The Sinister Touch

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  “But I’m the one who’s supposed to take the big step and apologize? What good would that do, Dane?” Mason asked wearily. “An apology isn’t going to solve the problem. As far as my father is concerned, nothing will solve the problem except for me to give up trying to make a career out of my painting. You know as well as I do what kind of lifestyle he thinks I’m living out here. As far as he’s concerned, I’m beyond the pale. Decadent, addicted to God knows what, and totally immoral.”

  “Mason, perhaps you should give the old man a chance,” Fitzpatrick said earnestly. He appeared to have forgotten Guinevere and Carla now, as the conversation came down to brass tacks.

  “What chance did he give me or my painting? He drummed me out of the family the moment he found out that I was absolutely serious about art. Forget it, Dane. Go back home and tell my father that I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “Your father’s will—” Fitzpatrick broke off with an uneasy glance at the two women. Obviously this was too important to discuss in front of strangers, regardless of Mason’s lack of concern.

  “I don’t give a damn about my father’s will. I know I’m out of it. But I just don’t give a damn. You’re welcome to enjoy every penny, Dane.”

  “Mason, it doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “Yes, it does,” Mason said stonily. “The only thing that will ever change it is if the old man admits I have a right to live my life the way I want to live it. What do you think the odds are that he’ll do that, Dane?”

  Fitzpatrick sighed heavily. “Not good. He’s a stubborn, willful old man who has ruled the family for too many years to back down now. He’ll never accept your art. You’re right about that. If you come back, he’ll still want you to give it up.”

  “Sending you out here to see me was just one more maneuver to try to coax me back into the fold, wasn’t it?”

  “You’re his son,” Fitzpatrick said. “It’s natural he would try to bring you home.”

  “On his terms.”

  “As I said, he’s a very stubborn man.”

  Mason put down his beer mug and glared at the older man. “Tell my father that unless he’s prepared to accept me for what I am, I’m never coming home. Not after the things he said to me two years ago. He’s the one who threw me out, Dane. There’s no way I can come back until he takes the first step. Having you stop by and take me to lunch doesn’t constitute a first step as far as I’m concerned.”

  Dane Fitzpatrick seemed to accept the fact that he had done his duty and that it wasn’t going to have any major impact on Mason. He nodded sadly and summoned a deliberately charming smile for Guinevere and Carla. “I fear we are ruining lunch for your friends, Mason. Let’s change the topic.”

  “Good idea.” Grimly Mason signaled for another beer.

  Guinevere sensed Carla’s silent sympathy for the brooding young artist and sent her sister a commiserating glance. All things considered, it was an awkward situation. She hoped her other social engagement of the day would fare better, but she had her doubts.

  ***

  At ten o’clock that evening Zac found himself exactly where he had feared: standing in a corner alone, drinking tequila. Guinevere was here, all right, but not at his side. She had been easily snagged by a small knot of women her own age, and from what he could overhear of the conversation, they were all discussing babies. He couldn’t tell if Gwen was participating enthusiastically or just keeping up her end of the conversation in order to be polite. He wished he knew. If Baby Fever was striking her, he wanted to know about it and be prepared for it.

  From the shelter of his corner Zac watched Guinevere as she chatted with the others. He always took a certain possessive satisfaction in watching her. Tonight she had her dark hair in its customary twist at the nape of her neck. The style looked businesslike when she wore a suit and absolutely elegant when she wore the kind of thing she had on tonight. He liked the fact that she wore her hair up during the day and on social occasions. It lent a certain intimacy to the act of taking it down for bed. Zac was aware of a fierce possessiveness as he thought about taking the pins from Guinevere’s hair later on tonight.

  The red silk dress was scooped at the neckline, gracefully full in the sleeves and bodice, and pulled in snugly at the hips. Zac had liked the feel of the material under his palm earlier that evening when he’d guided her into Elizabeth Gallinger’s beautiful Mercer Island home. It had made him think of how good Gwen’s skin felt when he was making love to her.

  Zac took another swallow of the tequila and decided he probably shouldn’t get started thinking along those lines. This was a business party. The last thing he wanted to do was embarrass himself in front of Elizabeth Gallinger’s wealthy guests. If he wasn’t careful, he’d have to go hide behind a potted palm. It still amazed him that Guinevere could so easily affect him. Tonight, after the party, he would take her home and then to bed. He could wait. She was his for the evening. His for as long as he could hold on to her.

  Zac just wished he knew how long that was likely to be. There was still a strange element of uncertainty in his relationship with Guinevere Jones. It worried him primarily because he didn’t know how to go about fixing the problem. Zac was accustomed to solving problems. He might be a little slow at it, but he was thorough. It annoyed him that this one wasn’t getting resolved. How the hell did she really feel about him? How committed was she to the affair? And just how interested was she getting in babies? He looked around the room, and all he could see were two-dozen biological clocks dressed in evening gowns. It was a daunting image. Maybe he’d had a little too much tequila.

  Across the room, prominently displayed over a white couch, was a Mason Adair painting. Guinevere had spotted it the minute she’d walked into the room. It was a canvas full of life and interest, a study of an old woman reading a book. For some reason, although there was a wealth of aging character in the face, the feeling projected by the painting was of youthful discovery. Even Zac, who admitted to himself that he knew next to nothing about art, could feel the effect of the painting.

  “I’ve heard that Queen Elizabeth prides herself on being a patron of the arts. She enjoys ‘discovering’ the best and the brightest of the new talent. I saw a lot of good stuff on display in the lobby of Gallinger Industries when I worked there for a while a few months ago. It’s a real coup for Mason Adair that she obviously thinks enough of his work to have a picture hanging here in her home. I wonder if he knows she bought one?” Guinevere had commented in low tones when they had walked into the glass-walled living room. She had then given him a brief résumé of her experiences at lunch with Mason and his cousin, Dane Fitzpatrick, describing how alienated Mason was from his father. Before Zac could tell her he didn’t approve of her having lunch with Mason Adair, Elizabeth Gallinger had come gliding across the room to greet them.

  Now, as Zac stood contemplating the picture in greater detail, a soft, throaty voice made him glance to the side.

  “Ah, Zac, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.” Elizabeth Gallinger swept through a cluster of her guests who parted for her automatically. Elizabeth had that effect on people. She was a very beautiful woman who projected the kind of self-confidence that came from old money and old family. Zac couldn’t imagine her giving a party that was anything less than an unqualified success. Everyone she invited would come. What had Guinevere called such an invitation? A royal summons. But then, Guinevere had been acting strangely whenever Elizabeth’s name came up lately.

  “Hello, Elizabeth. Looks like a great party.” Zac winced inwardly at the inanity. He wasn’t sure what else to say. It was easy enough to discuss security matters with Elizabeth Gallinger, but on any other topic he simply couldn’t think of much to say. What did you talk about to a woman who moved in Elizabeth’s circles if you weren’t talking business?

  “You don’t appear to be enjoying yourself,” El
izabeth complained, her crimsom fingertips settling lightly on his jacket sleeve. “What happened to that nice Guinevere Jones?”

  “She’s talking to some of the other guests.” Zac glanced across the room. Guinevere still appeared to be trapped in the baby discussion. Either that or she was staying in it of her own free will. He wished to hell he knew which.

  “Oh, yes, I see.” Elizabeth smiled with great charm. “It’s getting a little stuffy in here, don’t you think? What do you say we go out onto the patio for a few minutes?”

  Zac looked at her in mild surprise and then nodded. “If that’s what you’d like. Sure.”

  “Once this kind of party is up and running, no one really needs the hostess,” Elizabeth confided lightly as she led the way out of the white-and-pastel living room. The royal-blue bodice of her gown was sequined and cut to reveal a surprising amount of cleavage. For some reason the look was elegant on Elizabeth. Not at all tacky, Zac decided. Just the same, he wouldn’t want Guinevere wearing anything like that out in public. Elizabeth’s blond hair moved around her face as if it had been privately trained by her hairdresser. Until now Zac had only seen Elizabeth Gallinger in French designer suits. It didn’t surprise him that she looked just as at home in what was probably a French designer gown.

  They stepped through a pair of open French doors and out into the cool evening. The rain had disappeared shortly after noon today, and the temperature had immediately climbed into the low seventies. Some of the pleasant warmth still lingered although it was fading rapidly. Elizabeth walked over to a teak railing and leaned against it to gaze out over a discreetly lit garden. Acres of sloping lawn stretched down to the waters of Lake Washington. Across the expanse of dark water the lights of Seattle and Bellevue glittered.

  “A lovely evening, isn’t it, Zac?”

  He nodded again and then realized she might not be able to see the affirmative motion because of the shadows. “Very nice.” God, he was a stunning conversationalist. It wasn’t like this with Guinevere. He had no trouble at all talking to her. And she had no trouble talking to others. It was one of the reasons he’d wanted her with him tonight. She could keep a conversation going. Unfortunately she was wasting her talent in a discussion of babies this evening.

  “I’ve been extremely pleased by your analysis of Gallinger’s security needs, Zac. Now that the project is almost concluded, I want you to know that I’ll be recommending you to other people in my position.”

  “I appreciate that, Elizabeth.”

  “We’ve spent a lot of time together over the past few weeks. I feel as though I’ve gotten to know you quite well,” Elizabeth continued in a thoughtful tone.

  Zac, who didn’t feel he knew this woman at all well, except as a client, tried to find something neutral to say. “It’s been an interesting project.”

  She was silent for a moment. He could see her perfectly chiseled profile as she continued to gaze out into the garden. “On occasion during the past few weeks I’ve found myself talking to you about a subject I haven’t discussed with anyone else, Zac. Something about you made me think you would understand.”

  Zac froze. Babies. She was going to bring up biological clocks agin. He knew it. Where was Gwen when he needed her? “Uh, well, Elizabeth, I’m sure a lot of women are discussing the same thing these days.”

  She swung around, a smile curving her perfect mouth. “You see? I knew you sensed what I was getting at. I’ve made the decision, Zac. I’m going to have a baby. I’m going to become a single parent.”

  He cleared his throat. “That’s terrific, Elizabeth. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent mother.”

  “Oh, I will,” she assured him serenely. “I’m in a position to give a child everything. And I will. But the most important thing I can give my baby, Zac, is good genes. My own are impeccable. But I must make certain the father’s are equally sound.”

  Zac felt his mouth go dry. “Genes.” He didn’t know what else to say, but he could feel a wave of panic unfolding in his stomach.

  “I don’t intend to marry, of course. There’s no need for that at this point.”

  “I see.”

  “But I will certainly expect to pay well for the services of a good father. I want the best, Zac. I can afford the best.”

  Zac took a step backward and found himself up against a wall. His tie was suddenly much too tight around his throat, and it seemed to him that the night air had become almost unbearably warm. Behind him he could hear the laughter and the careless conversation floating through the French doors, but safety was a million miles away. “Elizabeth, I think I’d better go find Gwen. She doesn’t know too many people here tonight, and I shouldn’t leave her on her own.”

  Elizabeth stepped closer. Her perfume was filling the air, making it difficult for Zac to breathe. He hated perfume. One of the things he liked about Guinevere was that she never wore any.

  “You needn’t worry about your relationship with Miss Jones,” Elizabeth said soothingly. “I only need you in one capacity. It can be our little secret. Once the job of impregnating me has been done, I won’t have any further need for you.”

  Images of black widow spiders popped into Zac’s head. He was aware of a definite dampness under his armpits. Hastily he downed the last of the tequila. In his lifetime he’d faced armed men, scheming swindlers, and fanatic terrorists. But Elizabeth Gallinger was a first. He was almost immobilized by the experience. Gwen, he yelled silently. Gwen, do something! Aloud he said in as cool a tone as possible, “Miss Gallinger, I believe there’s been a misunderstanding here.”

  “Would it be so unpleasant, Zac?” she asked with the confidence of a woman who knows she can have any man she wants. “I’d want to do it the natural way, of course. I don’t like the idea of artificial insemination. My attorney will handle all the details, including the cost for your services. I assure you, you won’t have any complaints.” She took another step closer and raised her face invitingly.

  And then, just when Zac assumed all was lost, Guinevere’s voice came liltingly across the patio.

  “There you are, Zac! I was wondering what had happened to you. I’ve been looking everywhere.” She came forward easily, smiling at Elizabeth. But Zac could see the unnatural glitter in her eyes. “Have you forgotten we have to be home by eleven? Elizabeth, it’s been a wonderful party. Thank you so much for letting Zac bring me along. Fabulous view from up here,” she added, waving at the lights that ringed the lake. As she reached Zac’s side she put a hand possessively on his arm.

  Zac rushed to accept rescue with the same alacrity with which wagon trains used to greet the cavalry. “Of course, Gwen. I was just saying good night to Elizabeth. The security work I’m doing for her firm is almost finished, you know. It’s been quite a project.” He put his arm around Guinevere’s waist and turned to smile politely at Elizabeth Gallinger. “It’s been a great party. I’ll see that the final report on Gallinger Industries’ security needs is on your desk by Friday. Have your secretary contact me if there are any questions. Ready, Gwen?”

  “Ready. Good night, Elizabeth.”

  “I’m so glad you both were able to come,” Elizabeth was saying with automatic graciousness. But she didn’t get a chance to finish the farewell. Zac and Guinevere were already halfway back to the French doors. A moment later they disappeared inside the elegant living room.

  Five minutes later they were climbing into Zac’s aging Buick and heading toward the floating bridge that linked Mercer Island with the city of Seattle. Nothing was said until he was parking the car in front of Guinevere’s apartment house. It was obvious, Zac realized, that if he didn’t break the fraught silence, no one would.

  “I have never,” he growled as he opened the security door, “been so embarrassed in my entire life. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, Gwen. I couldn’t believe it. From a client, no less.”
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  Guinevere said nothing. She was already on the second-floor landing, inserting her key into her lock. Zac reached out and took it from her to finish the job.

  “She wanted me to stand at stud for her, Gwen.”

  “Can you do it standing up? You must show me sometime.”

  “Gwen! Listen to me. This has been one of the most unnerving nights of my entire life. You have no idea what it was like. The woman assumed she could buy my genes.”

  “Are they for sale?” Guinevere marched through the open door, her back ramrod straight.

  “Gwen, don’t do this to me. You’ve got to understand what happened back there.” Zac hurried through the door, closing it quickly behind him as he struggled for words to explain the ordeal he had just lived through. But whatever words he might have found, died forgotten as he saw Gwen’s sudden stillness. She was staring across the room at a blank wall. “Gwen? What the hell . . .” Instantly he was moving forward, looking for the source of her shock.

  Abruptly Zac remembered that there had been a large mirror hanging on that wall. It lay now in huge, jagged shards on the floor. Someone had pushed the broken pieces back into a semblance of the original shape of the mirror. And after that had been done, a black pentagram had been painted on the shards, a pentagram with a crude bolt of lightning in the center.

  Chapter Five

  “Get out of here. Now.” Zac’s large hand was already closing around Guinevere’s arm, crushing the delicate red silk. In this mood one didn’t argue with him. Guinevere had seen him like this once or twice, and she knew it wasn’t the moment to have a rational discussion.

  An instant later she was out in the hallway while Zac meticulously walked through the apartment. By the time he reappeared a few minutes later, she’d had a chance to do some thinking.

  “All right,” he said quietly, “there’s no one here now. Come on back inside.” His face was set in hard, cold lines. “Take a good look at that mirror. It’s the same kind of pentagram drawing that someone made on Adair’s painting, isn’t it?”