Solomon's Compass

by Carol Kilgore

  “I like the flower in your hair. Enchanting.”

  Her stomach rode a rollercoaster. Zia was polished to a high gloss, probably closer to Jake’s age, and the subject of all the paintings on display. Yet Jake’s attention remained on her. How old he was he, anyway? The youngest of Solomon’s Compass. If he’d been seventeen then, he’d be close to sixty. Hell, she was close to forty. What was twenty years?

  She didn’t want her voice to come out shaky, so she smiled to boost her confidence. “Thanks. I couldn’t resist when I went shopping today. All I brought with me were work clothes. Not even make-up. I needed everything.”

  “You would’ve been the loveliest woman here if you’d come without make-up wearing cut-offs and a Seven Dwarfs tee.”

  “You’re a silver-tongued devil, I think.” She might not be completely socially attuned, but even she could hang her laundry on that line.

  His eyes sparkled. “Guilty—at least of the devil part. But not now. I’ve seen you like that, so I know. You shine from within, and the glow surrounds you.”

  “I don’t imagine Mrs. Solomon appreciates you paying such compliments to other women.”

  The magnetism between them ratcheted up to a new high. Taylor couldn’t turn away.

  “The only Mrs. Solomon I know is my mother. If and when there’s another in my life, she won’t ever need to worry about me looking for those attributes in other women.”

  Intense energy rolled off him in waves. If she hadn’t been standing against the wall, she might have fallen over. Or grabbed onto him to stay upright. He hadn’t said so, but his words held the strength of a promise. A vow.

  Her hands shook and she was no longer interested in the few shrimp remaining on the plate. His focus remained solely on her, and it was her turn to respond.

  She placed her fork on the plate, and it barely clattered. “She will be a fortunate woman.”

  “No.” He set the plate on the table. “I will be the luckiest man in the universe.”

  Jake hadn’t meant to say any of those words to Taylor, especially after learning she knew him by name. Correction—knew his dad by name. But passion had erupted, and his words flowed of their own accord. He had not been able to stay in character as his dad and say he was married. As long as the stray bit of truth didn’t impair or corrupt the mission, he could deal with other consequences.

  “Tell me about yourself, Taylor Campbell. Where’s home?” He wanted to hear her story in her own words.

  “Right now Charleston, but I’m from Dallas. Do you still live in New York?”

  “I do.” A server passed. He snagged two glasses of champagne from the tray and handed one to Taylor. “To an exciting evening.”

  “With a new friend.” She clinked her glass against his.

  When Taylor said she knew him, he had to remind himself to breathe. He, his dad, and Kelly had discussed the possibility that Taylor would recognize his name. His dad dismissed it early on. She and Rankin often went years without seeing each other, and any stories he told her would have been general and in passing. So much for his dad’s theory on that one.

  Jake’s SEAL training kicked in, and he formulated an instant plan. A plan he hoped didn’t lead to disaster.

  No woman had ever attracted him the way Taylor did. Most were out to impress him, and their efforts failed. He just had to take it slow and stay alert. After shadowing her morning shopping expedition, he’d scoured the newspaper and Internet to learn what was going on tonight. The opening at Bravo was the only event he found that would have necessitated her shopping trip. And it presented the perfect opportunity for him to meet Dan Blair.

  He showed up early to talk to Blair, but he wasn’t the only premature arrival. Blair was on top of the opening and whirled from place to place and guest to guest welcoming each new arrival. Jake’s minute of chitchat combined with being able to observe made for a good first meeting. He’d been in the gallery for about a half hour when Taylor arrived, and he hadn’t realized he’d been coiled like a cobra until she walked through the door and a huge smile split his face. Without Kelly here, trusting Taylor to electronic surveillance was the best he could do much of the time. He didn’t like it, but he had to face reality.

  Another round of applause broke out, interrupting his thoughts.

  “There’s A.J.” Taylor nodded toward the door.

  The crowd thinned to reveal a tall, slim man dressed all in black with slicked-back dark hair streaked with strands of gray. Long hands, slender fingers. High cheekbones and a patrician nose. Every inch screamed artist.

  “You’d never think he drives a tow truck.”

  He kept his face composed. “You’re kidding.”

  “A tree fell on my rental, and he towed it. Smart guy. And Dan’s partner.”

  “He has part ownership here?”

  “No. Or, rather, I don’t know. I meant partner as in significant other.”

  “Ah. Okay.” He tipped his glass, allowing a sip of cool bubbly to slide down his throat. He would pass the information along to Kelly.

  Blair joined A.J. and Zia. “Everybody . . . I’m Daniel Blair, owner of Bravo.”

  A smattering of applause and one loud Yeah!

  Dan dipped his head. “Our stars of the evening. Zia Grant Markham.”

  More applause.

  “A.J.—August Janacek—the wonderful artist who created these beautiful paintings and photographs.” More applause. After it died down, Dan spread his arms. “Enjoy yourselves. Mix and mingle. If you fall in love with one of A.J.’s brilliant creations, come talk to me. Now, have fun.”

  A couple Jake’s parents’ age latched onto Dan as soon as he moved away from his two stars. Taylor waved at A.J., and he strode toward them.

  “Dan told me about your hands. How are they?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks for asking. I had no idea you had such talent.”

  “Beats sitting behind a desk.” A.J. shrugged. “I would’ve come out to help, but Dan’s kept me too busy. I meet my shadow going and coming most days.”

  Jake held out his hand. “Jake Solomon. What made you choose to paint Zia?”

  A.J. chuckled. “The question I usually get is ‘How did you get Zia to pose for you?’”

  “I enjoy being different.”

  “Excellent. So do I. Zia has an interesting face. On the surface she’s symmetrical, and her features are balanced and pleasing to the eye. So I skew her perfection. She sometimes makes off-the-wall comments that make it easier. Here, I’ll show you.”

  He led them to a painting of Zia’s face. “One day she came to pose and two kids playing on the sidewalk started fighting, bickering really. Young kids, maybe three or four. She said she believed it took a village to raise a child, and it made her want to set her hair on fire because she had no authority to discipline them. This is the result.”

  Jake studied the portrait for a few seconds. He enjoyed contemporary art, and in his view A.J. had considerable talent. “Flames for hair and fire engine eyes all wrapped in a firefighter’s turnout coat. Good work.”

  “Thanks. I better go mingle—keep Dan happy.”

  Jake followed A.J.’s progress over to Dan and the older couple before turning back to Taylor. “You’re awfully quiet. Don’t you appreciate his work?”

  “I think I’m too practical. I liked one of the photographs a lot, but abstract art has always been beyond my comprehension.”

  He could teach her, if she’d let him. “I learned. You can, too.”

  “I’d rather learn how to operate the fire engines.”

  He laughed at her unexpected words. “Learning about art is stimulating, but in truth, I think fire engines would be more fun.”

  “What would be more fun?” Zia came up in a cloud of spicy perfume with Will Knox in tow.

  “Driving a fire truck.”

  Zia’s heavily made-up eyes glazed over. She touched his arm. “There’s a photograph I want to show you.”

  Jake stepped back and t
ook Taylor’s elbow. “Lead the way.”

  Zia’s eyes turned hard, telling him she didn’t condone such a rebuff. She spun around, hips swaying, and moved to lead them through the crowd, one hand straying to Knox’s neck, her fingers playing in his hair.

  In the back, she stopped by the section of photographs. He’d viewed them earlier, but took them in again, wondering which one had caught Taylor’s eye.

  Zia walked to one and turned around, all smiles. “This is the one I wanted you to see.”

  In the starburst-shaped photograph, Zia sat on a white shag rug, nude, legs pulled up to her chin, hands clasped around her ankles. Her chin rested on her knees, and she stared at the camera, the tip of her tongue barely visible through parted lips.

  He could say with absolute certainty it was not the photograph Taylor had in mind.

  Bubbles of champagne tickled Taylor’s nose. Zia was a huge player. She was using poor Will to make Jake jealous, but Will didn’t seem to mind. He laced his fingers with Zia’s, oblivious to her unwavering attention to Jake. Or maybe excited by it.

  Jake took a firmer hold on Taylor’s elbow. “It’s a winner, Zia. How long did it take for A.J. to complete all this?”

  “We started last fall and finished around Easter. I think Dan got jealous of the time we spent together.”

  Taylor slugged the last of her champagne—the flutes had been only half full. Zia reminded her of her mother. One man after another. Never satisfied. The older her mother got, the quicker she went through men. Taylor never wanted to be that way.

  Jake smiled. “I’ve enjoyed the exhibition. A talented artist and a beautiful model. Who could ask for more?”

  If Zia had been a cat, she would have stretched, purred, and licked her damn butt to point the way. Taylor had witnessed the same behavior from Dear Mom.

  The room floated a bit from the bubbles in Taylor’s head. She touched Jake’s arm. “I enjoyed talking to you, but I need to go. Tomorrow will be busy.” And I need fresh air. Now.

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  On the way to the door, she smiled and nodded to other guests, but outside she took a couple of deep breaths. Fresh air. That’s what she needed. It was good she had a couple of blocks to walk so her head could clear.

  Jake took her arm. “Zia Grant Markham is something else.”

  “She is that.” The fresh air and change in atmosphere were clearing the fog.

  He lifted her chin. “I could see your reaction to her.”

  She reacted? All she did was gulp her champagne. A tiny reaction.

  “No worries, Taylor. She’ll soon be out of our lives.”

  Our lives. Our lives? Those words cleared her head faster than the fresh air. “I didn’t realize we had an our lives.” Her voice came out a little prickly.

  He smiled. “Your life, my life. I like you, but we need time to get to know one another.”

  Okay, better.

  His crooked grin morphed into a pained expression.

  She stopped. “What? Your face doesn’t quite match your words.”

  He kicked at the seam in the sidewalk. “I’m an old guy. You know? Friends with your uncle. You’re young and lovely.” His voice turned rough, and he cleared his throat.

  She touched his cheek. Her breath caught at the electric charge that flowed through her. “You’re not that old—you were the youngest Compass Point. And I’m not that young. I want to know you better, too.”

  His face lit up with a real smile. “All right. Which way to your car? I’ll make sure you get there safe and sound.”

  She laughed. With an increase in weekend visitors, the sidewalks were more crowded than she’d seen them since her arrival. She took a step toward her car. “This way. And thank you for looking after my safety.”

  He dropped his arm across her shoulders. “My pleasure. I mean that.”

  They reached her car before she was ready to part from him. She opened the door. “Thanks for walking with me.”

  “Any time.”

  Her entire body tingled, and not from the salt-filled breeze.

  He touched the flower behind her ear, and his fingers lingered. “I really do like this.”

  The tingles sped up. She could power Rock Harbor with the sexual energy speeding around her body. “It’s just a piece of silk.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He kissed her forehead.

  Oh. She caught her breath. “But it won’t ever wilt.”

  He smiled before kissing the tip of her nose. His hand moved from the flower and cupped the back of her head.

  He moved closer, and his lips met hers. Taylor didn’t care if Jake Solomon was a hundred and sixty.

  Heat roared through her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and returned his kiss. His hands moved on her bare back and her knees turned to mush. She craved his touch, his skin against hers. If they hadn’t been standing in the street, she would’ve ripped off his shirt.

  She moved her hands up his muscled back to pull him closer. He made a quiet growling sound and deepened his kiss. The heat spreading through her body raged into an inferno, and she wanted the flames to keep burning.

  His soap and water scent filled her senses, and her mind could no longer form a thought. All she wanted was touch. Pleasure. Maybe she moaned. She wasn’t sure. But the sound brought her back to reality. In the street.

  Jake must have had the same thought because he pulled away. With his breath coming as hard as hers, his hands cupped her face. “Meet me for lunch tomorrow?”

  She nodded. “Where?”

  “Lulu’s. You know where it is?”

  “I do. Noon?”

  “Perfect.” He kissed her again.

  Taylor lay in her bed staring at the ceiling. Outside, the wind had picked up, whistling at the window. Rain would arrive during the night.

  The taste of Jake still lingered on her tongue. His scent on her skin. She sighed. She was thirty-eight years old, and no man had ever made her tingle all the way to her toes. Not even Mark.

  She’d met Mark when they were both eighteen. Classmates, then friends, and finally lovers. Their emotions took root, grew, and eventually blossomed into a fragrant flower during their four years at the Coast Guard Academy.

  Not four days in Rock Harbor, Texas.

  Had it been only four days? She counted them out on her fingers, like a kindergartener, before pulling the covers over her head to hide from the truth.

  Rain pattering against the window woke her just after dawn. Taylor peeked out on low gray clouds scuttling in from the water. Soft thunder rumbled from a distance. The weather blowing in would probably blow out before noon, the same way it had on Monday. She stretched and smiled, remembering last night.

  She touched her fingers—tender, and now they all itched. The cut on her palm really itched. She could hoist a shovel. Whoever was attempting to scare her off didn’t know her very well. She’d do everything to protect herself, but she wouldn’t run.

  She dressed and grabbed her purse. Right now she needed caffeine. Serious caffeine. And a donut. Chocolate.

  By the time she reached Randy’s with a tall to-go cup of black coffee, the rain had stopped and only a few clouds remained. Sun diamonds sparkled on the green water of the bay.

  She had planned to drive to Padre Island and walk along the beach, but she was filled with energy. Pulling out trash for a few hours today would give her and Dan a huge boost on Monday. Dan said the shop would go quicker than the house. They would move plenty of items to the trash bin, but they didn’t have to move the keepers out of the shop. She’d been surprised to learn they really had done the hardest work first.

  Still, the sight of the mess in the salvage shop made her cringe. Jake had occupied most of her thoughts since waking, but now she pushed him away. Before Monday morning when Dan returned, she wanted to ferret out the obvious trash. With so much work ahead, she couldn’t keep dreaming of last night’s kiss.

  Taylor went to the house, put on gloves, inserte
d the padding, and grabbed the trash bags. In the shop, she started in the back where Dan left off and worked outward. Newspapers and ripped magazines. Tangled fishing line. Crushed paper towels. Broken plastic items—cups, glasses, plates, even toys. The dreck and debris were easy to identify and needed to go.

  She worked out her frustrations across one row of tables and the spaces underneath. At the last table, the cover from a Merc 150 outboard lay on its side stuffed with a stack of People magazines. The rest of the outboard lay in pieces on top of the table surrounded by an empty gas can and two wiring harnesses. Over it all was a web of fishing line tangled with several tools and propellers. Two shafts lay on the floor beneath the table along with a pile of boat bumpers.

  Her phone rang. It was Glen Upchurch. “Checking to see how your fingers are doing.”

  “Healing. Itching like mad. Next week, they’ll be fine.” And I’ll be able to unearth Randy’s treasure.

  “Any more calls?”

  “No, but I’ve been thinking. I’m pretty sure the caller used a voice changer.”

  “Possible.”

  “Probable. The words were too perfect. None of them tagged onto the previous or next word. Each was distinct and separate.”

  “I’ll add your observations to my notes.”

  They said goodbye, but before Taylor could return the phone to her pocket, it rang again. Glen must have forgotten a question he meant to ask. “Yes?”

  “You didn’t take my hint. Leave. Or you’ll end up like your uncle.”

  “You don’t scare me, you bastard. The police know you’re calling. They’ll find you.”

  A wheezy laugh followed. Then the wavering end tone.

  Taylor called Glen.

  “Did you remember something?”

  She told him about the call. “The voice was identical—the same disconnected words. The same laugh. If they want me gone, they must want something in the house.” Or in the buried box. She opened and closed the fingers of her right hand to stretch the skin on her palm.