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To my sisters of the Sacramento Valley Rose—for your love and support, your never-ending passion to achieve and your constant good cheer. You are the best!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Coming Next Month
One
“This was not part of the plan,” Julianne Johnson muttered, the words swallowed by the drone of a speedboat as it raced toward Promontory, one of the San Juan Islands off the Washington coast. According to the Internet, the islands were tourist havens dotted with fishing villages, artist colonies and bicycle paths. But not Promontory—or the Prom, as the boat pilot called it—which was accessible only by private boat or helicopter, not a public ferry.
She studied the approaching island. How could it be so isolated and have tourists? Although she’d been sent here to lay low during her brother’s trial, she would earn her keep by working for the owner of the Spirit Inn, Zach Keller. If there was an inn, there must be visitors, right?
Maybe it wouldn’t be as lonely as she pictured.
“Where’s the town?” she shouted to the pilot, Mr. Moody, a sixtyish man with gunmetal gray hair and a muscular physique.
He pointed ahead. She saw nothing but trees, crags and a steep, rugged rock—a promontory—projecting into the Pacific Ocean.
Purgatory seemed like a more appropriate description to the twenty-three-year-old, Southern California, land-of-sunshine-and-malls girl about to be imprisoned by water, and without decent shopping.
And she was stuck there.
The boat slowed abruptly then eased into a slip alongside others, evidence that other human beings inhabited the island.
Mr. Moody secured the craft then offered her a hand up to the floating dock, which swayed and pitched as she moved toward the landing. A Jeep was parked nearby; otherwise, she saw no signs of life.
“Where is the town?” Julianne asked again.
“Yonder,” he said cocking his head, a suitcase of hers in each hand.
“What’s there?”
“General store. A gas pump.”
“That’s it?”
“Don’t need more’n that.”
They drove up a narrow, paved road. Within a couple of minutes, a structure appeared in the distance. She watched in increasing awe as the details came into focus. “It’s a castle,” she murmured, delighted.
“Brought stone by stone from Scotland then reassembled.”
“By Mr. Keller?” She created a picture of her new boss, wearing plaid, his red hair wind-tossed by the ocean breezes.
“Nope. Someone long ago, Angus McMahon.” Mr. Moody pulled up beside the building.
They climbed out of the vehicle and approached a stone archway sheltering a solid wood door. The late November gloom kept partner with them as they stepped into the castle. Gray stone walls and floors echoed their footsteps as Julianne followed him from a utility room into a space with a large open hearth, but otherwise a modern kitchen, with stainless steel fixtures and granite countertops.
A tall, sturdy woman with bright red hair stood at the sink washing lettuce. She didn’t quite smile.
“My wife, Iris,” Mr. Moody said.
“Welcome, Miss Johnson.”
“Julianne, please,” she said, testing her new name, her in-hiding name.
She hoped the couple would extend her the same courtesy, but neither of them asked her to call them by their first names. She wondered whether she should’ve chosen a different place to hide out, someplace a little more casual. Not that she’d been given a choice, since her supposed-friend James Paladin, Jamey, had arranged it without presenting any options.
“I’ll show you to your room,” Mrs. Moody said, wiping her hands on her apron and taking one suitcase from her husband.
Julianne reached for the other and followed. They climbed two flights, up narrow stairwells that felt as if they should have been full of spiderwebs but, in truth, were spotless. The illusion gave her the creeps. At the top was a narrow landing and a door, and that was all. One door. No hallway leading to anywhere else.
“This is one of two tower rooms,” Mrs. Moody said. She set Julianne’s suitcase on a wooden chest at the foot of a massive four-poster bed topped with a fluffy burgundy comforter and mounded with pillows. “The clothes you sent last week have been put away in the wardrobe and the dresser.”
Julianne winced at the thought of a stranger handling her clothes.
“The castle was renovated a few years back. You’ll find all the comforts of home. Extra blankets are under the window seat. After you’re settled, come to the kitchen. Mr. Zach will not be joining you for dinner. He’s sleeping.”
Sleeping? He must be very old to be napping at six o’clock in the evening, Julianne figured. “Thank you, Mrs. Moody.”
The woman closed the door behind herself as Julianne turned in a slow circle. Large tapestries hung on two walls. A tall, narrow window drew her. She knelt on the window seat, but night had settled, and she couldn’t see much except the silhouettes of trees and rocks.
She’d only lived in cities, although always near the ocean. She welcomed the sharp, salty scent of the air, and the breezes, sometimes violent, sometimes gentle, but the air rarely stagnant. She did not, however, enjoy isolation. She could only hope that her brother’s case would go to trial soon and be done with quickly. That day of emancipation would be a welcome one. She had plans—finish college, live life in her own way, not as someone told her she must. Independence. She couldn’t wait.
Until then, she should be grateful Jamey had found her a safe place to wait out the storm…
So, why then, didn’t she feel very safe?
Julianne approached a massive, wood dining table that easily seated twelve in the high-back, richly upholstered chairs, reminiscent of another century. The single place setting at one end meant she didn’t have to guess where to sit.
“I’m not a guest,” she protested to Mrs. Moody, who had led the way to the dining room, a tray in hand. “I can eat with you and Mr. Moody.”
“We dined earlier.”
Julianne bit back a sigh. Some surprising obstacles faced her in her new situation—a boss who apparently slept a lot, two protective and barely sociable fellow employees, and more isolation than Jamey had led her to believe.
“There aren’t any guests?” Julianne asked.
“This is not a popular time of year to vacation on the Prom. Enjoy your meal.”
The tasty fish stew, green salad and crunchy bread satisfied Julianne’s hunger for food but not for company. She could even hear herself chew. And strange sounds from above, bumps in the night, startled her. She finished in a hurry and returned her tray to the kitchen, where she found Mr. and Mrs. Moody sitting at a small table, sipping tea.
“That was so good, thank you, Mrs. Moody,” Julianne said, setting the tray on the counter, then plopping the dishes into a sink mounded with soap bubbles. “No, don’t get up. I’ll do them.” She plunged her hands in the hot water and looked over her shoulder. “What do you do for entertainment?”
“You’ll find a big-screen TV in the media room. There’s a satellite dish, DVD player and an extensive library of movies.”
Julianne glanced at her watch. It was barely seven-thirty, too early to retire to her room, even after her long day of travel.
“Would you give me a tour of the house when I’m done?” she asked.
The couple stood. “My husband will take you.” Mrs. Moody nudged Julianne aside, taking over at the sink. “I will see you in the morning. Coffee is ready by 6:00 a.m., but of course you may take your time. You won’t punch a time clock here.”
“Thank you.” She was used to getting up early, had reported for work at 6:00 a.m. at her last job waiting tables.
Mr. Moody led her through the dining room and across a wide hallway and entry hall into a substantial living room that included a huge fireplace, a grand piano—she couldn’t imagine how they’d transported the instrument up the hill and into the castle—and furnishings of a style Julianne guessed was nineteenth century.
Next was the media room, modern in both technology and furnishings, yet not jarringly out of place.
“That’s Mr. Zach’s office,” Mr. Moody said, pointing to a door farther down the hall. “You’re not to enter it.”
Why not?
A bathroom, guest room and the Moodys’ suite rounded out the bottom floor. Julianne and Mr. Moody circled back to the entry hall, which contained a substantial staircase that ascended to the second level.
“Only one room up here concerns you,” he said as they reached the landing and turned right. “This room. It’ll be your work space.”
“May I see the other tower room?” she asked. “Does it look the same as mine?”
“It’s locked.” He opened the door to her office then stepped aside, allowing her to enter. The room held a computer and rows of file cabinets. At least it looked like she might have work to do.
A few minutes later, Mr. Moody left her in the media room. She surfed the more-than-a-hundred channels on the satellite-dish network, then settled on a DVD, Legally Blonde, which she hoped would make her laugh.
The movie proved not to be a distraction, and she turned it off after an hour. Low-light sconces on the walls guided her way to her room, where she sat cross-legged on the window seat. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement. The half moon didn’t make much of a spotlight, but it was enough to cast a man in silhouette walking along the bluff, the only place where trees didn’t grow. In her imagination, an aura of darkness surrounded him—dark hair and eyes, a forbidding expression.
Since the castle seemed to be the only structure on this end of the island, she guessed it was her benefactor, Zach Keller. If he was old, he still had a full head of hair—it and his long coat blew behind him in the wind.
Hope swelled in her—hope that he would be kind and honest, that he would make her laugh. She needed to laugh.
He stopped and turned toward the castle. She drew back as the light from her room, even from such a distance, probably revealed her sitting in the window seat watching him. After a minute she turned out her light then resettled on the seat, feeling like a spy, but in need of entertainment.
Two large dogs raced by the man, their strides long and quick. They skidded to a stop, then bounded back to him, bumping against his legs as he leaned over to pet them.
Her cell phone rang. Her heart pounded, as if she’d been caught spying red-handed.
“Hello, Jamey,” she said to the only person who knew the number of her new satellite cell phone.
“You made it okay?”
“I’m here.” She sat on the window seat again and looked outdoors, but the man and dogs were gone. “I’m not sure if sending me here was a favor.”
“A little rustic for your taste, Venus?”
“Julianne,” she said, reminding him of her new name. “You told me I would be safe here. You didn’t tell me I would be stuck in the middle of nowhere. And, frankly, this place is a little creepy.”
“You said you wanted to disappear. Like your mother. Those were your exact words.”
“And you said that this Zach Keller needs me. You’d better be right about that. There’d better be a ton of work to do, because I’m already going stir crazy.”
“There are needs, and then there are needs, Julianne.”
That silenced her for a few seconds. “Meaning what? I haven’t even met the man yet.”
“You’ll see for yourself, if it’s meant to be.”
“For a fact-driven private investigator, you sure are being philosophical.”
He laughed quietly. “Relax. Enjoy yourself. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
She glanced around the room. “You’re right about that much. Thank goodness.”
“Stay in touch.”
“Believe me, I will.”
She snapped the phone shut then slid it into the charger base. What now? She was too keyed up to sleep. She hadn’t brought any books. The magazines she’d bought at the airport she’d read on the plane. She didn’t think the Moodys or her new boss would appreciate her playing the piano this late, especially given how rusty her skills were. She hadn’t played in over a year.
There was only a shower stall in the bathroom, so she couldn’t even take a hot bath to help her sleep.
Finally she decided she might as well go to bed, which she found cozy and warm. She closed her eyes…
Julianne stretched as she awoke the next morning, surprised she’d slept until almost seven o’clock. She strolled to the window to get a look at the land in daylight, and found the landscape harshly beautiful, rocky yet dotted with evergreen trees.
Wanting to make a good impression on her new boss, she took the time to straighten her hair with her flatiron, although the humidity would tighten her curls within a couple of hours. She donned dressy black pants and a hunter-green sweater.
She headed down the stairs, ate breakfast alone in the kitchen, then waited for instructions. When none came, she decided to go for a walk. Shoving her hands into her coat pockets, she strained against a surprisingly strong wind. She returned to the castle, offered to help with the housework, was refused, then went for another walk in a different direction, turning back when the castle was almost out of sight.
After dinner, she found sheet music in the piano bench and played for a while. From her room later she saw the man and his dogs on the bluff again and wondered why she hadn’t seen the dogs during her walks.
Four days later nothing had changed, except the previous night when a helicopter had landed nearby. From her window she’d searched for signs of people, but no one approached, either by car or on foot, but later she thought she heard someone crying. The keening sound sent chills through her, then the noise stopped, suddenly, eerily.
Once a day she asked Mrs. Moody when she would meet Mr. Keller and was told, “When he chooses,” in a matter-of-fact but also condescending tone.
Quickly Julianne reached the end of her patience and called Jamey. “I’m dying of boredom,” she blurted as soon as he picked up the phone. “I miss my mochas. Get me out of here.”
“Better than dying of something else.”
“Oh, come on, Jamey. I’m not in danger of losing my life, just my independence. And maybe I’d be harassed a little. That’s probably more tolerable than Mr. Keller’s treatment of me, which is beyond rude. I might as well be in prison.” She explained to Jamey that he hadn’t so much as introduced himself.
“What about the work he gives you?”
“Not only have I not been given a task to perform, I haven’t even seen him. Can you make arrangements for me to go someplace where I can have a life?”
“Let me see what I can do.”
“If you don’t, I’ll find a way myself. I swear.” At least now she had ID with her new name. It would make getting another job easier.
Since she hadn’t been given permission to use the computer, she hand wrote a letter of resignation to her elusive boss after she hung up with Jamey. At dinnertime, she carried the folded paper with her, intending to give it to Mr. Moody.
“Dinner will be served in the dining room tonight,” Mrs. Moody said when Julianne reached the kitchen.
Since she had stopped asking for a reason why things were done the way they were, she went to the dining room without question and was surprised to see two place settings, one at the head of the table, and one next to it.
Company at last. She tucked her letter behind a bowl of shells when she heard footsteps, a steady pace along the hall of the second floor above her, down the long staircase, then the downstairs hallway. A man came through the door. It couldn’t be Zach Keller—this man was too young, only about thirty. And he wasn’t the dark man who walked the bluff at night, because this one had golden blond hair and bright blue eyes. He extended his hand.
“I’m Zach Keller. Welcome to the Spirit Inn.”
Two
Zach watched Julianne’s expression transform from surprised to…mutinous? Her crossed arms indicated the latter. Her sweet, citrusy perfume distracted him, reminded him of something. Someone?
“I’m sorry I didn’t introduce myself until now,” he said.
“Are you?”
He wasn’t used to anyone questioning his actions. He could and often did sidestep answering a question, but whatever words came out of his mouth were the absolute truth. Most of the time, he qualified mentally.
“It was rude of me,” he said, not rising to her bait. Her stunning hazel eyes didn’t flicker. She kept herself so still, her blond curls didn’t move but rested against her shoulders. She clamped her mouth shut.
He decided to wait her out, which gave him a moment to recall why her perfume jarred him. Last week, after Mrs. Moody had unpacked the boxes sent ahead by Julianne, he’d climbed the tower stairs and searched through what she’d sent, trying to get a handle on what she was like, this person who was so important to Jamey. He’d fingered the garments hung in the wardrobe and folded neatly in the dresser drawers, the distinctively lemon fragrance lingering subtly in the fabric and less subtly in his mind.
He’d pictured the body that fit the brightly colored clothing—the impractical abbreviated T-shirts, skirts and shorts; the neon-green bikini bathing suit, and the flimsy lingerie, a lacy rainbow of color that he’d resisted touching. An image of Julianne had formed in his mind—shapely, womanly. Mouthwatering.
Zach often endured long periods of celibacy by choice, this latest bout hitting the seven-month mark. But he’d always been capable of denying his needs, and he didn’t expect this time to be any different, even though in person she was even more tempting, her body even more curvy.
“Obviously it took a phone call from Jamey to force you to meet me,” she said at last, breaking the increasingly uncomfortable silence. “I feel so welcome.”
It didn’t matter to him whether she felt welcome. He hadn’t wanted her here, had taken her in because for thirteen years he’d owed Jamey a favor, one Jamey hadn’t called in until now. “I haven’t spoken with him,” he said honestly.
She frowned. “Then why are you here?”
“Because it was time. Past time.”
She looked him up and down. “I expected an older man.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“I’m not disappointed. I meant, I just figured you were old, since you take naps in the afternoon.”
“Sometimes I’m up all night. When that happens, I sleep during the day.”
“What do you do?”
“I don’t discuss my work.”
Judging by her expression, he’d just lost more points. Tough. He would keep his word by giving her a safe haven until her brother’s trial was over, even if it meant locking her in a tower.
“You don’t discuss your inn?” she asked, challenge in her voice, as if she’d figured out the Spirit Inn didn’t really cater to vacationers. “Then how am I supposed to work for you?”
“You will have tasks.” He didn’t like how she drilled him with her gaze, as if she could see inside his head, but he maintained eye contact.
“Will these tasks have anything to do with the helicopter that arrived last night and left this morning?”
He’d wondered if the sound had awakened her.
“I guess the answer to that is no,” she said finally. “I have something for you.” She grabbed a folded sheet of paper from behind a large glass bowl on the sideboard.
When she reached, he wondered if she wore something red and lacy under her sweater and jeans…
Her hands shook as she handed him the paper. Zach noticed her cheeks were pink, but he didn’t know her well enough to know if it was because of makeup or because she was blushing. Had she caught him admiring her body when she’d turned away?
He read the note, her letter of…resignation, for lack of a better word. Then he folded it and passed it back to her. She crossed her arms again, not accepting the paper.
“You’ll stay,” he said calmly, tucking the note in his back pocket.
Her brows lifted. “You can’t make me.”
“I promised Jamey I would look out for you. I don’t break promises.”
“Jamey is going to find me another position. I’ll box up my clothing. I would appreciate it if you could send them to me when I’m settled somewhere else.”
“No.” He was surprised at her stubbornness. Jamey had told him that Julianne was sweet, a little naive and honorable. Zach would make up his own mind about that. All he knew at this point was that she was more assertive than he’d been led to believe. “I realize that you’re lacking the normal amenities and companionship you’re accustomed to, but my understanding is that you won’t be here for too long.”
“I’m not some pampered princess, Mr. Keller. I just want to be useful and to stay busy. I thought I was here to help you, but you’ve totally ignored me.”
“Call me Zach. And that will change now,” he said, ending the discussion as Mrs. Moody arrived with the first course. “Please, have a seat, Julianne.”
After a moment, she sat. She snapped open her napkin and laid it in her lap, her irritation still obvious, but she also thanked Mrs. Moody and smiled at her, indicating good manners.
Minutes ticked by in long, tense silence, except for the crunch of lettuce. He would’ve put on some music if he’d anticipated the awkwardness of eating in a total absence of conversation. To turn on the stereo now would be a triumph for her. He couldn’t let her get the upper hand.
“I’ve enjoyed hearing you play the piano,” he said after Mrs. Moody exchanged the salad plates for the main course of grilled halibut, rice pilaf and steamed zucchini and carrots—simple food prepared exceptionally well.
“Thank you.”
More silence. At first her loftiness amused him. Even though she’d said she wasn’t pampered, he knew she must have been indulged for most of her life, first as the daughter, then sister, of a crime boss. She’d likely been sheltered, as would’ve been necessary. Zach understood this was a transitional time for her. But enough was enough. He set down his fork.
“I acknowledged that you are a fish out of water here, Ms. Johnson. I have apologized for not greeting you sooner. I would appreciate it if you would accept my apology and let us be civil for as long as you’re here. That would include dinner conversation.”
She also set down her fork, as if in meeting a challenge to a duel. Her expression was one of surprise. “I am apparently not allowed to ask questions. If you have questions of me, please feel free to ask them.”
Direct hit. He basically had told her she couldn’t question him, although he’d meant only about his work, not life in general. Politics. Religion.
Sex.
All hot topics, ones he didn’t explore with casual acquaintances, no matter how much the mere touch of her clothing and scent of her perfume—without even having met the person—had turned him on. Embarrassingly so.
In a way, she looked like the stereotypical surfer girl. Her hair shimmered in the candlelight, the curls springy and touchable. Her skin looked healthy and tanned. He pictured her in the green bikini he’d rubbed between his fingers. Her breasts would be spilling out of the top, her rear covered but also revealed. She wasn’t a size-four waif but a size-twelve handful of pure woman, and shorter than his five-foot-eleven by about eight inches. He admired the disbursement of pounds on her voluptuous frame.