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"So, what else has Mr. Lacroix told you about me?"
"Nothing, really, except that you're his houseguest."
People used the word "houseguest" about as often as the phrase "just good friends." And usually to mean the same thing.
"Well, I'm a little more than that. I'm here because I'm helping Dr. Chen with his research."
"Helping? How?"
Rebecca thought she detected a hint of a thaw in the woman's voice, and followed up her advantage. "He discovered I share a blood type with Gillian, as well as certain rare antigens. I'll provide samples for research, and hopefully, a treatment."
Rebecca darted a glance at Gillian, unsure how much the little girl would understand. Adults didn't normally discuss these sorts of things in front of children.
She needn't have worried. Gillian stared down at her sandwich, her forehead wrinkled in concentration, oblivious to Rebecca and anything she might be saying.
Mrs. Waters had paid attention, though. She turned to Rebecca, favoring her with a big smile. "Really? You're going to help our little angel?"
"I hope so."
The housekeeper brought Rebecca a second sandwich. When she finished that, Mrs. Waters offered her milk, more juice, apples, oranges, and homemade brownies.
"No, please, Mrs. Waters. I'm full. Thank you. It was delicious. But I really can't eat another thing." The housekeeper hesitated, holding the tin of brownies. Rebecca stood up before more food could be thrust at her. "I think I'll go take a look at those books now. Where's the study?"
"If you're sure." Mrs. Waters put two brownies on a plate for the silent Gillian. "It's on the other side of Mr. Lacroix's room."
Rebecca escaped the kitchen, and the smothering attentions of Ms. Waters. On her right, three doors lined the living room wall. The first led to her room, and the second to Desmond's room, with no door from here to the connecting bath. The study was behind door number three.
She opened the door, and inhaled the dusty smell of old books mingled with the scent of leather furniture. She sneezed.
"Bless you," Mrs. Waters called from the kitchen. Rebecca shut herself in the study, away from any more help. Or food.
Bookshelves lined the walls, crowded with hardcover books until they looked ready to collapse. In one corner of the room, two leather chairs shared an end table and a reading lamp, while in the opposite corner an antique desk held an out-of-place looking computer. A telephone sat on the end table.
She rushed over and picked up the receiver. A dial tone buzzed loud and strong in her ear. She started to dial the editor who'd requested the travel stories she'd officially come to Arizona for. 1 - 3 - 1 - 5 The phone clicked, and rang through to an extension.
She hung up before anyone could answer. Of course. The phones must be connected on an internal network for the whole facility. She probably needed to dial 9 to get an outside line.
Getting dial tone again, she pressed 9. The tone shifted to a lower-pitched buzz. She dialed the editor's area code and phone number. It rang once, twice, three times, four times, and then his answering machine picked up.
"Hi, it's Rebecca Morgan," she told it. "I'm out here in Arizona, got a little side tracked. Don't try calling my hotel. I won't be there. I'm staying at the Prescott Institute. I'll give you the number next time I call, or you can ask information if you need to get in touch with me. The research for your stories is done, and I'll have the first one to you by the end of next week."
She hung up the phone. At least he wouldn't worry now. If this assignment was anything like the previous times she'd worked for him, the editor had already tried to call her once with a brilliant take for her story that couldn't wait until she got back.
She smiled and shook her head. Her attitude had certainly done a one-eighty since her attempt— was it only two nights ago?— to escape. Now she trusted Desmond completely. She paused, wondering if he trusted her. Or even if he should.
Forcing her attention to the room around her, she noticed the walls filled with book shelves. Desmond's books, a mixture of French and English, and even a few that looked like Latin, lured her to explore. She wondered if he'd ever opened some of the weighty treatises on land management and Victorian social reform, or if they'd been purchased wholesale at an auction to fill the shelves. She found a surprising number of first editions from the last century, including works by H. G. Wells and a collection of the novels of Jules Verne in the original French.
Reluctantly, she turned away. She'd come into the study for a reason. She'd promised her editor that article on day hikes around Phoenix when she got back. Opening the desk drawers, she found paper and a pen and sat down to write.
Chapter 7
REBECCA SPENT the rest of the afternoon organizing her notes and drafting a rough copy of her promised travel article. She'd hoped to use the computer occupying one corner of Desmond's desk, but it wouldn't work without the right password. Considering his mania for security, the lock on his computer had disappointed but not surprised her.
She finished transcribing the last of her notes onto squares of paper and spread the papers across the desk, shuffling them into the order she planned to use them. This was the part of writing an article she loved the most, starting with simple facts and building her story from the ground up. As each layer was complete, she tested it, probing for weaknesses. Only when she knew it could stand on its own did she begin building the layer that rested on top of it.
She was deep in her work when the study door opened, sending a gust of air across the desk. She instinctively shielded her work with her body, pinning the papers to the leather desk blotter.
The back of her neck tingled with awareness, but she refused to turn around. Desmond was the only one who would enter without knocking, and she wasn't in any hurry to face him. The memory of last night's kiss invaded her thoughts, speeding her heart with a mix of anticipation and fear. She didn't know what expression she hoped to see on his face. Desire? Regret? Neither?
