by Arlene James
They were halfway down the hallway before he realized that he was still holding her hand.
She kept expecting him to drop her hand at any moment, and yet when he did, she felt an unexpectedly intense disappointment. Or was that guilt? She hadn’t expected to be quite so torn about telling him the whole story. Camille had only agreed to speak with him on the condition that Jillian go along with her version of events, and Jillian knew all too well that any deviation from the plan would bring down censure and blame on her head, from Camille. as well as Gerry. Still, it seemed unfair to keep anything back. Not that it would make any difference in this case. Camille and Janzen had broken up, and he seemed bent on punishing Camille. Why, didn’t really matter. Did it?
They reached the back door, and Jillian turned the knob unminkingly. A wave of heat engulfed them as she pulled the door open, and as usual she couldn’t help thinking that it had been a sizzling Texas summer that had driven her parents onto that sailboat off the coast of Galveston Island and to their deaths.
“Is the door always left open like this?” Zach asked incredulously, catching it as she stepped back to let it swing inside.
She stopped in her tracks. “Well, yeah, I guess so, whenever anyone’s home, anyway.”
He elbowed past her to examine the locking mechanism. “I was right This has to be replaced. Get a dead bolt and chain installed, too. And from now on keep it locked, bolted and chained whenever anyone’s home.”
“All right.”
He turned to examine the security system component mounted on the wall. “This is a dual system. You understand, don’t you, that once it’s activated you’ll have to key in a security code every time you come in to keep the alarm from sounding?”
She hadn’t actually, but she nodded anyway. “What, exactly, is a dual system?”
“It means there are two alarms, one here that’s meant to scare off an intruder and warn the occupants, another to alert the police. This particular setup gives you about a minute and two tries to key in the code.”
“I see.”
He ushered her through the door and pulled it closed behind him. “Let’s take a look at that window.”
She led him away from the carport, across the patio and through the gate in the fence around the pool, then along the back of the house to the broken window. The double-wide window was set in the wall at about shoulder height A board had been nailed over it, and broken glass littered the ground, none of the pieces larger than a man’s hand. Zach went down on his haunches and gingerly stirred and studied the shards, some of them streaked and speckled with bright-red spray paint. After a few moments, he looked up at the three-letter word sprayed onto the brick.
“When did this happen?”
“Last night about 1:00 a.m.”
“Did anyone hear or see anything?”
She nodded. “I was asleep in this room, and the shattering of the glass woke me up.”
“This is your room?”
“Uh, no. It’s, um, more private than my room sometimes, though.”
He lifted an eyebrow at that but made no comment. “What happened after the window broke?”
“I called for Camille because the glass was all over the floor inside and I couldn’t get to my slippers without cutting my feet. She phoned the police, but he was long gone by the time the call was made.”
“But you’re sure it was Eibersen?”
“Who else could it be?”
He didn’t answer that, just stood and turned in a slow circle, surveying the area. He pointed back toward the pool gate. “He must have come from that direction. The fence is too tall on the other side, and I assume the pool gate is left open all the time?”
Jillian shrugged apologetically. “Yes, sorry.”
“Get a chain and lock for it,” he said dismissively. She nodded, adding that to her growing mental list. He turned back to the house, muttering, “Wonder why he chose this window. Why not Camille’s bedroom window? I assume he knows which that would be.”
Jillian felt the bottom drop out of her stomach, but she managed to keep her voice and tone level. “Oh, yes, he knows.”
“Probably he was afraid of being seen through the larger windows,” Zach mused. “What room is this room anyway?”
Jillian. bit her lip. “Well, it’s supposed to be a maid’s room, but we don’t have a live-in maid. Since my own room is right next to Camille’s, I thought this one might be more private, but the broken window changed my mind about the desirability of that.”
Zach nodded and made no further comment, and Jillian let herself relax again.
“Well, I guess that’s it for now,” he said, starting back the way they’d come. “You’ll see to the locks and the security system?”
“Yes, first thing tomorrow.”
“Good.”
He led the way back across the pool yard and the patio, then held open the door beneath the carport as she passed through it into the hallway and blessed coolness. He followed her down the hall to the kitchen. It was her favorite room in the house, with its bright-yellow walls and clean white cabinets, stainless-steel appliances, pale, natural woods and terra cotta dishes. “Want another cool drink before you go?” she asked hopefully.
“Glass of water would be nice,” he mumbled distractedly. He stood at the bar, arms folded and one hand rubbing his chin, obviously deep in thought, while she took down two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with ice water through the refrigerator door. She placed them on the bar and pulled out a stool, then perched on top of it.
“Have a seat.”
Instead, he turned and leaned forward, bracing his upper body weight on both elbows. “It doesn’t make sense that he chose to paint that particular window. I mean, it’s behind the fence. Someone would have to go swimming in order to see it.”
Jilly felt a hard knot form in the center of her chest. “Well, um, C-Camille swims every morning, year-round. The pool’s heated.” She didn’t bother saying that she, too, liked to get in twenty or thirty laps before breakfast most mornings.
Zach nodded. “Okay. That kind of makes sense.” Straightening, he picked up the glass left for him and drained it in one long gulp, the ice clinking and tinkling. “Ah-h-h. Nothing like a Texas summer to make you appreciate cold water.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Jillian said softly, her thoughts returning once more to her parents.
“Why’s that?”
She stroked her fingertip through the condensation forming on the side of her glass. “Oh, it’s just that my parents said something very like that before they left on the last impulsive jaunt that got them killed.”
Zach swirled the ice in his glass thoughtfully. “I think you said that it was a boating accident?”
She nodded. “That’s right. Dad always said that the Gulf of Mexico was a poor excuse for an ocean, but it was so hot that week, and it didn’t seem worthwhile to fly all the way to the West Coast just for the weekend, so they flew to Houston, drove down to Galveston and rented a boat.”
“And you never saw them again,” he concluded.
She sighed. “The bodies were never even recovered.”
He seemed to be searching for the right words to say, and finally came out with, “Man, that’s tough. How old were you again?”
“Eleven.”
He shook his head. “So young. How come you weren’t with them?”
She smiled wanly. “I’m not much of a sailor. I like to swim, but boats do a number on my stomach, always have.”
“That’s certainly fortunate.”
“It was hard to think of it that way at the time,” Jillian said.
He nodded and murmured, “I can imagine.” He shifted positions, signaling a shift in subject. “So you wound up here with your half sister and your father’s ex-wife.”
“Not here as in this same house, but yes, I wound up with Camille and Gerry.”
“And no doubt you’re grateful for that.”
�
�Of course,” she said lightly.
“Which is why you let her treat you like a lower life form,” he said, almost offhandedly.
Jillian blinked in shock. “I beg your pardon!”
He grimaced and backed up a step, throwing up his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
She got to her feet. “You certainly shouldn’t have! Camille does not treat me like...” Jillian bit her lip. “She’s overprotective, is all. She still thinks I’m thirteen and mad at the world.”
“Were you?” he asked. “Mad at the world, I mean.”
She looked down, surprised to find that she was twisting her hands together. “Maybe,” she said, but in truth she didn’t remember it like that. She only remembered feeling lost and alone, a disappointment to those she loved most. Forcing her hands down to her sides, she said, “You don’t understand Camille. Hers is a tough business, and she’s learned to use arrogance as a shield against criticism. She’s not really like that. In fact, sometimes I think she’s really very insecure.”
He lifted an eyebrow as if doubting the correctness of her assessment, but he merely remarked, “It really isn’t any of my business. I apologize if I offended you.”
“I just don’t want you to think that Camille is a bad person,” she told him softly.
“I can see that you love her very much,” he said, as if that was all that mattered.
Jillian smiled. “She’s my sister, and she gave me a home when no one else would or could.”
“And that’s very commendable,” he said. A heartbeat later he added, “Well, I’d best be going. I have a dinner engagement. Thanks for the cold drink, or rather, drinks.”
“I’ll show you out,” she said, moving away from the counter. Nodding, he followed her through the house to the front door.
“I didn’t realize we were interfering with your social life,” she said, even knowing that it was none of her business.
“Oh, it’s no big deal,” he assured her. “My brother and sister-in-law know only too well the demands of my business.”
Jillian felt a flash of relief. It wasn’t a date, then; rather, a family engagement. “Well, extend my apologies if we’ve made you late.”
“Not necessary,” he told her, pausing at the front door. “Don’t forget, now, locksmith and security service, first thing tomorrow morning.”
“I won’t forget.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
“Excellent.” She opened the door for him, and he started out into the heat. “Oh, and, Zach, uh, Mr. Keller?”
He stopped and turned back. “Zach will do. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to thank you.”
He smiled and bowed slightly from the waist. The effect was absolutely dazzling. “All part of the service, ma’am.” He winked and started off down the sidewalk, calling over his shoulder, “Later.”
She watched him all the way to his car, a sporty, two-door model in black with a white convertible top. For once she didn’t feel the heat—except on the inside. This time, it was all inside.
The shrill, familiar sound pierced the darkness of a deep, easy sleep. Zach jerked awake knowing exactly what that sound represeated. On his stomach as usual, he levered up onto one elbow and reached for the cellular phone on his bedside table with the other hand. The antenna was up, and the phone within easy reach on an otherwise clean tabletop. Rolling over, Zach pushed the send button, clapped the tiny phone to the side of his head and cleared his throat. He’d had a busy couple of days and gotten to bed late after taking in a Friday-night movie with his older brother, Brett, and Brett’s wife, Sharon, but his mind was clear as a bell.
“Keller here.”
“He came into my house!” blurted a shrill voice. “He came right in while we were all sleeping and destroyed my kitchen!”
“Calm down and tell me who this is,” he barked.
A shocked silence followed. “Well, who else would it be? Do you just go around handing out your emergency number on every street corner? You may be good-looking, Zach, but you’re not very smart if that’s how you do business.”
Camille Waltham. Zach rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t bother to tell her that he had other clients. He doubted that it would penetrate that monumental ego. “Is anyone hurt?” he demanded.
He heard a huff, followed by, “Not really. He bumped into Jilly in the dark and knocked her down, but I don’t think she’s really hurt.”
He was throwing back the covers before he even thought about doing it. “Have the police arrived?”
“I thought you were supposed to take care of things like this.”
He caught the phone between his shoulder and his ear and reached for his jeans, then yanked them on. “We need documentation!” he snapped. “The police have their uses, too.”
She started grumbling something about him not making himself clear, but he interrupted her. “I’ll take care of it myself from here. Don’t touch anything that he might have touched. Lock the doors and stay together. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
He hit the button, cutting her off before she could say anything else, then dropped onto the bed and grabbed for his socks. One of them went on inside out, but he couldn’t have cared less. After picking up the phone again, he turned it on and punched in the police dispatch number. As he stomped into his boots and threw on a clean chambray shirt, he told the dispatcher where to send the patrol car, pocketed his wallet and grabbed his keys.
Clipping the phone to his waistband, he flew out of the apartment and down the hall to the elevator. Forty-five seconds later he was backing the convertible out of its parking space and heading down the garage ramp. Less than ten minutes passed before be pulled to a stop in front of the Waltham house. The police were already there and moving up the sidewalk. Fortunately he knew both officers.
“Jennings! Carpenter!”
Both stopped. “Hey, Keller,” said the older man. “This one of yours?”
“Afraid so.” He caught up to them and ushered them both up the walkway. “My client says the perp broke into the house and destroyed her kitchen.”
“Is this the Camille Waltham who’s on the news?” asked the younger man, Jennings.
“The same.”
“She seems real nice,” mused Jennings.
“Seems,” Zach muttered, reaching for the doorbell.
The door opened almost immediately, revealing Gerry in pink silk and a white teny-cloth turban. Devoid of makeup, her face looked older and harsher. “It’s about time!” she exclaimed. “We might have been murdered in our beds!”
Zach bit his tongue to keep from reminding her that only two days earlier she’d doubted very much that Janzen Eibersen meant harm to anyone. Instead, he pushed past her and into the house, motioning for the officers to follow him. “Where is everyone?”
“In the living room.”
He walked into the room and found that everyone consisted of Camille. in a pretty blue chiffon gown, her head in her hands. Alarm shot through him. “Where’s Jillian?”
She looked up, her eyes going wide at the sight of his unbuttoned shirt. “In the kitchen, I think.”
He turned around and left her without another word, motioning for one of the officers to take his place. Since Carpenter was already questioning Gerry, Jennings got the assignment. Zach hurried through the house. When he entered the kitchen, he barely noticed the garish red marring the yellow walls and white cabinets. His attention was taken, instead, by Jillian sitting at the bar in a big T-shirt, a damp, folded towel pressed to her face, her long legs and slender feet bare. Her hair was disheveled, wisping about her face like a feathery cap. Those abominable eyeglasses were nowhere in sight. She made him think of a fairy who had lost her wings.
“Jillian,!”
She looked up at the sound of his voice, and a myriad of emotions roared through him at the sight of those big blue eyes and her battered face: rage, dismay, compassion, fear- Desire. Instinctively, he opened
his arms, and with a small cry, she rushed into them. Her arms slid around his waist inside his open shirt, her bare skin against his igniting explosions along his nerve endings. He rocked backward, not because of the impact of her slender body, which was negligible, but because of the breathtaking effect of her unfettered breasts pressing against his chest with only a single layer of soft fabric between them.
He knew then that this battered imp of a female had somehow worked her way beneath his professional armor and his satisfying well-ordered existence had gone painfully awry.
Chapter Three
“Are you all right?”
Jillian nodded, sniffing. She seemed fragile and feminine in his arms, dangerously so. After a moment, he slid his hands to her shoulders and eased her away from him.
She smiled up at him, blue eyes glittering softly. “What is it?”
He had trouble forcing out the words, rage choking him. “Did he hit you?”
She shook her head, putting a hand to it as if the motion hurt her. “No.”
He swallowed down the rage before steering her back toward the bar and lifting her up onto the stool there. She was as light as a feather. He picked up the cold, folded towel and held it gently to her cheek. “Tell me what happened.”
She slid her hand over his, and he let her take the towel. Leaning on her elbow, she took a deep breath and told him everything. “I couldn’t seem to sleep for some reason. About two, I heard someone here in the kitchen, and I thought it was Gerry, who sometimes has trouble sleeping, also. So, I got up and came out into the hall, thinking I’d offer to make us some warm milk or herb tea. It was dark. For some reason I didn’t turn on the light in my room, but I expected to see the light from the kitchen. Still, I wasn’t particularly frightened—until I heard the hissing.”
