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My heart pounded as I followed him upstairs. Each step brought me past another painting, though the heavy gold frames left more of an impression than the actual artwork.
“Did you have a good day?” He started with meaningless chitchat designed to put me at ease.
My eyes went to the windows, wondering how many more hummingbirds lay lifeless beneath those panes.
“It’s hard not to,” I bluffed. “Sedona is so beautiful at this time of year.”
“It certainly is.”
One of his groupies burst in, squeezed into the tightest sheath dress I’d ever seen. I added two more bonus points to my private score card.
“Help me, Harlon,” she whined, holding out a silver choker while shooting me the same side-eye glance as the woman downstairs.
I glared. The sleeveless yellow dress I’d borrowed from Pippa was perfectly fine, and so were Abby’s dress boots. And fine was good enough for me.
“Can you put this on, please?” She turned her back to Harlon and waited.
He looped it around her neck in the intimate gesture I was sure she’d been hoping for.
He’s all yours, honey,I wanted to laugh.I have no interest in your man — make that, your warlock. One I suspect of hatching nefarious plans. But don’t worry your pretty little head about that. Just keep enjoying your sugar daddy…as long as the good times last.
Which made me wonder… What was the average “lifespan” of one of Harlon Greene’s groupies?
Longer than yours if you’re not careful,an inner voice warned me.
“There.” Harlon finished and dismissed her with a little pat, making corgi images prance through my mind. “I’ll be down soon.”
I would bet the ranch she was going to ask him to check something else next — like her earrings or possibly her bra. But a stern look from Harlon made her go glassy-eyed, and she stepped away like a woman in a trance.
I sucked in a deep breath, tightening the mental armor I’d developed through years of interactions with my dad. But my dad was a good-natured warlock, so all I’d ever had to resist were mind games aimed at early bedtimes or eating my vegetables. Would my defenses hold up against a man like Harlon?
“As I was saying…” he started, only to be cut off by another call. “Apologies. I made the mistake of telling my assistant I was available until six.” Then he spoke into the phone. “Yes, Bridget?”
I pictured a stunning and highly competent assistant — a modern Moneypenny, capable of conjuring up anything her boss wanted with a few calls, from chilled champagne to hits on his enemies.
“Yes, I’ve gone over the numbers,” Harlon said into the phone.
I wandered over to the fireplace, making a show of inspecting the stonework and definitely, definitely not snooping.
“Yes, and the prognosis…” Harlon continued.
I wandered past a dining-sized table nestled between the fireplace and the windows. Tidy stacks of paperwork covered most of the surface, all paper-clipped and marked with Post-itnotes. Was that Bridget’s work, or did Harlon’s assistant have her own assistant who handled such things?
Brochures and folders half covered a map, and I burned to push them aside. Still, I saw enough to recognize the contours of Bear Mountain — a landmark that literally cast its shadow onto my ranch.
That, and two more items made my gut twist — a book on Native American petroglyphs marked with more Post-its, and an architectural model of a sprawling private compound. The place Harlon intended to build on my land?
Over my dead body,I nearly growled.
“Tell him I’ll return his call tomorrow,” Harlon continued.
I wandered to the windows, where a telescope pointed west. I didn’t peer through it, but I could tell it was aimed slightly left of Bear Mountain, in the vicinity of Painted Rock Ranch.
I moved on, reminding myself not to peer down at the hummingbird graveyard outside.
Harlon went on talking, giving me time to circle his desk and note everything, though there was nothing as obvious as a manila folder markedTop Secret: Plot to Steal Painted Rock Ranch.
There was a second door to the office, however. I penciled it into my mental map of the house.
