Authors: Jayne Ann Krentz
Secret Sisters (16 page)
“It is very gracious of you to make time to see me on such short notice,” Louisa said. She took off her reading glasses in a movement that conveyed a sense of great weariness and set them aside. “I do apologize. You've been through a very traumatic experience today. I also want to offer you my condolences on the loss of your grandmother.”
“It isn't as though she died of natural causes,” Madeline said. “I believe she was murdered.”
Louisa stared at her. It was a true deer-in-the-headlights stare. Clearly she had not seen that coming.
Score one for me,
Madeline thought. When you were involved in a negotiation with someone who was accustomed to wielding power, it paid to blindside your opponent.
“I had not heard anything about murder,” Louisa gasped, clearly shaken. “I understood that Edith Chase's death was an accident.”
“That's what the police said. I have my own opinion.”
“I see.” Louisa composed herself. “Do you have anything to base it on?”
“No, but I'm sure you can see why I'm leaning in that direction,
given what happened to me and my consultant today. May I ask why you wanted to see me?”
When she had walked into the spacious foyer of Cliff House a short time ago, she had been struck by an eerie sense of emptiness. It wasn't that there weren't people around. In addition to the housekeeper who had greeted her at the door, there was a team of florists and a number of workers engaged in various tasks that appeared related to preparations for the upcoming birthday reception.
But somehow the big house felt empty. And dark. And cold.
Jack had driven her through the gates of the Webster family compound. He had escorted her to the door and waited until the housekeeper had appeared. Then he had returned to the SUV, which he had made a point of parking in the front drive where everyone in the vicinity would be aware of his presence. The message was plain. She had not entered the lion's den alone.
“Do the police have any idea of what caused the explosion and fire out at Aurora Point?” Louisa asked.
“Not yet,” Madeline said. “It's still under investigation.”
“Rumor has it that a woman claiming to be Tom Lomax's granddaughter was present at the scene.”
“I'm impressed that you know so much about the incident,” Madeline said. “It only happened a few hours ago.”
“You know how it is in a small town.” Louisa folded her hands on top of her desk. Her expensive rings sparkled with a hard, cold light. “Is it true?”
“Oh, yes, there was a woman at the scene. And she did claim to be Tom's granddaughter.”
“That is difficult to believe.” Louisa's mouth tightened at the corners. “Tom Lomax was such an eccentric loner.”
“We all have stories in our pasts, don't we?”
To her surprise, Louisa looked unnerved. The strange air of shock lasted only a second or two. She recovered immediately.
“Why would Tom Lomax's granddaughter want to kill you?” she asked finally.
“Good question. But then, I'm not at all sure I was the target. Perhaps it was Mr. Rayner who was the intended victim.” Madeline got to her feet. “If the only reason you asked me to come here today was to question me about what happened out at the Aurora Point this morning, you could have just phoned. I'll be leaving now.”
“No,” Louisa said, an edge of panic in the word. “I want to talk to you about a business matter. Sit down. Please.”
Concluding that she would learn more by staying than by leaving, Madeline sat down again.
“I understand that you came here to get the Aurora Point Hotel ready to put on the market,” Louisa said. “That is an excellent plan. We never understood why your grandmother held on to it for so long. I suppose she hoped that the property would one day increase markedly in value.”
Louisa paused expectantly, waiting for confirmation or denial of her theory. Madeline smiled politely.
Louisa abandoned the attempt to gain more information.
“Unfortunately, land prices around here have been stable for years,” she said. “In fact, they've actually gone lower in some cases. I'm afraid Cooper Island will never be a major vacation destination here in the Pacific Northwest.”
“Doesn't look like it,” Madeline said.
Louisa tapped one finger on the desk. Her rings glinted again in the glare of the lamp.
“The hotel buildings and cottages are worthless, of course, but the property has some long-term potential,” she continued. “Egan and I believe that it can be transformed into a community recreational area.
With that in mind, we would like to purchase it. I'll write the check today.”
“I will certainly consider your offer,” Madeline said. “But I'm not ready to make a decision yet.”
Louisa's jaw jerked twice. “This is about what happened today, isn't it? You think that because of the incident at the Crab Shack involving my son Xavier and your Mr. Rayner, Xavier is somehow responsible for the explosion and fire.”
“Those are your words, not mine.”
Louisa came up out of her chair. “I will not allow you to make unfounded accusations against a member of my family.”
“I haven't made any accusations, Louisa. You were the one who brought up Xavier's name.”
Louisa's face got tight. Her eyes glittered with the same hard light that infused the stones in her rings.
“I think it would be best if you and your so-called consultant left Cooper Island immediately.”
“So now we get to the real reason you asked me to come here today. You're trying to run my consultant and me out of town.”
“Don't be ridiculous. I'm suggesting that the two of you leave before there is any more trouble.”
“Why would there be more trouble?”
“You're an intelligent woman, Madeline. I'm hoping that you will also demonstrate that you have a sense of responsibility.”
“Does this mean my consultant and I are no longer invited to your husband's birthday reception?”
Rage flashed in Louisa's eyes. “I'm trying to deal with you as a mature adult.”
“You're terrified because you know that Xavier was humiliated at the Crab Shack. You're afraid that he might go to extreme lengths to get even.”
Louisa turned to stone. “That is utter nonsense. But I will tell you this, Madeline Chase: Your presence here and the presence of your so-called consultant is stirring up trouble. It would be better for all concerned if you left immediately. Never say that you weren't warned.”
“Don't worry, Louisa, I won't say that.” Madeline got to her feet again and hitched the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “It looks like we're finished here. If you'll excuse me, my consultant is waiting for me.”
She turned and started toward the door.
“Damn it, don't you understand? I'm trying to do what's best for all of us.”
Madeline paused, one hand on the doorknob. “You mean you're trying to do what you think is best for your family. I do understand. Believe it or not, you have my sympathy.”
“Get out of here. Now.”
Madeline opened the door and went out into the hall. There was no one waiting to escort her back to the entrance. She would have to find her own way.
In the unnatural stillness that gripped Cliff House, she thought she heard soft sounds coming from the study. Louisa was sobbing.
Madeline hurried toward the far end of the hall. When she reached the foyer, the housekeeper appeared.
“I'm so sorry,” the woman said. “Mrs. Webster didn't ring to let me know that you were ready to leave.”
“Not a problem,” Madeline said.
A sense of relief that bordered on euphoria shot through her when she saw Jack lounging against the fender of the SUV. The dark mirrors of his sunglasses glinted in the silvery daylight. It took an enormous effort of willpower to walk, not run, down the steps.
He opened the passenger-side door for her. “How did it go?”
She climbed into the vehicle. “Let's just say we won't be going to the ball, after all.”
When the dark memories came, they usually came late at night. Jack awoke from a troubled dream and lay quietly for a time, thinking about the past . . .
The metallic thud of the fishing spear striking his aluminum dive tank was the first indication he had that Victor Ingram meant to murder him.
The impact of the blow caused him to lose his grip on the guide line that marked the route through the underwater cave. He turned quickly, trying to believe that Victor had discharged the spear gun by accident. But some part of himâthe part that was now focused on survivalâwas already dealing with the knowledge that Victor wanted him dead.
Victor's eyes widened behind the faceplate of his mask. He had not planned on missing the shot. Panic set in fast. He dropped the empty spear gun and grabbed his dive knife. Kicking furiously, he propelled himself forward, the blade extended for a slashing strike . . .
He pushed back the covers, sat up on the edge of the bed, and checked the time. One nineteen. From long experience he knew he
would not be going back to sleep anytime before dawn. He listened to the big house for a moment. Outside, the storm was still lashing the windows and pounding on doors, but nothing sounded unduly alarming.
He checked his phone. No pings from the motion sensors he had installed that afternoon.
He didn't think the killer would make another move so soon, but he had been wrong before.
He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, picked up the holstered gun, and went out into the hallway.
The door to Madeline's room stood slightly ajar, just as it had when she had turned out the lights a few hours ago. He paused, listening again. There was no sound from her room.
Between the trauma of the explosion and the unpleasant interview with Louisa Webster, she had been exhausted. She needed sleep. She had been living on adrenaline and disturbing memories for the past several days now. That combination was hard on the body, the nerves, and most of all the mind. It got in the way of sound judgment and clear thinking.
Just who was he lecturing here, he wondered, Madeline or himself?
He went downstairs, sat at the kitchen table, and opened his computer. There was an email from Abe.
Thought you might find the attached interesting. The brokerage firm is the one where Webster worked before moving to Bellevue, WA.
The attached document was from a San Diego newspaper. It was dated a little more than twenty years earlier.
The bodies of two people believed murdered in the course of a home invasion were discovered by police this morning. The male victim was identified as Carl Seavers, a stockbroker who worked for a firm in La Jolla. The woman who was found dead at the scene was identified as Sharon Richards, also an employee of the brokerage business. Neighbors reported that they heard nothing alarming during the night.
According to his co-workers, Seavers enjoyed considerable success as a broker. “He had a golden gut when it came to picking stocks,” one noted. Authorities are investigating the possibility that drugs may have been involved.
Jack unclipped his phone. Abe answered on the fourth or fifth ring. He sounded groggy and short-tempered.
“It's one thirty in the morning,” he snarled.
“Tell me about the home invasion robbery,” Jack said.
“I can't tell you anything more yet. I don't know anything more. The guy we interviewed today mentioned it when he talked about the old days at the firm. Evidently Webster left town to fire up his hedge fund about a month after the deaths of Seavers and the woman. Now leave me alone. You may not need sleep, but I do.”
The connection went dead. Jack looked at the device for a while but finally decided not to hit
redial
.
He got up and went into the living room to contemplate the view from the windows. The fractured moonlight painted the cold water in icy shades of silver.
Memories drifted at the edges of his consciousness. During the day he could ignore the ghostly images, but at night that was a lot harder to do.
Two years ago he had accepted the fact that for the rest of his life
he would likely get visits from the ghost of Victor Ingram. There had been a price to pay.
But it was not until he met Madeline that he had understood the true enormity of the cost.
He heard her footsteps on the stairs, but he did not turn around until she spoke.
“Jack?”
He did turn then, and saw her in the doorway, a wraithlike figure silhouetted by the soft glow of a night-light.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn't mean to wake you. Just checking email. Abe sent a newspaper clipping. It seems that two colleagues of Webster's from the La Jolla days died in a home invasion a little more than twenty years ago.”
“Yes, I know. I got a message from Daphne. Weird.”
“Very weird.”
“But what does it mean?”
“I don't know yet. Abe and Daphne are going to talk to someone else from Webster's old brokerage firm tomorrow.”
Madeline smiled briefly. “Between you and me, I think Daphne is rather enjoying the role of private investigator.”
“Glad someone is. Nearly getting you killed today certainly took the thrill out of the business for me.”
“You didn't nearly get me killed. You saved my life.”
“That's not how I remember it.”
She walked through the doorway and stopped in front of him. She was so close, only inches away. So close he could feel the warmth of her body. So close her scent stirred his blood. So close he could see the invitation in her eyes.
“That's exactly how I remember it,” she said. “If I tell you that I want you to kiss me, will you tell me to go back to bed?”
“If you want to kiss me because you think I saved your life, I'll take a rain check.”
“I don't do rain checks. This is a take-it-or-leave-it offer. And for the record, it's got nothing to do with the fact that you saved my life. I will remind you that I wanted to kiss you before today happened.”
“You were feeling emotional that first night here on the island. You were vulnerable.”
“That does it, I've had enough.” She took a decisive step back toward the door. “For the record, I am not too emotionally vulnerable to make an informed decision tonight. In spite of appearances to the contrary, I do know what I'm doingâor at least what I wanted to do before you so rudely implied otherwise.”
“Damn it, Madelineâ”
She was already on the stairs, heading back to her bedroom.
“Forget it,” she called down to him. “I don't want to hear any more excuses. If you don't want to go to bed with me, just say so. I promise to stop bothering you.”
“Madeline, wait.”
He broke through the trance and started after her.
He made it to the top of the stairs in time to see her disappear into the shadows of the bedroom.
The door slammed shut just as he reached it. He pushed it open again before she could lock it. She stood her ground, very fierce and proud. And incredibly exciting.
He stopped abruptly. “You don't understand.”
“What, exactly, do I fail to grasp about this situation?”
“The future.”
“What about the future?”
“I can't offer you one.”
She went utterly still, visibly shocked. “Jack, please tell me, do you have some terrible disease?”
“No, nothing like that.” He winced. “Sorry. Didn't mean to go down that road. Look, this is complicated.”
“How complicated? Are you gay?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell me that you've got a wife and kids stashed away somewhere?”
“No. What I'm going to tell you is that I've got a lousy track record when it comes to relationships. They never last long. My fault every time. Don't you understand? I don't want any misunderstandings between us. I can't make any promises.”
“Ah. Commitment issues.”
“Something like that.”
She considered briefly and then nodded once. “Okay.”
“Okay? That's all you can say?”
“I'm good with your issues if you're good with mine.”
“Your issues don't begin to compare to mine,” he warned.
“Now we're comparing issues?”
“You think running background checks on the guys you date constitutes a serious issue?”
She frowned. “Of course not. Paying someone to run background checks on my dates is just common sense. My issues are a lot more personal. I do not intend to discuss them with a man who isn't interested in having a relationship with me. Good night, Jack. Again.”
“Wait. You're saying you're okay with my commitment issues?”
“Right. Now, if you're done with this conversationâ”
“We're not having a conversation, we're conducting a damn negotiation.”
She raised her brows. “Is that right?”
“Just to be clearâyou'd be okay with a relationship based on the
understanding that I've got a lousy track record in the relationship department?”
“I'll put my lousy track record up against yours anytime.” She folded her arms. “However, I do insist on monogamy on both sides while we are involved in this uncommitted relationship.”
Her voice was as tight as that of a gambler who was doubling down on a desperate bet.
“Agreed,” he said. He did not want to think about her with another man. “Anything else you want to negotiate?”
“Can't think of anything offhand,” she said. “You?”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“Then it looks like we have established the terms and conditions of a relationship.”
“Are you going to whip out a contract for me to sign?”
Her brows snapped together. “What?”
“Talk about taking the romance out of things.”
She stared at him for a beat. Then she went off like a volcano.
“You started it,” she said.
Her voice was harsh with indignation, anger, andâmaybeâpain. Or maybeâjust maybeâthose were the emotions tearing through him.
“Me?” he shot back. “You're the one who wanted to compare issues.”
“I can't believe you're trying to make this my fault.”
He moved closer to her. “Damned if I'll let you stick me with the blame for this fiasco.”
“First you accuse me of taking all the romance out of our relationship and then you call it a fiasco. You're right. Whatever happens between us probably won't last very long, not at the rate we're going, so I suggest we get started before it fizzles out completely.”
She closed the short distance between them, clamped her hands around his shoulders, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him.
It was a kiss fueled by the energy that had been charging the atmosphere between them for almost three months; a kiss powered by the emotional fallout from the explosion in the garage; a kiss that carried the fire of adrenaline and frustration and anger.
And it acted like a powerful accelerant for the hunger that had been simmering deep inside him since the day he met her.
“To hell with our issues and the future,” he said against her mouth. “All I care about right now is tonight.”
“Tonight works for me.”
