He crossed his arms and set his jaw. “And I was supposed to stand there like a chump and let you show off?”
“That would have been the gentlemanly thing to do.”
He snorted. “I bet. You like to have your cake and eat it too, don’t you?”
A budding headache throbbed in Zoë’s temple. The evening hadn’t been a complete disaster, but it had come close. While her brief devolution into a quivering mass of terror had not been strictly Nick’s fault, the outcome was the same. On top of that, she hadn’t learned anything useful about him, yet he’d succeeded in prying far more from her than she’d intended.
“I’m tired. I think it’s time to call it a night.” She took a step toward the door but stumbled when her injured ankle threatened to drop her to the floor.
His smug expression evaporated into one of concern, and he reached for her elbow to steady her. “Does your ankle hurt again?”
She clenched her teeth and forced herself to take a step without limping. “Just a little. I’ll be fine.” She took another step toward the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Before she could move, one heavily-muscled arm wrapped around her back, while another caught her behind the knees and lifted her into the air as if she were a child. He shifted her weight until her body rested against his chest.
She twisted in his arms. “Put me down! What do you think you’re doing?”
His brows pinched together in a formidable frown as he kept his gaze straight ahead. “I’m taking you to your room. It’s my fault you’re injured. I never should have gone along with your little game tonight.”
He pushed through the door and began to descend the stairs. Zoë instinctively clutched his neck.
“It wasn’t a game,” she protested.
“Sure it was. And while I enjoy a wrestling match with a beautiful woman as much as the next guy, I shouldn’t have forgotten your ankle.”
She didn’t respond. Her brain was stuck on beautiful.
She wasn’t sure how to interpret his off-handed comment. Males had been telling her she was pretty all her life. Eventually, she’d come to understand they usually wanted something in return. But Nick had tossed the words off too matter-of-factly to qualify as a compliment. Besides, if he’d wanted to press his advantage, he’d had ample opportunity a few minutes earlier when he’d had her flat on her back underneath him, as he’d so delicately put it.
He shifted her slightly. “Can you get the door?” His voice held a hint of strain. “I’ve got my arms full.”
She realized they’d reached the back porch of the main house. “You can put me down any time. In fact, now would be good. I need to disarm the alarm.”
He shifted her again and raised one brow. “Lyman gave you the code to the security system?”
“Yes.” And please don’t ask me why.
She couldn’t think of a plausible reason why her new employer would give the security code to the new cook. And since Nick was already suspicious about her presence in the household, any excuse she gave would only compound his misgivings. “Please put me down so I can get inside without setting off the alarm and scaring everyone to death.”
He lowered her gently to her feet, and she punched in the alarm code.
When he followed her through the door, she halted and turned. “You can go home to bed. You’ve done your duty.”
He closed the door behind himself. “I want to make sure you get upstairs safely.”
Zoë waved her hand toward the security keypad in exasperation. “As you saw, I set the alarm when I left. There’s no bogeyman hiding in the house.”
“I won’t have the elevator fixed for another day or two. You can barely walk, and your room is two long flights up.”
She heaved a sigh. Unfortunately, she couldn’t force him to leave. He’d proven that tonight. “There’s no arguing with you, is there?”
“Nope.”
“Then do what you want. You will anyway.”
She turned and hobbled through the dark kitchen toward the foyer. His shoes slapped the tile a few feet behind. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned. “Go home. I’m fine. Really.”
He nodded. “If you can make it to the landing on your own, I’ll bring you a bag of ice.”
She cleared the first step with her sound right foot then tentatively placed her left on the second step. As soon as she transferred her weight, pain shot through her ankle and up her shin. She gasped and grabbed the banister. Two seconds later, she was back in Nick’s arms.
“Put me down,” she hissed in protest. “It took me by surprise, is all.”
“Shut up.” Teeth clenched, he left it at that.
She told herself she didn’t want to make a scene and risk waking the Prescotts, so she might as well settle back and enjoy the ride. It almost worked.
As he carried her up the grand staircase, visions of Tara flashed through her mind. Although he didn’t take the stairs two at a time like Rhett Butler, all she needed was a lush, red velvet dressing gown to transform into Scarlett O’Hara. Oh…and the anticipation of a night beyond her wildest dreams.
That was so not happening.
By the time they reached the third floor, He was breathing heavily. He carried her into her room and tossed her on the bed.
She winced when she hit the mattress. “If you’re out of shape, you don’t have to take it out on me. No one told you to carry me up here.”
He ignored her jibe and turned. “I’ll get the ice.”
By the time he returned, she had changed into yoga pants and a loose T-shirt.
He handed her the zippered plastic bag of ice cubes. “I’ll let you handle that, since you’re such an expert with injuries.” Stopping in the doorway, he turned. “Oh, and I’ll need the security code to arm the system on my way out.”
She bit the inside of her lip. Had his TLC been nothing more than an excuse to get the code out of her? But what choice did she have? He would never allow her to hobble downstairs with him and then make her own way back up.
She gave him the code. He winked and disappeared into the hall.
****
Zoë spent the next couple of days babying her ankle and avoiding Nick. She still saw him at meals, but she stayed away from the foyer where he was working on the elevator as much as possible. The sight of him brought back memories of the feel of his lips on hers and being carried in his arms, memories it would be safer to forget.
Instead, she ended up spending most of her time with Lyman. Despite the man’s eccentricities and permanent air of distraction, she was surprised by how much she enjoyed working with him in the kitchen, experimenting with GRAMPA. He’d made great progress with the software, and the robot could now measure and chop vegetables like a pro. By working the results into her menus, Zoë had also upped her own culinary game. Her skills were nowhere near professional, but at least she no longer worried about cutting off her finger or setting the kitchen on fire.
On the afternoon of the third day after her evening with Nick, she was in the kitchen baking a batch of Lyman’s favorite gingersnaps when the phone on the wall jangled. With Lyman in his basement workshop and Marian napping upstairs, she wiped her floury hands on a towel and picked up the receiver.
“Hello,” Marian’s voice answered. She must have picked it up in the bedroom.
“I’ve got to see you. Now.”
Zoë didn’t recognize the man’s voice, but his accent and tone seemed vaguely familiar.
“What do you want?” Apprehension tinged her words.
“I’ll tell you when I see you. It’s important.”
Maybe Marian had a brother. Family speech patterns were often similar, and that might account for the sense of familiarity.
She hesitated then sighed. “All right. I’ll meet you at the summer house at the back of the property in half an hour. Do you think you can find it?”
“I’ll be there.”
After Marian hung up, Zoë gently set the
receiver back in its cradle. What should she do? She could hardly admit she’d overheard the conversation and forbid Marian to keep the appointment. All she could do was follow at a discreet distance, get as close as possible without being seen, and be prepared to act the instant she sensed a potential threat.
She glanced at the clock and then at her cookie recipe. The cookies were on the trays, and the oven was hot. If she popped them in now, they would be ready before Marian left to meet her caller. She slid the trays into the oven and waited with one eye on the clock and the other on the doorway to the foyer. She had just moved the last cookie to the cooling rack when a creak from the stairs followed by soft footsteps on the tile floor caught her attention.
After slipping on a black jacket to cover her pink sweater and grabbing her Glock from her purse, she tucked herself just inside the kitchen doorway and poked her head out in time to watch Marian disappear through the front door. Zoë waited for her quarry to get far enough from the house not to hear the door open and close then followed, keeping well back and using trees and shrubs for cover. When she entered the hemlock woods, she had to pick up her pace to keep Marian in sight.
The fanciful wooden summer house sat in a small clearing among the towering trees. With its delicately carved, white-painted gingerbread woodwork, it conveyed the impression of a fairy dwelling in the forest—a perfect counterpoint to the solidity of the stone main house—and must have been a cool retreat from the heat of Chicago summers in the days before air conditioning.
When Marian entered the clearing, a man stepped from behind the building and walked out to meet her. He was dressed from head to foot in full black motorcycle leathers and still wore his helmet. Zoë judged him to be about five foot nine or ten with a wiry build. She crept as close as she dared, stopping behind a tree with a trunk nearly as wide as her body. From this vantage point she could observe the couple clearly, although she was too far away to hear their conversation.
Marian said something then the man removed his helmet. He had wavy dark red hair and sharp, pointed features, reminding Zoë of a fox. If he was Marian’s brother, there wasn’t a hint of family resemblance. Additionally, the narrow red stripes at his knees and elbows jolted Zoë’s memory. She’d seen a suit like that before, and recently. One of the ninja cyclists had worn leathers with that pattern. She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket, zoomed in, and snapped a shot. She would send it to Risa later on the off-chance she could identify the man.
While the two talked, Zoë tried to get some sense of the tone of their conversation from their body language. The man didn’t appear to be angry, but he took an aggressive stance, moving steadily closer to Marian as he spoke. She backed away, maintaining the distance between them, and her posture and gestures appeared conciliatory.
Suddenly, the tenor of the conversation seemed to change. The man’s features tightened, and he grabbed Marian’s injured arm. Zoë raised her gun and prepared to break from her cover, but before she could move, Marian jerked away and strode as quickly as her pregnant belly would allow—straight toward Zoë.
Chapter Seven
Nick twitched aside the curtain on the kitchen window as Marian broke out of the woods and marched across the lawn toward the front of the house. He’d been wrapping up the final adjustments to the elevator motor when she’d slipped out the front door fifteen minutes earlier wearing a white down-filled parka draped over her shoulders and no hat or gloves. He’d assumed she just wanted to pop outside for a minute and hadn’t been concerned until Zoë sneaked out behind her.
Only the reminder of his obligation to guard Lyman had kept him from following. Instead, he’d set his tools aside and moved to the kitchen, where he could keep an eye on the women and watch for signs of trouble.
By the time he returned to the foyer and glanced out the diamond-paned window, Marian had nearly reached the front entrance. Zoë must have caught up with her somewhere along the way because the two of them were walking up the steps together. As they approached the front door, Nick swung it open.
Deep red color stained Marian’s cheeks, and moisture glinted in her eyes. He would have chalked her appearance up to the cold wind except for the small furrows between her brows and look of worry behind the tears. She’d only been gone a few minutes. Had Zoë said or done something to upset her?
“Good afternoon, ladies. Did you have a nice walk?”
Marian slipped off her coat and dropped it in his waiting hands. “I think I’ll go lie down for a while.”
Nick frowned. “I’ve almost got the elevator running, but in the meantime let me help you up the stairs.” She looked worn out, and it might give him an opportunity to find out what had happened outside.
But Marian brushed him off with a shadow of a smile. “That’s sweet of you, but I’ll be fine on my own.”
Zoë unzipped her black jacket. “I’ll bring you a cup of tea and some cookies in a few minutes.”
“That sounds great. Thanks.”
Nick waited, ready to help if Marian showed the slightest sign of faltering. When she reached the second floor with no trouble, he headed for the kitchen. If she wouldn’t talk to him, maybe he could get the information he wanted out of Zoë. He found her removing a steaming mug from the microwave.
“Tell me what happened out there.”
She spun and dropped the cup. Boiling water splashed the front of her pants, and shards of broken pottery shot across the tile floor.
Her empty hand shook as she pinned him with a furious green gaze. “Why do you keep doing that?”
He squared his stance and crossed his arms. “Something happened outside to upset Marian. What was it?”
Zoë glanced at the mess on the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing happened. She wanted some fresh air.”
She was lying. Marian hadn’t been seeking fresh air. And if she had, why would Zoë have followed so stealthily instead of walking with her? “She looked unhappy when she came in, upset about something.”
A wary look flashed in her eyes then vanished. “She’s just tired. You try carrying around a twenty pound basketball all the time, and see how you feel.”
He raised his brows and dropped his gaze to her smooth, flat stomach. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“No, but I have this thing called empathy—obviously a foreign concept to you.”
She marched over to the broom closet, opened the door, and pulled out a mop. When she thrust it into his hand, his fingers tightened automatically.
“Make yourself useful and clean up this mess while I make Marian another cup of tea.”
He hesitated for a moment then pushed the broken pieces of pottery into a pile. “I saw you, you know.”
She stilled with a teabag dangling from her fingers. “What?”
He continued mopping without looking up. “I saw you sneak out after her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I wasn’t sneaking.”
Was it his imagination, or had the pitch of her voice risen a tone or two?
She placed three gingersnaps on a small plate and picked up the new mug of tea. “I’m taking these to Marian, and I expect to see this floor clean when I come back.” With a cool glance she turned and left the room.
Her straight back and brisk stride told him she was hiding something. She had been from the moment she arrived. He only hoped he had enough time to figure out what it was.
That night at dinner, Marian remained quiet and subdued—not her usual bubbly self. Her blue eyes drooped with fatigue, and the faint worry lines persisted between her brows.
Lyman didn’t seem to notice. He dominated the conversation with excited updates on his latest progress with GRAMPA. “…and the puree function worked perfectly on the butternut squash. Didn’t it, Zoë?”
She smiled and raised her spoon, brimming with creamy orange soup. “Better than any food processor.”
Lyman poked his knife into the butter then slathered it on his roll. “Dominic, ho
w are you coming with the repairs to the elevator?”
“I think I’ve got it fixed. We can test it after dinner, if you like.”
“Excellent!” He turned to Marian. “Won’t it be wonderful not to have to climb those stairs every day?”
She gave her husband a wan smile. “Wonderful.”
When Zoë collected the soup bowls, she frowned at Marian’s half-empty bowl. “I wish I’d known you didn’t like butternut squash. I would have been happy to fix you something else.”
“No, no, it was delicious. I’m just not very hungry tonight.”
Zoë pursed her lips. “Maybe the next course will be more appealing—roast pork with rosemary and apples.”
Nick’s ears perked up. The soup had been tasty, but the main course sounded even better. Maybe he’d been wrong in his initial assessment. Zoë might not have been much of a cook when she arrived, but her skills seemed to be improving with each meal. However, that still didn’t explain why she’d been following Marian that afternoon.
“That does sound good. I’ll do my best,” Marian said.
The pork turned out to be a little dry, but the gravy helped. After the first few bites, Nick poured a second generous dollop across his serving and dug in.
Zoë sliced off a bite then paused. “Marian, if you’re not too tired, I was thinking tomorrow might be perfect for our excursion into the city. We’re supposed to have a bright, sunny day for a change.”
The fatigue left Marian’s eyes, and her face brightened with a genuine smile. “I’d love to!”
Lyman’s brow furrowed. “What’s this, my dear?” Although he addressed the question to his wife, he pinned his gaze on Zoë.
She glanced at Marian then replied quickly. “I thought Marian might enjoy a shopping trip to Chicago to buy a few things for the baby at Le Bébé Élégant and have lunch at a cute bistro I know.”
Lyman leaned forward and lowered his chin. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
She gave a single, definitive nod. “Absolutely.”
“It will be so much fun.” Marian’s voice brimmed with enthusiasm.
Boiling Point (Phoenix, Ltd. Book 2) Page 9