Gift of Gold

by Jayne Ann Krentz

Emerson nodded gloomily. “I was afraid of that. She thinks you’ve got the same wanderlust I’ve got, doesn’t she?”

  “Among other things,” Jonas agreed dryly. “She also thinks I’m irresponsible, unreliable, and incapable of long-term commitment. She thinks the only reason I’m here is because I want to explore the effect she has on my psychic abilities.”

  “So why does she let you hang around her cabin until three in the morning?” Emerson demanded shrewdly, obviously striving to make a point in spite of the vodka.

  Jonas tipped his glass and poured the last of his drink down his throat. “Damned if I can figure it out. I guess she thinks I’m hell on wheels in bed. We have to face the possibility that your sweet, innocent, puritanical, prissy little daughter is using me for cheap thrills, Emerson.”

  “I don’t have to face that possibility,” Emerson corrected. “You do. Good luck. In the meantime, I guess I’d better get cracking on getting that money wired to Mr. Reginald C. Yarington before he does anything else rash.”

  Jonas shook off his gloom and tried to focus on more practical matters. “Just how late are you on that tab, Emerson?”

  “Not more than a few weeks. Hell. Yarington knows I’m good for it eventually. Wasn’t any need to send some knee-crusher after me.”

  “Wonder how he found you.”

  “The crusher?” Emerson considered that. “Good question. I must have left more of a trail than I thought. Not inconceivable that someone who knows me and who also knows Yarington told him about my daughter, and he may have tracked her down to see if I was hiding out with her.”

  “Not inconceivable,” Jonas agreed. “All the same, when you send the money to Yarington maybe you’d better verify that the guy who imposed upon our hospitality this evening was really a representative of the Yarington Savings and Loan Association.”

  “I’ll do that. Maybe that fat deputy who took notes earlier this evening will get something out of our visitor.”

  “I doubt it. The guy who came through that door with such a flourish is obviously into heavy drama. That camouflage shirt looked like it came out of a catalog aimed at the well-dressed-mercenary market. He’ll consider silence a noble virtue. And I don’t think the Sequence Springs sheriff’s department has had a lot of experience breaking down professionals. My guess is it will be a while before anyone gets him to talk.”

  “That’s assuming he survives the night.”

  “Yeah,” Jonas said. “That’s assuming he survives. Be just my luck to have him croak. Verity would probably hold me personally accountable.” It was bad enough that he had been responsible for all that blood that had soaked the guy’s shirt. Jonas didn’t want to think about what Verity might say or do if it turned out that he had killed him.

  “You’ve got a point there. My daughter has witnessed violence before in her life but she doesn’t tolerate it well. Behind that sharp tongue she’s a sensitive little creature. Too empathic and too sympathetic for her own good. It’s what makes her prone to the dangers of naïveté. Takes after her mother in that respect.”

  The initial shock of the evening’s events had worn off by midmorning, but Verity was still tense and filled with a vague anger as she headed for the No Bull Cafe. She sought solace in the kitchen, throwing herself into the preparations for lunch. When Jonas warily walked in around eleven, she was ready for him.

  She was determined to be nonchalant and matter-of-fact about last night’s events. She could be just as cool as either Jonas or her father.

  “You’re here on time. Good. You can chop these carrots. Do a careful job, Jonas. I want them neat. When you’re finished with that you can unpack the shipment of soy sauce that arrived a few minutes ago.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He went to work without another word.

  Verity watched him out of the corner of her eyes for a few minutes, waiting for him to say something about the previous night. But Jonas worked in silence, peeling carrots and slicing them into neat little circles as if he wasn’t worried about anything else in the world. Eventually Verity couldn’t stand it any longer. She cleared her throat warningly.

  “Any word on the condition of that man who attacked Dad last night?”

  “He’s alive.” Jonas didn’t offer any more.

  “That’s a relief.” Verity frowned. “Well? Has he said anything to the authorities?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  A wave of angry frustration washed though her, momentarily driving out her determination to be serenely casual about the situation. Jonas’s attitude of remote calm was too much. “Dammit, he could have killed both of you!” she said through her teeth. “He had a gun. A big one, in case you didn’t notice. All you had was a knife. I could have knocked on the cabin door this morning and found both you and Dad dead on the floor. Dammit to hell, Jonas!”

  “Take it easy, Verity. Everything turned out all right.”

  She wanted to scream at him that there was no way she could take anything like this easily, but at the last second Verity regained her self-control. She instantly regretted the temporary loss of it. She would be calm about this if it killed her.

  “If you’ve finished the carrots you can put them into that bowl. I’ve got to make some salad dressing.” She picked up the bottle of extra virgin olive oil.

  Jonas glanced at her but said nothing about her abrupt shift in attitude. It was as if he didn’t know quite how to handle her as she skipped from one mood to the other. Verity took what satisfaction she could from that.

  She took further satisfaction from the way both Jonas and her father tiptoed around her for the rest of the day. Neither man seemed inclined to risk setting free her short temper. They took orders meekly, carried them out swiftly, and generally kept out of her way.

  Verity felt more shrewish and tyrannical than ever.

  When the No Bull closed for the night, she headed for the mineral baths at the resort. Jonas and Emerson turned down the path to their cottage with little more than a polite goodnight. Verity glanced back over her shoulder a couple of times, wistfully wishing that Jonas had said something about joining her in the spa. But it was obvious he had other plans for the evening. Another chess game, probably.

  She could hardly blame him, she told herself. After all, she hadn’t been very encouraging all day. The man had a right to suspect she wanted to be alone tonight. But the truth was that she didn’t want to be alone. For better or worse, she was getting accustomed to having Jonas Quarrel around in the evenings.

  With a barely stifled groan of frustration, Verity let herself into the empty spa room and undressed. She had rarely needed the therapy of the pools as much as she did tonight, she reflected as she slipped into the hot, aromatic water. Her love life was a disaster, some gunman had nearly killed Jonas and her father, and she had spent the day sniping at the two people she loved.

  At least Jonas hadn’t been turned into a killer by the whole thing. She didn’t waste any sympathy on the man he had downed with his knife, but she was grateful that Jonas wouldn’t have to add one more ghost to his collection. He had enough phantoms in his eyes.

  She leaned back against the tile, closed her eyes, and sent out a silent apology to Jonas. Depressingly confident that she was not the least bit telepathic, she added a mental call for him to join her in the baths. It would be so much easier to use passion rather than words as a means of smoothing over the awkwardness between them. She was not good at apologizing to men like her father or Jonas who seemed inclined to get themselves into trouble. They hardly qualified as innocent victims in this world; therefore, she felt a strong tendency to lecture them on their flaws.

  No, she told herself, she definitely did not owe Jonas or Emerson an apology for her short temper today. Both men were far too much at ease with violence. They didn’t need to be coddled or encouraged in that direction.

  Half an hour later. Verity
realized Jonas wasn’t going to show. So much for her poor powers of telepathy. She would become a prune if she stayed in the spa any longer.

  Slowly she got out of the pool, dried herself, and dressed in her jeans and shirt. She left her hair pinned up in a shower of curls clustered at the top of her head. Then she let herself out of the spa and started back toward her cabin.

  The lights in her father’s cottage were still on, she noticed as she neared her place. The chess game must be a nightlong marathon.

  For a long moment she stood on the path, trying to make up her mind. Going over to the other cottage would probably look like an act of feminine weakness on her part. Men such as Emerson and Jonas would be quick to pounce on any sign of weakness.

  But she had nearly lost both of them last night and the knowledge would send chills through her for a long time to come.

  Verity made up her mind. Flinging her damp towel over her shoulder, she strode up the path to the cottage. Her brusque knock was met with a slurred response.

  “Enter at your own risk,” Emerson called.

  Verity winced. Her father sounded as if he’d had one too many vodkas. When she opened the door and stepped hesitantly inside, she saw that she was right. Nor was her father the only one who had made inroads into the new bottle of vodka that Emerson must have purchased that afternoon. Jonas was sprawled on a chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, his dark hair falling forward over one eye.

  The remains of an unfinished chess game sat on a table. Jonas’s golden eyes glittered at her between narrowed lids as she entered. He lifted his glass in mocking salute.

  “Behold, my lady doth appear, a noble goddess, fair and wise.

  She doth fill the room with beauty and a warmth which lasts until

  You see the shrew who looks at you from the depths of blue-green eyes.”

  “What are you two celebrating?” Verity asked mildly.

  “Got the money wired to Yarington this afternoon,” Emerson announced. “We’re celebrating the fact that no one else is going to show up on our front door step with a mini-howitzer this evening.”

  “That’s a reassuring piece of news.” Verity peered at Jonas. “Are you very drunk?”

  “If I’m not, I will be soon. I’m working hard on the project. You should be proud of me, little tyrant. You’re always giving me lectures telling me how I should apply myself and stick with something until I’m successful. I’ve decided to take your advice. Tonight I am applying myself. I’m going to get successfully drunk and prove to you that I have what it takes to reach a worthy goal.” He tipped the vodka bottle over his glass and replenished his drink. “Emerson, being the good buddy that he is, has promised to help and encourage me in my endeavor.”

  “Least I could do,” Emerson said with a modest shrug. “You being the guy who saved my ass and all.”

  “To the fine art of saving asses.” Jonas raised his glass in another salute. “A potential career path for me.”

  Verity smiled wryly at him. “I think you’ve had enough, Jonas.” Her tone was gentle.

  He glared at her. “What makes you any kind of judge? I’ll bet you’ve never been thoroughly drunk in your entire prudish life. I’ll bet it sickens and disgusts you to see a man drinking like this, doesn’t it? I’ll bet you just can’t wait to slam that door on this whole nauseating scene and scurry back to your own little bed where I’ll bet no man has ever spent an entire night. Hell, I know no man has ever spent an entire night there. I’m the world’s leading authority on your sex life, aren’t I.”

  “If you say so.” Verity walked across the room to stand in front of him. A smile flirted at the edges of her mouth. “I really do think you’ve had enough, Jonas.”

  “Yeah?” He gave her a belligerent look. “Shows how much you know. I haven’t even started.”

  She reached down and took the glass from him. She’d expected a struggle and was surprised when he released it at once. Without a word she set the glass down on the table and took hold of his hand.

  “Come with me,” Verity said softly.

  Jonas blinked owlishly and obediently got to his feet. He was remarkably steady, considering the amount of vodka he had imbibed. “Where are we going, boss?”

  “Home to my place.” She kissed her father’s cheek. “Good night, Dad. I’ll see you in the morning. Be sure to lock the front door tonight.”

  “I’ll do that. Make sure Slick, there, has his key. I don’t want to have to get out of bed at three in the morning to let him into the cabin.” Emerson’s eyes twinkled.

  “Don’t worry,” Verity said. “He won’t be needing his key tonight.”

  “I won’t?” A slow, remarkably cheerful grin curved Jonas’s hard mouth.

  “No,” Verity confirmed steadily. “You won’t. You’re undoubtedly going to pass out when I get you home and you probably won’t wake up until morning.”

  “Your faith in my ability to hold my liquor does wonders for my ego,” Jonas managed dryly.

  “If you don’t like what I do to your ego, you’re free to stay here. I can always go home alone.”

  His fingers, which had been lying docilely within hers, abruptly moved to clamp around her wrist like a manacle. “I’m ready to go when you are. Night, Emerson.”

  Emerson raised his glass. “Good night, Jonas. Been a pleasure drinking with you.”

  Verity wasn’t quite certain who led whom back to her cabin. There was no doubt, however, that Jonas was more than willing. When she got him inside the warm cottage and closed the door, he exhaled in deep satisfaction and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Let’s go to bed, honey,” he said, starting down the hall.

  “I’ll be right there,” Verity promised as she moved around the room turning out lights.

  When she finally went down the hall to her room she was not altogether surprised to find Jonas naked under the quilt. He was sound asleep.

  He stirred slightly when she slipped into bed beside him but he didn’t awaken. His arm went around her in a possessive manner and his breath was slow and steady in her hair.

  Verity thought she would be awake for a long while thinking about Jonas and herself and their unresolved relationship. It was certainly a subject that provided a good basis for insomnia.

  But instead she fell asleep within minutes.

  Jonas awoke around three in the morning with the vague notion that he was supposed to get up and go somewhere. He had gotten into the habit lately of going someplace at three in the morning. It took him a minute to remember where that place was.

  Then he felt Verity stir beside him and recalled that tonight he could stay right where he was. Verity had brought him home and Jonas distinctly remembered her telling her father that he would be passed out for the night.

  Jonas was not fool enough to wake Verity in order to find out if she’d meant what she’d implied. He had learned long ago not to question the bits and pieces of occasional good luck that sometimes fell into his path: He took what he could get in that line and gave thanks.

  Jonas was about to turn on his side and pull Verity closer when he became aware of his parched mouth. Too much vodka. He reluctantly got out of bed without disturbing his sleeping partner and padded into the kitchen to get a drink of water.

  On his way back to the bedroom he wondered once more why Yarington would have sent someone to kill the goose that laid the golden eggs. It didn’t make any sense.

  In spite of the discussion he’d had earlier with Emerson, Jonas was still not convinced that the gunman had burst into the cabin intending only to terrorize his victim. The .357 had been aimed and was about to be fired before the man realized there was someone else in the room. Not the actions of a professional knee-crusher.

  Jonas put the disturbing thought aside for later consideration as he slid back into bed. He reached for Verity, easing
her into the curve of his body until her soft, rounded buttocks were cradled against his thighs. He intended to wallow in the luxury of being able to cuddle all night with her. After spending the entire day enduring her displeasure, it was a blessed relief to be able to hold her like this. She was sound asleep, but that didn’t matter. He’d been listening to her give orders all day long. There were occasions when silence was golden around Verity. This was one of them.

  He was congratulating himself on her present state when Verity wriggled a little. Somehow she managed to shift her position so that his manhood was lodged in the soft cleft of her derriere.

  “Jonas?”

  “I knew it was too good to last,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.

  “What was too good to last?”

  “Never mind. Go back to sleep, Verity. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “About what?” she asked with a yawn.

  “About whether or not you issued me an invitation tonight.”

  “You mean whether or not I’m inviting you to sleep here on a regular basis?”

  “Are you?” He was being gently squeezed between her buttocks and could feel himself getting very hard.

  “Do you want to move in with me, Jonas?”

  He groaned. “Yes.”

  “I guess we could try it for a while,” Verity said slowly. “I don’t know how long it can last, though. We’ll probably be at each other’s throats within a couple of days.”

  “Ever the optimist, aren’t you? Personally, I give us at least a week.” He stroked himself in the warm furrow and felt Verity stir again. Jonas leaned over and brushed his mouth across hers. “Hell, maybe two weeks if you intend to apologize the way you did tonight every time you lose your temper with me.”

  “I did not apologize!”

  “A matter of interpretation,” he assured her and deepened the kiss so that she could not argue.

  Damon Kincaid scowled at the view outside his office window. Behind him on the desk lay a list of the guests who had been invited to bid on Bloodlust. Kincaid had studied each of the half-dozen names very carefully. Jonas Quarrel’s name was not on it.