"Too soon for what?” he asked.
"Well?” Mike looked from one startled face to the other. “Too soon for dinner? What?"
Marina recovered her voice first. “Too soon for the Harvest Moon. There won't be one ‘til next month."
The true object of his affections nodded. “Yes, that's right."
Clenching and unclenching her hands and clearly uncomfortable, Marina stood up. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to check on Adam again before we sit down to dinner.” She looked from Mike back to Gwyneth. “Besides, I think the two of you have a lot to talk about.” Without waiting for a response, Marina rushed back into the house.
Once Marina was out of hearing, Mike crossed his arms across his chest and grinned down at Gwyneth. “Well, I see you both still have your hair, so what were you really talking about when I came up? The two of you were in earnest conversation. Surely you weren't that involved over the presence or absence of the Harvest Moon."
Gwyneth frowned and raised her chin a defiant notch. “Just how much did you hear?"
"Don't play games, counselor. What did Marina say?"
"She told me about—everything."
"Everything?” He took a slow, measured breath. “Could you be a little more specific?"
Jumping up from the bench, she poked him in the chest. “Yes, I can be specific. You plus Marina equaled Adam. She told me how you took advantage of her."
"She said I took advantage of her?"
"No, I say you took advantage of a young girl—just because you'd had a fight with Tamiko. You had to know Marina was in love with you."
Mike tamped down his anger. He had a sneaking suspicion Gwyneth was baiting him, purposely holding him at bay. He knew Marina well enough to know she accepted all responsibility for what happened that night. While he wasn't blameless by any means, he sure as hell didn't care for Gwyn's spin on it either.
"I made a mistake. A big one,” he admitted.
"I just don't know.” She turned away from him, then back again. “Things have moved so fast with us. And I'm not an impulsive person. I like things logical and orderly.” Her blue gaze never left his. “Y-you scare me."
He couldn't believe his ears. “Scare you?"
"Yes, you just rush headlong into life—everything. You're so passionate..."
Mike pulled her to him. “Gwyn, life is precious. It's too short to waste. I've mourned Tamiko, but she's gone. I can't bring back a single second of our lives together. And we wasted so many."
"Wasted?” Gwyn pulled back, but he wouldn't let her go. He could never let her go.
"She never really forgave me for that night with Marina. I never stopped loving Tamiko, but she made it damned difficult. We fought more than we loved."
"I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I thought..."
"That Tamiko and I were a match made in heaven?” Mike gave a laugh full of pain and bitterness. “We might've been, if I hadn't gotten blind drunk that night. But you know what? That's something I can't change. Marina's a good person, and I've ruined her life. I have a son, and I love him."
"But the way I feel when I'm with you—I don't understand it. It's not like anything I've experienced before. I don't trust it—myself, maybe. I'm terribly fickle. Didn't I plunge into an affair with you twenty-four hours after we met?"
"Technically.” Mike grinned, the memories of that plunge still fresh in his mind. Was it possible he'd only known her for forty-eight hours?
"Well, who's to say I won't find someone new four or five months down the road?"
"Because we'll be married by then, and I'll kill anyone who so much as looks at you."
Gwyneth gazed up at him, her eyes wide and deep blue. “I believe you would."
Mike let out a deep sigh. “The reason we're together is because we're meant to be. I knew it from the first moment you walked into my office."
He leaned in to kiss her, slanting his mouth across hers. Her lips parted, and Mike was aware only of the sweet softness of her mouth and the rushing sound of blood pounding in his ears. She clasped her hands behind his neck, her touch tender and warm. His blood surged. God, he wanted her, right here and now. He pressed against her.
Shaking her head, Gwyneth pulled away. “I can't think straight when you do that."
He tucked a stray wave of blond hair behind her ear. “You're not supposed to, counselor."
"No, I need some time. I need to think."
"No, you need to feel. You already think too much."
"And you don't think enough."
"That's why we're such a good match."
"Let me go. I need to be alone."
"All right, Garbo. I'll let you be alone.” He tried to keep his tone light, belying the frustration that wracked his gut. If he wasn't careful, he was going to scare her all the way back to the city. He glanced down at his watch. “Dinner will be announced in fifteen minutes. Is that enough time?"
Gwyneth shrugged. “Maybe enough time to calm down."
"But I like you off-balance.” Mike was thrilled to see a flicker of good humor return to Gwyneth's eyes.
"You would."
A smile played about her lips. It gave him hope. Slowly he backed away from her. “Okay, the garden is yours. Just don't get lost in the maze. I'd hate to have to summon a search party and find your bleached bones in one of its many dead ends."
Her smile widened. “Would you really?"
"Be sorry? Of course I would."
"No, summon a search party?"
"I'd head it personally."
Rolling her eyes heavenward, Gwyneth sighed. “That's what I'm afraid of."
Mike threw his head back and laughed.
"I'm serious."
"I know. That's what's so funny."
"Mike Carlton, I am not amused."
"No, but you're incredibly lovely, so I'll forgive you."
"Forgive me? For what?"
"For not having a single funny bone in that gorgeous body of yours."
"Well, I'll have you know I do..."
He couldn't take it anymore. “Shut up, Gwyneth.” He pulled her into his arms, planted his mouth on hers and kissed her until she was as limp as a rag doll. Then he backed her up to the bench and sat her down. “Now, think about it all you want. Dinner is in ten minutes."
He spun on his heel and walked back into the house, hoping no one would notice the bulge in his pants.
* * * *
In the kitchen, madness reigned supreme. Reggie Gruhn had never seen such a brouhaha. The catering super was running around so crazed he was sure she'd go postal any second and start whacking at her unfortunate underlings with her prized butcher knife. Not enough that she'd chopped, diced and sliced every vegetable that hadn't moved out of the way.
Just give me a gun and someone to cap, Reggie mused. Pretending to be the new man on the catering staff was a pisser of an assignment.
"Move your stumps, you lazy cretin,” the caterer screeched in Reggie's ear.
"'Old on now. I'm doin’ me best.” He picked up the nearest utensil and waved it under her nose. Too bad it was only a slotted spoon. Somehow it didn't have the same cachet as her chef's knife.
"I'd hate to see your worst,” she snapped.
"Stuff it, luv, or I'll scoop out yer bleedin’ entrails,” Reggie yelled.
"Don't know where the service found you, but you're fired as soon as this job is over."
"Don't worry, I quit."
The head caterer placed her hands on her hips and straightened up to her intimidating height of six feet. “You can't quit until I say so. Now, two of the guests are allergic to shellfish, so we have to make substitutions. See that you don't screw them up.” She flung the seating chart in Reggie's face. “Here is where they'll be seated."
Gazing up at her furious face, he smiled. “Y'know, luv. Yer not ‘alf bad when yer angry."
"Just don't screw it up."
He couldn't resist. He gave her his most seductive stare and made a kissing motion with his mouth.
Reggie glanced at the seating chart.
Yes! The gods of Mario Puzo had rewarded him, and so would Gianni Damico.
* * * *
On the patio, Gwyneth stood up and started pacing back and forth. “Damn that man.” Her heart still pounded in her chest as strongly as it had when Mike had kissed her.
Arrogant jerk.
But there was no denying the power he had over her. One kiss, one touch from the man—and she was a five-foot-ten-inch charged mass of estrogen.
So much for a logical and orderly life.
She'd told him the truth. It wasn't that she was a control freak—well, not much of one. Her mother's alcoholism, her father's disregard and eventually his death had all been beyond her control. It had nearly driven her bonkers.
And now Mike. Poor Marina was still in love with him. She said she'd given up, but had she?
Could I give him up?
What a silly question. All she and Mike had going for them was incredible chemistry. All right—some really, really fantastic sex. But his talk about fate was just so much BS. She didn't believe in fate or any other mystic explanation. It boiled down to one thing: She was a tall blonde with great legs. As for everything else, she could look like Judge Wapner, and it wouldn't matter. Mike was a leg man—pure and simple.
Her mind busy with straightening the gnarled threads of her life, Gwyneth wasn't paying attention to her surroundings. She stumbled and fell. Glancing around, she saw her pacing had taken her to the entrance of the maze. The brickwork had given way to a cobbled walk. She looked down again, hoping she hadn't broken her heel. Her mouth dropped open and she gasped for air that couldn't quite fill her constricted lungs.
She'd tripped over a man's foot. He lay face down in the grass—with a large knife protruding from the middle of his back.
Twenty-five
Making small talk wasn't high on Mike's list of favorite things, but like a dutiful son, he circulated among his parents’ guests. In reality, he was more interested in catching up on the latest Yankee scores with Rocky.
Finally, he made his way over to the corner where the bulky security guard stood quietly, observing the guests with unveiled interest. “How'd the Yankees do?"
Rocky gave a wide grin. “Beat the socks off the Sox—six to one—almost a shutout. Won me a nice piece of change, too."
"Good deal."
Rocky nudged Mike in the ribs. “Check her out."
Mike glanced around the room. “Where?"
"Through there—in the dining room. The housekeeper, Millie."
Mike took in the view. Slender, as tall as Gwyneth, but with darker hair. Attractive girl, she looked harried as she adjusted place cards. Who wouldn't in the midst a full-blown dinner party thrown to his mother's exacting standards?
"She's new?” But there was something familiar about her.
"Yeah, only been here a month. But take it from me, she's a waste of time."
Mike sniggered. “Meaning she shot you down."
"Meaning she doesn't know a good man when she sees one."
"She's not bad,” Mike agreed with a grin, “but I'm prejudiced toward a certain leggy blonde."
"Can't say I blame you."
"I left her on the terrace—thinking."
"Thinking?” Rocky shook his head. “That doesn't sound good."
Mike's response was cut off by the sound of his mother's cultured, British voice. “All right, everyone, shall we go in to dinner?"
Glancing around, Mike didn't see Gwyneth. “Gwyn must still be outside,” he told Rocky. “I told her ten minutes.” He shook his head in mock sadness. “Guess I'll have to teach her to tell time."
Rocky snorted, “Yeah, right. She's just the lady to clean your clock, too."
Weaving his way through the guests, Mike headed for the terrace, then stopped short as a woman's scream pierced the air.
Gwyn.
His heart hammering and a breath hanging in his throat, Mike sprinted for the French doors. He'd thought she'd be safe here with all his father's security measures. He should've never left her alone.
The terrace. Empty. “Dammit, Gwyn! Where are you?"
"The maze,” came her hoarse cry. “Hurry."
Thank God, she was alive. He sprinted the short distance to the maze. There at the entrance he found her, kneeling beside a body, the front of her dress covered in blood. His police-detective training kicked into gear. “Get back from him. Did you touch anything?"
"I-I don't think so.” Her body shook like she had the flu.
He knelt beside the body and felt for a pulse—not that he expected to find one. And he didn't.
He stood up and pulled her to her feet. She collapsed in his arms, but he held her tightly against his chest. In spite of the warm, summer night, she shivered.
She looked up at him. “Mike, it's Richard. He's dead."
"But Rocky and I put him in his car."
The soft whir of his father's wheelchair approached on Mike's left. “What's going on?” his old man demanded. “Who is it?"
"It's Klein, Gwyn's ex-fiancé. Bastard's dead."
More guests crowded around the bloody tableau. Mike heard a woman scream. “Everyone stay back. Send someone to call the local authorities. I'll preserve the crime scene until they get here. Tell them we need the coroner while they're at it."
"I'm sorry. I didn't see him. I tripped over his foot.” Gwyn glanced down at her dress. “Omigod, his blood is all over me. I have to change.” On the verge of hysteria, she frantically tried to wipe Klein's blood from her gown.
"No,” Mike told her evenly, hoping his tone would calm her. “You have to wait until the authorities get here. They'll take your statement. They'll let you change then."
She gazed at him, her eyes wide with fear. “For evidence. Right, I know how this works."
"First time you've been on this side of it. It's going to be all right.” Mike pressed a kiss to her forehead, and her body seemed to relax a bit. At least she wasn't still shaking like before.
"Look here, I'm going to have one of the security guards take you into father's study. You can wait there for the police."
Mike glanced over his shoulder. “Rocky.” He motioned with a jerk of his head toward Gwyneth.
"Sure thing,” Rocky agreed. “Come with me."
Gwyn bit her lip. “Mike?” She gave him a pleading glance, then shook her head. “No, that's silly. You have to stay here—at the scene."
Marina stepped forward and held out her hand. “I'll go with you."
"Thanks, Marina.” Somehow the two women had forged a truce—for now at least.
He watched them walk back into the house, then turned his attention to the people gathered around the body.
"People, you're gonna have to move back inside. And no one leaves until the authorities say so."
A familiar figure stepped to the front of the group, a smile pasted across his face. “And who's going to watch you? Didn't you and this fellow have a common brawl just a little while ago?"
Mike leveled his gaze at the speaker. “Everley? That's your name?"
The arrogant twerp squared his shoulders and, filled with obvious self-importance, jutted his chin at Mike. “Yes."
"Okay, Everley, you can stay here and watch me, but you're not to touch anything. Understand?"
"I'll have you know I'm a computer whiz and financial genius, so I'm pretty sure I understand your monosyllabic enjoinder against contaminating the scene of the crime. And just who put you in charge?"
"I did.” Mike wished he had a dollar for every time a pipsqueak like Everley tried to get tough. He loomed over the little jerk, who in spite of his self-avowed genius, didn't have enough sense to avoid pissing off someone who was fifty pounds heavier and nearly a foot taller.
A willowy, auburn-haired woman elbowed her way to Everley's side. “See here, I won't have you speaking to my son like that."
"Your
mommy brought you to the dinner party?” Mike glanced back and forth between the two. “I don't think we've been introduced,” he, remembering his manners—and mommy was a looker, even if she was a suspect in this homicide. “I'm Mike Carlton."
Her dark brown eyes widened as she placed a graceful hand in his. “Lilith Sand.” She gave a nod toward Everley. “My son, Edmund."
It was Mike's turn to be surprised. Standing before him were Gwyn's aunt and her little nerd of a cousin. How ironic. He'd whisked his client away from the city, right into the arms of two people who had every reason to wish her harm. He cursed himself for not reading Sid's dossiers more carefully. While the intel hadn't included photographs, Mike mentally kicked himself for not recalling Everley was the name of Lilith Sand's second husband.
"Mrs. Sand,” he managed to say with a polite nod, “I'm sure you understand the necessity of preserving a crime scene until the local authorities arrive."
Before she could respond, Rocky hurried to Mike's side. “Sheriff's on the way. He wants everyone back in the house."
Mike watched with approval as the guests complied and started retreating from the maze entrance.
Except for Everley. “I'm staying."
Rocky advanced and loomed over the mama's boy even better than Mike could. “Mike and I will preserve the scene until the sheriff arrives. And no bullshit from you, kid."
Everley glared, but complied.
Rocky turned to Mike and simpered. “Oh, Mikey, he glared at me. I think I'm going to wet my pants."
Mike started to laugh, but then was hit by a sobering thought. A man was dead.
"Bauer still the sheriff?"
Rocky nodded. “Oh, yeah."
"Shit. I'm screwed."
Twenty-six
Inside the house, Gwyneth sat on a Chesterfield sofa, hugging herself. She shivered, still unable to comprehend that Richard was dead. Honestly, she'd never wished him any harm.
"Do you want something to drink?” Marina asked from the armchair on Gwyneth's right. “Tea or coffee? You need something to warm you up."
"Tea, I guess. I'm not really cold. I don't know why I'm shaking like this."
"It's the shock. I don't see how you can be as calm as you are. I-I can't imagine stumbling over a body like that, especially someone you knew."
The Man For The Job Page 16