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It would be a mistake to cross a man such as this, she decided. Zane Sheridan looked as if he were capable of ruthless retribution. This was evidenced in the tense line of his square jaw, the restless movement of his fingers against his thumb and the hard glint of determination in those steel-gray eyes. Zane was a man to reckon with and not one to deceive.
The doorbell rang, and Tiffany was grateful for the intrusion.
“If you’ll excuse me,” she said, taking three quick steps before pausing to turn in his direction.
“We’re not through here.”
“Pardon me?” Tiffany was taken aback. She expected him to show some civility and leave before Rod Crawford’s interview. Instinctively Tiffany knew that having Zane in the same room with the reporter would be dangerous.
“I want to talk to you—seriously—about the farm.”
“There’s no reason, Mr. . . . Zane. You’re wasting your time with me. I’m not about to sell.”
“Indulge me,” he suggested. He strode across the short distance separating them and touched her lightly on the arm. “Hear what I have to say, listen to what my offer is before you say no.”
The doorbell chimed again, more impatiently this time.
“I really do have an appointment,” she said, looking anxiously through the foyer to the front door. The grip on her arm tightened slightly.
“And I think you should listen to what I have to say.”
“Why?”
He hesitated slightly, as if he weren’t sure he could trust her and the skin tightened over his cheekbones. His rugged features displayed a new emotion. Anger and vengeful self-righteousness were displayed in the thrust of his jaw. All traces of his earlier civility had disappeared. Tiffany’s heart began to pound with dread.
“Why are you here?” she asked again, her voice suddenly hoarse.
“I came to you because there is something I think that you should know.”
“And that is?” Her heart was pounding frantically now, and she barely heard the doorbell chime for the third time.
“I’m not so sure that Devil’s Gambit’s death was an accident,” he stated, gauging her reaction, watching for even the slightest trace of emotion on her elegant features. “In fact, I think there’s a damned good chance that your horse is still alive.”
Chapter Two
The color drained from Tiffany’s face. “You . . . you think that Devil’s Gambit might be alive?” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re not serious. . . .”
But she could tell by Zane’s expression that he was dead serious.
“Dear God,” she whispered, closing her eyes. She wanted to dismiss what he was saying as idle conjecture, but he just didn’t seem the type of man who would fabricate anything so bizarre. “I don’t know if I can deal with this right now. . . .” Devil’s Gambit alive? But how? She’d been to the site of the accident, witnessed the gruesome truth for herself. Both the horse and the driver of the truck had been killed. Only Dustin had survived.
It was difficult to speak or to think rationally. Tiffany forced herself to look into Zane’s brooding gaze and managed to clear her throat. “Look, I really do have an interview that I can’t get out of. Please wait.... I . . . I want to talk to you. Alone.” She extracted her arm from his grasp and made her way to the door. Her mind was running in crazy circles. What did he mean? Devil’s Gambit couldn’t possibly be alive. And Ellery—what about Ellery? Dear Lord, if what Zane was suggesting was true, there might be a chance that Ellery was still alive. But how?Don’t think like this,she told herself.What this man is suggesting can’t possibly be true.
Her knees were weak, and she leaned against the door for several seconds, trying to recover her lost equilibrium before the bell chimed for the fourth time. “Get hold of yourself,” she murmured, but she was unable to disguise the clouds of despair in her eyes. Why now? Why did Zane Sheridan pick this time when everything at the breeding farm was in turmoil to enter her life with rash statements about the past? Forcing her worried thoughts to a dark corner of her mind, she straightened and braced herself for the interview.
With a jerk, she tugged on the brass handle and the door swung inward. Despite the storm of emotions raging within her, she forced what she hoped would appear a sincere and pleasant smile. Only the slightest trembling of her full lips hinted at her ravaged emotions.
“Mr. Crawford?” Tiffany asked the agitated young man slouching against a white pillar supporting the roof. “Please accept my apologies for the delay. My housekeeper isn’t in yet and I had an unexpected visitor this morning.” Her voice was surprisingly calm, her gaze direct, and she disguised the trembling in her fingers by hiding her hands in the deep pockets of her wool skirt.
The bearded, blond man eyed her skeptically, motioned to someone in the car and then handed her a card that stated that he was Rod Crawford of theSanta Rosa Clarion.
A petite, dark-haired woman climbed out of the car and slung a camera over one shoulder. Tiffany stepped away from the door to let the two people enter her home. In the distance she heard the familiar rumble of Louise’s old Buick. The noise was reassuring. Once the housekeeper took charge of the kitchen, some of the disorder of the morning would abate.Except that Zane Sheridan was in the den, seemingly convinced that Devil’s Gambit and, therefore, Ellery, were still alive.
“Could I offer you a cup of coffee . . . or tea?” Tiffany asked with a weak smile.
“Coffee—black,” Crawford stated curtly, withdrawing a note pad from his back pocket.
Tiffany trained her eyes on the photographer. “Anything,” the pleasant-featured woman replied. She flashed Tiffany a friendly grin as she extended her small hand. “Jeanette Wilkes.” Jeanette’s interested eyes swept the opulent interior of the house and she noted the sweeping staircase, gleaming oak banister, elegant crystal chandelier, and glossy imported floor tiles. “I was hoping to get a couple of pictures of the farm.”
