Dean suggested. Or come down and use his palatial bathroom. And anything else he might feel like using.
Not bloody likely, Coltrane thought. So one plan was shotâhe couldnât get to Meyer through Rachel-Ann. That didnât mean he couldnât come up with an alternative that was equally pleasing and didnât involve cozying up to Dean. If he couldnât sleep with Rachel-Ann and bring her father down that way, then there was another sister in the house, one who was already clearly susceptible to him, whether she wanted to admit it or not. He wasnât about to waste his time trying to develop a conscience.
He leaned against the wall, looking at the room. The carpeting had been torn up, and the floors were marble, cracked and stained, but marble nonetheless. Cold as hell in the morning, but at least the mattress would have good support. Most of his clothes had suffered smoke damage, but it hadnât been difficult to arrange for replacements, and by the time theyâd arrived heâd at least managed to fumigate the closet. He wasnât crazy about the smell of mildew, either.
It had been a simple matter, setting his apartment on fire. But then, he had a talent for a number of unusual things. Heâd long ago scoped out where the fire hazards were, who the secretive smokers were. In L.A. it was more socially acceptable to beat your wife than to smoke cigarettes, and even in the privacy of their own apartments his neighbors went out of the way to hide their secret vice, making accidental fires almost inevitable. It had been arranged easily enough, and as far as anyone knew heâd been at work when the flames broke out. There was no way it could ever be traced to him. Then it had been only a matter of a carefully orchestrated suggestion and heâd ended up ensconced in La Casa.
With a different victim, he reminded himself. Rachel-Ann Meyer was off-limits. He only hoped sheâd listen to her instincts and keep away from him. He really didnât want her coming on to him. This situation had suddenly gotten very tricky, and that was one complication he wasnât going to deal with.
No sheets, no towels, and he hadnât thought to bring any. He was in shirtsleeves, and he pulled his shirt free, unbuttoning it to hang loose, kicking off his shoes so he could move silently through the house. He should leave Jilly alone, but he was restless, ready to move, and Jilly had become his obvious target. She wouldnât want him showing up at her door shirtless, but this was the next best thing. She was reluctantly fascinated by him, and he had every intention of exploiting that fascination right into her bed. Maybe even tonight. He was in that kind of mood.
Not that he really had any particular reason to seduce her. Getting to Rachel-Ann had made sense, since she was the only one Jackson Meyer cared about. He didnât need to sleep with Jilly Meyer to gain entrance into the houseâhe was already safely ensconced. Her father wouldnât give a damn whether he was screwing her or notâJackson had already given him his blessingâand he was reasonably certain she didnât know a thing about her fatherâs business affairs or the dark secrets of his past. Sheâd taken a step away from the old bastard, unlike her siblings, and there was very little to gain from sleeping with her.
Well, maybe he wasnât going to do it for gain. Maybe heâd do it simply because he wanted to. Because she looked at him with those huge eyes of hers, curled her lip in anxious contempt, and kept as far away from him as she could. He found that wariness oddly irresistible.
Besides, if he was sleeping with Jilly, maybe her brother and sister would consider him off-limits. It was probably a vain hopeâAlan Dunbar had been getting payoffs from Meyer for months to cover up some of Rachel-Annâs more extreme behavior, and a lot of it stemmed from back when he was still married to
Not bloody likely, Coltrane thought. So one plan was shotâhe couldnât get to Meyer through Rachel-Ann. That didnât mean he couldnât come up with an alternative that was equally pleasing and didnât involve cozying up to Dean. If he couldnât sleep with Rachel-Ann and bring her father down that way, then there was another sister in the house, one who was already clearly susceptible to him, whether she wanted to admit it or not. He wasnât about to waste his time trying to develop a conscience.
He leaned against the wall, looking at the room. The carpeting had been torn up, and the floors were marble, cracked and stained, but marble nonetheless. Cold as hell in the morning, but at least the mattress would have good support. Most of his clothes had suffered smoke damage, but it hadnât been difficult to arrange for replacements, and by the time theyâd arrived heâd at least managed to fumigate the closet. He wasnât crazy about the smell of mildew, either.
It had been a simple matter, setting his apartment on fire. But then, he had a talent for a number of unusual things. Heâd long ago scoped out where the fire hazards were, who the secretive smokers were. In L.A. it was more socially acceptable to beat your wife than to smoke cigarettes, and even in the privacy of their own apartments his neighbors went out of the way to hide their secret vice, making accidental fires almost inevitable. It had been arranged easily enough, and as far as anyone knew heâd been at work when the flames broke out. There was no way it could ever be traced to him. Then it had been only a matter of a carefully orchestrated suggestion and heâd ended up ensconced in La Casa.
With a different victim, he reminded himself. Rachel-Ann Meyer was off-limits. He only hoped sheâd listen to her instincts and keep away from him. He really didnât want her coming on to him. This situation had suddenly gotten very tricky, and that was one complication he wasnât going to deal with.
No sheets, no towels, and he hadnât thought to bring any. He was in shirtsleeves, and he pulled his shirt free, unbuttoning it to hang loose, kicking off his shoes so he could move silently through the house. He should leave Jilly alone, but he was restless, ready to move, and Jilly had become his obvious target. She wouldnât want him showing up at her door shirtless, but this was the next best thing. She was reluctantly fascinated by him, and he had every intention of exploiting that fascination right into her bed. Maybe even tonight. He was in that kind of mood.
Not that he really had any particular reason to seduce her. Getting to Rachel-Ann had made sense, since she was the only one Jackson Meyer cared about. He didnât need to sleep with Jilly Meyer to gain entrance into the houseâhe was already safely ensconced. Her father wouldnât give a damn whether he was screwing her or notâJackson had already given him his blessingâand he was reasonably certain she didnât know a thing about her fatherâs business affairs or the dark secrets of his past. Sheâd taken a step away from the old bastard, unlike her siblings, and there was very little to gain from sleeping with her.
Well, maybe he wasnât going to do it for gain. Maybe heâd do it simply because he wanted to. Because she looked at him with those huge eyes of hers, curled her lip in anxious contempt, and kept as far away from him as she could. He found that wariness oddly irresistible.
Besides, if he was sleeping with Jilly, maybe her brother and sister would consider him off-limits. It was probably a vain hopeâAlan Dunbar had been getting payoffs from Meyer for months to cover up some of Rachel-Annâs more extreme behavior, and a lot of it stemmed from back when he was still married to
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