How neatly she lied, she thought wonderingly. She was smoking cigars, accepting bribes and lying. What was happening to her?
Dageus MacKeltar, that was what.
She reread it several times before hitting the send button. She was still staring at the "your message has been sent" message, feeling a little shaky about what she'd just done because it made it all seem so final, when she heard the door open and close.
He was back already!
She hit the shut down button, praying it would also disconnect the Internet. Though she had nothing to feel guilty about, she preferred to dodge a potential dispute. Especially after almost listening to his messages. God, he would have walked in and caught her doing it! How humiliating that would have been!
Taking a deep breath, she pasted an innocent expression on her face. "What are you doing back already?" she called as she strolled out of the study.
Then gasped, startled, and drew up short near the doorway to the kitchen.
A man, dad in a dark suit, was standing in the living room, glancing through the books on the coffee table. Of average height, wiry build, with short brown hair, he was well dressed and had a cultured air about him.
Apparently, she wasn't the only one who strolled at will into Dageus's unlocked penthouse. He really should start locking it, she thought. What if she'd still been in the shower, or had wandered downstairs in a towel to find a stranger there? It would have scared the bejeezus out of her.
The man turned at her gasp. "I'm sorry I startled you, ma'am," he apologized gently. "Might Dageus MacKeltar be about?"
British accent, she noted. And a funny tattoo on his neck. Didn't seem quite in character with the rest of him. He didn't seem the tattoo sort.
"I didn't hear you knock," Chloe said. She didn't think he had. Maybe Dageus's friends didn't. "Are you a friend of his?"
"Yes. I'm Giles Jones," he said. "Is he in?"
"Not at the moment, but I'll be happy to tell him you stopped by." She peered at him, curiosity never dormant. Here was one of Dageus's friends. What might he tell her about him? "Are you a close friend of his?" she fished.
"Yes." He smiled. "And who might you be? I can't believe he's not mentioned such a lovely woman to me."
"Chloe Zanders."
"Ah, he has exquisite taste," Giles said softly.
She blushed. "Thank you."
"Where did he go? Will he be returning soon? Might I wait?"
"It'll probably be an hour or so. Can I give him a message for you?"
"An hour?" he echoed. "Are you certain? Perhaps I could wait; he might be back sooner." He glanced questioningly at her.
Chloe shook her head. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Jones. He went to get some things for me; we're leaving for Scotland later and—"
She broke off as the man's demeanor changed abruptly.
Gone was the disarming smile. Gone was the appreciative gaze.
Replaced by a cold, calculating expression. And—her brain seemed to resist processing this fact—there was suddenly, bewilderingly, a knife in his hand.
She shook her head sharply, unable to absorb the bizarre turn of events.
With a menacing smile, he moved toward her.
Still trying to get some dim grasp on the situation, she said stupidly. "You're n-not his f-friend." Oh, gee, did the knife give it away, Zanders? she snapped at herself silently. Get a grip. Find a blasted weapon. She inched slowly backward, into the kitchen, afraid to make a sudden move.
"Not yet," was the man's bizarre reply as he paced her.
"What do you want? If it's money, he has lots of money. Tons of money. And he'll happily give it to you. And there are artifacts," she babbled. She was almost there. Surely there was a knife lying on the counter somewhere. "Worth a fortune. I'll help you pack them up. There are oodles of things here you can take. I won't get in your way a bit. I promise, I'll just—"
"It's not money I'm after."
Oh, God. A dozen horrid scenarios, each worse than the last, flashed through her mind. He'd duped her into freely admitting that she was alone for an hour by pretending to know Dageus. How gullible she'd been! You can take the girl out of Kansas, but you can't take Kansas out of the girl, she thought, hysteria bubbling inside her.
"Oh, would you look at that! I've mistaken the time! He's due back any minute—"
A sharp bark of laughter. "Nice try."
When he lunged for her, she scrambled backward, adrenaline flooding her. Frantically, with hands made clumsy by fear, she snatched things off the counter and flung them at him. The thermal coffeepot bounced off his shoulder, spewing coffee everywhere; the butcher block hit him squarely in the chest. Flailing behind her, she grabbed one Baccarat goblet after another from the sink and flung them at his head. He ducked and dodged, and glass after glass exploded against the wall behind him, raining down on the floor.