Rick was edging closer, the flashlight still moving in sweeping arcs. Overstreet was only a dark, lethal shadow behind the glare of the light. Guinevere wished she could make herself smaller. The temptation to break and run was almost overwhelming, but instinct warned her that that would be stupid. Rick was too close now. He would detect the movement. Her fingers closed around a rock lying in the mud beside her. It was a poor excuse for a weapon, but she didn’t have anything else. Guinevere held her breath, aware her fingers were shaking around the cold, hard rock.
She was tensing herself for a wild, desperate throw, when she realized Rick had changed direction. He was no longer coming toward her berry-bush cover. The flashlight was moving toward a point diametrically across from her. It was the direction in which Zac had disappeared.
Guinevere moved her head slightly, trying to follow the beam of light. It glanced off several trees and then skimmed over a small, tumbled pile of rocks. It froze on the rocks, and Guinevere knew for certain Rick had found Zac’s hiding place. What’s more, she knew Rick had realized the same thing. The light didn’t shift from the rocks.
“Come on out and I’ll make it quick and clean,” Rick promised with a hungry anticipation that went well with his catlike eyes. “I want to get this over with. Come on,” he urged, moving slowly toward the jumble of granite. “Come on!”
Zac didn’t stand a chance. His hiding place was exposed in the full glare of the flashlight. The most he could hope to do was make a break for it, and Guinevere knew he’d never make it. Rick would cut him down in a split second. Fury overwhelmed her. She was on her feet before she had time to think, heaving the shoulder bag uselessly in Rick’s direction. It fell short, but it brought Rick around with jolting swiftness, the flashlight blinding her.
“You bastard!” she yelled and then dove for the mud as Rick lifted the gun. A shot slammed through the berry bushes above her head, and the flashlight swung wildly, as though Rick had staggered. She flattened herself, waiting for the next shot, but it never came. Instead there was a shout of rage from Rick Overstreet and the unmistakable sound of bodies hitting the ground.
Guinevere jerked to her feet, knowing Zac must have jumped the other man. The flashlight lay on the soggy ground, its steady beam revealing a twisting flurry of arms and legs. Guinevere raced forward, but she knew even before she reached the light that Zac had everything under control. She was in time to see the final savage blows as he straddled Overstreet and slammed his fist against Rick’s jaw. Overstreet went abruptly still.
“Zac! Are you all right?” Guinevere scrambled for the flashlight, aiming it at his face. Blood glinted on his mouth. In that instant he was the hunter who had made his kill. In the brilliant glare of the flashlight his eyes were pools of slowly retreating menace.
“I’m fine. Would you kindly stop trying to blind me with that goddamn flashlight?”
“Oh, sorry.” Hastily she swerved the light out of his eyes and aimed it at Overstreet. There was considerably more blood on Rick’s handsome features than there was on Zac’s face. “I was scared to death.”
“Not half as scared as I was when you stood up and threw that stupid purse at him,” Zac muttered, reaching for the gun, which had fallen into the mud. He climbed to his feet. “What the hell did you think you were doing? I thought I told you to stay behind those bushes.”
“He had you pinned behind those rocks. He was going to kill you!”
“I wasn’t behind the rocks,” Zac said mildly, watching her. “I was over there behind those trees. That pile of rocks was a little too obvious.”
Guinevere stared at him. “You weren’t behind the rocks? But I was sure I’d seen you disappear in this direction.”
“We can discuss this at some other time. Not now. Help me get this bastard back to the house.”
Guinevere bit her lip at the disgusted anger in his voice. It was obvious Zac was not in a cheerful mood. She could hardly blame him. Silently she bent to grab one of Rick’s limp arms.
***
It was six o’clock in the morning before Guinevere and Zac finally checked in to a small beachfront motel. The desk clerk had taken one look at Zac’s bruised face and cold eyes, and hadn’t argued about the fact that his new guests had neither luggage nor a semblance of respectability. He pointedly pretended to ignore Guinevere’s disreputable appearance. Her hair was hanging in damp tendrils around her shoulders, and she was wearing an oversize shirt that had been loaned to her by a sheriff’s deputy.
Zac accepted the key without a word and led the way along the second floor to the room they had been assigned.
“First, a shower.” He slammed the door shut and locked it.
Guinevere didn’t want to argue with him any more than the desk clerk had. Obediently she headed toward the bathroom, stripping off the borrowed shirt and the rest of her clothing as she went. Zac followed, leaving a trail of muddy clothes behind him. When she had the hot water on full blast, he stepped in beside her.
Guinevere waited until she could stand it no longer. Zac had been dangerously silent too long. The only real talking he had done had been to the sheriff’s men, whom he had called from the Bates cottage. Clutching the bar of soap, she looked up at him through the steaming water.
“Why don’t you just chew me out and get it over with? I can’t stand the suspense.”
He opened his eyes beneath the water and glared at her. For a moment he was silent, but there was emotion moving now in his eyes. That had to be some sort of improvement, Guinevere figured. She hated it when Zac’s eyes went cold.
“You little fool. You almost got yourself killed.” He didn’t touch her, but Guinevere got the impression that was because he didn’t quite trust himself to touch her.
“Zac, I’ve already apologized for that scene back in the woods. I told you, I thought Rick had found your hiding place. How was I to know you weren’t behind those rocks? It was a logical place to hide.” Her eyes widened slightly. “Which was exactly what you wanted Rick to think, didn’t you? You were going to jump him from behind when he tried to flush you out from the cover of the rocks.”
“That was the general idea,” Zac said through gritted teeth. “How was I to know you were going to pop up and start yelling and throwing purses?”
“But Zac, you’ve got to admit it provided a useful distraction for you,” Guinevere said logically. “Who knows? You might not have gotten a good chance at Rick otherwise.”
“That is not the point, Gwen.” He put his big hands on her bare shoulders and brought her close. “The point is that you risked your neck out there, after I had given you strict orders to stay down and keep out of sight.”
“Yes, well, I felt I had to improvise. And it worked, Zac. You got a clear shot at him. Admit it. Admit my causing that distraction was very useful for you.”
“I’ll admit nothing of the kind. I ought to turn you over my knee.”
She grinned, relaxing slightly as she sensed some of the tension draining from him at last. She put her arms around his neck and let the tips of her breasts brush his chest. “How long have you had this kinky streak in you?”
Zac groaned and pulled her closer. “If I weren’t so damn tired, I’d do it, you know. But somehow, after that little game of hide-and-seek in the woods, plus two hours of talking myself hoarse trying to explain this mess to the authorities, I find my reserves of energy are totally depleted. Turn off the water and let’s go to bed, Gwen. We both need some sleep before we drive back to Seattle. I’ll finish yelling at you later.”
“Whatever you say, Zac.” She turned off the taps and reached for a towel.
Twenty minutes later they collapsed side by side beneath the covers, the drapes firmly pulled against the early morning light. A waiting silence hung over the bed for a few minutes, and then Zac tucked Guinevere against him, his leg settling with posses
sive intimacy over hers.
“Gwen?”
“Hmm?”
“You probably saved our lives back there in the woods.”
Guinevere’s lashes lifted. “What?”
He sighed and settled her closer. “You were right. The distraction you caused bought me the time I needed.”
“Oh, Zac . . .”
“I don’t want to think about how many years it took off my life, however,” he concluded.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” she smiled. “You’re in great shape.”
There was another stretch of silence, and then Zac spoke again, into Guinevere’s ear.
“Gwen?”
“Hmm?”
“It turns out I’m not sleepy. Too much adrenaline, I guess.”
“That’s too bad, seeing as how you’ve already charged this room to your corporate account,” she reminded him regretfully. “You’re going to have to pay for it whether we use it or not.”
“We can always put the bed to another use.” His palm closed possessively over her breast as he nuzzled the sensitive place behind her ear.
Guinevere sighed contentedly. “Yes, I suppose we could. Waste not, want not.”
Zac pushed her back against the mattress. Then he came down on top of her with a sudden urgency that whipped the banked fires of her own sensuality into a glowing blaze. They made love until the jagged edges of the night’s danger and terror were dulled, and then finally they slept.
Three days later Guinevere stood in the center of Zac’s new office suite talking to Sally Evenson and Evelyn Pemberton. She was entertaining them with the details of the Zoltana case, while Zac worked himself into a frenzy of anxiety and party-giver’s panic. Periodically he moved through the room, double-checking the position of the caterer’s platters. Then he disappeared into the second office to count champagne glasses. The reception was due to start in fifteen minutes, and Zac had convinced himself that no one would appear.
“Zoltana had been running her little con game for years,” Guinevere explained to Sally, who listened with avid attention. Sally was wearing her royal blue blazer tonight and was thrilled to have been invited as one of Zac’s clients, even though she didn’t pay one penny of Zac’s usually hefty fees for his services. Sally was unique in that she had gotten his help for free. Still, ultimately she had been a client, and as such she deserved an invitation to the evening’s festivities.
Evelyn Pemberton nodded, one eye on Zac, who was adjusting a canapé tray for the tenth time. “I can understand how it would work. She gave her clients the impression she really could read their past and guide them in making decisions about the future. Then the susceptible ones kept coming back for more. A nice, steady income.”
Sally sighed. “She could be very persuasive.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Guinevere agreed. “She certainly had Elena Overstreet on a string. The poor woman latched onto Madame Zoltana and clung to her. Zoltana fed her fears, the way she normally did, probably assuming they were false. It undoubtedly came as a shock when Elena died. There sat Zoltana with the incriminating diary and enough knowledge to guess what might have happened. She hesitated for several months, but then she contacted Rick Overstreet anonymously and let him know her silence could be bought for a price. For a while she got away with it.”
“How did he find out she was the blackmailer?” Evelyn Pemberton asked. She swung around suddenly. “Mr. Justis, please don’t worry about that canapé tray. It’s perfect the way it is.”
“I was just straightening it,” he muttered, stalking into the other office.
“According to the cops, Rick finally tracked Zoltana down by keeping an eye on the drop point she chose for the payoffs. It wasn’t easy, because she changed the points constantly, and Rick couldn’t take long hours off from work to watch bus depot lockers and private post office boxes all day long. But one day a couple of months ago he got lucky.”
“Then he set about planning to kill her.” Sally shuddered.
“He took his time about planning her death. He still hasn’t admitted he did it. But the police said a Jane Doe that fit the description of Madame Zoltana turned up in Lake Washington last week. They think they can tie Rick to it. If nothing else, they’ve got him for attempted murder,” Guinevere said.
“Attempted murder of you and Zac,” Evelyn Pemberton said, shaking her head. “What about Francine Bates and her sister?” Before Guinevere could answer, Evelyn called through the doorway into the next office, “Mr. Justis, don’t touch the glasses. You’ll get fingerprints on them. Just let the caterer’s staff handle things. That’s what they’re here for.”
Guinevere hid a grin as Zac reluctantly refrained from picking up one of the glasses that sat on his desk in the second office. He paced restlessly back out into the main room, straightening his already straight tie. He answered Evelyn’s question. “Before he killed Zoltana, Rick forced her to reveal the safe. She kept quiet about the other hiding place, hoping to use it to bargain for her life. He grabbed the contents of the safe without looking at them, assumed he had what he needed, and shot Zoltana before she could convince him there was a second hiding place. Then he dumped her body in the lake, knowing it was going to take a long time before anyone reported her missing. It was only later that he realized he didn’t have the evidence against himself that he’d gone after. But he was a greedy man. He couldn’t resist trying to squeeze some easy money out of Zoltana’s victims, so he sent a note to Sally and some of the others. In the meantime, he kept wondering what had happened to the diary.”
Zac reached the far end of the room and spun around, pacing back past Guinevere and the other two women. “He also decided to make a pass at Gwen. He went over to her apartment one evening and saw the note he’d sent to Sally, the one he’d signed with Zoltana’s name. It was lying right out there in the open on a table. He also saw the note Gwen and I typed on Zoltana’s typewriter. At that point he knew he had real trouble. Gwen was obviously asking questions about Madame Zoltana, and that was dangerous for him.”
“I see,” Evelyn Pemberton said slowly. “But he assumed you didn’t know anything about the diary.”
“True, and at that point we didn’t,” Guinevere agreed, knowing neither she nor Zac intended to talk about Rick’s blackmail attempt. Overstreet had originally prepared the photos intending to use them to coerce Guinevere into going to bed with him. But after he’d seen the notes, he’d used the doctored pictures in an attempt to scare her off the case instead. “He was, however, holding all the client data he’d taken from the safe. He also had a list of payoffs to Zoltana’s inside person at Gage and Watson, although she hadn’t put down Francine Bates’s name, thank heaven. It gave poor Francine some time. But eventually Rick figured out what the record of payments was, and then he decided to get rid of Francine on the assumption that she knew too much. She might also have the diary. It was logical that Zoltana might have told her about it.”
Sally’s eyes widened. “But then you found the diary, and decided to warn poor Francine she might be in great danger.”
Zac whipped around from the other side of the room, glancing at his watch. “But Francine had gotten nervous enough to move out of the cottage and take her sister with her. When Gwen and I found her, she realized the murderer could, too. So she and Denise headed for Oregon. The cops located them yesterday and told them they had Overstreet in custody. Where the hell is everyone?”
“It’s only five forty-five, Zac,” Mrs. Pemberton said firmly. “Relax.”
He ran a finger around his collar and glared at Guinevere. “If no one shows up, I’m holding you personally responsible. This was all your idea. You said it would be good public relations.”
“Calm down, Zac. Everything’s going to be fine,” Guinevere soothed gently, aware that her eyes were undoubtedly mirroring her amusement.
Sally Evenson finished the tale. “I guess it was my fault Mr. Overstreet got the final bit of information he needed to know Francine was involved. He stopped me in the hall and asked me all sorts of questions.”
“He knew you were one of Zoltana’s victims,” Zac pointed out. “And he was blackmailing you himself. It was logical you might be able to tell him who the inside person was, even if you didn’t realize you knew. He was fishing for information.”
“I didn’t understand what he was asking,” Sally explained unhappily. “He just started talking about Francine and a few of the other women in the office. I answered his questions, and I guess I told him something that pinpointed Francine. Thank heaven she wasn’t at the cottage when Rick arrived.”
“Yes,” responded Zac dryly. “Unfortunately, not all of us were quite that lucky.” He shot a baleful glance at Guinevere.
Before Guinevere could respond, a voice hailed them from the open doorway.
“Hey, is this the office where the free food is supposed to be?” Mason Adair, the artist, sauntered into the room, Guinevere’s sister Carla on his arm. Both were smiling broadly. “Nice spread, Zac. I suppose we have to wait until the big-time clients arrive before we tear it apart?”
Zac was visibly relieved that someone had shown up after all. “Help yourself. How are you, Mason?”
“Doing great, thanks. Carla here has my career well in hand.” He glanced at the canvases on the walls. “Glad you like the pictures.”
“They look terrific in here,” Carla observed. “But then, they would, of course. A Mason Adair picture is an asset to any important room.”
Zac was nodding his head in willing agreement when another couple appeared in the doorway.
The Fatal Fortune Page 14