The Chilling Deception (2 page)

“That’s not what you’re announcing?”

“Zac,” she hissed, leaning forward, “I am discussing business. The trip to the resort in the San Juans is business. My association with Mr. Vandyke is business. Now if you’ll climb down off your macho high horse, you and I will continue to discuss business. If you’d rather sit there and ruin a perfectly good lunch by glowering at me, then I’ll let you eat alone.”

“Where,” he asked bluntly, “do I fit into all this
business
?”

“That’s what I was just getting around to explaining.”

“I can’t wait.”

Guinevere drew a deep breath, glad that his eyes had cleared a little. He had no right to react so possessively, she reminded herself. After all, it wasn’t as if she and Zac had come to some sort of official understanding about their vague relationship. “I think Mr. Vandyke needs you.”

“In what capacity? Chaperone for you and him?”

“Hardly. Mr. Vandyke is nearly fifty and very much in love with his wife.”

“Who is presently giving him a hard time.”

“Forget Vandyke’s wife. I think he needs you to provide him with peace of mind, Zac. I’m going to have a talk with him this afternoon and see if I can’t get him to understand that.”

Zac looked at her blankly. “Peace of mind? What the hell kind of peace of mind am I supposed to provide him? Is he afraid his wife will find out he’s run off to some resort with his new temp secretary? Gwen, you’re not making a whole lot of sense.”

“I am talking about his peace of mind regarding his proposal documents.” Infuriated by his deliberate obtuseness, Guinevere set down her spoon with a snap. “Mr. Vandyke has several things preying on his mind at the moment. I am suggesting that he hire you to take at least some of the pressure off.”

“You’re going to tell him he should hire me to baby-sit his precious documents? Forget it, Gwen. I’m in the security consulting business, remember? I’m not a file clerk.”

“For someone who’s not going to see another consulting fee until January you’re being rather uppity about this, aren’t you?”

“I’m not starving to death. If I find myself in danger of it I’ll ring your doorbell and beg for a handout.”

“You’d rather beg from me than work for a living?”

A rare, wicked grin spread across Zac’s face. “A tantalizing thought, isn’t it? What would you give me if I came begging, Gwen?”

“A meal ticket down at the mission! Zac, stop making a joke out of this. I am genuinely worried about my client, and I think I’ve found a way to take some of the pressure off him and at the same time throw a little business your way.”

“A perfect Guinevere Jones solution.”

She gave him a challenging look. “Well, isn’t it?”

“What do you envision me doing, Gwen? Running around for three days with a briefcase chained to my wrist? Who’s going to steal the documents from him at the resort anyway? He’s going there to meet the potential client, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but he’s not the only developer who will be presenting his bids to Sheldon Washburn. There will be two other companies represented. Those executives will undoubtedly be bringing along assistants or secretaries too. Any one of which might be a spy.”

“The plot thickens.”

Guinevere regarded him with lofty disdain. “Are you interested or not?”

“Not.”

She was startled more than anything else. It hadn’t occurred to her that Zac would refuse the offer of a job. It was Guinevere’s turn to blink. “You mean that? You really don’t want to pick up a nice check for three days’ easy work?”

“I’m not sure it’s good for the image,” he said consideringly as their soup bowls were removed and replaced with plates of spiced noodles and chicken. “Briefcases chained to the wrist and all that. Kind of tacky. Smacks of courier boy or something. Low-class.”

“I never said the briefcase would have to be chained to your wrist,” she muttered. “And since when did you become so concerned with status?”

“You’ve been teaching me how important image is lately. It’s all your fault.” He spun a fork around in the noodles, expertly winding them neatly onto it.

Guinevere paused, thrown more off balance by his refusal than she wanted to admit. She’d had plans, she realized. The long weekend at the resort would have provided an opportunity to find some peace of mind for herself. “Well, I suppose if you feel that strongly about it I’ll just have to think of something else.”

“I not only doubt Vandyke needs a document babysitter on this jaunt, I also doubt he needs a private secretary,” Zac went on coolly. “I see no reason for him to drag you along. Tell him your agency does not provide twenty-four-hour secretarial service.”

Guinevere’s eyes narrowed, resentment beginning to simmer in her. “I run Camelot Services, Zac. I’ll decide what jobs to accept.”

“Hadn’t you better be concerned with your own image?” he shot back too smoothly. “If you get a reputation for taking out-of-town trips with businessmen you might find yourself swamped with more work than you can handle.”

Resentment turned to fury, effectively killing her appetite. It took a fierce effort of will to control the angry trembling in her fingers as Guinevere carefully folded her napkin and got to her feet.

“Gwen?” Zac frowned up at her.

“Don’t worry, Zac. I won’t stick you with my share of the tab.” She coolly slid the money out of her gray leather clutch purse. “That’ll take care of my bill with enough left over for a tip. I’ll have to trust you not to pocket the tip, of course, but I guess I don’t have any choice.” She reached for her coat.

“Jesus Christ, Gwen, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Walking out before you can insult me any further.” She smiled very brittlely. “I’m going back to the office—the man I work for happens to be a gentleman. Gentlemen are so rare these days.”

“Damn it, Gwen, I wasn’t insulting you. I was just trying to make a point. Now sit down and stop acting like a child. This is ridiculous . . .”

But Zac was talking to empty space. Guinevere had her coat on and was on her way out of the restaurant. In stunned amazement, he watched the scarlet coat flash through the door. Out on the street she turned in the direction of Vandyke’s office building and vanished into the crowd. The problem with the new style in women’s footwear, Zac decided, was that it allowed the wearers to move a great deal faster than they could in high heels.

Slowly Zac pulled his attention back to his half eaten spicy noodles. “Damn temperamental female.”

“Excuse me, sir. More coffee?” the waitress asked with a politely inquiring smile.

“No thanks.”

“Will the lady be returning?”

“She had to leave,” Zac mumbled, searching for a convenient excuse. It was humiliating to have a woman walk out on you in a public restaurant, he discovered, chagrined. “Business appointment.”

“Of course. I’ll clear her plate.”

“Fine.” It would be tacky to tell her to leave Gwen’s plate of noodles so he could finish them, Zac decided morosely. Just one more irritation to chalk up to Guinevere Jones, he thought as he watched the excellent noodles disappear toward the kitchen. Not only did Jones abandon him in the restaurant, he couldn’t even find a polite way to finish off the food she’d left behind. The lady was getting to him. Zac grudgingly acknowledged to himself that he wasn’t accustomed to this level of uncertainty around a woman.

It seemed to him that he’d been alternately irritated, possessive, uncertain, and exhilarated since he’d first encountered Guinevere Jones a few weeks ago. The first time he’d gone to bed with her, he’d been aware of a feeling of rightness that he couldn’t begin to explain in words. So he hadn’t tried. Their relationship was at a very tentative stage. It could not yet be characterized as an affair, although Zac knew he would be irrationally enraged if he found out she was seeing another man. But surely they had more than a casual dating arrangement. At least, it felt like more than that to him. He’d like to get to the point where he could say he was having an affair with Guinevere Jones, Zac thought. The words sounded good to him. They had a nice, settled,
definite
quality. But as yet he hadn’t dared say them aloud in Guinevere’s presence.

Words in general seemed to be a real problem around Guinevere. Bleakly Zac finished his noodles and sat cradling his coffee cup in his large hands. Had he insulted her? He hadn’t meant to. She must know that. He’d only been trying to point out that weekend jaunts with bosses might be frowned on in some circles—severely frowned on by one Zachariah Justis, as a matter of fact. Damn it, he’d only been giving her some good advice. She certainly spent enough energy giving him advice!

Of course, he reminded himself, perhaps she’d only been attempting to do him a favor. She’d tried to throw a little business his way. He’d been too busy jumping on her for scheduling that weekend trip with Vandyke to pay much attention to the baby-sitting job she’d suggested. Zac stared into his coffee cup and thought about her proposal. Normally the project would not have interested him in the slightest. He had no intention of hiring himself out to ride shotgun for executives who saw industrial spies behind every water cooler. He had deliberately structured Free Enterprise Security, Inc. to be a cut above that sort of mundane operation. His firm was a consulting business. He gave expensive advice, conducted highly discreet investigations, and generally aimed for a sophisticated security image. True, he was still Free Enterprise’s only employee, but someday things would change. In the meantime he didn’t want to jeopardize the image.

Zac was absently swirling the last of the coffee in his cup and wondering how to go about making amends for insulting her when it struck him that there was one irrefutable advantage to accepting Guinevere’s job suggestion. It would enable him to spend a three-day weekend with Gwen at a classy resort.

Three days on an island with Gwen.

Stunned by the implications and wondering foolishly why he hadn’t spotted them right from the start, Zac hurriedly fished out his worn leather wallet and matched the amount Gwen had left on the table.

Three days at a fancy resort with Guinevere Jones at the client’s expense. It boggled the mind. What was the matter with him? He’d been so damn busy warning Guinevere not to go flitting off with another man that he hadn’t even realized she was offering him a chance to be the one she spent the weekend with.

There was the unfortunate matter of having to safeguard a development proposal, but in his new excited mood Zac could anticipate no real problem with that element of the situation. The briefcase would be an annoyance, but he could deal with that. He headed back toward his office wondering if Gwen would let him handle the room reservations.

As soon as he reached the tiny cubicle he rented in the downtown high-rise, Zac threw himself into the new chair he’d bought with the fee from the StarrTech case, reaching for the phone. Guinevere answered on the second ring. Zac half smiled as he heard what he called her office voice—husky, polite, and just distant enough to let the caller know that the lady was professional in every sense of the word.

“Gwen? Zac. Listen, I’ve been giving your job offer some more thought.”

The polite quality left her voice, but nothing could banish the pleasant huskiness. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“I’m serious. I’ve decided you’re absolutely right. I can hardly afford to turn down the work. Tell Vandyke that I’ll be glad to baby-sit his proposal.”

“You will?” She sounded startled.

“Sure. On one condition.”

“What condition?” she asked, instantly suspicious.

“No gold handcuffs for the briefcase.”

“You want silver or stainless steel?” A thread of humor finally melted the ice in her voice.

“I’ll just clutch it with my bare hands. Oh, and Gwen?”

“Yes, Zac?”

He coughed a little, clearing his throat. “Have you made the reservations?” Visions of sharing a room for three days with Guinevere sizzled through his head. He felt his body tighten in instinctive response.

“No, not yet.”

“I could handle ours,” he offered as nonchalantly as possible.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Zac,” she assured him breezily. “Vandyke’s travel department will handle everything.”

“Oh.”

Zac hung up the phone, determined not to let the small setback bother him. He would see this as an opportunity to be creative in the field.

Sitting in Vandyke’s office, Guinevere stifled the unexpected burst of excitement that threatened to bubble up inside her. This would be a working weekend, naturally, but still . . .

She gathered her wayward thoughts and got to work on the problem of how to convince Edward Vandyke that Free Enterprise Security was just what he needed.

Chapter Two

Late Friday afternoon Guinevere stood at the window of the Camelot Services offices and moodily contemplated the rain that had evolved from an earlier mist. Rain had not been expected to continue into the afternoon, according to the news report. The forecast had been for the morning’s light showers to give way to partial clearing. But in typical Seattle fashion the weather had made its own decisions without bothering to consult the local meteorologists. The guy on the evening news would have a brilliant explanation of what had actually happened. In the meantime everyone on First Avenue below Guinevere’s window was getting wet.

When visitors asked Guinevere how she tolerated the long gray winters and the frequently damp summers of the Northwest, she was always a bit surprised. Sometimes she responded with statistics proving Seattle’s legendary rainfall was actually quite moderate; sometimes she made a joke about having grown webbed feet. But the truth was she rather liked the changeable weather. Normally it was invigorating.

Today, however, the rain seemed intent on complementing her strangely ambivalent mood. She watched the people in the government office building across the street and decided they all appeared to know where they were going and what they were doing. They all appeared to be motivated by a purpose, a direction, a reason for existence. Perhaps they had finally found a way to balance the federal budget. Perhaps they were scurrying around in an attempt to keep themselves
in
the budget. Whatever the reason, Guinevere envied them. Most days she was guided by the same sense of sureness, but not today.

The door of her office opened behind her and Guinevere turned to glance at her sister as she entered. Carla was shaking rain off her fashionable pink and gray umbrella. She looked up, eyeing Guinevere critically, her green eyes speculative. Guinevere wasn’t certain she liked the sisterly speculation but it was a great deal more pleasant than the tragic quality that had recently haunted Carla’s face. She had recovered from the bout of deep depression brought on by a love affair gone wrong. But nothing would ever completely dispel the air of feminine fragility that Carla wore like an aura. Her blond hair, classically delicate features, and gently molded body made that impossible.

Carla wrinkled her nose in an unconsciously cute movement that called attention to a small sprinkling of freckles. Men were often fascinated by those freckles. They served the function of making an otherwise too attractive woman seem warm and approachable. “For someone who’s about to leave on a three-day vacation, you’re not looking particularly thrilled with life. What’s wrong? Worried about Camelot Services?”

Guinevere shook her head. “Hardly. When I saw what you did to my files I realized the firm was in good hands. Besides, what could go wrong during a three-day weekend? You’ll be fine.”

“Is that what’s worrying you? Am I getting a little too good at running your precious business?” Carla asked the question with a teasing smile, but there was an underlying concern. “The things I do for you are the things any first-class secretary would do. You should know that. You’ve hired enough first-class secretaries and you’ve been working as one yourself this past week. I certainly don’t want the responsibility of actually owning and operating Camelot Services. I’m not cut out to be the entrepreneurial sort—takes a special breed, and I know it. Some kind of weird cross between a chronic optimist and a chronic worrier.”

“Oh, Carla, don’t be an idiot.” Guinevere grimaced wryly. “I’ve been grateful for the help and you know that too. I’m fine, really. Just trying to see if I’ve remembered everything I have to take with me. This isn’t exactly a vacation. I’m going to be working.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why one of the things you’re remembering to take with you is the Frog?”

Guinevere felt the flush in her cheeks, and it thoroughly annoyed her. “Zac is also going to be working on this trip.”

Carla grinned cheerfully as she hung up her raincoat. “Sure. Working on getting you into bed. He’s only having sporadic success, isn’t he? What’s the score add up to, four or five times at the most? You’ve got to admit, he’s tenacious. A lot of other men would have decided the game wasn’t worth it by now.”

The stain on Guinevere’s cheeks darkened. “For someone who was only recently having to see a therapist because of a failed relationship, you certainly sound casual about things now.”

Carla’s gaze softened. “Only because I know Zac is anything but casual in his feelings about you.”

Guinevere turned stiffly back to the window. “You wouldn’t be so sure of that if you’d heard the way he refused to come along on this trip to the San Juans.”

“Is that what’s wrong?” Carla demanded. “He isn’t going with you and Vandyke after all?”

Guinevere shook her head. “No, he eventually agreed to take the job. But all I got in the beginning was a long harangue about how Camelot Services was starting to appear suspiciously like a rent-a-bedmate agency.”

Carla giggled. “Oh, lord, I can just see it now. My heart goes out to the Frog. He put his foot in his mouth by jumping all over you for agreeing to accompany Vandyke, right?”

“Something like that.” Guinevere sighed.

“Then he finally realized you were offering him a vacation fling with you, and had to backtrack like mad. Must have been painful for him.”

“It wasn’t exactly pleasant for me either. I thought he’d jump at the chance to go with me,” Guinevere said wistfully. “Instead all I got was a lecture, until he finally realized he shouldn’t turn down the job. Zac doesn’t have any major consulting projects scheduled until January. Apparently he decided he could use the work. How do you think I feel, knowing he’s only coming along for business reasons?”

“If you think that, you’re not bright enough to be running Camelot Services.”

Guinevere glanced up, eyes narrowed. “Well, how would you interpret it?”

Carla sat down behind Guinevere’s desk. “Simple. His initial reaction was sheer jealousy. It was only after he’d calmed down a bit that he realized you were offering him a weekend fling.”

“I am not offering him a weekend fling, Carla!”

“Then you can’t blame him for going with you purely for business reasons, can you?”

Guinevere groaned and leaned her forehead against the cold glass. “It must have been a lot easier in the old days. Back when a woman could simply ask a man if his intentions were honorable.”

“Men lied in the old days as easily as they lie today.” Carla’s voice was laced with memories of her own recent experience. “Besides, the definition of ‘honorable’ has changed. It used to mean marriage. Is that what you want?”

“I’ve only known him a few weeks!” Guinevere said with barely suppressed desperation. “Of course I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to marry anyone. You know that. I’ve got my hands full putting this business on its feet and I’ve gotten very used to my independence. I like being my own boss, Carla, both in business and in my private life.”

“Okay, so you don’t want marriage. What do you want?”

“Damn it,
I
don’t know. I just know I don’t like this foggy, undefined kind of relationship. I’m a businesswoman. I like things clear-cut, rational, comprehensible. He’s a businessman. I thought he’d want the same clarity in his personal life.”

Carla’s mouth curved gently as she studied her sister. “What would make your relationship with Zac clear-cut, defined, and rational?”

“I wish I knew.” Guinevere thought about the question. What did she want from Zac? “I just wish I knew.” She straightened away from the window, forcing a determined smile. “And on that note, I guess I’d better go home and pack. Vandyke wants to leave first thing in the morning.”

“You’re really concerned about him, aren’t you?” Carla asked shrewdly. “Not good to get emotionally involved with a client, Gwen. No wonder Zac was annoyed when you announced you were running off to the San Juans with Vandyke.”

“I’m not emotionally involved,” Guinevere said bluntly. “Not in the way Zac first thought. But yes, I am worried. You would be too, if you saw Vandyke. He’s tense and nervous, constantly drinking coffee and making little notes to himself. This proposal is a big one for his company. On top of that he’s got problems with his wife.”

“Have you met her?”

“No. But I’ve answered the phone every time she’s called. And she calls him every day. I can’t figure it out. She sounds so lonely, so unhappy. Vandyke sounds the same way when he finishes his conversations with her. But if they’re both lonely and depressed being apart, why on earth
are
they apart? Mrs. Vandyke seems pleasant enough, but what can you tell on the phone? At any rate, I figured if Vandyke could at least stop worrying so much about somebody trying to steal his proposal documents, he might be able to relax sufficiently to make a good presentation to Washburn this weekend.”

“Zac is supposed to guard the documents?”

“That’s what I suggested to Mr. Vandyke.” Guinevere went to collect her coat and shoulder bag. “He wasn’t too keen on the idea at first, but I gave him a really brilliant presentation of my own.”

Carla glanced up warily. “How brilliant?”

“Well, I convinced him that Zac was the best private security to come along since James Bond. I painted quite a glowing picture of the intrepid man of action. Vandyke finally seemed to think it would be a good idea if he hired Zac.”

“Does Zac know about your little sales job?”

Guinevere shrugged into her coat. “Naturally, I didn’t tell him in detail what I said to convince Vandyke,” she said lightly. Discretion was the better part of valor in this instance. Zac would have been furious if he’d found out what a swashbuckling image he now had in Vandyke’s eyes. “But Zac seems happy enough with the idea of the job now.”

“Have Zac and Vandyke met?”

“Yesterday, in Vandyke’s office.” Guinevere paused, remembering the meeting. It had gone fairly well. Vandyke had asked Zac several questions about his past work and had seemed satisfied with the answers. Alone with Guinevere, Zac had been downright casual about the job, but he’d managed to put on a politely concerned front in Vandyke’s presence. He’d agreed to go along in the role of Vandyke’s personal assistant.

“Well, sounds as though it should be an interesting weekend,” Carla decided. “Have fun. I’ll see you Tuesday morning. Maybe by then you’ll have achieved clarity, rationality, and a sense of definition in your relationship with the Frog.”

“Why does that sound like a contradiction in terms?” Guinevere asked as she went out the door.

***

Saturday afternoon Guinevere again stood at a window watching an endless rain. But, she reflected, this time she at least had the advantage of standing in a luxurious hotel room, and the view was of tiny mist-shrouded islands dotting a stormy sea rather than clock-watching government office workers. The dozens of green islands off the coast of Washington that made up the San Juans comprised an exotic bit of Northwest paradise. The ferry system serviced the larger islands, such as the one on which the resort was located, but most of the smaller islets were accessible only by private boat or seaplane. Many were tiny and uninhabited. It was even possible to own your very own island. Guinevere smiled briefly at the thought. Her very own island. Now that was class. Almost as good as having one’s own executive washroom.

The phone beside the bed rang. She gave a small start and went to answer it.

“Are you unpacked?” Zac asked without any preliminaries. His temper had been a bit unpredictable since their arrival that morning, and after he’d discovered he’d been given a room next to Vandyke and that Guinevere’s room was several doors down the hall, he’d begun to show signs of grave uncertainty.

“Just finished. Vandyke said he wouldn’t need me until after this afternoon’s meeting with Washburn. How about you?”

“I finally convinced him that the documents were safe enough with him during the meeting.” Zac sounded distinctly irritable. “Hell, I thought he was going to make me accompany him right into the sessions with Washburn. I told him I’d be standing by to collect the documents at four o’clock, when the meeting is scheduled to end. When I pointed out that not much could happen as long as he was closeted in the hotel conference room he reluctantly agreed. The guy really is a nervous wreck, isn’t he? I wonder if Vandyke Development is in some sort of financial trouble.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve only worked for him a week. But I agree the poor man’s on the verge of a severe anxiety attack.”

“Yeah. Well, that’s his problem, I guess. I’m not licensed to prescribe tranquilizers. What do you say you and I get out of here for a couple of hours. We can take a walk.”

“In the rain?”

“Unless you can think of another way to take a walk today.”

Guinevere held the phone away from her ear for a moment, glaring at the receiver. “I’ll take a walk with you if you’ll promise to remain civil,” she said into it again. “You’ve been acting like a frustrated buffalo ever since we arrived.”

“Frustrated may be the key word. I’ll pick you up in five minutes. Somebody must have worked hard to find you a room as far away from mine as possible. It couldn’t have happened by sheer luck.”

The phone clicked in Guinevere’s ear. Slowly she hung up, thinking about Zac’s mood. He definitely sounded annoyed because the Vandyke travel department hadn’t put her in a room next to his. Well, perhaps it was better this way. She hadn’t intended these three days to be a sexy vacation fling. She envisioned instead a series of intense meaningful discussions. After all, she wanted to clarify the relationship.

Zac showed up four and a half minutes later. He had a waterproof windbreaker on over a heather-colored wool sweater and casual slacks. His eyes were the same color as the rain, Guinevere realized in faint surprise as she opened the door.

“Be ready in a second.” She reached for her rakish red trench coat, belting it on over her pleated khaki pants and green pullover sweater.

“Trench coats are supposed to be khaki,” Zac noted.

“You’re such a traditionalist.”

“At least you’ve found something else to wear besides sneakers.” Zac eyed her fashionable rain boots.