White Heat by Cherry Adair

the rain stopped. “As of three days ago, they’re on vacation indefinitely.”
    “I thought you’d never been here.”
    “I haven’t. Talked to his lawyer on the way.”
    With Max’s stewardship the place would go to ruin. But it was is right to do whatever he wanted with the property;
    The villa was empty. She and Max, and all the scary events of their morning, would be alone in the enormous house for the duration of their quarantine. Emily found her heart beating much too 1st as they drew closer to the main building. She prayed “the duration” was very; very short. The tires crunched on the wet gravel, rid the headlights cut through the gloom, reflecting in the dark windows ahead.
    The muted burnt umber of the ancient walls was set off with tetra serena, a local gray sandstone, to beautifully enhance the corbels and graceful columns holding up the arches.
    “That’s the Cedar Garden over there.” She pointed to the side f the house where a sweeping lawn could be glimpsed between high hedges and ancient trees. She’d picked roses from the antique rosebushes growing there, and fresh tart fruit from the potted lemon trees planted in the enormous pietra serena pedestals that made graceful architectural statements between the trees.
    She loved everything about the villa and surrounding gardens, and had painted some of her best work here over the years. The fifteenth century villa, originally a Medici family palace, was reputed be one of the finest examples of Renaissance architecture in the world. By the time Max was done with neglecting it, it would go wild and overgrown.
    They pulled to a stop in front of the villa. Emily didn’t want to getout of the car. And God—she did not want to go inside.
    The thought that it would no longer look as it did now, and no longer be available to her, gave her a hollow ache in her stomach. Lit right now she had bigger concerns. She may have breathed, touched, or absorbed some god-awful bloody toxin and be dead by lunchtime.
    “The garden was named for the three-hundred-year-old cedar Lebanon planted in the mid—” He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “You don’t give a damn, do you?”
    No, Max thought, he sure as hell didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything that had to do with his sperm donor. But Emily was obviously scared and confused, and by the look of her pale face, and the dark circles under her pretty eyes, she was ready to collapse. She had a sexy, husky voice that was a pleasure to listen to, though. If talking kept her upright, then she could chat away until he could get her secured within the compound Daniel had called a home.
    He stopped the car as close to the house as possible. Emily rubbed a hand across the bridge of her nose. The gesture showed her vulnerability and was strangely appealing. Max wondered what the hell she and his donor had gotten themselves involved in. A murder and an attempted murder.
    Somebody had pissed somebody off.
    Or?
    Hell if he knew. But he’d sure as shit find out.
    “Damn it,” Emily said with a small catch in her voice as she looked up at the villa. “I miss Daniel. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
    Didn’t bother Max any, but he kept his expression inscrutable and waited her out.
    “This whole . . . thing. Daniel dying. That creepy guy at my place . . . None of it feels real.” She didn’t move, but her chest swelled as she dragged in a deep breath.
    “Wait here. I want to search the house before we go in.”
    The blood drained from her already pale face. “You think there’s someone inside waiting for us?”
    “Want to take the chance?”
    “No. But I’m not going to be a sitting duck in the car if someone wants to use me for target practice.” She got out and closed her door with an expensive click. “I’ll take my chances inside.” Shaking off the apathy that had kept her pinned, she took off with purposeful strides toward the door. Her unbound hair billowing behind her reminded Max of a matador