Portrait of a Girl Page 5

  “Then I worked at a car dealership, a restaurant, a clothing boutique, and a bunch of other places. I came here to Portland for the funeral. I happened to be in the bakery when they put up a help-wanted sign, and I started work the next day.” She laughed at the memory. “It was trial by fire, let me tell you, both figuratively and literally. I was responsible for more than one pan of blackened muffins before I got the hang of the industrial ovens. I seem to have a natural flair with bread. I love it there. And the employee discount is great.”

  Jeffers smiled and pushed his plate away. He hadn’t eaten much, spending most of his time playing with his food. He’d drunk more than half of the first bottle of wine and was well into the second. He didn’t seem affected by the alcohol. She wondered if he was an alcoholic. Perhaps that’s why he and her dad had parted company. Robert James had evidently lacked patience for people with no self-control, according to his journal entries.

  “So you are out of the art business entirely then?” he asked.

  She hid her yawn behind her napkin. It was way past her bedtime, and she wasn’t learning anything about her father. “I enjoy art, but on a strictly amateur level. I’m not interested in auctions or the discovery of the next Picasso wannabe. What about you? Are you still working at the Louvre?”

  He shook his head. “Oh, mon dieu, no. Not for many years. I have retired to a small villa in Tournus, in the east of France. I lead a simple life, a country life.” He went on to tell stories of some of the characters from the village, despite her attempts to guide the discussion back to her father.

  Finally he stopped talking and shifted in his chair. He’d slumped a little and gone quite pale, a light sheen of sweat on his face.

  “I’m afraid I must end this enjoyable evening. I suddenly feel quite tired.” He raised his hand, and the large man who had sat next to the driver when they’d picked her up approached the table. “I’ll have Nicholas escort you home in a taxi. I feel that I must return to the hotel immediately. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “That’s not necessary, monsieur. I can get home on my own.” Thank goodness the evening was over. This guy was giving her the creeps.

  “I won’t hear of it. It is no trouble at all for my man to see you safely to your door.” He rose to his feet with care and stood waiting for her to collect her coat. “Perhaps we can get together again while I am in town. Bonsoir, ma petite.” He bent over her hand, and she cringed at the touch of his cold, clammy fingers. Like a skeleton covered with fish skin.

  She followed Nicholas out to the sidewalk and waited while he requested a cab from the doorman.

  Feeling only marginally safer with this guy, she tried again to get away. “You really don’t have to go with me, you know. I’m perfectly capable—”

  “No trouble at all, mademoiselle. It will be my pleasure.” He gave a curt bow, and she knew it would be useless to argue further. Besides, the cab driver would protect her.

  She wondered if Nicholas went everywhere with Jeffers. Having personal assistants didn’t really match the simple country life he had described. Maybe Nicholas was his secretary-slash-companion. Jeffers wouldn’t be the first man to have a paid male companion to keep him from being lonely.

  The taxi ride was completely silent, and she resignedly allowed Nicholas to open the taxi door and escort her along the walkway.

  At her front step he gave another slight bow. “I bid you good night, mademoiselle.”

  “Good night.” She shut the door and immediately turned the dead bolt. And knew she’d be sleeping with the lights on.

  Chapter Six

  The following day Heather finished wiping the tables at the bakery and went into the back room.

  “Sally, I’m leaving for my lunch date. Anything I can do for you while I’m out?”

  “I can’t think of anything. You have a good afternoon and I’ll see you tomorrow.” She went back to piping icing onto a three-tiered cake but looked up suddenly. “Oh, before I forget again, there was a guy in here yesterday looking for you. Do you know who that could be?”

  Heather’s skin crawled at the memory of the previous evening’s encounter with Jeffers. She wasn’t surprised that he’d been looking for her. Her intuition told her he wanted more than to just catch up with the daughter of an old friend.

  Glancing toward the alley door, she hoped he wasn’t out there, waiting for her. “I bet it was Jeffers, an old friend of my father’s.”

  “Nope, this guy wasn’t old. He was young and hot and I’d want him for more than a friend.”

  “Sally! How can you talk that way with a bun in the oven and a devoted husband?

  “Listen, my body is full of raging hormones. I’d find Limbaugh sexy.”

  “Eww. Well, I don’t know who he was, then. Can you describe him better, besides the hot and sexy part?”

  “Let’s see. Short black hair. Clean shaven, beautiful smile, quite tall, and muscles in all the right places.”

  Laughter started to bubble out of Heather’s mouth but got stuck behind her teeth when it occurred to her that she knew exactly who Sally was talking about. Only one man fit that description. The big question was, why was he looking for her at the bakery when he lived right next door?

  “You said he was looking for me?” She slipped her jacket on and dug her gloves out of the pocket.

  “Yup, said he knew you and was hoping to catch you before you left for the day. As it happens, you’d left a few minutes before. What’s going on? Do you know who it is?”

  “Oh yeah, I know him. I have some questions for him myself.”

  She grabbed the box of treats she’d selected and waved good-bye. Now that the other clerk had recovered from the flu, Heather had her afternoons free. Not sure how much longer she’d be living in Portland, she wanted to make the most of today’s meeting.

  She hurried down the street, holding a gloved hand to her face to protect her skin from the frigid air blowing up from the harbor. She was in a well-to-do part of town now, with large, well-cared-for houses. Not as grand as her own neighborhood, though, and the houses were set closer together.

  She remembered coming to this particular house as a child, before the first of their many relocations. They’d arrive for Sunday lunch and stay well into the night. Her mother would disappear into the kitchen, and her father would hole up in the den. She was left to amuse herself in the living room or the small backyard. Her godparents had older children who, if they were home, did their best to ignore the shy little girl.

  Her mother and godmother would create wonderful smells and tastes accompanied by either loud laughter or quiet giggling. Her dad and godfather would have serious conversations for hours on end, coming out of the den only when supper was served. Then the wine would flow, as would the stories. Heather had sat enthralled listening to their adventures.

  The fun stopped when her father decided it was time to move and put them on a plane the next day. They’d settled in a small town in upstate New York, where she’d attended school for three years and made her first best friend. Only to be uprooted again, which set the pattern of moving every few years until she went away to college. Moving house frequently had become a habit she was finding hard to break. She’d given up on having best friends.

  She ran up the front steps and rang the bell. Uncle Henry would probably be puttering in his workroom in the basement. Since retiring from his position as head of the city’s largest art gallery, he’d discovered the joys of having a hobby. Music boxes. He’d owned several that she played with as a girl, the haunting melodies no less beautiful for being played by plucked strips of metal. Now his collection had grown, and he had fun restoring the delicate mechanisms. After the death of his wife the year before, he spent his time hunting for his next treasure.

  The door flew open, and she was enveloped in a warm pipe-smoke-scented hug. “My dear, it is so good to see you. I’m awfully glad you called last night. I was feeling at a loose end. Now I will have a charming lunch companio
n. Come in, come in.”

  “I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble, Uncle Henry. Can I help with anything?” She set her box from the bakery on a small side table and peeled off her gloves, blowing on her frozen fingers.

  “Now don’t fuss. I have a stew in the oven. We’ll have the treats you brought afterward with some of that good coffee my son sent.”

  “How’s he doing at his new job?”

  The talk revolved around his family and what the grandchildren were up to. Then Henry showed off his latest find, a gilded birdcage enclosing one feathered bird that bobbed its head while it sang. Heather marveled at the intricacy of the works and the detail of the yellow canary.

  Heather set the table, and they enjoyed gossip about the neighbors as they ate the stew and biscuits. While the coffee brewed, she set out the assortment of squares she had brought from the bakery. They settled in front of a small fire in the living room and munched in companionable silence. When she could eat no more, she decided to bring up one of the reasons she’d been so eager to talk to her godfather.

  “Say, Uncle Henry, I heard from an old friend of Dad’s the other day, and I was wondering if you knew him, too. His name is Marcel Jeffers.”

  Uncle Henry froze in his chair, his hand halfway to his mouth, all color fading from his face. The coffee cup shook, and he slopped a bit of liquid onto his trousers.

  “Look what I’ve done. Excuse me, my dear,” he said, his voice shaking with some unknown emotion. He left the room and hurried up the stairs.

  I guess that answers my question.

  That name clearly caused a reaction. Not exactly the one she was expecting, if Jeffers was the old friend he had claimed. Her uncle had looked frightened. Really frightened.

  A few minutes later he came back, wearing a clean pair of trousers, and resumed his seat. “Now, tell me how you are doing. Are you happy at the bakery?”

  He was still very pale and shaky, and Heather was reluctant to upset him further. She let the conversation shift, but kept a close watch on him. It was clear he was hiding something. She just had to find a way to get it out of him.

  While she put on her coat, she tried again. “Uncle Henry, if Jeffers calls, should I—”

  “Stay away from that man.” His gaze was hard and unflinching. “Your father broke off contact with him many years ago. For a good reason.”

  “He seems harmless enough. I think he’s quite ill.”

  “Looks are deceiving in his case. Promise me you’ll avoid him.”

  “Yes, Uncle, I promise.”

  The fun mood had gone. She left with more questions than when she arrived.

  It was a short walk down the hill to the waterfront. The day was unusually mild for mid-January on the Maine coast, and she decided to walk several blocks before catching the bus for home.

  She had no real aim in mind, simply needing to go somewhere to clear her head and analyze what she’d learned from her godfather. Strolling down Water Street, she peeked into shop windows selling everything from designer dresses to fishing tackle. Once she got to the dockyard she picked up her pace. The gigantic cranes were like an army from War of the Worlds, and the noise drowned out the raucous cries of the gulls.

  A few blocks farther, the entrance gate to Point Light Park loomed large and ornate. She grinned at her silly relief when she stepped onto the gravel path. There were probably more dangers among the dark trees and ruined forts than there were from the longshoremen at the dock.

  After scaring herself with thoughts of bogeymen in the trees, she kept to the more open path that followed the shore. Seagulls and crows fought over whatever had washed up on the rocky beach. A few cavalier dog-walkers broke the rules by allowing their pets off leash. Farther down the path, even that bit of company disappeared, and she found herself alone with the sea. Gentle waves broke on granite boulders, filling the air with whispers of the deep. She loved the smell of the air: fresh, clean, briny. So different from the last place she’d lived. Ann Arbor had been a great city, but it hadn’t felt like home, even after a year.

  Maybe this was the place for her. Even if she did manage to sell her dad’s house, she didn’t have to leave the city. It might be kind of nice to settle in one spot, make a home, become part of a community. She loved her job, and Sally was becoming a friend as well as a boss. And then there was Tony. The annoying late-night delivery aside, he’d been nothing but friendly, kind, and sexy as hell.

  A smaller path led to the beach, and she carefully picked her way down the slope. Finding a level spot on the sparkling rocks, she sat, tucked her legs under her coat, and raised her face to the meager sun.

  If only every day could feel this peaceful. But she knew this was a brief respite. Real life waited for her back at the house. Well, the gatehouse, since the big house was now occupied by an attractive man with a gorgeous body and kissable mouth.

  She shook her head. What did it matter if he was handsome? She didn’t have time for a man. Not until she uncovered the truth about her father.

  The tide ebbed, revealing seaweed, and a few disgusting things lodged between the rocks. Heather shivered. If she didn’t hurry she’d miss the last express bus. She stood, brushed off her butt, and climbed up to the main walkway.

  The sun had slipped very close to the horizon, and deep shadows bordered the path. The puddles that had formed from melting snow were now covered with a thin coating of ice, and she had to keep an eye on her footing. A noise to the left made her look, and she slipped on an icy root. When nothing moved among the dark evergreens, she continued on, increasing her pace as much as she could on the slick path. Another noise, definitely a twig snapping, came from the dense stand of trees. She was sure she saw something moving.

  Probably a squirrel. Right?

  Her mouth went dry, and against every instinct, she slowed her steps. Peering into the dense thicket, she hoped to see Bambi’s cousin or some other harmless woodland creature. All other noises receded, her ears tuned to pick up the slightest disturbance. A footfall and rustle sent her heart skittering into her throat. Breaking into a run, she rounded a turn in the path, no longer caring about slipping.

  She plowed into a hard, warm obstruction that fell as she did, landing under her with a loud whoosh of air and a “Bloody hell.”

  Heather scrambled to her feet and took a few steps back. The large warm thing turned out to be a man who now lay on his back, staring up at the darkening sky.

  “Oh my heavens, Tony. I’m sorry.” She dropped to her knees beside him, put a hand to her chest, and took deep breaths, hoping to calm her racing heart. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

  He sat up with a groan and shrugged his shoulders a few times, wincing. “I’m walking Delilah.” He laughed and gestured down the trail. “We’re playing hide-and-seek.”

  At the mention of his dog, all thought of nefarious plots evaporated. Of course he’d be walking his dog. That’s what people with dogs did. It hadn’t been him creeping in the woods, sneaking up on her, spying.

  It had probably been Delilah hiding in the woods.

  She settled onto her heels and let her gaze linger on his broad shoulders and wide chest. Dang, he was a large man. Solid muscle, if that collision was anything to go by.

  He got to his feet and flexed his back. “Do you often go running here?” He glanced at her snow boots. “Interesting choice of footwear.”

  She shook her head and took his offered hand to get to her feet. The clasp lasted a bit longer than necessary, but it felt so right. She could happily stand there all evening holding his hand. “I was just walking, and thought I heard someone in the woods.” She laughed, her face heating under his intense gaze. “Forget it. I’m really sorry I knocked you down.”

  He continued to study her, his thumb caressing the back of her hand.

  “Do you need help finding Delilah?” she asked, scanning the shore for the dog’s distinctive curly coat and floppy ears.

  “No, that would just prolong t
he game. The best thing to do is stay in one place and talk. She’ll hear my voice, realize I’m not chasing her, and come back on her own.”

  She shivered. He tucked her gloved hand into his jacket pocket with his own, warm and solid.

  Holy crap, it was a seriously sexy move. So why wasn’t she taking a giant step back, away from temptation? Probably because it had been years since she’d felt so at ease with a man.

  She’d always trusted her gut, and it hadn’t let her down yet. Like when she’d quit her job at the jewelry store mere days before the owner ran off with the diamonds. And his mistress.

  Or when she’d chosen Samson from a litter of identical kittens, obviously getting the best cat in the world.

  Now her gut told her to trust Tony.

  Then again, her gut hadn’t even hinted that she was the daughter of a criminal, so maybe her gut wasn’t foolproof.

  There was no denying that standing in the winter dusk with her hand in Tony’s pocket was the most thrilling thing in the world. Which, given the cut of his jacket, put her hand within approximately three inches of his crotch.

  The cold air was replaced with a warmth that started in her cheeks and went all the way down to her knees.

  All was hushed. Even the chickadees had ceased their eponymous chatter. Heather glanced at Tony and found him watching her, a strange, intense expression on his face.

  “Has Delilah been in this park before? She won’t get lost, will she?” Needing to break the tension, she made a big show of looking around.

  It was his eyes. They were truly the windows to his soul. Seconds before, there were a million questions flashing behind those eyes. Now they were gentle and filled with amusement. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he could read her mind and knew how nervous she felt. To say nothing of her state of arousal, which approached flash point.

  She hoped like heck he couldn’t read her mind. Her thoughts were X-rated.

  “Oh yeah, we come here a couple times a week. Gives her a chance to blow off some steam.”