understand. Did my question offend you?”
“They’re almost the type of questions a friend would ask. Only we’re not friends.” Carrie frowned, confused. “You don’t like me, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going on.”
“Maybe I’m lonely,” the woman said after a moment of silence.
Carrie noted she didn’t deny the “not liking her” part.
“We should do something. Something girls do together,” Francesca said, her lip curled as if the thought itself was as distasteful as actually doing it.
She closed her laptop. She didn’t know what was going on here, but obviously Francesca wasn’t going to let her get anything done. “I’m taking a break.”
“Now?” Francesca clicked a few buttons on her phone. “If you wait forty-five minutes, I have—”
“No, I need a break now. I’m going swimming,” she improvised, gathering her notes and shoving everything in the desk.
Francesca stared at her like she’d lost her mind. But then she shut her mouth, snapped her portfolio shut, and stood ramrod straight, as if she was on her way to face a firing squad. “I’ll change and meet you on the landing.”
Carrie mentally groaned as she picked up her bag. “You’re coming, too?”
“Yes,” the woman said with determination rather than enthusiasm.
“Fine.” At least submerged she wouldn’t have to listen to Francesca’s stilted attempts at conversation. “See you in a sec.”
Booking it up the stairs, she tore into her room. The thought of warm water all over her made her skin tingle in anticipation. It’d wash away all her apprehension—about her dissertation, the threatening calls, Francesca, and Max.
She contemplated her bag. Leave the scrolls here, or take them with her?
“To the pool?” She shook her head. Kneeling next to the bed, she pulled out her suitcase. Taking all the texts out of her messenger bag, she tucked them away in the luggage and stuffed it back under the mattress.
“Not a Swiss bank vault, but the best I can do for the moment.” Hurrying, she changed into her old bikini, wrapped a bath towel around herself, and went to the landing down the hall from her room.
Francesca waited for her there, a shell-shocked look on her face. She wore a short robe that hit her midthigh, showing off miles and miles of leg. But even as fabulous as Francesca was dressed, she didn’t look like she wanted to be there.
Carrie sighed. “You don’t have to come along if you’re worried about missing work.”
“No, I want to come,” she said halfheartedly, casting a glance at the door next to Carrie’s.
“What’s in there?”
“You don’t know?”
“No.” Carrie glanced at it. “Is it where he hoards his treasure?”
“I thought—” The woman swallowed whatever she’d been about to say. Then she frowned. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Why would he?”
Francesca shook her head. “This way.”
Carrie looked back at the door. Would it be impolite to check it out later? With Francesca acting this way, she had to know what was in there.
Francesca led her down the stairs out to the back and pushed open a door, holding it open for her. Carrie followed, sighing at the tropical paradise.
Max’s pool area rocked. Right off the house, the pool was long and rectangular. Lush plants filled the space around it, and a couple of reclining lounge chairs and low tables angled toward the ocean. To one side was a round pool, too small to be a swimming pool.
“The whirlpool,” Francesca said. She walked to one side and kneeled down. With the push of a button, jets began to agitate the water. “The controls are here. Feel free to use it whenever you’d like.”
Carrie wanted to point out that the tub in her bath had Jacuzzi action, but she supposed she should embrace the luxury of having two whirlpools at her disposal. Taking out her elastic, she shook her hair. She sure wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Or Iowa, as it were.
Dropping her towel, she turned to the pool and
C. J. Cherryh
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