by Mary Birk
Poor Moira. But she’d be better off without this asshole.
Anne decided right then that her own stay at Lynstrade Manor was going to be cut short. Very short. She’d use what time she had left here to get what she could for Terrence’s investigation, then she was going to manufacture a reason to move back into the hotel. Meanwhile, she needed more of an idea of what kind of thing she was looking for or she’d not be able to find anything, and this whole escapade would have been a waste of time.
“What is it that you do, exactly, Walter? I know you’re in finance, but what does that mean?”
“To put it simply, I provide money for those who need capital. So I put investors together with various business enterprises. Capitalism at its best.” He smiled and took another drink of his cognac, finishing the glass while not taking his eyes off of her.
Anne touched the top of the laptop computer on his desk. “Moira helped me with my computer earlier today. She’s very good at it.”
“Is she?” He sounded bored.
“Yes, she helped me with the software I use for garden design. She’s very quick.”
He looked as if he wanted to disagree, but thought she might not like it. He went over to the metal globe and poured himself another cognac. “I hope you don’t mind me confiding in you.” Instead of going back to the sofa, he came over to where she was standing.
Anne thought of her wire and was glad he’d come closer. Maybe he’d say something incriminating.
“Of course not, Walter.”
“I’ve made some serious mistakes.”
No kidding, Anne thought. “You mean in your business?”
He gave a small, sad shake of his head. “In my personal life. My marriage hasn’t been happy. I should have done something earlier, not looked for comfort elsewhere. Especially with someone like Moira, someone so inappropriate.”
Anne frowned, not able to think of anything to say. He knew she wasn’t exactly in a position to judge people for extramarital affairs.
He continued, “I shouldn’t have snapped at Moira tonight. I feel like a brute for doing that, and I sensed it upset you.”
“It did a little.” Perhaps she’d been overreacting. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad. Perhaps she had just been witnessing the end of a love affair. No one was at their best at the end.
“I’ve come to a crossroads in my life. I wasn’t quite honest with you about Elisa’s departure. The sad news is that we’re divorcing. We’ve grown apart, and it’s for the best.”
“That’s too bad, Walter. I’m sorry for you both.” He’d inched even closer, and she leaned away from him as far as she could without toppling over. One more step, buddy, she thought, and I’m going to knock your drink into you.
He seemed to realize he was intruding on her personal space, and leaned back against the desk, hitching one hip up to half-sit against it. “Getting involved with Moira was a mistake. She was wrong for me in many ways.”
“Walter, I’m not sure I’m the right person for you to talk about this with.”
He waved her concerns away. “I’m telling you all of this partly because I think we have a lot in common, and I feel like you may be in a similar position. I hope you feel like you can confide in me. I know your marriage hasn’t been happy.”
Anne decided that was enough. Even if she weren’t wearing a wire that her sister-in-law was listening to, she wasn’t discussing her personal life with Von Zandt.
“Walter, stop.”
He straightened up from where he’d been leaning against the desk and was at her side before she realized it, taking her hand into his. She was so startled that at first she didn’t know what to do. Then she snatched her hand away.
“Don’t.” She needed to head this off before it went any further.
He went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I sense an affinity between us, and the potential for much more. But I don’t want it to be sordid. I want to be clear to you about my feelings, and my intentions toward you.”
“Walter, stop. I’m married.”
“You’ve not been happy with him. If you had been, you’d never have been taken advantage of by that artist.” She inwardly cringed at the thought that what Walter was saying was being recorded.
“Walter, I am very uncomfortable with this conversation. Please, let’s talk about something else.” He looked hurt, and if Anne hadn’t known better, she might have felt sorry for him. She gave what she hoped was a placating smile. “Of course, we can be friends.” At least until I get out of here, she thought.
He nodded. “Friends, then. For now. Perhaps later, when things are different . . .”
“Walter, please.”
He smiled and held up his hands in surrender. “All right, friends.”
But he would not give up so easily, she knew. She would have to be very careful.
.
Chapter 68
REID POURED a substantial amount of whiskey into his glass, sat on the sofa in the lounge of his flat, and punched in Andrew Grainger’s number on his mobile. By his calculations, it was about three in the afternoon in Bodega Bay. The first ring hadn’t even ended before Andrew Grainger picked up.
“Terrence, what’s wrong? Is Anne all right?”
Reid swallowed his pride along with the gulp of whiskey he’d taken. He hadn’t expected the other man to answer so quickly. “Actually, I was going to ask whether you’d heard from her since you left.”
There was a pause. “You haven’t?”
“No.”
Grainger said, “I haven’t talked to her since that night you showed up at the hotel.”
“Blast.” Reid was torn between relief that she’d not contacted Grainger again, and worry that no one had heard from her, until Grainger spoke again.
“I did get an email from her earlier today. That would have been about noon her, and your, time.”
Reid exhaled a breath of relief. “Was she all right?”
“I think so,” Grainger said. “She said she was feeling better.”
Reid wanted to ask more about what she’d written, but there was not only a line dividing their interests, but also Anne’s privacy and what he was entitled to know, and he was afraid to cross it. He tried to think of something to say, how to ask for details without signaling his uneasiness about Von Zandt, or that the man was under investigation.
“Is there something I need to know? Is Anne in danger?” The tension in Grainger’s voice heightened Reid’s own anxiety.
Reid made a decision he hoped he wouldn’t regret. “The man whose house she’s staying at, Walter Von Zandt, is the target of an investigation I’m heading. I’ve a suspicion he hired her firm to get to me.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Damn it, you should have warned her.”
When Reid didn’t answer, Grainger sighed. “You did, didn’t you? And she wouldn’t back down.”
“Right.” Reid swirled his glass, watching the butterscotch colors wash around the inside, thinking of how things had gotten to where his wife would email another man and not him. “But as you’ve heard from her, and all is well, I’ll not worry.”
“Do you want me to ask her to get in contact with you?” Grainger’s voice didn’t hide his reluctance.
“No need.” Reid’s innate good manners and humanity rose to the surface. “How are you doing? This has been a rough patch for you.”
Grainger’s voice suddenly sounded exhausted. “If you want to know the truth, it’s been hell every day.”
Shame washed over Reid, knowing his question had been pathetically inadequate. Losing a child to murder was a rough patch?
“I’m sorry, Andrew. I’m not good at expressing myself, but I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through.”
“No one can who hasn’t lost a child.”
“No.”
Grainger cleared his throat. “Terrence?”
“Yes?”
“I just want you to know that if Anne is
with me and the child’s yours, you’ll be welcome to visit in our home, or to have the child visit you when it’s old enough. We won’t do anything to restrict your access.”
Reid’s stomach clenched. “Thank you.” He hung up the phone and drained his glass.
SUNDAY, APRIL 19
Chapter 69
ANNE HAD SEEN WHERE Von Zandt kept the key to his office. He hadn’t even tried to hide it from her. Anne was beginning to think he wasn’t the sharpest trowel in the shed where women were concerned. Or maybe he thought women were too dimwitted to worry about. When they’d left his office last night, he’d slipped the key under the foot of a statue in the hallway. At least Anne thought it was supposed to be a foot. The statue looked vaguely human, anyway.
Before she’d gone to bed, she’d reported the location of the key through her wire, wondering if the wire was even working. With no feedback, she couldn’t tell. Today, after she spent a morning working on the gardens, she’d arranged to go into the village to have lunch and do some shopping for some personal items.
Walter was having his driver take her into town. She’d be dropped off, then when she wanted to be picked up, she could call the house and the driver would come back for her. Moira had told her there was a decent restaurant in town that had salads and quiche, so Anne had given Darby that name via the wire and asked her to meet with her there. She’d feel much better after they’d talked. At noon, Anne showered, changed into white wool pants and a matching sweater and jacket, and practically ran down the stairs to find the driver. The cramping she’d had the day before had stopped, and she actually felt good. No morning sickness, either.
Anne had another reason for wanting to be out of the house.
That morning when she’d woken, she’d been given a note from Jonas telling her that he’d been called away for a few days on a consultation for a problem with a project the firm was doing in France. With the workmen taking Sunday off, he thought she could handle things until he returned on Tuesday. As she’d never told him her misgivings about staying at Von Zandt’s alone, and of course hadn’t told him about what she was doing for Terrence’s investigation, Jonas apparently hadn’t thought twice about leaving her there alone. But at least Moira was still there.
In the restaurant, she toyed with her salad, trying to stretch the time out as she waited for Darby or someone else to come. She had some hope it would actually be Terrence who came, although she knew that, even if he had gotten over his anger at her, it would probably be taking too much of a chance. She looked around the prettily decorated room bordered with large pots of ferns, and listened idly to the classical music playing softly on the restaurant’s sound system. She checked her watch again. It had been over an hour and a half. The waiter kept looking at her like he was hoping she’d leave so they could clean up her table. She’d finished her quiche ages ago and had already drank two pots of herbal tea.
Maybe Darby didn’t think they really needed to meet. Surely that was it. Or perhaps the wire hadn’t been working and Darby hadn’t gotten the message. Or maybe it was too public a place. Perhaps she should have suggested they meet somewhere less visible, but she hadn’t known the village and only had the name of the restaurant to suggest as a meeting place. But if Anne’s wire wasn’t working, surely they would have found some way to let her know.
Above all, she knew that Terrence wouldn’t have asked her to stay there if he’d believed there was any danger. She wasn’t so sure, but as long as she was there, she needed to keep trying to get Terrence the information he needed. Nothing she’d heard so far seemed even remotely to be what they were looking for. She had to try harder. She decided to stop in the ladies’ room before she left the restaurant and try to contact Darby one more time, and then just go walking around the shops and try to find a public phone to call her sister-in-law, adhering to Darby’s admonition not to use her cell.
After freshening up, she left the warm restaurant and walked slowly along the sidewalk, pausing to look into shop windows, all the while hoping Darby or someone else on Terrence’s behalf would approach her. Several times, she caught a glimpse of a man watching her, and hoped he was someone Darby had sent to meet her. Deliberately, Anne had slowed her walk. However, despite her giving him several opportunities to catch up with her, he never did. Anne decided that it was her imagination, and that he was just following the same route as she was. She went back to her idea of calling Darby.
She spotted a phone and rushed over to it. Picking up the receiver, she dropped in coins, then dialed quickly. She listened, then frowned. No dial tone. She put the receiver down in disgust. Broken. Surely there must be another public telephone in this town. She would have to just keep trying until she found one.
But emerging from the phone booth, Anne bumped right into Moira.
Chapter 70
DARBY ROLLED OVER in bed, listening to the sound of the shower, and smiled the smile of a woman who’d just been thoroughly shagged. After years of tagging along as the younger sister of his best friend, she’d finally gotten the delectable John Stirling to take her to bed.
She stretched out, feeling gloriously female. She’d used every muscle in her body, as well as every muscle in his body. It had been the most beautifully sensuous experience of her life. Sex with John Stirling was like being given every Christmas and birthday gift she’d ever wanted.
Getting him to agree had taken some effort, but she’d worked on it all week. Finally, she’d convinced him that she would treat it as he seemed to treat all of his relationships with women—wanting only the immediate pleasure with no emotional involvement. It had taken some heavy duty acting, because the truth was that she wanted him, and not just for a one night stand or a brief fling.
John didn’t need to know yet that she would be different than his other women. She was determined that he would feel about her like . . . she hated to use the analogy, but like Terrence felt about that idiotic American woman. A momentary pang of guilt hit her as she remembered that she’d not bothered to listen to Anne’s wire transmissions all weekend. She really should do that soon.
The shower continued to run. Darby didn’t want John to think he needed to leave so she could work, but as long as he was in the shower anyway, she decided to quickly check the transmissions. She pulled her laptop out of her bag, powered it up, and hit the secure website to which the transmissions bounced. She listened, fast forwarding when the conversations were boring or routine, which was most of the time. Then she hit on a transmission from Anne in which she went on about a key to Von Zandt’s office, and asked Darby to meet her in the village for lunch so that they could talk. Anne was talking about not feeling safe and wanting to give up and move back to the hotel.
As much as Darby didn’t want to, she knew she’d better meet with Anne, even if it was just to convince the bitch to stay put. Darby looked at her watch. Only ten. She could get to the village easily by luncheon. John would probably be leaving soon anyway to return to Aberdeen. She needed to make sure they were together again soon. This was not a man you could leave unattended and expect that he would ignore other women.
The absence of sound finally hit her consciousness. He’d turned off the shower.
Quickly, she shut the computer, not taking the time to shut it down, and stuffed it back into her bag.
Looking up, she saw a toweled and deliciously sexy John Stirling emerge from the bathroom.
He smiled. “You’re awake then.”
“Aye. You left me.”
“I needed to shower. I should be on my way.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and tousled her hair. “I’m glad you talked with your parents.”
“Me, too.” She hadn’t done anything of the sort, but she’d told him what he’d wanted to hear, and he seemed pleased she’d taken his advice. Men always liked it when you took their advice.
“And you feel better, don’t you?”
“Mmm, much better.” She pulled him to her, and he kissed her. “This was fun.” Sh
e kept her voice light, wanting him to think she thought of it as casually as he did.
“You’re not just Terrence’s little sister anymore. All grown up.” He ran his fingers down her body.
Her hands were as just as direct on his body, showing him that she wanted him right then, with no preliminaries. He took off the towel, and obliged her.
They had luncheon in bed, courtesy of room service. She was missing her meeting with Anne, but there was no way Darby was going to give up the opportunity to spend more time with the man she’d been chasing for years, now that she had finally had his attention.
Just after one o’clock that afternoon, he got out of bed. “Now I’ve really got to get on my way, girl.”
“Back to Aberdeen?”
“Aye, for a while, then I’ll be out of the country for a time.”
She lay back, pulling the sheet up over her naked breasts. She tried to think of how to ask without seeming to cross the line of casual freedom he seemed to require.
“Oh? Where’re you traveling?” She didn’t let her voice sound too interested.
“I’ve some business in Greece. I’m taking my yacht and combining business with a bit of a pleasure trip.”
“You’re taking a holiday?” Darby thought quickly about how she could rearrange her schedule to go with him. She’d find a way; she just needed him to ask her. “When?”
“Two weeks from now. I’ve business to finish up so that I’m free to go.”
“Greece is nice this time of year. A bit crowded with tourists.”
“A bit.”
She watched him as he dressed. “Your business is in Greece?”
“Aye. In Athens.” He snapped on his watch.
“Surely you’re not taking your hols in Athens? Greece is lovely, but Athens is a dreadful city this time of year—full of tourists and filthy with pollution.”
“Just a day or two in the city, then I’ll be off to one of the more private islands there.” He was putting some things in an expensive but worn leather carryall. “You probably need to get going, as well? You must have things that have to be seen to, even on Sunday. From what Reid says, the investigation is a bit stretched.”
