Genuine Lies (23 page)

Something stirred inside him with the memory—a fondness he’d all but forgotten under the layers of ambition and greed.

“And your mother?”

The stirring died away. “Eve dealt with her. I never asked. She put me to work with the gardener, then shoved me into college. I apprenticed with Kenneth Stokley, her assistant
at the time. Nina came along just before Eve and Kenneth had a falling-out. When she decided I had potential, Eve put me on as her press agent.”

“Eve has very little family,” Julia commented. “But she’s loyal and generous with those she does have.”

“Yes, in her way. But relation or employee, you toe the line.” He set the drink aside, remembering it best to gloss over any dissatisfaction. “Eve Benedict is the most generous woman I know. Not all of her life has been easy, but she’s made it work. She gives those around her the inspiration to do the same. In short, I adore her.”

“Would you consider yourself a kind of surrogate son to her?”

His teeth flashed in a smile that was too smug to be affectionate. “Absolutely.”

“And Paul Winthrop. How would you describe his relationship with Eve?”

“Paul?” Drake’s brows drew together. “There’s no blood tie there, though she’s certainly fond of him. You might consider him one of her entourage, one of the attractive younger men Eve likes to surround herself with.”

Not only no gratitude, Julia reflected, but a thin little streak of nastiness. “Odd, I would have thought Paul Winthrop very much his own man.”

“He certainly has his own life, his own successes, as far as his writing career.” Then he smiled. “But if Eve snaps her fingers, you can bet your last dollar Paul will jump. I’ve often wondered … strictly off the record?”

“Of course.” She hit the stop button on the recorder.

“Well, I’ve wondered if they’ve ever indulged in a more intimate sort of relationship.”

Julia stiffened. More than a thin streak, she realized. Under all that gloss, Drake Morrison was eaten up by nastiness. “She’s more than thirty years older than he.”

“Age difference wouldn’t stop Eve. That’s part of her mystique, and her continuing charm. As for Paul, he may not marry them as his father does, but he has the same weakness for beautiful women.”

Finding the subject distasteful, Julia closed her notebook. She had all she wanted from Drake Morrison for the moment. “I’m sure Eve will tell me if she decides their relationship warrants space in the book.”

He tried to pry the slight opening wider. “She tells you such personal matters? The Eve I know keeps things to herself.”

“It’s her book,” Julia commented as she rose. “It would hardly be worthwhile if it wasn’t personal. I hope you’ll talk to me again.” She offered a hand and tried not to wince when he took it and raised it to his lips.

“Just name the time and place. In fact, why don’t we have dinner?” He kept her hand, brushing his thumb lightly over her knuckles. “I’m sure we can find more to talk about than Eve—however fascinating she is.”

“Sorry. The book’s taking up nearly all my time.”

“You can’t work every night.” He slid his hand up her arm to toy with the pearl stud at her ear. “Why don’t we get together at my place, informally? I have a number of clippings and old photos you might be able to use.”

As a variation on showing off etchings, it didn’t take much creativity. “I try to make it a policy to spend the evenings with my son—but I’d love to see the clippings, if you wouldn’t mind sending them over.”

He let out a half laugh. “Apparently I’m being too subtle. I’d like to see you again, Julia. For personal reasons.”

“You weren’t being too subtle.” She picked up her recorder and put it into her briefcase. “I’m just not interested.”

He managed to keep his hand light on her shoulder. Pulling a mock grimace, he pressed the other to his heart. “Ouch.”

That did the job of making her laugh, and making her feel ungracious. “I’m sorry, Drake, that wasn’t very smooth. I should have said that I’m flattered by the offer, and the interest, but the timing’s off. Between the book and Brandon, I’m much too busy to think about a social life.”

“That’s a little better.” He kept his hand on her shoulder as he walked her to the door. “How about this? I’m probably
the best one to help you with this project. Why don’t you show me your notes as you go, or what you’ve drafted so far? I might be able to fill in some blanks for you, suggest a few names, even jog Eve’s memory. While I’m doing that …” His gaze roamed slowly over her face. “We could get to know each other better.”

“That’s very generous.” She put her hand on the door, struggling not to be irritated when he casually set his palm against the door to keep it closed. “If I run into any snags, I may take you up on it. But since it’s Eve’s story, I’ll have to check with her.” Her voice was mild and friendly as she tugged open the door. “Thank you, Drake. Believe me, I’ll call you if I need something from you.”

She smiled to herself as she passed out of the reception area. Julia was damned sure something was already up. And that Drake Morrison was right smack in the middle of it.

Julia slipped out of her shoes and walked barefoot into her office. The freesia the gardener had chivalrously given to her the afternoon before brought the delicacy of early spring to the cluttered room. When she rapped her bare toe against a stack of research books stacked on the floor, she swore only halfheartedly. She really was going to get this all tidied up. Soon.

Following habit, she took her day’s tapes out of her briefcase to file them in the desk drawer. Her mind was on a cool glass of wine, perhaps a quick dip in the pool before Brandon got home from school. But it snappped back quickly as she stared into the drawer and lowered herself into the chair.

Someone had been there.

Very slowly, she walked her fingers over the tops of the tapes. None were missing, but they were out of order. One of the few things she was compulsively organized about was her interviews. Labeled and dated, the tapes were always filed alphabetically. Now their order was random.

Yanking open another drawer, she pulled out her typed draft. A quick glance reassured her that all her pages were
there. But she felt, she
knew
someone had read them. She slammed the drawer closed and opened another. All of her things, she thought, all of them had been riffled. But why?

A bubble of panic sent her racing upstairs. She had very little of great value, but the few pieces of her mother’s jewelry were important to her. As she scrambled into the bedroom, she cursed herself for not asking Eve to put the boxes into her safe. Surely she had one. But she also had a security system. Why in hell would anyone break into the guest house to steal a handful of heirlooms?

Of course, they hadn’t. As the relief washed over her, Julia could call herself an idiot. The single strand of pearls and matching drop earrings, the diamond studs, the gold brooch in the shape of the scales of justice. They were all there, undisturbed.

Because her legs were weak, she sat on the edge of the bed, clutching the old jewelry boxes to her breast. It was foolish, she told herself, to have such a desperate attachment to things. She rarely wore any of those pieces, only occasionally took them out to look at them.

But she had been twelve when her father had given her mother the brooch. A birthday present. And she remembered how delighted her mother had been. She had worn it at every case she had tried, even after the divorce.

Julia made herself stand and replace the boxes. It was possible she had misarranged the tapes herself. Possible, but unlikely. Yet it was just as unlikely that anyone would breach Eve’s security in broad daylight and make themselves at home in the guest house.

Eve, Julia thought with a short laugh. Eve herself was the most likely candidate. They hadn’t had a session in three days. Curiosity and arrogance might have made her want to go through the work.

And that would have to be corrected.

She started downstairs again, intending to look through the tapes once more before phoning Eve. Before she’d reached the bottom, Paul was rapping on the front door.

“Hi.” He opened it himself and strode in without invitation.

“Make yourself at home.”

The tone had him tilting his head. “Problem?”

“Why, no.” She stood where she was, feet braced apart, chin angled for a dare. “Why should it be a problem for people to waltz in? After all, it’s not my house. I only happen to be living here.”

He lifted his hands, palms out. “Sorry. I suppose I’ve been living with California casual for too long. Want me to go out and try again?”

“No.” She slapped the word out at him. There was no way he was going to make her feel foolish. “What do you want? You’ve caught me at a bad time, so you’ll have to make it fast.”

He didn’t have to be told it was a bad time. Her expression seemed so calm—she was good at that—but her fingers were busy twisting together. It made him only more determined to stay. “Actually, I didn’t come to see you. I came to see Brandon.”

“Brandon?” The instant warning bells had her arms dropping stiffly to her sides. “Why? What do you want with Brandon?”

“Loosen up, Jules.” He settled on the arm of the sofa. He liked it there—really liked it, he realized. There was something about the way she’d inhabited the cool comfort of the guest area and had made it her own. A kind of charming untidiness, he mused, that spread Julia everywhere. The odd earring on the Hepplewhite table, the pretty high heels tilting against each other where they’d been stepped out of, a scribbled note, a china bowl full of rose petals and rosemary.

If he went into the kitchen, he’d find more of her there. And upstairs, in the bath, in the child’s room, in the room where she slept. Just what would he find of Julia in Julia’s most private space?

He looked back at her and smiled. “I’m sorry, did you say something?”

“Yes, I said something.” She blew out a stream of impatience. “I said what do you want with Brandon?”

“I’m not planning to kidnap him or take him off to show him my newest copy of
Penthouse.
It’s man business.” When she stomped down the rest of the stairs, he grinned. “Had a rough one?”

“A long one,” she said. “He’s not home from school yet.”

“I can wait.” His gaze flickered down, then back. “You’re barefoot again. I’m so glad you didn’t disappoint me.

She shoved her nervous hands into the pockets of her suit jacket. He should have to register that voice with the police, she thought uneasily. Or maybe with medical science. It could put a woman into a coma—or bring her straight out of one, terminally aroused.

“I really am busy, Paul. Why don’t you simply tell me what you want to talk to Brandon about?”

“You really are quite the mother. It’s admirable. Basketball,” he told her. “The Lakers are in town Saturday night. I thought the kid would get a kick out of going to the game.”

“Oh.” Her face was a study in contradictions. Pleasure for her son, concern, doubt, amusement. “I’m sure he would. But—”

“You can check with the cops, Jules. I don’t have a rap sheet.” Idly, he plucked one of the rose petals from the bowl and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. “As a matter of fact, I have three tickets, if you want to tag along.”

So that was it, she thought, disappointed. It wasn’t the first time a man had tried to use Brandon to get to her. Well, Paul Winthrop was in for his own disappointment, she decided. He’d opened himself up for a night with a ten-year-old, and that’s what he’d get.

“It’s not my game,” she said mildly. “I’m sure you and Brandon would do better without me.”

“Okay,” he said so easily, she only stared. “Don’t feed him. We’ll catch something at the arena.”

“I’m not sure—” She broke off at the sound of a car.

“Looks like school’s out,” Paul commented, and tucked the petal into his pocket. “Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure Brandon and I can work out the details.”

She held her ground as her son burst through the front door, book bag swinging. “I didn’t miss one on the spelling test.”

“Way to go, champ.”

“And Millie had her babies. Five of them.” He glanced at Paul. “Millie’s the guinea pig from school.”