by Lori Foster
Still chuckling, Zane wiped his eyes. "Joe happened, and God, I'd give a hundred bucks to have been there."
"Zane Winston, you're terrible. He's your cousin."
"And he's entirely too cocksure of himself where women are concerned. You know, if I had to venture a guess, I'd say Joe likely acted like himself and Luna rightfully took exception."
"He can't be that bad."
Zane hugged her. "Sweetheart, I swear, he's a good deal worse."
The door chimed again, and this time Tamara groaned. "Darn it, why is everyone coming early? I wanted a chance to talk to you."
Zane smiled down at her. Those warm, intimate feelings of his drifted over her with the coziness of a posh blanket.
"They're early," he whispered, "because, like me, they're eager to see you."
"Oh Zane." Words of affection, of . . . love, were just about to escape her when another, colder voice broke in. "I see I'm interrupting yet again."
Teeth bared in a parody of a smile, Zane turned. "Boris."
Boris looked past Zane to Tamara. With his normal pompous disregard for propriety, he said, "I trust you're ready for me?"
Tamara's smile wasn't much better than Zane's. "You're early, so you'll have to wait for a bit."
That brought him down a peg. He scowled in disbelief and disappointment. "But I had hoped...."
Zane rumbled with anger. "Why don't you just leave, if you don't have time to wait till your damn appointment?"
Tamara wished he would leave. She needed to talk to Zane, and with Boris's entrance, the need became nearly desperate. She wasn't sure what was wrong, or what Boris wanted, but she thought talking to Zane about it might help clear things up.
She trusted him, she realized with some consternation. In the past, she never would have entrusted someone else, relied on someone else to help her understand a situation and deal with it. But Zane had worked his way into her life, into her confidence.
Into her heart.
Now, she couldn't imagine not sharing with him. The sudden insight was both disturbing and oddly liberating.
She was anxious to share her new insights with Zane, to tell him her astounding revelations, but of course Boris didn't go away. Beyond her own emotional upheaval, she picked up on Boris's determination, his hard insistence, the darkness of his thoughts that seeped into her mind like thunderclouds.
He pretended an indifference she knew to be the direct opposite of what he really felt. His smile was a barely veiled sneer. "I'll wait, of course."
A wave of sickness made her suck in her breath.
Zane quickly put his arm around her. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. I ... I'm fine." She fashioned a smile, as much to reassure Zane as to fool Boris. She didn't want him to know what she felt. God, she'd figured a few things out only that morning, and now Boris was back and everything was coming to a head. She had to talk to Zane.
Bringing her attention back to him, Zane asked, "Do you need to sit down?"
"No." She couldn't take the chance of alerting Boris by acting like a fainting dolt now, so she searched her brain for some innocuous bit of conversation, something everyday and mundane. She came upon the perfect tidbit. "I wanted to talk to you about the journal."
The reflection of sensual, satisfying memories plain in his dark eyes, Zane murmured, "Is that so? One of my favorite topics." His smile gentle, he added, "Planning something new? What page are you up to?"
A wave of heat flooded her cheeks. Boris had taken a seat on the sofa in the foyer, but he made no pretense of ignoring them. His attention was openly, fixedly, set on their conversation.
That was fine. At least he wouldn't suspect anything when she led Zane upstairs.
Tamara cleared her throat. "Actually, I was thinking of giving the book away."
She'd shocked him. Zane frowned as he said, "Give it away? Why?"
Since Boris knew nothing of the book or what it contained, she felt safe saying, "To another client. I've been sharing parts of the book with him, and I think that may be the main reason he's coming around so much. If I give him the book...."
Zane caught on. He took her arm and steered her out of hearing distance of Boris. He moved her over by the stairs that led to her rooms. "Arkin Devane?"
"Yes." With complete honesty, she admitted, "I feel horrible taking his money and his time when all I do is relay parts of the journal to him. It's not fair to charge him for that, because it's not my advice or insight, it's straight from someone else."
"He gets the information from you. though."
"Yes. But...." Tamara hesitated. Zane gave her so much, it was time she became more honest with him, He
deserved at least that much. It took a fortifying breath for her to be able to say, "He's in love."
"With you?"
She laughed at his bristling annoyance. No, not with me. With someone else." She put her hand on his neck and smiled up at him. "Now that I'm so . . . happy, I want everyone else to be that happy, too."
A heartbeat passed while Zane searched her face, then he gathered her close. "So you're happy, huh?" "Remarkably so."
She felt his smile against her temple. "With me?" Leaning back to see his face, she nodded. "I didn't know it was possible to be this happy."
His expression softened, grew intent. "Damn, I wish I was alone with you right now."
"Me too." Impishly, she reminded him, "There's tonight, of course."
He became arrested. then groaned. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
Laughing under his breath, he said, "Don't look at me like that, don't talk like that. God, you'll make it impossible for me to walk."
Delighted with his open response to her, she said, "You affect me the same way."
"Damn it." He closed his eyes and said, "That's it. One more word and you'll miss the next three appointments."
Tamara laughed. "You're so easy." Then, to get them back on subject, she pointed out, "You see? We don't need the journal anymore. Don't you think we should share it? That the author would have wanted us to share it?"
"Maybe. But I've grown partial to it, you know. I feel . . . protective. I don't want to give it to just anyone."
She smiled at this further proof of how sensitive Zane could be. "Yes, I know. But it'll be in good hands. Arkin's
a wonderful man, and I'm sure he'll feel the same as we do."
Zane looked at her mouth. "You're sure it's some other woman he's fixated on?"
"Yes. I keep telling you and Luna that he's not really here for me. It's because I understand him and his shyness and I have the book to help him."
"Well, God knows I'm all for weeding out your gentlemen callers."
Tamara couldn't help but laugh again. She found it hysterically funny whenever Zane pretended to be jealous. Her laugh died in midbreath. "Oh no."
"What is it?" Zane caught her arms. Alarm darkened his eyes. "Tamara?"
"You don't sense it?"
"Sense what, damn it?"
Urgently, feeling like a fool for not realizing the truth sooner, she said, "We need to go upstairs for a minute."
Zane's bafflement was plain, but he didn't argue with her. He turned to Luna. "We'll be right back. Can you hold down the fort?"
After one long, searching glance at Tamara's face, she gave Zane a salute. "Not a problem."
They were barely up the stairs and through the door before Tamara said, "Boris is the one."
"What one? The guy who's been trying to ruin you?"
"Yes."
Grabbing her shoulders, Zane barked, "Did he say something to you? Did he touch you?"
"Shh. Calm down, Zane." Tamara bit her lip in slight uncertainty, but then she shook her head. This was Zane. She trusted him, and he'd never laughed at her. Not once. "He hasn't done or said anything. I just . . . I feel it."
Zane didn't allow himself to relax. Tension vibrated off Tamara, as did her hesitancy. But she'd trusted him, confided in him. "How long have you known?"
> "Almost from the beginning. I couldn't be certain, but I knew something about him didn't seem right. Whenever
he was around, I felt his . . . evil. He was so easy to read—"
A new anger washed through him, one constructed of jealousy. "I thought other than family, I was the only man you could read." He'd assumed, based on what Tamara had told him, that she cared about him whether she admitted it or not, and that was what facilitated her ability to know his feelings. "I know damn good and well you don't care about Sandor."
"Of course not. He makes me nauseous, the emotions in him are so black and ugly and thick. But that's precisely why I can read him. Strong emotions, of any kind, are sometimes apparent to me. It's just that most people don't feel that strongly."
"You're losing me, Tamara."
She rubbed her forehead as she considered how best to explain. "It's like with your relatives. Sophie is easy to know because her feelings for Cole are so powerful. And the same is true of Cole. Love sort of pours off him when he looks at his wife, when he looks at you or your brothers."
"That's how you knew Sophie didn't have a preference for the baby?"
"Yes. And it's how I know Arkin Devane is in love, and how I know your cousin Joe is basically a very good, honorable man, and how I know ..." she drew a steadying breath ". . . that Boris is a very bad man."
Zane propped his hands on his hips and dropped his head forward to think. "If you knew this, if you could feel what kind of man he was, why the hell did you let him hang around?"
"I wasn't certain if he was the one who'd done all those things to my shop. Sometimes I felt him, but sometimes, like the night of the break-in, and the night I was followed, it was different somehow. Fractured. Not as strong or as negative." She shook her head. "Not Boris."
"Maybe he hired someone to do those things for him, but it still doesn't explain why the hell you didn't say something to me sooner."
"I knew if I did, you'd get all macho and protective and you'd try to put a stop to his visits. Then I'd never be able to find out what he was after."
Zane fought the urge to shake her. "You still don't know, do you?"
Tamara was shaking her head when a voice from behind her said calmly, "Perhaps I'll enlighten you."
In one swift movement, Zane had Tamara at his back. And then he saw the gun, a polished thirty-eight, in Boris's meaty hand. Fear tightened his throat. If Tamara got hurt. . . . He felt her pressed against him, felt her quickened breath on his shoulder.
She wouldn't be hurt. No matter what, he'd make sure of that.
Boris must have come up the outside stairs, Zane realized. It was the only other entrance. But the alarm should have gone off... .
Tamara went on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, "I didn't set the alarm. We were here, and there were visitors, and I, well, I only use it at night or when I'm away."
Zane wanted to groan. Instead he asked, "What the hell do you want, Sandor?"
"Why, to set the record straight, of course." Waving the gun, he motioned them away from the stairway leading to the shop and quietly stepped past them to close the door. Zane's heartbeat stuttered and nearly died each and every time the barrel pointed at Tamara. He would not let this maniac hurt her.
She said, her voice laced with nervousness as she peered around him, "Don't you dare be a hero, Zane Winston." Her hands knotted in the back of his shirt and she shook him. "I mean it."
Boris laughed. "A hero? My dear, he can hardly do battle with a bullet."
"I asked you what you wanted." Zane spoke in order to keep Boris's attention away from Tamara.
"Well, first, I wasn't the one who broke into your home. And no, Mr. Sherlock, I didn't hire anyone to break in either. That would have been too risky."
Zane could barely move with Tamara clinging to him like a vine, but that didn't stop his mind from churning. Boris was older, heavier. Zane was quick, his reactions razor-sharp. Adrenaline pumped through him. He could take Boris. He might get a bullet in the bargain, but that was a chance he was willing to take. "You think I'm going to believe you?" he asked, buying himself more time.
"Why would I lie?" Boris acted almost cavalier about the situation. "You see, I did start the fire and cause the flood. It was easy enough to pay a disreputable sort of fellow to pry open the old storeroom window and toss in a burning cigarette butt." His expression hardened. "Unfortunately, she came home too soon, and the fire was extinguished before it could do the job."
"What job is that?"
Boris ignored him. "And the rat in the toilet was a brainstorm. A slightly more difficult feat, requiring a child who could fit through the window, but luckily, I'd hired a family man. He had a son who was just the right size."
"You used a child?" Tamara demanded, not bothering to hide her loathing.
Boris shrugged. "The boy thought it was a lark. I believe he enjoyed himself. And it stood to reason that if the place flooded, everything on the floor would be destroyed. Again, misfortune smiled on me." He glowered at Tamara, his jaw tightening, his lip curled. "She'd already removed it from the boxes in the storeroom. I know because I paid good money for a man to go through her garbage."
Tamara went on tiptoe to see over Zane's shoulder. "I'd already moved what? What are you talking about?"
Just that easily, Boris's composure slipped. "That goddamned journal!"
Both Tamara and Zane froze. Zane backed up a tiny step, crowding into Tamara, forcing her to back up, too.
The farther from Boris she got, the easier it'd be for her to escape while he distracted Boris with an attack.
"Hold still! Neither one of you is going anywhere."
"What do you want with the journal?" Tamara asked, edging out from behind Zane, thwarting his efforts. He tried to stop her, but she moved too quickly for him.
Boris shrugged, collecting himself as if he hadn't just shouted, as if he didn't have a gun pointed at them. "It's rightfully mine." He grinned, an evil baring of teeth. "My aunt Felicia wrote it."
Zane casually strolled across the room until he was once again standing in front of Tamara. "I don't buy it."
He appeared taken aback at Zane's doubt. "It's true."
"The woman who wrote that journal was generous, open, and warm." Zane shook his head. "A coldhearted bastard like you couldn't possibly have the same blood."
Boris snarled. "She was a whore, fucking anything that got close enough and then having the audacity to actually write about it."
"That's not true!" Tamara again left the dubious safety of Zane's back. "She wasn't detailing conquests! She wanted to share emotional connections and physical pleasure. She was a sensual woman who enjoyed male companionship. That's only natural."
"She was a vulgar bitch behaving below her station. What she did was plebeian, and if society found out, they'd crucify not only her, but every man she named as well."
"Which would cause some mighty repercussions, wouldn't it? I have the feeling some of her partners were influential men, men who wouldn't take kindly to being named. Why didn't you recover the journal sooner?" Zane asked.
Boris shook his head. "When the bitch died, I was glad to be rid of her, and I had all her belongings sold. But I didn't know about the ridiculous journal until I cleaned out her safety-deposit box and found a letter about it. She actually wanted me to give it to a friend of hers. Can you imagine?" He shuddered. "Luckily the company who handled the estate sale kept a record of transactions. It was easy enough to track it here, but more difficult to recover it. Now, though, I'll finally be able to destroy the goddamn thing."
Tamara was nearly beside herself. "But why?"
Again moving to block Tamara from Boris, Zane whispered, "Because his wife's family is traditional in the extreme, and they move with the upper crust. If they found out about the journal and knew it had the ability to damage their reputations, they wouldn't be content with just destroying it. They'd want any and all links to it gone."
Boris, looking surprised by Zane's info
rmation, didn't argue the point. "They'd disown me, damn them and their insistence on supercilious deportment."
"You said that with a straight face, Boris," Zane taunted, "but you know better. From what I understand, they abhor scandals and leave nothing to chance, especially if it concerns their good name and their standing in the community." He looked Boris in the eyes and said, "They wouldn't risk letting you walk free with all that information in your head. They'd get rid of you, permanently, and you know it."
Boris trembled with rage. Zane wanted him to tremble, he wanted him to quake with fury. The more out of control the man got, the more mistakes he might make.
"Once the two of you are dead and the journal is destroyed," Boris spat, "they'll never know, will they?"
Zane snorted. "If you shoot that gun, everyone will hear. The downstairs is crowded with customers and relatives and employees. The police will be here and you'll be taken away. But then, prison might be better than what your wife's family will have planned."
Very slowly, Boris raised his gun hand and aimed at Zane. Madness gleamed in his dark eyes. "Maybe I won't shoot you, then. I'd planned to burn the journal. Hell, I'll just burn the whole shop. It's a blight on an otherwise modem area anyway. The police will assume the fire was caused by whoever broke in here. God knows, Ms. Tremayne, you've lodged enough complaints lately."
"Thanks to you."
"I'm sorry, but I can't take all the credit. It seems you're racking up enemies left and right."
Why would he still lie? A sickening suspicion curled in Zane's gut, making him cramp. "She saw you outside her building one night, Sandor, wearing a ski mask."
"No."
"Then it was someone you hired."
"Not I."
"Damn you, you shut off the electric and tried to break in."
He shook his head with mock regret. "As I said, I can't take credit for that."
Tamara literally heaved with anger. "You went through my belongings, rearranged my books."
He sniffed. "I haven't been in your shop except for the appointments, and the one time Thanos brought me over. Ah, he had such grand hopes of us getting together, you know." He slid his lecherous gaze over Tamara, lingering on her breasts, her hips. "I must admit, the thought of taking you wasn't completely displeasing. You've a certain . . raw appeal with your vampish clothes and rough manners. Quite took me by surprise."