Gift of Fire

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “A sixteenth-century villa,” he replied promptly.

  Verity stared at him. “A villa? In Italy?” Visions of a vacation in the Italian countryside danced through her head. This might be even better than a trip to Hawaii.

  Doug gave her a level look over the rim of his tiny espresso cup. “I wish it were that simple. If Hazelhurst’s Horror were in Italy, I wouldn’t have the problem of trying to assure my buyers that it’s genuine. But since it’s located on an island up in the Pacific Northwest, things get complicated.”

  “Good grief,” Verity exclaimed. “How did a sixteenth-century Renaissance villa get to an island in the Northwest?”

  “It was taken apart in Italy before the turn of the century, shipped here to the States, and reconstructed by an eccentric relative of our late uncle, Eustis Hazelhurst. Our uncle Digby, who was just as nutty as his relative, inherited the place when Eustis died. Then, two years ago, our uncle died and I inherited the monstrosity.”

  “Doug put it up for sale immediately,” Elyssa explained. “Who can afford the taxes and upkeep on a thing like Hazelhurst’s Horror? It costs a fortune to maintain. A group of businessmen want to turn it into a resort. They’re very interested in the place, but they want proof that the villa is authentic before they pay what Doug is asking. So, Doug has decided to hire someone with a respectable academic reputation to look the place over and write a report for the buyers.”

  Doug set down his empty espresso cup. “In all fairness, you should know at the outset, Verity, that my sister has ulterior motives. She wants Mr. Quarrel to do a little treasure hunting while he’s checking out the villa.”

  “Buried treasure?” Verity was enthralled.

  Doug shrugged expressively. “Probably just a wild goose chase, but my uncle left enough evidence to whet the appetite. The treasure is supposedly buried somewhere in the villa.”

  “And I definitely think we should look for it before we sell the place,” Elyssa declared stoutly.

  Verity frowned. “If there was any treasure, wouldn’t it have been discovered when the place was taken apart for shipping?”

  It was Doug who answered. “That was my first thought, too. But apparently the villa was not literally taken apart stone by stone. Huge chunks of it were left intact. The workmen simply built a protective crate around the big pieces and put them on the boat. A lot of furniture and some artwork were also shipped over, but almost all of that is gone now. Poor Uncle Digby had to sell it off in order to keep the place going.”

  “Uncle Digby was convinced the treasure existed and that it was still somewhere in the villa. He spent years looking for it,” Elyssa explained. “It only makes sense to take a shot at it ourselves before we give up the place.”

  Doug smiled indulgently as he glanced at his sister. “If Mr. Quarrel is willing to take on both jobs at once, I’d like to hire him for a week.”

  It was time to do business. Verity smiled in a professional way. She hoped she didn’t look too eager. “You do understand that Jonas’s time is very valuable, and the sort of project you’re describing, a stone-by-stone examination of the villa, would be quite expensive.”

  “Oh,” said Elyssa, “we’re prepared to pay his going rate, whatever that is for a full week. Perhaps longer if necessary. Do you think Mr. Quarrel might be interested in the job?”

  “I think,” Verity said thoughtfully, “that Mr. Quarrel would be very interested.” Visions of an island vacation in a Renaissance villa swam in her mind. The Puget Sound was not the South Pacific, but sometimes you had to take what you could get. “I generally accompany him on consulting trips within the continental U.S.,” she said delicately.

  “We’d love to have you come along with him,” Elyssa said quickly. “We’d pay all expenses, naturally.”

  “Naturally.” Verity said smoothly, feeling very businesslike. “Can I offer you another cup of espresso while we work out the details?”

  By the time Verity had finished explaining the whole thing to Laura as they soaked in a spa pool that night, she was convinced that she had heretofore undiscovered talents as a business manager.

  “This could open up a real career for Jonas,” she told Laura enthusiastically. “It’s perfect.”

  “The part about the treasure hunt sounds like a waste of time,” Laura stated.

  “So what? At the very least Doug will get a proper academic report detailing the age and design of the villa. That should take care of impressing his potential buyers. If Jonas locates a treasure along the way, that’ll just be icing on the cake.”

  “Think Jonas is going to go for the idea of a treasure hunt?”

  “Why not? It’s just the type of thing that might really appeal to him.”

  And you get a week’s vacation out of it,” Laura concluded with a nod. “You know, it’s not such a bad idea at all. A little unusual, but it has possibilities. Maybe Jonas really will go for it.”

  Verity leaned her head back against the tile. “Jonas doesn’t have much choice in the matter,” she admitted. “I’ve already accepted the job on his behalf. The Warwicks left a five-hundred-dollar retainer fee with me.”

  Laura’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Be interesting to see what Jonas thinks about his new consulting business.”

  Verity wondered about that herself. She had been pondering the problem since the Warwicks had left. She was still mulling over the right approach for telling Jonas about his new consulting assignment as she hurried back along the dark path that led from the resort to her cabin.

  The path was treacherous. Crusts of ice were already forming. Verity plunged her hands deep into the pockets of her down parka, hunching her shoulders against the chill.

  The steps leading up to her deck were icy and she used the rail to steady herself. The porch light was out. She frowned, certain that she had left it on earlier. Perhaps the bulb had burned out. Replacing bulbs was one of those little things Jonas was good at doing.

  Verity had her hand on the doorknob when she heard a faint scraping sound within the cabin. A rush of excitement surged through her. Jonas was home!

  “Jonas? When did you get in?” She pushed open the door and started to reach for the light switch. “Why didn’t you turn on the lights?”

  A dark body exploded through the doorway, shoving Verity violently to one side. She staggered wildly backward, her shoes slipping and sliding across the ice patches.

  The dark figure bounded down the steps at a dead run. Rage raced through Verity. She started after the intruder, only to have her feet slip out from under her as she went down the steps.

  She felt her balance going, and felt a sharp pain in her right side. Suddenly all she could think about was protecting the child she might be carrying.

  She must not fall!

  She grabbed frantically for the railing, catching it just as her injured ankle collapsed beneath her. She was barely in time.

  Her breath coming in short, steamy little gasps, she lowered herself slowly to the icy step and watched helplessly as the intruder vanished into the trees.

  “Damn, damn, damn.” She was shaking like a leaf.

  After a moment, she picked herself up, realized she couldn’t put any weight on her ankle, and limped painfully into the cabin to call Laura.

  Her friend arrived a short time later, the Warwicks in tow.

  “They happened to be at the front desk when you called,” Laura explained as she fussed over Verity. “Rick was busy handling a crisis in the bar.”

  “We’d better get you to a doctor,” Doug Warwick said, examining Verity’s rapidly swelling ankle. “I’ll carry you to the car.”

  Before Verity could think of a response, he had lifted her into his arms and was heading for the door.

  It was most unfortunate for the sake of future business relations that when Doug carried her back into the cabin an ho
ur later, he got a knife at his throat for his trouble.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Jonas asked. His voice was a cold, dangerous snarl coming from the shadows.

  Chapter Three

  Jonas! Put down that knife this instant! Honestly, I have never been so embarrassed in my life.” Verity scrabbled for the switch on the wall behind Doug. “I’m terribly sorry about this, Doug.”

  Doug didn’t move an inch. He stood perfectly still, holding Verity in his arms. He blinked when the light came on, revealing the man holding the knife. “I think there’s a slight misunderstanding here,” he croaked.

  “I think maybe there is,” Jonas agreed in an ominously soft voice.

  “Jonas, stop it. This is ridiculous. You’re humiliating me. And just look at you. You’re a mess.” Verity glared furiously at Jonas. He definitely was not in any condition to impress clients. The knife he was holding at Doug’s throat was the worst of it, of course, but the rumpled, stained work shirt and jeans and the rough stubble of several days’ growth of beard did not help matters. His golden eyes glittered like those of a predator. At least he appeared to be in good shape physically, she thought, feeling a rush of relief.

  “What’s going on here, Verity?” Jonas flicked a brief, grim glance at her before returning his gaze to his victim.

  “Stop behaving like a Neanderthal and I’ll explain.”

  “This had better be good.” Jonas lowered the knife with obvious reluctance. “Put my woman down before I have a change of heart about what to do with this knife,” he added to the man cradling Verity.

  “Her ankle,” Doug managed tightly.

  Jonas scanned Verity’s legs and saw the elastic bandage around her right ankle. “For Christ’s sake, Verity, what happened to you?”

  “I twisted my ankle outside on the deck. If you had asked a few civil questions instead of going for poor Doug’s throat with that knife, you would have saved yourself having to apologize.”

  “Who’s apologizing?”

  “You will soon enough,” Verity vowed. She smiled warmly up at Doug, who still stood there, frozen. “I’m so embarrassed about this. Just set me down over there on the couch, will you?”

  “You’re sure you’re all right here with him?” Doug asked as he put her down carefully. He eyed Jonas warily.

  “Heavens, yes. I’ll be fine.” The expression on Doug’s face alarmed her. She could see Jonas’s fat consulting fee slipping rapidly away. “I can’t thank you enough for all your help this evening. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I’m really sorry about this…” She waved a hand that casually included Jonas and his knife. “Sometimes Jonas overreacts to situations. He’s a little high-strung. Impetuous. Leaps to conclusions. You know how these academic types are. But I can assure you that he’s quite good in his field of expertise.”

  “I see.” Doug’s eyes were on the knife that Jonas had not yet bothered to put away. “I was assuming that his field of expertise was Renaissance history.”

  Verity desperately tried to salvage the situation before Doug convinced himself that Jonas’s field of expertise was slitting throats. “I’m sure he’ll suit your needs just fine. I can certainly guarantee there won’t be any more awkward scenes like this. As his business manager, I’ll see to it that he behaves himself.”

  “Maybe we’d better discuss this in the morning,” Doug said, edging back toward the door. “Laura and Elyssa are out in the car. Wouldn’t want to keep them waiting any longer. Pretty cold out there this evening. Nice to meet you, Mr. Quarrel. Hope you had a good, er, business trip. Understand you were out of the country for a while.” Doug was nearly at the door. Like any good stockbroker, he kept talking right up until the last second. “Good night, Verity. Take care of that ankle.” He pulled the door shut behind him.

  A taut silence fell upon the small room.

  “High-strung?” Jonas finally echoed blandly. “Impetuous?” He tossed the knife into the open duffel bag that lay at the foot of the sofa. His eyes gleamed as he walked forward and loomed over Verity.

  “Well, I had to think of something to explain your cretinous behavior.” Verity settled back into a corner of the sofa and met his challenging gaze without flinching. Then she chewed on her lower lip. “Jonas, are you all right?”

  “I was until I got home in time to watch you being carried over the threshold by this year’s cover boy for Gentlemen’s Quarterly. Practicing for playing bride?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted tartly. “Where’s Dad?”

  “In Rio with Lehigh. Emerson said he needed a vacation.

  He decided that watching string bikinis and topless bathing suits parading up and down the beach was just the thing to relax a man of his years. I,” Jonas added virtuously, “felt obliged to rush straight home to the little woman I just knew would be waiting anxiously for my return.”

  Verity ignored that last crack. “Sam Lehigh’s all right? The kidnappers turned him over without a fuss?”

  “He’s fine. The guys who had him were not the brightest bunch.” Jonas ran a hand through his tousled hair. As the tension drained out of his body, his exhaustion became obvious. He stifled a yawn.

  “And Dad?”

  “He’s fine too. Nobody who counted got hurt.”

  “Nobody who counted! What about the kidnappers?” Verity asked anxiously.

  Jonas regarded her through narrowed eyes. “I said nobody who counted got hurt. You, being the upright little citizen you are, will be pleased to know that the three who had Lehigh are now enjoying the hospitality of a Mexican jail.”

  Verity brightened. “You turned the whole thing over to the police after all? I’m so glad. I knew it would be better if you handled it that way.”

  “We didn’t exactly turn them over to the Mexican cops,” Jonas said carefully. “We just sort of left the three jerks at the scene of the crime. You know how it is down there. Whoever’s hanging around when the police move in is generally considered guilty.”

  “What, exactly, did you leave those three hanging around with?” Verity demanded suspiciously.

  “A warehouse full of drugs. It belonged to relatives, I gather. The three fools were holding Lehigh in the back of the place. After we got Lehigh out, we made sure the kidnappers weren’t going anywhere for a while. Then Emerson made an anonymous call to the cops. It was a nice, prestigious arrest for the authorities. Headlines in all the papers, medals for everyone.”

  “I have the distinct impression that you’re oversimplifying things enormously.”

  “I’m just trying to be concise so that we can get back to the main topic here,” Jonas declared ominously. “When and why did the Sir Galahad in a yuppie suit show up?”

  “His name is Warwick,” Verity said testily. “Doug Warwick. He and his sister Elyssa are staying at the resort. After I sprained my ankle on the steps this evening, I called Laura. She came right over, and the Warwicks came with her. It was really very kind of them. I was a little frightened, you see.”

  Jonas dropped into a crouch beside the sofa. He touched the bandaged ankle with surprisingly gentle hands. “Frightened because of the fall?”

  “No, because of what made me fall.”

  Jonas’s head came up sharply.

  “Someone was in the house when I got home from the spa tonight, Jonas. He came rushing out, knocking me to one side. I barely caught myself in time to keep from falling down the steps.”

  Jonas stared at her in amazement. “Holy shit! Are you serious?”

  “Very.

  “Someone got in here?” Jonas’s hand tightened on Verity’s knee as he glanced around the comfortably furnished room.

  Verity followed his gaze. “Doesn’t look like he took anything, does it? The stereo is still here, and so’s the television. I must have interrupted him before he had a chance to do any da
mage. That reminds me—I’m supposed to phone the sheriff’s office and let them know if anything’s missing.” She reached for the phone on the end table.

  As she dialed, Jonas prowled around the room, opening the cupboards and checking the closets. Then he disappeared down the hall to the bedroom. When he returned, Verity had finished her brief report and was hanging up the phone.

  “Dammit, I go away for less than five days and you get yourself into trouble,” Jonas growled as he stalked into the kitchen.

  “I did not get myself into trouble. I was the innocent victim of an intruder.” Verity heard the clink of a bottle against glass. “Make mine juice.” A moment later Jonas reappeared with two glasses. One was filled with cranberry juice.

  “Did you lock the door before you went over to the spa tonight?” He sat down beside her and handed her the juice.

  “No. I never lock it. You know that. We don’t have any crime around here.”

  “Well, we do now, don’t we? Of all the crazy, idiotic excuses. How many times have I told you to lock that front door?”

  “Now, Jonas…”

  “And this business of walking alone over to the spa late at night has got to stop. From now on, either I go with you, or you stay home and find something else to do.”

  “Now, Jonas…”

  “I’d like to know where this Warwick character got the idea he could just pick you up and carry you around. What made him volunteer to play rescuer, anyway? Laura and Rick could have handled things just fine.”

  “Jonas...”

  “Jesus. A man comes home after a hard week on the road, and the first thing he sees is his woman being carded through the doorway in some other guy’s arms. It’s enough to make a person think seriously about bringing back chastity belts.”

  Verity lost her patience. “Jonas, you’re beginning to sound like an irate husband. I think you’ve said enough. In case it has escaped your notice, I am the injured party here. Furthermore, I don’t want to hear another nasty word about Doug Warwick. He’s a very nice man, and, more important, he’s a client of yours.”