Authors: Blush
As their voices grew more distinct, she realized they were moving around the room as they talked, nearing the gallery doorway. "You must have thirty or forty million dollars' worth of art in this room alone, " one of them said.
Gus grasped the balustrade to steady herself. She was afraid her heart might knock her over. She knew that voice, knew it as surely as she knew the bogeymen of her childhood nightmares.
Dead to life, a wilderness with everything of value scorched out of it, with nothing left but the ashes.
Oh, yes, she knew that voice. It belonged to the man she'd thought she'd left at the bottom of Scorpion Bay.
He'd survived. He was not only alive, he was here in her home, talking to... who? Who
was
he talking to?
Clinging to the railing, Gus made her way down the stairs and crept through the foyer to the gallery at the far end. The double doors of the room stood ajar, and she could make out Lake, her stepbrother, near the Renoir, but the man Lake was talking to had his back to her. She scrutinized his indigo shawl-collared jacket and khaki pants, his powerful shoulders and the black hair, custom-cut like a fighter pilot's. "Oh, my God, " she breathed, her darkest fears confirmed.
Her first reaction was to call the guards and have him thrown out, but she didn't dare. He could gut her plans with a casual inquiry: Lake, did you know your sister faked her own kidnapping?
"I'm surprised Gus didn't mention that I'm a specialist in security systems," Culhane was telling Lake. "Much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news, your collection is vulnerable. Even your guards are lax. I told them I was with the FBI, and they practically led me here by the hand. "
Lake seemed surprised at that, and amused. "You never mentioned you were a family member? Augusta's new husband?"
Jack laughed. "I didn't think they'd believe me since Gus wasn't with me. What was I supposed to tell them? That we got separated at the airport, and I missed the flight back? I doubted they'd buy that story, especially since it was true. "
Jack rubbed his neck, all very affable. "Besides I wanted to conduct a little test of my own. Gus had told me about the priceless family art collection, and I admit to being curious about how well secured it was. "
"Perhaps the guards were negligent," Lake conceded. "But this gallery is protected by a state-of-the art system. "
"State-of-the-art doesn't mean flawless. "
A Rodin statue in a glass display case stood in the center of the room, the showpiece of the collection. Jack turned to it as if to make a point, and then he saw her in the doorway. His eyes lit with an energy that was as sensual as it was challenging. The message they transmitted was
I'm alive and well, baby... and I'm coming to get you.
His mouth curved, but he said nothing. And though his nod to her was barely perceptible, the dark amusement in it made Gus's stomach twist. It was almost as if he'd known she was there all along, listening to his every word. Cold fear stole through her as she wondered if he'd been one step ahead of her the entire time, including her pathetic attempt to get rid of him in Baja. Was she the one being set up?
She ducked out of sight before Lake noticed her, but her heart was still wild. She had to concentrate to keep her balance as she made her way back up the stairway, and she had no idea what she was going to do next. She hadn't even had a chance to talk to Rob, but the thudding chaos in her chest told her two things. Culhane was more of a threat than ever, and she was still dangerously susceptible to him. The sneaky bastard could do more damage with those coal-black eyes of his than most men could with their hands, lips, and tongue combined.
As she hurried back to her room, she made herself one fervent promise. She was not going to let him wreck her life because he had nothing better to do than assuage his male ego. Her futile attempts to stop him had turned this into a deadly game, and she had no choice but to play it out. If she couldn't come to terms with him in some way, then the solution would have to be more extreme. Rob had arranged for a kidnapper; perhaps he could arrange for a hitman.
Gus was dizzy with fear and trepidation. She could hardly navigate as she opened the door to the blinding sunshine that flooded her bedroom, but what unnerved her even more was her own resolve. She had never been more serious in her life.
Well, well, well, look what the
brat
dragged in.
Sitting before a bank of video screens, Lake Featherstone folded his arms and settled back in the ergonomic desk chair to watch Jack Culhane step out of the shower and towel off. He admitted to being curious about the attraction this man held for his tempestuous stepsister, but he hadn't expected to get a urologist's eye view of the reason. Still, if Augusta had married Culhane for his spectacular plumbing, then why did she relegate him to Siberia, which was what the family called this particular guest bedroom?
It was one of several rooms in the house that were monitored by an elaborate video system, and though Lake had intended the system for security purposes, he felt completely justified in using it now. The recent kidnapping and breach of the mansion's external security had forced him to be more vigilant. If he couldn't trust the guards to keep tabs on their guests, he would have to do it himself. And why should the guards have all the fun anyway?
He smiled faintly at the irony, but the stirring of guilt he felt robbed him of any lasting pleasure. He'd never reconciled his need to invade the privacy of others, but he'd never been able to control it, either, and eventually, he'd stopped trying to suppress the urge. Something dormant came to life in this room, something powerful, a wild desire to know life's darkest secrets. Art was the only other outlet that had ever brought him this kind of excitement—an exquisite, irresistible work of art.
Unfortunately, the guilt was powerful, too. It stemmed from his having been caught spying on his parents' marital bed as a child. In his moral outrage the senior Featherstone had devised a punishment befitting the "perverted" crime, a corrective action that had humiliated Lake as much as it had disgusted him, and from that day forward Lake had secretly loathed his father with a frozen rage that had never thawed. His father had confused the issue by doting on Lake even more afterward, as if some new bond existed between father and son. That was when Lake had realized they were all perverted. Not
just
the Featherstone family— everyone—and that's when he'd given himself tacit permission to indulge his guilty pleasures.
Not that there'd been much of interest to watch until today.
Frances Brightly, the middle-aged minx, had an interesting way of pleasuring herself with a Waterpick appliance. But Augusta, well, she was a profound disappointment to him. He would have expected the bratwoman to provide endless hours of viewing entertainment, but she tended to turn pensive and childlike when she was in that silly, frilly room of hers. She did have an astonishingly great ass, though. That had given him a moment or two of gratification... before the guilt mined it for him.
His twin sister, Lily, was off-limits. He'd never had a camera installed in her room. That would have been too— Another smile flickered before he could control it. Too what?
Incestuous
wasn't quite the right word where he and Lily were concerned. His sister could be prim and fastidious to the point of annoyance, and yet at times so unexpectedly heedless, she shocked him. The Featherstones had always maintained a small stable of Morgans on the property for riding purposes, and Lily was very proprietary about the horses. She was an expert equestrian, but he'd once seen her nearly attack a recalcitrant animal with her riding crop. He could only imagine what her reaction to Jack Culhane would be.
Several things about Culhane intrigued Lake, not the least of which was his build. The man had a physique as twisted and tortured as one of Rodin's muscular statues. Lake had even noticed scars that looked like bullet holes, all of which gave the impression that Culhane was in some kind of magnificent agony. His facial features mirrored the torment, but not nearly as prominently as his body. Perhaps he'd learned to hide it behind those Loch Ness eyes. Augusta had married a frightening man. But why?
It was a question Lake intended to have answered.
Lake was also duly impressed by the man's technical knowledge. And he was aware of something disturbingly familiar about Culhane, although he didn't remember ever having met him. But most intriguing was the relationship between Augusta and her new husband. It wasn't a love match. They barely spoke, they weren't sharing the same room or bed. They weren't even in the same wing.
He hit a button on the control panel in front of him, activating the camera's zoom lens for a close-up of Culhane's face as he dressed. Dinner promised to be interesting. He'd decided to make it a celebration of Gus's marriage, and he planned to watch every move the newlyweds made and ask a few pertinent questions. Lake had assumed that the man in Gus's life was her manager, Rob Emory. Their relationship had never appeared to be a romantic one, but they did spend inordinate amounts of time together, and well, what else could anyone have thought? Instead, Gus pops up with this mystery man, who though admittedly handsome, gave a decidedly scruffy impression with his coal-black gaze, unshaven jaw, and barbed-wire hair. He looked rather like a thug in all honesty.
A flash of movement drew Lake's attention. Culhane had moved out of range, he realized. He hit another button on the console, which brought the lens back to wide angle and then he began to pan the room to see where the man had gone.
Interesting, Lake thought as several sweeps of the room failed to locate Culhane. It didn't look as if he'd left, because he wasn't showing up on the camera that monitored the hall- way or any of the other screens. Lake returned to the bedroom, intrigued by something he'd seen in one of the sweeps.
There was a duffel bag lying on the bed, but a shiny object half-hidden beneath it had caught his eye. It looked like a photograph, a little worse for the wear, but with the white edges and glossy finish of a snapshot. Curious, he zoomed in, expecting to see a picture of someone in Culhane's life. Instead, he discerned the frame of a painting, along with some of the elements of a typical still life—table and cloth, fruit and bowl—Jesus!
He rose abruptly, his legs locking up as the chair flew backward. Shock rippled up his spine, burning a path to the base of his skull. It couldn't be. It
couldn't.
He jammed the zoom control with his finger, but couldn't get close enough to see any more detail, and there wasn't enough of the picture visible to tell him if he was right in his suspicions. Still lifes were commonplace. Any amateur could paint one, but that didn't explain why Culhane was carrying around a photograph of one. Perhaps it was a painting he'd been hired to provide security for, but Lake wasn't satisfied with that explanation. It didn't ease the roaring in his ears or his chest.
All of his questions about Culhane took on a glaring immediacy. If he'd been curious about where the hell Gus had found him and what she wanted with him, he was burning now. More important, what was Culhane's agenda? What did he want with Gus? What did he want with the Featherstone family?
Lake glanced down at his watch and realized two things. It was time to dress, and yes, indeed, dinner was going to be very interesting.
Chapter 14
The drumfire of clicking fingernails startled Gus out of her simmering panic. She glanced up, stared at her pensive reflection in the vanity mirror, and had to fight the urge to slap herself into action. It was six p. m., time to make an appearance at dinner, and what was she doing? She was sitting at her dressing table in a blue silk Betty Crocker wraparound, clicking her fingernails against her teeth!
She rose from the bench and began to toy with her dress. She'd wanted to look conservative, but something about the neckline bothered her. It didn't fall right. It gapped.
The
coup de grace,
she thought as she undid the dress's fabric belt and refastened it. That was what awaited her downstairs. The deathblow to her dreams. Lake had decided a celebratory dinner was in order to introduce Gus's new husband to the family, and he'd invited several members of the Featherstone Board, including the chairman, Ward McHenry, to join them.
They might as well put her under a microscope with Jack
Culhane! Their every move would be observed by the people who held the fate of Gus's brainchild in their hands. As trust officer, McHenry controlled the pursestrings, but the others could—and did—influence his decisions.
One false step, one false word, and it was all over.
"Something's
wrong
with this skirt. " Anxiety wrung a sigh out of her. "What is it? The cut? The length?" She turned, catching her reflection from the side, then drew up the hem and sighed again. "I look like Lily!"
Perhaps she'd made a mistake in not going to Culhane and confronting him herself. At least then she would have known what she was up against. But the look on his face had warned her that he had something evil in mind,
something that would remind her why his mother had named him Satan.
She'd actually thought she might be safer with the family around, but that was before she'd known it was going to be a command performance.
She was also waiting to hear from Rob, but he hadn't returned her calls. God, she needed him now more than ever.
"It's the wraparound, " she declared, peering hard at her reflection and wondering why she hadn't seen it immediately. She was dressed to bake cookies! All she needed was an apron.
When she'd declared war against the bogeyman in her life, she'd adopted a persona, her own emotional armor, and a large part of that persona was
attitude.
It was time to bring the brat out of retirement, she decided. Nobody would have believed the Betty Crocker imitation anyway. Fortunately, her years on the runway circuit had made her a quick-change artist. All she needed now was the perfect kick-butt outfit.