Trust No One

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  And then she was kissing him back. It was a tentative response at first, as if she wasn’t sure it would be a good thing to go down this road with him. He moved his mouth across hers, trying to persuade her that he was worth the risk.

  She pressed closer and made a soft, urgent little sound in the back of her throat. In the next moment she was responding with a hungry, sexy energy that sent lightning through him.

  He moved his hands from her shoulders down to the front of her coat. He got the garment unfastened and slipped inside, settling his palms on the lush, feminine curve of her hip. He was tight, hard, intensely aroused and intensely aware of everything about Grace. Her scent dazzled him. Her gentle curves made him desperate to touch her more intimately.

  No wonder he hadn’t been interested in dating anyone else for so long. He’d been waiting for this woman. He just hadn’t realized it until now.

  Grace’s arms moved up to circle his neck. She leaned into him and opened her mouth a little. He was suddenly lost in the sweet, hot, aching need.

  The muffled sound of a cell phone ping shattered the crystalline atmosphere. Grace froze. So did he.

  “Damn it to hell,” he said softly.

  Grace pulled away and took a sharp breath.

  They both looked down at the pocket of her jacket. Slowly Grace took out her phone and studied the screen.

  “An email from Sprague Witherspoon’s account,” she whispered. “Nyla is not giving up easily.”

  “Assuming the crazy emailer is Nyla Witherspoon.” A cold fury splashed through him. “What does it say this time?”

  Grace opened the email and read it aloud in a flat, emotionless voice. “Savor the present because it is all that is certain.”

  “One of those damned Witherspoon affirmations?” Julius asked, knowing the answer.

  “Yes, but there’s more this time.” There was a faint shiver in Grace’s words now. “Thirty-nine hours and counting.”

  “Sounds like Nyla’s counting down the forty-eight hours she gave you earlier today,” Julius said. “Let me see your phone.”

  Grace handed it to him without a word. He studied the email, searching for any clue in the format but to all appearances it had come from Sprague Witherspoon.

  “That settles it,” he said. “Looks like I’ll be spending the night with you.”

  “What?”

  The shock in the single word was not particularly heartening but he told himself that he had handled tougher negotiations.

  “Nyla Witherspoon, or someone posing as her dead father, seems to be determined to scare the hell out of you. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone—not at night.”

  “Julius, I appreciate the offer,” she said, very earnest now. “But there are some things you don’t know about me. I’m not a sound sleeper, especially when I’m stressed. And I have problems with nightmares, especially lately. Sometimes I get up and walk around the house in the middle of the night. People find it . . . unsettling.”

  “What people?”

  “Look, I’d rather not go into the details, all right?”

  “Sure. But just so you know, I’m okay with you walking around the house in the middle of the night. I do that, myself, on occasion.”

  She stared at him, uncomprehending. “You do?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I do. We’ll stop by my place first. I need to pick up a few things.”

  She held up a finger. “Just to be clear, if you stay at my house, you’re sleeping in the guest bedroom.”

  “Understood.”

  He waited but she did not seem to know where to go after that so he took her arm and piloted her back along the footpath.

  Seventeen

  They walked past her house, past Agnes Gilroy’s place and on around the little cove to Julius’s house.

  Julius went up the back porch steps and opened the kitchen door. He flipped on the lights and stood aside, waiting for her to enter first. She got an odd, tingly feeling when she stepped into his kitchen. A deep sense of curiosity infused her senses.

  Kitchens were very personal, in her opinion. They said a lot about an individual. This one had a retro vibe. The old appliances, cupboards and tile countertops had been caught in a time warp. But everything, from the old-fashioned gas range and the chrome toaster to the ancient coffeemaker, appeared to be clean, in good repair and ready for action.

  A Marine lived here, she thought, biting back a smile. Electrical cords were neatly secured. Canisters were lined up against the backsplash in strict order—short to tall. Even the saltshaker and the pepper mill seemed to be standing at attention. She suspected that Julius’s office and his condo in Seattle probably radiated the same sense of order and discipline.

  “I’ll throw some things in a bag and get my shaving gear,” Julius said. “Wait here. This won’t take long.”

  She walked slowly around the kitchen, taking in the feel of the space. Everything whispered Julius’s secret to her—he was a man who had long ago learned to live alone.

  He reappeared at the entrance to the kitchen, a black leather duffel in one hand.

  “Ready,” he said.

  She looked at him. “You really don’t have to babysit me tonight. I mean, it’s very nice of you and I appreciate it but—”

  He crossed the distance between them in two long strides and silenced her with a straight-to-the-point, no-nonsense kiss. When he raised his head, his eyes were dark and intent.

  “Yes,” he said. “I do have to do this. Think of it as part of the consulting services that you hired me to provide.”

  “That’s a stretch. How many times have you spent the night with one of your clients?”

  He smiled the slow, wicked smile that made her pulse kick up, but in a good way. Arkwright the Alchemist.

  “Every job has unique requirements,” he said. “I try to be flexible and adaptable.”

  Neither of them should be thinking about sex, she told herself. But she knew that the subject was burning in the background, a smoldering fire that would flash out of control if she wasn’t very careful. Too soon. Too many unknowns.

  They went out onto the back porch. Julius locked up. The back door of the neighboring house banged open as they went down the steps. Harley Montoya’s bald head gleamed in the porch light. He was wearing a pair of khaki pants and a faded sweater. He moved to the edge of the porch and gripped the railing.

  “Thought I heard someone out here,” he roared. “’Evenin’, Grace. What are you two doing? Little late for a stroll around the lake, isn’t it?”

  “It’s never too late for a walk around the lake,” Julius said.

  “Don’t give me that bullshit,” Harley said. “Pardon my language, Grace. That’s a duffel bag you’re carryin’, Julius. You two are fixin’ to spend the night together at the Elland house.”

  “That’s the plan,” Julius said. “You’ve probably heard by now that someone is stalking Grace.”

  “Yep.” Harley peered at Grace. “Agnes told me about the rat in your refrigerator. Some real sick people out there. But don’t worry, Julius will take good care of you.”

  “Julius very kindly offered to stay with me tonight so that I won’t have to be alone in the house,” she said.

  “It’s gonna be all over town tomorrow, you know,” Harley warned.

  Grace opened her mouth to say He’s going to sleep in the guest bedroom, but that sounded defensive so she decided to shut up. Harley probably wouldn’t believe it, anyway. Tomorrow morning no one in town would believe it, either.

  “I’m planning to put in an alarm system and maybe get a dog,” she said instead.

  Harley snorted. “You’ll be fine with Julius. In my experience, he’s about as good as an alarm system and a dog.”

  “Thanks,” Julius said. “I’ll treasure your words of high prai
se.”

  “You do that,” Harley said. “Take good care of Grace. See you tomorrow.”

  Harley went back inside his house. The door banged shut behind him.

  Julius took Grace’s arm. They walked through the garden to the gate that opened onto the path.

  Grace glanced around at the lush landscaping. “Is this your work?”

  “Of course not,” Julius said. “Harley takes care of my garden and his own.”

  They started back toward Grace’s house.

  “Harley was right,” Grace said after a moment. “The fact that you spent the night at my place will be all over Cloud Lake by noon tomorrow.”

  “Got a problem with that?”

  She gave it some thought. “No, I don’t have a problem with it. I’ve got a problem with finding dead rats and bottles of vodka in my refrigerator, and I’ve got a problem with someone sending me creepy emails but, no, I don’t have a problem with you spending the night in my spare bedroom.”

  “I like a woman who knows how to keep her priorities straight.”

  When they reached her house, Grace pulled some fresh linens out of a closet. Together she and Julius made up the bed in the guest bedroom.

  Earlier Julius had tacked up a sheet of plywood to cover the opening left by the smashed pane of glass. The second pane was still in place so the room was not completely shuttered. Grace could see clouds moving across the night sky, obscuring the moon. Another storm was on the way.

  Getting the bed ready proved to be an unnervingly intimate process, at least on her side. By the time she had finished stuffing the pillow into the pillowcase she could have sworn that the atmosphere in the room was charged with electricity.

  Julius made himself at home with the ease of a stray cat—or a man who was accustomed to living out of a suitcase. She looked at him across the expanse of the freshly made bed.

  “The guest bath is just down the hall,” she said, determined to adopt the same casual attitude toward the situation that Julius was exhibiting. “There are some sesame seed crackers if you get hungry.”

  “Thanks,” he said.

  She went toward the door. “I’ll say good night, then.”

  Julius followed her as far as the doorway.

  “Good night,” he said.

  She hesitated, aware that something more needed to be said. But she did not know how to bring up the subject of the hot kiss in the icy moonlight.

  She turned away and went down the hall. She could feel Julius’s eyes on her until she escaped into the relative safety of her bedroom.

  She undressed, changed into her nightgown, robe and slippers and went into the master bath to brush her teeth.

  When she emerged a short time later the door to Julius’s room stood slightly open but the lights were off. She waited a moment. When she heard no sound from the guest bedroom, she hurried through the ritual of securing the house.

  At least it was only a partial ritual that night, she thought. She did not have to check the closets or look under the bed in Julius’s room. Something told her that if there was a monster hiding there, Julius could deal with the problem.

  Eventually she turned off the lamps. The night-lights that she had placed strategically throughout the house came up, infusing each space with the exception of Julius’s room with a reassuring glow. Julius must have unplugged the little night-light in his room.

  She went back to her room and sat on the edge of the bed for a while, doing her breathing exercises. During the meditation process thoughts always swirled and intruded. The trick was to return the focus again and again to the breath.

  When she was finished she crawled under the covers and gazed up at the shadowy ceiling and brooded on her decision to allow Julius to spend the night in the guest bedroom. One moment she managed to convince herself that there was no harm in letting him stay; the next moment she was forced to conclude that it might not have been one of her brighter ideas. She was violating one of her own rules.

  But it was good to know that tonight she would not be alone if the monster came out from the darkness.

  In the end she opted to go with a Witherspoon affirmation: Meet challenges with creativity. She had no idea what that meant in regard to Julius but it sounded reassuring.

  • • •

  Julius stretched out on the bed, his hands folded behind his head, and contemplated the ceiling of the guest bedroom. He thought about how Grace had walked through the house, not only double-checking all the locks that he had secured earlier, but opening and closing cupboards and closets. It all sounded methodical, as if it were a nightly routine.

  Some people might have considered the detailed security check a tad obsessive but he understood. The enemy could be anywhere.

  Eighteen

  A soft rustling sound brought her out of a restless sleep and vaguely menacing dreams. She woke up breathless, her pulse skittering. It took her a few seconds to center herself.

  You are the eye of the storm—you are calm and in control.

  She had left the bedroom door partway open. As she watched, a dark shadow moved along the hallway. Panic shivered through her. She sat up quickly and pushed the covers aside, instinct warning her to get on her feet so that she could choose fight or flight.

  Reason took over. It was Julius out there in the hall. It had to be Julius. Perhaps something had awakened him.

  Her pulse rate steadied and her breathing calmed. The problem was that she was not accustomed to having a man in the house—not at this hour, at any rate. She reached for her robe, slid her feet into the slippers and went out into the hall.

  The front room lay in unexpectedly deep shadows. It took her a few seconds to realize that the night-light in that room was no longer illuminated. The bulb must have burned out, she thought. She made a note to change it in the morning.

  Then she saw Julius. He stood at the window watching the night through a crack in the curtains. He was wearing a dark crew-necked T-shirt and the khakis he’d had on earlier in the evening. His feet were bare.

  “What is it?” she asked quietly. She moved farther into the room. “Do you see something?”

  “No,” Julius said. He turned back to the window. “I just had a feeling—”

  “That someone was watching?”

  Julius shrugged. “Something woke me. Probably a car going past on the road. It’s pretty damn quiet out here at night.”

  “You turned off the night-light in this room, didn’t you?”

  “Didn’t want to be silhouetted against it. I’ll switch it on when I go back to bed.” He glanced at her. “Is that okay?”

  “Yes, certainly.” Grace hugged herself. “I’ve had a creepy feeling that someone was watching every night since I started receiving those damned emails. I’ve been telling myself it’s just my imagination.”

  “Someone is watching you—we just don’t know if that person is here in Cloud Lake or at some other location. When we find out why, we’ll know the identity of the watcher.”

  Julius walked across the room and came to a halt in front of her. He kissed her forehead.

  “Go back to bed,” he said. “You’re not alone tonight.”

  “I know. Thanks.”

  The atmosphere was once again charged with edgy tendrils of anticipation. It was as if she was standing on a high cliff above a crashing sea, she thought. She longed to take the dive into the deep, mysterious waters but she was very sure now that becoming involved in an affair with Julius would be a high-risk endeavor.

  The silence between them lengthened. It was as if they were both waiting for something momentous to happen.

  It was then she realized that she was the one who would have to make the first move. Julius was leaving the decision up to her. He knew how to wait for what he wanted. He possessed the patience of a hunter.

  This man is d
ifferent. Not another stray. You need to think about this.

  She pulled herself together.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said.

  “I’ll be here.”

  It was a promise.

  Grace made herself go back down the hall to her bedroom. This time when she climbed into bed she fell into a dreamless sleep. Julius was standing guard against the monsters tonight.

  Nineteen

  It was cold and the dampness in the night air warned of rain but the watcher in the shadows was not quite ready to leave the cover of the trees.

  The night-lights in the lake house had shifted a few minutes ago. Someone had gotten out of bed—Grace, probably. She was finally becoming aware that she was being stalked. It had been fun watching her dash out to buy a new refrigerator today. Bonus points for that move. Talk about an overreaction. The woman’s nerves must be shredded now.

  The hunt had gone according to plan until recently. Who knew that the game would prove to be so addictive?

  Julius Arkwright was an unforeseen complication, but a minor one. He was what the military described as a soft target.

  Grace would be an even softer target.

  Twenty

  The muffled crunch of gravel announced the arrival of a car in the drive. Grace hit save on the keyboard. Following the instructions of her new consultant, she had been attempting to create a skill-set list. She had been working diligently ever since Julius had left that morning but she had not made much progress. She was afraid that there were not many employers who would leap at the opportunity to hire someone whose chief skill was the ability to write affirmation-themed cookbooks and blogs.

  There had been other obstacles to productivity that morning as well. Memories of breakfast with Julius kept interrupting her attempts to focus on her project.

  She had found the experience of waking up to a man in her kitchen—one who was making coffee, no less—disconcerting. She had always told herself that when the right man came along, she would reconsider her policy of not allowing a man to spend the night but somehow that had never happened.