“Good. Now wipe the keys and the knob. We’ll take a look at the two notes when we get back to your place.” Zac moved around the room as Guinevere carefully wiped away any fingerprints she might have left.
Aware of a new level of tension in him she finished the task and asked, “What’s wrong, Zac?”
“It’s time we got out of here. Come on, let’s get going.”
Guinevere didn’t argue. She trusted Zac’s instincts. If he was getting restless, it was time to go, even if he couldn’t give her a specific reason. Without a word she followed him down the hall and out the kitchen door. A few minutes later they were climbing into his three-year-old Buick, which was parked in the next block.
Guinevere stared thoughtfully out the window as Zac started the engine and drove back down First Hill toward Pioneer Square. It was shortly after midnight. “I wish I knew what Madame Zoltana used to keep in that safe.”
“Well, one thing is for certain; it doesn’t look as if she’s planning to be away a long time. Clothing still in the closet, food in the refrigerator. Wherever she went, she intends to come back soon. We’re probably lucky she didn’t walk in on us,” Zac noted gloomily.
“The really interesting thing is that Francine Bates has also disappeared,” Guinevere remarked. “I wonder if they took off together.”
“You said Francine was still at Gage and Watson the day after you saw Zoltana?”
“Yes. And she was still there that afternoon when I couldn’t get hold of Zoltana. But she seemed nervous, Zac. She definitely was not her usual self. Damn. I wish I’d had a chance to set my little trap, so I’d know for certain if she was the one working with Zoltana.” Guinevere brightened. “But it must have been her, Zac. She’s definitely the most likely candidate.”
“No one knows much about Zoltana,” Zac said slowly, “but people know a few things about Francine Bates. It might be possible to find her.”
“Ah-ha! And if we find her, we might be able to find out where Zoltana is. Good idea, Zac. Let’s do that.” Guinevere turned in the seat to gaze at him expectantly.
“You have a wonderful way of making everything sound simple, Gwen,” Zac told her with a deep sigh.
“Zac, finding people is supposed to be one of your specialties.”
“I suppose we might start with the sister,” Zac said without much enthusiasm.
“The sister? Oh, that’s right. Francine mentioned something about having a sister over on the coast.” She frowned. “But Gage and Watson’s personnel department isn’t likely to help me find her, Zac. Personnel departments have policies about giving out that kind of information.”
“I’ll try it from my end. You see if any of the people she worked with knows anything about her sister.”
Twenty minutes later in her apartment they put the two typewritten notes side by side on a table and examined them.
“Piece of cake,” Guinevere gloated. “Look at the smudges on the E and T, and the way the lines aren’t quite even. It doesn’t take an expert to figure out these are both from the same machine.”
“It also doesn’t help us very much. It just means that she returned to her house at some point to type the note she sent to Sally.”
“Don’t be so gloomy, Zac. You have to look on the positive side. We’re getting all sorts of information tonight. With this amount of data, I expect you to solve the case in no time.”
“This is your case, remember? You’re supposed to solve it.”
Guinevere smiled sweetly. “I’m a businesswoman. I’m smart enough to hire a professional consultant when I need one.”
His own smile was wicked as he dropped the notes onto the table and pulled her into his arms. “This high-powered consultant of yours is getting anxious about his fee. He wants a little on account.”
“On account of what?” she teased, twining her arms around his neck.
“On account of it’s after midnight, he’s tired, and he needs a little loving kindness.” Zac bent his head to move his mouth lingeringly over hers. “Let’s go to bed, Gwen.”
She hesitated. “Maybe we should discuss the case some more, Zac. Shouldn’t we make notes about everything we saw tonight at Madame Zoltana’s, while it’s all still fresh in our minds?”
“We’ve already spent half the night doing what you wanted to do. Now we’re going to do what I want to do. Bed, Gwen.”
“It’s true, isn’t it? You do have a one-track mind.”
“Bed, Gwen.” One arm draped around her shoulder, Zac guided her firmly down the short hall to the bedroom.
Guinevere cast one quick glance over her shoulder before they turned the corner. The two notes rested side by side on the living room table. When Zac flicked the light switch, they were hidden in darkness. They were clues, Guinevere thought, a little worried. Maybe she ought to lock them up before going to bed. But before she could voice her concern, Zac was unbuttoning her shirt and sliding his hands inside the wasteband of her jeans. She sighed contentedly and leaned against him, delighting as usual in his solid strength.
A few minutes later when that strength enveloped her completely, she forgot all about the two notes lying side by side on the table.
***
Guinevere phoned Sally Evenson first thing the next morning. Sally had bravely gone in to work although, Guinevere knew, the note from Madame Zoltana must be preying on her mind. Aware of the younger woman’s fragile hold on her self-control, Guinevere decided on a firm, upbeat, everything’s-under-control approach.
“Sally? This is Guinevere Jones. I just wanted to tell you, Mr. Justis has made terrific progress in your case. He tells me he’s very near to settling matters for you.”
“Miss Jones, is that for real? What’s he going to do?”
“He’s going to make quite certain Madame Zoltana gets out of the blackmail business once and for all. You’re not to worry about a thing. You could help him get things under control even more quickly, however, if you could remember anything Francine Bates might have told you about her sister on the coast.”
“Francine!” Sally was shocked. “What’s she got to do with this?”
“We don’t know, Sally, but there is a possibility she might be able to tell us something useful. Mr. Justis wants to talk to her. No one knows where Francine is, but he thinks there’s a chance she might have gone to stay with her sister. She’s never mentioned any other relative, has she?”
“Not to me. I don’t know, Miss Jones,” Sally said worriedly. “I don’t remember much about Francine’s sister. She only mentioned her a couple of times. I think she said she spent Christmas with her last year.” There was a long pause while Sally tried to remember what she could about the sister. When she spoke again her voice was hesitant. “It seems to me her sister’s name was Dorothy or Donna or something like that. I just can’t remember.”
“Do you think anyone else at work might? You could ask Ruth or Mary or one of the others. Perhaps Miss Malcolm would know.”
“I’ll try, Miss Jones. I’ll call you back as soon as I talk to them.”
“Thanks, Sally. I’ll be waiting.” Guinevere hung up the phone and tried to occupy herself with the usual morning chaos. But Trina was handling the flurry of panicked calls from employers who had just had essential personnel phone in sick. Guinevere spent most of the time making notes of everything she had seen in Madame Zoltana’s house the previous evening. Zac was right about one thing. The unfortunate fact of the matter was that they hadn’t learned all that much.
Sally finally phoned back half an hour later. “Hi, Miss Jones. I talked to everyone I could think of, and finally Ruth said she was sure Francine’s sister’s name was Denise. Denise Bates. She thinks she lives somewhere near Pacific Beach. That’s all I could find out. I’m sorry.”
“Sally, that’s wonderful. You’ve bee
n a tremendous help. I’ll call you as soon as Free Enterprise Security finds out anything useful. And don’t worry, Sally. Mr. Justis really does have it all under control.”
“That’s very reassuring, Miss Jones,” Sally said with humble gratitude. “Thanks.”
Three minutes later Guinevere was on the phone to Zac, who yawned in her ear when she gave him the news.
“Excuse me,” he said politely. “I’m still working on my second cup of coffee. I think I’m getting too old for the late nights and wild life you lead, Gwen. You’re going to have to slow down for me.”
Guinevere said something short and rude. “We would have gotten to bed quite a bit earlier if you hadn’t decided to take advantage of me. Now, quit complaining, and tell me what you’re going to do next.”
“Have a third cup of coffee.”
“Zac!”
“Okay, okay. A name and an approximate location should be sufficient. A little time on the telephone should give me an address for Denise Bates. I’ll let you know when I’ve got it. Oh, by the way, I’m going to be a little late getting home tonight. I’ve got to see a new client around four thirty. Chances are I’ll be tied up until six or so. Your turn to cook dinner.”
The phone clicked in Guinevere’s ear, and she sat looking at the humming instrument. I’ll be home a little late tonight. It was getting to be so casual, so understood, so very routine. Zac was practically living with her these days. Guinevere tried to decide just how she felt about that, but before she could come to any earthshaking decisions, Trina was interrupting to tell her about the latest crisis. Guinevere sighed and gave up the task of analyzing her relationship with Zac. There didn’t seem to be much point analyzing it, anyway. It was just happening.
At five thirty that evening the doorbell chimed demandingly. Guinevere put down the knife she had been using to chop mushrooms and wiped her hands on a towel. It couldn’t be Zac, unless he had lost his key. She went into the entry hall and peered through the peephole. A shaft of nervous unease went through her when she saw who stood on her threshold.
Frowning, Guinevere held the door open a few inches but did not stand aside invitingly. “Rick! What on earth are you doing here?”
He lounged in the doorway, golden eyes moving over her with a familiarity that did nothing to stem the anxiety Guinevere was feeling. She refused to let him see how he was affecting her.
“I came to see you.”
“I’m busy.”
He looked amused. “So I see. Cooking dinner for that big, plodding hulk you’re dating these days? What a waste of time. You can do better than him, Gwen.”
“I doubt it. Now, would you kindly leave? I’ve got a lot to do.” Guinevere tried to shove the door closed but found it stopped by Rick Overstreet’s shoe. She glanced down, annoyed, and the next instant he had pushed his way inside and was closing the door behind him. Guinevere glared at him, refusing to give in to the small, niggling panic that had sprung up out of nowhere. “I’m asking you to leave, Rick.” She kept her voice steady and very, very cool.
“I’m not ready to leave.” He prowled through her living room as though he found it fascinating. “I’m curious about you, Gwen. I want to see just how much you’ve changed. You were living up on Capitol Hill when I knew you. This is all new.”
“How did you get my address?” she demanded icily.
“It took some work, but I managed.” He scanned the books in her huge yellow bookcase, his hands shoved casually into the pockets of his slacks.
“Rick, I—”
He swung around abruptly, facing her. “I’ve been thinking about us, Gwen.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” she said bluntly, not liking the glitter in those golden eyes.
“I’ve decided there’s unfinished business between us.”
“No, Rick. You finished it before it even began. You must have known I’d never play the role of the other woman. Not for any man.”
“I knew. That’s why I never told you about Elena. But I wanted you, Gwen. After you lost your nerve and broke off what was between us, I told myself I’d give you some time to calm down. Then . . . things happened. I got the new position with Gage and Watson, and shortly after that Elena died. By the time everything had settled down I’d lost track of you.”
“Not only lost track, but lost interest, too, I suspect. I’m sure you went on to bigger and better things—and more cooperative women. Don’t try to pretend that what you felt was a timeless passion, Rick. You know as well as I do that you were only looking for a convenient affair. I realized that as soon as I found out you’d lied to me.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. We’ve run into each other again. There was always something about you, Gwen. . . .” He let the sentence trail off, his eyes intent. “I’ve discovered I want you again.”
Guinevere smiled wryly. “Only because you can’t have me. I’m a challenge for you now because I didn’t fall right back into your hands the moment you encountered me again. Forget it.”
There was a flare from the gold lighter as Rick lit one of his elegant cigarettes. He exhaled deeply, fixing her with a lambent gaze through the smoke. “No,” he said finally. “I don’t think I will forget it. It’s fate, Gwen.”
“The hell it is.” She held the door open for him. “Please leave,” she said very steadily. “Now.”
“Before the hulk gets here, you mean?”
“Before I lose my temper and call the police to throw you out!” Guinevere heard the edge in her voice and frantically tried to bring herself back under control. She must not let him affect her this way. She refused to let him frighten her. “Listen to me, Rick. I will try to spell this out as simply as possible. I am not interested in you anymore. I want nothing to do with you. Find some other woman to hypnotize, because I’m immune to your brand of charm. It’s shallow and it’s meaningless. Now get out!”
He approached her with indolent grace, eyes narrowed and gleaming. “You say I’m only attracted by the challenge? Better watch out, Gwen. You’re making yourself more of a challenge each minute. Two years ago you got away with walking out on me, only because I had other things to handle at the time. But now it’s different. Now I can do what I should have done then. Are you sleeping with the hulk or keeping him dangling, the way you kept me dangling?”
“That’s none of your damn business.”
He nodded as if she had answered his question. “You’re sleeping with him, I’m sure of it. There’s something about the way he looks at you, the way he touches you. He tried to warn me off the other day when he saw me with you, did you know that? In a way, that added to the challenge, too. It would be interesting to take you away from him, just to see how he would react. All things considered, I’m afraid you’re becoming damn-near irresistible, Guinevere Jones. I want you, and this time I’m going to have you.” He smiled grimly around the cigarette. “But first I think I’ll let you dangle a bit. It will serve you right. It’s time you learned a lesson.”
“Rick, if you don’t leave, I swear, I’ll have you thrown out.” Guinevere’s teeth were locked together with tension. She watched him take the cigarette from his mouth and casually grind it out in a small pottery bowl that stood on the hall table. It was the bowl where Guinevere kept her car keys. She wanted to scream at him that he had no business using the lovely bowl for an ashtray, but common sense told her to hold her tongue. She wanted to do nothing that would give him an excuse for staying any longer, and losing her temper would accomplish only that. He would delight in making her lose control.
“Good-bye, Gwen.” He nodded with a mocking courtesy and walked out the door.
Guinevere shut the door behind him and locked it, leaning against it with her eyes closed in relief. Holding her breath, she waited for the sound of his footsteps to die on the stairs. Only after she heard the faint noise of t
he outer door closing did she release her breath. Her heart was pounding with a fear that seemed wholly out of proportion to the incident.
The first thing that caught her attention was the smell of cigarette smoke. Guinevere wrinkled her nose in disgust. It wasn’t just that it was smoke; it was Rick Overstreet’s smoke. She hurried around the room, opening the windows as wide as possible. She didn’t want the smell in the apartment when Zac arrived. She didn’t want to have to try to explain Rick Overstreet to Zac. Her own foolishness two years ago was a source of embarrassment, and Zac would simply not understand why the man felt he could show up at her apartment uninvited. Lately Guinevere had begun to sense the streak of possessiveness that ran through Zac. She didn’t approve of it, but she had no wish to bring it to the surface. Far better to let sleeping dogs lie.
When she’d finished with the windows, she grabbed the bowl from the hall table and took it into the kitchen. There she held the butt under running water until she was certain it was extinguished and tossed it into the trash can under the sink. She rinsed out the bowl and replaced it just as she heard Zac’s key in the lock. Taking a deep breath, she managed what she hoped was a bright smile as he came through the door.
“You’re late,” she announced, going forward to kiss him with more passion than she’d intended.
“I’ve got an excuse. I think I’ve located Francine Bates’s sister,” he said.
Chapter Six
“She’s over on the coast, all right,” Zac explained as he lounged at the kitchen table while Guinevere finished preparing dinner. He rested one foot on the chair opposite the one he occupied and wrapped his large fist around the small glass of tequila. His tie had been discarded and his collar loosened. He was the picture of domesticity—relaxing after a hard day’s work while watching the little woman bustle around the kitchen. Zac intended to take advantage of the domestic scene as long as Guinevere would allow him to do so. “I got an address and a phone number. I tried phoning, but there was no answer, so I’ll try again tomorrow.”
The Fatal Fortune Page 8
