The familiar mantra didn’t work, but at least he’d quit trying to puke.
Stealing a proof, he had it halfway to his pocket when another caught his eye.
Sarita leaned dreamily against a mirror. Her gown, frothy and light, fell off smooth shoulders. One erect nipple touched its reflection. A large collar of beads, vivid blue and purple beads primitive as the woman herself, fanned out from her neck.
That necklace. He recognized it from the stuff taken from her LA safe.
No way. She wouldn’t have…
He bent closer.
Shit.
He thumbed back through the proofs and cursed.
Another telltale shot of ivory. And one of turquoise.
The dumb son of a bitch.
If whoever had diddled Sarita hadn’t let his pecker rule his head, Sam would never have had to silence that glorious voice.
Now he was caught in the middle.
Because nobody, least of all him, could afford this snafu.
He swept all the photos up, noted the studio name.
Lucky he had sharp eyes and a sharper mind.
Why did people make his job so complicated?
Chapter 2
In the middle of the afternoon, Autumn skipped up her condo walk, swinging her shopping bag.
She still couldn’t believe it.
When word got out Sarita Sartowe was a client, studio business would double. Maybe triple. No more pictures for school yearbooks. No more dodging sippy cups. No more scratches from cats whose fond owners mouthed empty apologies or strained muscles from chasing runaway dogs through the studio.
Her key turned in the knob effortlessly.
Same for the dead bolt.
Both unlocked.
Had she forgotten to lock up this morning when she left?
No way. Not Miss Caution personified. Besides, she distinctly remembered hearing the bolt clunk into place.
Cell. Where was it? She pulled it out of her purse, and then turned the doorknob. Yep, open.
Tinny applause crackled from the TV.
She froze, heartbeat ratcheting up. When she’d gone off that morning, she certainly hadn’t left the TV blaring.
Someone was here.
Reseda? No, Reseda cleaned on Tuesdays, not Fridays. But hadn’t she mentioned taking off next week? Something about relatives from Mexico City? Maybe she was making up for it today.
That was logical, wasn’t it? Stepping inside, Autumn looked for Reseda Degardovera. No plump figure bustled through with dust-rags or vacuum, but could be, she was upstairs.
Or maybe she gave Fran her key.
Oh sure, that was it. Lowering her cell, Autumn breathed again. Fran was driving her to Helen for the getaway weekend with his sisters.
Then she frowned. Fran with a key to her condo?
Fran did not need her key. Not even to pick her up. She was wary of jumping into anything she might regret, and joining Francisco Degardovera’s string of women was definitely something she’d regret.
Better make sure he gave Reseda her key back.
Autumn set down the Brooks Brothers shopping bag containing a new snowman sweater. A talk show featured two skinny wild-haired kids confronting two older wild-eyed women. A down jacket hung over a chair. A sofa cushion bore a head’s imprint. A pair of battered men’s loafers rested on the area rug in front of the sofa.
Fran had stretched out to watch the tube except…
Those loafers. Persnickety Fran wouldn’t take out the garbage in such dilapidated shoes. Someone had made himself at home, but not Fran.
A whiff of cologne lingered, tantalizingly familiar.
She sniffed. Too subtle. Fran wore strong scents, something that announced his presence and attracted women’s attention.
Okay. Not Fran, but someone comfortable in her home.
Few people were. Work left little time for cultivating close friends, especially for introverts like her.
Who then? Eddie, Reseda’s youngest and a high school senior? The shoes would fit him, and he wasn’t a clothes hound like Fran. But why would Eddie be here?
A creak came from the kitchen, from the cabinet door housing the glasses.
Clutching her cell, she slid her purse off her shoulder. She ought to run or call for help, but a casual burglar wouldn’t settle in as if he belonged. And that cologne…
Had to be Eddie, but no sense taking chances. She dialed 911 but didn’t press CALL. Instead, she picked up a fireplace poker and crept round the corner to the bar.
A sock-footed man, back to her, stood at the gaping refrigerator door. Squeaky, between his feet, wrapped her tail around his calf like she was his cat instead of Autumn’s.
A loose T-shirt hung from wide shoulders. Worn jeans hugged slim hips and long legs. The afternoon sun streamed through window panes and turned dark curls into a frenzy of mahogany sparks. As some people have an unconscious habit of humming, he whistled softly between his teeth; a thin reedy, tuneless sound.
Radiant, body-tingling happiness cut through Autumn. She didn’t need an exposed profile to recognize him.
Rennie. Lorenzo Tomas Degardovera. Friend of her childhood, counselor of her youth, object of her desire since before she knew what desire meant. Rennie, who’d left home years ago.
Happiness vanished. Gut-wrenching longing didn’t.
Autumn swallowed. All right, so Rennie was back. Here in her kitchen. So what? She squared her shoulders.
The studio was going great guns, and Sarita Sartowe loved loved loved her photographs. She had taken control of her life. She didn’t need Rennie’s approval or anyone else’s.
He turned, jug in hand. Like his body, his face was lean and bronze, with clean, strong bones. The hair was longer while the dark eyes had new lines around them, but he was still Rennie.
His eyes went to the poker she held. "Planning to start a fire or should I be concerned?”
Like she was one of his sisters he’d seen the day before.
She clicked off her cell and tried for breezy, too. “I didn’t know who was here. You scared the stew out of me.”
Thick brows lifted. “But you knew Francisco was coming.”
“No. Yes. Not this early. You know Fran. I figured it would be five or six o'clock before he got here. Where is he, anyway?”
“Working. Okay, cat, I hear you but milk’s not on your diet.” He grinned at Autumn. “His boss was invited to replace an indisposed speaker Sunday for some shindig at the High Museum. Our Francisco’s busy dealing with the schedule switch.”
How like Fran. Not even a phone call to warn he was sending Rennie in his place. If she’d known, she could've been prepared. She rallied. “The High Museum? That’s great. Their supporters have money. Gobs of it. And I guess more exposure means more publicity for Gus’s campaign.”
Rennie pretended to think. “I believe little brother mentioned that. Along with more donations to keep the workers paid. Like the campaign manager.”
“Who happens to be Fran.” She focused on the milk tumbling from jug into glass to keep from ogling him. “Gus’s wife must have finagled it. She’s assistant director at the High.”
“Whatever. Anyway, Fran can’t get loose till tomorrow and then just for the day. He wanted Laney to wait and take you up to Helen with her and John. You can guess how that went over.”
Her pulse settled. “Yeah. Laney tried to leave last night, she’s so anxious. She’s planned this trip for months. I’d be about as welcome as a case of mumps.”
“Uh huh. So I told her to go on with John, that I’d cover.” He headed for the sink with the empty jug. “The kid’s growing up. A year ago, he’d have told his boss to forget it.”
“He can’t. He’s in charge of everything. You ought to see him, trying to make sure Gus looks and acts like a gubernatorial candidate. Poor Fran’s on call twenty-four hours a day.”
“I know. But little brother’s gung ho. If Huertole wins, Francisco has visions of being named press secretary or assistant g
overnor or king of Atlanta or something. Anyway, I got in yesterday and Mom gave me her key and volunteered me to pick you up.” He stopped in front of the sink. “You don’t mind, do you? If you’d rather wait for—”
“Of course not.” Darn those sharp eyes. He could pick up on the slightest sign. "Without a ride, I’d have to stay here. My car’s in the shop so I’m using the studio minivan, which, sad to say, is on its last legs. Thanks for filling in.”
“You’re welcome.” He looked at the poker she still clutched. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Don’t be silly. You know what a coward I am. If I’d been scared deep down, I’d have run screaming bloody murder when I found the door unlocked. I’ll put this back.”
“I think it’s safe. No burglars here. I haven’t even come across a cockroach.”
“And you’d better not. Reseda would be outraged.”
Again the unhurried grin. “Once Mom spotted him, any intelligent roach would roll over and wait to be stomped dead.”
She snapped her fingers. “So that’s why I haven’t seen any around. They’ve wised up.”
His cologne had changed, but the new choice still smelled of cedars and pines. She should have known who was here. Maybe subconsciously she hadn’t wanted to be disappointed.
After sticking her cell in her purse and putting away the poker, she returned to find him rinsing the jug. Squeaky—the little traitor—was rubbing against his denimed legs. She said, “Guess I’ll eat my cereal dry in the morning.”
“You won’t be here for breakfast tomorrow.”
“True. I won’t need milk, will I?”
“Nope.” He turned the force of his personality on her briefly, indulgently, in a gesture unique to Rennie, where his head didn’t move but the eyes flicked up, hit their target, and returned to the task at hand. Her heart swelled.
Still… His narrow face, with its lash pattern against flat cheeks and delineated bones, revealed a difference.
Maybe he was tired. Or it might be the light.
Don’t stare. She fastened on his hands. Like the rest of him, they were quick and sure, slim and brown.
He held up the jug. “Recycle or trash?”
“Recycle. There’s a bin in the utility room.”
Those creases radiating from his mouth and corners of his eyes hadn’t been so pronounced the last time she’d seen him, but that was two years ago.
When he returned, he took the glass of milk and held it up. “Want half of this?” Despite her refusal, he didn’t drink. “Your cat seems glad to see me, but I figured I’d get at least a hug. Tell me, is it my breath or has my antiperspirant failed?”
She was, after all, caught staring. “Oh, Rennie, how thoughtless I am. Welcome home. You took me by surprise.”
Going over, she put her arm around his waist and squeezed as if he was a dear friend she hadn’t seen in a long time.
Which he was.
Too bad the faint cologne didn’t hide his body scent, his Rennie-odor that made her stomach churn and her nose want to nuzzle into his chest.
Better let him go before she embarrassed herself.
She gave him a final pat on the back. “Squeaky, I’m sad to inform you, isn’t discriminating so don’t think she’s fond of you. She’ll take up with anybody she hopes might feed her. I really am glad to see you. I just wasn’t expecting you.”
“Certainly not raiding your refrigerator. Depleted as it is.” He lifted his glass to her and drank, throat muscles rippling.
“Yeah, raiding my depleted refrigerator.” She’d better put some distance between them. “Are you home for Christmas?”
“I'm home for good.”
“For good?” She stopped mid-step. “You mean it?”
“Yep. Well, not here in Atlanta. Athens. I signed a contract with the University this morning. The first of the year, I’ll be teaching two classes for the AI Department along with doing some research and development stuff.”
He’d be home. Close by. “That’s wonderful. Does Reseda know?”
“Mom does not know. In fact, nobody at home knows. You’re the first one I’ve seen since it happened.” He checked his cell. “Approximately three hours ten minutes ago. If you don’t mind, keep it to yourself. I don’t want to tell the others before Mom. She left for her trip before dawn, but I’ll talk to her tonight.”
“Reseda will be beside herself. She’ll be more excited than when you got your doctorate.”
“Probably. She’s always hated me being so far away.”
What about Jane? She wanted to ask whether Jane was moving to Athens with him, if they were getting married.
She didn’t.
The other Degardoveras blurted out everything, never caring if they pried or hurt feelings. Not Rennie. He was the quiet one, the private one.
Your secrets were safe with him, but he never shared his.
She pushed the bowl of oranges on the bar an inch to the left. “I’m not packed.” Her hoarseness came from longing. She cleared her throat. “That’s why I took the rest of the day off. Well, I knew Fran wouldn’t be here so I went by Perimeter first, but… And I meant to get home early so I’d have plenty of time to pack, except… Let me run upstairs and get my stuff together and we can leave. I’m excited about going to Helen with the gang. I don’t get many weekends off and I haven’t seen Norma in ages.”
Great. Really coherent there, Autumn.
She’d finally got a handle on life and now this. Why did he turn her into a babbling idiot? He was an old friend, that’s all.
Keep saying that and maybe she’d believe it.
Rennie, being Rennie, politely ignored her blather. “Take your time. Please. We’ve got the entire weekend to be interrogated by my sisters and entertained by Francisco. Not to mention being cooped up in an isolated mountain cabin where we can’t escape any of them no matter how hard we try.”
She dredged up a chuckle. “Come on, celebrating Laney’s anniversary will be fun. Think of the family togetherness.”
“I prefer quality time over quantity time when it comes to my siblings. A little of them goes a long way.”
“Liar. You love them. Be ready in a jiffy.”
Confronting him so unexpectedly had put her out of sorts. Safe in her upstairs bedroom, she busied herself to calm down.
Concentrate.
This duffel bag would do. For the anniversary dinner, her navy slacks would go with the new holiday sweater. Then some jeans and a sweatshirt for walking around town. She’d also need underwear, jammies, maybe a robe and house slippers. Toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo and makeup.
Mustn’t forget makeup. Not if she wanted to be presentable tomorrow and the next day.
The stairs creaked before Rennie appeared. “Autumn?”
His voice, like him, was low-pitched and reassuring. He never raised it, not toward parents or siblings or anyone else.
Never. He met every situation in the same easygoing way.
That was another thing she liked about him.
Growing up with her aunt and uncle, she’d had to pick up on each intonation, each change of posture, each shifting expression. Failure meant reprimands or punishment.
But Rennie was always kind, never judgmental.
“Be right with you, Rennie. Won’t take a sec.”
He wandered into her bedroom. “You don’t mind that I'm taking you up to Helen instead of Francisco, do you? Sure you wouldn’t rather wait and go with him tomorrow?”
Darn. He’d noticed her agitation.
She looked over her shoulder and gave him a smile that had to be brilliant because her mouth stretched so wide her face felt like it was cracking into tiny pieces.
“Don’t be silly. Knowing Fran, he may miss the weekend entirely. You wouldn’t believe what a workaholic he’s become. Without a ride I’d have to hang out here with the TV for company. Say, that reminds me. My car might be ready. Would you call the garage and check? Maybe we can pick it up before we leave
town. The number’s on a card by the phone at the bar.”
Great. Keep up the jabber, and he wouldn’t want to drive her anywhere.
“Consider it done.”
When he turned, the poster-sized photograph of Fran hanging on the wall confronted him. His foot checked, but he didn’t comment on his brother’s nudity or the provocative pose.
She opened her mouth to explain.
His step resumed. “I’ll check on your car.”
Her words of explanation never materialized. Rennie wasn’t curious, didn’t think it strange she kept a sexy photograph of Fran in her bedroom.
No need to justify its presence because Rennie didn’t care.
Let down, she took out a scarf and jingle bell earrings to pack, then found walking shoes and thick socks.
Spending two nights with the Degardoveras in a cabin near the north Georgia resort town of Helen had sounded like fun when Laney invited her. She couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do than celebrate her friend’s second wedding anniversary. But with Rennie in the party…
“He’s not going to spoil my weekend,” she muttered.
Besides, her stupid outburst when he went away to UCLA was old news. Her neck heated at the way she’d begged to go with him, at how she’d sniveled when he ever-so-kindly turned her down.
Afterward, he never mentioned her breakdown. He’d treated her the same way as before. Like a friend.
Might as well accept it. That’s all she’d ever be.
Tail high in a question mark, Squeaky strolled in. She leaped onto the bed and began to lick her paws, aiming a knowledgeable stare toward Autumn.
“All in the past, my dear,” she told the cat. “No more wearing my heart on my sleeve for some stupid cupid to shoot down. You see before you a woman in control.”
Squeaky stopped with one paw upraised. She cocked her head to one side as if she didn’t believe it.
“I am too in control!”
Squeaky plopped down and rolled over on her back, sticking all four legs up into the air as if laughing.
Silly cat. What did Squeaky know?
She raked a brush through her hair in front of the mirror. There. Her usual face looked back at her. The same face she always wore.
Unlike the difference in Rennie’s that her photographer’s eye had picked up on.
Intimate Portraits Page 2