When Lily Kline takes possession of a Gothic estate with Ian Hawke, her co-heir and a stranger, she soon realizes there is more than meets the eye within the many corridors of the sequestered mansion.
Ian is aloof and even hostile at times, and thou...
Ian searched her face, laying his head back against the marble floor and staring up at her with wide eyes. She was sprawled atop of him, palms on his chest.
"What on earth, Ms. Kline?"
She blinked at him, momentarily disoriented, and inhaled his musky aftershave.
"There was something in the baths," she sputtered, pulling herself up off him.
He sat up. "Tell me exactly what you saw."
"Well, I, I don't know. It was quite large. Black. Under my feet."
Ian stood up and dusted himself off. "You saw a shark."
The sand tiger was brown though. This thing was black, definitely black. But wait. Her cheeks burned and she felt stupid. Of course there must be more than one shark or fish species in there. Her heartbeat slowed and she broke eye contact, heat climbing her ears. How could she have been so silly?
"Right. Yes. That must've been it." She glanced up at him, afraid to find a mocking look in his eyes.
They were calm and indifferent.
"The see-through floors take some getting used to," he said.
She ran a hand through her wet hair. "So, tell me—how did my grandfather get so rich anyway?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Uh, good investments, I suppose."
"You don't know?"
He shook his head, shrugging. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"But did he buy this place or inherit it?"
"Don't know that either. Never talked to him about it." Ian reached down and picked up her bag, handing it to her.
"Is it true he died of a heart attack?" She tucked her belongings under her arm. It was what the lawyers had told her.
Ian's countenance fell and he broke eye contact, hesitating. "Yes. I found him not far from your room. He was,"—he cleared his throat—"he was lying on his back in front of Mike's room." A sidelong glance. He seemed timid suddenly. How was it that he could be so tall and intimidating one moment, and so small and shy the next?
"We'd better get to breakfast," he said abruptly, "or Angie will wring our necks." He raised an eyebrow and smiled. "She hates it when her food gets cold."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
An hour later, Lily sat on her bed and combed out the mild tangles in her air-dried hair. Exchanging her slippers for a pair of skimmers, she went out into the hallway and locked her bedroom door behind her. After glancing in both directions, she went up to the portrait of her grandfather and stood studying it.
The background was a buff-brown gradient. Auguste had blue eyes and a curly gray beard, hair thinning at the temples. He wore a tweed jacket over a white shirt with a navy tie. But other than a name plate at the bottom of the painting confirming that this was indeed Auguste Maxwell Kline, there was no new information about him to be gleaned from the painting.
