“I’ll be back in an hour or so.” Jaimee gave her elderly client a sympathetic smile before nodding to Eli. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same.” He handed her Watson’s leash. “Enjoy your walk.”
“I always do.” She snapped the lead to the dog’s collar then clicked her tongue. All four of her charges rose to their feet with tails wagging.
Jaimee resisted the urge to look over her shoulder as she walked down the driveway. When she reached the open gates, she finally gave in to temptation. Eli still stood in the doorway. Even at a distance, she could swear the corners of his lips lifted in a satisfied smile before he retreated inside and shut the door behind him.
* * * *
The reading of the will was over. Much as Eli had expected, most of the extended Croft family looked pissed and grumbled among themselves in small clusters. Maureen, Grandpa Henry’s fourth wife, had kept the New Hampshire estate, the townhouse in Boston, controlling interest in Kroft Enterprises, and a generous living allowance for her lifetime. When she passed, the battle lines would be drawn in earnest between different factions of the clan.
Eli didn’t give a rat’s ass what happened to any of it. And because his grandpa had been an ornery old fart and knew his eldest grandson didn’t care, he’d left the second largest share of his legacy to him. Now, nearly everyone in the room probably hated his guts. He couldn’t help smiling at the thought.
“You certainly made out. Did you bribe that old mummy posing as an attorney while he was drawing up the will?” Stephen ran a hand through his thick, blond hair in a jerky gesture. “I thought the days of the oldest son—or in this case his progeny—inheriting everything died with the feudal system.”
Eli studied his uncle. Although the man was his father’s half-brother, he was the product of Grandpa Henry’s third marriage and only ten years Eli’s senior.
“I didn’t need to bribe anyone. I relied on my wit and charm.”
“God, you’re a sarcastic asshole. How my wimp of a brother sired you will forever remain a mystery. Maybe your mother had an affair with the pool boy.”
Eli clenched his fists at his sides but kept his cool. “Dad’s IQ topped the rest of yours combined. I got my brains from him and my charisma from Mom. For the sake of your two boys, let’s hope your personality disorder skipped a generation.” Knowing a good exit line when he delivered one, Eli strolled away.
“Way to put good old Uncle Stevie in his place.”
Eli glanced over at Doyle as his cousin fell into step beside him. Of all his relatives, he probably had the most in common with this one. Doyle Shreve had style, dark good looks, and a keen intuition going for him, which played to his benefit as a sports agent.
“Stephen is a complete bore.”
Doyle snagged a mini quiche off the buffet table as they passed it. “He’s an accountant. Isn’t boring a job requirement? Anyway, I think he resents your literary stardom.”
Eli shrugged. “Whatever. Your baseball career was probably a hell of a lot more exciting than anything I’ve done.”
“Until the Red Sox cut me from their farm team. Still, I do okay, and at least my current job isn’t a yawn fest.”
Eli paused near the French doors leading to the rear patio to glance back at his honorary grandmother. She’d parked her chair in front of the marble fireplace and was engaged in what appeared to be an animated conversation with Doyle’s mother.
“No one can accuse Maureen of being boring, that’s for sure. She doesn’t take crap from anyone. I actually enjoy her vicious sense of humor.”
“Then you’re the only one. Right now, I think Mom is getting the sharp edge of her tongue.”
His Aunt Vanna did look ready to blow a gasket, if her high color was any indication.
“Did you hear Maureen’s veiled threats earlier?”
Eli turned to face his cousin and frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think you’d gone to answer the door. My brother had been drinking pretty freely—no surprise there—and he made some comment I didn’t quite catch. Whatever it was pissed off Maureen. She gave the entire group a frosty stare and told us we’d better mind our Ps and Qs.” Doyle rolled his eyes. “God, don’t you love those antique expressions she uses.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a threat to me.”
“I’m getting to that part. My sister, always the caretaker, just had to ask what was wrong. Maureen stared down the whole group and said, ‘You’d all be well-advised not to anger me,’” Doyle mimicked in a screechy falsetto. “The old bitch—er, I mean biddy, let that comment sink in before adding the kicker. ‘Henry believed in keeping tabs on the people closest to him.’ After delivering that juicy tidbit, Maureen put her chair in gear and rolled away.”
“Interesting. Not that I’m the least bit surprised. Grandpa relished knowing he was in control of his kingdom.”
“And all his lowly serfs—namely us. I bet everyone in this room has a secret or two we wouldn’t want to share with the world.”
“I suppose so.” Eli stepped out onto the stone patio. “Some probably more than others. At any rate, I’ve had enough of listening to my relatives bitch and moan. I think I’ll go for a walk to clear my head.”
“I’ll probably take off shortly. Right now, I intend to go have a smoke. See you around, Eli.”
Eli left his cousin and crossed the acre of lawn to head down toward the creek behind the estate. Although this time of year, with spring runoff flowing out of the White Mountains, the stream more closely resembled a raging river. The rush of water and cacophonous chirp of birdsong from the forest stretching beyond the far bank eased some of his irritation. Why he’d felt obligated to show up today, he still hadn’t figured out. Some misplaced sense of filial loyalty to his grandfather, he supposed. Since his dad’s death, his mother had stayed an entire continent away from family entanglements. Obviously, she was a hell of a lot smarter than he was.
He picked up a stone and tossed it into the frothing water as a snort of laughter escaped. The last time he’d spoken to his mom, she’d told him if blood was thicker than water, she’d stick to drinking wine.
“What’s so funny?”
Eli spun around and nearly toppled backward into the creek. The only thing that saved him was the woman who reached out and grabbed his arm, her fingers clamping around his wrist like a vice as she jerked him forward.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Watson sat on his butt nearby, wagged his tail, and let out a single, sharp bark. When Jaimee released his wrist, Eli recovered his breath as he bent to pet the dog’s shaggy head.
“I was thinking about something when you snuck up on me. Has anyone ever told you that you move like a Ninja warrior?”
She hesitated, as if to consider her answer. “A time or two.”
“Where did you come from, anyway. The fence—”
“Stops at the creekbank. It’s easy enough to slip around the edge, and I enjoy bringing Watson down to the water.” She studied him for a moment, her gray eyes shrewd and unwavering. “What were you thinking about?”
Eli went with the truth. “How overrated family is.”
He let his gaze drift downward. The dog walker was tall and toned with an athlete’s body but enough curves to kick his imagination into overdrive. The formfitting running tights hugging her thighs and hips didn’t hurt, either.
Her eyes darkened to the color of storm clouds. “You should be thankful you have one.”
“Huh?”
“A family.”
“I suppose so, although . . . well, you know how it is.” He decided it was time to change the subject. “Where’s the rest of your pack? Watson looks lonely.”
“I dropped them off already. I was hoping the will reading would be over by now since I didn’t want to intrude again.”
“The lawyers left, but the drama continues. That’s why I came down here.” He motioned toward a wooden bench n
ear the creek’s edge. “Shall we sit?”
“Why not? I don’t have anywhere I need to be at the moment.”
Eli dropped onto the carved seat, leaving a good foot of space between them. He was usually pretty good at reading people, but Jaimee remained an enigma. The best word he could come up with to describe her was cautious. She seemed to consider the consequences of her actions before committing to even a simple conversation, and he wondered why.
“Have you lived in Hawthorne long?”
“Almost six months.”
When she didn’t elaborate, he tried again. “The town doesn’t attract a lot of younger people since the social scene is limited to the regulars at the Cackling Goose Tavern.”
A smile curled the edges of her lips. “In my opinion, that isn’t a negative. I wanted someplace quiet that gets snow in the winter since I enjoy Nordic skiing. I studied at Dartmouth, so I was familiar with this area when I made the decision to move to New Hampshire.”
“Oh, yeah? I went to Dartmouth, too.”
“You were a senior my freshman year.” A hint of embarrassment crept into her eyes, as if she regretted admitting she’d noticed him all those years ago.
He touched a strand of her flame-red hair where it trailed over her shoulder before withdrawing his finger. “You don’t exactly blend with the crowd. I’m surprised I don’t remember you.”
“We didn’t have much in common. I spent most of my non-study time out in the woods training, and you’d just written your first thriller. Campus was buzzing when it got picked up by a major publisher before you graduated.”
He’d been pretty full of himself that year. Something nagged at the back of his brain as he studied the redheaded beauty. An interview televised years ago during the Winter Olympics with a woman who’d attended Dartmouth.
“I do remember you, but not from school. Didn’t you win a medal skiing in the Olympics.”
“I was a biathlete in another lifetime.”
“Impressive. How the heck did you go from world-class skier to walking dogs in Hawthorne?”
She clasped her hands in her lap and stared out over the creek. “Long story. Let’s just say I like dogs, and I was ready for a change. This place suits me.” She turned to face him. “You don’t actually live here, do you? I haven’t seen you around, and the town is pretty small not to have run across each other before now.”
“I don’t live in Hawthorne, per se, although I do have a cabin not far from here that I like to escape to when I’m on a deadline. Cape Cod is my home base, and I also enjoy spending time in California’s wine country where my mother lives. Lately, however, it seems like I’m in New York more often than I’d like to be.”
“All those public appearances promoting your latest blockbuster to adoring fans must be quite a drag.” Her tone was tinged with mockery.
He grinned. “Honestly, they’re a total pain in my ass, but my publisher insists.”
“Boo-hoo.”
“Are you always this sarcastic?”
“Most of the time. The dogs don’t seem to mind.”
“Good to know.” When his phone vibrated, he pulled it from his pocket to check the text message. His agent, asking why the hell he’d ignored his calls all day. With a sigh, he shoved the cell back into his pocket. “Reality intrudes. I should probably take off.”
Jaimee rose to her feet. “And I should return Watson to Maureen before she wonders if we got lost.”
Eli glanced at the dog snoozing on the grass. “I can take him inside for you.” He stood and reached for the leash. His hand closed over hers as she held out the leather strap. The feel of her soft skin sent a little jolt through him.
“Thank you.” She sounded slightly breathless, and the flare of heat in her eyes told him she’d felt the spark of chemistry, too.
“I enjoyed our talk. Maybe I’ll see you again the next time I’m in town.”
“Maybe so.” She bent to rub Watson’s ears when the dog stood up and shook. “See you tomorrow, bud.” She gave Eli a final, uninterpretable look. “For the record, I’ve read all your books. What they occasionally lack in strict accuracy, they make up for in entertainment value.”
“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Take it however you like.”
Eli stared after her as she walked away, mesmerized by her athletic grace. He suspected her admission—even with the slight jab—had taken an effort, and he appreciated her honesty. He couldn’t think of a time when he’d been more pleased by a critique of his work.
After Jaimee disappeared from sight, he glanced down at the dog. The silly thing cocked his head to look up at him. “I guess we’d better head back to the house. If we’re lucky, maybe the whole gang will have left by now . . . or killed each other in our absence.”
Chapter Two
Jaimee dropped off Lexi the golden retriever, waved to the elderly gentleman who owned her, then headed back down the walkway with Watson by her side. The dog let out a long moan.
“Just you and me, bud, since you’re my last stop today. Maureen should get a second dog, seeing as how you’re such a social fellow.”
When he cocked his head to stare up at her through the tufts of white and tan fur hanging over his eyes, she smiled. The loneliness she’d fought to keep at bay since her last mission with the Counterstrike team didn’t stand a chance while she was hanging out with her furry pals. It was the dark hours when she was home by herself that hadn’t gotten any easier.
As she left the sparsely populated neighborhood to travel north along the country road leading to the Croft estate, Jaimee tilted her head back to breathe in the cool spring air. Fast moving clouds and a hint of moisture warned of an approaching storm, but for now, the sun was still trying to shine. After she returned Watson, she’d run the eight miles home, if that’s what she wanted to call the isolated cabin she was currently renting. Even though she had no intention of returning to the career she’d given up, one where her survival often depended on her fitness, she still put herself through a grueling daily workout.
Old habits were hard to break.
When her cell rang, she dug it out of her fanny pack and checked the display. A restricted number, which probably meant one of her former colleagues was checking up on her. She appreciated the fact that they cared, but hearing a familiar voice brought back painful memories.
Her chest ached as she answered. “Hello.” Stopping on the side of the road, she stared across the pasture at a Holstein who’d broken away from the rest of the herd.
“How’s the dog walking business?”
“Undemanding. Tranquil. How are you, Wolf?” When thunder rumbled, and lightening flashed in the distance, her pulse raced. Using the breathing exercises her therapist had taught her, she fought off the incipient panic attack.
“Probably not nearly as relaxed as you are.” His deep voice calmed her. “I just wanted to make sure all was well.”
“It is.” Not a complete lie. “I’m managing the best way I know how, one day at a time, and I feel like I’m making progress.”
“Good to hear. We all have our own coping mechanisms.”
“We do, and if I know you, you’re probably working yourself to death.”
“I’ve been staying busy.”
An understatement, she was sure, but Wolf would never mention anything indiscreet on an unsecure line.
“Has the company replaced me yet?”
He let out a soft laugh. “Come on, Scarlet, you know you’re irreplaceable. However, we do have a new point man on the team who’s nearly as good as you. And, we’ve acquired a data entry specialist, as well. It took a while to find the right people.”
Point man and data entry specialist. An inoffensive way to describe her old job and Coffee’s. Sniper and hacker.
“I imagine so. The work is important, so I’m glad you have a full staff again.”
“There’s always room for you on the team if you ever change your mind.”
“Okay. I’ll let you go, then.”
“Thanks for calling. Bye, Wolf.” She returned her phone to her fanny pack before glancing down at the dog. “Let’s get you home, Watson.”
Several minutes later, they reached the fenced estate. The gates across the driveway were closed, but the pedestrian entrance had been left ajar. Jaimee frowned as she pushed it open and followed Watson across the lawn. She was positive she’d shut the door when she’d left earlier. Security wasn’t something she took lightly, and Maureen was a wealthy woman.
As she neared the front of the house, her footsteps slowed when she caught a glimpse of movement in an upstairs window. Head high, not at the lower height of a woman restricted to a wheelchair. Hadn’t Maureen mentioned her housekeeper was off on Tuesdays? The red compact car the woman drove wasn’t parked near the garage where she usually left it, either.
The fine hair rose on Jaimee’s arms. Hopefully nothing was wrong, but in an excess of caution she silently crossed the portico, the only sound the faint click of Watson’s nails. Without knocking, she depressed the latch and eased open the door. The tick-tock of the grandfather clock near the base of the central staircase seemed louder than usual. There was no hum of a wheelchair moving between rooms, no classical music playing softly in the background. The doors to the specially installed elevator stood open. Odd, if Maureen was upstairs . . .
Jaimee took a quick look into the living room, and her breath stalled in her throat. Several yards into the room, the elderly woman slumped sideways in her chair at an unnatural angle. Jaimee scanned the large area filled with couches and tables for unwanted company before hurrying forward to turn the chair around. A red stain covered the front of Maureen’s blue blouse, and wide-open eyes stared blankly. Jaimee didn’t need to check for a pulse to know she was dead. Creeping forward, Watson let out a whimper and pressed against her shins.
Somewhere nearby, a board creaked. Jaimee snapped to attention. Instinctively, her hand went to her hip, but there was no holster beneath her windbreaker, just the damn fanny pack. She mouthed an obscenity as she ran silently across the Persian rug toward the French doors leading to the rear patio.
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