Authors: Jayne Castle
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.
“The caterer said he’d see us at five thirty,” Zac announced as he came through the door. “Let’s get going.”
“Relax, Zac. He’s only a couple of blocks away. We’ll get there in plenty of time.” Guinevere picked up her shoulder bag and glanced around the office. “Besides, I want to talk to you. I need some professional advice.”
Zac waited impatiently by the door, his eyes turning suddenly suspicious. “Professional advice? What sort of advice? Gwen, I don’t want you getting mixed up in any more crazy investigations. I can find my own clients. I don’t need you to dig up more work for me.”
She smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way. “Calm down. I’m not asking you to take on any investigations. This one I’m going to handle on my own. I just want some advice from you, that’s all.” She playfully pushed him out into the hall and locked the office door.
“Gwen, I mean it, I’ve got enough to do during the next couple of weeks without having to chase after you trying to keep you out of trouble. I’ve got this damn reception to plan, and the move to my new office to supervise. On top of everything else, I’m supposed to be interviewing for a secretary. That reminds me—why haven’t you sent anyone over for me to talk to?”
“I’m still selecting the final candidates. A good secretary is hard to find, Zac. It takes time. Trust me.”
“Uh-huh. Are you sure you’re not being a little too picky?” He took her arm and steered her forcefully down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk.
“Zac, I have to be picky. You’re not going to be the easiest man to work for, you know. You need someone calm and unflappable. Someone with a good personality, so that she can handle your important clients properly. You also need someone who can do your typing, handle your accounts, and present a good image.”
“Damn it, Gwen, I just want a secretary, not a presidential aide.”
“Don’t worry, Zac, I’ll send someone over soon. Now, about my little problem—”
“Guinevere, I have learned through hard experience that your problems are rarely
little
.”
“Don’t sound so abused. I’m not going to involve you in this. I’ve told you, I just want some advice. Now, here’s the situation: I think one of my employees has become the victim of a very subtle, very cruel protection racket.”
Zac slid her a sidelong glance. “Are you kidding?”
“No. Listen to this and tell me what you think. I sent a young woman over to Gage and Watson a few weeks ago.”
“The electronics firm?”
Guinevere nodded. “Someone in her office turned her on to a psychic, a character who goes by the name of Madame Zoltana. Madame Zoltana agreed to see her initially for a small consulting fee, but after a couple of visits she revealed to poor little Sally that she knew Sally had gotten pregnant when she was seventeen.”
“Oh, hell.” Zac sounded as if he knew what was coming.
“Sally was flabbergasted. It seemed to prove that Madame Zoltana really knew her stuff. But it didn’t stop there. Zoltana also knew that Sally had given the baby up for adoption. You have to understand, Zac, that the experience nearly devastated Sally. She’s a fragile person in the first place. Finding herself pregnant and abandoned at seventeen nearly caused her to commit suicide. She was talked into having the baby by one of those antiabortion groups. They promised her that once she gave the baby away she would be free to rebuild her own life. Sally did exactly that. It’s been a long, slow process. Because of the baby, she was forced to drop out of school. She had to complete high school through a GED program. Her parents disowned her, and she was left destitute. It’s a sad story. Suffice it to say that she’s gradually pulled herself back together. A few months ago she came to work for me, and she’s shown remarkable improvement on the job. She’s starting to come into her own at last.”
“Guinevere, the social worker,” Zac commented dryly.
“I’m serious, Zac. That young woman really started to get her act together during the past few months. For the first time since she was seventeen, she’s beginning to see a future for herself. But she’s still very fragile, Zac. Now along comes this screwy Madame Zoltana and warns her that her whole world is about to fall apart again.”
“How?”
Guinevere drew a deep breath. “She told Sally that unless Sally kept coming to her on a regular basis, the baby she gave away when she was seventeen would someday learn who its natural mother is, come looking for her, and ruin Sally’s life. For the right price, Madame Zoltana says, she can prevent that from happening with her psychic powers. Poor little Sally is absolutely terrified.”
Zac whistled softly. “I’ll be damned. That’s pretty grim, all right. What a racket.”
“That’s exactly what it sounds like to me, a sleazy sort of protection racket. Madame Zoltana finds some useful secret in a person’s past and then offers ‘protection’—for a price.”
“And the price is continued visits to Madame Zoltana at very high fees.”
“Exactly.” Guinevere lifted her chin determinedly. “I can’t allow that sort of thing to happen to one of my employees on the job, Zac. I’m going to find out what’s going on and expose the whole sordid mess. That Madame Zoltana deserves to be hung.”
Zac sighed. “Gwen, if people are stupid enough to believe in psychics and dumb enough to pay them, there’s just not much you can do about it. About all you can do is explain to Sally what’s going on, and hope she’ll be smart enough to believe you.”
“Poor Sally is too distraught to know what to believe. I’ve got to prove Zoltana is a fraud.”
“Be reasonable, Gwen. How are you going to do that?”
“The way I figure it,” Guinevere said thoughtfully, “Zoltana must have some inside help at Gage and Watson. Sally’s not the only G and W employee who’s seeing her, and from what I can gather, a couple of the others have been getting the same treatment. Somehow, Zoltana spots the gullible ones and then finds out something she can use against them.”
Zac lifted one eyebrow. “Inside help?”
“Yeah. You know, someone who works at Gage and Watson, someone who potential victims might confide in. Whoever it is then passes the information along to Zoltana. From what Sally told me today, that would seem to be the way things work.”
“Gwen, do you mind if I point out that you’ve got a company to run? You can’t make a career out of exposing fraudulent psychics, believe me. Houdini tried, and it didn’t do much good. There are always going to be some people who
want
to believe in charlatans like Zoltana. As long as there are believers, there will be frauds.”
“All I want is a little advice from you, Zac. I thought you could give me some pointers on how to go about exposing a fraud.”
“As usual,” Zac said with a long-suffering sigh, “my advice to you is to
stay out of it
. But, as usual, I suppose you won’t pay any attention.”
Guinevere smiled contentedly. “I knew you’d help me.”
“Wait a minute. I never said I’d help.”
“Now, Zac, I’m approaching you in a professional capacity here.”
“The hell you are. You’re just trying to get some free assistance,” he shot back.
“Well, you owe me something for all the help I’m giving you planning your reception,” Guinevere informed him as they reached the entrance of a trendy delicatessen-restaurant on Western Avenue. “Here we are. We can discuss my case later. Now, remember what I told you about dealing with this caterer, Zac. I don’t want you making a fuss every time I mention French champagne or good pâté. If you’re going to have a proper reception for your clients, you have to do it right. You must go first class.”
“Easy for you to say. It’s not your money.”
“Quit complaining. This is going to be a wonderful party. Great PR for Free Enterprise Security.”
“What if no one shows up?” he demanded, holding open the door for her.
“Then you and I will have a lot of food and champagne to take care of. Might take us the rest of the year!”
“Gwen!” Horrified, he hurried after her, catching up just as she hailed the young chef with whom they had an appointment.
“Hello, Charles,” Guinevere said cordially. “I think we’re ready to make the final decisions. Zac has made it clear he wants everything to be just right, so please feel free to advise us.” She ignored Zac’s groan of despair and led the two men toward a vacant table.
“I am sure you will be quite pleased, Mr. Justis,” Charles assured him, taking out a pen and a long pad of paper. “Shall we deal with the canapés and pâtés first? We have an excellent lobster pâté I would like to suggest. It’s a specialty of the restaurant, and we do it exceedingly well.”
“Lobster?” Zac’s voice sounded strained.
“Lobster?”
“I think the lobster is a wonderful suggestion, Charles,” Guinevere offered swiftly. “I also think we should feature some salmon, don’t you?”
“Salmon is always popular,” Charles agreed, scribbling rapidly. “And we do a truly superior salmon hors d’oeuvre, which features just a touch of dill and caper. I’m sure you’ll like it.”
Zac knew there was no room in this conversation for him. He sat back in his chair, watching dolefully as Guinevere blithely ran up the tab for the reception he was planning. Hard to believe that initially it was just an off-the-cuff suggestion he’d made, when he’d decided to move the offices of Free Enterprise Security into a suite higher up in his office building. Business had been improving for his firm lately, and Zac was anxious to move up in the world. Time to get a real office, a view, and a secretary. One had to think of the image. And wouldn’t it be nice maybe to invite some of his clients to a little reception to celebrate?
Guinevere had assured him it was a brilliant notion. The next thing Zac knew he was planning a no-expense-spared party. The formal announcements had gone out last week. Guinevere had sent a clerk over to help him address the envelopes. After that, he was committed. Panic had set in almost at once. Now he was beyond panic. He had placed himself in Guinevere’s hands, and Lord only knew what the result would be. One thing was certain: He was going to be a lot poorer when it was all over.
But that was the thing about Guinevere Jones. Life hadn’t been the same for Zac since he had met her. And when all was said and done, he knew he wouldn’t ever want to go back to the way things had been before she had entered his world. Zac tended to take a realistic, pragmatic view of life and of himself. He knew himself well enough, for example, to know he’d do anything to keep Guinevere safe. It was a measure of the differences between them that she would undoubtedly be shocked if she knew that. As far as Zac was concerned, it was just a fact of life.
Chapter Two
The headquarters of Gage and Watson occupied two floors in a Second Avenue high-rise that was only three blocks from Guinevere’s own office. She checked in at Camelot Services to make certain Trina was on top of the early morning rush, and then she walked up the hill to Second Avenue.
It had been a while since Guinevere had gone out on one of her company’s assignments. In the beginning she had done it frequently, rather than have to turn down a job from an important client. But Camelot Services was getting bigger, and her employees more diversified and efficient. It was rare these days that she found herself having to fill in on a moment’s notice.
But this situation was different, Guinevere reminded herself as she walked through the revolving doors and into the two-story lobby of the building. This time she was undertaking her own investigation. This was her first, very own big case. She couldn’t wait until she could put the results in front of Zac. He was going to have to admit that she had definite talent in the investigative business. Besides, she thought, as she rode the elevators up to the nineteenth floor, where she was to report in for work, this whole thing was going to be rather exciting. She would be on her own this time around. Damned if she would ask Zac Justis for any more advice. Zac could be a wet blanket at times—usually when she was really getting excited or involved in something of which he did not approve. Zac didn’t seem to realize just how many things there were in this world of which he didn’t approve.
On the nineteenth floor, Guinevere stepped out of the elevator into the lobby of Gage and Watson. There was the usual confusion at the reception desk while the receptionist sorted out the situation. After three phone calls the woman looked up with a cheerfully relieved smile.
“You’re to report in to Miss Malcolm at the end of the hall. She’s in charge of the typists and word processors.”
“Thank you,” Guinevere said politely, and turned in the direction indicated. She ducked into a ladies�� room halfway down the hall and double-checked her appearance in the mirror. The royal blue blazer fit like a glove, nipping in slightly at her slender waist and causing her small bust to appear a bit fuller than nature had ordained. Guinevere had had her own blazer especially tailored and hadn’t regretted the expense. With the blazer, she wore a narrow tan skirt that fit smoothly over her hips. She considered this portion of her anatomy a bit too well-rounded, although Zac certainly didn’t seem to mind. Zac, however, tended toward an earthy view, and his taste couldn’t be relied on when it came to matters of fashion and style.
Guinevere frowned slightly at her image, turning her head a little to make sure the neat coffee-brown hair was still firmly knotted at the nape of her neck. Smiling at the small Camelot Services crest on her pocket, she turned and walked out of the ladies’ room—and promptly collided with the man in the corridor outside. So much for professional decorum.
“Excuse me,” Guinevere mumbled hastily, disengaging herself and stooping quickly to pick up the file folder she had just dropped. “Very clumsy of me. They ought to put mirrors up across the hall, so that when you open the door, you know what’s coming!”
“If I’d known who was coming out of the restroom,” the man said as he bent down to help her with the folder, “I’d have made certain I was standing exactly where I was. As it is, I guess I was just lucky. Hello, Guinevere Jones. It’s been a long time.”
Guinevere’s fingers tightened convulsively around the folder as shock went through her. She raised her head and slowly got to her feet. There were several skills one learned when one ran a service-oriented business. One of them was how to smile even though you were recovering from stunned amazement. She called upon that skill now. “Hello, Rick. What a surprise. I had no idea you worked for Gage and Watson.”
“For almost a year now,” Rick Overstreet answered easily. His golden-brown eyes moved over Guinevere with interested appraisal. “What are you doing here? A couple of years ago I had the impression you were planning to go into business for yourself.”
Guinevere had forgotten just how intimate Rick’s glances could be. He had the unsettling ability to make a woman feel pinned like a butterfly beneath his gaze. Overstreet was forty by now, she figured, and he had definitely aged well. His body was still austerely lean and obviously in good shape. He wore his expensive business suit well. The thick, tawny-brown hair was laced with a hint of gray at the temples, giving him a sophisticated, male-in-his-prime look that complemented the straight nose, firm mouth, and strong jaw. His features were regular and well fashioned, strong and masculine, but it had always been his eyes that had attracted women. Rick Overstreet had the eyes of a big, tawny cat. He also had the morals of one, as far as Guinevere was concerned.
“My business is doing fine,” she told him calmly. “But we’re a little busy at the moment, so I’m taking one of the field assignments. If you’ll excuse me, I should be moving along. Professional temps are never supposed to be late, you know. Nice to see you again, Rick.”
He smiled lazily. “How about coffee later this morning?”
“Thanks, but I’m probably going to have to work straight through,” she lied. “I understand the Gage and Watson typing pool is swamped this week. I’m here to help with the overload. How’s your wife?” Guinevere asked with cool bluntness.
Rick’s smile disappeared, and he fished out a pack of cigarettes, the expensive French brand he had favored two years ago. “Elena died almost two years ago. Shortly after you and I stopped seeing each other, in fact.” He lit the cigarette with a small gold lighter.
The news of Elena’s death jolted Guinevere. “I’m sorry, Rick. I didn’t know.”
“It’s been two years. I don’t think about it too much anymore. She died in a car accident on her way to Portland to see her family.”
Guinevere nodded, not knowing what to say. She had never met Elena Overstreet, hadn’t known of the woman’s existence until it was almost too late. “Well, good-bye, Rick. I really must be going.” She turned away and moved hurriedly down the hall, aware of Rick Overstreet’s golden eyes following her into a large room at the end of the corridor. The moment she was out of his sight she realized she was breathing too quickly, as if she had been running. Guinevere forced herself to take a deep, calming breath, as a businesslike, auburn-haired woman in her thirties came forward with a smile.
“You must be Miss Jones, from the agency. Very glad to see you. I understand your typing is excellent. We were worried when we learned that Sally was ill, but Camelot Services assured us someone would be along to replace her. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about word processors, too, would you?”
Guinevere smiled at the familiar question. “I’m reasonably familiar with the standard office models.” She glanced around and saw what brand was in use at Gage and Watson. “I think I can manage.”
“Thank goodness. We could have used you as a typist, but frankly, you’ll be far more useful on the word processor. Come over here and meet Francine Bates. She’ll show you the ropes.”
Francine Bates was everyone’s idea of a mother figure. Warm, slightly plump, her gray hair worn in a soft halo around her smiling features, she might have just stepped out of the kitchen with a tray of cookies and milk. Guinevere remembered vaguely that Sally Evenson had mentioned her.
“Sit down, and I’ll show you what we’re doing,” Francine invited cheerfully. “Don’t worry, Lisa,” she added to the typing pool supervisor. “I’ll have her up and running in no time. Do you want her to start on the Copperfield report?”
“That would be great,” Lisa Malcolm said. “It’s due on Friday.” She smiled and went off to organize the early morning chaos at the other end of the room.
“I appreciate the help,” Guinevere said, tucking her shoulder bag into her desk drawer as she sat down in front of the word processor.
“No problem. You’re from the same agency little Sally Evenson was from, aren’t you? I recognize the jacket.”
“That’s right. Sally had to take the rest of the week off. I’m filling in for her.”
Francine nodded. “Sally’s a sweet thing, a sensitive young woman. I’ve enjoyed working with her for the past few weeks. I hope she’s all right?”
“Oh, yes. Just a slight cold.”
Francine clucked sympathetically as she arranged papers on Guinevere’s desk. “Such a frail little thing. Probably doesn’t take much to make her ill. I told her she wasn’t eating properly. Lord knows what she does eat. Probably just fast food. I’ve thought about taking her over to my sister’s place on the coast for a few days. My sister’s a great cook. She could put a little meat on Sally’s bones. Well, back to business, here’s what the big rush is all about,” she went on, pointing to the papers she had placed on the desk. “This report is due on Friday. Of course, management didn’t get it to us until the last minute, and there have been changes almost every day. I don’t know how they expect us to do a final version by Friday, when they’re probably still going to be making revisions on Thursday night. But I guess that’s management for you.”
“Yes,” Guinevere agreed feelingly, “that’s management.”
The work occupied Guinevere throughout the morning. During that time she met the other people who worked in the office, all of whom were women. She was invited to accompany Francine Bates and a few of the others on coffee break in the building cafeteria and accepted the invitation with alacrity. She wanted to become part of the group as quickly as possible, not only because it was company policy for a Camelot Services employee to be friendly, but because it would be the fastest way to make contact with Madame Zoltana.
The conversation at coffee break covered everything from troublesome teenagers to the new fall styles showing up in the local department stores. Guinevere listened and participated while she sipped her coffee, but she was disappointed when no one mentioned Madame Zoltana. That was the thing about undercover investigations, she decided. You had to have patience. Hadn’t Zac always told her that? Unfortunately, patience was not one of her virtues.
Guinevere glanced at her watch as she thought of Zac. She was due to meet him for lunch. She had vowed she wouldn’t ask him for any more advice, but she decided to change her mind. Perhaps he could suggest some method of bringing up the subject of Madame Zoltana without arousing suspicion. She’d probably have to listen to another lecture on not getting involved, but it would be worth it if she got some useful pointers.
* * *
Zac left his office a few minutes before noon and strolled down to Second Avenue to pick up Guinevere for lunch. He was pleased with the way plans were going for his big move up. The movers had promised to arrive on the specified day, and the new furniture was already in a warehouse, waiting to be delivered. As far as Zac could see, there were no real glitches on the horizon in the moving department, but he knew that some were bound to develop. It was a law of nature.
The real problem was getting Guinevere to send him some secretarial candidates. He was beginning to think he’d made a mistake, asking her to handle the initial interviews. At the time it had seemed reasonable enough. After all, she was the expert at hiring secretaries, and she had a whole stable of them to draw on. But so far he hadn’t been presented with a single live choice, and it was beginning to worry Zac. What was the holdup? He wanted the secretary to move into the new office suite on the same day that the furniture was installed. Zac liked things neat and tidy.
The August sun was heating the city to a mellow seventy-eight degrees. As he neared the high-rise where Guinevere was working, he removed his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. Perhaps it would be a good day to eat at one of the restaurants in the Pike Place Market. Zac considered the matter closely as he approached the revolving doors of the building. He was hungry. Through narrowed eyes he spotted a blue blazer among a crowd of people stepping out of an elevator, as he walked into the cool lobby.
Guinevere didn’t notice him immediately. She was talking to a man who had exited the elevator beside her. Zac watched the two of them cross the wide slate lobby floor, and something tightened inside him. Guinevere was smiling, but there was something unnatural about her normally warm, charming smile. Zac frowned at the way the man’s tawny head was bent toward her. He got the impression Guinevere’s companion was trying to talk her into something. Probably lunch.
Impelled by a distinctly primitive need to stake his claim in front of the other man, Zac went forward purposefully. “Hi, Gwen. Ready for lunch?” His voice was a low-pitched, gravelly sound that was meant to catch the attention of both parties. It did.
Guinevere’s reaction startled Zac. She turned her head at once, something akin to relief in her eyes. Then she was hurrying toward him, her high heels clicking on the slate floor. “Oh, there you are, Zac. I’m ready.” The smile was as full of relief as her eyes, and she did something she almost never did in public. She came to a halt in front of him, stood on her toes, and kissed him.
Zac recovered almost instantly from the shock and took her arm with possessive force. He was intensely aware of the tawny-haired man watching them. Zac glanced back casually as he guided Guinevere toward the door, and his gaze collided with that of the watching man. Zac decided he didn’t like him at all. Coolly he turned his back on him and ushered Guinevere through the revolving doors.
“Who was that?” he asked without preamble as they reached the sidewalk.
“Nobody important. Just someone who works for Gage and Watson,” Guinevere said quickly. “Where are we going?”
“How about down to the market?” Was she brushing off his question because she had no interest in the man who had stepped out of the elevator with her, or because she didn’t want to discuss him?
“That sounds fine. I feel like pasta today.”
“You always feel like pasta,” he reminded her indulgently.
So they ate pasta in a trendy little café, and afterward they wandered back through the vegetable stalls that lined the cobbled street of the Pike Place Market. Guinevere bought two plump peaches for dessert and sliced them with a plastic knife. It was tricky eating the juicy fruit on the sidewalk, but there was something pleasantly romantic about the business, too, Zac decided. Lately he had been more and more aware of the feeling of being one half of a couple. It was the first time in his life he had felt like this. Guinevere Jones was occasionally infuriating, frequently charming, often recklessly impulsive, but above all, she was his. She belonged to him now, Zac reminded himself complacently. She was in love with him. And he was in love with her.