LITMIR.BIZ

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over to the window and, propping her bare feet up on the window ledge, gazed at the white caps and the gray ocean, and wondered why she’d come all this way to get brushed off, and how soon she could decently leave.

      “You heard?” Piet Connor knew the answer. Laran looked angry enough to spit nails or bite the nearest neck without foreplay. “I’m not sure how to handle this…”

      “I’ll take care of it. If all she has is an unlucky guess, we have no problem. If she persists in delving where she shouldn’t…” He paused. “It’s a shame we involved her.”

      Piet frowned. It was Laran who’d suggested they draw Lizzie into the operation by degrees. “It was your idea.”

      “My idea was to have it known she’d set up the system. She wasn’t supposed to unearth the alternative records and maybe jeopardize the entire setup!” He scowled. “She talked to no one else about this?”

      “She said no, but…” Piet’s stomach knotted. “Maybe she already has. To the FBI.”

      “If she had, I doubt you’d be here to discuss the matter.”

      Piet’s knees wobbled, and he was already sitting. “This is terrible! What are we going to do?” Panic rose, as if to swallow him from the inside out and engulf him and the organization he’d spent years establishing. What if word spread to his confederates? “This could be a disaster!”

      “It could,” Laran agreed, “but it won’t be. I’ll see to that.” He stepped over to the antique walnut desk and took Piet’s hand in his. “You’re worrying too much.” He held the hand to his face and listened as Piet Connor’s blood raced through his body. “Calm down, Piet.” He gently licked the skin covering the pale blue veins. “Relax. Elizabeth mustn’t sense your concern.” He lapped back and forth until the veins protruded through the skin. As Piet’s heartbeat calmed and his shoulders untensed, Laran bit.

      Piet let out a slow sigh of satisfaction, and smiled—a smile softer and more genuine than anything his four wives had ever seen. His little murmurs of pleasure were cut short as Laran stopped sucking and licked the wound to seal it.

      “You stopped too soon!” Piet protested, his body ready for, and needing, more.

      Laran shook his head, a hard light in his dark eyes. “No, Piet. We’ll consummate this after dinner. Patience.”

      Ocean watching wasn’t enough to erase the sense of menace and disorder that got worse each time Elizabeth came home. As a child she’d felt chaos and tension around her, and it had been Adela, Heather’s mother, and the second of Elizabeth’s three stepmothers who’d taught her how to protect herself from unsettling influences.

      She needed those skills now. The turmoil around her was overwhelming. If she was to stay calm and focused the next couple of days, she needed a safe refuge.

      She took two bay leaves from a small box in her suitcase and crumpled them in the four corners of the room. That done, she lit a pale gray candle, set it on the floor by the sliding-glass doors, and sat cross-legged in front of it. Breathing slowly, she concentrated on the light dancing on the narrow wick and the cleansing influence of the slow-burning flame. She shut her eyes as her mind embraced the calm.

      Some minutes later, relaxed and at peace, she blew out the candle and crossed over to the adjoining bathroom. After showering, she pulled on a fresh pair of slacks and a clean T-shirt. She picked a purple one to go with the new silver and amethyst chain she’d bought in England. A touch of mascara, and the new lipstick she’d treated herself to at the duty-free, and she was ready. She picked up her black leather coat and her pocketbook and, closing the door behind her, went slowly down the wide, curved stairway.

      Out the front door, she crossed the gravel drive to stand on the cliff edge, and watch the breakers below. She loved this spot; as a child she’d all but lived out of doors. Maybe in the morning, she’d climb down to the beach, as she had as a child, or do it the grown-up way and take the path.

      Right now, she needed to convince her father to do something about the setup in Devon. Tonight at dinner, she’d talk to him again and convince him, to at least send someone to check. Things there were so rotten, even she had found the stink. An auditor would no doubt crack the shenanigans wide open.

      She walked back toward the house. Darn! Laran was waiting, hip propped against the car, obviously all set to join them. Before she had the chance to suggest he stay behind and let her spend an evening alone with her father, Dad arrived and hustled them all into the car.

      As the sound of the engine faded down the drive, Alan took the stairs two at a time and made straight for Elizabeth’s room. His skeleton key was unnecessary; the door was unlocked. His instructions were to search the room, make copies of any floppy disks or CDs he found, and photocopy any papers. There were no papers, other than a letter from a woman named Heather. A thorough search revealed no disks or CDs, and her wallet held fewer credit cards than his own, plus a driving license and a library card.

      The letter, IDs, and cards copied and returned, he checked her rental car. He found two CDs: Aida and John Michael Montgomery. He didn’t think much of her choice of music. Just to be certain, he slid both disks into the CD player. He was right, Miss Connor’s taste in music sucked. He put one back in the player and the other in the glove compartment where he’d found it. Job done, he double-checked the house and settled down to watch a Terminator video.

      So much for a father–daughter dinner, with Laran brooding over the meal. Elizabeth wasn’t sure who she was most frustrated with—herself for failing to convince her father he really did have a potential problem, her father for brushing her concerns aside, or Laran for pretty much telling her she had no idea what she was talking about.

      The serenity she’d created by meditation, and her time on the cliff, had been zapped. If she was as stupid as they both made out, it was a wonder her father had ever trusted her to work for him. Serve him right if the Marshes were robbing him blind. She’d done her best. If he chose to ignore her, tough cookies! And with that last thought, she undressed, and got into bed.

      She woke rested, and much calmer. She’d let herself get steamed up last night. She’d have another go at talking reason to Dad at breakfast—except Laran would be there. Apparently he did live in the house, so as to be always on hand. The man needed to get a life! No, Connor Inc. was his life. Just as it was her father’s.

      She drew back the curtains on sky as gray as her mood last night. As she watched, the first drops of rain hit the glass. So much for climbing cliffs today. Perhaps she’d drive inland to Eugene, or browse the bookstore she loved in Florence, or just stay in and finish the novel she’d started on the airplane.

      She glanced at the book with a blue and yellow design on the cover and realized it had been moved. Looking around, she noticed details she’d been too weary and wound up last night to catch: one of the hangers in the closet was a little askew; even the underwear in her drawer was more neatly folded than she ever left it. That was the giddy limit! She’d come all this way to warn her father someone was trying to rip him off, and what did he do? Brush her off while someone searched her room! Who? She couldn’t picture Laran poking through her panties. She shuddered and laughed simultaneously at that image! Had to have been eager, helpful Alan. The damn sneak! She was tempted to complain to Dad. Let him know Laran’s stooge did a piss-poor job.

      Why waste her breath? Dad wasn’t interested in what she thought, and she wasn’t staying here so Alan could count her Tampax in his spare time. She’d planned on visiting Heather. She’d arrive a couple of days early.

      That decided, Elizabeth showered fast, wondering if they’d checked out her body wash and loofah, and dressed, before repacking. Leaving her case upstairs, she went downstairs for caffeine and toast.

      Alan, the presumed sneak, arrived as she was spreading the local marionberry jam on toast. Was it her imagination, or did he look shifty as he said good morning and helped himself to coffee? Maybe he was trying to decide if she had the black or the pink bra on this morning. She was tempted to tell him and

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