High Energy (6 page)

closed the car door, she leaned back against it to gaze up at the facade of the

painted lady in front of her. The house was a fabulous example of Victorian

architecture, brilliantly restored and lovingly maintained. She decided it was

definitely a dream and was now very eager to see the interior.

Climbing the few steps up to the wide veranda, skirting the hanging swing, she

approached the wooden double front doors, wondering where on earth Tyber had

found these beautiful stained-glass panels. She had no doubt that they were by

Tiffany. The scenes depicted were celestial in nature, showing stars, comets,

heavenly bodies, a few angels, and Cupids cavorting amongst the stars.

Before she could ring the bell, the door swung open to a smiling Tyber Evans. He

was barefoot, in faded jeans and an old white tee shirt. His long gold-streaked

hair swung free around his shoulders.

So that's what torture looks like.

As usual, his sexy appearence was licensed to kill.

"Hi—glad you could make it." He held the door open for her, gesturing to her to

enter.

"You know, Tyber, you really should make an effort to break out of your

introverted mold," Zanita quipped as she walked past him.

He rubbed his ear. "I take it you don't appreciate the nuances in my subtle

foray into design?"

"Subtle? Tyber, next to you, an elephant wearing a pink pinstriped suit dancing

on two legs down Wall Street is subtle. I love it."

He gave her an ear-to-ear grin. "Somehow I knew you would, Curls. Come on, let

me give you a tour of the house." He casually draped his arm around her

shoulders as he led her out of the foyer into the living room. She was soon to

find out that it was one of the few rooms in the house that looked normal.

The room was a tastefully recreated late-1800s drawing room decorated with dark

maroon carpets, heavy emerald-green upholstered chairs sporting antimacassars,

tables in dark woods, a large pouf, lots of hanging fringe, and elaborate

drapery composed of yards and yards of rich jacquard material. On the highly

polished wooden mantel of a large fireplace was set an inlaid cabinet containing

a collection of antique music boxes.

It was altogether lovely and she told him so.

"Did you design and decorate the entire house, Tyber?"

"Most of it. I love Victorian architecture—the flights of fancy, the imagination

run amuck appeals to me. When I found this house several years ago, I was

intrigued. My real estate agent tried to talk me out of it. You should've seen

it then— it was a real mess, but I knew the house was structurally sound. When I

saw that most of the original fixtures and detailing were still intact, I

immediately put in an offer. The main house was restored, then I let my

imagination loose on the twenty-five acres of grounds. After that, I decided to

let my own flight of fancy take over. I added several wings decorated in what I

call Neo-Victorian Evans." He smiled at her engagingly. "It was a lot of fun."

Tyber's own version of Victorian turned out to be peculiarly fascinating. Rooms

led into rooms, corridors took strange twists and turns, and stairways led into

solid ceilings or around corners before going down or up.

Every room they passed in the wings had a different theme; there was a cave room

with rock walls, a medieval room with a bed hanging from the ceiling on chains,

an observation deck with a telescope on one part of the roof, a room done all in

black except for the ceiling, which had tiny phosphorescent stars painted on it,

and other rooms all unique in theme.

The feature he seemed most proud of was a doorway on the third floor that led to

nowhere; it opened up to the outside with no supporting structures around it,

like a window in space.

Zanita stared out the open door, careful not to lean over too far. "I don't get

it."

"You'd have to be a physicist to understand—it has to do with the Uncertainty

Principle."

She looked at him strangely. "Uh-huh."

There was an enormous English conservatory to the rear of the house, nicely

decorated in white wicker. Zanita sank down into a cushioned chair, admiring the

flowering plants around her.

"So, where do you work, in your laboratory in the dungeon?" she joked. Tyber

nodded quite seriously. "You're not joking, are you?"

Tyber raised his eyebrows, shaking his head slowly back and forth.

"Whyever would you work in a musty old cellar?"

"I'm a traditionalist. All us mad scientists have a certain reputation to

maintain." She laughed outright. The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint

smile, then he held his hand out to her. "I want to introduce you to a few…

friends. Then, if you like, we can go sit out by the pool."

She placed her hand in his large palm; his skin was warm and dry, the strong

fingers enclosing her hand, gentle.

"We are going to venture into forbidden territory, Ms. Masterson," he whispered.

"We are about to enter into the outer limits known as Blooey's kitchen." He led

her down several corridors.

"Do you ever get lost here?"

"No, but others have. Until I can get you a map, don't go anywhere without

either me or Blooey leading you. I once lost a colleague for two whole days in

the south wing. He hasn't visited us since." He grinned wickedly.

"You didn't by any chance engineer this occurrence, did you?"

"I'm surprised at you, Ms. Masterson. Just how unchivalrous do you think I am?"

He mocked her with the term, recalling the moment she had awakened in his arms.

She flushed faintly. "As a guest in your home, I won't answer that question."

He pushed a swinging wooden door open with his bare foot, pulling her behind him

into a very large, sunny kitchen.

An island with a malachite surface stood in the center of the cooking area.

Copper pots dangled from rack above the island. The cabinets were rich cherry

wood. All the appliances seemed to be restaurant-style equipment. Even the

chrome gas stove, although designed to look like a turn of the century

appliance, was completely modern. Several kinds of herbs grew along the base of

the windows. The kitchen table was nestled in an alcove of floor-to-ceiling

windows.

In the center of the floor stood a chubby little man and a very fat cat.

The man wore a red-and-white horizontally striped shirt, baggy brown pants, and

old, scuffed hiking boots. Around his head was a red kerchief, which was tied in

a knot behind his left ear—the ear that held a large gold hoop. He was whipping

a batter to a frenzy in a stainless steel bowl.

The cat, an enormous orange tabby, watched the man cooking with a greedy gleam

in his golden eye. He was a tough old customer, that cat. Zanita noted with some

amusement that a piece of his right ear was chewed off. A black eyepatch covered

his left eye. He looked like a rogue.

"Blooey!" Tyber's voice boomed in the kitchen, making Zanita jump. He leaned

down to explain in a lower voice, "Blooey won't respond to me unless I speak to

him in a certain—ah, tone."

The odd man spun around, squaring his shoulders. "Aye, Captain?"

Zanita immediately recognized the voice as the one she had heard on the

intercom. Captain? He called Tyber Captain. Had Tyber been in the military? If

so, this was a piece of information that could be useful in an interview. So far

as she knew, no one had ever mentioned his being in the service. And just what

were his government ties?

"I want to introduce you to someone. Zanita Masterson, this is Arthur Bloomberg,

known to his friends as Blooey."

"Hi. Nice to meet you." Zanita put her hand out.

Blooey squinted, examining her through one eye. "She be yer lady, what ye

mentioned, Captain?"

Tyber seemed distinctly uncomfortable. "Ah… she is a lady, Blooey."

Blooey nodded, then clasped her hand, giving her a quick, rough shake. "Fair

enough, I say. Welcome aboard, Lady Masterson."

Zanita wasn't quite sure how to respond to the strange little man. "Um—thanks."

A loud, indignant meow came from the floor.

"I'm getting to you; keep your whiskers on."

Tyber was talking to his cat. And the cat seemed to understand; he sat back on

his haunches, peering out of his one eye at Zanita expectantly.

"And this is Hambone." The cat raised a chubby paw.

Zanita knelt down to shake his paw. "Hi, Hambone, pleased to meet you." She

swore the cat grinned at her.

Tyber clasped her shoulders, bringing her to her feet. "If you need us, we'll be

out by the pool."

"Aye, aye, Captain. Supper will be at six bells."

As soon as they cleared the doorway, Zanita asked him as casually as she could,

"When were you in the military?"

He looked puzzled. "The military?"

So, he was hiding something! "Yes, the military. Don't deny it, Tyber, it's too

late. That man in there called you Captain."

A laugh line curved the left side of his mouth. "Oh, yes, I'd forgotten all

about my illustrious military career."

She fumbled around in her bag, pulling out a bent reporter's notebook and a

pencil. "Now this is interesting. Tell me all about it."

He crossed his arms and looked down at her. "Well, let me see. In those days,

there was a lot of strife between… you know."

Zanita nodded eagerly. "The cold war. Go on." She scribbled in her book.

"I had commandeered my own ship, of course."

"Of course," she agreed, not looking up and therefore missing the grin that

broke across his face.

"I sank and pillaged twenty ships—"

"Pillaged?" She looked up at him aghast. "The government condoned that sort of

thing?"

"I had a letter of marque," he answered her seriously.

"A letter of—Tyber, what are you talking about?"

He gave her an innocent look. "What are you writing?"

She looked down guiltily at the notebook in her hand. "All right, so I forgot."

He snorted at that statement. She quickly put the notebook away. "So, were you

in the military?"

He laughed."No."

"Then why does that man call you Captain?"

Tyber rubbed the back of his neck, seeking a way to explain this. "Blooey is an

excellent cook." She stared at him expectantly. "He… thinks he's on a pirate

ship and that I'm the captain."

As if that explained it. She continued to stare at him.

Tyber sighed. "Arthur Bloomberg used to be a brilliant mathematician. We worked

together at one time. It was his work on imaginary numbers that drove him

slightly over the edge—the paradox, you see. As Blooey says, 'What was the

point?' Pun intended."

"I see. I think. He had sort of a nervous breakdown, and you took him in." She

was beginning to see yet another side to Tyberius Augustus Evans. A side she

liked very much. "Doesn't he have any relatives?"

"None that will claim him. Besides," he said by way of explanation, "Blooey's

the best shipmate I've ever sailed with. Wait until you taste his cooking—I

really think it's his true vocation, doctorate be dammed."

"That man has a doctorate?" Her expression was incredulous.

"Yes, but compared to his vegetable terrine, its meaningless."

Tyber led her through the conservatory onto the grounds behind the house. They

passed more gardens, then passed through a high wrought-iron gate in yet another

stone wall. This was the "pool area." The entire site was reminiscent of a

secluded grotto, with boulders lining the pool itself, giving it a natural pond

appearance. Several little waterfalls cascaded into the pool from the rock wall,

which contained, of all things, an outdoor fireplace. A second iron gate led

directly into the house.

It was a lovely spot.

It was devoid of guests.

Zanita looked around. "Where is everybody?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said you were having an end-of-class, Indian summer pool party."

Tyber threw himself onto a wicker lounge, crossing his hands behind his head.

"And so I am."

Zanita's eyes narrowed. "There are no other guests, are there?"

"I don't recall mentioning other guests to you."

She tapped her foot. "I can see you have a tendency toward presumption, Dr.

Evans."

"And how is that, Ms. Masterson? I issued an invitation; you accepted." He

watched her from under half-lowered lids. "Now, why was that, I wonder?"

He was toying with her. He knew exactly why she had accepted!

Zanita kicked a pebble off the patio and into the pool. "You know why! I want an

interview with you!"

Tyber's silvery blue eyes followed the pebble with some amusement as it skipped

across the stones to plop into the water. Unfolding himself from the lounge

chair, he walked behind her to cup his hands on her shoulders.

Zanita tried to move away; he pulled her back.

Bending low, he said firmly in her ear, "No interview. No more debris in my

pool."

Zanita swallowed convulsively at the heat of him behind her. She suddenly wanted

to rest her head back against his chest, feel those powerful arms come around

her…

She blinked. Bad enough she behaved foolishly just now. No need to compound her

error by throwing herself at the man.

What was wrong with her? She was usually a very cautious person when it came to