Читать книгу Watching For Willa - Helen R. Myers - Страница 11

On Sunday, Zach was still dropping bombshells…and still groping in the dark.

“Would you mind repeating that?”

He recognized the ominous, chilly tone in Felix Fraser’s voice, but it didn’t keep him from pouring himself another Scotch from the bottle he kept on the corner of his desk. Swirling the melting ices cubes in the amber liquid, Zach took a sip, recalling a time right after the crash when he’d witnessed Felix’s Arctic-Attitude directed at Judith, who’d burst into his hospital room and pretended concern. It was the same frigidity he’d heard countless times since, when his agent negotiated with publishers, movie producers and audio rights reps. But this was the first time Zach had found himself on the receiving end of it.

He found it oddly enjoyable.

“You heard me.” Turning back to the computer screen, he eyed the last page of the chapter he’d finished only minutes ago. Two chapters in two days, not bad. “I’ve put off doing Under the City right now. I want to pursue another idea.”

“But Carstairs is expecting City by Christmas” came the steel-coated-by-velvet reply. “They’ve issued a press release to that effect. Your readers are expecting Under the City.”

“And they’ll get it. But not yet.”

“When then?”

“After Checkmate.”

He could picture Felix, an elegant fifty-seven-year-old, tall, large-boned man, pinching the bridge of his El Greco nose as he fought for control of his temper. It was the curse of Felix’s Spanish, Scottish and Russian genes to be eternally at war with himself. He’d simply inherited too much passion, even for his six-foot-four-inch frame.

“Lord almighty, Zach. Why don’t you simply take a stake and drive it through my chest? Exactly what the—” Pausing just in time to censor a particularly crude expletive because, like an alcoholic, once Felix started swearing it was difficult for him to stop, he drew in a deep breath and started over. “What is Checkmate?”

“Only a fine madness right now.” The liquor was beginning to ease the fatigue, tension and pain in his body, and allowed Zach to indulge in an evil grin. “Primarily because I don’t know how it ends yet.”

“I see. What about the premise? Do you have a clue about that?”

The snideness was vintage Fraser, as well. The Houston literary agent was more than a fascinating, enigmatic study as a businessman; one-on-one he usually exuded a theatrically affected persona. Zach hadn’t been able to resist using him in his work before, but as a composite character. Never the man as a whole. He knew Felix would enjoy being immortalized in print, and wondered how much to hint that it might just happen, and soon.

“A clue…all right. Call it three stories in one. A project like nothing I’ve ever done before.”

“That’s what Under the City is supposed to be, and if you remember correctly, I had to practically prostrate myself before Carstairs to stop his complaining about the young antagonists in the story.”

Zach could think of a few tongue-in-cheek responses to the idea that Felix would prostrate himself to anyone, but decided to leave well enough alone. He hadn’t called his agent to make more trouble for himself than necessary. First and foremost, he was on a fishing expedition.

“Just hear me out,” he replied, attempting to sound believably entreating. “It’s a story, inside a story, inside a story. A play for revenge, and power and the sacrifice of innocence. Only—” he swung his chair around to see if his comely neighbor had finished hanging the blinds in her bedroom “—I’m not sure yet how much the innocent will have to sacrifice.”

Felix’s responding sigh stretched like a full-grown python across the wires. “I don’t need this, Zach. I just saw you Friday night. You said nothing about switching story lines.”

“You didn’t ask. If you’ll recall, you were on your way in from a meeting in Dallas and merely ‘stopping by to check on your favorite client,’ and a bit of my premium whiskey. You were unwinding and in no mood to talk shop.”

“Well, I am now,” Felix snapped, clearly irritated that he’d missed the opportunity to catch on to this sooner. “And if you had anything close to a conscience, you would have brought up the matter yourself!”

In the pregnant pause that followed, Zach watched Willa frowning over the instructions for the blinds. A part of him would be sorry to see them go up. Another part, less enthusiastic, but rational, knew it was necessary to her survival—and his sanity. What was left of it.

“Zach? Don’t you hang up on me.”

“When have I ever done that, Felix?” he asked mildly, admiring the subtle curves and valleys he’d held against him only hours before.

“That’s true. And I wish you’d be as professional about this commitment. Leave the machinations for your board games with your young chess friend, and write me a nice, scare-the-pants-off-everyone horror story. You know that’s what your readers want from you.”

“They want the next Zachary Denton release…and trust me, it’ll be a page-turner. I’m not even sure I’ll survive it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Zach? Put that damned glass down for a minute and talk to me!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Felix,” Zach warned, instantly serious. “The moment you hear my voice slur, you can preach and demand all you want, but until then butt out.”

“Bloody hell, Zach. Since the accident it’s been nothing but an uphill battle trying to tiptoe around your black moods and self-destructiveness. You know I’ve sympathized with your tragedy, defended you as your aversion to do publicity intensified. If that was me in that chair, I wouldn’t want to deal with TV cameras and reporters, either. But between your drinking and this neurotic reclusiveness—”

“Be very careful what you say next,” he warned his agent in a near whisper.

“Someone needs to say it, and it’s past time. Sweet heaven, Zach, sometimes I think we’d all be better off if you’d ridden that damn plane straight into the ground. It might have been kinder than having to watch you destroy yourself this way.”

Zach shut his eyes, but there was no stopping the rush of memories Felix’s words triggered…the sickening moment when he’d realized the plane had been sabotaged…the shock and the terror…the vow of revenge and the petrified prayer he’d repeated again and again through clenched teeth as he’d bartered for his soul and fought for his life.

When he reopened his eyes, he saw Willa had succeeded in getting the first blind up. He watched shapely calves, knees, then thighs appear, as she tested it, and almost sighed with relief as the red flames of madness receded.

What was she wearing beneath that man’s dress shirt? And beneath her obvious fear this morning, had the curiosity, even desire he’d seen in those bottomless eyes of hers, been real? The blinds suggested one answer, but he wondered. Were they going up to protect her from him…or to protect her from herself?

Did he want either of them to discover the answer?

“Zach? Zach!”

“I’m here.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, but you did.” He drew a deep, relaxing breath. “I’ve never asked you to like me or even to respect what I do, Felix. But I don’t pay you to lie to me.”

“You’re right.” Felix’s voice flowed heavy with regret. For once, all pretense and affectation vanished. “We need to talk about this. I don’t know how much more I can take. I don’t even know if I have the guts to break this to Carstairs. We have a contract for crying out loud. He could crucify us.”

The blinds lifted the rest of the way, and finally she saw him. He’d swept back the sheers to make it easy for her, although it was almost eight in the evening and new storm clouds made it darker than usual for a late spring night. He hadn’t turned on the lights, either. No need to remove all the challenge. There was only the glow from the computer screen to let her know he was there. He knew it cast him in an eerie silhouette. Visible, but not identifiable. Real and surreal. As he was.

The unexpected flash in the corner of his right eye stung. It came from the car pulling into his driveway. Round three, he thought, his mood sinking once more.

“Zach, talk to me.”

“I have to go, Felix. Young Elias has arrived.”

“Let him wait. Why you waste your time with that overambitious weasel is beyond me. He doesn’t have any real talent.”

“I disagree,” Zach replied, refocusing on Willa’s frozen stance. “At any rate, it’s not wise to underestimate. Anyone. I’ll call you soon.”

He hung up the phone and after punching the proper button on the remote control to release the downstairs lock, he watched as she hesitantly moved closer to the window to see his visitor more clearly. Despite the distance between them, her confusion and wariness were palpable.

Truly lovely.

The underwear lady, indeed.

What was he going to do about her?

When Zachary Denton left the upstairs room to see to his visitor, Willa lowered her new blinds and shut them tight. Her heart continued to pound from the way he’d been watching her, and seeing the unrecognizable car pull into his driveway hadn’t helped. For an unsociable person, Zachary Denton had his share of company.

Stepping back, she considered her workmanship. Not bad for a woman who, only a few years ago, could barely read a tape measure, let alone handle a nail and hammer. Being on one’s own certainly forced a person to adapt and try new things, and Willa was glad she’d decided to stick with the same ivory color as the walls. She would use color through accents; she’d chosen green and yellow to go with the sunflower print bedspread and curtains bagged and waiting in the closet.

One more day and she would have her bed again. She rubbed at her aching back. What she wouldn’t give to be able to climb into the tub right now. But she wasn’t finished with her work for the day. Besides, Starla said she would—

The doorbell sounded, and Willa’s thudding heart nearly leapt into her throat. Good grief, a few days around the crown prince of horror and she was turning into a wreck!

Who on earth could it be? She’d just been thinking that Starla said she would call, not stop by. What’s more, after getting her number from Kelly, her parents had telephoned from Madrid, which canceled any possibility that they’d concluded their trip early.

Hurrying downstairs, she found herself braking by her purse. Of course, she thought as she realized why. She stooped to dig into the outer pouch. Thank goodness for instincts. She hadn’t heard another car stop by except for the one that had pulled into Zachary Denton’s driveway; therefore, it would be foolish to answer the door without being prepared.

With her cannister of tear gas in hand, she went to switch on the front lights. Maybe she would leave them on. It might discourage any more funny business from…well, whomever.

Peering through the peephole, she frowned. No one was there.

“Blast.” Her nerves didn’t need this.

About to go to the front window for a better view, a dark head suddenly popped up out of nowhere. She reared back, but a second later realized who she’d seen.

Starla! Quickly unlocking the dead bolt, she jerked open the door, vowing to herself that as soon as possible she would have a storm door added. Every bit of security would help.

“Starla Donohue, I could shake you!” she cried, stepping aside for her assistant to enter.

Pretty brown eyes tried to look apologetic, but not all the twinkling amber lights dancing in their depths would behave. “Don’t be angry with me. I know I said I’d only call, but the suspense got to me. You have to let me have a peek. Look,” she grinned, holding up bottle of chardonnay. “I brought a bribe.”

Willa shook her head. “But I don’t have a corkscrew.”

The younger woman shook the huge, chic tote bag slung over her shoulder. “Remember this? Since when has anything less than useful emerged from its—Yikes! What’s that for?”

She’d finally spotted the tear gas. With a wry smile, Willa shut the door and returned it to her purse. “Over-stretched nerves, obviously. I’ll tell you about it in a minute,” she added, noting Starla’s confusion. “First come have that look around.”

Starla’s surprise visit gave Willa what she needed—something else to focus on. A good listener with a slightly wacky sense of humor that hid a deeper shyness, she reminded Willa of her sister, Kelly, but with longer, golden brown hair, and a softer, rounded figure.

“This place is darling! Not too big to keep up, but large enough not to give you claustrophobia. Like a certain efficiency apartment I could tell you about,” she added as an aside. “And it’s obvious you’ve been working your butt off. Oh, wow!” They entered the kitchen where brick and copper created a warm, welcoming environment. “I can’t wait to see how you decorate everything. If it turns out half as good as Whimsy did, the paper’s going to want to do another feature on you.”

Willa hadn’t considered that. “I’m not sure I want to share this with the public,” she replied, frowning as she retrieved two paper cups from a basket of supplies on the counter.

“You’re kidding! Ms. My Life’s An Open Book?”

Was she like that? Well, once upon a time maybe, and mostly because A.J.’s stressful work as an emergency helicopter pilot had created a need for counterbalance. More. Relief. His preference had been to throw impromptu, open-house parties. But if truth be known, she would have been happier to have spent those nights cozily in front of a fire, with a romantic dinner and a more romantic bubble bath waiting. Nowadays she had plenty of opportunity to do just that, but without A.J.

“I’m sorry, Willa. What did I say? I didn’t mean to dig up ghosts or anything.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, smiling as she presented the cups. “You reminded me that I may have some new decisions to make, that’s all.”

“Tomorrow’s the big day, huh? Ready or not, you’re a homeowner again.”

She nodded, regaining some of her excitement. “The movers tell me they’ll be at the apartment at nine. Are you getting tired of playing chief, cook and bottle washer yet?” she asked, aware of the responsibility she’d placed on her friend’s shoulders. Four years her junior, Starla was capable, but young for the pressures Willa knew could come swiftly and without warning.

“To be honest…? As good a time as I’m having, I’d prefer it if you were there.” Starla’s dimples deepened. “Because I miss our chats like heck. Not having had any brothers and sisters, or being very close to my folks, I guess you’ve become like an older sister to me. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. I feel the same way about you.” Willa hugged her, touched by her friend’s admission.

“But I know this is good for me, and that I need to learn to flex my administrative muscles.”

“That’s a girl! I know you can do it.” Willa watched the younger woman ease the cork out the bottle’s neck. The pop underscored her pleasure and gratitude that Starla had stopped by after all. “And it’s not as if I’m far away. If you can hang on until Tuesday…?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.” Starla poured the wine. “Now let’s change the subject before we get too mushy and sentimental, and wind up with raccoon eyes.”

They laughed and touched their cups together. Then Starla reported on the day’s sales and reassured Willa that she’d locked the cash and receipts in the small office safe.

“It sounds as if you have everything under control,” Willa said, leading the way out of the kitchen again. “Come on and I’ll show you the rest of the place.” But she was surprised when Starla stopped her at the foot of the stairs.

“Wait. First tell me what’s going on? Why the tear gas?” She held up a hand the instant Willa hesitated. “Unless it’s pushing the boundaries of our friendship.”

“Don’t be silly.” It surprised and dismayed Willa that Starla could think that, and she told her so.

Once again beaming, her young friend replied, “Good. Then what is it? Is being on a dead-end street and practically in the woods more to handle than you’d expected?”

Willa sipped her wine, considering the possibility again. “No, I really enjoy that. There are so many birds, and this evening I glimpsed a deer in my backyard. I can’t wait to put up some feeders, and maybe set out something for the deer, too.”

“Now that sounds like you.” Warming to her subject, Starla tilted her head, continuing, “And I think you’d have to have a good reason to be feeling threatened enough to reach for that stuff in here, so out with it. What’s wrong?”