Deep Waters (6 page)

Shallow water sometimes reveals shallow answers. But deep water holds deep questions.

—“On the Way of Water,” from the journal of Hayden Stone

The riptide rush of fate swept through Elias a second time in less than five minutes when Charity stormed back through the front door of Charms & Virtues.

So the strange sense of anticipation that he had experienced the first time he saw her had not been a fluke.

He watched, fascinated, as she bore down on him via an aisle formed by display counters. He had deliberately subjected himself to this second experiment in order to verify the initial results. No question about it. He felt as if he were being swept out into very deep water.

Not good. Not good at all.

But oddly beguiling.

“Who are you, Elias Winters, and what kind of a game are you playing?” Charity demanded.

Elias did not look at his wrist to check the time. He hadn't worn a watch since he was sixteen. But he needed to regain some sense of control. He forced himself to look away from the red fire buried deep in the curving wings of her heavy, dark hair. The battered old cuckoo clock on the wall provided a convenient distraction.

“I'd estimate that took approximately one minute, forty-five seconds, give or take a couple of seconds. You're fast, Ms. Truitt. Very fast. Did you run the whole length of the pier?”

“You timed me?”

Crazy Otis, who was back on his perch nibbling on a large seed, chortled.

“Quiet, Otis,” Elias commanded gently.

Otis subsided, but there was a cheerfully malicious gleam in his eyes. He cracked the seed that he gripped in one claw with a particularly loud crunch.

Elias noticed that there was a distinctive gleam in Charity's vivid hazel eyes, too, but it was neither cheerful nor malicious. She was simply outraged.

She was several inches shorter than he was, but she somehow managed to glare at him down the length of her very straight nose. Her full, soft mouth was compressed into an uncompromising line. There was unmistakable warmth just beneath her delicate cheekbones.

Elias felt his insides tighten. He did not understand his own reaction. Something indefinable in her drew his whole attention.

“Mr. Winters—”

“Elias.”

“Mr.
Winters
, I want an explanation, and I want it now. You're up to something, that's obvious.”

“Is it?”

“Don't you dare start answering questions with questions. That's manipulative, sneaky, and downright passive-aggressive.”

“If there's one thing you can be sure of when you deal with me, Charity, it's that when I'm feeling aggressive, there's nothing passive about it.”

“You know something? I believe you. That still leaves manipulative and sneaky. And I warn you, Mr.
Winters
, I know everything there is to know about manipulative and sneaky. I grew up in the corporate world.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Elias said softly.

He liked the way the skirts of her gauzy, white cotton dress billowed and snapped around her gently rounded calves. Only a short while ago when she had arrived to introduce herself, those same skirts had floated discreetly, even protectively about her legs. Now she was angry, and she and her skirts had both thrown discretion to the winds.

The deep sensual hunger rising within him made him uneasy. An attractive, strong-minded woman in a summer dress and strappy little sandals was always an appealing sight, but his reaction today was definitely over the top. What was wrong with him?

Perhaps he shouldn't be too hard on himself, he thought glumly. It had been a long time since he had been involved with a woman. His long-planned vengeance had become an all-consuming passion during the past few months as his grand scheme moved into its final phase. It had become so strong that it had temporarily blotted out even the desire for sex.

And then Hayden Stone had died, and everything had changed forever. Ever since Hayden's death he had felt as if he had been cut adrift on a dark, roiling
sea. None of his reactions seemed quite normal. He had lost his sense of internal balance. This intense response to Charity Truitt was a good example.

She was not the sort of woman who normally aroused his interest. For years he had been drawn to the cool types found in film noir movies. Savvy, sophisticated women who wore a lot of black. Women who moved in the high-stakes world of the Pacific Rim trade, either as power brokers or as powers behind thrones. Some had been attracted to him because of the contacts and connections he could offer. Some had simply wanted the satisfaction of being seen with a man who was as powerful as themselves. Others had been intrigued by the perception of danger. Whatever the terms of the sexual bargain, Elias had always made certain that the exchange of favors had been equal.

But Charity was different. He sensed intuitively that if he pursued the relationship, there would be no simple, straightforward arrangement with her. She would be demanding and difficult in ways that he had always avoided.

“Are you or are you not connected to Far Seas?” Charity fumed.

Elias flattened his hands on the glass counter in front of him. “I am Far Seas.”

“Is this a joke?”

“No.” He considered briefly. “I don't think I know any jokes.”

“Well? Where's the rest of the company?”

“The rest of it?”

She threw up her hands. “Secretaries, clerks, managers, and assorted flunkies.”

“My secretary took another job a few months ago. I didn't bother to replace her. There are no clerks or managers, and I never could get any reliable flunkies.”

“That is not funny.”

“I told you, I don't do jokes.”

“Assuming you're telling me the truth, why were you so secretive about the fact that you now own the pier?”

“I learned a long time ago never to initiate a business discussion. The clear spring waters of open dealing and plain-speaking are too often mistaken as evidence of weakness. I was taught to let others come to me.”

Charity came to a halt in front of the counter. “You mean you prefer to hold the advantage. I get the point. But for the record, I never took any of those expensive seminars from rip-off management consultants on how to do business according to the principles of the Tao. I prefer to do business the old-fashioned way. Level with me, Winters. Do you really own Crazy Otis Landing?”

“Yes.” Elias looked into her huge hazel eyes and wondered at the deep wariness he saw beneath the anger. He recalled vague gossip about the chaos that had followed a failed merger between Truitt and a company called Loftus Athletic Gear. There had been an abrupt resignation of Truitt's CEO. Rumors of a problem with said CEO's nerves. He had paid little attention because neither Truitt nor Loftus were involved in Pacific Rim trade.

“Well?”

“Hayden Stone did not leave only Charms & Virtues to me,” Elias said. “He left me the whole pier.”

“Plus the cottage on the bluff.” She narrowed her eyes. “That's a lot of real estate. Why would he leave so much to you?”

Elias chose his words carefully. “I told you, Hayden was my friend and my teacher. He helped me establish Far Seas.”

“I see. Just what kind of company is Far Seas?”

“A consulting firm.”

Charity crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “What kind of consulting?”

“I provide contacts, connections, and advice for business people who deal in Rim trade.” He probably should have made that past tense, he thought. He wondered if he would ever again return to his former line of work. For some reason, he doubted it. Along with everything else in his life these days, it seemed to be drifting farther and farther away from him.

“Whispering Waters Cove is not exactly a thriving outpost of Pacific Rim business.”

He smiled slightly. “No, it's not.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“You're a very suspicious woman, Charity.”

“I think I have reason to be suspicious under the circumstances. A short while ago, I made the mistake of assuming that you were one of us here on the pier and that we would all be going up against Far Seas together.”

“I warned you that when one studies an opponent's reflection in a pool of water, one should take care to ensure that the water is very, very clear.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time. Forget the double-talk. When I want philosophy, I'll go to Ted.”

“Ted?”

“Ted Jenner. He has that little shop called Ted's Instant Philosophy T-Shirts next to the carousel. You must have seen it.”

Elias recalled the racks of T-shirts billowing in the breeze at the end of the pier. The shirts all bore various legends and slogans that ranged from the clever to the crude. “I've noticed it.”

“I should hope so. You walk by it every day. The
least you could do, by the way, is drop in and introduce yourself to your fellow shopkeepers.”

I've just met you,” he pointed out.

She raised her eyes toward the ceiling in an expression of acute disgust. “Never mind. Let's get back to more pressing issues. What's your excuse for failing to tell me the truth about yourself while I was explaining the lease situation here at the pier?”

“You never asked.”

She threw up her hands. “How was I supposed to know that you were Far Seas?”

“The degree of clarity of the water makes no difference if one does not ask the right questions about the image that is reflected on the surface.”

She gave him a fulminating look. “Skip the mumbo-jumbo and get to the point. If you are who you say you are, then tell me the truth. What do you intend to do about the pier leases?”

“Renew them at the present rates when they come due in September.”

Charity's mouth fell open, revealing neat, small white teeth. She closed it swiftly. “Why would you do that now that I've told you about the town council's plans to use Crazy Otis Landing as the centerpiece for the new, improved Whispering Waters Cove?”

“I don't know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Elias shrugged. “I don't have an answer to your question. That's one of the reasons I came here to Whispering Waters Cove. To get some answers.”

To get a clear answer, a man had to ask a clear question. And he was not able to do that. Every time he looked into the water to see his own true face, he caught only glimpses of a badly distorted reflection.

Elias rolled smoothly out of the last of the series of
ancient exercises Hayden Stone had taught him. The deceptively effortless movements formed a pattern known as Tal Kek Chara. They represented the physical expression of the ancient philosophy in which Hayden had been a master. Tal Kek Chara was a state in which mind and body were balanced in a flow of energy for which water was a metaphor.

The coiled length of leather anchored to Elias's wrist represented the philosophy, and it was named for it. Tal Kek Chara was a weapon as well as a way of living.

As Elias ended the pattern, the leather thong unfurled as if it were an extension of his arm. It whipped around the branch of a nearby tree with enough force to chain the limb but not enough to snap it in two. Control was everything in Tal Kek Chara.

Elias straightened and retrieved the supple strip of leather. He took a few seconds to assess the effects of the routine he had just completed. He was breathing deeply but not hard. The light breeze off the waters of the cove was already drying the perspiration on his bare shoulders. It had been a solid workout, but he had not exhausted himself. That was as it should be. Excess in anything, including exercise, was a violation of the basic principle of Tal Kek Chara.

Automatically, he snugged the leather back into place around his waist. He wore it outside the loops of his jeans. A weapon that could not be accessed in a hurry was useless.

He turned and walked back along the cliff toward the spare little cottage that Hayden Stone had lived in during the last three years of his life. When he reached the garden gate he opened it and stepped into the serene, miniature landscape Hayden had created. The focal point of the garden was a calm reflecting pool.

Elias went up the porch steps and opened the front door of his new home. He paused, as Hayden had taught him, to allow his senses to absorb the essence of the small dwelling. All was well.

He padded barefoot across the hardwood floor. There were no chairs in Hayden Stone's house. There wasn't much else in the way of furniture, either. Two cushions, a low table, and a sisal mat completed the living room decor. A wide, clear, heavy glass dish that was partially filled with water sat in the center of the table. The walls were bare.

The only touch of color in the room was Crazy Otis. It was enough. The parrot's brilliant plumage was spectacular against the simple surroundings.

Otis, perched on top of his open cage, bobbed his head in greeting and stretched his wings.

“I'm going to take a shower, and then I'll fix us both some dinner, Otis.”

“Heh, heh, heh.”

Elias went into the single bedroom, which contained only a futon-style bed and a low, heavily carved wooden chest. The kitchen and bath were outfitted with the basic necessities of modern life, but basic was the operative word.

Bicoastal interior designers and architects talked effusively about minimalist design, but Hayden Stone had created the real thing here in this small, spare house. Its simple lines held layers of complexity that only one skilled in the ways of Tal Kek Chara could detect.

Elias's house in Seattle had been similar to this one. It had been located on the edge of Lake Washington. He had sold it shortly after the interview with Garrick Keyworth. He did not miss it. Tal Kek Chara had taught him not to become too attached to things. Or
to people. Since his sixteenth year, Hayden had been the one exception. And now Hayden was gone.

Elias went into the bathroom, stripped off his jeans, and stepped into the stall shower. Memories of Hayden flickered in his mind. For some reason he saw a scene from his sixteenth year, a scene that had occurred several months after his father had died.