by Brant, Kylie
Mac observed her closely. She’d had to visibly gather her defenses, and he wondered for a moment if he was doing the right thing in sharing this information with her. He still didn’t know just how strong Raine Michaels was, how much she could withstand before she broke down. He’d already witnessed her upset once, when he’d deliberately pushed her.
But he had the feeling that that time had been unusual for her, just as her temper of today had been. And he guessed that she wouldn’t welcome him hiding something from her, at any rate.
She returned his gaze with one of her own. “Well, you may as well get this over with,” she said, striving for lightness. “Unless, of course, you’re trying to rack up extra popularity points for drawing out the misery.”
He didn’t crack a smile. Holding out a piece of paper on which he’d jotted down notes, he said, “These are two of the names from the list of art students you gave me.”
Raine looked down, then at him. “I remember. Why?”
“Trey has been doing some checking on all the people on the list.”
Raine frowned. “Do you mean to tell me,” she said, her voice ominous, “that you’ve been prying into these students’ lives?”
He didn’t blink. “That’s exactly what I mean. And it’s fortunate he was able to get to it so soon. Both of the people on that list have been in trouble with the law.”
She stared at him, momentarily at a loss. She was caught between renewed anger at the lengths he’d gone to and a sudden sense of unease. “What . . .” Her voice sounded rusty. She cleared her throat and tried again. “What did you find out?”
“Andy Radcliff was accused of date rape three years ago, when he was a freshman in college. The case never went to trial because the girl abruptly refused to testify.”
“You mean she recanted?” Raine asked slowly.
“No, I mean that she suddenly changed her mind about going through the trial process.” He watched her carefully. “That’s not the same thing.”
Her face was completely composed, but he noted that one of her hands clenched and opened, over and over. “What else?”
“Sally Jessup is on probation for vandalism. Seems she got angry at one of her professors and did about a thousand dollars’ worth of damage to his car.”
Raine took a deep breath as she absorbed the news. She didn’t know Andy and Sally any better than she knew the other students. That was to say, she was on speaking terms with them, but they were acquaintances. This news was a surprise to her, but it shouldn’t have been. She’d been warned often enough of the dangers of taking people at face value.
But it had been a conscious decision to ignore that advice. She hadn’t intended to take foolish risks, but she’d wanted to live her life free of the kind of suspicion of people that could choke spontaneity from her. And she had felt alive again, making her choices based on what was right for her and not necessarily on what was safest, what was smartest.
That fact was apparent.
She didn’t feel scared right now. Regardless of the news he’d given her, she somehow couldn’t imagine Andy or Sally were to blame for her harassment. She just felt sad. Raine knew that she wouldn’t be able to forget this, wouldn’t be able to look at the two in the same light as before. Right or wrong, her perception of them would be colored by what she’d learned today. And the next time she would be just a little less trusting.
“I’m not saying that either of them has been linked to your case,” Mac surprised her by saying. He’d seen the color slowly recede from her cheeks, and her hand abruptly stilled on her thigh, as if she’d just become aware of its action.
“What you’re saying,” she said woodenly, “is that I’ve been taking an unnecessary risk by allowing people I don’t know well to come into my home. Especially in light of the threats.”
Mac hesitated. There was something about her demeanor that made him a little cautious about pushing her much further. She was composed, but she was a little too composed for his liking. She looked as if she could shatter at one more word from him. At the same time, for once she was listening, and maybe this moment was what it was going to take to wake her up. With that thought in mind, he answered deliberately. “Yes.”
“That’s what you’ve been saying all along, isn’t it? I guess I owe you an apology.”
He felt as though he’d been poleaxed. “An apology? What the hell for?”
“For questioning your actions. I can see now that they make sense. I should have seen it before.” She hesitated. When she finally finished, her voice was flat. “I didn’t want to see it.”
“Are you saying you’ll quit fighting me now?” His tone was cautious. Whatever had brought about this abrupt about-face, he was going to take advantage of it. His job would be a hell of a lot easier if he didn’t have to constantly convince her to listen to him.
“That should make your day, shouldn’t it?” she said with a fixed smile. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to see if the men are finished in my studio.” She turned and walked swiftly out the door.
He watched her go with a frown furrowing his forehead. He’d won a valuable concession just now, he knew. In her current frame of mind she was going to be much more amenable to work with. But somehow he couldn’t summon up any satisfaction about that.
He shook his head, but it didn’t help dislodge the memory of that wounded expression on her face. Not for the first time in their brief acquaintance he was responsible for dimming the bright light from her eyes. Before she left they’d looked haunted again, vulnerable. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what he’d seen in them.
And he couldn’t help feeling like a bastard for being responsible for it.
Chapter 5
“So how’s the piece coming along, Raine?” André walked into the kitchen, where she was sitting at the table with Greg. Despite the early hour he was impeccably dressed in a suit and silk tie. “No problems, I hope.”
Raine caught the look of dislike Greg sent the other man, and inwardly sighed. After the scene with Macauley last night, she wasn’t in the mood for company, nor did she feel like playing referee between her agent and her accountant. But Greg had shown up early this morning, before Raine had had breakfast, and it would have seemed churlish not to offer him coffee. He’d accepted with alacrity and had seemed quite contented chewing a blueberry muffin and drinking cup after cup, saying little.
Actually, when he wasn’t lecturing her on money-saving skills, Greg never did have much to say. Raine had noticed before that he had a tendency to stumble over his words a bit, then become tongue-tied into an awkward silence. It was an oddly endearing quality, one that made him . . .
Safe. The word hissed mockingly in her mind, but she dismissed it. She usually filled in the silences with light chatter and questions to draw him out a bit. But she wasn’t doing too well in that department today. Sleep would have been a welcome visitor last night, but had remained elusive for hours. Today she was having trouble forming coherent sentences, much less sparkling breakfast conversation.
“The painting is coming along fine,” she said, lying a little. It had been progressing well until yesterday, when she couldn’t get into her studio. There was no reason to tell André that. He already worried too much over the endless arrangements for the showing. If he thought anything was going to slow her progress on the paintings, he’d have a heart attack right on her kitchen tiles, and that was definitely something she wasn’t up for today.
André frowned, peering at her more closely. “You look a bit peaked, Raine. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“For Pete’s sake, Klassen,” Greg said irritably, “what a great thing to say to a woman. Are you afraid your precious schedule will be thrown off if she was to get sick for a day?”
André smiled a tight, humorless smile. “And you have so much expertise, my friend, in how to talk to women, don’t you? What are you doing here again, anyway? Sometimes I wonder who runs the office while you
spend your days here.”
“André, Greg, please.” Raine’s voice was tired. “Just quit. André’s right, I didn’t sleep well last night, and I’m really not in the mood for this.” She smiled to soften her words. “I know the two of you enjoy sharpening your fangs on each other, but my stomach isn’t up to bloodshed this morning, okay?”
Mac came to the doorway then, in time to hear her last remark and to disagree with it. She made it sound as if the two men engaged in a casual conversational duel to pass the time, when in fact there was a competition afoot here. He was surprised she couldn’t see it. He’d sensed it the moment he’d met the two, watching them vie for Raine’s attention. At least Klassen’s interest seemed to be professional, as overbearing as it was. But Winters was definitely interested in more than Raine’s tax withholdings.
He shook off the irritation that accompanied the thought and spoke. “The men are finished in the studio, Raine. They shouldn’t be bothering you again.”
All heads swiveled toward him. “All right,” she answered with a slight smile. “But I’ll use the earplugs, just in case.”
He gave her a short nod and disappeared toward the front door.
“What did he mean by that?” André demanded. “You haven’t been able to use your studio, Raine? Are you still going to be able to complete your work on time? Damn, I knew that man was trouble. He and his crew have been a constant distraction, haven’t they? Why in heaven’s name don’t you send them away until after the showing?”
“Oh, and I suppose Raine’s security can wait until then, Klassen?” Greg put in caustically. “Easy to see where your priorities are.”
“It’s equally easy to see where yours lie,” the man answered sharply.
“That’s enough, both of you!” Raine snapped. They looked at her, mildly surprised at her unusual display of impatience. “I’ll be able to finish the painting in the next few days, André. Mr. O’Neill has been careful to disturb me as little as possible.” She didn’t mention that the man had a way of disturbing her that had nothing to do with the work that was being done on her house. She didn’t even like to admit that to herself.
“When will O’Neill be done around here?” Greg asked. “Seems like he’s taking a long time to put in an alarm system.”
André nodded in agreement.
Raine hesitated. She was reluctant to discuss Macauley’s role as her bodyguard. André had already decided the letters were meaningless, and a disclosure would only upset him. He considered anything that took her mind off her work at this point as a major aggravation. Greg was just the opposite. He’d worried over the threats incessantly. Knowing how seriously she was taking them would only cause him more anxiety.
“There’s a bit more to putting in a security system than any of us realize,” she finally said. “And Mac’s been replacing doors and windows, as well. But things around here should be straightened out soon.”
“I hope you’re right,” André said. “Well, I’ll leave you to work.” He gave Greg a pointed look, and the younger man rose reluctantly from the table even as he glowered at the other man.
“I suppose I should go, too,” Greg muttered. “Thanks for the breakfast, Raine. I, uh, just came out to see how you were doing.” He shrugged self-consciously. “Haven’t talked to you in a few days.”
Strangely touched, Raine smiled gently at him. “I’m fine, Greg, really. And thank you for coming this morning. You know you’re always welcome, both of you.” Her look encompassed the two men.
Greg nodded wordlessly and sent a look at André. The older man remained rooted to the floor. It was obvious that he wasn’t leaving until Greg did. “You haven’t gotten any more of those letters, have you?”
“No.”
“Or phone calls?”
“No, nothing, Greg. Everything’s been fine.”
“Because if you want, I can come out here each day and get the mail in for you. I don’t like the thought of you opening those by yourself.”
“Mac already does that for me, Greg, but thanks anyway.” Greg didn’t look happy at that piece of news, but he finally nodded and walked out of the kitchen.
Showing the two men out the door, Raine breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t remember ever being in a bigger hurry to get rid of them. Her nerves were definitely a bit frayed this morning, and dealing with their animosity was beyond her today. She’d never quite figured out just where that animosity sprang from. The two really shouldn’t have many matters they needed to collaborate on. But each insisted on butting into the other’s side of her business, and after months of playing peacemaker, Raine had finally given up. They appeared to like to bicker, and as long as she didn’t have to listen to it she just shrugged it off. Today, however, it had been particularly exasperating.
She headed for the stairs. Already the hammering was beginning outside, but she would retrieve her earplugs and go to her studio. If Macauley was right and she wasn’t disturbed, she’d be able to get quite a bit finished on her painting. Today she was in need of the kind of solitude and peace she was able to attain only when lost in a world of her own.
“Mr. O’Neill, may have I have a word with you?”
Mac turned quizzically to face André Klassen. “In a minute,” he responded. Turning to the workman he’d been talking to, Mac continued the instructions he’d been giving the man. The worker listened intently, nodding a few times in understanding. When he was finished, Mac faced André.
“What’s on your mind?”
Klassen stepped out of the way quickly, narrowly avoiding two workmen walking by carrying some long planks. “Maybe we’d better go inside,” he suggested. “I don’t want to have to shout over this racket.”
Mac looked at him, noting how incongruous the man looked in his Saville Row suit and thousand dollar shoes amidst the organized chaos of the workers. Turning on his heel without a word, he led the way to the house. He didn’t really have time for this, but it would be better to get Klassen out of the path of his men before that Ivy League haircut was creased by a two-by-four. Leading him into the study, he stopped in the middle of the room and turned to him.
“I wanted to talk to you about Raine,” André began. He waited, but when Mac made no response, he continued. “This whole mess you’re creating here really couldn’t have come at a worse time, actually. You do know she’s getting ready for a show, don’t you?”
“I’d heard something about that.”
“You probably aren’t aware, then, of the amount of work and concentration that goes into something like this.” The man made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “No one is, really. But I handle practically everything, so there’s little Raine has to do except paint her exquisite pictures.”
When Mac still said nothing, André felt compelled to explain further. “She cannot accomplish that, Mr. O’Neill, with you and your men constantly underfoot. This incessant noise must be a serious drain on her concentration, and I’m going to have to ask you to cease it at once.”
Mac crossed his arms and rocked on his heels. He’d seen plenty of men like André Klassen, self-important and certain of their own power. He’d never lost his amusement for them, however. He shook his head wryly. Locations in the world were different, but its inhabitants never were. He was a master at sizing up people, analyzing their goals and predicting the lengths they would go to achieve them. This man wasn’t even a challenge. “’Fraid I can’t do that, Klassen.”
The man frowned. “I have to insist. You may start again as soon as the show is over. Heavens, you may start as soon as Raine is finished with the last piece she’s doing. But you must see that she’s unlikely to finish as long as she’s surrounded by all this commotion.”
“The work will proceed on schedule,” Mac answered. “You don’t have the authority to give me orders. You’re Raine’s agent, right? Stick to selling her paintings. That’s your job. Her security is mine.”
André’s mouth tightened. “I’m more than her agent,
O’Neill. I make a lot of the decisions around here. I decide what is appropriate for Raine, and I know a lot more about her well-being than you do.”
“Is that so?” Mac asked softly. “Then maybe you’d like to explain one of those decisions to me. Winters told the police detective that the first few letters and phone calls weren’t reported because you told Raine not to bother. Care to explain to me why that qualifies as the appropriate decision for her?”
The man replied coolly, “I was merely trying to protect her. She didn’t need to be worrying about some crank letters when she was busy with her work. She agreed with me.”
“I know why she agreed with you, and I have a real good idea why you suggested it in the first place. It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you didn’t take them seriously. You didn’t want her to take them seriously, because you were afraid they’d affect her work, and that, in the end, would affect you.” Mac bared his teeth in what could not pass for a smile. “How am I doing so far?”
“If you think for one minute that I was primarily considering myself, you’re insane, O’Neill,” André returned angrily. “I was acting in Raine’s best interests then, and I am now. I’m telling you to get rid of these men and clear out of here!”
Mac’s eyes were slits. He walked closer until he was inches away from André. “You don’t make decisions around here, Klassen. Don’t kid yourself. You never did have that right. I may not know Raine well, but one thing I’ve learned damned quickly is that she likes to call her own shots. My men stay, I stay, and the work continues. You have nothing to say about it. Are we clear on this?”
“We’ll see about that,” the man said between clenched teeth. “You’re overstepping your bounds here, O’Neill. You’re way out of line.”
