Pushed to the Limit (Quid Pro Quo 1) Read online

WONDERING WHY Benno DeMartino was going out of his way for a stranger as they sped along the curved, hilly road in a low-slung ‘67 Thunderbird convertible, top up against the chilly night, Sydney glanced at the man who claimed to have been Kenneth’s friend.

  Buttoned to the throat, his black shirt complemented his dark good looks and further allowed him to meld with the night. Beard stubble brushed his olive skin except for the naked scar on his chin, she knew, and a diamond stud winked from his ear. She could barely make out either. When oncoming headlights flashed through the T-bird’s interior, his granite profile framed by long black hair slicked back and tied in a short pony tail at his nape became visible. His sharp, rugged features made him appear eternally skeptical.

  And yet Benno had been so kind to her.

  He didn’t know anything about her, about her past. She sighed. Piercing eyes she knew to be a light brown flashed at her and made her turn away self-consciously. She wondered why Kenneth hadn’t ever mentioned Benno.

  She stared out at the fog-shrouded shoreline but saw no lights ahead. Not looking forward to spending the night at the house alone, Sydney guessed she should have let Asia have her way and stay, but for once, she hadn’t bent under the force of her younger sister’s personality. Her mistake. Now she would have only herself for company.

  She wondered if Benno could read her thoughts when he commented, “So you’re alone at the house. What about Martha? Did she go back to Portland so soon?”

  “Martha doesn’t even know her brother is...doesn’t know about anything. Not about the accident, not even about the marriage.”

  “Kenneth didn’t want her at the wedding?” He sounded disbelieving.

  “I told you we married impulsively. There was no time to send out invitations.”

  “He could have made a phone call and Martha would have come running. She was his only real family.”

  “Yes, I know,” Sydney said, trying not to sound too stiff. Benno was merely being curious, not critical. “He told me their parents died years ago.”

  “Did he also tell you he was fourteen years older than his sister, as much a father to her as a brother?” Without waiting for her affirmative reply, he muttered, “They were so close, I can’t believe he didn’t want her at the wedding.”

  “It wasn’t like that. Really. And I-I tried to get in touch with her after... the accident.” Sydney clasped her hands together tightly as if that would prevent her from breaking down. “No answer, so I left a message on Martha’s machine. Such a cold way of giving someone bad news. So impersonal. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Voice sounding more kind than critical, Benno said, “You were caught in the middle of a special situation.”

  Were? That smacked of the past, and, as far as Sydney was concerned, she was still trapped. At the moment, she wasn’t sure how she was going to resolve anything. Not Kenneth’s death. Not her life.

  Benno slowed the Thunderbird and she realized they had arrived. Looking out at the house, she frowned. “What’s going on? I left lights on all over the house.” Now only the living room glowed through the downstairs windows.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. I even remember seeing the windows lit when I was walking along the beach.”

  Benno grabbed his flashlight from the back seat where he’d tossed it. “I’ll come in with you and look around.”

  Sydney didn’t try to talk him out of doing so. She was suddenly as much on edge as she’d been when she’d fled the house earlier. But no one answered when he called out, and a thorough search revealed no sign of an intruder. Things were as she had left them.

  Everything but the lights.

  “I-I don’t understand. I was sure...” She shook her head and chose not to continue. “Forget about it.” She had to remember how stressed she’d been. But stressed enough to have forgotten turning off several light switches? She didn’t want to dwell on the thought. And she didn’t want to be alone, not just yet. “It’s my turn to offer you a drink.”

  Benno gave her an odd look and studied her closely for an uncomfortable moment. She shifted under his scrutiny. Did he think she was goofy or what?

  “Listen, Sydney, if you want some company in the house, I could stay.” He nodded to the sleek black leather sofa, a Scandinavian design as was all the living room furniture. “I could sack out for the night down here.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that.” Even though the offer of company was tempting. “Besides, it’s not necessary. I can take care of myself.”

  “I’m sure you can. But the offer’s still open. I have a thing for sleeping on other peoples’ couches. Really.”

  Sydney realized he was teasing her, smiling. And that she was smiling in return. A rush of warmth passed between them and she knew she wouldn’t turn down his kind offer. No matter that he was a stranger and she should probably be wary – relief flooded through her.

  “Thanks.”

  His smile widened to a grin. “If I have a crick in my back in the morning, though, I may ask you to walk on it.”

  “You’re really into torture, huh?”

  “Nah, just creative living.”

  They both laughed; Sydney knew she’d made the right decision.

  “There are sheets and a quilt and pillows in there,” she said, pointing to the window seat topped with a leather pad that her brother Dakota had discovered when he’d slept on the couch the night before. “I’ll clear my things away.”

  About to remove the Tarot from the coffee table, she froze when she noticed the loose card that lay across the middle of the spread. Death. Added to the other negative vibes she’d gotten from the reading, this one chilled her. One of the most powerful images of the Tarot, Death wasn’t necessarily to be taken literally, she knew that. But loss of hope and major changes could be nearly as frightening, and the fact that she hadn’t dealt the card, that it had somehow worked its way onto her reading gave her the creeps.

  She must have flipped it over by accident when she set down the deck, Sydney told herself.

  “So, you’re into reading Tarot cards.”

  Right behind her, Benno made her jump. “Aah!”

  “Whoa,” he said, steadying her for the second time that night. “I didn’t mean to startle you. So, did you find out anything interesting about yourself?”

  Not about to tell him that her reading had been the reason for her flight from the house – nor about the appearance of an extra card that might have slipped from the deck without her noticing – Sydney gathered the cards together and hoped he didn’t notice her hands were shaking as she slipped them into their pouch.

  “Reading the Tarot is always interesting,” she said truthfully, at the same time trying to regulate the bumping of her heart. She stuck the deck in her purse which she’d left on the floor. “You can get new insights into yourself. Sort of self-analysis, using what you know and being open to interpretation.”

  “Will you read mine sometime?”

  “If you like.” She backed away from him and threw the purse onto a chair. “Um, I’m going to warm up some milk for myself.”

  ”Not my speed,” Benno told her. “Do you mind if I help myself to something stronger?”

  “I was about to suggest that if only I can figure out where the stuff is hidden. My brother found some brandy yesterday.”

  “The bar is over here,” Benno said, walking to the teak unit which lined the only wall breaking up the downstairs living area. He opened a drop leaf on one side that revealed a well-stocked bar. “I’ve been around enough in the past few months to know where things are.”

  “Help yourself.” Sydney escaped to the kitchen area that was separated from the rest of the downstairs by the wall of cabinets on one side and a half-wall which formed a breakfast bar on the other.

  Removing a copper pot from a cast iron hanger which had been installed above the work island, she set it on the stove. Glass against glass clinked from the othe
r side of the wall as Benno helped himself to his drink.

  She couldn’t help asking, “What was he like?”

  “Who? Kenneth? You married the man.”

  “I met him all of two weeks ago. I could hardly get an in-depth knowledge of a person in that short a time.” Hoping Benno wasn’t going to tell her what he thought of the impulsive marriage, Sydney opened the refrigerator.

  “Kenneth was probably one of the most talented men I’ve ever met,” Benno told her, his voice drifting closer. “He designed this house.”

  “I didn’t know that. I mean, I knew he was an architect, but he didn’t tell me about the house. I guess he would have if he’d...”

  Sydney chose not to complete the statement.

  She removed the quart of milk from the refrigerator and turned toward the stove. A part of her still thought of Kenneth as being alive and waiting for her to find him. That same part viewed the past days as a bad dream from which she was still trying to awaken.

  Suddenly feeling Benno’s presence on the other side of the island, she looked up to find him staring at her hand – and her naked ring finger? – as she poured milk into the pot. She didn’t feel obligated to explain her actions in sacrificing the love token to the sea.

  “I’m not so interested in the professional as I am in the private man,” she explained as she turned on the burner. “The friend. The brother.”

  Expression thoughtful, Benno took a swig of the amber liquid in his glass. “Your late husband was as trustworthy and loyal a friend as a man could ask for. And he was certainly a better brother than Martha deserved.”

  Startled by the unexpected criticism, Sydney asked, “What do you mean?”

  “I mean Martha was a spoiled kid, a highly spoiled teenager and an even more spoiled young woman. She always got what she wanted... one way or another.”

  “I thought you liked her.”

  “I never said that.” Leaning on the counter, he rolled the glass between his hands and stared down into the liquid. “I was merely surprised that Martha didn’t show for the wedding. She took advantage of outward appearances when it came to pleasing or placating Kenneth since he held her purse strings.”

  Indignant at his conclusion, Sydney snapped, “Maybe she did so because she loved him.”

  Benno merely raised his thick dark brows and pointed to her milk. “You’re about to boil over.”

  She took the opportunity to let the conversation drop. She didn’t want to hear unflattering things about Kenneth.

  After pouring the milk into a glass, she set the pot in the sink. “I think I’ll go up to bed.”

  “I’m ready to sack out myself,” Benno said, tipping his own glass toward her in salute.

  Sydney moved around the island and through the living area toward the stairs opposite the front door. He followed only as far as the couch. She sipped at her milk as she took the first several steps, then paused halfway up to the balcony that overlooked the open two-story living room.

  “Benno...”

  Standing over the couch where he unfolded a sheet, he paused to look up at her. “What?”

  Somehow, his doing such a homey task seemed incongruous with the image she had of him. He seemed rugged and mysterious and a little dangerous. Funny how he also made her feel so safe.

  “Thanks.”

  He stared at her, his expression serious, his eyes piercing. “Yell if you need me.”

  “Sure.” She tried to smile but failed.

  Sydney finished climbing the stairs to her room where she set the half-empty glass on the gilt-edged white night stand. Kenneth had laughed at her odd nighttime habit, but she’d found drinking warm milk helped her relax when she was stressed.

  The milk was doing its job even as she changed into her cotton nightgown. Her bones were melting, her mind drifting. Slipping through its lace curtains into the bed, she pulled up the satin quilt. One last sip of milk. She adjusted the table lamp so only a night light within the frosted glass body glowed.

  Sydney realized she wouldn’t feel so relaxed if Benno weren’t downstairs. His dark visage was the last thing she remembered before her conscious mind gave way to the mysteries of the night...