Framed For Love

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Imbeciles,” he said lightly, “but they’ll get the job done. If your friend can be saved, they will do it. Now why don’t you come down from there, and we’ll go inside to wait?” His words came out as a question, but Cassi sensed he wasn’t used to being denied. At the same time, she didn’t feel she was in immediate danger from him or the boy at his side.

  “Okay.” A welcome numbness filled her heart now that there was nothing more she could do for Linden. She turned, letting her feet dangle over the edge of the wall, glancing at the envelope out of the corner of her eye. There was no help for it now unless she wanted to share it with the stranger. Better to return for it later.

  The man helped her down, and Cassi found herself standing on cool grass, so close to him that their bodies touched. His hands lingered unnecessarily around her waist as though . . . searching? No, simply to steady her.

  Cassi stepped back quickly, adjusting her white blouse and smoothing her skirt. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He waved away the words. “You’re bleeding. Look at your leg.”

  Cassi looked and saw blood oozing from a small wound in the side of her leg, slightly above the knee. Dark red stained the hem of her gray skirt. All at once the wound began to throb painfully. “They shot me, too,” she said. “I’d forgotten.”

  “Shall I carry you to the house?”

  “I can walk. I think it just grazed me.”

  “We’ll take care of it at the house. Here, let’s tie this around it to stem the bleeding.” He took a handkerchief from the pocket of his long-sleeved shirt and shook it out. Kneeling swiftly, he tied it gently around her wound.

  She had nearly forgotten the boy when he spoke. “Miss, your shoes.” He handed them to her, but the pain in her knee convinced her to continue barefoot. She shifted nervously, feeling like a clumsy schoolgirl in the presence of the principal.

  The man’s eyes never left her for a moment. They were compelling, magnetizing, and everything about him exuded power and security, but Cassi didn’t feel at ease. She noticed the gun he’d mentioned earlier sticking out of the pocket of his pants when he touched it briefly, as though to check its position.

  He offered his arm for support and Cassi took it. The boy and the dogs followed behind.

  Cassi wondered if she should return to Linden’s house and wait for the FBI. She could tell them about the envelope and hope they could find Jared. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to give up what might be the one thing she could to use to barter for his freedom. She needed at least to make a copy before she handed it over. Then she could gather more information and decide what to do.

  “I’m really sorry to intrude on you like this, Mr. Holbrooke,” Cassi said. “When I ran from Linden’s, I didn’t realize where I would end up. I was just so scared.”

  “You don’t have to be afraid any longer. You’re safe. And please, call me Quentin.” He smiled, making his face relax as though they were meeting for the first time.

  “I’m Cassi Mason.” She stumbled on an uneven part of the grass, and only Quentin’s arm prevented her from falling.

  “Be careful there.” He put his arm around her and carried her along, taking most of her weight off her wounded leg. After a moment of awkward silence he said, “It’s nice to meet you, Cassi. May I call you that?”

  “Yes, of course. Thanks again for saving me back there. I think those were the men—or some of them—who shot Linden.”

  “I still don’t understand why they’d do something like that.”

  Cassi shook her head. “I don’t, either, but I have to find out. I think whoever did it has my fiancé.”

  “Maybe you should go to the police.”

  “Linden already called the FBI.”

  She sensed surprise in the tightening of his arm, but his voice showed none of it. “Then maybe you should go to them.”

  “We told them about a break-in at my house, but when they got there, they couldn’t find any sign of it. I’m afraid to go back, and I don’t have a clue where to start looking for Jared.”

  “Whoa,” he said. “You’re confusing me. Why don’t you tell me about it from the beginning? Perhaps I can help.” They had reached a veranda in back of the house now, and by the light from the elongated windows Cassi could see a few distinguishing gray strands in Quentin’s mane of shiny black hair. His eyes were as concerned as his voice, urging her to confide in him, and so she did.

  She sat down in one of the black filigree lawn chairs and told him everything about her day, beginning with Jared’s disappearance. The only thing she held back was finding the keys and the manila envelope. As she spoke, the boy stared at her with wide eyes.

  Quentin put a hand on his shoulder. “Son, why don’t you get our guest a glass of something to drink? She’s had a rough day.”

  “No, I’m fine,” Cassi said quickly. “What I really need is a phone, so I can call a taxi. I have to find out why my fiancé is missing.” She needed to get the envelope, but maybe first she should go to Linden’s to see if there was any chance he’d survived.

  No, that was something she simply couldn’t do—not yet. Even thinking of returning to the mansion made her stiff with fear. With the police there, he was probably already on his way to the hospital. She needed to focus on Jared.

  Quentin looked at her for a moment without speaking. Cassi felt as if he could see right through her. “You’re really worried about this fiancé of yours, aren’t you?”

  Cassi nodded once, not trusting her voice to reply.

  He seemed to make a rapid decision. “Sampson, go and get Gretta and tell her to bring the first-aid kit. When you get back, please take the dogs out and feed them.” The boy’s tousled blond head nodded, and he disappeared into the house.

  Within moments, an older woman with white hair and a matching apron appeared carrying a large red case. “This is Gretta,” Quentin said. “She’s normally the cook, but she doubles as a nurse around here.”

  Gretta nodded kindly and went to work on Cassi’s knee. “It’s not bad,” she said, “though it’ll pain you for a few days. If you’re not up on your shots, you might want to get them just in case.” She looked at her boss. “She might want to go to her doctor, but if she says it’s a gunshot wound, he’ll have to report it.”

  “I know. Thank you, Gretta. You may go. Better yet, why don’t you find a light meal for our guest?” The lady inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment and retreated.

  Quentin turned back to Cassi, who rose clumsily to her feet. “I can’t stay,” she said.

  He waved her words away. “Come with me.” His voice was clipped, but otherwise there was no hurry about him.

  Cassi followed Quentin through a spacious sitting room and into a huge entryway, twice the size of Linden’s. An elegant crystal chandelier lit up the area. At the base of the staircase she hesitated, but Quentin didn’t look around to see if she was following. She hurried to catch up, marveling at how much better her knee felt now that it was bandaged.

  Cassi saw no one but a uniformed maid in the hallway, carrying the required stack of towels. She wanted to laugh, but was too frightened. Why had she come into this house? Why was she following this stranger down this hall when she should be searching for Jared?

  Quentin stopped at a set of double doors and opened them, revealing a huge, decidedly feminine master suite. Alarmed, Cassi stared at him questioningly, but found not even a hint of malice. “These rooms were my wife’s,” he said. “I thought you might find some dry clothing. You are rather wet.” He fingered the thin cloth on her shoulder, amusement thick in his voice.

  Cassi laughed nervously. “I ran into some of your sprinklers. I guess that’s what I get when I trespass.”

  He smiled. “I guess so. But go ahead and pick out anything you like. I think you are the right size.

  “But won’t your wife—”

  “She’s dead,” he said without expression. “Three years ago now. No, don’t apologize. It’s high ti
me some of her things found a use.”

  “But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t feel comfortable.”

  “Why not?” He smiled again, and Cassi felt herself smiling back.

  When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “I thought you might want to pick out a few things to wear. You could leave after that, but do you have somewhere to go? If those men have already been to your house, it won’t be safe there. If you’d like, you can spend the night and decide what to do in the morning. Things always look better after a good night’s sleep. We have some great guest quarters, and I promise it’ll be safe. Meanwhile, I can call a few contacts and see if they have any information for you. Please stay. We could use the company—my son and I, that is.”

  As when he had asked her to come down from the wall, he left the decision to Cassi, but she knew he expected her to accept. And why shouldn’t she? It had been a horrible day. She was exhausted, out of ideas, and scared to leave. Weariness like none she’d ever felt permeated her being as though it were the only feeling she had ever known. That and the numbness filling her heart.

  Scenes of the shooting at Linden’s and her long flight down the dark tunnel flashed at her like strobe lights in a dance hall. She drew a shuddering breath. There was nothing she could do to help Linden. Absolutely nothing. And she had no idea where to begin her search for Jared. Surely neither Linden nor Jared would begrudge her relying for one night upon the kindness of a stranger. Besides, with all the wealth at this man’s fingertips, maybe he could find a lead. Maybe she would even tell him about the envelope.

  “Okay,” she said. “And thank you.”

  He smiled and inclined his head. “The pleasure is all mine.” He turned to leave, but paused in the hallway. “I’ll call and check up on my neighbor for you, in case you’re needed.” He left her, and for several minutes Cassi stared after him, marveling at his thoughtfulness.

  She walked through the open door and found herself immediately caught up in the elaborate decor. Expensive paintings, vases, and statues dotted the room. Cassi knew that each of them was worth a small fortune. Linden had become rather wealthy by working long and hard in his gallery, but if the rest of Quentin Thomas Holbrooke’s house continued along these lines, he would make Linden look like a pauper.

  “I should ask him for a loan to start our gallery.” Cassi wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn’t fall. She stood indecisively, her nylon-stockinged feet sinking into the lush carpet.

  “Uh, ma’am?” came a voice.

  Cassi looked up to see a young, brown-haired maid, not the same one she’d seen in the hall before. “Oh, hi.”

  “Have you picked out what you need?”

  Cassi shook her head and lifted her empty hands.

  “Well, don’t worry. Mr. Holbrooke sent me to help. I’m Beth. Come over to the closet, and I’ll show you what’s there. Mrs. Holbrooke had a lot of nice things. I see them all the time when I’m cleaning.” She giggled and leaned forward conspiratorially. “I even tried a few on when Mr. Holbrooke was in Europe one time. Of course, I made sure the cameras were off in the room before I went in. But I’m just too short for any of it to look very good on me.”

  “Cameras?” Cassi asked.

  Beth looked at her wryly. “I thought you’d want to know. There are cameras in every room in this house, constantly recording. Except in the bathrooms and closets.” With a furtive look toward the door, she added, “Don’t mention that I told you—I’m not supposed to know. I’m dating a guy who works on the monitors.”

  “But won’t they know?”

  “Oh, you mean the sound. No, only the main rooms have sound recording, too.”

  “But why so many cameras?” Cassi asked.

  Beth shrugged. “Business, I guess. I don’t know much about it, really. I’m new and the other servants don’t talk much, but I know Mr. Holbrooke is very important. He has lots of visitors from Europe.” As if that said it all, Beth clamped her mouth shut and bent to her task. In the large walk-in closet, she pulled a few items of clothing from the built-in drawers and several plastic-wrapped outfits from the hanging rod.

  “I won’t need so much. I’m only staying one night,” Cassi protested weakly.

  “Well, this way you can choose. Come on, now, I’ll show you to your room.”

  Cassi followed Beth down a hall, past the sweeping staircase and down yet another hall. At the end, the maid pushed open a door with her hip. “You should find everything you need here: toothbrush, paste, comb, shampoo—everything. If there’s anything you might need, just let me know. And there’s a little case there if you want to take any of it with you. We’ll just throw it out after you’re gone, anyway. The bathroom’s right in there.”

  “Thank you,” Cassi said mechanically. Everything had taken on the surrealistic appearance of a dream.

  “You have such beautiful hair.” Beth tentatively touched a lock. “I wish my hair was like yours.”

  “It’s messy,” Cassi said self-consciously.

  “It’s wonderful.” Beth sighed. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work. Mr. Holbrooke said he’d be waiting for you in the drawing room. Just go down the back stairs in the hall and turn to your left. You can’t miss it.” She bobbed a cheerful curtsey and disappeared, leaving Cassi to sit on the bed and wonder at her energy. Maybe I lost more blood than I thought.

  She forced herself to go through the motions of bathing, rather an awkward process with her wounded leg. The cold numbness that had entered her heart when she had deserted Linden to die alone didn’t leave, not even when she filled the bath with water hot enough to scald her skin.

  As dressed in a satin pantsuit that had belonged to the late Mrs. Holbrooke, Cassi couldn’t help feeling that she was a coward for staying in this mansion. But what else could she do? Where could she go?

  She would have liked to ignore the burning in her stomach that reminded her she hadn’t eaten and slip into the oblivion of sleep, but thoughts of Quentin Holbrooke stopped her from throwing herself onto the soft-looking bed. Perhaps he had heard something more about Linden. She put her feet into the gold slippers by the door and hobbled into the hall. As Beth had promised, the back stairs and the drawing room were easy to find.

  The room was spacious and exquisitely decorated, with wall-length windows and cream-colored curtains. At first Cassi thought she was alone, but a huge easy chair near the low coffee table before the fireplace swiveled around to reveal Quentin Holbrooke. He stood with an easy smile and crossed the room to greet her. “I’m glad you found your way,” he said, taking her hand. “That outfit really becomes you.”

  “Thank you. It is more comfortable than my wet skirt.”

  He chuckled. “Well, you must keep this outfit to replace the other, since my sprinklers ruined it.”

  “You are too kind.” Cassi said nothing further, not wanting to remind him again that she had been trespassing. He’d never asked her how she had come there in the first place. He probably thought she had come over the wall that separated his estate from Linden’s, instead of through a secret tunnel. Why she didn’t tell him otherwise, she couldn’t say. There was just something too suave and practiced about his manner.

  Ridiculous, she thought.

  “Please, sit down. Gretta has prepared a small meal for us. I trust you are hungry?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She sat as directed. “But . . . Linden . . . did you . . .”

  Quentin nodded gravely. “In fact, while you were getting dressed we had some visitors from the FBI. By the time the police arrived, the FBI was already at Mr. Johansen’s house. The police mentioned that I had called, and the FBI agents came to question me. I’m sorry to say that your friend didn’t make it.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence. Cassi swallowed hard, relieved that the numbness prevented her grief from surfacing. At least there was some comfort in knowing that Linden was no longer suffering. “Did you tell them I was here?” she managed.

  “Not after the story you t
old me. It seems odd to me that Mr. Johansen would talk to them shortly before some men came into his house and shot him.”

  “Are you suggesting the FBI had something to do with it? They were coming to take me into protective custody.”

  Quentin shrugged. “Well, they did mention as much, but they also were very unsure of being able to protect you at all. That seems a little suspicious, don’t you think?”

  Cassi didn’t know what to believe anymore.

  “I did tell them I had seen you, and they gave me this card if you were to return. They want to question you. There’s a name for you to call, and an address.” Quentin reached a hand into the pocket of his textured shirt that Cassi noticed was open at the neck to reveal the dark hair on his chest. She accepted the card but didn’t recognize the name: Fred Schulte.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but are you going to call?”

  Cassi thought for a moment. The last time she hadn’t trusted the FBI, she and Jared had buried themselves in trouble. “I’ll call tomorrow. There’s really nothing I can do on my own.”

  “Maybe that’s best. I have sent out a few feelers about the matter, but no one has gotten back to me yet. I’ll let you know if I hear anything that might help.” Quentin lifted the lid on one of the decorated ceramic tureens and served her a bowl of delicious-smelling soup. “So what do you think these people want from your fiancé?”

  Cassi had thought she lost her appetite upon the confirmation of Linden’s death, but her stomach growled loudly. “I don’t know. Maybe something I couldn’t find in his apartment.”

  “You said you thought someone had already searched it. Wouldn’t they have found whatever they wanted if it was there?”

  “I—please I can’t talk about this anymore.” Cassi let her spoon fall back into her bowl. “Do you mind?”