by Jayne Castle
She had wanted him badly enough last night to risk her image. That realization threatened to go to his head like hot brandy. The idea of Guinevere Jones sneaking down a hotel hallway just to be with him was enough to get him aroused all over again. He drew in another breath and again let it out with slow control. Sophisticated business security consultants did not allow their bodies to embarrass them in public restaurants. At that moment Guinevere turned and caught him watching her. She started toward him purposefully.
“I need to talk to you,” she announced in a low tone as she sat down across from him. Her hazel eyes were narrowed and steady. The mouth that had been so soft and warm during the night was firm with resolve.
Zac groaned. “I was afraid of that.”
Her brows came together in that funny way they did when she was about to deliver a lecture. “Zac, this is serious.”
“I can tell.”
Guinevere’s frown deepened as she realized he wasn’t ready to show the proper concern. What was the matter with him this morning? She leaned forward intently. “Zac, somebody searched my room last night.”
He stared at her.
“Well, at least I’ve got your attention.” She sat back, satisfied.
“Searched your room?” He looked dumbfounded.
She nodded with grave certainty. “Must have happened while I was . . .” She glanced away. “With you,” she finished, looking at him again.
“You were only with me about half an hour.” He ignored her flicker of embarrassment. “Gwen, are you sure? Why didn’t you come and get me? How do you know you were searched? Were things messed up?”
“Oh, no. It was a very professional job.”
“No offense, but how would you know if your room had been professionally tossed?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Tossed?”
“Forget it.” He glanced up as the waitress approached and waited impatiently while the woman poured coffee and Guinevere ordered cereal and fruit. Then he folded his arms in front of him on the table. “Tell me what happened,” he said deliberately.
Guinevere sighed inwardly. She had known it would be like this, of course. Zac would want a blow-by-blow account, complete in every detail. He was a careful thorough man who tended to take his time about this sort of thing. He himself admitted that he worked slow. When he’d worked for the international group of private security consultants, she knew, his co-workers had nicknamed him “the Glacier”—slow-moving, but in the end everything got covered.
“I just realized what had happened this morning when I put on my pantyhose.”
He blinked slowly. “Pantyhose?”
“I’m wearing a pair under these pants. They provide some extra warmth,” she told him impatiently.
“I see.”
“No, you don’t. The first pair I put on had a run in them. On the left leg, above the knee.”
“Tacky.”
“Zac, you’re not paying attention.”
“I’m paying attention, I’m just not following the gist of this conversation. Tell me, in one-syllable words, the significance of your pantyhose having a run in them.”
She made a small exclamation of disgust. “Zac, last night when I was getting ready for bed I snagged a pair of pantyhose.”
“Okay, I can follow that. Go on.”
“Don’t be condescending. This is crucial evidence.”
“I’m listening,” he told her gravely.
“I didn’t want them to get mixed up with my clean unsnagged pantyhose and I didn’t feel like taking the time to wash them out. So I put them in my suitcase on the left-hand side. The clean unsnagged ones are on the right. Got it so far?”
“Clear as crystal.”
“Good. Well, this morning I reached for a pair from the clean side of the suitcase.”
“The right side?”
“Precisely.” She looked at him with faint approval. “And I got the pair I had put in on the left side last night. Whoever went through my suitcase didn’t realize I’d know the difference, I suppose. Or else he was in a hurry.” She waited with a gleam of triumph in her eyes.
Zac continued to gaze at her with level speculation. He was silent for a long moment. Finally, he said, “You’re basing all this on one snagged pair of pantyhose? Nothing else appeared to have been touched?”
“No, it was a very careful job.”
“Gwen,” he said patiently, “why would anyone search your room? I’m the one who has the briefcase at night. Vandyke’s the one who might have important papers to hide. You’re, pardon the expression, just a secretary, as far as anyone around here is concerned.”
“I don’t know why someone would do it, Zac. You’re the authority on business security, you tell me. Secretaries often have important notes and papers lying around. Maybe somebody was looking for something I might have left out after doing that typing for Vandyke yesterday afternoon.”
“Gwen, if they went into your room during the short period you were with me, that means someone was keeping a close eye on your activities.”
She shuddered. “Spooky, isn’t it?”
“Also unlikely. Honey, I don’t mean to let the air out of your balloon, but there’s no logical reason why someone would search your room instead of mine or Vandyke’s.”
“How do you know they haven’t searched yours?” she demanded.
He shrugged, picking up his coffee cup. “I’d know.”
She saw the certainty in his face and concluded he probably would. “What about Vandyke? He’s acting so strange lately I’m not sure he’d notice if anyone had been through his things.”
“Or tell us if he did notice,” Zac finished. “You’re right there, but somehow I don’t think it’s happened.”
“Then why me?”
“I’m not sure you were searched. One little pair of snagged pantyhose found on the wrong side of the suitcase is kind of slim evidence, Gwen. It would have been easy for you to forget which side you tossed them into. After all, when you were undressing last night you must have had your mind on . . .” He paused deliberately, and a slow satisfied smile lit his eyes. “Other things.”
“Egotist.”
He paid no attention. “Did you see anyone in the hall on the way back to your room last night?”
“No,” she admitted, “but that doesn’t mean anything. Someone could have come and gone before I left your room. Or he could have entered my room through the balcony.”
“Eat your breakfast and we’ll go have a look.”
“You’re just trying to placate me, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m just trying to make sure one way or the other.”
But they could find nothing else to verify Guinevere’s suspicions. Zac went through the room carefully without finding anything to support the idea that someone had searched it. He shook his head and put his arm around Guinevere’s shoulders. “Honey, I think it was your imagination at work. There’s just no logic to it.”
By now Guinevere was beginning to doubt her own discovery of the pantyhose. She sorted through the remaining pairs. “I don’t know, Zac. I could have sworn the pair I put on first this morning was the pair I had deliberately put into the left side of the suitcase. Now you’ve got me wondering.”
He ran a fingertip down her nose. “I told you, last night you had other things on your mind.” His eyes gleamed for a moment with the memories, and she tried to glare at him.
“I knew I was never going to hear the end of it.” She moved away from him. “What’s the schedule for today?”
“I promised Vandyke I’d stick around the lobby in case he needs me. I just wish to hell I knew what he thought he might need me for. He’s got the briefcase in the conference room. This is the last round of presentations, and Washburn’s promised a decisi
on by this afternoon. We’ll all get to go home early this evening. Frankly, I can’t wait.”
“Did Vandyke look nervous?” she asked.
“No more so than usual.”
“How long did the conversation with his wife last?”
“Not long. About ten minutes after you left.”
Guinevere eyed Zac thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you could actually hear what he said to her?”
He smiled. “What a little snoop. No, I couldn’t catch most of the words. Just her name occasionally. The connecting door isn’t that thin—thank God. It means he might not have heard you. At least, he didn’t make any reference to you being in my room last night.”
Guinevere considered that. “I’m not sure he would. He’s really quite a gentleman.”
Zac paced to the window, running a hand through his hair. “Well, one way or another this whole thing should be over this afternoon. We’ll catch the ferry back to Seattle and that will be the end of my commitment to Vandyke. What about you? How long are you supposed to cover for his secretary?”
“She’ll probably be back on the job tomorrow.”
“Good. I can’t say this little jaunt hasn’t been interesting in some ways, but I’ll be glad when it’s over. What are you going to do today?”
“I have some typing to take care of for Vandyke this morning. Then I guess I’ll pack and get ready to leave.”
Zac glanced back at her as he stood in front of the window. His eyes were the same color as the overcast sky. “Do you think we might try this again sometime?”
“A wild weekend fling?”
“Yeah.”
Under his deliberate gaze she felt the warmth rising in her cheeks. “That might be nice.”
“Next time we won’t try to combine business with pleasure. It’s too damn frustrating.”
Guinevere hesitated. There were other things that were frustrating. “We still haven’t had a chance to really discuss things between us, Zac.”
He went to her, gripped her shoulders fiercely, and planted a hard kiss on her mouth. “Personally, I thought we’d made terrific strides.”
“Do you really think so?”
The phone rang just as Guinevere was waiting in an agony of hope for her answer. With a disgusted sigh she went to answer it. She listened to Vandyke’s hurried instructions and hung up with a regretful sigh.
“That was Vandyke. He wants me to hurry up with that typing. Guess I’d better get busy doing what I’m being paid to do. I’ll see you at lunch, Zac.”
“And I’ll go do my duty in the lobby,” he groaned as he stalked to the door.
Guinevere watched the closed door for a long moment before she went to the typewriter that had been set up in her room. So much for all her plans to define the relationship.
Washburn’s announcement shortly before lunch caught both Zac and Guinevere completely by surprise. From their client’s general attitude of depression and uncertainty, they would never have guessed Vandyke Development had been selected to do the Washburn project.
“Congratulations,” Guinevere said sincerely over lunch. “It’s a wonderful deal. You must be quite pleased.”
Vandyke nodded, but he didn’t look particularly thrilled. “It’s definitely a load off my mind.”
If that’s the case, Guinevere thought, he certainly doesn’t look very relieved.
“I’m glad it worked out,” Zac said politely, watching the older man carefully. “The announcement came sooner than expected. When do you want to leave for Seattle?”
Vandyke looked at him questioningly, seeming suddenly to realize something. “Oh, I forgot. Washburn wants us to stay over one more day to finalize things. The others are going back this afternoon, but I guess I simply assumed you and Miss Jones would be available for one more day.” He glanced worriedly at Guinevere. “Can you manage? I’m going to need you to handle the final letter of agreement. Washburn and I will rough it out this afternoon.”
“We had planned on getting back today,” Zac began firmly, but Guinevere cut him off.
“I can manage one more day,” she assured her client. “What about you, Zac?”
He glanced at her, sighing. “Yeah, I guess I can squeeze in one more day.”
“I’m very grateful to both of you. Why don’t you take off after lunch and do some shopping or something, Miss Jones? I’m not going to need you until this evening, actually. It will take Washburn and myself several hours to hammer out the details. He wants to get everything wound up by tomorrow so he can get back to his offices in California. Zac, I’d appreciate it if you could hang around here?”
“Sure,” Zac murmured. “Why not? Nothing I like to do better on a wild weekend.”
“Zac!” Guinevere hissed warningly. Fortunately Vandyke didn’t appear to have heard. He nodded vaguely, apparently satisfied, and excused himself. “I’ll stay here with you,” she went on to Zac, who immediately made a negative motion with his chin.
“Forget it. I’m not going to be good company and you’ll enjoy hitting those little shops in town. Take your time. I’ll just read a good book or something.”
“What good book?”
“How about A Thousand and One Erotic Fantasies of the Small Businessman?”
Guinevere grinned. “Is it a best-seller?”
“It probably will be after I write it.”
***
It was drizzling rain by three o’clock that afternoon when Guinevere finally decided she was not going to find the perfect pottery vase or an undiscovered painter in the town shops. She treated herself to a cup of hot tea and a scone at a small café and stared out the window at the rain-slick street. A few other tourists who favored the San Juans in winter were scurrying from one shop to the next, trying to avoid the gentle rain. A few cars made their way down the street with windshield wipers swishing languidly.
Guinevere thought of Zac, whom she had left sitting in the hotel lobby with a magazine, and decided she’d rather be sitting beside him. True, his good mood of the morning had disintegrated when he’d discovered they were going to have to stay another night, but she’d rather be with him in a bad mood than here by herself.
It was an odd realization. Guinevere thought about it some more while she had another scone. She was accustomed to being by herself. She liked her privacy and she liked her own company. It was strange to sit here and realize she’d rather be leafing through a magazine and listening to Zac grumble than shopping on her own.
Damn it, where was this relationship going? More important, what was it doing to her ordered satisfying life? And what on earth had sent her sneaking down the hotel hall last night?
The answers to those questions continued to elude her, and she hadn’t had much success in pinning Zac down about them either. Guinevere nursed her tea and continued to gaze out the café window. By now the other executives and their assistants would have checked out of the hotel and would be on the ferry heading home.
Maybe it would be nice to take one more walk down by the marina before she drove Zac’s Buick back to the hotel. Guinevere paid her bill, left the tip, and tugged her red trench coat on. Outside on the sidewalk she opened her black umbrella. It wasn’t really pouring, just drizzling as she made her way briskly down the street toward the marina. It was nearly empty of people, but the boats were always intriguing, especially when they bobbed on a gray sea against a gray sky. An artist would enjoy the scene, Guinevere reflected. She recalled Vandyke saying once that his wife dabbled in painting.
In the distance she could see Cassidy’s Cessna tied up next to the old metal boathouse. She wondered if he ever flew on days like this. Probably. A guy with the right stuff flew in just about any sort of weather. She shook her head at the thought. Being in a small plane was bad enough; flying in one in bad weather seemed sheer stupidit
y, not to mention terrifying. But she supposed men like Cassidy thrived on terror.
She was gazing at the plane in the distance when she saw a familiar figure climb out of a car in the parking lot and start toward the boathouse. Toby Springer had apparently also been freed for the afternoon by his boss. Idly Guinevere started after him, deciding she’d kill a few more minutes saying hello.
As she watched, he ducked into the boathouse. By the time Guinevere reached the far end of the dock he hadn’t reappeared. Maybe Cassidy was also inside the boathouse. Or perhaps Springer was going to take out a boat. She paused, wondering if she should go any farther. If Springer had business with Cassidy, she might just be a nuisance.
Guinevere changed her mind about saying hello. Turning, she started up the ramp. There was an old public toilet on her right. A worn sign on the side nearest her read LADIES in capital letters, and an overflowing trash can guarded the entrance. Guinevere angled around in front of it, following a path that would lead her back toward Zac’s car.
As she walked past the far end of the building she glanced back at the boathouse. Cassidy and Springer had both emerged. They were facing each other, and although she couldn’t hear what was being said Guinevere got the distinct impression they were arguing.
She also got the impression Cassidy was winning the argument. In fact, she decided as she stood watching them in the shadows of the rest rooms, she would have said Cassidy looked very much like a man giving orders. His hand moved in a flat, negative gesture, and Springer appeared to look resigned. He nodded once, stiff with obvious resentment, and then he swung around and started back toward the parking lot.
Curious, Guinevere switched her gaze back to Cassidy. He was watching Springer, but when the younger man climbed into his car he turned around and walked over to the bobbing Cessna. Opening the craft’s door he stood under the high wing and looked around inside the cabin for a moment. Then he shut the door.
