Jayne Ann Krentz (15 page)

“You've had your wicked way with me, and now you're trying to leave as quickly as you can. Some dumb excuse about a dog, I think. I'll bet you're not even going to call me in the morning, are you?”

“Damn it, Rafe—”

“What the hell am I supposed to think?”

She stared at him, stunned. “Do you really believe that I just…I just—” She broke off because her voice was threatening to get lost in a squeaky soprano. She swallowed and tried again. “You think that I just
seduced
you in order to manipulate you into selling your half of this place to me?”

He let her wait a beat. She felt perspiration between her shoulder blades.

Then he smiled slightly. “No.”

She sagged back against the doorjamb. “I should hope not. Good Lord, I don't do things like that.”

“Neither do I,” he said simply.

She looked at him for a long time. Gradually the tension inside her began to seep away. She had gone mad, she thought.

“No. No, of course not.” She rubbed her brow. “I don't know why I freaked. I guess I'm just a little stressed.”

“You've had a busy night.”

“You can say that again.” She straightened away from the door, composed herself. “Speaking of which, I think it's time you took me home.”

“All right.” He fished keys out of a pocket. “On one condition.”

She jerked back around. “What condition?”

He walked past her and opened the door. “You gotta promise to call me in the morning.”

He was gone, out into the night, before she could think of an appropriate response. She heard the less than civilized growl of the Porsche engine. The lights came on, blinding her.

A vivid mental image of a hapless deer paralyzed by the beams of an oncoming car galvanized her into action.

She slammed the front door shut behind herself. Hand held high to shield her eyes from the merciless glare of the lights, she rushed toward the passenger side door.

Winston greeted her with a yawn and his customary good cheer. He bestowed an equally enthusiastic welcome on Rafe. Then he trotted across the porch, went down the front steps, and disappeared into the privacy of the bushes. It was obvious that he was in no great rush to use the facilities.

Rafe looked at her, eyes gleaming. “You're in luck. He doesn't look like he's been worrying too much.”

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “You've made your point.”

“You think so?”

“I've already admitted that my little panic attack back there was an overreaction to stress.”

“Stress, huh? Sounds like another excuse.”

“Good night, Rafe.”

He caught her chin on the heel of his hand and kissed her very deliberately. He stopped just as she felt the breathlessness setting in again.

“Good night,” he said. His eyes were shadowed and intense in the yellow porch light. “You've got my number at Dreamscape and my cell phone number. Call me if Winston goes into his alert mode again tonight, okay? I can be here in less than ten minutes.”

“His alert mode?” She had forgotten all about Winston's nocturnal prowling. “Oh, right. That's very kind of you, but I really don't think—”

“I know you're having trouble thinking tonight. You've already explained that.” He went down the steps. “Just call me if he does the sentry thing.”

She held the door open for Winston. Rafe waited until they were both inside the house before he drove away into the darkness.

Twenty minutes later she emerged from the bathroom clad in her primmest nightgown. It was a Victorian number, pure white, with long sleeves, a ribbon-trimmed neckline, and a hem that fell to her ankles. She glanced once at herself in the mirror and was satisfied with the demure gown. It was definitely not the sort of nightwear favored by women who were in the habit of leaving their undergarments strewn on the staircase while they indulged themselves in a mad, passionate fling with the most exciting man in town.

Make that the most exciting man she had ever met.

An aberration. That was what it had been. It had been much too long since she'd had anything resembling a normal sex life. Aberrant behavior was to be expected under such circumstances.

With a sigh, she switched off the lamp. Winston was already in position at the foot of the bed. He raised his head from his paws when she went to the window that overlooked the bay. She could feel him watching her as she opened the drapes.

“Weren't you even a little bit concerned about the fact that I was so late getting home?” she asked.

He did not dignify that with a response.

“I was afraid of that.”

She padded through the shadows to the side window and pulled the curtains wide. She was about to turn back to the bed when she glimpsed the sheen of moonlight on metal between two trees.

“What in the world?”

She gripped the window ledge and peered more closely at the glint. A closer look verified her first impression. There was a car parked in a stand of trees near the road. In that position, whoever was in the vehicle had a clear view of the house and the entrance of the long drive.

She glanced at Winston. He had his muzzle on his paws. Not in alert mode.

She closed the drapes again, switched on the light, and picked up the phone. She punched in one of the numbers she had jotted down on the pad beside the bed.

Rafe answered on the first ring.

“What are you doing out there in the bushes?” she asked.

“Nothing for which I could get arrested.”

A small thrill of pleasure rippled through her at the sound of his voice; low, sexy, and just rough enough around the edges to bring back some very recent, very heated memories.

She turned off the light again. Carrying the phone, she went back to the window and opened the drapes a second time. She gazed out into the darkness, searching for the metallic gleam of the Porsche's fender.

“Are you sure about that?” she asked.

“Positive.”

Talking to him now on the phone was a lot easier than facing him after that interlude in his bedroom, she discovered. There was a strange intimacy to the experience, but at the same time the distance allowed her to finally relax.

“You're keeping watch, aren't you?” she asked. “Waiting to see if whatever alarmed Winston shows up again.”

Silence hummed briefly on the other end.

“Just thought I'd stick around for a few minutes,” he said.

“That's not necessary. I told you I'd call if Winston starts prowling. Go home, Rafe. We'll be fine, honest.”

“I'll only hang around for a little while. Whatever it is showed up between midnight and two the last couple of times, right?”

“Yes.”

“It's almost two. I'll leave soon.”

“Rafe—”

“Go to sleep,” he said softly.

She clutched the phone more tightly. “Rafe, about tonight—”

“What about it?”

“I apologize for acting like a complete idiot. Asking you whether or not what happened between us was all about Dreamscape was inexcusable. I knew better than that.”

“Whatever is going on between you and me, it's not about the house.”

She hesitated. “A lot of people in town will think it is.”

“Everyone in Eclipse Bay thinks that I seduced you on the beach eight years ago, too.” The dismissive shrug in his voice was loud and clear. “Do you really care what people think?”

She contemplated the question for a long moment. “No.”

“Neither do I.”

“Rafe?”

“Yeah?”

“If what happened tonight wasn't about Dreamscape, what was it about?”

“Good question. When you figure out the answer, let me know.”

“Rafe?”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes you remind me an awful lot of Winston when it comes to communicating.”

“Probably a guy thing.”

“Good night, Rafe.”

“Don't forget to call me in the morning.”

She hung up the phone and climbed into bed. She did not even attempt to close her eyes until she heard the muted purr of his car's engine recede into the distance sometime later. She glanced at the clock. It was two-fifteen.

At the foot of the bed, Winston was sound asleep.

The next morning she waited until ten o'clock to call.

“Don't want to look too eager,” she told Winston as she punched out the number on the kitchen cordless. “Guys sense it if you're too eager.”

Winston looked bored. He went to the door and looked back at her with an expectant expression.

“You've already been out twice this morning.” She listened to the phone ring on the other end. “I think you're getting addicted to the beach.”

It was true, she thought. Winston's approval of their new lifestyle was evident. He loved running around in Dead Hand Cove with its myriad smells and odd inhabitants. He clearly delighted in his off-leash freedom.

Rafe finally answered the phone.

“This is Madison.” He sounded impatient, as if his attention was on something vastly more interesting than a phone call.

She frowned briefly at the instrument in her hand and then held it to her ear again.

“Sorry if I'm interrupting anything important,” she said dryly. “I thought you were expecting my call.”

“'Morning, honey.” Rafe's voice warmed measurably.

“I'm a little busy at the moment. Can I get back to—hang on a second.” He broke off abruptly and spoke to someone else. “Take a good look at the wiring in that panel, will you, Torrance?”

“Honey?” Hannah pondered the simple endearment. Rafe had never called her honey, not even last night in the middle of making love to her. Of course, he had not made a lot of conversation in bed.

“Hell, there should be insulation in that wall,” Rafe continued in a muffled voice. “Yeah, I can see the pipes. That's why I want insulation in it. Who wants to listen to every flush and shower?”

“Pipes?” Hannah stopped trying to tease out the little nuances of “honey” and focused on the more disturbing word. “Rafe, what's going on there? Is something wrong?”

“I'm getting an assessment of the condition of the plumbing and wiring,” he said casually. “The good news is that Isabel had it all brought up to code a few years ago.” His paused to speak to someone else again. “Is that copper?”

“Rafe, who are you talking to?”

“The Willis brothers are here,” he said into the phone. “I'm having them go over the place from top to bottom.”

“You've got Walter and Torrance Willis there?” She shot up from the kitchen chair. “Why?”

“Just getting together some preliminary estimates to see how much it will cost to put in the inn and restaurant,” he said with breathtaking innocence.

“You can't do that.” She grabbed her keys and broke into a run, heading to the door. “Not without my permission, damn it.”

“We both agreed we wanted to open an inn here at Dreamscape.”

“We haven't even decided how we're going to deal with the legalities of ownership. Don't you dare touch a thing until I get there.”

Winston saw her heading for the door. He started to bounce a little.

“I told you, I'm just getting some preliminary figures together,” Rafe said.

“I am coming over there right now. You listen to me, Rafe Madison. I own half of that house. Don't you dare touch a single thing until I get there. And don't let the Willis brothers touch anything, either.”

“It's a little late to call them off,” Rafe said reflectively. “They're already pretty deep into the plumbing.”

“I don't believe this.”

She tossed the cordless phone down on the hall table and rushed outside to the car. Winston followed. He leaped into the passenger seat and sat back with an air of anticipation.

“I knew last night was all about Dreamscape,” she told him.

She sailed through the front door of the big house a short time later, ready for battle. Winston trotted in right behind her, greeted Rafe briefly, and began a tour of the kitchen.

Rafe glanced at his watch as Hannah came to a seething halt in front of him. “Six minutes and twenty-two seconds. You made good time.”

She planted her hands on her hips. “What is going on here?”

Rafe was saved the necessity of responding to the question by the small, neatly made man who chose that moment to wander out into the hall.

Compact and completely bald, Walter Willis had always reminded Hannah of an android. There was a mechanical precision about his movements that lacked the casual human element. His speech was clipped and crisp. The starched creases in his work clothes never softened. It was as if he had been designed and constructed under controlled, sterile conditions in a high-tech manufacturing plant.

“Hannah.” Walter wiped his hands on a spotless rag that dangled from his belt. “Good to see you again. Heard you were back in town.”

Hannah was amazed by her self-mastery. She managed to veil the fuming expression she knew had been blazing in her eyes. She even summoned up what she hoped looked like a genuinely pleasant smile of greeting.

“Hello, Walter,” she said. “It's been a while.”

“Certainly has.” Walter turned his head and called to his brother over his shoulder. “Torrance, come on out here and say hello to Hannah.”

Torrance stepped out of the laundry room. His expression brightened instantly. He hoisted a pipe wrench in greeting. “Hey, there, Hannah. Welcome back.”

The Willises were identical twins, but it was easy to tell them apart because, sartorially speaking, they were polar opposites. If Walter had been engineered to precise specifications on a futuristic computerized assembly line, Torrance had been someone's home garage project.

Rather than shaving off what little hair he still possessed as Walter did, Torrance wore his thin, scraggly locks in a ponytail that stuck out through the opening at the back of his cap. The trailing end of a snake tattoo slithered out below one sleeve. His coveralls were stained with what looked like several eons' worth of grease, grime, and pizza sauce. The only things that were clean and shiny about him were the tools in the wide belt that he wore low on his hips.

“Isabel always said the two of you would come back for good someday.” Torrance turned to Walter. “Didn't she say exactly that?”

“She sure did,” Walter agreed. “If she said it once, she must have said it a hundred times. I believe the last time was the day she had us out here to install the washing machine in the laundry room.”

Torrance nodded. “Believe it was.” He winked at Hannah and Rafe. “Told us she wanted to leave everything in good working order for you two.”

Willis shook his head indulgently. “That Isabel. Always did have a real romantic streak.”

Hannah narrowed her eyes. “Don't you two have some plumbing you should be looking at?”

“Plumbing. Whoa. Almost forgot. You heard the lady,” Torrance continued. “Reckon we better get back to work.”

“Right.” Walter's head jerked once in a mechanical nod. “Plumbing. Listen, you two, don't pay any heed to the talk that's going around town these days. Bound to be some for a while, given what happened the night the Sadler girl died and all and now this business with Isabel leaving you the house. But it'll fade quick enough.”

“Let's hope so,” Hannah said.

Torrance clapped Rafe on the shoulder. “Just want you both to know that me and my brother here never once thought you'd had anything to do with Kaitlin Sadler's death.”

“I appreciate that,” Rafe replied.

Walter pursed his lips. “Torrance and I always suspected that she got killed by some sex maniac from Seattle. Isn't that right, Torrance?”

Torrance bobbed his head several times. “Yup. That was how we figured it, all right. Not that Chief Yates paid any attention to us.”

“Yates just wanted to close the case as fast as possible,” Walter said somberly. “He was getting ready to retire. Last thing he wanted to do was leave behind a nasty unsolved murder. Would have spoiled his record.”

“Murder.” Hannah met Rafe's eyes for a few seconds. He gave her an enigmatic look. She turned back to Walter. “Are you serious? Do you really think Kaitlin was murdered by a sex maniac?”

Walter traded glances with Torrance. “Can't blame us for wondering, given what we found the day we fixed her washer. Right, Torrance?”

Torrance's head went into nodding mode again. “Right. Gotta wonder.”

Rafe looked at Walter “What exactly did you find the day you fixed her washer?”

To Hannah's astonishment, Walter blushed a bright shade of red.

“Kinky stuff,” he muttered.

“What kind of kinky stuff?” Rafe asked.

Something in his voice made Hannah glance sharply at him. But she could read nothing in his expression.

Torrance rolled his eyes. “You know. Frilly undies.”

Hannah thought about the little demi-bra she had lost on the stairs last night. When her gaze collided with Rafe's, she knew he was thinking about it too.

“What's so kinky about a woman wearing frilly underwear?” she demanded

“Well, the stuff we found wasn't exactly little,” Torrance said. “Big enough to fit a man.”

“Definitely a heck of a lot bigger than Kaitlin,” Walter confided. “She was real petite, if you recall.”

“There was also a sexy nightgown that was much too big for her,” Torrance continued. “And some really large sparkly high heels.”

“Don't forget those videotapes,” Walter added.

Hannah stared at him. “You found all that stuff inside her washer?”

“Not exactly inside the washer.” Torrance hesitated. “Well, see, once we got goin' on the washer, we realized that her dryer exhaust hose probably hadn't been cleaned in a long time.”

“Dangerous things, exhaust hoses,” Walter put in seriously. “If they get clogged with lint, they can cause fires. Anyhow, we figured we'd do Kaitlin a favor, so after we finished with the washer, we pulled out the dryer to check the exhaust hose. That was when we found the large-sized undies and the videos and all.”

“
Behind
the machine?” Rafe asked carefully.

Torrance nodded violently. “Someone had cut out a big chunk of drywall and stuffed the videos and the ladies' things into the space between a couple of studs.”

“Knew right off the female stuff didn't belong to you, Rafe,” Walter assured him hastily.

“What was your big clue?” Rafe asked. “Wrong size?”

Torrance guffawed with laughter. “Heck, everyone knew you'd been seein' a lot of Kaitlin that summer. But me and Walter never figured you for one of them transistors.”

“Transvestites,” Rafe corrected mildly.

Torrance nodded. “Never figured you for one of them.”

“You were right about my taste in underwear. I'm a pretty traditional kind of guy.”

Torrance's laughter faded. “Anyhow, after Kaitlin died, Walter and I remembered that stuff we found in the wall. That's what made us think she'd been done in by some out-of-town sex maniac.”

“From Seattle,” Walter concluded.

“Why Seattle?” Hannah asked.

Torrance snorted. “Not the sort of thing they do in Portland.”

Hannah looked at Rafe.

He shrugged. “The man has a point. You know what they say about those folks up in Seattle.”

She turned back to Walter and Torrance. “You said you told Chief Yates about the videos and the lingerie?”

“Yup, figured it was our civic duty,” Torrance said. “But he told us to keep our mouths shut. Said there was enough gossip goin' around as it was. Town didn't need any more.”

“Besides, the stuff was gone when we took the chief to Kaitlin's house to show it to him,” Walter added. “I don't think he believed us.”

Rafe frowned. “The lingerie and videos weren't there when you went back?”

“Nope.” Torrance sighed. “That's the main reason Walter and me didn't talk too much about what we'd found. Didn't have any proof, and Chief Yates said we could get in a lotta trouble if we started spreadin' false rumors. Right, Walter?”

“Right,” Walter said crisply. “We're not blabbermouths. But we always thought Kaitlin was murdered by that sex maniac she must have been seein'.” He looked at Rafe. “No offense, but everyone knew she was fooling around with other men.”

“Yes.” Rafe did not look at Hannah. “Even I figured it out. Why do you think the guy who was into the lingerie murdered her?”

“Who knows?” Torrance said.

“Maybe he didn't like the fact that she had those videos,” Walter said. “Could be they were films of him dressed in the lingerie.”

Rafe's gaze went to Hannah. She saw the glint of curiosity in his eyes. She didn't blame him. She was reluctantly fascinated, herself.

“You think this guy from Seattle went back to Kaitlin's house after he murdered her and stole the lingerie and videos?” Rafe asked.