Shadows At Sunset

“Give me a reason why I should.”

“I can’t think of one.”

“Are you going to help me?”

Lying was second nature to him. He didn’t even hesitate. “Yes,” he said.

And for a moment it looked as if she might make the desperate mistake of believing him.

5

The sky over Los Angeles was streaked with lavender and orange, the smog thickening the sunset into iridescent stripes. Jilly sat on the steps leading down into the tangled garden, an icy bottle of beer in her hand, waiting for Coltrane.

She had no idea what he was doing in the house. He said he’d needed to use the bathroom, and she could hardly dispute it. Nor could she wait outside the door of the ornate powder room with its pink swans and gilt faucets for him to reappear. She went back to the kitchen, took two beers and headed out for the terrace.

Not that she wanted to encourage the man. But it had been a long day, and she needed something from him. She was refusing to go out with him—she could at least offer him a beer without compromising her position.

What could he be doing in there, besides the obvious? Surely she was being paranoid—what possible interest could a stately old wreck like La Casa have for a man like him?

Her beer was half gone by the time he appeared. He’d taken off his jacket, his sleeves were rolled up and his tie was off. His streaked blond hair was rumpled, and he looked good enough to eat. Jilly ignored him.

“I don’t suppose you have another beer, do you?” He leaned against the balustrade.

She handed it to him without a word, and he took a long swig of it. She watched the line of his throat, the condensation dripping off the bottle onto his skin, and she turned to concentrate on her own beer.

“So, what are we going to do about your brother?” he asked in a casual tone.

She glanced up at him. “You wouldn’t feel like quitting your job and going back to New Orleans, would you?”

“You’ve been checking up on me.” He sounded faintly pleased, and she could have kicked herself.

“I believe in knowing one’s enemy.”

“I’m not your enemy, Jilly,” he said softly.

“Anyone who threatens my brother is my enemy.”

“That’s going to keep you pretty busy. Your brother threatens easily. Why don’t you let him take care of his own business? If he thinks your father doesn’t appreciate him then he should tell him so.”

“Oh, Jackson would just love that,” she muttered. “He’d probably tell him to stop whining.”

“Dean does whine,” Coltrane observed.

She glared at him. She was at somewhat of a disadvantage sitting at his feet, but she wasn’t about to move. She didn’t want him down on her level, either—she didn’t want him anywhere near her.

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to save him,” Coltrane said. “He’s going to have to pull his head out of his computer and deal with life himself.”

Jilly jerked her head around. “I could help if you’d just stop…stop…”

“Stop what?” He seemed genuinely interested.

“Stop being the paragon. Maybe screw up now and then. It’s hard for Dean to compete with you around as the golden boy.”

Coltrane looked out over the lawn, an odd expression on his face. “I suppose I’ll just have to be less golden.” He glanced down at her. “What do you really want me to do? Short of packing my bags or absconding with the company’s assets, I’m at your disposal. You want me to have your father transfer some of the biggest accounts over to him? I can tell him I’m overloaded and need some help. I can tell him your brother’s the best man for the job. I have no trouble lying.”

“You’re not very nice, are you?”

“Nope. I ordered some pizza. There’s a place near here that delivers New York-style pizza that can make a grown man weep. I got enough in case your sister comes home.”

Again she felt that extra shot of unease wash over her. “Why are you so curious about my sister?”

“I told you, I’ve heard stories.”

“Don’t believe the half of them. And I don’t like pizza.”

“You’re not nearly as good a liar as I am.”

It was true, she’d never been good at lying. “Maybe I don’t need your help. Maybe all Dean has to do is stand up to Jackson.”

Coltrane shrugged. “It’s possible. Did it work for you?”

“What makes you think I stood up to him?”

Coltrane merely smiled, draining his beer and setting the bottle down on the stone railing. “Did it work?” he asked again.

“No. Jackson likes his children docile.”

“Dean’s practically a doormat, and Jackson doesn’t seem any too fond of him,” Coltrane said. “There’s our pizza.”

She hadn’t even noticed the young man coming up the walkway, but the sudden rich aroma of tomato sauce and cheese wafted toward her, and her stomach leapt. She watched as Coltrane traded the pizza for cash, trying to school her wayward stomach.

He came toward her, carrying the box, and Jilly kept a stalwart expression on her face. “Real New York pizza,” he said in a seductive voice. “No sprouts, no broccoli, no goat cheese or tofu. Do you realize how rare this is?”

It took her a moment to find her voice. She could resist a man that gorgeous, she knew she could. Real pizza was another matter.

“I’m not hungry,” she said, her voice wavering slightly.

“Of course not. But then, neither am I. I’m afraid I have to leave.”

She almost dropped her empty beer bottle. “Leave?” she repeated idiotically.

“I know it breaks your heart, but something’s come up. We can talk about your family later. Maybe your sister might have an idea how we can help Dean. In the meantime, why don’t I just leave the pizza here? Even if you don’t like it maybe your ghosts would.”

“I doubt it.”

“Or maybe you’ll consider trying it. Have you ever even had an honest-to-God real Italian pizza in your upscale California life?” His words were gently mocking.

“I went to Princeton,” Jilly said. “They have great pizza in New Jersey.”