Книга - Forced to the Altar

Forced to the Altar
Susan Crosby


You're not my prisoner. Unfortunately, that's exactly how she felt, trapped in Zach Keller's remote castle. The handsome millionaire was supposed to be her protector, but under his watchful gaze she felt more exposed than ever. It didn't help that he evaded all personal questions — and insisted that for her safety, they must marry.She had to find a way off Zach's property, or at least a reason to deny his proposal. Because she was on the verge of saying yes to whatever Zach demanded — especially if it meant a wedding night neither of them would ever forget.












Susan Crosby

Forced to the Altar








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.

“No questions?” she challenged. “My life is an open book.”

Do you have a tan line from that bikini?

“I understand you grew up in Southern California. How’d you end up in San Francisco?” he asked instead.

“My brother sent me there to spy on someone.” She took a bite of halibut and smiled at him.

“And did you?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“Because I wanted something from him. It was a trade.”

He waited a few seconds. “Not going to say what it was?”

“No.”

“Must’ve been important.”

“Very.” She continued to eat.

He almost smiled. Almost. She was having fun at his expense. He liked that she surprised him. “What will you do when your brother’s trial is over?”

“I have a plan.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

She took a sip of water, holding his gaze over the edge of the goblet. “Enjoying what?”

“Baiting me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” Her tone was all innocence.

He didn’t feel it necessary to answer her obviously rhetorical question.

“Why are so many rooms off-limits to me?” she asked.

“Which ones are you talking about?”

“Your special room. The other tower room. The guest rooms.”

“You’re allowed in the guest rooms. Who said you weren’t?”

“Mr. Moody said the only room I could enter on the second floor was my office, which I, of course, have not entered, since I’ve had no work assigned to me. I would at least like to use the computer to check my e-mail.”

“I’ll take you up there after dinner. Anything else?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

She wasn’t easily distracted or deterred. “My ‘special’ room, as you call it, is just that. You will not be allowed entry. The other tower room is also off-limits. You may go anywhere else in the castle.”

“Except your bedroom.”

“Yes.” Maybe. A few choice curses blared in his head at the wayward thought. He scooped up his wineglass and took a quick sip. He’d never had a woman in his bed here. Yet the picture of Julianne’s hair spread out on his pillow, the thought of that lush body stretched out on his sheets…

“And you won’t enter my tower room,” she said.

“Of course not.”

“Of course not,” she repeated sweetly, her eyes sparkling, as if she were reading his mind, knowing he was more than a little attracted to her. “Good to know. But what about the other tower room? What’s the big secret there?”

“Elspeth prefers it be locked.”

“Elspeth?”

“The ghost. Mr. Moody told you about her, didn’t he?” He watched her eyes open wide. “Obviously not.”

“You have a ghost? Seriously?”

“For more than a century, apparently. Angus McMahon’s daughter, who died at thirteen.”

“From what?”

“Murder most likely, for her to still be unsettled after all this time.” He could tell that Julianne was trying hard not to believe him.

“You…see her?” she asked.

“We hear her.”

She looked toward the ceiling, then she smiled, tentatively. “You’re kidding.”

“You’ll see.”

Mrs. Moody returned, took away their empty plates and left apple pie á la mode and coffee—which meant he and Julianne had more time to fill.

“It’s you I’ve seen walking on the bluff at night, right?” she asked when the coffee was served and Mrs. Moody left. “With two dogs?”

“Yes.” He knew she’d been watching, had sensed it even when her window was dark.

“What breed are they?”

“Bullmastiff.”

“Are they guard dogs? They’re very friendly with you and playful with each other.”

“True to the breed, they’re fearless and confident, yet also docile. Good companions and protectors.”

“And you’re very, very good at not answering questions.” She raised her coffee cup to him.

“If I’d wanted a lap dog I would’ve chosen a toy poodle.”

She laughed. The sound filled the room with such…joy. There hadn’t been much of that in this place. Elation. Relief. Desolation and grief, too. Plenty of that. But not the joyful noise of much laughter. The sound rooted him in his chair.

“Can’t say I can picture you with a poodle in your lap,” she said, still grinning. “Maybe I could join you in your walk one night? I’d love to see the island in the dark, and to meet your dogs.”

“Of course.”

“Tonight?”

“If you wish.”

Her lips curved upward. “I wish.”

For a few seconds, humor fled her eyes, replaced by…he wasn’t sure what. Something different, anyway. Hot. Startling. He drew a long, slow breath as they focused on each other. She started to reach a hand toward him, then didn’t, looking flustered as she pulled back, the mood cooling.

He was glad the crisis had passed. She would tell Jamey not to find her another position elsewhere, Zach could fulfill his promise, and all would be right in the world again. “After dinner you can check your e-mail while I make a couple of calls, then we’ll go for a walk.”

“Thank you.”

Ahh, much better, indeed. She was the naive and sweet young woman that Jamey had labeled her.

She would be easy to manage, after all.




Three


“It’s a mild night,” Zach commented as they left the castle. “Warm. Considering it’s almost December,” he added.

Julianne was disappointed at the lack of wind. Because of it Zach wore a light jacket, not the romantic-looking long coat she’d seen him in for the past few nights. He’d made an imposing figure in stark silhouette. His hair, just slightly darker than hers, and long enough to brush his shoulders, had been tossed around by the wind.

She realized she’d created an image of him in her head since she’d arrived, an image that was not entirely accurate. He was guarded, cool and private, but he was young, broodingly handsome—his hair waving softly now—and well-spoken. His hermit life hadn’t limited his life skills or conversational abilities.

He fascinated her.

And he was also intrigued by her, she thought. She’d never felt so thoroughly examined, yet with few blatant looks—just the time she’d turned around and caught him eyeing her rear. Whatever he did for a living must include studying people surreptitiously. Had he noticed her attraction to him? It had caught her by surprise, the pull she’d felt, the need to touch him.

Why? Because he was different? Challenging? Commanding? She’d found it arousing arguing with him, keeping up with him.

She’d been attracted to other men, but not like this. Not this sudden, overwhelming pull. And even though he’d made peace with her so that she would stay on, she recognized that Zach represented danger in a way her family’s business never had.

Growing up as she had, she was accustomed to men not talking about their work, but it was also something she didn’t want to live with again. Too many secrets led to lies, which ultimately led to hurt.

He could easily ruin her plans, turn her life upside down, take something from her she’d never given to anyone else. And for what? A moment of pleasure? She couldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not when she stood at freedom’s gate at long last. But she hadn’t been in this position before, of wanting something, someone, she shouldn’t want.

“You’re very quiet,” he said as they hiked a trail that he must have known by rote, because she saw no path of any kind. They emerged from the trees onto the cleared land up high.

“It’s beautiful,” she replied, hoping he bought that, although there was enough truth in her words that he should believe her. “And…majestic. I feel like I shouldn’t talk.”

“Wait till we’re at the top.”

The sound of muted thunder reached her, getting louder and closer. She drew a quick breath, tucked her arms close and looked around, seeking the source.

“It’s the dogs,” Zach said softly. He put a hand on her back then whistled, two short, ear-piercing sounds.

Even as his touch soothed, she jumped.

The bullmastiffs’ paws pounded the ground with Richter-scale-measurable force. Then, suddenly, they were there, stopping on a dime, dust shrouding their bodies and rising up, their rear ends wriggling, tails wagging as they bumped affectionately against Zach’s legs.

He talked to them, petted their heads and scratched their ears. They whined blissfully. Then he introduced them to her.

“Archibald and Annabelle, otherwise known as Archie and Belle. This is Julianne. Be nice to her.”

The dogs nudged her hands. The animals were big, easily over one hundred pounds, and their heads came to her waist. While they didn’t give her the same loving greeting, they were friendly.

“How dangerous are they?” she asked.

“My security has never been breached.”

She didn’t ask the questions that popped into her mind, since she knew he wouldn’t answer them, but she was curious. Security for what? What did he do behind that locked door?

“Except for your ghost,” she pointed out. “I haven’t heard any sounds out of the ordinary, by the way. Except I thought I heard someone crying once. The same night that the helicopter landed.” She watched him for reaction. Nothing. Not a flicker.

“You must have been dreaming.”

“Or it was Elspeth,” she said.

“Could be.”

She wasn’t sure what to make of the ghost story, except he was so serious.

Chills danced down her spine. She decided to change the subject. “Why do you call the Moodys Mr. and Mrs.?”

“What should I call them?”

“They’re employees. I would think you would call them by their first names. We’re not a formal society anymore.”

“It’s a sign of my respect for them.”

She waited but he added nothing. The dogs started prancing.

“Go,” he said to them, and they took off, racing across the bluff, then out of sight. “They’ll be back. They’ll work off some steam first. Here,” he said, extending his hand. “This last part is steep.”

She was glad she hadn’t worn gloves. His larger hand engulfed hers with warmth. She almost floated up the path behind him until they reached a roadblock, a rocky ledge.

“Wait here a sec,” he said, then he leaped up the ledge like a surefooted mountain goat. He turned around, held both hands to her and pulled her up, tugging hard, although to his credit, not groaning at her weight.

She found a foothold. Her body shook as she tried to push off with her bottom leg, but finally let him yank her up. She staggered against him from the momentum, and his body turned to steel, keeping them from tumbling. His arms slipped around her. She held her breath, almost put her face against his chest, then he stepped back and released her.

The silence between them filled with the sound of surf hitting rock. He turned away from her and walked ahead, expecting her to follow, she supposed. Within a few feet she saw the horizon and the lights of the distant island she’d seen during her previous walks. Then she looked down. Her stomach did a somersault at the steep, staggering distance between her and the water, and the long, craggy drop that made her throat close. When she could focus, she saw the white foam of the waves crashing.

“Awesome,” she whispered, her body still humming from his touch, but her heart pounding at the vista before her.

“Not a sight a city girl sees very often.”

“No, never. I’ve been to grunion runs at night at the beach, but that’s on shore, not a cliff. This is kind of scary. But exhilarating, too.” Which pretty much defined her reaction to him, as well.

The thunder of paws sounded again. Zach took her by the arm and moved her back from the edge.

“Would the dogs knock me off?” she asked.

“Not on purpose.”

“Well, I didn’t mean it that way.” She saw them running straight at them.

“They can get rambunctious. I just want you in a safer spot.”

“If I’m alone here, should I stay away from the edge?”

“That’s the safest course, dogs or not.”

Archie and Belle came to a stop. Zach talked to them as people often talk to dogs, some words, some nonsense, his tone encouraging.

You would make a good father. The words lit up in her mind, their truth accepted instantly. She’d never thought that about anyone else. Well, maybe Jamey, but no man who’d interested her romantically. Zach parented his dogs with affection and discipline, like a good father would.

She almost groaned. Like she needed something else to like about him.

“Ready to go back?” he asked.

No, but it was probably wise to do so. “Sure. Thank you for bringing me. It’s amazing.”

He hopped down the ledge, landing with a quiet thud. “Sit down. You can slide a little, then I’ll catch you.”

Dirt clods loosened beneath her rear as she slid, her toes seeking a landing. His hands slid under her arms, slowing her descent. Distracted by his touch, she was barely aware when she hit ground. Her jacket was down-filled, warm but not too thick. Her breasts were too substantial for him to avoid touching their sides with his arms.

He didn’t let her go.

After a few seconds, she lifted her face and locked gazes. His hands didn’t move, yet she felt touched all over. Her nipples drew tight. She went up on tiptoe.

He jerked his head back. “This is a bad idea,” he said, stepping away.

“Oh, yeah. Right. Bad. Definitely bad.” She brushed the seat of her pants, looking at the ground, knowing her face would be flushed. “I was just…Well, anyway.”

He walked away.

She followed. They hiked in silence. He didn’t hurry, so she had no trouble keeping up, although she wished she’d brought a flashlight. Without him holding her hand, she felt unstable and unsure. She would have to come back on her own in the daylight and get accustomed to the land. She didn’t like not being in control, had only recently felt as if she’d finally found her direction in life. This was not a good way to keep moving forward.

They reached the castle.

“Are you going to watch television?” he asked.

“What time is it?”

“Nine.”

“Yes. For a while. How about you?”

“I’m going to work.” He walked ahead of her until they reached the media room. “I’ll see you in the morning, Julianne. I’m glad we finally met.”

Had that been just a few hours ago? “Thanks again.”

“Sure.”

“Oh, Zach. Just one question?”

He cocked his head.

“I’m curious why Elspeth’s room is locked. My impression is that ghosts can vaporize and travel wherever they want to.” She worked hard to keep innocence in her voice.

“Elspeth prefers it.”

“She said so?” Julianne asked, but he just slid his key in the lock then disappeared into his hidey-hole. She smiled. There was no ghost. He liked to perpetuate a myth, when convenient.

She slid a DVD into the player, The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, and settled in. She listened for Zach, but he didn’t emerge by the time the movie ended and she returned the movie to its box. She considered the exquisite black-and-white film an incredible romance, even though the fiery, sea-captain ghost and the beautiful widow Mrs. Muir couldn’t touch or kiss. The seaside house and ocean made Julianne feel even more connected to the film.

In a thoughtful mood, she turned off the television to go to her room. A slight sound stopped her. She stood still, listened hard. Footsteps from above, near—or from—Elspeth’s tower room.

“Ridiculous,” Julianne muttered. “It’s two floors up.”

Something heavy fell to the floor, the sound muted as if by a rug. Silence again.

Julianne waited a few seconds then hurried out of the room, through the dining room and kitchen then up her stairs. She shut her door soundly then laughed at herself. Zach had planted the seed of curiosity tonight. Ghosts. Ha!

Still, she didn’t take much time to get ready for bed, then pulled the covers up to her chin and stared into the darkness for at least an hour. Just as she finally drifted toward sleep she heard a helicopter again. She threw back the covers and raced to the window in time to see lights from the chopper as it landed quite a distance away.

She saw Zach leave the house and jog into the night, disappearing. She waited and waited and waited. If he returned, it wasn’t via the same path. Vague sounds reached her from somewhere within the castle, but it was like an echo chamber, bouncing sound without clarity.

What do you do, Zachary Keller? Are you a smuggler? Contraband of some sort? Illegal substances? People?

Her imagination was working overtime and she was running on empty, tired and yet keyed up. She was tempted to creep down the stairs, but finally decided against it. She wasn’t going to cause problems, wanted nothing to interfere with her plans. If they left her alone, she would give them—although she had no idea who “them” might be—their privacy, too.

Her decision made, she went back to bed, knowing she was fooling herself. More than anything she wanted to know what was going on.

Even if it involved ghosts.




Four


Mr. Moody took Julianne to her new office the next morning and explained the job she was to do, entering numbers in a spreadsheet program, tedious work since she couldn’t relate them to anything, just numbers and geographical locations without particular meaning to her.

After she’d been working for a while someone came through the open doorway behind her. She’d expected Zach, but it was Mrs. Moody, carrying a mug of something steaming.

“I thought you could use a break,” she said.

The rapturous scent of coffee and chocolate reached her nose. Heaven had been brought to her.

“I hope you like mochas,” Mrs. Moody said.

“I love them. How did you know?”

“I watch television, too.” She offered a hint of a smile. “I know you young people like your fancy coffees.”

“I thought maybe you were a mind reader.” Julianne took a sip and sighed. “Perfect.”

“Let me know whenever you want one.” She left soundlessly, not even a disturbance of the air. Like a ghost.

Julianne stopped working to enjoy the hot drink, then proofread her entries, double-checking their accuracy. By noon she was done.

She hadn’t seen Zach at breakfast, nor had she heard the helicopter leave, but she’d slept soundly when she’d finally gotten to sleep, so maybe she’d just missed it. She’d hoped to get a daytime glimpse of him. She wasn’t aware of any visitors in the castle, either.

After lunch with the Moodys, the afternoon loomed large. She asked if she could go into town, a word she used tongue-in-cheek, since she knew there wasn’t much of a town, but maybe she could find some magazines or books to help her pass the time.

She’d accepted that she would stay on the Prom until allowed to leave. She’d called Jamey and told him to forget about finding her another job, and, while he was surprised, he was glad she’d “come to her senses.”

She couldn’t tell him the reason for her about-face was Zach, because Jamey would probably have something to say about that, words she undoubtedly should hear but didn’t want to.

Julianne wasn’t used to going it alone. She had close girlfriends whom she was advised not to contact until the whole mess with her brother was over. She couldn’t confide in or even just chitchat with the reticent Mrs. Moody. And the consequence of that was that, left to her own devices, Julianne had let her imagination run so wild she’d almost believed the house was haunted. She’d heard nothing, seen nothing, yet she found herself looking and listening. Crazy.

So, she asked to go to town and the answer that came back from Zach via Mr. Moody was yes. She could even take the Jeep. She hesitated then, wondering if Zach wanted her out of the way for some reason.

Still, it was an opportunity to do something new, so she went. Since there was only one main road, she couldn’t get lost. Within minutes she pulled up in front of a wooden, two-story building, a hand-carved sign hanging from the porch roof that said, If You’re Desperate.

It made her laugh.

Julianne climbed two sturdy stairs, walked across a five-foot-wide porch and entered through the front door. A bell sounded overhead, not a soft tinkling alert, but loud enough to call cows home. Two men and a woman looked her over from their seats at a wood plank table. Coffee mugs and empty paper plates holding wadded-up napkins sat in front of them.

The woman pushed herself up. “I’m Lil,” she said, extending her hand. She was about forty years old, had graying, long black hair and wore no makeup, nor did she need it. Her skin glowed. “You must be Julianne.”

“My reputation precedes me?” she asked, a little startled then reasoning that Mr. Moody must have called ahead.

“Something like that. My cohorts are Reb and Misery.”

The men nodded in greeting. Misery was a tall, skinny African American who looked to be in his thirties, and sixtyish Reb probably hadn’t shaved or cut his hair in twenty years, his beard and hair like a furry white blanket.

Like characters out of a story, Julianne thought, enjoying them. She rubbed her hands together. “I came for the action.”

Reb laughed, knocking his hand against Misery’s arm from across the table.

“Can I get you something?” Lil asked. “Got soda and coffee, but nothing designer or frilly. You have your choice of two sandwiches—tuna salad and tuna melt. No salads. Brownies, though.”

“I’d love a brownie and coffee, thank you.”

“We serve the high-octane, just so you know.”

“Strong’s good,” Julianne said, taking a seat at the picnic table next to Misery.

“So, you’re from Cal-i-for-ni-a,” he drawled.

How did he know that? “I am.”

“You’re one of those surfer girls?”

“I tried it once.”

“Once? You give up that easy?”

“I ended up in the E.R. with a concussion. Once was enough.”

Reb chuckled. “It’s a smart girl who learns a lesson.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at Lil when she placed the coffee and brownie in front of her then took a seat across from Julianne.

“What do you think of the island of the damned?” Lil asked.

Julianne relaxed, her hands cupping the mug. “Is that what you locals call it? I think it’s majestic, but I haven’t seen much of it.” She glanced around the room, which reminded her of a movie set. Nothing was displayed with designer flair, but the shelves and stacks were dust free, if jammed with everything from razors to toilet plungers, canned beans to bottled water. “I take it people do their grocery shopping elsewhere.”

“Orcas Island,” Lil said. “A quick boat ride.”

In otherwise empty spaces on the walls were pen-and-ink drawings of the island, including the store. They had price stickers attached, but she couldn’t read them from where she sat. “Is Orcas the island I can see from the castle?”

“Sure is.”

She was aware of her companions’ restrained curiosity and decided to open up a little, thinking it might garner some information. “I’m working at the Spirit Inn.” She took a bite of the brownie, deep, dark, chocolaty rich and packed with walnuts. Bliss.

“We heard that. How’re you liking it?”

“It’s a little spooky,” she said with a shrug. “Ghosts, you know.”

Reb nodded his head thoughtfully.

“Any kind of industry here other than tourist?” Julianne asked.

“Nope.” Lil pointed out the window. “There’s a day-camp area where people come by boat in the good months. They fish a little. Hike a little. Have a picnic. Then off they go at the end of the day. It’s regulars, mostly. We don’t have much of interest to draw folks.”

“Are there ever any guests at the inn?” There, see? She dropped that question right into the conversation. Julianne was proud of herself.

No one even fidgeted. “This isn’t tourist season,” Lil said.

Again, not an answer. What about when it is tourist season? Julianne wanted to shout. “I guess I won’t be around long enough to find out for myself,” she said. “I’ll be gone before too long.”

“We heard that, too.”

Julianne got a kick out of that comment. Like any small town, word traveled. She was just surprised that Zach was talking about her. Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he’d planted just enough information to deflect curiosity. Still, the three people at the table seemed to protect his privacy. Why? How much did they know about what he did? And why wasn’t she allowed to know?

“I’ve heard a helicopter a couple of times,” she offered as bait.

Silence hovered for several long seconds, then Misery said, “Julianne, if you’re looking for information on your boss, you’d best be asking him. We don’t interfere in each others’ lives around here. And we safeguard our own. You’re an outsider. A pretty one, and one with spunk, I can tell, but you don’t belong.”

She decided if she wanted to keep coming to If You’re Desperate for conversation and a change of pace, she’d better play the game differently. “Lil, this is the best brownie I’ve ever eaten.”

“It’s the weather.”

“Huh?”

“Something about the weather on this island makes ’em so good. Like San Francisco is good for sourdough. I tried to make these elsewhere, but…” She shrugged.

Julianne finished her brownie, picked up her mug and wandered over to examine one of the drawings. It was like looking through her tower window. She glanced at the price—one hundred dollars. The cost was out of place in the tiny store in the middle of nowhere, which made Julianne more curious. She could just make out a signature in the lower right corner, an H followed by a half-inch wavy line leading into another H, although both Hs were stylized so they might have been Ks or Rs. K and R? Keller? No, she was pretty sure they were Hs.

“A local artist?” she asked.

“We have a few,” Lil said. “Some pretty famous ones.”

“But you respect their privacy.”

Lil smiled. “Lots of little artist colonies here and about. Those creative types seem to fancy their space.”

“And don’t fancy other people.”

“Some of ’em. Strange bunch.”

Misery stood. “Time for me to get a move on. Nice meeting you, Julianne. Come back and visit.”

She shook his hand, then Reb joined him. They left together.

Alone with Lil, Julianne wondered how the woman made enough money to survive. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe she didn’t need to. Strong personal reasons must have driven the residents here, stronger than making money in the usual ways.

“Enjoying your time here on the Prom?” Lil asked.

“I’d like to be busier, but yes, I am.”

“If you’re considering taking a drive after you leave here, you can keep going around the bend. Stick to the road and don’t wander off onto private property.”

“Are there signs posted?”

“If it’s not on the beaten path, it’s private.”

All these cautions. It was like a soap opera and mystery all together. “It must take a special kind of person to live like this.”

“That’s a matter of opinion, I guess.”

Julianne decided she’d worn out her welcome. No one wanted to give her answers, and their doubts or concerns about her would not go away with one conversation. “How much do I owe you?” she asked Lil.

“First time’s on the house.”

Julianne shook her hand. “I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Gotta say, you aren’t what I expected,” Lil said as they walked to the door.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to expand on that comment?”

“Already got me figured out, do you, Julianne?”

“Rome wasn’t built in a day, as they say.”

“Nope. It sure wasn’t. You come back.”

“I will. Thanks.”

She took Lil’s advice and drove as far as she could on the main road, stopping a couple of times to admire the view. She saw two, possibly three, other islands in the distance and wondered about them. She knew that one hundred and seventy islands made up what was called the San Juans, but few of them were very touristy or had good-size populations. She wondered if Mr. Moody would take her to a couple of them by boat so that she could explore. They’d entered the rainy season, though, so maybe it wouldn’t be an easy thing to do.

She spotted the day-camp area on her way back to the castle and decided the island couldn’t possibly call it a tourist trade. Very few people must visit.

As she pulled up beside the castle, Zach came out of the house. In the light of day he looked more like the Brawny guy, a kind of lumberjack look that suited him—plaid flannel shirt with sleeves rolled to just below his elbows. Sturdy jeans. Boots. His blond hair looked like it’d been raked with his fingers to comb it, the ends touching the back of his collar. He stood, feet planted, thighs filling the denim fabric, from all that hiking, she supposed. His arms hung loosely by his sides, so she couldn’t determine from his body language whether he was irritated. If he’d crossed his arms she would know how to approach him.

So she just said hi.

“Have fun?” he asked.

“I did. Met a few of your friends.”

“Lil, Reb and Misery.”

So…he was letting her know that nothing happened that he didn’t hear about.

“An interesting bunch.” She rested a hip against the side of the Jeep. “Keep their own counsel well.”

He nodded.

She realized she’d forgotten to look for books or magazines. “Do you have another job for me?”

“Not at the moment. I’m considering giving you a project. Need to think about how it should be done.”

The sun broke through a cloud. Warmth infused her. She closed her eyes and enjoyed it. “I saw some artwork,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. “Pen-and-ink drawings of the island, particularly views from here.” She remembered the possibility of the letters being K and R. “Are you the artist?”

“I only moved here three years ago.”

She opened her eyes. He’d moved here three years ago. So what? The drawings could’ve been done yesterday, for all she knew. Or twenty years ago. “Meaning, they were done before you bought the place?”

“I’m saying that a lot of people have stayed here.”

“There’s a signature, and a price tag of a hundred dollars. That’s pretty steep for an amateur artist.” She would try an Internet search. At least it would give her something to do.

“I agree.”

Again an answer but not an answer. He was frustratingly good at deflection. She slipped out of her jacket as the clouds opened up further and let more sun through. Zach’s gaze touched her almost physically.

“Your clothes aren’t really suited to winter here,” he commented, his tone of voice casual but his inspection of her not casual at all. She felt…thoroughly examined.

“I’d go shopping, but…”

“Mr. Moody would take you to Orcas, if you want. Or into Anacordes on the mainland. You’re not a prisoner, Julianne. You’re being protected. They are entirely different things.” He came closer, until he could lean against the car with her and enjoy the sun on his face, too.

“Where are you from?” she asked, studying him, enjoying looking at him.

“Near San Francisco.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

“Are you happy living in this kind of isolation?” She couldn’t understand anyone voluntarily living so far from civilization—from shopping.

“I chose to.”

“That’s not an answer, Zach.” She waited a few beats. “Do you leave the island?”

“Regularly.”

“Where do you go?”

“All over. No place in particular.”

“Do you have a family?”

“Everyone has a family.”

She blew out a breath. “A family you see? Communicate with? Like?”

“Yes.”

That surprised her. She’d pegged him as a loner.

“How about you, Julianne? Aside from your brother, do you have family?”

She hesitated, not really wanting to think about it. But fair was fair. He’d answered her question, sort of. “My dad died ten years ago. I have uncles and cousins. I’m not close to them.”

“Your mom?”

She looked away sharply. “Left us when I was little.”

“Abandoned you?”

He’d softened his tone with kindness, which surprised her, and drew her gaze back to his.

“Yes,” she said, the word coming out shaky. “I haven’t seen or heard from her in twenty years. It was her way of getting out from the family business. If she’d taken my brother and me along, they would’ve tracked her down no matter what. So she left. Disappeared. Never to be heard from again.” The pain of knowing her mother had given her up so selfishly never left her. “I figured Jamey filled you in on my history.”

“A little. He said your brother was going to trial, and you needed a place to stay, and that anything else I needed to know you would tell me.”

Julianne didn’t know whether she would’ve preferred Jamey have told Zach about her past. Saying it out loud sounded harsh, even though she’d been innocent herself—at least of committing a crime.

“I’d be interested in knowing,” he said, “whenever you’d like to talk about it.”

“There’s a lot I’d be interested in knowing about you, too.” She wanted the conversation to end, so she smiled benignly at him. “We could trade, fact for fact.”

“So you’re a deal maker.”

“I’m bored. And I’m curious.”

“It’s for your sake, not mine, that I can’t share what I do. Trust me. It’s better this way.”

“You know, I’ve heard that ‘trust me’ thing most of my life. That other people know what’s best for me,” she said, annoyed. “I decided not to take it at face value anymore. People earn trust. And I do know what’s best for myself.”

“Fair enough.”

That let the wind out of her sails. She’d wanted a little debate, some emotion, something energizing. He’d stopped the potential for any of that.

“You could’ve argued the point just a little,” she muttered.

“I know.”

Irritated, she gave him a little shove, but smiled at him. He didn’t smile. He simply looked at her, his gaze intense and heated. Had she crossed a line, touching him? Some boss/assistant, protector/protectee demarcation visible only in his mind?

Or was it desire? Had her touch done that?

She was tired of the games men played. Part of her plan—no, her ultimate dream—had been to find a man who was open and direct and trustworthy, something she’d never really known and desperately wanted. Zach was about as closed and indirect as they came, although probably trustworthy. She didn’t think Jamey would’ve sent her to someone he didn’t truly trust.

Still, there was a difference between trusting a person as a person, and a man as a man, one half of a relationship, no matter how fascinating that man was. Some day she hoped she would get to appreciate the difference.

“I would say I should get back to work, but…” She let the sentence drift. “Do you have a library or something?”

“What do you like to read?”

“To be honest, I like magazines.” She remembered she was going to research the artist on the Internet. “On second thought, maybe I’ll just check my e-mail.”

She pushed away from the Jeep. He didn’t stop her. “Will you be joining me for dinner?”

“Probably.”

“Okay.” She felt his gaze on her as she walked away. His silent intensity flattered and aroused her. She wondered how much her hips swayed. Had she changed her stride, wanting to attract him? Probably. Anticipation and need skirmished within her, slowing her down. It felt good. Too good. Freeing.





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