White Lies (10 page)

“Who do you know down here except for me?” Elizabeth demanded.

“Turns out I know Jake Salter.”

“Oh. My. God.”

“Yeah, that was my first reaction, too,” Clare said. “I was sure that Archer put him up to it for devious reasons but Jake swears that’s not the situation.”

“Do you believe him?”

“He made the invitation by phone. You know I can’t trust my senses unless I am face-to-face with the person. Guess I’ll find out the truth tonight.”

“You know, this is all very interesting.”

“I certainly thought so.”

“I wouldn’t have thought that Jake Salter was your type.”

“Who knows what my type is?”

“Okay, there is that,” Elizabeth admitted. “Take notes tonight. I’ll want a full report in the morning.”

“Of course.”

“Did you find out what Dad wanted?”

“He plans to establish a charitable foundation. He wants me to run it.”

“You’re kidding. He hasn’t said a word about a foundation. Wonder if Mom knows.”

“He told me that the only person he’s discussed it with is Owen.”

“Well, that’s not surprising,” Elizabeth said. “After all their years together in business, he trusts Owen’s opinion on anything involving money.”

Clare started down the long aisle between rows of parked cars, trying to recall the precise color of her new rental. It was some silvery gray shade that was both exquisitely neutral and completely forgettable. Why didn’t they paint rental cars shocking pink or emerald green so you would remember them and locate them in alien parking garages?

“I’m not sure what the driving force is behind Archer’s decision to establish a foundation,” she said into the phone. “Like a lot of wealthy people, he probably thinks it’s a great way to be able to control his fortune even after he’s gone.”

“Sounds like Dad.”

“If that’s the case, I’ve got some bad news for him. A charitable trust or foundation has a way of taking on a life and an agenda of its own after the founder has passed.”

“Maybe he thinks he can control the future if he puts you in charge.”

“Maybe,” Clare said. She spotted a familiar-looking compact and started toward it.

“What are you going to do?” Elizabeth asked.

“My first inclination was to say not only no, but hell no.”

“Naturally,” Elizabeth said drily.

“Appointing me the director of his foundation is his way of making up for what happened in the past. That bothers me on some deep level.”

“That’s your pride talking.”

“I realize that. And after spending the past two hours doing some serious retail therapy and running myself deeper into the black hole of credit card debt, I’ve had some second thoughts.”

“Clare, that’s wonderful. I love the idea of you running the Glazebrook Foundation.”

“Not about taking the director’s job,” Clare said hastily. “I know that wouldn’t work. Archer and I would be at loggerheads every minute. But I’m thinking of setting up my own security consulting agency.”

“Really?”

“I’ll tell you about it later. But if I do go out on my own, the Glazebrook Foundation could be my first client.”

“Okay, that works,” Elizabeth said. Enthusiasm vibrated in her words. “Either way, you’ll be spending a lot more time down here in Arizona. We’ll be able to see more of each other.”

“I like that part, too,” Clare agreed.

She stopped in front of the silvery gray compact she had been closing in on. The upholstery was blue. She was pretty sure it should have been beige.

“Damn,” she said.

“What’s wrong?” Elizabeth asked.

“I’ve lost my car. There are a zillion silver cars in this place.”

“Light colors are popular for cars in Arizona,” Elizabeth said. “They reflect the heat. You know, if you’re having dinner with Jake tonight it means you’ll be here tomorrow.”

“I told Archer I’d stick around for forty-eight hours.”

“Fantastic. Let’s do the spa thing tomorrow afternoon. It’s short notice but I’m sure I can get us into the Stone Canyon Spa.”

Clare did not doubt that for a moment. Very few people in Stone Canyon said no to a Glazebrook.

“Sounds great,” she said.

“Call me in the morning with that report on your big date,” Elizabeth reminded her, and ended the call.

Clare dropped the phone back into her purse and started down another aisle of almost identical vehicles.

She wondered if she was on the wrong floor. Belatedly it dawned on her that there was an unlocking device attached to the key chain the rental agency had given her.

She fished around inside her purse again and came up with the keys. She punched the unlock button.

Two-thirds of the way down the aisle in which she was standing, taillights flashed in response.

“About time,” she muttered.

Clutching the shopping bags and her purse, she hurried forward.

A car engine revved violently in the shadows behind her. Unease trickled through her. She had not noticed anyone in this section of the garage. It was unnerving to realize that there was someone in the vicinity and she had not been aware of it. This was how innocent people got mugged in parking garages, she thought. They failed to pay attention to their surroundings.

Calm down. Whoever he is, he’s in a car. He’s not trying to sneak up on you. He’s just heading for the exit.

The vehicle’s engine roared.

She glanced back over her shoulder.

A massive, late-model SUV was bearing down on her. Behind the heavily tinted windows, the driver’s face was only a dark silhouette.

Shock flashed through her. The SUV was not slowing down. The driver evidently didn’t see her. Probably had his sunglasses on in preparation for heading out into the intense midday light. Or maybe the idiot was talking on the phone.

The possibilities flashed through her mind in an oddly serene, orderly manner, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening; as if she were not standing directly in the path of an oncoming vehicle.

“Oh, shit.”

Adrenaline kicked in. Instinctively, she tightened her grip on the shopping bags and purse and rushed toward the side of the aisle.

The SUV abruptly swerved toward her, as though in pursuit.

Teens gone bad,she thought.

She dropped the bags and flung herself into the narrow crevasse between two parked cars, fetching up hard against a fender. The vehicle’s alarm went off, blasting her eardrums.

Beep, beep, beep. Whoop, whoop, whoop.

The SUV thundered past, missing by inches the front bumpers of the two cars that shielded her. It turned the corner at the far end of the aisle, tires squealing.

Clare waited, feeling like a cornered rabbit. What would she do if the SUV came back? Could she make it to the stairwell?

Mercifully, the hungry growl of the big engine faded. The SUV was heading for the exit.

Hands trembling, heart pounding, she looked for the fallen shopping bags and her purse.

The good news was that, although the dress had spilled out onto the concrete floor, it was still safely encased in its plastic sheath. The strapless bra she had bought to go with it was also safe. The shoes had tumbled out of the box but there was only a small mark on the left sandal.

She found her purse lying next to the front wheel of one of the cars that had given her shelter.

Collecting her belongings, she took a steadying breath and trudged toward the rental car. When she was safely behind the wheel she made certain the doors were securely locked. Then she sat quietly, waiting for her nerves to settle down.

It took a while before she felt calm enough to drive. She hadn’t experienced this kind of edgy shock and raw fear since that night six months ago when she went to Elizabeth’s house and found Brad’s body; the night she wondered if she had been the intended victim.

The chauffeur eased the big car to a smooth stop in front of the house. Clare studied the expensive-looking residence through the window of the vehicle. The house had been done in the Spanish colonial villa style, complete with red tile roof, that was so popular in this part of the country.

An exquisite little thrill, part warning, part excitement, flashed through her.

“I assumed you were taking me to a restaurant to meet Mr. Salter,” she said to the driver. “This is a private residence.”

“It’s the address I was given,” the chauffeur said.

He climbed out and opened Clare’s door. She collected her purse and extricated herself from the dark interior of the vehicle.

She did a quick survey of her surroundings on her way to the front door. The house was one of a number of elegant, low-profile homes scattered about Stone Canyon. Unlike the Glazebrook house, which was situated on a golf course, this residence was surrounded by a lot of open, rolling desert.

The door opened before she could knock. Jake stood in the tiled entranceway. He was dressed in a pair of black trousers and a midnight blue shirt. The collar was open and the sleeves were rolled up on his forearms. He was not wearing his glasses, she noticed.

He examined her from head to toe, taking in the sleek, off-the-shoulder black dress and the high-heeled black patent sandals. Masculine approval and something she was pretty sure was sensual heat darkened his eyes. The excitement that had been stirring inside her intensified, stirring the hair on the nape of her neck.

“Great dress,” Jake said.

“Thanks. You’re lucky to see it in one piece.” She stepped into the hallway. “It nearly got run over in the parking garage at the mall where I bought it this afternoon.”

“Yeah?” He closed the door and turned to face her. “What happened?”

“Some fool driving a monster SUV either didn’t see me walking toward my car or else decided to play a game of chicken. I had to scramble to get out of his way. Dropped the shopping bags in the process. Fortunately nothing got damaged.”

His expression sharpened. “You’re all right?”

“Oh, yes. I’m fine. I was just a little shaken up, that’s all.”

“It was that close?”

“Certainly seemed like it at the time, although I may have exaggerated the incident in retrospect. I’ve got a creative imagination.”

“Get a look at the car?” he asked.

“Not really. It was big. Late model. Like every other vehicle in the garage it was sort of silvery gray.” She smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Jake. It was probably a teenager playing games or someone talking on the phone. Either way, no major harm was done.” The incident in the garage was the last thing she wanted to talk about tonight, she thought. She searched for another topic. “This is a nice place for a rental.”

He followed her gaze, taking in the tile floors, Mediterranean yellow walls and dark wooden beams as though he had not previously noticed them.

“It serves my purpose and it’s convenient to the Glazebrook offices,” he said. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”

“That sounds like a really terrific idea.”

“This way.”

He ushered her along the wide hallway that divided the living room and a library, through an arched opening and into a large kitchen that gleamed with a lot of modern, high-tech appliances.

Clare stopped short. “Wow. You could film a cooking show in here.”

He opened the door of a wine cooler and removed a bottle. “The kitchen was one of the reasons I chose the place.”

“You like to cook?”

He set the bottle on the large island in the center of the kitchen and went to work on the cork with an opener. “If I didn’t, I’d have to eat out or order in every night.”

“You could afford a housekeeper,” she pointed out.

“I like my privacy when I’m home. Besides, cooking is a form of relaxation for me.”

She walked forward slowly and came to a halt on the opposite side of the island. “I enjoy cooking, too. But when you live alone—”

“I know.” He set the cork down on the island. “Part of the pleasure of food is sharing it.”

He filled two glasses and handed one to her.

“To shared pleasures,” he said, tapping his glass lightly against hers.

She smiled. “To shared pleasures.”

She took a sip, savoring the crisp, elegant white. When she looked up she saw that Jake was watching her very intently. She was suddenly conscious of the intimacy of the situation. She was here, on his territory, drinking wine that he had poured for her. Why did that make her shiver ever so slightly?

He handed her his glass, breaking the small spell. “If you’ll take this outside for me, I’ll get the bruschetta.”

She carried his glass and hers through the open sliding glass doors. The wings of the house framed the pool and patio on three sides. On the fourth side a decorative wrought-iron fence and gate were all that stood between the house and the wildness of the desert landscape.

Jake followed her, carrying a wooden tray.

They settled into a pair of cushioned patio loungers. The heat of the day had faded to a comfortable temperature. Beyond the wrought-iron fence the desert was cloaked in the long shadows of twilight.

Clare helped herself to some bruschetta, wondering why something as simple as a slice of grilled bread topped with excellent olive oil, a little salt and delicately chopped tomato and basil leaves could taste so good.

“Wonderful,” she said, munching happily. “Absolutely fantastic.”

“Glad you like it.” Jake leaned back in the chair and cocked one ankle over a knee. “How did the talk with Archer go?”

“I’m not sure. Archer wants to establish a foundation. He wants me to run it. I told him no but I agreed to hang around here in Arizona for another forty-eight hours. I’m very sure I don’t want to run his foundation, but I might consider consulting for him.”

“What kind of consulting?”

“Well, since you ask, getting fired from the Draper Trust has pushed me into making a decision that I have been considering for quite a while now.”

“You want to set up an independent consulting firm?”

“Not exactly. I’m going to establish my own psychic investigation agency. Detecting scam artists and frauds for private foundations and charitable institutions will be one of the services I’ll offer.”

Jake just looked at her. “Huh.”