“Why didn’t Eugenia come back?”
Rex shrugged. “He was a rebel. At the end of the war, Confederate currency wasn’t worth the paper it had been printed on. There was no real treasure. Maybe that’s the reason that Pierre had to come back to haunt the place.”
Alexi stared at him for a long moment. There seemed to be a glitter of mischief in his eyes. A slow, simmering anger burned inside her, along with a sudden suspicion. “Sure. Those footsteps belonged to my great-great-great-grandfather. You will not scare me out of this house!”
“What—?” He broke off with a furious scowl. “You foolish little brat. I’m not trying to scare you.”
“The hell you’re not! You want me out of here—God knows why. You don’t have to see me, you know.”
His eyes narrowed. “Maybe I should leave now.”
She lifted her chin. She wanted him to stay. She wasn’t afraid of ghosts, but someone alive had been in the house. Someone who had come here in stealth. Even if Rex didn’t believe her.
She swung around. “This is ridiculous! I came to my old family home on what is supposed to be a deserted, desolate peninsula, and it’s more like Grand Central Station!”
“Alexi—”
“Just go, if you want to!”
Rex watched her, his mouth tight and grim, then swung around. “I’ll check the upstairs. If someone tries to slit your throat, just scream.”
He was gone. Alexi stared after him, shivering, hating herself for being afraid. She hadn’t been afraid to come—she’d been eager. She’d desperately wanted to be alone. Where there were no crowds, where people didn’t recognize her. But she’d just barely gotten there, and already the darkness and the isolation were proving threatening.
Nothing was going to happen, she assured herself. But she wrapped her arms nervously about herself and returned to stare up at the paintings. Perhaps some kids believed in the legend about the gold. High school kids. They didn’t want to harm her; they just wanted to find a treasure—a treasure that didn’t really exist.
She smiled slowly. They were really marvelous-looking people; Pierre was striking, and his Eugenia was beautiful.
“Even if you could come back as a ghost,” she said to Pierre’s likeness with a wry grin, “you certainly wouldn’t haunt me—I’m your own flesh and blood.”
“Do you often talk to paintings?”
Startled, she swung around. Rex Morrow was leaning casually against the doorframe, watching her.
“Only now and then.”
“Oh.” He waited a moment. “Upstairs is clear. If anyone was in the house, he or she is definitely gone now.”
“Good.”
“Want me to call the police?”
“Think I should?” She realized that he still didn’t believe her. Or maybe he didn’t think she was lying—just that she was neurotic. Paranoid. And maybe he even felt a little guilty about her state of mind, since he had attacked her last night.
He paused, then shrugged at last. “Whoever it was is gone. Probably some kid from the town looking for Pierre’s treasure. He probably left by that broken window. You must get it fixed.”
“I will—tomorrow. First thing. And maybe it was someone looking for Pierre’s treasure. Numismatically or historically, maybe those Confederate bills are worth something.”
“Maybe.”
“They could be collectible!”
“Sure. Confederate money is collectible. It’s just not usually worth…”
“Worth what?”
“Only rare bills from certain banks are worth much. But who knows?” he offered.
They stood there for several moments, looking at each other across the ballroom.
“Well,” he murmured.
“Well…” she echoed. Her gaze fell from his, and once again she wasn’t at all sure what she wanted. He’d checked the place for her; she was sure now that it was empty.
He didn’t want her on the peninsula. He had said so himself. It was certainly time that he left—and she should be happy for that, since he was such a doubting Thomas. But she couldn’t help feeling uneasy. She didn’t want him to go.
Fool! she told herself. Tell him “Thank you very much,” then let him go. A curious warmth was spreading through her. If he left now, they could remain casual acquaintances. But if she encouraged him to stay…
It was more than fear, more than uneasiness. She wanted him to stay. She wanted to know more about him. She wanted to watch him smile.
A slight tremor shook her; the warmth flooding her increased. She had the feeling that if she had him stay now, she would never be able to turn her back on him again. She was still staring at him and he was still watching her and no words were being spoken, but tension, real and tangible, seemed to be filling the air. Alexi inhaled deeply; she cleared her throat.
“I think I’ll have one of your beers,” she said. “Since they are in my refrigerator.”
“Help yourself.”
She hesitated. Then she spoke. “Want one?”
He, too, hesitated. It was as if he, too, sensed some form of commitment in the moment. Then he shrugged, and a slow smile that was rueful and sexy and insinuating curled the corners of his lip.
“Sure,” he told her. “Sure. Why not?”
CHAPTER 3
Alexi passed him quickly and hurried on into the kitchen. She dug into the refrigerator for two beers.
“Are you the one who has kept the kitchen clean?” she asked casually. It was spotless; Alexi imagined that one could have eaten off the floor and not have worried about dirt or germs. The rest of the place was a dust bowl.
“In a manner of speaking. A woman comes out twice a week to do my place. She spends an hour or so here.”
Alexi nodded and handed him a beer. She walked past him, somehow determined to sit in the parlor, even though the kitchen was by far the cleaner place.
Maybe it was the only way she could get herself to go back into the room.
She knew he was behind her. Once she reached the parlor she sank heavily into the Victorian sofa, discovering that she was exhausted. Rex Morrow sat across from her, straddling a straight-backed chair. Cool Hand Luke in a contemporary dark knit.