Heroes Are My Weakness(49)

“No idea.”

“Twelve, maybe. Struggling with puberty.”

“If you say so.”

As he set the drawing down, she realized he’d poured himself a glass of wine. She began to protest, but he gestured toward the open bottle on the Louis XIV chest. “I brought it down from the house. And you can’t have any until you answer a few questions.”

Something she really didn’t want to do. “What are we having for dinner?”

“I’m having meat loaf. And not just any meat loaf. One with a little pancetta tucked inside, two special cheeses, and a glaze with a mystery ingredient that might be Guinness. Interested?”

Even thinking about it made her mouth water. “I might be.”

“Good. But you’re going to have to talk first. That means time’s run out, and you’re up against the wall. Decide right now whether or not you’re going to trust me.”

How was she supposed to do that? He couldn’t have shot at her, not from where he’d been. But that didn’t mean he was trustworthy, not with his history. She took her time settling in the airplane seat armchair and tucked her legs under her. “Too bad the critics hated your book. I can only imagine what those brutal reviews did to your self-confidence.”

He took a sip of wine, as indolent as a playboy relaxing on the Costa del Sol. “Shattered it. Are you sure you didn’t read the book?”

Time to pay him back for his earlier condescension. “I prefer loftier literature.”

“Yes, I saw some of that loftier literature in your bedroom. Definitely intimidating to a hack like me.”

She frowned. “What were you doing in my bedroom?”

“Searching it. More successfully than when I tried to get into your computer. One of these days you’re going to have to give me your password. It’s only fair.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Then I’ll have to keep prying until you level with me.” He pointed toward her with his wine goblet. “By the way, you need some new panties.”

Considering the snooping she’d done in the turret, she had a hard time summoning up as much righteous indignation as she should. “There is nothing wrong with my underpants.”

“Said by a woman who hasn’t gotten laid in a very long time.”

“I have so!”

“I don’t believe you.”

She experienced a contradictory desire to play games and be honest. “For your information, I’ve gotten down and dirty with a long line of loser boyfriends.” Not that long a line, but since he’d burst out laughing, she wasn’t going to clarify.

When he finally sobered, he gave his head a rueful shake. “I see you’re still selling yourself short. Why is that, by the way, and when are you going to grow out of it?”

The idea that he thought more of her than she sometimes thought of herself took her aback.

Trust him, Scamp urged.

Don’t be a fool, Dilly said.

Forget about him! Peter exclaimed. I shall save you!

Dude, Leo sneered. Stop being such a tool. She can save herself.

The reminder of the men who hadn’t stood by her might have been what tipped the scale in Theo’s direction. Even as she told herself that psychopaths had a special talent for earning the trust of their victims, she untucked her legs and told him the truth. “Right before Mariah died, she said she’d left something valuable for me at the cottage. A legacy. And once I found it, I’d have money.”

She had his full attention. He dropped his legs to the floor and sat up straight. “What kind of legacy?”

“I don’t know. She could barely breathe. She slipped into a coma right after and died before morning.”

“And you haven’t found what it is?”

“I’ve researched all the major art pieces, but she’d been selling off her collection for years, and nothing that’s left seems to be worth much. For a few glorious hours, I thought it might be the wine.”

“Writers stayed here. Musicians.”

Annie nodded. “If only she’d been more specific.”

“Mariah had a habit of making things hard for you. I never understood it.”

“Her way of expressing love,” she said without any bitterness. “I was too ordinary for her, too quiet.”

“The good old days,” he said drily.

“I think she was afraid for me because I was so different from her. Beige to her crimson.” Hannibal jumped into her lap, and she rubbed his head. “Mariah was worried I wouldn’t be able to cope with life. She thought criticism was the best way to toughen me up.”

“Twisted,” he said, “but it seems to have worked.”

Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he went on. “Did you look in the attic?”

“What attic?”

“That space above the ceiling?”

“That’s not an attic. It’s a—” But of course it was an attic. “There’s no way to get to it.”

“Sure there is. There’s an access trap in the studio closet.”

She’d seen that trap dozens of times. She’d just never thought about what it led to. She sprang out of the chair, displacing Hannibal. “I’m going to look right now.”