A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(26)

"Excuse me," Gwen said and looked past him toward the doorway he was blocking.

"Oh, sure." His forehead furrowed.

She slipped by him and headed up the hall to the master bedroom. The smell was slightly better here. A sliding glass door leading to the backyard was open, and the scent of foliage rode in on a breeze.

"What a dump, huh?" John said as he entered through the slider.

"You aren't kidding," Gwen said.

"I don't get it. You have a home worth, what, eight-hundred-and-fifty-thousand? And, you treat it like this? No maintenance, no nothing?" He shook his head.

"Money doesn't equal class, no matter what people say," Gwen agreed.

"Right. Then you take your listing, just up the road in Dana Point. I went by again the other day. The place is a gem. Spotless."

"The Frobishers are classy people."

"They picked a classy agent to represent them." John smiled.

"Thanks," Gwen said. "I bet you say that to all the agents."

"He never said it to me." Caroline Bartlett's disembodied voice entered the room a second before she did. Lance was right behind her.

"Me either," Lance said.

"Some deserve the compliment, some don't." John stalked from the room. Apparently, he was still angry with Lance.

"He's such a poop," Caroline said looking after him. "So, what do you think it would take to put this place in shape—a hundred grand?" She turned to Gwen and Lance.

"At least," Gwen said.

While Gwen and Caroline discussed the home's potential or lack thereof, Lance stood, arms crossed over his chest. Gwen felt his gaze fixed on her like a heat lamp.

"I think I'll check out the yard," she said when they'd exhausted the money talk.

"It's the best spot on the property. Most of the plants are dead, but at least it doesn't reek," Caroline said.

The air, though warm, was refreshing after the stench inside. A large avocado tree occupied one corner of the brown backyard. Gwen stepped under its shade and looked over a rusting metal fence at a crystalline view of Saddleback Mountain. The only nice thing about the dry Santa Ana winds was the clarity of the air left in their wake. There was no humidity or smog to cloud the vistas.

She heard a crunch of gravel, but didn't turn. She knew it was Lance. She smelled cinnamon and allspice—the aftershave he always wore.

He came and stood beside her. The only sound for several minutes was the whistle of wind traveling through the hills into the eaves of the wreck of a house behind them. Lance broke the silence.

"So have you given any thought to my proposition?" His question was simple, straightforward.

Gwen's thoughts were anything but. "I have."

"And?"

"I took your advice. I called Fiona, the owner."

"Good for you. What did she say?"

"The police cleared the scene and she's ready to move forward."

"Great. That's great."

Gwen didn't respond. After a beat, Lance said, "I hope today's news doesn't rattle her."

"What news?"

"The body they found. In Newport."

Gwen felt a sinking in her gut. "What body in Newport?"

"You didn't hear?"

She didn't bother answering him. Of course, she hadn't heard. If she'd heard she wouldn't have asked.

"They found another agent, dead, in a vacant home in Newport. She'd been there a couple of days. I guess nobody had shown the place because of the holiday. It sounds like it's the same guy. Same M.O."

The world spun. The dirt beneath Gwen's feet became a whirlpool. It was as if she stood on an unstable patch of earth about to drop into a dark, subterranean place. A place she didn't want to go. She put a hand to her forehead. Lance caught her arm as she stumbled.

"You okay?" His eyes were filled with concern. "I shouldn't have sprung it on you like that. I'm sorry."

The idea of stepping foot into the Laguna house now seemed an impossible task. He was still out there. The man who had turned Sondra Olsen into a lifeless, bloodied corpse was still out there.

She'd tried to convince herself she was safe. That statistically she and Maricela were the most unlikely people to become his victims since, in some sense, they already were. Lightning didn't strike twice in the same place. A shark didn’t attack the same person twice in one lifetime. Unless, of course, a person lived under a lightning rod, or regularly dove in shark-infested waters. This was the truth she'd been avoiding.

The house on Cliff Drive was a lightning rod. It was an ideal habitat for this killer. He was drawn to vacant, oceanfront properties like a shark to chum. What had she been thinking? Art was right. She should go home, become a full-time mom again, get out of what had become a dangerous profession.

But then she thought about calling Fiona to tell her she wouldn't represent the property after all. When she tried to formulate the words she'd use, she couldn't find them. Gwen wanted this listing. She wanted it more than she'd wanted anything since she'd decided not to pursue an acting career.

She couldn't face the Laguna house alone, however. Not now. "It's all right. It's just I hadn't heard." She pulled her arm from Lance's grasp and stood straight. "I want you to help me with the place on Cliff Dr. I'll split the commission with you."