White Lies by Jayne Ann Krentz

all.”
    “It was that close?”
    “Certainly seemed like it at the time, although I may have exaggerated the incident in retrospect. I’ve got a creative imagination.”
    “Get a look at the car?” he asked.
    “Not really. It was big. Late model. Like every other vehicle in the garage it was sort of silvery gray.” She smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Jake. It was probably a teenager playing games or someone talking on the phone. Either way, no major harm was done.” The incident in the garage was the last thing she wanted to talk about tonight, she thought. She searched for another topic. “This is a nice place for a rental.”
    He followed her gaze, taking in the tile floors, Mediterranean yellow walls and dark wooden beams as though he had not previously noticed them.
    “It serves my purpose and it’s convenient to the Glazebrook offices,” he said. “Would you care for a glass of wine?”
    “That sounds like a really terrific idea.”
    “This way.”
    He ushered her along the wide hallway that divided the living room and a library, through an arched opening and into a large kitchen that gleamed with a lot of modern, high-tech appliances.
    Clare stopped short. “Wow. You could film a cooking show in here.”
    He opened the door of a wine cooler and removed a bottle. “The kitchen was one of the reasons I chose the place.”
    “You like to cook?”
    He set the bottle on the large island in the center of the kitchen and went to work on the cork with an opener. “If I didn’t, I’d have to eat out or order in every night.”
    “You could afford a housekeeper,” she pointed out.
    “I like my privacy when I’m home. Besides, cooking is a form of relaxation for me.”
    She walked forward slowly and came to a halt on the opposite side of the island. “I enjoy cooking, too. But when you live alone—”
    “I know.” He set the cork down on the island. “Part of the pleasure of food is sharing it.”
    He filled two glasses and handed one to her.
    “To shared pleasures,” he said, tapping his glass lightly against hers.
    She smiled. “To shared pleasures.”
    She took a sip, savoring the crisp, elegant white. When she looked up she saw that Jake was watching her very intently. She was suddenly conscious of the intimacy of the situation. She was here, on his territory, drinking wine that he had poured for her. Why did that make her shiver ever so slightly?
    He handed her his glass, breaking the small spell. “If you’ll take this outside for me, I’ll get the bruschetta.”
    She carried his glass and hers through the open sliding glass doors. The wings of the house framed the pool and patio on three sides. On the fourth side a decorative wrought-iron fence and gate were all that stood between the house and the wildness of the desert landscape.
    Jake followed her, carrying a wooden tray.
    They settled into a pair of cushioned patio loungers. The heat of the day had faded to a comfortable temperature. Beyond the wrought-iron fence the desert was cloaked in the long shadows of twilight.
    Clare helped herself to some bruschetta, wondering why something as simple as a slice of grilled bread topped with excellent olive oil, a little salt and delicately chopped tomato and basil leaves could taste so good.
    “Wonderful,” she said, munching happily. “Absolutely fantastic.”
    “Glad you like it.” Jake leaned back in the chair and cocked one ankle over a knee. “How did the talk with Archer go?”
    “I’m not sure. Archer wants to establish a foundation. He wants me to run it. I told him no but I agreed to hang around here in Arizona for another forty-eight hours. I’m very sure I don’t want to run his foundation, but I might consider consulting for him.”
    “What kind of consulting?”
    “Well, since you ask, getting fired from the Draper Trust has pushed me into making a decision that I have been considering for quite a while now.”
    “You want to set up an independent consulting firm?”
    “Not exactly. I’m going to establish my own psychic investigation