Hidden Talents

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “The blackmailer wanted you to call off your business discussions with me,” Caleb said. “Who would want to see your plans shot down?”

  “I don't know.” Serenity was getting impatient with the inquisition. The man was like a locomotive. Once he started moving, it was difficult to stop him. “Furthermore, it's none of your affair.”

  “I disagree. I'm your consultant, remember?”

  “I'd prefer to forget.”

  “I'm not going to let it slip your mind,” Caleb said. “But we can talk about some of this stuff later.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “The first item on my agenda is to find a place to stay tonight. I didn't notice a motel anywhere in Witt's End.”

  “The closest one is thirty miles back down the road in Bullington,” she said helpfully.

  “That's going to be a little inconvenient.” Caleb glanced out the window. “The fog has gotten worse. I'd have to be crazy to try to drive thirty miles down that mountain road in this soup.”

  “Don't look at me,” Serenity said, alarmed by the direction the conversation seemed to be taking. “I don't do bed and breakfast.”

  Caleb examined the book-lined living room of the cottage with a considering expression. “I could sleep on your sofa.”

  “No.”

  “It's big enough.”

  “No.”

  Caleb's brows rose. “Not even for one night?”

  “No.”

  “What's the matter, Serenity? Do I make you nervous?”

  “Yes.”

  “It's all right.” His gaze was intent. “I'm not going to jump on top of you.”

  “I can't be certain of that, can I? After all, you think I'm a slut. No telling what you might do.”

  “I don't think you're a slut,” Caleb said wearily. “I think you're naive. Having gotten to know you during the past three weeks, I can understand how Asterley might have talked you into posing for him. He probably fed you a line of bull about doing it for art.”

  “How very generous of you,” Serenity said. “But I should probably warn you that I don't care for your second opinion of me any more than I cared for your first. You make me sound like a mindless nitwit.”

  “I'm trying to take a tolerant, open-minded view of the situation,” he said tightly.

  “Gosh, I'll bet that's really hard for you.”

  “You're in a hell of a mood, aren't you?”

  “Can you blame me? I've had a rough day.”

  “I know,” Caleb said. “Like I said, I'm sorry.”

  “Tell you what. You can work on your tolerance and practice your new open-minded attitudes while you look for a motel.” Serenity glanced pointedly at her watch.

  Caleb looked at her. “You're not really going to force me to find my way back down an unfamiliar mountain road in this fog, are you?”

  “Well, you certainly aren't staying here.” She was determined to stand her ground. Unfortunately, she also knew that he was right. And she did not want the responsibility for his safety on her shoulders. “I suppose you could spend the night at Julius's house. He wouldn't mind.”

  “Who's Julius?”

  “Julius Makepeace. He's my father. Sort of.”

  “Your father.” Caleb looked taken aback. “I'm not so sure that's a good idea.”

  “Don't worry about it.” Serenity got to her feet, relieved at having found a reasonable answer to her dilemma. “Julius and Bethanne are out of town.”

  “Where are they?” Caleb stood up, looking wary.

  “On their honeymoon.”

  “Their honeymoon?”

  Serenity plucked the keys to Julius's cabin out of a small ceramic bowl. “It was love at first sight, if you ask me. Bethanne roared into town on a Harley-Davidson one afternoon fifteen years ago. Julius took one look at her and he was a goner. They've been together ever since.”

  Caleb frowned. “They're finally getting married after being together for fifteen years?”

  Serenity shrugged. “Bethanne said it was time.”

  “Don't you think that's a little odd?”

  “Not in Witt's End,” Serenity retorted. “How long did your father and mother know each other before they got married?”

  “They didn't,” Caleb said in a strangely neutral tone. “Get married, that is.”

  Serenity blinked. “Your parents never married? Neither did mine.”

  “But you just said that your father finally married this Bethanne person.” Caleb paused. “Who arrived in town fifteen years ago. I see what you mean. Bethanne isn't your mother.”

  “And Julius isn't my father. His name just happens to be on my birth certificate. I think of him more as an uncle. The same way I think of Montrose and Quinton and Blade.”

  Caleb gave her an unreadable look. “You've got a lot of uncles.”

  “I've got several aunts, too,” Serenity said. “My biological parents are both dead. They died before they could get married. My father died when my mother was still pregnant. He was killed in a military training accident when he was in boot camp. My mother died the day I was born.” She touched the little metal griffin at her throat.

  “You're adopted?”

  “By the town of Witt's End,” she said, trying to clarify things for him.

  “No offense, but that doesn't sound entirely legal.”

  “Who cares about details like that? I've got a family, and that's all that matters, isn't it?”

  “It depends on your point of view,” Caleb said slowly. “I guess we've got something in common. My parents both died when I was three months old. Before they could get married. I was raised in my grandfather's house.”

  The words hovered in the air between them. Serenity didn't want them to reach out and touch her, but they did. Everything about this man seemed to touch her in one way or another. “I'm sorry. It's strange, isn't it?”

  “What's strange?”

  “Never having known them. I don't even know what my parents looked like. I don't have any photos of them. Do you have pictures of your parents?”

  “Yes.” Caleb's eyes were bleak. “I do.”

  “You're lucky, then.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  Serenity realized she had trodden onto some very dangerous ground. She sought for a way to retreat from whatever it was that had turned Caleb's gaze so cold. “Come on, let's go. Julius's place isn't far from here. We can walk.”

  She took her jacket down off the hook, slipped into it and opened the front door. The gray fog formed a seemingly impenetrable wall in front of her.

  “Got a flashlight handy?” Caleb asked politely. “Night comes early up here in the mountains.”

  “Of course.” She opened a cupboard and rummaged around inside until she found the flashlight. She pulled it out, flicked it on, and started determinedly down the steps into the fog.

  “What happens if we get lost?” Caleb fastened his own jacket and pulled the shearling-lined collar up around his neck.

  “We'll wander around for a few hours and then we'll succumb to hypothermia,” Serenity said blandly. “The good news is that if that happens, we'll miss the invasion.”

  “What invasion?”

  “The one Blade thinks is due any day now.”

  “Thanks for the early warning.”

  “Any time.” Serenity realized she couldn't even see the vehicles parked in her own driveway. Nevertheless, she strode boldly forward. She was committed to getting Caleb out of her cottage.

  “I don't think this is such a good idea,” Caleb said behind her. “Maybe we should wait for a while and see if this stuff lifts a little.”

  “I know my way around Witt's End like the back of my hand.” Serenity took another stride forward and collided with the unyielding metal fender of her Jeep. “Oooph.”

  “How about the way around your own drive?” Caleb came up beside her and took the flashlight from her fingers. “Are you all right?”

  She winced. Her knee had tak
en most of the brunt of the collision. “Yeah, I'm okay, I'm okay.”

  “I'm glad to hear that. This is as far as we're going for now, however. You may enjoy stumbling around out here in the fog, but I don't intend to maim myself trying to find this other cabin.” Caleb took hold of Serenity's arm, turned her around and started back through the mists toward the cottage.

  Serenity was ill-tempered in defeat. “I suppose we could eat dinner first and then walk over to Julius's place.”

  “I thought you'd never ask.”

  Caleb awoke the next morning from a restless sleep and wondered why the bed was moving. The obvious answer flashed into his head.

  Earthquake.

  He sat straight up, prepared to rush for the door. The bed swayed more violently, and Caleb belatedly remembered that Julius Makepeace's bed was suspended from the timbered ceiling by four heavy chains. The smallest movement caused it to shudder and sway. He wondered if he'd get seasick.

  He sprawled back against the pillows and gazed moodily at the gray dawn light as it filtered through the colorful stained-glass windows of the bedroom.

  Tentatively he eased one leg out from beneath the heavy pile of handmade quilts. He drew it back instantly. It was freezing in the Makepeace cabin. Apparently the embers of the fire he had managed to get going in the wood stove last night had died.

  The good news was that he was still in Witt's End, not thirty miles away in Bullington.

  Steeling himself for the chill, Caleb tossed aside the covers and got out of bed. He grabbed his carryall and headed for the tiny bathroom. Unfortunately, he'd left his robe and probably several other crucially important items behind in Seattle. Normally he packed carefully before a trip.

  Of course, he hadn't had a lot of time to prepare for this scenic jaunt to Witt's End, he reminded himself. The whole thing had been a spur-of-the-moment action for him. Completely out of character.

  He wondered if he had lost his mind.

  Caleb stalked into the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the shower. He was startled to see that one entire wall of the thing was a plate-glass window. He glanced up and saw a skylight overhead. Apparently Makepeace liked the illusion of bathing in the woods. There was nothing to see but trees outside the window, but Caleb knew he was going to feel awfully exposed when he took his shower.

  While he waited for the water to get warm, he briefly glimpsed his own grim, unshaven features in the mirror. He quickly turned away from the image. Lately he had begun avoiding mirrors and other reflective surfaces. They sent a chill down his spine.

  He knew it was crazy, but for some reason he was half afraid that one day he would chance to look at a mirror or some other highly polished surface and not see anything at all. He wasn't sure that ghosts could see their own reflections.

  He got into the shower and tried to concentrate on a battle plan for the day.

  What in the name of hell was he doing here? This wasn't business. It never had been.

  In the cold light of dawn he forced himself to confront his real motives. The hot water cascaded over him, warming him as he gazed out into the forest. There was nothing to be gained by lying to himself. He hadn't come to Witt's End because of the unfinished contract, his professional reputation, or the possibility of future profits from a small-time mail order company.

  He had come to Witt's End because he wanted Serenity.

  And the feeling of being alive that she gave him.

  Forty minutes later, freshly shaven and dressed in jeans and a thick wool sweater, Caleb wandered out into the kitchen. It was colder than ever, but he did not want to fool around with the wood stove again. He opened cupboards until he found a canister of home-made granola. There was no milk in the empty refrigerator.

  It took several minutes to crunch his way through a bowl full of the dry nut and grain concoction. It was fortunate, he decided, that he had sound, strong teeth. He'd better remember to pick up some milk. His teeth were good but they weren't made out of steel.

  While he munched granola, he perused the art work that hung on the walls of the cabin. Most of the carefully framed pictures were lovingly detailed portraits of antique motorcycles. The chrome-plated monsters, gleaming and strangely majestic, had obviously been painted by a talented artist. Caleb peered at the signature on one of the pictures. Jessie Blanchard.

  The motorcycle paintings were separated by book-cases. Caleb glanced at a few of the spines on the shelves. James Joyce, Proust, and Milton shared space with Kerouac and Ginsberg.

  He finished the cereal, rinsed out the bowl, dried it and placed it neatly back in the cupboard. Then he picked up his jacket and went outside.

  The fog had faded to gray wisps. Standing on Makepeace's front porch, Caleb could make out Serenity's cottage through a stand of trees. He smiled faintly in spite of his mood, and recalled his first impressions yesterday.

  Serenity's cottage looked like something out of an illustration for a fairy tale. Fashioned of logs and natural stone, with a plump chimney and a steeply pitched roof, it had clearly been built by loving hands. It was small and quaint and there was an incredibly welcoming charm about it. The perfect abode for a lady who looked as if she enjoyed dancing in moonlit meadows at midnight. In spite of the chilly reception he had received at the cottage the previous afternoon, he discovered that he couldn't wait to return.

  He pulled on his leather gloves and went down the steps. At that moment he would gladly kill for a cup of coffee. He hoped Serenity had some. Tea just wasn't going to cut it on a morning like this.

  It didn't take long to reach the cottage. Her Jeep was still parked in the drive next to his Jag, but when he pounded on her front door, there was no response. Caleb twisted the knob, and shook his head in disgust when it turned easily in his hand. The woman really was living in another world. She didn't even bother to lock her door.

  “Serenity?”

  There was no answer. He closed the door again and went back down the steps. He glanced at the Jeep and realized she couldn't have gone far on foot. It was early, but perhaps she'd walked into the tiny village for coffee.

  He couldn't help but notice that she had failed to invite him to join her.

  The walk into the heart of Witt's End took less than ten minutes.

  The only thing one could say about the small cluster of eccentric, highly original, hand-built structures that comprised downtown Witt's End was that each was unique. There were several odd geometric forms worked in wood and glass and decorated in vivid colors. Caleb spotted a small café next to Witt's End Grocery. The lights were on inside.

  The lights were also on inside Witt's End Grocery. Curious, Caleb changed course and walked into Serenity's store. Bells tinkled overhead as he opened the door.

  “Serenity? Are you in here?”

  A strange apparition garbed in flowing saffron and orange robes emerged from between two aisles. It levitated toward him. He couldn't decide at first if the being who confronted him was male or female. He or she had completely shaved his or her head. There was a ring in his or her nose.

  “Serenity is not here.” The voice had sepulchral overtones, but it was definitely female.

  “Who are you?” Caleb asked.

  “I am called Zone.”

  “I'm Caleb Ventress.”

  “Caleb Ventress. He who brings danger, turmoil, and confusion.”

  “Actually, you've got that backward,” Caleb said. “I'm a business consultant. My job is to straighten out turmoil and confusion.”

  “You are the great unknown.” Zone lifted her hands toward the ceiling in a ritualistic gesture. The wide sleeves of her robes fell back to reveal a row of silver bracelets on each arm. “Out of the chaos and danger will come change, but there is no sign yet of whether that change will be good or evil.”

  “I've got a track record that strongly indicates the change will be highly profitable for all concerned. Would you mind telling me where my client is?”

  “Client?”

&n
bsp; “Serenity. You may remember her. She's your employer.”

  “Serenity has gone.”

  “Where?”

  “To poor Ambrose's cabin. She said there was something she wanted to get,” Zone said.

  “The negatives,” Caleb said under his breath. “Of course. I should have thought of that myself.”

  “All negative forces are countered by positive forces,” Zone intoned. “It is the nature of the universe.”

  “Sure. Look, could you give me directions to Asterley's cabin?”

  “Turmoil and confusion,” Zone whispered. “Turmoil and confusion. And great danger. I have seen the warning in the mists. I hoped it was a dream, but now I fear that it was a true vision.”

  “Let me put it this way,” Caleb said patiently. “If you don't give me directions ASAP, you and I will be having a serious conversation about your unemployment benefits or lack thereof.”

  “Take a right when you leave here. First left outside of town. Ambrose's cabin is at the end of the road.”

  “Thanks,” Caleb said. “You've been very helpful.”

  4

  A DEEP SENSE OF MELANCHOLY SWEPT THROUGH SERENIty as she searched the extensive files stored in Ambrose's basement. The man had had so much talent, she thought. But his artistic gifts had been compromised by a lifelong battle with the bottle and a personality that always got in the way of his relationships with others. The evidence of his repeated failures surrounded her. It consisted of sixteen file cabinets full of unsold photographs.

  And the corresponding negatives.

  Fortunately, Ambrose had filed by date, usually lumping three or four years' worth of work together. Within that constraint, he filed items alphabetically. She pulled open one of the drawers that contained Ambrose's records for the past three years and started searching for her name. As she expected, the folders were in pristine order.

  She found the file labeled Makepeace, Serenity, almost immediately. Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floor overhead just as she reached inside the folder. She froze.

  “Serenity?”

  The sound of her own name was muffled by the thick wooden ceiling of the basement, but there was no mistaking the dark, deep voice. Caleb was upstairs.