The Perfect Gift Page 26

  Jared almost reached for her then, almost shoved his damnable scruples out the window.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said, her voice firm. “I’m going to find Max and teach him some killer guard dog moves.”

  “Lucky dog,” Jared said.

  “Just you wait, Scotsman. You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  AFTER JARED LEFT, MAGGIE STOOD WATCHING A BAR OF sunlight touch the fragile old carpet. Her hands opened, reaching for something she was almost afraid to define. She couldn’t possibly deny the attraction between them, yet they both had secrets, dark corners that they were unwilling to share. What kind of trust could come from secrets?

  He was right, she knew, to make them wait. Jared would never knowingly hurt her, but he still had walls to be scaled, serious ones by the look on his face.

  Maggie heard a tap on the door.

  Nicholas Draycott entered, looking tired and worried. “I’ve just arrived from London and Jared said I’d find you here. How are you managing?”

  “Well enough. But why aren’t you shouting at me?” She swallowed. “All I’ve done is bring you danger. You should toss me out on my backside.”

  “None of that kind of talk. Whoever is doing this will be stopped.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Jared and I are working on several plans to accomplish just that.”

  Maggie watched sunlight play over the moat. “How can he do what he does?”

  “Because it’s his job, and he happens to be very good at it.”

  “Good at nearly getting killed? He took the package out to the conservatory without any hesitation.” Her voice shook. “He said you wouldn’t mind if that went up in smoke.”

  “He was right. The old conservatory is almost a hazard, yet I can’t bear to have the structure pulled down.” He rubbed his neck. “But I didn’t come here to talk about architecture. There have been some developments that you ought to know about.”

  Maggie went very still. “About my father?”

  “He hasn’t been found.”

  Her heart pitched. “Not another bomb?”

  “No, not that.” Nicholas smoothed the surface of an inlaid rosewood table. “First there were the incidents in London, then the phone call made to the local police last night, supposedly by me. Today a similar call was made to the Royal Military Police, warning about a bomb here at the abbey. Someone is mocking us, and I find his sense of humor most distasteful.”

  “Jared thinks he’s playing with us, maybe in a show of power.”

  “He could be right.” Nicholas braced one shoulder against the marble mantel. “Unbalanced or not, this man is damn clever, and so far he’s left nothing traceable.”

  “Don’t the police usually keep records of emergency calls?” Maggie asked.

  “We’ve already checked. The first call was actually logged in as coming from my town house in London. The bomb call today was tracked here to the abbey. And I’m not referring to the call Jared made to request backup.”

  “I don’t understand. Did someone break into your home in London?”

  “I almost wished they had,” Nicholas said grimly. “Then this might have made more sense. There was no break-in and no one else had physical access to our London telephones.” He hesitated, drumming his fingers on the polished marble. “But to someone with the right kind of skills, there might have been different access.”

  “You mean that somehow he made the phone calls seem to come from those places even though they didn’t?”

  Nicholas nodded. “It’s difficult, but not impossible. Phone fraud has-become a high art form. With a few bits of information and some high-tech equipment, I’m told that the Queen Mother’s phone calls could be rerouted to the IRA.” He laughed grimly. “And vice versa.”

  “My God,” Maggie whispered. “I thought that only happened in movies.”

  “I’m afraid not. Technological changes occur every day, codes imbedded and computers given supposedly unbreakable security. Unfortunately, the criminals move just as fast. Sometimes even faster.”

  “Jared said that the phones were going to be monitored starting today. Won’t that help?”

  “Up to a point. It might turn up a clue as to how the calls are being rerouted.”

  A cold bubble seemed to rise and fill Maggie’s chest. “For some reason these people are trying to get at me, but this isn’t your problem. It would be best if I went back home before things get worse.”

  “Why?” he said bluntly. “If you leave now, nothing will be solved. Whoever has been following you will simply trail you back to the States.”

  Maggie turned away to hide the shaking in her hands. “What do they want from me? I have nothing of my father’s. I’ve sold the jewels, and all his papers and documents were with him on that airplane when it crashed. What are they hoping to find?”

  “I wish I had an answer. Clearly someone is interested in what you have or what you know.”

  “I don’t know anything.”

  Nicholas closed a hand on her shoulder. “I believe you without question. So does Jared. We’re not ready to throw in the towel, I assure you. We’ve worked hard to promote this event so that it becomes the dazzling opener in what I hope will become a major yearly exhibit. That requires government support, good press, and financial backers. We’ve been fairly successful so far, but there’s been a major snag.”

  She could barely speak. “What kind of snag?”

  “I’ve had word that certain persons in high places object to Jared’s presence. They want him replaced by someone who has active military status.”

  There was more, Maggie sensed. Far more. “Does this have to do with what happened in Thailand?”

  A shutter seemed to fall over Nicholas’s face. “What do you know about that?”

  “Nothing. He won’t say. But that officer named Cox said something about it. He mentioned a box. When I asked Jared, he became utterly distant.”

  Nicholas made a short, angry gesture. “It’s not my story to tell, Maggie. It’s his, always and only. He’s suffered too much not to have earned that right. Just give him time.”

  “I’m trying. But what if he’s replaced?”

  “Then everything changes. The situation may become complicated.”

  Maggie heard the tension in his voice. “They don’t want me in the exhibition. They don’t want me here at all, do they? I’m too much a reminder of my father.”

  His shrug was an eloquent answer.

  She turned away as a fish jumped from the moat, sending silver spray through the golden sunlight. So much beauty, she thought.

  So much cunning and betrayal.

  “I should go home.”

  “No.” Nicholas smothered an oath. “I’ll fight this decision every step of the way.” His eyes held a dangerous glint. “As it happens, I have a fair bit of clout.”

  Maggie hadn’t any doubt of that. He was a man she wouldn’t care to have as an enemy. “I hope you don’t regret this. And as I recall, you haven’t shown me that necklace yet. I’d like to begin my examination as soon as possible, so I can order specialized materials. You’ll want complete period accuracy, I assume.”

  Nicholas didn’t immediately answer. He turned away, straightening a vase beneath the window. “I think the necklace should wait,” he said slowly.

  “Why?”

  “The restoration work will be a major undertaking, and this isn’t the best time for you to be worrying about anything but your original designs for the exhibition. I’ll need all your finished pieces in three weeks if we’re to begin work on the catalogue. Then the display cases will have to be specially designed. I haven’t even begun to think about lighting.”

  He spoke fast and calmly, but Maggie sensed there were key details he wasn’t telling her.

  “I have seven pieces done already. You’ll have the rest on time.” Assuming there’s no bomb blast in the gatehouse.

  He gave her a crooked and entirely charming smile. “Hell of a mess, isn’t
it? Kacey says it’s a gift I have, finding trouble.”

  “I’ve done my share of helping you.”

  Marston’s sedate footsteps made Maggie turn. The butler cleared his throat. “There is a phone call for you, my lord. Your wife.”

  Maggie smiled at the light that entered Nicholas’s face. “Calling to be certain I haven’t forgotten to bring her brushes, no doubt. And she’s right, I would have forgotten.” He took Maggie’s hand in a firm grip. “Let me know if there’s anything you need. I’ve ordered the metals you requested. Meanwhile, Marston knows where everything is. Probably better than I do,” he added.

  “Quite possibly,” the butler said dryly.

  Jared hunched forward, tapping at his computer keyboard in the sunny front library. It had taken him a solid half hour to finish a report about the package. The physical remains had already been sent off for analysis, with a list of chemical components expected in twenty-four hours. The rerouted phone calls had a few bureaucrats muttering angrily, and his latest conversation with Nicholas had done nothing to relieve Jared’s anxiety.

  In Nicholas’s words, there was a move afoot to see that Maggie was handled more “professionally.” That meant hard questioning and lots of it. Then would come the threats to reveal some of her father’s shadier business transactions unless she agreed to full cooperation with a government investigation.

  Jared’s fist slammed down on the polished table. Pressure wouldn’t work against her. It would only close her up tight. Meanwhile, Jared didn’t trust her in the care of anyone else, not when so many questions remained.

  And if they tried to remove her from his protection?

  He had only one option. They would leave the abbey until Nicholas had a chance to countermand the decision. There were still quiet villages on deserted lochs in Scotland where two people with the right contacts could hide for months.

  His next order of business was to check in with Izzy. Jared preferred to communicate via modem, knowing that his computer security was ironclad.

  He typed in a password and waited impatiently for the transmission to proceed.

  Izzy?

  Right here, Mac.

  Need answers. All phone lines monitored?

  All done. Records available.

  Knew you could do it Any results on that envelope I sent you?

  None. Fabric held no hair or skin samples. No luck with metal case either. Absolutely clean.

  Just hoping.

  Jared watched a frond of asparagus fern shiver at the window. There had to be answers, and the best way to find them was to narrow the choices. Abruptly he remembered Maggie’s belief that the stolen gems would be impossible to disguise.

  Anything unusual in the gem trades? Volume of jewels being offered for sale or changing hands? Any usual gems being shown for sale or recutting?

  Will check. Have contact in Amsterdam who can help.

  Good. Give info soonest. Also need financial search. Medical bills for Kincade, Sarah Amelia. Chicago hospital, probably Cook County, within the last year.

  What am I looking for?

  Jared frowned at the computer. What was he looking for? An anonymous donor who had paid the family medical bills? A dummy corporation set up by Daniel Kincade to handle the family’s finances after his disappearance? Or was this just another wild-goose chase?

  Need total amount of bill and how paid. Name and dates of checks if possible, too.

  Gee, Mac, you going into healthcare business?

  Not anytime soon. Also need check on real estate or stock purchases by Daniel Kincade, last ten years. Send to usual file, full security.

  Got it.

  Final request is rundown on express delivery system. Name: Lion Express. Keep a light touch, understood?

  Understood. Expect answers tonight.

  As Izzy signed off, Jared imagined his associate rubbing his hands in delight over this new challenge. He could ease his way into any computer on the planet—business, private, even secure military systems. Best of all, Izzy had extensive contacts so that he could do most searches legally.

  But searches still took time.

  Jared sat back and steepled his ringers. He was tired of playing cat and mouse. The fastest plan would be to lure Maggie’s pursuers out into the light at a time and place of Jared’s choosing. Nicholas had already made some suggestions, but none left Jared comfortable about Maggie’s level of safety. Among the possibilities was an invitation-only auction of czarist amber coming up in Paris. If he made certain that Maggie’s presence was well publicized, Jared was certain her pursuer would wrangle an invitation, too.

  And until then?

  Jared sat back, rubbing the knot of tension at his neck. Until then everyone going in and out of the abbey would be personally screened and approved by him. The case of this morning’s delivery would not be repeated, and Maggie would stay under personal observation at all times by him, Nicholas, or a colleague who was equally reliable and discreet.

  The scent of wildflowers caught his attention. He pushed to his feet at the sight of Maggie standing at the door with Max peering expectantly from her arms.

  “Sorry if I interrupted.” Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, and there was a smudge of charcoal on her cheek. She was wearing a slide of deep blue silk that shimmered every time she moved. Jared wanted to drag her down on the rug and sweep away the silk, then drive them both to delirium.

  He closed his hands to keep from reaching for her. “You didn’t. I was finished.”

  “You must be very good at those things.” She ran a hand through her hair, leaving it a storm of amber and gold. “I never could get beyond the first help screen.”

  “All it takes is a bit of practice.” There was no mistaking her crackling tension. She was brittle, uncertain, on the edge—and he also knew it would be the last thing she’d ever admit to. “Been working?”

  She shrugged. “I tried. All I managed to do was ruin three sheets of silver.”

  “Get some rest,” he said softly.

  “I thought maybe…” She touched his jaw with the warm curve of her palm. “If you’re finished here, I thought you might want to…”

  He wanted.

  Oh, how he wanted. The force of what he read shimmering in her mind left his throat dry and gritty. He considered it, too. Gripping her hand and guiding her upstairs to enjoy a bout of grinding, mindless sex. Except that it would be grounded in what felt damnably like love. The old-fashioned, roses-and-diamonds kind. The kind of love that left a man planning names for his first child.

  There lay the problem.

  Love was something that demanded more than a night. Love demanded plans and a future Jared was certain he didn’t have.

  Yet even then, he considered it. Right up until he saw the thick white bandage slanting across her thumb. “You’re cut.”

  “The wire slipped.” She shrugged. “It happens.”

  “Damn it, Maggie—”

  “It’s nothing.” She glared at him. “Sometimes I get burned, sometimes I get cut. It’s hardly earth-shaking, MacNeill.”

  He exhaled slowly, fighting a primal need to possess and protect. She was becoming an obsession, and that was all the more reason to give them both some space.

  She pulled away stiffly. “Look, forget it. You’re obviously busy and I’m tired. I could use a good night’s rest. Max will keep me company, won’t you, big guy?” She nuzzled the puppy, who barked and buried his nose deep in the soft folds of her sweater.

  Exactly where Jared yearned to be.

  Somehow he kept his expression cool. “Maybe you can control his drool factor.”

  “A little puppy drool doesn’t hurt a flea, does it, Max?”

  Jared started to say something to soften the rejection. But Maggie was already gone, the scent of her perfume lingering like a forgotten summer afternoon.

  Killing him with slow, perfect precision.

  THREE HOURS LATER THE WOODS AROUND THE ABBEY were silent as the moon pulled
from a black ridge. Nothing stirred at the Witch’s Pool or the old gatehouse. Only the moat moved, restless in the silver moonlight, reflecting tangled lines of clouds.

  A perfect background to his bleak mood, Jared decided. He paused in his nighttime security round, listening to the hundred normal sounds of an old house settling. Breathing, Nicholas called it. The complex noises could be unnerving if you weren’t used to them.

  The wind sighed over the moat and shook the old casement windows. Somewhere a wall creaked. Jared stared at the somber portraits along the shadowed corridor. He could almost feel their eyes upon him—especially that haughty-faced aristocrat with the sad eyes up in the Long Gallery.

  Adrian Draycott was the man’s name. According to Nicholas, the eighth viscount Draycott had not been a man to trifle with. The hardy adventurer had fought off vicious dakhoits in the Punjab while he’d made some exceedingly clever investments in the East, and with the family fortunes secure, he’d wandered wherever his heart chose: Sardinia, Crete, even to the Americas. But some old sadness had clung to him, and he’d returned to the abbey he’d loved so well. There he had died, leaving behind even more rumors and legends, along with the legacy of his beloved roses, which still graced wall and hedge.

  There was more to the story, but Nicholas would never reveal it. Now as Jared stood in the restless silence of night, he felt the lure of those strange legends. In this ancient house he could well believe that ghosts might walk.

  Beyond a pair of heavy tapestries, he saw shadows gather across the hall, where Maggie lay sleeping.

  He was moving before he knew it. His hand rose to grip the polished frame as he felt a desperate urge to see that she was safe. There was perfect reason to push open the door, check the locked windows and scan the room.