Authors: Jayne Castle
He wondered what she was doing at this particular moment. Eating, probably. He glanced at his watch. No, by now she would have finished eating. It was almost seven thirty.
Why hadn’t she wanted him there tonight? He had to face the fact that he might have worn out his welcome. Zac took another sip of tequila, and when he was tired of confronting that fact, he went on to the next fact, which was that Guinevere Jones had said she loved him. She belonged to him.
Maybe she just wanted some time to herself. Everyone needed time alone. She was right, he had practically moved in with her lately, and she wasn’t accustomed to having a man in the house. Of course, the reverse was true, too. He wasn’t accustomed to living with a woman. They both had adjustments to make. They both needed time to make those adjustments. Perhaps he had been rushing things lately, but it had all seemed so right.
But tonight everything seemed very, very wrong. He didn’t like the feeling. There was the same sense of wrongness he felt when a case was going sour. But this hardly constituted a Free Enterprise Security case. This was Guinevere Jones.
Zac’s mind jumped to the matter of the cigarette butt in Guinevere’s garbage. That led to the memory of her tension last night. She had even been tense in bed for a while. He hadn’t tried to make love to her. Instead he had pulled her close, his arm wrapped around her bare waist, and just held her. Eventually she had fallen into a heavy sleep. When he knew for certain she was no longer awake, he, too, had been able to sleep.
The vague tension he had sensed in her last night was nothing compared to the tension that had gripped her this afternoon when he had phoned her at home. Hell, if it were any other woman, he would have thought he’d interrupted an afternoon tryst with a lover.
The tequila in his glass slopped onto the coffee table as that last thought flashed through his mind. No. Not Guinevere. She wouldn’t do that to him.
The memory of cigarette smoke drifted through his mind again, nagging at him, refusing to let go.
She wouldn’t betray him with another man. She would be totally honest. She would tell him if she had fallen in love with someone else.
Unless she sensed how hard he would fight to keep her from walking out of his life.
She would still be honest. It was her nature.
This was getting him nowhere. He was a patient man, Zac told himself. A slow, patient, plodding man. Hell, the people he’d once worked with had called him the Glacier. But he had his limits. Zac set down the tequila glass and got to his feet. Taking his windbreaker out of the hall closet, he opened the door, went out into the hall, and took the elevator down to the lobby.
Out on First Avenue he caught a bus that took him to Pioneer Square. He got off near Guinevere’s apartment house and stood on the sidewalk looking up at her window. The arched panes of glass were dark. If she wasn’t home, he’d go out of his mind.
He used the key she had given him to let himself inside the apartment house door, and then he steadily climbed the two flights to Guinevere’s door. When he stood outside her apartment, he hesitated a moment, listening. Slowly he inserted his key into the lock.
Guinevere was stricken with a curious sense of inevitability when she heard the key turn in the lock. She didn’t move, but she turned her head to look at him as he opened the door. She hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, and in the shadows he seemed to fill the doorway. Carefully she set down her half empty wineglass. She couldn’t find any words, so she stared mutely. It was Zac who spoke first, not moving from the threshold.
“You want to tell me what this is all about?” he asked, far too softly.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I love you,” she whispered hoarsely.
“Then you have to tell me,” he said simply. He still didn’t move. “I’ll go crazy if you don’t.”
“You’ll despise me if I do.”
Unexpectedly he smiled at that. “You know that’s not true.”
She shook her head helplessly. “Please go away, Zac.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
She caught her breath.
You won’t be able to trust him
. “She said I wouldn’t, you know. That afternoon when I had the psychic session with Madame Zoltana, she said I would be afraid to trust you when the chips were down.”
“And are you?” he asked heavily.
She considered the question for the thousandth time. “It isn’t exactly a question of trust.”
“Isn’t it?”
Guinevere looked down at the envelope on the coffee table. “Yes,” she said quietly, “I guess it is.” She stood up, the sense of inevitability stronger than ever. There really was no alternative. Zac had to know, and she had to face his reaction, whatever it might be. She picked up the envelope and held it out to him. “I love you, Zac.”
He closed the door and came forward to take the envelope from her hand. “I know,” he said. Then he calmly reached out and switched on a lamp. He turned the envelope upside down, spilled the photos and the typed message out onto the table, and stood quietly looking down at them.
Guinevere looked down at the damning evidence, too, her emotions as chaotic as if she were seeing the photos for the first time. Her voice stark, she said, “They’re fakes, Zac. I have never been to bed with Rick Overstreet. I swear I would never betray you with him.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Zac asked with a curious half smile.
She looked at him, the emotional trauma of the past few hours plain in her eyes. “Oh, Zac!” Then he was holding out his arms, and she was throwing herself against the safety of his chest, burying her face against his shoulder. She felt his arms tighten around her protectively, felt the strength in him, and then she was crying again. But this time the tears were the healing kind.
Zac held her for a long while, his hands moving on her back with strong, soothing movements that seemed to comfort him as much as they did Guinevere. He cradled her close until the tremors stopped shaking her body. Finally Guinevere lifted her head and looked up at him, her eyes still damp.
“I’m sorry, Zac. When I got home this afternoon and found those pictures, it was just more than I could handle. I couldn’t think straight—couldn’t think how to explain them to you. I was sure you would take one look at them and that would be the end of everything.”
“That, sweetheart, is why blackmail often works. The victim is sure that if the secret is revealed, it will be the end of everything.”
“But, Zac, there’s no secret. It’s all a fake. Photographic tricks.”
“I know.”
“But how can you be sure?” Guinevere wailed, irrationally upset by his calm acceptance of the horror that had nearly driven her out of her mind that afternoon. “You barely glanced at them. And even if you study them you can’t tell where the photos of the heads were joined to the bodies. I know—I’ve been studying them for hours.”
“Gwen, my love, you wouldn’t do that to me. If you had fallen for someone else, you’d make a clean break with me first. You wouldn’t betray me.”
“I know, but . . .”
His mouth crooked faintly at the corners, and he reached down and scooped up one of the photos. “And even if I weren’t such a trusting soul, I do have eyes and a very vivid memory. I know every square inch of your sweet body, Guinevere Jones, and this ain’t it. Whoever posed for the nude portion of this shot is a little too big on top and much too small on the bottom.”
“What?” Guinevere tore her gaze from his face to look at the picture. In the photo, the man’s hand was cupping the woman’s breast, and there was no doubt that there was a fair amount of bosom left over. When Zac’s hand covered Guinevere’s breast, he cupped the whole of it in his fingers. Guinevere was not built like a centerfold model. She smiled mistily as she met Zac’s eyes again. “Are you saying I’m flat-chested and plump in the rear?”
“I’m saying you’re perfect the way you are,” Zac said diplomatically, shoving the photos back into the envelope. “Do you mind if we put these away for now, and talk about them later? I’ve had a very difficult afternoon.”
“Because of me?”
He nodded solemnly. “Because of you. Don’t ever do that to me again, honey. I couldn’t take it.”
“Zac, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve been so scared.”
“You should have told me immediately what had happened.” He cradled her face between his palms, his eyes intent and serious. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes. Now I do. But I was in shock most of the afternoon. I couldn’t seem to think straight.”
“And you’re still used to handling your problems on your own, aren’t you?”
“I suppose so. Not that I was doing much of a job handling this one. My God, Zac, now I know what poor Sally Evenson must have felt like when she got her note from Madame Zoltana. It’s the most incredibly helpless sensation. You just want to reach out and kill the blackmailer.”
Zac paused. “An interesting thought.”
Guinevere tilted her head, not understanding. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. It’s an interesting thought. But we will pursue it later, along with a few other outstanding questions.”
“What questions?”
“Never mind. They can wait. Right now I can’t. I am going to take you to bed, Guinevere Jones, and together we are going to reassure each other.”
“Are we?” She smiled tremulously as his big hands slid over her shoulders and down to her waist.
“Can you think of anything else you’d rather do?”
“No.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Love me, Zac. I’ve never felt as alone as I did this afternoon.”
“Neither have I.”
He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, not bothering with the light. “Undress me, Gwen,” he muttered as he began removing her clothing. “Undress me and tell me how much you want me.”
“More than anything else in the world,” she answered tightly as the melting heat flooded her body. She felt her shirt fall from her shoulders, and then he was cupping her small breasts, his fingers enclosing her completely. His palms moved tantalizingly on the nipples, coaxing them into tingling firmness.
Guinevere sighed and leaned against his chest as she pushed off his shirt. She threaded her fingers through the curling hair that tapered down to his flat, strong stomach. She could feel the hardness of him through the fabric of his slacks. His hands went around her, urging her close until the waiting heaviness of him was pressed against her soft thighs.
“I want you, Gwen.”
“I know,” she whispered as he tugged her jeans and panties down over her hips. Then he was lowering himself slowly to his knees, his mouth moving over her breasts and soft belly until her senses were reeling.
“Ah,
Zac
.” She inhaled sharply when he dipped his fingers between her legs and found the warm, silky moisture that betrayed her readiness. She steadied herself, her fingertips digging into his broad shoulders, as she felt his mouth in a stunningly intimate kiss. “Oh, my darling!”
“Come to bed, sweetheart. It’s been a long day.” He rose slowly, stepping out of his slacks. Gently he tumbled her down into the sheets and came down beside her, one thigh anchoring her firmly beneath him. “Wrap yourself around me and tell me I’m home.”
“You’re home, Zac. So am I.”
Her fingers flicked along his hot skin, seeking the thrusting contours of his back and hips. When he pushed her thighs apart with one hand and settled himself between her legs, she urged him closer with eager hands. She loved the heavy weight of him along her body, loved the full, waiting male power in him. Most of all, Guinevere realized, she loved Zac Justis.
He came to her with a sure, surging strength that filled her completely, unleashing the exciting, twisting rhythms of her own body. She moved beneath him, glorying in the almost savage force of his possession. Her nails bit into his back with feminine hunger. Guinevere gave herself completely when she gave herself to Zac, and he responded just as totally. Neither of them held back anything during these wild, sweet moments of physical union.
When the culmination overtook them, it did so almost simultaneously. Guinevere was unaware of how Zac made himself wait so that he could watch the passion in her face as she cried out his name, but she heard his echoing response a moment later and felt the shudders of his hard, solid body.
When it was all over, Guinevere turned and nestled against Zac’s warm body, content at last and ready for sleep.
“Not just yet, Gwen,” Zac said quietly. “You can sleep later. Right now we’re going to talk.”
Chapter Seven
“
Who is Rick Overstreet?” Zac asked. “I’d like the whole story this time.”
Guinevere stirred in the cradle of his arm. “Do we have to talk about him now?”
“Mmm. I think so, yes.”
She sighed, knowing there was no way of postponing the discussion. When Zac asked a direct question in that tone of voice, he didn’t let go until he had the answer. Guinevere knew better than to argue. “Rick Overstreet was a mistake.”
“An old lover?” His voice was almost perfectly neutral.
“No. I told you, I’ve never been to bed with him. Not recently and not two years ago when I met him. But I dated him for a while. I met him while working at the company he was with at the time. I was with a temp firm. It was shortly before I opened Camelot Services. Rick can be very . . .” She broke off, looking for the right word. “Very charming. He has a way of casting out lures to women. Two years ago, I suppose I had hopes that something more might develop between us.”
“What happened?”
“I found out that he was married. He hadn’t bothered to inform me of that fact. When I realized he’d lied to me and saw him for what he was, I told him I had no intention of being the other woman.”
Zac considered that for a long moment. “Didn’t he tell you he was on the verge of divorcing his wife? That’s the usual line in a situation like that.”
“It wouldn’t have made any difference, because I’d never marry a man who divorced his wife because of me. But now that you mention it, no, he never did try that line. Maybe he realized it wouldn’t have worked. I was very angry at the time, and I made it very clear I never wanted to see him again.”
“He let you go without a fight?” Zac sounded skeptical.
Guinevere smiled, her lips moving slightly against his chest. “Not everyone is as tenacious as you are.”
“I wouldn’t have let you walk out that easily.”
She lifted her head and looked down at him. “You wouldn’t have lied to me about a wife in the first place.”
“No,” he agreed, watching her face. He was quiet for another long moment. “You ran into Overstreet again at Gage and Watson, didn’t you?”
Guinevere nodded. “I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later. Seattle isn’t that big, and I have contacts with many of the companies with offices downtown. As long as he and I were both working in downtown Seattle, the possibility of running into him existed. Frankly, I hadn’t worried about it, because I hadn’t given him much thought in the past two years. He hadn’t thought about me very often, either, as far as that goes. He admitted it. A lot of things happened to him shortly after I stopped seeing him. He got distracted, I suppose. And then, knowing him, there would have been other women closer at hand than I was.”
“What kind of things distracted him?”
“Well, his wife died, for one thing. And he got a new job. The position at Gage and Watson, I guess. I don’t know what else might have happened. I haven’t talked to him that much. Just a few times in the hall at Gage and Watson.”
“So he wrote you off until he ran into you again at Gage and Watson. Did he tell you right away that his wife had died?”
“Well, yes,” Guinevere admitted.
“And then he decided to see if he could pick up where he left off two years ago.”
“I told him I wasn’t interested,” Guinevere said earnestly, alarmed by the emotionless tone of Zac’s voice. “It was the truth.”
He looked at her through lazily lowered lids, which concealed the expression in the ghost-gray eyes. “But he’s still trying?”
Guinevere took a deep breath. “I think he sees me as a challenge now. Unfinished business. He came over here last night, before you got here.”
“I know.”
Guinevere’s eyes widened. Then she nodded slightly. “Yes, you do, don’t you? I should have known.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wasn’t sure what you would do. I was afraid things might get violent if you knew he was pestering me. I didn’t want you involved in a brawl on my behalf. I also felt that Rick Overstreet was my problem, something I had to handle. I’m a big girl, Zac. I’m supposed to be able to handle my own problems. And I
am
dealing with him.”
“The hell you are. He’s hunting you. I saw his face the other day when you got off the elevator with him. And now he’s come to your apartment.”
“I threw him out!”
“Next time I’ll throw him out,” Zac told her evenly. “That should settle the matter.”
“Zac, you make me sound like a stupid, silly little female who can’t handle a man who’s making a pass.” Guinevere realized she was beginning to sound shrewish. “I’m thirty years old, and I am not weak or stupid or silly. Furthermore, I do not want any violence. Do you understand?”
“Let’s forget that subject and go on to the next.”
“Which is?” she asked, suspiciously, not ready to let go of the first topic of discussion.
“Those pictures in the envelope.”
The fight went out of Guinevere. She collapsed against him. “My God, Zac, I thought I was going to be sick when I saw them. I never knew how bad blackmail really is. It hits you right in the stomach. When I think of all the little lectures I gave Sally, I get thoroughly disgusted with myself. I didn’t really understand what she was going through.”
“Don’t knock your little lectures to Sally. From what you’ve told me, they helped her a great deal. She was actively helping us find Francine Bates’s sister, wasn’t she? She has the feeling that something is being done. She’s fighting back. That’s the important thing, Gwen.”
“You’re right. It’s the feeling of being totally helpless that gets you. Like I said, I just wanted to commit murder.”
“Yes. The thought has crossed my mind more than once this evening. Gwen, if it’s crossed our minds, I’m sure the solution has occurred to a few other people, too.”
“What do you mean?”
Zac crooked an arm behind his head, his brows meshing into a thick line above his narrowed eyes. “Maybe Madame Zoltana is lying low because she’s nervous about one of her ‘clients’ doing something drastic.”
“You read that note she sent. She wants me to stop making inquiries.”
“Which means,” said Zac, “that she knows you’ve been making them. She also knows something about you and Rick Overstreet. At least, she knew enough to use him in her threat. She must have realized that photos of you with that particular man would really upset you, because you had a link to him in the past. You must be right about her having an insider at Gage and Watson.”
“I suppose anyone could have seen me talking to Rick in the hall at work and then seen me with you. Whoever saw me could have put two and two together. It’s even possible Rick made some comment. I wouldn’t put it past him to . . . to imply things to other men. You know what I mean.” Guinevere paused a moment. “I get a little nervous around Rick,” she went on in a low voice. “I don’t like him. Someone might have noticed that I wasn’t comfortable with him and decided to use the information somehow. I still think the most likely candidate is Francine Bates.”
“We’ll see what we can find out in the morning.” Zac’s voice changed abruptly, returning to normal. Gently he lifted her aside and pushed back the sheet. “Hungry?” He slapped her lightly on her lush rear.
Guinevere blinked. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Well, I am. I didn’t have dinner tonight. Too busy sitting alone in my apartment stewing over you. I’m going to fix myself a bite to eat. Taking you to bed always gives me an appetite.”
Guinevere smiled, watching him as he walked across the room to retrieve his Jockey shorts. Then he disappeared into the bathroom. She liked the solid, hard planes of his body. There was something very substantial about Zac, both physically and mentally. She got to her feet and reached for a robe.
A few minutes later she found him in the kitchen, slicing cheese and arranging crackers on a plate. He was eating a saltine as he worked. She watched him from the doorway for a moment.
“Thank you, Zac,” she said softly.
He looked up, still munching. His ghost-gray eyes were full of the rare warmth he reserved for her alone. “For what?” he asked around the cracker.
“Believing me.”
He swallowed the cracker. “Next time something like this happens, keep in mind that you could tell me the IRS is a benevolent association devoted to the preservation of hamsters, and I’d believe you.” He popped another cracker into his mouth.
Guinevere came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I love you, Zac.”
He turned around, smiling, and shoved a cracker into her mouth. “I love you, too. Let’s eat.”
***
After a fairly lengthy drive, Zac and Guinevere reached the coast around nine o’clock the next morning, and sometime later they finally found the Bates cottage. It took three stops to ask directions and several wrong turns, but at last Zac was parking the Buick on the side of the road in front of the weathered gray structure. He sat for a moment with his hands on the wheel, studying the house.
The cottage was quite isolated. It sat alone on a bluff overlooking the ocean. There was a thick group of trees to the rear that marched up a hill and disappeared on the other side. A car was parked out front.
“I think the best way to handle this is the straightforward approach,” he finally said. “I could pretend to be an insurance salesman or something, but I think that would be a waste of time.”
“Do you think anyone’s at home?” Guinevere peered at the cottage windows.
“I think so. Let’s go.” He got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side to open Guinevere’s door.
The brisk breeze off the sea caught her neatly bound hair as she stepped out of the Buick, sending wispy little tendrils fluttering around her face. Guinevere automatically put up one hand to keep the hair out of her eyes as she followed Zac to the front door.
It took three knocks before anyone answered. The woman who reluctantly opened the door appeared to be in her late fifties or early sixties and resembled Francine Bates. She wore her blond-tinted hair in a short, curling bob, and looked at Zac with suspicious eyes.
“Yes? What do you want?” she asked bluntly.
“We’re here to see Francine Bates. Please tell her it’s important and that we won’t be leaving until we’ve talked to her.”
“She’s not here.” The woman tried to close the door but found its progress impeded by the presence of Zac’s foot. “Now, look here, mister—”
“Justis is the name. Zachariah Justis. My friend here is Guinevere Jones. Francine knows her.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything. I’ve told you my sister isn’t home!” The woman looked desperately at Guinevere, as if hoping she would find the woman less implacable than the man. “Please, I’m telling you she isn’t here. I haven’t seen her in ages. She lives in Seattle.”
Guinevere sensed the near hysteria in her voice and moved closer, smiling gently. “It’s all right, Miss Bates. I only want to talk to your sister. It’s very, very important. We’ve been trying to find her for several days. Please help us.”
“What’s going on here?” the woman demanded shrilly. “I tell you, I’ve had it with all this nonsense. I can’t take any more. Now, get out of here and don’t come back, do you hear me?”
Guinevere sensed Zac was about to move forward aggressively. She put her hand on his arm and spoke again soothingly to the woman. “Please, Miss Bates. We must talk to her. A great deal depends on what she can tell us about Madame Zoltana.”
The older woman opened her mouth to protest once more, but her words were cut off by another voice. Francine Bates appeared behind her sister, her face drawn and tense. She looked at Guinevere, ignoring Zac.
“It’s all right, Denise. I knew that sooner or later someone would find me,” she said wearily. “Let them in. I’ll talk to them.”
There was a moment of silent tension as the four people regarded one another, and then Denise opened the door to admit Zac and Guinevere. She stood stiffly aside as they entered.
“Sit down,” Francine said quietly. “Denise, would you fix us all some tea?”
Denise hesitated, her eyes on her sister. Then she turned and marched into the kitchen.
Guinevere glanced around at the comfortable old cottage, with its old-fashioned, slightly shabby furniture and the amateurish seascapes on the walls. She sank into the depths of the sofa, and Zac sat down beside her. Francine sat across from them, still looking only at Guinevere.
“You’ve found me,” Francine said finally. “What do you want?”
It was Zac who responded, hard, his voice dark. “Some answers.”
Francine nodded to herself. “Yes, I guess you do. I wish I had all of them.”
Guinevere leaned forward. “Francine, tell me. Were you Madame Zoltana’s inside woman at Gage and Watson? Was it you who told her who I was and gave her the kind of information she needed to impress her clients?”
Francine’s mouth tightened. Her hands clenched in her lap. “It seemed harmless at first,” she finally whispered. “Just a game. Everyone got a kick out of it.”
“And Madame Zoltana split the twenty dollar fees with you?” Zac asked, hazarding a guess.
Francine flashed him a quick glance and nodded. “I realized it was getting to be more than a clever little game, but somehow I couldn’t stop it. Zoltana seemed to have certain people hooked. She kept making them return, and the fees she charged got higher. But people like Sally and Ruth seemed to want to go back to her.”
“How did you meet her?” Guinevere asked kindly.
Francine sighed. “By accident. I went to her myself one day for a psychic reading. I was just curious, you understand. I don’t really believe in that stuff. But she was good. Very clever. I was intrigued. When it was over, she suggested I tell some of my friends at work. She said she would give me a finder’s fee for every new client I sent to her. I didn’t see anything wrong with that, so I agreed. I got a fee even if someone else made the appointment for a new client, the way Ruth did with you.”
Zac shifted slightly on the old sofa. “But things got more complicated, right? The next thing you knew, she was asking you for information about the clients before she gave them their sessions.”