In a Fix (13 page)

We left our luggage in the trunk and went to the main cabin, where the extremely cheerful Hilda Perkins greeted us. Sixty-ish, with a cushiony figure of the sort that invited hugs, she was thrilled to learn she was getting not only indoor help, but outdoor as well. From the look on her face you’d think it was Christmas morning. Geez. I was going to feel like such a bitch when I had to tell her she couldn’t keep us.

Hilda, of course, knew about aura adaptors. She was a nonadaptor member of another adaptor family—the gene doesn’t always carry through to the next generation—and so could be trusted. Her husband had died several years before, and her children were grown, leaving her without anyone to take care of. My clients filled the gap. Mark and I had decided not to mention who we really were unless we had to—no chance of Hilda slipping and calling one of us by our real name that way.

“Mr. and Mrs. Rossi? So happy to meet you. I hope you had an easy drive,” she bubbled.

“Fine, fine. It was smooth sailing the whole way,” Mark lied. “You are Mrs. Perkins? But I wasn’t expecting someone so young.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. Great. Now Hilda probably thought I was an ass for telling the new hired help she was old.

“Oh, I’m no spring chicken.” She wiped her hand on her apron before extending it to Mark, who held it just a shade too long, flicking his eyes up and down her body, pausing for a beat at chest level. If he kissed her hand, I was going to slug him.

I cleared my throat. Hilda broke away from Mark and held her hand out to me. Her grip was firm and no-nonsense, just as I remembered it. It had been one of the reasons I had hired her in the first place—I hate a wimpy handshake.

“I’m happy to meet you, too, Mrs. Perkins,” I said.

“Please, call me Hilda.”

“And you must call me Maria. My husband is Gianpaolo.”

“You may call me Johnny, if you like.” He gave Hilda a dazzling smile, one that bordered on being a little too friendly.

I don’t know why that should irk me so much, but it did. “You must forgive my husband, Hilda. He is an incurable flirt. If he gives you any trouble, just tell me, and I will—how do you Americans say it?—neuter him.”

Her smile froze, and I could tell she was torn between welcoming us with open arms and sending us on our way before she even let us in the door. Her need for help must have won out, because she lapsed into a weak laugh and said, “Oh, you are so funny! I can tell you’re going to be good company around here.” She didn’t look quite as thrilled as when she first saw us, though, so maybe she wouldn’t be too sorry to see us leave after all.

Hilda guided us into the kitchen, and explained our duties over iced tea and sandwiches while continuing to dodge Mark’s attempts to flirt with her. I decided to give her a raise. When I could afford it.

After our business was concluded, Mark went to fetch our bags while Hilda showed me to our room. Call me stupid, but it just then occurred to me that we’d be sharing a bed. It wasn’t even queen-size—only a double. My stomach did a backflip, and the sandwich I’d just eaten almost made a return trip.

Get a grip, Ciel. Isn’t this what you’ve been dreaming about forever?

But that was before, back when I knew I didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of it happening. Ever since I kissed him, I was wavering. Did I really want to sleep in the same bed with him? What if he tried something?

Or what if he didn’t?
my shriveled up little ego said.

I wasn’t sure which would be worse.

But I have a pretty good idea which would be more fun
, my inner slut (who has never had much opportunity to become an outer slut) said.

I was going back and forth with myself, and had about come to the conclusion I should tell Hilda that Gianpaolo snored like a buzz saw and ask if we could have separate rooms, when Mark returned. Hilda left as soon as he entered the room. He closed the door behind her.

Gulp. When in doubt, attack.

“What the hell were you thinking, coming on to Hilda like that? Geez, she’s old enough to be your mother!” I said, quietly but forcefully, fists on ample hips.

“Jealous,
cara mia
?”

“Don’t you
cara mia
me, you old goat. And I’ll thank you not to harass my hired help.”

He came over to me, close enough to whisper. “Maria. Darling. I’m simply trying to set up a logical escape route for us. If we need to stay for a while, I’ll behave myself around dear old Hilda. If we need to leave quickly, I’ll do something slap-worthy and get us fired.”

Oh. Well, that sort of made sense, I guess. “What if she doesn’t fire us, huh? What if she decides a fling with the new yardman might not be such a bad idea?”

“If that’s the case, we’ll make sure you’re close enough to discover your husband’s indiscretion. You can throw a god-awful fit and quit for the two of us. Either way, it works.”

I nodded grudgingly. “All right. But just so you know—if you do anything that makes Hilda quit, I’ll kill you.”

He pulled me into a bear hug and lifted me off my feet. “That’s what I like about you Mediterranean women. You’re so fiery.” He kissed me full on the mouth, fast and hard, and dropped me on the bed, stunning me into silence. Which was probably his intention.

He dug through his duffel until he found what he was looking for.

“Where are you going?” I asked, my lips still tingling.

“To check the perimeter. Pete will stick close to the cabin until I get back. I ran into him when I was getting the bags, and told him I was additional security you’d hired in the guise of a groundskeeper. Even repeated your asparagus code phrase for him.” Was that a wink? From Mark? “He said he’d stay within shouting distance of Mina.”

I acknowledged the wisdom of his actions with a nod. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

“Couple of hours at least. If I’m not back before bedtime, don’t wait up. Just toss a blanket and pillow on the floor for me; I’ll be fine.”

Damn. So much for
that
worry. It was quickly replaced by a new one when I got a closer look at what he’d taken from his bag: a gun.

“Do you think you’ll need that?” It was still hard for me to imagine any real danger here—it had always been a safe haven.

“Nope.” He patted his lower back, a spot covered by his shirt. “I already have one. This is for you, in case anything comes up while I’m out.”

“But…”

“But what? You know how to use it.”

I couldn’t deny that, since he was the one who’d taught me. I could shoot. I even enjoyed target practice. It’s the idea of firing at anything alive that gives me the heebie-jeebies.

“What if Hilda notices it? It would be tough to explain why the new maid packs heat.”

“Your shirt’s loose enough. Lift it up a little. I’ll help you put on the holster.”

“That’s a holster? It looks like an elastic band.”

“It’s a belly holster. You can hide your gun under your rather impressive rack.”

I felt myself starting to blush. “You noticed that, huh?” I said nonchalantly.

“Hard to miss. Now, stand up and lift your shirt so I can get this on you before I leave.”

The wide elastic was snug. More than snug. It felt like a damn girdle. “Hey, I do like to breathe, you know.”

“Sorry. It has to be pretty tight so it won’t slip.” He finished up, then added the gun.

“You sure that’s real? It looks too cute.”

“Hey, don’t knock the mouse gun,” he said with an easy laugh that had me wishing we could work together like this all the time. It was fun. Relaxed. Well, as relaxed as you can get while arming yourself against a possible Viking attack.

“Mouse gun, huh? Yeah, it looks like it might come in handy for hunting rodents.”

“Don’t let its appearance fool you—it’ll get the job done with people. Especially at close range, which is the only place you’d need a gun. If you’re far enough away, either run or hide.”

I have no moral objection to either of those things. “Gotcha,” I said. “Run. Hide.”

He lifted my chin and looked into my eyes with Gianpaolo’s soulful brown ones. “But if you have to use the gun, shoot to kill. Understand?”

I swallowed. “Uh-huh.”

“I mean it, Ciel. No fucking around—you aim like I taught you, and you fire.”

I saluted. “Yes, sir!”

He shut his eyes briefly, his equivalent of an eye roll. “Just stay close to the cabin. Check on Mina. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Chapter 12

The gazebo had a gorgeous view of the lake, but Mina, parked at the table in its center, appeared oblivious to the beauty surrounding her. A thermos of something was at hand—milky, unsweetened coffee, if she was staying true to her dossier—and a bunch of magazines were laid open in front of her. As I got closer I could see they were all wedding-related—
Bride
,
Modern Bride
,
The Knot
—you name it. She had a notebook and pen, and was furiously taking notes. Gave me a twinge to see how much faith she had in my abilities.

I approached slowly, giving her ample warning of my presence. “Hello. I’m Maria Rossi, Hilda’s new assistant. You must be Miss Worthington.”

She nodded, wedding-dream glow spilling from every invisible pore. “Yes, I’m Mina. Hilda told me you were coming. I’m sure you’ll love working here. It’s a fantastic place,” she said.

“I can see that. Peaceful as well as beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely. I’m thinking I may need to see about finding a place here myself after…” She glanced at the array of magazines and blushed.

“You’re planning your wedding—but how wonderful!”

Still looking embarrassed, she said, “Well, it’s not exactly official yet, so don’t let the cat out of the bag. Let’s just say I’m daydreaming a little.”

A little? Looked more like a full-scale battle plan. But as long as she was keeping herself happy—and busy—it was all good for me.

“Then I’ll leave you to your dreams. It was nice to meet you.”

“Please stay. Would you like some coffee? Hilda always packs an extra cup, in case she can make time to join me, but it doesn’t look like she’s coming today.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.” I sat on the bench across the table from her. “So, have you chosen a dress yet?”

She poured. “I have it narrowed down to three.” After handing me the cup she turned two of the magazines around so I could see better.

“This one.” She pointed at a simple satin sheath, one that would drape seductively over every curve. “Or this one…” A lacy mermaid type, again sure to show off her gorgeous figure. The third was pure Cinderella, huge and floaty. I tried hard to keep the appalled look off Maria’s face.

Mina glanced away, her cheeks turning pink. Guess I hadn’t been entirely successful. “I’m only considering that one for nostalgia’s sake. It looks just like the wedding dresses I used to imagine when I was a little girl.”

Something must be wrong with me, because I never even thought about wedding dresses when I was a girl. Or weddings, for that matter. I’ve always had it in the back of my mind that I’d be married some day—in the foggy distant future—but I’ve never given much consideration to the details. Maybe I lack the wedding gene.

“They’re all beautiful. You could carry off any of them,” I said warmly, feigning matronly interest in all things nuptial.

“Thanks. You’re sweet. I guess I’ll just have to figure out which one will go best with whatever kind of wedding I—well, we—decide on. If he asks, of course.” She knocked on the wooden table.

“Of course he will,” I said with an air of old-world mysticism. “Trust me. I know these things.”

She leaned in eagerly. “Really? Are you psychic or something?”

“I wouldn’t say psychic. But I get impressions, and they are rarely wrong. You are giving me a strong impression of wedded bliss.” Then, unable to resist playing the clairvoyant, I added, “I see a ring on your finger very soon.”

She looked at her empty hand, wistful. “I don’t suppose you can see what it looks like?”

I closed my eyes, picturing the ring that was now sitting in Thomas’s safe at work. “Emerald cut diamond, three to four carats, simple platinum setting.”

Her mouth dropped open a tiny bit. “Wow. That’s a pretty detailed vision. I’ll let you know if it comes true.”

The sound of a motorboat drew my attention to the water, but I tried not to let it worry me unduly. Probably just a lost boater. It happened occasionally—a lot of these properties look alike from out on the lake. They’d pull away once they got close enough to see the great big “No Trespassing” sign posted at the end of the dock. And if they didn’t notice that, it looked like Pete was on his way to meet and greet them.

The boat pulled up right next to the sign. A man hauled himself out, followed by another, who tied the boat off in short order. The men were big. They were blond. They looked like—

Shit.
Vikings!

Pete approached them, easygoing. From his gestures I could see he was amiably explaining the no-trespassing policy.

No, Pete! They are not friendly lost people. Get out your gun!

As if he’d intercepted my thoughts, one of the blonds shrugged, then casually reached into his jacket, pulled out a gun, and shot Pete in the chest. The guard—one of the friendliest guys I had ever met; it was why I hired him, stupid me—fell first to his knees, then forward onto his face. The Vikings stepped over him and looked our way.

My mind rejected what I saw. I
couldn’t
have been followed. Nobody knew I was a middle-aged Italian woman—it was impossible.

Regardless of the impossibility factor, my body jumped into action. They must be after Mina. Somehow, someone had figured out my nifty client hideaway.

I grabbed Mina by the arm. Pulled her upright and out of the gazebo. “Come on!”

“What’s going on?” She looked over her shoulder and saw the boat. “Who’re those—”

“Now!” I yanked for all I was worth—Maria’s heft was worth quite a bit—and got us both speeding toward the cabin. Counting the length of the dock, we had a good two-hundred-yard head start, but that would disappear quickly when those long-legged neo-barbarians got it in gear. I had to get Mina hidden, and fast.