Dawn in Eclipse Bay

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “All right. Okay. I did go into Lillian’s apartment. But I didn’t break in, damn it. I went in with the cleaning people.”

  “It was that easy?”

  Anderson nodded. “It was that easy. Just told them I was there to check out some electrical problems. People trust you when you wear a uniform with your name on it.”

  Lillian moved closer. Gabe sensed the shock that gripped her. He caught a glimpse of her hands. They were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white. But her voice was surprisingly steady.

  “Did you want the matchmaking program that badly, Anderson?” she asked. “I told you, it wasn’t magic. Just a standard personality inventory analysis program that I used together with a dose of common sense.”

  Anderson looked up at her. “It wasn’t the damned matchmaking program I wanted, you little fool. It was the data on your clients.”

  “My clients.”

  “Don’t you get it?” He made a disgusted sound. “Hell, you really don’t know what you’ve got, do you? Don’t you have any concept of what that client database is worth? You’ve got detailed background information on some of the wealthiest, most successful, most powerful people in the city. Hell, in the whole damn state.”

  “But what would you do with it?”

  “Why don’t you ask your boyfriend, here. I’m sure he understands what that kind of information is worth these days.”

  “A fortune.” Gabe released Anderson and got to his feet. “Good client data is one of the most valuable commodities on the market today. Businesses, investors, politicians, charitable organizations, you name it, they all want it. They’ll all pay big bucks for solid background on people who have a lot of money to spend.”

  Lillian looked at Anderson. “You never were interested in collaborating on a book, were you? You were after my client roster all along. Who did you plan to sell my files to?”

  He sat up slowly, wincing. “I hadn’t finalized my list of prospects. I was still working on it when you announced that you intended to close down Private Arrangements. When I realized you were serious, my first thought was to salvage the data. I offered to buy your program, thinking I’d get the client list with it. But you refused to sell.”

  “So you tried to steal it.”

  “I didn’t intend to steal the damned files.” Anderson actually looked offended. “I just wanted to take a copy for myself.”

  “You don’t call that theft?” Lillian asked.

  His jaw clenched. “It wasn’t like you had any use for that data.”

  “When you didn’t find her files in Portland, you followed her here to Eclipse Bay,” Gabe said. “That night in the restaurant you encountered the perfect prospect for the client info. Marilyn Thornley. A politician badly in need of a rich donor list.”

  Some of the fierceness returned briefly to Anderson’s expression. “She needs those names and the background on those people.”

  Lillian opened her mouth. Gabe didn’t know what she planned to say but quite suddenly he had had enough. He shook his head once. She got the message and remained silent.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  She glanced once more at Anderson and then walked to the door.

  “Just a minute.” Anderson gripped the edge of the television set to steady himself. “What are you going to do? You can’t involve Marilyn in this. She had nothing to do with it.”

  “Don’t worry, Flint.” Gabe opened the door. “We’re not going to do a damn thing. I told you, all we wanted was the truth. It stops here, provided you leave Lillian alone. But if you make another move to get her computer, I’ll take the story straight to the cops and to the press.”

  Anderson looked horrified. “Marilyn’s campaign couldn’t survive that kind of scandal at this stage. Things are too delicate.”

  “I know,” Gabe said. “You have my word that if you leave Lillian alone, this won’t go any further.”

  “I swear I won’t bother her again.” Anderson sounded frantic. “I promise.”

  “It’s a deal,” Gabe said.

  He ushered Lillian through the door and out onto the sidewalk. A chill, damp wind was blowing bits of litter around the parking lot.

  “Lillian, wait.” Anderson came to stand in the doorway. “If you change your mind, my offer to buy those client files is still good.”

  “Forget it, Anderson. The files are gone.”

  “I don’t believe you destroyed them. They’re too valuable. Think about my offer. You’ve got in-depth information on guys like Tom Lydd of Lydd-Zone Software and Madison, here. That data is worth a lot of money.”

  “I don’t know about the Lydd information,” Lillian said quietly. “But the data on Gabe certainly wouldn’t do anyone any good.”

  Anderson scowled. “What the hell do you mean?”

  “Most of it is false,” Lillian explained. “He lied through his teeth on the questionnaire that he filled out for Private Arrangements.”

  chapter 23

  Gabe needed a place to think. And a cup of coffee. So he drove to the nearest restaurant, Snow’s Café. They found a booth at the back. Lillian ordered tea. He went for the hard stuff, a double espresso.

  There was a sprinkling of Arizona’s customary clientele around them, primarily students and faculty from Chamberlain College, but no one bothered them. Arizona was not behind the counter today. Gabe figured she was probably at home in her war room, devising strategy to uncover the secret, underground labs at the institute.

  “Do you really think he’ll leave me alone now?” Lillian asked after a while.

  “Yes.”

  “He didn’t believe me when I told him that I had destroyed the client files.”

  Gabe sipped the supercharged espresso and lowered the small cup. “Did you?”

  “First day I got here. I couldn’t figure out how to be absolutely certain that my clients’ privacy would be protected as long as the data concerning them was stored in my computer. So I removed the hard drive and tossed it into Dead Hand Cove at high tide. I left the rest of the computer in the trunk of my car. It’s still there as far as I know.”

  “The only copy of those files was on that hard drive?”

  “Yep.”

  “Guess that took care of the privacy issue.”

  “That was the whole point.” She sighed. “Looking back, I suppose I should have realized sooner that Anderson was after those files. But he kept talking about the program so I assumed he wanted to go into matchmaking. It seemed like a logical extension of his sex therapy business.”

  “He could hardly admit that he wanted the background info on your clients. He knew how strongly you felt about guarding their privacy.”

  “One thing bothers me,” she said slowly. “He acknowledged that he went into my apartment in Portland. Why didn’t he admit that he broke into the cottage here in Eclipse Bay, too?”

  “He’s smart enough to know that he left no proof of illegal entry in your apartment. Like he said, he just walked in disguised as a repairman and looked around. Nothing was taken. No damage done. Hell, he’s got witnesses that he didn’t steal anything. Your cleaning people will vouch for him. And you never even filed a report with the cops. He had nothing to lose by telling us about that incident.”

  “But here in Eclipse Bay, he left obvious signs of forcible entry and I did file a report with Sean Valentine.”

  He nodded. “In addition, everyone knows that Valentine is investigating the assault on A.Z. and that he’s working on the assumption there may be a link to at least one of the break-ins at your place. Flint didn’t want to take the risk of admitting that he was ever inside your cottage.”

  “Must have been him, though. He was the only one who knew about the files on my computer.”

  Gabe contemplated the espresso cup. “And after meeting Marilyn, he wanted those files very, very badly.”

  “He probably made the deal with her right after he met her and then had to deliver the goods quick
ly. So he took some chances and used force to get into the cottage.”

  “Yeah.” Absently he touched his side, feeling the sore place around his ribs.

  Her gaze followed the movement of his hand. Sudden alarm tightened her expression. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good heavens, did Anderson hurt you?”

  “I told you, I’m fine, Lillian.” He put his hand back down on the table.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Do you think you should have a doctor check out your ribs?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, okay, no need to snap at me. I was just worried about you.”

  “Thanks.” He took another swallow of coffee.

  “It was a little scary there for a while.” She shivered. “To tell you the truth, I was completely taken off guard when Anderson turned violent. I never expected him to attack you that way. He seemed the type who would try to talk himself out of trouble.”

  “People change when they fall in love.”

  “In love.” She set her cup down hard on the table and fixed him with a dumbfounded expression. “Anderson? Are you crazy? Who in the world could he possibly—? Good grief, not Marilyn Thornley.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But he just met her.”

  “Happens that way sometimes.”

  She flopped back against the vinyl cushions. “It boggles the mind. J. Anderson Flint in love with Marilyn Thornley.”

  “You’re the one who said they were a perfect match.”

  “Yes, but I was joking. Sort of.”

  “It’s no joke.”

  She looked thoughtful. “You may be right. He was very protective of her, wasn’t he? I wonder if she cares about him?”

  “I don’t know. But if she’s smart, she’ll keep him on as her campaign manager. He’s committed. She’ll have his complete loyalty.”

  “Nice qualities in a campaign manager. And in a husband. Be interesting to see what happens there.”

  “Yes.”

  She smiled at him across the table. “Weird, when you think about it.”

  “Their relationship?”

  “No, the fact that you picked up on it first. I’m supposed to be the expert in that department. What tipped you off?”

  “Male intuition.” He drained the last of the espresso and put down the cup. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her the truth. Not yet at any rate. He had problems enough dealing with it, himself.

  “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “The fact that you found his weak spot and you used it to apply pressure to get him to confess.”

  He looked up, surprised. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Let’s get something clear here.” He pushed aside the empty espresso cup and folded his arms on the table. “Protecting you is my only priority. I don’t give a damn about Flint’s finer feelings.”

  She searched his face. “I see. But if that’s true, then why are you acting so weird?”

  “I’m not acting weird.” He started to extricate himself from the booth. “Are you finished? Let’s go.”

  She reached across the table and covered one of his hands with her own. He went very still, intensely aware of the warmth of her fingers.

  “Gabe, I’m sorry. I know you’ve been through a lot because of me. I’m very grateful.”

  Anger heated his blood, just as the violence had earlier. He clamped down on the fierce surge of emotion, seeking refuge in that inner space to which he always retreated when things threatened to get out of control.

  “The last thing I want is your gratitude,” he said.

  She recoiled, her hand coming off his so swiftly an onlooker would have thought she had gotten her fingers burned.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” she said tightly.

  He made himself breathe. “I know.” He got to his feet and reached for his wallet. “I’ll take you home.”

  “Sure.” She slipped quickly out of the booth and hurried toward the front door without looking back.

  He watched her rush away. Nice going, Madison, you really screwed that up, didn’t you?

  chapter 24

  Gabe was thinking of shutting down the computer and walking to Lillian’s cottage to join her for lunch when he heard the sound of a car in the drive.

  He opened the front door and saw a large black Lincoln come to a halt in front of the steps. The man behind the wheel wore a dark, inexpensive suit and a single gold earring. A hired driver.

  The rear door of the vehicle opened. Sullivan Harte got out of the car.

  This did not look promising.

  Sullivan said something to the driver and then started toward the front porch.

  “I didn’t know you were in town,” Gabe said.

  The tip of Sullivan’s cane hit the first step. “We need to talk.”

  “I was afraid you were going to say that.” He held the door open. “Is this where you tell me that if I manage to sucker Lillian into marrying me you will make certain that she never inherits a dime’s worth of Harte Investments?”

  “Not quite.”

  Sullivan went past him into the house.

  Gabe glanced at the limo. The driver had pulled out a paperback novel and appeared to be content to remain where he was.

  Gabe followed his uninvited guest inside and let the door close behind him.

  “Coffee?”

  “I could use a cup.” Sullivan surveyed the desk where Gabe had left the laptop and a stack of papers. “You really trying to run Madison Commercial from here?”

  “I’m not trying to run it. I am running it from here. Technology is amazing.” Gabe went into the kitchen.

  “How long can you afford to stay away from the office?” Sullivan demanded.

  “Long as I want.” Gabe poured a cup of coffee and carried it into the living room. “Did you come here to talk about the wonders of modern techniques for long-distance management?”

  “No.”

  “Didn’t think so,” Gabe said.

  Mitchell slammed the newspaper down with such force that the little table vibrated on its spindly legs. He scowled at Bryce, who had just walked into Incandescent Body with the news.

  “What the hell do you mean, Sullivan Harte is in town?”

  “Saw him sitting in the back of a limo a few minutes ago,” Bryce said. “Passed me while I was at the gas station. Must have flown into Portland and hired a car and driver there. Thought you’d want to know.”

  “Damned right I want to know.” Mitchell grabbed his cane and levered himself to his feet. “Where was he headed?”

  “Took Bayview Drive. Could be on his way out to the Harte cottage.”

  “Or he could be headed toward the old Buckley place where Gabe is staying.” Mitchell tossed some money on the table. “What do you want to bet that he came here to try to scare off my grandson?”

  “Forget it. I never take bets on Hartes and Madisons. Too unpredictable.”

  Lillian studied the fresh canvas propped on the easel while she finished cleaning the last of her brushes. It was the start of a portrait of Gabe based on the sketch she had made of him in her Portland studio. All brooding shadows and hard, bright light, it was the first real work she had done since she had arrived in town. She was pleased with it. She had been in the zone this afternoon. About time.

  She set the brushes in a holder to dry and looked at her watch. She was startled to see that it was nearly two o’clock. Gabe had said he would come over around noon for lunch. As usual, she had lost all track of time while she was in that other place where the vision reigned supreme.

  Maybe he had been delayed by business or a phone call.

  She looked out the window. There were whitecaps on the bay and no rain in sight. She could use some fresh air after such a long stretch of work. The overstimulated sensation that always followed a particularly good session in the studio was ma
king her restless. She needed to get out and work it off. A walk along the bluffs would do the trick. She would probably run into Gabe on his way here.

  She indulged herself in a brief, romantic picture of herself flying into his arms on the top of a windswept bluff. Gulls would be wheeling overhead. His dark hair would be ruffled by the crisp breeze. She would be sexy and free-spirited in a gossamer dress and bare feet.

  That image made her wonder if she ought to take time to change out of her paint-stained jeans and long-tailed denim shirt. Then she remembered that it was only about fifty-three degrees outside and that there was a lot of rough gravel on the bluff path. Forget the gossamer dress and bare feet.

  She put on a pair of scuffed running shoes, took a black denim jacket out of the hall closet and left the house through the mudroom door.

  Outside, the scene on the bluffs was very much as she had envisioned it, blustery and invigorating. The bay was a dramatic sweep of quietly churning seawater. The town was picturesque in the distance. The air was clear and bright. The only thing missing was Gabe. There was no sign of him on the path.

  An uneasy feeling coiled around her, pushing aside the zesty anticipation. By the time she emerged from the trees and found herself near the back porch of the old Buckley place a dark foreboding had settled on her.

  She walked around the side of the house to see if Gabe’s car was in the drive. It was. So was another vehicle, a dark limo complete with a driver behind the wheel. The chauffeur did not notice her. He was deep into a paperback.

  She told herself to relax. Obviously business from out of town had caught up with Gabe. But for some obscure reason the anxiety didn’t dissipate. Things felt wrong.

  She returned to the back door, opened it quietly and moved stealthily into the kitchen. If Gabe was wheeling and dealing with an important client she did not want to interrupt.

  The low rumble of voices from the other room made her stop short. She knew those voices. Both of them.

  Suddenly everything made sense. Outrage flared. She rushed to the doorway.