Hidden Talents

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Dazed by the torrent of emotions pouring through him, Caleb lifted his mouth from hers. He had to let her go.

  “Not, not yet.” Serenity wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his lips back down on hers.

  Before Caleb realized what she intended, Serenity was kissing him back with a heady intensity that sent shock waves through him and drove out all thoughts of the past or of the future. She wanted him. In that moment it was suddenly all that mattered.

  Caleb lowered his hands to her small waist and started to lift her up against his heavily aroused body.

  “That's enough.” Serenity tore her mouth free and removed her arms from around his neck. She leaned back and pushed against his chest.

  “Let me go, Caleb. I've changed my mind. You're not very nice at all.” Her eyes glowed with anger and passion. “You've ruined everything. Everything. How could you do this? I thought we understood each other. I thought we could trust each other.”

  He could not seem to breathe. “Damn it, Serenity.”

  “I said, let go of me.” She tugged at his hands.

  Caleb released her. Serenity reached down, scooped up her briefcase and ran for the door. She opened it and bolted through the opening into the outer office. Caleb's secretary, Mrs. Hotten, looked up, startled.

  “Serenity, wait.” Caleb started forward.

  “I wouldn't wait one single minute for you, Caleb Ventress.” Serenity whirled around to face him.

  “What are you going to do?” he demanded.

  “First, I'm going to track down the blackmailer. And then I'm going to find myself another business consultant. One who doesn't feel that he has to maintain such impeccable standards.”

  Serenity swung around again and stalked past Mrs. Hotten's desk. She wrenched open the outer door and vanished into the hall.

  She was leaving.

  Acting on blind instinct rather than logic, Caleb followed her.

  The phone rang shrilly on Mrs. Hotten's desk. She snatched up the receiver. “Ventress Ventures.” She paused for a few short seconds. “Yes, Mrs. Tarrant. He's right here. Please hold.”

  Caleb gained the entrance and looked out into the hall. It was too late to catch Serenity. The elevator doors were already closing on her. “Damn.”

  “Mr. Ventress?” Mrs. Hotten cleared her throat anxiously. “It's your aunt.”

  Caleb closed his eyes for an instant and took a deep, steadying breath. The family was calling. Mrs. Hotten knew that he was always available to any member of the Ventress clan.

  The sense of detached calm slowly returned. He was once more a remote, untouchable ghost in a realm where there were no dangerous emotions, no burning passions, no uncontrollable desires. He was safe. He was in control. Nothing could reach him here in this place where he was spending more and more of his time.

  “I'll take the call in my office.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  There was an odd expression in Mrs. Hotten's normally placid, efficient, middle-aged gaze. Caleb had never seen that look before. Belatedly he realized it was sympathy.

  Annoyed, Caleb ignored her to walk back into his inner sanctum.

  He leaned across the desk and picked up the phone. “Good afternoon, Aunt Phyllis. Is there something I can do for you?” As always when he spoke to any of the family, he kept his voice deliberate and very, very polite.

  “Good afternoon, Caleb.” Phyllis's brisk, nononsense voice came crisply over the line. “I called to make certain you haven't forgotten the annual Ventress Valley Charity Drive. It's that time of year, I'm afraid, and we Ventresses must do our part.”

  She was fifty-nine years old, and she had made a career out of sitting on the boards of every major charity in Ventress Valley. As one of Gordon Ventress's cousins, she was not technically Caleb's aunt, but he had always addressed her by that title. In a similar fashion, he had always called his father's other cousin, Franklin, uncle.

  “I haven't forgotten, Aunt Phyllis. I'll make the usual family contribution.”

  “Yes, of course. The community depends upon us, you know.”

  “I know.”

  The Ventresses had been one of the most influential families in Ventress valley for four generations. As the heir apparent to Roland's lands and fortune, Caleb had taken control of the Ventress investments, most of which had originally been in land, but now were carefully diversified, soon after he had graduated from college. The family income had promptly doubled and then tripled under his management.

  Roland still interfered whenever he felt the urge, of course. He would never really retire, and everyone knew it. But more often than not these days he was content to oversee his Arabian stud farm and leave the family finances to Caleb. Franklin and Phyllis never failed to make their opinions on financial matters known, and their offspring occasionally offered advice. But for all practical purposes, Caleb was in charge of the Ventress inheritance.

  No one had ever actually thanked Caleb or shown any particular sign of gratitude for his efforts on their behalf. The entire family simply took it for granted that Caleb was merely doing what was expected of him.

  “Well, then, that takes care of that,” Phyllis said. “Now, when shall we expect you on Saturday?”

  “I'm not certain. Probably around noon.” Saturday was Roland Ventress's eighty-second birthday. Caleb had never missed a single one of his grandfather's annual celebrations since the day he had been brought home to Ventress Valley. Caleb made it a point to be very faithful to all family rituals.

  “Very well, we'll expect you at noon.” Phyllis hesitated. “Last week you mentioned you might bring a guest.”

  “I've changed my mind.”

  “I see. Does this mean that lovely Miss Learson won't be coming with you?”

  “I'm no longer seeing Miss Learson.”

  The affair had ended three months ago by mutual agreement and with no hard feelings on either side. Susan Learson was the daughter of a successful California industrialist. She was poised, sophisticated, and charming, but Caleb had made it clear from the outset that he was not thinking of marriage.

  Susan had been satisfied with the arrangement for nearly a year. Through Caleb she had met a variety of interesting and eligible men, and eventually fell in love with one of them, the CEO of a mid-sized Seattle company. She was planning to be married at Christmas. Caleb wished her well.

  He had missed Susan for a time after the relationship had ended, and he thought of her now with a sense of remote affection. He knew his grandfather and the rest of the family missed her a lot more than he did. Roland was desperate to see Caleb married, desperate to know that the family would continue into another generation.

  Caleb knew that the old man was beginning to wonder if his grandson's failure to find a suitable wife was more than just bad luck. He was starting to view it as a subtle form of revenge on Caleb's part, or proof, perhaps, that Crystal Brooke's bad blood had finally surfaced.

  Caleb had not bothered to disabuse Roland of that notion, because he was not altogether certain it wasn't true. The only thing he was sure of was that a wife would demand more of him than any ghost had to give.

  There was a distinct pause as Phyllis digested the fact that Susan Learson had gone the way of the small, select handful of other women who had been involved with Caleb over the years.

  “It's unfortunate that you're no longer seeing her.” Phyllis's tone was laced with censure. “Your grandfather was quite taken with her.”

  “I know.”

  “She reminded me a bit of Patricia, your father's wife. Excellent family. Good breeding. Miss Learson would have made you a very suitable wife.”

  “No doubt.” If I was looking for a wife, which I'm not.

  “What happened between the two of you?” Phyllis demanded, sounding exasperated. “I thought you liked her.”

  “I did. I do. But it's over.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that. Your grandfather won't be pleased.”

  Caleb had ha
d enough of blackmail ploys for one day. “That won't exactly be a new experience for him, will it? Good-bye, Aunt Phyllis.”

  He hung up the phone and gazed thoughtfully at the receiver.

  It seemed to him that his whole life had been shaped by blackmail. Hell, he was a pro at dealing with it.

  Something told him that Serenity Makepeace was not.

  She'd left his office determined to find the blackmailer who had destroyed her hopes and dreams for Witt's End.

  She was no doubt headed for trouble, and, like it or not, she was still officially his client. They had both signed that damned contract.

  Caleb picked up the phone and then slowly replaced the receiver. It was not his way to do anything without giving it a lot of thought beforehand.

  He made himself contemplate the matter for another half hour. Then he slowly and deliberately dialed the hotel where Serenity stayed when she came to Seattle to meet with him.

  The front desk clerk was brief and to the point. “I'm sorry, sir,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “She just checked out.”

  2

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING SERENITY LEFT HER COTTAGE to set off through the soggy, mist-shrouded forest. She was headed for Ambrose's cabin. She wanted a few answers to some very specific questions.

  She had not paid him a visit last night after returning to Witt's End because she hadn't trusted her strange, unhappy mood. This morning she was calmer, but a frustrated anger was still burning within her.

  She didn't know which annoyed her the most, that Caleb Ventress had not turned out to be the man she'd thought he was, or that she'd misjudged him so completely.

  Serenity hated the rare occasions when her perception of others turned out to be faulty. She was accustomed to trusting her instincts.

  But she should have known better than to trust her own judgment when she dealt with a man from the mainstream establishment world, she reminded herself. She'd never really understood that world, nor had she adapted well to it during the period she'd lived in it.

  She had been born and raised in Witt's End. The tiny mountain community might strike outsiders as odd, but as far as Serenity was concerned, it was home. It was the place where she belonged. The community sheltered her and raised her when there had been no one else to take her in. She intended to give back to Witt's End what it had given her: a future.

  Now it looked like she'd have to accomplish that goal without the assistance of Ventress Ventures.

  She stuffed her gloved hands into the pockets of her beaded, fringed jacket and tried to examine her emotions from an intellectual viewpoint. Maybe this was how a woman scorned always felt, she thought as she forged a path through the dripping trees.

  A woman scorned. She shuddered at the thought.

  For the first time, Serenity realized just how much she'd been attracted to Caleb. She could not deny that she'd responded instantly and unconditionally to him in a way that she had never responded to any man. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. She must have been out of her mind to get so carried away by a man who was obviously so wrong for her.

  But she knew that she had begun to fantasize about having a committed relationship with Caleb. It probably couldn't have lasted forever, of course. After all, she was from Witt's End and he was from the outside world, but perhaps they could have shared some portion of the future together.

  And, if they had both been very lucky, they might have found something that resembled what Julius Makepeace, the man whose surname she bore, had found with his friend, Bethanne.

  Serenity smiled briefly, thinking of the postcard that had been waiting for her when she got home last night.

  Dear Serenity:

  Having a wonderful time. Marriage is great. Should have done this years ago.

  Love, Julius and Bethanne

  The card had been postmarked Mazatlan, Mexico. Julius and Bethanne were on their honeymoon. After fifteen years of living together, they had decided the time had come to marry. Two weeks ago Witt's End had pulled out all the stops to give the couple a wedding celebration worthy of the event. Even Ambrose had come to the party. He had actually condescended to take a few pictures of the bride and groom, all the while making it clear that wedding photos were beneath him.

  Serenity paused briefly to get her bearings amid the trees. An eerie silence enveloped the woods this morning. The fog blanketing the mountains last night had grown heavier after dawn.

  She ducked beneath the low branches of a damp fir. It would have been stupid to have let herself get involved with a rigid, conservative, hidebound traditionalist like Caleb. The man probably wore pinstriped underwear.

  Serenity scowled. Something was wrong with that analysis, and she knew it. In her present foul mood it was tempting to categorize Caleb as inflexible, unyielding, and narrow-minded. But she sensed that was far from the whole picture.

  Her first impression of him had been deeply disturbing in its intensity. Prepared for a middle-aged corporate type with soft hands, a soft jawline, and the beginnings of a soft paunch, she'd been totally unprepared to find herself dealing with a wild beast trapped in a gleaming, stainless steel and glass cage.

  Caleb had reminded her of the griffin that hung from the chain she wore around her neck. Intriguing, different, and powerful. Not quite real, perhaps. Possibly dangerous.

  It was his eyes, gray and filled with a cool, detached watchfulness, that first alerted Serenity to the fact that she was not dealing with a typical member of the mainstream business establishment.

  The rest of Caleb had been as disconcerting as his eyes. While it was certainly true that he didn't have the wings of an eagle or the tail of a lion, she saw a certain, mysterious, griffin-like quality about him. Caleb had risen from behind his desk that first day, a tall, lean, startlingly graceful man. His hair was as dark as a night in the forest, and his features as bold and uncompromising as the mountains around her. His voice had been deep but virtually devoid of any discernable emotion other than a cool civility.

  The remote, distant quality that emanated from him was initially quite chilling. He had appeared completely self-contained. He projected the image of a man who needed no one, relied on no one, trusted no one.

  Oddly enough, the very strength of that image made Serenity realize that whatever was going on inside Caleb, it was neither calm nor unemotional. No man cultivated such profound self-control unless he had something very fierce and powerful inside himself that needed to be controlled.

  She'd found herself inexplicably drawn to what she knew her friend Zone would describe as the masculine force in Caleb. It fascinated her, intrigued her, and seemed to resonate perfectly with an element deep within her that Zone would label the feminine force. This morning Serenity could still feel echoes of the excitement that had flashed through her when Caleb kissed her in his office. She hadn't experienced anything like those feelings before.

  Too bad Caleb had turned out to be a stiff-necked, straitlaced, sanctimonious prude, she thought now. Shaking off the memories, she walked a little faster.

  The cold fog wove its tendrils around her, making her more aware of the chill in the air. In another couple of weeks the first snows would arrive in the mountains. Witt's End would be snugly tucked up for the winter.

  Serenity huddled deeper into her jacket, wishing she'd never written that letter to the president of Ventress Ventures last month. She should have sought start-up help for her new business from another source.

  But even if the abrupt termination of her arrangement with Caleb had been for the best, she was outraged at the reason. Her mouth tightened. She still could not bring herself to believe that Ambrose, a neighbor and friend, had actually tried to blackmail her. It made no sense.

  The whole thing had seemed ludicrous yesterday morning, when she opened the envelope in her Seattle hotel room. Not for one moment had she dreamed that Caleb would take the threat seriously.

  He had a nerve, she thought. He was a businessman, after all, a member of co
rporate America. Who was he to throw stones? He probably consulted for companies that dumped toxic waste into rivers. Maybe he had a wife whom he had never bothered to mention, too. Serenity winced.

  She grabbed a branch that was in her path and shoved it aside.

  A sudden tingle of awareness made her pause. She glanced to the left and saw a dark shadow materialize in the fog. A small frisson of uneasiness went through her. She swung around to face the creature that coalesced in front of her.

  The beast fixed her with a steady gaze as it padded slowly toward her. The studded steel collar around its neck glinted evilly in the gray light.

  Serenity relaxed. “Oh, hello, Styx. Where's your buddy?”

  Another rottweiller trotted forward out of the fog. He was wearing a studded steel collar similar to his companion's.

  “There you are, Charon. How's it going, pal?”

  The black-and-tan dogs made no sound as they approached. When they reached Serenity, they lifted their massive heads for a pat. Serenity scratched the animals behind their ears. “What are you guys doing, running around in the fog? You should be lying in front of a nice, warm fire. Where's Blade?”

  “Right here, Serenity.”

  Serenity turned her head at the sound of the familiar raspy drawl. The man everyone in Witt's End knew only as Blade emerged from the mists.

  He was built very much like his rottweilers; big, heavily muscled, with huge shoulders and a barrel chest. He had a large, square-jawed face, eyes the color of blue steel, and virtually no neck. Beneath his fatigue cap, his hair was cropped very close to his skull.

  Serenity assumed Blade was approximately fifty, but it was difficult to be certain. He had never volunteered any information about his age. In Witt's End there was an unwritten rule against asking questions about a person's past unless you were invited to do so.

  Blade was dressed, as usual, in camouflage gear and a pair of thick-soled, military-style boots. A variety of lethal-looking knives and assorted implements were suspended from the webbed belt slung low around his waist.