The Quiet Seduction (7 page)

Sanders didn't give it so much as a glance. “How's the boy? He's what—about nine now?”

“He's fine.” Pete was eight. She didn't bother to correct him.

Sanders nodded, then sauntered across the room to claim the chair Storm usually sat in. Jake's chair.

“Glad to hear it. Your father sent him a football and some video games.”

“Pete likes baseball. He doesn't have time for video games.”

“Doesn't have time?” One of Sanders's blond, well-groomed eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “Surely he's not in school that long. Don't you have Christmas holidays coming up soon?”

Storm stood in the hall and looked from one to the other, watching the duel to see who drew first blood. His money was on Ellen.

“He has chores. And homework, even during the holidays. And anyway, he'd rather be outdoors riding or shooting baskets than holed up in the house with a…a gadget.”

“Oh, Ellen, sweetheart, you've been out here in the boonies too long. Some of these little gadgets, as you call them, cost more than—”

“I don't care how much they cost, Greg. You can go back and report to my father that we're fine, just fine. We don't need his money, we don't need his gifts, we don't need anything.”

Way to go, lady, Storm applauded silently.

“Did you know your father had remarried recently?”

“I don't keep up with his social life.”

“No, I don't suppose you do.”

As Storm watched the sportily dressed man, noting his swift surveillance of the comfortable if slightly shabby room, another piece of the puzzle came into focus. There was no mistaking the disdain he saw on features that might have been called patrician in another era. Personally, he preferred to call them arrogant, even somewhat effeminate.

So he was good at reading expressions. It was a skill that might serve him well if he happened to be a dealer in a gambling casino or a professional fortune-teller.

Which, for all he knew, he might be.

Turning away, he left to go make coffee before he said something he might regret. Or rather, that Ellen might regret. He was on shaky enough ground here without making things worse.

He lingered in the kitchen until the coffeemaker signaled its readiness, then carried the tray into the living room. Conversation ceased abruptly when he entered. He probably should have found some excuse to leave again, but for some reason he felt like staying close.
Hey, don't mind me, folks, I'm harmless.

He didn't feel harmless. No way.

Sanders asked about her stock, and she told him about the horses. “I know it's not an ideal mix—we wanted four mares and a stallion, but while we were looking this lot went on sale at a price that was too good to pass up. Jake said we'd need the geldings for riding anyway. So we're starting with just two mares for now. We'll pick up more stock as soon as I can—”

Afford it, Storm filled in mentally.

“—add onto the horse barn,” Ellen finished.

Sure we will. No problem.

Storm knew most of the story by now and could guess at the rest. Just about the time Wagner had bought the first of his stock and got them settled in, repaired the barn, built new stalls, patched up the fences and improved the pastures, the bottom had fallen out of their world. After that, every penny had been designated for Wagner's medical treatment. Veterans' benefits would stretch only so far.

Sanders plucked the creases in his madras slacks and crossed his long legs. He wore loafers. “Do you remember the year we all went to the derby?” he drawled. “You were what, about sixteen then?”

Sixteen. Storm tried to picture her at that age. She probably hadn't been a knockout. Gawky, young for her age, probably shy. Some girls matured later than others. Odds were, she'd been a late bloomer.

“No, I don't remember.”

And then his eyes narrowed. Either he was getting some mixed signals or he'd lost more than his memory. Ellen didn't want to talk over old times with this guy. Didn't want to talk about anything, if he was reading her correctly. She was getting antsy, and that wasn't like the calm, capable woman he had come to know and admire.

So he jumped into the conversation. “Did you hear about the twister that came through here last week? Any tear through your neighborhood?” It was a leading question. He wasn't sure where he wanted it to lead. Out the front door, preferably.

“I heard about it. The networks all covered it pretty thoroughly. I happened to be watching— Actually, I was out in San Diego at the time. The tennis match, you know? Looks like you got lucky here, El.”

Ellen caught his eye, and Storm was amazed to see
a slight smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “Indeed,” was all she said.

Storm leaned back in the Boston rocker and sipped his coffee. Like cooking, he hadn't stopped the first time to wonder whether or not he knew how to brew the stuff, he'd just done it. Damned good coffee, too, if he did say so.

“Why don't I unload the things your father sent and you can go through them at your leisure?” Sanders asked.

“No.”

“That's it? You won't reconsider? Ellen, the man is your father. He's not getting any younger. Don't you think—”

“My father knows how I feel about his…his generosity. Maybe his new bride can play with the video games when she's not shopping.”

“Ouch,” Sanders said softly.

Zinger, Storm thought admiringly.

“You always did have a way with words. Well, I suppose I'd better be leaving. Dinner date—the mayor, a state senator, the usual suspects. You know how boring these things can be.”

She did?

The newcomer sent him a somewhat puzzled glance, which Storm returned with equanimity. “Haven't we met before, Hale? The name doesn't ring any bells, but I could swear I've seen you somewhere. Do you play golf?”

Storm sat up and carefully placed his cup on a side table. “Not much time for golf lately, I'm afraid,” he said, implying that he might or might not have played in the past. Hell, how did he know whether or not he
played golf? Put a club in his hand and maybe something would register.

Sanders nodded. “I'm playing in that fund-raiser at the Lone Star Country Club. I do a lot of that sort of thing. Good business, you know. For some reason, you looked familiar, but then, you meet so many people.”

“Yeah, you do, don't you?”

“What did you say you did, Hale?”

“Actually, I don't believe I said, but I'm a writer. Fiction.”

“Anything I might have read?”

“I doubt it. I write romances.”

Ellen choked on her coffee, and by the time she could speak again, Sanders was at the door. Having whacked her on the back a couple of times, Storm let his arm rest on her shoulder as they saw the visitor off. As she didn't protest, he figured she needed all the support she could get.

What he needed was answers. One way or another, he was going to have them.

They watched the heavy black sedan drive off, scraping the tailpipe on some of the deeper ruts, then wordlessly, they turned back inside. Ellen collected the cups and spoons and placed them on the tray. Storm took the tray and headed for the kitchen. She followed him, frowning slightly.

“That was…interesting,” he observed, returning the cream to the refrigerator.

“Oh, go ahead and say it. He's a shallow, pretentious jerk. He's always been a shallow, pretentious jerk, probably always will be. And you're wondering who he is and what he was doing here, and how on earth I ever came to know someone like him.”

That wasn't exactly what he was wondering, but it
would do for a start. “He's your father's business associate, right? And you've known him ever since you were sixteen? That's reason enough for him to look you up while he's in the neighborhood.” He'd be willing to bet it wasn't the whole story, though. The undercurrents would have defeated an Olympic-class swimmer.

She forced a smile. “I haven't seen Greg in— Goodness, it's been almost twelve years.”

Storm remained silent. A question now would be counterproductive, and for some reason he wanted to know more about the man, more about their relationship—their former relationship—and why the guy had turned up just now. On the surface it had been a simple friendly visit. He'd been in the neighborhood, hadn't seen her in a long time. Perfectly natural for him to drop by. And incidentally, drop off a few gifts from her father.

But if he was a business associate of her father's, why hadn't they seen each other in years? Why was it she couldn't afford to replace rotten fence posts or hire someone to do a few simple repairs around the house, while her father's associate dined with politicians and drove a late-model luxury sedan.

Why did she refuse to even look at whatever it was her father had sent? Something more than a few toys, he suspected.

She reached for the coffeepot, poured herself another half cup and spooned in more sugar. “You're probably wondering about a few things.”

“You could say I'm mildly curious.”

“I could tell you it was none of your business, too, but—”

“But rudeness isn't your style.”

Looking up, she smiled, but the smile didn't quite make it as far as her eyes. “In case you hadn't noticed, I don't have a style. I'm sorry if Greg made you uncomfortable. Maybe you should have told him about your amnesia and questioned him, since he seemed to recognize you.”

“Funny thing—and don't ask me how I know this—but there are some people I'd as soon not be recognized by, if you'll forgive the terminal preposition.”

Ellen had known for days that she'd have to tell him. She'd been waiting for an opening, for a good time. There was no good time, and this was as close to an opening as she was likely to have. “Storm, there's something you need to know.”

And so she told him. After describing both men and repeating verbatim everything that had been said—she'd gone over it so many times in her mind that remembering was no problem—she waited for him to explode.

“Harrison,” he said after a long silence. “J. S. Harrison, as in Jason Spencer Harrison.”

Leaning forward, Ellen nearly knocked over her coffee cup. “You remember? Oh, Storm.”

His expression was one of resignation more than defeat. “Sorry. I've gone all through the phone book. There are at least a dozen Harrisons, some with J, some with S—even one with both. Turned out to be a lady named Janet Shaw Harrison. Retired schoolteacher. I lied and said I'd like her honest opinion about the local schools, and she gave me an earful.”

“Oh, Lord.” Ellen lowered her face to her hands and snickered.

“Look, I could call and ask each one if they're miss
ing a relative, but until I can put all the pieces together, I don't think that's particularly wise.”

“But if you're the missing district attorney—”

“Ellen, listen to me. Not to put too fine a point on it, but from the way you described that pair that showed up here looking for me—for someone, at any rate—odds are they weren't exactly selling Girl Scout cookies. All along, I've had a strong feeling of…I don't know, of something.” He broke off and swore softly in exasperation. “The state prison. Something to do with the state pen. Until I find out which side of the bars I belong on, I don't think it's smart to advertise my presence, so if you're asking for absolution, you've got it. You might even have saved my neck.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, you're not a crook. I've lived with you long enough to know you're a good man, a decent man. Personally, I think you're that missing D. A. It's just too big a coincidence—the initials and everything. As for the other J. S. Harrison, you'd probably have an unlisted number if you really were the district attorney. But whatever else is going on in your life right now, you're certainly no friend of that pair who came looking for you.”

“In that case, why were they looking for me?”

She shook her head.

“Okay, I'll give you three choices. One, you're wrong about my identity and they're really friends of mine. Or two, they're on the run, and they were looking to steal a car.”

“Oh, hush up, that doesn't even make sense! They already had a car.”

“Too easy to identify. Look, if you're right and they're the bad guys and I'm the good guy, why would they come looking for me? Seems to me, even with
my impaired sensibilities, they'd be running hard in the opposite direction. The border's just a hop, skip and a jump from here.”

They were both silent as his words sank in. Ellen said, “What's the third choice?”

“More of an option than a choice. Until I get this mess figured out, I'd like to stay here, if it's all the same to you. Whoever I am, whatever I'm mixed up in, I have a strong feeling that making a sudden public appearance might set off a chain reaction I'm not ready to deal with.”

Great choice, he thought bitterly, sponging off a woman who was too short of money and too long on pride.

“Of course you're going to stay here. I can't let you leave until—well, until you know where you're going.”

Not to mention a few other bits of vital information. “Thank you. Then if you don't mind, we'll go on the same way we have been, with you and Pete and that worthless pair of barn rats doing all the heavy lifting while good old Storm makes a mess of trying to keep house and do the cooking.”

“Oh, but you don't have to—”

“Do we have a deal?”

“I suppose so.” And then, green eyes snapping, she added, “Of course we have a deal!”

“Good. Now, back to your old friend Greg. I had the distinct impression you weren't too happy to see him. Anything you'd like to share?”

“Not really. At least nothing I can't handle.”

He waited, then drawled softly, “Right. Like you handled Booker.”