The Sinister Touch

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Guinevere, Zac, and Mason stared at her. Finally Guinevere asked hesitantly, “Carla, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “Positive.” She jumped to her feet and reached for Mason’s arm. “Come on, Mason. We need to go practice exactly what you’re going to say to the reporter.”

  Mason grinned, obviously willing to let her take the lead. “What about Gwen?”

  “Oh, I think we can keep Gwen out of this,” Carla said easily. “You’re the main story. Gwen will just show up as a small footnote if we handle this right.”

  “Mason,” Guinevere said urgently as the other two prepared to depart, “did you . . . did you call your father?”

  His grin faded. “This morning. I had to tell him about Dane first. I didn’t want him finding out secondhand.”

  “How did it go? The conversation with your father, I mean,” she pressed.

  Mason’s mouth curved faintly. “Let’s just say I’m flying back East in a week or so to renew my acquaintance with my family. We’ll take it from there.”

  “Take them one of your paintings,” Zac suggested mildly.

  “I’ll do that. Oh, and by the way, I don’t want you to think I’m not going to pay my tab. I owe Free Enterprise Security, Inc., my life. I haven’t got a lot of cash on hand yet, but I’ve got a couple of paintings you might like. Theresa tells me that in the current market they’re probably worth fifteen hundred apiece. Will that cover the bill?”

  “More than cover it,” Zac said with a grin. “I’ll hang them in my office. I need a better view.”

  Zac and Guinevere watched the other two walk arm in arm down the street. For a long time silence hovered over the table. Then Zac pushed aside his empty glass.

  “Ready to go home?”

  “Yes.”

  Neither said anything else during the short walk up the street to Guinevere’s apartment. But when Zac opened the door, he said quietly, “You know, I’ve kind of gotten used to this place.”

  “Have you?” Guinevere walked into her brightly colored living room and tossed down her shoulder bag. “I’ve kind of gotten used to having you around.” She smiled tremulously and turned away to gaze out the window at the street below. A mother and two toddlers were waiting for the bus. Zac came to stand behind Guinevere, one hand on her shoulder. He looked down at the small family.

  “Cute kids.” His voice was perfectly neutral.

  Guinevere took a deep breath. It was time to ask. “Zac, have you been trying to tell me something lately?”

  He frowned. “About what?”

  “About children.” She stood very still. “I need to know, Zac. Are you . . . have you decided you want a family? Is that why you’ve been worrying about biological clocks and babies?”

  “What I want,” Zac said quietly, “is you.”

  She let out a long sigh and leaned her neat head back against his shoulder. “But the baby talk . . .”

  “I started worrying that you might be thinking about having kids. Every other woman I’ve run into lately seems to be getting anxious. But you never said anything. I tried to get you to talk about it. I was afraid you’d decide you want them and that I wasn’t the right man to be the father.” His fingers tightened around her shoulder. “I couldn’t stand it if you went out looking for another man to be the father.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that, Zac,” she said simply. “Never worry about that.”

  “Because you don’t want kids?”

  “I don’t have any particular desire for children. Not now. But if I ever do want them . . .” She turned into his arms and lifted her face. “Your genes are the ones I’d go after. I promise.”

  He relaxed, holding her close. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “What about you, Zac?”

  “I’ve told you. What I want is you.”

  “You don’t feel any pressing need to become a father?”

  He shook his head, smiling faintly. “No. But if I ever do, your genes are the ones I’ll go after.”

  “Promise?” she asked, nestling against him.

  “I swear it. No one else’s would do.”

  “Thank you. I feel much better,” she admitted honestly.

  “I think,” Zac said carefully, “that we’ve both been a little insecure lately.”

  “You mean, we’ve been jealous of each other and worrying that the other person was planning to run off and start a family with someone else.”

  “Like I said. Insecure.” He framed her face between his hands. “Gwen . . .”

  “I know, Zac. I love you.”

  He kissed her, all his own special needs and longing pouring over her. “That’s what I’ve been needing to hear. I love you, Guinevere.”

  For a few seconds they stood there as the evening sun faded outside the window. Then Guinevere said softly, “I’d better shop for a new coffeepot tomorrow.”

  “New coffeepot, hell. We’ll shop for a whole new machine. We’ll give the other one to a thrift shop.”

  “But, Zac, a new machine will cost a lot of money.”

  “We’ll take the money from the petty cash fund of Free Enterprise Security and Camelot Services. The way you use coffee machines and pots, I figure it’s a business expense.”

  Guinevere thought about going shopping for a household appliance with Zac. There was something very pleasantly committed about the whole project. When she looked up at him, she knew Zac was thinking the same thing.

  Without another word of protest, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  Keep reading for a special excerpt from the next

  Guinevere Jones eBook by Jayne Castle

  THE FATAL FORTUNE

  Available now from InterMix

  Guinevere Jones handed the sniffling young woman another tissue and waited for the newest spate of tears to halt. As she waited, she pushed the cup of tea closer to her companion’s elbow, silently urging her to take another sip.

  Tea and sympathy. It wasn’t much to offer, under the circumstances, but until Sally Evenson had composed herself, there wasn’t much else Guinevere could do. The two women were seated at the corner table in a small restaurant just off First Avenue in downtown Seattle. It was the middle of August, and the temperature outside was in the mid seventies. The weather was perfect for dining at one of the outside tables, but that would be much too public for poor Sally in her present mood.

  Sally Evenson had worked for Camelot Services as a temporary secretary for several months. Guinevere had sent her out on a number of jobs, and the frail-looking Sally had gained confidence and skill with each new assignment. She had been turning into one of Guinevere’s most reliable temps, until disaster struck on the latest assignment. Guinevere still wasn’t certain just what shape disaster had taken, because all Sally had been able to do for the past half hour was cry. Perhaps it was time to take a firm hand.

  “All right, Sally, finish your tea and tell me exactly what’s going on at Gage and Watson.”

  Sally raised her head, her eyes swollen and red. She was a young woman, twenty-three to be exact, painfully thin, and rather nervous in even the most serene situations. Some of that nervousness had been fading lately as Sally’s job performance had improved. There had been a direct correlation between confidence and composure. Guinevere had been pleased at the transformation, but now it seemed all the progress had been undone.

  “I can’t talk about it, Miss Jones. You wouldn’t understand. No one would understand. I’m sorry to bother you like this. I don’t know what got into me. It’s just that lately everything seems so . . . so impossible.” Sally ducked her head again and blew her nose. Whatever claim to attractiveness the young woman had was submerged beneath the mournful wariness in her pale blue-green eyes and tautly drawn features. Her hair
was an indeterminate shade of brown, worn in a short bob that badly needed a professional stylist’s touch. She still wore her Camelot Services blazer, a smartly cut jacket of royal blue with the new Camelot Services crest on the left pocket.

  Sally had fallen in love with the blazer the day Guinevere had given it to her. It was probably the most expensive garment she had ever had. Two months ago, Guinevere had hit on the idea of giving all her skilled, long-term employees jackets as a symbol of their elite status in the temporary-service field. The blazers were slowly but surely becoming an emblem of the best in temporary help in the Seattle business community. Camelot Services employees wore them with pride. It was good advertising, Guinevere told herself each time she wrote out a corporate check for another of the expensive blazers.

  Guinevere took a sip of coffee and set the cup down gently but firmly. “Sally, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on. Now, it’s been obvious for the past couple of weeks that you’ve developed personal problems. I do not believe in getting involved in my employees’ problems—unless they affect job performance. Unfortunately, your problem has gotten to that stage. If you don’t pull yourself together, I’m going to have to take you off the Gage and Watson job. You know it and I know it.”

  Sally stared at her with horror. “Oh, please, Miss Jones, don’t do that. I love the job, and my manager at Gage and Watson says it could go on for a couple more months. I need the money. I’ve moved into a new apartment, and I was going to go shopping for some clothes, and I wanted to buy a new stereo—”

  “All right, all right,” Guinevere said gently, holding up a hand to stem the flow of protest. “I realize you need the job. And I need you on it. You’ve been doing excellent work. Gage and Watson assures me they’re very pleased. I wouldn’t be surprised if when this assignment is over they offer you full-time employment.”

  Sally’s face lit up. “Do you really think so? Oh, Miss Jones, that would be fabulous. A real, full-time job. A career.” For a moment she was lost in blissful contemplation of a future in which she had a career.

  Guinevere smiled wryly. “Gage and Watson’s gain will be my loss.”

  Sally’s excitement dissolved on the spot. Guiltily she dabbed at her eyes. “Of course. I forgot. If I were to get a full-time job at Gage and Watson, I’d no longer be able to work for you on a temporary basis, would I? I’m sorry, Miss Jones, I didn’t stop to think. I owe everything to you. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you, after all you’ve done for me.”

  Guinevere grinned. “You most certainly will leave me, when the right full-time position comes along. It’s called ‘career advancement,’ Sally, and, although I’ll hate to lose you, I have absolutely no intention of holding you back. Don’t worry. Happens all the time in the temporary-help field. I’m used to it.” Which didn’t mean she liked it, but she was businesswoman enough to accept the inevitable. Besides, sending out temps who were good enough to hire on permanently at the offices where they had been assigned was just another example of sound advertising. As she was always telling Zac, you had to look on the positive side.

  Sally smiled tremulously. “You’re so understanding, Miss Jones.”

  “I’m trying to be, Sally. I’m trying. Now, tell me what’s gone wrong at Gage and Watson.”

  The young woman hesitated and then confided in a rush, “It’s got nothing to do with Gage and Watson. Gage and Watson is a wonderful company, Miss Jones.”

  “Is it the people you’re working with? Is some man hassling you on the job? There are laws against that, you know,” Guinevere said bluntly.

  “Oh, no, nothing like that.” Sally gave her a pathetic glance. “I’m not exactly the sort of woman men would hassle on the job, you know.”

  “No, I do not know. You’re an attractive, single woman. Unfortunately, job harrassment occurs even at the best firms. But if it’s not the people at Gage and Watson who are causing you trouble, what is it? If it’s something too personal to talk about to me, then maybe you should consider some counseling, Sally, because whatever it is, it’s starting to ruin everything you’ve been working so hard on for the past few months.”

  Sally bit her lip. “I . . . I am getting counseling, Miss Jones.”

  Guinevere’s eyebrows went up. “You are?”

  “Well, of a sort. I mean, Madame Zoltana is a kind of counselor. She’s very intelligent, and she . . . she sees things, you know? But she’s kind of expensive, and lately I’ve been having to see her a lot.” Sally reached for a few more tissues to blot the new flow of tears.

  “Madame Zoltana?” Guinevere stared at Sally. “That doesn’t sound like a counselor’s name or title. Who on earth is Madame Zoltana?”

  “She’s a psychic,” Sally explained uneasily, not looking at Guinevere. “Several people at Gage and Watson go to her. Francine Bates introduced me to her a few weeks ago. She has a great gift—Madame Zoltana, that is, not Francine. It’s absolutely incredible what she can see. She can tell you so many things about your past that sometimes it’s frightening.”

  Sally looked frightened, all right, Guinevere decided abruptly. Frightened and alone in the world. A very scared young woman. “Tell me, Sally, exactly what Madame Zoltana does when you go to see her.”

  Sally’s lower lip trembled. She stared down into her teacup. “She sees things. She warns you about things that might happen if you aren’t careful. Then she . . . she helps you.”

  “Helps you?”

  The young woman nodded bleakly. “She can sometimes change things for you. Things that . . . that might go wrong.”

  Guinevere swore silently to herself. “And she’ll help you avoid these things that might go wrong, as long as you continue seeing her on a regular basis, I suppose?”

  Sally nodded, looking up with a kind of sad fear in her tear-filled eyes. “I do try to see her regularly, Miss Jones. But as I said, she’s very expensive, and last week when I explained to her that I might not be able to pay her fees, she said that unless I did, the most awful thing would happen.”

  “What did she say would happen, Sally?”

  Sally Evenson collapsed into fresh tears. When she finally stopped crying, she told Guinevere exactly what threat hung over her frail, young head.

  ***

  Guinevere was still fuming when she got back to the office an hour later. Trina Hood, the temp Guinevere used to help out in Camelot Services’ own offices, looked up with a cheerful smile.

  “Mr. Justis called. He said to remind you that you promised to help him deal with the caterer tonight after work. I think he’s getting nervous, Miss Jones.”

  “Zac hasn’t ever given an office reception,” Guinevere explained mildly as she sat down at her desk and sifted through a small stack of messages. “He’s going through the usual party-giver’s panic, wondering if he’ll wind up spending a fortune on food and champagne and have no one show up. Did he say what time he wanted to meet me?”

  Trina nodded. “He said he’ll come by to collect you around five.”

  “Collect me?”

  “I think that was the word he used. He instructed me not to let you get away.”

  Guinevere smiled fondly. “Poor Zac. Amazing how a man with all his talents is reduced to fear and trembling by the mere thought of giving a party. Anything else crucial happen while I was gone?”

  “Two more calls for clerks needed for vacation fill-ins. I’ve already contacted two people in our files. Both said they’d report to work at the firms tomorrow morning.”

  “Great.” Guinevere smiled approvingly at Trina. She had used a handful of different people from her own staff during the past few weeks, in an attempt to find someone who would work out on a full-time basis. After her sister Carla had left to set up her own art gallery in Pioneer Square, Guinevere had discovered just how much she had come to rely on full-time office help at
Camelot Services.

  Trina Hood was showing definite potential. She was a pleasant woman in her mid-forties who had recently been divorced and now had two children to rear alone. There was a certain comfortable plumpness about her, and she had an excellent telephone voice. She was also a hard worker and anxious to please. As she had explained to Guinevere, she had been out of the work force for almost ten years, and she had been terrified of the prospect of having to find a job. She had decided to start out as a Camelot temp, to get her feet wet in the business world. She had walked through the doors of Camelot Services on the very day Guinevere had acknowledged to herself that she wasn’t going to be able to get by with part-time help. Guinevere had grabbed her.

  “What about Gage and Watson, Gwen? Want me to find someone to replace Sally Evenson?” Trina asked quietly. She was well aware that things were shaky.

  Guinevere thought for a moment. “No,” she said finally, “I think I’ll go over to Gage and Watson myself for a few days. Something is bothering Sally, and I want to check out the situation there. Can you find her another short-term assignment? She needs to work.”

  Trina nodded. “Gallinger Industries needs a typist for a few days.”

  “Put Sally on it.”

  “I don’t get it. You’re going to go into Gage and Watson yourself?”

  “That’s right. I’ll tell Gage and Watson that Sally is ill and that I’m her replacement.”

  “Well, all right, but I don’t understand why you want to take one of your own temporary assignments. What about running things here?”

  “For that I’ll rely on you, Trina.”

  ***

  Zac showed up in the doorway of Camelot Services at five minutes after five. It was obvious he had walked straight down the hill from his own small office in a Fourth Avenue high-rise. He had his conservatively tailored jacket hooked over one shoulder. His crisp, white shirt fit him well, emphasizing the solid, compact strength of his shoulders and the flat planes of his stomach.