The Seductive Impostor Page 11

  Definitely stirred. Wonderfully alive.

  On the other hand, she had helped build Sub Rosa, had just enough money in the bank for a comfortable living, and was also the daughter of the man who had killed his great-uncle. (Although from Kee’s point of view that tragic event may have been a favor, considering the inheritance he’d walked into.)

  But most disturbing, Rachel had actually thought she could keep herself dispassionate, aloof to the point of rudeness, and uninterested in things such as smells and touches and remarkably sensuous kisses.

  What had possessed her to attack him this morning? Before that foolishly impulsive act, she might have been able to go on pretending he didn’t affect her that way—if not to Keenan Oakes, at least to herself.

  Now she was caught, because she found she wanted him passionately. Like the great home she was coaxing out of stasis, her own emotions were being awakened by piercing ocean-deep eyes, an incredible body, and a strong-willed zeal for life that was almost addictive.

  Which was why she was beginning to feel guilty for setting Kee up to face the fireworks of Thadd’s crimes.

  The library door opened, and the devil himself walked in, followed by Duncan and Mickey. Mickey immediately trotted over to Rachel and pushed his nose against her arm, begging for a pat. She obliged her new friend, giving him her undivided attention, determined not to let Keenan Oakes continue to affect her, not even for one minute, even if it killed her.

  Rachel soon discovered, however, that she couldn’t control her heartbeat, which had started to race the moment he opened the door. Yup, directly proportional to his proximity.

  “Making yourself at home, I see,” he said, standing in the middle of the room. He looked around, as if checking to see if anything had been stolen while he’d been gone. Apparently satisfied that she hadn’t looted his home, he moved closer and gazed down at the blueprints spread out on the desk. “Ready to show me Thadd’s vault?” he asked, turning the large pages, looking for the second-floor layouts.

  Rachel placed her index finger on the drawing. “It’s right here,” she said, pointing to the outline of the vault.

  Kee studied the drawing, then looked to his left, at the east end of the library. “I see a wall of books,” he said, walking over to them.

  Duncan followed, and both men stood examining the shelves. Rachel gently pushed Mickey away and moved the lever on her wheelchair, guiding herself over to them.

  “There, Duncan,” she said. “Just to your right. Pull out those last three books on the middle shelf. See the lever? Turn it clockwise.”

  Duncan did as she instructed, and the wall of books moved forward with a soft mechanical click. Both men stepped back and Mickey moved closer, sticking his nose in the newly exposed crack.

  “Pull it open,” she instructed, positioning her chair out of the way. “It’s heavy, but it will slide easily.”

  Kee pulled on the bookshelf until it swung completely open, revealing the vault’s large titanium door. “This is unbelievable,” he said, his voice awed and somewhat reverent.

  “No,” Rachel countered, grinning at his back. “It’s practical. You don’t want to advertise a vault’s location for would-be thieves.”

  Kee turned narrowed eyes on her, his expression speculative. “What’s the combination?” he asked.

  Rachel broadened her grin, letting him know she knew why he was asking, and shrugged. “How should I know? It’s your vault. Didn’t the lawyers give you the numbers?”

  Kee turned back to study the door, but not quickly enough for Rachel to miss his frustration. She almost laughed out loud. It was killing him not being able to mention their supposed meeting in this very room the other night.

  She watched in silence as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and rummaged around inside it.

  “Hey, while you’ve got that out,” Rachel said, remembering all the calls she’d made earlier, “I need some money.”

  He looked over his shoulder at her.

  “A thousand dollars should do for starters,” she told him, grinning again at his shocked look. “The pantry is empty, and Franny said she can’t find her recipe for stone soup. She needs to go shopping.”

  “What in hell’s the cost of living in Maine?”

  “For six large men? Oh, that should last you about a week.”

  He turned fully around to face her. “What?”

  “She needs staples, Kee. Flour, rice, spices, butter, shortening. And meat. Lots of meat. Should I go on? It’s not cheap to restock an empty pantry.”

  He dug into his wallet again.

  “Unless you won’t be staying that long,” she added, her expression hopeful. “Then six hundred should be enough, just for the basics.”

  “This is all the cash I have on me right now. Franny will have to stretch it.” Kee handed her eight one-hundred-dollar bills. “And we’re staying. I’ll open an account in town that you can write checks on,” he said, turning back to the safe, a small card in his hand.

  “No,” Rachel said. She was shaking her head when he turned back to her. “I agreed to give you only a few days of my time to help you open your home. I don’t need a checkbook. I’m not, nor do I want to be, your property manager. And I don’t want my name linked to Sub Rosa any more than it already is. Pay your own bills, or I’ll find you a property manager if you want.”

  He studied her in silence, and Rachel could almost see the wheels turning behind those arresting blue eyes of his. He was trying to decide whether or not this was a battle worth waging in their ongoing little war of wills.

  He nodded curtly and turned back to the vault. “I don’t need a manager,” he said, lifting the card beside the lock to read it more easily. “I’ll pay what bills you’ve run up already. Just put them in a pile on my desk.” He began spinning the dial, smartly dismissing the subject.

  But Rachel wasn’t through yet. “You’ll pay them promptly,” she told him. “And you won’t haggle over the prices. The people I’ve hired to put in the docks and wash the windows are hardworking folks, and they can’t afford to wait a month for their money.”

  He stopped what he was doing and looked back at her.

  “Thadd never had any problem getting work done at Sub Rosa,” she continued, ignoring his raised eyebrow and darkening expression. By God, she was going to make sure Keenan Oakes understood the work ethic of Maine people. She was the one who had called them, and it was her reputation that would be hurt if they had to wait for their money.

  “In fact,” she added, arching her own brow, “folks were always eager to come the moment Thadd called, because they always went home with a check in their pocket the minute the work was completed. They’re going to expect the same from you.”

  Duncan took a step back, away from Kee. Rachel kept her chair firmly planted where it was, and recklessly—and quite eagerly—continued her lecture.

  “And Franny wants to be paid in cash, every Thursday by noon, so she can get to the bank and back before she has to start supper. Eight hundred dollars for her, seven hundred for her kitchen help, and another five a week for the food. For that you’ll have three meals a day, six days a week. You’re on your own on Sundays.”

  She’d give him credit. He didn’t even bat an eyelash at the figures she threw out. His expression, however, darkened. And his eyes narrowed.

  Rachel shot him another grin. “When’s your daughter coming? Should I make arrangements for a nanny? I know a couple of high school girls who’d love the chance to earn extra money this summer.”

  “Mikaela will be fine,” he said. “She’s got Mickey to look out for her.”

  Rachel was horrified. “A wolf is not a babysitter.”

  Kee turned his attention back to the lock on the vault. “He’s more reliable than most teenagers,” he said over his shoulder. “Dammit. This combination isn’t working.”

  Rachel moved her chair to the desk and gathered up the notepad she’d been using and tucked it next to her thigh.
She pushed the lever again and started across the library, headed for the door. She was done here, since she wasn’t having any luck pricking Kee’s temper. She might as well go down to the kitchen and see if Franny had arrived yet.

  Mr. Unflappable stepped out and blocked her path. “And just where are you going? I can’t get the vault open,” he said, somewhat accusingly, as if it were her fault.

  Rachel gave him an innocent look. “Then you’ve got a big problem. A nuclear explosion won’t crack that safe. You should probably call your lawyers and get the right numbers.”

  He leaned down, bracing his hands on the arms of her chair, setting his face level with hers. “I bet you know how to open it,” he said softly.

  Proximity. Much too close.

  “You’d lose that bet.”

  “Come on, Rachel. Get me into my vault.”

  “You want me to try those numbers?”

  “No. I want you to open it with the combination you already have. Up here,” he added, reaching up and gently tapping her forehead.

  Her heart shifted into overdrive the moment he touched her. She was close enough that she could smell the sea on him, mingled with the faint scent of roses. Her palm itched again, but not with the urge to smack him this time. She wanted to run her fingers along the strong curve of his jaw.

  Or she could do something even more stupid. What if she just glided her chair over to his vault and simply opened it?

  Yes, that just might prick his temper. And riling Keenan Oakes was much safer than throwing herself into his arms.

  “I’ll make a deal with you then,” Rachel offered, quietly pulling on the lever of her chair, trying to back up.

  He held the chair firmly, overriding the gears with little effort. He grinned at her futile attempt to put some distance between them. “And what would that be?” he asked.

  “I’ll get you into your safe if you let me hire a nanny for your daughter.”

  He straightened, releasing the chair. Rachel went flying backward the moment she was free. She bumped into the desk and Mickey came bounding over, grabbing at the wheels.

  “Mikaela doesn’t need a babysitter,” Kee said, his arms crossed over his chest, his feet planted in a way that Rachel had come to recognize as his intent to be stubborn.

  “She’s what? Four? Five?” she asked.

  “She’ll be five the end of this month,” he told her. One side of his mouth turned up. “And she’d probably keelhaul anyone you hired within a week.”

  “This isn’t a place you can let a kid run wild,” Rachel said, moving her chair back toward him. She could match his infuriating stubbornness with a healthy dose of her own. “Sub Rosa isn’t an amusement park, nor was it designed with children in mind. There are thirty-foot drops from the cliffs at high tide, a maze of hallways and rooms that can confuse a mapmaker, and five hundred acres of woods to get lost in.”

  He nodded in Mickey’s direction. “The wolf will keep her from getting lost, in and out of the house, and she climbs the ropes on my schooner like a monkey. I’m sure your cliffs will be more of a challenge than a danger to her.”

  Rachel was terror-stricken at what he was implying. “She’s a child,” she said, her voice rising with outrage. “She needs supervision.”

  “There’s six men living here,” he countered, leaning over and grabbing the arms of her chair again, getting back in her face. And his voice, when he spoke, was forcefully soft. “I’ve been looking after my daughter since she was ten minutes old, Miss Foster, and I haven’t killed her yet.”

  Rachel swallowed the lump in her throat. Ohh-kay. The subject of Mikaela Oakes was definitely off limits.

  “Fine. Open your own safe,” she said, swatting his hands away and slamming the lever on her chair to the left. The wheels spun, and the smell of heated rubber rose into the air and followed her out the library door.

  It was time she got on with the business of why she was here. Thanks to Franny Watts, Rachel had finally filled her belly with enough proper nutrition that she was actually beginning to feel like her old self again. Two days of being confined to a wheelchair—and carried around like a child—had helped her knee immensely, and an afternoon of studying the blueprints of Sub Rosa had given her a few ideas of where to look for Thadd’s secret room.

  First, though, she had to call Willow, who was probably frantic at not being able to reach her. Rachel sent her wheelchair over to the writing table of her new first-floor bedroom and picked up the phone.

  She’d changed bedrooms earlier this morning after spending last night tossing and turning in bed. Without the pain pills to knock her out, she’d found that sleeping on the third floor of Sub Rosa, even in the opposite wing from Thadd’s bedroom, had been impossible. Ghosts of the disturbing kind had visited her dreams. Memories and emotions had invaded her thoughts so vividly that three years and even two floors of marble and granite would probably still not be enough to keep them at bay.

  So instead of trying to sleep tonight, she was going to keep the ghosts away by going on a treasure hunt.

  “Where in hell have you been?” was Willow’s greeting when she answered the phone after only two rings, letting Rachel know she’d probably been sitting by the phone waiting for this call.

  “Hi, sis,” Rachel answered cheerfully.

  “Don’t ‘Hi, sis’ me. Where have you been? I’ve been calling the house for two days.”

  Rachel took a deep breath, preparing herself for the firestorm that was about to erupt, and decided it was best simply to plunge headfirst into the middle of it.

  “I’m at Sub Rosa.”

  “What!”

  “Now, Willy. It’s not what you think. Well, it is, but it’s not why you think.”

  “I don’t care what it is. Get out of there. Now.”

  Rachel gripped the receiver more tightly and carefully tempered her lie with a small part of the truth. “Do you remember how Mom came to possess the emerald earrings and necklace you have?” she asked.

  That diverted Willow’s attention. She was silent for several seconds, and when she did finally speak, her voice was less angry but no less confused. “Daddy gave them to her. For their twentieth anniversary.”

  “That’s the story you know,” Rachel told her, softening her voice with compassion. “But that’s not exactly the whole truth,” she added, crossing her fingers and closing her eyes, hating the half-truth/half-lie she was about to tell. “Actually, the emeralds had come from Thadd. He gave them to Dad to give to Mom.”

  Silence again.

  Rachel took a calming breath. “They’re worth over a million dollars, Willy,” she told her. “And there are no papers of transfer for them. They’re still legally part of Thaddeus Lakeman’s estate.”

  “How do you know this?” Willow asked, the anger returning to her voice. She was not pleased to discover that the jewelry she cherished had not belonged to their mother but to Thadd.

  Yes. How did she know this, Rachel thought? Whatever story she told would have to contain enough of the truth that Willow would not get suspicious.

  “The article in the Island Gazette started me thinking about Thadd’s estate and all, and your wearing the emerald earrings made me remember,” Rachel began. “Those pieces of jewelry were never in Mom and Dad’s wills specifically, and I realized that they probably still belonged to Thadd’s estate.”

  It was a weak story, and Rachel cringed at the realization that she had just started down the slippery slope of compounding lies.

  “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing at Sub Rosa,” Willow snapped, obviously pained by the news.

  “I’m here to return the emeralds.”

  “That takes about five minutes. And you don’t even have to do it in person. Wendell could have returned them for you.”

  “A million dollars, Willy,” Rachel reminded her. “And they’ve been in our possession for three years. Thadd’s lawyers probably reported them stolen when they inventoried the vault and couldn’t
find them.”

  “It was innocent,” Willow pointed out. “They’re not going to charge us with theft. Wendell can corroborate your story that Thadd gave them to Dad.”

  “Then call me cautious,” Rachel countered. “We don’t know anything about this Keenan Oakes guy, and we don’t know much about Thadd’s lawyers, for that matter. What if they don’t want to hear the truth? And why even bother to take that chance? Especially now, with you just starting your new job. The publicity alone could be detrimental to your career.”

  Silence again on the other end of the phone. “What are you saying?” Willow finally asked. “What are you planning to do?”

  Rachel sat up straighter and gripped the receiver painfully tightly. “What if I just slip the emeralds into Thadd’s vault when no one is looking? I’ll stick them in something—one of his antique boxes, maybe—and when they’re discovered, everyone will think they’ve been there all this time. That they had simply been overlooked before.”

  “No. It’s too risky, Rachel. This isn’t like replacing a beat-up old mailbox. It’s breaking and entering. If you get caught—especially if you still have the emeralds in your possession—you’ll be charged with grand larceny.”

  “Spoken like a true attorney general,” Rachel said, smiling now. “You know I can do it, Willy. I can get in and out of that vault without anyone knowing.”

  Silence again. Finally: “Ah, if I remember right, you have to go through the tunnel that runs directly from Thadd’s bedroom into the vault if you don’t want to be seen. Do you really want to do that?” Willow asked, her voice gruff. “Are you prepared to put yourself through that?”

  “Heck, no,” Rachel replied truthfully. “But I will, if it makes this mess go away. Besides, I can get close enough to the library, and then just sneak into the vault while everyone is sleeping. That’s why I’m here, Willy.”

  “Just give the emeralds to Wendell. He can find an anonymous way to return them.”

  “No.” Damn. She was into this lie up to her knees, she might as well jump in up to her neck. “There’re also some other items that actually belong to Thadd that we have at home,” she confessed. Heck, it would help explain their disappearance. “That painting over the mantel, for one,” she continued. “And the ring Dad gave me for my birthday.”