The Private Eye (3 page)

The computer was a very positive sign, she told
herself. Perhaps Joshua January did know what he was doing, after all. “I've
heard that most modem investigations are done with computers.”

“I'm sure the old methods are still employed,” the Colonel
said. “No substitute for fieldwork, I expect. But there's no doubt computers
are the key to all the records that are maintained on people in this day and
age.

Yes, sir. Our man appears to know what he's doing.”

Maggie wondered if the Colonel would still fed that way
once he got a look at the crutches and bandages “our man” was currently sporting.
She turned and dashed out into the rain for another suitcase.

Five minutes later she had two suitcases, a garment bag
and the computer all safely in the hall. She eyed the stairs with a silent
sigh.

“Need a hand with those, my dear?” the Colonel inquired
gallantly.

“No, thanks. They're light as a feather.” Maggie managed
a bright, reassuring little smile. The Colonel, being the gentleman he was, was
more or less obliged to make the offer, but they both knew his doctor had
sternly forbidden him to put his bad back at risk. “I'll whisk them upstairs
and be back down in a few minutes. Mr. January said he would be delighted to
join us for dinner.”

“Excellent.” The Colonel turned and sauntered back into
the parlour.

Maggie waited until he was out of sight and then she
bent down to hoist the two suitcases. She staggered toward the stairs,
wondering if the weight of one of the bags was caused by a very large gun of
some sort.

At the second-floor landing she paused to catch her
breath and then took a fresh grip on the suitcases before plodding down the
hall to 210. January had been right, she reflected. The third floor would have
been a bit much.

A moment later she set the suitcases down a second time
and rapped sharply on the turret-room door.

“Hang on. I'll be there in a minute,” January growled
back.

Maggie used the short wait to catch her breath. By the
time the door was open a crack, she was no longer panting. But the sight of
Joshua January wearing only a towel around his lean waist and the remains of
some shaving cream on his face was enough to take her breath away all over
again.

“Oh, it's you.” Josh glanced at his luggage, reached
down and hauled first one and then the other suitcase into the room.

“I could have done that.” Maggie's mouth was suddenly
dry and her pulse seemed to be pounding as hard as it had when she'd climbed
the stairs with the suitcases. Then she noticed the huge dark, blotchy bruises
on his ribs and shoulder. “Good heavens! It must have been a really miserable
drive for you.”

He followed her gaze, glancing down at his chest.

“Bruises always look the worst a couple of day after
the accident.”

“Can I get you something?”

“A shot of whiskey and a decent meal when I get
downstairs will take care of everything. Where's my computer?”

“In the hall. I'll bring it and the garment bag right
up.” Maggie whirled and fled back down the corridor.

The sight of January's broad, muscled shoulders
gleaming in the soft light of his room was having an odd effect on her nerves.

Perhaps it had been the glimpse of the canopied
four-poster bed behind him that had created the disturbing sensation. The whole
scene had been far too intimate.

When she got the computer upstairs she knocked quickly.
“I'll leave it outside the door, Mr. January,” she shouted through the wood.
“See you downstairs.”

BACK IN THE BATHROOM, Josh scraped the rest of the
shaving cream off his jaw and listened to the sound of Maggie Gladstone's
footsteps scurrying down the hall.

Nice going, January. Apply the chill factor, why don't
you, and send the only interesting female you've encountered in God knows how
long running in the opposite direction.

His hunch had been correct. Maggie Gladstone might be a
spinster, but she sure as hell wasn't elderly. In fact, she was extremely attractive
in a rather unusual way.

There was a sweet, wide-eyed innocence about her, even
though she had to be close to thirty. He was willing to bet she'd been a
small-town girl all her life.

Maybe a schoolteacher or a librarian. She probably read
a lot of mystery novels and thought private eyes were the last of the paladin
kings – lone crusaders who fought for truth and justice on the side of the
little guy.

Definitely not his type.

Nevertheless, Josh could not deny he had felt an
almost-irresistible urge to thread his fingers through the mass of tawny curls
that had cascaded down Maggie's neck. She had looked sleek and lithe, yet
rounded in all the right places in that black jumpsuit she'd been wearing. He
was thinking about sex. He must be feeling better.

He gazed broodingly at his dark, forbidding reflection
in the mirror and wondered what the hell he had gotten himself into by
accepting this bizarre job in Peregrine Point.

He'd been crazy to let McCray talk him into it. Half
out of his mind from the painkillers they had given him at the hospital. That
was the only explanation.

He surveyed his bruised and battered body. None of the
damage was permanent. This time. But there was no getting around the fact that
a man who was about to turn the big four-oh didn't bounce back the way he would
have five, ten or fifteen years ago.

He was definitely getting too old to be dashing into
dark buildings after people who had no strong inhibitions about smashing other
people with tire irons, knives and assorted other implements of destruction.

Too old to play hero. When in hell was he going to learn?
Josh wondered grimly.

He stifled a groan as he leaned over the sink to rinse
the shaving cream from his face. Maybe this time he would need a month to recuperate,
just as McCray and the doctor had suggested.

And there was always the book. Josh reminded himself.
He needed to bite the bullet and take a crack at writing that mystery novel
he'd been contemplating for the past couple of years. Peregrine Manor was just
the kind of place where a man could settle in and find out whether he was meant
to be a writer.

Josh bit back a savage oath as he limped heavily out of
the tiny bathroom. The ankle was only sprained, not broken, but when he accidentally
jarred it, the damn thing seemed to ache a lot more than a fracture would have.
At least the bruises would fade in a few more days.

He gave the frivolous room a single, disparaging glance
and shook his head. The place looked like something out of a fairy tale with
its rounded tower walls, heavy velvet drapes and the gingerbread trim on the
furniture. The bed itself was an ornate monstrosity. Josh knew he was going to
feel like an idiot when he levered himself up into the thing via the little
wooden steps on the side. He wondered if the management would supply an
old-fashioned bed warmer at night.

For some reason that thought brought Maggie Gladstone
to mind again.

Josh jerked a suitcase up onto the silly-looking bed
and opened it. Inside he found a clean white shirt and a silk tie. There was a
fairly decent Italian jacket and a pair of slacks in the garment bag. It was
beyond him why anyone would bother to dress for dinner in a place like this,
but he was willing to go along with the program. Up to a point.

He grinned fleetingly at the thought of what Maggie
Gladstone's expression would be when she saw him wearing a pair of unlaced running
shoes with his Italian jacket and silk tie. There was no way he was going to
get a pair of dress shoes onto his still-swollen left foot.

Twenty minutes later, Josh made his way slowly and
carefully down the carpeted stairs. There was a tantalizing aroma in the hall
that indicated dinner was a real possibility. Things were looking up. He almost
regretted the way he'd snapped and growled at poor little Ms. Maggie Gladstone.

Then he reached the inn's front parlour, saw the rest
of his clients waiting for him and changed his mind again.

Maggie turned toward him at the sound of the crutches
on the hardwood floor. She gave him a polite but extremely wary smile. “Oh,
there you are, Mr. January. Allow me to introduce you. Mrs. Odessa Hawkins and
Miss Shirley Smith.”

“Ladies.” Josh inclined his head as he lowered himself
cautiously into a chair. “Call me Josh.” The two bright-eyed women on the sofa
twinkled at him.

“We are ever so grateful you were able to accept our
offer. Josh,” Odessa said with a gracious smile.

“You can say that again,” Shirley declared. The
rhinestones in her glasses flashed in the light as she examined the crutches
and bandages. “What the heck happened to you, anyway? Have a shoot-out with
some bad guys?”

“I had an accident,” Josh answered smoothly.

“Oh. Sorry about that.” Shirley looked disappointed.
“Thought maybe it was bad guys.”

Maggie took charge again, nodding at a patrician
looking gentleman with a magnificent white moustache and ramrod posture. “And
this is Colonel Amos Boone.”

“Retired,” murmured the old soldier as he strode
forward to shake Josh's hand. “U.S. Army. Everyone calls me the Colonel.”

“I see.”

“What sort of hand weapon do you favour, sir?” the
Colonel asked with professional interest. “Automatic pistol or revolver? Always
carried a Colt single action, myself. Back when I was on active duty, that is.”

“I'm not particularly interested in guns,” Josh
replied.

Maggie frowned. “You mean you don't carry one?”

“Not if I can avoid it. Which is most of the time,
believe me.”

The Colonel nodded wisely. “Martial-arts man, eh? Not
surprised. You've got the look. Always could tell those martial-arts types.”

Maggie's attractive mouth tightened as she gave the
crutches a pointed glance. She smiled a little too sweetly. “Let's hope that's
not his forte. Colonel. If it is, we're in trouble, aren't we? A martial-arts
expert on crutches does not inspire confidence.”

“Don't worry, Maggie,” Josh said very gently. “My
crutches have been licensed as lethal weapons.”

The Colonel cleared his throat and hastened to
interrupt before Maggie could respond to the goad. “I say, sir, what can I get
you to drink?”

“Whiskey, if you've got it.” Josh glanced doubtfully at
the liquor cabinet.

“Certainly, we've got it.” The Colonel opened one of
the doors on the cabinet and removed a bottle. “Good Tennessee sippin' whiskey.
Just the thing on a night like this.” He splashed a modest amount into a glass
and handed it to Josh with a flourish.

“Thanks.” Josh took a swallow and enjoyed the heat all
the way down. He caught Maggie studying him covertly. It was easy to read her
thoughts. He smiled blandly at her. “The answer is no.”

She blinked and Josh took some small satisfaction from
the flash of surprise in her eyes.

“I beg your pardon?” Maggie said.

“I said the answer is no, I am not a lush. Hard
drinking private eyes exist only in novels. Heavy drinking isn't conducive to
clever sleuthing, and we real-life types have a living to make. I hope you're
not too disappointed?”

“Relieved is the word,” she answered dryly.
“Discovering you had a drinking problem in addition to being accident-prone
would have been somewhat discouraging under the circumstances.”

“Yeah. I can sec that.” Josh leaned his head back
against the cushion and deliberately narrowed his eyes with lazy menace as he
watched her. He realized he was beginning to enjoy himself. He swirled the
whiskey in his glass and said absolutely nothing until Maggie began to fidget
uneasily. It didn't take long. The lady was out of her league when it came to
wars of nerve. “Now, then, suppose you all tell me just what it is you want
done in exchange for a month's free room and board?”

Maggie straightened her shoulders and fixed him with a
determined glare. “Now, see here, Mr. January. I have contracted for
first-class professional investigative services. We expect an investigator who
is fully capable of taking on the responsibilities of this job. Do you really
believe you can handle this assignment in your present condition?”

Josh smiled slowly. “You get what you pay for, lady.
And believe me, for what you're paying, I'm the best that's available.”

Chapter 2

Maggie did not like Josh's smile. It made her more uneasy than ever.
It also made her angry. It occurred to her that her emotions had been all over
the place in the short time January had been at Peregrine Manor. In the past
forty minutes she had experienced everything from hopeful expectation to
extreme irritation. Somewhere in the middle, she was forced to admit, there had
also been a powerful element of pure, physical attraction.

Physical attraction was all it could be, she assured
herself firmly. The man was certainly not going out of his way to endear
himself to her. In fact, it would take very little at this point to make her
dislike him intensely.