no disapproval or judgment in his eyes, only a genuine concern that touched her to the core. By the time she’d finished speaking, Janine believed him to be a kindred spirit, a man who understood her feelings of betrayal. She felt deep gratitude and something more.

  Quinn delicately brushed a wispy strand from her cheek. “So that’s why you left San Diego?”