A Margin of Lust (The Seven Deadly Sins #1)(36)

"Oh, okay. Thanks." His smile faded. He started to walk away, but turned again. "How about the Laguna house. Is there a lockbox on it?"

"I think Lance is putting one on tonight, but we're holding an open tomorrow."

He nodded and left the room without speaking. Gwen and Maricela looked at each other, and Maricela rolled her eyes. They went back to work, the air between them warmer. Nothing like uniting over a common enemy.

Another hour passed, and Gwen's stomach growled. She looked at her watch. It was 1:30. No wonder. Her breakfast smoothie had worn off long ago.

"I'm going to grab a salad. Want to go?" She asked Maricela.

"Could you bring me something?" Maricela said reaching for her purse.

Gwen took her order and headed out the door. The day was so bright it blinded her for a moment. The Santa Ana winds had waned, and the afternoon temperatures had dropped into the sixties, but the sky was still cloudless. She donned her sunglasses, and when she could see again she noticed Lance walking across the parking lot.

"Gwen." He waved at her. "I was coming to find you. I finished up the painting. We're on for the open house tomorrow."

"What about..."

"The exterminator came."

"What did he say?"

"He took care of the problem."

Gwen was dubious. "Took care of it how?"

"He checked all the likely entry spots—drains, foundation cracks near the trash area, the basement. They're all clear, but he sprayed anyway. The roaches came in through the chimney. He set off a bomb in the fireplace. I can go in and finish up the odds and ends at," he looked at his watch, "six."

"Why would they come in through the chimney?"

"There was sticky stuff inside it. Sweet sap or something. It was weird. I washed it down with ammonia before he set the bomb off."

"Are you sure they'll all be gone. It wouldn't be good if one of those creepy things ran over a potential buyer's foot."

"That's what the guy thinks. He said it's good we jumped on it. Didn't give them a chance to get too attached to the place." Lance's mouth was set in serious lines, but his eyes were smiling.

"How about the dead ones? Are they all over the place? I can't go in if there are dead ones all over the place."

"I'll clean them up tonight. Promise." Lance rested a hand on her shoulder for a brief moment, but the warmth of his touch stayed with her for the rest of the day."





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


Saturday morning was bright and cool. An onshore breeze tossed clouds about in a cerulean sky. The ocean, smooth as glass, reflected the heavenly blue. It was a perfect day to showcase a beachfront listing. Gwen, arms full of flowers, tottered a bit in her high heels on the uneven walkway.

"You okay?" Lance put a stabilizing hand on her back.

Stabilizing. That's what he'd become—a stabilizing force in her life. Despite what she'd said to Maricela, he was more than a coworker. More than a business partner. He'd become a friend.

She understood Maricela's concerns. It was hard not to be attracted to him. To say Lance was handsome was an understatement, but his looks weren't his most dangerous attribute. At least, not as far as Gwen was concerned. It was his dependability that made him perilous. She hadn't known he possessed the trait, so she hadn't hardened herself against it.

"Got it." Gwen hurried forward, away from the intimacy of his hand.

"Let me get the door." He walked around her.

Gwen let him enter first. She'd only been in the house once since the attack of the killer cockroaches, and although at the time she hadn't seen any insects, alive or dead, she was still jumpy.

"The walls look great. I love the color. Just a touch of yellow to warm—" Gwen, eyes on the freshly painted stairwell, walked into Lance's back.

"Oh, God. What is that?" Lance said.

The smell hit Gwen a nanosecond after his words.

Ripe. Sweet. Sickening. Like the smell at the top of the stairs the day she and Maricela had found Sondra Olsen. A wave of nausea broke over her, leaving its moisture on her hairline and upper lip. "I can't..."

"Stay here," Lance said.

Gwen didn't. She backed out the front door and stood under the arms of the fig tree. She took deep, cleansing breaths of ocean air trying to flush away the stench. It wouldn't leave her. Neither would the image of a white, bloodied and broken body.

She buried her face in the bouquet she'd brought to brighten the open house. But hidden under the scent of lilies and mums, she smelled death. It seemed to reach out to her from the open doorway.

She dropped the blooms, ran to the street and began to pace. The reek followed her down the block and back, down and back. It had become a part of her. Infused into her. The memory of death. The smell. Now inseparable.

Who was doing this to her? To them?

It was at least ten minutes before Lance walked out to the street. He stood, hands on hips, lips curled in disgust. "Something is dead, but it's not another real estate agent. Not unless it's a really small one. It's coming from the stove vent. A bird must have flown down, got stuck, and died. It happens."

"I thought there were caps or traps or something at the top of the vents," Gwen said.