Call Me Killer (41 page)

Percy was not in Montana. He was here.

The surge of anger he felt was surprising. This was his time with Viola, dammit. There had been no silver SUV here when he'd dropped her off. Had the bastard returned early from his fishing trip? Was he going to try to get between them again?

Fuck.

He was trying to decide how to deal with this when the screen door opened and Viola came out, her glorious red hair blowing in the breeze coming in from the ocean. A man stepped through the doorway behind her, holding the door open and speaking to her as she walked quickly across the porch in the direction of the driveway. She looked back over her shoulder to respond to him.

Stephen got out of his car.

Viola's pulse shot up when she saw Stephen's car door open and his long, lanky body emerge from within. He must have recognized her father's car. She'd sent the text in hopes of averting a confrontation, but she ought to have known Stephen wouldn't let this moment pass.

Even though she was always glad to see her father, she had been dismayed when he had pulled into the driveway and started hauling his travel pack and his fishing gear out of his car. He'd dropped it all on the porch to envelop her in a huge hug when she'd opened the door, crying, "Dad! I thought you weren't returning until Tuesday?"

Percy Quentin was a large, bear-like man, tall and muscular, with thick reddish hair and a greying beard. An outdoorsman who loved quail hunting and fly fishing, he had skin that was permanently sun-tanned. His voice was hearty and he had a loud, booming laugh.

But his affability could be deceptive; when angry or irritated, he used his considerable breadth of knowledge and wit to slice his adversaries down to size.

"My darling girl, what a nice surprise! We packed up and came home early because one of Ron's reckless sons got himself injured in a car crash. The kid's okay—just a bit banged up—but Ron insisted on flying home, and the rest of us wanted to show our support. The fishing was lousy, anyway. I swear those Big Horn trout get smarter every year."

Ron was one of his fishing buddies. They made the trip to the Big Horn River in Montana at least once a year, along with several other trips to fly fishing havens whenever they got the chance.

Viola explained that she'd stopped by to see Leta, whom Percy also took into his arms and hugged as soon as the cat brushed up against his calves.

"I have a cat-sitter, didn't I tell you? Surely you didn't drive all the way down here thinking she'd been left alone? I wouldn't do that to her, poor kitty."

"No, I was on the Cape anyway, visiting a friend."

Percy looked interested. "Really? Who's your friend?"

There was no way she was going to tell him she was staying with Stephen. It was far too early in what might not turn out to be a real relationship. She didn't want to explain, and she wasn't yet ready to confront him about the means he had used to separate them a decade ago. So she said, vaguely, "Just an old friend whom I haven't seen for years."

"I didn't know you had a friend who lived on the Cape. Why didn't you guys get together last summer?"

Ouch. She wasn't a very good liar. She shrugged, deciding not to add any further dubious claims, and wondering how she could escape quickly enough to walk down to the end of the private road and intercept Stephen before he drove into the driveway.

Dammit! She really didn't want her father and Stephen, two alpha males who each had more than their fair share of testosterone, to face off against one another because of her.

"Can you stay for supper? I've had nothing to eat all day but airplane food, so I'm starved. Not sure what's in the fridge, but we could hit a restaurant. Your friend is welcome to come along." He added, as if he'd just realized it, "Where's your car? It wasn't in the driveway."

"My friend dropped me off and will be back soon to get me. And no, sorry, but we already have plans for this evening."

"Well, that's a damn shame. I'd like to meet this mysterious friend of yours." His blue eyes were twinkling, and Viola knew he'd guessed the "friend" was a man she was dating. He ought to be glad about that, at least. He'd been telling her she ought to "get back out there and enjoy yourself while you're still young."

She made an excuse to go to the bathroom, so she could send Stephen a text without being obvious about it. She couldn't decide what to tell him—it would all take too long to explain—so she simply wrote,
"Don't get out of your car."

But she ought to have known that he would not just sit there, effacing himself, when he saw her with her father on the porch.

Stephen closed his car door and ambled toward them. "Ready to leave, babe?" he called, his voice liquid with what sounded to her like blatant sexual possessiveness. In an entirely different tone, he added, "Hello, Percy."

Viola didn't have to turn to feel the force of her father's surprise and shock. "Silkwood," he snapped. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I should have thought that was obvious."

It seemed to take Percy a couple of seconds. "This is your so-called friend?" he barked at Viola. His heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder as if to prevent her leaving with Stephen.

Annoyed with both of them, she twisted around to face her father. "I didn't expect to do this now, but yes, I'm seeing Stephen. I've just learned the part you played in separating us nine years ago, and I'm pretty pissed about it, Dad."

"Nine years ago you were a child! That bastard violated my trust and molested you right under my nose. He's damn lucky I didn't have him arrested."

Stephen started to speak, but she beat him to it. "You're wrong, Dad. Nine years ago I was starting college. I was eighteen, something you lied to him about. Stephen and I were good friends who became closer, until you spied on us and threatened him. Now we've discovered each other again, and that's all the explanation you're going to get. I love you, Dad, but I won't have you interfering in my personal life."

"Bravo," said Stephen. He didn't say it loudly or aggressively, but it didn't help the situation. "Let's go, Viola."

"No interfering?" Percy said loudly. "You're singing a different tune now than you were last summer. Where would you be now if I hadn't helped you get rid of that vicious dog of a husband?"

"I'm grateful, you know I am," she cut in before Percy could expound on the details. "But I'm moving on now, as you've urged me to do many times." She had pulled free of him and was moving down the porch steps toward Stephen, who was now standing on the flagstone front walk. Her father descended the steps after her.

"Not with him, dammit! How long has this been going on? Do you actually
know
anything about him? My dear girl, he's the last man you would see if you knew some of the things he's been up to over the years. The world we live in—the writers' world—is a small one, and there are stories about him—" He stopped abruptly. Even he didn't seem to have the cojones to continue.

"It's a gossipy world we live in," Stephen said, sounding amused, "but I didn't realize it was that gossipy. The tales must have been colorful indeed. I've heard one or two about you, too, Percy, if we're going to sink to that level."

Her father ignored him, appealing to Viola, catching at her hand. He looked truly worried, and she could guess why. He knew what state she had been in last summer after Derek had beaten her. Stephen had no clue.

"It's okay," she reassured her father. "Stephen and I were friends before we were lovers, remember. I do know him. There's nothing to worry about."

She had reached Stephen now. Unfortunately, there were only a couple of yards between the two men, who were nearly of a height. They were facing off in the unconsciously aggressive stance that men adopt when they are barely suppressing the urge to slug each other.

"Viola," Percy said in a shaking voice, "Perhaps you don't realize that this man and I have been adversaries for years. I've been hoping you'd find someone you could be happy with, but never did I imagine it would be him."

"Really, Dad," she said, exasperated, "It's only our second date."

'Then you probably have no idea what he's capable of!"

"Take it easy, Quentin," said Stephen. "She knows everything she needs to know. Get in the car, Viola."

"If you do anything to harm my girl, I'll kill you," Percy said.

"I would never do anything to harm her." He spoke coldly, but Viola could tell he was seriously pissed off. "You have my word on that."

He turned his back on Percy and guided Viola to his car. He helped her into the passenger seat and closed her door, gentlemanly as always. When he got in on his side, he gave her a cheery, reassuring smile. She drew a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and tried to calm down.

They backed out of the driveway, leaving Percy standing there, staring after them, looking more helpless than Viola could ever remember seeing him.

"So is there anybody among your acquaintances who doesn't know about your sexual preferences?"

Stephen grimaced, trying to keep his own temper while Viola was losing hers. She was pacing his living room, looking anxious and agitated in a manner that did not resonate at all with his memories of the young Viola. Her phone had rung once, while they'd been driving back from her father's; she had taken one look at the caller ID and shut off the device without answering. Stephen wondered if the next thing Percy was going to do would be leap into his SUV and drive over with his shotgun.

"It's not something I brag about, if that's what you're asking. But I won't lie about it, either. I'm not ashamed of who I am. People who pass judgment on others' sexual preferences are not the sort of folks who could ever be friends of mine."

"I agree that people shouldn't pass judgment. I just think some things ought to be private."

"I don't openly discuss it with anyone except my partners. But authors do gossip about one another, just as members of any community do."

"My father's not part of your BDSM community."

"He's part of my writers' community, though. There are other kinky authors and some of them might have big mouths."

"It's humiliating enough to learn that my father was spying on us nine years ago without his knowing what our sex life is like now."

"If he were any kind of a gentleman, he'd have kept silent about it. Instead he deliberately tried to frighten you, as if I were some kind of sadistic psychopath from one of his books."

"Sadistic psychopaths feature more in your books than his," she shot back.

Okay, thought Stephen. Time to change the tenor of this discussion before things really start to deteriorate. But he wasn't sure how to fix things.

"Why do you and he hate each other so much, anyway?
"

"I suppose it goes back to the unraveling of our mentor/student relationship that summer. Your father probably thought that without his help, I didn't stand a chance. But my recent novels have all done better than his."

"Are you saying he's jealous of your success?"

"Authors are often jealous of each other. I don't know what's inside his heart. But for years he has taken every opportunity to snipe at me in interviews, articles, and online discussion groups."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. We belong to the same organization that advocates for mystery and crime writers. One year we were both on the board of directors. We butted heads constantly. Your father and I have mutual friends, but they've learned never to invite us to the same party, lecture, or book signing."

"I didn't know any of this."

"Percy and I have different styles of interacting with people. He's tries to force his ideas down everybody else's throats. Of course, he's smart and witty, and he has the Hemingway-type charisma going for him, so he's not unpopular. He's larger than life."

She nodded. That described her father pretty well. "And what's your style?"

He shrugged. "I'm more easygoing. I can be stubborn, and if I think there's a right way to do something, I'll argue in favor of it, but I get along well with most people. I don't have a lot of enemies. Except him."

"Wow. I didn't know that there was so much personal animosity between you. It's not as if he's ever spoken about you to me."

"No? I guess I thought I must have been the object of cursing and snark in the Quentin household."

She shot him a quick glance, looking relieved that the mood seemed to have lightened a bit. "He rarely talks about his work with me. Maybe he's afraid I'll write a critical review of one of his books."

Stephen felt his bubble of annoyance burst and turn into laughter. "Heaven help him if you do!"

She laughed too. He reached out to squeeze her hand. "This is exactly what we shouldn't do, you know. We can't allow the fact that you're Percy's daughter to cause strife between us. What's more important—that we enjoy our time together now, or that we continue to rehash the past?"

"You're right," she said. "No rehashing. We should consider ourselves lucky to get a second chance."

"Absolutely." He slid toward her and pulled her into his arms. "So let's make the most of it."