A Treasure Worth Seeking (7 page)

"Are you telling me to stay away from my own daughter's home?" Howard Win
slow was appalled at the effron
tery.

"Yes. I don't want it to look like a parade around here and scare off anyone who might be trying to contact Mrs.

Lyman with information we could use."

"Well I never—"

Lance ignored Charlotte as if she hadn't started to speak. "I have the full cooperation of the San Francisco Police Department. If you show up on that front porch again, I'll call them and have you removed—by force if necessary. Leave. Now."

His stance and bearing brooked no argument. Mike, who had remained silent and invisible during the entire scene, now seemed to materialize and moved behind the Winslows as though he intended to shepherd them out the door.

Charlotte drew herself up and stared at him with open contempt, threw daggers at Lance with her steely eyes and then marched through the door. Her husband, equally haughty, followed. The front door was slammed shut with such emphasis that the etched glass window rattled under the impact.

Erin heard Lance mutter an unspeakable obscenity under his breath. Mike stomped out of the room toward the kitchen. Melanie came running to Erin.

"Erin, I'm so sorry. They insulted you and I feel terrible about it. I don't know what makes them so mean! And the way they talk about Ken, just—just," she burst into tears and turned to flee upstairs.

Erin cast a look toward Lance, but he didn't see her. He was sitting behind the desk, leaning on his elbows, his face hidden in his hands. She ran after Melanie.

She found the young woman sprawled across her bed crying like a teen-ager over her first unrequited love. Erin consoled her with words that were somehow supplied to her unconsciously. She was certain nothing she said made any sense, but whatever inanities tumbled out of her mouth seemed to help restore Melanie. She looked up at Erin with wide, disbelieving eyes.

"Did you say that you'll stay here with me until Ken is found?" She sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"If you want me to, Melanie."

"Oh yes, Erin. I need a friend who understands and shares my concern for him."

"I'll stay for as long as you need me." Her heart turned over when she saw the gladness and relief breaking across Melanie's tearstained face. "I'll find a room in a hotel and will only be a telephone call away."

"No, Erin. I want you to stay here with me. You're settled into the guest room. Please stay here. Please."

Erin gnawed her lip as she thought. Staying under this roof would put her in closer and constant contact with Lance, but Melanie's needs had to take precedence over her avowed avoidance of him. After witnessing how she was treated by her parents, Erin knew more than ever how lost her sister-in-law must feel.

"Okay," she agreed, trying not to let any of her reluctance show.

Melanie began planning all types of activities for them, but Erin urged her to lie down for a while and relax.

Before she left her, Melanie was lying on her bed, breathing evenly, almost asleep.

When she walked in, Lance was alone in the living room. He looked up at her from the paper-strewn desk.

For once his glasses were correctly positioned on the bridge on his nose and weren't clinging to another part of his head like some misplaced appendage.

"Is she all right?" he asked.

Erin moved into the room and collapsed into a chair opposite the desk. "Yes, although it's a wonder. I learned today that there is more than one form of child abuse. It's a miracle that Melanie's not a raving maniac."

"I agree. We've had to spend as much time fighting them and patching up their amateur attempts to do our job as we have spent doing our job." He almost smiled at his rambling sentence. "I'm going to try to keep them out of her hair as much as possible until this is settled."

"Good," Erin replied.

They were quiet for a moment and tried desperately not to look at each other. Erin knew from experience that her face was too expressive for her own good. She wore every emotion on her sleeve for all to see. That was particularly dangerous since Lance was so stoic.

After his eyes had taken several tours of the room, he said, "Tell me when you want to leave and I'll have Mike make your flight arrangements if you haven't already done so. I'll have him escort you to the airport, too."

"Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Barrett, but I'm not leaving."

Her words drummed into his ears and thundered in his head. He rebuked the surge of joy that raced through him.

Most of the night and all day long, he had cursed himself for what he had done last night. That had been an incredibly stupid thing to do and he knew it.

He could justify that first kiss—maybe. He was putting a suspect on the spot to see how far she would go with a lie. But last night had been provoked by only one thing—lust.

He had told himself that when he saw her in the light of day, he would wonder why he had been so possessed by her last night. But it hadn't been that way. The moment he saw her this morning, that same desire had invaded him, constricting his muscles and making him strain against his clothes.

Now as he looked at her, he was drowning in those damn brown eyes, and his blood was running so high he wanted to hurdle across the desk and take her in his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. He wanted to taste her mouth again, to marvel once more at the texture of her skin, to see by light what he had caressed and kissed in darkness.

He wanted to hear again that deep, low purring sound that had come from her throat when he kissed her breasts.

It hadn't been a noise that was rehearsed or conditioned, but rather was spontaneous and unconscious.

This was madness! Whatever happened to his cold impersonality, his enviable objectivity? Love 'em and leave 'em Barrett. His conscience had almost convinced him that one passionate kiss, one sensitive exploration would be enough, but it hadn't been. Not nearly enough. He wanted her, all of her, with a desperation he hadn't felt since adolescence.
It's impossible, Barrett!
Impossible.

Every time she came unbidden to his mind, he had comforted himself with the fact that she would soon be gone and he could start acting like a rational human being again. Now she was informing him that she wasn't leaving. Dammit! She had defied him at every turn. What made him think she would go all meek and obedient now?

He sprang out of the chair. "Like hell you aren't, Miss O'Shea."

She hadn't expected this strong a reaction from him at all, and for a moment she could only stare up at him with wide, questioning eyes, her lips parted in surprise. She had no idea how utterly feminine and defenseless she looked.

Then her shock turned to anger and she stood up, leaned over the desk, and met him head on. "I'm not leaving. My sister-in-law needs me. You just admitted as much not two minutes ago. What are your objections to my staying here with her, Mr. Barrett?"

"They are too numerous to name."

"You haven't got one valid one," she accused.

"I don't need one!" he roared, taking the glasses from his nose and flinging them to the desk top. "If I say you don't stay, you don't stay. I meant what I said to the Winslows, and the same goes for you, Miss O'Shea."

She stood upright and folded her arms across her chest, tilting her chin back in an angle of challenge. "You can threaten me all you want, Mr. Barrett, but I'm not bullied easily. If you called the police to have me bodily removed, I'd scream bloody murder. What do you think that would do to Melanie's frame of mind? She's formed quite an attachment to me. You'd have two hysterical women on your hands. Besides that, I'm Ken's sister. That automatically gives me the right to be here."

She had him! She knew she had won by the way he spun around on his heels, jerked at the knot of his necktie, and strode to the window. Wise enough not to press her point, she waited for him to speak.

"If you do anything to jeopardize this operation, you're out." He still had his back to her, and when she didn't respond, he faced her. She nodded.

"Entertain Mrs. Lyman, keep her mind off her missing husband, and stay away from me."

His arrogant conceit piqued her, but she curbed her sharp tongue. "I intend to," she said coolly.

"What about Billy Bob or whatever the hell his name is? Won't he be clamoring for you to go back to Houston?"

It took a supreme effort to control her fury. He knew damned well what Bart's name was. He never overlooked or forgot anything.

"Bart," she said bitingly. Then, "Yes, he'll be worried.

I'll have to call him and my staff and explain that I'll be here for a while." She held up both palms when she saw he was about to interrupt. "I won't tell them why." She drew a deep breath. "If that's all, General, I'd like to return to the barracks."

His lips compressed into a thin line and his glacial eyes were intimidating as he bore down on her with long, angry strides. "This may all seem like a big game to you, Miss O'Shea, but I assure you it's not. I'll not tolerate any sass from your smart mouth."

His eyes went to her lips with the intention of reinforcing his command, but instead, the hard, imperious glare softened to a anguished plea. Erin noticed that his hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. His eyes moved up from her lips across her nose and cheekbones to her own eyes. She melted under his fervent gaze.

The moment was so static with tension and suppressed sexual longing that both of them trembled under the assault of emotion. Each vividly remembered an incident better forgotten, but more treasured for its prohibitive, secretive nature.

Finally Lance tore his eyes away from her face and cursed under his breath as he went back to the desk and flopped down in the chair. "You can start now by leaving me alone. I've got work to do."

She didn't answer him, but left the room. Had she turned around, she couldn't have missed the painful longing nakedly revealed in his eyes at they followed her.

IT WAS UNCANNILY
easy for her to adjust to the routine of the house. She used the telephone extension in Melanie's bedroom to check in with Spotlight as she had promised to do.

"Good afternoon, Spotlight," the bright voice answered. __

Erin laughed. "I'd forgotten the time difference. It
is
afternoon in Houston, isn't it?"

"Hi there, stranger," Betty, her secretary, chortled.

"Did you find who you were looking for?" she ask
ed excitedl
y.

Even before Lance had intimated that she shouldn't discuss Ken's disappearance with anyone, she had decided not to burden her friends with her troubles. She answered,

"Yes, I found him. Or at least I found his wife who has welcomed me with open arms. Ken is out of town for a few days."

"You mean he doesn't even
know
yet?!"

"No. We want to surprise him." Erin quickly changed the subject. "How ar
e things there? Any major catas
trophes I should know about?"

"No. Only a few minor ones we've managed to stumble through. You relax and have a good time."

"Betty, I may be here longer than I had anticipated. I expect you and the others to run the business as if I were there. I'm confident you can do it. But if you have any questions or anything out of the ordinary comes up, call me"

Betty paused for a moment before asking, "Are you sure everything's all right?"

"Yes. Positive," Erin lied. She gave Betty Melanie's telephone number and, after asking about the weather and everyone's health, hung up.

Unpacking her bags in the guest bedroom, she asked herself again if she was doing the right thing. Should she get back to her business and her life in Houston and forget about everything that had happened since her arrival in San Francisco?

No, she shook her head. She couldn't desert her brother and Melanie now that she had just found them. She had made a commitment to her sister-in-law and intended to uphold it no matter what unpleasantness she faced because of it, including Lance Barrett.

The rest of the afternoon she and Melanie spent in each other's company, talking for hours about Ken. Melanie knew quite a lot about his life before he met her and Erin realized that they must have a very happy marriage. But that was incongruous with the fact that he had stolen the money and abandoned her without a word. It was too complicated for her to figure out.

They strolled around the patio and backyard. Melanie was justifiably proud of her flower garden which she cul-tivated diligently. She named every shrub for Erin, explaining when she pruned, when she fertilized, how often she watered. Erin remarked that it must be a showplace in the spring when everything was blooming, and Melanie beamed happily.

It was amazing to Erin that the young woman, who had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, would take such pleasure in cooking, keeping her house and yard, and shun her parents' life-style of country clubs and parties.

For dinner that night, Melanie baked a delicious quiche which they ate at the table in the kitchen. Lance and Mike had graciously declined her invitation to join them though she protested that she had prepared too much food for only two people.

Erin didn't see Lance again until late the following morning, and then it was quite by accident. She was having difficulty zipping up the back of the blue wool jersey dress she had put on. The soft fabric had gotten caught in the teeth of the zipper and no matter which way she tried to move it, the zipper wouldn't budge. She was on her way to ask Melanie for assistance when she bumped into Lance as she stepped out into the hallway.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in embarrassed surprise and backed against the wall, aware that her back was exposed.

"Hi," he said, as unsettled by their abrupt meeting as she was.

"Hi."

"I, uh, came up here to replace a light bulb for Mrs.

Lyman."

"Oh." Erin felt imbecilic standing with her back against the wall that way, but she couldn't move without grabbing the shoulders of her dress and giving away her predicament. She was afraid it would slip down her arms.

"She's down in the kitchen," Lance said irrelevantly.

Puzzlement was creasing the vertical line between his brows.

"I'll catch up with her down there. With your permission, she and I would like to go out for a while this afternoon. She wants to take me to Fisherman's Wharf."

"You want to go sightseeing?" he asked, scoffing.

"No I don't!" she bristled. "But Melanie wants to take me. It will do her good to get out of this gloomy house, the atmosphere of which you don't improve one bit."

"I'm not here in the capacity of court jester. Or have you forgotten my very serious reason for being here?"

Immediately she regretted her outburst He must have a million details on his mind with the red telephone in the living room continually ringing. He didn't need her to contribute to his worries. "No. Of course I haven't forgotten," she said humbly. "Is it all right if we go?"

"Yes," he sighed resignedly.

She looked up at him and was held by the magnetism of his eyes as they stared down into hers. A fleeting impulse to reach up and investigate the cleft in his chin was stifled just in time. But there was no calming the frantic beating of her heart. She turned away quickly and took one step before the cool air on her back reminded her of the contrary zipper. She slammed into the wall again.

"What in the hell is the matter with you?" he asked.

There was no use pleading ignorance. She'd just as well explain why she was behaving like such a ninny. He would stand there all day until she did. "I'm having trouble with my zipper. I was about to ask Melanie to help me."

Instantly a grin tilted the corner of his mouth. He smiled lazily and leaned his shoulder against the wall only inches from her. His voice was seductive as he drawled,

"She's busy. I, on the other hand, am available, willing, and able."

"No—"

"Let's see what the problem is." Before she could resist, he had turned her around. She flushed hotly when she knew that her whole back was revealed to him. The dress was fully lined, so she wasn't wearing a slip. The skin of her back was naked except for the thin satin strap of her bra. The zipper started in the middle of her hips, covered only by sheer pantyhose.

She shivered when she felt him slide his hands inside the dress and place them on the curve of her hips just below her waist. His fingers were warm as they pressed into her skin.

For a long moment neither of them moved, and there was silence except for the pounding of their hearts which each was certain the other could hear. At first Erin thought she was imagining the sensuous movements of his fingers, but they became very real when she felt them on the bare skin of her stomach. One hand rested on her rib cage, close . . . close . . . agonizingly close to her breast.

The other slipped under the waistband of her pantyhose and investigated her navel with gentle fingers.

Don't touch her,
Lance commanded himself, but his hands refused to obey.
This is insanity. Her fianc
é
is as rich
as Croesus and you
—But God, she felt wonderful.
Don't
torture yourself this way.
Reluctantly he returned his hands to their original position before their enrapturing foray.

"Move back just a little," he said huskily. She took two small steps backward and could feel his fumbling movement? as he tried to extricate the fine material from the zipper. Finally she felt it come free.