Hidden Talents by Jayne Ann Krentz Page A

satisfaction. Really needed him.
    Hope, he was discovering the hard way, was perhaps the cruelest emotion of all.
    “As I said, it came as a shock to discover that the negatives weren't in the envelope with the prints,” Serenity admitted. “My first thought was that someone else had taken them and used them to blackmail me.”
    “I know.”
    “It's not exactly pleasant to think that you might have an enemy.”
    “I'm well aware of what it's like to have enemies.”
    “I don't doubt that for a moment,” Serenity retorted. “But I grew up believing that even though the outside world considers all of us here in Witt's End a little off the wall, we're neighbors and friends. More than that, we're a family. I've always felt I could count on everyone I know here in town. We're a very close-knit community.”
    “With the exception of Asterley, that was probably a valid assumption. I think it's also logical to assume that, with Asterley dead, the problem with the pictures is over.”
    He was pleased with the way that came out. He sounded cool and dispassionate. In control. The rush of anger and alarm that he had initially experienced when she had told him that the negatives were still missing was receding.
    Old habits took hold once more. Caleb deliberately distanced himself from the rage and the primitive sense of protectiveness that had set the adrenaline pumping through him.
    He was an expert at stuffing strong emotions into a box, closing the lid and sealing it tight. He'd practiced the trick all of his life. He had learned to operate by remote control with the members of his own family, and he could certainly do it with Serenity.
    “I'm sure you're right,” she said.
    “It's usually best to assume the obvious.”
    “The obvious?”
    “In this case the obvious conclusion is that Asterley was the blackmailer.” Caleb held up one hand and ticked off his points as he made them. “He put the negatives in a safe location while he carried out his plans. He died before he could retrieve them. No one is likely to discover them by accident. End of story.”
    “Okay, you've sold me on your theory.” Serenity paused, her peacock eyes still troubled. “The only thing that bothers me about your theory, the thing that has sort of bothered me all along, in fact, is that it was Ambrose who sent me to you in the first place.”
    Caleb stared at her, dumbfounded. “What did you say?”
    Serenity frowned. “Didn't I mention that Ambrose was the one who suggested you as a possible consultant? He gave me your name when I told him I was going to look for a hotshot start-up expert. He suggested I try you first because he'd heard that you were very good.”
    “No,” Caleb said between his teeth. “You did not mention that interesting little fact.”
    “Oh. Well, I guess it slipped my mind.”
    He wanted to shake her. Naiveté was one thing. Stupidity was another. “How the hell did Ambrose Asterley, a drunken failure, a washed-up photographer living in a town so small it isn't even on most maps, know about me?”
    “You've told me yourself that you're the best in the business. Is it so strange that someone like Ambrose would have heard of you? We're not completely out of touch with world events here in Witt's End. We do get newspapers. And Ambrose read nearly every major paper on the West Coast on a regular basis.”
    “Newspapers?” Caleb recalled the stacks of aging newsprint that he'd seen piled around the front room of Asterley's cabin.
    “That's where Ambrose probably got your name,” Serenity explained patiently. “Out of a Seattle newspaper. Has Ventress Ventures ever made the business section?”
    “Yes.” It was possible, Caleb conceded. Ventress Ventures showed up every now and again in the financial pages of the West Coast papers, and more often in Northwest papers. It was a logical connection.
    “But why steer you in my direction and then turn around and blackmail you?” Caleb mused aloud. He broke off