The Sinister Touch

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Guinevere reached for the phone, punching in the short emergency code. With her eyes riveted to the drama taking place across the street, she quickly gave the address and situation to the person on the other end of the line. “Just hurry, will you?” she snapped when the dispatcher patiently asked for her name and address as well as that of the victim’s.

  Guinevere slammed down the receiver and leaned forward, staring out the window. She could see Mason’s crumpled body on the floor. The hooded figure was straightening slowly. Some instinct must have warned him that he was being watched. Turning, the man glanced out of the studio window. For a taut moment his gaze locked with Guinevere’s.

  She couldn’t see much, Guinevere realized as she frantically tried to take mental notes. The hood fell forward around his face, hiding almost all of the details one was supposed to recall in this sort of situation. Besides, she was too far away to make out such things as the color of his eyes. But she could see the heavy line of the jaw, and there was a certain sense of bulkiness under the old shirt and pants he wore. A heavy man. She was almost positive she wouldn’t be able to identify the man if she ever saw him again, though. Frantically she tried to find some unique feature. The hood, itself, was the oddest part about him. It was shaped like a cut-off monk’s cowl. It shadowed his face and fell into a short cape around his shoulders.

  As they stood facing each other through the windows, it occurred to Guinevere that the cowled man had as good a view of her as she had of him. Belatedly she reached out and turned off her kitchen light.

  But the man in Mason’s apartment was already swinging around in alarm. He must have heard Zac’s footsteps on the stairs. Or perhaps seeing Guinevere had jerked him into action. Whatever the trigger, it sent him running out of the apartment.

  Helplessly Guinevere watched as Mason’s attacker fled. With any luck he might run into Zac on the stairs, she thought. But a few seconds later Zac burst through the door and went straight to Mason’s prone figure. There was no sign that Zac and the cowled man had tangled.

  Guinevere raced across the kitchen and out her front door. At the last minute she remembered she wasn’t wearing any shoes. As she grabbed a pair of sandals out of the closet, she heard the first police sirens in the distance. She shoved her feet into the sandals and hitched up the narrow skirt of her suit. Then she was running down the two flights of stairs to the street. Out on the sidewalk she dashed toward the entrance to Mason’s building. The security door was propped open with a copy of the Seattle Yellow Pages that belonged on the shelf beneath the pay phone in the small lobby. Zac’s work, Guinevere assumed. Perhaps to make access quicker for the cops. She wondered how he’d gotten inside the security entrance so quickly. But Zac had a way of doing things like that.

  She flew up the stairs to the second floor and glanced down the old, linoleum-lined hall. Mason’s building hadn’t been as expensively renovated as hers. In fact, it looked to be in what was probably a sadly original condition. The dim halls and shaky banister on the staircase made the place look a little like a cheap hotel. At the opposite end of the hallway there was a faded exit sign, indicating a fire escape. If Zac hadn’t met the escaping attacker on the staircase, it was probably because the man had used the other exit.

  The door standing open at the end of the hall had to be the one to Mason’s apartment. Guinevere rounded the corner just as the sirens whined into silence outside the building.

  “Zac! Is he all right?”

  Zac was crouching beside Mason. He didn’t look up. “He’ll live. Whoever it was got him on the side of the head, but the blow must have been deflected. He’s groggy but not unconscious. Did you see any sign of whoever it was who did this, Gwen? I didn’t pass him on the stairs.”

  “I think he must have used the fire escape. I got a brief glimpse of him through my window while I was dialing 911.”

  Zac did glance up at that, pinning her with grim eyes. “Did he see you?”

  “I . . . I think so, but he must have heard you about that time and dashed out of the room. He was wearing a weird hood, Zac. It was very strange.” Guinevere broke off as footsteps echoed on the old stairs.

  “I’ll handle this,” Zac said, getting to his feet.

  Guinevere nodded obediently. Zac was good at this sort of thing, too.

  On the floor Mason groaned and opened his eyes. “Hell of a way to celebrate my first show.”

  ***

  It was a long time later before Guinevere found herself alone with Zac back in her apartment. She was tense and troubled. Zac sprawled on the sofa, eyeing her as she stalked back and forth in front of him.

  “I don’t understand it, Zac. Why didn’t Mason tell the police about that incident with his painting last night? Damn it, he told me he’d filed a complaint. Or at least he implied he was going to file one. But tonight he didn’t mention it. Instead he acted as if he’d just been unlucky enough to walk in on a routine burglary this evening. He didn’t try to relate the two incidents.”

  “I didn’t hear you rushing to fill in the missing pieces,” Zac observed quietly. “You didn’t say a word about that pentagram or the canvas slashing, either.”

  Guinevere threw up her hands in frustration. “Because I could see Mason looking at me, practically begging me to keep my mouth shut.” She turned to glance at Zac accusingly. “And you went right along with Mason’s limited version of the story, too. Why?”

  Zac shrugged. “The same reason you did, I suppose. It was pretty damn obvious Adair didn’t want to link last night’s incident with tonight’s, and even more obvious that he’d never mentioned the slashed canvas to the authorities. I could see him watching me as I talked to the cops, and I knew he wanted me to say as little as possible.”

  “So you did.”

  “I told them what I’d seen through your window tonight, which wasn’t much. Hell, I didn’t even get a look at the guy. He was long gone by the time I reached Adair’s apartment.”

  “But you knew about the pentagram and the slashing,” Guinevere reminded him.

  “All right, so I decided to respect Adair’s wishes and keep quiet about it. I’m used to dealing with clients who prefer not to involve the cops. I guess it’s getting to be second nature to abide by the client’s wishes.”

  That much was the truth, Guinevere thought. Many of Zac’s business clients had no desire to see their company’s name dragged through the newspapers or to have any association at all with criminal activity, even though they were the victims. That’s why they hired discreet security firms such as Free Enterprise Security, Inc. Precisely so that such unpleasant matters would be handled discreetly.

  “Are you saying Mason is now a client?” Guinevere asked brightly.

  Zac glared at her. “No, I am not saying that. I merely made the point that I’m used to working for people who don’t want the police involved. Out of habit I respected Adair’s wishes tonight. That’s all there is to it.”

  Guinevere sighed and sank down onto the opposite end of the sofa. “I wonder what this is all about, Zac.”

  “Beats the hell out of me.” One arm draped along the back of the cushion, he continued to watch her closely. “But whatever it is, I don’t want you involved. I’ve told you that before, Gwen. I mean it.”

  “Zac, Mason’s a friend.”

  “I thought he was just a ship passing in the night.”

  “Well, it’s more a case of a permanently anchored ship. With a porthole that looks straight into my porthole.”

  “I’ve been aware of that for some time,” Zac drawled. There was a short silence. “I heard him tell the cops that he’d been to the show at the Midnight Light gallery tonight with you and Carla.”

  “So?”

  Zac exhaled heavily. “I shouldn’t have chewed on you earlier this evening.”

  “Is that an apology?�
�

  “Yeah.”

  Guinevere risked a small smile. “I shall treasure it always.”

  “You do that. I don’t apologize very often.”

  “I know.”

  There was another short pause before Zac said promptingly, “Well? Don’t I get one, too?”

  “An apology?”

  “You owe me something for all those not-so-subtle accusations about the meeting with Elizabeth.”

  “I guess I do. I know she’s an important client for you, Zac. And I’m a businessperson. I understand about client demands.”

  “So when do I get the apology?” he pressed.

  “I thought I’d already given it!”

  “No,” he said, leaning forward to haul her onto his lap, “you haven’t. But you will.”

  Her mouth curved tremulously as she automatically braced herself with one arm around his broad shoulders. “Going to exact your pound of flesh?”

  “And then some.” Zac brushed his mouth against hers, sampling her lips with easy, possessive familiarity. His large palm spread warmly across her thigh. “You have such nice flesh.”

  Guinevere relaxed against him, luxuriating in the welcoming heat and strength of his hold. Her fingertips lost themselves in his thick, dark hair. He murmured something sexy and outrageous into her ear.

  “What was that?” she demanded, pulling slightly away.

  “I said I adore the pink perfection of your rose-colored lips, the column of your throat reminds me of a Grecian statue, and I could kiss the ground upon which your dainty feet tread.”

  “Funny, that’s not what I thought you said.” She tugged at the first button of his shirt.

  “Okay, so it lost something in the translation. Let’s not quibble.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it.” She slipped her fingers inside the white shirt and found the dark, curling hair on his chest.

  His hand tightened on her thigh, and he began unfastening her silk blouse. When the delicate garment fell unheeded to the gray rug, Zac groaned softly and kissed her shoulder. “I’ve missed you lately, sweetheart.”

  “Not as much as I’ve missed you.” She snuggled more closely as he undid the front catch of her bra and pushed it off her shoulders. When his palm rubbed gently across her nipple, she closed her eyes and let her fingertips sink into his chest.

  “Do you know what you do to me when you respond like this?” Zac lowered his head and put his mouth on the crest of her breast.

  “Ummm.” She could feel the rising need in him. Under her thigh he was growing heavy with desire. His immediate response was every bit as exhilarating for her as he claimed hers was for him. Their physical attraction for each other had been intense and immediate right from the start. But as their relationship deepened into a full-fledged affair, it seemed to Guinevere that the physical side of things was changing, growing more complex and variable. Vaguely she wondered why it should be that way. It was as if there were more questions now than when they had first started making love, questions they hesitated to ask each other.

  “We both have too many clothes on,” Zac muttered as he slid his hand down her side to her bare waist and found the opening of her skirt.

  “Do we?”

  “Definitely.” He surged to his feet, lifting Guinevere in his arms, and strode toward the bedroom. “But I think we can handle the problem.”

  He finished undressing her in the shadowed bedroom, his hands gliding over her with a hunger that was building rapidly in its intensity. Guinevere struggled briefly with his slacks, but he grew impatient and unsnapped them himself. As the last of their clothing fell away, Zac eased her down onto the bed, pushing apart her legs so that he could lie comfortably between her thighs.

  “You’re in a hurry tonight,” she teased, her eyes gleaming.

  “It’s been too long.” He ducked his head to kiss the hollow of her throat. Deliberately he let her feel him poised at the damp, silky opening of her body. “I’m a creature of habit, Gwen. And lately I’ve gotten into the habit of going to bed with you as frequently as possible. You can’t just cut a man off from his habit without a few serious consequences. I’ve been suffering withdrawal symptoms for the past week.”

  “It’s your own fault you’ve been suffering,” she couldn’t resist pointing out.

  “Don’t remind me. I finally get an evening that’s at least partially free, come rushing over here, and what do I find?”

  “No more lectures, Zac.”

  He sucked in his breath as he felt her lift her lower body against his with tantalizing emphasis. “No,” he agreed fervently. “No more lectures.” He caught her shoulders and eased forward, just barely entering her. He waited eagerly for the small intake of breath that told him she was reacting as passionately as she always did to his possession. Zac ached with need, but he had grown addicted to that first little gasp with which she always greeted him, and he always held himself in check until he heard it. When he felt her nails dig lightly into his shoulders, he surged forward, burying himself in the tight, clinging warmth.

  “Ah, Zac. Zac.”

  Her passion made him forget all that had happened that evening. It wiped out the memory of the long nights he’d been spending alone lately, and it obliterated the jealousy that had gripped him earlier. At this moment she was completely his once more, and he thrived on the knowledge. Thrived, hell. It made him feel complete and alive and filled him with a satisfaction that nothing else could equal. Zac reveled in the mental sensation just as thoroughly as he gloried in the physical. There had never been any other woman who could do this to him.

  His body drove into hers, setting up an inevitable cadence that could only lead to one conclusion. Guinevere’s eyes were closed as the passion crystallized within her. He could feel the strong, feminine muscles in her thighs as she wrapped her legs around his waist and held him close. She wanted him as completely as he wanted her, and Zac knew he would cheerfully kill to keep her in his arms.

  When he sensed the delicate tightening that signaled the beginning of her climax, Zac fought the familiar battle to restrain himself until she was so far along the path that it would be impossible for her to turn back. Then, when the little shivers gripped her, he surrendered to his own pounding desire, a stifled shout of triumph and satisfaction mingling with her small cries.

  Zac waited a long time before rolling reluctantly to one side. He felt pleasantly exhausted. Guinevere lay cradled inside the curve of his arm, and he idly toyed with the nest of damp, dark hair below her flat stomach. Her lashes lifted with lazy, lingering sensuality as she looked up at him.

  “Apology accepted?” she asked throatily.

  “Hell, yes. I’m not an unreasonable man.”

  “Hah.” She grinned and tickled him.

  “Watch it,” he advised, not bothering to move.

  “Why?”

  He groaned. “Why is it you always have so much energy after we do this, while I’m always in a state of total exhaustion?”

  “Don’t whine about it. Just a basic constitutional difference between male and female. It’s not your fault men have this fundamental weakness.”

  “If we’re weakened so much afterward, it’s only because we have to do all the hard work.”

  “Excuses, excuses.” She leaned across him, folding her arms on his chest and resting her chin on them.

  “Speaking of excuses . . .” he began slowly as he remembered something.

  “What about them?”

  “I wasn’t able to think of any to get myself out of a cocktail party tomorrow night. A business thing. Will you come with me so I don’t have to stand in a corner by myself?”

  “Luckily you’ve caught me in a generous mood. Who’s giving the party?”

  There was a slight pause before Zac said quietly, “Eliz
abeth Gallinger.”

  Guinevere deliberately allowed herself to pause before responding. She thought she could feel Zac tightening a little beneath her. “Received a royal summons?”

  “Something like that. She’s a good client, Gwen. I don’t want to offend her. At least not until she’s paid for the analysis I’ve been preparing.”

  “That much I can understand. And since I definitely don’t want you standing alone in a corner all evening, I’ll be gracious and go with you.”

  “You’re too good to me.”

  “I know.” She drummed her fingers lightly on his chest and grinned wickedly. “Much too good to you.”

  “Fortunately for me,” Zac murmured, ruffling her hair, “I don’t let humbleness cripple me.”

  “I can see that.” One of his legs moved between hers, and Guinevere was suddenly aware of a resurgence of the throbbing heat that had consumed him earlier. Her fingertips slipped down his rock-hard belly to the stirring shaft of his manhood. “I thought you were exhausted.”

  “I am. This time you’ll have to do all the work.” He reached down and gripped her waist, lifting her lightly and settling her on top of him. “Show me how much energy you’ve really got.”

  Guinevere sank down along the length of him, a secret, sensual smile curving her mouth. “More than enough for both of us,” she promised him softly.

  ***

  Guinevere woke the next morning to a muttered expletive that reached her all the way from the kitchen. She blinked slowly and peered at the clock. Almost seven. Usually she was up and moving by six. Last night Zac had been determined to make up for several lost evenings. As she stretched, she felt the results in the muscles of her thighs.

  “Where in hell did you get this stupid excuse for a coffee machine, Gwen?”

  She groaned and pushed back the covers as Zac’s shouted question reached around the corner into the bedroom. “Don’t yell, you’ll wake the neighbors.”

  He appeared in the bedroom doorway, two mugs dangling from his left hand. He was already dressed, his hair still damp from the shower. “You chose that sucker for its color, didn’t you?” he accused. “It was the red-and-black trim that seduced you. You can’t resist anything bright when it comes to decorating this place, can you? Do you realize that at its present rate of production that coffeemaker is going to take an hour to produce two cups of coffee?”