Trick Me, Treat Me (15 page)

If Gwen didn’t know better, she’d swear he had no idea what she was talking about. But she
did
know better. “It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend. We both know why we’re here.”

He merely quirked a brow, looking confused, but now also a bit intrigued. “We do?”

“Yes. So let’s talk business. I want to buy a…a…gun.”

His jaw dropped.

A gun? Twit! Arms dealers sell guns in bulk!

“I mean, a bunch of guns,” she quickly clarified. “A whole boatload of them. Highest quality. Um, you know, bazookas, that kind of thing. The best you’ve got. Money’s no object. But you, uh, you know, before we make a deal, you should tell me what you did with the guy who’s been tailing us.” She shrugged, trying to look as if she didn’t really care, one way or the other. “Strictly as a sign of faith.”

The man looked stunned, but before he could say a word, they were both startled by a banging coming from the corner. Gwen swung around to see Miles, followed by her Aunt Hildy, emerging from inside the closet.

“Gwen, don’t!”

“Miles?” She rushed to him, noting the dust on his clothes and his bare feet. “He locked you in the attic?”

“Would someone care to tell me what’s going on here?” the indignant-looking gentleman said. “Should I call the police or the madhouse?”

“Neither!” Miles and Hildy said at the same time.

“Gwen, he’s not who you think he is,” Miles said.

Aunt Hildy began to laugh. She lifted her quivering fingers to her lips and her eyes twinkled in merriment. “Oh, my goodness, Gwen. You told him you were the mafia buyer? When Moe told me that, I laughed so hard I was afraid I’d finally have a need for those old lady diapers.”

Gwen barely spared Hildy a glance. “Miles, where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

“Who, exactly, did she think I was?” the older gentleman mused to no one in particular.

“Oh, this is rich,” Hildy said with a snorty chuckle. “She
thought you were an international criminal. An arms dealer.”

The man’s eyes grew wider.

“It gets better. She was impersonating your customer to try to help him.” She jerked her thumb toward Miles. Then she snorted another laugh. “The secret agent.”

The man sat down on the edge of his bed, looking dazed.

Gwen began to feel a fluttering of unease in her stomach. The way Hildy was talking, some major confusion had been going on around here. And she still hadn’t figured out why her aunt and Miles had been in the attic. “What’s going on, Miles?”

He shook his head, as if he didn’t know what to say, or where to begin. Finally, he spoke, addressing the man on the bed. “I am so sorry you were dragged into this, sir. I had an accident Friday night, got hit on the head and ended up with short-term amnesia. For a variety of reasons, which I won’t go into now, I became convinced I was a…” He looked away, his face growing flushed. “A, uh…secret agent in search of an arms dealer.”

The man gave a tiny smile, pointing to his own chest. “Me?”

Miles nodded.

“I, Ricardo Tavares, an arms dealer? How utterly delightful.” He chuckled. “Was I a dangerous sort of fellow?”

“Deadly.”

“Even better. And the lady?”

“She thought she was helping. She was posing as a buyer.”

“Ahh.” The man’s lips twitched. “A bazooka, indeed.”

“He’s not him?” Gwen asked, feeling like a complete idiot for confronting one of her own guests in his room.
At least Mr. Tavares appeared to be taking the whole thing well.

Then she started really paying attention to what Miles had said. He’d
thought
he was a secret agent?

“I woke up this morning and remembered the truth.” Miles turned to face Gwen, giving her a look so full of regret and tenderness, she almost didn’t hear what he said next. God, she hadn’t even begun to realize how much this man meant to her until she’d feared something terrible had happened to him.

She never wanted to feel that way again.
Never
.

“Why didn’t you come tell me you had your memory back?” She wanted both to punch him and hug him tight enough to break. “Instead you just disappeared. You scared me half to death!”

He shook his head with regret. “I’m so sorry. Hildy and I got caught up with what we were doing.” Before she could ask him exactly what that had been, he continued. His words made her forget everything else. “I’m not Miles Stone, honey. I’m not a secret agent. There’s no mission, no suspect, no Miss Jones.”

Her heart skipped a beat as she struggled to suck air into her mouth. “
None
of it was true?” she asked in a thin whisper.

“No,” he admitted. “I got an invitation to a Halloween murder weekend held in this place
last
year. Somehow the mail got messed up. I’ve been out of the country, and it was waiting for me when I got home. I thought it was for this weekend, so I came in character.”

Still stunned, she mumbled, “Mick’s party. He told us about it right after we moved to town.”

“Right. I was supposed to be coming as a secret agent. I thought, when we met in the kitchen, I assumed you…”

Everything began to make sense. “You thought I was a guest at the party, too.”

“Exactly.”

Good lord. He’d been playacting, thinking she was doing the same. He’d assumed she was a guest, also pretending to be someone she wasn’t. They’d been two strangers sharing a fanciful interlude in a haunted house on Halloween, both completely mistaken about who the other had been. If it weren’t so unbelievable, it would almost be charming.

Then, of course, the night had gone from unbelievable to surreal. “Aunt Hildy’s pennies…”

“I really did have amnesia.” He swept his hand through his hair in visible frustration. “Mick recognized me right away and thought it would be just hilarious to let me run around like a lunatic for a couple of days. I could kill him.”

“You’re gonna have to stand in line,” Gwen snapped.

She turned away, looking at her own hands, which were tightly clenched in front of her.

Special Agent Miles Stone didn’t exist. The dangerous, dashing adventurer, who had swept her off her feet and given her the most passionate weekend of her life, had been nothing but a figment of her imagination. And his own.

She waited for the rush of relief, waited to be glad he wasn’t a daring thrill-seeker who would be whirling out of her life as quickly as he’d whirled into it. Part of her
was
glad. Thrilled, really, that he might, just
might
be the kind of man who’d stick around.

Another part of her was utterly terrified.

Gwen had let herself get caught up in this, had gone full speed ahead into a reckless adventure, always keeping the knowledge in the back of her mind that it would never last. It would be one daring fling she could remember all her life, long after Agent Miles Stone had swept out of it. And
after he’d gone, she could go back to her safe, self-protected world. Not allow herself to be vulnerable. Keep her heart closely guarded.

But there was no Agent Miles Stone against whom she could harden her heart for her own self-preservation. There was only this man, whose name she didn’t even know. And if he stayed, she might just be forced to take the biggest risk of all.

The risk of letting herself love him without fear, without reservation.

She waited for a second, absorbing that thought, then found herself imagining it. Picturing it all happening. Them being together. Him being a normal, stick-around kind of guy who’d be happy with a quiet life here in Derryville. With her.

Oh, please, God, let him be a schoolteacher. Or an insurance salesman. Or a minister.

Before she could fantasize any longer, he continued. “I saw Mick this morning and recognized him right away. That’s when I realized my brain had started working again sometime during the night. I was going to find you, to tell you the truth.” He glanced at Hildy and gave her a rueful smile. “Then I ended up going into the attic with your aunt. We got, uh, sidetracked.”

“Sidetracked?”

“Showed him some of my old pictures,” Hildy explained matter-of-factly. “This boy knows his history.”

A feeling of dread—the same one Gwen always experienced when someone got too close to Hildy and started asking too many questions—rose inside her. “Does he?”

“Your aunt has had a fascinating life. Utterly fascinating.”

She stiffened, unable to help it. A lifetime’s worth of pro
tectiveness toward her elderly relative made her give her lover—her dark, dangerous, exciting lover—a cool stare. But before she could even begin to assess how much of a problem this could be, there was one more thing she had to know.

“Okay,” she said, “so you’re not a secret agent. This entire weekend has been a…a Halloween game.” That wasn’t so far from the truth. They had, indeed, been role-playing their way through a mystery party weekend. They just hadn’t realized it. “But I really would like to know one thing.”

“Yes?”

She crossed her arms, mostly to try to remain aloof, at least until she found out what she needed to know. She was almost afraid to ask, because a little niggling suspicion had begun whispering in the back of her mind. She thrust it away.

“Who are you?”

He didn’t reply for a second. She noted the way his shoulders stiffened the tiniest bit. He took a deep breath, as if unsure what her reaction would be to learning his true identity. Considering how tangled her emotions were, and figuring his were the same, she couldn’t entirely blame him.

“I’m Mick’s cousin. Jared Winchester.”

She allowed his words to echo in her mind for a second. Her lover’s name wasn’t Miles, it was Jared. Jared was the man who’d made such exquisite love to her. Jared was the name she
should
have been whispering while their bodies were joined in the most intimate way possible. Jared had made her laugh and held her close, had teased her and seduced her. Jared had hauled her through that window, had
taken her madly last night under the stars, had given her the adventure of a lifetime.

Jared. Jared Winchester.

Oh, God.

Not a simple schoolteacher. Or a salesman. This was
worse
than when she’d thought him a secret agent. Because, from what she knew of him, Jared Winchester was every bit the world-traveling, danger-loving, dark and daring man Miles Stone had been. Not the kind of man to be content living in a small country inn, settling down, getting married, raising kids.

And there was, of course, one additional,
huge
drawback.

“You write those books,” she whispered.

His shoulders stiffened. His dark brown eyes suddenly looked cool as he gave her one brief nod. He said nothing else, waiting for her to react. She saw the way his fingers were clenched against his sides, saw the beating of his pulse in his temple and
knew
, simply knew, the ball was in her court. Their future was up to her. Whatever happened next was in her hands, whether they continued to be together or not.

Yes, she’d only known him a matter of days, but she knew, deep in her heart, that she’d already fallen in love with him. Maybe the Gwen she’d been last week wouldn’t have allowed it. Certainly she wouldn’t have admitted it. But the Gwen she’d rediscovered since the moment she’d met him knew it was true.

She loved his wit and his sense of adventure. She loved his tenderness toward her, his smile, his laugh. She loved the way he looked at her, the way his arms felt wrapped around her. She loved doing nothing more than talking to him for hours. He was intelligent, charming, funny and
crazy about her. Everything she’d ever thought she wanted in a man.

A part of her screamed to let him stay, to get to know the real man, as well as the shadowy reflection she’d fallen for.

But she couldn’t.

She had no more of a future with Jared Winchester, the world-renowned writer, than she’d had with Miles Stone, the dashing adventurer. She couldn’t even let herself steal just a day or two more with him.

Because of Hildy. Because of what he’d already learned and what he might discover. Because of what he might eventually want to do with that knowledge and how it would affect her great-aunt.

But the main reason she had to end it now was that if she didn’t make him go, now, she might find herself in the pathetic position of begging him to stay, later.

“Gwen?” he asked, his voice tender, his expression so patient and open it hurt her to look at him.

Blinking rapidly to keep tears from falling from her eyes, she glanced away.

“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

J
ARED KNOCKED
on his grandfather’s door one hour later. It had hurt like hell to just pack up and walk away from the inn. But he’d had to do it.

Maybe Mick had been right. Maybe Gwen had wanted the superspy, the adventurer, not the boring writer. That had been the first thought that had crossed his mind when she’d asked him to go.

Now, however, Jared wasn’t so sure. Her eyes and voice had held such sadness. She’d refused to look at him after making her request, instead turning her attention to Mr. Tavares. After offering one more apology and an invitation for him to return for a free stay, she’d taken her aunt’s arm and led her away. She’d been nowhere to be found when he’d left the house, and he figured she was avoiding him.

“She wanted Miles Stone the adventurer,” he’d told himself as he got into his car and sped away from the Little Bohemie Inn, driving even faster and more recklessly than he had the night before. “Not Jared Winchester the murder-obsessed writer.”

Eventually he’d slowed down and begun to think. Things didn’t add up. He knew her too well to believe she wanted only the fantasy man, not the real one.

She wanted him all right, he had no doubt of that.

But something was holding her back. Something had made her refuse to even give them a chance at making something work in the real world. He’d give anything to
know what that something was, but he couldn’t press her. He had to give her time to figure things out, to get past the embarrassment and confusion.

They’d been together nonstop for almost two days, it was time to retreat to separate corners and evaluate just what had happened, and how deeply entangled their emotions already were. For himself, he could admit they were pretty damn entangled.

In the meantime, he had
another
relationship to resolve.

He lifted his hand to knock on the door again, but it was opened before he had to. “Hello, Grandfather.”

“Hildy told me you’d probably be stopping by,” Grandpa said, not stepping aside or asking him in. Though he hadn’t seen the elderly man in a couple of years, he didn’t notice too much of a change in his appearance. Still tall and gaunt, white-haired and hawk-nosed, Samuel Winchester had been the most formidable police chief this town had ever seen. Though his shoulders were now slightly stooped, and his body more frail than Jared remembered, he maintained a presence that demanded respect.

Their eyes met for a long moment, then finally Samuel Winchester cracked a tiny smile. “Hear you had yourself an adventure this weekend.”

Hildy. The woman had probably been on the phone within two minutes of his departure from the inn. “That’s quite a girlfriend you have there,” he retorted.

“Ayuh,” Grandfather replied. Then he stepped aside and beckoned Jared in. “She’s a firecracker, that one. Took some serious courting before she’d agree to step out with me.”

Jared wondered if his grandfather knew just how much of a firecracker. He still couldn’t get over some of the stories Hildy Compton had told him during their long excursion into the attic of the Little Bohemie Inn. She’d dug out pic
tures, old newspaper articles, telling him firsthand stuff about prohibition and the gangster age that he’d never even dreamed of hearing. It had been fascinating. Thrilling. And some of it very heartbreaking.

He sincerely hoped the woman would someday be honest with Gwen. She deserved to know the truth.

“Want some tea?” his grandfather asked as he turned and led him into the living room of his small house.

Tea. Samuel Winchester’s drink of choice for as long as he could remember. They’d shared many cups before Jared had left Derryville. “Yes, I’d like that.”

While Grandpa went into the kitchen to make the tea, Jared walked around the living room, noting what had changed and what had not. Though the big-screen television was new, the furniture was exactly the same. His grandmother’s sewing basket still sat on the coffee table, as if she’d be mending in front of the TV tonight, though she’d been gone for many years.

He soon found himself standing in front of a loaded bookcase. To his surprise, he saw exactly what Hildy had told him he would—copies of every one of his books. More than one of each, in fact. “I’ll be damned,” he whispered.

“Your last one was my favorite. I liked the dedication.”

Jared didn’t turn around, only nodding his acknowledgement. He’d dedicated the book to law enforcement officers everywhere, but two in particular. His father and his grandfather.

“I’m proud of you, Jared. It’s not easy for me to say, but I swore if you ever showed up at my door, I’d tell you.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand. I thought…I was afraid you’d never come back.” His voice trailed off, and Jared had to strain to hear him. “I didn’t want to lose you. Your grandmother had died the year be
fore, your sister had just married. Mick was off in college. I felt like my family was slipping away.”

Jared slowly turned around and saw Samuel Winchester standing in the doorway. The afternoon sunlight spilling in through the open curtains made his hair glow white and his skin look translucent. He was watching Jared intently, a sheen of moisture unmistakable in his eyes.

When he extended his hand to offer the cup of tea, Jared stepped closer. The cup rattled slightly in the saucer.

His grandfather’s hand was trembling.

He’d never seen Grandpa nervous. Not once in his life. Jared took the cup and saucer and placed them on the table, then straightened to look the elderly man in the eye. “Do you think we can start over?”

His grandfather gave one short nod.

“Good,” Jared said softly, placing his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Because I plan to stick around for a while. And I think I need your advice on how to court one of those Compton women.”

G
WEN WATCHED
the last of their paying guests pull away, down the long driveway on to the road leading toward downtown. Their first weekend at the Little Bohemie Inn had been a grand and glorious success, as far as most of their visitors had been concerned. And they already had reservations for at least some of the rooms for all the remaining weekends of the year. Including, surprisingly enough, one from Mr. Tavares, who had taken being mistaken for an international arms dealer with exceptionally good humor. Thank heavens for that. She hadn’t figured one bad experience would ruin a fledgling inn. After all, how far could the word of mouth of one person go? But she didn’t want anyone leaving here feeling upset or unhappy.

Gwen was already feeling unhappy enough for all of them.

Rubbing a weary hand over her brow, she made her way upstairs, deciding to lie down for a little while in the guest room where she’d been staying. Lord, it seemed like a lifetime ago when she’d first gone up there after the flood in her own room. So much had happened. Her whole world seemed to have changed in just two short days.

How was it possible for someone to lose her heart so fast? Realistically, it shouldn’t have happened. But logic and realism couldn’t explain the thrill she got when she closed her eyes and pictured everything she and Miles—Jared—had shared.

The ache in her heart at probably never seeing him again certainly couldn’t be erased by logic. “He only did what you said you wanted him to do, nitwit,” she muttered.

He’d left because she’d asked him to go. And she
had
asked him, even though a big part of her had hoped he’d stay. Deep down, she could admit that she’d half wanted him to refuse to leave, to fight for what they had.

She was being as wishy-washy as a kid, and she knew it. The man wasn’t a mind reader. She’d drawn the line and had only herself to blame because he hadn’t crossed it.

Besides, maybe he hadn’t
wanted
to work things out. Maybe once he’d gotten his memory back, he’d remembered he had a girlfriend somewhere. A more exciting life. More interesting people to see, or journeys to take. A world that would never involve a simple innkeeper from Illinois with leaky pipes, ghosts in her basement and a matchmaking elderly relative.

Telling herself that it was for the best, that all fantasy adventures had to end sometime, didn’t help. This was bad.
Worse than her broken engagement. Because this time, it wasn’t her pride that had taken a hit. It was her heart.

She really
had
fallen in love. Too fast. Without common sense or reason. But there it was.

When she arrived upstairs, instead of going back to her temporary room, she pushed into the one where he’d been staying. Pretty Boy’s Pad. Somehow, she just wanted to breathe the air he’d breathed and curl up on the bed where he’d slept.

It wasn’t until she was inside, shutting the door behind her, that she realized the room was freezing cold, as if someone had not only left a window open but had also been running the air conditioner full blast.

And one more thing. It wasn’t empty.

“Hiya, doll.”

Gwen froze, spotting the unfamiliar man sitting in a chair by the firmly closed window. He appeared completely relaxed, sprawled back in the chair, legs crossed with one ankle on the other knee. He was gazing out the window, watching the clouds floating by in the late afternoon sky as if he’d just been killing time waiting for her to arrive.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

He didn’t get up, but merely shrugged and turned to stare up at her. He gave her a little smile. “I’m a friend a’ Hildy’s.”

If he’d been at all misty or eerie, she would probably have had a quick, crazy thought that he meant one of Hildy’s ghost friends. But this guy was solid, even though he looked out of place. “Hildy’s downstairs.”

“I know.” His expression softened. “She’s tired. Too much excitement. We’ll let her rest, okay?”

She nodded warily, still not entirely sure what she’d
stumbled into here. Some costumed character Hildy had hired to entertain at the inn, perhaps? They had, indeed, discussed hiring costumed performers to serve cocktails or just to mingle with the guests, to add to the aura of the gangster days.

She wondered where Hildy had found him. Because, on this guy, the gangster look definitely worked. He wore a dark blue suit, with wide lapels and white pinstripes. The tie was also wide, shiny, a brilliant scarlet color that most men today would never wear. On his head was an old-fashioned hat, the kind she’d seen in pictures from her grandfather’s era. Funny white material covered the tops of his shiny black patent leather shoes—spats, she believed. And he had a couple of large rings on each hand.

“Halloween was two days ago,” she murmured. “But this look really does work for you.”

“I ain’t in costume, sweetheart. Sit down, take a load off. We got some talking to do.”

“Is this some kind of audition? Are you an actor?”

He laughed, a deep belly laugh filled with genuine humor. His amusement made his amber brown eyes sparkle. His smile was broad, and she focused on it, noting the sensual fullness of the man’s mouth. He had a young Marlon Brando mouth, with sexy lips that practically swore he’d be a good kisser. That might’ve explained why Hildy had let him into the inn for an audition. He was exactly her great-aunt’s type.

“Nah, I ain’t no nancy-boy actor. Sit down, kitten, and tell me what you were thinking ordering your man outta your house.”

Her mouth dropped open. He was talking about
Jared?
“What business is it of yours?”

He shrugged. “Let’s say I got a vested interest. Lemme guess. You think you’re protectin’ Hildy.”

Gwen’s eyes narrowed. The man knew too much. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but I’m not going to discuss my personal life with you.” Intending to go downstairs and ask Aunt Hildy who this man was, and why she’d left him alone in one of the upstairs bedrooms, she reached for the doorknob.

“You’re not doing her any favors,” he said softly, before she could turn the knob. “All you’re doing is finishing the job her family started on her more’n sixty years ago. Taking away the last little bit of herself she’s got left. Making her feel bad about it, like she has to hide. Like her parents did.” Disappointment laced his voice, and it almost made her ashamed for some reason. “Funny, I woulda thought you loved her enough to want to let her be who she really is for once in her life.”

She slowly turned around and stared at him. “Okay, I want to know who you are, mister. Tell me now, or I’m calling the cops.”

H
E’D GIVEN HER
a few hours to think things through, but by four o’clock, Jared had waited long enough. Promising his grandfather he’d return later, he went up to the Little Bohemie Inn. Undeterred by the locked front door, he retraced his steps from Friday night and went around back. The kitchen door was open, and he let himself in, determined to get Gwen to talk to him, to tell him what she was afraid of, so they could both address it and see where they’d go from here.

The house was empty and quiet. His own footsteps on the hardwood floors were the only sound, other than the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the foyer. He
went up the stairs, figuring she was cleaning now that the guests were gone.

Before he began searching, he heard a voice coming from one of the rooms. Gwen was speaking to someone. Funny, he heard her voice in conversation, but he didn’t hear anyone else’s. He paused, prepared to wait until she was finished. But when she began to sound angry, he tensed. Hearing her threaten to call the cops pushed him over the edge. He burst into the room, almost barreling right into her. “Gwen, are you all right?”

When she saw him, a flash of pure pleasure crossed her face before she could disguise it. That, more than anything, convinced him he’d done the right thing in coming back today. She quickly hid her smile and averted her gaze, but there was no hiding the way her body moved as she pulled in a few deep breaths.

“Hey, sonny boy, “bout time you got back here.”

That was when he noticed the man in the chair by the window. It took about ten seconds for the face to sink in, for his features to register. Jared’s heart skipped a beat and his jaw dropped open. “Son of a…”