Twist of Fate (17 page)

“You're just feeling depressed and emotional,” he told her grimly. “Hardly surprising considering what you've been through. By tomorrow morning you'll feel different. Stop thinking about things. Just try to relax and let the day go by.”

“I can't stop thinking about things, Gideon. I can't turn off my emotions the way you can. I can't focus on one thing and tune out all the others. Believe me, I wish I could. Before the man attacked me this morning I was thinking about just that. Strange, isn't it? I was comparing you to Vicky Armitage and to my aunt. All three of you have or had the ability to focus on the one thing in life that's important to you. Everything else that goes on around you is dealt with on a more or less casual basis. Nothing gets to you except something that is a direct threat to the one thing you care about. In your case it's Cage & Associates. In Vicky's case it's probably her career. It certainly was that way with my aunt. A part of me envies the three of you. But another part of me finds that kind of talent frightening. It has something to do with the personal power it gives you. I feel helpless against it. I can't really explain it, Gideon. But I know it's dangerous. And it's time I got away from it.”

“You're creating some kind of weird fantasy out of a perfectly normal approach to business. For Christ's sake, Hannah, stop brooding on it.”

“But I can't stop brooding on it. That's the whole problem. I was ignoring it with reasonable success until this morning. Now, I can't ignore it. Don't you understand at all?”

His fingers gripped the wheel. “I understand that you're emotionally upset because of this morning. I can accept that. God knows you've got a right to be upset. But the rest of this talk about focus and power is bullshit.”

She stared at him. He hadn't moved, had made no effort to touch her, but she realized that he was trying to overpower her in some way. Hannah could feel Gideon willing her to back down and accept his analysis of the situation. She couldn't move for a timeless moment. Then a weary amusement surfaced. “If you bottle that kind of bullshit, you'd make another fortune. Let's go back to the cottage, Gideon. I want to finish packing the boxes this afternoon and get them to the airport. I can make my return reservations while I'm shipping the books.”

“Hannah, listen to me, damn it!”

“You're welcome to stay in the cottage for another couple of days.”

“That's not the point,” Gideon said roughly. “And you know it.”

“I know. But I don't think there's much point in discussing the real point. Let's go, Gideon.”

 

I
T WAS TOO SOON
.

The words kept hammering in Gideon's head as he loaded the last cartons of books into the jeep and drove to the airport. The same words prodded him, gnawed at him, consumed him as he watched Hannah making her return reservations for the following morning.

Too soon.

Five days wasn't long enough. He'd been promised seven. A full week. And now Hannah was going to leave on the morning of the fifth day. He should have had three more full days with her. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

The ludicrousness of his own logic was not lost on him, but it didn't seem to weigh against his sense of being denied something important, something he'd arranged for himself.

Gideon told himself she was running because she was scared after what had happened in the cove that morning. Didn't she realize that he'd take care of her? He wouldn't let her get ten feet from him now. He'd slit the throat of anyone who tried to hurt her. The bastard in the scuba gear wouldn't get close a second time.

At various times during the afternoon and evening Gideon tried to reassure Hannah on that score. But she wasn't interested. Calmly, methodically, she'd finished the packing and cleaned up the cottage. She was going to leave in the morning.

That night after dinner she stood on the veranda, drinking in the night sky and the moonlight on the sea. Morosely Gideon watched her. The Scotch he was drinking wasn't providing him with any creative inspiration. Earlier that day he had been sure he could talk Hannah into staying the full week. When he was intent on convincing someone to do things his way, he was almost always successful. Hannah shouldn't have been a problem. He had outmaneuvered her at every turn. He'd played games with her in Tucson, invited himself along on her vacation, coaxed her into letting him into her bed. This was the woman he could make shiver in his arms. She was responsive to his lightest touch. The woman who yielded beautifully to him, welcoming him with her tight, hot passion.

By the time he'd driven the last jeepload of books to the airport, Gideon had begun to admit defeat. It galled him because defeat wasn't on his private list of permissible options. Now he swirled Scotch in his glass and covertly watched helplessly as the woman he should have been able to lead and manipulate so easily planned her departure.

She was very quiet tonight. Possibly because every time she opened her mouth he used the chance to argue with her, Gideon admitted to himself. The balmy breeze was playing with the curling halo of her hair, making him want to play with it, too. There was a remoteness in the way she stood leaning against the railing. It bothered Gideon because it told him just how firm her decision really was. He had seen her in many moods from cautious to passionate, but he had never seen Hannah so distant.

“You don't have to do this, you know. In the morning I'll drive you to a phone. You can call and cancel the reservation.”

“I won't be canceling it.”

“Wait until morning to make up your mind.”

She shook her head.

“Hannah.” He put down his Scotch and went to stand behind her, his fingers settling on her shoulders as he inhaled the faint herbal scent of her hair. “Wait until morning. Everything looks different in the morning. You don't have to make the decision now.”

“The decision is made, Gideon. It's best this way.”

His fingers sank into her. He released her at once when he felt her wince. “Wait, Hannah. Just give it time.” He found her ear hiding amid the curls and gently set his teeth to the lobe. “We'll talk about it again in the morning.”

She didn't answer with words. Instead, she turned into his arms, lifting her face for his kiss. Gideon felt the trembling passion in her and responded to it unthinkingly. He was instantly taut and filled with wanting just as the sails of the boat he had seen earlier that day had been taut and filled with the sea wind.

He made love to her with an intensity that at times bordered on roughness. Hannah didn't seem to notice. She was too busy making her own passionate demands. It was as if both of them had decided to make the memory of this final night last a very long time.

But when it was over, the haunting words came back into Gideon's head, tormenting him until dawn.

Too soon. It was all over too soon.

The next morning Hannah sat silently beside Gideon for almost the entire flight to Miami. There they were forced to part. Gideon booked a flight on to Tucson and Hannah already had her ticket to Seattle.

She stood in the boarding lounge with him since his jet was scheduled to leave first. The silence was maddening but Gideon couldn't think of a way to break it. It wasn't until the flight was called and he picked up his leather bag that Hannah finally touched his arm as if half calling him back. He turned to her at once.

“Gideon,” she said quietly. “I owe you my life. The only way I can repay it is with some advice. I know you don't want it and I know you won't listen to it but it's all I have.”

“I'm listening.”

“Just remember that there is always a choice. Nothing is inevitable for you when you deal with Ballantine. You don't have to crush him. If you can't find any other solution, you can always walk away and refuse to fight.”

“Hannah…”

“Goodbye, Gideon.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her mouth against his. “You were right. It wasn't a novelty.”

T
HE FIRST BOX OF BOOKS
Hannah had shipped from Santa Inez Island arrived on Wednesday. Hugh Ballantine was right behind it.

Hannah didn't notice the tall, red-haired man immediately. He was standing on the other side of the iron gate in the arched entranceway of her apartment building, watching curiously as she assessed her chances of getting the large carton of books up the stairs.

“Can I give you a hand?”

Hannah swung around, startled. The man was silhouetted by the bright sunlight behind him and it was difficult to make out his features. All Hannah saw for certain was the bright red of his hair. That and the expensively cut, dark pinstripe suit. Suits didn't make any difference, she told herself. Muggers came in all kinds of clothes. Automatically she smiled and shook her head. “No thanks, I'll manage.”

“That carton is as big as you are.”

Hannah gazed morosely down at it. “An acquaintance of mine packed it for me. I'm sure it's a convenient size for him to handle. Unfortunately he forgot to make allowances for the fact that I'd be dealing with it alone at the other end of the line. But it's no problem, really. My next-door neighbor will be glad to help me with it.”

The red-haired man stepped closer to the gate and peered at the label on the box. “You're Hannah Jessett?”

Bad move, Hannah thought. Women living alone weren't supposed to let their names and addresses be connected by strangers. Still, it was hard to imagine this man in the pinstripe suit as a mugger or a burglar. He looked too much like her brother, too much of a businessman. She decided to gently take the offensive.

“Were you looking for someone here in the building?” she asked politely, not bothering to answer his question.

He smiled, an interesting, crooked little smile. Hannah saw that his eyes were of a rather intense blue and that they were set in a face that was handsome in a square-cut, open sort of way. This man could have been driving a tractor across a plowed field in the Midwest or carrying a football into an end zone. There was even a faint sprinkling of freckles to prove his silent claim to an All-American Boyhood. He'd probably been a Boy Scout. The overall effect was slightly marred by the alert, watchful expression in his eyes and by the strong line of his nose. The fit of the pinstripe suggested that whatever he'd done in the way of high school athletics, he hadn't allowed himself to become too soft in the intervening years. Hannah guessed he was somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties. Perhaps exactly her age.

“I was looking,” the stranger said, “for Hannah Jessett. I'm Hugh Ballantine.”

Hannah leaned back against the tile wall, folding her arms across her olive-gray fatigue sweater. The jeans she wore were the oldest pair she had. They had been put on for housecleaning. “Ballantine,” she murmured. “Ballantine. Why do I know that name?”

“Possibly because you're interested in the financial world?” he suggested gently.

“
That
Ballantine?” Her fingertips played a short musical scale on her arm. Matters appeared to be about to complicate themselves and she was forced to wonder why.

“I'm flattered that you seem to recognize the name.”

Hannah came away from the wall and bent to hoist the book carton. “Don't be. My interest in the business world is fleeting.”

“I'll get that box for you.” He waited expectantly.

Hannah sighed and reluctantly opened the iron gate. Ballantine moved to lift the carton before she could get a firm grip on it. “Up these stairs?”

Hannah nodded. At least he wasn't a mugger. “Down the hall. First door on the left.”

“I promise I won't take up too much of your time, Miss Jessett. I just want to talk to you.” He started up the stairs, carrying the carton easily.

“I can't imagine why.” But she was very much afraid she could make a reasonable guess. She dug her keys out of her jeans pocket as she climbed the stairs behind him.

“You and I have a mutual problem, Hannah.” Ballantine stopped at the indicated door and waited. His blue eyes swept over her profile as she unlocked the door.

“I wasn't aware that I had a problem. At least, not one that I can't handle.”

“Does the name Gideon Cage mean anything to you?” He followed her through the door and set the carton down near one of the bookcases. Slowly he straightened, dusting his hands automatically as he took in the mock island decor. Whatever he thought about the interior design, he was polite enough not to comment. Hannah gave him credit for that much.

“Have a seat, Mr. Ballantine.”

“Hugh.” He took off his jacket and tossed it over the back of one of the wicker chairs with a gesture of familiarity. Then he took the fanback throne. “Please call me Hugh. You haven't answered my question. Does the name Cage mean anything?”

“I think you know the answer to that or you wouldn't be here.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied with the response. “You're right. I know the answer. What I'm not sure of is what effect his name has on you.”

“And that's why you're here?”

“That's why I'm here.”

There was a moment of silence as Hannah took a seat and considered his words. “Mr. Cage's main effect,” she finally said carefully, “was on my brother. Why aren't you seeing Nick?”

“Because Nick Jessett isn't in a position to do me much good, regardless of how he feels about Cage.”

“And you think I am?”

“It's a possibility.”

Hannah looked at him. “I think you've wasted your time.”

“I rarely waste time. Coming to Seattle may prove to be a dead end but I won't consider the trip a waste of time.”

Hannah grinned in wry amusement. “Because I'm so good at entertaining out-of-town guests?”

“Because of your connection with Gideon Cage. Any connection with Cage is worth checking out. I try to cover all bases.”

“I'm crushed. Does this mean I don't have to take you to the Waterfront and the Space Needle?”

He smiled. “No obligation whatsoever. I would like to take you to dinner, however.”

“So that you can ply me with wine and get me to talk about Gideon Cage? Why don't we both save some time. Tell me what you want to know and I'll tell you if I'm going to answer your questions.”

“It's not quite that simple.”

“I was afraid of that.” Hannah curled her legs under her and winced as the still-healing knee protested the radical bend. Unobtrusively she tried to straighten out her left leg. “Mr. Ballantine, I'll be honest, forthright, and straightforward with you. I do not wish to be involved in whatever is going on between you and Cage. I am not into the financial world. I'm a guidance counselor. I know absolutely nothing about Cage that would be useful to you.”

“If you did know something useful,” he said, “would you tell me?”

She eyed him through narrowed lashes. “Probably not. I told you, I don't want to get involved.”

“Because you saw how your brother got burned?”

“I take it you know all about that?”

Ballantine nodded. “It was a typical Cage & Associates operation. Appear on the scene like the Four Horsemen and send everyone into a panic with visions of a takeover. The resulting chaos drives up the price of the stock. Cage & Associates sell their stock at the top and back out, leaving a dazed and critically weakened victim behind in the dust.”

“And you don't operate like that?”

Ballantine smiled his odd, crooked little smile. “I have no interest in your brother's firm. The one I'm after is Cage. All I want to know at this point, Hannah, is whether you're interested in a little revenge.”

Hannah took a deep breath. “Revenge for what Cage did to my brother?”

“For what he did to your brother and for what he did to you.”

The breath she had just taken got caught in Hannah's throat. “What do you think he did to me?” Stupid question. She sincerely hoped Ballantine wouldn't answer it in the vernacular.

“Cage is a strange man. Winning is so commonplace for him now that there are times when he finds ways to make a victory more interesting. In this case I think he found you an added fillip. I know he went with you on your recent trip to the Caribbean. What I don't know is whether you realize that you were part of the victory celebration. And if you do realize it, I don't know if you care about your role in things. Perhaps a brief affair with the man who nearly ruined your brother's firm doesn't strike you as risky. Perhaps you know exactly what you're doing.”

“Perhaps I do,” she muttered.

“Then again,” Ballantine went on calmly, “there's a chance you thought you could handle him. You may have let him get close because you believed you could use his interest in you as a form of retaliation. If that's the case, I know it didn't work. And if it didn't work, you might be interested in another method of revenge.”

“You don't seem to have much faith in my womanly wiles.”

Ballantine shrugged. “I have considerably more faith in Cage's ability to use people. He's a shark. Only another shark has a chance of taking him.”

“Don't tell me, let me guess. You think you're the shark who can handle him.”

“I've worked hard and long to get to a point where that's a viable possibility.” The blue eyes were calm, utterly sure. “Are you interested in helping me or are you satisfied with what happened down in the Caribbean?”

“You seem to know a lot about my activities lately. I'm not sure I like that. Did you have me followed, Mr. Ballantine?”

“No. But I keep tabs on Cage. No one followed the two of you to Santa Inez Island. I thought I knew what was happening and saw no need to invade your privacy by having you tailed.”

“Gracious of you.”

He ignored that. “I do know that Cage came to Seattle when there was no need; that he saw you while he was here and that he left on the same plane to the Caribbean. I know he's now back in Tucson.”

“And you thought you'd come and see for yourself whether my heart was shattered or if I was lusting for revenge.”

“Or whether you simply enjoyed a short liaison with a man to whom you found yourself attracted in spite of circumstances.” Ballantine was casual. “It happens.”

“No accounting for a woman's taste?”

“Something like that.”

Hannah glanced at the carton of books, remembering the night Gideon had packed it. When he had finished sealing it he had taken her into his arms and made slow love to her on the flowered rattan sofa. She hadn't been thinking about her brother's firm at the time. She hadn't been thinking about the future. She hadn't been thinking about anything except the deeply sensual reality of the moment.

“I've already said it once, Hugh. But I'll repeat it. I don't want to get mixed up in the warfare going on between you and Gideon. Innocent bystanders might get torn to pieces.”

Ballantine hesitated, but to her surprise he didn't argue. “I understand. I can't say I blame you. In your position I'd probably do the same.”

“No, you wouldn't,” she told him with a faint smile. “You'd start salivating at the prospect of sinking your teeth into Gideon. You hate him, don't you?”

“I see why you're in guidance counseling. You seem to know what makes people tick.”

“Sometimes I even offer actual guidance.”

“Do people follow your advice?” he asked.

“I have better luck with undergraduates than I do with members of the business world.”

Ballantine tilted his head assessingly and then he gave her another of his small, twisted grins. “If you tried to give Gideon Cage guidance counseling I can understand why you might be feeling somewhat ineffective. There isn't much that can alter his plans once he sets them in motion.”

“But you're going to try?”

“The secret to handling Cage is not to alter his plans, but to let him get so far along in them that he can't alter them either.”

Hannah studied her visitor curiously. “You really think you can take him?”

“Sooner or later.” Ballantine leaned back in the fan chair and glanced around the room again. This time he examined the wall of books behind her. “You are a woman of eclectic tastes I see. Does that come with the guidance counseling profession?”

“It comes with having changed one's mind too many times in college.”

“I see a lot of anthro stuff.” He got to his feet and wandered over to study the spines of some books. “I was interested in anthropology once a long time ago. I thought the idea of taking off to the far corners of the world to record vanishing cultures was just about the most interesting idea I'd ever had. Used to imagine myself working for
National Geographic
. I could see myself dressed in bush clothes and wandering through places like New Guinea or Central Brazil searching for undiscovered tribes.”