took a step away, looked out the window, holding, not drinking, her G&T.
Gus knew she didn’t see at all, would never see. If Dinah Marsden was anything, it was stubborn. She liked things her way, and she didn’t like to lose.
“Then you can save me a trip.” She settled her gaze on him, this time speculatively.
“Pardon?” Her new tack caught him off guard.
“I need a favor. And I need discretion.”
He watched her, the word favor ringing alarm bells.
“Who better than you to provide both?” A wily smile turned up her brightly colored lips.”That’s what we’re all about, isn’t it, Gus, darling? Favors and discretion?”
CHAPTER 2
Gus should have seen it coming, been prepared. He knew Dinah well enough to know she didn’t give up on anything she wanted—until she’d exhausted every hook in her inventory.
Shit! He eyed her, waiting.
“Someone I’ve known—and supported—for many years recently died. Her name was Mary Weaver. Yesterday I received a letter from a woman named Farrell who claims to be Mary’s goddaughter, and who seems intent on taking over her affairs. She’s requesting money, of course. Quite a lot of money.” She frowned. “She says she wants to continue Mary’s good work.”
“What kind of work?”
“Mary ran sort of a private home for—” She stopped and seemed to search for words. “Troubled women is how best to put it, I suppose.”
“You said ‘sort of.’”
“The home started as a haven for unwed mothers, then grew into a shelter for abused women. Something like that. To be honest, I haven’t kept up with her work—her mission, she used to call it. I lost track.” She walked a few steps away and looked out the window.
Gus’s interest was snagged, and he waited for her to go on. Dinah didn’t lose track of anything, unless it suited her purpose.
She walked back to him. “The place is called Mayday House, and it’s in Erinville, Washington, a couple of hours southeast of Seattle. The last time I spoke to Mary—had to be four, maybe five years ago. At that time she was talking about getting too old to run the house, closing it down.” She looked annoyed. “Obviously, she changed her mind and made other arrangements—without any consultation with me. Shortly before she died, apparently. All the while assuming my continued financial support.” She shook her head, disgusted. “The whole idea of such a place is archaic. I should have stopped sending money years ago.”
“Why didn’t you?” It sure as hell wasn’t like her to dole out cash, charitable or otherwise, unless there was a return, either in good publicity, or, as in his case, a more intimate payback.
Instead of answering his question, she walked to a glass-topped desk in the corner, opened a drawer, and pulled out a letter. “I want you to go to Erinville, meet this Farrell person, and tell her I have no intention of continuing my support for Mayday House. I expect when she hears that, she’ll go along with what I want and move on.”
“And that’s what you want? For her to move on?” He was damn sure Dinah wasn’t telling him everything, but shrugged it off. Her business.
“My loyalty was to Mary, not a creaky out-of-date refuge for women who let themselves be abused by men, or worse yet, don’t know how to take a god-damn birth control pill. The place should be shut down. What I want is for you to assess this woman, and do whatever you have to do to get her out of that house.” She gave him a thoughtful, amused look. “This might be a challenge for you, baby. Apparently Farrell is some kind of nun, so I doubt your particular talents”—she dropped her gaze to his crotch—“and generous attributes will help much.”
Gus sucked up his anger, shot her a killing glance, and looked at his watch. Less than two hours and it would be bye-bye, Miami. Maybe, after thinking on it for ten years or so, he’d figure out how he’d come to actually like this woman—right now
Gus knew she didn’t see at all, would never see. If Dinah Marsden was anything, it was stubborn. She liked things her way, and she didn’t like to lose.
“Then you can save me a trip.” She settled her gaze on him, this time speculatively.
“Pardon?” Her new tack caught him off guard.
“I need a favor. And I need discretion.”
He watched her, the word favor ringing alarm bells.
“Who better than you to provide both?” A wily smile turned up her brightly colored lips.”That’s what we’re all about, isn’t it, Gus, darling? Favors and discretion?”
CHAPTER 2
Gus should have seen it coming, been prepared. He knew Dinah well enough to know she didn’t give up on anything she wanted—until she’d exhausted every hook in her inventory.
Shit! He eyed her, waiting.
“Someone I’ve known—and supported—for many years recently died. Her name was Mary Weaver. Yesterday I received a letter from a woman named Farrell who claims to be Mary’s goddaughter, and who seems intent on taking over her affairs. She’s requesting money, of course. Quite a lot of money.” She frowned. “She says she wants to continue Mary’s good work.”
“What kind of work?”
“Mary ran sort of a private home for—” She stopped and seemed to search for words. “Troubled women is how best to put it, I suppose.”
“You said ‘sort of.’”
“The home started as a haven for unwed mothers, then grew into a shelter for abused women. Something like that. To be honest, I haven’t kept up with her work—her mission, she used to call it. I lost track.” She walked a few steps away and looked out the window.
Gus’s interest was snagged, and he waited for her to go on. Dinah didn’t lose track of anything, unless it suited her purpose.
She walked back to him. “The place is called Mayday House, and it’s in Erinville, Washington, a couple of hours southeast of Seattle. The last time I spoke to Mary—had to be four, maybe five years ago. At that time she was talking about getting too old to run the house, closing it down.” She looked annoyed. “Obviously, she changed her mind and made other arrangements—without any consultation with me. Shortly before she died, apparently. All the while assuming my continued financial support.” She shook her head, disgusted. “The whole idea of such a place is archaic. I should have stopped sending money years ago.”
“Why didn’t you?” It sure as hell wasn’t like her to dole out cash, charitable or otherwise, unless there was a return, either in good publicity, or, as in his case, a more intimate payback.
Instead of answering his question, she walked to a glass-topped desk in the corner, opened a drawer, and pulled out a letter. “I want you to go to Erinville, meet this Farrell person, and tell her I have no intention of continuing my support for Mayday House. I expect when she hears that, she’ll go along with what I want and move on.”
“And that’s what you want? For her to move on?” He was damn sure Dinah wasn’t telling him everything, but shrugged it off. Her business.
“My loyalty was to Mary, not a creaky out-of-date refuge for women who let themselves be abused by men, or worse yet, don’t know how to take a god-damn birth control pill. The place should be shut down. What I want is for you to assess this woman, and do whatever you have to do to get her out of that house.” She gave him a thoughtful, amused look. “This might be a challenge for you, baby. Apparently Farrell is some kind of nun, so I doubt your particular talents”—she dropped her gaze to his crotch—“and generous attributes will help much.”
Gus sucked up his anger, shot her a killing glance, and looked at his watch. Less than two hours and it would be bye-bye, Miami. Maybe, after thinking on it for ten years or so, he’d figure out how he’d come to actually like this woman—right now
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