The Montoros Affair. Charlene Sands
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snideness was vintage Fraser, as well. The Houston literary agent was more than a fascinating, enigmatic study as a businessman; one-on-one he usually exuded a theatrically affected persona. Zach hadn’t been able to resist using him in his work before, but as a composite character. Never the man as a whole. He knew Felix would enjoy being immortalized in print, and wondered how much to hint that it might just happen, and soon.
“A clue…all right. Call it three stories in one. A project like nothing I’ve ever done before.”
“That’s what Under the City is supposed to be, and if you remember correctly, I had to practically prostrate myself before Carstairs to stop his complaining about the young antagonists in the story.”
Zach could think of a few tongue-in-cheek responses to the idea that Felix would prostrate himself to anyone, but decided to leave well enough alone. He hadn’t called his agent to make more trouble for himself than necessary. First and foremost, he was on a fishing expedition.
“Just hear me out,” he replied, attempting to sound believably entreating. “It’s a story, inside a story, inside a story. A play for revenge, and power and the sacrifice of innocence. Only—” he swung his chair around to see if his comely neighbor had finished hanging the blinds in her bedroom “—I’m not sure yet how much the innocent will have to sacrifice.”
Felix’s responding sigh stretched like a full-grown python across the wires. “I don’t need this, Zach. I just saw you Friday night. You said nothing about switching story lines.”
“You didn’t ask. If you’ll recall, you were on your way in from a meeting in Dallas and merely ‘stopping by to check on your favorite client,’ and a bit of my premium whiskey. You were unwinding and in no mood to talk shop.”
“Well, I am now,” Felix snapped, clearly irritated that he’d missed the opportunity to catch on to this sooner. “And if you had anything close to a conscience, you would have brought up the matter yourself!”
In the pregnant pause that followed, Zach watched Willa frowning over the instructions for the blinds. A part of him would be sorry to see them go up. Another part, less enthusiastic, but rational, knew it was necessary to her survival—and his sanity. What was left of it.
“Zach? Don’t you hang up on me.”
“When have I ever done that, Felix?” he asked mildly, admiring the subtle curves and valleys he’d held against him only hours before.
“That’s true. And I wish you’d be as professional about this commitment. Leave the machinations for your board games with your young chess friend, and write me a nice, scare-the-pants-off-everyone horror story. You know that’s what your readers want from you.”
“They want the next Zachary Denton release…and trust me, it’ll be a page-turner. I’m not even sure I’ll survive it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Zach? Put that damned glass down for a minute and talk to me!”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Felix,” Zach warned, instantly serious. “The moment you hear my voice slur, you can preach and demand all you want, but until then butt out.”
“Bloody hell, Zach. Since the accident it’s been nothing but an uphill battle trying to tiptoe around your black moods and self-destructiveness. You know I’ve sympathized with your tragedy, defended you as your aversion to do publicity intensified. If that was me in that chair, I wouldn’t want to deal with TV cameras and reporters, either. But between your drinking and this neurotic reclusiveness—”
“Be very careful what you say next,” he warned his agent in a near whisper.
“Someone needs to say it, and it’s past time. Sweet heaven, Zach, sometimes I think we’d all be better off if you’d ridden that damn plane straight into the ground. It might have been kinder than having to watch you destroy yourself this way.”
Zach shut his eyes, but there was no stopping the rush of memories Felix’s words triggered…the sickening moment when he’d realized the plane had been sabotaged…the shock and the terror…the vow of revenge and the petrified prayer he’d repeated again and again through clenched teeth as he’d bartered for his soul and fought for his life.
When he reopened his eyes, he saw Willa had succeeded in getting the first blind up. He watched shapely calves, knees, then thighs appear, as she tested it, and almost sighed with relief as the red flames of madness receded.
What was she wearing beneath that man’s dress shirt? And beneath her obvious fear this morning, had the curiosity, even desire he’d seen in those bottomless eyes of hers, been real? The blinds suggested one answer, but he wondered. Were they going up to protect her from him…or to protect her from herself?
Did he want either of them to discover the answer?
“Zach? Zach!”
“I’m here.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“Oh, but you did.” He drew a deep, relaxing breath. “I’ve never asked you to like me or even to respect what I do, Felix. But I don’t pay you to lie to me.”
“You’re right.” Felix’s voice flowed heavy with regret. For once, all pretense and affectation vanished. “We need to talk about this. I don’t know how much more I can take. I don’t even know if I have the guts to break this to Carstairs. We have a contract for crying out loud. He could crucify us.”
The blinds lifted the rest of the way, and finally she saw him. He’d swept back the sheers to make it easy for her, although it was almost eight in the evening and new storm clouds made it darker than usual for a late spring night. He hadn’t turned on the lights, either. No need to remove all the challenge. There was only the glow from the computer screen to let her know he was there. He knew it cast him in an eerie silhouette. Visible, but not identifiable. Real and surreal. As he was.
The unexpected flash in the corner of his right eye stung. It came from the car pulling into his driveway. Round three, he thought, his mood sinking once more.
“Zach, talk to me.”
“I have to go, Felix. Young Elias has arrived.”
“Let him wait. Why you waste your time with that overambitious weasel is beyond me. He doesn’t have any real talent.”
“I disagree,” Zach replied, refocusing on Willa’s frozen stance. “At any rate, it’s not wise to underestimate. Anyone. I’ll call you soon.”
He hung up the phone and after punching the proper button on the remote control to release the downstairs lock, he watched as she hesitantly moved closer to the window to see his visitor more clearly. Despite the distance between them, her confusion and wariness were palpable.
Truly lovely.
The underwear lady, indeed.
What was he going to do about her?
When Zachary Denton left the upstairs room to see to his visitor, Willa lowered her new blinds and shut them tight. Her heart continued to pound from the way he’d been watching her, and seeing the unrecognizable car pull into his driveway hadn’t helped. For an unsociable person, Zachary Denton had his share of company.
Stepping back, she considered her workmanship. Not bad for a woman who, only a few years ago, could barely read a tape measure, let alone handle a nail and hammer. Being on one’s own certainly forced a person to adapt and try new things, and Willa was glad she’d decided to stick with the same ivory color as the walls. She would use color through accents; she’d chosen green and yellow to go with the sunflower print bedspread and curtains bagged and waiting in the closet.
One more day and she would have her bed again. She rubbed at her aching back. What she wouldn’t give to be able to climb into the tub right now. But she wasn’t finished with her work for the day. Besides, Starla said she would—
The doorbell sounded,