by Julie Miller
“We haven’t had the opportunity to meet yet, Ms. Shepherd. I’m Victoria Westin.”
Cole flattened his hand at the small of her back. The stamp of possession felt unexpectedly like unspoken support. But she didn’t know him well enough to judge whether he was a consummate actor, or if there really were a few good-guy cells beneath his blackmailing exterior.
“Lana manages several of Mr. Meade’s investments and she’s engaged to his nephew, Chad. Victoria’s an art historian. She’ll be spending the next week or so with us.”
“How nice for you.” The gleam in Lana Shepherd’s brown eyes wasn’t the warmth of welcome. It wasn’t even amusement at Tori’s expense. It was the look of a territorial female sizing up the competition.
Great. So she shouldn’t plan any late-night girl chats over ice-cream sundaes to get acquainted and learn the secrets of what they were shipping to Europe. First Aaron, now Lana. Tori was quickly alienating potential sources of information. Of course, she could always take Chad up on his offer to get really well acquainted, but she had a feeling Lana would have something to say about that, too.
Engagement ring or not, apparently the platinum-blonde had staked her claim on every man in the household. Including Cole.
“If I’d known you had a thing for redheads, I’d have dyed my hair and gotten a few lessons on security myself.”
Dead silence filled the room as Cole and Lana exchanged enigmatic glares. There was something going on there—past love? thwarted lust? bad blood? And who was the injured party? Tori had no desire to fight with Lana over any man, especially one as insufferable and unpredictable as Cole Taylor. And the only property she wanted control of in the house was one particular gold statuette. The blonde was welcome to him—except Cole was still holding her. And he’d kissed her like…like…
Oh hell. Definitely time to switch to a less personal topic.
Tori directed a grateful smile at Jericho. “Thank you for the card, Mr. Meade. It was a lovely gesture.”
The white-haired man frowned. She’d caught him daydreaming. Preoccupied was more accurate. He seemed to have a hard time dragging his gaze away from the portrait at the end of the room. “What card?”
“On the pillow in my room this evening. ‘Enjoy your stay,’ that kind of thing. I appreciate the welcome.”
The lines on his forehead deepened in consternation. “I didn’t write any card.”
“Oh.” Now Tori was the one frowning. “It was signed ‘J.D.M.’ I assumed…”
The color drained from Jericho’s face. He sagged against Lana’s arm. A hard, painful breath raled in his chest. In an instant, Paulie was there supporting him from the other side.
“Easy, Jer.”
Cole shifted beside her, and Tori got the impression he wanted to run over and help the powerful man, who looked ancient and frail as a fit of coughing seized him. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked.
“My son…” Jericho wheezed and answered before Cole could. “He signed papers with his initials. J.D.M. Jericho Daniel Meade.”
His supposedly dead son? Tori had read more about Daniel Meade’s disappearance in the papers than she had in her mission briefing. Though the police had no leads, his blood type at the site where Daniel was last seen, a missing body and plenty of enemies had the press speculating he’d been the victim of a gangland hit.
“I’m sorry. Maybe he wrote the card for another guest who left it behind.” It was a lame excuse. Her name had been on it. “Maybe I just misread the initials.”
“He wrote it.” Jericho clung to Lana and Paulie, but his voice was emphatic. “I know he did. He’s contacted me, too.”
Was he implying that a ghost sent that note?
Distant thunder rumbled right on cue, and Tori frowned. As a child, her father had filled her head with legends and ghost stories. He’d told her that the Horseman had been a simple knight, fighting for his king and God in a foreign land. When the enemy overtook the European stronghold, many knights fled through a secret passageway to the sea and escaped, abandoning the noblewomen who’d joined the Crusade as missionaries and companions. The Horseman stood his post and was killed.
But through divine intervention, his brave soul was given a second chance. Brought back to life as the enemy stormed the gate, he led the women to the safety of the last ship and died a second time, fighting valiantly to ensure their escape. Story had it that the ghost of the Horseman would return whenever there was a soul in need of protection.
Did she need protection?
Had the search for one legendary ghost awakened the interest of another?
For a few heartbeats, Tori let her imagination make the fanciful connection. But then the practical, well-trained agent in her took over. Dead men, whether criminals or heroes, didn’t write messages or send warnings. And she took care of herself. She was either the victim of an unfortunate coincidence, or the unwitting ally in a cruel joke on a grieving father.
“There must be some mistake,” she apologized. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
Cole’s fingers closed around her arm, offering support or shutting her up, she couldn’t say. His grip tightened and he bent low to whisper into her ear.
“I want to see that card.”
Surely Cole Taylor didn’t believe in ghosts.
Jericho ended the conversation by shooing away his support and hobbling across the room to the bookshelves. The furious determination of his painful pace made his agitation clear. “Cole, you should know better. Until certain issues are resolved, I won’t tolerate any mistakes in security.”
Issues? Mistakes? Tori’s instincts buzzed on full alert.
Jericho picked up one of the lacquer boxes and cradled it between loving hands. He lifted the lid, peeked inside, then breathed a sigh of relief before gently closing it.
Tori took note of the box’s lapis-blue color and inlaid scrollwork. Whatever was inside was precious to Jericho. He’d been worried that the contents had been disturbed or stolen by her or Cole. Or a ghost? Was it an artifact? A key? Family photos? Visual reassurance that it hadn’t been touched seemed to drain the anger right out of him.
She’d definitely be back to find out what was hidden inside.
“Nothing happened here that’s anyone’s business but Victoria’s and mine,” Cole argued. “Trust me, those concerns of yours are well in hand.”
The two men traded a warning look that could have meant anything. “Are they?” asked Jericho, carefully replacing the box on its shelf, letting his hands linger atop its lid.
He’d been jovial and charming at their meeting this afternoon, a sweet old man who liked to show off his wealth and do some harmless flirting. But there was something almost mad in his eyes as he turned and stared at the father-and-son portrait again. His gaze came back to the box, then hardened as it settled on Cole and Tori.
Jericho’s tight-lipped disapproval told Tori that she might have hit the jackpot by choosing this room as the place to search for clues to the missing statue. Or maybe there were other secrets he was worried she might uncover here.
But being right didn’t make her feel better. Jericho looked right at her, through her, deep inside her, as if somehow she’d been made. As if he could see the lies on her lips or a badge tattooed over her heart. Or something else entirely…
“Did Daniel speak to you?” he asked. “Did he tell you to come in here? Is that what the note said?”
TORI WAS TOO SHOCKED by Jericho’s questions to do more than form her mouth around one word. “What?”
She slid her gaze up to Cole and took note of his grim expression. Lana’s pink mouth had dropped open and Paulie was shaking his head. But Jericho was still staring at her, looking for answers to questions she didn’t understand.
Tori shrugged. “No, it wasn’t—”
“Tell me everything!” Jericho’s face blazed with rage as he stumbled toward her. He smacked her collarbone as he made an awkward grab at her jacket.
“Mr.
Meade—?”
“I know he was in that room with you. That’s where he meets all his women. He sent you here, didn’t he.” Meets? Present tense? Tori retreated a startled half step as the frail man spat an accusation at her.
“He told you who murdered him—”
“I swear—”
Cole’s big hands wrapped around Jericho’s fragile wrists and pried his shaky fingers from Tori’s collar. “She’s in here because of me.” Cole’s voice was firm, paternal even, as if explaining facts to a confused child. “Not Daniel.”
Jericho’s rheumy eyes narrowed, then shifted to Cole. He seemed so confused. “Are you sure? Don’t try to protect an old man. I hate when people keep things from me.”
After a tense moment, Cole released him and slipped his arm around Tori’s shoulders, snugging her to his side. She held herself stiffly against the hard wall of masculine strength, but didn’t move away. There was something too wild, too pathetic in Jericho’s expression to risk creating any more of a scene.
“We’re not keeping anything from you. Do you know how hard it is to get a few moments of privacy in this house? I invited Victoria here to be alone with her.”
The bald-faced lie slid from his lips as smoothly as his hand slid down to her hip. Tori bit her tongue to keep from twisting away from the possessive, palm-size brand of heat.
“Besides a few pencils and my pulse rate, I assure you nothing’s been disturbed in here.”
Tori had no idea whether she was about to be thrown out of the house or shot for trespassing, or if Cole’s defense had just saved her life and her mission. But there was something quiet and sincere in the tone of Cole’s voice that had the same calming effect on Jericho as it had had on her.
Cole Taylor was an anchor in a storm of catty words and angry threats and unpredictable actions that just didn’t make sense. It was all too easy to feel herself relaxing her defensive posture, absorbing some of the strength and self-assurance he wore with the same true fit as his gabardine suit.
Jericho seemed to feel his influence, too. The old man’s eyes closed, and when they opened again, they were a clearer blue. “Forgive me,” he sighed, as if just now recognizing the strangeness of his attack. He pulled his shoulders back a fraction, standing taller, looking tougher, taking charge of his emotions once more.
“Maybe I’m old-fashioned.” Jericho limped to the desk. Cole’s hip brushed against Tori’s as he subtly angled himself between her and the approaching man, as though he was prepared to take the brunt of whatever Jericho might say or do. “I understand young men and women and their assignations. I don’t begrudge this match. I rather like the notion of the two of you hitting it off, in fact. But there are rooms in this house where I conduct business. And rooms that are reserved for…entertainment.”
Tori held her breath, awaiting judgment. And though his calm facade revealed nothing, she sensed Cole was starting to feel the tension, too. Every muscle in his body braced.
Jericho pocketed a mint from the dish on the desk. He repositioned the humidor, opened the lid and pulled out a stogie, taking his time to run the rolled tobacco beneath his nose and savor its richly aged scent. He tucked the cigar inside his coat and patted the pocket. Then he pointed a gnarled finger at Cole. “And there are rooms where no one is allowed without my permission. This is one of them. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Meade’s finger shifted to Tori. “Do I?”
“Yes.”
Satisfaction crept into Jericho’s expression. He’d made his point. Hanky-panky between the art consultant and the chief of security was fine as long as it was discreet and didn’t interfere with his business. And as long as it didn’t take place in any room that—for professional or private reasons—he held dear.
Jericho reached out and laid his hand against Tori’s cheek. His fingers were cool to the touch and knotted with age. Yet there was a possession to that loving grasp that alarmed her in ways his violent outburst hadn’t. It required considerable control to stand still and not jerk away.
“Cole has an important job to do for me. I trust you won’t keep him from his work?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.” Jericho flashed a smile as if nothing unusual had just occurred. No breaking in. No making out. No detours into the Twilight Zone. He chuckled with the delightful charm he’d shown her earlier in the day and pulled away, dismissing Tori and giving Cole a good-ol’-boy wink. “Well then, let’s gather for dinner.”
“Yes. I’m starved.” Lana hurried to his side and tucked her arm through his, sparing a look for Tori that reminded her Lana hadn’t upset the boss today. “We can discuss that information leak I mentioned over brandy and coffee afterward. You’ll join us, won’t you, Cole?”
Instead of feeling snubbed, Tori was relieved that she hadn’t been included in the invitation.
Jericho answered for him. “Of course he will— Shall we?”
Lana spared Cole a smug look before showering her full attention on Jericho. “I think I’ve got the problem solved.”
“You?”
“I told you I could handle it.”
Shaking his head, Jericho turned toward Paulie, who held open the door for them. “I don’t question your abilities for one minute, Lana. But I thought I asked Chad to see to that. Where is my nephew, by the way…?”
Their voices faded down the hall. Paulie waited in the doorway. “You coming?” It was more of an expectation than a question.
Tori didn’t need to be asked twice. Her quick reconnaissance of the house had been a major bust. She was lucky she still had a job and a chance to regroup and replan her mission. She pulled free of Cole’s grasp and hurried to the door. But Paul Meredith’s bulk filled the exit.
“What possessed you to meet in here?” Paulie looked over her shoulder at Cole. “You know how he is.”
She felt Cole’s heat as he came up behind her.
“It’s getting worse every day. This room is practically a shrine to Daniel. But it was close by.” He folded his hands around Tori’s shoulders and pulled her back against his chest. “And how could I resist her?”
You have to make yourself irresistible to men, Victoria. Maybe we could tone down your hair….
Tori twitched and looked at the rug, trying to block out the intrusion of her mother’s voice. She hated when it sneaked into her thoughts like that. No matter how many awards she’d won, how many cases she’d solved, how many lives she’d changed, in Judeen Westin’s eyes, she would always be a work in progress. And a man couldn’t want her because of all the things she was and wasn’t.
Too smart. Too competitive. Too physical. No figure. No feminine frills. And Cole thought he could make a fake relationship work with her?
Fake was about all she could handle.
“Don’t be so modest, sweetheart.” Tori forced her way past the undermining self-critique, lifted her gaze and smiled. She reached up and patted Cole’s hand at her shoulder. “You’re the one with the irresistible animal magnetism.”
Her touch and smooth line surprised Cole, judging by the sudden squeeze and quick release of his hands. But Paulie laughed, buying the lie of their affair. He rubbed the top of his balding head and winked at her.
“Well, you two have fun. Just be more careful where you get carried away next time.”
As soon as Paulie moved, Tori dashed from the room, eager to leave Cole and her confused sense of purpose behind. But there was no escape. Out in the hallway, he snagged her by the elbow and pulled her aside.
“It’s okay.” He reassured the other man with a grin. “I have something to discuss with Victoria. We’ll be in the dining room in a minute.”
Paulie locked the door and grinned. “It’s about time you got a life, Taylor. All work and no play, you know. You watch yourself with this guy, Ms. Westin.” His dark eyes teased her as he thumbed over his shoulder at the office behind him. “You get into another ‘discussion’ like the one you were h
aving in there and we won’t see you until dessert.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Tori held a smile until Paulie disappeared around the corner. As soon as he was gone, she freed herself from Cole’s grasp and whirled to face him. “What do you want from me now?”
He sized her up with a hungry, suggestive look that kindled those unwise longings inside her all over again.
“You can stop doing that. Our audience is gone.”
“Oh, but there are eyes just about everywhere.” He glanced up at the security camera as it pivoted toward them. In a deliberate move, he tunneled his fingers into her hair and cupped the nape of her neck. “Even ones your little high-tech devices can’t detect. Did you enjoy your tour of the wardrobe?”
“You saw—?” Tori went rigid. But he already had her backed against the wall and she had nowhere to go except through him. “I undressed in that room!”
“Don’t worry. I sent the guard on his coffee break while you were changing.”
“But you watched?” Someone had been in her room, had used the secret entrance. Setting up a camera? Leaving friendly notes that sparked chaos?
Ignoring the self-preserving instinct to keep her distance, she grabbed his hands and held them up for a quick inspection. One, two… Five fingers on each hand. Long, sturdy fingers, with clean, trim nails and smoothed-off calluses. Her breath eased out on a sigh that held more confusion than relief.
“Looking for something in particular?”
When she saw questioning blue eyes laughing at her through ten splayed fingers, Tori released him and rattled off the first sarcastic thing she could think of. “How about a sense of decency?”
His teasing vanished behind an unreadable veil. “It was a private show, sweetheart. And don’t worry, there’s no camera in the bathroom.”