Trusting a Stranger (2 page)

Hayley had practiced this part of her charade, and decided she might as well continue with it despite the awkwardness of the encounter. ‘It's a new series of magazine articles,' she said brightly. ‘For a magazine I work for back in Australia. Sort of like lifestyles of the rich and famous. Do you know what I mean?'

‘What can that have to do with this house? There's no one here who's famous, or particularly rich.'

‘Well, it's like lifestyles of the rich and famous,' Hayley amended quickly. ‘Come on. You can't be telling me that this villa owner is poor.'

Hayley began walking closer. It was important to get the guard on her side and she had been told that she had a face that looked trustworthy. Something to do with her blue eyes. Perhaps the guard would be more likely to believe her if he could see those.

‘I'm not going to tell you anything about the man who lives here,' the guard said. ‘It's you who needs to talk. I want to know what you're up to. No more lifestyles of the rich and famous rubbish.'

Hayley swallowed. She had hoped that her cover story would at least get her further than this. She hadn't even reached the front door. ‘I know the man who lives here isn't rich or famous. This magazine article will be more about how Australians live overseas.'

‘It sounds like you know a lot about him already.'

‘Well, I know he's Australian.'

‘Who told you that?'

‘My editor. I told you. I'm meant to be writing about expats.'

From here she could see one of the guard's eyebrows arch slightly, then settle down into a thick, black line to match its mate. It was quite clear that he still didn't believe her. And Hayley had to admit that the cover story had seemed ridiculous to her too — once she had realised that was what it was. Alvaro Tomasi, hiring her, had at first pretended he was only interested in interior decorating photographs. It was only when she agreed to take the assignment that he had made it clear how much emphasis she was to place on capturing images of the security system.

This villa was an impressively large house, but there were many of those hereabouts. Hayley had googled the address before she came and hadn't come up with any information that was particularly impressive. Why would a magazine want photos of this place in particular?

But what better cover story was there? The truth remained that Hayley needed to get photos of the inside of the house, if she possibly could, and that this man was the main thing standing between her and that goal. She walked closer still.

Close enough to confirm that it really was a gun in his outstretched arm.

Hayley allowed her own eyes to widen, pretending this was the first time she had considered he might be armed. The man held her gaze.

‘You don't really want to use that, do you?' she asked, pointing. ‘I told you, I'm just a photographer.'

The man made a deep sound that might have been a growl.

Something in her stomach tightened.

‘And I'm just on guard.'

He raised his shirt and slid the weapon away. Then he reached towards her.

‘You're coming with me. I want to know what this is really about.'

Going into the house? Hayley's stomach moved again, this time a dip, a sigh of relief. She was going to get in there after all. The dream she had of saving her father seemed to shift just a little closer to reality.

‘All right,' she said, feigning reluctance. ‘But keep your gun hidden, okay? I'm not used to dealing with things like that.'

‘I'm going to find out what you really are used to,' the man said.

‘I told you! I'm a photographer.'

He was still staring at her. Hayley swallowed. ‘It's a creative business. I need to be able to think without being frightened,' she said. She was talking too much, she knew. She always did when she was nervous. A contrast to the guard, who seemed inclined to say as little as possible.

Heat seemed to move around her body with his gaze. The guard had put his gun away but was still assessing her. As a possible risk? What other reason could he have for looking her over like this? His eyes moved across her face, down her arms, across her body, down her legs. Hayley shifted from foot to foot, the pebbles crunching again.

He could not seriously think she posed any sort of danger to this house or its inhabitants. Not when he was here on guard, whether he was holding his gun or not. She was armed only with a camera and she was a head and shoulders shorter than him. Could be as little as half his weight, too.

A truth he seemed sensible enough to work out for himself.

‘Your camera,' he said, nodding in its direction. ‘Put it away too.'

Hayley nodded and opened the case she always wore slung around her waist, sliding the instrument in and carefully securing it there. It was an expensive camera and she could not make a living without it.

Then the guard turned and with a rough shoulder gesture told her to follow him around the house.

Hayley had to fight the ridiculous sensation to run. Going inside with him was exactly what she had been sent to do. So why was she feeling so hesitant?

There was something about the man that she found profoundly unsettling. She hadn't been able to see in the window, and she didn't know if there was anyone else inside the villa.

It suddenly dawned on her that, once inside, she would be completely at his mercy.

But she couldn't do it, couldn't run. She thought of her father, the way he had been when she last saw him: in a dingy flat, alone and afraid that his next move would be to a place that was even worse — the sort of hospital that old, broken people died in. She needed to find a way to save him, and it was only money that would allow her to do that.

She wasn't in any danger, Hayley reminded herself. The man who had hired her, Alvaro Tomasi, had assured her that the villa was owned by a white-collar criminal. She wanted to help capture the villa owner if she could. Maybe he wasn't actually one of the men who had defrauded her father of the last of his savings, but if not, then he was someone just like that evil man — someone who had ruined plenty of innocent lives. Hayley couldn't think about it without the image of her father springing to her mind.

But white-collar criminals weren't dangerous. They didn't wave guns in the faces of tourists who couldn't manage to find their way to the front door. They were mild, peaceful. That was one of the things that made them white-collar. They didn't commit violence, didn't want to get their hands dirty.

Thinking this did not make the gun go away. She had to stop thinking so much, Hayley told herself. She had to get more practical. So what if it seemed unusual for a white-collar criminal to have an armed guard at his country estate? Who was Hayley to make judgements about things like that?

Until this very moment, Hayley had led a quiet life. Working in wedding photography ever since she discovered there was a way to use her skill with a camera to earn an income. Her biggest conflict so far had involved brides-to-be and tears. Last week, a woman had collapsed in tears because Hayley's skills were so in demand that she ‘had to have her' for a day. Hayley had already been booked. The crisis hadn't ended until Hayley had found another photographer that the woman liked. Encounters like that hadn't prepared her for dealing with armed guards, or with criminals.

But she had to do what she had come here to do. She was committed to it now. With mixed emotions, Hayley fell into step beside the guard and accompanied him inside.

What the hell was this woman doing here? Ethan MacDonald looked down at her again as he slid open the bolt on the long front door. She walked into the hall in front of him, small and slight and young. He knew from her accent that she was Australian. The way she had spun out that ridiculous story about taking photographs of his home! He could tell she was far too inexperienced to have any idea of how much trouble she was getting herself into.

The woman paused and glanced around the hall. She seemed impressed. It was a big, open space, scrubbed clean and filled with sunlight from the windows high up in the walls. As she looked around, she fingered the catch on her camera bag. Perhaps she really did want to take photos, although that was clearly not what she had really come here for. Perhaps that was just what she habitually did when she was nervous.

Ethan turned to lock the door behind him and to key a security code into the alarm box beside it. When he looked in her direction again, the woman had taken a step towards the banisters and reached into the case attached to her belt, feeling for her camera.

‘No photos,' he told her.

The woman's hand stilled, but did not lower. ‘No photos yet,' she corrected.

There was something in her tone that was slightly school-teacherish. She was correcting him? If the idea hadn't been so ludicrous, Ethan might have found it annoying. Once again he felt, as he had felt outside when she had walked towards him despite the gun he was aiming at her, that this was a woman who did not like to do what she was told — the sort of woman that craved adventure.

Ethan stiffened at the thought. He knew about women like that. Excitement-crazed and always eager for adventure, no matter what the cost. The family of Erica, his late wife, had lived in this part of the world forever and in some ways Erica had reminded him of the pre-Roman Etruscan women renowned for their wildness. He had experienced enough of that wildness before. Enough for a lifetime.

‘No photos until I speak to your boss,' the woman continued. She turned again, gazing through the open internal door towards a large sitting room beyond.

‘My boss?' Ethan repeated.

‘Is he around somewhere?' She stepped towards the other room. ‘I will ask permission, you understand. But I have come for those photos and I really don't see any reason why he should say no. This is a beautiful house.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Thank you?'

The woman was really very pretty. He appreciated it even more when she directed the full force of her attention towards him, as she was doing again now. Her eyes were wide and brightly blue, a fine contrast to the pale coils of her hair.

‘Did you have something to do with the decorating?' she asked.

He coughed. ‘You've misunderstood,' he said. ‘My name is Ethan McDonald. We're in my house.'

To do her justice, the woman recovered quickly from her evident surprise. Her fingers finally left the camera case as she reached out to shake his hand. Only the nervous way she tossed her hair over her shoulder betrayed that she was not completely at ease. Then she laughed, a tinkly, slightly forced sound.

‘McDonald?' she said. ‘Scottish name, Australian accent, Italian way of speaking with your hands. You're intriguing, you know? And I do have to apologise. I thought you were the guard.'

He shook her hand, waiting for the next piece of information. And evidently she sensed the anticipation.

‘I really don't need to explain again what I want, do I?' she asked.

‘No.' Ethan considered her. ‘But I wouldn't mind knowing exactly who you are.'

‘I told you. I'm a photographer. I'm here to… Oh! You mean I've forgotten to tell you my name.'

Charmingly, she held her hand out again, as though she'd forgotten that they had just been through that.

‘Hayley Morrison. Pleased to meet you.'

She was much too confused and inexperienced for this dangerous business, Ethan realised. What on earth did she think she was doing? How on earth had Alvaro Tomasi convinced her to have anything to do with him at all? And why would Alvaro Tomasi come up with such a strange plan to get her into his home? But he shook her hand again anyway. She had nice skin.

Very nice skin, he realised next, missing the warmth of her touch as it was withdrawn.

‘You said you're Ethan McDonald?' she continued. ‘I was wondering about that. Apparently this is your family property? McDonald's not at all an Italian name.'

‘My mother was Italian.'

‘I see.' Hayley nodded. ‘You must get your colouring from her.'

‘So I'm told.'

Hayley smiled. Her face lit up with it. ‘You don't know for yourself?'

‘I didn't know my mother. She died when I was very young.'

‘Oh! I'm sorry.'

‘Don't be.' Ethan had spent most of his life fielding questions about what had happened to his late mother. Until he started fielding questions about what had happened to his late wife. ‘I very much doubt it was your fault.'

She flushed. Ethan found himself feeling sorry for his sharp reply, although it was his customary response when people apologised for his mother's death.

‘I didn't mean it like that.' Hayley's chest expanded as she took a deep breath. ‘Look, we've been through the introductions now. You know why I'm here. I can tell you don't really like having a stranger around. Can I just get on with things?'

‘I don't really think so, no.'

‘Why not?'

‘Well, for a start, I don't know what things you mean.'

‘Taking the photos of course. Then I can leave.'

‘You really think I'm going to let you do that?'

‘Well, you brought me in here.'

‘I wanted you where I could keep an eye on you. Now, please go into the sitting room. I have something to attend to for a few minutes.'

He stretched out one arm, half expecting that she would refuse to move until the agreed to the photos. But she must be a little curious about the rest of the house. As she stepped into the adjacent room, her sunshiny scent floated up to him.

Ethan closed his eyes for a moment but opened them while she was still looking away. How long had it been since he'd been so aware of a woman's scent? Probably not since Erica, although Hayley's scent was far warmer and more floral than Erica's had been. For some reason, Hayley's hair reminded him of Erica as well. Although Erica had been dark where Hayley was very fair, they had shared the fluffy sort of curls he always wanted to run his fingers through.