"Aries. How about you?"
"Oh, dear, not one that's compatible with yours. And you seemed so perfect, too." With a regretful sigh, she started to close the door.
"Wait!" Straightening, he gave her a self-deprecating smile. "You can't hold that against me. Heck, you don't even know what house my moon is in, or anything. It could make all the difference."
"Why, that's true. What time were you born?"
He told her and she gave a thoughtful, "Hmm," then reached out to touch his wrist. "What do you do for a living, John?"
"I'm an accountant."
Her brow furrowed. "Oh."
"And a financial planner."
" Really . Oooh, I just love money." Leaning against the edge of the open door, she slid her hand up the smooth wood until her arm curved overhead, her palm flat against its interior panel. "So tell me," she said, watching him eye the outside curve of her breast that the pose exposed. "When it comes to long-term investment, what mix of high, medium, and low caps do you recommend for a stock portfolio? And what's your take on index mutual funds?"
His gaze snapped up to meet hers. "Uh…"
"Don't," she admonished gently, "confuse blond hair and breasts with stupidity."
He gave her a perplexed look. "Ma'am?"
"At least Zach's up front in his enmity. The next time you try out your aw-shucks-golly routine, I suggest you cover up that." She nodded at the mostly red tattoo on his arm, which his change in position had made clearly visible. Outlined in black, it contained the words Swift, Silent , and Deadly on three sides of a white skull with black and yellow markings, and 2d Recon Bn inscribed across the bottom. Looking up into eyes gone abruptly hard, she assured him crisply, "It truly does detract from the image." Then, giving the panel beneath her hand a push, she closed the door in his face.
She had a feeling her blood pressure was in the red zone. As if things weren't bad enough already, the lousy ratfinks were double-teaming her! Too restless to go back to her packing, she paced her room for several tense moments.
Then she abruptly stopped in the middle of the room. She had to get out of here before she did something stupid like scream her head off. A walk on the beach would cool her down, but if she wanted to kill two birds with one stone she should probably grab a newspaper and head up the coast highway to the Koffee Klatch, where she could read the apartment listings in peace. A nice, nonhostile environment sounded like just the ticket. She grabbed her purse from the dresser top where she'd tossed it a short while ago and let herself out of the room.
When she let herself back in several hours later, the sun had disappeared over the horizon in a blazing ball of orange and red, and she was calmer—if no closer to having another place to stay than when she'd left. There had only been one apartment in the ads worth pursuing, and by the time she'd gotten over to check it out someone else had already snatched it up.
Well, there was always the internet, but she'd get to that later. The walls of her room were already closing in, and unwilling to act as if she had anything to hide, she marched down the hall, braced to brave the duel condemnation of Zach and his underhanded friend. But the kitchen was empty and the entire house had a deserted feel. She dished up a bowl of ice cream and took it into the den, where she settled into a chair and turned on the news. A short while later, she turned it off again. Beyond a fleeting impression of an impending air-traffic controllers' strike and a murder-suicide inNewport Beach, she had no idea what she'd just viewed. She cleaned her dish in the kitchen, then went out on the terrace to listen to the surf.
Usually she found the susurrus of waves against sand a hypnotic lullaby, but tonight it failed to soothe her, and she decided to call it a day. Tomorrow would be soon enough to log on to the internet to see what it offered in the way of rentals. At the moment she desperately needed the oblivion of sleep.
It wasn't until late the following morning, as she was transferring most of the items she'd packed the day before into some boxes she'd found in the garage, that she remembered the envelope in the suitcase. She dug it out and extracted a single sheet of stationary. Unfolding it, she began to read.
Nooo! She abruptly sat down on the edge of the bed, and for one of the few times in her life, she wished she were a swearing woman. Her few, pitiful expletives simply didn't cover the depth of her feelings. But, poop!
The note was from Glynnis. Lily didn't know how she'd missed it but that wasn't the issue. What mattered was Glynnis's specific request that Lily tell Zach where she had gone, with whom, and why.
Poop, poop, poop, poop, poopl Why was that her job?
But there was simply no help for it; she had to honor Glynnis's wishes. Hating not only that necessity, but the knowledge that Zach was going to blow it all out of proportion, she girded her loins and went looking for him.
She didn't quite do the cha-cha upon discovering he wasn't home, but it was a near thing. Well, that's a crying shame , she thought insincerely, and dug a package of phyllo dough out of the fridge to make herself a nice veggie turnover to go with that apple chutney she'd made the other day. And after lunch , she decided, I really should hit the real estate agents .
When the back door rattled open a short while later as she was still eating, however, she sighed in defeat, knowing she could kiss a clean getaway good-bye. Rats.
Zach closed the door behind him and looked at Lily, who gazed back at him calmly for a moment before returning to her lunch. Like yesterday, she was dolled up right down to the spike-heeled shoes on her feet—this pair open-toed and blue to match her top, which she had no doubt chosen to match her eyes. He watched her rosy lips close around a bite of something with a wonderful fragrance, and jerking his gaze away, he looked at the steam rising off a flaky pastry-looking thing full of wild rice, vegetables, and what looked to be cranberries. His stomach immediately protested that a single piece of peanut-butter toast was no kind of breakfast for a grown man. "I'll say this for you, lollipop. You sure can cook."
"Yes, I can." She hesitated, then jutted her chin toward the stove. "There's another one in the oven, if you'd like it."
She didn't have to ask him twice. He grabbed a plate, singed his fingers grabbing the goodie out of the oven, then got a fork from the drawer and poured himself a glass of milk. Carrying everything to the table, he pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. She passed him a little bowl of some spicy-smelling sauce with chopped apples in it, and he dumped a spoonful on top of his turnover. Before he dug in, though, he shot her a suspicious glance. "Why are you being so accommodating all of a sudden?"
"For exactly the reason you think," she said with a shrug that had him struggling not to watch the resultant jiggle of her breasts. "To soften you up, of course." She waved at his plate. "Don't let it get cold."
Knowing he wasn't likely to get more than that, he took a bite. One taste was all it took, and he was a goner. "Damn," he breathed when he came up for air half a turnover later. Forgetting who he was dealing with for-an instant, he gave her a genuine smile. "This is good ." He immediately forked up another bite, savoring the rich textures and the flavors that exploded on his tongue.
"So was my nefarious plot successful?" Lily asked when he finished. "Did my cooking turn you into Mr. Mellow?"
"Yep." And surprisingly, it was true. He'd spent the morning atCampPendletongetting the South American contingent situated for their training program, and he was now officially on leave. Add to that a stomach full of exceptional food, and he really did feel pretty damn mellow.
"Good." Lily passed him a sheet of paper that had been folded in half.
"What's this?" He took it and shook it open. Recognizing his sister's handwriting, his eyebrows furrowed. Then he read it, and his head snapped up. He didn't like the sound of this at all, and he pinned the curvy little blonde sitting across the table in his sights. "Okay, spill it."
Lily drew a breath and then released it in a long sigh. "The reason that Glynnis isn't here is that she's gone up toWashingtons
tate… to meet her fiance's family."
Zach reacted every bit as badly as Lily feared he would.
He cursed succinctly as he pushed to his feet with such force his chair tumbled over. Slapping his hands on the tabletop, he leaned his weight on his splayed fingers and thrust his face forward until they were nose to nose. "I don't believe you, lady. You've known exactly where she is all this time and you're just now getting around to telling me?"
They were so close she could smell the chutney on his breath, hear the clicking pop of his TMJ joint as his teeth clenched and unclenched. His tension was contagious, but she forced herself to meet his furious eyes serenely. "I only just discovered the note."
"So if you hadn't found it, you wouldn't have ever told me?"
She lifted her chin. "Your sister is an adult, Taylor. It isn't up to me to tell you her business. If she'd wanted you to know, she would have said so—and considering what a control freak you are, I wasn't exactly bowled over when she didn't." She gave him a level look. "As it turns out, you're still a control freak, but apparently one she wants kept informed, so here's the scoop. The young man's name is David Beaumont. They met when he was down here on business, and they're driving up to his home inWashingtonstate so Glynnis can meet his family. Then they plan to get married." A corner of her mouth crooked up in a faint smile. "I'm sure you'll be invited."
"The hell you say." Pushing off the table, Zach straightened and glared down at her.
"Then again, maybe not, if that's going to be your attitude."
"Hell, yes, it's my attitude. Damned if I'll allow some two-bit hustler break my baby sister's heart!"
"For Pete's sake!" She stared at him in exasperation. "You haven't even met David. He loves her!"
"Loves her money, you mean."
"No, Rambo, loves her . I've seen them together, and—" She found herself abruptly talking to thin air when Zach turned on his heel and strode from the room. She followed him to the den, where he was flipping through an address book.
He made a sound of satisfaction and picked up the telephone. Seeing her standing in the doorway he gave her a smug smile. "I knew I could trust Glynnis to jot down his 'cell phone number." He punched out the numbers.
Then the smile dropped away and he banged down the phone. "Shit. Out of the service area." He shot her one of his my-wish-is-your-command looks. "What's theBeaumonts' phone number?"
"I have no idea. The only thing Glynnis gave me was his address."
He dialed information, and she watched his face turn grimmer yet as he tried unsuccessfully to talk the operator into giving him an unlisted number. He then reached for the yellow pages, pausing only long enough to glare at her. "I want that address," he snapped. "I'll book a flight toSeattlefor now, but I expect the exact address in my hand before I leave."
The impending air-traffic controller's strike popped into Lily's mind. She opened her mouth to tell him about it, then pursed her lips closed. As if he'd believe her anyway. But judging by his language when he slammed down the phone a short while later, she'd say the strike was no longer imminent.
"The hell with it," he suddenly declared. "I'll drive." He looked at her. "Get me that address."
"Yes, master," she said as he stalked away—presumably to go pack for his trip.
As she headed down the hallway to her room, Lily fully intended to get Zach his address, and then get the heck out of his way. The threat he posed to Glynnis and David's wedding plans was none of her business. Glynnis was a big girl; if she was old enough to get married, she was certainly old enough to stand up to her brother regarding her choice of husband.
This is actually a good thing for me, she assured herself as she tried to remember in which box she had just packed her address book. Heck, it's a reprieve, extra time to find a new place to live without Mister Personality breathing down my neck .
She pushed aside the guilt that tickled the edges of her conscience. She and Glynnis had hit it off, and she truly thought David was good for the younger woman. But Glynnis's problems with her brother were her own, and none of Lily's.
"Lily!" The impatient shout came from outside, and she crossed the room to snap open the shutters. Zach stood on the parking apron outside the garages, glaring up at her window. As soon as he saw her, his hand slapped down on the roof of a black SUV with tinted windows. "Hurry up with that address!" he yelled.
Irritation shot through her as she stared down at his hard, belligerent face. He really was a bulldozer. She thought again of Glynnis and the fragile happiness she'd had the past couple months with David. He was wonderfully gentle with her—and the two of them would be no match at all for Zachariah Taylor. It was a crying shame, really. True love was hard enough to find without GI Joe roaring around smashing everything apart.
She glanced at her open suitcase and made a decision. Probably the worst decision of her life, but one she knew she would follow through on just the same.
"Oh, poop!"
Chapter 5
ZACH DRUMMED AN IMPATIENT TATTOO AGAINST the top of his Jeep. What the hell was keeping Lily with that address?
He was too edgy just to stand around cooling his jets this way; he had to act before his sister made a mistake it might take her years to recover from. Realizing Lily had wiggled her way into Glynnis's life had been bad enough. But he didn't even know how long his sister had been gone, and the lost time that little golddigger had cost him by keeping Glynnis's news to herself could well make the difference between him getting to Beaumont's house in time to stop this farce or not.
Considering what a control freak you are, I wasn't exactly bowled over when Glynnis didn't tell you her plans, whispered Lily's voice in his brain, stilling Zach's fingers on the rooftop. Then, slapping both hands against the hot metal, he pushed away and began to pace.
Bullshit. It had nothing to do with control; he just wanted to protect his little sister. Someone had to prevent her from making the biggest mistake of her life.
Experience was on his side, and this time the situation was even worse than usual. Glynnis was too big-hearted for her own good, but no one had ever brought her to the point where marriage sounded like a good idea. Zach thrust his hands through his hair as he paced. Somehow thisBeaumontguy had gotten her to that stage, though. Somehow he'd convinced her he was the man for her, the one she could trust to supply her with the happily-ever-after she'd always wanted. Zach had to save her from getting her soft, generous heart stomped into paste. For if she'd been crushed in the past when she'd discovered she'd been used by the people she'd trusted, what would it do to her to learn her true love was playing her for a fool?
Love. Zach made a rude noise. As if that was an emotion anyone could trust.
Turning to pace in the other direction, he saw Lily headed his way. "It's about damn time," he snarled, so busy trying not to notice the ultra-girly hip-swinging, breast-bouncing walk of hers that it took him a moment to register she was burdened with a purse and train case and was pulling a suitcase in her wake. "What the—"
She sashayed right up to the passenger side of his Jeep, opened the door, and tossed her stuff in the backseat while he stood there with his mouth open. Looking at him across the top of the SUV, she gave the vehicle a slap. "What are you waiting for? Let's go." And she climbed into the car.
He ripped open his own door and leaned in to glare at her across the seats. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I would think that would be obvious even to you." She gave him a cool look out of those clear blue eyes. "I've decided to go with you."
"Over my cold and rotting corpse, lady."
"Works for me—that'd save me a trip. But failing that, your sister has a real shot at happiness with David, and I've resolved not to let you wreck it for her."
"You've resolved ? he said scornfully. "What, you afraid you'll lose your meal ticket if I talk some sense into her?" His brain tried to tell him there was a flaw in that logic, but he couldn't puzzle it out over the roar of his anger
. And that made him even more livid, the knowledge that she could make him lose his temper without any effort at all. No one else had ever been able to do that. "Haul your little butt out of my car."
"No."
"Then I'll haul it for you." He straightened, fully prepared to follow through on his threat.
"Not if you want David's address."
Zach had to remind himself he was disciplined, that a soldier did not react without thinking. He'd already tried calling Rocket, but his friend must be serious about this being a vacation and had turned off his cell phone for the trip up to Coop's. Zach bent back down and looked at Lily. "I'll have that address if I have to tear your purse and bags apart to find it," he said flatly. He gave her a slow up-and-down appraisal. "If I have to strip you naked."
She didn't even blink. "Could be fun, I suppose—but it still won't get you the address." She tapped her termple. "It's in here, bud. So unless you're a mind reader…"
Swearing in defeat, he climbed into the Jeep and slammed the door.
Miguel Escavez raced back to the car he'd won off a soldier yesterday and started the engine. When Master Sergeant Taylor drove away from the opulent ocean-front property a moment later, Miguel patiently waited until the other man reached the bend in the road before pulling away from the shoulder to trail in the black SUV's wake. His impulse to follow the commander fromCampPendletonthis morning had paid off with even faster results than he'd expected—a sure sign his mission was just.
But then, he'd never doubted that for a moment. He was, after all, Miguel Hector Javier Escavez, only son of the mayor of Bisinlejo. And this was just one more in a series of signs he'd received already. Why, just last night he'd won a fortune from several of the gringo soldiers.
That filled him with satisfaction—and for more reasons than simply the money that enabled him to finance his plans. They thought because he came from a small Colombian village he was dumb, that he was a—how did one of them put it?—a spic. Miguel spit out the car window. Arrogant fools. How many of them spoke two languages? He had learned English from Father Roberto, the mission priest who had also taught him the finer points of five-card stud. If the Norte Americanos were so damn smart, how was it that most of their recently cashed paychecks had ended up in his pocket?
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