Deadly Sanctuary (16 page)

I cleared my throat uneasily. “No.”

He stared intently at me for another minute then released me. “You remind me of my horse, Summer Rain.”

“Really.”

“She’s almost as stubborn as you are.”

“Thanks. I like being compared to a horse.” As before, our verbal clashing of swords had me on an emotional seesaw. When I got out of the truck, he moved to block my way to the building entrance.

“Hold on. That was a compliment.” Mischief sparkled in his deep brown eyes. “It took me two months. She fought and kicked and bit, but you know what?”

I shook my head. He leaned so close to my ear I could smell his aftershave. “Defiant as she was, as headstrong as she was…in the end, I finally did tame her.”

Throughout the remainder of the workday, I tried to analyze how I felt about that encounter along with his carefully camouflaged remarks from the night before. The painful end to my engagement in Philadelphia had left me vulnerable and hesitant about getting involved again, especially with a man like Bradley, who apparently still carried with him a ton of emotional baggage concerning his past. It was strange, but I had the odd sense that he was pulling me to him, yet pushing me away at the same time.

By the time I reached home that evening I was glad for the distraction of dinner with Eric Heisler. It would provide some needed breathing room.

Outside my bedroom window, mourning doves commiserated with each other in low, melancholy flutelike warbles. The brisk wind that had howled all afternoon, kicking up towering dust devils and piling tumbleweeds against the side of the house, slackened as the sun reached for the horizon.

Not having a clue as to where Eric planned to take me for dinner, I had trouble selecting something from my sparse wardrobe. All I knew is that I was hot, and whatever I chose would have to be cool. Finally, I settled on the gauzy white summer dress Ginger had insisted I buy when we’d gone to Phoenix.

The wide cloth belt accentuated my slim waistline and I smiled remembering Ginger’s lament that if only she were tall like me, she could have carried off this particular style with the handkerchief hemline.

I leaned into the mirror to apply eye shadow, and noticed with surprise that my skin, normally never exposed to much sunlight, had taken on a bronze appearance. My mother would be amazed when she heard. She’d always told me most redheads didn’t tan, they just burned. And what was this? A colony of freckles growing on my nose? Oh well. Nothing I could do now. Baking in the Arizona sun was a trade-off for feeling good again.

The hair on the nape of my neck was still damp from the hasty shower I’d taken when I’d reached home a half hour earlier. As I attempted to pin my wild curls into place, a throb of pain emitted as my fingers touched the tender spot where I’d been struck the night before.

There was no question in my mind now that I was onto something big, and it made my stomach quiver with a combination of excitement and anxious anticipation.

After making sure all the doors and windows were locked, I checked my answering machine to make sure everything was working correctly. I’d verified the call-forwarding feature and had my fingers crossed the mysterious woman would phone again.

I slipped on white pumps and couldn’t figure out why I had an attack of nerves as Eric swung his white Mercedes into the curved driveway. My palms were sweaty when I opened the front door.

The guy was definitely hot and looked like he’d just stepped off the cover of GQ. Clad in cream slacks, an open necked lemon-colored shirt and a blue blazer, he flashed me a brilliant smile and handed me a single red rose. “This exquisite creation of nature pales in the presence of your divine beauty.”

I laughed. “Browning or Keats?” I inquired, accepting the flower and adding it to the already stuffed vase of blooms he’d sent me.

“Neither,” he answered lightly, his blue eyes crinkling with humor. “Heisler.”

“You write poetry?”

“I dabble,” he said, ushering me out the front door.

After assisting me into the lush interior of his car, he swooped the filmy material of my dress, which had touched the dusty driveway, and tucked it next to me. In doing so, his hand lightly brushed my thigh. I watched him stride around the front of the car to the driver’s side, and thought he looked almost too perfect to be real.

I don’t know why it came to mind just then, but I had a sudden vision of Eric and Stephanie together. If the rumors of their love affair were true, it wasn’t hard to imagine how intrigued she must have been with this man. He and Bradley seemed as different as two people could be.

“Where are we going?” I asked as we headed out. “I wasn’t sure what to wear. I hope this is all right?”

He took his eyes off the road for a second, surveyed my appearance with apparent appreciation, then returned his concentration to driving. “I planned a very special evening for us and yes, you’re fine. As a matter of fact, you look stunning in that dress and I especially like your hair that way.”

“Thank you,” I murmured. He was certainly front and center with the compliments. Just like the night we met, I was a little awed by his attentions. It was a bit disconcerting since he knew next to nothing about me.

I wasn’t too surprised when he turned onto the road leading to the tennis ranch. “I brought my notepad along,” I said, patting my purse. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask you some questions concerning your involvement with the fund-raiser?”

He shot me a quick look of dismay. “Then this is still to be strictly a professional relationship between us? Reporter and subject?” He braked the car in the circular driveway and the young valet jumped to attention.

“We don’t have to talk about business the entire evening.”

“Good,” he said briskly. “I hadn’t planned to.”

It must have pleased Eric to see the place jammed with people. It was a strange fashion mixture of resort wear, evening attire, or tennis togs. All seemed equally acceptable with the casually elegant surroundings.

Eric spoke to and shook hands with a lot of people. He introduced me to so many, it was a struggle to remember all the names. While I chatted with a talkative couple from Vermont, I noticed him cross the room and say something to Doug Sauers who then nodded and left.

When Eric returned, he slipped one arm through mine and led me up a wide stairway that opened onto an outdoor terrace overlooking the golf course. In the soft glow of lavender twilight, the scenery took on a rather silken appearance; the sky, the craggy mountains in the distance, even the prickly pear cactus plants lining the path leading out to the manicured greens.

I’d expected to have dinner with him in the main dining area, and was a little taken aback as he seated me at the solitary cloth-draped table adjacent to the wrought iron balcony. Bougainvillea vines sporting bright pink blossoms climbed lattice-work along the wall while a mister from above surrounded us with a fine spray of water, neutralizing the warm outdoor temperature. The sound of soft dance music drifted up from the lounge below. It was an enchanting setting.

“So, it’s to be just the two of us. Do you entertain all your guests in such a fashion?” I asked, accepting the chilled glass of champagne he handed me.

“Certainly not. I promised you a special evening, so I intend to do my best to make that happen.” He deftly lit the two tall candles on the table, then sat down opposite me.

At that moment, Doug Sauers arrived with a plate laden with smoked salmon, caviar and delicate wedges of thin toast. “I’d say, you’ve made a good start,” I said sipping champagne while he filled his own glass. I could tell by the label on the bottle that it was outrageously expensive.

By the time Doug appeared again with the main course, we had discussed our mutual interest in music, art and literature. When he skillfully steered the conversation to my personal life, I gave him a quick sketch of my background, then concentrated on my poached salmon with dill sauce while he talked about the history of the tennis ranch. Perhaps it was the romantic atmosphere, or maybe it was the champagne, whichever, I finally had to remind myself that I was here on business.

“I’d better get to this interview while I can still write,” I said, waving away his offer of more champagne.

He laughed. “I hope you’re enjoying this evening as much as I am.” His glance lingered on my face and dropped down to the scooped neckline of my dress.

“It’s been lovely.”

His eyes had a rather hypnotic glow in the candlelight. “It’s not over yet.”

As flattering as his attentions were, I felt a bit self-conscious. He’d gone to an awful lot of trouble to impress me. To busy myself, I dug my notepad and pen from my purse. “Let’s talk about the Desert Harbor Shelter. What caused you to take such a personal interest in it?”

“My mother called one day to tell me about one of the girls she had befriended. She was fifteen, homeless, scared and pregnant. Up to that point, I’d been involved in mostly civil and personal injury cases, and I’d never handled an adoption before. When the word got out, I was astounded at the number of desperate couples who came forward vying for that one unborn child.”

“What’s the average cost for an adoption?”

He shrugged. “It depends on the situation. The adoptive couple usually agrees to pay the expenses of the birth mother up to the time of delivery and, in most cases, several months after that.”

“What are the expenses?”

“The usual. Maternity clothes, room and board, all medical bills including the attending physician, hospital charges and, of course, my fee.”

“And what does your fee involve?”

“Many things. Paperwork, interviews, court appearances if necessary, travel time and so forth and so on. As I said, it depends on how difficult the case is.”

Doug arrived again and after giving me a friendly wink, took away the plates and left a pot of espresso coffee beside a dish of delicate pastries. It was completely dark now and the sky shimmered with pinpoints of light. I thought about the tennis ranch, Eric’s luxurious car, the sumptuous dinner we’d just eaten, and recalled the words of the talkative attorney I’d spoken with last Saturday. Mike Scott’s observation that he was doing well appeared to be quite accurate.

While Eric poured coffee, I reviewed my notes in the wavering shadows cast by the candle’s flame. “I guess I’ve kind of taken a personal interest in the adoption process because of Ginger’s sister. I understand she’ll be getting her baby very soon. The whole family’s ecstatic about it.”

A benevolent expression lit his face. “I’m glad of that. Unfortunately, I haven’t the time to handle too many of these cases, but, when I do it’s very gratifying to tackle two difficult situations and take it to a satisfactory conclusion for everyone. If you need more information, I can give you the names of several other attorneys in Phoenix who do this on a regular basis.”

His ardent expression led me to believe that underneath his suave, polished manner, he appeared to have a genuine emotional commitment to his clients.

“What do you say we talk about something else now?” he asked.

“Just a few more questions. What can you tell me about Claudia Phillips?”

“Who?”

“Claudia Phillips. Oh, come now. The woman who runs the shelter.”

“Oh, of course. I’m afraid I don’t know much about her at all. I don’t actually have any direct involvement, you know. I see her at the fund-raiser once a year and from what I’ve heard from Mother she’s very efficient. Other than that, we’ve barely spoken.”

“I see.”

“Why?”

“When I asked her for a tour of the shelter and to very discreetly interview a few of the girls for my story, she was…shall we say, less than cooperative. I guess I was hoping you could use your powers of persuasion to perhaps get her to change her mind.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you. I’m afraid I have to get up very early tomorrow, so…”

“Of course.” He rose and came around to pull out my chair. The familiar strains of a waltz filtered in the open doorway as we crossed the patio. Without warning, he drew me into his arms. “Surely, you can give me one dance before I take you home,” he murmured into my ear.

I didn’t protest as he whirled me around the floor. When the music ended he didn’t let go. Even though I’d sensed this might happen, the shock of his warm lips on mine jolted me right down to my shoes. The pressure of his muscular body conveyed the message clearly that if I wanted it, there was much more to follow.

As expected, Saturday morning dawned clear and bright. I��d arrived downtown by six and was amazed to note the number of people already lining the sidewalks, staking out coveted front row spots, preferably in the shade.

“Hey, there!” I swung around to see Ginger across the street waving madly in my direction. I waved back and she made a beeline for me. Oh no. There was little doubt she was going to quiz me about my date with Eric. If I told her, the whole town would know by nightfall.

“Okay, out with it,” she demanded, panting. “What happened?”

“Oh, Ginger, I can’t talk now, I’m working.” She looked so stricken I had to laugh. Patting her shoulder I said, “Don’t have a stroke. I know it’s going to be torture for you, but right now I have to interview the grand marshal of the parade.” She started to protest, so I raised my hand. “I swear I’ll tell you later, okay?” Just how much, I didn’t know yet.

She made me promise to call her as soon as I got home, even if it was midnight. Amused by her antics, I watched her run back across the street and Nona waved to me from her wheelchair. Brian, holding a colorful umbrella to shade his grandmother, grinned and waved too.

Turning to go, I gasped in surprise as I ran full speed into Roy Hollingsworth. “Whoa there, little lady. You better slow down or I’ll have to give you a speeding ticket.” He gave me a wide grin, and touched the brim of his western hat. “You have a great day, Miss O’Dell.”