Eye of the Beholder (36 page)

“You're wondering if Stewart was here twelve years ago when your father died, aren't you?” she asked gently.

He looked back out into the night and made himself sound casual. “It would tie up the loose ends. Assuming he's involved in this.”

“I'm sorry, Trask. I don't know when Stewart
came to Avalon. All I can tell you is that he's been around for a few years, at least. He said something once about having been one of the original tenants in Avalon Plaza.”

“When did the Plaza open?”

“Five or six years ago. I don't know the exact date.”

That told him nothing. “It shouldn't be hard to find out when Lutton arrived in Avalon.”

“No.” Alexa hesitated. “Now what?”

Trask glanced at the room service cart. “Now we eat. Then we go to bed and try to get some sleep while we wait for Strood to call.”

Her gaze went to the doorway of the darkened bedroom. Trask watched her eyes slide quickly away from the shadowy entrance.

“I'd better go home,” she said. “I'll need a change of clothes and other things in the morning before I go to the shop.”

“Let your assistant open Elegant Relic.”

“I promised her a couple of days off after the big rush was over. She said something about going to Tucson to see her boyfriend.”

Trask reached out and took Alexa's hand in his. He ran his thumb lightly over the soft skin on the inside of her wrist and savored the shiver of awareness that went through her.

“You can stay here,” he said softly. “I'll drive you home in the morning in time to take a shower and change clothes.”

In the muted light the depths of her eyes appeared limitless. “It's one thing for you to stay with me at my place. It's another to spend the night with you here in the hotel.”

Anger sparked in his gut. Or was it fear? He wondered. “What difference does it make?”

“Like you keep saying, this is a small town.”

“Right. And everyone in it already knows about our relationship. Hell, even that phony psychic who read our auras tonight guessed that we were involved in an affair.”

“There is such a thing as discretion,” she muttered. “Staying here in the owner's suite with you and walking out through the lobby tomorrow morning in front of your front desk staff and the concierge does not qualify as discrete.”

He tightened his grip on her wrist. “You're making excuses. Why?”

“Please, Trask. It's been a long night and it's not over yet. I'm tired…”

“I said no more excuses. Tell me the real reason you want to leave.”

She glared at him. “Stop arguing with me. This is my decision. If I want to go home, I get to go home.”

He exhaled deeply. “It was that aura reader, wasn't it?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“She made you nervous.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Alexa said.

He narrowed his eyes. “She made you nervous about me. About our relationship.”

“Maybe it's time I did stop and think about it,” Alexa said carefully.

“Don't tell me you actually believe in any of that psychic nonsense.”

“No, I don't believe in it. But she did make me consider some aspects of the situation.”

“Such as?”

Alexa looked out the doors toward the moonlit spires. “Such as how quickly everything has happened between us.”

“Damn. I was afraid of that.”

She slanted him a sidelong glance. “We've both been under a lot of stress.”

“Uh-huh.”

She wriggled her hand until he reluctantly let her go. “Stress tends to magnify emotions. Makes them seem much more intense.”

“Yeah, sure. So what?”

Irritation glinted in her eyes. “Look, you started this conversation. You asked me to talk to you about my feelings. I'm trying to do that, but I'm getting the distinct impression that you're already bored with the topic.”

“Okay, so I'm not good with this kind of discussion.”

“That's obvious.”

“Maybe I just don't want to hear you say that you don't think our so-called intense emotions are worth jack squat.”

She stiffened. “I didn't say that.”

“Sounded like it to me.”

“I'm trying to inject a little reason and logic into this relationship.”

“Like hell. You're running scared all of a sudden, and it's the fault of that little con artist who said she could read our auras.”

Alexa rolled her eyes. “For heaven's sake, don't blame her. If anyone's innocent in this mess, she is.”

“I ought to find her and demand my money back.” He walked out onto the balcony and gripped the iron railing. “Fifty bucks to screw up a perfectly
good relationship. Talk about getting ripped off.”

There was a short, stark silence behind him.

Alexa made an odd sound at the back of her throat.

A sudden, dark suspicion swept through him. He turned quickly.

Alexa gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes glinted above the edge of her palm.

He stared at her, incredulous. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Sorry.” She got control of herself and gave him a placating smile. “I don't know what came over me.”

He set his jaw. “I'm glad you find something amusing in this fiasco.”

“Trask, we're both exhausted, tense, and, generally speaking, not at our best. Let's get some rest. We can resume this conversation at another time.”

A wave of dejection welled up inside him. “I don't think it will go much better the next time.”
It never does
.

The last of the laughter died in her eyes. “I see. Well, in that case, there's no point pursuing this. Will you take me home or shall I call a cab?”

“You know damn well I'll take you home.” He watched her collect her big purse. “And I'll stay the night, just like I did last night. I'll sleep on the couch if that's the way you want it. But I'm not leaving you alone. No until this thing is finished.”

“All right.” She started toward the front door. She did not look back at him.

Something inside Trask snapped. He took three long strides, caught her by the shoulders, and pulled her around to face him.

“I don't believe in auras and psychics, but I do
believe in mutual attraction.” He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “I think we've got plenty of that going here.”

She searched his face. “It's not enough.”

“You said it was intense.”

“Intensity is nice.” Her smile was wistful. “Better than I imagined it would be. But I don't think it's enough, either.”

“Personally, I would like to go on the record as stating that this is the most intensity I've felt for a long, long time. Maybe it's not enough for you, but it beats whatever is in second place for me. And, frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn if it is the stress that's doing it for us.”

“Trask…”

“It feels good.” He shook his head to clear it of the frustration he felt at not being able to find the right words. “It feels very good.”

“I thought you were the one who didn't want to get sucked into a good fantasy.”

“I've never been involved in a fantasy that was this…” Once more he groped for the right word. “This real.”

Damn. That had come out all wrong. He'd blown it.

For a few seconds she seemed frozen in place. He could not read the emotions that swirled in her eyes. It occurred to him that he had just staked a fortune on a desperate gamble and lost everything.

Then, very slowly her hands glided up his arms and twined around his neck.

“Maybe you're right,” she whispered. She
brushed her mouth across his. “After all, how often does a really terrific fantasy come along?”

A euphoric sense of relief sluiced through him. He captured her face between his hands and crushed her lips beneath his own.

Fantasy or not, this was enough for now, he told himself.

He scooped her up into his arms and carried her across the lush, elegant chamber into the ebony and silver bedroom.

He put her down on the gleaming black lacquer bed and came down on top of her, starved for the tight, hot warmth of her, thirsting for the salty perfume of her body.

The phone warbled.

His first instinct was to ignore it. He put his fingers on the buttons of Alexa's silk shirt. She opened her eyes and looked up at him.

“Strood,” she said.

He groaned. Reluctantly he rolled to the side of the bed and plucked the phone off the nightstand.

“You got Trask. This had better be good.”

“Sorry if I'm interrupting anything important on your end.” Strood's sarcasm was laced with weary exhaustion. “I realize you big-time CEOs have lots more critical things to do than talk to a hick cop. But I just got your message, so I figured maybe you actually had something important you wanted to tell me.”

Trask groaned and sat up against the lipstick-red velvet-covered pillows. “I was in bed.”

“Lucky you.”

Trask heard the sound of voices and a heavy truck engine in the background. “Where are you?”

“Scene of an accident. To tell you the truth, I was
a little surprised that you weren't hovering in the vicinity. Lately you seem to be nearby whenever anything dramatic happens around here.”

“I've had all the drama I want tonight.”

“Me, too. Unfortunately, I've got a mountain of paperwork ahead of me so if this can wait until morning…”

“No. It can't wait. Listen, Strood, Alexa and I have been talking. For a variety of reasons, we think you should look into the possibility that Stewart Lutton, the guy who runs Café Solstice at Avalon Plaza, may know something about what's going on.”

“Lutton?”

“I'll be glad to give you our thinking on this. We may be totally off base, but it's a place to start.”

Silence vibrated on the other end of the line.

“Huh,” Strood said.

Trask heard the scrape of metal and what sounded like the grinding of a heavy-duty winch.

“Strood?”

“Yeah?”

“Where, exactly, is the scene of that accident?”

“Funny you should ask. Avalon Point.”

Trask shut his eyes. He felt Alexa's hand close around his shoulder. “Not again.”

“Apparent suicide,” Strood said quietly. “Even left a helpful note.”

A sense of grim certainty settled on Trask. “Who's the victim?”

“Stewart Lutton. Drove his motorcycle off the cliff. In the note we found in his RV, he says something about the Guardian's work being finished.”

33
 

Alexa was worried about Trask. She knew that he was waiting for an answer to the phone call he had placed earlier. He had asked his investigator to find out when Stewart Lutton had moved to Avalon.

They still did not know much more than they did after Strood's call last night. The chief had been too busy to give them all the details. In any event, the investigation was still ongoing. From what Alexa could gather, the note Stewart had left claimed responsibility for the attempted murders of Joanna Bell and Foster Radstone and for the death of Dean Guthrie. According to Strood, Stewart had made some bizarre claim about having had a vision in
which the ghost of King Arthur had appointed him the Guardian Knight of the Dimensions Institute.

Stewart's note had not, however, mentioned Harry Trask or the events of the past.

She watched Trask covertly across the breakfast cart as he drank coffee and munched eggs with methodical efficiency. She could feel the prowling tension in him. He would not be able to relax until he had the answers to the questions that had haunted him for twelve years.

She had to admit, she was more than a little curious herself, now. How long
had
Stewart lived in Avalon? she wondered.

She took a sip of the tea that the hotel kitchen had prepared in a china pot. The label read English Breakfast and carried the resort's signature logo. Some generic blend, she decided. It was okay, for hotel tea. Nevertheless, the executive chef would have done well to consult with Stewart before selecting a supplier.

Stewart
.

The phone rang. Alexa was closer to it than Trask so she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

There was a short, startled pause before a deep masculine voice said, “I'm calling for JL Trask. Did I get the wrong number?”

“No, he's here. Just a second.” Alexa handed the phone across the cart.

Trask took it from her. “Phil? What? No, that wasn't the maid.” He flashed Alexa a sudden, amused glance and then looked away. “A friend.”