by Rebecca York
“You . . . uh . . . sound like you have that under control.”
“Yeah, well, it helps establish my credibility with them that I’m a former cop.” He laughed. “And that I wasn’t kicked off the force.”
She nodded.
“But they’re a small department, and they can’t devote a lot of resources to a break-in at a rental property.”
“Does that make a difference? I mean, that I’m renter.”
“It shouldn’t. But when they’ve got their own townspeople and tourists to take care of—their own people are going to come first.”
“The tourists are just for catching in speed traps,” she muttered, remembering her experience with one of the boys in blue.
Ignoring her exclamation, he went on. “Anyway, I wouldn’t recommend staying where you are. My best suggestion would be for you to make the company that rented you the house aware of the situation—then get them to let you select another property.”
She shifted in her seat. “You think they’d agree?”
“Yeah. If you give up your river view.”
When he saw her hesitate, he went on, “I can work the switch for you. Actually, it would be better if I go into the real estate office and talk to them.”
“Why are you doing all this?”
“I’d like to feel you’re safe when I leave.”
So he was leaving. Well, there was no reason for him to stay. She gave a tight nod, fighting back a wave of disappointment. She’d been having fantasies about this man. It was time to lay them to rest. In a strong voice, she said, “Okay, if you can get me another house, I’d be grateful.”
“You stay here out of sight. Which real estate company did you work through?”
“Monarch.”
“Okay.” He took another swallow of coffee, then set down the cup on the table and stood. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Same rules. Put the chain back on the door when I leave. Keep the blinds closed, and don’t let anyone in.”
She gave a tight nod, then climbed to her feet as he left the room.
She didn’t like the idea of hiding out in his motel room. But the memories of the night before were enough to have her following Zachary’s directions.
After he’d left her alone again, she took a shower, washed and dried her hair, and changed into a clean tee shirt and shorts.
Then she went back to the mail.
It was difficult to work, but she had to finish her column, and reading letters would distract her from her own problems.
The first one she opened said—
Dear Esther,
My boyfriend is talking about getting married. But I’m not sure that’s such a great idea. He’s a lot more adventuresome sexually than I am. He wants to try stuff that scares me. Like, he wants to tie me up. And sometimes he calls me up and starts talking real sexy on the phone. And I don’t know how to handle that.
Can you tell me what to do?
Worried in Wisconsin
Amanda read over the letter, then laid it back on top of the stack. Another bondage question. This one for her—not the former Esther Scott.
She sighed. Was it a lot more prevalent than she’d assumed? Truly, she wasn’t sure what to answer, since she’d never tried either bondage or phone sex.
She didn’t want to think about bondage. What about phone sex? Was it healthy? The woman hadn’t said that her boyfriend went away on trips. Was he calling from across the city? The next state? What?
She was wondering if she should go on to another letter when a knock at the door made her jump.
Cautiously she got up and pulled the curtains aside. Zachary was standing on the narrow cement strip outside.
Quickly she reached for the chain and slid it out of the metal bracket, then opened the door.
Zachary was grinning as he stepped into the room. “Good news,” he said.
“I’ve got you a nice new house. It’s on Turtle Creek instead of the river, but you’ve got an extra bedroom. And a bigger kitchen.”
“How did you manage that?”
“Charm.”
She laughed. “Yeah. Right. You saw the place?”
“Briefly. But I’m not the one who has to sign on the dotted line. You can back out if you don’t like it.”
“Okay.”
Let’s get you packed up again. If you like the house, we can collect the rest of your stuff later. You’ve got a few days overlap—to give you time to move.”
She marveled at his take-charge attitude. Apparently when Zachary Grant decided to get something done—he did it.
He strode toward the table, then stopped when he saw the letter. She’d told him the correspondence was confidential. When he glanced at her, she gave a tiny shrug. Permission, if that’s how he wanted to take it.
She wasn’t sure why she was giving that permission. Because she wanted his opinion on the subject?
She watched him bend to read the text.
“So, are you going to tell her it’s okay to try bondage?” he asked in a conversational tone.
“That could be dangerous.”
“It sounds like they’re in a committed relationship.”
“I can’t tell for sure. Sometimes, when readers give the background of a relationship, they’re misleading.”
“Why?”
“A lot of different reasons. They could be describing something they wished they had. Or they could be embarrassed to tell me that they’re doing very intimate things with a guy they barely know.”
He tipped his head to one side, considering that. “They’d lie to you? In a letter to a magazine columnist?”
“They might.”
He tapped the letter. “But in any case, you don’t approve of bondage?”
“I think that a woman should be cautious about letting a guy tie her up.”
“Well, there’s always the phone sex angle.”
She resisted the impulse to fold her arms across her chest. “Why is phone sex better than the real thing?”
“Why not? Sometimes people can communicate better on the phone than they can in person.”
“Why do you think so?” she pressed.
He took a moment before answering. “I find it’s true in my work. Sometimes people can tell me things that they might not be able to say face to face. The phone makes the encounter safer because the other person can’t see your emotional reactions.”
“That’s in a professional interview.”
“Okay. It may be different if you know the person well” He laughed. “Of course, there’s the female vanity angle. What woman is going to talk on a picture phone if she hasn’t fixed her hair and put on her makeup?”
She laughed with him. “You have a point.” Then she steered the conversation back to the subject. “But if you interview someone and it’s not face to face, aren’t you missing important clues?”
He tipped his head to one side, as he regarded her. “That’s a perceptive statement. Yeah, you’re right, I do miss something. It’s easier to lie when the other person can’t see your face. But I know how to key in on other stuff. Tone of voice. A little catch in a person’s speech.”
She nodded, thinking that there were some aspects of his job that were like hers.
Before she could comment on that, he turned away from her, pushed the letters into a pile, and put them back into the bag. While he got her work in order, she collected her toilet articles from the bathroom.
In less than five minutes, she was ready to leave.
He made her wait inside while he looked around the parking lot. When he motioned for her to get into his car, she remembered that her own vehicle was back at the old house.
“My car. I forgot my car is still back home.”
“We’ll get it later if you like the new place.”
“Okay.”
They drove out of town, with Zachary again watching the rearview mirror as much as the road ahead. The house Amanda had rented was in a semi-rural neighborhood. This part o
f town was even more isolated, with large lots that fronted on a narrow country road. Some of the houses were in what she’d call the mansion category—what she could see of them through the trees.
She wasn’t sure what to expect when Zachary turned in at a rural mailbox and drove up a rutted gravel lane. The road ended in a parking area in front of a storybook cottage.
“It’s beautiful,” she exclaimed.
“There are lots of great features,” Zachary answered, as though he were a real estate agent. “There’s a deck overlooking the creek. Like I said, there are two bedrooms instead of one. And the kitchen is something I imagine you’ll enjoy.”
“Is the rent the same?” she asked as they got out of the car.
“Yeah.”
“You must be quite a salesman.”
“Well I have to be. When people come in to hire a private detective, they’re not always certain that’s what they really want to do.”
“Why not?”
“Deep down, they may not want to find out their spouse is cheating on them. Or they may be concerned that I’ll invade their privacy. You know, maybe poke around in their underwear drawers.”
“Oh.”
“But back to the real estate agency. The owner was very sorry about the break-in and very anxious for you to be happy. Especially after I pointed out how flimsy the lock was on the sliding glass door.”
She watched him shift his weight from one foot to the other. “What?”
“How would you feel if I hung around for a few days? Just to make sure everything’s okay. I could use the spare bedroom.”
She felt her heart leap inside her chest. She’d thought he was leaving. Now he was offering to stay.
“I’d appreciate that,” she murmured, trying not to let him see how glad she was that he’d changed his mind. “But don’t you have to get back to your work?”
“At the moment, my main job is for Esther Knight’s family. I talked to them on the phone this morning and told them I might have an important lead. Since they can afford to pay me pretty well, there’s no problem about money.”
She was very conscious of the way he’d introduced the subject of his current assignment. He hadn’t said he was on the trail of Esther Knight’s killer, probably to keep the present author of the column from freaking out.
Instead of commenting on his choice of words, she said, “Let’s have a look at the inside of the house.”
“Sure. I’ve got two keys. One for you and one for me.”
Hum. He’d thought she’d agree to his staying around, she mused as they walked up three steps to a wide porch with two wicker rocking chairs grouped on either side of a low round table.
Zachary unlocked the door, and they took a quick tour of the house. He’d chosen well. The rooms were bright and airy and furnished with comfortable but functional pieces. The master bedroom looked out over the deck and the creek. And the eat-in kitchen must have been remodeled within the past year.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s a great place.”
“Are you sure they’re giving it to me for the same rent?”
“Absolutely.” He changed the subject quickly. “I’ll go back to my room, pack my stuff and check out. Then I’ll tell the real estate office you’re taking this house.”
“Shouldn’t I do that?”
“I want you out of sight as much as possible. I’ll bring the papers here for you to sign.”
“Okay.”
He walked to the phone, picked up the receiver, and listened. “You’ve got a connection. That’s good.”
She saw a strange expression flit across his face.
“What?”
“I don’t want you out of touch.”
“I have my cell phone.” She didn’t mention that she was having trouble remembering to charge it.
“Two means of communication are better than one.”
He was being very matter of fact, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was pleased that she’d agreed to let him move in with her.
Was he just doing his job? Or was there more to it? Did he want to get to know her better? She was pretty sure she was picking up on male interest.
That thought had her conjuring up cozy pictures of the two of them snuggled on the couch in front of the fireplace. Or outside in the hot tub on the deck.
Still, by the time he’d been gone for ten minutes, she was having second thoughts. Was she making a big mistake? She hardly knew this man. But she’d let him rush her out of her rental house and into one of his own choosing. With him.
Because she was frightened of being killed? That was part of it, certainly. But she knew that the attraction between herself and Zachary Grant was just as important a factor. It was as if the break-in last night had given the two of them permission to do something neither one of them would have done under other circumstances. And they were both taking advantage of the opportunity fate had handed them.
Because she was restless, she poked around the kitchen, seeing what equipment the owners of the property had provided.
Next she made a more thorough tour of the house, trying to decide where she wanted to set up her office area. There was a desk in the bedroom. That would give her privacy. But was privacy what she wanted? Or would it be interesting to discuss the letters with Zachary and get his input into the answers.
She wasn’t sure she liked the direction her thoughts were taking. She’d signed a contract to write the column. She hadn’t told Beth she was going to be using an assistant. A man, at that.
Still, it would be valuable to get a guy’s perspective. Like with that phone sex thing. He thought it was perfectly okay. She wasn’t so sure.
When she realized her mind was zinging back to Zachary again, she grimaced, then hauled everything into the bedroom and set the laptop down on the desk.
The letter she’d been considering was still at the top of the stack. But she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to answer it. Giving herself options, she opened more envelopes, pausing to glance up and look out the window.
She no longer had her river view. But Turtle Creek was beautiful, with trees and ferns dotting the bank. The geese liked it too. A trio of the waterfowl landed on the water and began swimming around, looking for food.
She could watch the geese all day, she thought, but that wouldn’t get her column written. Snatching up one of the letters she’d opened, she began to read:
Dear Esther, I’ve had several sexual relationships in the past. They were good, but I always felt like something was missing. Now I’ve met a man who really turns me on. We have mind-blowing sex. We do stuff I never imagined doing. I come so many times with him that I’m worn out after a weekend together.
But there are other things that worry me. Like our backgrounds are really different. I’m in the corporate world. He drives a truck. I know my family would think that he’s beneath me. And I don’t know if our values are too different for us to make a life together. What should I do? Is great sex enough for a relationship?
Dithering in Chicago
Amanda shifted in her seat, thinking about what it would be like coming so many times that you were worn out.
Usually with a guy or with her vibrator, she had one orgasm. She knew some women were able to have more, but she’d always been satisfied with what she had.
Now . . .
She grimaced. She was sitting here getting hot again. And when she thought about the letter writer and her boyfriend, the picture she got in her mind was of herself and Zachary Grant. What the heck was she going to do when Zachary came back? Jump his bones?
He wouldn’t mind. She was pretty sure of that. But then what? How did they deal with each other? This house was larger than the last one, but it wasn’t so big that two people wouldn’t be constantly aware of each other.
Like now, she thought, as she heard the front door open and realized that most of what she’d been doing for the past hour was waiting for him to come back.
“Zachary? Is that you?” she called out.
He didn’t answer, and she twisted around in her seat, looking down the hall. From her bedroom in the back, she couldn’t see the front of the house, and a little frisson of fear went through her. Suppose it wasn’t Zachary. Suppose it was the guy from last night?
When her cell phone rang, she jumped. It was on the bedside table, and she crossed the room to pick it up and slide her finger across the screen.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
“Zachary? Where are you? There’s somebody in the house,” she said, hearing the quaver in her voice.
“It’s me.”
“But—what are you doing?”
“Sitting on the living room sofa,” he answered, the simple sentence sounding provocative.
She stared down the hall, still unable to see him. “If you’re in the living room, why are you calling me?”
“Like I said, sometimes people can communicate better on the phone than they can in person.”
She felt the air whoosh out of her lungs.
“Are we having trouble communicating?” she asked.
“Well, there are things I want to say to you. But I find my tongue getting all twisted up,” he said.
She’d had similar feelings. Now she whispered, “You do?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t continue, and she desperately wanted to find out what he meant. “Like what can’t you say in person?”
“I’d like to kiss you again. I thought about that a lot while I was away. But if I did, I’d worry that you wouldn’t let me share this house with you. And I want to stay here with you—very much.”
Her throat was almost too constricted to speak, but she managed one syllable. “Why?”
“Because I’m worried about you. But we both know that’s only part of it. I want to get to know you better. Only things haven’t worked out for me very well since my wife dumped me. That’s made me hesitant about relationships.”
“Oh,” she answered, her voice softening, thinking that must be really difficult for him to say. No wonder he was using the telephone instead of speaking face to face.
