by Wendy Tyson
Amy’s drug habit, and what amounted to her abandonment of Grace, had been weighing on Allison’s mind. Could she deal with Elle’s issues while Amy’s were so pressing? Could she trust herself to be objective?
“Maybe.” Allison joined him by the tree. She slid her back down the trunk until she was sitting on the ground. “Elle had a bruise on her wrist yesterday.”
“I saw that.”
“It looked like a thumbprint.”
“Sex that got a little rough?”
Allison play-swatted him on the leg. “Sex with whom? She’s recently widowed.” Allison took a long drink of water, thinking. “Maybe someone is hurting her. Like her brother—err, half-brother. I don’t like the way he looks at her.”
“You can’t solve everyone’s problems, Allison. That’s your issue. You want to save the world.” Jason put a hand out for Allison and helped her up. He pulled her close. “You smell good,” he murmured, “even when you stink.”
Allison laughed. She pushed away from him, and then leaned in to kiss him on the lips. “Is that your way of saying I should relax and enjoy the assignment?”
“And plan our damn wedding.” He pushed a stray lock of blonde hair away from Allison’s face and traced her nose with the tip of his finger. “I’ll be back next Friday for the weekend, and then I’m gone again. That’s not a lot of time to get things in order.”
“I just need to sign the contract for the dinner. The church and our paperwork are already arranged. We did that before we left.” Allison smiled. Just the thought cheered her. “Even Vaughn is coming.”
“So how about you focus on that. Confront Elle, let her know you mean business, and use your free time to finalize our nuptials and finish your book.” He kissed her again. “I can’t wait for you to be my bride.”
“Again.”
Jason laughed. Allison loved the way his eyes crinkled when he was truly happy. He looked truly happy today. “Again.” He glanced up toward the mountains in the distance and the darkening sky. “If you want to see those ruins, we’d better hurry.”
They’d gotten as far as the second stone wall when they heard it: a scream followed by the slap of flesh on flesh. They were deep in the woods now. No sun shone through the treetops, and moss covered the branches and rocks littering the ground. The trail had gone from well-maintained to serviceable to treacherous, and Allison was wondering whether they’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. They’d passed the cliffs and descended into a valley. The older stone wall lay ahead, its rocks weathered and its foundation crumbling, when the first scream startled them.
Jason put a warning hand on Allison. He pointed to the right, where the trail forked into a small cavernous enclave.
Allison frowned. She nodded her head in the direction of the noise.
Another slap. Another scream.
Allison started toward the sound, Jason following. While she hurried, she reached in her pocket for the Swiss Army Knife she’d carried ever since a murderous run-in a few years earlier. Better safe than dead.
Not that a knife would do much good.
Another scream. This one was higher pitched, ending in a moan.
Allison and Jason were just straining to see around the last green-crusted boulder when Allison realized—too late—what they were hearing. A twig snapped. She tried to mouth directions to Jason to head back to the trail, but he was plowing ahead. Wanting him to remain in her sight, she followed.
That’s when Allison saw them. They were in the middle of the small room created by two large trees and a low wall of boulders. The trees’ branches intertwined above them to create a canopy. Tall ferns shielded portions of the alcove from view. The mossy ground provided a base on which they’d placed a thick quilt. A bottle of champagne and two flutes sat upon the remnants of a flattened log.
She was on the bottom. Her heart-shaped face and long brown tresses were visible over his torso. Lara. Young, naked, limber, and in the throes of an illicit tryst. Because the man on top of her, with his dark cap of wavy hair and his well-toned, reddened shoulders, was not the aging Jeremy Khan.
Spotting Allison and Jason, Lara’s almond eyes widened. This time, her scream was real.
The man turned to look at the intruders. Allison didn’t wait to see his face. She ran, following Jason back toward the trail. She didn’t need to see his face. She recognized his broad back and the cut of his hair from the pool. Douglas Alden.
Lara and Douglas, having sex in the forest. Suddenly Shirin’s lack of enthusiasm for her husband’s outdoor interests made sense.
Allison slowed to catch her breath. She guessed Shirin’s message to her husband would have to wait.
NINE
They laughed the entire way back to the cottage.
“Well, that explains where Douglas was,” Allison said. She felt bad for Shirin, just as she would feel bad for any person whose partner was unfaithful. But the handbag designer hadn’t exactly won her over with her warm sense of humanity.
“With this whole castle available, you’d think they could find something closer.”
Allison thought of the champagne. “Clearly this wasn’t their first, um, outing.”
Jason nodded. “See, and we all think it’s great to be rich and famous. It’s not. It just distorts your sense of what’s important.”
Allison nodded. They’d reached the cottage patio and she was reaching for the back door. She was saying, “Although plenty of so-called normal people have affairs, too—” when the door swung open.
“Where have you been? I was waiting for you.”
A very irate Elle stood before them, hands on her hips, eyes popping. “Hilda told you I would be ready at three—”
Allison shot Jason a questioning stare. He shrugged. Alarmed, Allison asked, “Elle, where is Hilda?”
“She’s in there with your daughter.”
“Niece.”
“Niece.” The mention of Grace seemed to calm Elle down. “It’s after four thirty. Why are you so late?”
Allison took a deep breath. She wasn’t used to working with petulant children, and right now Elle sounded like a petulant child. But before she could confront Elle’s behavior, she needed to get out of her hiking clothes. She smelled of body odor and sunscreen, and there was a blister on her left heel the size of Ecuador.
“There must have been a miscommunication, Elle. The last we heard, you weren’t sure when you were coming down.”
“Hilda told you. Three.”
They were in the kitchen now. Allison could see Hilda over Elle’s shoulder. Clearly panic-stricken, the nurse pleaded with Allison with round, watery eyes.
“Yes, well. As I said, our fault. We must have—”
“It was me,” Jason said. “Hilda told me and I completely forgot to tell Allison. I was so caught up in the beauty of this place.” He smiled at Elle, one of his charm-the-jury boy-next-door smiles that never failed to work on women of any age. “I hope you won’t take my forgetfulness out on Hilda or Allison.”
The charm worked. Elle deflated before their eyes. “Of course. What’s an hour or two when we have weeks together?” She smiled. “Perhaps you have some time now, before dinner? I really need to talk to you. I’ll give you a chance to get cleaned up while I have a smoke on your patio.” She looked at Jason. “You don’t mind?”
“It’s your house.”
“Au contraire. For now, it’s yours.”
Once she was settled on the patio, Allison headed toward her bedroom for a quick shower and to change. She passed Hilda, who stopped her with a whispered, “Thank you.”
“She never told me three,” Hilda added quietly.
Allison wasn’t the least bit surprised.
“Let’s go see the horses,” Elle said.
She was wearing a pair of high canvas wedges and a crocheted micro-mini, so Allis
on wasn’t quite sure how she was going to traipse down the path that led to the stables. That question was answered in short order, though, when Dominic arrived a minute later. He drove the pair down in a golf cart. His driving was rather reckless. It felt as though he sped up over any bump or rock on the path, a tendency that Elle seemed to ignore.
“Here is fine,” Elle said when they got to the large barn that housed the horses. Dominic drove off without another word.
“My father owns all of them except Penny.” Elle pointed to a Palomino grazing alone on the outskirts of the pasture. “She’s mine.”
“Do you ride?”
“Not really.”
They were standing by the log fence that surrounded the acres and acres of grazing pasture. Elle put one leg on the fence and grabbed the rails with both hands. She threw her head back, and the wind fanned her stringy blonde hair in waves behind her. She closed her eyes.
“I wish it were sunny. I can’t seem to ever get warm.”
Allison turned her attention from her host to the darkening sky. The clouds that had been loitering around the mountain peaks all afternoon were gathering purpose, but the air was still warm. She had a hunch that Elle was talking about more than the temperature outside.
“I used to love it here,” Elle said. “Did you know Bidero has two names? Bidero is the Italian version; the Austrian name is simply Bider. I loved that it had two sides. Italian warmth and Austrian order, Damien used to say. He was only half right.” She opened her eyes. “I can’t feel the warmth anymore.”
There was pain in her voice, but Allison reminded herself that Elle Rose was an actress. And right now, Allison was in no mood for her emotional ramblings. She asked, “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Right to business?”
“It’s your clock, Elle.”
“If you can’t already tell, I don’t really care about money.” She wrapped skinny arms around her skinny chest. “That’s Michael’s role.”
“And what’s Elle’s role?”
“I guess that’s to be decided.”
Allison sighed. “You’re talking in riddles.”
Elle looked at her sharply. She half smiled, and her eyeteeth caught on her bottom lip. “Am I?” She threw her head back again, only this time she hoisted one leg up and over the split rail fence. She hopped down on the other side. “Are you coming?”
“Elle, we need to talk. If this is going to work, you need to commit.”
“Come with me and I’ll commit.”
“Come where?”
Elle pointed vaguely in the direction of her Palomino. “There.”
Allison saw horses and, beyond them, trees. In the far distance, an older couple, both in black, could be seen cutting hay with scythes along a narrow path of farmland. Other than a ramshackle outbuilding and a watering trough for the horses, there was no “there” for miles.
“We can talk right here, Elle.”
Elle shook her head. “Come with me. Then I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“I’m going back.”
Panic in Elle’s eyes. “To the U.S.?”
“To the cottage. For now.”
“What does that mean?”
Allison chose her words carefully. “Look, Elle, I don’t know what’s going on here. I’m not even sure you know what’s going on. You make appointments and cancel them. You’re moody. You seem to have absolutely no regard for anyone’s time. You say you want to reinvent yourself, but I feel as though you’re just playing with me. Like this is all a game.”
“I do want to change.”
“Really?”
Elle looked down at herself. Her skirt, which had ridden up when she jumped the fence, was torn in two places. Her tank top was stained, and her makeup—sloppy when she started—had smeared in the humidity of the afternoon. She shook her head slowly back and forth.
“You don’t know me.”
“That’s the problem. You’re not making any effort to help me get to know you.” Allison lowered her voice. Elle looked like a fawn about ready to bolt. “This won’t work if you don’t try.”
Elle pounded one hand against her thigh, over and over. Finally, with a rush of angry energy, she pulled her shoes off and turned in a huff. She stormed off across the pasture.
A drop of rain landed on Allison’s arm. Then another.
“Elle!” Allison called. Soon it would be pouring. But Elle didn’t respond. She zig-zagged her way toward a horse who didn’t seem all that anxious to receive her.
After a moment of hesitation, Allison turned back toward the path. It’d be a hike to get to the cottage, but she could call Dominic and have him pick up Elle. And then she’d start packing. Jason could head to Austria, and Allison would find a hotel or resort. They’d get married as planned, and then Allison could return to the States and her business. To people who wanted to work with her. As for the book deadline, she could write at home.
And Elle could continue whatever little decadent charade this was on her own time.
It was the right approach. Only Allison felt a stab of remorse. She was in this business to help people. Despite Elle’s recent behavior, she obviously needed help. Her erratic behavior, her lack of insight. It wasn’t Allison’s nature to turn away from someone in need, a trait that had landed her in trouble more than once.
TEN
“Why are you back so soon?” Jason asked.
Jason was packing. He stopped when Allison stormed into the bedroom. She grabbed her own suitcase from under the bed while recounting the basics of her discussion with Elle.
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little bit?”
Allison plopped down on the bed. “No, I don’t. You saw how irrational she was about the three o’clock appointment.”
“Maybe she did tell Hilda that. You only have one word against another.”
Allison considered this. “Maybe, but I doubt it. After everything, I tend to believe Hilda.” Allison stood, thinking of her conversation with Karina. Maybe something was happening to Elle. But what could she do about it? “Bottom line? Change requires commitment. Without commitment, I’ve got nothing to work with. I’ve tried that route. Remember Maggie McBride? Look where it got me.”
Maggie McBride had been a resistant client with difficult, overbearing parents. The relationship had warmed over time, but Allison had become embroiled in a murder investigation—and nearly lost her life. She kept in touch with Maggie, but change was slow for the teen. It had been an important lesson for Allison: transformation will come about only when someone is ready.
Thunder boomed in the distance. A flash of lightning lit up the afternoon sky through the open windows.
Jason pulled his shirt over his head. “Suit yourself. I’m going to shower. Join me?”
Allison studied her fiancé’s lean, muscular body. She was interested, but not right now. She needed to pack. See to Grace.
And call Dominic.
“In what direction did she go?” It was Michael, and he seemed worried. He paced back and forth on the grass outside of Allison’s cottage. The rain had finally stopped, and Michael lit up his fourth cigarette in twice as many minutes. “Into the woods?”
“I didn’t see. I told you, she wouldn’t come with me so I left without her.”
“You left without her.”
“Hey.” Jason took a step forward. “Allison’s a consultant, not a babysitter. Your sister—”
“Half-sister.”
“Half-sister, fine. Elle is a grown woman.”
Michael flipped his half-used cigarette into the grass, stepped on it and lit another. His crew-cut, hooded eyes, and boxer’s nose made him look more thug than businessman. His attitude gave him a dangerous air. He blew concentric smoke rings and watched them dissipate. Allison tried to see any
resemblance to Elle or Sam Norton. She was at a loss to identify physical similarities.
“Damn. If something happens to Elle, I’m holding this woman responsible.” Michael pointed at Allison, shook his head in disgust, and strode off toward the pool area.
“See what I mean,” Allison said.
“I do.” Jason rubbed the back of Allison’s neck, digging strong fingers into the knots of tension. “I don’t like the thought of leaving you here tomorrow.”
“I’ll call you when I know what I’m doing.”
Jason grew silent. His fingers continued to massage her neck, but Allison read the disapproval in his expression.
“You think I should stay.” It was a statement, not a question.
Jason took a while to respond. “I just don’t think you’ll be rid of this family that easily,” he said eventually. “They’re more like warts than blisters. Why not dig in your heels and give it a go? If she won’t cooperate, that’s on her. But at least she’ll be the one quitting, not you.”
As was often the case, Jason made a lot of sense.
Michael had left the pool and was heading toward the stables. As Allison watched him, she thought about Jason’s description. Wart was an apt analogy. Allison could already feel the roots, burrowing deep.
Vaughn called at seven. It was still light outside, and Allison had just returned from a walk around the perimeter of the property, looking for Elle. Jason was out with a larger search party scouring the woods beyond the stable.
“Do you have a few minutes?” Vaughn asked.
He sounded distracted and grouchy. Allison listened while he filled her in on all the ins and outs of First Impressions: who had requested more services, who was disputing a bill, who had asked Allison to speak.
“Are you writing?” he asked when he’d finished with the business summary.
“A little.”
“Well get on it. Your agent called. The publisher wants to push the release date up by three months.”
“No way.”
