pulled the cell phone away from her ear to stare at it, despite the fact that on an intellectual level, she knew she couldn’t see her employer’s face.
“Don’t apologize, just rethink things.” Adam, far away in London, was quiet for a minute. “Darcy, I have a vested interest in the house. I’ll explain when I get back into the country.” He sighed softly. “Darcy, there’s no one like you. I need you. Please don’t sound as if I’ve asked you to make peace with hostile aliens or some such thing.”
Darcy winced. She knew that there was something about Melody House that Adam hadn’t shared with her yet. Had to be. She was often certain herself that Adam, despite his own apparent wealth, was funded as well by another source—possibly governmental. They’d quietly gone in and out of a number of Federal buildings in previous cases. This was different. He really wanted in. For personal reasons, so it seemed. Reasons he wasn’t willing to share, as yet.
“Adam, if this was so important, you should have been here.”
“I know. But I had to be in London.”
She didn’t ask for an explanation, because he was a man who always kept business confidential, and even with her, information was shared on a need to know basis.
“Darcy, are you okay?”
“I’ve met a lot of skeptics,” she said, “I’ve just never had to actually work with anyone so openly hostile.”
“You can do it. I know you can,” Adam said.
“But,” she said quietly, “you don’t really want me to call this guy and apologize, do you?”
“I’d never ask you to do that.”
“So…?”
“Let’s let it lie for now. I’m willing to bet that you’ll hear from him.”
Darcy breathed out on a deep sigh. She hated the fact that she hadn’t handled the situation well at all. Her affection for Adam was very deep and real.
“All right. So what exactly do I do now?”
“Just sit tight. Is the hotel okay?”
Darcy looked around the room. “Sure,” she lied. As she did so, the hotel line began to ring. She stared at the phone distastefully. It was dirtier than a pay phone outside a heavily frequented gas station.
“I’ve got another call,” she told Adam.
“Any premonitions?” Adam said lightly. “I’m willing to bet that it’s Stone.”
“We’ll see. I’ll give you a call back.”
“Actually, you don’t need to,” he said, and hung up. Again, Darcy stared at her cell phone, shook her head, and forced herself to pick up the hotel line.
“Yes?”
“Ms. Tremayne, it’s Matt Stone.”
She was silent, waiting. Adam had been right.
Of course.
Apparently, Matt Stone could be stubborn, too. The silence stretched on.
“Yes?” she said again. She could almost see his teeth grate in the steel cage of his face.
“As you’re aware, I own Melody House. I don’t actually live in the main house all the time, though I stay now and then. However, I have a woman who manages the upkeep and the tours we allow through, and the events which are held there upon occasion. Her name is Penny Sawyer, and I’ll put you in contact with her. She’s incredibly anxious to have you and your company in.”
“But you’re not.”
“I did talk to Adam Harrison,” he said, not agreeing or disagreeing. “The house holds incredible historical importance,” he said flatly.
“Of course.”
“Look, Penny is supposed to handle everything. And she’s great with the place, knows all about it, and can help you with whatever you need. When you’ve got your plans down all pat, I’ll be back in on it, though. It’s still my place. And I want final approval on what you do.”
“Naturally,” Darcy said. She knew that it sounded as if her words were a flat fuck you, guess I’ve got no choice.
“Penny has suggested that you move on over to the house now.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary—”
“You need to be in the house to investigate it, right?”
“I just meant that there was probably no need for that kind of hurry.”
“Penny wants you there as soon as possible. She’s very eager to have you. Also, her office is in the house. We have all kinds of documents there, so…you could get started.”
Darcy looked around her hotel room. It was stretching it to even call the place a hotel. She didn’t flinch at the sight of bugs, but she had gagged over the film of them she’d had to clean out of the bathtub before managing a quick shower.
Maybe Matt Stone was something of a psychic himself. His next words suggested that he had read her mind.
“Ms. Tremayne, I’m familiar with the hotel.”
“Fine. I might as well get started. You’re right.”
“I’ll be there for you in thirty minutes.”
She opened her mouth to protest. She could have used a little more time just to survey the area before entering the house.
Too late. He’d hung up.
Swearing, she did the same. She looked around the small room. Not much to pick up—she’d been too afraid of getting creepy-crawly things in her lingerie to unpack much. She fished her few personal articles from the bathroom and folded the few pieces of clothing she’d had out in less than ten minutes.
Which turned out to be good. Matt Stone’s concept of time was not at all precise. She had barely made a quick run-through to assure herself she hadn’t forgotten anything when there was a knock at her door.
She opened it. He stood there, sunglasses in place, a lock of his dark hair windblown and sprawling over his forehead. In her business heels, she was just a shade under six feet. He still seemed to tower. She didn’t like the disadvantage, even if height didn’t really mean a damned thing.
“Ready, Ms. Tremayne?”
She took a breath, forcing something of a grimace rather than a smile. “Mr. Stone, somehow you manage to drawl out a simple Ms. as if it were a word composed of one long z, and a filthy one at that. My name is Darcy, and I’m accustomed to going by it.”
He cocked his head slightly. She couldn’t read his eyes because of the shades. “All right—Darcy. I’m glad you’re capable of moving. I have to get back into the office so let’s get going, you know, quickly. Where’s your bag?”
