Just Evil (3 page)

“Four o’clock.”

“Then I’ll be back at four.” He turned to stare out of the
window, saw the rain still coming down in sheets, and said, “Maybe, when the
rain lets up, we can go sailing.” And with that, he turned and headed out the
door.

 Kit stood there nailed to the same spot for several minutes
before she said out loud to an empty shop, “Well for goodness’ sake, what was
that all about?”

He sat across Main Street in the Chevy, listening to the
pouring rain beat on the roof for what seemed like an eternity until the man
finally came out of the Book & Bean.

There was obviously a connection between Alana’s daughter
and the man who had shown up out of the blue. He needed to know if this Jake
posed a threat to his plans.

He re-read the notes he had on Kit Griffin. Just as he
already knew, there was no mention of a man in her life. But if the man ended
up being a complication, he’d have to eliminate him just as he would anyone
else who got in his way.

Jake was prompt. At four o’clock, just as Kit finished
cleaning the last of the equipment, he walked back into the store carrying two
umbrellas. As he watched her restock the condiment bar, he tried to gauge
whether or not her anger might have subsided. When she turned to glare at him,
he decided it was less than a fifty-fifty shot.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually show,” she announced.

“Why’s that?”

“You had several hours to kill. With the weather like it is,
I thought you’d get tired of waiting and head back to L.A.”

“Not a chance. It’s still coming down out there though.”

“This is some storm, but hey, a little rain never hurt.”

“I bet that’s what Noah said.”

A joke. He’d cracked a joke. Unbelievable, she thought, and
wondered if the storm had blown her into a parallel universe.

“Thinking of building an ark, Jake?” When she’d retrieved
her purse from under the counter, turned off the lights, and grabbed her jacket
off the peg, she reached for one of the umbrellas he was holding. Doing her
damnedest to rankle him, she oozed sarcasm when she added sweetly, “Or do you
suppose your row boat can handle this heavy rain?”

 “Very funny. I remember a time when you were a whole lot
nicer to me.”

“Yeah. And look where that got me.”

The trip through town, past the waterfront, and up the
cliffs to the old Victorian Queen Anne known locally as the Crandall House took
less than five minutes. But once they turned off the Coast Highway onto a
spotty, gravel driveway they sat inside the car, waiting for the rain to let
up. They kept the conversation light, stuck with safe subjects like building
permits and contractors. He didn’t mention Gloria had been the one who tipped
him off about the house and how much Kit had talked about fixing it up.

“Have you ever been inside?” he asked.

She’d driven by the place a hundred times. But she saw no
reason to open up and let him know, so she simply shook her head. “It’s a great
old house though. Did you know it was built in 1888 as a hotel, a stop on the
Coast Stage Line? The place should be a historical landmark, don’t you think?”

“You know the history then.”

“A little. I like old things. I’m surprised you’d pick a
house that needs so much work and as far north as San Madrid. Renovation’s not
only costly and time consuming, but living here will be quite a commute.”

He ignored the comment. “But it’s worth the effort, don’t
you think? They haven’t been able to do much work to the outside because of the
rain this week. But the inside…” Laughing when he saw the look on her face, he
finished, “is definitely under construction. You’ll see what I mean when we get
inside.”

But Kit wasn’t listening. Her gaze had fallen on the
wraparound porch that ran the length of the house, its charming two-foot rock
wall railing, and the ornate columns that looked like draped ivy. Her eyes
drifted up to the curved second floor balcony and its rounded exterior. She’d
often wondered if that wall meant there was a circular room, like a castle
behind it. She’d always thought the place looked more like a castle than a
house. Even with all the work it needed, she zeroed in on the idea of owning
such a unique house with so much history.

“You ready? We might as well make a run for it; this rain
isn’t letting up.” He flashed a wicked grin her way before throwing open the
car door and flipping up the umbrella.

When he got around to open her door, he took her arm, and
then just stood there looking down at her as the rain pelted the umbrella.

At first she thought he’d changed his mind about going
inside, but when he turned her around to stand in front of him, he pointed over
her shoulder and said, “Take a look at that view.”

The house sat on the highest cliff above the little coastal
town with the ocean in front and a forest of trees to the back. Looking out
over the top of the car, she smelled the rain and the fishy scent from the
ocean, but she had to admit she’d never seen anything quite like the view from
this spot.

From where they were standing on the cliff, they faced the
sea, looking through the mist and the spray to the gray horizon. From this
height, the clouds were rolling in, drifting toward the car hugging the ground
in an eerie fog that slowly began to eat up the ground and envelope them.

“How many times do you get a chance to see the elements come
together like that?”

If he had his way, they would be looking at that view for
years together.

She drew in a ragged breath just thinking about him living
here with someone else. It was a good thing she’d gotten past Jake Boston.

To keep from getting drenched, he began to move them quickly
from the car, across the yard, around mud puddles, past equipment and materials
covered by huge black tarps. They ran up five, slippery, saggy steps to the
long, wraparound porch.

Jake opened one of the double front doors and let her go
inside first before leaving the umbrella on the porch. She stepped into a wide
entryway with a concrete floor, sheetrock walls, and not much else.

“At least you won’t get wet. We finished the new roof before
the rain hit. But the place needs some work, huh?”

That was an understatement. The place looked like the Addams
Family wouldn’t live there. And she saw now what he meant by his “under
construction” comment. Everywhere she looked there were sawhorses, tools, fresh
lumber, and materials stacked against the walls waiting to be used as either
new cabinets, new walls, or new flooring.

As she caught the fragrant odor of wood mingled with the
smell of rain, even staring at sheetrock, bare walls, and concrete flooring,
she imagined the possibilities of the old house. A cozy fire in the stone
fireplace, pictures on the mantel, a real family sitting around the dining room
table.

Whoa. Where had that come from? Down girl. This is not
your house.
One glance at Jake told her he was waiting for her to say
something. She went with upbeat. “Who wouldn’t want to live here just to wake
up to that view outside every morning?”

“So you like it?”

“It has potential, Jake.”

He blew out a breath before quickly moving her along,
pointing out what work they were doing in each room. But when she spotted the
bridal staircase, she ran her hand along the mahogany railing, her heart
dropping a little further with each step she took. Who was he planning to share
this huge house with?

She made certain her voice never gave anything away as she
started upstairs, chatty all the way to the top. “They don’t make staircases
like this anymore. If you don’t mind I’d like to take a look at the view from
that round balcony, though. It’s got to be the master bedroom.”

As he watched her walk up the steps ahead of him, he focused
on the way she moved, the sleek shape of her body; he couldn’t remember a woman
looking so damned beautiful wandering around the rooms of a cold shell of a
house on a chilly, rainy afternoon, chatting the place up. It took all his will
power to not turn her around right there and kiss her boneless.

When they got to the landing, he took her hand in his and
steered her to the left, down the corridor, to the spacious circular master
bedroom. She oohed and ahhed over the floor-to-ceiling windows and the rounded
fireplace in the corner. Then she stepped outside onto the wet balcony, taking
in the view again.

When she finally walked back inside she spun around and
asked, “Is there something you haven’t told me? You planning to remarry, start
a family? This house is huge.”

But when he just smiled at her, she decided to check out the
rest of the room.

She opened the door to a small bathroom then to an even
tinier closet. The room started to whirl. A dizzying sickness engulfed her. The
closet became a blur as she backed away from the tiny space. Panic squeezed her
chest then moved up to lock tight in her throat. She swayed.

Jake saw her start backing away, slowly, inching further
away from the closet until she stopped in the middle of the room.

She’d gone gray as death.

Jake caught her right before she hit the floor.

When she came to, he was holding her against his chest. She
blinked, looked up at him and saw they were sitting on the bottom step of the
bridal staircase. Sitting there with his arms locked tight around her, she felt
the strength in his arms, the beat of his heart through his jacket, and
immediately began trying to get up.

He noticed her shivering and wrapped his arms tighter,
securing her in place.

She desperately wanted to throw her arms around him and
enjoy the moment. But no, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself ever again, not
with this man. Been there, done that. She wasn’t going down that road again
even in her sorry state. And would that ever change? she wondered. Something—he
must have triggered something from the past to set her off like that again.

“You want to tell me what happened?”

She lied. “I…I’m not sure.”

“You fainted, went white as paste, and then just dropped.
One minute you’re fine, checking the place out, looking in closets, and then
wham. You want to tell me anything?” 

She swallowed hard. “Like what?”

“Are you ill?”

“No. I’m cold.” And she wanted to get as far away from the
closet as possible.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here and get you warmed up.”

She pushed off his chest or tried to, starting to get to her
feet. But he held her there locked in his arms. With her squirming against him
now, his lower half started to respond. If he didn’t let her go, he feared a
response she wouldn’t be too pleased about at the moment.

“Let me up.”

“Now you’re upset.”

“I want you to let me up. We’re not—I’m not—doing this
again.”

He released her. She struggled to get her balance before
standing up. When she was finally on her feet, she pushed her hair back and
insisted, “Take me to the Book and Bean. Please. My car’s there.”

“I thought we might get something to eat.”

“No.”
Protect yourself; be firm this time. Don’t give in.

“Why?”

“I want out of your damned house, okay? I want to get back
to my car. Is that too much to ask? You wanted me to look at your house. I’ve
looked. Now I want to…” She’d almost said get out of there, to get outside
where she could breathe. Instead though, she stomped her foot, turned on her
heels, and headed straight for the front door. When he didn’t follow, she
huffed out a breath. “Fine, I’ll walk back, but I’m taking the damned
umbrella.”

He let her get to the door and pick up the umbrella from the
porch before getting to his feet. The entire time conceding the fact, he might
have to alter his plan somewhat.

She was gonna need a helluva lot more convincing.

All the way back to L.A. the wipers on the rental did a
noisy double-time. He couldn’t see a bloody thing out of the windshield. Even
with the defroster jacked up to high, the windows kept fogging up. And he was
chilled to the bone. Since leaving San Madrid behind, he’d even turned the
heater up trying to get warm.

It was May for chrissakes in Southern California. He’d been
told L.A. was warm in May. They’d obviously lied.

But they hadn’t lied about the damned traffic. After sitting
for several hours in bumper-to-bumper exhaust, he finally pulled to a stop
across the street from a house in Beverly Hills.

He stared at the fifteen-room mansion. Alana’s house. He
sucked in a breath to let his nerves recover. The trip down the 101 had been
brutal. He needed to settle down, focus.

What was wrong with him anyway? Where was the calm, cool
detached man who did this for a living? He took a few more minutes to right
himself, his mind, his thoughts. When he caught his reflection in the rearview
mirror, he laughed at himself.

Here he was sitting in the dark in a parked car in the
pouring rain, about to begin his mission, if you could call it that, feeling
colder than he could ever remember feeling in Prague during the winter.

Bollocks to Southern California, anyway. He’d get his
business done and get out.

So what if the lousy rain reminded him of another time,
another place? God, he felt burned-out. But then that was normal at this stage
of the game wasn’t it? Didn’t most people tire of doing the same old thing year
after bloody year? At his age, he should be sitting on a sunny beach in Aruba
using the nearest available hot body to warm his bed.

Sunny Southern California, my ass, he thought as he reached
over and turned the heater up to high.

When the warm air from the heater made the windows fog over
even more, he cursed under his breath and wondered if the nasty weather would
keep Alana from going out tonight. Would she leave the house in this weather or
decide to stay in? It didn’t matter much to him.