I know I'm not all that good at it, but the least you could do is encourage me. God knows you encourage everyone else to chat up a storm with you! Why not me?"
The harshness in his words jolted her. Thoughtfully Guinevere scooped up the last clam in her chowder, wishing she could read minds. Right now she'd give a great deal to find out what was going on in Zachariah Justis's brain. Something told her there was a lot she didn't know about her blackmailer. Perhaps far too much.
"Don't you think it would be best if we kept our, uh, association on a business level?" she asked politely.
He watched her in silence for a moment, eyes brooding and speculative. "When you've finished playing with your soup, we can leave."
Grimacing, Guinevere got to her feet and tossed her Styrofoam cup into the nearest trash container. A sea gull that had been waiting with grave patience for the remains of the soup turned hostile as he watched the cup disappear beyond beak reach. With an angry rush of wings he hopped onto the railing and squawked his displeasure.
"She's not her usual friendly self tonight," Zac told the bird. "Here, have a bite. I know what you're going through." He tossed the bird a small piece of cracker. The sea gull grabbed it expertly out of the air and appeared somewhat mollified. Zac moved forward to take Guinevere's arm. "My car is parked across the street. Let's go."
"I was told never to accept rides with strangers."
"Sometimes you have to take a few chances in life. If you didn't believe that, you would never have opened your own business. You'd have stuck with your safe nine-to-five job with its group medical policy, company picnics, and retirement benefits."
She swung her head around sharply. "I thought you said you didn't know what I did before I opened Camelot Services!"
"I don't. I just assumed that like a lot of other people, you probably had a standard sort of job," he told her placatingly as they crossed the street and headed toward a parking lot. "What was it?"
She sighed, telling herself there wasn't much point in trying to hide totally unimportant information that he could find out easily enough if he tried. "I worked in an insurance firm. Before that I worked for a real estate development company. Prior to that I did time in a department store. Then there was the stint in microwave oven sales. Shall I go on?"
Zac smiled fleetingly. "I get the picture. Your resume must look like a telephone directory. Couldn't hold a job?"
"I prefer to think of my past as a time spent gaining experience in a wide variety of fields," she informed him. "Very useful in my present profession. I can fake my way through almost any kind of job, and I can teach my employees to do the same. Most of the time all a client wants is a body sitting at a desk and looking efficient. That's easy enough to do for a short period of time."
"It looked to me as if you were genuinely working the other evening at the restaurant." Zac passed by a steel gray Porsche and a candy red Ferrari in the parking lot. He halted beside a dull cream-colored Buick that appeared to be about three years old.
"Sometimes duty calls." She scanned the unassuming Buick. "This is your car?"
"Afraid so. What were you expecting?"
"I'm not sure," she said, sliding into the front seat. It was the truth, she realized. She was still piecing together a composite picture of Zachariah Justis. "It might have made my first lesson in illegal entry more exciting if I'd been driven to the scene of the crime in something like that red Ferrari, though."
"The budget of Free Enterprise Security does not yet run to red Ferraris." He slammed his car door more heavily than was strictly necessary and turned the key in the ignition. "What's wrong?" He glanced narrowly at her as she slid farther into her corner of the car.
"Nothing. Just fastening my seat belt." The truth was she was feeling very crowded again. The front seat of the Buick was reasonably spacious, but Justis had a
The harshness in his words jolted her. Thoughtfully Guinevere scooped up the last clam in her chowder, wishing she could read minds. Right now she'd give a great deal to find out what was going on in Zachariah Justis's brain. Something told her there was a lot she didn't know about her blackmailer. Perhaps far too much.
"Don't you think it would be best if we kept our, uh, association on a business level?" she asked politely.
He watched her in silence for a moment, eyes brooding and speculative. "When you've finished playing with your soup, we can leave."
Grimacing, Guinevere got to her feet and tossed her Styrofoam cup into the nearest trash container. A sea gull that had been waiting with grave patience for the remains of the soup turned hostile as he watched the cup disappear beyond beak reach. With an angry rush of wings he hopped onto the railing and squawked his displeasure.
"She's not her usual friendly self tonight," Zac told the bird. "Here, have a bite. I know what you're going through." He tossed the bird a small piece of cracker. The sea gull grabbed it expertly out of the air and appeared somewhat mollified. Zac moved forward to take Guinevere's arm. "My car is parked across the street. Let's go."
"I was told never to accept rides with strangers."
"Sometimes you have to take a few chances in life. If you didn't believe that, you would never have opened your own business. You'd have stuck with your safe nine-to-five job with its group medical policy, company picnics, and retirement benefits."
She swung her head around sharply. "I thought you said you didn't know what I did before I opened Camelot Services!"
"I don't. I just assumed that like a lot of other people, you probably had a standard sort of job," he told her placatingly as they crossed the street and headed toward a parking lot. "What was it?"
She sighed, telling herself there wasn't much point in trying to hide totally unimportant information that he could find out easily enough if he tried. "I worked in an insurance firm. Before that I worked for a real estate development company. Prior to that I did time in a department store. Then there was the stint in microwave oven sales. Shall I go on?"
Zac smiled fleetingly. "I get the picture. Your resume must look like a telephone directory. Couldn't hold a job?"
"I prefer to think of my past as a time spent gaining experience in a wide variety of fields," she informed him. "Very useful in my present profession. I can fake my way through almost any kind of job, and I can teach my employees to do the same. Most of the time all a client wants is a body sitting at a desk and looking efficient. That's easy enough to do for a short period of time."
"It looked to me as if you were genuinely working the other evening at the restaurant." Zac passed by a steel gray Porsche and a candy red Ferrari in the parking lot. He halted beside a dull cream-colored Buick that appeared to be about three years old.
"Sometimes duty calls." She scanned the unassuming Buick. "This is your car?"
"Afraid so. What were you expecting?"
"I'm not sure," she said, sliding into the front seat. It was the truth, she realized. She was still piecing together a composite picture of Zachariah Justis. "It might have made my first lesson in illegal entry more exciting if I'd been driven to the scene of the crime in something like that red Ferrari, though."
"The budget of Free Enterprise Security does not yet run to red Ferraris." He slammed his car door more heavily than was strictly necessary and turned the key in the ignition. "What's wrong?" He glanced narrowly at her as she slid farther into her corner of the car.
"Nothing. Just fastening my seat belt." The truth was she was feeling very crowded again. The front seat of the Buick was reasonably spacious, but Justis had a
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