The Private Eye (13 page)

Maggie hesitated and then nodded quickly. “Good night,
josh.”

“Goodnight, Maggie.”

He watched her dash back up the stairs and felt as
though she were taking a part of him with her. It was all he could do not to
call her back.

But Josh knew he had to let her go tonight. She needed
time. Besides, he told himself, the memory of Maggie shivering in his arms as
she found her first real, exquisite release would be more than enough to warm his
bed and his dreams tonight.

Chapter 6

THE BEACH was shrouded in fog. On the horizon, the gray sea met the
grey sky in such a seamless fashion that it was impossible to tell where one
began and the other ended. Bundled up in a hooded down jacket, Maggie stood at
the water's edge and tried to come to terms with the unsettling emotions that
were churning inside her.

There was no getting around it. She was falling fast
and hard for Joshua January. The realization simultaneously thrilled and
terrified her. He was so different from every other man she had ever known. A
part of her recognized something deep within him that mirrored a fundamental
part of herself. She knew in her heart that Josh January was one of the good
guys in a rough world.

And yet, for ail her instinctive certainty about him,
Maggie was forced to admit that there was a great deal she didn't know about
Josh. She had always assumed the man she would someday love would be safe and
comfortable. Josh was neither.

She should never have allowed him to kiss her and touch
her the way she had last night. She was his employer, for heaven's sake. He was
working for her.

Where was her common sense? She ought to be keeping a
strict, arm's-length distance between them. Things were complicated enough
around Peregrine Manor. She didn't need to add a potentially explosive affair
with Josh to the brew.

But last night had been extraordinarily special, Maggie
thought with a rush of joy. She had felt incredibly beautiful and passionate
and free in Josh's arms.

The exhilaration of the experience still hadn't faded
entirely. If she closed her eyes, she could relive the glorious moment. Her
body even began to respond to the memory.

“Hello, Maggie.” Josh's deep, dark voice broke into the
delicious spell that bound her. “I had a hunch I'd find you down here this morning.”

She turned, with a tremulous smile on her lips, and
watched as he emerged from the fog. He was wearing a shearling jacket over a
pair of jeans. He had his hands buried in the warm pockets of the jacket and
the fleece collar was turned up to protect his neck. He looked potently,
vitally male. In some strange fashion his recent injuries only seemed to
underscore the sensual danger the man projected.

“Hello, Josh.” Maggie tried for the light, sparring
tone that had characterized so much of their conversation till now. “I suppose
you tracked me down to see about your home-cooked breakfast?”

He smiled. “Breakfast can wait. I wanted to talk to
you, but you didn't come downstairs to the kitchen the way you usually do.”

“1 felt like a walk on the beach this morning.”

Josh nodded. “Yeah. Me, too.” He took his right hand
out of the pocket of his jacket and held it out for her.

Maggie hesitated and then slipped her hand into his.
His fingers curled warmly around her own. She couldn't think of anything to say
as they started along the beach. It was one of the few times in her life that
she had actually felt tongue-tied.

“It's okay, you know,” Josh said after a bit.

She looked up quickly. “What is?”

“You don't have to be nervous, Maggie. I'm not going to
pounce on you.”

“I didn't think you were,” she retorted.

“Yes, you did. But I told you last night I'll give you
time, and I meant it.”

She drew a deep breath. “1 think it's only fair to tell
you that I don't really want a brief affair with you or anyone else, Josh. I've
never gone in for that sort of thing. I don't intend to start now. Not even
with you.”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand gently. “I'm not into
brief affairs or one-night stands, either. Messy and unsatisfying.”

“So, what does that leave?” she asked carefully.

His mouth curved almost whimsically. “It leaves you and
me and something else.”

“Josh,” she began in a little rush before she lost her
nerve, “this probably isn't a good idea. You and me, that is. I mean, I am a
client and you do work for me and I live out here on the coast and you live in
Seattle and we're really very different people when you think about it—”

“Are we?”

“Well, yes,” she said helplessly.

“I don't think so. I think we've got a lot in common. I
knew it that first night. You just need time to realize it.”

“Josh, please—”

“Have dinner with me tonight, Maggie.”

“What?”

“Have dinner with me. In town. A real date.”

“Oh.”

He grinned fleetingly. “Is that an answer?”

“No.”

“Is that an answer? Come on, Maggie. Take a chance.”

She scowled. “All right. Josh. I'll have dinner with
you. But you probably shouldn't read too much into it.”

“You can't hold it against me if I look for a few
clues. It's instinctive, you know? I'm a trained investigator.”

She smiled unwillingly. “You're impossible, that's what
you are.”

“I'll be on my best behavior. After all, I am fully
aware of the fact that I can be replaced at any moment , by Clay O'Connor,”

Maggie started to laugh. She couldn't help it.

“What's so damn funny?” Josh demanded.

“The thought of you selling real estate. It boggles the
mind.”

AT MIDMORNING A KNOCK on the kitchen door caused Maggie
to put down the vegetables shehad been peeling for soup. She peeked through the
curtains and saw a familiar beat-up old pickup parked in the driveway behind
the manor. She smiled as she opened the door for Dwight Wilcox, her faithful
handyman.

“Hi, Dwight. How are you this morning?” Maggie wiped
her hands on her apron.

Dwight ducked his head by way of greeting and gave her
his customary morose expression.

Maggie had never seen Dwight display any other emotion.
Today he appeared completely oblivious to the cold, driving rain that was
pounding down around him.

He wasn't very old—perhaps twenty-five or
twenty-six—but it was clear that Dwight had already found the world sadly
wanting. Maggie sometimes wondered if he had ever, in his entire life, been
happy.

Dwight was garbed in his handyman's uniform, which
consisted of a peaked cap over his unkempt brown hair, a pair of twill pants
and a shirt in a dull shade of green. He also had on his thick-soled boots and,
as usual, he was chewing gum.

“Mornin'.” Dwight was a no-nonsense speaker. Every word
was clipped short and there were no extras. “On my way into town, Figured I'd
see if you wanted that furnace checked. You said something about it the other
day, I brung my tools.” He hoisted the toolbox he was holding in his right
hand.

“Great.” Maggie stepped back to let him enter the
kitchen. “I'm glad to see you. I don't want to take any chances on the heating
system going down again. Not at this time of year,”

Dwight nodded and tromped across the kitchen toward the
door in the hall that opened to the basement steps. Maggie followed. She was
unlocking the door when Josh appeared on the second-floor landing. He braced
himself by putting both hands on the railing and looked over.

“What's going on down there?” he called easily.

Maggie looked up. “This is Dwight Wilcox, Josh. I told
you about him. He takes care of things around here for us. He's going to
service the furnace just to make certain it's running smoothly. Dwight, this is
Josh January. He's staying here at the manor for a few weeks.”

Dwight squinted up at Josh from beneath the peak of ids
cap. '“Lo.”

Josh nodded and started down the steps, limping only
slightly. “I'll come down there with you, Wilcox. I know a thing or two about
electric furnaces.”

“That right?” Dwight looked skeptical.

“Enough to figure out where to put the lubrication oil
in,” Josh assured him blandly. “Besides, I need the break. I've been writing
all morning.”

“Josh is a writer,” Maggie said quickly, just in case
Dwight had not gotten the point. Dwight was very helpful when it came to mechanical
matters, but it was difficult to tell how much he was taking in when one spoke
to him. His eyes always reflected a sort of wary bafflement, as if everything
going on around him was almost too complicated to comprehend. The only things
Dwight Wilcox seemed to feel really comfortable with were his tools.

“Suit yourself.” Dwight went down the steps to the
basement.

Josh followed. “How's lunch coming?” he inquired as he
went past Maggie.

“Don't worry about it. You aren't in any danger of
immediate starvation.”

“Just making sure I get everything that's coming to
me.”

“You were only promised breakfast, tea and dinner,” she
reminded him.

“Yeah, but I figure the little extra work I'm doing on
the side around here should be properly rewarded.”

“What extra work?” Then a suspicion took hold. “Josh
January,” Maggie hissed, “if you're implying I should reimburse you for your talents
as a... a...” Words failed her.

“Lover?” he supplied helpfully,

“I can think of more descriptive words.”

“Such as?”

“Go on down those stairs before I decide to assist
you,” Maggie growled.

“Sure thing. By the way, I made reservations for us
this evening at a place the Colonel recommended.” Josh grinned and went on down
the steps. He held on to the handrail, taking the weight off his left foot as
much as possible.

Maggie stood in the doorway and watched both men for a
while. Then she went back into the kitchen to finish the soup. She wondered why
Josh had accompanied Dwight into the basement.

AT SEVEN O'CLOCK that evening Josh and Maggie were
shown to their seats in a cozy little restaurant perched on the cliffs above
the sea. Maggie glanced around expectantly. It was Saturday night and the place
was mingled with the clink of dishes and glassware. The delightful smell of
freshly broiled salmon drifted over from a nearby table.

As soon as their orders had been given to the waitress
Josh leaned back with a satisfied look in his eyes.

“It's a relief to get you out of that house,
sweetheart. I hadn't realized until now what a dampening effect the Colonel and
the others were having on our relationship. I have the feeling that if one of
them catches me stepping over the line with you, I'm going to find myself
facing a shotgun and a preacher.”

Maggie knew she was blushing, but she tried to keep her
tone light. “The Colonel and Odessa are a little old-fashioned. Shirley would
be more tolerant, I imagine. Being a gangster's moll probably gives one a less
rigid outlook on certain matters.”

“Don't count on it. Shirley would be as tough on me as
the other two.” Josh sipped his wine. His eyes gleamed.

Maggie felt herself growing more flushed. She started
fiddling with her salad fork, “Look, don't worry about it, okay? You're in no
danger of a shotgun wedding just because of a little fooling around on a sofa
last night.”

“I wasn't fooling around, Maggie. I was very serious.”

She frowned, not sure how to take that. It seemed
safest to try another topic. “Josh, why did you go down into the basement to
watch Dwight work this morning?”

He grinned wickedly. “Do I make you nervous, Maggie? Is
that why you're changing the subject?”

“Yes. Now answer my question.”

“Okay. You're the client.” He sat forward and folded
his arms on the white tablecloth. The humor vanished from his gaze. “I wanted
to see if Wilcox showed any surprise when he discovered that your basement
wasn't flooded.”

Maggie's eyes widened. “You suspected Dwight might have
been the one who crawled through the basement window last night?”

“It was a possibility. He's slender enough to fit
through that window and he knows his way around too Is. Furthermore, as your
handyman, he's had plenty of access to the manor. He could have sabotaged things
like the chimneys and the refrigerator.”

“Yes, but Dwight?” Maggie started to laugh. “I'll bet
he showed absolutely no reaction whatsoever down in that basement. Am 1 right?”

“Right. The guy never missed a beat. Didn't even
blink,”

“That's our Dwight. Sorry to screw up your theory, but
you really can't tell anything from Dwight's face. He's worn that same expression—or
rather, lack of it— since the day I met him. I don't think Dwight would have
shown any emotion if he'd walked down those basement steps and found an alligator
that had crawled up from the sewer.”