LITMIR.BIZ

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don’t have any description?”

      “No.” She paused. “Not of the burglar. But there was another man…I was wondering if you’ve seen him around. Dark hair, dark eyes, maybe six feet tall. Looks really fit. Very controlled.” And sexy, she thought, but judiciously left out that assessment. “He says his name’s Zeke Cutler. Ring any bells?”

      It hadn’t with Mattie, but Ira stopped pacing and hesitated.

      “What?” Dani prodded.

      He looked at her. “You won’t fly off the handle?”

      “Ira.”

      “He’s a guest.”

      Hell’s bells, she thought. Just her luck. She decided not to tell Ira she’d thrown a bottle at him. “Go on.”

      “He arrived this afternoon—”

      “He had a reservation?”

      “Not exactly. Apparently he called in a favor and got the room of a former client or the daughter of a former client—something like that.”

      “A client? Who is he, what’s he do?”

      “He’s a security consultant. From what I understand, he’s very good at what he does.”

      Dani could feel her face redden. What in blue blazes had she gotten herself into?

      “Anyway,” Ira went on, “I believe he’s having tea on the veranda—”

      She was on her feet and out the door, leaving Ira Bernstein to do what he would about her burglar. A professional white knight. What next?

      Her head throbbed, and her antibacterial goo hadn’t done a thing to stop her scraped shin from hurting. But she pounded down the wood-paneled hall, past the library, through the ballroom and out to the veranda, which looked out onto a formal garden and a small fishpond.

      Zeke Cutler was there, alone.

      “Tell me, Dani Pembroke,” he said, rocking back in his rattan chair. “What’s the difference between a wild blueberry and the regular kind?”

      She inhaled, remembering he was a guest. “Wild blueberries are wild, for one thing. They’re smaller, and many people think they’re more flavorful than cultivated blueberries.”

      “Ah.”

      “Mr. Cutler—”

      “Zeke.”

      The rhythms of his southern accent and his subtle but unmistakable humor softened the hard edges of his voice. But his eyes, she noticed, remained alert and intense, taking in everything. She became aware of the spots of blood on her T-shirt, the ratty socks she’d quickly pulled on before heading up to the main house, her crummy sneakers, her short, messy hair. She usually dressed up when she was in a spot where she could run into guests.

      “I understand you’re staying here at the Pembroke.”

      “That’s right.”

      “What brings you to Saratoga?”

      He shrugged, his eyes never leaving her. “Curiosity.”

      That could mean anything, and she suspected he knew it. “My manager tells me you’re a professional white knight.”

      He gave a short laugh. “I’ve never thought of it quite like that.”

      “You’re not looking at a potential client, in case the thought crossed your mind.”

      The dark eyes narrowed. Suddenly self-conscious, Dani ran one hand through the pink geraniums in a marble urn, looking for a wilted blossom. There wasn’t one, so she snapped off one that was still healthy.

      “Was your being in my garden a coincidence?” she asked.

      “I didn’t rob you.”

      A man of few but well-chosen words. Dani didn’t know what to make of him. “If you think you saw an opening to get yourself hired to protect me or some such thing, you’re wrong.”

      There was a distinct gleam of amusement in his eyes. “Honey, I’d rather protect a pack of pit bulls.” But the humor vanished; he became, once again, calm and steady, utterly in control. “I’m not in Saratoga on business, if that’s what you’re getting at. You want to tell me what happened at your cottage?”

      “No, I don’t.”

      “You surprised your thief, didn’t you? He pushed you from behind—I take it you didn’t see him. Did he get away with anything of value?”

      “Nothing much.” She wished she hadn’t come out here. She imagined Zeke Cutler was very good at what he did.

      “Did he snatch your gold key?”

      Dani controlled her surprise. So Zeke Cutler had read the article on her. Was that why he’d come to Saratoga, to the Pembroke? Had he robbed her after all? Or had he staged the burglary to get her to hire him? She saw that her hand was shaking and pulled it away from the geraniums; she clenched it at her side so he wouldn’t see.

      “That’s not your concern,” she said.

      “I suppose it isn’t.”

      “If I find out you are a leech,” she said, “I’ll have you thrown off my property.”

      He stretched out his long legs. “Fair enough.”

      “Meanwhile—” she managed a gracious smile that would have done any Chandler proud “—enjoy your stay at the Pembroke.”

      Having survived tea and being called a professional white knight, Zeke headed into town for something real to eat. Dinner at the Pembroke had included flowers. His waiter had promised they were edible. Zeke had passed. Besides which, he had an appointment to keep.

      Roger Stone was waiting for him on the terrace at a hopping restaurant just off Broadway that did, indeed, serve hamburgers. A good-looking man in his mid-forties, Roger had taken over as vice president of Chandler Hotels after his brother-in-law—Dani Pembroke’s father—was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He was now president and chief executive officer; Zeke had checked. Roger rose, and the two men shook hands.

      “It’s good to see you,” Roger said, as if they’d seen each other since the summer his wife’s sister had disappeared, which they hadn’t.

      “Sorry I’m late.”

      “I’d begun to wonder if you’d gotten my message.”

      It had come to Zeke’s room at the Pembroke, before he found himself ducking Dani Pembroke’s mineral water bottle. “Word travels fast. How’d you hear I was in town?”

      Roger shrugged evasively. He was fair and tall and fit, with angular features, pale blue eyes and impeccable taste in everything. His suit, Zeke noticed, was custom tailored. He himself had put on a fresh shirt but had left on his jeans. “A friend arrived at the airport the same time you did. It’s a small airport. And half the fun of coming to Saratoga is keeping track of who else is here.” Roger had already ordered a bottle of wine; he poured Zeke a glass. “But I suppose if you’d wanted to keep a low profile, I’d never have found out you were here.”

      True, Zeke thought.

      “Does that mean you’re not here on business?” Roger asked.

      Zeke smiled. “Just here for health, history and horses, as the saying goes.”

      “But you’re staying at my niece’s hotel…or whatever she calls that place of hers.”

      “It seemed as good a place as any.”

      Zeke tried his wine. It was, of course, an excellent choice. A waiter took his order for a hamburger. Roger wasn’t eating. “Sara and I have a dinner party later this evening.”

      Sara, Sara. Zeke wondered what

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