Portrait of a Girl Read online

  It certainly helped to have found both men while they were in their teens and susceptible to flattery and bribery. Now they owed him their lives and their freedom, and he made sure to remind them of the fact regularly. He didn’t quite understand their personal lifestyle choices. Getting body parts pierced had never appealed to him, and the new obsession with tattoos was nothing but strange. The body art did add to their mien of danger, which had proven helpful on more than one occasion.

  Enjoying each other’s bodies was something else he found unfathomable. Although he did derive enjoyment and sexual release by watching their animalistic coupling on the video monitor he’d had installed at the château. Sometimes they had an extra person join in their fun, usually male, but sometimes female. His own private pornography studio.

  Jeffers sauntered out to the waiting Rolls-Royce as best he could, hampered as he was by the need to use a walking stick. His treacherous body was letting him down. And yet he still paused to enjoy the feeling of importance created by one of the most luxurious automobiles ever made. Granted, it was only a rental, but he’d grown accustomed to luxury at home in France and saw no reason to lower his standards while traveling. He only hoped this trip would come to an end before he froze. He’d never been so cold. There would soon be flowers in the garden at his château, but he doubted anything ever bloomed in this frigid climate.

  Maxim, his driver, held the car door for him, but his eyes were on Nicholas. Jeffers knew he had kept them apart long enough. They’d committed a small infraction and been punished by having to sleep in separate rooms. Tonight he would allow them to be together, and he’d stay to watch. A little titillation as a prelude to his own reward.

  “Drive carefully in this dreadful snow, Maxim. Nicholas, you sit back here with me.”

  The drive across town was accomplished quickly, and they were soon in an area where larger homes were spread out on generous acreage.

  Maxim turned the wheel too quickly at an intersection, and Jeffers grabbed for the door handle. “Slow down, you fool.”

  Nicholas’s arm shot out and held him steady. Another reason to employ strapping young men. He’d have need of their physical assistance more and more as the months passed and his own strength dwindled.

  They pulled into a long, curving driveway. A small brick house sat behind stone pillars where a gate had once hung. Farther along, a large house that would have been impressive in its day crowned a small hill. But many years of neglect had taken its toll, and the once grand Queen Anne mansion resembled a tawdry boardinghouse, complete with strips of wood covering a second-floor window.

  “Are you sure this is the place?” Jeffers frowned at the overgrown hedge and the rusted fence.

  “Oui, monsieur. I followed her here exactly.”

  “Stop. Who is that man?”

  Maxim stepped on the brakes, put the car in reverse, and backed up. “A worker, perhaps?”

  “You didn’t see him earlier?” Jeffers glowered at Maxim, the imbecile.

  “Non.” Maxim shook his head.

  Jeffers glanced at Nicholas, who’d searched the main house the day before. “Well?”

  “The house is almost empty. That car was not here.”

  Jeffers narrowed his eyes at the large BMW. He doubted the young mademoiselle could afford such luxury. He watched the man, heard him whistle for a large, shaggy dog, and they both entered the house.

  “You say the girl went in that smaller house?”

  “Yes, there she is now.” Maxim pointed toward the little house close to the driveway.

  A woman stood at one of the upstairs windows. A young woman with hair the same color as that devil Robert James. Her dear departed papa.

  “Merde! We need to leave before we are seen.”

  Jeffers glanced between the large, crumbling mansion and the small, neat house, and wondered. Yes, that must be it. She’d moved into the smaller house and rented or sold the other place. But why? And why did the property look unkempt?

  Clearly, further investigation was called for.

  “Stay away from the main house. I doubt she would have left anything of value behind for a stranger to steal. You will return tonight, Nicholas. While she sleeps. I need that painting.” He rubbed his hands together. “I am chilled. Let us return to the hotel, and we can all get warmed up.” He winked, and the flushed faces on the other two men told him they understood exactly what he was saying. And they were more than willing to comply.

  Chapter Two

  The shrill clanging of the second alarm clock jerked Heather from sleep, and she shivered in the chill as she hurried across the room to silence the darn thing. Cripes, she couldn’t even remember the first alarm next to her bed going off at four. She must have really been out of it. Now it was four ten and she’d have to hurry.

  She turned on the light, squinting against the glare, and her gaze was caught by the slight gap in her bedroom door. She forced herself across the icy floor, holding her breath. Reaching the door, she peered into the hall and then examined the doorknob. The door had been securely latched the night before. She was positive. Her jumpy nerves had made her test the door twice. Besides, she’d given up letting the cat sleep with her. His nocturnal ramblings usually ended with his landing next to her pillow with all the grace of a bowling ball.

  Trying the door now, it was impossible to open without turning the knob completely. A shiver ran up her spine. Unless Samson had sprouted opposable thumbs…

  She grabbed the large, heavy flashlight she kept in her nightstand for when the power went out and opened the door again, peering down the hall, listening for the slightest noise.

  After several minutes, her leg cramped and she was forced to move. It took forever to reach the top of the stairs. She peered over the banister. Nothing stirred. She eased down one step at a time, trying to avoid the squeaky spots. She paused half way, waiting for…what, she didn’t know. Too many B horror movies as a teenager were catching up with her, filling her head with images of crazed killers wearing hockey masks.

  Samson trotted out of the kitchen, calling for his breakfast. He wouldn’t be so relaxed if there were a stranger in the house. Heck, he’d be hiding under the nearest piece of furniture, allowing her to sacrifice her skin for his safety. She switched on the overhead light and put her flashlight on the kitchen table before scooping up her kitty.

  “Did someone break in last night? Nah, I’m just being a scaredy-cat.” She scratched under his chin, eliciting a purr, and walked to the back door. The full moon bathed the blanket of snow covering the yard in a shimmering light.

  A distinctive set of large footprints led from the woods directly to the back door.

  She hugged Samson tighter and stepped back, into a puddle of water. She put the cat on the floor and reached for the back door. It swung open with the lightest touch.

  Someone had been in her house while she slept.

  Every hair on her body prickled. Were they still in the house?

  She grabbed the flashlight again, her hand shaking. Clutching a large knife in her other hand, she tiptoed from room to room, peering into closets and cupboards.

  For such a small house, it took forever to search. Nothing seemed to be missing. She ran upstairs, but aside from her bedroom and the bathroom, there was only one other room. Empty, save for a few boxes filled with what was left of her father’s belongings.

  She should call someone. Who could she call? The cops? But nothing was missing, and maybe she forgot to lock the doors. It was obvious to her that her desk had been searched, and none too carefully. Could she prove to a stranger that it was messier than usual?

  Why would anyone break into this little gatehouse when there was a large mansion a hundred feet farther up the driveway? Neither place contained anything of value. Her father had seen to that.

  The footprints from the back door led to a vacant lot along a side street. Someone could easily park there, walk two minutes through the woods, and remain hidden from view.r />
  But why? She was the most boring person she knew.

  She shivered again. The man—it had to be a man with feet that large—may have stood by her bed while she slept. He could have touched her. Fighting the urge to scream, she threw on some clothes. After filling Samson’s food dish, she grabbed her bag, jacket, and the package of cookie dough, and ran full tilt to the bus stop.

  She’d call the police from the warmth and safety of the bakery.

  …

  Tony jogged up the driveway, relieved to have gotten in a run before the forecasted storm. He’d spent the day reading reports on old burglaries, looking for some clue that would help put Jeffers behind bars, and his head was about to explode.

  A woman’s voice yelled an oath. He picked up speed, racing to the back of the gatehouse.

  Heather looked up from where she was kneeling in the doorway, myriad tools scattered on the floor and one of her fingers in her mouth, clearly the result of an injury. “I’m not mechanically inclined.”

  “What are you attempting to do?”

  She sat back on her heels and held out a shiny brass dead bolt. “I want to install one of these, but it’s being stubborn.”

  He crouched next to her and examined what she’d accomplished. Not half bad, but she needed help. And a power drill.

  “I’ll get my toolbox and give you a hand.”

  “That would be fabulous. I’ll give you a discount on next month’s rent.”

  “Nah, but if you have more cookies…”

  “It’s a deal.”

  He retrieved his tools from the trunk of his car, put on a heavy sweater, and got to work. Once the lock was installed, he tested the keys. All three of them. He glanced into the kitchen, saw that Heather was busy at her mixer, and pocketed one of the keys.

  He stepped into the warm room. “Okay, you’re all set.” He started taking off his sweater and noticed another lock set on the table. “Front door?”

  “Oh, you don’t have—”

  “No problem.”

  Twenty minutes later he had the keys to both doors. And he was relieved that Heather had better security.

  He leaned against the counter. “What are you baking?”

  “Double chocolate chip cookies.”

  “Why double?”

  “Because you can never have too much chocolate.” She winked.

  Darn, she was pretty when she smiled like that. “Chocolate is one of the pleasures in life.”

  “Something I couldn’t live without.”

  “Like breathing.” He snagged a few chocolate chips from the bag.

  “And sunshine.”

  And kissing. He watched as she mixed the dough, all her concentration focused on her task. The overhead light illuminated her face when she turned to reach for a cookie pan. The fine line of her jaw, angled just so, perfect for a kiss. The tiny mole just above her shirt collar, begging to be kissed. The shell of her ear, made for kissing, and nibbling. And her mouth, her pink lips parted slightly in concentration. If he leaned a bit closer—he’d probably get kneed in the groin.

  Shaking his head at his fantasy, he retreated to the table, just as the pan of cookies went into the oven.

  “Would you like some tea with your cookies?” She wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Not much of a tea drinker.”

  “Coffee?”

  “Water’s good after my run.”

  “You like to run? Or is it a necessary evil?”

  “Depends on the weather.”

  She took off the voluminous apron, revealing her sexy figure. “I don’t like running in any weather.”

  “How do you stay in such good shape?”

  “Pfft, hardly.” Her cheeks colored slightly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a woman blush.

  “From where I’m sitting the view is fine.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay, you need to stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “That—that flirting, or whatever it is.”

  “I’m just telling it like I see it. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t say any more. And I definitely won’t mention your beautiful eyes.”

  The oven timer beeped, cutting off what she’d been about to say. But she was smiling.

  Chapter Three

  Two hours before sunrise, Tony Simons yawned and put the lens cap on his nightscope. It had been a long couple of nights, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he’d written his report. He closed the bedroom door and went downstairs, whistling for his dog.

  “Here, Delilah, out you go,” he said, opening the back door and shooing the large mutt out to do her business. He paused at the door and breathed in the clean, crisp air. So different from New York City, with its constant hum and pervasive smell of diesel. He wondered if he could get used to the relative quiet of this small city in Maine.

  The sky to the east lightened to a pearly gray. What his mother referred to as the “witching hour.” He chuckled. More like the hour for vandals and thieves. However, he doubted many people would be out in what he’d call a blizzard. The locals would probably call it a dusting of snow. Now he understood why half the vehicles in town were pickup trucks with a plow stuck on the front.

  He called for the dog and she came bounding in, spraying clumps of snow over the floor. He dumped a cup of kibble into her dish and gave her fresh water. One glance at the coffeemaker and his stomach rumbled. He’d been drinking coffee all night trying to stay awake, and his hands still shook from the caffeine buzz. Maybe he should try one of those herbal teas Sam was always touting as the best thing since the invention of the internet.

  There was nothing worse than a reformed caffeine addict, and his boss had been on a health food craze for several months.

  Tony poured a glass of orange juice and went into his office. It had been the dining room of the once-grand house, and he’d decided to use the scarred mahogany table as his desk, saving himself from having to buy a piece of crap from Wally World. A wooden file cabinet fit under the tabletop, making up for the lack of drawers. The large windows let in plenty of light, and it was next door to the kitchen. The perfect setup.

  He opened his laptop and waited for various security programs to determine it really was him before logging in to International Security Investigations.

  His cell phone buzzed, and he glanced at the incoming number, knowing it was too damn early for most sane people to be up.

  “Simons,” he barked into the phone.

  “Tony, I’m on my way to the airport.”

  “Where the hell are you going this time? I was about to send you an update.” He grinned. Sam might complain about the demands of his job, but he never turned down the chance to hop on the next plane.

  “Can’t say. You’re not on the list for this one. What’s up?”

  He heard voices in the background, one of them female. Sam had been single for as long as he’d known him. Were his bachelor days over? Or had he unbent enough to take a female agent along on a case?

  “Night before last Ms. James was followed home.” Best to stick with the bare facts. He’d save mentioning the cookie delivery for the written report. “She ran into the house. Lights went out shortly after. At approximately one o’clock, a man wearing dark clothes entered through her back door.”

  “Did you apprehend him? Who was he?”

  He cleared his throat. “Ah, no. I wanted to see what he’d do, so I continued watching—”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind?” Sam’s voice exploded from the phone. Tony held it away from his ear. “Our best chance to get to Jeffers and you don’t protect the James woman?”

  He waited a beat and started again. “I went down to her house, watched through the windows. I didn’t take my eyes off the guy for a second. Like I said, I wanted to see what he was after. I’ve searched, and there’s nothing of value in either her small house or this place.”

  “Except for Ms. James.”

 
; “The intruder left, empty-handed, without going near her.”

  “So who was it?”

  “He got in a car, no license plates, and drove off.”

  “Damn, I don’t like this. Anything else we need to worry about?”

  “No. Her schedule never varies. She goes to work before dawn, comes home, goes to bed early. A police cruiser stopped by yesterday afternoon, talked to her at the door for a few minutes, then left. She was spooked enough to install dead bolts on the front and back doors. I still say I’m wasting my time.” He yawned and scratched at his two days’ growth of beard. “No sign of her this morning, but we’re in the middle of another freaking snowstorm.”

  “Stay close to her, Tony.”

  Tony chuckled. “I can’t get much closer unless— No. No way in hell am I—”

  “Look, I’m not saying you marry the lady. Just be nice and make friends. I’m at the airport, gotta run.”

  The phone went dead, and he threw it on the table. He cursed long and hard. He wasn’t paid to babysit. And he sure as hell wasn’t a gigolo. Ms. James was certainly pretty, blond hair and blue eyes being his preference. And she had the kind of curves he appreciated. Hell, watching her go about her chores was the highlight of his day. But he was supposed to keep a professional distance, wasn’t he? Just what the hell did Sam expect him to do?

  He ate the last of her cookies and hoped she’d drop by with more real soon. Heck, he’d like her to visit without any sweets.

  …

  The ringing phone jolted Heather from a deep sleep, and a delicious dream. One featuring the guy renting the house up the hill.

  Tony.

  Mm, even his name was sexy.

  She rolled over, grabbed the phone from the floor, and mumbled, “Hello.”

  “Heather, it’s Sally. We’re not opening the bakery today. Stay in bed and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She sat up, squinting into the darkness. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

  Sally laughed. “I guess you haven’t looked outside yet. We’re in the middle of a nor’easter. StormCenter said to expect eighteen inches of snow by tonight. Everything is closed or canceled.”