Guardian of Lies Read Free Page A

uneasy she became. The only reason she could think of was that Emerson thought she might use the money to run, to fly back to Costa Rica. It planted the seed, the gnawing notion that grew and now blossomed, fully formed, in her mind. She did not dare raise it with him, not directly, for fear of what he might do. At the moment she had the run of the house. He would take her to town whenever he went. He allowed her to call home. In fact, he insisted on it. If she confronted him, all of that might end. Her growing suspicion could suddenly become fact, that she was no longer Emerson’s guest, if she ever had been. For all intents and purposes she was now a captive. Katia had heard stories of young women who traveled to Asia and the Middle East with wealthy men, women whose families never heard from them again. It happened. She knew it.
    After Emerson took the money from her, that night she gathered her passport and visa, and put them in a small overnight bag with some clothes and other personal items. She hid the bag under the bed in one of the guest rooms just down the hall from the master bedroom. This way, if he searched her luggage, he wouldn’t find the travel documents. Without these she knew she could never get home.
    “You’re awfully quiet tonight. What’s going on behind those beautiful eyes?”
    His question startled her. Perhaps he could read her mind. “Nothing,” she said. “I’m just relaxing.”
    “I know you’re bored. Sometimes I’m not a very good host. Tomorrow I’ll make it up to you.” He yawned again. “Excuse me. I don’t know what’s going on with me tonight. Tomorrow we’ll go somewhere, have some fun. After my meeting in the morning.”
    “If you like.” For a man his age Katia marveled at his stamina. On the other hand, he’d had two cups of black coffee. She had been hoping that by now he would be headed to bed. She pulled herself back up and adjusted the bodice of the black evening dress.
    As she did this, Emerson’s sleepy fingers slid one of the photographs from the stack in front of him under a magazine on his desk.
    Katia didn’t notice.
    “Why don’t you watch one of your movies?” he asked.
    “I’m tired of movies.”
    “Then try on some of your new clothes. Let me see what they look like on you.”
    “It sounds like you want to get rid of me? Maybe it is you who is bored—with me.”
    He looked at her from under sleepy lids. “How can you say that? Come over here and keep me company.” He rolled the chair away from the desk and patted his lap.
    Emerson could always turn on the charm. Now it seemed he used it less and less, as if it was no longer required and he wanted to conserve the energy that it consumed. As Katia had come to know him better, it seemed that Emerson was calculating in almost everything he did.
    His gray hair was still full, thick and wavy. To look at him you would never guess he was seventy-two. The first time he’d told her his age she wouldn’t believe him, not until he showed her his driver’s license. His body was lean, and for a man his age he was powerfully built, and just under six feet in height. He exercised each morning for an hour on the elliptical machine and with the weights downstairs. He had pale blue eyes, a ruddy complexion, and thin lips, and he wore a kind of wry, wary expression, like a Kabuki mask.
    To Katia, ever since arriving in the States he seemed to operate increasingly from behind this, as if there were small demons racing around inside pulling levers and turning wheels.
    If he expected her to run across the room and fly into his lap, he was sorely mistaken.
    She sauntered toward the desk. Her short evening dress clung to the curves of her body. Her five-inch heels clicked like slow castanets across the hardwood floor. She dropped into one of the upholstered wingback chairs across from him, and sat there all dark eyed and leggy, staring at him.
    Emerson rolled his chair back toward the desk. He knew the only