Divine Evil by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online

inspired by her own frightening dreams. Abruptly chilled, she turned her back on it. Play the game, she ordered herself, then gulped down the rest of her wine before setting the glass aside.
    For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why the wine and the compliments were making her tense. “Thanks, Tina. Angie will breathe a lot easier when I pass your opinions along.”
    “Oh, I'll relay them myself, never fear.” She tapped a finger on Clare's wrist. “I'd like to speak to you, at a less chaotic time, about addressing my art group.”
    “Of course,” she said, though she hated public speaking even more than she hated interviews. “Give me a call.” Maybe I can have my number changed first.
    “Be sure that I will. Congratulations, Clare.”
    Clare took a step back, intending to slip off to Angie's private office for a moment of solitude. She bumped solidly into someone behind her.
    “Oh, I'm sorry,” she began as she turned. “It's so close in-Blair!” With her first genuine emotion of the evening, she threw her arms around him. “You came! I was afraid you wouldn't make it.”
    “Not make my sister's glitzy party?”
    “It's an art showing.”
    “Yeah.” He let his gaze skim the room. “Says who?”
    “Thank God you're here.” She grabbed his arm. “Come with me. And whatever you do, don't look back.”
    “Hey,” he said when she'd dragged him outside, “the champagne's in there.”
    “I'll buy you a case.” Ignoring the limo at her disposal, she hustled him down the street. Four blocks away, she walked into a deli, drawing in the scents of corned beef, pickles, and garlic.
    “Thank you, God,” Clare murmured and rushed over to the counter to stare at the display of potato salad, pickled eggs, smoked sturgeon, and blintzes.
    Ten minutes later, they were sitting at a scarred linoleum table eating thick slabs of pumpernickel stuffed with layers of pastrami and Swiss.
    “I bought a new suit and hopped a shuttle to sit in a deli and eat kosher pickles and cold meat?”
    “We'll go back if you want,” Clare said with her mouth full. “I had to get out for a minute.”
    “It's your show,” he pointed out.
    “Yeah. But is my sculpture on display, or am I?”
    “Okay, kid.” Leaning back in his chair, he crunched on a potato chip. “What gives?”
    She was silent a moment, working it through. She hadn't realized just how much she'd needed to escape until she saw Blair, standing there, so real and solid, amid all the glitter and paste.
    He was only slightly taller than she. His hair had darkened with age to a deep, reddish blond, and he combed it straight back from his face. He put many women in mind of a young Robert Redford, a fact that constantly embarrassed him. He'd never been conceited about his looks. Blair understood the frustration many beautiful women felt when they were categorized as brainless sex objects.
    He had, despite the fact that he looked naive, pretty,and five years younger than his age, managed to claw his way up the journalism ladder. He was a political reporter for the
Washington Post.
    He was, Clare knew, sensible, logical, and earthbound, the direct opposite of her own personality. But there was no one with whom she felt more comfortable sharing her innermost thoughts.
    “How's Mom?”
    Blair sipped at his cream soda. He knew his twin would circle around whatever problem she had until she felt ready to dive into it. “She's good. I got a postcard the other day from Madrid. Didn't you get one?”
    “Yeah.” Clare nibbled at her sandwich. “She and Jerry seem to be having the time of their lives.”
    “Honeymoons are supposed to be fun.” He leaned forward, touched her hand. “She needs Jerry, Clare. She loves him and deserves some happiness.”
    “I know. I know.” Impatient with herself, she pushed the plate aside and reached for a cigarette. Her appetite seemed to vacillate as quickly as her moods these days. “In my head I do. She worked hard after