Hidden Talents

  “Good-bye, Jessie,” Caleb said politely. “I'm sure we'll run into each other again soon.”

  “I'm sure we will.” Jessie went up the steps to the front door of the cabin.

  Serenity heard the crunch of gravel behind her as Caleb followed her toward the road. She did not look back. He caught up with her in three long strides. Serenity held out her hand.

  “I'll take that envelope, if you don't mind,” she said crisply.

  Caleb hesitated and then reluctantly reached inside his jacket for the envelope. He pulled it out slowly, but instead of handing it to her, held onto it. “Serenity, I'd like to talk about something.”

  She snapped her fingers impatiently. “May I please have my pictures?”

  “I've been thinking about your photos,” Caleb said carefully.

  “Is that so? What, exactly, have you been thinking about them?”

  “I'd like to see them.”

  “Over my dead body.” Serenity kept her hand outstretched.

  Caleb's expression was grim. “All right. If that's the way you want it.” He gave her the envelope.

  “Thank you.” Serenity tucked the envelope under her arm and kept walking.

  “Serenity?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can you envision any circumstances under which you would feel comfortable showing me those pictures?”

  “Why would you want to see them?”

  “I'm not sure.” Caleb kept his eyes on the road ahead.

  “Has your prurient interest been aroused?” she asked acidly.

  His expression was as unreadable as stone. “What do you think?”

  “I don't know what to think. A couple of days ago you were thoroughly outraged when you found out about these photos. Now you say you want to see them.”

  “Will you just answer my question?” he asked quietly.

  She considered it. “You want to know if I can conceive of any circumstances under which I'd feel comfortable showing you the pictures? Well, maybe. Hypothetically speaking, that is.”

  “What kind of circumstances?”

  “Well, hypothetically speaking, I might show them to you if I ever felt I could trust you.”

  “If you felt you could trust me.” Caleb came to a halt in the middle of the empty road and caught hold of her arm, forcing Serenity to stop, too. “Are you saying you don't trust me? That's a damned insult, lady. I've got a reputation in the business community that is second to none. Ask anyone who's ever dealt with me. Go ahead, ask. No one, but no one, has ever accused me of being untrustworthy.”

  Serenity was startled by the intensity of his reaction to her remark. She was also irritated. “Oh, I'm sure you're quite trustworthy when it comes to your business dealings. Your contracts are apparently airtight and you've probably never been accused of fraud. But I'm talking about being able to trust you on a personal level.”

  “Damn it, Serenity, I resent that. I do not lie.”

  “If you resent it so much, you're free to leave Witt's End. No one's trying to keep you here.”

  Caleb released her. He started forward, his stride angry and dangerous. “You're going to be difficult about this, aren't you?”

  “Difficult?” Serenity hurried to catch up with him. “Caleb, I don't understand what's going on here. What do you expect of me after what's happened between us?”

  “Isn't it obvious? I want you to give me another chance.”

  “You're getting another chance,” she shot back. “I can't seem to stop you. According to you, I'm stuck with you as a consultant whether I like it or not.”

  “I'm not talking about the business side of this thing. I'm talking about the personal side of it.”

  In spite of her wariness and her deep uncertainty, a thrill of excitement and hope raced through Serenity. She clutched the envelope tightly. “Personal side?”

  “Look, let's try for a little honesty on both sides, okay?” Caleb asked quietly. “We're attracted to each other. We both more or less admitted it when I kissed you in my office. You kissed me back, if you'll recall. I know damn well that you want me as much as I want you.”

  Serenity's insides tightened. “I don't think I want to get involved with a man who would have to concentrate very hard not to think about a few photos of me every time he kissed me.”

  “I'll admit the news of those photos came as a shock at first, but I've had a chance to calm down. I know you're not—”

  “Not what?” She was suddenly very curious.

  “I know you're not the kind of woman who would deliberately pose for dirty pictures. I'm sure you believed Asterley when he told you that he wanted you to pose for the sake of art.”

  “Gosh, Mr. Ventress, your magnanimous attitude is overwhelming. I don't know what to say.”

  “Say yes.” Caleb stopped once more. He searched her face with stark eyes. “Say you'll give me a chance to prove that you can trust me again on a personal level.” He paused briefly, as if gathering himself for a plunge into very deep water. “Please.”

  It was the raw need buried in that single word, please, that was Serenity's undoing. She met Caleb's eyes and for the briefest instant thought she glimpsed the trailing wake of some deep, dark emotion that swam just beneath the surface. Once again he had reached out and touched her in some intimate, indefinable way, and she could not resist the contact. She was compelled to touch him, too.

  “Okay,” she said gently.

  Relief flashed in Caleb's expression. That emotion disappeared as swiftly as the other, more mysterious emotion, had. He scowled. “Okay? Is that all you have to say?”

  “What else is there to say?” She gave him a misty smile. “Hey, it's no big deal. Witt's End exists for people who want a second chance. It's practically the town motto. I'd be remiss in my civic duty if I didn't give you an opportunity to prove you aren't an arrogant, straitlaced, inflexible, unbending SOB.”

  “Very decent of you, Ms. Makepeace,” he muttered dryly. “Let's make a deal. When you show me the photos, I'll know that you trust me. Fair enough?”

  Serenity hesitated briefly and then shrugged. “Deal. But the decision will be mine. Understood?”

  “You're a tough negotiator.”

  “I'm taking lessons from an expert.”

  Forty minutes later, alone in her tiny office in the back of Witt's End Grocery, Serenity opened the envelope she had taken from Ambrose's files.

  She turned it upside down and shook out three photos. She glanced at the prints without much interest. She'd seen them before. The pictures showed her reclining and sitting on a large boulder next to a stream. The lighting was dramatic and other worldly. The black and white shots didn't worry her.

  What worried her was that the negatives were not in the envelope.

  5

  WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN, THE NEGATIVES ARE gone?” Caleb planted both hands on top of Serenity's desk and leaned forward in what probably appeared to be a thoroughly intimidating fashion.

  Some people would no doubt claim that it was not very nice to intimidate the queen of the butterflies, which was exactly what Serenity looked like this morning. The floaty, gauzy, iridescent-green sliplike thing that she was wearing over a green, high-necked, long-sleeved jumpsuit definitely made her look like butterfly royalty. The chaotic mass of her wild red hair only added to the overall effect. Here in Witt's End, Caleb had noticed, Serenity did not wear beige and gray, as she always had in Seattle.

  At the moment he didn't particularly care if he was charged with butterfly intimidation. He was furious. So furious, in fact, that he didn't even give a damn that he was skating on the jagged edge of his temper.

  Anger wasn't the only emotion twisting his insides. Serenity's news made him deeply uneasy in a variety of ways. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. No, he corrected himself, he could believe it, all right. He just didn't want to believe it.

  “Please don't yell at me.” Serenity gripped the arms of her chair and glared at him. “I'm having
a difficult day. I don't need you making it worse.”

  “I'm not yelling. When I yell, you'll know it.”

  “I'd appreciate it if you'd stop snarling, then.”

  “I am not snarling, either. Why didn't you tell me earlier that the negatives were missing?”

  “Because I had a hunch you'd overreact,” Serenity admitted. “I wasn't up to dealing with it.”

  “You think I'm overreacting? You don't know what overreacting is.” Caleb swept aside the pile of business papers he'd been going over for the past two hours.

  He straightened and began to prowl the tiny office. The only reason he wasn't actually yelling was because he knew he'd be overheard by Zone and the sprinkling of locals who were shopping at Witt's End Grocery. The closed door that stood between the office and the main part of the store was not very thick.

  “I had a feeling this morning that this thing wasn't over,” Caleb muttered. “I knew something else was going to go wrong.”

  Serenity pressed her lips together in a mutinous expression. “Don't worry about it, Caleb. This isn't your problem, it's mine.”

  So much for their short-lived truce, Caleb thought. “I've already told you, as long as you're a client, your problems are my problems.”

  “You and your precious business ethics. Nobody's asking you to go above and beyond the call of duty here. You're the one who's pushing it.”

  “I'll decide what constitutes above and beyond the call.” Caleb reached the wall, swung around and stalked back across the room. He was disgusted to realize that he was pacing. He never paced. He had too much self-control to pace.

  A shock of self-awareness jolted him back to a cold, calm acknowledgment of just what was happening. Pacing was clear evidence that he was allowing his emotions to gain the upper hand.

  Emotions were dangerous. They left a man vulnerable, weakened him, encouraged him to make mistakes, made him forget his responsibilities, caused him to run off with a platinum-blond centerfold model and to father an illegitimate son who would spend the rest of his life paying for his father's emotional stupidity.

  Caleb was discovering that emotions were also what made a man feel alive.

  He fought back the confusion within and came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the room. “All right, let's calm down here and think this through in a logical manner.”

  “I am calm,” Serenity said pointedly. “Unlike some people I could mention. Not finding the negatives came as a surprise, that's all. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about.”

  “The hell there isn't. You've got a set of missing blackmail negatives to worry about.”

  “Those pictures can't do me any more harm than they've already done. The only thing that really concerns me now is the possibility that maybe Ambrose wasn't the one who tried to blackmail me. Maybe someone else was involved. Damn. I was so hoping this thing was finished.”

  “Asterley is still the most likely suspect.” Caleb forced himself to do what he did best, to unemotionally analyze a situation and reach a reasoned conclusion. “He probably removed the negatives from his files at some point and hid them in a safe place while he conducted his blackmail dealings.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because what he was doing was illegal.” Caleb gave her an exasperated glance. “If you'd gone to the cops and those negatives had been discovered in Asterley's possession, the authorities would have nailed him. This way, if he was caught and his files searched, he could always claim that the negatives had been stolen from him and that someone else had done the blackmailing.”

  “If that's true, there's no telling where he might have hidden those negatives. We'll probably never find them.” Serenity exhaled softly. “I suppose it's for the best.”

  “I'm not so sure about that.” Caleb rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't like the fact that those negatives are floating around out there somewhere. Someone else might find them by accident.”

  He eyed the envelope on top of Serenity's desk with a brooding gaze. The thought of another man drooling over nude photos of Serenity, photos that he himself hadn't been allowed to see, made every muscle in Caleb's body tighten.

  “It's not really very likely when you stop to think about it.” Serenity sat forward determinedly. “Well, I certainly don't intend to sit around worrying that someone might find the negatives. I've already explained to you that I'm not ashamed of the pictures.”

  “Is that right? Let me tell you something, you looked damned worried a few minutes ago when you pulled that envelope out of the drawer and told me the negatives were missing.” For just a few seconds there she'd actually looked at him as if she needed him, Caleb thought with a surge of satisfaction. Really needed him.

  Hope, he was discovering the hard way, was perhaps the cruelest emotion of all.

  “As I said, it came as a shock to discover that the negatives weren't in the envelope with the prints,” Serenity admitted. “My first thought was that someone else had taken them and used them to blackmail me.”

  “I know.”

  “It's not exactly pleasant to think that you might have an enemy.”

  “I'm well aware of what it's like to have enemies.”

  “I don't doubt that for a moment,” Serenity retorted. “But I grew up believing that even though the outside world considers all of us here in Witt's End a little off the wall, we're neighbors and friends. More than that, we're a family. I've always felt I could count on everyone I know here in town. We're a very close-knit community.”

  “With the exception of Asterley, that was probably a valid assumption. I think it's also logical to assume that, with Asterley dead, the problem with the pictures is over.”

  He was pleased with the way that came out. He sounded cool and dispassionate. In control. The rush of anger and alarm that he had initially experienced when she had told him that the negatives were still missing was receding.

  Old habits took hold once more. Caleb deliberately distanced himself from the rage and the primitive sense of protectiveness that had set the adrenaline pumping through him.

  He was an expert at stuffing strong emotions into a box, closing the lid and sealing it tight. He'd practiced the trick all of his life. He had learned to operate by remote control with the members of his own family, and he could certainly do it with Serenity.

  “I'm sure you're right,” she said.

  “It's usually best to assume the obvious.”

  “The obvious?”

  “In this case the obvious conclusion is that Asterley was the blackmailer.” Caleb held up one hand and ticked off his points as he made them. “He put the negatives in a safe location while he carried out his plans. He died before he could retrieve them. No one is likely to discover them by accident. End of story.”

  “Okay, you've sold me on your theory.” Serenity paused, her peacock eyes still troubled. “The only thing that bothers me about your theory, the thing that has sort of bothered me all along, in fact, is that it was Ambrose who sent me to you in the first place.”

  Caleb stared at her, dumbfounded. “What did you say?”

  Serenity frowned. “Didn't I mention that Ambrose was the one who suggested you as a possible consultant? He gave me your name when I told him I was going to look for a hotshot start-up expert. He suggested I try you first because he'd heard that you were very good.”

  “No,” Caleb said between his teeth. “You did not mention that interesting little fact.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess it slipped my mind.”

  He wanted to shake her. Naiveté was one thing. Stupidity was another. “How the hell did Ambrose Asterley, a drunken failure, a washed-up photographer living in a town so small it isn't even on most maps, know about me?”

  “You've told me yourself that you're the best in the business. Is it so strange that someone like Ambrose would have heard of you? We're not completely out of touch with world events here in Witt's End. We do get newspapers. And Ambrose read nearly every major p
aper on the West Coast on a regular basis.”

  “Newspapers?” Caleb recalled the stacks of aging newsprint that he'd seen piled around the front room of Asterley's cabin.

  “That's where Ambrose probably got your name,” Serenity explained patiently. “Out of a Seattle newspaper. Has Ventress Ventures ever made the business section?”

  “Yes.” It was possible, Caleb conceded. Ventress Ventures showed up every now and again in the financial pages of the West Coast papers, and more often in Northwest papers. It was a logical connection.

  “But why steer you in my direction and then turn around and blackmail you?” Caleb mused aloud. He broke off suddenly. “Damn.”

  “What now?”

  “Never mind. I think I just answered my own question.”

  “I'd appreciate it if you'd answer it for me,” Serenity grumbled. “Why would Ambrose send me to you and then use blackmail threats to stop me from doing business with you?”

  “Because he probably felt that he had things under control that way,” Caleb said, thinking quickly. “You told me that he wasn't in favor of change here in Witt's End.”

  “That's true. Ambrose wasn't in favor of much of anything. He was a very depressed person.”

  “I assume he knew that you had made up your mind to create Witt's End by Mail?”

  “Everyone in town knew that.”

  “He also probably knew you well enough to realize that he couldn't talk you out of it. Right again?”

  “Right.”

  “So he pretended to help out. He sent you off in a direction he knew he could control. How old did you say Asterley was?”

  “Somewhere in his mid-fifties. Why?”

  Old enough to have read about the old Ventress scandal when it first broke thirty-four years ago, Caleb thought. His grandfather had told him often enough that the news of Crystal Brooke's affair with Gordon Ventress had been all over the Northwest papers.

  It wouldn't have taken much in the way of brains for Asterley to have surmised that even three and a half decades later, a bunch of nude photos and a threat of blackmail would have a strong, exceedingly negative impact on anyone with the last name of Ventress.