out of her politeness. “You find it impossible to be a gentleman about that, don’t you?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Only because you refuse to admit that I had every right to be there.”
“You were using a lock pick!” Her voice was rising. “Why didn’t you knock on the door like a normal person?”
“It was four-fifteen in the morning,” he replied. “Why weren’t you asleep like a normal person?”
“I was…” She’d begun to answer instinctively, then thought better of it. She’d been worried about her sister, worried about her art, worried about being twenty-nine and feeling no closer to an answer to what her life was all about. Art, certainly, but that left her pretty one-dimensional.
“I was thinking,” she finally said. “I know you’d just returned from Canada, but couldn’t you have sat in your car for a couple of hours and waited for a sign that someone was awake?”
The amusement left his eyes. “I’d just seen the news about Gusty. I needed information. I knew Dave wouldn’t mind if I let myself in.”
She could allow him that, she decided grudgingly, even if he had been foolish enough to make love to her sister on a few hours’ acquaintance. But she still wasn’t feeling friendly.
“What kind of person travels with a lock pick, anyway?”
“A former spook. I was always better at it than Dave or Bram, so I carried the pick.”
“Well, in the world of non-spooks, it’s a questionable talent.”
“Sorry. Force of habit. And I didn’t expect the house to be occupied by anyone but Dave, except maybe Dotty. How was I to know he’d picked up four other people?”
“I’d have thought the spy business would teach you to never assume anything.”
Something shifted in his eyes for an instant and she caught a glimpse of old pain.
“Yeah, well, I’m trying to unlearn a lot of old habits from those days.” He looked away for a moment, as though he realized he’d betrayed something personal. When his eyes settled on her again, they were self-deprecating. “The work teaches you to trust nothing and no one, to believe only what you see, and only if you’ve seen it from the beginning. Like lock picking, those qualities don’t help the transition to normal life.”
He leaned down to ruffle the dog’s ears, then pointed in the direction of the guest house he occupied. It looked very much like the two-story brick Colonial Revival that was Cliffside. It also had two stories, but only two windows across instead of four, and no attic gables.
It was surrounded on the back and sides by fir trees interspersed with mountain ash that were now alive with bright red berries. Soon they would attract clouds of little birds.
“I’ve got work to do,” he said, seemingly anxious suddenly to escape her. “If you do need anything, press the com line, then 2.”
“Thank you.” She tried to sound brisk and not too sincere.
He climbed back into the truck and pulled into the garage.
Ferdie loped after the truck, barking, but Alexis called him back. He returned dutifully and she leaned down to kiss his big snout. “You don’t need him,” she assured the dog quietly, aware that the wind might carry her voice. “I’m going to feed you well and take you for walks, and we’re going to keep each other company.”
Ferdie followed her to the big house, but looked longingly in Trevyn’s direction.
Alexis took hold of the old front door handle, depressed the thumb plate and pulled—and nothing happened. She stared at the locked door in surprise for an instant, then smiled reassuringly at the dog as she remembered that Athena had given her a key.
She reached into the pocket of her green-and-brown-plaid slacks and met empty fabric. The key, she remembered, was on her dresser.
“Well, damn,” she told the dog with a sigh. “I’m going to need McGinty after all.”
Chapter Two
Fine, Trevyn thought as he carefully packed bulbs and reflectors into a padded cardboard box. He’d been a fool to offer to help her anyway. She was as different from what he remembered of Gusty as a negative was from a print. It had the same image but everything else about it was different.
The woman he’d danced with the night of the costume party had been warm and funny and had looked into his eyes with a sweetness that had been missing in his life since dark memories had taken over. His mother had had it, but she’d died when he was in high school. The women he’d met in college and since had been smart, ambitious, witty and equal to anything.
He’d appreciated them, but he hadn’t realized how appealing gentle laughter had been until he’d heard it, how completely mind-blowing it was to have a woman walk into his arms and lean her weight into him with a trust that was more instinctive than learned. Something in her had responded to something in him without any real knowledge of him.
They’d talked about nothing important. The eye appeal of Dancer’s Beach, chocolate-covered cherries, the White Sox, Cliffside.
He smiled with the new knowledge that her interest in the house had been part of the plan she and her sisters had concocted to find out why their aunt had left Cliffside to David. It amused him to think that when she’d met him, she’d considered him a criminal.
He should be offended, he supposed, but considering her complete capitulation before the night was over—and the fact that it had resulted in his becoming a father—it was hard to put a bad spin on it.
Anxiety and impatience tried to force themselves into the forefront of his mind when he thought of her helpless and alone—except for the scary guy with whom the boys had reported seeing her at the airport when they’d run away. No one knew whether he was a threat or a friend—and Trevyn couldn’t think about him as the former or he’d go insane.
He’d called Officer Holden this morning and learned only that the verification of passengers whose luggage had gone through that particular carousel was ongoing and, so far, everyone checked out.
Trevyn continued packing, something comforting in the handling of long-used equipment. There was nothing to do but wait.
In the meantime, he would see what he’d gotten on the rolls of film he’d shot in Canada, then he’d concentrate on getting his studio ready in town. Photography was a high-maintenance mistress.
He was just about to lock himself in the darkroom when he heard the lion’s head knocker pound twice against the door. He hurried through the kitchen and the living room, wondering if Dave and Athena had forgotten something.
It was Alexis, Ferdie sitting beside her. Her arms were folded and her chin was angled defensively.
She needed something—already. He tried not to betray his enjoyment in the fact.
He reached a hand out to the dog, who snuffled then licked it. “Yes?” Trevyn asked.
“I left
