A smile touched the corners of his mouth, although it didn't seem to bring any warmth to those light eyes of his.
'I never thought for one moment that you were, Miss Gregory.' He took out his wallet and removed a small card. 'This is the name and phone number of my accountant. If you ring him, he'll be pleased to confirm that I am who I say I am. Or if you prefer it, you can check with my bank.' He took out a gold pen. 'This is the number.'
For a moment, Cassandra hesitated. Then she picked up the phone. Why take chances?
She called the bank, and the manager was happy to confirm that Mr Jared Sinclair was indeed a customer of theirs, that he had been for several years, and that yes, he had recently acquired a property in Scotland through a rather unexpected inheritance.
Cassandra slowly put down the phone again. It all checked out. Everything seemed to be perfectly above board, which meant there was no reason why she shouldn't take a couple of days off and fly to Scotland with this man, to take a look at his house. If it proved as interesting as he had promised, it might even be what she needed to shake her out of her unexpected fit of depression.
With sudden decisiveness, she nodded. 'All right, I'll come with you.'
A look of deep satisfaction flickered across his face. Then it disappeared again so quickly that she wasn't even sure it had been there in the first place.
'Good,' he said. 'I'll pay all your initial expenses, of course, regardless of whether you finally decide to take on the job or not.' He looked at his watch. 'We should leave straight away, or we'll miss the flight. Presumably you'll want to collect some clothes first?'
'Yes. And I want to make a phone call, to let my father know where I'll be for the next couple of days.'
Jared Sinclair's dark eyebrows rose in an expression of unmistakable surprise. 'You don't still live at home do you, Miss Gregory?'
'No, I don't. I've a flat just a few minutes from here. But I usually let my father know whenever I'm going to be out of town.' Her tone had become rather defensive now, although she couldn't figure out why. 'Is there anything very odd about that?' she added, slightly irritably.
'Not odd,' replied Jared Sinclair calmly. 'It's just that I'd have thought you were old enough to come and go without first checking in with your father.'
Cassandra flushed, something she hadn't done for years. He was making her sound as if she were a little girl instead of an independent career woman! Yet it hadn't been done offensively. She had the feeling that this man could make even the most derogatory remark sound perfectly polite and reasonable.
All the same, her hand moved away from the receiver. She could call her father some other time, when this man wasn't hovering just a couple of feet away, watching her with that cool and yet enigmatic expression.
'Do you have a car?' he asked, rising easily to his feet.
'No. Since I live so near, I walk to work.'
'Very commendable. No wonder you look so healthy.' Cassandra shot a suspicious look at him. She could have sworn there was a faintly taunting note to his voice. He was already moving towards the door, though, not giving her time to wonder about it any more. 'I've a hire car outside,' he added. 'We can use that. We'll stop off at your flat, so you can pack an overnight bag, and then we'll go straight on to the airport.'
Cassandra reached for a sheet of paper. 'I'll just leave a note for my secretary, letting her know where I've gone.' She quickly scribbled a couple of lines, and then looked up at Jared Sinclair. 'Is there any way she can get in touch with me, if something urgent comes up?'
'She can always ring you.' He dictated a phone number, which Cassandra added to the end of the note. She was relieved to learn there was a phone at his house in Scotland. It meant she could ring her father when she had a few free minutes—and when Jared Sinclair wasn't around.
Jared glanced at his watch again. 'We'd better hurry if we're going to catch that plane.'
Cassandra followed him out of the office, and she was just about to lock the outer door when Jared gave a small grunt of annoyance. 'I've left my pen on your desk.' When she went to go back into the office, he briefly laid one hand on her arm. 'It's all right, I'll fetch it.' He swiftly walked past her, not giving her time to argue. And since she remained standing by the door, she didn't see him swiftly pick up the note she had left for her secretary, crumple it into a small ball, and slide it into his pocket.
When he rejoined her, the gold pen was in his hand. 'I've got it. Let's go.'
Once they reached her flat, it took her only a few minutes to throw a few things into a bag. Since she guessed it would be a lot colder in Scotland than it was here, in London, she picked out a couple of cashmere jumpers, a slightly thicker skirt, a rather elegant little jacket in case she wanted to go out, and the necessary undies and nightwear. Zipping up the bag, she then hurried back down to the car, where Jared Sinclair was waiting for her.
They were at the airport in plenty of time to catch the flight to Inverness. After the plane had landed, Jared collected his own car from the car park, tossed her bag into the back, and then they headed west. During the long drive, Cassandra was vaguely aware that they were passing through a lot of magnificent scenery, but she didn't pay it a great deal of attention. Lochs and mountains and rolling moorland might appeal to a lot of people, but she definitely preferred sun-soaked beaches and the whisper of a warm breeze through palm trees.
After a while, she shifted rather stiffly in her seat. 'How much further?' she asked.
'We should be there in ten minutes or so,' Jared replied. His eyes gleamed. 'Aren't you enjoying the ride?'
'I'd enjoy it a lot more if I weren't travelling in a car that's positively antique,' she grumbled.
In fact, her eyebrows had shot up in dismay when she had first set eyes on it. It was a huge old black saloon, the seats definitely designed for firmness and hard wear instead of comfort. They had turned off on to a poorly surfaced road a couple of miles back, and every bump and hole—and there were plenty of them!—seemed to be jarring a different part of her anatomy.
'There's no point in having an expensive car around here,' Jared said comfortably. 'You need something sturdy that'll stand up to a lot of hard knocks and rough weather.'
'Oh, I'm sure the car's sturdy enough,' she replied a trifle sarcastically. 'It's my chassis that isn't designed to take all this jolting.'
His gaze briefly slid over her. 'You might not be built for endurance, but it would be hard to improve on the overall design,' he commented.
Cassandra instantly shot a dark frown in his direction. He could cut out that sort of remark right now! She was here to work, and that was all. If Jared Sinclair had any other ideas, he had better forget them—and fast.
He didn't say another word, though. Nor did he show any further sign of interest in her. Cassandra bounced around uncomfortably on her seat for a couple more minutes, then she turned round and frowned at him again.
'Why has the road suddenly got so bad?' she asked rather crossly.
'It's a private road,' he replied. 'Along with most of the land around here, it belongs to the estate.'
'Well, if you want to attract tourists here, you'll have to improve the road as well as the house.'
'Will I?'
His slightly ambiguous answer bothered her a little. In fact, she was ready to admit that there was quite a lot about this man that bothered her. Something wasn't—quite right. She couldn't explain it to herself any clearer than that; it was just a gut feeling that was growing stronger by the minute.
So, why had she ever agreed to come to this remote place with him? Probably because she was feeling in a rather perverse mood at the moment, Cassandra told herself wryly. And anyway, she hated to admit that she couldn't handle any situation—or anyone. Call it pride, or just plain stubbornness. Either way, she wasn't going to run away from a job just because her nerves felt unexpectedly twitchy!
The road was running alongside a long, narrow loch now. The landscape looked wild and desolat
e, with mountains rearing up in the background, their peaks wreathed in heavy cloud. There were a few isolated clumps of pine, a lot of rocky outcrops, and great patches of heather, its colour fading as autumn advanced. Perhaps it all looked better when the sun was shining, Cassandra decided rather gloomily. If not, Jared Sinclair was in trouble. Surely no one would want to come and look at this sombre view for days on end?
Half a mile further on, the road swung round to the right, turning away from the loch and climbing steadily. Despite its age, the car coped easily with the steep gradient. On the outside, it might look just about ready for the scrap yard, but the engine purred smoothly under the rather rusty bonnet, and seemed capable of surprising bursts of speed.
Cassandra didn't see the house straight away. Its stonework was so dark that it seemed to merge in with the heavy shadows cast by the stand of tall pines just behind it. When her eyes finally picked it out, she gave an inward groan. It might be romantic, but it certainly wasn't very beautiful! Bits added on here and there, with no thought for the overall design, old-fashioned sash windows, tiles which were a depressing shade of grey, and a jumble of outbuildings which littered the unkempt patch of garden.
'Is this it?' she said unenthusiastically, as Jared began to slow the car.
'This is it,' he agreed. 'Don't you think it has possibilities?'
Was he teasing her—or taunting her? It was impossible to be sure. Seconds later, the car had stopped outside the front entrance and Jared was getting out.
'Aren't you going to come inside?' he invited, holding open the car door for her.
Quite suddenly, Cassandra knew that was the very last thing she wanted to do. She didn't have much choice, though. They were miles from anywhere— there was nowhere else she could go. Comforting herself with the thought that she could ring for a taxi and head straight back to the airport if things were too grim, she swung herself out of the car and carefully picked her way along the uneven path that led to the front door. Perhaps high heels weren't a very practical form of footwear for the Highlands! she thought to herself ruefully.
Jared opened the front door and stepped inside. With a small grimace, she followed him into the house. Her heels clicked noisily on the stone-flagged floor, and she could almost feel the cold rising up from it. Already, she was shivering. Anyone living here for more than a couple of days would need a complete set of thermal underwear!
Things didn't improve. What little furniture there was looked old and strictly functional. They passed through a large hall which had a beamed ceiling, bare walls, and a large fireplace packed with logs. Cassandra wished the fire was lit. She had only been in the house a couple of minutes and she was already freezing.
A little further on there was a drawing-room, which looked just a fraction more comfortable. There was a heavy sofa in front of the fireplace, and from the windows Cassandra could see a fairly spectacular view of the loch and the mountains. Fine—if you liked that sort of thing, she thought to herself with a fresh wave of depression.
She decided she had already seen enough. Through open doorways, she had glimpsed the other rooms on the ground floor, and it wasn't difficult to come to an instant conclusion. It would take a small fortune to transform this place into the sort of holiday home that Jared Sinclair had in mind. It wasn't worth it. It would take years to recoup the capital sum he would have to lay out.
She decided she might as well tell him so straight away, and save them both a lot of time and trouble. With luck, he would offer to drive her back to Inverness, and she could catch a late flight back to London.
When she turned to face him, though, she found his features had altered dramatically in the last few seconds. It was as if a mask had slid away, at last letting her see what lay underneath.
And Cassandra didn't like what she was seeing. The quicksilver eyes seemed to hold a glow of triumph, his mouth was set in a new and hard line, and all trace of blandness had disappeared.
With an effort, she pushed her deep unease to one side. 'I think it's time we had a talk,' she said briskly. 'This house of yours—it's not exactly Shangri-La, is it?'
'No, it isn't,' he agreed softly. 'But it suits my purpose very well.'
'Your purpose?' she echoed edgily.
Jared leant back against the heavy stone mantelpiece behind him. 'Do you think it'll make an ideal holiday home?' he goaded, and there was no mistaking the mockery in his voice now. 'Do you recommend that I spend a great deal of money turning it into a luxury residence?'
'No, I don't,' she replied bluntly. 'And I'm beginning to think that you never had the slightest intention of doing any such thing.'
'Clever girl,' he applauded her. 'But then, you come from a clever family, Miss Cassandra Gregory. I believe your father is regarded as an absolutely brilliant businessman.'
'My father's certainly very successful,' she retorted, nerves now making her voice sharp. 'But I don't see what that's got to do with you.'
'Of course you don't,' he said, his mouth relaxing into one of the most unpleasant smiles she had ever seen. 'If you did, you'd never have come here with me.'
Something about his tone made her take a couple of steps back from him. Annoyed at her sudden cowardice, she forced herself to stand still again. She didn't know what this was about—but she had the feeling that she was very soon going to find out.
'There's one question that you never asked me,' Jared Sinclair went on in that same low, hard voice. 'You weren't interested in knowing if this house had a name.'
'And does it?'
'Oh, yes. It's called Glenveil.'
As soon as he said it, she knew she had heard that name before. But where? She hunted back through her memory, but it was hard to think straight with those light eyes fixed on her so unwaveringly.
'Need a little help?' he offered. 'Try Glenveil Toys—it's the name of a company that your father acquired a few months ago.'
She was still struggling to recall the details, though. 'Yes, I think I remember,' she said slowly, with a small frown. 'I was working so hard at the time, though, getting my own business going. I didn't pay much attention to anything else that was going on. Didn't the company get into financial difficulties? Then my father took it over, to stop it going bankrupt?'
Jared Sinclair's eyes suddenly burned. 'It got into financial difficulties because your father had enough power and influence to create that situation! He persuaded creditors to demand instant payment, cut off supplies of finance, spread rumours about the company being unstable so that customers backed off from signing new contracts. And he chose exactly the right time to launch his attack, a period when the company was vulnerable. Glenveil Toys was basically sound, though. If there hadn't been any outside interference from your father, there wouldn't have been any problems.'
Automatically, she jumped to her father's defence. She always did. 'My father would never do anything so underhand,' she stated coldly. 'Anyway, who told you all this?'
'No one had to tell me,' Jared replied grimly. 'Glenveil Toys was my company. I spent ten years building it up. Everything I had, everything I'd worked for, was tied up in it. If I'd lost it through my own incompetence, I could just about have lived with that. But I didn't. I lost it because your father used every devious trick he could to cheat me out of it.'
'I don't believe you!' Her nerves were jumping now, but she still managed to keep her voice staunch and steady.
'I really don't care if you believe me or not. It happens to be the truth. My God, I should know!'
Cassandra saw him make an effort to keep his fast-flaring temper under control, and she shivered. The man was mad! Saying all those terrible things about her father, putting the blame on him because Jared Sinclair wasn't man enough to admit that his company had failed because of his own mismanagement.
'We can argue about this all day and not come to any agreement,' she said, deliberately keeping her own voice calm, even though she was quivering inside. 'If you've brought me here to try and convince me
that my father's a—well, a crook, it's just not going to work, I'm afraid.'
Jared's gaze suddenly glittered. 'But that isn't why I brought you here at all,' he told her silkily. He paused, as if relishing the situation, enjoying a few moments of triumph after a long, long wait. 'I never thought I was the sort of man who would deliberately go out looking for revenge. But these last few months, I've found out quite a few things about myself that I never knew before—and not all of them pleasant,' he added, with a brief darkening of his eyes.
'What—' Cassandra swallowed hard. 'What do you mean? What are you going to do to me?'
'Do to you?' he repeated. 'If you're talking about physical harm—nothing at all.' Before she had time to relax, though, he went on, 'But I do have certain plans for you.'
'What sort of plans?' she got out through teeth that had infuriatingly begun to chatter, letting him know exactly how on edge she was.
'Do you know what hurts people most of all?' Jared said, answering her question with one of his own. 'It's losing someone—or something—that you love or deeply value. Because of your father, I lost my company. It seemed only fair to me that he should lose something in return—even if it's only temporary. So I began to look at the possibilities. His wife? But he never remarried after your mother died. Which left his daughter. His only child, whom he's spoilt and doted on since the day she was born. Cassandra Gregory—who's now here, in my house.' A look of perverse satisfaction crossed his face. 'And who'll stay here until I decide to let her leave.'
Cassandra was getting to the stage where she didn't believe any of this was really happening.
'If you think you can keep me here against my will, it won't work,' she threw at him with a fresh burst of defiance. 'My secretary knows where I am. She'll let everyone know where they can find me.'
Jared reached into his pocket and took out a crumpled sheet of paper. 'I'm afraid not,' he said regretfully. 'I removed your note from her desk before we left your office.'
'This is crazy,' she muttered shakily. 'You're crazy.'
Wild Justice Page 2
