Unquiet Spirits Read online

  He liked women and had enjoyed quite a number of them. He liked their laughter, their insight, their softness, their passion. He'd even had a couple of fairly long-lasting relationships. When they were over, though, he had never looked back. And he knew why. No matter how hot the relationship was in bed, he always held himself at a comfortable emotional distance from his lovers.

  With Kit, that couldn't happen. They'd started out close. He'd loved her since she was five years old. Only the lust was new. And the strength of his desire for her made every other attraction he'd ever felt seem like a schoolboy crush. His body craved hers. But he was frankly terrified at the thought of being in love with her. Kit would own him, body and soul.

  After one trip to the end of the corridor and back, he had sufficient control of himself to open the door and speak to her.

  When he saw her sitting in a miserable lump not three feet from where he'd left her, he almost lost all the control he'd gained. "If we want to get to Spirit Lake tomorrow, we'd better not mention the Florida hit-and-run."

  "Right," she replied. "We don't have anything to tell them anyway."

  He retreated to the hall where he completed another dozen laps of the corridor before the police arrived.

  By the time the uniformed officers were convinced that Kit didn't have any idea who could be shooting at her in a city she had never before visited, it was almost three o'clock in the morning.

  The door had barely closed behind them when Bart yawned and announced, "Don't even suggest I sleep on that couch, Kit. There are two beds in your room."

  She looked at him as if she couldn't believe her ears. "Have you lost your mind, Thornton? We've had this discussion. You can sleep in your own room."

  "Kit," he said wearily, "forty-eight hours ago I was changing planes at Heathrow. I've been in motion ever since. I'm too wiped to be a gentleman and sleep on a short couch. And I'm sure not leaving you here alone."

  "The doors have good double locks," she protested half-heartedly. "And the man from hotel security said they'd keep an eye on this suite tonight."

  "Be nice, Kit. Just get used to the idea that until we catch the guy who's after you, I'm going to be very close by. That may pose a problem from time to time." He gave her a wry, sexy grin that made her want to toss all her inhibitions aside, then spoiled the effect by yawning again. "But, I promise you, not tonight."

  Kit was too tired to argue. She covered her own yawn with her hand and couldn't help smiling back at him.

  "Okay, sit right there." She pointed imperiously at the chair he'd been sitting in for the past couple of hours. "Give me ten minutes to get into bed. Then you can have the bathroom. Don't you dare wake me. See you in the morning."

  Even half-dead on his feet, Bart exuded a powerful aura of barely leashed energy. The air seemed charged with his unadulterated masculinity. Sometime when she hadn't been looking, the funny, energetic kid who had been her whole world had grown into this gorgeous, virile man. And she was going to pretend they could go back to a time when she hadn't noticed the changes? That she wasn't affected by his animal magnetism? Who was she trying to kid?

  * * *

  When Kit emerged from the bedroom at eleven o'clock that morning, Bart had already fetched his unpacked bag from his own room, changed, and was reading the morning paper in the living room of the suite.

  "Coffee?" He gestured idly at the little coffee maker on the bar. "It isn't fantastic but it's hot."

  Bart was wearing what she called his "commercial attaché smile" this morning. Not being able to read his real feelings usually annoyed Kit, but this morning she was thankful for the barrier.

  "Thanks," she said and quickly downed a cup of coffee.

  They went down to the hotel's casual restaurant for a late breakfast. As promised, the shiny silver five-passenger sport utility vehicle was delivered to the hotel right at noon and, within the hour, Kit was driving her new SUV up Highway 400 toward Ontario's cottage country.

  Although Bart seemed content to look at the scenery and listen to the stereo, she was intensely aware of him. His muscular body was inches away from her in the other bucket seat but in the enforced intimacy of the car the air seemed charged with his masculinity and energy.

  "Well, what do you think of my truck?" she asked, to break the silence.

  "It's a gas-guzzling SUV, Kit." Bart had reverted to the know-it-all, big brother attitude that had infuriated her so when she was a teenager. Well, she wasn't going to bite. She would continue to be pleasant and coldly logical.

  "Don't be negative, Bart. It's also a truck," she defended her new toy. "And it will come in handy at the lodge. Besides, I can hardly wait to see how it handles those rough back roads up north."

  "Uh-uh," Bart objected. "No exploring the wilderness this trip, Kittle."

  She set her jaw and declined that gambit, too.

  They passed the Holland Marsh, a huge drained swamp whose rich soil produced much of the fresh produce that fed the surrounding cities. As far as the eye could see was a checkerboard of various shades of green.

  "I read somewhere how many tons of onions alone come out of the Marsh," Kit began.

  "Time to talk about last night." Bart changed the subject to the one she really didn't want to discuss. She opened her mouth to tell him so but he must have realized her intention.

  "No, no. I mean about the shooting."

  She stifled a sigh of relief and concentrated for a minute on the stream of traffic merging onto the highway.

  "What is there to discuss? Some nut was looking for a blonde to shoot. And he chose me."

  "Come on, Kit. You don't believe that any more than I do. Somehow, the guy knew you would be there. He knew you would be outside Schofield's after the board meeting and he knew you were coming back from the theater last night." He took a small notepad out of the pocket of his denim jacket.

  "Let's see. The concierge knew. Did you notice anyone listening in when you had him get the ticket for you?"

  She didn't have to think about it. "No. I waited until the crowd cleared the lobby for the airport shuttle before I spoke to him. I was the only one at the counter."

  "Did you talk to anyone else about your plans? The doorman maybe."

  "No one. The only other people I spoke to yesterday were salespeople in Bloor Street boutiques, and the topic was style." She was beginning to resent this. "What makes you think I've suddenly become a silly blabbermouth who tells her plans to total strangers? I didn't chat!"

  "Ouch!" Bart flashed her his wicked grin. "The pretty little flea bites!"

  His comment reminded her of their laughter last night. And the exuberant joy in their kisses. She didn't want to go there. She scrambled to gather her thoughts.

  "I...I guess I did chat. I asked Johanna's advice about the show. When I phoned to tell her I'd arrive at Spirit Lake late afternoon today."

  "I don't think I've ever heard you mention talking to Johanna before. I know she's your grandmother and she and your aunt run a resort," Bart prompted.

  "You know Laila wasn't much for family," Kit began, relieved to talk about a less emotionally charged topic. "She never even mentioned an older sister and a father and stepmother in Canada until her father, Jacob, died when I was fourteen. I didn't know I had a grandfather until Laila and I went to his funeral. That's when I met Johanna and Aunt Elsa."

  "That must have been a strange visit."

  "It was, but we stayed on for a couple of weeks and I had a good time getting to know Johanna. Raoul, Elsa's fiancé, was wonderful to us. I had a real crush on him." She smiled reminiscently.

  "Your grandfather owned the resort?"

  "Oh, no. He ran a very small sawmill operation, but his stroke made running it impossible. When Laila discovered the three of them were attempting to live on what Johanna earned as a part-time cook at a highway restaurant, she made a flying visit to Spirit Lake and bought the resort next door to the sawmill property. She gave Johanna and Elsa each an interest in it and a p
ermanent roof over their heads. Being Laila, she kept financial control of the company herself. Johanna took over as manager; Johanna's brother, Paavo, became chef; Elsa took over the housekeeper duties.

  "It was a good deal for everyone. Laila got to one-up her father, who apparently treated her with disdain, and to play Lady Bountiful to her sister and her stepmother. Johanna and Elsa got generous salaries in addition to a percentage of the resort profits."

  "So you became responsible for the resort when you were fifteen," Bart said, softly.

  "Johanna runs it. I just rubber-stamp her ideas," she said with a little shrug.

  Bart laughed. "And Bossy Brat never even has a suggestion?!"

  Remembering the good years when she, Bret and Bart had been the Three B's, she grinned back at him. "I occasionally make a suggestion," she said.

  The lighthearted mood didn't last long.

  "We have to find out who else at Spirit Lake knew the exact time you'd be in front of the hotel." Bart was serious again. "We're not going to be able to relax our guard for a minute, you know. This guy always seems to be able to find you."

  "Bart, I really don't want to talk about this."

  And, miracle of miracles, he let it be.

  For the next hour or so, they sped along the dual highway through rolling farming country. Their conversation consisted of little fragments about how well the SUV handled and whose side of the road held more horses and cows.

  When they started to see signs for restaurants and donut shops a few miles north of Barrie, Bart suggested they stop for coffee.

  "If you're not desperate for a caffeine fix, I'd really like to get to the lake," Kit replied.

  "Fine with me." Bart took out the little notepad again. "Who do you know with connections in both Miami and Toronto?"

  "Me."

  "Schofield's doesn't have any Canadian branches?"

  Kit wheeled into the parking lot of a roadside restaurant, stopped and turned off the engine.

  "I cannot drive a new vehicle on unfamiliar highways and talk about who wants to kill me at the same time," she said slowly and deliberately.

  Bart hated to see his usually gutsy Kit on the verge of tears. Particularly when it was his fault. But he couldn't lay off. He was operating in the dark here.

  He flashed her an apologetic smile. Then, got out of the truck. He went around to the driver's side, opened her door and saluted smartly.

  "Expert and charming chauffeur reporting for duty, ma'am," he said.

  When he offered his hand to help her, she put her smooth hand in his, but didn't get out of the SUV. "Only if you promise to keep under the limit and vary the speed."

  "I know Will insists you do that with a new car, but it's not necessary any more."

  Kit gave him an exasperated look and plunked herself back down in the driver's seat.

  "I'll do it," he agreed hastily. "But it won't be easy to keep the speed down. You've got a lot of tempting horses under that hood."

  The truth was he wanted to drive to see if they were being followed. Having a vehicle delivered made too many people aware of when they were leaving and what Kit was driving. They might as well have announced their departure over the hotel sound system.

  He took note of the cars behind him as he eased out of the restaurant lot onto the busy highway. A white Ford sedan with two men in the front seat, then a dusty Jeep followed. First chance he got he dodged into the fast lane, stayed there for a few minutes then moved over to the slower inside lane.

  "Bet you didn't think I'd ever obey your orders like this," he said with a grin.

  She shot him a frosty look. "You've been driving for fifteen minutes."

  The Jeep continued in the fast lane but the white Ford remained doggedly behind them. He cut his speed by another few miles per hour. So did the driver of the Ford.

  "So, does Schofields have any Canadian branches?"

  "No."

  "Is the Spirit Lake Resort your only business connection up here?"

  "Yes." She turned on the radio. Loud rock music rattled the air.

  Bart punched the OFF button and took a deep breath. She was deliberately provoking him. If he allowed himself to explode at her, she would simply refuse to say another word to him. Back in their teenage years when they were the inseparable Three B's--Bret, Bart and Brat--icy silence had been her most effective weapon against him and Bret. It was the last thing he wanted now.

  "Come on, Brat. We don't have a lot of time before we get to the resort and I'd like to have some kind of handle on what we are facing. Talk to me, Kittle. I can't protect you if I have no idea where the threat is coming from."

  "But why can't I make you understand? Don't you think I've gone over and over every possibility?" She was almost screaming. "I... don't... know!"

  He flipped on the directional signal to indicate that he was turning off onto the shoulder.

  "Don't stop. I'll answer your questions while you drive," Kit said, resignation heavy in her voice. "Maybe we need a fresh slant on this."

  He turned off the signal. It was a good thing she'd given in. If his hands weren't on this steering wheel, he'd have her in his arms right now. And that would be a big mistake.

  "All the people I have anything to do with live in Muskoka. There aren't many and I hardly know them. I haven't been up to Spirit Lake since my mother's funeral seventeen years ago."

  "That narrows it down. We can leave Toronto out of our calculations for now. Bret can handle the Florida end of things. As soon we get settled in at the resort, I want you to jot down the names of everyone you have contact with at Schofield's, at the yacht club, the foundation... anywhere else you have an influence in Miami or West Palm Beach. Bret can follow up on anything we come up with."

  "Bret and I already did this, but I'll try to come up with some more names," Kit said. She was calm and cooperating fully now. "You can eliminate the yacht club. I haven't had anything to do with it for years. I renewed the membership every year because I thought that someday I might want to use it."

  He knew why. The Three B's had been fiercely competitive about their sailing and expected their own children would someday attend the sailing school and continue the competition into the next generation. To their teenaged minds, future marriage partners had been unimportant trifles. Right now, he refused to imagine Kit having children with some other man.

  "Right. Now, talk to me about the people at Spirit Lake."

  As he spoke, the white Ford signaled it was turning off onto a side road. Good. That was one distraction he didn't need right now.

  "I guess I should start with Johanna," Kit began. "Not your typical grandmother. Imagine a blonde Xena the warrior princess."

  Bart burst out laughing. "Your grandmother?"

  "That's what she looked like when I first saw her seventeen years ago. A Nordic warrior maiden. She must have been in her fifties then. I guess it's at least ten years since she and Elsa came down to see me in Florida. It just dawned on me that she must be around seventy now. She'll have changed some." Kit paused for a moment. "Anyway, all I can give you are a confused teenager's impressions."

  "I doubt you've been confused a day in your life," Bart replied.

  "I was having trouble with my mother, the ultimate free spirit, suddenly having family ties."

  "Just ramble then. We have at least an hour before we get there. Tell me everything you remember about the family. And their business."

  And Kit filled him in as fully as she could about the estrangement between Laila and her father and stepmother, and what she could remember from their two-week visit after Jacob's funeral.

  "All you can say about your aunt, Elsa, is that she was quiet and Paavo was fat and funny?"

  "Everything was so new and different to me that I guess I didn't pay much attention to them."

  "So they own this resort..." Bart prodded.

  "Actually, sixty per cent of it belongs to me," Kit admitted. "But Johanna runs it. She's made quite a few changes
over the last couple of years. All I've done is approve the blueprints for the renovations and sign the checks."

  Once they'd turned onto another multi-lane highway north of Huntsville, they found themselves within a few minutes of the resort. For miles they had been driving through some of the most dramatic scenery Bart had ever seen. They caught glimpses of one sparkling lake after the other as they sped along and occasionally on either side of them, jagged pink granite rock-cuts towered above the highway. They were in the heart of the Ontario skiers' playground.

  "Love those 'Deer Crossing' signs," Bart said with a laugh. "What are you supposed to do when you're cruising along in this traffic at sixty or seventy miles an hour and a deer decides to cross the road?"

  "Pray, I guess," Kit said. "There wouldn't be time to snap a photo. My favorite signs though are the 'Look out for falling rocks' ones."

  Bart chuckled and gave a fake shudder. "I guess you have to be a fatalist."

  They had reached an area where all the road signs had the names of lakes on them. A few little communities were clustered around general stores, restaurants and gas stations at the intersections of main roads. The occasional craft store or antique shop sported intriguing signs.

  "I'm curious, Kit. I know South Florida holds some pretty difficult memories for you," he could feel her freeze at his words but they couldn't pretend that Ronald had never existed, "but you could have gone anywhere in the world to get away. Why did you decide to come up here?"

  "I got an intriguing note from Johanna just at the moment I'd made up my mind I needed to leave West Palm. Some woman named Betsy Warner has come up with an expansion plan for the lodge which Johanna wants me to look at. Besides, I loved it up here and always wanted to come back."

  "The intriguing part was Johanna's statement that it was a cheerful plan which would counteract what she called 'our hauntings.' I can't wait to find out what she meant by that."

  Bart loved Kit's laugh. It was a beautiful, hearty laugh, always surprising coming from her slim, deceptively fragile-looking body.

  "I hope it's a joke," was Bart's only comment.