Witchcraft

surreptitiously left the house and made her way through the huge garden. She glanced back over her shoulder two or three times, her amber hair gleaming in the wintry sunshine. He knew she was checking to see whether or not she was being followed. At the far end of the garden she unlatched the gate and stepped outside. He knew exactly what was going through her head in that moment. Freedom.
    She was escaping, he realized. Two days of constant, even if well-meant, attention from everyone in the household had finally taken their toll. He had watched her deal politely with Julia's eager hospitality, Scott's excited efforts to entertain and the invitations to Aunt Milly's zany afternoon tea-leaf reading activities with Ariel. In addition, everyone on the estate from Mrs. Lawson to the gardener had displayed unabashed interest in her. They all knew the role Kimberly had played in retrieving Scott from his ordeal. And they all thought they could guess the role she was destined to play in Cavenaugh's life.
    Cavenaugh's mouth hardened a bit at the edges as he followed her escape route. She was on the other side of the garden now, striding briskly toward the low, electronically wired rock wall that was supposed to be the farthest she could wander from the house without an escort. He had a grim feeling that she wasn't going to follow the rules today. She wanted some peace and quiet and privacy and she'd go beyond the rock wall to get it. Glancing down at the manuscript pages he had picked up from the desk in Kimberly's room a few minutes before, Cavenaugh skimmed over the lines of fast-paced dialogue and equally swift action.
    Vendetta was undoubtedly going to be another highly successful novel in the Amy Solitaire series. Cavenaugh rather liked Amy. It was Josh Valerian he wanted to have dumped into one of the huge fermentation tanks over in the main production building. It was damn tough competing with a fictional "other man." Especially when that other man was probably Kimberly's secret fantasy. He was pondering Valerian's excellent timing, both in the matter of coming to Amy's rescue and in bed when Starke entered the room. "She's left the house, Dare."
    "I know."
    "Want me to go after her?"
    "No, I'll go and get her. She's a little desperate at the moment." Cavenaugh turned away from the window and smiled bleakly at his friend. "I don't blame her. At times I know how she feels. Any leads on that business of the dagger?" Starke shook his iron-gray head. "I wish we had a better description of it. This whole thing keeps getting screwier by the minute. I have a couple of possibilities to check out, though. There aren't that many sources for handmade silver daggers in this part of California. It's beginning to look as though we may be dealing with a pack of real crazies."
    "Scott's witches?"
    "Yeah. The authorities aren't interested in that line of reasoning at all, however. Cranston prefers his own more straightforward theories. "We'll have to keep following this one on our own." Cavenaugh nodded. He and Starke were accustomed to doing things in their own way. "Have you got enough people working on it?"
    "Three.
    But they're all good," Starke assured him. "All right." Cavenaugh tossed down the manuscript pages he had been reading. "I'd better go bring back our wandering house guest." Starke eyed him thoughtfully. "You didn't stay with her last night." Cavenaugh glanced up sharply. "Your job is to keep an eye on this household, but that doesn't mean you have to turn into a voyeur!" Starke lifted one brow with mocking politeness.
    "Sorry."
    "About what?" Cavenaugh growled. "About overstepping the line between employer and employee," Starke said calmly. Cavenaugh swore grittily and ran a hand through his hair. "Don't give me that. You know very well you're hardly an employee." Starke relented. "I know.
    Dare, you've been as tight as a compressed spring ever since you brought her here. The problem isn't that you're sleeping with her like everyone on the estate thinks' the problem is that you're not sleeping with her."
    "Stick to worrying about witches and daggers, Starke. I can do without the psychiatric advice." Back in front of the window Cavenaugh watched Kimberly disappear from sight. Behind him he sensed Starke shrugging.
    "Whatever you say, boss."
    "Damn it to hell, Starke, what are you trying to do? Make me explode?"
    "Not me. I've been with you on a couple of occasions when you've lost your temper. I'd rather you take it