Getting Lucky (10 page)

With a sharp inhalation of air, Zach jerked awake. He blinked, his eyes stinging with unshed tears and his stomach hollow with a remembered sense of abandonment. Then he just lay there, staring blankly up at the ceiling as he sucked in and blew out deep, even breaths to bring his heart rate back down within its normal range.

Christ. Back when he was a kid, he’d relived that awful time in so many dreams he’d lost count. Loneliness had been a way of life in those days, with only his grandmother’s sweetness and his baby sister’s laughter to alleviate his sense of isolation. Mother’s promise to come see them had turned out to be just so much hot air.

He had really hoped, during his first and even second year in the much-hated Philadelphia mansion, that his parents would suddenly arrive out of the blue and admit they had made a mistake sending him and Glynnie away. Eventually, though, he’d become a teenager and put away his childish dreams. His folks had abdicated
the role of parenthood to Grandfather and Grandmama. They’d only ever bothered to visit a grand total of four times, and hadn’t hidden their impatience to get back to their work all that well even then. The plight of a bunch of strangers in remote African villages clearly held more importance for them than Glynnie or he ever would.

But that was then. He was no longer a scared eleven-year-old and hadn’t been for what seemed like a thousand years now. It had been a fucking age since he’d woken up crying like a baby over an event so far in the past he could barely even remember it—except in his dreams.

Irritated, he rolled over and looked at the clock. Great. Seven forty-five—he hadn’t even gotten three hours sleep. But there was work to be done, so he crawled out of bed and made his way into the bathroom, where he shook out more aspirin for his headache and tossed them back with a glass of water. It didn’t take a shrink to guess what had resurrected the dream after all these years. The face reflected in the mirror was grim as he reached for his razor and the travel-sized can of shaving gel. Once again he’d failed his sister—and this time it had potential life and death consequences.

But it wasn’t a failure written in stone, and he would, by God, rectify the situation come hell or high water. Ten minutes later, he let himself out of his room.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the plainer of the two sisters he’d met last night was just entering the foyer carrying a fully loaded tray. She looked up and gave a start, which made the items shift with an ominous rattle.

“Oh, my goodness,” she said. “You gave me a start.”

“Sorry. Here, let me take that for you.” He relieved her of the tray. “You’re Jessica, right?”

“Yes. I was just taking breakfast into the dining room.” Eyeing the tray he now held, she grimaced. “Such as it is. Won’t you join us?”

“Sure.” He followed her into the room across the foyer. Mrs. Beaumont and Richard were seated at a long cherrywood table, and they looked up at his entrance, giving him subdued greetings.

Jessica directed him to a sideboard where she unloaded the tray he carried of its pitchers of milk and orange juice, a silver salver stacked with toast, and a crystal bowl of jam.

“It’s not much, I’m afraid.” She waved him to a stack of plates and bowls. “But there’s cereal over there, if you’d like, and fresh coffee.”

Zach shrugged. “It’s fine.” He didn’t particularly feel like eating, but supposed having something in his stomach might help his headache. He discarded the tray, then slapped a dollop of jam on a piece of toast, poured himself a cup of coffee, and carried his meal over to the table.

He ate the toast, then looked across at Mrs. Beaumont as he sipped his coffee. “You look more rested,” he observed. “Are you up to discussing strategy for getting Glynnis and David back?”

She gave a regal nod. “Certainly.”

“Good. Then the first thing we need to do is alert the authorities.”

Panic immediately transformed her bearing. “No!”

“Mrs. Beau—”

“You saw the note yourself. They said they’d
kill
David if we called in the police!”

They said they’d kill both David and Glynnis, and Zach wasn’t exactly wild about having his sister’s endangerment ignored. But he reined in his impatience. It was clear Mrs. Beaumont’s hysteria wasn’t as well under control as he’d first assumed. “That’s standard op for this type of crime, ma’am,” he informed her patiently. “Of
course
they don’t want the police involved—the chances of getting caught go up exponentially whenever they’re brought in.”

“They said they’d
kill
him!”

“
Them
,” Zach corrected in a hard voice. “Kill
them
. It’s not only your son whose life is threatened.” Then he shook his head and softened his tone. “But that’s not the point. The threat itself is pure terror tactic, ma’am, specifically designed to keep you from calling in the police, or in this case—since state lines may have been crossed—the FBI. Historically, though, victims have always stood a better chance when the law is involved. The authorities need to be informed.”

“
No
.”

“Yes,” he said flatly. “This is not negotiable.”

“How dare you tell me what is and isn’t negotiable, young man! I will
not
put my darling David in jeopardy. And if you call the police over my objections, I’ll…I’ll…” She seemed to look inward for a moment in search of a threat big enough, then suddenly raised her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “I’ll deny they’ve even been kidnapped!”

Zach stilled. “You’ll do what?” he demanded in a dangerously even tone.

“I’ll tell the police I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I’ll ask them to remove you from the premises.”

It took everything he had not to come out of his chair. He wanted to reach across the table and grab her by the neck—and wasn’t
that
a sorry state of affairs. He’d taken verbal abuse from the best, had drill instructors who’d yelled in his face that he was lower than the shit on their boots, and he’d never so much as blinked an eye. But this middle-aged woman strained his patience to the limit.

Even so, this was no time to go off half-cocked. He took a couple of deep, steadying breaths. “That would be a mistake, ma’am,” he said with quiet authority. “Who do you imagine they’ll be more likely to believe—a hysterical mother, or the man who’s spent his entire adult life dealing with just this sort of situation? More importantly, Mrs. Beaumont, removing me will put your son and my sister at unnecessary risk, and the idea here is to lessen the jeopardy they already face, not exacerbate it.”

“Please, Aunt Maureen,” Jessica said in her very soft, I-don’t-want-to-bother-anyone voice. “I think you should listen to what he has to say.”

“Why?” Mrs. Beaumont demanded querulously. “What makes
him
more qualified than, say, Richard here?”

Was she freaking
nuts
? Zach stared at her incredulously for an instant before composing his expression to display nothing beyond a cool professionalism. But his voice was flat when he said, “Eighteen years in the
United States Marines, ma’am, during which a large portion of my job was extracting kidnap victims.”

“Yes, but—”

“And excuse me for pointing this out, but it took me less than a minute last night to disarm your nephew. What makes you assume he’d fare any better with a criminal?”

Richard flushed, but to his credit he patted his aunt’s hand and said, “He has a point, dear.”

Her lips trembled, but her eyes were stubborn. “I will
not
have the police called.”

“All right,” Zach agreed. “We won’t call them.”
For now
. He could tell this was a deal breaker for her and if he had to bring the feebs in over her objections, it could conceivably add to the danger Glynnie and David already faced. So he’d back off for today, find out what Rocket had to say, then hit her with his demands again tomorrow. “But understand that I’m in charge of this, and that is
not
up for debate. I have the best chance of bringing David and Glynnis home safely.” He gave her a hard look. “Are we agreed?”

She nodded begrudgingly, but it was an agreement nonetheless, and he became all business. “Good. Then we need to lay out some ground rules. I don’t care who answers the phone, but no one talks to the kidnappers, no one negotiates with them, but me.”

“But what if that makes them angry? They could hurt David.”

She was starting to seriously piss him off. What the hell did it take for her to understand her fucking precious David wasn’t the only one who stood to get hurt?
But his voice was calm when he said, “They won’t be angry if you handle it right. Pretend you’re the maid, pretend you’re the butler, pretend you don’t speak English.” He gave each of the Beaumonts his sternest listen-up-and-listen-good master sergeant stare. “I don’t care how you do it. But if I’m not right here, you put them off and come get me.”

L
ILY WAS PROUD OF HERSELF FOR ONLY GETTING
LOST
once as she made her way down to the main floor of the Beaumont mansion. But that wrong turn and her stomach’s inelegant protests over the holdup since its last meal made her wish wryly for a trail of breadcrumbs. Not only would the guidance come in handy, but she could use a little something to tide her over until breakfast, and even crumbs off the floor were beginning to sound pretty darn good. This place was immense, and her starting point had been somewhere deep in the heart of the west wing, where she and Zach had been given rooms.

That took her mind off her grumbling stomach, and an ironic smile crooked her lips. No doubt whoever chose their cheek-to-jowl accommodations assumed she was granting the two of them a discreet favor. Little did the Beaumonts know that putting her and Zach in such close proximity was more likely a homicide waiting to happen.

Then again, maybe not. She mulled it over as she de
scended the central staircase. Yesterday she’d caught glimpses of a different Zach, and last night she’d seen the professional, competent, and determined side of what she began to suspect was a more multifaceted personality than she’d originally thought. Granted, she was already highly familiar with the “determined” part, since Zach made no secret of his resolution to get her out of his sister’s life. But last night Lily had actually found the authority with which he’d assumed command admirable.

She might think Zach wrongheaded where Glynnis was concerned, but she didn’t doubt his devotion to her. And to Lily’s surprise, she was learning to read the subtle signs that provided a bit of insight into the way he thought. For instance, even though he hadn’t displayed any overt distress, she had known instinctively that he was worried sick about his sister’s safety.

She reached the bottom of the staircase, and the civilized clink of sterling against china and the low murmur of voices drew her toward a room opposite the parlor they’d occupied last night. She crossed the foyer.

As she paused in the doorway, all conversation ceased. Then Jessica gave her a hesitant smile. “Good morning,” she said in a soft voice. “Come in; we don’t stand on ceremony around here. Are you hungry?” Without awaiting a reply, she indicated the sideboard. “Breakfast is a help-yourself affair. You’ll find plates and bowls on the other side of the coffee service.”

Lily took a covert head count as she crossed to the sideboard. Besides Jessica, Zach, Richard, and Mrs. Beaumont were present. The only ones not in attendance were Jessica’s husband, Christopher, and her
more flamboyant sister, Cassidy. But as it was Monday morning, chances were they’d already left for work. Eager for breakfast, she turned her attention from the missing two people to the food arrayed before her. Only to have her heart sink. The selection was surprisingly meager.

It embarrassed her to realize her dismay at the scant arrangement of cold cereal and equally cold toast must have shown, for Mrs. Beaumont said in her well-bred voice, “I do apologize for the inadequate selection, but I’m afraid Ernestine, our cook, is quite overcome and has taken to her bed.” Her bottom lip quivered. “David is her favorite, you know.”

“Have you heard anything this morning?”

“Not a word. And if anything should happen to my darling David, I simply don’t know what I’ll do.”

Zach shifted in his seat. The uncharacteristic abruptness of his movement drew Lily’s attention, and a thrill of alarm shot through her. For although he didn’t speak and he appeared coolly contained, with the same flash of telepathy that had told her last night how worried he was about Glynnis, she knew this morning that he was dangerously on edge. No one else seemed to notice anything amiss in his manner, but it couldn’t have been clearer to her if he’d suddenly begun waving semaphores over his head. The tomato-red Henley he wore seemed appropriate, for as far as she was concerned he was one great big warning flag.

His agitation appeared to be linked to Mrs. Beaumont, so partly to divert the woman from doing whatever it was that was putting his back up, and partly because Lily couldn’t abide one more day eating
second-rate food, she left the sideboard to approach the older woman.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You must think I’m terribly rude. It’s just that I adore food, and we’ve been eating such catch-as-catch-can meals since leaving California that I was looking forward to a real breakfast. But I have a suggestion that might suit everyone’s needs. I love to cook, and I’d be happy to fill in until Ernestine is feeling more herself.”

The offer was clearly tempting, but Mrs. Beaumont said politely, “Oh, no. You’re our guest. We could never ask you to slave in the kitchen.”

Lily laughed. “You didn’t ask, and to me it isn’t slaving. Zach and I showed up on your doorstep unannounced, and you’ve been gracious enough to offer us lodging. So, please. Allow me to repay you, if only a little, by doing this in return.”

Richard, who had been quietly sipping coffee across the table, tossed his shiny brown hair out of his eyes and reached over to give the older woman’s hand a squeeze. “It’s a generous offer, Aunt Maureen. Take her up on it.”

Mrs. Beaumont looked from him to Lily. “Well, if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind…”

“I truly wouldn’t. In fact I’d enjoy it, and if someone will simply point me in the direction of the kitchen, I’ll go put together a nice hot breakfast. Everyone’s under a great deal of stress. Keeping fueled is an essential part of dealing with it.”

Jessica set her half-eaten slice of toast on her plate. “I’ll show you.”

As she rose from the table, Zach leaned back in his chair and regarded Lily with raised eyebrows. “I know
you can cook,” he said as his gaze ran over her, pausing a moment on the multistrand necklace of glittery crystals that spilled across her breasts. “But there’s a difference between cooking for one or two people, and a group this size. Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Cooking for
seven
? Not even that, if Cassidy and Christopher didn’t eat breakfast. She managed not to roll her eyes. “Oh, I think I can muddle through somehow.”

As she followed Jessica down a short hallway off the foyer, she heard the other woman murmur wonderingly to herself, “A ‘group this size’?”

She laughed. “I know,” she agreed. “Why is it men so often think that because we wear lipstick and have parts that jiggle, our competency must be in inverse proportion? Oh!” she breathed as she stepped into the kitchen. “This is
fabulous
.” It was a state-of-the-art work space, her personal idea of heaven.

“At least you
have
jiggly parts,” Jessica said under her breath. “I should be so lucky. As for lipstick…”

Her soft voice pulled Lily away from an ecstatic inspection of the Viking range, and she really looked at the other woman for the first time. “You should wear it,” she said decisively, after giving her a thorough inspection. “Most women would kill for bee-stung lips like yours. In fact, I’ve got a lipstick I bet would be perfect for you. It’s a shade called Pink Smooch that I fell in love with in the store, but when I got it home I discovered it was all wrong for my coloring. I’ll dig it out for you after I get breakfast on the table.”

Jessica gave her such a helpless look that Lily couldn’t help but smile. “I’m guessing you don’t share my passion for makeup.” She splayed her fingers across
her chest. “Be still my heart. I find that completely shocking.”

“According to my sister, it’s nothing short of heresy.”

Lily laughed. “At the very least.”

“Yes, well, not all of us are slaves to fashion.”

“Oh, honey, of course we are. You obviously just haven’t met the right consultant yet.”
Until now.
There was nothing more frustrating to Lily than untapped potential, and seeing Jessica’s made her itch to do a complete makeover.

Not only was the other woman’s face devoid of makeup, her medium-brown hair was much too long and bushy for her narrow face, overwhelming its delicate bone structure. Lily didn’t need labels to recognize quality clothing when she saw it, and she could tell at a glance that Jessica’s sweater was an expensive one. But the color was all wrong for the brunette, muddying her fair complexion, and it was too bulky for her slender frame. Her jeans were fine, but those shoes were a nightmare. They looked like a potato farmer’s brogues.

It wasn’t up to her to barge in and start rearranging anyone’s life, however, so she simply smiled and turned back to the marvelous kitchen she’d been given permission to play in. But wiggling her painted toes appreciatively in her own Cuban-heeled, open-toed, retro pumps, she thought dryly,
So I won’t barge. I can hold off for a day.

She was immersed in deep admiration for all the wonderful gadgets and the well-stocked pantry when Jessica said uncertainly, “Well, you’d probably like me to get out of your way.”

Lily swung around. “Oh, no; don’t go. I could use
your help familiarizing myself with where everything is. That is—oh, dear, I’m being presumptuous, supposing you don’t have anything better to do, or that you’d ordinarily spend a minute longer in a kitchen than you have to, aren’t I? I’m sorry. Am I keeping you?”

Jessica laughed, and it was a surprisingly bawdy sound, as if someone had just told her a deliciously dirty joke. “No, you’re not keeping me from anything more pressing than a quilt I’m working on, and as my family would be the first to tell you, that’s merely a hobby. As for spending time in the kitchen, considering I’m the one responsible for that abysmal offering in the dining room this morning, I leave it to you to determine if I should be allowed in one.”

Lily grinned, then headed for the refrigerator to see what she had to work with. “I’m going to take a wild leap here and assume you’re not as crazy about cooking as I am.”

“As a matter of fact, I have a feeling I might actually enjoy it, but I haven’t had much opportunity to find out.”

“Wait, don’t tell me. Would that be because you’ve always had a cook to do for you?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, poor little rich girl. You’re not expecting a lot of sympathy from me, I trust.” It wasn’t until the words left her mouth that Lily realized what she’d said. With a jolt, it occurred to her that she felt nearly as comfortable with the other woman as she did with her friend Mimi in Laguna, which explained why she hadn’t even hesitated to give her a bad time.

To her relief, Jessica seemed to feel the same way.
“Actually,” she said, “I think you should feel very sorry for me. You have no idea what a sad tale I have to tell.”

“Yeah?” Lily started pulling ingredients out of the fridge, giving Jessica a wry look as she passed the items to the other woman to set on the counter. She twirled one hand like royalty granting an audience. “So spill.”

“Richard, Cassidy, and I are—are you prepared for this?—the ‘poor’ relations in the Beaumont clan.”

Lily gave a mock gasp.

Jessica flashed a smile that transformed her face from plain to almost pretty. “I know. Shocking, isn’t it? Mama was one of those women for whom appearance is everything, so of course we had a cook, as did everyone in our set. The difference was, while we merely appeared to be wealthy, they actually were. If there had been any real money in our part of the family, I might have been allowed in the kitchen. But only genuinely rich girls can afford to behave as if they don’t have a bean to their names. What
we
had,” she said with a shrug, “was connections.” Then, with the slightest hint of bitterness, she added to herself, “Yes indeed. We certainly do have those all important connections.”

Lily didn’t know her well enough to ask what that was all about, so she merely said lightly, “Well, I don’t have a connection to my name outside the restaurant industry. But stick with me, kid, and I can at least teach you to cook.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely.”

Jessica came to stand by her side. “What are you going to make?”

“Just something very basic this morning, since we’re
a little pressed for time. We’ll do scrambled egg-stuffed breakfast pitas and a cantaloupe-blueberry salad. Will your husband and sister be joining us?”

“I…imagine.”

“I wasn’t sure if they’d already left for work.”

“Oh, no, the office for B Networks is upstairs in the east wing.”

“Okay, then, we’ll plan on seven.” She indicated the eggs, mushrooms, red pepper, onion, and cheese assembled on the counter. “You see anything here that anyone can’t eat?”

“No.”

“Excellent. I’ll make a poppyseed dressing for the salad first so it can chill while I get everything else ready.”

“What can I do?”

“Cut the cantaloupe and assemble the salads,” Lily replied, reaching for a bowl. “Do crosswise slices.”

Jessica raised her eyebrows, and Lily demonstrated what she meant, cutting the melon the long way, then handing the other woman the knife. She turned back to her own station and scraped a carton of vanilla yogurt into the bowl and added some lemon juice and poppyseeds. A few minutes later she glanced up from grating orange zest in the bowl. “I think I saw some Boston lettuce leaves in the fridge, so when you’re done there, get those out and put a few on each plate to make a bed. Then add four or five slices of cantaloupe and sprinkle them with a handful of blueberries.” She whipped the dressing, covered it with plastic wrap, and placed it in the freezer for a quick chill. Then she went to work chopping the vegetables.

“How do you
do
that?” Jessica demanded a moment later.

“What?”

“Chop that fast without slicing off a finger.”

Lily laughed. “Practice. Training.”

“Can you teach me how to do it?”

“Sure. C’mere.” When Jessica joined her, she held up her left hand. “The trick is keeping your fingers tucked under. See?” She demonstrated how to pin down the green onions in such a way that there were no horizontal protrusions to accidentally cut off. Finishing the onions, she julienned the red pepper, then offered the knife to Jessica. “You want to try it on the these?”