The Sinister Touch (15 page)

“Promise?” she asked, nestling against him.

“I swear it. No one else’s would do.”

“Thank you. I feel much better,” she admitted honestly.

“I think,” Zac said carefully, “that we’ve both been a little insecure lately.”

“You mean, we’ve been jealous of each other and worrying that the other person was planning to run off and start a family with someone else.”

“Like I said. Insecure.” He framed her face between his hands. “Gwen . . .”

“I know, Zac. I love you.”

He kissed her, all his own special needs and longing pouring over her. “That’s what I’ve been needing to hear. I love you, Guinevere.”

For a few seconds they stood there as the evening sun faded outside the window. Then Guinevere said softly, “I’d better shop for a new coffeepot tomorrow.”

“New coffeepot, hell. We’ll shop for a whole new machine. We’ll give the other one to a thrift shop.”

“But, Zac, a new machine will cost a lot of money.”

“We’ll take the money from the petty cash fund of Free Enterprise Security and Camelot Services. The way you use coffee machines and pots, I figure it’s a business expense.”

Guinevere thought about going shopping for a household appliance with Zac. There was something very pleasantly committed about the whole project. When she looked up at him, she knew Zac was thinking the same thing.

Without another word of protest, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

Keep reading for a special excerpt from the next

Guinevere Jones eBook by Jayne Castle

THE FATAL FORTUNE

Available now from InterMix

Guinevere Jones handed the sniffling young woman another tissue and waited for the newest spate of tears to halt. As she waited, she pushed the cup of tea closer to her companion’s elbow, silently urging her to take another sip.

Tea and sympathy. It wasn’t much to offer, under the circumstances, but until Sally Evenson had composed herself, there wasn’t much else Guinevere could do. The two women were seated at the corner table in a small restaurant just off First Avenue in downtown Seattle. It was the middle of August, and the temperature outside was in the mid seventies. The weather was perfect for dining at one of the outside tables, but that would be much too public for poor Sally in her present mood.

Sally Evenson had worked for Camelot Services as a temporary secretary for several months. Guinevere had sent her out on a number of jobs, and the frail-looking Sally had gained confidence and skill with each new assignment. She had been turning into one of Guinevere’s most reliable temps, until disaster struck on the latest assignment. Guinevere still wasn’t certain just what shape disaster had taken, because all Sally had been able to do for the past half hour was cry. Perhaps it was time to take a firm hand.

“All right, Sally, finish your tea and tell me exactly what’s going on at Gage and Watson.”

Sally raised her head, her eyes swollen and red. She was a young woman, twenty-three to be exact, painfully thin, and rather nervous in even the most serene situations. Some of that nervousness had been fading lately as Sally’s job performance had improved. There had been a direct correlation between confidence and composure. Guinevere had been pleased at the transformation, but now it seemed all the progress had been undone.

“I can’t talk about it, Miss Jones. You wouldn’t understand. No one would understand. I’m sorry to bother you like this. I don’t know what got into me. It’s just that lately everything seems so . . . so impossible.” Sally ducked her head again and blew her nose. Whatever claim to attractiveness the young woman had was submerged beneath the mournful wariness in her pale blue-green eyes and tautly drawn features. Her hair was an indeterminate shade of brown, worn in a short bob that badly needed a professional stylist’s touch. She still wore her Camelot Services blazer, a smartly cut jacket of royal blue with the new Camelot Services crest on the left pocket.

Sally had fallen in love with the blazer the day Guinevere had given it to her. It was probably the most expensive garment she had ever had. Two months ago, Guinevere had hit on the idea of giving all her skilled, long-term employees jackets as a symbol of their elite status in the temporary-service field. The blazers were slowly but surely becoming an emblem of the best in temporary help in the Seattle business community. Camelot Services employees wore them with pride. It was good advertising, Guinevere told herself each time she wrote out a corporate check for another of the expensive blazers.

Guinevere took a sip of coffee and set the cup down gently but firmly. “Sally, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on. Now, it’s been obvious for the past couple of weeks that you’ve developed personal problems. I do not believe in getting involved in my employees’ problems—unless they affect job performance. Unfortunately, your problem has gotten to that stage. If you don’t pull yourself together, I’m going to have to take you off the Gage and Watson job. You know it and I know it.”

Sally stared at her with horror. “Oh, please, Miss Jones, don’t do that. I love the job, and my manager at Gage and Watson says it could go on for a couple more months. I need the money. I’ve moved into a new apartment, and I was going to go shopping for some clothes, and I wanted to buy a new stereo—”

“All right, all right,” Guinevere said gently, holding up a hand to stem the flow of protest. “I realize you need the job. And I need you on it. You’ve been doing excellent work. Gage and Watson assures me they’re very pleased. I wouldn’t be surprised if when this assignment is over they offer you full-time employment.”

Sally’s face lit up. “Do you really think so? Oh, Miss Jones, that would be fabulous. A real, full-time job. A
career
.” For a moment she was lost in blissful contemplation of a future in which she had a career.

Guinevere smiled wryly. “Gage and Watson’s gain will be my loss.”

Sally’s excitement dissolved on the spot. Guiltily she dabbed at her eyes. “Of course. I forgot. If I were to get a full-time job at Gage and Watson, I’d no longer be able to work for you on a temporary basis, would I? I’m sorry, Miss Jones, I didn’t stop to think. I owe everything to you. I wouldn’t dream of leaving you, after all you’ve done for me.”

Guinevere grinned. “You most certainly will leave me, when the right full-time position comes along. It’s called ‘career advancement,’ Sally, and, although I’ll hate to lose you, I have absolutely no intention of holding you back. Don’t worry. Happens all the time in the temporary-help field. I’m used to it.” Which didn’t mean she liked it, but she was businesswoman enough to accept the inevitable. Besides, sending out temps who were good enough to hire on permanently at the offices where they had been assigned was just another example of sound advertising. As she was always telling Zac, you had to look on the positive side.

Sally smiled tremulously. “You’re so understanding, Miss Jones.”

“I’m trying to be, Sally. I’m trying. Now, tell me what’s gone wrong at Gage and Watson.”

The young woman hesitated and then confided in a rush, “It’s got nothing to do with Gage and Watson. Gage and Watson is a wonderful company, Miss Jones.”

“Is it the people you’re working with? Is some man hassling you on the job? There are laws against that, you know,” Guinevere said bluntly.

“Oh, no, nothing like that.” Sally gave her a pathetic glance. “I’m not exactly the sort of woman men would hassle on the job, you know.”

“No, I do not know. You’re an attractive, single woman. Unfortunately, job harrassment occurs even at the best firms. But if it’s not the people at Gage and Watson who are causing you trouble, what is it? If it’s something too personal to talk about to me, then maybe you should consider some counseling, Sally, because whatever it is, it’s starting to ruin everything you’ve been working so hard on for the past few months.”

Sally bit her lip. “I . . . I am getting counseling, Miss Jones.”

Guinevere’s eyebrows went up. “You are?”

“Well, of a sort. I mean, Madame Zoltana is a kind of counselor. She’s very intelligent, and she . . . she sees things, you know? But she’s kind of expensive, and lately I’ve been having to see her a lot.” Sally reached for a few more tissues to blot the new flow of tears.

“Madame Zoltana?” Guinevere stared at Sally. “That doesn’t sound like a counselor’s name or title. Who on earth is Madame Zoltana?”

“She’s a psychic,” Sally explained uneasily, not looking at Guinevere. “Several people at Gage and Watson go to her. Francine Bates introduced me to her a few weeks ago. She has a great gift—Madame Zoltana, that is, not Francine. It’s absolutely incredible what she can see. She can tell you so many things about your past that sometimes it’s frightening.”

Sally looked frightened, all right, Guinevere decided abruptly. Frightened and alone in the world. A very scared young woman. “Tell me, Sally, exactly what Madame Zoltana does when you go to see her.”

Sally’s lower lip trembled. She stared down into her teacup. “She sees things. She warns you about things that might happen if you aren’t careful. Then she . . . she helps you.”

“Helps you?”

The young woman nodded bleakly. “She can sometimes change things for you. Things that . . . that might go wrong.”

Guinevere swore silently to herself. “And she’ll help you avoid these things that might go wrong, as long as you continue seeing her on a regular basis, I suppose?”

Sally nodded, looking up with a kind of sad fear in her tear-filled eyes. “I do try to see her regularly, Miss Jones. But as I said, she’s very expensive, and last week when I explained to her that I might not be able to pay her fees, she said that unless I did, the most awful thing would happen.”

“What did she say would happen, Sally?”

Sally Evenson collapsed into fresh tears. When she finally stopped crying, she told Guinevere exactly what threat hung over her frail, young head.

***

Guinevere was still fuming when she got back to the office an hour later. Trina Hood, the temp Guinevere used to help out in Camelot Services’ own offices, looked up with a cheerful smile.

“Mr. Justis called. He said to remind you that you promised to help him deal with the caterer tonight after work. I think he’s getting nervous, Miss Jones.”

“Zac hasn’t ever given an office reception,” Guinevere explained mildly as she sat down at her desk and sifted through a small stack of messages. “He’s going through the usual party-giver’s panic, wondering if he’ll wind up spending a fortune on food and champagne and have no one show up. Did he say what time he wanted to meet me?”

Trina nodded. “He said he’ll come by to collect you around five.”

“Collect me?”

“I think that was the word he used. He instructed me not to let you get away.”

Guinevere smiled fondly. “Poor Zac. Amazing how a man with all his talents is reduced to fear and trembling by the mere thought of giving a party. Anything else crucial happen while I was gone?”

“Two more calls for clerks needed for vacation fill-ins. I’ve already contacted two people in our files. Both said they’d report to work at the firms tomorrow morning.”

“Great.” Guinevere smiled approvingly at Trina. She had used a handful of different people from her own staff during the past few weeks, in an attempt to find someone who would work out on a full-time basis. After her sister Carla had left to set up her own art gallery in Pioneer Square, Guinevere had discovered just how much she had come to rely on full-time office help at Camelot Services.

Trina Hood was showing definite potential. She was a pleasant woman in her mid-forties who had recently been divorced and now had two children to rear alone. There was a certain comfortable plumpness about her, and she had an excellent telephone voice. She was also a hard worker and anxious to please. As she had explained to Guinevere, she had been out of the work force for almost ten years, and she had been terrified of the prospect of having to find a job. She had decided to start out as a Camelot temp, to get her feet wet in the business world. She had walked through the doors of Camelot Services on the very day Guinevere had acknowledged to herself that she wasn’t going to be able to get by with part-time help. Guinevere had grabbed her.

“What about Gage and Watson, Gwen? Want me to find someone to replace Sally Evenson?” Trina asked quietly. She was well aware that things were shaky.

Guinevere thought for a moment. “No,” she said finally, “I think I’ll go over to Gage and Watson myself for a few days. Something is bothering Sally, and I want to check out the situation there. Can you find her another short-term assignment? She needs to work.”

Trina nodded. “Gallinger Industries needs a typist for a few days.”

“Put Sally on it.”

“I don’t get it. You’re going to go into Gage and Watson yourself?”

“That’s right. I’ll tell Gage and Watson that Sally is ill and that I’m her replacement.”

“Well, all right, but I don’t understand why you want to take one of your own temporary assignments. What about running things here?”

“For that I’ll rely on you, Trina.”

***

Zac showed up in the doorway of Camelot Services at five minutes after five. It was obvious he had walked straight down the hill from his own small office in a Fourth Avenue high-rise. He had his conservatively tailored jacket hooked over one shoulder. His crisp, white shirt fit him well, emphasizing the solid, compact strength of his shoulders and the flat planes of his stomach.

Zachariah Justis, president and sole employee of Free Enterprise Security, Inc., would never win any male beauty contests. The first time Guinevere met him, she had labeled him a frog. It wasn’t that he was as ugly as a frog, it was just that he had been surrounded at the time by a bar full of young, beautiful, upwardly mobile types, and in their midst he had stood out quite prominently. Add to that the fact that shortly after he’d introduced himself to Guinevere, he’d coerced her into helping him in an investigation, and one could understand why she had been less than enthusiastic about Zac Justis.

Zac was just under six feet tall, a compactly built man with short, almost military-style night-dark hair and cool, ghost-gray eyes. He was thirty-six years old, but it had struck Guinevere on occasion that those years must have been years of hard-fought experience. Sometimes she wanted to ask him more about his past, but he usually showed no interest in discussing it, so she tended to back off the subject. Among the few facts she did know was that Zac had spent several years working for a large multinational security firm before starting his own small business in Seattle.

She could guess at some aspects of his past, because she had witnessed some of his more unique skills. She had, for example, seen him make the transition from businessman to cold, lethal hunter on more than one occasion, and it gave her chills to think of the kind of life he must have led before settling down in Seattle. Guinevere still wasn’t certain why she had fallen in love with the man. She only knew that her life was never going to be the same now that Zachariah Justis was in it.

They had begun their relationship as adversaries, but the tension between them had quickly exploded into passion. Passion had led to an affair and then to love. It was a very new, cautiously admitted love, something that they had both finally acknowledged only a couple months previously. They didn’t talk about it very much. There was still a sense of wonder and uncertainty about the relationship, as far as she was concerned. In true male fashion, however, Zac seemed to take everything for granted now. That was typical of Zac. He had a blunt, straightforward approach to most things—including, apparently, falling in love.

Guinevere reminded herself on occasion that there was much she didn’t know about Zachariah Justis. The reverse was true, too, but Guinevere doubted that a complete résumé of her past would contain any earthshaking surprises for Zac. However, she wondered what she would learn if she were to see a detailed résumé of
his
past. She told herself philosophically that the early stages of love were a time of discovery. It was not a time to be rushed. She would continue feeling her way, learning what she could about Zachariah Justis.