by Jayne Castle
“Probably.” Zac let the patent disbelief show in his voice. “Well, whoever it was, he’s gone now. Let’s get back to the hotel. A man could freeze out here.”
“Yes. Yes, it’s very cold, isn’t it.” Vandyke stumbled to his feet. “I’m sorry about this, Zac. I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
“Do you always go out walking in storms without bothering to put on a coat?”
Vandyke exhaled slowly. “I just had a call from my wife. It was upsetting. I wanted to think for a while. How did you know I was out here?”
“I saw you from Gwen’s window. She and I were just saying good night.”
“I see.” Vandyke seemed embarrassed. “And the other person?” he asked Zac as they started back toward the hotel. “The one you said you saw in the trees?”
“I couldn’t tell who it was. Just a shadow. You might be right, he might simply have been out taking a late night stroll too. Amazing how many people go walking on a night like this.”
“But you said he was watching me?”
“That’s the feeling I had. Look, Vandyke, how serious does this business get? Just how valuable are the documents in that briefcase?”
Vandyke was silent for a long moment. “They could mean a great deal of money to any of the other developers here tonight. The cost data alone would be worth a hundred thousand.”
“But I’m the one with the briefcase tonight. Everyone in the lounge must have seen me leave with it. Why follow you?” Suddenly Zac felt light-headed as the facts hit him. He swore. “Oh, shit Gwen’s alone back in her room with the briefcase. Come on!”
Vandyke tried weakly to protest, falling into an awkward run as Zac yanked him back through the gardens. The older man was puffing heavily by the time they reached Guinevere’s room.
“Gwen!” Zac pounded once on the door. It opened immediately. A wave of relief went through him as he watched her look first at him and then at Vandyke. “Gwen, are you okay? The briefcase—”
“The briefcase is fine,” she assured him absently. “Mr. Vandyke, are you all right?”
“Just a little out of breath. Zac here was very anxious to get back to you.”
Zac was in no mood for more conversation. “Hand me the briefcase, Gwen. Vandyke and I are going back to our rooms. We’ll see you at breakfast.”
Guinevere eyed him thoughtfully. Without a word she turned around, went and got the briefcase, and brought it back to Zac at the door.
“Good night, Gwen,” he said as she handed it to him.
“Good night, Zac.”
“Swell evening, huh?” he couldn’t resist drawling in ill-concealed disgust.
“You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
He couldn’t think of an adequate response to that, so he closed the door very politely in her face and started down the hall with Vandyke, carrying the briefcase.
Chapter Four
If there had been any polite way of refusing the boat tour that was announced at breakfast on Sunday morning, Guinevere would have done so. But after a jovial Sheldon Washburn dropped by Vandyke’s table to inform him he’d arranged a special excursion—by boat instead of plane, because he’d heard Miss Jones didn’t care for small planes—Guinevere’s social options were narrowed. Vandyke had cordially accepted on her behalf.
“Very thoughtful of you, Sheldon. I’m sure my secretary will enjoy herself. I’m afraid I’m going to need Zac here though. Who else is going along?”
“Toby Springer and two or three others who aren’t needed at this morning’s session.” Washburn beamed at Guinevere, who tried to look properly grateful. “Miss Jones will be the only lady on the boat, but that shouldn’t be too hard to take, eh, Miss Jones?”
Guinevere sighed. “I’ll manage.”
Washburn slapped Vandyke on the shoulder and went on to inform the others of their good fortune. Vandyke glanced uneasily at Zac, who had stoically continued to eat grapefruit during Washburn’s announcement.
“You don’t mind remaining here for this morning’s session, Zac?”
“I’m sure Miss Jones will be able to handle a boatload of administrative assistants, won’t you, Miss Jones?” Zac gave her a bland smile.
Guinevere refused to rise to the bait. “I’m certain it will be a lovely tour. And we’re in luck. We’ve even got a bit of sunshine.”
“Yes indeed,” Zac agreed. “Luck is just overflowing around here today. Can’t remember when I’ve felt so lucky.”
Guinevere waited until after breakfast to corner him. She pinned him down in the rustic lobby, where he was patiently waiting for Vandyke. The briefcase was at his side.
“What happened last night, Zac?” Guinevere dropped down onto the sofa beside him, her brows in a straight demanding line.
“I got cold. In more ways than one.”
“I’m serious. What went on out there on the cliff?” she hissed. “Was he really trying to kill himself?”
Zac sighed. “Beats the hell out of me. I can’t read minds. But someone else was out there watching the whole scene.”
“Someone else was outside in that storm?”
“Yeah. I guess I overreacted. I didn’t know what was going on, so I tackled Vandyke and dragged him behind some cover. You’d have been proud of me, Gwen. I really did a nice job of reinforcing the old commando image. At least, until my client realized all I had in my hand was a rock, not a gun. But whoever had followed him didn’t hang around. Very anticlimactic.”
Guinevere examined his jacket intently. “Where is your gun?”
“Back home in Seattle.”
She was shocked. “You didn’t bring it with you?”
“I was under the impression that all I had to do this weekend was keep sticky fingers out of a briefcase. I had a couple of other items on my agenda, too, but none of them required a weapon.” He sounded aggrieved.
Guinevere bit her lip, torn between sympathy and amusement. Impulsively she put a hand on his sleeve. “You can’t come with us on this harbor jaunt?”
He looked at her. “You heard Vandyke. Not that it makes much difference. Everything else about this weekend is getting fouled up, so I might as well earn my pay. You’re right about your client, Gwen. He’s scared to death. I think he’ll feel a lot better if I stay close to him. And since I’ve decided to actually work this weekend, I think I’ll make a couple of phone calls.”
“To whom? About what?”
“I love it when you get excited. The only problem is, you’re picking the wrong time and place.”
“Zac! Quit baiting me. Tell me who you’re going to call.”
“Someone who used to work for my old firm. He had the Caribbean region during the seventies. He quit the company in nineteen eighty to devote his life to rum and writing the great American novel, but he stayed in Saint Thomas. I thought I’d see if he can dig up some info on the accident.”
“What accident?” Guinevere asked, momentarily lost. “Oh! You mean the plane accident that killed Vandyke’s partner.”
“It’s not normal to carry around a page out of a dead man’s logbook, Gwen.”
“You can say that again. It’s downright morbid.” Guinevere gave the matter some thought. “Maybe I can weasel out of this scenic tour.”
“Forget it.” Zac glanced over her shoulder at Vandyke, approaching across the lobby. “It will take Sol a while to dig up any real information. That’s assuming I can get hold of him in the first place.” He got to his feet. “Have fun,” he whispered into her ear, quickly brushing her nose with a kiss. “Sorry about that. I know it’s bad for the image, but I couldn’t resist.” He was gone before Guinevere could tell him wistfully that she didn’t really mind the small kiss in public.
Two hours later she found herself in the back of the fair-size cabin cruiser She
ldon Washburn had hired for the occasion. Three of the other assistants had also been freed by their employers to take the trip. The surprise passenger was Cassidy. When he’d stepped onto the boat, grinning at her with charming wickedness, Guinevere had experienced a small twinge of guilt. Utterly ridiculous, of course, she told herself. She was certainly not to blame if Cassidy blithely chose to crash the cruise party. There was no way on earth Zac could take her to task for it. Besides, she didn’t owe Zac undying fealty. They hadn’t even had the big relationship discussion yet. And she was hardly contemplating anything resembling betrayal in any case! The whole situation was simply, clearly, undeniably not her fault. But she was secretly glad Zac didn’t know who had joined the small group on the scenic tour. Some things were better left unmentioned.
Cassidy’s grin grew decidedly broader as he chose the seat next to hers. He stayed there during the entire trip, one booted foot braced against the seat in front of him, his left arm casually draped across the back of Guinevere’s chair. In a laid-back laconic manner he supplemented the travelogue the boat’s pilot was giving.
“Have you flown to most of these little islands?” Guinevere asked politely at one point. In the rare morning sunlight the gems of lush green seemed to have been sprinkled in the water by a careless hand.
“No point flying to some of them,” Cassidy told her. “No one lives on them. And some you couldn’t beach the Cessna on anyway. They’re just tree-covered rocks, without any natural coves or bays.”
“I’ve heard some of them are privately owned.”
Toby Springer caught the comment and remarked, “Washburn is thinking about buying one.” There was a touch of pride in his voice. Springer clearly admired his boss’s success.
“Really?” Guinevere asked, interested. “Near here?”
“Over there, I think. Isn’t that the one, Cassidy? You took him there once in your plane.”
Cassidy nodded, showing a supreme lack of interest. “Yeah.”
“Does he have a home on it?” Guinevere peered at the small, thickly forested island.
“He’s considering building one, but he hasn’t gotten around to it,” Springer told her. “No one lives there right now. It would be strictly an investment.”
One of the other men who had been freed for the day joined the conversation. He was a young intense man with round preppy glasses and a thin face. His name was Milton Tanner. “Your boss has done pretty well on his investments. He’ll probably find a way to turn that one into a fortune too.”
Springer nodded. “Washburn’s done okay.”
Milt Tanner’s face relaxed in a brief smile. “You can say that again. I got the job of researching him for my boss before we decided to make the proposal for the resort. He seems to have come out of nowhere in the mid seventies and has managed to keep a low profile, but there’s a lot of money behind him.”
“He’s smart and he knows land values.” Springer grinned. “Why do you think I work for him? He’s tough, but I wanted to learn from the best.”
“How long have you been with him?” Guinevere asked, aware that Cassidy was growing restless beside her. He didn’t appreciate the conversation having taken a turn that more or less left him out of it.
“A year,” Springer said. “Another cup of coffee?”
“Sounds great.” Guinevere smiled. “There may be sun out here today but it’s downright chilly.”
“I can take care of that little problem,” Cassidy drawled, blue eyes glinting with meaning.
“Uh-uh.” Guinevere smiled. “I think I’m safer with the coffee.”
“People who always want to be safe miss a lot in life, Guinevere Jones. You don’t really live unless you take a few chances.” Cassidy’s voice was soft, pitched for her ears alone. “It would be a shame if a woman like you missed too much along the way. I get the feeling you were born to take a few risks.”
Guinevere tilted her head to one side, considering that. “I think you’ve made a slight miscalculation, Cassidy. The only risks I was born to take are those involved in running a small business, and I have to take more than enough of those.”
He shook his head, eyes narrowed against the watery sunlight. “Trust me, honey. I could make you change your mind.”
Guinevere smiled. He really was amusing. That kind of man often was. But a wise woman didn’t expect anything more than superficial entertainment from such a man. It was all they were capable of providing. If you looked for anything else you were doomed to disappointment. There was something missing, something a perceptive woman couldn’t always put her finger on but that she sensed was lacking. Guinevere knew that if she went looking for a complete man beneath Cassidy’s flashy exterior she wouldn’t find one.
The breeze seemed to turn colder as the boat headed back toward the marina.
The weather, however, was not nearly as cold as the expression in Zac’s gray eyes as he stood on the dock an hour later waiting for the returning boat to be made fast. Guinevere hadn’t noticed him until the last minute, and when she did she groaned inwardly. So much for small discretions. Cassidy was standing behind her, big as life, and she sensed his amused satisfaction as he solicitously helped her ashore.
“Anytime you want a private tour you just let me know, Gwen,” he murmured as Zac came forward. “I can always squeeze you into my schedule. And you can see a hell of a lot more from the air.”
“Thank you,” she said lamely, aware of Zac’s bleak expression. She turned to him with a deliberately cheerful smile. “Oh, hello, Zac. I didn’t know you’d be able to meet me. Did the conference get out early?”
“No.”
“I see. Well, we had a great tour of the area.”
“I can imagine. You ready to go back to the hotel? It’s almost time for lunch.”
He wasn’t going to be gracious or understanding about this, apparently. A small flame of resentment started to uncurl within her. Damn it anyway, she told herself. Who was Zac Justis to make her feel guilty over a social situation that had been totally beyond her control? She didn’t like the feeling and she didn’t like the fact that Zac could induce it. This relationship she was involved in had to be clarified, and soon. She knew she was glowering as Zac opened the Buick’s door and unceremoniously all but shoved her inside. The others were driving back to the resort in Springer’s car.
“It wasn’t my fault, you know,” she muttered, and immediately resented the fact that she’d felt obliged to defend herself. “Cassidy just showed up at the last minute and hopped aboard.”
“How fitting. Hopalong Cassidy.”
“It’s not nice to make fun of a person’s disability.”
“Did he regale you with the tale of how he managed to collect such a romantic limp? I’ll bet it’s a great story, full of heroism and danger.” Zac grimly turned the key in the ignition.
“No, he did not. As a matter of fact we discussed the local islands, and then some of us talked a bit about Washburn’s success. He’s thinking of buying one of those empty islands out there, you know.”
“No, I didn’t know. But I’m not surprised. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Well, nothing. I just thought you were asking for a blow-by-blow account of the cruise, so I was trying to give it to you.”
“Spare me. If I want the account, I’ll ask for it.”
“Yes, sir. You certainly are in a good mood, sir, if I may say so, sir. Did anything interesting happen between Washburn and Vandyke at the conference?”
Zac’s mouth hardened. “I think Vandyke’s going to get the deal.”
Guinevere glanced at him. “Really? That’s great. Maybe that will make him relax a little.”
“It’s not final yet, and Vandyke doesn’t seem any more relaxed.” Zac turned the corner onto the narrow road that led from the small village back to
the resort.
Guinevere sought for more neutral conversation. “Did you get hold of your friend?”
“Sol? Yeah. He was sleeping off a hangover. Said he’d look into it when I told him I’d send along a check to cover his expenses. His great American novel hasn’t yet found a publisher, I gather.”
“So we don’t know any more than we did this morning?”
“Nope.”
“Where’s the briefcase?”
“Vandyke has it. I think he felt guilty about asking me to stick so close when that wasn’t really what he’d hired me to do. He told me to take off for a few minutes to collect you. We’re meeting him for lunch.”
Wonderful, Guinevere thought morosely. Zac was right. The weekend wasn’t working out at all. At least not the way she’d hoped it would. She propped her elbow on the padded door and leaned her chin on her hand, gazing out the window at the tree-lined road.
“Zac?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you really upset about Cassidy being along on that cruise?”
There was a beat of heavy silence. “I shouldn’t be, should I?” he asked grimly.
She slid him a sidelong glance. “No. You shouldn’t. For one thing, I had nothing to do with it. And for another, we haven’t . . .” She faltered.
“We haven’t had that little chat you want, have we?” he finished for her.
“Well, no.”
“Is this chat of ours going to include some kind of agreement regarding outside relationships? Is that the right expression?”
She drew a deep breath, concentrating fiercely on the narrow winding road. “I had thought it might.”
There was another heavy silence. Then Zac said slowly, obviously choosing his words with care, “Gwen, I am not normally a possessive man.”
That surprised her. “You aren’t?”
“It’s worked reasonably well over the years, since women do not tend to get possessive about me.”
