by Anne Stuart
Jilly glanced down at her faded jeans, bare feet and baggy sweatshirt and shrugged. Her hair hung in one long, thick braid down her back, her face was burnished by the late autumn sun and the wind off the ocean, and she didn’t give a damn. She wasn’t about to dress up for Coltrane’s admiration.
“If this dinner is so laid-back then it shouldn’t matter what I’m wearing,” she said, moving past him into the living room before she could change her mind. With anyone else she might have worried that Dean was matchmaking, but in the case of her brother she knew that to be outside the realm of possibility. Dean was too focused on his own needs to even notice what his sister was doing, much less interfere in it. He’d have no idea she was the slightest bit attracted to Coltrane.
The two sofas faced each other across an elegantly set coffee table, and the candlelight flickered seductively. Jilly headed toward the opposite sofa when Dean interfered, pushing her toward Coltrane. “You sit there, Jilly, and Rachel-Ann can sit with me.”
“I don’t want—”
“Don’t be a pest, Jilly,” Dean snapped. “Coltrane doesn’t have cooties. For God’s sake sit down and stop making a fuss out of nothing.”
At least Coltrane was ignoring her, concentrating on the perfect spot behind Roofus’s ears. For one brief moment Jilly considered outright rebellion, then chickened out. If she made a fuss he’d assume last night mattered more than it did. It was nothing, an embarrassing little…experience…that was best ignored and quickly forgotten. If she tried hard enough.
“Fine,” she muttered, sitting down beside Coltrane on the sofa. Roofus turned and shoved his big head under Jilly’s hand, looking for her approval, as well. “Traitor,” she said under her breath.
She wasn’t going to look at Coltrane. He’d probably smirk at her, and if he did she’d take the candelabrum and bash him over the head with it, then upend the glass coffee table….
Pleasantly violent thoughts, but she wasn’t going to act on them, and she knew it. She was cool, impervious, she reminded herself. And the longer she put off looking at Coltrane the harder it was going to be.
“What can I get you, Jilly? Brandy?” Dean asked helpfully.
“No!” She couldn’t help her reaction. It was brandy that had gotten her into that mess last night. “Just iced tea, thanks.”
Too late she realized that Dean would have to leave to get it for her. Leave her alone with Coltrane. She opened her mouth to speak but Dean had already vanished, abandoning her to her fate.
“You shouldn’t blame the brandy,” Coltrane said.
Steeling herself, she turned to look at him. At least he wasn’t smirking at her. “For what?” she said in a cool voice.
“Haven’t you figured out yet that it’s a bad idea to call my bluff, Jilly?” he said softly. “I’m not bluffing. It wasn’t the brandy last night.”
She leaned back against the far end of the sofa, pulling her feet up between them. “Do we really need a postmortem?” she said in an utterly convincing drawl.
Except that he didn’t appear convinced. “No,” he said. “We just have to finish what we started.”
Lucky for him that Rachel-Ann appeared at that moment, or the candelabrum would have been destroyed. “Aren’t you two cozy-looking?” Rachel-Ann said, curling up on the sofa opposite them. She’d dressed for dinner in a simple black sheath, and she looked livelier than Jilly had seen her in months. A momentary dread formed in the pit of her stomach, as she surveyed her sister anxiously. But there was no telltale glitter in her green eyes, no imperceptible slackness to her mouth. Jilly had gotten so that she could tell if her sister had even touched a wineglass, and despite the fact that her sister looked unexpectedly cheerful, she also looked completely sober.
“You look gorgeous,” Jilly said.
“Thanks, darling. I wish I could say the same thing about you. You look like something the cat dragged in. Did you spend the day at the ocean?”
“How’d you guess?”
“Isn’t that where you always run when you get upset? I run to a bottle, you run to the ocean. Your answer is probably healthier.”
Oh, God, don’t go there, Jilly thought miserably.
“What upset you, Jilly?” Coltrane asked in a dulcet tone.
“I discovered there are rats at La Casa,” she replied grimly. “I’m going to have to call in an exterminator.”
He laughed, unmoved. “I think you’re more than capable of getting rid of any unwanted rodents. If you really wanted to.”
“I don’t like rats,” Jilly said.
“No one does, Jilly,” Rachel-Ann protested. “Let’s not talk about vermin—it’s not very appetizing. Tell me, where do you run to, Coltrane? You must run somewhere when you’re upset.”
“I don’t get upset,” he said simply.
“And I don’t believe you,” Rachel-Ann returned. “Where do you go when things get too much for you? Drugs, alcohol, sex? Come on, don’t be shy! Dean’s arranged this little party so we can get to know each other better. After all, we’re living in each others’ back pockets—we might as well know what we’re up against. What’s your drug of choice, Coltrane?”
“Revenge.” The reply was short, simple and faintly chilling.
Even Rachel-Ann looked taken aback. “Now how healthy is that, I ask you? And who are you wanting revenge on?”
“Anyone who’s wronged me and mine.”
“Me and mine?” Rachel-Ann echoed. “How wonderfully feudal. What fair damsel are you defending? Whose honor was besmirched?” She was mocking him, and Jilly wanted to stop her. There was an odd tension in the room, one that Rachel-Ann was ignoring, but even Roofus was whining slightly, upset at the undercurrents.
“My mother,” Coltrane said softly.
Rachel-Ann’s eyes widened, and she was momentarily silenced. Long enough for Jilly to jump into the breach, willing to do anything to change the subject. “What did you do today, Rachel-Ann? You were out late last night.”
Wrong distraction, Jilly thought the moment the words were out of her mouth. It would sound as if she were cross-examining her sister, and that was the last thing she wanted. It didn’t matter if she knew where Rachel-Ann was or not. She couldn’t stop her from doing what she wanted to do, and knowing only made it worse.
A brief, almost girlish smile crossed her sister’s face, and then vanished, as if she were ashamed of it. “Sorry if you were worried. I spent the night with…an old friend.”
“I didn’t think you had any old friends, darling,” Dean said, setting a tray of drinks on the table. “I thought they either dropped you cold or succumbed to ODs.”
“Don’t be a pest, Dean,” Rachel-Ann said lightly. “I’m in a good mood for a change—don’t mess with it. By the way, does anyone know what happened to Consuelo and Jaime?”
“Grandmère’s cook and chauffeur?” Dean said. “I remember Jackson fired them without any warning when we were staying here. I think Jaime died of a heart attack a few years ago, but Consuelo retired and is living in the Valley. I forget—did they have children?”
“A son,” Jilly said. She watched with fascination as a faint stain of color tinged her sister’s pale cheeks. “I don’t know what happened to him—I think his name was Richard.”
Rachel-Ann shrugged in a fine show of disinterest. “It doesn’t matter. I was just thinking about Consuelo. She made the best huevos rancheros in the world.”
“The very thought of eggs and chili in the morning makes me want to hurl,” Dean said.
“Actually it’s not as bad as you might think,” Rachel-Ann murmured.
“Am I to presume you had huevos rancheros for breakfast after your night of debauchery?” Dean said with his usual lack of tact.
“I’m afraid my night was totally free of debauchery,” she replied with surprising dignity. “Hate to disappoint you, brother dear.”
“No disappointment, love,” Dean said softly. For all his petty malice Jilly had no doubt that he truly loved
both his sisters, almost as much as he loved himself.
And this little get-together would be just lovely if it weren’t for the interloper sitting at the other end of the sofa, watching them as a scientist would watch mating cockroaches.
There was a definite limit to how long she was going to manage to sit here being sociable, Jilly thought. She’d told herself she wouldn’t run, wouldn’t let Coltrane drive her from her home and family, but that was when she’d been fool enough to think she had some defenses left. All it had taken was a few moments in his presence and she realized just how vulnerable she was.
“When’s dinner?” she asked abruptly.
Dean frowned at her. “Were you thinking you might change out of that nouveau hobo apparel into something a little more flattering?”
“No, I was thinking I had things to do.”
“They can wait,” Dean said, taking a sip of his wine. “Aren’t you interested in what the rest of us did to spend the day? Isn’t that how a happy household unwinds over cocktails? Discussing the day’s events?”
“We aren’t a happy household and Rachel-Ann and I aren’t drinking cocktails,” Jilly pointed out.
“Details!” Dean dismissed them. “You’ll never guess what Coltrane did.”
“I don’t really give a damn,” Jilly said, no longer caring if she sounded rude. She had to get out of there, away from that assessing look in Coltrane’s green eyes.
“Of course you do, darling. Since he spent the day messing with your beloved La Casa. Our father’s chief of legal affairs has unexpected talents.”
Coltrane wasn’t saying a word, watching them all with distant tolerance.
“All right, what did he spend the day doing?” Jilly asked wearily, tired of the game playing.
“He can plumb.”
“Plumb? Plumb what?”
“Pipes, darling. Faucets and drains and all those nasty things. He’s an absolute marvel. He can even sweat.”
She jerked her head to look at Coltrane. He was lounging against the armrest of the sofa, not saying a word. “I imagine he can. I’m supposed to be impressed?” Jilly said.
“Sweat pipes, dear. It’s a rare talent.”
“It’s my blue-collar roots showing through,” Coltrane murmured. “Not all of us are California bluebloods.”
“California bluebloods?” Dean echoed. “What a concept. I wonder if there really is such a thing. We’re definitely children of privilege, I won’t deny that. Not that having Jackson as a father has been that much of a treat. I might honestly have preferred living in the Valley with an insurance salesman for a father and Donna Reed for a mother.”
“It wouldn’t have done any good, Dean,” Rachel-Ann said. “You still wouldn’t have ended up as Beaver Cleaver.”
“True. What was it Sophie Tucker said? ‘I’ve been rich and I’ve been poor and rich is better’? Too bad the money seems to have run out.” Dean leaned forward and poured himself another glass of wine. There was no sign of food on the elegantly set table, and Jilly realized that on top of being tired, irritable and uneasy, she was absolutely famished. She hadn’t felt like eating this morning when she took off, and she’d fed most of her fast-food lunch to a grateful Roofus. Not that this current get-together was giving her much of an appetite, but she needed to eat or she was going to pass out.
“As for me, I spent the day on the computer.”
“So what else is new?” Jilly muttered.
“Ah, but it’s been an especially informative few days. I know you think I spend all my time on the internet cruising gay chat rooms, but you’d be quite surprised at the things that can turn up if you know where to look,” he said with innocence.
The sudden tension from the far end of the couch was palpable. “What sort of things?” Coltrane asked, his voice deceptively easy.
Dean waggled his finger at him. “All in good time, Coltrane. All will be revealed. Have patience, counselor.”
“When are we going to eat?” Jilly demanded. “I’m finding your little games extremely tiresome.”
Dean pouted at her. “Don’t be harsh, darling. I so seldom get to enjoy myself. So do we have everyone accounted for? I spent the day on the computer, making great discoveries, Jilly wandered on the beach, probably brooding over some lost love. You do have lost loves, don’t you, darling? Coltrane occupied himself with the plumbing, and Rachel-Ann…What did you do, my pet? Lie in bed and watch The Weather Channel?”
“I spent the afternoon down at the pool house.”
Jilly shuddered. “In heaven’s name why?”
An endearingly wicked little smile curved Rachel-Ann’s lips. She looked younger than she had in years, clear-eyed and resilient. “The pool house isn’t the same thing as the pool, Jilly. I used to have a lot of fun in that pool house.”
“Meeting your blue-collar lovers,” Dean said maliciously. “Coltrane here has proclaimed his blue-collar roots—why don’t you take him down there and demonstrate how you spent your adolescence? If you tire of him maybe he could figure out what’s wrong with that skanky swimming pool. Can you imagine a house in Southern California without a working swimming pool?”
“Would you use it if it worked?” Rachel-Ann responded, unmoved by his spite.
“It’s entirely possible. Every now and then I’m interested in being healthy. And a nice tan is always an asset.” He turned to Coltrane, who’d been listening with an unreadable expression on his face. “What do you think, Coltrane. Want my sister?” His eyes were glittering with amusement. “For that matter, which one would you like? You can’t have both. Alan Dunbar tried that and it backfired. Not that Daddy hasn’t been paying him off nicely ever since, and Jilly and Rachel-Ann are still close, but I wouldn’t recommend it if I were you. Pick one and stick to her.”
“You’re drunk, Dean,” Coltrane said.
“Not drunk, dear boy. Just celebrating. I’m getting ready to declare my independence, and it’s a heady feeling. I haven’t had much of a sense of power in my life, and it does tend to go to my head.”
“I’ve had enough of this,” Jilly said, rising. “If you’re not going to serve dinner then I’ll go out and get something. I’m not in the mood for this—”
“Sit down!” Dean thundered.
“Fuck you,” Jilly snapped, as Roofus lumbered to his feet with a yip of annoyance.
“Make her stay, Coltrane,” Dean begged in a petulant voice. “I’ve got it all planned.”
“I can’t make your sister do anything,” Coltrane murmured. “You’ll have to ask her.”
Jilly was already halfway to the door when Dean’s voice reached her. “Jilly, please.”
Never in her entire life had she been able to say no to him when he used that sweetly plaintive voice, and he knew it. It didn’t help that she knew she was being manipulated.
She tried to hold her ground. “Why, Dean? What’s going on? What kind of game are you playing?”
“We’re waiting for our final guest,” Dean said.
“And who’s that?” It couldn’t be any worse than Coltrane, watching her out of those mysterious green eyes. It was a crime that such a dangerous man could be quite so tempting. But then, maybe that was exactly why he was dangerous.
“Who do you think it is, Jilly?” came a voice from behind her. “Your loving father.”
As Jilly turned to look into Jackson Dean Meyer’s brown eyes, she realized with a sinking feeling that things could get a great deal worse, after all.
Brenda de Lorillard pulled herself free from Ted’s easy embrace, the song fading from her lips. She’d been singing “Night and Day” in her husky alto while they danced on the balcony. She’d always contended that was the most erotic song ever written, and Ted, bless his heart, agreed with her.
But right then eroticism was the farthest thing from her mind. She looked up at Ted with panic in her eyes.
“What’s wrong, honeybunch?” he asked gently.
“He’s here,” she whispered.
/>
“Who is?”
“The Bad Man. He’s back. And he’s going to hurt the girls.”
17
For a moment Jilly was frozen. She could hear Roofus growling, low in his throat, and even Coltrane’s restraining hand wasn’t having a calming effect. “I thought you were in Mexico,” she said, looking her father in the eye. She was taller than he was, a fact that made him acutely uncomfortable. One of the many reasons he’d never liked her, she supposed, though his lack of interest stemmed from when she was very little.
“What gave you that idea?”
“Coltrane.”
“Coltrane lies for me at times.”
“Fancy that,” she said lightly.
He tilted his head to look at her, and she looked back, surveying him as offhandedly as she could manage. His tan, his hair, his suit were all perfect. If anything he looked younger than when she’d last seen him, in his late forties rather than the midsixties she knew him to be. “How long has it been, Jillian?” he said jovially, a perfect impersonation of an indulgent father. “A year?”
“Two and a half,” she said, wishing to God it had been twice as long. It wasn’t right to hate your own father, even if he’d never evinced the slightest interest in you. But she hated him, quite intensely. Not so much for what he hadn’t given her, but for what he’d done to Rachel-Ann and Dean and their mother.
She couldn’t remember if she’d ever loved him, ever trusted him, even when she was a young child. Her mother had loved her three children with unstinting love, but Jackson had only loved Rachel-Ann, and his two birth children had been of absolutely no importance. Neither had his wife, and as far as Jilly could remember he’d barely noticed when Edith had left him. Until she’d tried to take his children.
He’d even offered her a deal, Edith had said. She could have Dean and Jilly and he’d take Rachel-Ann. She’d said no, of course. They were all her children. But she’d failed to take into account how ruthless and determined Jackson could be. He’d taken her children and her only hope of happiness. And before she could get the courts to intervene a car accident had taken her life, leaving the three of them in Grandmère’s hands.
