Scent of Roses (17 page)

“Zachary…?”

He could hear the uncertainty in her voice, tinged heavily with desire. He refused to give her time to think, time to withdraw from him again. Instead, he backed her up against the wall and unbuttoned the fly of his jeans. He was hard as granite as he urged her legs apart and began to stroke her. The plump softness was slick and wet and he realized she was as ready as he.

“I want you so damned much,” he said, kissing the side of her neck, then taking her mouth again. Positioning himself at the entrance to her passage, he lifted her a little and drove himself home.

 

Elizabeth bit back a sob. Zach was here and he was inside her, exactly where she wanted him to be. She was shaking, her body trembling at the feel of him, at the heavy length filling her, heating her from the inside out. He hooked her legs around his waist and pressed his mouth against the side of her neck, and the warm slickness of his tongue spread goose-bumps over her skin.

There was something wildly erotic about being naked while Zach remained fully clothed. She could feel the roughness of his jeans against her thighs, the brush of the buttons on his shirt against her breasts. As he surged inside her, she worked those buttons frantically, then pulled the fabric apart and pressed her breasts against his chest.

She could feel his heartbeat, feel the lean muscles expanding and contracting. Tightening her hold around his neck, she settled her mouth over his for a deep, penetrating kiss and heard him groan.

He gripped her bottom as he filled her again, gliding in and then out, thrusting deeply, his heavy strokes lifting her onto her toes, impaling her again and again. God, she wanted this, wanted him. Every place he touched her seemed to burn.

“Zachary…” There was no uncertainty now. She knew what she wanted, what her body wanted, and she gave into it, let the heat and need wash over her, let her desire for him blot out everything around her.

Zach lifted her, wrapped her legs around his waist, and drove into her again, deep pounding strokes that filled her with pleasure. Her body shook and her pulse hammered. She had never felt like this, never felt as if each moment he claimed a bigger part of her.

It was frightening, terrifying, and yet she was powerless to stop it.

Zach drove into her again, his hands gripping her bottom, holding her in place to receive each of his thrusts. Fresh waves of pleasure washed through her, and a deep, pulsing need. She hovered on the edge of climax, her body desperate for release, yet not wanting the sensations to end.

She felt the warmth of Zach's mouth against her ear, the whorl of his tongue. “Come for me, Liz.”

And the wave tore free. She was flying, spinning through the stars, drenched in sensations so sweet she never wanted them to end. Zach followed her to release and the tension in his muscles, the fierceness of his climax, sent her into fresh spasms of pleasure.

Zach gently kissed her, then set her back down on her feet. His eyes found hers and his expression grew concerned.

“I didn't come here for this, I swear. I just…I saw you standing there and you looked so damned beautiful…and I wanted you…so damned much.” He blew out a breath, raked a hand through his hair. Reaching down, he picked up her towel and handed it over. “Where you're concerned, my usual self-control seems to go right out the window.”

Elizabeth wrapped the towel around her, covering her body from breast to thigh, tucked the fabric in at the top. “I could have stopped you.”

“Yes.”

“I wanted you, too, Zach.”

He reached out and touched her cheek. “There's nothing wrong with two people wanting each other.”

She looked away from him, trying not to feel regret for what they had done. “I don't suppose there is.”

“Let me spend the night.”

She started shaking her head. “I don't think—”

“You don't think it's a good idea.”

“And you do?”

He sighed heavily. “I'm not sure. There's something going on here, Liz. And it's more than just sexual attraction. I feel it and so do you.”

“Whatever we might be feeling—it doesn't change the way things are.”

“Maybe it does. Why don't we wait and see?”

She walked away from him, away from the heat that had returned to his eyes and the look she had seen there before. She told herself not to imagine it was yearning. Whatever it was, it didn't change what he was, didn't change the fact that he had always been a loner and always would be. Didn't lessen the awful risk she would be taking if she allowed herself to get more deeply involved with him.

“I need to go change,” she said, wanting to put some distance between them. “I'll be right back.”

Zach just nodded, reading her thoughts, a look of resignation on his face.

Elizabeth returned a few minutes later, dressed in a pair of tan shorts and a crisp white blouse, her resolve back in place. No matter how much she desired him, she couldn't take the risk.

She walked past him toward the kitchen. “I made a pitcher of iced tea just before you got here. Would you like a glass?”

He nodded. “Sounds good.”

She noticed he had straightened his clothes and combed his hair. He looked as good as he had when he'd walked through the door and it bothered her to realize she wanted him again.

She busied herself dropping ice cubes into glasses and filling them with tea. Setting the glasses down on the kitchen table along with a spoon, she shoved the sugar bowl over to Zach's side of the table.

His eyes remained on her face. “It's fine the way it is.” He picked up the icy glass and took a long swallow, and she watched the long muscles moving in his throat.

“Did you get a chance to talk to your brother?” she asked, determined not to think of sex with Zach.

“Actually, that's the reason I stopped by. I talked to Carson. Unfortunately, he says there isn't any list of former tenants. I also talked to some of the workers. Mariano Nunez has been there the longest. He remembered most of the families who lived in the house while he was there. I wrote them down.”

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and tossed it down on the table. “But the old man had no idea where to find them. He says as far as he knows, no one ever died in either the old house or the new one.”

“That leads us nowhere.”

“We've still got the utility companies. You'll take a stab at them tomorrow?”

She nodded. “I can get away from work for an hour or so, I think. I'll see if I can dig up any information.”

“You haven't eaten supper, have you?”

“No, but…Look, Zach—”

“We could order some more Chinese—or maybe a pizza, sit around and watch a little TV.”

“Or you could go back to your world and I could stay here in mine.”

“We could do that. I don't want to.”

She looked at him, looked into those intense golden brown eyes, and her heart clenched. “I don't want to, either.”

She couldn't believe she'd said it. Now that she had, she realized it was true, and that it didn't really matter anymore. She was already in way over her head. Whatever happened, she was going to get hurt.

In the meantime, she had Zach. She would enjoy the time they had together.

She set her glass of tea down on the table, walked up and slid her arms around his neck, kissed him full on the mouth.

“Let's order something later,” she whispered against his ear. “I can think of something a whole lot better to do than eat.”

Zach grinned and kissed the side of her neck. “We'll have to see about that.” Lifting her up in his arms, he carried her into the bedroom.

Z
ach set the alarm for four o'clock the next morning, but awoke before the buzzer went off. Snuggled spoon-fashion against him, Elizabeth felt him stir, felt his morning arousal and moved to take him inside her. He made love to her slowly, until they both peaked, then he kissed the side of her neck and left her lying drowsily in bed while he showered and dressed to leave.

At this time of morning, without the usual traffic, it should take less than two hours to drive back to L.A., but Zach would need time to change clothes, and he had told her he had work to do before his first meeting.

“Call me this afternoon,” he said as he walked to where she lay in bed. “Let me know what you find out from the utility companies.”

She mumbled something unintelligible, then gave him a sleepy smile. “I will.”

Zach bent down and kissed her. “Don't forget.”

“I won't.”

“Talk to you soon, love.”

The endearment rolled over her, making her smile again. Plumping her pillow, she snuggled down under the sheet and went back to sleep.

The alarm went off again at 6:00 a.m. Elizabeth showered and dressed for the day, the ridiculous smile still on her face. It remained there even when she walked through the back door of the office humming some silly tune, and apparently her boss noticed.

“My, you're certainly cheerful today,” Michael said. “You must have had an exceptionally good weekend.”

She blushed. She couldn't help it.

Michael took in the high color in her cheeks and smiled. “Never mind. I don't think I want to know.” He poured her a cup of coffee from the pot in the tiny kitchen that served as lunch room and lounge and handed it over.

“What about you?” Elizabeth doctored the brew with cream, then sat down next to him at the tiny kitchen table. “You and Barbara set a date yet?”

Michael's thick, sandy brows drew slightly together. “Not yet. I don't see any reason to rush.”

“Neither do I. Especially if you still have any doubts.”

“I don't have any doubts. It's just that marriage is a really big step.”

She thought of Brian and what a disaster that had been, then thought of Zach and tried to imagine him in the role of husband but couldn't make the image appear. “A very big step,” she agreed, not feeling nearly as chipper as she had when she'd walked through the door. She wasn't quite sure why, since she certainly didn't want to get married again and especially not to Zach.

She spent the morning with clients. There was a gap in her schedule after her first two appointments, which gave her some time before lunch. Grabbing her purse on the way out the door, she headed off to So Cal Edison, the first stop on her list.

“May I help you?” A blond woman wearing an array of heavy imitation gold jewelry and too much makeup sat at the information desk.

“Yes, thank you, I'd appreciate that. My name is Elizabeth Conners. I'm a counselor at the Family Psychology Clinic. I'm helping someone with a research project that involves the history of San Pico, in particular the agricultural history of certain farms in the community. I was hoping you might be able to help me document the chain of residents who may have lived in one of the workers' houses in the compound at Harcourt Farms.”

Clearly impressed with the words
research
and
history,
the woman's blond eyebrows drew together. The pencil in her hand tapped briskly on the top of the desk.

“Have you tried city hall? They have all the records of homeowners in the area.”

“Unfortunately, the house is occupied by tenants. The only records would be phone or utility company records.”

“I see.” Turning to the computer screen in front of her, the woman—Janet was the name on the plastic tag on her right shoulder—began to type in letters. “Do you have an address for the property?”

“It's 20543 Route 51, San Pico.”

The letters on the keyboard clattered. “I don't know how much this will help. Our service records only go back ten years.”

Elizabeth felt a stab of disappointment.

“Currently, the gas and electric service is listed in the name of a Miguel Santiago.”

“That's right. Can you give me the names of the people who lived in the house before the Santiagos moved in?” Zach had given her the names Mariano Nunez had mentioned. She might as well verify as much as she could.

“I'm not really supposed to do this,” Janet said, but continued to page down on the screen. “Looks like the Santiagos just moved in a couple of months ago. Before that, it was someone named Rodriquez. There's a gap here a few years back of about ten months. Looks like the house was empty.”

“The house that was there before was torn down and this one built in its place.”

The blond woman nodded. “That would explain it. I'll print the list back as far as it goes.”

Elizabeth waited as the sheet printed out. Mariano had remembered the tenants in the house back almost thirty years but he didn't remember anyone dying there. She wished the So Cal list went back further.

Elizabeth accepted the printout the woman handed her. “Thank you very much.”

Scanning the page, she recognized one of the names on Zach's list, Bob Rodgers, apparently not Hispanic like most of the men who worked on the farm. But then neither was the current foreman, Lester Stiles, and a number of other employees. Aside from Rodgers, the only other occupant of the old wood-framed house in the last ten years was named De La Cruz, also mentioned on Zach's list.

Elizabeth folded the paper, thanked the woman again, and headed out the door.

Next stop, Ma Bell.

Unfortunately, she had even less success there than she had at So Cal Ed. Even though they had been cooperative and their list went back a total of fifteen years, no new names showed up. If there was a ghost, it must be someone who had died before Mariano Nunez arrived at the farm thirty years ago.

Elizabeth thought of Maria and how frightened she was, and by the time she got back to the office, her mood was grim.

Having promised to phone Zach with whatever news she had gleaned, she dialed his office number. As before, his secretary put her call straight through.

 

Zach picked up the phone and started to smile the moment he heard Elizabeth's voice. “Hi, baby.”

“I hate to bother you, Zach. I know you're busy, but I promised I would call.”

“You're not bothering me. What'd you find out?”

“Nothing. That's why I hated to call.”

“I'm glad you did. I'm up to my ass in alligators here. It's nice to hear a friendly voice.”

“What are we going to do, Zach? I feel so sorry for Maria. I wish I knew how to help her, but this ghost thing is way out of my league.”

“I know what you mean. But as I was driving back this morning—trying not to think how sexy you looked lying there in bed—I got an idea.”

“What is it?”

“It occurred to me we haven't tried the obvious. Mariano was fairly certain no one died in the house during the years he's worked on the farm—which covers about thirty years— so if there was a death, it probably happened further back in time. San Pico is a pretty small town, even smaller thirty or forty years ago. According to most of the info, ghosts usually result from a violent, or sudden, unexpected death, right?”

“Right.”

“Maybe there's something about it in the newspaper.”

“Zach, you're a genius! Why didn't we think of this sooner?”

“Like you said, ghost-hunting is kind of uncharted territory.”

“I'll go down to the
Newspress
as soon as I get a chance. I think they keep the old papers on microfiche or something. I'll see what I can dig up.”

Zach laughed. “Now there's a pun. I'll go online, try to see if I can find something useful. It's a long shot, but you never know.”

“Good idea.”

“If we don't find anything in the paper, I'm going to try talking to my father. He doesn't remember anything that happened after his fall, but sometimes his mind can be fairly sharp when he talks about the past.”

“You think that's a good idea?”

“To tell you the truth, I think he likes to reminisce about the good ol' days. He would have been a kid in the forties, when the gray house was first built. Maybe he'll remember something about the people who lived there as he grew up.”

“It's definitely worth a try. I gotta run. My next client just walked in.”

“Let me know if you come up with anything.”

“I will.”

“I'll see you Friday.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “See you Friday.”

Zach hung up and realized his stomach was clenching. He'd been gripping the phone, inwardly praying Liz hadn't changed her mind again and would refuse to see him this weekend. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. He had never known a woman who affected him the way Liz did.

He thought about the girl she had been in high school, determinedly independent, refusing to give in to peer pressure like other girls her age. Her mother had died from cancer when she was fifteen, and talk was, it had been a slow, agonizing death. Afterward, her dad's small grocery store had gone straight down-hill and he had finally been forced to file bankruptcy. Liz had gone to work at Marge's Café, the place he'd first noticed her.

She was smart. He figured she might have gotten some kind of scholarship, but likely still had to work to put herself through college. He admired her for the grit it must have taken. She had always been the kind of person who cared about others, undoubtedly the reason she had gone into family counseling.

Zach sighed and leaned back in his chair. He was getting in way too deep and he knew it. The little voice in his head was telling him to run before it was too late.

But his heart was saying something else. Something he had never heard before.
Take a chance. Just this once.

Just thinking about it made his stomach clench harder.

 

With her busy schedule, Elizabeth didn't make it down to the San Pico
Newspress
until Wednesday afternoon. Zach had told her he thought the house had been built some time in the nineteen forties, so she asked the clerk at the counter if she could look at newspapers dating back to that time.

She planned to scan the headlines. In a town the size of San Pico, any sort of violent crime would have been front-page news.

A gray-haired woman, slightly pudgy, wearing a pair of silver reading glasses on a chain around her neck, stood behind the counter.

“May I help you?”

Elizabeth told her she wanted to look at old newspaper records and the woman motioned for her to come through the low wooden gate into the working area of the office, then led her into a room at the rear of the redbrick building, fairly new since the town had been growing and newspaper readership along with it.

“Going back the last five years, everything's on computer,” the woman said proudly. “We're getting very modern here. Unfortunately, before that, you'll still be dealing with microfiche. The machines are on the table against the wall.”

Elizabeth turned in that direction, saw two clunky old microfiche readers with big screens and buttons on the side to run the film from reel to reel.

“You know how to run one?”

“I think so, yes. I used machines like these to do research when I was in college.”

“The film's in boxes in those metal file drawers.” The woman pointed to a tall cabinet that held four, legal-size drawers. “The label tells which years each roll of film covers. Every copy of the paper ever printed is in those files. Let me know if you need any help.”

The woman walked away and Elizabeth set to work, starting in the early nineteen forties, looking for any sort of violent crime that might have happened in the house or anywhere on Harcourt Farms. It was a long, tedious job that took the entire afternoon. She was just finishing up when the clerk returned at closing.

She sighed as she got up from her chair. If she had time, she could come back and check the police blotter, which showed anything reported by the police, but for that many years, the undertaking would be huge.

She was exhausted and discouraged when she left the building. Most of the violence in San Pico seemed to center around family disputes or arguments in local bars, and as far as she could tell, none of them had resulted in a death at Harcourt Farms. She'd looked for suicides and found a number, but none that had happened on the farm.

Later that evening, she phoned Zach at his apartment, figuring he would be home from work by now, but got his answering machine instead. She couldn't help wondering if he was out on a date, then shoved the unwanted thought away. She watched TV for a while and resisted the urge to phone him again before she went to bed.