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HOTEL LIAISON

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Acclaim for JLee Meyerâ€™s Fiction

Forever Found

â€œâ€¦ succeeds in giving the reader a thoroughly enjoyable romance Ãž lled with tension and longing from the Ãž rst pages. I highly recommend this Ãž rst effort from this talented new author.â€ â€“ Just About Write

â€œâ€¦neatly combines hot sex scenes, humor, engaging characters, and an exciting story.â€ â€“ MegaScene

First Instinct

â€œMeyer does a terriÃž c job at developing the espionage storyline and keeping the reader wondering where the next plot twist will lead. Well-developed characters and swift storytelling make this a wonderful read; I couldnâ€™t stop turning the pages.â€ â€“ Lambda Book Report

â€œMeyerâ€™s heroines are quirky, funny, and so very good together that you canâ€™t visualize them apart. Between the multi-dimensional characters with their genuine virtues and ÃŸ aws, a plot you wonâ€™t have Ãž gured out from the beginning, and a most satisfying conclusion, First Instinct leaves readers sated but anxious for more.â€ â€“ Midwest Book Review Rising Storm

â€œMeyer has given her readers an exciting roller coaster of a ride. Her descriptions of the by-ways of Californiaâ€™s northern coast are wonderful, as is her description of the off-beat characters that inhabit the area. This is a book readers will not be able to put down. Be sure to leave a solid block of time with no interruptions!â€ â€“ Just About Write

â€œThe saga of First Instinct continues for Conn, a secret operative, and her lover, Leigh. Hiding away, they are safe from Connâ€™s world. When their cover is blown, they are forced into action. But they never forget to get it on between harrowing escape scenes.â€ â€“ Curve Magazine By the Author

Forever Found

First Instinct

Rising Storm

Hotel Liaison

HOTEL LIAISON

by

JLee Meyer

2008

HOTEL LIAISON

Â© 2008 BY JLEE MEYER. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

ISBN 10: 1-60282-017-1

ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-017-3

THIS TRADE PAPERBACK ORIGINAL IS PUBLISHED BY

BOLD STROKES BOOKS, INC.

NEW YORK, USA

FIRST EDITION: JUNE 2008

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. NAMES, CHARACTERS, PLACES, AND

INCIDENTS ARE THE PRODUCT OF THE AUTHORâ€™S IMAGINATION OR

ARE USED FICTITIOUSLY. ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, BUSINESS ESTABLISHMENTS, EVENTS, OR LOCALES

IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.

THIS BOOK, OR PARTS THEREOF, MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED IN ANY

FORM WITHOUT PERMISSION.

CREDITS

EDITORS: JENNIFER KNIGHT AND STACIA SEAMAN

PRODUCTION DESIGN: STACIA SEAMAN

COVER DESIGN BY SHERI (GRAPHICARTIST2020@HOTMAIL.COM) Acknowledgments

Tamara: A special thank-you for your time and memories of some very special women. I bow to you.

Susie, Rachel Spanglerâ€™s partner: thank you for your help navigating the world of academia.

Sage Amante: for invaluable assistance with legalese and plot possibilities. Thank you, my friend.

Cheryl: For the gift of ideas and patience when answering the question, â€œHon, whatâ€™s another word forâ€¦â€

Jennifer Knight: A gifted teacher as well as editor. I thank you for your insight and humor. Most of all, thank you for shaping Hotel Liaison into the book I am proud to offer to our readers.

Stacia Seaman: You do your magic in sometimes very tight time frames and we always manage to meet deadline. You are much appreciated by this author.

Len Barot: Your vision and dedication to teaching the craft have created something unique in Bold Strokes Books. Itâ€™s an honor to be part of it.

Sheri: Your covers always draw the eye of the reader. Thank you for your talent and dedication to create just the right tone for this book and all the others.

Proofreaders, webmistresses, media liaison, everyone behind the scenesâ€”a great big thank-you hug.

Dedication

â€œFor it was not into my ear you whispered, but into my heart.

It was not my lips you kissed, but my soul.â€

â€”Judy Garland

For Cheryl, keeper of my heart and soul.

HOTEL LIAISON

CHAPTER ONE

Get out!â€

Those words, followed by a loud crash, sent Denny Phelps and her mother, Sika, scrambling toward Stefanieâ€™s ofÃž ce. They arrived just as the door was ÃŸ ung open and a large thirtysomething man stumbled out and rushed past them, not looking back.

Stefanie Beresford, red-faced with fury, appeared in the doorway, shouting, â€œAnd stay out!â€

Her chest was still heaving when she Ãž nally noticed Denny and Sika standing frozen in place. Denny shot a pleading glance to her mother and Sika reached out and placed a hand gently on Stefâ€™s arm.

â€œWhat happened, dear? Did Kevin hurt you?â€

Stef felt herself deÃŸ ate, the anger being replaced by dejection.

â€œNo, not physically.â€ She motioned her business partners, also dear friends, into the room. â€œMight as well have a seat. This involves all of us.â€

Having a seat necessitated Dennyâ€™s putting chairs upright for herself and her mother. She chose to ignore the remnants of a broken vase that were scattered on the ÃŸ oor.

Once they were settled, Stef leaned her elbows heavily on her desk and said, â€œOur construction budget is gone.â€

â€œWhat?â€ Denny blurted out. â€œThatâ€™s impossible. We had everything Ãž gured out to the penny. Even for overages.â€

Sika quietly said, â€œLet Stef tell us, Denny. Be patient.â€

Denny never ignored her motherâ€™s requests.

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Sighing, Stef said, â€œSeems Kevin has a drug problem. Our money has been steadily disappearing up his nose.â€

She resisted sweeping everything off her desk to land with a satisfying crash on the age-darkened wood ÃŸ oor. Sheâ€™d hired that Irish blowhard on her brother Georgeâ€™s recommendation. Kevin was supposedly a font of knowledge about commercial construction.

This and his claimed connections with smaller contractors in the Bay Area and San Francisco building inspectors had swayed her.

Sheâ€™d been a naÃ¯ve fool.

â€œWhat about the subcontractors?â€ Dennyâ€™s almond-shaped deep brown eyes were glazed with concern. â€œDid he pay them?â€

â€œNot recently, and our suppliers will probably be next to knock on our door, asking for their money. Shit. Sorry, Mamaka.â€ Sika didnâ€™t curse, and Stef always felt bad when she did so around her.

Mother and daughter sat back heavily in their chairs. Although Denny was a few inches taller than Sika and her skin was a lighter color, they shared the same high cheekbones and regal bone structure, the legacy of Sikaâ€™s West African heritage.

â€œDonâ€™t apologize,â€ Sika said, â€œI feel like swearing myself. Is all the money gone?â€

Stef calculated. â€œNo. Luckily, one of the subcontractors called me directly and complained about not being paid. I did a quick inventory and stopped Kevinâ€™s access to that account. We have enough to get us about halfway Ãž nished. Thatâ€™s if we cut back where we can and immediately Ãž nd a new contractor who wonâ€™t rob us blind.â€

She was heartsick, and struggled to not just get up and lay her head in Sikaâ€™s lap and cry. Her mind was blank. Not exactly dynamic CEO material.

In a move that usually signaled deep thought, Denny unconsciously patted her black, closely cropped hair. Suddenly brightening, she said, â€œHey, remember Jock Reynolds from my basketball team?â€

Stef stared dully at her best friend, trying to understand why she would bring up Jocelyn Reynolds. Speaking of blowhards.

Cautiously, she said, â€œYeah, I remember her.â€

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â€œWell, sheâ€™s a general contractor now, has her own business right here in San Francisco.â€ The look on Dennyâ€™s face told Stef that she thought sheâ€™d come up with a solution. Denny always had a glass-half-full take on life.

Stef still wanted to weep. Instead, she tried to suck it up.

â€œDenny, Jock Reynolds did nothing but tease me about being

â€˜vertically challengedâ€™ when we were in college. She slept with any woman she could charm into her bed and barely made her grades to continue playing and graduate. What makes you think sheâ€™d be any more reliable than that worthless idiot I just threw out of here?â€

Sika arrested Dennyâ€™s response with a small hand gesture. â€œIâ€™ve read about several of her projects in the city. They speak well of her company. Itâ€™s mostly female workers and she doesnâ€™t try to hide the fact that sheâ€™s a lesbian. I think we could at least get a bid. Perhaps sheâ€™s grown up since those days, Stef. People change.â€

Denny gave her mother a grateful smile. When Sika spoke, debate often ended swiftly. If she wanted something to happen, it was usually a done deal. Stef worshipped her, having been taken under her wing when she and Denny were college roommates. The Beresfords had tossed Stef out of the house when she came out to them, so sheâ€™d stayed with Denny and Sika during all holidays and breaks. She was used to being outÃŸ anked and outnumbered by the Phelps women.

Resigning herself to the inevitable, she said, â€œOkay, but we get two other bids as well. And we check references and talk to one of the building inspectors we trust, not the ones that vouched for Kevin. Denny, please get on it right away. We need to have someone in place and working by next week.â€

â€œYou got it.â€

â€œIâ€™ll start calling the subcontractors and trying to put them off or negotiate payments or come up with something that works,â€ Stef continued. â€œAnd Iâ€™ll try to scare up more cash. Looks like Iâ€™ll be living in the hotel during the construction. Oh well, whatâ€™s a little dust?â€ She tried to sound positive but couldnâ€™t stop beating herself up for being such a bad judge of character.

â€œWhy not move in with us?â€ Sika offered.

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â€œYou and Denny only have a one-bedroom apartment as it is, thanks to this project. We have a whole hotel that was residential in its most recent, seedy incarnation. Maybe Iâ€™ll move next door to Mrs. Castic on the third ÃŸ oor. She seems to be tolerating the renovations well enough.â€

â€œI worry about her.â€ Sika frowned. â€œSheâ€™s got to be in her seventies. It canâ€™t be healthy for her to be around the noise and dust.

It will be bad enough for you.â€

Denny said, â€œSheâ€™s a tough old bird. She gets herself up and out almost every day, walker and all. Even in the rain. Told me she likes to go sit in Union Square and watch tourists dodge pigeons.â€

They all took a moment to appreciate that.

â€œYou know, I think she comes from royalty or something, back in her home country.â€ Stef couldnâ€™t recall all the details. Theyâ€™d chatted recently when she stopped by to Ãž x a light switch. â€œSomewhere in Eastern Europe, I think. One of those countries thatâ€™s been renamed a lot. The Nazis ran her whole family out, and her father died in a concentration camp. Sheâ€™s been through a lot.â€

â€œHow long has she lived in the hotel?â€ Denny asked. She was playing with her phone, probably trying to Ãž nd Jockâ€™s number.

â€œIâ€™ll have to ask her.â€ Now that they would be neighbors, it wouldnâ€™t take long to hear the womanâ€™s life story, no doubt. â€œWell, weâ€™d better get back to work. Mamaka, your gourmet commercial kitchen might have to be scaled back a bit. But one day, weâ€™ll put your Cordon Bleu training to work, I promise.â€

Sika smiled. â€œDonâ€™t worry about that. Maybe weâ€™ll just have a light fare for our guests until weâ€™re more established. Concentrate on getting the main part of the hotel open and Iâ€™ll get the old kitchen cleaned up and running with a minimum of fuss and a lot of bleach.â€

As Denny and Sika left her ofÃž ce, Stef stared after them with a mixture of gratitude and trepidation. She was thankful every day to have such good friends, but sheâ€™d gotten them all into this venture and she had to Ãž gure a way to get them out and make it a success.

She had to.

Her family would get a good laugh to Ãž nd out about her bad

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judgment. Being banished for being a lesbian had lasted two years, and they had never cut off funding for her college tuition, room and board. Denny had gotten her a job. They both worked as part-time housepainters. Stef was proud of that.

When she graduated, her stepmother and father actually attended the ceremony and took her, Denny, and Sika out to a sumptuous feast to celebrate. Stef had often wondered if Sika had something to do with that, but she never asked. Perhaps she didnâ€™t want to know.

Things were still far from smooth with her family, eight years later. When she said she wanted to work in the family business, her fatherâ€™s response was tepid at best. He wanted her two brothers to take over the company when he retired. He never talked about her being a lesbian, but made his disappointment in her clear. She was expected to marry a man who could work for the family, and have children who would form part of a new generation who would keep the Beresford hotel empire expanding.

Stef bit the bullet and worked in the administrative ofÃž ces of Beresford Hoteliers in the acquisition section, thinking she could prove her worth. Her younger brother Jason worked in all of the divisions, ostensibly to move up in management and become a senior executive. He was a good guy and had been her closest ally since childhood. But he wanted their fatherâ€™s approval so much, he had developed little self-conÃž dence and always seemed to mess things up. Their older brother, George, put up with Jasonâ€™s failings and even tried to cover his ass, probably because he saw no threat to his own position as heir apparent. But he was more than willing to see Stef fail and was also the Ãž rst to take credit for her hard work.

After only a few months, sheâ€™d realized that no matter what she accomplished, she would never be the boss and her father would never acknowledge her value. She would be treated as an unwelcome interloper by both him and George, regardless.

While Stef was discovering just how irrational and sexist her male family members could be, Denny had graduated in hotel and restaurant management and started a career in another large chain of hotels.

One night after work, when Stef was having dinner with Sika

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and Denny, she admitted how disenchanted she felt. Sheâ€™d reached the conclusion that she would have to run a business of her own if she ever hoped for any satisfaction in her work. She was fed up and had hatched a plan to buy and rehab an old hotel. To her surprise, Denny and Sika hadnâ€™t just supported the idea, theyâ€™d offered to partner with her in the business if she went ahead.

Their vote of conÃž dence was a real boost. For the Ãž rst time since sheâ€™d graduated, Stef felt truly in charge of her future. They developed a plan to create a boutique hotel primarily for women travelers; something safe, high tech, and customized for their needs.

They searched for over a year until they located the right property, one of many decaying hotels that were rushed to completion after the 1906 San Francisco earthquake and before the 1915 Panama-PaciÃž c International Exposition. The property had eighty-Ãž ve rooms and, reportedly, a ghost. Its structure and layout were well done, with a good architect and solid construction. Puzzlingly, though, in the seventies, the owners had hastily and cheaply converted it to residential accommodations, and then seemed to forget it. Now it was run down, mostly unoccupied, and barely worth the land it sat on. Perfect, in other words.

The hotel was held in a family estate trust controlled by a Mrs.

Seraphina Drake Holloway, who seemed completely taken with their idea and relieved to be able to unload the hotel to them rather than one of the developers whoâ€™d already made bids well below market price. None of them had been willing to agree to her sole caveat, that one of the longtime residents, Mrs. Irina Castic, could not be evicted, ever. Stef had readily agreed, Ãž guring they could work around a solitary resident. And, besides, it wasnâ€™t an option to toss an old lady in the street anyway. Mrs. Castic had turned out to be a charming and quiet, uncomplaining tenant.

Most of the money for the down payment came from Stef, through inheritance and savings. She was the chief executive ofÃž cer, in charge of securing funding and executing the overall plan of the rehabilitation. Denny would be the hotel manager and Sika the chef and manager at the restaurant when it opened. Their half ownership would mostly take the form of sweat equity, but they had sunk their

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life savings into the project, too. Stef usually drew the line at using her family name to get a break, but she had no such qualms when it came to Ãž nancing the balance they needed. Banks were more than willing to throw money at her and didnâ€™t seem concerned by her novice credentials. Everything had worked out nicely, until Kevin-the-Cokehead.

Stef studied the project calendar grimly. Margins were already razor thin; there was no time for stopping and starting, and no extra money to compensate for her Ãž rst big management mistake. Fuck, what else could go wrong?

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CHAPTER TWO

Ember Lanier was twiddling her toes. Or would have been if she were barefoot. But lounging on a bench in Union Square in the heart of downtown San Francisco wasnâ€™t exactly the place to be without shoes. Too much pigeon poop and too many tourists feeding them. Rats with feathers, thatâ€™s what some famous San Francisco dude had said, and she now believed it. The lice-infested buggers were everywhere. Her boots stayed on.

As she looked around, she saw familiar faces. That she was starting to recognize a few of the denizens of Union Square did nothing to help keep the panic down. Sheâ€™d been on her own for a while now and there wasnâ€™t a day that she didnâ€™t consider crawling home, tail between her legs, begging to be taken back. Sheâ€™d left six months earlier with Ãž ve thousand in cash, convinced that was enough money to support herself until a good job came along. She was going to prove everyone wrong about her, especially her father and Heather, one of her cadre of nannies. The only one who had mattered. Sheâ€™d walked out that door and slammed it, leaving her Mercedes roadster behind. She missed that damned car, too. Not that she could afford to even put gas in it.

Sure that her father would try to track her through her credit cards, sheâ€™d cut them up. What was she thinking? And to top it all off, she blew Ãž fteen hundred dollars on fake identiÃž cation papers.

New social security number, the works. Sheâ€™d been astounded at how easy it was to get them and how authentic they looked. She had

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deÃž nitely watched too much television and read too many blogs.

Ironically, that was the only thing they had prepared her for. She hadnâ€™t been ready for being treated as though she were invisible, being groped by horrible-smelling supervisors who thought they had that right, or being Ãž red from some shit job just for defending herself. She hadnâ€™t expected to care about the legions of others who shared her situation.

No matter, that was all behind her now and here she was, at the ripe old age of eighteen, getting ready to spend her third night on the streets as a homeless person. She indulged in another wistful thought about her soft bed at home in Atherton, her favorite foods that their cook would make, and a hot bath. She lingered on the hot bath fantasy for several minutes. The large spa tub would be Ãž lled with wonderfully hot water and bubbles that carried a subtle scent of wood resins; amber and sandalwood were her favorites.

Heather would indulge Emberâ€™s love of candles and light several, but in her mind they became hundreds, and for once, Heather would stay and talk to her while she felt the water sluice around her, the jets drumming on her body until she was completely relaxed. And she would be completely, completely, safe from harm.

A ÃŸ ock of pigeons noisily took ÃŸ ight as a kid charged them, pulling Ember from her reverie. Checking a clock on one of the buildings surrounding the square, she saw there were still a few more hours until Glide Church put out the food for the homeless at Ãž ve oâ€™clock. One meal a day was all she really needed. She tried to keep to the bare minimum, knowing there were families that needed more for their children and some folks who really couldnâ€™t fend for themselves. Her friends from Atherton would have approved of the weight sheâ€™d lost, the prominence of her ribs. They wouldnâ€™t have approved of the way she got there.

Sheâ€™d spent a precious dollar on a paper, to look for a job and then use for warmth and camouÃŸ age later. Sheâ€™d paid close attention to how street living was done and so far, so good. A young woman on the streets was a target, and not just for other homeless people.

Ember had used her wits to avoid most of the pitfalls, but spending entire nights on her own was dangerous and exhausting. She felt

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ashamed when she thought about the genuinely poor people sharing the lonely streets with her. If they had her options, they wouldnâ€™t be here. The trouble was, she just couldnâ€™t face going home in disgrace. She kept thinking if she could just get another chance at a job, everything would change. She owed it to Heather to learn about the real world.

Sheâ€™d had a few jobs but lost them because she was clueless.

She didnâ€™t know how to be a maid, or wait a table, how to even bus a table. Of course her snotty attitude didnâ€™t go over really big with the dirtbags who hired her for minimum wage and constantly tried to cop a feel. What little sheâ€™d earned, she spent, along with the rest of her money, mostly on food and a room. She was ÃŸ ush with cash when she Ãž rst arrived, so sheâ€™d thought nothing of buying extrasâ€”a magazine, a movie, popcorn. The freedom was amazing. No curfew.

No nanny. No one to keep an eye on her. That lasted about two weeks before it dawned on her that the money would soon run out and minimum wage wouldnâ€™t replace it. She would have to go home and tell Daddy he was right, she was too spoiled and naÃ¯ve to make it on her own. And sheâ€™d be damned if sheâ€™d do that.

The rooms got consistently cheaper and shabbier, and the jobs paid even less until here she was, on the streets. Sheâ€™d even tried a few shelters, but those could be worse than the streets and the better ones were full of mothers and children. She couldnâ€™t convince herself to take a place they needed.

A commotion off to her right served to tear Ember away from her morose thoughts. A kid sheâ€™d met, really her only friend in her new world, Joey G, had just snatched an old ladyâ€™s purse and was tearing across the square on a direct path past her bench. He was a nice enough guy, but a heroin addict and probably desperate for a Ãž x. She didnâ€™t need any enemies right now. But, damn, an old lady.

She stuck her boot out as he ran by and sent him ÃŸ ying.

Once he was down, she stuck her knee into his spine and grabbed the purse.

â€œHey, thatâ€™s mine. E? What are you doing?â€ He twisted around to glare at her. â€œGet your own.â€

â€œJoey, not an old lady.â€ Thinking quickly, Ember said, â€œBesides,

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sheâ€™s local, she could identify you. Find a tourist. Better protection for you.â€ She helped him up and, careful to keep the purse away from his grasp, dusted him off.

He gave her a wary look. â€œYou taking it?â€

â€œNo. Iâ€™m giving it back. I promise.â€ Strange to be bargaining with an addict about stolen property, but he looked pretty strung out.

â€œWhy donâ€™t you go to the free clinic, Joey? They can help. Maybe get you cleaned up.â€

â€œI only need Ãž fty, E, lemme just take Ãž fty. Please?â€

He grabbed again for the purse and she held him off. She doubted there was even ten in the damned thing. He was going to take a swing at her any minute and then theyâ€™d both have a problem.

Digging in a pocket of her pants, she pulled out her last twenty and shoved it at him.

He stared at it a moment, then gave her a grin that surprised her with the straight, even teeth. â€œThanks, Iâ€™ll pay you back.â€ Spying something behind her, he bolted like a rabbit.

Ember didnâ€™t even have time to spot the old lady before a pair of huge hands clamped down on her shoulders and spun her around.

â€œYouâ€™re under arrest,â€ said one of the police ofÃž cers sheâ€™d spent the past few days avoiding.

One minute later she was handcuffed and marched over to where the elderly woman was standing, using a walker for support.

She looked angry, and Ember had a sinking feeling her good deed was going to be punished severely.

â€œWe got her, lady. Hereâ€™s your purse.â€ The cop was big and beefy, and his grip was like a vise.

The woman stared hard at him for a moment. â€œIt was a man who took my purse, ofÃž cer. This young woman got it back for me.

You must release her and apologize.â€

Pondering for a moment, the cop took a long look at Ember and then the old woman. â€œYou sure? These street kids look alike and sometimes they work in pairs or in gangs.â€

â€œShe did me a kindness, sir, and you would be doing a kindness to remove the shackles from her hands.â€ Her voice was rich and cultured, strong with authority and some kind of accent.

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The cop fumbled the key into the cuffs and popped the locks, setting Ember free. He gave the woman her purse, then seemed to lose interest in them.

Rubbing her wrists, Ember muttered her thanks and started to leave, wondering what in hell she was going to do now. Well, she needed to retrieve her paper, that was for sure. She glanced across the square. So far no one had taken it.

The womanâ€™s voice drew her attention. â€œI must thank you properly. I will reward you.â€

She seemed to wobble a bit and Ember placed a hand under her elbow to steady her. â€œNo need. That kidâ€™s just a junkie, he didnâ€™t mean to hurt you. Let me help you to the bench.â€

The woman accepted the assistance, then indicated Ember should sit, too. â€œMy name is Irina Castic.â€ She offered her hand.

â€œWhat is yours? Iâ€™ve seen you around here before, recently.â€ Her eyes were bright blue with no trace of age or inÃž rmity, just sharp intelligence.

Ember politely took her hand, surprised anyone would have noticed her in her current condition. A lifetime ago, when she was a spoiled rich kid, lots of people noticed her. It was strange to realize they never really saw her at all. She was only visible while she had money. Before she could edit herself, she blurted out her real name.

â€œEmber Lanier. Pleased to meet you Mrs. Castic.â€

The woman smiled warmly. â€œEmber. An unusual name. Didnâ€™t you run the sausage stand in front of Macyâ€™s a few weeks ago? I think you tried to give me a hot dog one day.â€

Laughing, Ember admitted, â€œThat was me. Iâ€™m afraid I gave more away than I sold and I ended up being Ãž red. But there were a lot of folks that, you know, didnâ€™t have the money.â€

Too late, Ember realized sheâ€™d just shown she thought the old lady was penniless. Mrs. Castic didnâ€™t miss her blunder.

â€œAnd you thought I might need a sausage, too, didnâ€™t you?â€

She placed her hand gently on Emberâ€™s arm.

Startled, Ember consciously worked to not pull away, it had been so long since she had been touched in a friendly way. She could feel the heat in her face as she tried to think of an excuse.

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â€œWell, it looked good and I appreciated your offer. I just wasnâ€™t hungry then.â€

They sat for a moment, enjoying the sparkling clear day of which San Francisco had so many. The ever-present coastal fog kept the air and buildings washed clean in this lovely city. That same fog made it cold at night and hid a lot of dangers around corners and down alleys. Ember involuntarily shivered.

Mrs. Castic asked, â€œWhere do you live, Ember?â€

Not able to suppress a sigh, Ember replied, â€œHere and there.â€

She looked across the square once more. Her paper had vanished. It was crazy to be upset about losing a stupid newspaper, but she could feel tears prickling and she didnâ€™t want to cry in front of Mrs. Castic.

Pretending to know what time it was, she said, â€œWell, I have to go.

Glide Kitchen will open soon.â€

Clear blue eyes met hers. â€œDo you take all of your meals there, child?â€

Suddenly defensive, Ember snapped, â€œI donâ€™t take any meals there.â€ Immediately contrite, she added, â€œI mean, I earn them. I serve and bus tables and feed kids if the moms have babies. I help wash dishes. I even tutor some of the homeless who are in school.

So Iâ€™m not a beggar. I help.â€

Embarrassed over raising her voice to this nice woman, she felt her face heat again. She lowered her head and studied her no-longer-manicured nails. The woman was silent for a moment, then opened her purse and took out a piece of paper and a pencil. She scribbled something and handed the note to Ember.

â€œWhatâ€™s this?â€ Suspicion must have been evident in her voice because Mrs. Castic smiled reassuringly.

â€œNot a message from God, I assure you. Itâ€™s my address. I live only a few blocks from here and I have a perfectly good couch you could sleep on tonight and a small but adequate shower you could use. Itâ€™s all I can offer, but please let me repay you for your kindness.â€

â€œYou donâ€™t have toâ€¦â€ But Ember knew she sounded halfhearted. She almost hugged the woman.

Holding up a hand, Mrs. Castic said, â€œYou just be there. Only

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for tonight, and then we talk. Now, would you be so kind as to help me up and walk me home so you know where you are going?â€

â€œSure, I guess Iâ€™ve got the time before I report to the kitchen.â€

Ember suspected they both knew her â€œjobâ€ was as a volunteer, in exchange for a meal, but it made her feel good to assure the woman that she earned her keep.

v

Laurel Hoffman graded another test paper and neatly placed it on the stack. She stretched, glad to be in her sweats relaxing in her home ofÃž ce. She reached for the last paper, thankful that she would Ãž nish before eight oâ€™clock. Her partner, Rochelle, always grumbled that she should pay less attention to the papers and more attention to her, especially after working hours. Spoken like a woman whose teaching days were mostly behind her.

Rochelle Jacobs was chair of the department of womenâ€™s studies and was tenured. Theyâ€™d met when Laurel was a graduate student. Rochelle had swept her off her feet, insisting they move in together after only a month. Flattered to be pursued by the older, tall and handsome professor with the commanding style, Laurel had soaked up the attention like a sponge.

She was the middle child in her family and had never quite broken out of the quiet, unassuming role that had served her when growing up. Her older brother did whatever he pleased, and her younger sister placed all kinds of emotional demands on their parents. Laurel had learned to go her own way unobtrusively. Her parents had always seemed glad to have one child who left them alone and didnâ€™t cause a problem.

Laurel suspected she was a secret disappointment to them, not because she was gay, although theyâ€™d refused to believe that until she introduced them to Rochelle, but because she was content to teach in a university. She had a feeling they wanted her to make a name for herself by writing a bestseller or being a movie star, like her younger sister Kate.

Three years after moving into Rochelleâ€™s bungalow, Laurel

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was an assistant professor working toward tenure and teaching nonstop. She always got rave reviews from the students, so the other associates were more than happy to dump the least favorite courses on her. Those were the undergraduate courses with large numbers of students and the most work. Laurel didnâ€™t mind except at the end of the quarter, when papers and exams were due. But Rochelle clearly resented the time she spent with her students.

A booming voice close to her ear startled her from her thoughts.

â€œArenâ€™t you through yet? Some of the faculty are meeting at Le Jeune and I said weâ€™d be there. You can Ãž nish later. I want one of their martinis. Itâ€™s been a long day.â€

Laurel didnâ€™t reply instantly. Sheâ€™d learned to count to ten before saying what was on her mind. She knew Rochelle had already started relieving the pressure of her â€œlong dayâ€ because sheâ€™d offered Laurel a martini she didnâ€™t want about a half hour before. That was Rochelleâ€™s rather tiring drinking strategyâ€”complaining about her long and difÃž cult days chairing meetings and ÃŸ irting with graduate students. If Laurel put her off any longer she would make another drink and then dinner would be forgotten. An argument was sure to follow and Laurel had learned long ago not to argue with Rochelle, drunk or sober. Her partner used cheap shots and a raised voice to make herself right, and the hurt went straight to Laurelâ€™s heart.

The sad truth was, she had stopped loving Rochelle but felt she was in a state of limbo, marking time in their relationship, somehow unable to do any more than get through each day. She tried to absent herself as much as possible, which only made Rochelle more resentful. They rarely made love, and actually, Laurel had started wondering if theyâ€™d ever made love. They had sex, and she couldnâ€™t even remember how long it had been since their last perfunctory bedroom encounter. Six months? Did she even miss it?

A part of her did, the part that yearned for intimacy beyond the physical. For true love, whatever that meant. With a sigh, she got to her feet. She didnâ€™t want to think about that forlorn inner self.

Rochelle was leaning against the door, looking her up and down with a frown. â€œTell me you arenâ€™t wearing that.â€

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Laurel glanced automatically at her deep navy blue sweatshirt and jeans. The combination ÃŸ attered her slender curves and her fair hair and pale skin. â€œI didnâ€™t realize Le Jeune was formal,â€ she said without expression. â€œI can change if you think itâ€™s necessary.â€ In Berkeley, wearing something other than cutoffs and ÃŸ ip-ÃŸ ops was considered formal.

â€œYou could at least think about how your appearance reÃŸ ects on me.â€

Laurel was surprised Rochelle had even noticed her appearance.

She could walk around naked and she doubted she would get a reaction. But of course, she was supposed to look good when they were with colleagues. She could still recall a faculty party soon after they got together, an evening full of cocktails and one-upmanship.

Rochelle had bragged about nailing the prettiest girl in the class, meaning Laurel. At least the other faculty members had the good grace to look embarrassed that sheâ€™d overheard the boast. Later, Rochelle couldnâ€™t Ãž gure out why Laurel was sleeping in the other bedroom, but she was too drunk to care.

The next day she told Laurel that she should feel complimented.

Rochelle pointed out that she could have her pick of anyone but sheâ€™d chosen Laurel. She also warned that she didnâ€™t like Laurelâ€™s attitude and she could still have her choice if Laurel didnâ€™t appreciate all the favors and opportunities Rochelle provided her.

Her words wounded, and Laurel had chosen to shut up. That day, and many similar occasions over the past several years, had closed a door in her heart, one she would make sure did not open again for a very long time, if ever. She might not know what to do next, but she knew she needed to Ãž gure something out. Whatever she planned, love was not in the equation.

Sighing, Laurel resolved to get up early tomorrow to Ãž nish her work. Rochelle usually slept late anyway, and now was not the time to protest.

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CHAPTER THREE

Jock Reynolds paced in the outer ofÃž ce of SDS Enterprises, pissed that she had to take time from the job only to be kept waiting for Ãž fteen minutes. Sheâ€™d been up until two a.m. yesterday preparing the damned bid and dropped it off before she went to work. Denny said they needed a rush job, so why keep her waiting?

She was about to get on her cell phone and complain when the door opened and a beautiful dark-skinned woman smiled at her, making her anger dissolve.

â€œYou must be Jocelyn. I apologize for keeping you. My daughters are waiting for you.â€

Two things: Jock would normally throttle anyone who used her given name. And she would deÃž nitely snigger at the comment that â€œtwo daughters were waitingâ€ for her. She didnâ€™t do either.

She meekly followed the woman, mesmerized by her presence and convinced theyâ€™d met before.

As soon as the door closed and she could tear her eyes away, she knew why the woman seemed familiar. Denny Phelps was standing three feet from her, a taller, lighter version of her mother.

She was grinning.

â€œYou never stop looking, do you, Jock. Thatâ€™s my mama. You keep your eyes to yourself, girl.â€

Jock knew she was probably blushing and was grateful the others were laughing. With one exception. A humorless woman with long chestnut hair and gorgeous brown eyes was staring daggers

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at her, which could only mean theyâ€™d met before. Maybe a former date?

â€œI apologize. I just thought you were so attractive and looked familiar. Now I know why.â€ She turned to Denny. â€œHow are you?

Havenâ€™t seen you in years.â€ She shook Dennyâ€™s hand and they hugged brieÃŸ y, then she offered her hand to Dennyâ€™s mother. â€œNice to meet you, Mrs. Phelps.â€

â€œMy name is Sika, and Iâ€™m happy to meet you, Jocelyn. We never met when you and Denny played basketball together, but I saw you play very well at the games I could attend.â€

â€œJust call me Jock, please. Denny always talked about her mama, but I had no idea how lovely you wereâ€¦are.â€

A snort from the woman who had been glaring at her made all of them turn.

Jock had never been one for diplomacy. â€œHave we met? You look like you want to shoot me.â€

Bristling, the woman retorted, â€œCan we just get down to business? This useless chitchat is costing us time and money. We got your bid for the renovation work. Weâ€™ve called your references.

Why are you cheaper than the others? We will check constantly that you are paying your subcontractors and using the materials we want.

You cannot cut corners.â€

Her pretty face seemed set in stone. And it, too, was a face sheâ€™d seen before. But where? Jock mentally shrugged, hoping that if she got the job she wouldnâ€™t have to work with this woman very much. Maybe Denny could handle liaison.

â€œMy bid is a fair one. I havenâ€™t padded the crap out of it, thatâ€™s all,â€ Jock said without annoyance. She was used to having to explain that she preferred not to rip off her clients. â€œI have an all-woman crew and we donâ€™t stand around and smoke and try to supervise each other. We earn our money by the project, not the hour. And if youâ€™ll read the entire bid, if we Ãž nish early we get a bonus, prorated for how far ahead of deadline we Ãž nish. The bonus is where most of the proÃž t is.â€

Jock watched as the woman seemed to reread the last two paragraphs of the bid in front of her on her desk. She was kind of

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cute in her large white shirt covering what Jock suspected was a nice chest. And Jock was pretty sure her lips would be full and sensual if she ever unpursed them. She had a sprinkle of freckles over her cheeks and nose. A very attractive package, all told. She ran a slender Ãž nger over the document and demanded, â€œDeÃž ne â€˜Ãž nished.â€™â€

Lusty musings dissolved and Jock sighed in frustration.

â€œFinished, as in passing the building inspection. SatisÃž ed?â€ She was getting sick of the attitude. â€œLook, if you donâ€™t want to do this, just let me go back to work.â€ Enough of this bullshit.

The woman stood, revealing a smashing Ãž gure, jeans hugging wonderful curves, and full breasts under her loose-Ãž tting shirt.

â€œWhen can you start? We need it right away, yesterday.â€

She was a lot shorter than Denny or her mother, or Jock, who came in at 6â€™2â€. Shorter. â€œStumpy? Is that you? Stef the Stump. You look great.â€ The words were out before she could stop them. Seeing those drown-in-them eyes narrow dangerously told Jock that not only was she correct, sheâ€™d just discovered why the woman was so hostile. Uh-oh. â€œI mean, Stefanie, I didnâ€™t recognize you. You lookâ€¦different.â€

Digging a hole, that was her specialty. The more attractive the woman, the deeper the hole. Why not bury herself completely? She was thankful when Denny interrupted.

â€œOkay, thatâ€™s decided. When can you start, Jock? We can have the contract ready in a day. We really need to get going because our other contractorâ€¦didnâ€™t work out.â€

Jock shook her head and said, â€œYeah, I heard. I didnâ€™t know it was you, though. We just hear according to address, ya know?â€ She thought better of telling them that Kevin was a known screwup. It just didnâ€™t seem like the time.

Stefanieâ€™s voice cut like a knife. â€œWhen. Can. You. Start?â€

â€œI can come by tomorrow and sign the contract. Iâ€™ll do an inventory of what you have and what you need and we can start next week if we have enough to work with. Will that work?â€

Stefanie seemed to relax her hostile glare a bit. â€œYes. Come tomorrow at four oâ€™clock and the contract will be ready. See you then.â€

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Dismissed, Jock had the urge to turn down the job because Stumpy was being such a bitch. But it was good work and the building had a lot of potential. Her crew would Ãž nish the other job soon and they could take a long weekend. She needed to keep them busy because they were all good at what they did and other contractors would hire them away from her in a minute.

â€œSee you tomorrow. Nice to meet you, Sika, and good to see you, Denny. You too, Stumâ€¦Stefanie.â€

She had to get out of there before she really said something bad. As she closed the door behind her and thought about it, she had to chuckle.

Women.

v

Laurel placed a hot cup of tea on her desk, far enough away from her keyboard to prevent a disaster if she got clumsy. She had a break and had decided to come home so she could enter grades into her database before going back to the last class of the day. The doorbell ringing insistently was an unwelcome distraction.

â€œIf this is a delivery person or a student, Iâ€™m really going to let them have it,â€ she muttered as she stalked to the door and ÃŸ ung it open. There, in all of her tall, buxom, and fabulous beauty, was Kate, her younger and famous sister.

â€œLaurel. Iâ€™m devastated.â€ Kate fell into her arms without preamble and started sobbing loudly but, Laurel suspected, never enough to smudge her perfectly applied makeup.

Hugging her warmly, Laurel said, â€œIâ€™m Ãž ne, thanks. How are you?â€

She was accustomed to Kateâ€™s self-absorbed greetings. Sheâ€™d learned long ago that, for her sister, it really was â€œall about me.â€

Kate was the beauty in the family, from the moment she was born.

They had the same unusual green eyes and thick blond hair, but Kate was very outgoing, athletic in every way, and loaded with talent.

People told Laurel she was attractive, but she knew she couldnâ€™t

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compete. Where she was of average height and had a slight buildâ€”

some called her fragileâ€”Kate was taller and robustly healthy with a lot of sexy thrown in, and she had bigger breasts. Much bigger breasts. Perhaps growing up being the center of attention had something to do with her self-absorption; Laurel wouldnâ€™t know.

But she loved her sister, and when the chips were down, Kate usually came through.

â€œThat bastard Luis was fucking around on me,â€ Kate continued.

â€œMe! Can you imagine?â€

Leading her to the worn leather sofa in the small living room, Laurel sat her down and settled beside her. â€œKate, honey, itâ€™s only hard to imagine that he beat you to it. Iâ€™ll bet that stung.â€

SnifÃž ng, Kate shot her a sharp-eyed look and then relaxed her shoulders. After a few seconds, she chuckled. â€œYes, well, I do always like to be the Ãž rst to break up. The tabloids are going to say I was dumped.â€ Her face scrunched up as she prepared to open the spigots again.

Hastily Laurel said, â€œNo, not at all. Youâ€™ll be seen with another gorgeous hunk before Luis has time to announce it. Get one of your closeted gay boys to club crawl with you tonight. It worked all the other times. Youâ€™re more photogenic anyway. Add a bit of cleavage, and voilÃ . Youâ€™ll scoop him.â€ Laurel had been down this road before.

The back door slammed and Rochelle yelled, â€œLaurel? Thereâ€™s a cab out front. Whoâ€™sâ€¦Kate!â€

Rochelleâ€™s face transformed from irritation to delight within two seconds. She rushed over to Kate and hauled her to her feet, giving her a hug by smashing herself against the entire length of Kateâ€™s body and snuggling her too tightly, for too long.

Laurelâ€™s face grew warm with embarrassment as Kate Ãž nally pushed Rochelle none too gently away. Rochelle had always had the hots for Kate, but her ÃŸ irting was getting out of hand.

Kate gave her a tepid greeting. â€œHi, Rochelle. Laurel and I were just catching up.â€

â€œWhy didnâ€™t you tell me your sis was going to visit? I might

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have missed her.â€ Rochelle tore her eyes away from Kate long enough to glance accusingly at Laurel.

â€œBecause she didnâ€™t know I was coming,â€ Kate said before Laurel could speak. â€œI just ÃŸ ew up for a short visit and advice from my big sister.â€

â€œIâ€™ve been so busy we havenâ€™t had a chance for our usual sister chats.â€ Laurel tried to smother the defensive note in her voice. She could tell from Kateâ€™s tone that she was trying to get Rochelle to leave them alone.

Rochelle was oblivious to the hint. â€œHow long can you stay?

Why donâ€™t we all go out to lunch?â€

â€œDonâ€™t you have a class to teach?â€ Kate asked politely.

Kate had a ton of lesbian and gay friends, and had never said a bad word about Rochelle, but Laurel knew she didnâ€™t like her.

Although Kate ÃŸ irted with just about everyone, she had always seemed uncomfortable with Rochelle. Perhaps because Rochelle didnâ€™t respect the boundaries most â€œin-lawsâ€ found appropriate.

Rochelle shrugged off her work commitments, insisting, â€œI know some of my colleagues would relish the opportunity to say hello. Theyâ€™re such fans of your work. I could have them meet us at Chez Panisse.â€ She moved to put her arm around Kateâ€™s shoulders, but Kate expertly avoided the touch.

â€œNo can do, Rochelle. Thereâ€™s a reason the cabbie is waiting, besides the promise of an autograph. My ÃŸ ight leaves in an hour.

Some other time.â€

Undaunted, Rochelle said, â€œIâ€™ll tell him to go and Iâ€™ll run you out to the airport myself. We can catch up that way. Iâ€™m sure Laurel has to get back to school anyway. Right, Laurel?â€

With a knot growing in size in her gut, Laurel quietly said,

â€œRochelle, Kate came to visit me for a bit so we could talk. Just sister stuff. Is that okay?â€ She hated the â€œasking permissionâ€ tone in her voice, hated her sister to witness it. But she loathed Rochelleâ€™s temper even more. She sought the middle ground, knowing it rarely worked to be confrontational with her partner.

Rochelle whirled on her, but then seemed to catch herself in front of Kate. â€œOh, sure. No problem. I have an important meeting

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anyway. Well, next time, Kate.â€ She smiled thinly and disappeared down the hall.

Exhaling, Kate said, â€œRochelle is rather intense, isnâ€™t she? I get that kind of insistence with guys all the time.â€ Sitting, she took Laurelâ€™s hands in hers and asked, â€œIs everything all right? I mean with the two of you?â€

Laurel stared at their hands. â€œOh, sure. Rochelle is just starstruck. Like you said, you get that all the time.â€

Kate was quiet for a moment, staring out at the hallway Rochelle had taken. Then, uncharacteristically, she dropped the subject, much to Laurelâ€™s relief.

Laurel tried to lighten the mood. â€œSo, are you making calls to reserve your gorgeous men?â€

Kate Ãž nally met her eyes. With a warm smile, she said, â€œI guess so. Iâ€™ll Ãž x the little bastard. Iâ€™d better go.â€ They stood and she slid her arm around Laurelâ€™s waist as they walked to the front door. â€œIf you ever need anythingâ€¦maybe even a place to get away for a few days, you know youâ€™re always welcome, sis.â€

Struggling to talk around the sudden lump in her throat, Laurel managed, â€œI have a really packed schedule up here. Besides, getting away to your place is like escaping to the circus. A little more stimulation than Iâ€™m used to.â€

Laughter lit Kateâ€™s face and her eyes deepened to an even richer shade of emerald. â€œOh, come on. It would do you good to have some fun for a change.â€

The comment was tactless, but Laurel couldnâ€™t deny the truth that lay behind her sisterâ€™s assumptions. She couldnâ€™t remember the last time sheâ€™d had a genuine belly laugh about anything. Pushing the depressing thought away, she opened the door and waved to the driver, who returned the wave enthusiastically, his eyes never leaving Kateâ€™s body.

â€œGo. And donâ€™t worry about me. Rochelle and I are Ãž ne.â€

Laurel wished she could sound more convincing, but Kate could see through her, so why bother?

A sense of gloom came over her as she watched Kate drive away, and she retreated slowly back in and closed the door. Maybe

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if she gathered her things quickly, she could get out of the house before Rochelle realized she was gone.

â€œHave fun with your sister?â€ Rochelleâ€™s voice was so close Laurel jumped. Why did Rochelle always have to sneak up on her?

â€œRochelle, you scared the crap out of me. And not really, if you must know. Kate just came up to complain about another boyfriend disaster. It didnâ€™t help to have you drooling all over her.â€ The words popped out before prudence could shut her up. The knot that seemed to be making a home in her stomach these days got bigger.

â€œWhat are you talking about? Sheâ€™s my sister-in-law. I was just being friendly. Why do you have to make everything such a big deal? You have no idea what youâ€™re talking about.â€ Rochelle stalked away, the subject closed.

Laurel had just started to breathe again when Rochelle halted, turned, and retraced her steps, eyes glittering with amger. Grabbing Laurelâ€™s arms, she squeezed so hard it brought tears to her eyes.

â€œDonâ€™t ever talk back to me in front of your sister again.â€

She shoved Laurel hard against the door, then left the room and slammed into her ofÃž ce. Laurel rubbed the circulation back into her arms, swiped her face to get rid of the tears, and ÃŸ ed the house for the safety of her classroom. Her life was certainly not what sheâ€™d dreamt of, that was for sure. Instead of a wonderful long-term relationship with the ideal woman, she had become the live-in maid of a tyrant. She might have taken comfort in a stellar career, but instead of heading steadily toward tenure, intellectual exploration, and recognition, she was held in limbo by the whims of her partner and boss.

Laurel loved teaching. She sat on committees as she was expected to and usually ended up being the recording secretary because no one else wanted to do the boring stuff and she didnâ€™t seem to be able to refuse. Those meetings were full of bombastic blathering, with little actual work getting done. She used to think the men were the problem, posturing for each other. But most of the time-wasting involved the full professors, male or female, liking the sounds of their own voices and arguing minutiae. It had taken a while for Laurel to realize Rochelle was no different from the

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others, and the handsome academic sheâ€™d fallen for was nothing more than a petty, grasping woman who spent all of her time making sure everything in her life reÃŸ ected her own illusion of herself. And Laurel was one of her mirrors.

Between teaching so much and the number of committees Laurel was on, she barely had time to publish one small journal article a year. And those werenâ€™t earth shattering, just the result of hard work and pulling together research. Rochelle almost patted her on the head, in a way that had become increasingly irritating.

v

Laurel returned her concentration to the students Ãž ling out of her last class for the day. One of them met her eyes and smiled, a pretty young woman she was allowing to audit without formally registering and therefore paying. Sheâ€™d done that before, reasoning that the desire to learn trumped the administrationâ€™s desire for more money. So, once or twice a quarter, she let a student sit in. No one ever complained. A good thing, too, because Rochelle would have a Ãž t if she knew.

The young woman reminded her of Kate, with a few big exceptions. She had the beauty but little awareness of that beauty, and she always tried to keep a low proÃž le. Sheâ€™d made a few friends but usually kept to herself. Today, however, sheâ€™d been excited about her new job, assisting a contractor renovate a building that would eventually become a womenâ€™s hotel. Most of the renovation crew was female and the project sounded very ambitious. From what Laurel overheard, the women in charge were dynamic and honest.

The job sounded like fun. Especially to Laurel.

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CHAPTER FOUR

Who is that?â€ Stef stared at the back of a gorgeous young woman clomping down the hall, covered in dust and lugging a bucket full of tools.

â€œI donâ€™t recall seeing her before,â€ Denny said. â€œI would have remembered.â€

Behind them, Jock announced, â€œThat, ladies, is Ember Jones.

The old woman downstairs asked me to give her a job. I thought you knew about her.â€

â€œKnew what?â€ Stef asked.

â€œFrom what I can tell, sheâ€™s living here now. Maybe sheâ€™s a grandchild. Anyway, I need a gofer and she works hard, doesnâ€™t complain, and is certainly easy on the eyes. Whatâ€™s not to like?â€

â€œYouâ€™re saying Mrs. Castic has a roommate?â€ Stef was astonished. â€œIâ€™ve never seen her with anyone. Thatâ€™s not allowed.â€

â€œMaybe sheâ€™s just visiting, helping out,â€ Denny said.

â€œThen Mrs. Castic should have informed me of the situation.â€

Denny shrugged. â€œSheâ€™s not doing any harm.â€

â€œWe have rules.â€ Stef realized she was wasting her time trying to explain her position, but she persevered. â€œMaking exceptions sets a bad precedent. What next? She invites all her friends to move in to the rooms around hers?â€

â€œMrs. C wouldnâ€™t do that. She isnâ€™t a drunk or a thief, either, and we gave our word that she could stay. We canâ€™t throw an old lady out on the streets just because she has a relative in her apartment.â€

Denny was looking at her with confusion.

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Jock folded her arms, a scowl on her face. â€œFrom what Ember says, she was on the streets when Mrs. C offered a place to her. A kid that looks like that wouldnâ€™t last long out there.â€

Whirling on her, Stef snapped, â€œI thought you said she could be a grandchild. Why did you lie?â€ She knew she sounded petty but that didnâ€™t stop her. â€œAnd she is just a child, so keep your distance.â€

Taking a step back, Jock retorted, â€œI guess I thought youâ€™d use any excuse to evict the old woman. Sheâ€™s a nice lady, bakes cookies that Ember brings for the crew. Itâ€™s kind of cheap that you make her live here during the remodel.â€

Stef snorted. Jock set her teeth on edge and always had. â€œListen, we offered to pay for a room for Mrs. Castic during the construction, but she refused. And I didnâ€™t say anything about evicting herâ€¦

Never mind. You have no idea who I am. Just leave the kid alone.â€

Jock colored. â€œWhat kind of a crack was that? Sheâ€™s eighteen, legal, and Iâ€™ll do whatever I want. Without your permission.â€

Knowing Jock was right, and resenting her for precisely that reason, Stef sought a deÃŸ ection. â€œI just donâ€™t want any more problems caused by another contractor.â€

â€œWhatever. Listen, Iâ€™m taking down that west wall in this unit, so thereâ€™s going to be a lot of racket today. You might want to stay on a different ÃŸ oor for a while. Wouldnâ€™t want you to get mussed up or anything.â€ She did nothing to hide the insolence in her voice.

â€œThatâ€™s why Iâ€™m here. I want to make sure you donâ€™t screw something up while you demolish the wall. There could be old pipes in there that tap into another area.â€

Stef could feel Denny glaring at her, irritated that she kept trying to goad Jock, but, dammit, she had a right. The hotel was her responsibility, her risk, and she still thought they were making a mistake hiring Jock Reynolds. In college Jock had been nothing but a basketball player and a ÃŸ irt, bedding any woman she could.

Stef had made a few attempts at being nice, only for Dennyâ€™s sake, but she was ignored. It was like she didnâ€™t exist because she didnâ€™t ÃŸ aunt her tits. Now sheâ€™d reluctantly placed her future in Jockâ€™s hands. But she wasnâ€™t going to stand back like a cheerleader. Jock

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had better damn well get used to being supervised. This was no game.

She watched Jockâ€™s shoulders straighten as she marched into the room that contained the wall they were arguing about. She picked up a sledgehammer leaning against a cart and kept moving.

Stef suddenly had a bad feeling and scurried after her. Once inside the door, Jock stopped and Stef narrowly avoided crashing into her.

â€œThat the wall youâ€™re worried about?â€ Jock asked.

Stef nodded. â€œI donâ€™t even know why itâ€™s there, itâ€™s not on the blueprints. It will open up the room considerably, and we couldâ€¦â€

Her words were lost as Jock strode up to the wall and let the sledgehammer ÃŸ y, placing a six-inch hole in the plaster and the old and rotting wood slats behind it.

â€œWhat do you think youâ€™re doing?â€ Stef yelled. â€œI said to be careful.â€

Jock struck again, widening the hole, then again, and again.

She was about to swing the sledgehammer once more when Denny yelled, â€œStop!â€

The room was quiet. The new kid, whoâ€™d returned and picked up a broom, stared slack-jawed as Stef and Jock squared off. Two other crewmembers poked their heads in the doorway.

â€œHow dare you.â€ Stefâ€™s hands were on her hips and she could feel the blood rushing to her face. She was going to Ãž re this woman.

â€œI gave you an order, and you ignored it. You work for me, Jock Reynolds, and I will not tolerate your disrespectful attitude.â€

â€œIf you think Iâ€™m going to let you tell me how to run a job, then you can take this hotel and shove it.â€ Jock loomed over Stef and wasnâ€™t about to back down.

Denny stepped between them and pushed them away from each other. â€œThatâ€™s enough. Both of you, take a breath. Weâ€™re going to have a meeting and Iâ€™m going to be the mediator, and the one who decides. Now.â€

A higher-pitched voice intruded enough to get their attention.

â€œMaybe youâ€™d better decide about this, too.â€

They all turned to the kid, who was staring into the hole Jock

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had just put in the wall. She aimed a ÃŸ ashlight she must have pulled from the bucket of tools.

Automatically, Stef asked, â€œWhat is it?â€

Ember never took her eyes from the hole. â€œLooks like a cofÃž n to me.â€

v

Jock muttered, â€œWell, Iâ€™ll be damned.â€

The air was stagnant and thick. Stef, Jock, and Denny peered, as a unit, into the hole. Ember obligingly held the ÃŸ ashlight. The beam played weakly over an oblong wooden box, among a few possible wardrobe trunks and very old Ãž ling cabinets. There was also a desk of sorts, covered with detritus.

Stef thought her heart had stopped. Both she and Denny turned and slid down the wall to land heavily on the ÃŸ oor, trying to absorb what they were faced with. â€œI canâ€™t believe it. Just when we were back on track. This canâ€™t be happening.â€ She felt tears threaten, and tried to will them away.

Denny placed a comforting arm over her shoulders. â€œHey, itâ€™s okay. We donâ€™t know for sure that itâ€™s a cofÃž n. We have to look.

Letâ€™s not borrow trouble.â€

â€œWhy are you upset?â€ Ember asked. â€œIsnâ€™t it exciting? I mean, what if itâ€™s a mystery? How cool is that?â€

Ah, youth. Suddenly Stef felt much older than her years.

Wearily, she said, â€œBecause if there is a body in there, construction stops. Everything stops while an investigation occurs. No jobs, no money, no extensions on our loan, nothing. For however long the powers-that-be take to decide what to do with it.â€

That piece of information seemed to deÃŸ ate the excitement the discovery had generated. No one wanted to be out of work.

Sighing, Stef got to her feet and pulled Denny up. â€œOkay, letâ€™s take a look. Jock? Why donâ€™t we Ãž nish what you started.â€

With that, Denny took the sledgehammer and Stef wielded a crowbar and they beat the crap out of the false wall, enough to work out some frustration and be able to crawl through to the space theyâ€™d

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uncovered. After about Ãž fteen minutes of swearing and sweating, they dropped the tools.

Stef said, â€œKid, would you give me the ÃŸ ashlight and see if you can Ãž nd a few more? Thanks.â€

Ember handed the torch to her and left the room. Five minutes later Stef, Denny, and Sika, who had arrived to see what the commotion was about, picked their way into the conÃž nes of the interior.

â€œStef, you should be the one to open the cofÃž n, I mean box.â€

Sika evidently couldnâ€™t edit her thoughts in time.

â€œSomeone hand me a crowbar.â€ Stef knew her voice sounded close to hysterical, but she was beyond caring.

As her Ãž st closed around the crowbar Denny passed her, she said a prayer that this really wasnâ€™t a sarcophagus and shoved the pry between the lid and body of the box. It only took two or three pumps to pop the lid, the rusty nails breaking easily. Dust rose and Ãž lled their nostrils, sending them all into coughing Ãž ts.

â€œLetâ€™s get this off of here,â€ Denny said.

They raised the lid, and Sika directed light into the box.

â€œClothes.â€ Her deep voice was almost a whisper.

Stef cautiously put a hand inside, preparing to run into skeletal remains as she pressed down on the faded burgundy-colored material. The sensation of age and secrecy ran through her, the material felt fragile but somehow thick and sturdy. An involuntary shudder played over her shoulders.

Behind her she heard Jock say, â€œAre you okay?â€ Her voice held none of its usual bravado; she sounded sincere.

Stef could only nod once, not feeling okay at all. She pressed gently down and ran into hard edges but nothing like a skeleton. She exhaled at last.

â€œI think itâ€™s just more books.â€ Her voice sounded weird to her, but it was the best she could do.

She heard Jock behind her yell, â€œGood news, no bodies,â€ and a small cheer went up from the crew, whoâ€™d gathered nearby in concern.

â€œAll right.â€ Stef was so relived she almost staggered as she

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sought to lean against the false wall. â€œLetâ€™s get this stuff out of here and get on with it.â€

â€œWait, Stef, what will we do with this discovery?â€ Sika asked.

â€œWe donâ€™t know anything about it. There could be some valuable items here. I think we should treat everything carefully and with respect.â€

Resisting the urge to stamp her feet and say what she was really thinking, that she wanted to shred the stuff for almost giving her a heart attack, Stef said, â€œOkay, Mamaka, weâ€™ll move all of this to the vacant apartment at the end of the hall on my ÃŸ oor. That way we can look through it later.â€ She made her way out of the airless space and addressed the young woman who evidently lived with Mrs. Castic.

â€œKid? Whatâ€™s your name?â€

â€œEmber.â€ She offered nothing else. Her tone hinted at deÃž ance, but her expression suggested nerves.

â€œAmber. Listen, take one or two others and get the stuffâ€”â€

â€œEmber.â€ The kid straightened to her full height, a lot taller than Stef, and set her jaw.

Attitude, great. â€œEmber. Would you please take this stuff, carefully, to the apartment at the end of the hall on Mrs. Casticâ€™s side? You know where that is, right?â€ Stef had just about had it for the day. The adrenaline surge from the discovery was wearing off.

â€œI thought you were gonna be next to Mrs. C.â€

â€œNo, the other side of Mrs. Castic, end of the hall. Iâ€™ll come down and unlock the door.â€ Stef loved working with mostly women, but it had its downside. All this being nice stuff. She was impressed, though, that word had already spread that she would be moving into the apartment next to Mrs. Casticâ€™s. She hadnâ€™t even started cleaning it out.

Denny and Jock were smiling at her when she turned back to say something.

â€œWhat?â€ Even Stef had a hard time keeping a grin off her face.

They knew exactly how polite she enjoyed being.

Jock gave her a break and ordered, â€œLetâ€™s clear the room and then take a half-hour lunch break. Move it, folks, showâ€™s over.â€

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Stef had never been so grateful to escape to her ofÃž ce. She felt like sheâ€™d narrowly avoided disaster.

v

Jock strode quickly down Powell toward Market. Sheâ€™d left work for the day and needed to get cleaned up, but Ãž nding a dark place for a beer sounded better. South of Market had more working-class bars where she would Ãž t right in. Hell, it was where she belonged anyway. Being around rich kids like Stefanie Beresford gave her a headache. Sheâ€™d gone through college on basketball scholarships. It was that or being stuck in Barstow, California, at her fatherâ€™s construction company.

â€œHey, Jock, wait up.â€ Denny came running toward her and halted six inches from her face. â€œWant some company?â€

Jock had to grin. Denny always made her smile, no matter what the situation. In college Denny had tutored her and helped her pass her classes so she could keep her scholarship. She was a true friend.

â€œAre you sure you want to be around me? Iâ€™m looking for a beer and Iâ€™m not particular where I Ãž nd it.â€ From the look on Dennyâ€™s beautiful face, Jock could tell her remark had come out rough and uninviting. Quickly, she said, â€œIâ€™m sorry, Den. Iâ€™d like some company, if you donâ€™t mind a foul mood like the one Iâ€™m in. I was just heading to that dive we used to hit when we were in town for a game. Are you sure you want to risk your health?â€

â€œLa Cucaracha? Oh, hell yes. As long as we drink from the beer bottle and avoid anything raw, we should live. I could use some nachos after today.â€

They silently fell in step, two very tall women who always got curious looks from the much shorter general population. They were heroines in college, and everyone knew them. After school, well, for Jock at least, she became just another construction worker, most often assumed to be a man, or she was considered an oddity.

When she started her own company, the best of the female

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tradeswomen were more than happy to come with her. Straight or gay, they liked to work with other women and get things done, minus the politics and the men who usually took or were given the credit for their hard work. The companyâ€™s reputation was impeccable.

The bar hadnâ€™t changed. Small, crowded, but relatively quiet at this time of day. Most of the patrons there were just off work and tired, like Jock and Denny. They managed to snag the last tiny table and eventually order beer and nachos.

After a few sips of beer, Denny asked, â€œSo, having fun?â€

That was all Jock needed. â€œThat damned Stump. She wonâ€™t cut me any slack and never misses an opportunity to complain or try to order me around. God, whatâ€™s her problem?â€

Denny sighed. â€œI know Stef has been a real pain to work with.

She feels personally responsible for the Kevin screwup, and her family is just waiting for her to fail. Thanks for not just stomping off the job.â€

â€œI understand where sheâ€™s coming from, Den, I really do.

But this seems personal. Jeez, we never dated, she should feel grateful. You were right to declare her off-limits when you two were roommates.â€

â€œI just didnâ€™t want to listen to another brokenhearted woman carrying on about how the star center on the team dumped her after only a few dates.â€ Laughing, she added, â€œIt could be a whole lot worse for us now if you had dated her, believe me. So yeah, I guess I was right.â€

Jock studied her. â€œSheâ€™s your best friend, so she must have some redeeming qualities. And sheâ€™s hot. I would have gone out with her in a second. You saw something about me that made you warn me off. Smart woman.â€

Denny cocked her head and Jock ÃŸ inched inside, hoping she hadnâ€™t revealed too much. â€œJock, what do you mean by that? I didnâ€™t put Stef off-limits because you were a bad person. Justâ€¦a rolling stone. You were having a great time and werenâ€™t ready to be all â€˜letâ€™s get seriousâ€™ with anyone. We were kids.â€

Staring at her beer, Jock said, â€œYeah, kids.â€

The waitress appeared and they ordered more beer and a

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huge plate of appetizers they could share for dinner. Just like old times.

After a few more minutes of small talk, Denny said, â€œSo, did you date yourself into oblivion? Because according to your crew you donâ€™t go out much these days, or at least you donâ€™t brag about it. That doesnâ€™t sound like the Jock I know.â€ She placed her hand gently on Jockâ€™s forearm.

Meeting her eyes, Jock found only warm acceptance there.

Sheâ€™d never been able to lie to Denny. She was perhaps the one woman in the world Jock wouldnâ€™t try to manipulate. â€œIâ€™ll bet youâ€™re like your mom, arenâ€™t you? She gets the absolute truth out of anyone she talks to.â€

â€œI hope so. Sheâ€™s my hero. Now, are you going to answer my question?â€

Sighing, Jock gave in. Maybe telling someone would help her deal with the guilt. The risk was that Denny would be so disappointed she would stop being her friend. After two beers and the day sheâ€™d had, that would be one blow too many. The words came out anyway.

â€œDo you remember Melanie Rippitoe?â€

Denny looked across the room, probably trying to pull out a face for the name. It didnâ€™t take long. Eyes widening, she said, â€œDo you mean that girl from the tiny town in Arkansas? The preacherâ€™s daughter. Okay ball player but always telling us about our sinful ways? Sure, I remember her. Donâ€™t tell me you bedded her.â€

Jock nodded, staring at her beer.

â€œMy God. Iâ€™ll bet that went over well with her daddy. When we were in school?â€

â€œSummer after graduation. We were both on campus for classes.

After our senior season I blew off an econ class and had to repeat it.

She was doing something similar. We ran into each other.â€

â€œSo you took her out?â€

â€œIt gets worse, Den. You know how I was thenâ€”fuck â€™em and forget â€™em. She kind of let me know she liked me and I turned on the charm. I thought what a cool thing if I could score with a preacherâ€™s daughter. I didnâ€™t give one thought to the ramiÃž cations of that, not one.â€

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Denny only nodded, but it was enough.

â€œWe went out, I was my usual charming self, and we ended up fucking our brains out for a few weeks, probably longer. She was insatiable. I thought it was great, even though afterward she usually was quiet before coming for me again. Usually with tears in her eyes. Everyoneâ€™s different, so I just went with it. To tell the truth, I didnâ€™t care, I was getting laid constantly.â€

Their platter of food came, and a third round of beer. After a few moments to eat, Denny said, â€œWell, she was a consenting adult and you brought her out.â€

â€œOne night, we didnâ€™t do much talking. Weâ€™d been going at it for hours and she told me that she was going to apply to a Bible school for graduate work and sheâ€™d probably be moving to Oklahoma. I said I thought that was cool for her. She got all happy and started going on about how I could probably Ãž nd a job in Tulsa and although weâ€™d have to be in the closet, we could still be together. Eventually sheâ€™d have to tell her family, but not at Ãž rst. She had it all planned.â€

â€œSo you would be her secret stud mufÃž n?â€

â€œI hadnâ€™t thought of it that way. But yeah, I guess thatâ€™s just what Iâ€™d be.â€

Denny put her beer down and leaned closer. â€œWhat happened?â€

â€œI told her that I was sorry if she misunderstood, but I had no intention of moving to Oklahoma to be in a closeted relationship with anyone. I was out and not about to apologize for that. So she could make whatever plans she wanted, but count me out.â€

â€œDid she accept that?â€

Staring, without interest, at the plate of food, Jock said, â€œShe started ranting about how could I expect her to stay with me but still be a good Christian? She had to go back home, and her solution was the only way we could be together. Iâ€¦wasnâ€™t very gracious.â€

â€œGo on.â€ Denny waited patiently, just like always.

â€œI said that we had never mentioned the L-word and I didnâ€™t need her to stay with me. I was happy to share what we did and she was dynamite between the sheets, but that was it. When school was

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over, so were we.â€ Jock could barely get the last part out, trying not to feel the cruelty of her words.

After a few seconds, Denny said, â€œWhat happened next?â€

Jock felt her eyes slam shut but forced the words out. â€œShe got dressed, walked out to her car, and left. The next day it was all over the campus that she had driven her car off of a bridge and was dead. Terrible accident. But I knew better, I knew sheâ€™d committed suicide. Because of me.â€

The noise in the tiny bar was raucous but Jock heard nothing.

The truth was out, and as horrible as it was, she was relieved to Ãž nally tell someone.

Dennyâ€™s sweet deep voice intruded on her. â€œI agree she may have killed herself, Jock. But if thatâ€™s true, you werenâ€™t the only reason.â€

For the Ãž rst time since the confession began, Jock was sure she revealed her shock. â€œWhat are you talking about? I could have agreed with her, tried to take some time to make her see it wasnâ€™t right. I could have realized she might do something like that. I was such a self-centered ass. If only Iâ€™dâ€”â€

â€œYou were a kid, Jock. Was this the Ãž rst time youâ€™d heard of her plans about moving?â€

â€œYes. All we did was fuck. I even offered to take her out on a real date, but she only wanted to get in bed. I was Ãž ne with that. As I look back on it, she was probably afraid someone might realize she was screwing a woman.â€

â€œHoney, Melanieâ€™s problems started a long time before you came along. She was a lesbian growing up the daughter of a Baptist preacher in a small Arkansas town. Sheâ€™d probably liked girls for a long time and resisted it. She watched you bed every woman in town and maybe fantasized about it. Then, there you were, ready to make her erotic dreams come true, and she couldnâ€™t help herself.â€

â€œI should have known how sheâ€™d react.â€

â€œBullshit. How could anyone anticipate that?â€

â€œBecause when I told her I wasnâ€™t going with her, she got weird.

Her eyes sort of went ÃŸ at and she got a little smile. She never said

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another word, just got her clothes on and left. I was relieved, to tell the truth.â€

â€œSounds to me like youâ€™re assuming far too much. Even if she did take her own life, no one does that over one rejection. Your decision could have been the Ãž nal straw for her, but thatâ€™s just a possibility. And even if itâ€™s the truth, I repeat, you had no way to know. You werenâ€™t responsible for her messed-up thinking or the way she was raised.â€

Sighing, Jock said, â€œWell, I havenâ€™t really dated since it happened. Except for the occasional hook-up with an anonymous woman, thatâ€™s it. I think I did enough damage, donâ€™t you?â€

Denny stacked some of the plates to make room on the minuscule table and leaned on her elbows. â€œI think the real question is, how long are you going to let this dictate how you live your life?â€

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CHAPTER FIVE

Stef was busy juggling which bills she could pay when her direct line rang. She smiled when she saw her younger brother Jasonâ€™s cell number. â€œHey, bro, whatâ€™s up?â€

â€œI hear your contractor screwed you over.â€ Jason must have been in his BMW roadster because the trafÃž c noise made him hard to understand.

â€œMy, my. News travels fast. Where and when did you hear about it?â€ Stef tried to keep her voice light. She didnâ€™t want Jason to know how serious the situation was. He had a hard time keeping his mouth shut around George and their father.

Snorting, Jason said, â€œWhere do you think? Contracting is a small community. Iâ€™m sure someone told George, and he couldnâ€™t wait to tell Dad. Iâ€™m sorry, sis, but that bastard cokehead had a reputation. If youâ€™d asked, I could have found out for you. Hey, got time to grab a bite?â€

â€œYouâ€™re in San Francisco?â€

â€œYou bet. Meet you at Sears in Ãž fteen?â€

â€œDeal. Get a place in line. I might be Ãž ve minutes late.â€

Sears was a tiny diner that had one of the best breakfasts in town and had been in business since the late 1930s. Although recently sold, the place had kept up quality and the waiting lines were legendary. People moved in and out pretty quickly, prompted by the hungry faces of those in line, staring through the window. It was fun to go there and pig out on Swedish pancakes, the signature dish.

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Jason was already waiting when Stef arrived. It was hard to do anything but love the man, he was so sweet and naÃ¯ve and probably always would be. Those qualities, plus his looks and name, had women ÃŸ ocking to him.

Once settled into their seats, they ordered and endured the weak diner coffee slopped into their cups by a very busy waitress. No one dared to ask for tea, and it just tasted like more watered-down coffee anyway.

â€œSo, why are you in town?â€ Stef asked.

â€œTo see my favorite sister, of course. Why else would I come to this beautiful city with all the hot women?â€

He tried to look sincere, but Stef could tell he was the messenger from her dad and brother. Sheâ€™d seen the look before. Poor Jason.

He was a lousy poker player, too.

â€œYou are such a bad liar. What do they wantâ€”to tell me what a dumbass I am for being fooled by that jerk? Tell them thanks, I already know that.â€

â€œGeorge says he isnâ€™t surprised youâ€™d leave the company for some idiotic project like this.â€ Jason never had the guile to soften the blow.

Stef choked. â€œBy the way, Kevin told me he and George were friends. And I already have another team in place, working away.

So fuck off.â€ Seeing the hurt in Jasonâ€™s eyes, she quickly amended,

â€œNot you, bro, just them. They canâ€™t wait for me to fail.â€

â€œMaybe itâ€™s not that bad.â€

â€œYeah? How bad is it?â€ It was all she could do to not shout at him.

Jason brightened. â€œDad wants to give you a loan. He said same terms as a bank, but more lenient on payments. Keep everything in the family, right?â€

They stopped talking so the waitress could plop down their delicious-looking food. Stef took the reprieve to try to think rationally. The urge to leap at the Ãž nance offer was strong, but she knew there would be ropelike strings attached.

â€œYou know I canâ€™t do that,â€ she said. â€œThey want me to fail,

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and Ãž nancing the hotel would give them control. Iâ€™ve seen them be â€˜lenientâ€™ before, then tear the property out from under the poor ownerâ€™s feet. No.â€

â€œBut how are you going to pay for it?â€ Jason drowned his pancakes in syrup and butter.

â€œIâ€™ve got it handled.â€ Sheâ€™d be damned if sheâ€™d tell Jason, who would then blab to George and her dad.

He passed the almost empty syrup container to her. â€œI think Dad secretly admires you and wants you to succeed. He really seemed sincere.â€

â€œGeorge must have loved that. Iâ€™ll bet he told Dad heâ€™d handle the loan papers.â€

Stef didnâ€™t know why, but George seemed to despise anything she did. He was the eldest and a son, her fatherâ€™s favorite. She couldnâ€™t Ãž gure out why he never cut her a break. She halfheartedly Ãž xed her pancakes, her stomach sour from the conversation.

â€œYeah, he did.â€ The implications Ãž nally dawned on Jason.

â€œThatâ€™s not good, is it.â€ Her silence conÃž rmed the answer.

â€œDamn.â€

â€œLook, tell them thanks but no thanks. I have additional Ãž nancing arranged.â€ She didnâ€™t, but she had a lead.

They ate in silence, then Jasonâ€™s head jerked up. â€œYouâ€™re going for hard money, arenâ€™t you?â€

He was referring to money loaned privately at higher interest rates and from sketchy sources. Stef had a number to call that her loan ofÃž cer at the bank had given her. Leaning closer, she said,

â€œDoesnâ€™t matter, Jason. Iâ€™m going to get the hotel Ãž nished and open for business and itâ€™s going to be a success. Tell that to Dad and George.â€

â€œYouâ€™ve really bet everything on this, havenâ€™t you?â€ He sounded proud of her. â€œI heard youâ€™re living in the hotel now.â€

â€œWho have you been talking to? Yes, Iâ€™m living at the hotel, and yes, I have put all of my money into it.â€

He chased the last bite of pancake around the plate with his fork, careful to dredge it through a puddle of syrup. Heâ€™d done that

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all of his life. No matter how expensive the clothes or manicured and barbered the man, he would always be her little brother. â€œYou think you can survive with only women as clientele?â€

â€œYes, I think it can do really well with only women. Anything else?â€ She didnâ€™t care if she hurt his feelingsâ€”he was pushing. Heâ€™d been listening to Georgeâ€™s dreck for too long.

Jason studied his plate for a moment, then held up his hands in surrender. â€œSorry. I just worry about you, thatâ€™s all. I want you to be a huge success, sis. Iâ€™m rooting for you, I promise.â€ He reached for his wallet. â€œLet me buy breakfast.â€

Feeling terrible for taking her anxiety and anger out on him, Stef prepared her apology as he settled the bill. When they were ready to leave, he gave her an envelope. Her eyes must have asked the question.

â€œItâ€™s not much, but it might tide you over until you can arrange the money. Iâ€™m guessing youâ€™re paying your crew by the week. If theyâ€™re working for less, they want it in cash.â€ He kissed her cheek.

â€œItâ€™s all I could put together, but I hope it helps.â€

Her eyes stung and she fought to not break down in front of him. She couldnâ€™t even think about turning it down; sheâ€™d been desperately trying to Ãž gure out how to meet this weekâ€™s payroll.

They made their way out of the busy diner, and once on the street she hugged him close. She glanced at the check and was thrilled.

This gave her at least time to get the Ãž nancing lined up.

â€œThanks, Jase, Iâ€™ll pay you back, I swear. Iâ€™ll write out a note for the money as soon as I get back.â€

Squeezing her to him, he said, â€œIâ€™m not in a hurry, I know youâ€™re good for it. I couldnâ€™t invest in a better operation. Now, go be a success and screw George. I still think Dad is rooting for you.â€

v

Ember was reading from a text that Professor Hoffman had assigned. Sheâ€™d bought the book used from another student. She knew she didnâ€™t have to study, since she was basically sneaking into

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the class, but someday sheâ€™d be a real student, with a student ID and everything. She found womenâ€™s studies fascinating.

She made good money in her new job and was Ãž nally saving.

Although the thought of returning home crossed her mind daily, she couldnâ€™t do it. She knew Heather would have been pleased with the way she was taking responsibility for herself now. She owed it to her to follow this new life wherever it was going to lead, and she owed it to herself. One day she would have something worthwhile to show Heather. That thought made her happy.

Mrs. C was in the tiny kitchen, making something out of nothing for dinner for them. The woman was amazing. She was always busy, even though she couldnâ€™t get around so easily. She cooked simple but delicious and inexpensive meals, saying it was easier to cook for two than one. She kept Ember and the crew supplied with treats at least once a week, and that really upped Emberâ€™s numbers in the popularity department.

Ember insisted on paying her Ãž fty dollars a week, and tried to pay more, but that was all Mrs. C would take. She said she wasnâ€™t paying rent during the renovation, so Ember didnâ€™t need to, either.

But Ember ate most of the food. Mrs. C kept telling her that she didnâ€™t need much at her age, but Ember was still growing and worked hard. The Ãž fty probably didnâ€™t cover groceries.

The tiny apartment was Ãž lling up with delicious odors when Mrs. C called her to collect their plates and bring them to the table.

Mrs. C needed her cane and it was easy for Ember to help. She always set the table and did the dishes, after Mrs. C taught her how.

Although Ember had worked as a busgirl and dishwasher for a bit, there was a big difference between moving around a small space with no dishwasher and scraping plates and loading an industrial-strength machine in a restaurant. Garbage detail was hers, too. She never forgot.

After they were settled at the small dining table, Ember attacked her spaghetti and meat sauce with relish. Mrs. C made the absolute best sauce, or gravy, as she called it. She told Ember that she learned the recipe from a friend of hers years before. They had it probably

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twice a week because it was cheap and Mrs. C could make a big batch and freeze it in smaller containers. Then all she had to do was boil the pasta and make a salad or vegetable.

Mrs. C Ãž nished before Ember, even though Ember was shoveling the food down. Mrs. C reminded her that she could eat that way when just the two of them were together, but nice manners were important when there were others present.

â€œEmber, you seem to be enjoying your studies. And you like your professor, too, eh?â€ Her accent seemed to get heavier in the evenings, maybe when she was tired.

Swallowing a bite that she knew was way too big for proper company, Ember wiped her mouth with the paper towel and grinned.

â€œSheâ€™s hot. And really smart. The other students love her. She makes the material seem important and answers all the questions. I wish every teacher was like her.â€

Ember just audited that one class because Dr. Hoffman was the only one who allowed it. But she talked to other students and overheard conversations.

Mrs. Câ€™s blue eyes were full of curiosity. â€œYou mentioned her partner, Dr. Jacobs, I believe. What is she like?â€

Ember glanced to the ceiling in thought. â€œWell, I havenâ€™t really met her. I actually avoid her because Iâ€™m not really even registered to audit, you know. She doesnâ€™t teach freshman, I guess maybe she just teaches grad students, those going for masterâ€™s or Ph.D. degrees.

Iâ€™ve heard sheâ€™s a bitch. Oh, sorry, Mrs. C. Didnâ€™t mean to swear.â€

She always tried to watch her language as a sign of respect.

Mrs. C never swore and seemed so reÃž ned. She reminded Ember of her grandmother and her friends, always genteel and a lady. It was tough sometimes, being around the construction crew and then classmates. Fuck was used as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, and every other part of speech, she was sure.

Mrs. C graciously chose to ignore her lapse. â€œSo, sheâ€™s not liked. Do you know why?â€

â€œWell, from what I hear, she ignores the students unless they are really pretty, then she ÃŸ irts with them and has favorites. The rumor is that some get an A by, you know, umâ€¦sleeping with her.â€

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She felt uncomfortable passing on that rumor, but Mrs. C had asked and Ember had heard it from more than one person. Like it was something everyone knew. Still, it felt disloyal to Dr. Hoffman.

â€œI see. That is unfortunate.â€

â€œNo one can see why Dr. Hoffman stays with her. Weâ€™re all hoping she dumps her.â€ Ember blurted that out before she could edit herself. She was relieved when Mrs. C nodded thoughtfully. â€œMrs.

C? Could I ask you a question?â€

Ember respected Mrs. Câ€™s privacy. She wasnâ€™t a talkative person.

Giving her a gentle smile, Mrs. C said, â€œOf course. What would you like to know?â€

Her openness surprised Ember into a brief silence. She had a million questions but sensed she should start slowly, not wanting to offend this kind woman who had made her life so much easier with her friendship and support.

â€œWhen did you come to America?â€

Sitting back in her chair, Mrs. C stared into space. â€œOh my, that was a long time ago. I became a dual citizen in the 1950s, if that is what you are asking. Is it?â€

Ember looked at her plate. â€œWell, no. I guess I was asking where you are from. What is your accent? Those things.â€

â€œAh. I was born in Yugoslavia, Belgrade, to be exact. It is now Serbia. My family had some holdings there. We ÃŸ ed with our lives when the Nazis invaded. Only my mother and I made it out of the country. My father was sent to a concentration camp, when he refused to cooperate with the Nazis. We werenâ€™t Jewish but were Serbian Orthodox, and they wanted our land, so they treated us the same. He died there.â€

â€œGod. Iâ€™m so sorry to have brought up such painful memories.

I didnâ€™t mean to pry.â€ Ember felt terrible to upset her friend.

Mrs. C reached over and touched her face, her hand trembling slightly. â€œIt is quite all right, my dear. It was a long time ago.â€

â€œAfter the war, did you go back there?â€

Smiling wistfully, Mrs. C said, â€œOh my, no. After the war, the Communists took over and declared my father an enemy of the

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state. Then one dictator after another made up ÃŸ imsy excuses to avoid recognizing our right to the land.â€

â€œIâ€™m so sorry. Is it still that way?â€

Mrs. C pulled her sweater tighter around her small frame.

â€œWell, they say that it is changing. The Serbs want to be part of the European Union, and they have been told to clean up the titles to their land before that can happen. Serbia is very poor right now.

Companies wonâ€™t invest because it is still too much ruled by those you must bribe. Iâ€™ve been told that there are bad legal complications for outside corporations.â€

Fascinated, Ember asked, â€œSo you might get your family land back?â€

â€œWho knows? I did make the effort to go to Serbia and document all of the property before a deadline in two thousand Ãž ve, but the country is poor and corrupt. I might not be alive if it even happens.

Iâ€™m old, and Iâ€™m tired of the constant battle.â€

â€œBut what about your kids? Maybe grandchildren? Those people stole it from you, it doesnâ€™t seem right.â€

For the Ãž rst time since Ember had known Mrs. C, her eyes clouded over and she looked her age. Emberâ€™s heart broke for her.

â€œMy child, my daughter, died when she was a young woman. There is no one.â€ Her voice faltered and she was silent.

Ember reached out and took her hand, cradling it with both of hers. â€œShe must have been a special woman to have you as her mom.â€

Staring at their hands, Mrs. C said, â€œIâ€™m not sure she thought so, but she was special. She didnâ€™t approve of her mother sometimes, though.â€

Ember was silent for a moment, the ghosts of Mrs. Câ€™s past evident in the room. Finally, she asked, â€œMrs. C, why didnâ€™t she approve of you?â€

Mrs. Castic focused on her and a small smile crept to her lips.

â€œWhy, the company I kept, of course.â€

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CHAPTER SIX

Laurel entered the building and picked her way through the cluttered lobby to the blanket-draped service elevator Ember Jones had described. Pushing the button for the third ÃŸ oor, she stared at a stack of construction trash as the doors slowly closed.

When sheâ€™d heard the student excitedly telling her fellow classmates about Ãž nding a â€œwalled-upâ€ room and papers that were really old, Laurelâ€™s antennae were on full alert. Sheâ€™d been wondering what dried-up, boring tome she was going to pull together to keep herself at least on the tenure track. The papers were probably insigniÃž cant, but she was curious anyway and a small ÃŸ icker of hope had driven her to the hotel just in case the Ãž nd of a lifetime awaited her.

Sheâ€™d quizzed Ember for as much information as the young woman knew, which was very little. She said there were a â€œbunch of papers,â€ and sheâ€™d helped move them to an empty room on the ÃŸ oor where she was living, the third ÃŸ oor of the hotel. Apparently they still had a few rooms they rented. Laurel thought that odd, since the hotel was under renovation, but the idea of undiscovered papers was much more interesting than building codes.

After getting the address, she did a bit of research. The hotel was built after the 1906 earthquake and Ãž re that had devastated San Francisco. It had once enjoyed a prosperous clientele, but over the years, and as the bordering Tenderloin district grew more dangerous, the hotels west of Union Square had gradually turned residential

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and shabby. The odd part was that this hotel had led the way. It went from prosperity to ruin seemingly overnight. Now the area was enjoying a renaissance because of its proximity to the shopping and theatre districts of downtown San Francisco.

This hotel, reborn as Hotel Liaison, had been purchased the year before by a partnership, SDS-LLC, and had been in renovation since. According to the news article Laurel had found online, it was going to focus on women travelers. That was intriguing in and of itself. Between the name and the stated purpose, Laurelâ€™s imagination was Ãž lling in all sorts of blanks. She had to laugh. Yes, Laurel, a hotbed of lesbians, all waiting to cater to your every whim.

Still, a girl could dream.

When the elevator Ãž nally made it up to the third ÃŸ oor, Laurel stepped out into a dingy hall that was carpeted with a wool runner complete with bare spots and a musty smell. She felt like an intruder and found herself almost tiptoeing down the hall.

Gambling on the element of surprise, sheâ€™d avoided the administration ofÃž ces, thinking if she could get a peek, maybe she could determine the value of the papers. Depending on what she found, she would either write the visit off as a pleasant diversion in a tedious day or she would have unexpected ammunition for a confrontation. Three years with Rochelle had accustomed her to the idea that everything was a battle, so she anticipated having to argue her way into being allowed to examine the discovery. If it was meaningful, she was positive that Rochelle would want to take over, and then nothing would be easy.

But still, she had to take the chance. What if the papers were important? What if the discovery would put her on the fast track to being a tenured professor? Or better yet, have other universities vying for her services? She knew the chances were slim, but she mustered up the courage to try the Ãž rst doorknob she reached, hoping it would be unlocked. This was trespassing at the very least. Maybe she could be hauled away. If the owners discovered her they might ban her from the property. Then they could give the right to examine the material to someone else. This was a terrible idea.

â€œMay I help you?â€

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Laurel whirled to see a woman a bit shorter than her, with chestnut hair and intelligent brown eyes, holding what looked to be a large, heavy box. â€œOh! Oh, dear. May I help you with that box? It looks heavy.â€

Laurel scrambled to Ãž nd some excuse for her presence. This woman must work on the property. Her mind raced as she hurried over to help. The woman stared for a moment, then seemed to remember the box and almost lost hold of it. Laurel got there in time to take some of the load and steady her.

The stranger said, â€œThanks. Iâ€™m just moving in here temporarily.â€

Laurel couldnâ€™t help but notice how nicely she Ãž lled out her jeans, but she shook her head to erase the thought. She held most of the weight while the woman fought to extricate a huge lump of keys from her pants. Finally, she was able to get the door open and plop the box on the ÃŸ oor in the empty room. It seemed spacious, not the tiny, cramped room her research had led her to expect. The wooden ÃŸ oor was scratched and almost black with age and it had a sour smell, but there were windows, too. She imagined that if the Ãž lm of age and neglect were scraped off, there would be a lot of light.

Holding out her hand, the woman said, â€œHi. Iâ€™m Stef. And you are?â€

Laurel quickly shook her hand and couldnâ€™t seem to stop shaking it. She self-consciously pulled away when she realized the woman had a curious look on her face, studying her. â€œIâ€™m Laurel Hoffman.

Iâ€¦was just trying to locate one of my students. I understand she lives here. I teach at Cal.â€

That really didnâ€™t explain much, but she hoped maybe this Stef person would let it go. Laurel cringed inwardly. Sheâ€™d been discovered lurking around in a building she had no right to enter without the ownerâ€™s permission. The woman in front of her folded her arms across her chest, and looked her up and down dubiously.

â€œShe lives here? Whatâ€™s her name?â€

She had no choice but to tell the truth. â€œEmber. Sheâ€™s a pretty young woman who audits a class I teach in womenâ€™s studies. Blond hair, blue eyes, likes to wear baggy clothes. Sheâ€™s very nice.â€

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With a slight scowl, Stef said, â€œI know her. Sheâ€™s at work upstairs. Iâ€™ll tell her you stopped by.â€

Realizing something wasnâ€™t right, Laurel added, â€œIs she in trouble? You seem upset. It isnâ€™t her fault Iâ€™m here. She was really excited about some papers that were found, andâ€¦I got curious. I wondered if I could get a look at them. So here I am.â€

That wasnâ€™t what she meant at all. She hadnâ€™t meant to blurt out everything. This intriguing woman made her tongue-tied. Stefâ€™s deep brown eyes narrowed and Laurel was on alert. She must have said the wrong thing again. She ducked her head and quickly exited the room, mumbling, â€œIâ€™d better go. Thank you for your help.â€

Halfway down the hall, she heard, â€œWait, where are you going?

Donâ€™t you want to look at the papers?â€

Laurel almost tripped over her own feet doing an about face.

â€œDo you know where they are?â€ She realized she must look like a fool and tried to stop Ãž dgeting like a Ãž ve-year-old.

â€œStefâ€ slid her hands in her back pockets and cocked her hip.

The look revealed full breasts and a very sexy Ãž gure. Laurel had schooled herself to not react to her students, some of whom were breathtaking, but this woman was about her age and it was all she could do to not stare.

Probably reading her mind, Stef grinned. â€œTheyâ€™re at the end of the hall, corner room. I have the key. Theyâ€™re pretty dusty, though.â€

â€œI donâ€™t mind. I mean, itâ€™s not a problem, Iâ€™ve looked at old papers before.â€

Now she felt bad for maybe getting this woman in trouble with her employers. She couldnâ€™t be doing that well if she was forced to live in a hotel that was questionable before, but now was under renovation, for heavenâ€™s sake. Damn. Rochelle would have no problem with the small deception. Most researchers wouldnâ€™t think twice. Laurel was always having a problem with ethics. She had them.

Stef was still staring at her, waiting for something, and Laurel realized it was her turn. Sighing, she said, â€œWait. You might get in

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trouble with your employer. I canâ€™t let you do that. Tell me where the ofÃž ces are and Iâ€™ll try to talk to them. They might prefer someone else to examine them.â€

The woman blinked, then straightened. Laurel swore her eyes turned a shade darker. Eighty-two percent cacao popped to mind.

â€œIâ€™m sure it would be Ãž ne if you looked. Youâ€™re a professor, right?â€

â€œAssistant professor,â€ Laurel corrected.

â€œThere were only ledgers and Ãž les and some clothes and things.â€ Stef sounded genuinely regretful. â€œBoring stuff. Probably a waste of time for you.â€

Laurel grinned. â€œRemember, Iâ€™m an academic. I love boring stuff like that. So, if youâ€™re sure itâ€™s okay, Iâ€™d like to see them.â€

Stefâ€™s frank gaze made Laurelâ€™s temperature rise. â€œOh, yeah. I didnâ€™t mean to insult you about the â€˜boringâ€™ crack. Okay, letâ€™s go.â€

v

There was only a bare bulb hanging from the center of the room. The windows were as grimy as the other room. No furniture, no place to sit. Some of the boxes were wooden but might be rotten.

There was a lot of material, enough to Ãž ll half the space. This was, indeed, going to be a project, and she had a class in two hours.

Shoot.

Stef was still in the doorway. â€œLet me dig up a chair for you.

Maybe a ÃŸ ashlight.â€

â€œNo, no. I donâ€™t want to put you out any more than I have. Would it be okay if I came back later? Iâ€™ll need to be wearing something to work in, obviously, and I can bring lights and things I need. I even have a folding chair.â€

She was thinking about disposable gloves, a dust mask, and maybe even klieg lights borrowed from another department. Keep it simple. The more people you involve, the more the word will get out. Much as she enjoyed the academic world, gossip was rampant and wanting to be in on a Ãž nd was standard procedure. She reasoned that the worst that could happen was a small article to keep her on

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course for tenure. But there was something here, she could feel it up and down her spine. She was lost in thought when she heard Stefâ€™s voice.

â€œFine. Iâ€™ll be around.â€

â€œWait, Stef?â€ Scrambling to the door, Laurel found her waiting, looking over her shoulder. The long red-brown hair ÃŸ ared around her face, making her look incredibly sexy. â€œHow shall I get back in? It might be after Ãž ve, if thatâ€™s okay. May I have your phone number?â€

Laurel was disconcerted at what sounded like a pick-up line.

Maybe it was. Her cheeks were really heating up now.

Grinning, Stef said, â€œIâ€™d like yours, too.â€

She said it in a way that seemed like ÃŸ irting. Was that true? This good-looking woman was ÃŸ irting with her? No, that didnâ€™t happen.

They exchanged numbers, Laurel painfully aware that her blush had continued to cover her entire body. â€œWhatâ€™s your last name? Iâ€™ve been rude not to ask.â€

Stef didnâ€™t seem to hear the question. She reached for her key ring and searched, then removed a key. â€œHere, have a copy made and get this back to me later. Okay?â€

Only able to nod in gratitude, but wondering why this woman would trust her since they just met, Laurel took the key and clutched it tightly in her hand.

Stef must have read her mind again, because she said, â€œI know youâ€™ll return it, and I probably wonâ€™t be around every time you want to get in. You will need to make arrangements to get in the outside door if itâ€™s after six. Okay, see you later?â€

â€œYes, thanks. Iâ€™ll get a copy made today. Could I, could I bring a pizza and some wine? To repay you for your kindness.â€

Silent for a moment, Stef nodded, then said, â€œNot necessary, but sure. What time? Iâ€™ll meet you downstairs to let you in.â€

v

Driving across the Bay Bridge to get to the campus, Laurel was astounded at her own temerity. She had not only barged into the

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old hotel and practically commandeered the mystery papers, sheâ€™d asked a woman for a date, kind of. Well, you havenâ€™t really asked her out, you merely want to thank her. She thought about the half-truth of that, and tested her guilt meter. It registered a six of ten.

Her thoughts immediately detoured to Rochelle. She wasnâ€™t going to be home tonight. Sheâ€™d already said she would be out at another of her endless meetings with her cronies that resulted in coming home late and half smashed. Sheâ€™d never know that Laurel was gone.

â€œI should tell her,â€ Laurel mumbled beneath her breath. â€œI should tell her about the papers, too. After all, sheâ€™s my partner, not to mention chair of the department.â€

As soon as she said the words aloud, the joy of the new discovery was lost. She imagined that most people would be excited to tell of their possible career-making discovery. Their partners would be happy and help them celebrate. But her reality was much less inviting. The Ãž rst thing Rochelle would do was downplay the possibilities, talk disparagingly about the papers, the hotel, the area, anything to make Laurel feel stupid for even checking out her hunch.

Then, if there really was something there, sheâ€™d want most, if not all, of the credit. She was supposed to be publishing a lot more often than Laurel, and sheâ€™d been coasting on tenure for some time.

No, Laurel decided, the thing to do was to keep quiet until she knew what she was dealing with, then she could decide what she would tell Rochelle and when. Meantime, she had a class to teach and, later, a room full of possibilities to explore. Not to mention dinner with a really attractive woman. Her spirits were suddenly soaring.

v

Stef whistled as she loaded another box onto the cart. That professor had such intense green eyes, a real knockout, and she was so earnest, Stef had to chuckle. Shy, too. Hmm, we now have a quasi date. Wonder how that happened?

Denny came up and shoulder-bumped her. â€œWhatâ€™s up with

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you? I havenâ€™t seen a smile on your face since before Kevin sniffed up our budget. Did you Ãž nd a trunk full of money youâ€™d forgotten about?â€

Surprised to feel her ears tingle, Stef kept her attention on the boxes. â€œNo, nothing that good. I wish.â€

A hand on her shoulder stopped her. â€œAre you blushing? You are! What happened? You get laid? Dawg, I am so jealous.â€ Denny stood back and grinned.

Holding both hands up in surrender, Stef said, â€œWhoa. I wish for that, too, but no such luck. I did, however, meet a really hot professor.â€ As Dennyâ€™s eyes widened, she added, â€œSeems little Miss Ember was bragging to her classmates at Cal about the hidden room and its contents.â€

â€œSheâ€™s in college? At Cal?â€ This was news to both of them and probably would be to Jock.

â€œWell, from what I understand from her professor, Laurel, I mean Dr . Hoffmanâ€”the one with the amazing green eyes and honey-blond hair down to about, oh, her breastsâ€”sheâ€™s auditing.â€

â€œOh, Laurel, is it?â€ Denny leaned closer. â€œAnd you know her how?â€

â€œWell, I offered to let her get a look at the papers we dug out of the hidden room. And, to repay my generosity, sheâ€™s offering a hot, tastyâ€â€”Stef indulged in a heavy pause; she loved to tease Dennyâ€”

â€œpizza and some wine. Tonight.â€

Denny started tapping her toe. â€œI thought you were going to quietly dispose of that stuff, since there was no dead body. Thatâ€™s what you told me. Suddenly a pretty face turns up and asks all nice and you turn over the goods. What if she Ãž nds something that would stop construction?â€

Stef hadnâ€™t thought of that and could tell that Denny was only half joking. â€œLook, Den, there are no organic parts in that junk, other than maybe a few desiccated rat carcasses. And when the professor discovers those, she can come screaming to me, and Iâ€™ll dispose of them. Brave person that I am.â€

â€œUh-huh. Youâ€™re a sucker for green eyes. You always have been.â€

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Getting busy with the boxes again, Stef muttered, â€œYeah, well, itâ€™s only pizza.â€

Still, she was looking forward to the meal with lovely green-eyed Laurel, and hurried to Ãž nish so she could shower and change.

Denny got distracted with a phone call and didnâ€™t bring the subject up again, for which Stef was grateful. There was something about Laurel that she was drawn to. Perhaps her attraction hinted at the early promise of a friendship, but it didnâ€™t feel like that. Hell, she didnâ€™t even know if Laurel was gay, but she knew that Laurel had checked her out. She didnâ€™t want to jump to conclusions, she just wanted to see where it would go.

Laurel seemed honest, and genuinely nice. She hadnâ€™t wanted to get Stef in trouble for letting her in the room. Of course, Stef hadnâ€™t mentioned her last name, which would have been a dead giveaway as to who owned the hotel. She wasnâ€™t sure why sheâ€™d avoided that disclosure. Maybe she didnâ€™t trust Laurel after all. Or maybe she just didnâ€™t want to be a Beresford for a while. It had been her experience that once someone heard her last name, the relationship changed.

Sheâ€™d been used before and was sick of it. The truth would come out soon enough. Meanwhile, perhaps she could just enjoy herself with a woman she was attracted to.

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CHAPTER SEVEN

Stef had to struggle not to laugh when she came down to open the locked exterior doors. Laurel was balancing the pizza on top of pads of paper and Ãž le folders, carrying bags containing all sorts of crap, and lugging a backpack that looked like it weighed more than she did. She looked cute, a word that rarely entered Stefâ€™s mind. She was dressed in jeans, a large denim shirt over a white tank top, and sneakers. Her hair was hastily piled on top of her head and she wore glasses.

They schlepped everything into the elevator and along the hallway to the corner room where the papers were housed, and settled in, only to realize that the electrical outlets were ancient, with no grounding port. Stef dug up an extension cord and power strip and ran it from her room. Sheâ€™d had an electrician rig a temporary setup that would safely support newer electronics until the remodel reached the third ÃŸ oor. Sheâ€™d also done that for Mrs. Castic, but her own tiny kitchen would have to struggle along with only a microwave. She didnâ€™t mind because Sika always made coffee and breakfast in the kitchen for the three of them and anyone else who wandered in hungry.

They couldnâ€™t plug in all the lights that Laurel had brought, but Stef suggested they use her place if they found anything interesting.

She stopped short of offering Laurel a key to her room, puzzled by her impulse. She seemed determined to give the woman anything she wanted. This had never happened before, even with former lovers.

Stef had taken the time to sweep the room before Laurel arrived,

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so they sat on the ÃŸ oor and enjoyed a good bottle of wine with the pizza. Their chat focused on the papers, the logistics of examining them. Laurel had brought a box of disposable gloves to protect the papers and their hands. She also had a camera and wanted to photograph everything before they started. She took a few pictures with Stef in them, too. Then Stef took shots of her, the professor with her Ãž nd. Through the viewÃž nder she saw grace and elegance, and those unusual green eyes tinged with what she thought might be sadness. She wondered about that.

Once work commenced, they fell silent. Stef wasnâ€™t sure what she was looking for, but Laurel assured her that anything interesting was fair game. They spent time just getting to know the material, randomly perusing. The earliest that they found dated from 1912.

The guest registration was interesting in that it was easy to read, even though badly faded. Evidently, penmanship was stressed back then. The record began with a Mr. and Mrs. Thisandthat, but after 1915, after the Panama-PaciÃž c Exposition, there were single names, usually Mrs. Somebodyelse, occasionally Miss Whatever, but always a woman.

Musing out loud, Stef said, â€œWell, I guess the hotel was primarily for women travelers almost from the beginning.â€

Carefully moving papers around, Laurel commented, â€œThat makes sense. Single women were not supposed to travel alone and deÃž nitely not supposed to sleep in the same buildings as men. There were several San Francisco hotels for women only.â€

â€œWeird that they sign their names as Mrs. Mansfullname,â€

Stef said. â€œWhatâ€™s that about? Why canâ€™t they just say Mrs. Jane Fullname? Itâ€™s like they donâ€™t even exist except as property. Look at this, Mrs. Nelson Doubleday.â€ She didnâ€™t mention that her stepmother relished saying she was Mrs. Wellington Beresford the Fourth. Like that meant something.

Without looking up Laurel replied, â€œThat about sums it up.

Women traveling alone sought a measure of safety by using their husbandâ€™s name, as well as observing propriety. Emily Post would have swooned any other way.â€

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â€œSwooned? Oh my.â€ Stef thought the remark was utterly charming.

She got up and found the wine bottle to reÃž ll the glasses she had supplied. She didnâ€™t have much in her rooms, but wineglasses were a must. She observed Laurel, completely engrossed in a ledger, blond hair falling around her face in disarray. Her long, gloved Ãž ngers were tracing the lines, tapping to an internal rhythm. Some kind of mental sorting system perhaps. She was lovely.

â€œWhat?â€ Laurel was looking at her directly.

Stef felt her body stiffen and her face start to warm. What an odd reaction to a simple question. â€œHmm? Oh, just wondering if youâ€™d found anything interesting.â€ She thought she saw a hint of disbelief, but, hey, it was the best she could do. Sheâ€™d been caught nakedly ogling. Okay, she had to rein in this thought process.

â€œActually, some of the names are familiar. Something about themâ€¦I canâ€™t put my Ãž nger on it.â€ Laurel tapped a ledger page absently.

Not terribly interested, Stef took a sip of wine and scanned the room Laurel had quickly organized when she arrived. Registration was in one stack, bookkeeping in another, room diaries in a third.

They still had a long way to go. She reluctantly checked her watch.

â€œI can get some fresh boxes and bring them down tomorrow. A lot of these are falling apart.â€

â€œYouâ€™re right, itâ€™s late. Iâ€™ll get over tomorrow as soon as I can.

We can put them in chronological order and go from there. Maybe by decade.â€ Laurel stared at the registration ledger sheâ€™d been leaÃž ng through, then grabbed the one Stef had abandoned a few moments before. â€œWow.â€

â€œWhat is it?â€ Stef asked.

â€œThe name right under Mrs. Nelson Doubleday. Daphne, Lady Browning.â€

â€œSo? Blue blood of some sort?â€

Laurel had a small smile on her lips. â€œYes, but thatâ€™s not what is interesting.â€ Her eyes were almost sparking. â€œLady Browning was the married name of Daphne du Maurier. Ring a bell?â€

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After a moment, Stef offered, â€œShe was a writer in the thirties and forties. Didnâ€™t she write Rebecca? Iâ€™ve seen her name a lot.

Didnâ€™t know she was royalty.â€

The reference to royalty seemed to amuse Laurel. â€œDu Maurier was in love with Doubleday. As far as I know, it was unrequited, but itâ€™s been fairly well documented. In the least, they were dear friends.

And, evidently, traveled together.â€ She carefully closed the ledger and pointed to the one she had been going over. â€œThis name. Miss Harriet Brown. This ledger is from nineteen thirty-one.â€

Peering over Laurelâ€™s shoulder, Stef forced herself to not react to the fragrance she was wearing and kept her distance from the curve of her neck. â€œWhat about it?â€ She was so preoccupied, she almost missed Laurelâ€™s reply.

â€œâ€˜Harriet Brownâ€™ was an alias Greta Garbo sometimes used.â€

Stef stared down at the spidery signature. â€œSo what youâ€™re telling me is we could sell this on eBay?â€

Laurel evidently didnâ€™t realize she was only kidding. She seemed stunned and replied seriously, â€œWhat Iâ€™m telling you is your hotel probably was a destination for some very famous women. Itâ€™s never been reported before. This hotel could be an important part of womenâ€™s history. Our history.â€

v

Laurel couldnâ€™t sleep. She had driven home in a haze of anticipation. For once she was grateful that Rochelle had been drunk when she got home, because if sheâ€™d paid attention she would have realized that Laurel had only just arrived herself. But sheâ€™d stumbled to bed and passed out on her back, snoring loudly.

As had become her habit, Laurel went to the guest bedroom. It used to upset her that she had no real reason to sleep with her partner anymore. But over the past year, sheâ€™d begun to see the smaller room along the hallway as her refuge, and was always relieved to close the door and be alone with her thoughts. She rearranged her pillows, knowing her usual nighttime rituals would not transport her to sleep. She was still too excited to relax. After discovering the

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famous names, she and Stef had quickly scrambled through some of the other ledgers. They found several more references to the name Harriet Brown, and also some other aliases used by Hollywood women. Some, Laurel was sure, were anagrams for still others. She couldnâ€™t wait to return to the hotel and continue the search.

The thought troubled her almost as much as it excited her.

Knowing that Rochelle would try to usurp the project, she couldnâ€™t share what she was doing, for practical reasons. Yet her emotions were also involved. Rochelle was her partner, but she didnâ€™t want to share her joy with her. That was just plain wrong, and Laurel refused to accept the entire blame for her reservations. She took her feelings for what they were, an indication that her relationship was in serious trouble.

She went through a litany of alternatives that might help bring her and Rochelle closer together. More sex. No. Okay, get a dog.

She wouldnâ€™t bring a dog into this house. The poor thing would be terriÃž ed. And if she wouldnâ€™t do that to a dog, she sure as hell wouldnâ€™t do it to a child. Couples therapy was the obvious step, but Laurel was shocked to realize that she didnâ€™t want couples therapy.

That was for people who really wanted to stay together. A normal couple would try to talk things through, and Laurel had made attempts in the past. That was the problem, she already knew what to expect. When Rochelle was sober, she was usually hungover and rarely had a kind word for anyone, especially Laurel. Finding time to just sit down and talk about their relationship issues would never happen. Rochelle would start yelling almost immediately, blaming all that was wrong on Laurel. The situation would then escalate, and Rochelle was becoming increasingly willing to use violence to win any argument.

Laurel broke out in a cold sweat and searched for something else to think about. Stef. She felt her heartbeat slow, even as her body warmed. She didnâ€™t know the womanâ€™s last name, and all they had done was share a pizza and some wine. Theyâ€™d talked about the project, nothing else, yet there was an intimacy between them. How was that possible?

Laurel rationalized that she was looking forward to delving into

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the project and was excited by the possibilities, but the truth was not quite so simple. She couldnâ€™t stop thinking about the woman sheâ€™d spent less than Ãž ve hours with, a woman she knew nothing about.

Well, puzzle solved. You can fantasize to your heartâ€™s content. As soon as you get to know her, disappointment will set in. Laurel was pretty sure Stef was gay, but she hadnâ€™t asked. She also suspected she might be single but hadnâ€™t asked about that either. And the reason sheâ€™d avoided those obvious questions was that she didnâ€™t want to answer them herself. What a farce.

Her personal life was a mess and she refused to involve anyone else in it. The idea that Stef might want to know more about her was a delusion anyway. She had so much going for her; why would she be interested in a bookworm like Laurel?

v

â€œHow was your date last night?â€ Denny and Sika were seated at the breakfast table when Stef appeared.

Catching the interest in Sikaâ€™s eyes, Stef busied herself with Ãž lling her plate with some toast and scrambled eggs. Mamaka could always read her with crystal clarity. Moving to the espresso machine, she tried for nonchalance. â€œIt wasnâ€™t a date, just a thank-you for letting her look at that stuff from the secret room.â€

â€œHow was that? Find any buried treasure?â€ Denny wasnâ€™t going to let this go.

â€œNo. We just organized, really. Some of the guest registration ledgers were interesting, though. There were a couple of entries that could have been from celebrities back in the thirties. Like Garbo.â€

From the looks on their faces, that got their attention.

Sika asked, â€œWho else?â€

SatisÃž ed that the conversation had been diverted from her, Stef said, â€œWriters, intellectuals, some very wealthy, all women. So I guess my idea of a hotel just for women travelers isnâ€™t that original.

This place was on the map decades ago.â€

Denny seemed thrilled with the idea. â€œWow. We should use that

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history for promoting the hotel. â€˜Destination for the stars.â€™ That has a ring to it. Right?â€

â€œYeah, we could get some old photos and have them blown up, maybe have an exhibit of the article Laurel will write. It could be great for us.â€ Stef loved the whole idea, especially because it would provide a legitimate excuse to hang around Laurel. She steadfastly refused to examine why that thought was so inviting. â€œWhat do you think, Mamaka?â€

Sika looked pensive. â€œI think we should tread lightly. Letâ€™s wait and see what your friend discovers. Perhaps there were other reasons these women came here.â€ With that, she stood and excused herself, saying something about needing to get to the ÃŸ ower mart before everything was picked over.

Staring at the swinging door, Denny said, â€œWell, that was strange. I would think Mama would be very excited about this. She loves womenâ€™s history. And weâ€™re always talking about ways to promote the hotel.â€

Stef shrugged. â€œI have no idea.â€

Sika apparently changed her mind because she reappeared with a fresh cup of tea in her hand and sat down. â€œI would like to hear more about everything youâ€™ve discovered, especially from the professor. Do you think sheâ€™d like to have dinner with us?â€

â€œThatâ€™s a wonderful idea,â€ Denny enthused. â€œWe could make something special and eat in the dining room. Tell her about the restoration plans. Show her around.â€

Denny had it all mapped out, a plan to impress one of the only women Stef had felt a ÃŸ utter of interest in for years. She wasnâ€™t sure how she felt about her best friend immediately stepping in to charm the captivating academic. She was sure that Dennyâ€™s motives were purely to help the hotel, but suddenly things felt like they were moving too quickly in an unknown direction. She didnâ€™t want complications at this point in her life. Her plan was to slowly explore a friendship with Laurel. She needed to stay focused on that.

There was only one problem. Her plan had already dissolved

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into a process that had taken on a life of its own, one she had lost control of. The thought was extremely unsettling.

â€œIâ€™ll ask her later this week,â€ she said with weakening resolve.

v

Stef knocked on the frame of the open door to announce herself.

Sheâ€™d observed Laurel deep in thought, ÃŸ ipping back and forth between several ledgers and making notes on a pad of paper. She was in her customary uniform of baggy jeans and shirt, hair pulled back, glasses on, latex gloves in place. She was breathtaking.

Laurel gave her a luminous smile of recognition and welcome.

She knew she must have matched it because her heart was pounding.

She had avoided visiting for most of the week, reasoning that it would be pathetic if she found excuses to hang around all the time.

Now, seeing Laurel amidst the detritus of the hotel history, she had to admit that sheâ€™d missed the quiet professor. A lot. No matter how busy she got trying to arrange for Ãž nancing, paying bills, making remodel decisions, there was a part of her mind that held the image of Laurel as a refuge, a secret place she would visit. The prospect calmed her amidst the storm. And that worried her.

This woman probably wasnâ€™t available and didnâ€™t know Stef existed other than as a nice person she had befriended and resource for her project. Besides, Stef had an unbreakable rule: Never mess with a married woman. And she was pretty certain thatâ€™s what Laurel was. Not only did pining for unavailable women lead to heartache, it messed up any professional relationship going forward. Sheâ€™d seen it before and had no intention of falling victim. No matter how much she was attracted to Laurel Hoffman, fantasy was going to have to sufÃž ce.

â€œHey. Howâ€™s the project going?â€ She ambled in and tried not to have a visceral reaction to the unusual color of Laurelâ€™s eyes. Sheâ€™d been thinking about that color constantly and couldnâ€™t name it.

Green, but not dark or turquoise, more like lime. But not dark lime.

Sheâ€™d eventually gone to the paint charts and decided on chartreuse.

But green chartreuse. Jade with gold ÃŸ ecks. She longed to study

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Laurelâ€™s eyes, but knew she couldnâ€™t be that close to Laurel without kissing her.

â€œWhat color are your eyes?â€ That one popped out before she could stop it. Nice self-control.

Laurel seemed startled by the question, then blushed and lowered her gaze. She was beautiful when bashful, which didnâ€™t help Stefâ€™s vow of detachment.

â€œGreen, I suppose.â€ She tilted her head as she answered the question, as though studying Stef.

â€œUh, yeah, but what shade? It seems unusual to me.â€ There, perfectly reasonable question.

â€œWell, my dad has blue eyes and my mother hazel. It must be a combination because my sister and I are the only ones with this color.â€

â€œYour partner must love it. I mean, because itâ€™s unusual, you know?â€ So very, very lame . Why not just come right out and ask what she really wanted to know: Are you single and are you interested in me?

The amused curiosity that had been present in Laurel seemed to disappear. With a noncommittal shrug she went back to her ledgers immediately. Subject closed.

Casting around for something, anything to change the topic, Stef asked, â€œHave you found out any more about movie star guests?â€

Laurel smiled brieÃŸ y, but her demeanor was neutral. â€œNot as yet, but Iâ€™m going to search the room diaries after I look through the rest of the ledgers quickly. I have a few more names that seem interesting.â€

â€œLike what?â€ This felt better, nothing personal. Keep it work related.

â€œWell, for one thing, I think some very famous women stayed here regularly. Iâ€™ve seen their maiden names, married names, what could be anagrams, that type of thing. At Ãž rst, I thought it was a coincidence. This hotel must have been the â€˜inâ€™ place for the rich and famous for a time. But it was solely women, not their husbands or male lovers.â€

Stef was listening intently, drawn to the animation of this

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normally quiet woman. Her eyes were now deÃž nitely a lime color; fresh, sparkling. Without realizing it she must have moved closer.

â€œDo you think it was a womenâ€™s club? Or some kind of sorority? I was in one in college, secret handshake and all.â€

Deep in thought, Laurel stared at the pile of ledgers. â€œI considered that. The secret part, yes, deÃž nitely. I even wondered if it was similar to Marlene Dietrichâ€™s infamous â€˜Sewing Circleâ€™ from the nineteen thirties and forties.â€

â€œWhat was that?â€

Laurel Ãž nally met Stefâ€™s gaze. â€œA group of beautiful, rich women who were decidedly bisexual. They got together and ate and chatted and bedded each other.â€ She was blushing by the end of the sentence.

â€œOh.â€ That was all Stef could utter.

She was absorbed in Laurelâ€™s response, the subtle color on her porcelain cheeks, her darkened eyes. She was closer than before. So close that her lips seemed within touching distance. Her lips. Stef couldnâ€™t tear her gaze away from them. They begged for attention, pleaded to be met with her own.

Laughter in the normally quiet hallway broke the spell that had them within inches of one another. They ÃŸ ew several feet apart as the current between them was severed.

Ember appeared in the doorway with Mrs. C on her arm, the two smiling broadly. She started to enter, probably oblivious to the interruption, but Mrs. C held her back for a moment fussing with something she was holding. When they came in, Ember quickly retrieved two card table chairs, as she had the Ãž rst time they visited.

Mrs. C continued to peruse the stacks of papers as Stef tried to reorient. She wasnâ€™t sure what had just happened but sheâ€™d never experienced anything like it before.

Laurel seemed ÃŸ ustered, standing and looking furtively around, as if sheâ€™d misplaced something. She was rubbing her thighs with her palms, like she was trying to dry them. It was all very confusing.

Once seated, Mrs. C presented some delicate tea cookies and they each had one and talked about the research project.

After a moment, Laurel, evidently fully recovered, asked,

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â€œMrs. Castic, do you have any knowledge about the women who used to stay here?â€

The blue of Mrs. Câ€™s eyes seemed to pale as she focused on the ceiling. â€œThere was a society, an organization of women who were concerned about the times we were living in. We met fairly regularly, always here. We discussed books, events, all sorts of things.â€

Laurel said, â€œSo you were a member of this society.â€

â€œYes, I was.â€

â€œDo you know when it was formed? Where I can Ãž nd more information about it? I tried to look it up on the Internet and, as yet, nothing like youâ€™re describing shows up. Was it secret? Were there dues? Was it a ladiesâ€™ book club type of thing?â€

Chuckling, Mrs. C answered, â€œMy, you are a researcher, arenâ€™t you? So many questions. Iâ€™m not sure when it was formed, but it predated the San Francisco earthquake and Ãž re, I think. I donâ€™t believe it began in San Francisco, perhaps in New York or Paris. We discussed more than books, I can assure you. There were dues, but each woman paid according to her ability.â€

â€œWere the members lesbian or bisexual?â€ Laurel seemed surprised by her own straightforwardness and quickly looked away, blushing.

Stef was riveted to Mrs. C. Her gaze remained steady. She seemed amazingly unÃŸ ustered.

â€œIn those days, most women were married or saw men. It was necessary.â€

From nowhere, Ember asked, â€œWhat about you?â€

After a moment, Mrs. C replied, â€œI did what was necessary.â€

â€œDonâ€™t we all,â€ Laurel said quietly.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Laurel slipped on a pair of nice jeans and chose a light sweater that she was always complimented on rather than the huge denim shirt she normally wore. Sheâ€™d been out for the past three nights, foraging through the material at the hotel. Sometimes the task was tedious, but it was always better than sitting in the library trying to coax a paper out of the archives.

She had to admit that much of her pleasure in the project was the chance of seeing Stef. Over the past month theyâ€™d developed a friendly relationship, but Laurel was aware that they were intentionally keeping their distance. Except for Stefâ€™s comment about her eyes and a partner, which Laurel had sidestepped as best she could, they still hadnâ€™t spoken about anything except the material they were examining and progress with the hotel renovations. Laurel was content to avoid treacherous personal conversations. Even though Stefâ€™s face occupied a great deal of her daydreaming, it was safer to see her in a purely professional capacity.

â€œAre you going out again tonight?â€ Rochelle stood in the doorway of the bathroom, a cocktail in her hand. It was one of the rare nights she was home, not having stopped at the bar with her buddies. She didnâ€™t look pleased.

â€œYes. I told you, Iâ€™m researching my next paper and I have work to do.â€ Well, it was true.

â€œYou look like youâ€™re going on a date.â€

Laurel tried to sound casual. â€œI get sick of wearing my crappiest clothes to the library. Iâ€™m confused for a student so much of the

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time. Besides, theyâ€™re dirty.â€ Okay, that was a partial lie. She wasnâ€™t going to the library, but the rest was true, almost.

Rochelle studied her. â€œWell, you look good. Donâ€™t be too late, we havenâ€™t seen each other in a while. I thought weâ€™d cuddle tonight.â€ She grinned wolÃž shly and Laurelâ€™s heart sank.

â€œI might be a little late, but Iâ€™ll try to get home soon. I left your dinner in the fridge.â€

â€œFine.â€ Rochelle checked her watch. â€œOops, time for my show.

See you later.â€

Letting out a sigh of relief, Laurel quickly Ãž nished and left the house before her partner changed her mind and insisted that she could do research some other night.

v

The woman at the door was beautiful. Her golden blond hair was loose around her shoulders, framing her oval face perfectly. The sweater she wore matched the green of her eyes and clung to the delicate curves of her slim body. Her jeans were not the baggy ones Stef had seen before, but Ãž t like a glove, promising shapely legs and a perfect derriÃ¨re.

Opening the door, Stef managed, â€œHey, Laurel. You look great.

Thanks for coming over.â€

The conversation was loud as they entered the small dining room, Denny had invited Jock and crew, and although Jock still irritated the hell out of her, Stef couldnâ€™t begrudge the invitation.

Theyâ€™d worked their asses off for weeks now, meeting deadlines, correcting the shoddy mistakes of the previous contractor as they went. When Denny had suggested making the dinner more of a team celebration, Stef couldnâ€™t see any reason to refuse.

Even Mrs. Castic, escorted by Ember Jones, was there. It was hard not to like the old woman because she was very sweet, made killer cookies for the crew, and Stef had noticed that Ember seemed devoted to her. No matter what the girlâ€™s background was, Stef was glad she had a place to stay, rules or not. She was a nice kid. As she glanced around the room, it dawned on her that these people had

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become a family of sorts to her. And for whatever reason, Laurelâ€™s presence seemed to complete that picture. That thought, after being labeled â€œridiculous,â€ was quickly stuffed to the back of her mind.

Sweeping her arm toward the festivities, she said, â€œHereâ€™s the whole motley crew. Let meâ€¦â€ But somehow words failed her as she was caught in the intensity of Laurelâ€™s gaze. She had no idea how long they stood together before someone clapped her on the shoulder and interrupted.

â€œHey, Stump, arenâ€™t you going to introduce your friend?â€ Jock eyed Laurel with more than casual interest, from Stefâ€™s point of view. And there was that nickname.

â€œJocelyn Reynolds, this is Dr. Laurel Hoffman. Professor Hoffman to you.â€

Jock grinned winningly. â€œPlease call me Jock, Dr. Hoffman.

Ms. Beresford likes to tease me. So nice to meet you.â€

Watching Jock turn on the charm grated on Stefâ€™s nerves. She was even more dismayed when Laurel said, â€œBeresford? As in the Beresford hoteliers?â€ She had a confused, then wary look on her face.

Stef shifted, not knowing what to say. â€œYes, but they donâ€™t have anything to do with this hotel.â€

Her voice cooler, Laurel said, â€œBut you do. You own this hotel, donâ€™t you. I thought you were employed by the owners.â€

Stef was silent, at a loss for words. She should have told Laurel sooner. After a month, her failure to mention her name looked like a deliberate deception.

Interrupting, Jock smoothly said, â€œWell, she works like sheâ€™s employed by the owners. You know, Ember talks about how much she enjoys your class. If you ever want to come up to see what weâ€™re doing, feel free. Weâ€™re on the top two ÃŸ oors now.â€

Laurel turned to Jock. â€œWell that was very nice of Ember.â€ She looked around and spotted the young woman. â€œIf youâ€™ll excuse me, Iâ€™ll go over and say hello to her and Mrs. Castic. I want to thank her for the tea and cookies a few nights ago.â€

As they watched Laurelâ€™s lovely backside, Stef abruptly remembered herself and elbowed Jock. â€œStop drooling on the

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professor. And, thanks for saying that. I meant to tell her, I just forgot.â€

â€œNo thanks needed. You always hated to tell anyone your last name in college.â€ Rubbing her side, Jock teased, â€œHey, Stump, do I detect some territory that you want to keep to yourself?â€

Stef snapped, â€œNo. Itâ€™s just that sheâ€™s got a lot of class and deserves more than a one-night stand, so I suggest you stay away from her.â€ She was surprised to see Jock ÃŸ inch at that description, since she remembered her priding herself on doing just that in college.

Jock recovered quickly. â€œAre you dating her?â€

â€œNo, Iâ€™m just keeping an eye on her and the historical stuff.

After all, Iâ€™mâ€¦ we are the owners of the hotel.â€ Stef sounded like an ass, even to herself.

â€œUh-huh. You donâ€™t even know if sheâ€™s available, do you?â€

â€œWell, Iâ€¦â€ Now her neck was starting to itch. Stef knew that meant she was blotching from embarrassment. Double dammit.

â€œDo you know if sheâ€™s a lesbian? Bi? Het?â€ Jock rocked back on her heels, obviously enjoying the tease. Just like old times.

Stef hated it. â€œBack off, Jock. Itâ€™s none of our business and you know it.â€

â€œLadies? Do I sense tension here?â€

They whirled to meet Dennyâ€™s vigilant brown eyes. Sheâ€™d always been the mediator between them, and Stef was glad to see her. She couldnâ€™t let her temper get the best of her. They needed Jock.

â€œSorry, Denny. I know I promised to be good.â€ Offering her hand to Stef, Jock said, â€œTruce? I didnâ€™t mean to step on your turf. I was just curious. The professor is hot, thatâ€™s all.â€

Stef hesitated only long enough to catch a meaningful glance from Denny, the kind that threatened great bodily harm if she didnâ€™t cooperate. She shook Jockâ€™s hand, and at that moment Sika called dinner. Sheâ€™d prepared hearty food, with several kinds of lasagnas, salads, crusty garlic bread, and good Chianti, sodas, beer, or water to choose from. Laurel seemed to be enjoying herself, pitching in

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with carrying bowls and such to the long table that they were going to use for the buffet.

Everyone found a place to sit and dug in. Stef quickly arranged herself next to Laurel, reasoning that she needed familiar people around her. They ended up near Ember and Mrs. C, Sika, Denny, and Jock. The conversation was lively, with Laurel exclaiming over the delicious food, Denny and Jock regaling people with stories of their college days on the basketball team, and Ember asking Laurel, whom she insisted on calling Dr. Hoffman, about other classes at Cal. The young woman obviously wanted to attend as more than an observer.

â€œMrs. C, how long have you lived at the hotel?â€ Laurel asked after a while.

The banter paused as all turned their attention to the small, delicately boned woman with the lively blue eyes. Her reserve and Eastern European accent served to make her more interesting.

â€œLet me see. I visited the hotel in the nineteen forties with a friend of mine, actually many times. That went on through the Ãž fties, and I lived here, Ãž nally, in the sixties, I believe.â€

â€œYour name must be in some of the guest ledgers Iâ€™ve been looking through. I havenâ€™t gotten to the forties yet.â€

Mrs. Castic offered a slight smile. â€œPerhaps.â€

Well, that was vague. Laurel must have thought so, too, because she followed up the comment. â€œI was thinking about what we discussed the other day. That club you mentioned. Was it the Elysium Society?â€

A noise from Sikaâ€™s direction along with some coughing drew everyoneâ€™s attention to a spilled glass of red wine. â€œSorry.â€ She stood and started mopping the mess.

Denny quickly disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with several dish towels as they all tried to help and not get dripped on.

Sika recovered quickly and said, â€œWell, I think itâ€™s time for dessert. Laurel, will you help me?â€

Laurel trooped after her to bring out the ice cream and

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chocolate cake that everyone busied themselves with. There were exclamations of being overfed and happy, and a lot of the group thanked their hostesses and excused themselves. Their table was the exception.

Jock asked Laurel, â€œWhat is the Elysium Society? Sounds intriguing.â€

Shrugging, Laurel said, â€œIâ€™m not sure. They seemed to hold regular meetings at the hotel, starting in the nineteen twenties. Mrs.

C was telling me about being in a book club of sorts. Iâ€™ll have to do some more research.â€

Ember, listening intently, piped up. â€œWhy donâ€™t you ask Dr.

Jacobs? She might know about it.â€

Laurel appeared to lose some of the color her glass of wine had placed in her cheeks. Sheâ€™d also lost the smile Stef found mesmerizing. â€œMaybe so. Iâ€™ll have to ask.â€ Her voice was so soft Stef could barely hear her.

Ember must not have noticed, because she followed with, â€œWell, sheâ€™s your partner and the department chair and all, so I thought, you know, she might help.â€

Stef lost all of the air from her lungs. She stared at Laurel, who seemed engrossed in her napkin, refusing to look up.

â€œOkay, well, itâ€™s getting late,â€ Denny said, clearly picking up on the tension. â€œWe all have early days tomorrow, so how about we wrap up for tonight?â€

She must have elbowed Jock because suddenly Jock was standing. â€œYeah, come on, kid, I want you on the job by seven tomorrow. Mrs. Castic, may I escort you back to your rooms?â€

Mrs. C was quick to accept.

Ember seemed about to protest when Jock said, â€œIâ€™ll give you your list of chores for tomorrow as we walk back.â€

Before Stef could register more, she was watching the three of them exit the dining room, Mrs. C framed by the two tall women, one on each arm. Denny and Sika were clearing dishes. Stef offered to help but Sika told her to sit, she and Denny had it handled.

Laurel still refused to look at Stef, instead busying herself gathering her small backpack to leave. â€œThank you for a great

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evening. It was such fun. Is it okay if I come back tomorrow to resume work?â€ She seemed to be asking permission, all over again.

Numbly, Stef said, â€œOf course. I might not be around, so if you could get here before we lock the outer doors, that would help.â€

It seemed they had both had held back critical information from each other. Stef knew she shouldnâ€™t be surprised to hear about the existence of a partner, especially after Laurel had dodged her only attempt to get personal information. But that didnâ€™t matter now, because her fantasy was shattered and the reality of the truth made her sad in a way she had never before experienced.

v

Driving across the Bay Bridge toward Berkeley, Laurel was almost ill from the turn of events of the evening. Things had been going so well. The women were interesting, humorous, immensely likeable. Stef and Jock had almost argued over her, and she was so ÃŸ attered sheâ€™d felt giggly. Although she was startled to learn that Stefanie was from one of the largest hotel families in the world, when she thought about it, how could she be angry when sheâ€™d withheld a much more critical piece of information?

Mrs. Castic was fascinating and obviously knew much more than she was saying about the history of the hotel. Sheâ€™d been cagey in their few previous conversations, and Laurel had the feeling her measure was being taken. More questions bubbled up in her mind.

She wished Sika hadnâ€™t spilled the wine the moment she mentioned the Elysium Society. Everything seemed to come to a crashing halt after that. Laurel could still see the look on Stefâ€™s face when Ember innocently dropped the bomb about Rochelle being her partner.

Even though the topic had never come up before, even though she hadnâ€™t lied except by omission, she felt guilty. She could argue she was being silly. After all, neither she nor Stef had ever been anything other than friendly and businesslike. Yes, very friendly, but why should that matter? Just because she had a partner, nothing would change. And that, she realized sadly, was the problem.

Aside from the fact that she didnâ€™t want to share the project for

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professional reasons, she didnâ€™t want to tell Rochelle for personal reasons, too. The hotel, the project, was her territory, the women her new friends. They liked her for who she was, not as Mrs. Dr.

Rochelle Department Chair. Without Laurel realizing it, Rochelle had narrowed her world to just the friends and colleagues Rochelle knew. She controlled everything, and Laurel had allowed it.

The driveway gravel crunched as she rolled to a halt behind Rochelleâ€™s car. She could see the ÃŸ ickering of the TV in the living room. Rochelle had probably fallen asleep in front of it. With an audible sigh, Laurel locked the car and trudged up the walkway.

Now she would have to rouse her out of her drowse and help her get to bed. Rochelle was larger than Laurel and often nasty when awakened. Laurel never knew what was waiting behind the door.

She steeled herself and went in.

â€œYouâ€™re late.â€ Rochelle was standing just inside the door.

The tone in her voice made Laurelâ€™s stomach tighten. It signaled displeasure and anger. She knew it well.

â€œI got home as soon as I could.â€ Laurel tried to sound matter-of-fact but felt the tension in her throat. She knew Rochelle wouldnâ€™t miss the quaver in her voice and that this sign of weakness would only encourage her.

â€œDoing research, were you?â€

The detachment served to elevate Laurelâ€™s anxiety. Rochelle knew something. She was setting a trap. â€œYes. Why do you ask?â€

â€œAt the library?â€

Laurel fought down panic, tried to think. Rochelle knew she hadnâ€™t been at the library. â€œNo. I was in San Francisco, interviewing an elderly woman for my project.â€

â€œOh, yes. Your boring research project. The one you are doing just to meet your minimum requirement to stay on tenure track. That one?â€

Rochelle swayed just a bit, and Laurel fought the urge to run.

Maybe it was all a ruse, maybe she was just upset that Laurel hadnâ€™t been home as much as usual recently. That alone was grounds for punishment.

â€œYes. Whatâ€™s the matter, Rochelle? You sound upset.â€

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Rochelle stopped a foot from her, now in the light. Her eyes were mean and Laurel could smell her breath. The alcohol scent was overwhelming. She tensed, hoping to talk Rochelle out of her anger and get her to bed.

â€œI talked to Harry De Silva.â€

Harry was Rochelleâ€™s best drinking buddy, a professor in the history department, and Laurel had never liked him. He hit on her, making slimy innuendos and trying to touch her inappropriately, always behind Rochelleâ€™s back. When Laurel complained Rochelle took his side and said it was all in her imagination. Sheâ€™d never once protected her from him.

Feigning uninterest, Laurel said, â€œAnd?â€

â€œHe told me that the buzz in his classes was all about you and the great â€˜Ãž ndâ€™ youâ€™ve made in some hotel in San Francisco. Like youâ€™ve unearthed the mother lode of historical feminist information.â€

Rochelle suddenly grabbed Laurel by both arms, her Ãž ngers digging deeply and shook her. â€œTell me about that, Laurel. Tell me all about it.â€

Trying unsuccessfully to pull away, Laurel said, â€œStop it, Rochelle. Youâ€™re hurting me.â€ Lately Rochelle had been acting this way more often. She would shove Laurel, and even slapped her occasionally, but she always regained control of herself quickly.

Something about her belligerence seemed different tonight.

â€œWho do you think you are, lying to me? You think you can pursue a Ãž nd like that without me as your primary author? Do you?â€

She was spitting the words, twisting her hands to pinch Laurel.

Suddenly she let go and Laurel stumbled back, cracking her head on a nearby wall sconce. She tried to keep her feet under her and escape, thinking of the lock on the spare bedroom door. Sheâ€™d used it before when Rochelle was drunk and would try to come in.

Rochelle never mentioned those instances, either not remembering or pretending nothing happened. She lurched in the direction of the bedroom but Rochelle was on her again, this time grabbing her wrist and slapping her hard enough to send her to the ÃŸ oor.

Stunned, she lay still, trying to orient herself. Her mouth was open; she didnâ€™t know if her jaw was broken because she couldnâ€™t

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seem to move it. Before she could gather her thoughts, she felt a searing pain in her side as Rochelle kicked her hard enough to knock the wind out of her. After a moment, she sensed Rochelle still standing over her, panting.

â€œWeâ€™re not through with this subject. I have an early meeting.

Iâ€™m going to bed.â€ Rochelle staggered and needed a wall for support but managed to make it to their bedroom, where she slammed the door.

Relief ÃŸ ooded through Laurel, then she hastened into the spare room, locking the door behind her. She wasnâ€™t going to risk Rochelle having second thoughts about her reprieve. Leaning on the door, she slid to the ÃŸ oor, the coppery taste of blood in her mouth. Her lips felt puffy, and she gingerly touched her face. She crawled to the only mirror in the room, an inexpensive full-length one she used to make sure everything was zipped and in order before she left for work each day. Even in the poor lighting, the results of her inspection werenâ€™t good.

Her lip was not split, but she must have bitten the inside of her mouth, because it was swelling. The side of her face showed Rochelleâ€™s handprint clearly, and now that the numbness had worn off, her jaw was aching. When she tried to open and close her mouth, she heard clicking and her jaw seemed to stutter. Tears fell as she sagged to the edge of the bed.

Rochelle knew about the project and would now demand to share the credit. Sheâ€™d done so before, what was new? But what about the friends Laurel had made? What about Stef? She wouldnâ€™t be able to go into the hotel for a few days, not until she could cover the external marks with makeup. The thought was like another physical blow. The project, and the women involved in it, were her lifeline, all she looked forward to.

Hugging herself and rocking to help ease the pain from her bruised ribs, she decided that she would offer to share the project without complaint. That way, Rochelle would leave her alone and she might still be able to see Stef. With stunning clarity, she realized that seeing Stefanie Beresford was the most important part of the whole equation. Nothing mattered as much.

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Laurel sank into the bed and carefully pulled her legs up to curl into a ball. Whatever she did, she wasnâ€™t willing to let go of the new, separate existence she led researching in the hotel. She had never been so happy or felt so relaxed.

Imagining Stefâ€™s beautiful face and smile gave her solace as she drifted to sleep.

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CHAPTER NINE

Three days later, after class, Ember Jones lingered after the others left, which seemed to take forever. Although no one asked, the class had been subdued today, the students pensive. Once or twice one of them approached after they were dismissed, but seemed to reconsider and exited the room. All except Ember.

With concern written on her lovely young face, she inquired,

â€œDr. H?â€

â€œYes, Ember. May I help you?â€ Laurel tried to look neutral, professorial. She hoped it was working.

â€œAre you okay?â€ Ember looked embarrassed, staring at her boots and shifting her weight.

â€œWhat? Oh, you mean my face. Well, I am an absentminded professor, I guess. I was so absorbed in a book I was reading I walked into a door a few days ago. Almost knocked myself silly.

That must have been why the class was so quiet today. Tell them Iâ€™m Ãž ne, will you?â€

Looking unconvinced, Ember noted, â€œHavenâ€™t seen you at the hotel either.â€

Desperate to have the conversation over, Laurel said, â€œWell, other responsibilities took precedence, but Iâ€™ll be back in a few days.

Now, if youâ€™ll excuse me, I must be going. See you soon, Ember.â€

Ember gathered her backpack and slung it over her shoulder.

â€œSure. Next class.â€ She started for the door and turned just before exiting. â€œIf you ever need anything, you just let me know, Dr. H. I can come over really fast.â€

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Touched beyond words, Laurel could only nod, Ãž ghting back the tears that threatened to form as she smiled at the young student, so noble and full of idealism. She was the second person, her sister Kate being the Ãž rst, to offer help. Was the situation with Rochelle so transparent that others could see it despite her efforts to conceal?

Rochelle hadnâ€™t said much beyond a halfhearted and defensive apology. Laurel kept her silence, staying in for the past two days to nurse her face and side. Rochelle had brought home dinner for them each evening and kept her drinking to a minimum. She was nice to Laurel, but deÃž nitely wanted to know about the project. She explained that, as her partner, and most importantly the department chair, her help was essential if Laurel planned to publish in any prestigious journal. She also managed to use this logic to make the incident Laurelâ€™s fault for not telling the truth about the project.

Silent while Rochelle lectured her, Laurel was surprised to realize she didnâ€™t feel guilty for lying to her partner. She told her as little as possible, not mentioning what intrigued her the most: the Elysium Society. She had the feeling that there was more to the social group than Mrs. Castic had let on. A discovery of anything that wasnâ€™t commonly established before would guarantee a well-received paper in a good journal, perhaps even a book. As much as Rochelle talked, she hadnâ€™t had that many papers in those journals herself and would think nothing of coopting Laurelâ€™s work so she could take the credit.

Laurel collected her notes and left the classroom, her head down. She wasnâ€™t going to be bullied into handing all her research over to Rochelle. The very idea inÃŸ amed her and she almost knocked down the restroom door as she entered. Angrily, she splashed her face with cold water. All the feelings she managed to keep in check seemed to burst in her head, making her almost dizzy. She held the edge of the basin and took a deep breath to calm herself.

â€œGet a grip. Why the hell are you so angry? Rochelle is the chair of the department, her name would have to be on the paper.

Itâ€™s done all the time. And letâ€™s not leave out the fact that sheâ€™s your partner. Your lover.â€ The last words sounded so foreign to her that she stopped and just stared.

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Would someone who loved her wreak such havoc on her face?

She could barely walk upright, her side ached so badly. What kind of love was that? Never in her life had she ever thought she would be in an abusive relationship. She knew she should leave immediately.

But what if all the nasty things Rochelle constantly told her were true? Could Rochelle make sure she was blacklisted from other universities? Was the only reason she was still at Cal her personal relationship to Rochelle?

What if Rochelle was right and, as a partner, she was as good as it would get? Maybe Stef would be just as abusive once she got to know her. But Stef had never been anything but kind and considerate, not just to her but to Mrs. Castic and Ember. It was obvious that Denny and her mother adored her.

Focusing on the wounded eyes in the mirror, Laurel said, â€œNo.

Stef is nothing like Rochelle. Nothing. But it doesnâ€™t matter, this is something you have to deal with by yourself.â€

She needed a plan. While the project wasnâ€™t the reason for her to leave, it was a catalyst. Rochelleâ€™s escalating drinking and violence had Laurel frightened, and she knew she needed to get out of her situation before something worse happened, and before Rochelle Ãž gured out that Stefanie Beresford was a factor in her decision to walk away.

Laurel allowed herself a shaky smile. She Ãž nally had the courage to do what she should have done a long time ago, and her attraction to Stef had everything to do with that. But she needed to keep her intentions hidden. If Rochelle guessed, it could push her over an edge she was already teetering on.

v

Stef was so full of conÃŸ icting emotions she was having difÃž culty breathing. Ember had come to her and told her about Laurelâ€™s obvious injury, and her concern. She said the rumor was that Dr. Jacobs had hit her. According to Ember, Dr. Jacobs didnâ€™t treat Laurel nicely, but no one knew of a history of physical violence, so perhaps Laurelâ€™s bruises were caused by an accident.

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Jock had dropped by to mention that sheâ€™d seen Laurel enter the building. It was all Stef could do to sit on her hands for an hour or so before going down to see her. As she approached the work room Laurel had taken over, she rehearsed in her mind what she would say, how she would tactfully ask how Laurel was doing, suggest that maybe she should take some action, offer to help. But when she reached the door and saw the bruise on her jaw, the swelling on one side of her beautiful face, she wanted to destroy something.

The thought of someone laying a hand on Laurel in anger made her crazy.

Watching covertly, from just behind the door, Stef tried to calm down but she couldnâ€™t. Laurel was deeply engrossed in a ledger, surrounded by the diaries and notepads of her research. She looked completely absorbed and terribly vulnerable.

â€œLaurel?â€ Stef did her best to strike a pleasant, innocent tone, as though she hadnâ€™t noticed the remnants of the huge purple imprint of a hand.

Laurel gave her a cautious smile. â€œI didnâ€™t hear you.â€

Stef came in and sat on a box close to Laurel. She studied her and reached to gently touch the bruise on her jaw.

â€œDonâ€™t.â€ Laurel turned away. But when Stef didnâ€™t withdraw, she accepted her tentative touch.

â€œWho did this to you?â€ Stefâ€™s voice was rough with emotion.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldnâ€™t hide her anger or pretend the evidence of an assault wasnâ€™t there.

Not meeting her eyes, Laurel said, â€œIt isnâ€™t important. Itâ€™s over.â€

â€œYes, it is important. Itâ€™s you.â€ Stef pulled Laurel to her and in that moment, Laurel collapsed, clinging to her, breaking down completely.

Overwhelmed with tenderness, Stef held her and let her cry.

When she tightened her embrace Laurel ÃŸ inched and their eyes met.

For a ÃŸ eeting moment Laurel seemed afraid, then she focused on Stef, and Stef saw shame. Gently she eased back and, seeking her permission and receiving a slight nod, she lifted the tank top. Purple

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and yellow bruises covered Laurelâ€™s abdomen and ribs. Tears fell and Stef did nothing to hide them.

â€œYou canâ€™t go back there.â€ That was the one thing she knew in her heart.

Laurel looked away. â€œItâ€™sâ€¦complicated. Iâ€™ve decided Iâ€™m leaving, but I donâ€™t have a place yet, and there are my classes, my job. I just need a little time.â€

Stef tried to lighten the mood, reasoning with her, not making her wrong. â€œLaurel, why donâ€™t you try hotel living? This ÃŸ oor still has a few rooms left. Youâ€™d be closer to the project. Then you wouldnâ€™t have to commute so late at night. You could just go over to teach. You could eat here, too. Sika always complains she doesnâ€™t have enough mouths to feed.â€

Her eyes welling again, Laurel said, â€œThat would be such an imposition. Besides, this is my problem, and I must deal with it.

Rochelle is also my supervisor at the university. She could claim the project as partly hers.â€

Not able to keep the steel from her voice, Stef said, â€œYou were the one we agreed to let examine the papers, and you are the one who will write about what weâ€™ve found. The only one. Tell her that if you want.â€

Pulling away, Laurel sat up in the camp chair she used and straightened her clothes. She seemed embarrassed to have let down in front of Stef. â€œThank you, but Iâ€™ll have to handle this situation myself. There are so many things to consider.â€

â€œListen, Iâ€™ll let you get back to work. But the offer still stands.

You can move into one of the rooms on this ÃŸ oor at least until we need to renovate, no charge.â€ When Laurel emphatically shook her head, Stef amended, â€œOr a minimal rent. After all, these are not ideal conditions, right?â€

â€œYouâ€™ve been more than generous, Stef, from the very beginning. I didnâ€™t mean to dump my troubles in your lap. Itâ€™s just that this place feels welcoming to me. Iâ€¦ Donâ€™t worry about me, Iâ€™ll be Ãž ne.â€

Stef was stung by her words, cut off from what had been such

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a strong connection only moments before. Standing abruptly, she started for the door. As she reached it, she felt a hand on her back and turned to see the woman she constantly dreamt about, just inches from her.

Laurel leaned and kissed her on the cheek. â€œThank you forâ€¦

everything.â€

It would be so easy to change direction, to take Laurel in her arms and kiss her passionately. Stef had to escape, needed to think.

Now was not the time to complicate Laurelâ€™s life further. She nodded and left the room, numbly taking the service elevator to the top ÃŸ oor and then the stairs to the roof. There, she stared into the growing dusk, the tall buildings of San Francisco all around her. She wished she had a drink, then thought she should take up smoking. Her mood seemed noir; all she needed to complete the picture was a trench coat and fedora.

On cue, Jock was behind her. â€œGot woman problems?â€

Stef started. â€œWhere did you come from?â€

â€œI come up here a lot at the end of the day. Itâ€™s nice. Fresh salt air from the ocean this time of day, bustle of the city, I like it.â€

Studying Stef for a moment, she asked, â€œHowâ€™s Laurel?â€

Stef felt her shoulders sag. â€œBruised. Who told you?â€

â€œEmberâ€™s been worried. We all like the professor. Want me to go beat someone up?â€

Jock was serious. Her tough talk made Stef smile. â€œStand in line. I offered to have her move into the hotel, but she said she couldnâ€™t.â€

Jock was quiet for a moment. â€œWant a glass of wine? I have a good Zin over there.â€ She seemed a bit shy in the asking.

Surprised at the considerate offer, and who was offering, Stef nodded and followed her across the rooftop to a little sheltered area that was set up with a makeshift table of concrete blocks and a few metal patio chairs. Jock handed her a wineglass and poured the wine expertly. They swirled the wine and sniffed appropriately, then took a sip.

â€œItâ€™s good. Are you a wine devotee?â€ Stef couldnâ€™t see very well in the light but guessed that Jock was blushing.

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â€œIâ€™ve done work in some of the wineries in Sonoma and Napa and learned some things from their winemakers. One thing led to another, and now I just appreciate a good bottle of wine. Nice to share it with someone.â€ They sat enjoying the silence for a while before Jock ventured, â€œDo you care for Laurel?â€

Immediately shaking her head, Stef said, â€œI canâ€™t. Sheâ€™s in a relationship. Good or bad, sheâ€™s with someone else.â€

Jock put a comforting hand on her shoulder just as Denny rounded the corner and pulled up short. â€œOh, sorry, I didnâ€™t know you were entertaining.â€ She did an about face and abruptly stopped.

Whirling back she said, â€œStef? What are you doing here?â€

The tone in her voice fell somewhere between accusation and shock. For some reason Stef felt guilty and stood abruptly. â€œI came up for some air and found Jock and we wereâ€¦what are you doing here?â€

â€œWell, I came up to see what Mademoiselle was pouring this evening. Do I need an excuse?â€

â€œDo I?â€ Stef knew she sounded defensive. Was she taking her frustration about Laurel out on Denny?

Jock interrupted them. â€œHey, I have another glass. If you two best friends can calm down a minute, we can continue to enjoy the evening. Deal?â€

Denny nodded and then seemed to reconsider her attitude. â€œI heard about Laurel. Have you talked to her?â€

Stef deÃŸ ated, taking a large gulp of wine as Jock poured a glass for Denny. â€œShe looks like hell and there are bruises on her stomach.

Looks like her bitch partner kicked her.â€

Jock asked, â€œHow did you Ãž nd out about her stomach?â€

Stef heard only concern in her voice, so she answered and then explained how Laurel had just shut her out.

â€œSheâ€™s ashamed, Stef. You need to give her some space to work it out.â€ Denny stopped talking and they all sipped silently.

Stef Ãž nally added, â€œMaybe so, but if that woman so much as touches her again, Iâ€™m going to beat the shit out of her.â€

Jock raised her glass. â€œI call second.â€

Followed by Denny. â€œI call third.â€

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Toasting required opening a second bottle. By the end of the evening they had shared a pizza, too, and Stef had begun to change her mind about Jock Reynolds.

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CHAPTER TEN

Denny slipped into Stefâ€™s ofÃž ce and closed the door, leaning on it. â€œThe suits are here. Think I should get my gun?â€

Smiling at Dennyâ€™s joke, Stef took a deep breath to calm herself. She had only needed to make one call before she came up with the money to continue the renovation. The loan ofÃž cer whoâ€™d arranged the Ãž rst mortgage had vouched for her. The representatives of the private investment Ãž rm were here to get her signature and hand over the check. The interest rate was excessive, so the monthly payment was going to be high, and there was a balloon payment after Ãž ve years. She had to have the money to Ãž nish the hotel and get it producing revenue, then she could worry about the rest.

Private investor groups usually made a ton of money off second mortgages.

â€œAre their names Bruno and Vinnie?â€ she asked.

Glancing at the closed door, Denny said, â€œNo. One looks like a successful businessman. The other is a woman, more like an assistant, I think. The man reminds me of your brother George. Very expensive and well tailored. He was pleasant enough, but sees me as the secretary. Iâ€™m sure heâ€™s happy to be charging rates that border on usury.â€

Stef shrugged. â€œItâ€™s just business to them, Denny. Money.

Theyâ€™ve got it and we need it. Letâ€™s get this over with.â€

The suit was named Trip Boynton, a short, round man with perfectly manicured hands and a four-hundred-dollar haircut, if you

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counted the cost of the highlights to his mouse brown and thinning hair. His clothes were designed to obscure a soft physique, and he had a perfect tan. Unfortunately for him, his large nose and small hazel eyes made him look like a rat. A rich rat, and she was the cheese.

â€œMs. Beresford, what a pleasure. My partners and I were happy to be of assistance in bringing this grand old hotel back to its former glory.â€

All this was said while he politely shook her hand, but lingered a bit too long before releasing it. Stef wanted to wipe her hand on the pant leg of her suit. Boyntonâ€™s entire focus was on charming her, and it was making Stef want to grind her teeth. He introduced his assistant almost as an afterthought. Miss Agnes Brady was a plain, thickset woman who looked decidedly uncomfortable. She clutched her briefcase as though it contained diamonds.

â€œWhy donâ€™t we get down to business.â€ Stef wanted him gone, and soon. â€œI have other appointments and Iâ€™m sure you do, too.â€

â€œOf course. Miss Brady, papers please.â€

Stef suspected he narrowly avoided snapping his Ãž ngers at the woman.

Agnes Brady fumbled with the lock on her case and hastened to produce a thick sheaf of documents that made Stefâ€™s heart constrict.

She was taking a huge risk, but there was no other choice. Gulping down her anxiety, she looked the contract over. The terms were as agreed upon with the usual inclusions. It seemed boilerplate. Boynton kept checking his microthin watch, as if he was late for something.

Either that or he wanted her to notice how very expensive it must be.

He had to have known she grew up in a house full of such watches.

Maybe he just had a thing about it.

As soon as sheâ€™d signed the last form and Miss Brady pulled out her stamp and booklet to notarize it, Stef gave her Ãž ngerprint for the book and they were gone. Boynton breezed out Ãž rst, leaving poor Miss Brady to struggle after him.

She hesitated at the door and looked over her shoulder uncertainly. With heartfelt emotion, she said, â€œExcuse me.â€ Then she left.

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Staring at the closed door, Stef said, â€œWhat was that all about?â€

Denny and Sika sat in the chairs Boynton and Brady had just vacated.

Sika said, â€œWell, we have the money to continue. We are grateful.â€

Denny and Stef sighed at the same moment, Stef saying,

â€œFunny, I donâ€™t feel grateful. I feel in debt. Enormous debt.â€

â€œItâ€™s our dream to bring this hotel back to life for women travelers, for women. Every man weâ€™ve encountered has told us we cannot do it. It will never make money if we rely solely on women as clientele. Now how do you feel?â€ Sika was studying them. She always seemed to say the right thing at the right moment.

Stef felt her eyes narrow and her body straighten. She saw the same thing happen to Denny. â€œI feel like fuckâ€¦uh, screwâ€¦umâ€¦to hellâ€¦damn, Mamaka. Itâ€™s hard not to swear when youâ€™re telling someone off.â€

Bursting into laughter, Sika hugged her and Denny. â€œWell, thank you for thinking of me, but I agree, to hell with them. They donâ€™t know women very well. We just have to get the word out. Iâ€™ll work on that, you two get this hotel Ãž nished.â€

v

Stef felt restless. Laurel was Ãž nally in the hotel again, after skipping almost a week, but hadnâ€™t been up to greet her. Theyâ€™d been avoiding each other, so Stef wasnâ€™t entirely surprised to be ignored again, but she wasnâ€™t in the mood tonight. It was time they had an adult conversation, she decided, and stalked downstairs composing what she planned to say.

Laurelâ€™s door was usually open, but tonight it was closed and Stef could hear voices in the room. One was Laurelâ€™s, but she sounded different somehow. Stef waited a moment, thought about leaving, then knocked. When the door was jerked open, she was looking at a very angry stranger.

â€œWhat do you want?â€

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Momentarily stunned by the rudeness, Stef was speechless.

Laurel appeared at the womanâ€™s side, looking small and anxious. â€œRochelle, this is Stefanie Beresford, the owner of the hotel.â€

She had stressed Stefâ€™s last name, as if trying to impress the rude woman. It must have worked because â€œRochelleâ€ was suddenly all smiles and extended her hand.

â€œOh, Ms. Beresford. Iâ€™m Dr. Rochelle Jacobs, Department Chair of Womenâ€™s Studies at Cal. Sorry, I was in the middle of examining the documents and was so absorbed that I forgot my manners. Thank you for letting me have access to these precious pieces of womenâ€™s history.â€ She pumped Stefâ€™s hand gratuitously, then dropped it to stand back and study her from head to toe. â€œVery nice to meet you indeed.â€

The tone of her voice made Stef decidedly uncomfortable. She was ÃŸ irting. She probably expected Stef to be ÃŸ attered. Coughing into her hand gave her the opportunity to think of a response. She glanced quickly at Laurel, who was studying the ÃŸ oor, blushing. She was probably thoroughly embarrassed. The urge to throw Rochelle Jacobs out made Stefâ€™s hands itch. She wondered what the woman was even doing here.

â€œIâ€™m surprised to see anyone but Dr. Hoffman here. Itâ€™s her project.â€ Stef kept her tone neutral, her face schooled to match it.

Jacobs sought to clarify. â€œOh, my, no. Laurel is an assistant professor, she doesnâ€™t have full tenure. With a Ãž nd like this, sheâ€™ll need my guidance to introduce it to the right people.â€

That explanation was supposed to impress, Stef was sure.

â€œReally? Because sheâ€™s the only one who has permission to be examining the contents of this room.â€

Jacobsâ€™s eyes hardened and her jaw muscles worked overtime.

â€œLaurel is my employee. I need to show her how to handle the journals, how to introduce the material to the media. Sheâ€™s also my partner. Sheâ€™ll share.â€

â€œSheâ€™s right here in the room. Maybe we should ask her.â€ Stef had had about enough of this ofÃž cious bitch.

They both turned to Laurel, and for the Ãž rst time since Stef

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had known her, she looked afraid. Her hands were clasped tightly together, and she was slightly hunched as if protecting herself. If Stef needed any proof that Jacobs was the one who had abused her previously, this was it. The urge to go to her, stand between her and the tall, imposing, and pissed-off woman was so strong she had to Ãž ght for control. But Laurel gave no indication she needed her help.

Except one. A pleading look that lasted no more than a second.

With that look, Stef understood that if she threw Jacobs out, or embarrassed her in any way, Laurel would pay the price for it. She couldnâ€™t allow that.

Jacobs said, â€œLaurel, explain to Ms. Beresford how the university system is organized.â€ Her tone was light, patronizing, but Stef heard a threat in it and tried for damage control.

â€œYouâ€™re right. I really donâ€™t want to put anyone on the spot. I just donâ€™t understand how all this works.â€ Her false naÃ¯vetÃ© seemed to help.

Laurel went into a long explanation, probably memorized word for word, of the pecking order in the university. Only half listening, Stef was paying more attention to the body language between the two women. As the monologue went on, Jacobs seemed to get taller and Laurel to shrink, right before Stefâ€™s eyes. After sheâ€™d Ãž nished making her partner feel big and important, she cast another brief, pleading glance in Stefâ€™s direction.

Stef understood exactly what she needed to do. With a careless shrug, she said, â€œWhatever Laurel decides is Ãž ne by me. I guess I was just saying that Iâ€™d prefer if she were the only one who did the work at the hotel. She must be the only one with a key. This place is under renovation, as you can tell. We already have security issues and our insurance is sky high. Sheâ€™s signed a waiver releasing us from liability if she becomes ill from the dust.â€

Laurel tilted her head for a second before nodding vigorously.

Playing her role, she added timidly, â€œStefanie has kept me supplied with industrial masks.â€ As if Jacobs would care about lung damage to her partner when there was prestige up for grabs.

â€œWe should move all this material to the university.â€ Jacobs was obviously salivating for compete control. â€œIt will be safe there.â€

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Shaking her head slowly, as if considering the idea, Stef said, â€œCanâ€™t allow that, sorry. It stays here. We need the material for promotion and stuff like that. We donâ€™t even know if this is all of it, and it isnâ€™t catalogued. We wouldnâ€™t know if anything went missing.â€

Frustrated, Jacobs offered, â€œWell, weâ€™ll catalogue the collection for you, naturally.â€

Smiling her best, Stef said, â€œThatâ€™s what Laurelâ€™s agreed to do.

You see, sheâ€™s already tried to get the papers out of here and back to the university. But I wouldnâ€™t cooperate. Iâ€™ve been stung before, no offense to you.â€

Stef was damned proud of that lie. It would put Laurel on Jacobsâ€™s side and Jacobs could be upset with Stef instead. Maybe, if she was lucky, Jacobs would try to take a swing, physically threaten her. Stef would absolutely love to have a crack at her.

Staring hard at her, Jacobs seemed to force a casual tone.

â€œWell, in my opinion, everything would be much safer at school.

As you said, this place is a rat trap right now. Until itâ€™s remodeled, of course.â€

Why, you fucker. Stef was about to lay into her when Laurel said, â€œRochelle, thatâ€™s not fair. Iâ€™ve seen some of the top ÃŸ oors and they will be stunning, Iâ€™m sure. Stefanie is sparing no expense on the renovations.â€

Seeming to notice Laurel was still there, Jacobs insincerely said, â€œYouâ€™ve seen the rest of the hotel? Oh, my mistake. Please accept my apologies. Laurel, I think itâ€™s time we went to dinner.

Some of our colleagues are meeting at a new place in Berkeley and we can get there only a little late. Ms. Beresford, a pleasure.â€ She offered her hand in dismissal.

Stef took her leave, but not without trying to give Laurel a smile of encouragement. Laurel never took her eyes away from Jacobs, but her attention was not adoring. Stef read the body language with a sick feeling. Laurel was on guard and looking for the next blow.

v

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Laurel returned to her notes, searching for some juicy tidbit to distract Rochelle from her constant griping about Stef and perhaps act as a peace offering. Days had passed since the showdown at the hotel, and Rochelle was still brooding. The silence lasted maybe a minute, with Laurel acutely aware of Rochelle standing in the middle of her ofÃž ce, arms folded, staring at her.

â€œYouâ€™re fucking her.â€ The words were spat with such venom Laurel involuntarily ÃŸ inched.

This accusation was a new low, even for Rochelle. And she was sober, too. Laurelâ€™s alarms were going off, big time. â€œWhat did you say? Thatâ€™s nonsense. I am with you, Rochelle, and I am working on a signiÃž cant Ãž nd. Why would I do such a thing?â€

â€œThatâ€™s how you got her to say that you had exclusive access to that shit. Youâ€™re fucking her. Why else would she do it?â€

Laurel was momentarily speechless. It was one thing to constantly degrade her, but why pick on Stef? â€œBecause everything she said is true? Because sheâ€™s honorable and is a nice person? Those thoughts never entered your mind, did they, Rochelle?â€

Weary from the constant battle that was Rochelle Jacobs, Laurel had allowed the words to slip out, unedited. Rochelleâ€™s eyes narrowed dangerously.

â€œYou have a crush on her. Maybe she hasnâ€™t fucked you, but you want her to, donâ€™t you?â€ She was leaning closer now and Laurel reÃŸ exively tried for some distance, feeling her face heat as she quickly searched for space. Unexpectedly, Rochelle started laughing. Her face contorted into a sneer and she spat, â€œWhy on earth would you think a rich bitch like that would be attracted to you? Maybe Kate, but you? She could have anyone she wanted, and youâ€™re nothing but a junior instructor who takes all the pitiful leftovers anyone trying to dump a job heaps on you. And you just nod and do their bidding, Little Mary Bookworm. Youâ€™re a joke.â€

If Rochelle had slapped her as hard as she could it wouldnâ€™t have hurt as much as those words. It was as though Rochelle knew how to cut her heart out and did it with surgical precision. Laurelâ€™s secret fear had always been that she would yet again be second to Kate. Rochelle had made it abundantly clear that that would have

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been her preference, too. Once Stef met Kate, any foolish dreams Laurel had would Ãž nally be put to rest.

â€œWhy are you with me if Iâ€™m so unworthy?â€

After a brief silence, Rochelle said, â€œI often wonder myself.

Perhaps because I like being waited on, perhaps because I took pity on you. But donâ€™t push it, Laurel. And donâ€™t even think about trying to make it with Stefanie Beresford. Youâ€™re not in her league.â€

Straightening up, she dusted some imaginary lint off of her jacket.

â€œIf you try to screw me over on my new Ãž nd, Iâ€™ll bury you and Iâ€™ll bury the information as well. Iâ€™ll claim that theyâ€™re all forgeries and Iâ€™ll make it stick. Iâ€™ll also Ãž nd a way to discredit Beresford and her new womenâ€™s hotel. Now get up and letâ€™s go. I want a drink.â€

As Laurel stood and gathered her purse and the papers she wanted to take home, she was amazed at how calm she felt. Maybe it was because Rochelle hadnâ€™t gotten violent, and she was relieved to have escaped the worst. Perhaps that was part of it. But something else had happened, too. As the cruel words spilled out of Rochelleâ€™s very sober mouth, Laurel knew that she would not put up with this poor excuse for a human being any longer. It might cost her tenure, she might have to give up the idea of being a professor, but she would be gone from this woman, and the sooner, the better. As for Stef, what did it matter? Rochelle was right about that, if nothing else. Stef was out of her league.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

On her way across campus toward the BART station, Ember stopped at one of the many coffee kiosks for a triple-shot latte. Working full time and researching stuff for Mrs. Castic in addition to the assigned readings in Dr. Hoffmanâ€™s class was taking a toll. On top of all that, sheâ€™d overheard Jock and Denny talking about an incident last week between Stefanie, Dr. Hoffman, and that jerk partner of hers, Dr. Jacobs. Threats about the research project being coopted. Ember wished sheâ€™d never opened her mouth to the other students. It was her fault that Dr. Jacobs had heard about the discovery.

Morosely, she ordered the latte and leaned against the counter.

Maybe she should go apologize to Dr. Hoffman since sheâ€™d obviously caused a problem. How was she supposed to know the papers were a big secret? Sheâ€™d just assumed Dr. Hoffman would tell her partner, even if Dr. Jacobs was a skank.

As the waiter put her drink on the counter, someone slapped a twenty down to pay for it and a male voice behind her said, â€œI guess I owe you that.â€

Ember turned sharply, expecting to have to deal with an aggressive ÃŸ irt. Instead, she was face-to-face with a very clean and shaven Joey G. She might not have recognized her heroin addict street friend if not for his bright smile. To say he looked different was an understatement.

â€œJoey G? Is that really you?â€ She couldnâ€™t believe it.

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â€œYup. â€™Tis I. And I have you to thank for it.â€ He bowed, gave her the change and her latte, and offered his arm. â€œCan I walk you?â€

They found seats on the train to San Francisco and she studied him. â€œJoey, what happened? The last time I saw you, you were strung out and mugging old ladies.â€

â€œYes, I was. Remember you gave me that twenty and told me get to rehab?â€

â€œI remember. I didnâ€™t think youâ€™d do it, though.â€

â€œYou were right. I went straight to my dealer and tried to pay him with the twenty even though he told me he wanted Ãž fty. He beat the shit out of me.â€

â€œOh, Joey, Iâ€™m sorry I didnâ€™t have more. I didnâ€™t want you to get hurt.â€ Ember felt terrible. The poor guy was a junkie, not a thug.

â€œI know, I know. Turns out it was the best thing you could have done for me. When I woke up in a pool of my own puke, and a few other things, Iâ€™d already started to withdraw. I barely made it to the ER. The doctor called my folks and they stuck me in rehab.â€

â€œWow, what a story. Are you living at home now?â€

â€œNope. Iâ€™m taking classes and have a job. Iâ€™m too damned busy to use, and Iâ€™m paying my parents back for the cost of rehab. They donâ€™t have any money. They used all their savings.â€

Curious, Ember asked, â€œWhat job are you working? Where do you live?â€

â€œI take care of a warehouse south of Market. Gotta start somewhere. Turns out thereâ€™s not much call for a professional purse snatcher. Iâ€™m sharing a loft with a guy I met in rehab, Ben. He had a cocaine problem but weâ€™re both clean and sober now.â€ He looked slightly bashful.

Ember picked up on his funny little smile. â€œJoey, is Ben your boyfriend?â€ Theyâ€™d never really talked about much in those days, but Ember knew heâ€™d turned a few tricks to support himself. Selling sex was part of life on the streets, a last resort she was always grateful sheâ€™d been able to avoid.

Joeyâ€™s ears were pinking up nicely. â€œYup. Heâ€™s a few years older and much wiser. Heâ€™s, like, a computer genius. Now heâ€™s developing

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software and beta testing and stuff like that. His employer owns the warehouse and he got me the job. Itâ€™s very cool.â€

â€œI am so happy for you, Joey, really.â€

â€œYou look great, too. Not on the street anymore either?â€ His gray eyes shone as he took in her clean clothes and scrubbed look.

Not Abercrombie and Fitch, but not free at the church, either. Sheâ€™d paid for them herself.

â€œIâ€™m living in a hotel and working for the contractor thatâ€™s remodeling it. Remember that old lady whose purse you tried to steal?â€

â€œYou mean do I remember getting that black eye you gave me?

It was nothing compared to what happened later.â€ He grinned, so Ember knew he was okay with it.

â€œWell, we became friends. Sheâ€™s really cool and Iâ€™m living with her. I help her out. Sheâ€™s, like, one of the most awesome people I know. Youâ€™d like her.â€

The train stopped at Market and Embarcadero and they both disembarked.

â€œI live about Ãž ve blocks from here,â€ Joey said. â€œYou want to see it? We get to use some of the vehicles housed there, the ones our boss owns. A lot of it is mostly personal things owned by employees whoâ€™ve transferred, or theyâ€™re on assignment or something.â€

â€œIâ€™d love to, but I have to go now, Iâ€™m expected. Give me your cell number and Iâ€™ll call you. Iâ€™m going to get a cell phone soon.â€

Sheâ€™d enjoyed not being on call the way people were when they carried their phone twenty-four/seven. But Jock and Stef had been after her to have one for the job. Since they would pay for it, she could avoid having to show a phone company her false ID, just in case those papers she purchased making her Ember â€œJonesâ€

werenâ€™t as good as she thought they were.

Joey scrawled his cell number and e-mail address onto a piece of paper for her, and they hugged good-bye. As she walked to the hotel, Ember was amazed and happy. Sheâ€™d looked for him a few times and had been sad when she couldnâ€™t Ãž nd him in his usual haunts around Union Square. Sheâ€™d started to think she would never see him again, but now he was a friend. Thinking about the change

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in him sent her mind drifting to her family. She was also thinking of getting her own computer, rather than using the ones at the library or the job site. Wow, she was growing up.

v

Stef unlocked the project room and entered, seeking the guilty pleasure of Laurelâ€™s ordered chaos. Sheâ€™d come to think of this room as their room. She knew it was ridiculous, but she hadnâ€™t heard from Laurel since meeting Rochelle and she was worried. Being here made her feel closer and she hoped that maybe sheâ€™d Ãž nd that Laurel had been here. She sat in Laurelâ€™s camp chair and looked around, listening to the silence.

A small cry from behind the closed bathroom door made Stef turn. She thought she was imagining things until she heard some rustling. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up and she crept to the door.

â€œLaurel? Are you in there?â€

Silence.

â€œLaurel, itâ€™s me Stef. Open the door, please?â€

Taking a breath, she tried the handle and found it locked. She listened with her ear resting against the smooth oak surface and heard a mufÃŸ ed sound, a gasp perhaps. A sound of distress. Fumbling to locate the bathroom master key, one of a set sheâ€™d never used before, she tried several before Ãž nding one that turned smoothly.

â€œLaurel, Iâ€™m opening the door now, donâ€™t be afraid.â€

She felt foolish for a moment, wondering if she was mistaken and there was a stray cat trapped in the room making that noise.

Theyâ€™d caught a few since the renovations began and had managed to Ãž nd homes for them. Another thought Ãž lled her with dread. Maybe Laurel was in there and her partner was holding her at gunpoint.

What should she do?

Terror started in her heart and radiated through her body. She opened her cell phone, keyed it to Sikaâ€™s number, set it to intercom, and put it down on the ÃŸ oor. â€œLaurel, Iâ€™m coming in. Itâ€™s me, Stef.

Donâ€™t be afraid, I wonâ€™t hurt you.â€

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Cautiously, she opened the door and ÃŸ ipped the light switch.

At Ãž rst glance the room seemed empty, then she heard the sound again, coming from the bathtub. The old shower curtain was moldy and half torn, but pulling it back revealed Laurel, on her knees and curled in a ball, rocking. Dropping beside the tub, Stef gently put a hand on Laurelâ€™s shoulder and felt her shrink back.

â€œDonâ€™t.â€ Laurelâ€™s voice shook. â€œPlease. Go away.â€

Stef sat back on her heels, trying to catch her breath. There was no choice here. Trying again, she placed her hand on the trembling shoulder and said, â€œI wonâ€™t leave you. Iâ€™ll never leave you. Iâ€™m calling the paramedics.â€

â€œNo. Iâ€™m Ãž ne. Just help me up.â€

â€œYou shouldnâ€™t move.â€

But Laurel was trying to stand. Stef helped ease her over to sit on the toilet seat lid. Her face was swollen and she was going to have at least one black eye. Her lip was split. From the huddled position she was in, Stef would bet sheâ€™d been kicked in the ribs again.

â€œWho did this?â€ Sheâ€™d instantly assumed the assailant was Rochelle Jacobs, but it was possible that Laurel was the victim of a random act of violence.

Laurel whispered something in reply, but Stef couldnâ€™t make out her words. The only thing she heard was, â€œI should have known better.â€

â€œSo, it was Rochelle?â€

â€œI canâ€™t talk right now,â€ Laurel said.

Her voice was so thin, Stef could tell she was only just able to hold herself together. Treading carefully, she asked, â€œCan you walk?â€ When she nodded, Stef said, â€œWeâ€™re going to my room.

Thereâ€™s no place to lie down in here.â€

Just then Sika appeared at the door, out of breath. She took one look at Laurel and claimed the other side of her. They slowly made their way to Stefâ€™s room and got Laurel seated on the couch.

Sika asked, â€œWhen did this happen, Laurel?â€ There was no judgment in her voice, only compassion.

â€œA few hours ago.â€ Laurelâ€™s speech was somewhat distorted

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because of her lip. â€œSheâ€™s been angry about what happened when she came here last week. We had a Ãž ght about it after work yesterday.â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry.â€ Stef felt terrible. Maybe she should have given in and just let the woman take all the documents. The project was nothing compared with Laurelâ€™s safety.

â€œNot your fault,â€ Laurel said. â€œShe came home early and found me packing my bags. She was drunk. It was the worst Iâ€™ve ever seen.

I told her I was leaving her. I should have kept my mouth shut.â€

The effort it took to speak those words seemed to sap what strength Laurel had. She fell silent. Watching her, Stef felt so helpless. And so full of rage. She got a blanket and covered Laurel, then gingerly sat next to her.

Sika had her phone open. â€œYou need a doctor, child.â€

â€œNo, no. Please. No.â€ Laurel reached for Stefâ€™s hand.

She felt so fragile, Stef had to school herself to not envelop her in a hug. Then she fought not to cry. This was no time to be blubbering like a wimp. She listened to Sika talking on the phone and deduced that she was discussing the situation with Denny.

When she ended the call, she said, â€œJockâ€™s coming down to see if she can help. She was a paramedic for a few years.â€

That was news to Stef.

When Jock and Denny arrived, Jockâ€™s face was set in a professional mask. She quickly checked for anything broken or bleeding, asking questions as she worked. She listened to Laurelâ€™s breathing and heart, using a stethoscope that materialized out ofâ€”

where? Her tool belt? Then she gently palpated her abdomen. Laurel sucked in air against the pain but was silent. Stef wondered if sheâ€™d been silent during the beating, too.

â€œI think youâ€™re battered but not broken,â€ Jock concluded.

â€œBut we should get you to an emergency room to make sure, and to document this.â€ After a long hesitation, she said, â€œYou should Ãž le charges, Laurel.â€

Shaking her head, Laurel replied, â€œI wonâ€™t Ãž le charges. It could mean her career.â€

Stef had had enough. â€œLaurel, you need to be checked out. Jock thinks youâ€™re okay but theyâ€™ll take Ãž lms to make sure. If anything

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were to happen, weâ€™d all feel terrible, especially Jock. So while youâ€™re taking care of your abuserâ€™s career, why donâ€™t you take care of your friends, too.â€ Shocked at the harshness of her tone, she quietly added, â€œYou donâ€™t have to Ãž le charges if you donâ€™t want to.â€

All eyes were on Laurel, who was staring at Stef, one eye pufÃž ng closed. â€œYouâ€™re right. Letâ€™s go.â€ She struggled to stand and Denny and Jock had her upright in seconds.

â€œWeâ€™ll all go.â€ Denny was checking for her keys.

â€œNo. Iâ€™ll take her,â€ Stef said. â€œYou all have been great. Den, can you bring my car around? Jock, would you go with her, itâ€™s getting late.â€

The hotel had a garage, but it was still closed, housing only construction equipment and vehicles. They had to park in a nearby public lot until the hotel was completed. Denny could take care of herself, but Stef didnâ€™t feel like tempting fate at this time of the night.

Jock said, â€œJust what I was planning to do.â€

Sika was silent until Jock and Denny left, then she touched Laurelâ€™s arm. â€œYouâ€™ll not go back there, Laurel. Not without an escort. Iâ€™ll Ãž nd some clothes for you to wear tomorrow. Call and cancel your classes for the week. Youâ€™ll stay with me or with Stefanie.â€

Laurel mumbled, â€œThank you for your kindness.â€

Stef squeezed the small hand in her own. â€œLaurel, thatâ€™s what friends are for. We can count on each other in the bad times.â€

With a sob of despair, Laurel said, â€œIâ€™m so sorry I dragged you into this. Sheâ€™ll know Iâ€™m here. I donâ€™t want to cause a problem.â€

â€œLet me tell you something.â€ Stef kept her voice soft and even despite the temper ÃŸ aring deep inside. â€œIf Rochelle Jacobs shows her face in this building, there wonâ€™t be a problem. Thereâ€™ll be blood.

Hers.â€

Laurel looked startled and Sika concerned.

â€œOkay,â€ Stef conceded, â€œIâ€™m getting carried away. Letâ€™s just say she wouldnâ€™t dare.â€

v

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The emergency room was predictably busy, but Laurel was treated and discharged within three hours. They hadnâ€™t spoken much, but sheâ€™d held Stefâ€™s hand almost the entire time. Initially, Laurel went with the nurse by herself but hesitated after a few steps.

Stef was instantly at her side and stayed with her during the exam.

Their only separation was when Ãž lms were taken of her ribs.

She left with prescriptions for mild painkillers and her abdomen wrapped. Nothing was broken but she was badly bruised and had some muscle strains and tears. Her lip would heal with a few butterÃŸ y sutures. Laurel surrendered Stefâ€™s hand to let her drive.

Huddled in the passenger seat, she was gazing out the window at the quiet streets, seeming to doze.

â€œIâ€™m going to park in front of the hotel and get you inside, then take the car to the garage. Iâ€™ll call Sika.â€ Stef reached for her cell when she felt Laurelâ€™s hand on her thigh.

â€œNo, Iâ€™ll come with you to the garage. Itâ€™s too late and might not be safe. Two are better than one.â€

Stef wasnâ€™t sure that two women, one of whom was walking like a ninety-year-old and the other trying to help her, didnâ€™t present a better target, but the look on Laurelâ€™s battered face kept her from saying so. â€œOkay, thanks.â€

They parked in one of the spots reserved for those who paid monthly. It was well lit and patrolled. The elevator to street level smelled of urine and disinfectant. The street was a bit steep, but it was only a block until they reached the hotel. Stef knew Laurel was laboring but she didnâ€™t complain, only hesitating once in a while to catch her breath.

Once inside the lobby, they stopped. Stef wasnâ€™t sure what to do next. She wanted Laurel to stay with her, but Sika had offered, too, and Laurel might feel more comfortable there. â€œLaurel, letâ€™s go to my rooms and Iâ€™ll call Sika. She lives close by and I can run you over there later.â€

She felt guilty that she hadnâ€™t done that before she parked.

Laurel was the one who was out of it, not her. She should have insisted on taking her to Sikaâ€™s, but she couldnâ€™t bear to be parted

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from her. That was why she hadnâ€™t argued when Laurel wanted to escort her from the garage.

Hastily, she said, â€œOr if you wish, I could take you there right now. I can go back and get the car.â€

â€œNo.â€ Laurelâ€™s voice fractured. Every breath was obviously a strain. â€œIâ€™ll stay here with you, if thatâ€™s okay.â€ Still no eye contact.

Stef knew this was not the time to be hopping around celebrating, so she concentrated on not grinning like an idiot. â€œYes. I mean, of course, if thatâ€™s what you want.â€ Laurel swayed and Stef quickly forgot her victory. She took Laurelâ€™s arm. â€œLetâ€™s get the elevator.â€

â€œI hope it smells better than the last one.â€ The attempt at humor made Stef feel better immediately.

â€œIâ€™m having a talk with Jock about her subcontractors if it doesnâ€™t.â€

Laurel seemed to not be able to move forward, so Stef eased her arm around her waist, and together they made the Ãž nal trek to the third ÃŸ oor. Settling Laurel into the bathroom, just along the hallway from the bedroom, Stef gave her a sleep shirt and closed the door.

She was exhausted and had to be up early the next day.

After a few minutes of quickly changing her sheets and straightening her place in honor of her guest, she heard the bathroom door open. Walking down the short hall, she found Laurel standing in the doorway, holding the shirt, probably uncertain as to what to do next.

Stef led her to the bedroom, helped her into the sleep shirt, pulled back the covers, and tucked her in. Laurel seemed deeply asleep almost as soon as her body hit the bed. Smiling, Stef kissed her forehead and then both eyes. She shed her clothes and visited the bathroom herself, then slipped on some ÃŸ annel sweats and grabbed a pillow and blanket from the closet, aiming for the couch. Fatigue robbed her of even the momentary pleasure of thinking of Laurel in her bed. She was asleep in minutes.

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CHAPTER TWELVE

Laurel stirred, awakened from her drug and exhaustion-induced sleep by a noise in the other room. Pain forced her to move gingerly as she rolled to her back to listen.

Where am I? She felt like she was swimming against a strong current to make sense of her surroundings. Slowly the events of the past few days became crystal clear. The giddy feeling of freedom the day sheâ€™d decided to pack up and leave, breezing through her classes, laughing with the students, all the while making plans to go apartment hunting, maybe even move from Berkeley to San Francisco. The intense relief after she told Rochelle she was leaving.

She remembered humming to herself as she was packing her bags, her heart soaring with hope. She couldnâ€™t wait to see Stef so she could share the good news. The familiar tread in the hallway had made her freeze in shock. Terror constricted her chest when Rochelle lurched into view. She had leaned on the door frame and regarded Laurel with raw hatred.

Closing the door quietly, she accused Laurel of unfaithfulness, of screwing Stef. She told her what an ungrateful, lying, cheating partner she was. That it was no wonder she drank, with such a worthless piece of shit to come home to. Laurel knew better than to argue. Sheâ€™d learned to stay still and quiet, and hope Rochelle would run out of steam or go searching for another drink. But Rochelle had only gathered momentum, and the list of transgressions grew until Laurel was responsible for everything wrong with Rochelleâ€™s life.

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She was alarmed at Ãž rst, then afraid. Sheâ€™d tried to think of an escape plan. Maybe she could tip Rochelle over and skirt past her to the door. Run from the house without her packed bags. It didnâ€™t matter if she had to leave everything behind.

Rochelle must have seen her eyes darting or something, because she was on her in the next instant, plowing through the piles of folded clothing and sending garments ÃŸ ying. Absurdly, Laurel tried to reach for them. The next thing she remembered she was face down on the ÃŸ oor and Rochelle was standing over her.

â€œCunt. This is all your fault.â€

Laurel had stayed down, trying to disappear, but she couldnâ€™t avoid the blows. When Rochelle Ãž nally stepped back, her chest was heaving from the effort of the beating. Laurel couldnâ€™t move at that moment; she was lucky she was breathing. She kept her eyes closed and it wasnâ€™t until she heard the room door click shut that the adrenaline kicked in and she crawled down to the guest room and locked herself in. Sheâ€™d waited there until the house was silent.

Rochelle would expect her to hide, as she always did, too ashamed to face the world. Instead, Laurel had crept out of the house to her car, and driven away knowing she would never go back.

She winced over a smile. Her lip reminded her there was not much to smile about. Sheâ€™d driven to the hotel in a daze and made it to the project room without being seen. She recalled leaning against the bathroom door and then being overwhelmed with the need to get into the bathtub. Literally inching her way there around the blinding pain in her ribs, she knew it would be safe because when she was a child her parents always said if there was a tornado, get in the bathtub. Thatâ€™s how to protect yourself.

Laurel shifted position, trying to get comfortable. Glancing around, she realized she was in Stefâ€™s bedroom. The other side of the bed looked undisturbed. She wondered where Stef had slept.

Sounds from the next room came into focus. Someone was crying, she was sure of it. Stef?

Moving to get out of the bed, she realized she was wearing a big T-shirt over an Ace bandage and nothing else. Her cheeks warmed as she thought about Stef undressing her when they got back from

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the hospital last night. She cast around for something to put on and spotted some ÃŸ annel pajama bottoms neatly folded on a chair a few feet away. Slowly making it to the chair, she was grateful beyond measure for the snug wrap around her ribs, and had to sit to get the pants on. It took another few minutes of agony to stand, clutching the waistband to make sure the pants came with her.

She peered into the living area to see Stef, in the corner of the sofa, hands covering her face, crying. She hesitated, not wanting to embarrass her rescuer. After a few tentative steps into the room the ÃŸ oorboard creaked and Stef looked up. Their eyes met brieÃŸ y before Stef scrubbed her face with her hands and stood.

â€œAre you okay? Do you need anything?â€

Laurel was taken aback. Were the tears for her? Stef had so many responsibilities yet here she was, offering comfort to Laurel.

She reached for Stef but pain stopped her from arriving at her destination. Gasping, she could only manage, â€œCould I sit on the couch with you?â€

â€œYes, of course.â€ Stef shufÃŸ ed over to make room.

Once settled, Laurel gazed deeply into the soft brown eyes of her hero. â€œWhatâ€™s happened? Why are you crying?â€

Instantly averting her head, Stef began, â€œOh, itâ€™s nothing to worry about. Just stress.â€

Laurel gently pressed her hand on Stefâ€™s arm. â€œStefanie, I know how difÃž cult it is to accept help and comfort from someone, anyone.

I had that experience last night. I thought, perhaps, you might not mind my offer of friendship. Think of it as my way of repaying your kindness in some small way. Howâ€™s that?â€

Giving her a rueful grin, Stef took a big breath and shuddered as she let it go. â€œYou may have gathered that I come from a wealthy family of hoteliers. What you might not know is that I split from my family several years ago. Well, thatâ€™s not exactly true. Iâ€™ve been at odds with them since I came out, in college. Daddy doesnâ€™t approve.â€

Laurel nodded, not wanting to interfere with the most personal information sheâ€™d heard about Stef since they met. She longed to sit back and be supported by the couch, but that would have to wait.

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â€œLong, boring story. Anyway, I worked in the family business, but when it was made clear that I wouldnâ€™t be able to advance much further than some ÃŸ uff vice president in charge of doilies, I quit.

Denny, Sika, and I searched and saved for years to Ãž nd this place and sank every dime into it.â€

Laurel said, â€œThen that contractor betrayed you.â€

The pain was getting more difÃž cult to ignore. Her back muscles were starting to spasm with the effort to compensate for the injured abdominal muscles.

â€œHere, let me help you lie down.â€ Stef must have noticed.

â€œThank you. May I use your lap for a pillow?â€ Laurel had no idea if this was ÃŸ irting, but she couldnâ€™t think of a more comfortable place in the world to rest her head.

Hesitating only a moment, Stef grinned and murmured, â€œOf course.â€

She continued to spill the whole story about how she came to buy the hotel and how important the project was to her. Laurel reveled in the comfort of her voice and her soft touch. She must have dozed off because when she next opened her eyes, the room felt cool and neither of them had moved.

â€œYou awake?â€ She whispered, not really wanting to break the connection.

â€œYes. Justâ€¦enjoying.â€

â€œI know. I donâ€™t remember the last time Iâ€™ve been so peaceful.

Stef?â€

â€œUh-huh.â€ The low rumble of her voice in the fading light of late afternoon was sensual, that was the only word that came to mind.

â€œIâ€™m afraid I have to break the spell. I canâ€™t get up by myself and I really need to use the facilities. Iâ€™m so sorry.â€

Chuckling, Stef said, â€œYouâ€™ve read my mind. Let me help you, then weâ€™ll Ãž gure out something to eat.â€

â€œOh, Iâ€™m so hungry. Thank you.â€ Despite her physical discomfort, she was having fun. Odd.

Helping her hobble to the bathroom, Stef said, â€œThe others are worried. Would you be okay with having pizza with an abbreviated

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version of the crew? Iâ€™m supposed to be in a meeting with Sika right now.â€

Laurel stopped. â€œIâ€™m not sure Iâ€™m ready to face anyone. Ember is a student. I donâ€™t want to see pity on their faces. Iâ€™m a professor of womenâ€™s studies, for Godâ€™s sake. And in this situation. Not much of a role model for my students.â€

â€œLaurel, it isnâ€™t a â€˜situation,â€™ itâ€™s a mess. You were placed in that mess by the head of your department. Thatâ€™s the hypocrisy of the whole thing. You have nothing to be ashamed of.â€ Laurel involuntarily ÃŸ inched at her tone.

â€œOh God, Iâ€™m not mad at you,â€ Stef said instantly. â€œIâ€™m so sorry, I didnâ€™t mean to frighten you.â€

Seeking shelter from the storm of her life, Laurel leaned into her and felt herself encircled and gently pulled against Stefâ€™s body.

She gazed into the depths of Stefâ€™s eyes and saw compassion and understanding and something else. Something sheâ€™d never seen before, and it drew her closer. She studied the soft lips that waited for her to choose. One part of her mind screamed that she shouldnâ€™t, it was too soon. The other part, the one connected to her body and her heart, told her that the choice had been made for some time. This was only the expression of that choice.

The pain of her sutures didnâ€™t matter. Their lips touched, then touched again, then joined. Stef asked permission with her tongue, and Laurel granted entrance. Then she was in another place, a better place than she ever dreamt existed. She was breathless. At last, her caution kicked in, and she wasnâ€™t sure how she felt about letting the kisses go on, or what she could do to stop them.

She was sure that if she stayed here, alone with Stefanie Beresford, her life would get much more complicated than it already was.

v

Sika put a sheaf of papers and magazines on Stefâ€™s desk and sat down, folding her hands in her lap. â€œTwo things. We need an interior designer for the hotel rooms, especially the executive suites, and we

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need a designer for the restaurant. The kitchen itself I have ideas about, but I am calling a friend who I met in Paris when I was there.

She and her partner live out here now, in West Marin County. She doesnâ€™t cook professionally any longer, but she and I could design a beautiful kitchen together.â€

Stef had known this day was coming but had been so immersed in putting the bones of the place back together and thinking about Laurel, sheâ€™d put it on the back burner. Sheâ€™d made sure that the whole hotel would have the infrastructure to support any technology someone might need, now and in the future, and doing so had cost three times what she had estimated, mostly because of the security features she was hoping to put in place. She might not have the money to do everything immediately, but the technology was changing so quickly, they were constructing so that even the wiring could be changed out rather easily, without ripping walls apart.

Now, here was Sika with a real situation. Someone had to design what the public would see. The rooms, the lobby, the common areas, and the aesthetics of the hotel had to be unique. Stef was a meat-and-potatoes kind of girl, very good at making sure the building could survive an earthquake and the visitors would have all of their technology needs met and feel safe, zero in the design-for-the-eye department.

â€œWe have a problem,â€ she said. â€œThe infrastructure renovations have eaten up a lot of money. Iâ€™m not sure how much weâ€™re going to have for the designer. I know how important it is, too. Iâ€™m looking for a loan add-on to pay for it.â€

Nodding, Sika seemed not at all concerned. â€œThatâ€™s what I thought was happening. The hotel designer Iâ€™ve chosen is famous in Europe and is sought after in the United States, when she chooses to work. She has agreed to forgo her fee until after the hotel is up and running.â€

â€œYouâ€™ve chosen someone? How good is she if she doesnâ€™t want her fee?â€

Sika gave her the look, and Stef squirmed. Privately, Denny and Stef laughed about that expression, but it was no fun to be on the receiving end.

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â€œStefanie, who is in charge of this part of the project? Who did we decide, because of your and Dennyâ€™s lack of interest and my eye for color and texture, would pick those people? We have to get them going on their plans, and we have to do it now. She doesnâ€™t need the money. Sheâ€™s willing to trade.â€

â€œWho is this woman?â€ Stef couldnâ€™t keep the skepticism out of her voice.

She wished Denny were here because sometimes they could gang up on Sika. Denny was spending all of her time working with Jock and keeping an eye on the subcontractors. But what Sika said was true. She was in charge of the look and feel of the hotel.

Trade?

Her eyes full of satisfaction, Sika said, â€œCarolyn Flemons. It was a real coup to get her.â€

â€œThe name is familiar, would I know her?â€ Stef thought that the chances of her knowing an A-list interior designer were slim and none. But the nameâ€¦

â€œShe was married to the owner of the football team. Sheâ€™s a widow and her daughter runs it now. Thatâ€™s probably where youâ€™ve heard the name.â€

â€œOh, yeah. That was cool when the daughter took over. Do we at least get to see some sketches before we agree?â€

â€œYes and no. Sheâ€™s working on the designs and we will all see them and decide which we like.â€ With that, Sika stood and put her hand on the stack of papers. â€œThese are her resume, samples, and magazine layouts her work has been featured in. You and Denny read them. I have work to do.â€

She was almost out the door before Stef called to her. â€œWait.

You said â€˜trade.â€™ What does that mean? Does she want free nights at the hotel?â€

Sika smiled enigmatically, which always made Stef twitch.

â€œPerhaps.â€ And she was gone.

Swiveling in her chair, Stef stared out the window and said to the city of San Francisco, â€œAnd donâ€™t forget that Iâ€™m in charge.â€

v

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Two hours later a courier delivered two slim envelopes that needed Stefâ€™s signature. One was from the bank holding the Ãž rst mortgage on the hotel. The other had the return address of the private investment Ãž rm from which she had gotten the second mortgage.

She knew the address well as the building was owned by her family.

Beresford Hoteliersâ€™ corporate ofÃž ces were in the upper ÃŸ oors.

The courier collected the return receipts and then asked where he could Ãž nd Irina Castic. He was holding several sturdy manila envelopes that looked like they had traveled a long distance. Stef offered to deliver them for him, but he told her he had to have her personal signature and needed to check her identiÃž cation, too. He seemed pretty impressed himself. She gave him directions and sat down to stare at the envelopes.

She had requested additional money, and this must be their decision. She used the walkie-talkie feature on her cell and summoned Denny because she wanted some moral support. Sika had gone to an appointment with the interior designer. Laurel ÃŸ ashed in her mind, but she couldnâ€™t bother a woman still in a state of shock over her injuries and her disintegrating life.

Stef passed the envelope to Denny as soon as she walked in the door. She handled it like it had anthrax spores inside. Stef was starting to Ãž dget by the time she read the contents and Ãž nally looked up.

â€œWell? What is it, Den?â€

â€œThey want a meeting. With you.â€

This didnâ€™t sound good. â€œWho? Which letter did you open?â€

â€œRat manâ€™s company.â€

That would be the private investors. Stef didnâ€™t know how to interpret that. â€œPerhaps to negotiate how much additional money we need.â€

Shaking her head, Denny said, â€œIt says to contact their ofÃž ces and make an appointment as soon as possible.â€

Stef felt her stomach twist.

â€œWeâ€™ve made every payment, right?â€ Denny asked.

â€œRight. Always on time.â€

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â€œA simple yes, you have the money, or no, buzz off, would be Ãž ne. Why the appointment?â€

Sighing, Stef said, â€œI donâ€™t know, but I donâ€™t like it. Something isnâ€™t right about this. Open the other envelope.â€ She felt her hands trembling and balled them into Ãž sts in her lap.

Denny dutifully tore the envelope open and read. Her jaw dropped. â€œSonofabitch.â€

â€œRead it.â€ Stef responded on automatic.

â€œThe bank is accelerating our loan. They want the entire amount of the Ãž rst mortgage within thirty days or they will begin foreclosure proceedings, which, according to them, they can expedite.â€

Leaning across her desk, feeling sweat on her upper lip, Stef ground out, â€œBased on what?â€

â€œBased on the fact that we didnâ€™t have written permission to engage in a second mortgage.â€

Exploding, Stef was on her feet. â€œWhat? The bank recommended the investment Ãž rm. Our loan ofÃž cer made the introductory call.â€

Holding up both hands, Denny said, â€œI know, I know. Thatâ€™s what it says here, thatâ€™s all.â€

The air went out of Stef and she landed in her chair with a pop.

She and Denny stared at each other.

â€œStef, how much money do we have left?â€

Struggling to keep her voice calm, Stef said, â€œIf we continue the way we are, about two months. Iâ€™ve spent too much on the infrastructure. Even with that designer delaying her fee, we donâ€™t have enough to Ãž nish all the ÃŸ oors, even minimally. We need more money, and when I requested it, that Trip rodent was happy as a clam.

He said he didnâ€™t think it would be a problem.â€ Stef was heartsick.

â€œIâ€™m sure they were sent a copy of this letter from the bank. They might accelerate, too.â€

â€œWhat are we going to do?â€ Denny looked daunted.

â€œDonâ€™t skimp on anything. Denny, make sure everyone is on schedule, help Jock secure the best prices, too. I need to meet with these people, to see what they want.â€

â€œWe better talk with Mamaka.â€

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â€œIâ€™ll do that.â€ Stef wasnâ€™t looking forward to admitting their situation was even worse than a budget shortfall. â€œI have some things to work out, sooner than I thought, but these circumstances have forced our hand. Letâ€™s get to work and weâ€™ll talk later.â€

After Denny left, Stef scheduled an appointment with Boynton and once again found herself staring out the window. She felt an overwhelming need to see Laurel. Just to see her incredible eyes, listen to her talk about the project, the mystery of the Elysium Society, the passion she experienced doing her research. It felt so normal, contained. Perhaps she just needed to be in their room, since she didnâ€™t want to disturb Laurel.

She snorted at the thought. A dank and musty place that was scheduled to be gutted soon, and still, sheâ€™d come to think of it as a small, private universe that was solely hers and Laurelâ€™s.

Unable to help herself, she visited the room brieÃŸ y, content to see the Ãž les, ledgers, room diaries. The pad of paper that was always close by. She was suddenly clammy, fear skittering up and down her spine. What if Laurel went back to Rochelle? It happened all the time. Women made excuses for violent partners and returned to terrible situations.

She made a full 360-degree sweep of the room, then backed out, closing the door behind her. She felt like running to her bedroom, as though Laurelâ€™s presence there would prove something. Stef held herself back, reasoning that she had no need to panic. Laurel wasnâ€™t going anywhere. She might be battered, but she wasnâ€™t crazy.

She went through the small living room and crept to the bedroom door and quickly pushed it open. A pair of frightened eyes instantly found hers, and before Stef could think of anything to say, she was stumbling toward the bed, reaching for the woman beneath the covers.

â€œAre you okay?â€ she blurted.

After a few seconds, she could tell Laurel recognized her. â€œYes, of course. You just startled me. I was dozing and when you opened the door, for a moment I thought you wereâ€¦her.â€

Laurel was trembling and Stef took her hands and tried to rub

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warmth into them. â€œI apologize. I suddenly got nervous and needed to see you, just checking to make sure you were all right. So I barged in and scared you to death. Iâ€™m such a klutz sometimes.â€

Stef knew she couldnâ€™t gaze at Laurelâ€™s bruised face without her anger showing, so she concentrated on Ãž nding another blanket.

She got the throw that was on the couch and brought it back to the bedroom and fussed with tucking her in. A cold hand on her arm made her Ãž nally look up. She felt the sting of tears as her heart ached for this beautiful woman. How could anyone ever harm her?

â€œItâ€™s okay, Stef, Iâ€™m going to heal. Would you do me a favor?

Would you mind holding me?â€ She asked so sweetly, Stef was helpless to do more than nod. Kicking off her shoes, she started to settle on top of the covers.

â€œNo,â€ Laurel said. â€œUnder the covers. Take off your clothes.â€

Complying, Stefanie shed her pants and shirt. Only her underclothes remained as she stood uncertainly before Laurel, knowing she would do anything for this woman. Anything.

â€œAll of it,â€ Laurel said. â€œAnd help me get out of my pants at least. Iâ€™m pretty sure I canâ€™t get the T-shirt off because of the pain, but Iâ€™m willing to try.â€

Stefanie felt no shyness at all, and discarded the rest of her clothes, then helped rid Laurel of hers, even freeing her of the Tshirt. Within moments she was under the covers holding Laurel gently in her arms. She gazed beyond the bruises and cuts and saw only welcome. She kissed Laurelâ€™s sweet lips lightly, so as not to hurt her. Laurelâ€™s hands ran over Stefâ€™s back, drawing her closer.

She traced the line of Stefâ€™s jaw and outlined her lips with her Ãž nger, staring at her mouth in what seemed like wonder.

They continued their slow, delicate exploration for what seemed an eternity. Stef tenderly caressed Laurelâ€™s body, careful of places that might hurt, amazed at how familiar, how right every plane and soft curve felt to her. She allowed Laurel to do the same to her, and then they settled into each otherâ€™s arms, never having spoken a word.

As Stef started to doze, she realized that sheâ€™d never been so

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intimate with another person and yet she and Laurel knew next to nothing about each other. But that wasnâ€™t important. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be in love.

If it wasnâ€™t, it should be.

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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The next morning found Stef marching into the Beresford building determined to make nice with Trip Boynton.

Sheâ€™d never known a hard money Ãž rm to turn its back on proÃž t, and she was certain she could work out whatever problems their Ãž rst mortgagee had. There were more peopleâ€™s livelihoods at stake than her own. He needed to understand.

The ofÃž ces of the Ãž rm were on the tenth ÃŸ oor, with all the ÃŸ oors above them devoted to Beresford corporate concerns. The receptionist studied her with frank interest. Stef had experienced that kind of appraisal all of her life. People felt entitled to look over the rich kid and decide if she measured up. The woman told her to be seated, then walked into Boyntonâ€™s ofÃž ce to announce her arrival.

A few moments later she returned to tell Stef heâ€™d be available soon.

Stef understood the tactic. She was supposed to stew, to realize he had the power. It chafed, because whatever she was, she was a Beresford.

She took the aggravation for Ãž ve minutes, then threw her magazine on the coffee table and marched into his ofÃž ce before the receptionist could block her. There, with their feet up on the desk, smoking cigars, were her brother George and Trip Boynton, the man who had been so eager to lend her money.

George grinned and checked his watch. â€œFour minutes and forty-Ãž ve seconds. I win, pal. You owe me twenty bucks.â€

Trip and he high-Ãž ved each other and looked at her expectantly.

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â€œYou know each other?â€ It was all that came out of Stefâ€™s mouth. She was trying to make sense of the scene.

George removed his feet from the desk and put the cigar down, but not before he took another drag and blew it in her direction.

â€œKnow him? We were college roommates, sister dear.â€

â€œWhatâ€™s this all about? I donâ€™t want Beresford Hotels involved.â€

She was going to have a talk with her dad, and with Jason for blabbing. But in some ways, she was relieved. Maybe her father would see the merit in lending them more money.

George stopped her in her tracks. â€œDad has nothing to do with this. You, sweet sister, belong to us. Only to us. And your hotel will be perfect for our plans.â€

Stef toyed with the idea of lunging at him and beating the smug look off of his face. Fighting to control the adrenaline racing through her veins, she asked, â€œWhat the hell are you talking about?â€

To Boynton she said, â€œWeâ€™ve met all the terms of the loan.â€ Her voice was thin, but steady to her ears.

Boynton shot a grin to George. â€œGeorge is one of the investors in this Ãž rm. And weâ€™ve decided against additional funds for your project.â€

George stuck his cigar back in his mouth, talking around it as he delivered the next blow. â€œYeah, about that. Canâ€™t see the proÃž t in it. Women donâ€™t need or want a hotel that excludes men. They want hotels where they can pick guys up.â€

â€œWhat in the hell are you talking about?â€ Stefâ€™s eyes were burning but she held back any tears. She wouldnâ€™t give him the satisfaction.

Letting out a stream of smoke, George said, â€œRemember the menâ€™s club down the way from you? The one where the big boys in the world meet and mingle and entertain each other? The one where they pick the next president. That one?â€

â€œYes.â€ She knew it well. The proprietors also owned the Bohemian Grove, an enclave in northern California where they gathered on weekends all summer long and did God knows what.

They were the richest and most powerful men in the world.

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â€œWell, seems their building needs complete renovation, too.

Has to be retroÃž tted, et cetera, that type of thing. They also want all that security that youâ€™re building into your little establishment. Got to protect your peeps, you know?â€ Her brotherâ€™s eyes, like hers in color only, were hard and brittle with malice.

â€œGet to the point, George.â€ She had to get out of here before she threw up in front of both men.

â€œWell, not only are they offering a shitload of money to lease your hotel as their temporary premises for a year or whatever it takes, theyâ€™re offering us a membership. Do you know how long the wait list is to be a member? At least ten years. Me, a member of the Bohemian Club. You should be proud of your brother.â€ He took another puff.

â€œYou forget, I still own the hotel.â€

â€œOnly for a few weeks. The acceleration clause has been activated, though, so itâ€™ll be in our hands soon enough.â€

Wheeling her attention to Trip Boynton for the Ãž rst time, she caught a sly grin on his face. â€œYou knew this would happen. You purposely didnâ€™t ask for written permission.â€

â€œRelax, sis. Youâ€™re getting all worked up. Guess you should have made that little detail your business, huh?â€

â€œBut the bank gave me your name. Made the phone call. Thatâ€™s tacit approval, and you never said a word.â€

Blowing a smoke ring, George chimed in. â€œYeah, Trip, what did your attorney say?â€

â€œMy attorney is the best in the business. He assures me all is in order on our end.â€

Stef had never felt more alone. â€œDoes Dad know about this?â€

â€œI donâ€™t report in to our father about my own investment activities,â€ George pompously intoned.

Relief ÃŸ uttered through Stefâ€™s chest, lifting the dead weight from it a little. If she couldnâ€™t Ãž nd her own way out of this Ãž nancial jam, she would have to ask for her dadâ€™s help. It was good to know he hadnâ€™t betrayed her, too. â€œYou can both go fuck yourselves.â€

George laughed and stroked the cigar. â€œNo, sister dearest, I believe we just fucked you.â€

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She felt her eyes narrow as she spoke. â€œReally, George, I thought you preferred to play with your cigarillo. At least thatâ€™s what I recall from childhood. Youâ€™re deluding yourself with that big cigar.â€

Boynton was choking on the smoke and George sputtering vile epithets when she slammed out of the ofÃž ce. On her way out of the reception area she ran into Agnes Brady, who looked down and blushed intensely.

â€œIâ€™m, Iâ€™m so sorry, Ms. Beresford.â€

Stef Ãž nally blew out the breath sheâ€™d been holding since walking in. â€œYou knew about this?â€

The assistant stared at the ÃŸ oor, her silence providing the answer.

â€œWell, I feel sorry for you, wasting your time with scum like Boynton and my brother.â€

With that, she left the building and walked out into the bleakest beautiful day in San Francisco sheâ€™d ever known.

v

Laurel was horriÃž ed. â€œHave you told Denny and Sika?â€

â€œThey know.â€ Stef still had trouble believing George could sink so low. Heâ€™d managed to squeeze her out of the Beresford family business. Wasnâ€™t that enough? â€œDenny offered to break kneecaps and Sika is working on some kind of plan. Theyâ€™re my real family.â€

Laurel found her hand and held it. â€œStef, what about your father and your other brother? Do you think theyâ€™re involved in this?â€

â€œGeorge says Dad had nothing to do with it.â€ Stef paused, still bewildered by George. â€œI donâ€™t know why he hates me, but he does.â€

â€œSo the Ãž rst mortgage holder is the one accelerating, and you think your brother and his friend duped you into not notifying them in writing about the second mortgage.â€

â€œThatâ€™s about it. We were desperate for the money, we needed it immediately to keep on schedule. I was too hasty. I assumed something I shouldnâ€™t have.â€

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â€œDonâ€™t be too hard on yourself. You did the best you could.â€

They entered the cafÃ© area where the others were gathered.

Denny signaled for a private word as Stef poured a glass of wine for Laurel and opened a bottle of beer for herself. Leaving Sika, Jock, and Irina Castic to care for Laurel, Stef ambled over to Denny. Her friendâ€™s eyes were dead serious.

â€œWe have another problem, Stef.â€

â€œWhat now?â€

â€œOur attorney dropped us as clients. He stated conÃŸ ict of interest. Seems heâ€™d rather make bucks from the rich dudes who own our second mortgage than us. Thinks weâ€™re â€˜iffy,â€™ at best.â€

â€œCharming. And all the other attorneys I know work for my family. Therefore, they work for George.â€

Glancing over her shoulder at the group around the table, Denny said, â€œLook, weâ€™ll Ãž nd out more tomorrow. I just needed to give you a heads up. Letâ€™s go join the others. Laurelâ€™s already looking around for you.â€

Stef cast a quick look at Laurel. She seemed to be enjoying herself, listening to Jock telling a humorous story about the day. Stef appreciated the way her friends had rallied around Laurel, helping without fawning, doing for her without making a big deal out of it.

Softly, Denny asked, â€œYou okay? You seem a little out of it.

Howâ€™s Laurel?â€

â€œWhat? Oh, Iâ€™m Ãž ne. Laurelâ€™s sore, but I admire that she has the courage to face everyone. Iâ€™d want to stay in our hole.â€ She must have sounded disappointed that they didnâ€™t stay there.

â€œStef, what happened? And donâ€™t evade.â€

Damn, Denny always knew when something was up. After a few seconds of intense scrutiny, she muttered, â€œWe kissed.â€ She didnâ€™t mention holding Laurel. It was too personal, too intimate.

Denny frowned, as though she could barely hear, then her eyes became much wider. She sagged against the sidebar Stef was leaning on. â€œBe careful, my friend. Sheâ€™s probably not in a very good place right now.â€

There was no judgment in her tone. Knowing that Denny really liked Laurel, Stef was sure the concern was for both of them, and

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she had a point. The timing could not have been worse. â€œI know. I didnâ€™t mean for it to happen. It justâ€¦did.â€

â€œIâ€™m dying to lecture you right now, you realize that, right?â€

â€œUh-huh. Thanks for not doing that.â€ Sneaking another glance toward the women a few yards away, Stef asked, â€œAre you going to tell Mamaka?â€

Shaking her head and grinning, Denny said, â€œDo you think I need to? Look at her.â€

Dismayed, Stef watched Sika say something to Laurel. Her expression was patient and knowing, suggesting that not only had she guessed, she had an opinion about it. Stef got the sinking feeling she was soon going to get that lecture anyway. She took a few steps toward the group, Denny at her side, and tuned into the conversation.

â€œIâ€™ve been searching for a month,â€ Laurel said. â€œBut I canâ€™t Ãž nd a direct reference to the Elysium Society. The Internet, library, journals, archives. There are some indirect ones, though, and those make it seem like a myth. But when I go through the room diaries of the hotel, the references are everywhere.â€

â€œPerhaps it was just an informal group.â€ Sikaâ€™s casual tone seemed to belie her laser focus on Laurel.

â€œMaybe, but I think there was more to it. Didnâ€™t you say the club you were involved with wasnâ€™t just a reading group, Mrs. Castic?â€

Mrs. C gave a noncommittal shrug. â€œThe hotel guests all had different interests.â€

Laurel nodded. â€œFrom what I can tell, there were some very powerful women, some straight, some probably gay, who came to this hotel. I suspect most of them were connected to the Society.

Some traveled a very long way, considering the transportation available at the time. Iâ€™ve checked a few of the big names against newspapers of the period. There was no mention of their visits.â€

Shrugging, Jock said, â€œWell, thatâ€™s not surprising. They didnâ€™t have the media we do now. No paparazzi.â€

Denny agreed. â€œWithout extensive research, maybe biographies, itâ€™s difÃž cult to conÃž rm details like that.â€

Laurel nodded, but pressed her argument. â€œI think there was

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more to the Society. If I can discover what it was, it might be a real Ãž nd in the Ãž eld of womenâ€™s rights.â€

It occurred to Stef that this arena was where Laurel felt conÃž dent and in command. Her mind, her research. Stef moved so that she was standing behind Mrs. C and could see Laurelâ€™s face.

As marred as it was by the beating, she was still a striking woman.

Stef could get lost in those beautiful eyes, so alive with enthusiasm.

She let herself absorb Laurelâ€™s animated features and the expressive movements of her hands, delighting in her obvious comfort with the people around her. Though muted by her injuries, her passion shone through with crystal clarity.

Despite her appearance and the self-consciousness she must feel, she seemed so engaged in her subject, Stef couldnâ€™t help but feel an irrational optimism. Whatever the obstacles, Stef was determined not to be defeated. She wanted to see that expression on Laurelâ€™s face every day. She wanted to give her everything Rochelle had denied her. AfÃž rmation. Support. A safe place. The encouragement to become the terriÃž c woman she was.

The strength of her feelings startled her. And there was more.

She wanted to give Laurel the care and affection she deserved. Stefâ€™s heart started to pound. She wanted to hold Laurel, and kiss her, and feel her respond. She wanted to be naked and feel their bodies slide together. Unnerved, she pulled out a chair. She really needed to sit down.

â€œWhat will you do with the information?â€ Mrs. Câ€™s voice cut quietly into Stefâ€™s tangled thoughts. â€œIf you uncover the purpose of the Elysium Society, I mean.â€

There was more than anticipation in the room as Laurel considered her reply, there was tension.

Stef thought the answer was obvious and said so. â€œSheâ€™ll publish, of course. If itâ€™s really juicy, she could turn it into a book, then she could name the university she would go to, as a full professor. That was why you started the project in the Ãž rst place, right? To publish.â€

That statement only served to heighten the tension.

â€œWhat am I missing here?â€ Stef asked.

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Laurelâ€™s gaze never broke from Mrs. Câ€™s. â€œI think Mrs. Castic is asking about some of the entries that suggest love relationships between women who were previously thought straight. There could be evidence that conÃž rms long-held suspicions or rumors about these women.â€

â€œWell, thatâ€™s good, right?â€ Stef wasnâ€™t sure why Mrs. C would be worried about facts coming to light, especially if the women were deceased.

Sika interjected, â€œIt depends on who you are talking about.

Some of these women must have gone to great lengths to ensure their privacy. I think that raises some ethical questions about respecting their wishes, doesnâ€™t it?â€

Laurel said, â€œHistorian and biographers always face such questions. There arenâ€™t any simple answers. Besides that, I think there was more to the hotel than providing a secret place for trysts that were not allowed in society at the time.â€ Looking directly at Mrs. C, she continued, â€œThe majority of these women were wealthy and inÃŸ uential in their own right, through family or marriage. They seemed to have formed an organization that, on the surface, was acceptably concerned with fashion and literature. But notes left in the diaries have far more depth than one would expect from women in their positions.â€

She paused to sip water and Stef thought she was choosing her words carefully. â€œThey spoke of wars, of jobs, of the poor, of politics. All in relation to the status of women. Some alluded to directing their inÃŸ uence to issues. I canâ€™t tell for sure if the Elysium Society adopted an organized approach to wielding its membersâ€™

power unless I can Ãž nd minutes of meetings, or perhaps talk in detail to someone who was involved.â€

Everyone at the table followed Laurelâ€™s gaze to Irina Castic.

The silence made the air in the room feel heavy.

Eventually Sika said, â€œYour theory is fascinating, but why would they base their society at this hotel? Surely these wealthy women could meet anywhere they chose.â€

â€œI think it was patterned after the Bohemian Club.â€ Laurel hesitated as though expecting skepticism. â€œThatâ€™s an all-male

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private club made up of the wealthiest and most inÃŸ uential men in the world. They direct domestic policy and make decisions on global matters, all from behind their closed and very private doors.

And theyâ€™ve marginalized women from the very beginning. Their building is down the street from this hotel.â€

â€œYouâ€™re saying the Elysium Society was the female antidote to the Bohos?â€ Jock concluded.

â€œPossibly. That would explain the need for secrecy. Women are expert at ÃŸ ying under the radar, and I think thatâ€™s what they did, right here at this hotel.â€

â€œSo what happened?â€ Stef frowned. â€œThis is exactly the kind of club that could have kept going for generations, with all the social change weâ€™ve seen.â€

After a pregnant hush, Mrs. C said, â€œWe probably would have.â€

She seemed to be deliberating over her every word. â€œThey got control of the hotel. No one saw it coming.â€

â€œWhat do you mean?â€ Laurel had to be exhausted but she was riveted to Mrs. C, as was every woman in the room.

â€œThe Bohemian Club was responsible. They gave their orders and their members acted individually. Remember, some of the women who belonged to the Elysium Society were married to members of that organization. Others were daughters, sisters, and such.â€

â€œI see,â€ Laurel mused aloud. â€œThey were threatened?â€

Mrs. C took a sip of wine and rested a moment. â€œWomen who were from wealthy families were told they would be disinherited if they came to the hotel. Married women were forbidden, sometimes by force. Those who made money themselves, such as artists, actresses, or writers, were told they would never work again if they so much as set foot in the building.â€

Stefâ€™s mouth had gone dry as soon as Mrs. C started talking. A feeling of dread began to form in her gut. â€œSo the men in their lives just went along with it, even the decent ones?â€

â€œThey were vulnerable, too,â€ Mrs. C replied. â€œTheir businesses and reputations could have been ruined. Contracts awarded to someone else. False accusations made. I know a few of them agonized over it, but they were in the minority. Most were outraged that their

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woman would be involved with something so reprehensible as seeking rights for themselves and networking to have inÃŸ uence.â€

â€œItâ€™s incredible that these women just allowed this to happen.â€

Stef couldnâ€™t help but think about herself as soon as the words were out. Her brother and his cronies had all but checkmated her, and this was the twenty-Ãž rst century.

â€œYou have to remember that back then even if a woman was the source of her husbandâ€™s wealth, she had no rights once she was married. And if women insisted they didnâ€™t want to marry, their families could choose to have them declared incompetent. There were plenty of judges willing to sign the orders.â€

â€œThatâ€™s why it seemed to happen overnight,â€ Laurel said. â€œThe hotel went downhill very fast. Iâ€™ve been wondering why.â€

â€œThey systematically destroyed it.â€ Mrs. C sighed. â€œThey gained control and designated it for cheap, pay-as-you-go occupancy. Drug dealers and disreputable people immediately took it over, but not until the Ãž ner amenities had been stripped by those bastards.â€

Laurel was insistent. â€œBut how did they actually get the hotel?

Who owned it?â€

Mrs. C smiled and looked to the window, as though seeing a memory. â€œSeraphina Drake inherited the hotel. She was a delightful and determined woman, a dear friend. She had to marryâ€”her father insisted, and chose one Clayton B. Holloway II. Holloway was decent enough in the beginning and ignored Sera and the hotel while he managed their other holdings. I think he thought the hotel would keep her occupied so he could do as he pleased with her wealth.â€ Her voice took on a bitter edge. â€œHe became quite accustomed to money and power, and my vibrant friend began to vanish right before my eyes. Holloway had affairs, and ÃŸ aunted them. It was worse after he joined the Bohemian Club. And, of course, he served this hotel up to them like the faithful ÃŸ unky he was.â€

Stef might as well have been kicked. She turned to Denny and then to Sika and saw the same realization on their faces. To the group she said, â€œI think those men are trying to sabotage this hotel again.â€

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The room was dark when they returned. Laurel needed more help walking along the hallways and getting ready for bed than she would have liked. She was incredibly stiff and sore even though two days had passed since Rochelle attacked her. But Stef offered without asking and it felt amazingly good to be in contact with another body, especially Stefâ€™s body. Laurel kept telling herself that Stef was her friend, her close friend. But even she, so accustomed to denial of reality, couldnâ€™t keep up that pretense.

Stef was her rock, she had been there for her, offering shelter and friendship, but so had the others. Laurel frowned, feeling dizzy and fearful suddenly. Two days had passed without her going to work. As usual Rochelle would have made excuses for her, but by now she had to be wondering where Laurel was and waiting for her to walk back in the door full of apologies. Without her realizing it, her breathing must have changed or her body slackened, because suddenly Stef was holding her close, crooning reassurances as if to a child.

â€œIâ€™ve got you,â€ she whispered sweetly. â€œI wonâ€™t let her hurt you anymore. Youâ€™re safe, youâ€™re safe.â€

They were on Stefâ€™s bed and Laurel hardly remembered getting there. But Stefâ€™s tone, and the certainty of her words, broke the dam that had been crumbling for some time. Laurel lost what self-control she had. Ignoring her painful ribs and sore face, she sobbed into Stefâ€™s shoulder, burrowing into her chest, trying to hide and be safe from the monster that was her life.

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Rochelle wasnâ€™t the monster, she was. She had allowed their dysfunctional relationship to continue. She had let her life be ruled by an out-of-control narcissist who thought nothing of sacriÃž cing Laurel to her own wishes and desires. She was so pitiful, she had even started to believe all the hateful things Rochelle had said over the years. It was her own fault that she was in this mess. Between racking sobs, she confessed it all to Stef, knowing that, in the end, Stef would be repulsed by her weakness, but not able to stop herself.

Stef held Laurel, brave and steadfast, letting her cry. She heard the self-loathing, the blame she had taken on, the shame for allowing it. When Laurelâ€™s body softened into a deep slumber, purged of the venom that had ruled her life for so long, Stef gently extricated herself, slipped out of the bed, and left the room, sure that Laurel wouldnâ€™t wake for some time.

After locking her door, she walked to the service elevator, deciding at the last minute to ignore it and take the stairs instead.

Running up seven ÃŸ ights seemed like nothing, and she propelled herself into the room Jock and her crew would start demolishing in the morning.

She plugged in one of the portable lights and found the sledgehammer Jock liked to use. Without hesitation, she hefted it as though it were a baseball bat and started swinging, all the while screaming at Rochelle Jacobs, her brother George, her family, the Bohos, and anyone else she could think of. The plaster was reluctant to give at Ãž rst but the rotten backing and boards didnâ€™t last long against the onslaught. Again and again she swung, until her arms hung unresponsive at her sides. Then she kicked the wall repeatedly and when one foot ceased cooperating, she tried the other one, ending up in a heap on the ÃŸ oor, almost howling in frustration that she couldnâ€™t force her body to work well enough to keep attacking the wall.

Then she listed onto her side and lay in the midst of her destruction, chest heaving.

â€œHaving fun, Squirt?â€

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Jockâ€™s voice made her start. The gentle tease was at least better than â€œStump,â€ and her tone bore no trace of mockery. She hauled Stef to a sitting position and supported her while she righted herself.

â€œHow did you know I was here?â€

â€œYou mean aside from the yelling and crashing?â€

â€œI guess I got a littleâ€¦absorbed in what I was doing.â€ Stef couldnâ€™t quite hide her embarrassment.

Shaking her head, Jock said, â€œPoor Ember left her backpack up here and came to retrieve it. She got about ten feet from the door and came running back to tell us.â€

â€œOh.â€ Stef was lucky to give that much of a response. She was spent.

â€œI have to admire your work. Took a sizeable chunk out of the wall. Always looking for ways to cut costs, eh?â€

The gentle teasing paid off. Stef had to laugh at the comment.

Jock was turning out to be a good person, nothing like the woman who tormented her in college. â€œGot to save those pennies. Wouldnâ€™t want to mess up Georgeâ€™s new hotel. Prick.â€

Sitting back on her heels, Jock said, â€œI presume thatâ€™s Georgeâ€™s nickname and not mine.â€

Stef regarded her for a moment. â€œIt used to be yours. Youâ€™re so different than the sports star I remember from school. What happened?â€

â€œThat woman was an ass,â€ Jock said with a thoughtful expression. â€œI guess I realized it was time to grow up. I may have realized it too late to save you from my thoughtless words, but at least you had the good sense not to date me.â€

â€œI donâ€™t recall being asked.â€

Giving her a look full of contrition, Jock quietly said, â€œDenny made it clear that sheâ€™d shoot me if I hurt you. I would never go against Den. Anyway, count yourself lucky.â€

â€œWhy?â€

â€œI think we both know Iâ€™m not good partner material.â€

â€œIs that what you really think?â€

Jock reacted to Stefâ€™s soft challenge with an offhand shrug and

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an evasive half-smile. â€œCome on, letâ€™s get you out of here. Iâ€™m sure Laurel wonâ€™t want to wake up alone, and youâ€™re covered in plaster and sweat. You need a shower.â€

â€œI need a few aspirin, too.â€ More like a bottle. Stef was beginning to hurt.

Jock picked up Emberâ€™s backpack and they strolled to the elevator.

As they rode down, Stef said, â€œWould you handle the explanations to the troops? I donâ€™t feel like facing them right now.â€

â€œNo problem. And any time you need help kicking her partner, pardon me, her ex-partnerâ€™s ass, donâ€™t leave me out of the fun.â€

Jock walked her to her door, adding, â€œIâ€™m not kidding. I donâ€™t like bullies.â€

â€œIâ€™ll keep it in mind.â€ Stef touched her arm. â€œThank you. For everything. Youâ€™re really a friend.â€

Jock smiled. â€œGlad you noticed.â€

Before the elevator door closed on her ÃŸ oor, leaving Jock to return to the dining room, Stef faced Jock and said, â€œMaybe the college kid wasnâ€™t good partner material, but you would make any woman proud.â€

A few minutes later, as the warm water sluiced over her aching muscles, Stef found her thoughts wandering to Laurel and the magic of being with her. Although theirs seemed to be a shared attraction, she wondered if Laurel was just reacting to the events of the past few days.

Jockâ€™s comment about Laurelâ€™s ex played in her mind. She seemed to assume Laurel was actually going to follow through and leave Rochelle permanently. Only time would tell if Laurel had broken free. The thought made her try to shutter her heart to protect herself, and that hurt her soul. It was no use, sheâ€™d fallen for the beautiful professor, and she was willing to wait for Laurel to make the decisions she would have to make. But if she returned to Rochelle, Stef would not, could not, stand by and repeatedly pick up the pieces.

v

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The next morning Laurel awoke with a clear head and a body that, although painful, was on the road to healing. As she looked around the dingy room, she was content. Hearing a soft snore to her right, she realized that Stefanie was asleep beside her. Against the tightness of her lip, she smiled, inordinately pleased. Then, despite her better judgment, she reached over and gently brushed Stefâ€™s hair from her face, so she could gaze at her.

She studied the rich brown hair, the soft sensuous mouth she kept wanting to kiss, the pale ÃŸ awless complexion, the slightly crooked nose. Imagining exploring Stefâ€™s beautiful body, tracing her ears with her tongue and touching her spectacular breasts, made her wet, aroused. The reaction was almost foreign to her, it had been so long. Had she ever felt that way?

Her face tingled with a blush as she tried not to react to her thoughts. Her struggle was interrupted by a deep, gravelly, voice.

â€œMorninâ€™.â€ Stef stretched, and the covers came down low enough to show that she was wearing a loose-Ãž tting tank that revealed the curve of a breast and the border of a pink nipple.

Laurelâ€™s body paid no attention to her mindâ€™s desperate plea to stop reacting. She was so wet now that she was uncomfortable.

She fought for control. Her own nipples were getting harder by the second, so she pulled her covers up to under her arms.

â€œYouâ€™re red. Are you okay?â€ Stefâ€™s voice seemed more like a croak.

When she laid a hand on Laurelâ€™s forehead, the warmth of it was almost Laurelâ€™s undoing. She stayed perfectly still and tried to relax.

â€œI donâ€™t think you have a fever.â€ Stef had raised up to support herself on one elbow, revealing even more cleavage.

It took a monumental effort for Laurel to tear her eyes away, since they seemed to be locked on Stefâ€™s body. She managed, â€œA fever? Iâ€¦donâ€™t know.â€

â€œYouâ€™re blushing.â€

Laurel met the chocolate brown eyes she had been fantasizing about since the Ãž rst day they met. â€œYes.â€ She could not deny the truth.

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â€œWhy?â€

The question was so innocent, the answer so simple. â€œWould you mind, please, covering your breasts? Theyâ€™reâ€¦ distracting.â€

Laurel desperately wished she could have made something up, but her brain had Ãž nally disconnected completely from her body. It was receiving signals farther south. Loud and clear. The realization of what sheâ€™d confessed must have sunk in, because Stef complied, at Ãž rst rather shyly, but then a sly grin spread over her face.

â€œDo you like them?â€ Now the gravel tone, though still there, had been replaced by a husky quality that only made Laurelâ€™s resolve more precarious.

â€œOh, for Godâ€™s sake. Yes, yes, yes. Theyâ€™re magniÃž cent, beautiful, I could never imagine anything so lovely as your breasts.â€

Her exasperation must have been evident, because the grin was replaced by something more somber.

â€œI donâ€™t mean to tease you. If it helps, everything about you feels that way to me.â€

Laurel bolted upright and just as quickly fell back, pain stabbing her into stillness. Once her breath came back to her she said, â€œGod. Iâ€™m so sorry. I didnâ€™t mean to say that I only admired your breasts, asâ€¦special as they are.â€ She hesitated. â€œDonâ€™t you see? Iâ€™m completely entranced by everything about you. I have been since we Ãž rst met. I have no right, no right at all. I should have left Rochelle long ago, but I didnâ€™t. I should have stayed with Sika and Denny, but I didnâ€™t. I wanted to be with you because I feel safe with you. Damn, even that is a lie.â€ She searched the room for the door, the urge to escape almost overwhelming her.

Stef gently squeezed her arm, bringing Laurelâ€™s attention back to her. â€œWhy is it a lie?â€

Unable to skirt the truth any longer, Laurel sank back on the bed. â€œThat isnâ€™t why I wanted to stay with you.â€ Rolling carefully to face Stef, she said, â€œI think Iâ€™ve fallen in love with you. Bad timing, unrequited and all.â€ Tears seeped out of her eyes at the truth of her confession, the Ãž nal nail in the cofÃž n.

After a moment, Stef asked, â€œWhat makes you think itâ€™s unrequited?â€

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â€œBecause who could love a pathetic, miserableâ€¦ Wait.â€

Studying the warm inviting eyes and the shy smile, she said, â€œWhat did you say?â€

â€œI said, â€˜what makes you think itâ€™s unrequited?â€™â€

Laurel started to reply only to Ãž nd those fantastic lips meeting hers. Stef conÃž rmed what had only been a wish, a whisper, and probably a prayer. She pulled Stef on top of her and they both yelped in pain and ÃŸ ew apart.

â€œGod, my ribs.â€ Laurel tried to calm her panting, because it hurt, then noticed that Stef was grimacing, too. â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€

With a huff, Stef sat up. â€œI was working in one of the upstairs rooms last night and Iâ€™m sore today, thatâ€™s all.â€

Thinking about that, Laurel said, â€œIâ€™ve been leaning on you a lot, too. Iâ€™m sorry.â€

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Stef smiled sweetly. â€œI went up to the remodel last night after you were asleep. I pretty much took down a wall. Iâ€™m sore, thatâ€™s all. Itâ€™s nothing.â€

Looking deeply into her eyes, Laurel understood. â€œDid the wall have a name?â€

â€œYes. Fuckface.â€

A chuckle started deep in her belly but mushroomed into full guffaws. At the same time, Stef collapsed back on the bed and they both alternated between wheezes and groans because of all the sore and damaged muscles they were using. When they calmed down, they lay side by side on their backs, staring at the stained ceiling.

Laurel asked, â€œIs it unrequited?â€

â€œWhat?â€

â€œYou know what.â€

â€œDo you love me?â€ Stefâ€™s voice shook slightly.

Sighing, Laurel said, â€œYes. I tried to be honorable, to control myself, to ignore my emotions, but I lost. Iâ€™ve fallen in love with you. I should apologize, but I wonâ€™t. But I hope for the courtesy of your honesty when you tell me if you return my love. I hope not to lose your friendship. That means so much to me.â€ Talking to the ceiling was so much easier than face-to-face. Almost like rehearsing her rather long speech.

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â€œWell, youâ€™re no longer my friend, if thatâ€™s what youâ€™re asking.â€

Laurelâ€™s heart stood still, she was sure of it. Sheâ€™d blown it and didnâ€™t know how to recover.

â€œBecause now youâ€™ll be my lover.â€

Laurel could barely hear what Stef had said, her own recriminations were so loud in her head. â€œWhat?â€ She sat up abruptly, ignoring her protesting ribs.

â€œI said, now youâ€™ll be my lover. Iâ€™m in love with you, Laurel.

Bad timing and all.â€

Gazing into the brown eyes that revealed the truth of Stefâ€™s words, Laurel asked, â€œNow what?â€

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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Irina Castic was poring over papers spread on the kitchen table. When the nice young man from the delivery service had knocked on her door the other day, she was surprised to see him. It had been such a long time since anyone had needed to see her identiÃž cation and passport, and he was evidently quite taken with the importance of his task. It was probably a novelty to him.

She was uneasy, though, because her memories of producing passports and proof of identity were many times Ãž lled with dread.

She was often amazed at how cavalier Americans were about the freedoms they possessed. As though they would have them forever.

Sheâ€™d read a quote once from an American statesman, she couldnâ€™t remember who it was. â€œThe price of freedom is eternal vigilance.â€

How true that was. If people only knew how much their lives were controlled and decided upon by a few powerful men, they might understand that they could take nothing for granted.

The Elysium Society had learned that lesson brutally. But arrogance might just get their enemies yet. Irina couldnâ€™t help but laugh to herself at the irony. It would be wonderful if a group of women could teach those Bohos a lesson.

â€œWhatâ€™s so funny, Mrs. C?â€ Ember was busy loading her pack and tidying up her sleeping area, which doubled as the living room sofa, so she could take the train to school. Irina had never been on it, this Bay Area Rapid Transit train. She wouldnâ€™t go under the bay to get to Berkeley. A tube underwater! There was no way, even with Emberâ€™s gentle teasing and offer to hold her hand.

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She regarded her young friend. Ember was a beautiful woman by any measure. She never spoke of her past, but Irina knew she came from a life of privilege. It took one to know one. Slowly sheâ€™d come to think of Ember as the grandchild sheâ€™d never had. She was a special child, intelligent, strong, and brave, and full of compassion.

And she needed to attend university as a full-time student. If Ãž lling out all of these papers from hell could assist, Irina would gladly do it. After all, Ember had done all of the research and kept the matter alive. Now it looked like something might actually come of it. Irina hoped the desired resolution would come about sooner than later.

Ember needed to get on with her life. She shouldnâ€™t be stuck in a cheap set of rooms with one old lady.

â€œMrs. C?â€ Ember was still waiting for her answer.

â€œMy dear, do you have a moment before you leave?â€

Smiling, Ember said, â€œSure.â€ She sat in a chair across from Irina. â€œWhatâ€™s up?â€

â€œI was wondering if your family knows where you are. If they know you are safe.â€

From the look on Emberâ€™s face, Irina had caught her off of her guard.

â€œIâ€¦wrote a note to say I was okay. You wonâ€™t call them, though, right?â€

â€œGoodness, no. I wouldnâ€™t know how and I wouldnâ€™t betray you like that. We are friends. Butâ€¦â€ Irina didnâ€™t know how to ask.

â€œWhy did I run away?â€ Ember did her the favor of reading her mind. Lovely child.

â€œYes. I donâ€™t believe you were abused, you seem to have too much self-conÃž dence for that. But something pushed you out that door. What was it?â€

Ember studied Irinaâ€™s face for a moment, perhaps deciding whether to trust her with her secret. â€œMy mom died when I was ten. My father always plied me with everything I could ever want.

It wasnâ€™t anything more than all of my friends had, we were spoiled brats. He was gone all the time. Thatâ€™s pretty normal. Their parents were never there, either. I had a series of nannies. Not just one nanny

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at a time, I mean, they took shifts. I could literally drop a soda in the middle of the living room at two a.m. and someone would be there to clean it up. It was pathetic.â€

Nodding, Irina said, â€œYes, I understand. But if you knew no differently, and you werenâ€™t beaten or molested, how did you come to run away?â€

â€œHeather.â€

â€œAh. The famous Heather. Youâ€™ve mentioned her before. You fell in love and your father forbade it?â€

Shaking her head, Ember said, â€œWell, I fell in love, but I donâ€™t think Heather noticed. She was a sophomore in college and became one of my many nannies. The pay was good and the hours could work with her classes. She talked to me like I was human, she actually liked me.â€ Giving Irina a sad smile, she added, â€œAnd she worried about me.â€

â€œWhy, my dear? You had your life before you with no Ãž nancial worries.â€

â€œI was surprised, too. She worried because of that. I didnâ€™t know how to take care of myself, I was lucky I could get dressed without help. Talk about shallow. I had no idea about poverty, about human suffering, about kindness. Thatâ€™s what worried Heather.â€

Sitting back in her chair, Ember stared at the ceiling. â€œShe became my friend. I was only fourteen when she started working for us. I looked forward to every minute with her. She taught me to at least not treat my other nannies like slaves, she demanded that I make really good grades, even though I could have skated.â€

â€œWhat did your friends think of her?â€

â€œThey ignored her. She was â€˜the help.â€™ It kind of became Heatherâ€™s and my private joke, with lots of eye rolls when they did some vacuous thing and expected Heather to wait on them. I got so that I didnâ€™t have anyone over if she was going to be there. Then they accused me of having an affair with her. Bitches.â€ The hurt in Emberâ€™s voice was raw.

â€œYou said you were in love with her. Did you have an affair?â€

â€œNo. I mean, I would have, in a second, but Heather would

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never betray my trust like that. She told me she loved me like a sister, and maybe someday we might be more, but we both had growing up to do. She quit as my nanny after she graduated from college.â€

Irina was struck by the pain so evident in Emberâ€™s eyes. â€œWhat happened then? You must have missed her terribly.â€ She wanted to reach across the papers scattered on the table and take Emberâ€™s hand, but she resisted. Ember was talking and she didnâ€™t want to interrupt.

Tears rolled down the planes of Emberâ€™s face. â€œShe was determined to do some good in the world. She was a teacher and got a job in New York City, working with inner-city youth. We emailed every day and she was full of stories about how the kids were responding, how great they were. She was really happy and I was happy for her.â€

SnifÃž ng loudly, her voice was halting as she spoke. â€œI promised her Iâ€™d keep up my grades and I did. I kind of fell back into my old ways, though. It was easy enough to do. I could never talk Dad into just getting rid of the damned nannies, so, what the hell?â€ She hugged herself, perhaps against the memory.

â€œWhat happened, Ember? Please, tell me.â€ She braced for the answer.

Staring into the distance, she said, â€œHeather was killed in a drive-by shooting. An innocent bystander, on her way to work with kids who loved her and needed her. Justâ€¦dead.â€

Ember started sobbing, and Irina opened her arms and said,

â€œCome here, child. Right now.â€

Ember fell on her knees and clung to Irina, her body racked with the agony of a loss she had neither grieved nor told anyone else about. After a few moments she quieted, then found her chair and scrubbed her face with her hands to get rid of the tears. Her eyes were red and swollen, but she somehow looked lighter.

â€œDo you feel better now?â€

â€œYeah, I do. Thanks, Mrs. C, you always know what to do.â€

Her voice reÃŸ ected the mutual warmth and love they had developed

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and it made Irinaâ€™s heart sing. But there were two questions left unanswered, and now was the opportunity.

â€œEmber, Iâ€™m sorry for your tragic loss, but why, exactly, did you leave your home?â€

Anger suffused Emberâ€™s features. â€œI told my dad about Heather, and he barely remembered her. He said he was sorry and went back to his newspaper. Then I said I was going to get a job and he laughed at me. He told me I wouldnâ€™t have a clue about how to actually do anything. I was better off going to a good university and marrying a rich man. He hadnâ€™t even noticed I didnâ€™t date boys.â€

Irina hesitated. â€œDid you date girls? Did your friends know you thought of yourself as a lesbian?â€

Blushing, Ember studied her nails. â€œNo. Heather was the only one who knew. She was, too. It was another secret we shared.â€

Deciding to leave the subject alone, Irina asked her last question.

â€œEmber, what is your family name? I know it isnâ€™t Jones, because when we Ãž rst met, you mentioned a different one.â€

A look of suspicion crossed Emberâ€™s face but then her shoulders relaxed. â€œLanier. My last name is Lanier. I paid for fake ID papers.

Spent a bunch of my money on it, too. I donâ€™t know where I thought more money was coming from.â€

â€œYouâ€™ve done well for yourself. You have a job, a place to stay, you go to school, and you have good friends. I should think you have proved your father incorrect about your ability to survive. Why not call him? He must be worried about you.â€

Shaking her head, she said, â€œI doubt heâ€™s paid too much attention.â€

â€œThen why change your name? I think you knew he would look for you.â€

Shrugging, Ember stood and hefted her backpack onto a shoulder. â€œI guess thatâ€™s true. But Iâ€™m not ready to go back. I like my new life. Oh, I wanted to tell you. Remember that kid who stole your purse when we Ãž rst met?â€

Nonplussed as to where this question was going, Irina only nodded.

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â€œWell, his name is Joey G and heâ€™s all clean and sober now and goes to Cal. Iâ€™m going to go to his place after class and play computer games. Heâ€™s a caretaker for a warehouse south of Market Street and lives there, too. See you later.â€

Still a little teary, Ember sailed out the door, the very picture of vibrant youth. Irina could see that she blamed her father for Heatherâ€™s death, but she suspected it wouldnâ€™t be long before she saw the error in that logic and forgave him enough to contact him.

She fervently hoped he had tried to Ãž nd her, for Emberâ€™s sake.

She would miss her young companion when the time came for her to leave, but for now, in case she needed her and because of the others, she would Ãž nish this bureaucratic nightmare and hope that the end was near. Forty years was long enough to wait. And after that?

â€œSeraphina and I will have a talk because I think it is safe.

I wonder how the years have changed her. I wonder if sheâ€™s remembered our promise.â€

All of the activity and sense of purpose had reinvigorated Irina.

She felt better than she had in years. She rarely used her walker now and woke up excited for each day. It was good to be of service, to repay kindness shown so long ago. She no longer had to wait for the moment, it had arrived. And she was ready.

v

Stef was deep in an erotic fantasy involving Laurel and her and a tub full of whipped cream when she heard a soft knock and looked up to see Agnes Brady shufÃŸ ing nervously in the doorway. She was expected, as she always came by to pick up the payment each month. The envelope was on the reception desk, and it was unusual for her to peek in Stefâ€™s ofÃž ce. Under the present circumstances, Stef thought she had some nerve.

Fighting to be civil, she said, â€œMs. Brady, how may I help you?

The check should be on the corner of the desk out there.â€

She pretended to become engrossed in her computer screen in hopes the woman would go away. She really didnâ€™t want to start

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screaming this early in the day, especially since her body was still reacting to that damned fantasy. Stupid whipped cream. She was wet.

This idea that she and Laurel had concocted, about not being physically intimate until Laurel had moved all her possessions out of that womanâ€™s house, was so dumb she couldnâ€™t believe it. She had to sleep next to the most beautiful woman sheâ€™d ever met, one sheâ€™d already fallen in love with and declared that love to, and they werenâ€™t going to have sex? How stupid was that? A loud sneeze and congested cough pulled her back to Agnes Brady. Why was she still here?

Agnes dragged a very old and wet tissue from her pocket to mop up where she had sprayed when she sneezed. Ew. Stef passed a box of tissues to her and kept a sensible distance while she noisily blew her nose from what sounded like the bottom of one of her lungs.

Agnes wheezed, â€œOh, thank you. I hope you donâ€™t catch this stuff, itâ€™s no fun.â€ She grabbed another tissue and dabbed ineffectually at the globules of sputum sheâ€™d deposited on the desk.

Note to self: boil desk.

â€œOh, donâ€™t worry. I never get sick,â€ Stef declared with a phony smile.

â€œI had to come by toâ€¦to apologize to you. I didnâ€™t know, when they were talking about the acceleration clause, that they were referring to this hotel.â€ Her watery eyes pleaded for understanding.

Stef felt her own eyes narrow in response. â€œIs that why you looked so guilty every time you came by to get the check? Because you didnâ€™t even suspect?â€

Looking even more miserable, Agnes admitted, â€œI did suspect, but I was too cowardly to ask. Iâ€™ve worked for them for a few years and it hasnâ€™t been a good experience. Theyâ€™re not good people. But I wanted to be a lawyer someday, and I help support my family so I need the money. My mom isnâ€™t well.â€

Stef relented. It was hard to stay angry in the face of such a

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heartfelt apology. Besides, now she was curious. That, and she wanted to return to her musings. â€œOkay. Is there anything else, Agnes?â€

â€œWell, yes.â€ Agnes shufÃŸ ed some more and her pale skin turned pink. â€œI was wondering if you could put in a good word for me with Lefty.â€ She sneezed again, but this time caught most of it. From the look of her she was quite communicable.

â€œLefty who?â€ The name sounded familiar.

â€œLefty Petrovsky.â€ The expectant way she said it suggested Stef should not only recognize the name but be seeking an autograph as well.

â€œSheâ€™s part of Jock Reynoldsâ€™s crew, right?â€ Was this distraction really necessary?

Agnesâ€™s sickly pallor colored again. â€œYes, I met her a few months ago when I took a tour of the remodel. Sheâ€™s been ignoring me since this whole thing happened.â€ She sounded completely dejected.

â€œHave you talked to her about it? Maybe she doesnâ€™t understand.â€ Stef wasnâ€™t sure she understood, either. Could someone please get rid of this walking ÃŸ u bug and let me get back to, um, business?

â€œI tried, but she wonâ€™t listen. She worships Jock and Ms. Phelps and thinks I personally am trying to dismantle the hotel. I tried to explain Iâ€™m just an assistant, but she wonâ€™t take my calls.â€

â€œI really donâ€™t see how I can help. Iâ€™m not trying to be mean, I assure you.â€ Iâ€™m thinking I should whip the cream myself. Yes, organic cream with vanilla and a touch of sugar. That way when I lick it off Laurel...

â€œI quit my job.â€ Agnes lapsed into another coughing spell.

â€œAnd you want me to tell Lefty for you?â€

Agnes nodded with feverish gratitude. â€œAnd I want to apply for a job with you.â€

Stef rid herself of the vision of Laurelâ€™s breasts covered in organic whipped cream with just her nipples peeking out. It wasnâ€™t easy. â€œWhy would you do that? We have no money, which, I think you know.â€

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â€œYes, I know. Youâ€™re going to need a good attorney and someone to assist in the litigation. Iâ€™m very good and very thorough. I can save you money.â€

Something felt a little off. â€œWait, back up. What do you mean, Iâ€™ll need a good attorney? I thought that was obvious.â€

â€œYou probably know this already, but the Bohemian Club plans to have the original sale of the hotel to you voided. Theyâ€™re trying to declare Seraphina Drake Holloway incompetent. Then any action she took as trustee of the Holloway family trust will be null.

Including the sale of the hotel. Thatâ€™s why I quit.â€

Stunned, Stef could only stare. â€œAgnes, Iâ€™m pretty sure that anything youâ€™ve overheard is conÃž dential. If those guys Ãž nd out youâ€™ve warned us and they decide to pursue it, your chances of getting into a good law school will disappear. Consider carefully.â€

Agnesâ€™s set her jaw. â€œI donâ€™t care. You and the women who work for you are so nice, and those people are so scummy. I know the rules, but sometimes you just have to do the right thing. If you can use a secretary or anything at all, Iâ€™ll take it.â€

Stef stared at her. â€œIs this all about Lefty?â€

Agnes shook her head, then wiped her nose again. â€œOf course not. But between your urging and my noble deed, maybe sheâ€™ll Ãž nd me irresistible. Canâ€™t hurt, right?â€

v

Stef walked numbly down the hall toward Irina Casticâ€™s rooms.

She gazed longingly at her own door, not yet able to rid herself of the vision of a naked Laurel covered discreetly in whipped cream.

Mrs. C seemed to be expecting her. She had a pot of tea prepared and served them both before a word was spoken. When Stef was through with her explanations, she sat back in her chair and stared at a place over Stefâ€™s shoulder. â€œWell, we must discover if there is any substance to this claim. What else did Miss Brady say?â€

â€œThat Seraphinaâ€™s son, Clayton B. Holloway the Third, has put her in a private facility for the very wealthy. We canâ€™t get to her easily, Iâ€™m afraid. They have a lot of security at those places.â€ Stef

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felt weary. It seemed like no matter where she turned, there was someone there to block her.

â€œPerhaps I could visit my dear old friend,â€ Mrs. C said.

â€œYou know Mrs. Holloway?â€

â€œVery well, although we havenâ€™t seen each other for many years.â€

â€œAgnes says she canâ€™t have any visitors unless they check with her son Ãž rst.â€

They sipped tea in silence for a moment.

Mrs. C asked, â€œHow old are you, dear?â€

Her bright blue eyes were full of intention, and Stef answered immediately. â€œThirty-four. Why?â€

â€œIâ€™ll need a child or a grandchild. One who, like Seraphinaâ€™s son, is shopping for a place to dump off dear, rich Granny while she spends her money. I think youâ€™ll do very well.â€ Her smile was full of mischief.

â€œNice. But donâ€™t they check your portfolio?â€

â€œGive me another day, and then you can make the call. Theyâ€™ll see us.â€

Stef had no idea what Mrs. C, who had lived in the hotel for so many years and was penniless, was going to do, but she felt better immediately.

â€œNow go and check on Laurel. I think she needs you.â€ Mrs.

Câ€™s smile made Stef blush. She could feel her cheeks tingle. â€œOh, please take those two bags of papers to her. I believe she will Ãž nd them useful.â€

Stef nodded and hefted the bags, thankful that she had an excuse to see Laurel at last. It had been at least four hours. So much had happened that she wanted to share with her. She fought the urge to check and see if Sika had any whipping cream in the refrigerator.

v

Laurel was restless.

She was going to go back to class tomorrow, not at all sure

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how she would be received. Ember had reported concern among the students for her absence and absolutely not one word of explanation from the faculty. Thereâ€™d been a notice on her ofÃž ce door that classes were cancelled for one week. She assumed Rochelle had made up an excuse, because she hadnâ€™t called. No more covering up for Rochelle; that was her new promise to herself.

Sighing, Laurel knew she would have to face Rochelle soon.

She needed her clothes, her things. She was grateful that she had forgotten her laptop in her car and therefore had it, but her class notes and a lot of other student information were on her desktop computer at the house. Stef had been more than generous, and had even converted the room where the project was housed into a temporary ofÃž ce for her. Sheâ€™d offered to have a bed put there as well, but they dismissed that idea almost immediately, agreeing that they at least needed to sleep in the same bed.

That was the main reason she had to face Rochelle. She wanted to keep her agreement that she would end her relationship with Rochelle before starting a new one with Stef. But really, hadnâ€™t she already done that? Wasnâ€™t moving her things out just a formality?

Rochelle had already accused her of sleeping with Stef, screamed it at her when she was attacking her. As far as Laurel was concerned, there was little left to be said, but she wanted to do whatever would make Stef comfortable.

She could understand Stefâ€™s doubts, and her desire to see complete closure. Women often went back and forth as they were trying to leave a relationship. Obviously Stef didnâ€™t trust Laurel enough to accept that it was over, and there was no chance that she would change her mind, unless she made the â€œdivorceâ€ Ãž nal in every possible way. That meant getting her stuff out of that house. The day couldnâ€™t come soon enough, as far as Laurel was concerned.

A knock on the door brought her back to the present and Stef peeked in, her expression warm and inviting. She plopped two heavy and somewhat bedraggled-looking shopping bags on the ÃŸ oor by the couch. â€œMrs. C asked me to bring these to you. Said you might want them.â€

Laurel elbowed herself upright and made room on the couch for

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Stef. Smiling up at her, she said, â€œI wonder if those are the minutes of the Elysium Society meetings.â€

Stef took the notepad from her lap and put it aside, scooting to sit next to her. Touching her face gently, she asked, â€œHow are you feeling?â€ She continued to fuss, pushing some of Laurelâ€™s hair away from her cheeks.

â€œMuch better. My lip is almost healed. Thanks to you.â€ Laurel pulled Stef to her and they shared a sweet, soft and lingering kiss.

Laurel felt her heartbeat pick up and could tell from Stefâ€™s breathing that the same was happening to her.

â€œStefanie?â€

â€œIâ€™m sorry.â€ Stef looked at her guiltily. â€œI know we have anâ€”â€

Laurel put her Ãž ngers on Stefâ€™s lips to shush her. â€œAbout that agreement.â€ She searched Stefâ€™s apprehensive face, hoping she wouldnâ€™t disappoint her. â€œItâ€™s not going to work.â€

A chill passed across Stefâ€™s features like a cloud obscuring the sun. â€œYouâ€™re going back to her?â€

â€œNo, absolutely not.â€ As Stefâ€™s shoulders dropped in relief, Laurel said, â€œThereâ€™s something I want you to know. In my heart, I left Rochelle a long time ago. The day she did this to me, she screamed at me that I wasâ€¦fucking you. What I should have screamed right back at her was that I wanted to. With all my heart, and not just to have an affair.â€

Stefâ€™s eyes shone. â€œWhat are you saying?â€

â€œI should have told her I loved you, and I would give anything to make love with you. Instead, I denied it. I was relieved that we hadnâ€™t done anything.â€ Laurel sighed. â€œIâ€™m making a mess out of this, arenâ€™t I? Some professor I am. Canâ€™t even beg for sex without confusing the one person in the world I want to have sex with.â€

The thought crossed her mind that sheâ€™d ended a phrase with a preposition. She had even screwed that up.

Stef took her hands. â€œAre you saying we can chuck that idiotic agreement? Think about this, because youâ€™re going back to school tomorrow. You might see Rochelle, and if I have anything to say about it, youâ€™ll look different.â€

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Laurel mused aloud, â€œLook different? What are you talking about, are you planning on covering me with hickeys?â€

Smiling, Stef checked her watch. â€œWe have four hours before Iâ€™m supposed to be in a meeting with Sika. Then we have all night.

Iâ€™ve been fantasizing about making love to you ever since the Ãž rst time I saw you.â€

Taking Stefâ€™s face between her hands, Laurel looked directly in her eyes. â€œSo have I.â€ She kissed her softly, then deeply, pulling her close.

Stef responded carefully at Ãž rst, but Laurel knew she was holding back, trying not to hurt her. She helped her to her feet and led her to the bedroom. It was obvious that because of her injuries, Stef would let her lead. That would be a change, but Laurel was exhilarated and equally concerned that sheâ€™d do everything right.

That concern dissolved when Stef stood before her and pulled her pale yellow sweater over her head, revealing a lovely bra that Laurel wanted to tear off and toss into a shredder. Then, before Laurelâ€™s eyes, she unfastened the bra and let it slide off her shoulders to reveal the most exquisite full breasts she had ever seen or could imagine. For the Ãž rst time, Laurel let herself drink in the sight for as long as she wanted. Tears came to her eyes, and she licked her lips, mesmerized as Stefâ€™s nipples tightened.

Somewhere she registered Stefâ€™s voice. â€œIf you donâ€™t touch me soon, Iâ€™m going to disintegrate. Please, I need you.â€

â€œMy God. You are so...â€ She realized her hands were trembling when she reached for Stef and heard her moan.

Stefâ€™s body felt exquisite, the toned muscles of her abdomen a sharp contrast to the soft heaven of her breasts. When she ran into the texture of cloth, Laurel fumbled and pulled ineffectually, almost whimpering in frustration.

Stef stilled her hands and stood back, stepping out of the remainder of her clothes. â€œNow you. Do you need help?â€

Laurel was wearing a front zip sweatshirt and tie sweatpants.

Yet even those seemed welded closed. â€œYes, hurry.â€

She was pretty sure she would pass out soon unless Stef made

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love to her. Sheâ€™d never felt this way about anyoneâ€”everything was brand new, so new there was no time to be shy, be polite, she couldnâ€™t think, for Godâ€™s sake. Her clothes were too tight and Stefâ€™s naked body wasnâ€™t helping. Stef started on the zipper, pulling it slowly down. Laurel couldnâ€™t stand it. Night after night sheâ€™d lain next to Stef, ending up in her arms or wrapped around her by the morning. Despite the distraction of her injuries, sheâ€™d been swollen for every minute. Even her attempt at relieving the pressure herself was a miserable failure. She only wanted Stef and she wanted her now.

She tore the zipper from Stefâ€™s hand and Ãž nished the job herself. Then she pulled the drawstring on her pants to let them drop unceremoniously to the ÃŸ oor and stomped to get out of them, kicking them off. Thankfully, she hadnâ€™t worn anything else.

Without a momentâ€™s hesitation she took Stefâ€™s hand and placed it where she had dreamt of it being for so long. Long before Rochelle, long before any woman she had ever been with, she realized sheâ€™d longed for Stefanie.

â€œThis is what you do to me,â€ she said. â€œDonâ€™t leave me.â€

Stefâ€™s eyes widened in recognition. Her pupils, already so large, almost completely Ãž lled her irises. â€œOn the bed.â€

They almost leapt from where they were, Laurel ignoring her protesting ribs as they landed in the middle of the covers. For a moment, they searched each otherâ€™s faces.

â€œI love you, Laurel, I think I always will.â€

Stef returned to Laurelâ€™s center and stroked her, pushing inside, giving her so much pleasure Laurel burst into a strong orgasm within seconds. She called out Stefâ€™s name and begged her not to stop, coming to another, stronger orgasm on the heels of the Ãž rst.

They lay for a moment, both trying to catch their breath. Laurel had felt Stef ride her thigh and was sure Stef had come, too. But not like she was going to.

â€œI was selÃž sh.â€ She skimmed the side of one of Stefâ€™s breasts.

â€œI couldnâ€™t stand it, you drive me insane.â€

Stef gasped, â€œItâ€™s okay, I couldnâ€™t help but come with you. Just

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to be naked with youâ€¦to make love to you, see your face. Iâ€™ve wanted you for so long.â€

â€œI must be selÃž sh again, I have to.â€

â€œWhat can I do? Be as selÃž sh as you want.â€ Her eyes told Laurel all she needed to know.

â€œLie back, I need to have my way with you.â€

As Stef collapsed onto the bed, she ÃŸ ung her arms over her head and opened her legs wide. Laurel could see how swollen she was. How wet.

â€œIâ€™m a pig. Thinking only of myself.â€ She reached down and ran the pad of her thumb the length of Stefâ€™s need, then leaned in to suck her clit to a hard prominence.

Stef groaned, and her hips rose to push hard into Laurelâ€™s mouth. Laurel ÃŸ icked her clit with her tongue, then gently bit down and felt Stef jackknife almost to a sitting position before collapsing back on the bed. She entered Stef, using her tongue to stroke her.

â€œMore,â€ Stef implored. â€œOh God, more. Iâ€™mâ€¦almostâ€¦there.â€

Laurel concentrated on Stefâ€™s clitoris, making the movements sharp and quick until Stef became still, her legs trembling. When her body rolled with the shocks of her orgasm Laurel, didnâ€™t stop until sheâ€™d driven her relentlessly to two more.

Stef Ãž nally begged for mercy, and Laurel, completely drunk with power, granted it.

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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Uh, Dr. Hoffman? I think you missed the exit.â€ Emberâ€™s voice dragged Laurel back to reality.

â€œWhat? Oh, I was justâ€¦thinking.â€ Laurelâ€™s life was upside down and her concentration was shot. She should have insisted that Ember drive, but she needed to drop her off a few blocks before the campus so no one knew of their friendship. The precaution protected both of them.

â€œYou sure youâ€™ll be okay until class? I can come with you to your ofÃž ce. Itâ€™s no problem.â€

She was so innocent in her offer; Laurel hoped she never lost that innocence. Ember had no idea of the political ramiÃž cations of a stunningly beautiful young woman escorting an instructor to her ofÃž ce. The gossip would be in full swing the moment they exited the car. With phone cameras, their picture together would be on the university intranet before class started. She probably should have dropped her at the BART station.

â€œNo, itâ€™s better this way,â€ Laurel said. Rochelle would never do anything on campus. â€œAfter I drop you off, please call and tell Stef Iâ€™m okay.â€

Ember nodded, staring out the windshield. She extracted the new cell phone Jock had given her and said, â€œIâ€™ve got her on speed dial.â€

Laurel would call, too, of course. It was all she could do to get

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Stef to agree to Ember as her sole bodyguard. Sheâ€™d almost had all of Jockâ€™s crew following her in a convoy. Her heart swelled at the recognition that so many wanted to help.

After leaving Ember, she drove into the faculty parking lot. She was nervous, despite her brave words, because Rochelle had been so unpredictable lately. But she wasnâ€™t scheduled to be on campus today, so Laurel clung to the hope she would stick to her routine.

As she walked across the expansive lawns of the university, she was aware that the new clothes sheâ€™d purchased in a quick shopping trip Ãž t differently. Sheâ€™d chosen brighter colors, and her style was less constrained, more active and in charge. She had even picked out a tank that revealed her Ãž gure and some cleavage, something she wouldnâ€™t have dreamt of doing before.

She knew exactly why, too. Stefanie Beresford. Stef made her feel special. She admired her mind and worshipped her body. She loved her soul. From the moment they touched, Laurel was forever and irrevocably a new woman. She returned every molecule of love to the woman whoâ€™d brought about the change. It didnâ€™t matter what Rochelle or anyone else said or did, there was no going back. That knowledge gave her courage she didnâ€™t know she possessed, and the vision of Stefâ€™s eyes shining with love lifted her spirits and Ãž lled her with resolve.

So, yes, Stef was right about her being changed when she saw Rochelle again. But it wasnâ€™t her clothes, or the fact that she bore some marks of their lovemaking. Those were not visible anyway.

Sheâ€™d thoughtfully chosen a shirt to wear over her tank top, since every time she thought of Stef, which was constantly, her nipples hardened.

Rochelle would notice a conÃž dence in her that was completely new. She would no doubt tell Laurel that her glow was only because she was fucking Stef. Rochelle wouldnâ€™t recognize the real basis of the change, that Laurel felt loved and could give love in return.

Rochelle didnâ€™t even know what that meant.

â€œSo, youâ€™ve decided to grace us with your presence.â€

Laurel stopped, her chest tightening at the sound of Rochelleâ€™s voice. She was behind her and Laurel wondered how long sheâ€™d been

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there. She whirled to meet her former partnerâ€™s glare, wondering if sheâ€™d even notice the fading bruises or the slight scar on her lip.

â€œI had to let the bruises fade. You know the drill.â€

â€œKeep your voice down. Someone might hear you.â€

In the past she would have instantly complied, but no more.

â€œThatâ€™s your problem, Rochelle. And even if I were completely silent, no oneâ€™s blind and the facial bruising is still rather obvious, wouldnâ€™t you say.â€

Rochelle studied her and a knowing sneer settled on her features. â€œI knew it. Youâ€™re fucking her.â€

Shrugging, Laurel said, â€œWell, I wasnâ€™t when you kicked the crap out of me, dearest. But now? You bet I am.â€

Rochelleâ€™s face darkened with fury. â€œWeâ€™ll talk about this at home. Iâ€™ll be waiting after class.â€ Her jaw muscles were working overtime.

â€œNo, Rochelle, we wonâ€™t. Iâ€™ve moved out. I wonâ€™t be alone with you because I donâ€™t trust you.â€

â€œI can break you, Laurel, so watch your mouth. I can get you dismissed and make sure you never work in a university again.â€

â€œPerhaps. But understand one thing. I. Donâ€™t. Care.â€ Laurel turned on her heel and strode toward the classroom building. Sheâ€™d only taken several steps when her arm was in a vise, forcing her to face Rochelle.

â€œHow dare you talk to me that way. I ought toâ€”â€

â€œDr. Hoffman? Dr. Hoffman?â€ They both looked sideways to see Ember running toward them and skidding to a halt. Her smile faded as she spied Rochelleâ€™s grip on Laurelâ€™s arm, and Rochelle immediately dropped her hand. â€œOh, Iâ€™m sorry, am I interrupting?â€

Rochelle forced a terse smile. â€œWhy no, we were just discussingâ€¦a project.â€

â€œOh, great.â€ Ember dripped innocence. â€œI was hoping to talk to Dr. Hoffman about my term paper. Youâ€™re Professor Jacobs, arenâ€™t you? Wow, what an honor.â€ She stuck her hand out and pumped vigorously, the picture of admiration.

Rochelle preened. â€œYes, I am. And you areâ€”â€

â€œOh, just a freshman. But I hope to be a student here for a long

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time and be in your class someday. I canâ€™t believe I got to meet you.â€

Before Ember piled it on a bit too thickly, Laurel said, â€œWell, we have a few minutes before class, so why donâ€™t we talk about your paper on the way.â€

â€œSure, so nice to have met you, Professor Jacobs.â€ Ember stood back, all smiles and beautiful cluelessness, waiting for Laurel.

Rochelle gave them a thin smile. â€œVery well, see you after class, Dr. Hoffman.â€

As they walked briskly across campus, Laurel ventured a glance over her shoulder to see Rochelle engaged with another student.

â€œThank you, Ember. Iâ€™m pretty sure you would get an A in my class, if you were enrolled.â€

Breathlessly, Ember said, â€œHey, I really, really, want to run.

Guess that wouldnâ€™t be, you know, cool, right?â€

â€œRight. Letâ€™s do it anyway.â€ They broke into a run that didnâ€™t slow down until they were through the buildingâ€™s glass doors.

v

Stef had enough energy to pull Laurel on top of her, after recovering from the last session of lovemaking. It took a bit of strength, too, because Laurel was unable to help. How she got that way brought a satisÃž ed smirk to Stefâ€™s lips.

â€œYouâ€™re gloating.â€ Laurel regarded her with those disconcerting green eyes.

The passion in her gaze caused a reaction in Stef that, although she couldnâ€™t do much about it for a bit, she didnâ€™t bother to suppress.

â€œYes, I am. You are so wondrous when you come. And Iâ€™m improving my technique.â€

Resting her chin on Stefâ€™s chest, Laurel let a hand wander, enjoying the hitch in Stefâ€™s breath when she found a sensitive spot.

â€œSo, tell me, how did Ember do as a bodyguard? I apologize for not asking until now, but I hadnâ€™t seen you in forever and needed to feel you close to me.â€

Actually, theyâ€™d practically ripped each otherâ€™s clothes off the

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moment they were alone. The Ãž rst round was fast and desperate, each seeking reassurance from the other. The second and third were much more leisurely.

Laurel explained Emberâ€™s escort to class, then added, â€œWhen class was over, Rochelle was lurking outside the door and, to tell the truth, I was jumpy. All of a sudden I was surrounded by at least half my students, Ember leading the way, and we walked, like a Roman phalanx, to my car, everyone chatting and asking questions.

Rochelle couldnâ€™t get near me without causing a huge stir. It was great.â€ She grinned.

â€œWay to go, Ember.â€

â€œYou know what else? Iâ€™m going to start playing racquetball again. My sister and I always loved it and I played in college with friends, but I stopped because Rochelle was so miserable to play with. Emberâ€™s agreed to be my practice partner. What do you think of that?â€ Laurelâ€™s eyes threw off more sparks of gold as she spoke.

She looked happy.

Stef was thinking about a raise for Ember, perhaps a bonus.

â€œRacquetball, thatâ€™s great.â€

â€œWhat happened with Mrs. Castic?â€ Laurel asked. â€œDid the place theyâ€™re housing Mrs. Holloway fall for the story?â€

â€œWeâ€™ll know soon. Mrs. C said to pass on the information she had given me, some Serbian attachÃ© number in New York City, to the institution. To say they were snooty is to understate it.â€

â€œIf they go for the bait, what then?â€

â€œAccording to Mrs. C, we march in there, she plays a doddering fool, and we tour until we Ãž nd Seraphina Drake Holloway. Mrs. C

says sheâ€™ll recognize her, no problem. Then weâ€™ll ask her whatâ€™s going on, assuming she really isnâ€™t demented.â€

Stef felt her body begin to heat as Laurel continued her teasing exploration. She relieved some pressure by allowing her pelvis to rock in rhythm with Laurelâ€™s. It was a temporary Ãž x.

Laurel said, â€œOh, my. Thatâ€™sâ€¦nice. What were we saying?â€

She sat up to straddle Stef, fondling her breasts, gently teasing her nipples with her thumbs as she continued rocking. She slid her clit against Stefâ€™s pubic hair and gasped.

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â€œChrist.â€ Stef moaned. â€œYouâ€™re making me so excited, I can barelyâ€¦talk.â€

â€œTalking is the last thing I want you to do with your tongue, the very last thing.â€ Laurel raised up and turned so they could have access to each other. Feasting with their Ãž ngers and tongues brought them to thundering climaxes within minutes.

When they were once again in each otherâ€™s arms, Stef mumbled,

â€œI want you again.â€

That was the last thing she remembered until the next morning, when she got her wish.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The building Mrs. Holloway was housed in was across the Golden Gate Bridge in Marin County, about Ãž fteen minutes up Highway 101 and then into wooded hills. Set in a small hollow, with surrounding outbuildings, it reminded Stef more of Wuthering Heights than a posh retirement facility. Behind the stone walls were beautifully tended grounds. Nothing moved, not even a stray leaf.

The place was so quiet it gave her the creeps.

The tall, imposing security gates slowly swung open after she rang the bell and identiÃž ed Countess Irina Castic and her granddaughter Stefanie. She was still reeling over that one, too.

Mrs. C seemed to have the role down pat. Stef wondered if she had been an actress at some point. She walked regally to the chauffeur-driven car theyâ€™d arranged for the trip, wearing her Ãž nest clothesâ€”

dated but elegant. Sheâ€™d insisted that Stef tart herself up, including exposing cleavage in a skimpy dress. Stefâ€™s face warmed at the thought, because Laurel had really liked her new look and they were lucky the dress was still in one piece after she demonstrated just how much it turned her on. Her professor was full of surprises.

When the chauffeur opened the car door at the Heath Retirement Center, Mrs. C required much more help than before and seemed a bit addled. Impressed, Stef hoped she could play her own part as well.

The woman who greeted them was fortyish, rail thin, and had an icy demeanor. Her clothes were obviously expensive and her dark hair well tended. Her smile revealed capped teeth and her eyes

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remained distant, as though calculating net worth and the chances of getting some of it. She identiÃž ed herself as Mrs. Juanita Stonewell, the executive director of the facility. While she was solicitous to the point of fawning to Stef, she virtually ignored Mrs. C, who made a show of looking bewildered.

Trying to separate from Mrs. Câ€™s clinging Ãž ngers, Stef said,

â€œYeah, Gram, this is the place I told you about. As soon as you sign those papers you can live here.â€

She turned to Juanita Stonewell and said, â€œGrammyâ€™s losing it and I want to protect her, you know? I need her power of attorney so someone doesnâ€™t take advantage of her. Gram was royalty in her country.â€ She made this announcement with sarcasm and rolled her eyes, giving Mrs. Stonewell a knowing look.

â€œWell, perhaps we can help. We can do a psychiatric evaluation here, to assess mental capacity, and weâ€™ve often been called upon to testify on competency cases.â€

â€œSo Iâ€™ve heard. How much does that cost? You know, the testing and testifying part.â€ Stef picked Mrs. Câ€™s hands off her arm again.

Warming to the topic, Mrs. Stonewell said, â€œOh, it is rather expensive, but we can add that into her residency payments. The countess can more than afford it.â€ She offered a conspiratorial wink.

Stef fought to not slap her.

â€œUm, yeah, thatâ€™s good. Listen, do you have any other old ladies here that youâ€™ve, er, helped? Maybe we can park my Gram with them and you and I can discuss the details.â€ She lowered her voice to a whisper. â€œSheâ€™s driving me crazy.â€

Stonewell nodded. â€œLetâ€™s walk down to the TV room, there are lots of interesting things there and she can visit with the residents.â€

Raising her voice, Stef yelled, â€œGram, letâ€™s go watch TV.â€

Mrs. C looked at her in surprise. â€œStefanie, is this the place?â€

â€œYeah, Gram, letâ€™s go.â€

They slowly made their way, following Mrs. Stonewell down a dark hallway that smelled of disinfectant and decay. Stef stole a glance at Mrs. C and thought she saw anger sharpen her eyes, then the dull sheen of confusion was back. No wonder Mrs. C was glad

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to stay in the hotel. As shabby as it was, it was better than this. And these people had money.

The â€œTV roomâ€ featured three televisions positioned in their own areas, each tuned to a different channel. Seemed like news, sports, and soap operas at Ãž rst glance. Most residents were gathered in the soap opera pod. There was only one somnolent woman propped up on a couch in front of the television with the news on.

She appeared to be sleeping.

The sole attendant in the room looked more like a guard than a nurse or aide. As they stood just inside the door, he nodded to Mrs. Stonewell and left, as though he was on rounds, checking on the inmates. Stef thought he should be slapping a baton against his thigh.

â€œOh, can I watch the news? You know I love the news.â€ Mrs. C

released her grip on Stef and tottered over to the couch, where she plopped down and seemed engrossed in the program.

If the woman on the couch with her was Holloway, Stef wished her luck. She looked heavily sedated. â€œGram looks happy here for a while,â€ she told Mrs. Stonewell. â€œShow me the rest of the place.

She wonâ€™t remember it anyway and it would take all day. I gotta get back to work.â€

She needed to keep Mrs. Stonewell distracted for at least thirty minutes for Mrs. C to try to talk to Mrs. Holloway, so she asked a lot of dumb questions as they toured the facility. The Heath Retirement Center wasnâ€™t bad considering how old the building was, but for the enormous price they were charging they could have sunk a few hundred thousand into renovation and made it much better.

These people were raking in the money. Given Mrs. Stonewellâ€™s willingness to practically guarantee a diagnosis of incompetence, and the hefty price tag that went with that diagnosis, it was clear that most of the residents were in the same boat as Mrs. Holloway. Their families werenâ€™t willing to wait for the relative to die before getting their hands on the money.

Toward the end of the tour, a thought occurred to Stef. â€œMrs.

Stonewell, what if one of the residents tries to escape? You know, since theyâ€™re incompetent.â€

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A smile of pride softened the womanâ€™s severe features. â€œWell, we have excellent security. The property is completely surrounded by stone walls and the front gates are operated from our security room. You probably noticed that you had to announce yourself before they would open.â€

â€œYeah, thatâ€™s good. But what if one of them falls or tries to hide somewhere?â€ Stef had noticed security cameras in the halls but wanted to see if they were active and monitored. Thanks to her research for the hotel, she was familiar enough with security systems to be able to make a reasonable evaluation of the one in this facility.

She suspected security was where they spent their money.

â€œYou might have noticed the security cameras in the halls. They are also in the common areas and the rooms. Not only can they call us if they need something, we can monitor them. Just to make sure they are okay, of course.â€

â€œWhoa. That seems a little, you know, over the top, donâ€™t you think? What if theyâ€™re naked or something?â€

Stonewell gave her a pitying look. Then she spoke as if talking to one of the residents, slowly and with simple words. â€œItâ€™s for their own good. We take their safety very seriously. Besides, we only turn on the video portion if need be.â€

Impressed and repulsed, Stef asked the most important question.

â€œSounds like a huge job. But I guess you only check in every now and then.â€

Mrs. Stonewell looked mildly affronted. â€œAs a matter of fact, we have a security room staffed around the clock.â€

When Stef produced a dubious look, that seemed to be all the prompting Stonewell needed. She directed them down a hall that had been completely remodeled, and luxuriously so. The administration wing, she called it. Using a key card, she opened a room marked

â€œTelemetry,â€ revealing a large control desk and numerous monitors.

A husky man minded the switches, his Ãž ngers moving slowly over the board, turning screens on or off, watching. He had headphones on and was evidently listening, as well.

Stef felt queasy just thinking about Mrs. C trying to make herself understood to a sedated elderly woman, probably shouting.

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Anxiously, she asked, â€œCan you hear the residents talk to each other?â€

â€œYes, if we wish. But only if we think itâ€™s for their safety.â€

â€œSo, if someoneâ€™s attorney visits them, say, to Ãž ght a competency hearing, you could overhear it, right?â€

â€œWe canâ€™t monitor those, of course. Client conÃž dentiality.â€

â€œBut you could, right? Not that you would, but you could.â€ Stef tried to look conspiratorial instead of disgusted.

She must have succeeded because Stonewell said, â€œYes, we could.â€ Stef could almost hear the cash register sound going off in the womanâ€™s head. Another service with a hefty price tag.

After sheâ€™d stalled for a few more minutes, they ambled back to the TV room and looked around for Mrs. C. Stef almost panicked when she didnâ€™t spot her immediately. Upon closer inspection, though, she seemed to have fallen asleep on the other couch occupantâ€™s shoulder. The two were holding hands.

Stef prodded Mrs. C gently. â€œHey, Gram, wake up.â€

Mrs. C started and looked around in fright at her surroundings.

â€œStefanie. Where have you been?â€ She reached up and grabbed Stefâ€™s hand for help in standing.

Red-faced, Mrs. Stonewell immediately demanded, â€œDid you talk to Mrs. Holloway?â€

â€œWho?â€

Stonewell pointed. â€œThat woman right there.â€

As if noticing her for the Ãž rst time, Mrs. C smiled. â€œOh, why sheâ€™s asleep. What a pretty woman. Stefanie, can we go out to lunch?

You promised me.â€ She placed her arm through Stefâ€™s as if ready to leave.

â€œOkay, Gram, but we have to hurry. I have an appointment later. Say good-bye to the nice lady.â€

It wasnâ€™t until they were on the highway back to San Francisco that they relaxed and Mrs. C was suddenly her old self again.

Relieved, Stef asked, â€œDid you get anything out of Mrs.

Holloway? She looked pretty drugged to me.â€

â€œSheâ€™s virtually catatonic,â€ Mrs. C said, obviously upset.

â€œTheyâ€™re keeping her that way intentionally. Sheâ€™s being held against

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her will, and her worthless son wants her declared incompetent. The hearing is in two weeks. That was all I could Ãž nd out, but I told her we would help her. I told her to try to not take the medication. Itâ€™s difÃž cult for her. They watch very closely.â€

â€œI hope you were whispering, because the place is bugged up the wazoo.â€

â€œI noticed.â€

Stef grinned at her. â€œYou did a great job. Want to go to lunch?â€

Smiling broadly, Mrs. C said, â€œDo we have enough money in the budget?â€

â€œWell, we canâ€™t go to the best place in town, but I think we could Ãž nd a nice one, maybe in Chinatown.â€

â€œI think that would be lovely. You did very well, too, my dear.

We deserve a reward. But after that, we need to call an all parts meeting. We have much to do. And our new ally, Miss Brady, must be present.â€

â€œAll parts? I think you mean all hands. Everyone there, correct?â€

â€œOf course, thatâ€™s what I said.â€ Mrs. C winked and settled back for the ride.

v

â€œHey, sis, have you been waiting long?â€ Jasonâ€™s voice was right next to her ear.

Jerking sideways, Stef yelped, â€œJesus, you scared the hell out of me, Jase. Why are you sneaking up on me?â€

â€œI wasnâ€™t. You were just daydreaming.â€

Still smiling, Jason sat down opposite her at their window table at Samâ€™s CafÃ© in Tiburon. Stef had called and found him up in the wine country. Theyâ€™d agreed to lunch at Samâ€™s, halfway between the two. She felt okay about being away for a few hours, knowing Laurel would be playing racquetball with Ember.

â€œWhy didnâ€™t you get us a table on the deck?â€ Jason asked. â€œItâ€™s

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a gorgeous day.â€ That was true; the sailboats were out in full force and the San Francisco skyline was gleaming in the background.

â€œBecause those damned seagulls are so fat and brazen from being fed nonstop by the tourists, I canâ€™t eat in peace.â€ The seagulls here were not shy about landing on the tables and helping themselves to fries, burger buns, you name it. They were huge.

â€œI left a beautiful woman asleep in the room,â€ her brother said.

â€œHope sheâ€™s there when I return. Whatâ€™s up?â€

â€œLetâ€™s order, Iâ€™m hungry.â€ Stef was trying to Ãž gure out how to assess what Jason knew without tipping her hand. At this point, she didnâ€™t trust anyone but the inner circle.

She stirred her coffee and added a dollop of cream, staring blankly at the lunch menu as she mulled over her situation. She was being attacked on three fronts. If Seraphina Holloway was ruled incompetent, her son, Clayton B. Holloway III, would take over the Holloway family trust and void the sale of the hotel. She had to repay the Ãž rst mortgage because the bank hadnâ€™t formally approved the second mortgage. The second mortgage holders hadnâ€™t asked for written permission either, but that didnâ€™t change anything.

Trip Boynton and George were rubbing their hands at the prospect of her defaulting. George no doubt planned to piggyback onto the acceleration of the Ãž rst mortgage, or buy the hotel for himself for pennies on the dollar.

In other words, her dream was in deep trouble. It was hard to imagine so much subterfuge over one small hotel. Stef had a strange feeling that she was caught up in something that predated her project.

The Elysium Society must have been a real threat if the thought of a women-only hotel could still get the Boho boys Ãž red up. Stef was puzzled that it mattered so much to them. Why would they even care? She could understand George looking for a way to grind her down, to prove her unÃž t just in case their father ever considered taking her seriously. But he couldnâ€™t do this alone. The impetus had come from the Bohemian Club.

Evidently, the wrath of these men hadnâ€™t dissipated over time.

The Elysium Society had disappeared from the face of the earth,

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but that wasnâ€™t enough for them. They wanted the building that had housed it all those years ago. Why?

Jason ordered a Bloody Mary to drink before his burger arrived.

Stef got a reÃž ll of coffee. â€œHey, Jase, are you on vacation? I never asked.â€

Shrugging, he said, â€œI guess. George wanted me here and then told me to take a week off. You know, he can be weird.â€

A tumbler clicked in Stefâ€™s mind. â€œJason, remember the last time we were together? We went for Swedish pancakes.â€

He squirmed a bit in his chair and wouldnâ€™t look at her. â€œThose were good.â€ The squirm had always been Jasonâ€™s tell. He was a terrible liar.

â€œDid you mention our breakfast to Dad or George? We talked about the hotel and you gave me money. Did you mention it, Jase?â€

The waiter placed the drink in front of Jason and he sucked at least half of it down with his straw, still not looking at her. Then he picked the celery out of the glass and bit off a large piece, crunching loudly.

Stef said, â€œJason, you told them I needed money, didnâ€™t you?â€

His eyes, so like hers, revealed the truth. â€œI was worried. I told them because I was sure they would help. George said he could. He said you wouldnâ€™t even have to know. He told me he was trying to heal the rift between you two.â€

â€œAnd do you know what he did?â€

Jasonâ€™s reply mattered so much to Stef, she could barely breathe.

If he knew and it was okay with him, that was it for her relationship with her entire family. She loved Jase, a betrayal would kill her.

â€œWell, yeah. He got a company heâ€™s an investor in to give you a second mortgage. That way you could Ãž nish the hotel.â€ He looked at her hopefully, but his face started to fall when he met her eyes.

â€œThatâ€™s not what he did, is it? I shouldnâ€™t have trusted him. All his talk about his dear friends and investors, how they were going to get him into the Boho club, just like Dad. Why would he want to belong to that old fart club anyway?â€

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Stef almost dropped her cup of coffee. â€œDad is a member of the Bohemian Club?â€

Jason looked like he had just swallowed an egg, shell and all.

He started perspiring and seemed like he might hyperventilate.

â€œGod, sis, you canâ€™t tell anyone. Iâ€™ll be in big trouble. I was never supposed to breathe a word.â€

â€œJason, Iâ€™m your sister. Iâ€™m the only one who has always looked out for you. Now you tell me, how long have you known Dad was a member of that club?â€

Jasonâ€™s Adamâ€™s apple bobbed as he fought to control his emotions. â€œSince we were kids. Remember when he would take George and me hunting and leave you and mom behind?â€

â€œYes, that important bonding time a man needs with his sons?â€

Stef said cynically.

â€œHe would take us up to the farm the Bohos own. The one up by Healdsburg. It was all men and their sons. Weâ€™d have a great time, but we werenâ€™t allowed to tell anyone where weâ€™d been.â€

In shock, Stef managed, â€œJase, are you a member of the Bohos?â€

â€œNo, Iâ€™ve never had any interest in it. But George would jump through his own asshole to get an invitation. Itâ€™s the Ãž nal part in his quest to be ruler of the universe. You know George.â€

â€œGod, does he have to do it at my expense?â€

A sad expression crossed Jasonâ€™s face. Stef was reminded of the many times as kids that George would side with his cohorts instead of protecting his brother or his sister. She had toughened up, but Jason never did. â€œYeah. He did it at my expense, too. He knows how close we are.â€

They were silent for a moment. Searching to change the subject, Stef said, â€œJase? Guess what? Iâ€™m in love.â€

Jason broke into a surprised grin. â€œDid you just say what I think you did?â€

She knew she was blushing. â€œI did, and her name is Laurel.

Sheâ€™s a professor.â€

â€œDoes she love you, too? For real?â€

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She and Jason had both been through love affairs and been disappointed.

â€œI think so. She seems to love me as much as I love her. And it feels very real, in a dreamy, doofus way.â€

Jason took her hand and squeezed it. â€œIâ€™m so happy for you.

How did you meet?â€

A warning bell went off in Stefâ€™s head. She had to protect the Elysium Society papers from George and his ambition. Carefully, she replied, â€œOne of the construction crew is a young woman who bats for my team. She introduced us.â€

That was as close to the truth as she could afford to get. Jason was too easily manipulated. She loved him, but she had to be careful.

â€œWow. Thatâ€™s very cool. When do I meet her?â€

â€œSoon. But Ãž rst, I need to Ãž gure some things out about the hotel.â€

â€œCan I help?â€ He seemed desperate to make amends and maybe she could use that guilt.

â€œJase, how secret is the Boho group? Are the members really not supposed to say it exists?â€

â€œYup, itâ€™s top secret, in a hiding in plain sight way. Ostensibly, itâ€™s like the Moose Lodge, but according to George, itâ€™s really a big deal. They even have different divisions you can join without the full membership.â€

â€œLike associate members?â€ That would certainly extend their inÃŸ uence.

Jason nodded. â€œYes, they have a section of world-class musicians who are also very successful businessmen. They play for the others, network, share information. But other than seeing some of the big guys at the conclaves, they arenâ€™t privy to exactly who belongs. Itâ€™s, like, compartmentalized. Real cloak and dagger stuff.â€

Interesting. â€œIs Dad one of the big honchos?â€ Stef asked. â€œThe cloak and dagger kind?â€ She wanted to know if he was behind George and his takeover bid.

â€œI donâ€™t think so. Heâ€™s kind of lost interest. He didnâ€™t even push George about getting an invitation. He asked him why he wanted

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to belong. I donâ€™t know why, but George is doing it despite Dad, if anything.â€

â€œJase, is there any way you know of to get a membership list?â€

Munching on his burger, Jason shook his head. â€œI doubt it. Iâ€™d bet a master list would be like trying to get a state secret out of the Pentagon. To the point where it might even be dangerous. I wonder if there even is one.â€

â€œOh, you can bet thereâ€™s a list. But, yeah, youâ€™re right. I was just curious.â€

They Ãž nished their meal with Jason bragging about his latest hot woman conquest and Stef deÃŸ ecting questions about Laurel. She headed back to San Francisco on the three oâ€™clock ferry.

All that fresh air didnâ€™t help the cold feeling Stef had in her gut.

She was freezing by the time she set off for the hotel.

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

When Stef got back to the hotel she found Agnes examining the legal documents, looking for loopholes.

â€œTheyâ€™re saying that selling the hotel to you at below market rates proves incompetence. Itâ€™s evidence of Mrs. Hollowayâ€™s inability to properly manage the trust and could place other assets of the trust in jeopardy.â€

â€œWhat a load of garbage.â€ Stef took a seat across from Agnes.

â€œThat woman was so smart and astute. She was delighted that we were buying the hotel. Thrilled to see it come back to its former glory.â€

For a moment the only sound was Agnesâ€™s pen scratching on the pad of paper. She must have realized there was a void because she looked up. â€œStefanie? Are you okay? Can I get you some aspirin or something?â€

Jerked awake, Stef said, â€œWhat? Oh, must have dozed off there.

Now, where were we?â€ She made a mental note to try to stay away from Laurelâ€™s exquisite body long enough to remain awake during the day.

Agnes closed her notebook. â€œIâ€™ll talk to the attorney and see if thereâ€™s something else she needs. Are you sure sheâ€™s qualiÃž ed to argue this case? She looks young.â€

Stef had never seen Agnes so forceful. She thought maybe this was a glimpse of what sheâ€™d be like as a lawyer, if she ever got

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that far. â€œSheâ€™s the best we could do, given that all the big-time attorneys seem to be busy. Thatâ€™s odd, too. George and Boynton arenâ€™t big Ãž sh. But they seem to be wielding a lot of power.â€

Without looking up, Agnes said, â€œThe power is probably from the other investors. Trip would almost kiss their feet when they arrived for a meeting.â€

â€œCould you get me a list of those investors?â€

â€œSure. I had to prepare minutes and agendas for the board meetings, and sometimes I worked from home when I had to take care of Mom. I think I still have the list. Theyâ€™d croak if they knew.

Itâ€™s supposed to be conÃž dential, but none of them would deign to type out anything or be a lowly secretary.â€ Agnes was smiling slyly and then gave Stef a hard look. â€œOkay, meetingâ€™s over. Iâ€™ll Ãž nd the list and get it to you. You look tired. Go to bed early tonight.â€

â€œAgnes, we still need toâ€”â€

â€œCan you tell me two things Iâ€™ve said to you in the past ten minutes?â€

â€œWhat was the question?â€ Stef squeaked.

â€œI rest my case. It will take a day to get the information, then we can talk.â€

â€œOkay, okay. But one thing: Why do you call Boynton by the name Trip? Is that a real Ãž rst name or a nickname?â€

â€œIâ€™m not sure.â€ Agnes angled her head as though wracking her brains. â€œI donâ€™t know if I ever saw a document with his full name on it. Everything was always made out under the company name.â€

â€œSomething else.â€ Stef came back to Boyntonâ€™s sloppy approach to paperwork. â€œThe second mortgage broker didnâ€™t even request a note from the Ãž rst. That seems like an amazing amount of stupidity, including my own.â€

â€œI brought that to Tripâ€™s attention and he said it wasnâ€™t necessary.â€ Agnes had that guilty expression again. â€œI asked twice and he told me it wasnâ€™t my concern. So I stopped asking. That was another reason I quit, the whole thing felt slimy to me.â€

â€œAnything associated with my brother George is slimy.â€

Agnes studied her a moment, then snapped her Ãž ngers. â€œI did see his name once. Heâ€™s Clayton Boynton Holloway the Third.â€

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â€œSeraphinaâ€™s son?â€ Stef could hardly take it in. Now she knew she wasnâ€™t being paranoid. George and Boynton werenâ€™t just greedy opportunists trying to swindle her, there really was some kind of conspiracy, and if she didnâ€™t come up with a plan soon, she wouldnâ€™t be the only woman facing a total loss.

v

Laurel circled the block a few times, trying to screw up enough courage to enter the house she and Rochelle had shared for three years. Rochelleâ€™s car wasnâ€™t there, but Laurel found herself seriously considering returning to San Francisco and asking Jock to accompany her. Then she scoffed at her own cowardice. As it was, she was skulking in and sneaking her stuff out; the least she could do was manage that on her own.

She wanted to be gone from this house, this life. Whatever future she might have with Stef, she wanted it to be as clean as possible. She needed to hurry, to get back to Stef so she wouldnâ€™t worry.

She had enough to think about with the stress of getting the hotel completed. Laurel wanted to nurture her and support her.

This was a new world of emotion and she wanted to absorb all the feelings and enjoy them. Ending Rochelleâ€™s inÃŸ uence once and for all was a big part of that process.

She used her key to open the door and called to see if Rochelle was there. She never got home after work this early. When she met only silence, she entered and took a moment to look around, doing a quick inventory of items that were hers. Other than clothes and ofÃž ce records, there was surprisingly little of Laurel in the house. A few pots and pans, but she didnâ€™t care about them.

She began clearing the closets of her clothes and loading her car. She carted boxes of books and records, student and personal papers. There was one antique oak Ãž ling cabinet that she loved and had purchased years before meeting Rochelle, but she couldnâ€™t lift it and had no room in her car. Sheâ€™d been in the house for about an hour and was starting to get nervous to be gone.

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Giving the place one more look, she removed the key from her ring to leave on the table in the hall. She was just about free.

â€œHello, Laurel.â€ Rochelle stood in the kitchen doorway, having come in through the back door.

Laurelâ€™s heart rate skyrocketed. She quickly looked for signs of drunkenness but found none of the usual swaying or slightly unfocused eyes. She didnâ€™t know if that was good or bad. Rochelle was absolutely unpredictable when she was sober. Drunk, she was uniformly nasty. Laurel decided not to wait to see which way this would be played. It was her job to say the truth and be the woman Stef thought she was.

Hoping her voice wouldnâ€™t betray her fear, she said, â€œHello, Rochelle. I came by to get my things. Iâ€™ve left the key.â€

â€œSo, thatâ€™s it? Youâ€™re just throwing everything we have away?â€

â€œAnything we had has been gone for a long time and you know it. If you were so in love with me, why have all those affairs?â€

Rochelleâ€™s eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed. â€œThey meant nothing, you know that.â€ Her voice was ÃŸ at, uninÃŸ ected.

â€œThey meant you had no respect for me, or for us. They meant you thought of no one but yourself.â€ Laurel knew her voice was shaking, but she said the words. That counted for something.

â€œYouâ€™re out of your mind leaving me for that hotel bitch. Sheâ€™s using you. Probably has a dozen pathetic losers like you hanging on her every word. She has no class.â€

â€œIf Iâ€™m so pathetic, why do you still want me around?â€ Warning sirens were going off in each lobe of her brain, but Laurel ignored them. Sheâ€™d remained silent far too often. â€œNo, it isnâ€™t that you want me or love me, itâ€™s that you donâ€™t want her to have me. Guess what? No one has me. Especially you.â€

Sneering, Rochelle took a step to a kitchen drawer and pulled out a small Ãž lleting knife. Laurel was so astonished, she stood stock-still. This had to be a joke.

â€œPut the knife down,â€ she said calmly. â€œThere are some things you canâ€™t control with bullying, and this is one of them.â€

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Ignoring her, Rochelle taunted. â€œDo you really think that woman cares for you? You believed me, and I was lying through my teeth.â€ She laughed when she realized sheâ€™d landed an emotional punch to Laurelâ€™s midsection. Taking a few steps toward Laurel, she said, â€œWe arenâ€™t through until I say weâ€™re though.â€

Laurel knew she should be afraid, but her anger overrode her instinct to ÃŸ ee. â€œYou are welcome to say whatever you wish to your toadies, Rochelle. But itâ€™s over. Nothing you threaten me with can change that.â€

Rochelle stopped, her eyes like stone. â€œYou canâ€™t leave.â€ Her grip on the knife tightened and Laurel balanced her weight, getting ready to dodge and run.

The door burst open, and Stef lurched inside. â€œHey, get away from her! Laurel, are you okay?â€

Rochelle yelled, â€œTell her to leave.â€ The knife had disappeared behind her back.

Stef was immediately by Laurelâ€™s side. Laurel looked from one to the other. Her past and her future.

Stef focused on Rochelle and got in her face. â€œDid you hurt her? Iâ€™ll kick your ass.â€

At that moment Jock and Denny tumbled through the door, looking like they were ready for action.

â€œHello, girls. Youâ€™re just in time.â€ Laurel was starting to enjoy this. She had a posse.

Rochelleâ€™s expression was changing moment by moment.

â€œWho are you? Get out of my house.â€

Jock held out her hand and said, â€œIâ€™m Jock Reynolds, and you?â€

Rochelle automatically brought her hand forward and the knife clattered to the ÃŸ oor. She wouldnâ€™t meet Jockâ€™s hard stare. Jock kicked the knife in the direction of the kitchen.

Checking the room, Denny asked, â€œAnything else you want?â€

Laurel reminded herself that she was entitled to take her possessions. â€œThat oak Ãž le cabinet. Do you have room for it?â€

The two women toted the cabinet out to Jockâ€™s truck. When

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they came back, Jock and Denny stood by the door, arms folded across their chests, looking larger and taller than Laurel could ever remember. She caught a glimpse of Ember, wearing a sweatshirt with the hood pulled over her head, waiting outside.

Rochelle hadnâ€™t moved from her spot. â€œPlease leave.â€

They looked to Laurel for direction and she nodded. Denny said, â€œAfter you, Laurel. If youâ€™ll take Stef with you, our helper can drive her car.â€

It dawned on Laurel that they were being careful to not identify Ember. Good move.

v

It took three hours to drive back and unload the truck, then celebrate with pizza and beer. They stored Laurelâ€™s clothes in Stefâ€™s room, and the rest of her records and furniture in the project room.

By the time they bade the last woman good night and tumbled into bed, they were exhausted but exhilarated by the events of the day.

They reached for each other to make sweet love for a time, each bringing the other to a thundering climax, and then were content to gently hold and touch. Stef was astounded at how quickly Laurel had become the most important person in the world to her. It all felt so right.

â€œStef, what do you think will happen to the hotel?â€ Laurel murmured, resting her head on Stefâ€™s shoulder.

Stroking Laurelâ€™s soft blond hair, Stef said, â€œWell, assuming we Ãž gure a way out of this mess weâ€™re currently facing, I want it to be astoundingly successful. Beyond our wildest dreams. What do you think will happen to your research project?â€

Laurel hugged her tightly. â€œI donâ€™t know just yet. But I think this hotel could become a destination for women of inÃŸ uence from all over the world. I have a feeling that if we can get Seraphina Holloway out of that institution, she and Irina could provide all the structure we needed to construct a fairly accurate version of the Elysium Society again. Only, with technology, it could be a worldwide effort.â€

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Burying her nose in her loverâ€™s hair, Stef snorted, â€œIs that all?

Well, I guess weâ€™d better come up with a plan to get the hotel up and running.â€

â€œDoes it have to be legal?â€

Staring into the dark, Stef whispered, â€œAs much as possible.â€

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CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ember and Joey G had been loitering for a few days, taking turns keeping an eye on a guy named Glenn R. Bach, and they watched as he exited the Boho building. According to Jason, he was the president of the local San Francisco contingent of the Bohos. No one could have been more surprised than Ember, because she knew what he looked like from having met him at parties at her house when she was a child. The connection made her wonder if her father was a Bohemian, too.

These days Bach had more gray hair than she remembered and more pounds around the middle, but he still carried the same ancient leather briefcase she recalled him bragging about when she was a kid, saying how old it was and how much it held. Guys like him put everything in that kind of case. It was their purse. She just hoped he had his computer in it, too.

â€œAre you sure about this?â€ Joey G shifted his weight around nervously.

â€œWe need the computer for the membership list. Nothing else.

Itâ€™s the only way I can think of to get it, but I can do this myself, if you donâ€™t want to. I mean it.â€

â€œNo way.â€ They followed Bach, keeping a safe distance. â€œHey, Iâ€™m trained for this, right? I even know how to dress for the occasion.

Homeless 101.â€

â€œJoey, if you get caught itâ€™ll ruin everything for you.â€ When sheâ€™d talked it over with him, she was looking for pointers more

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than anything else but heâ€™d immediately offered to make the grab himself. Said he owed her and sheâ€™d never be able to disappear into the crowd like he could.

â€œIf I get caught, Iâ€™m just a relapsed junkie.â€ He grinned but they both knew the risks.

â€œYou are an awesome friend,â€ she told him.

He cocked his head to the side. â€œBesides, I wonâ€™t get caught because youâ€™ll provide the distraction.â€ Tipping his head toward their mark, he said, â€œLook at him, not a care in the world. Probably Ãž gures no one would dare come near him this time of day in crowded streets. I canâ€™t tell you how many Ãž xes I got off of guys like him. A lot of them put their wallets in the case, too. Donâ€™t want to ruin the line of their hand-made Italian suit.â€

â€œAre you sure Ben is okay with this?â€ Ember had only met Joeyâ€™s boyfriend a couple of times. He seemed to like her but she doubted he would want to be involved in a crime. â€œWhat if Bachâ€™s computer is, like, tied to the Pentagon or something?â€ She was going forward no matter what, but she didnâ€™t want to drag her friends down with her.

â€œThen weâ€™ll back out. Weâ€™re only looking for the list, nothing else. If itâ€™s encrypted, we might have a problem, but letâ€™s at least try.â€

They increased their pace as Bach turned a corner, catching up with him. Emberâ€™s heart thumped hard against her ribs. Part of their brilliant plan involved her identifying herself to Bach. She hoped he wouldnâ€™t tell her father, but she knew the chances of that were not good. She was willing to deal with the consequences. This was history and she was going to do her part. Donâ€™t pass out or giggle insanely. Do it.

v

â€œMr. Bach?â€ The man kept walking, evidently oblivious to anyone else. Forcing her voice louder, Ember hailed, â€œMr. Bach, is that you?â€

She ran up to him and tapped his shoulder. He whirled with

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a scowl on his face, perhaps thinking he needed to fend off a panhandler. His expression turned to confusion for a moment, then the dawn of faint recognition.

â€œMay I help you, young lady? Do I know you?â€ He had the handle of his briefcase in both hands as he faced her.

â€œHi, Mr. Bach. Iâ€™m Ember Lanier. Remember me? Lawrence Lanierâ€™s daughter.â€ She stuck her hand out and he hesitated only a moment before he released his grip on the case and took hers.

â€œMy God, Ember, I havenâ€™t seen you or your father for years.

How are you? Youâ€™ve grown into a beautiful woman.â€

Ember ignored the half leer he gave her when he complimented her. Why was it these old codgers thought a younger woman would be interested in them? Gross. He didnâ€™t seem to know that sheâ€™d been missing. Stung by the thought that maybe her father hadnâ€™t searched for her at all, she said, â€œThanks. I thought I recognized you. It sure has been a long time.â€ Talk about chitchat, how inane.

He shifted his weight to one hip, briefcase dangling from his hand, the other one in his pants pocket. He was settling in for a conversation. Where was Joey G? As if heâ€™d heard her, a scraggly looking man whipped past them and took off at a dead run. There was another moment of confusion before Bach looked down at his empty hand and paled. â€œMy case! He took my case.â€

Ember tried to look befuddled instead of delighted to take up a second or two, then she squealed, â€œOh, my gawd.â€ Although Joey G

was long gone down an alley, she pointed and cried, â€œThere he goes.

Wait here, Iâ€™ll get him.â€

But Bach was already in pursuit, and she had to run to catch up with him. The alley looked empty, but Ember knew Joey G was probably on the other side of a Dumpster against the wall midway down, waiting for her. She caught Bachâ€™s arm.

â€œWait, Mr. Bach. What if he has a gun?â€ She was sweating, scared to death.

Bach stopped abruptly. His face was almost purple with rage and what looked like fear. â€œHe has my wallet. My laptop. Fuck. Do you have a cell? We have to call the police.â€ A loud thud signaled something landing in the Dumpster and Joey G scurried down the

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alley and disappeared around a corner. â€œI think he dumped the briefcase,â€ Ember said. â€œIâ€™ll chase him, you look.â€

â€œNo, youâ€™re right, he might be armed. Letâ€™s see if it was my bag.â€

They made their way down the alley, disturbing a few rats. The garbage container stank of old food and stale booze and other stuff she didnâ€™t want to think about. Peeking in, they saw the satchel in a pile of garbage toward the back of the container.

â€œThere. Can you reach it?â€ Bach obviously thought Ember, with her youth and height, would retrieve it for him. She reached in and made a few ineffective swipes, but came back and tried to look female and helpless.

Shaking his head and muttering, â€œWomen,â€ he angrily tossed his suit jacket at her and tried to Ãž nd a foothold on one of the sides of the Dumpster. His loafers slid a few times and he grunted and strained to make it up to the lip of the yellow box.

â€œHere, let me help.â€ Ember gave his rear end a healthy push and he yelped as he fell headÃž rst into the pile of garbage. She quickly wiped the grin from her face as he popped up, spitting and swearing.

â€œSorry, Mr. Bach. Your bag is right behind you. Why donâ€™t you hand it to me so you can climb out?â€

Without a word, he passed the satchel over and Ember put it on the ground and stood back, praying the computer would be missing when he opened it.

Bach looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack as he knelt and ÃŸ ipped the ÃŸ ap of the old leather bag open and peered inside. â€œMy computer. Itâ€™s gone.â€ He looked around furtively, as if he expected to be struck down for this admission.

â€œDo you have your wallet?â€ Ember asked, hoping she sounded suitably horriÃž ed.

Distractedly, he pulled out his wallet and thumbed through it.

â€œMoneyâ€™s gone, but everything else seems to be here.â€

â€œWell, thatâ€™s good, right?â€ Ember sighed loudly. â€œYou canâ€™t even walk around here in the middle of the day without getting robbed. Itâ€™s just terrible. How much did he take?â€

â€œOnly about Ãž ve hundred or so. Heâ€™ll spend it on drugs, of

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course.â€ With a frown of confusion, he said, â€œBut my computer, why steal that?â€

Trying not to let her voice shake, Ember said, â€œI guess they take anything they think they can sell.â€

â€œWell, everything in it is encrypted. Good luck trying to open it.â€ Bach rose to his feet, his suit and shoes ruined.

Ember helpfully picked a piece of wilted lettuce from his hair.

â€œHeâ€™ll probably realize that and dump it. Why donâ€™t I go look for it and you call the police? Do you have a card? If I Ãž nd it Iâ€™ll call you, but otherwise I have to catch a bus to class.â€

â€œAll right. Iâ€™d better report this.â€ He handed her a business card. â€œThanks, Ember. Good to see you.â€

As soon as he was out of sight Ember forced herself to look carefully around, just in case anyone noticed. After a block or so she picked up her pace and speedwalked to Ben and Joeyâ€™s warehouse.

She waved at the security camera and the door lock released.

Joey called from the second ÃŸ oor. â€œUp here, Ember, Benâ€™s working on the laptop.â€

She clambered up the stairs and gave Joey a hug. â€œWe did it.

What a rush. I thought I was going to lose it a few times and just start babbling.â€

Joey laughed, his clear blue eyes dancing. â€œI was watching when you shoved him into the Dumpster. I almost cheered. You rock, Ember.â€

Benâ€™s deep baritone intruded in their celebration. â€œDonâ€™t get too excited yet. This encryption is pretty good.â€

Joey and Ember fell silent and peered over Benâ€™s shoulder as his hands ÃŸ ew across the keyboard.

Joey squeezed his shoulder in encouragement. â€œYou can do it, Ben. Piece of cake.â€

The toothpick that Ben was chewing on wobbled as he talked.

â€œTrouble is, I might have to tap into the company software to decode this stuff. I think I can cover my tracks, but Iâ€™m not sure. We need to do this quickly so we can dump the laptop.â€

The next few hours were tense, Ãž lled with coffee, swearing and pacing. Ben did have to use company computers to decrypt,

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but eventually he was successful, much to their relief. He scrolled through the various Ãž les, Ãž nally Ãž nding the Boho membership list.

Ben said, â€œWow. This reads like a Whoâ€™s Who of developed countries. Man, a lot of these folks would not want anyone to Ãž nd out they belonged to a secret menâ€™s club, or even knew each other.

Let me quickly copy this and get out, then cover my tracks.â€

Joey and Ember high-Ãž ved each other behind him and Ember pulled out her cell to text Stef when the front door buzzed as someone let themselves in.

Benâ€™s only utterance was, â€œShit.â€

Filling the doorway was a tall woman with perfect features, auburn hair, and intense blue eyes. She stepped inside, walked up to Benâ€™s desk, slipped her hands into the pockets of her perfectly tailored trousers, and stared at the data on the screen.

Addressing Ben, she said, â€œWhat the fuck do you think youâ€™re doing?â€

v

The limo once again wound around the streets and hills of Marin County, after crossing the Golden Gate Bridge. Stef was even more tarted up than she had been the Ãž rst time, the better to complete her assignment. Mrs. C was looking dowdier and dizzier by the minute, probably preparing for her mental competence examination.

Stef hadnâ€™t intended to break Seraphina Drake Holloway out of the Heath Center, but Agnes was sure that if they tried a writ of habeas corpus, it would only give Seraphinaâ€™s son time to tighten security and make sure she was so drugged she couldnâ€™t put a sentence together.

Agnes had been putting in long hours, digging her way to the truth. From searching public records, she found out that Seraphina had been placed at the Heath Retirement Center without a court order. If they could spirit her out of there and get her cleaned up, she could testify on her own behalf about what had happened to her.

The plan was to Ãž le a writ as her advocates, as soon as they rescued her.

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Sika had made arrangements to place her in a facility that specialized in drug detox and discretion. The bills were mounting but, so what? Stef couldnâ€™t worry about cost overruns anymore.

They were making a stand, and it was all or nothing at this late stage of the game.

The second phase of their plan was to get their hands on the complete membership roster of the Bohos. Laurel had assumed the task of researching the group, enlisting Emberâ€™s help. The most powerful white men in the world had belonged or did belong, although they passed themselves off as just a fraternity of men who liked to get together with their peers and play. The ultimate good old boy network. Good old rich boys.

They were able to obtain the directory of the board of directors of the bank that held the Ãž rst mortgage to the hotel because it was public knowledge, and Agnes located the list of private investors in the second Ãž rm. There were no common names. They were betting everything that many of them knew each other through the Bohos.

The car slowed and arrived at the gate. Denny was about Ãž ve minutes behind them in her own car, a beater that sheâ€™d had since college.

She had to look like â€œthe helpâ€ because she had the most important task, stealing Mrs. Holloway. She was strong enough to handle an almost comatose woman if she needed to, and she could be invisible or formidable if someone challenged her.

Everyone else had also volunteered to help, but Laurel couldnâ€™t handle the physical demands, and Jock was needed at the job site too much to risk a night in jail. Stef thought she detected more than a little friendly worry on Jockâ€™s part that Denny might be caught.

Ember was on her mission to obtain the Bohemian Club membership list and Sika was down at the courthouse, Ãž ling the writ so they could obtain an order to show cause today, after they sprang Seraphina.

They had their plan timed to the minute, with very little room for screwups. Stef had talked to Mrs. Stonewell and scheduled the evaluation on a day she wouldnâ€™t be there, saying it was the only day she could bring her grandmother. Mrs. Stonewell wasnâ€™t about to give up a day off, so didnâ€™t argue.

The gate swung open and they glided in and drove to the front

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of the old building. Stef yanked her bodice down a little lower and said, â€œItâ€™s showtime. Letâ€™s do this.â€

The chauffeur opened the door, and Stef eyed the security camera before turning to help â€œGrammyâ€ out of the limo. To the driver, an old acquaintance she could trust, she said, â€œPull over there and wait for the signal.â€

Once Mrs. Castic was in the room with the psychologist, Stef insisted she be allowed in the security room to observe the testing. The assistant director refused at Ãž rst, but Stef told her Mrs.

Stonewell had okayed it and she could call her to verify. Her gamble paid off when the woman immediately gave in and escorted her to the security room. No one disturbed the director on her day off.

The guard operating the console was the same one as before and smiled at Stefâ€™s chest in welcome. Feeling like a complete idiot, Stef ÃŸ ounced her way to the console and looked around at all the monitors, trying to seem impressed instead of terriÃž ed. She found the outside camera screen and was relieved to see the limo had moved out of range.

Then she located the TV room and tried to Ãž nd Seraphina.

There she was, in the same location. Stef wondered if she had come there every day to wait for Mrs. C. Stef would have. They had purposely scheduled the evaluation at the same time as their last visit. Seraphinaâ€™s tinted red hair was visible on the monitor. That was how Denny would recognize her.

Stef introduced herself to the security guard and started peppering him with questions about his important job. Boobs, donâ€™t fail me now. Dennyâ€™s beater rolled up and the gate buzzed. She claimed she was here to pick up a Mrs. Smith to take her to her daughterâ€™s for lunch. Stef pretended to study the monitor trained on Mrs. Câ€™s testing procedure but was holding her breath, praying for Denny. If this didnâ€™t work, she wasnâ€™t sure what to do next.

The security guard asked which Mrs. Smith. He was still checking out Stefâ€™s chest.

Denny acted harried and put out. â€œLemme check. Hold on.â€

She rattled some papers and muttered, â€œShit. I didnâ€™t write it down.

Who you got there? Iâ€™ll recognize it.â€

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Without hesitation or care, the guard checked his manifest and said, â€œWe have Hazel, Sarah, or Elizabeth.â€

Scrunching up her face for the camera, Denny said, â€œI think itâ€™s Sarah. I have a description so Iâ€™ll know her. Look, I gotta hurry and deliver this one and go get another one up in Novato, so could you move it along? I get in trouble if Iâ€™m late.â€

He hit a button Stef memorized and Denny drove in. She hurried out of the car, then was inside, asking directions for the TV

room. A secretary pointed and Denny commandeered a wheelchair from beside the front desk and disappeared.

Stef distracted the guard again, asking about this and that, allowing ample time for him to ogle her breasts. She was going to have to scrub them with pumice to get his eyeball energy off her.

Ew.

Denny had made it to the TV room and was looking around.

Stef slid her hand into her pocket and pressed a button that would vibrate a phone in Mrs. Câ€™s jacket. Mrs. C suddenly made startled movements, waving her hands around.

Stef pointed to the screen. â€œGramâ€™s upset. Maybe I should go to her. What do you think?â€

While the guard seemed to be assessing the situation, Stef watched covertly as Denny marched over to where Mrs. Holloway was sitting and lifted her into the wheelchair before whisking her out of the room. Stef buzzed Mrs. C again and she got even more animated, standing and appearing to yell at the psychologist.

Stef leaned forward, her chest almost in the guardâ€™s face and studied the screen. â€œOh, God. I think sheâ€™s having a Ãž t.â€

â€œYou better go calm her down,â€ the guard sputtered, obviously torn between staring down her front and trying to see the monitors.

â€œWe canâ€™t give her a shot without a doctorâ€™s order because sheâ€™s not a resident yet.â€

Having seen Denny load Mrs. Drake into her car, Stef said,

â€œOkay, Iâ€™ll deal with her, otherwise sheâ€™ll need an ambulance. Will you help me?â€

The gate button sounded because Denny was trying to leave.

â€œHey, lemme out. Iâ€™m ten minutes late already.â€

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The guard distractedly slapped the button to open the gate while explaining to Stef that he couldnâ€™t leave the security room. Mrs.

C continued her machinations and the psychologist was looking decidedly uncomfortable, trying to calm her down.

Stef said, â€œDamn. I have to get her. Weâ€™ll reschedule.â€

The gate buzzer sounded again and Stef saw the very clear markings of a sheriffâ€™s cruiser waiting to enter. Offering one more cleavage shot, she marched out the door, heading toward the test room as fast as she could. Her freaking high heels were killing her.

The psychologist was thrilled to have the out-of-control patient taken off his hands. Mrs. C calmed down right away and clutched her purse to her chest.

â€œMy dear child. Where have you been? You promised me lunch at the Top of the Mark.â€

â€œSee what I mean?â€ Stef informed the man conducting the tests. â€œSheâ€™s crazy. Write that down.â€

By the time they reached the front steps, the limo was there and they managed to fall into the backseat and squeal out of the gate just as it was closing after the cruiser. Hopefully, the notice would be served by the time they arrived at their rendezvous point. Three blocks later they pulled over and Denny assisted a very wobbly Seraphina into the limo, where she collapsed into Irina Casticâ€™s waiting arms. Mrs. C held her tightly and crooned words of love and safety to her.

Denny said, â€œWow. What a rush. Iâ€™m shaking like a leaf. I hope Mrs. Holloway will be okay.â€

â€œLetâ€™s give them a moment,â€ Stef said. â€œI think we just scored a point for team Elysium.â€

Denny smiled. â€œItâ€™s about time.â€

v

â€œWho the hell are you?â€ Stef focused on the stunningly attractive woman who, along with a bashful-looking Ember and a couple of young men, had just interrupted her meeting.

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The woman cast an impatient look at Ember. â€œWant to explain?â€

â€œWe couldnâ€™t decrypt the Ãž le,â€ Ember mumbled. Pointing to the men, she added, â€œThis is Joey G, the guy I told you about. And this is his partner Ben. He was helping us.â€

â€œUsing the resources of my company,â€ the auburn-haired woman inserted. â€œWhich triggered our alarms, and here I am.

Looking for one good reason why I shouldnâ€™t Ãž le a police report.â€

Stef kept her cool, especially since the woman standing before them hadnâ€™t offered any more information. â€œThat still doesnâ€™t explain who you are.â€

Ember winced. â€œSheâ€™s Benâ€™s boss.â€

â€œI see.â€ The knot in Stefâ€™s stomach had grown to a Ãž st.

â€œI own the systems he used to break the encryption program.â€

â€œOh. Well, Iâ€™m sorry if he used your resources. Weâ€™ll pay you for the time.â€ She just wanted this woman to go away, and it didnâ€™t look like that would be happening anytime soon. She hadnâ€™t budged.

â€œNot good enough. Do you have any idea what was on that hard drive? In addition to the list you were trying to steal?â€

Stef had a terrible sinking feeling. She said a silent prayer that this woman wouldnâ€™t turn them in to the authorities. â€œWhatâ€™s it to you?â€ she said boldly. Her father had always taught her to try to stay on offense if she found herself in a bad situation. â€œI said Iâ€™d pay for the time he used.â€

â€œStill not good enough. There are some highly classiÃž ed Ãž les on the hard drive. Even the complete list that you wanted has names that could get you killed. Iâ€™m not joking here. Do you get that?â€

Stef deliberated for a moment, then took a gamble based on nothing more than a gleam she detected in the eyes of this compelling stranger. â€œIâ€™m Stefanie Beresford and this is my hotel.

The men whose names you want to protect are trying to shut us down. They donâ€™t like the idea of a women-only hotel and club.â€

The woman studied her for several long, intense seconds, then said, â€œHow is it going to help you to have the membership list?â€

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â€œI need some proof of conspiracy,â€ Stef replied. â€œIâ€™m trying to match some of the names to the board of directors of the bank and private investor Ãž rm who hold our paper, so that I can prove conÃŸ ict of interest. Thatâ€™s the truth. I donâ€™t care about anything else on that hard drive.â€

This time, the pause was inÃž nitesimal and Stef understood that she was looking at a woman accustomed to making her decisions quickly. â€œItâ€™s going to take some time to erase the footprint on the laptop as well as the traces to Ben and to my company. Meantime no one, and I mean no one in this room will ever say anything about this. Using the information will be up to you, but they cannot know how you got it. Understood?â€

Stef nodded. She felt almost giddy. â€œWho are you?â€ She asked again, aware that the question sounded clumsy.

â€œConn Stryker.â€ A Ãž rm hand met Stefâ€™s. â€œStryker Software.â€

Stef returned the handshake. She wasnâ€™t sure what to say, exactly. Pathetic gratitude seemed in order, but with her team watching she opted for a display of dignity. â€œI appreciate your help. Weâ€™re planning to leave the laptop where it can be found and returned to the owner.â€

Emberâ€™s idea seemed reasonable. Jock was going to turn in the computer to the police, claiming one of her crew had found it on the way to work.

Conn Stryker shook her head. â€œIâ€™ve got the hard drive. Dump it in the bay.â€

â€œYou said the other Ãž les are sensitive?â€ Stef said. â€œSo youâ€™ve seen them. What are you going to do with the information?â€

â€œItâ€™s of no interest to me, at the moment.â€ Conn reached in her pocket and placed a ÃŸ ash drive in front of Stef. â€œHereâ€™s your list.

Use it wisely. Oh, and one more thing. I want to be considered for membership. Iâ€™ll help you design your secure ÃŸ oors.â€

Stef cast a sharp look at Ember. How much had the young woman given away to try to save their skins? It sounded like Conn Stryker knew everything about the hotel.

The woman glanced at the laptop and moved toward the door.

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After a quick, pointed look at Ben, she told Stef, â€œIâ€™ll be in touch, and good luck.â€ Then she and the men were gone.

There was a group sigh as the door closed. Gazing dreamily into thin air, Ember said, â€œI think Iâ€™m in love.â€

Stef snapped her Ãž ngers, Ãž nally realizing why the name seemed familiar. â€œOf course, now I remember. Sheâ€™s the woman who was held prisoner in Pakistan last year. Sheâ€™s famous and sheâ€™s an out lesbian. Wow.â€

Everyone stared at the closed door as if she were still there.

â€œWhat did she mean, â€˜considered for membershipâ€™?â€ Ember asked.

â€œShe must think weâ€™re starting the Elysium Society again,â€

Stef murmured. She was instantly gripped by a thrill of excitement and anticipation. â€œAnd perhaps we are.â€

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CHAPTER TWENTY

Stef Ãž nished dressing and took the stairs to her ofÃž ce. It wouldnâ€™t be long before she and Laurel and Mrs. C would have to move out to let Jock start on their ÃŸ oor. Things were moving along quickly and the money was almost gone. First things Ãž rst. They had to get rid of the threat that the Bohos and George posed. Part of that was dealing with Seraphina Drake Hollowayâ€™s competency hearing. She hoped to dispose of all three items with one meeting.

When she opened the door to the waiting room she found Seraphina, Mrs. C, and Agnes huddled around the computer monitor.

â€œGood morning, everyone.â€ Stef smiled. â€œWhatâ€™s up?â€

Clayton Holloway III aka Trip Boynton must have ordered some heavy sedation for his mother, because without the drugs her eyes were as clear as a thirty-year-oldâ€™s. From the looks on their faces, she and Mrs. C were determined to deal with any obstacle in their way.

Agnes, who seemed equally joyful, said, â€œI just Ãž nished a motion for summary judgment to dismiss the petition to remove Mrs. Holloway as the trustee of her husbandâ€™s estate. We have her sworn afÃž davit setting forth all the facts that will warrant the dismissal. Weâ€™ll have it ready for you in the next hour.â€

â€œThatâ€™s wonderful, dear Agnes. You are my friend, and I want you to call me Sera. You, too, Stefanie. Irina has told me everything.

Those old fools will not get their hands on this hotel if I have a say

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in it.â€ She squeezed Mrs. Câ€™s hand and got a delighted smile as her reward.

Mrs. Holloway had no desire to pursue criminal charges against her son, no matter how much of an ass heâ€™d been, and Stef had assured her that wouldnâ€™t be necessary. The collusion they could document was actionable on a number of levels, and she intended to take full advantage of the fact.

â€œIs it just me or is love in the air today?â€ Stef winked at Mrs.

C, who blushed a rosy pink.

That was so cool, Stef thought. It was nice to imagine that she and Laurel would be just as much in love when they were eighty as they were now. That thought made Stef stumble and almost smack into her ofÃž ce door. She righted herself and escaped inside, smiling foolishly.

For the Ãž rst time in weeks she felt as though she could breathe again. They werenâ€™t out of the woods yet, but once sheâ€™d downloaded the list from the ÃŸ ash drive Conn Stryker had given her, it didnâ€™t take long for her to grasp the lengths their enemies had gone to in order to secure the hotel. There were Bohemians on the board of directors for the bank that held the Ãž rst mortgage, and several members were among the private investors in the group that held the second mortgage.

Working feverishly, Agnes had not only written the motion, but all the complaints they could Ãž le against them, both individually and collectively. Because of the list they had stolen, they also knew which members of the club were judges. There was no way one of their members could sit on the case without exposing his conÃŸ ict of interest. Stef decided that if they had any money left when they got out of this mess, sheâ€™d Ãž gure out a way to help Agnes with school.

Sheâ€™d been invaluable.

For the Ãž rst time since she could remember, she was looking forward to talking with her brother George. She placed a call and left a message with his assistant, requesting a meeting with him, Trip Boynton, and two others who she guessed were most involved.

George and Trip would be sweating bullets at this point, because they were no doubt well aware of Seraphina Hollowayâ€™s escape.

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Just as she reached for the phone to let Laurel know sheâ€™d be right down, it rang, and her brother didnâ€™t bother to exchange courtesies. â€œBe here at two oâ€™clock if you want Trip and the others to attend. And youâ€™d better have a check in hand, too, you bitch. Iâ€™m in no mood to waste more time on you.â€

The loud click in her ear told her George had disconnected, probably by slamming the receiver down. â€œNice to talk to you, too, bro.â€

She quickly called Laurel.

â€œDarling, Iâ€™m sorry. George told me the meeting is today and I need to get this over with so they can remove the lien on the property and arrange more money to Ãž nish the renovations.â€

â€œOf course. I have to leave for class soon, but Iâ€™ll avoid Rochelle. I should see Ember there, too, and Iâ€™ll have her walk with me to my car. Now, I want a moment-by-moment recounting of the whole thing when I see you later. Go get â€™em, Stef. Remember I love you.â€

â€œAre you sure you donâ€™t want to cancel class today? You could come with me.â€ As conÃž dent as Laurel sounded, Stef still felt uneasy.

She had successfully avoided Rochelle since the day they removed her possessions from the house, but the situation couldnâ€™t continue. They worked together, and Laurel needed to discuss publishing her work on the Elysium Society.

â€œNo, darling, Iâ€™d feel awkward tagging along to your meeting,â€

Laurel said. â€œAnd Iâ€™m not going to let Rochelle think Iâ€™m still intimidated by her. Weâ€™ll do our things and see each other later.

Perhaps a bottle of good champagne and another sleepless night will be called for.â€

Stef smiled. â€œI think weâ€™ve both earned that.â€

â€œIf I have time I might even go practice racquetball at the sport center,â€ Laurel said. â€œIâ€™m getting back to playing form, like I used to be when my sis and I enjoyed it, and Emberâ€™s pretty good. Thatâ€™s another thing I let Rochelle take away. She played dirty and I hated it. Iâ€™ll call and if youâ€™re still unavailable, Iâ€™ll decide then. Love you, and good luck, not that you need it.â€

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â€œLove you, too. See you tonight.â€

Staring at the phone after they rang off, Stef told herself she was being ridiculous. She had a lot of details to attend to and only had a few hours in which to do it. Ember would be with Laurel and nothing was going to go wrong now. Rochelle was trying to avoid extra gossip, that was obvious.

Feeling marginally better, Stef started assembling her arsenal.

She intended to score an important victory today, and she would make sure her private celebration with Laurel tonight would be something to be remembered.

v

â€œYou can tell Mr. Beresford Iâ€™ll see him and his colleagues in court,â€ Stef informed the receptionist. She, Denny, and Sika had been waiting for ten minutes and she was out of patience with the power game.

The woman who had been so uninterested stood abruptly and asked them to wait, perhaps she could slip her boss a note. In under thirty seconds they were shown in the ofÃž ce, where George, Trip and two others were present, looking bored.

Barely waiting for them to be seated, George snapped, â€œDo you have the money? Otherwise, weâ€™re scheduling a court date to take over the property, so you can start packing.â€

Stef returned his glare with complete calm. She took her time opening her briefcase and pulled out several packets of paper. â€œFine.

Be sure to line up a few extra attorneys, because weâ€™ll be Ãž ling complaints alleging fraud and misrepresentation against each of you, and every man on the boards of both the bank and this Ãž rm that are also members of the Bohemian Club. Oh, and Trip, or should I say Clayton Boynton Holloway the Third? Your mother sends her regards. This is for you.â€

Stef slid a particularly thick sheaf of paper to him. To the group she announced, â€œHis mother, Seraphina Drake Holloway, is Ãž ling a motion for summary judgment. Attached to it is a copy of her sworn afÃž davit setting forth the facts.â€

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They stared at her as if she had spoken in a rare foreign language.

â€œFeel free to peruse the complaints,â€ Stef invited them.

â€œObviously youâ€™ll all need to confer with your attorneys.â€

Fifteen minutes later the men looked up with shocked expressions. First at her and then at each other. James Pickle, president of the bank where their Ãž rst mortgage was held and a major honcho in the Bohos, spoke Ãž rst.

â€œHave you Ãž led these?â€

His already ÃŸ orid complexion was coloring even more and Stef brieÃŸ y hoped he was on blood pressure medication. All that rich food and power must be curdling in his fat gut. George pointed a Ãž nger at her, his jaw rigid with fury. He opened his mouth only to have Pickle command, â€œSilence!â€

George slammed his mouth closed so quickly Stef heard his teeth clatter. Looking around she paused one more second, to prolong the moment, then said, â€œNo.â€ She heard their collective breath let go with a whoosh. â€œAs you no doubt realize, Trip here, by drugging his mother and having her held in a facility against her wishes, opens himself to criminal charges. As does anyone else who conspired to help him.â€

The look James Pickle gave Trip was frightening. â€œYou told us your mother had Alzheimerâ€™s. You had her held against her will?

Are you insane?â€

Sputtering, Trip said, â€œBut you saidâ€”â€

â€œI said nothing, Mr. Holloway, nothing.â€

Tripâ€™s eyes bulged and his Adamâ€™s apple bobbed, but he remained silent.

â€œSeraphina Drake Holloway has no wish to see her only child in prison, gentlemen. If he voluntarily withdraws the petition to have her declared unÃž t to administer the family trust, this all goes away. Her husband left her in charge because of his sonâ€™s lack of good judgment, as he has more than demonstrated to you.â€

Pickle immediately said, â€œIâ€™ll see that the petition is withdrawn before end of business tomorrow, Ms. Beresford.â€

Both George and Trip started to protest but stopped when

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Charles Teller, the member who had so far not spoken one word, merely lifted a Ãž nger off the table. Stef was impressed.

She continued, â€œNow, in reference to the complaintsâ€”some with multiple countsâ€”weâ€™re seeking damages, punitive damages, an injunction to stop foreclosure on the hotel against both the lending institutions and the individuals involved, and we plan to report these irregularities to federal regulating agencies as well. We charge conÃŸ ict of interest. Comments?â€ She prayed that Agnesâ€™s research and writing had been good enough. Theyâ€™d had to let go of their only attorney because they had no money, and Agnes seemed better anyway. If they didnâ€™t go along with this, they would have to try to Ãž nd another attorney, and there was no money to do that.

Pickle and Teller looked at each other for perhaps two seconds, evidently long enough to reach a decision. Pickle said, â€œMost judges would throw out the charges as spurious. There isnâ€™t one member of the bankâ€™s board who is also on the private investor board.â€

â€œI disagree, but Iâ€™m willing to test that, as long as any judge trying the case is not also a member of the Bohos. And weâ€™ll be checking.â€

Another long silence ensued.

Teller spoke for the Ãž rst time. â€œAnd if we rescind the foreclosure?â€

Keeping her face neutral, and not daring to look at either Denny or Sika, Stef replied, â€œThen we wonâ€™t Ãž le these charges. All of the papers, you have your copies, will be held in a secure place and never used. Unless you decide to come after the hotel again, of course.â€

â€œHow can we be sure youâ€™ll keep your agreement?â€

â€œMr. Pickle, Mr. Teller, you will have my word.â€

Pickle leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. â€œOut of curiosity, how did you get your hands on the Bohemian Club membership list?â€

Stef smiled politely and gave an evasive reply. â€œNothing is conÃž dential anymore, gentlemen. Donâ€™t you just love the Internet?â€

Pickle gave her a thin smile. â€œI have a question. How do you

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propose to Ãž nish the hotel? Youâ€™ll need more funding, and although your mortgages are safe as long as you make your payments, there isnâ€™t a lending institution in this country who will give you more. I can guarantee that.â€

Stef kept her gaze and her tone steady. She was a Beresford, after all. â€œThen it isnâ€™t your concern, is it?â€

His mouth formed a straight line. â€œYou wanted the hotel just for women, then perhaps it can be funded just by women. You could have a bake sale.â€

George snickered.

Pickle said, â€œShut up.â€ George did.

â€œPerhaps we will.â€ Stef rose and the others followed.

â€œGentlemen.â€ Then, â€œGeorge.â€

Stef held the door for Sika and Denny and was almost through it when Teller spoke once more. â€œWellington was right, you are the smartest one in your family.â€

Whirling on him, Stef asked, â€œHe knew about this?â€ Her father was against her buying the hotel, but this?

Teller regarded her thoughtfully. â€œNo. I just asked him about you and thatâ€™s what he told me. I thought youâ€™d want to know.â€ His gaze was impenetrable.

Stunned, she could only manage, â€œGood day.â€

v

Laurel Ãž nished class and checked her cell phone. She had one voicemail. Sheâ€™d been in such a hurry to get to school on time she hadnâ€™t noticed the message. It was from Ember, asking if she was still going to cancel class, because Jock needed her to work. That explained her absence.

Gathering her notes, Laurel thought about calling Stef but didnâ€™t want to disturb her focus. The meeting was probably still underway.

She was sorry Ember couldnâ€™t join her for a game of racquetball, but there was no reason to miss the practice she was looking forward to.

She could put in an hour and still be home to celebrate with Stef. It was wonderful to have the love of the game back in her life.

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Walking across campus to the gym, she marveled at the new pronouns and nouns in her life. Their home, two small rooms that were only adequate at best. Yet she thought of it as home in a way that she had never experienced before. She only lived in Rochelleâ€™s house, and she paid half the mortgage. Even the spare bedroom never felt like hers. Living with Stef had been completely different from the Ãž rst night. Although they hadnâ€™t talked about what would happen when they had to vacate to allow for the remodel, she knew that whatever they decided, it would work out best for them.

The certainty of that surprised her. Sheâ€™d always had so many fears, needed reassurance, almost needing to belong to someone.

That was probably the reason sheâ€™d fallen for Rochelle. She mistook control and possession for safety and solidity. She knew now that the only way to true safety lay within her.

She was grinning by the time she had changed clothes and grabbed her eye guards, racquet and balls, wallet, and cell phone.

These new courts were great and she enjoyed watching others play as well as playing on them. The back walls were shatterproof glass and observers could look down from above, too. She waved to some students who were leaving, and put her things down to do some stretches before entering the play area. Walking to her court, she jumped when a ball slammed loudly into the back wall of one of the courts she was passing. Checking out the action, she froze when she saw Rochelle on the other side of the glass, smiling at her.

Breathe, donâ€™t let her scare you away. Straightening, she realized that she was almost as tall as Rochelle. Odd, sheâ€™d always thought Rochelle was much taller. She nodded neutrally and Rochelle cocked her head in question, then swept her hand to indicate she was inviting Laurel to play. Invite was not the right word. Challenge.

That was the word.

Laurel studied her impassively. She looked bloated and unhealthy and this was not new. Rochelle had always won by cheating and intimidation, so much so that Laurel had refused to play with her. She shouldnâ€™t play now, but something in her exâ€™s insolent expression, in the way that she expected Laurel to run away yet again, propelled her through the door.

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Surprise evident on her face, Rochelle said, â€œMy, my, look whoâ€™s not afraid to play racquetball. Did you Ãž nally grow a spine?â€

â€œCan you say anything without trying to bait someone? You invited, Iâ€™m accepting. Any other questions?â€ She strode over to the wallet-lock on the wall and stored her phone, keys, and money.

â€œYour serve.â€

With an exaggerated shrug, Rochelle said, â€œYour funeral,â€ and waited for Laurel to get ready. She served a rocket that was not only in bounds but managed to just miss Laurelâ€™s head. Smirking, she said, â€œGotta be faster than that, mâ€™dear.â€

The rest of the game was similar, with Laurel barely able to return service, let alone get a serve in. Game: Rochelle.

â€œWant to quit? This is usually where you decide you donâ€™t like this game and go off to lick your wounds.â€

Laurel was quiet for a moment, seething. Seething instead of quaking. Buoyed by her anger, she whirled on Rochelle. â€œMy serve.â€

With no effort to disguise her disdain, Rochelle ambled to the back of the court to take her place and receive.

At the service line, Laurel bounced the ball a few times, then swung and hit a winner that sent Rochelle into the wall to try and stop herself after she whiffed the return.

Recovering, Rochelle patronized her with, â€œNot bad. But thatâ€™s all youâ€™re getting.â€

The battle was on, with each point being hard-won. When the second game was tied at eight, with sweat trickling between her breasts, Laurel noticed that theyâ€™d attracted a crowd. A strangely silent crowd, almost as if they were holding their collective breath.

Laurel won the second game at 15-12, and a cheer erupted, then the crowd fell silent when Rochelle glared at them. Whipping to face Laurel, she accused, â€œYouâ€™ve been practicing. What, does your rich bitch play?â€

Meeting her glare steadily, Laurel said, â€œNo, Iâ€™ve been playing.

It helped me recover from the beating you gave me.â€

Stepping menacingly toward her, Rochelle snarled, â€œKeep your voice down.â€

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â€œWhatâ€™s the matter, Rochelle? Afraid of a little truth? Relax, there are no microphones in here and I wasnâ€™t shouting, so unless someone can read lips, youâ€™re safe. But hereâ€™s another truth. If you ever try to hurt me again, youâ€™ll regret it. Care to serve for the match?â€

Rochelleâ€™s face was mottled with anger as she grabbed the ball. She stepped up to the service line and promptly double-faulted because she was so erratic, trying to hit Laurel more than to score a point. Laurel merely sidestepped the Ãž rst serve and caught the next after the second bounce.

â€œTemper, temper. You really must learn to control yourself. My serve.â€ Laurel couldnâ€™t help the teasing singsong tone of her voice, especially when she saw Rochelleâ€™s face darken even more.

She nailed three points in a row before Rochelle was able to return and then win service after a long and heated rally. As she walked to the back of the court so Rochelle could serve she noticed that there were more onlookers. Just as she turned, the ball came sailing past her.

â€œMy point.â€ Rochelle was chasing the errant ball down to get ready for her next serve.

â€œI wasnâ€™t set, Rochelle. You could see that.â€ So, this is how it would be. Rochelle couldnâ€™t stand to lose, and if the score wasnâ€™t in her favor she often resorted to cheating.

â€œPay attention next time.â€ Rochelle served again and struck a clean winner.

The next one Laurel was able to return and Rochelle couldnâ€™t reach it. â€œSide out. My turn.â€

The score seesawed up to a tie at nine. The Ãž rst one to score eleven would win the match.

Rochelle served hard and it bounced, then ricocheted off a side wall. Laurel anticipated the ball and slammed it back, sending Rochelle skidding to try and reach it and she landed on her ass when she missed. Some clapping from the gallery ensued.

She screamed, â€œServe again. I hit a wet spot and slipped.â€ She was panting and sweating profusely. One of the onlookers booed.

Laurel walked up and looked at the spot she said sheâ€™d slipped

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on. It appeared Ãž ne. Maybe she dried it with her butt. She shrugged and again went to the service line, hitting a clear winner. Rochelle shot her a murderous glare and stood to receive the ball. Laurel bounced it a few times and served hard, but Rochelle was able crush the return so that it caromed off of two walls before bouncing.

Laurel returned the ball the only way she could, bringing the racquet behind her back and between her legs. She won the point and the match.

As whoops erupted from the crowd, Rochelle stood three feet from her, chest heaving and bitterness pouring out of her mouth.

â€œYou cheated.â€

â€œNo, I donâ€™t play the way you do, Rochelle. I won, thatâ€™s all.

Itâ€™s just a game.â€

â€œSo, are you going back to your owner? To be her little play toy?â€

The words stung, but only because of Laurelâ€™s realization that she had allowed herself to be dominated by this pathetic woman.

â€œNo one owns me, Rochelle. She knows that and respects it. I am in love with her, forever, I hope. So, yes, Iâ€™m going to her. My choice, my life.â€

The hostility and rage that Rochelle had barely controlled erupted and Rochelle screamed, â€œThen take this with you!â€ She used her racquet and slapped the dense rubber ball as hard as she could, aimed straight at Laurelâ€™s face.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

By the time Stef, Denny, Jock, and Ember approached the campus sports facility, Stef had tried many times to reach Laurel. Sheâ€™d been stunned to Ãž nd Ember at the hotel when she got back after the bloodless coup that had neutered her brother and his buddies. When Laurel didnâ€™t show up or answer her cell phone, she decided not to wait.

A tremor shook her spine as they turned into the parking lot and saw ÃŸ ashing lights. An ambulance and police cruisers were parked close to the front doors. Medics were guiding a gurney to the back of the vehicle. The occupant was waving her arms around and screaming for a doctor.

Stef fought her way through the crowd and skidded to a halt by the gurney to see Rochelle with an ice pack on her nose and her clothes covered in blood.

â€œOh, my God.â€ Her heart stopped and she frantically looked around for Laurel.

Ember touched her arm and Stef whirled on her, panic consuming her. â€œWhere is she? I canâ€™t see her.â€

â€œThere.â€ Ember pointed to the police cruiser. â€œIn the backseat.

Sheâ€™sâ€¦her head is bandaged.â€

Shouting, â€œLaurel!â€ Stef rushed to the car and within seconds they were in each otherâ€™s arms, tears streaming down their faces.

â€œAre you okay? Iâ€™m going to knock that bitch from here toâ€¦â€

When she was able to look into Laurelâ€™s eyes, she saw joy there.

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â€œYou donâ€™t have to, my love, Iâ€™ve already taken care of that.â€

Laurel winked at her. Winked!

Stef asked, â€œWhat happened?â€

Ember had hustled up to them and answered on Laurelâ€™s behalf.

â€œShe beat the wicked witch, and everyoneâ€™s talking about it. Dr.

Jacobs tried to attack her when she won at racquetball and ended up hurting herself. That is so cool.â€

Stef held Laurel at armâ€™s length and said, â€œYou beat her at racquetball? Really?â€

Nodding, Laurel said, â€œYup. And she got so upset she tried to serve the ball to my face.â€ When she saw Stef react she quickly said,

â€œI didnâ€™t have time to think, I must have instinctively ÃŸ ipped my racquet in front of my face and the ball hit the racquet. It rebounded into Rochelleâ€™s nose and I think she broke it. Talk about instant karma.â€

â€œBut how did you get the bandage on your forehead?â€ Stef didnâ€™t care about Rochelle, she wanted to know about Laurel.

â€œI guess the recoil of the racquet when the ball hit it nailed me.

It all happened so fast, then chaos ensued, as it were.â€

Stef stared at Laurel for a second, then smiled. â€œYouâ€™re enjoying this. Congratulations. The wicked witch is dead.â€

â€œOr at least out of my life.â€ Laurel was actually bouncing on the balls of her feet.

â€œWhat about school? Sheâ€™s still department chair.â€

â€œIâ€™ll think about that later. Let me Ãž nish here and then will you please take me home? We have all the time in the world to plan our next move.â€

Despite all the commotion, Laurel had managed to send a message that landed directly in Stefâ€™s heart and made the world a brighter place. They had all the time in the world.

An hour later they were back at the hotel, and much to Laurelâ€™s surprise, her friends had held up their celebration until she could be present. Her heart ÃŸ ooded with appreciation at that knowledge.

Denny and Jock took the champagne and sparkling cider and Ãž lled the delicate ÃŸ utes that Sika and Mrs. C had set out.

Sika said, â€œTo courage, then and now.â€

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They all had a sip and sat down and were chatting excitedly when Seraphina Drake Holloway stood and held her glass up, tapping it gently.

In a voice that belied her age, she said, â€œYears ago, a member of the Elysium Society gave us what was to become a toast we often used. I think it is appropriate tonight. To celebrate all of you. Your courage, your history, and your future.â€

All stood and held their glasses to the air and waited.

â€œâ€˜When we do the best that we can, we never know what miracle is wrought in our life, or in the life of another.â€™ Here is to the miracle of the women that have gone before us, and the miracles we have yet to perform for others. Here is to the future.â€

They drank and were silent. After a moment, Laurel said, â€œI know that quote. Itâ€™s from Helen Keller. Was she aâ€¦â€

Sika raised her glass again and said, â€œTo the Elysium Society, as it rises again.â€

v

Back in their room, Laurel and Stef were quiet, each absorbing the events of the day. Laurel glanced at Stef, so deep in thought, and went to her.

â€œPenny for your thoughts.â€ She took Stef in her arms.

Cocking her head, Stef said, â€œPre nineteen eighty or post?â€

â€œHmm?â€

â€œWell, there was more copper in them pre nineteen eighty and so they weighed more and are worth more today, you know.â€

â€œOkayâ€¦pre nineteen eighty.â€ Laurel wondered where this was going.

â€œWell, I was wondering what your reaction to your time with Rochelle was. I mean, I was hoping thatâ€¦â€

â€œDo you know that Rochelle once told me that her partner should tell her sheâ€™s right, no matter what she says? And I didnâ€™t question that, I held my tongue.â€

Eyes round, Stef said, â€œWow. That woman is such aâ€¦â€

Hugging her tightly, Laurel said, â€œThat is so nice of you to take

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my side and I love you for it. But I was wrong for not running as fast as I could out the door. She told me exactly the kind of person she was, and I was so insecure I couldnâ€™t leave her. Knowing that, how can you respect me?â€

Stef could only answer from her heart. â€œMaybe Iâ€™m the same kind of person as Rochelle. Iâ€™m hot-tempered and always looking for betrayal. I can be arrogant, self-centered, egotisticalâ€¦â€ A Ãž nger gently placed on her lips followed by a soft kiss shushed her.

â€œNot to mention redundant.â€ Laurel deepened the kiss.

Pulling a millimeter away, Stef murmured, â€œThat, too.â€

â€œFor the record, Stef, you are nothing like Rochelle. You are strong and kind and sweet and honest, and I love you.â€ A few more heated kisses and Laurel managed, â€œIâ€™m a mess and I need a shower.

Iâ€™d invite you in but itâ€™s so cramped Iâ€™m afraid weâ€™d get stuck and the call for help would be really embarrassing. What about you?â€

â€œIâ€™ll get in after you. All that stark terror has left me in similar shape.â€

Laurel backed away and squeezed Stefâ€™s hands. â€œI wonâ€™t take long, and donâ€™t you either.â€ She was stripping on her way to the bathroom and naked by the time she stood in the door, smiling seductively. â€œBe right back.â€

Stef wondered if perhaps she was in a dream, a fantasy of what love could be like if it was real. She drifted into the bedroom and removed her clothes, slipping into a short terry robe. She took the few steps to the bathroom door and pushed it open.

Laurel was easily visible through the clear shower curtain. She was soaping her body and Stef could only admire every move. After a moment, Laurel realized she was there and smiled, resoaping her breasts and using slow circular movements to rub them, then lightly pinch her nipples, her eyes never leaving Stef.

Stef stood transÃž xed as Laurel rinsed, then squeezed some gel in her hands and addressed her center, running the length of her sex and pulling slightly, until Stef could see her swollen clit, and she licked her lips, longing to taste. She let the front of her robe fall open and Laurelâ€™s eyes darkened with passion.

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â€œGod, Stef, come here.â€ She separated her labia and let the water rush to cleanse the soap, moaning at the sensation.

Stef moved to be by her side, standing just outside of the enclosure. She pulled back the curtain and reached, feeling Laurelâ€™s need, all of the blood in her body rushing to the same place as Laurelâ€™s. She stroked Laurel as Laurel slowly sank to her knees.

Clinging to her, Laurel breathed, â€œDonâ€™t stop, darling, donâ€™t stop.â€

Stef concentrated on the sensation of her Ãž ngertips, the way she could feel every change in Laurelâ€™s body. She held her when she curled back, knowing her orgasm was imminent, and then shuddered as the spasms overtook her love as she came and it ÃŸ owed over her hand. The hard pulsing in her clitoris told her she was close to her own orgasm.

Laurel said urgently, â€œStand up, stand up.â€

Stef struggled to her feet and Laurel wrapped her arms around her waist and buried her face in her loverâ€™s core, sucking and stroking with her tongue until she felt Stef explode into a universe that was entirely their own.

When Stef came to her senses Laurel had switched positions on her and was outside the shower, dripping wet, washing her. She was leaning against the wall but was able to stand and still Laurelâ€™s hand as she began to address her throbbing center.

â€œGet dried off or youâ€™ll catch cold. Iâ€™ll meet you in bed in Ãž ve minutes.â€ One corner of Laurelâ€™s mouth quirked up and she nodded, grabbing a towel and drying herself as Stef watched. She could barely wash her clit without coming again.

Stef turned off the faucets and grinned when a dry towel was tossed in her direction. She took her time, and when she crawled into bed next to Laurel, she turned off the lamp beside the bed and took Laurel in her arms. â€œEvery time weâ€™re together itâ€™s different. Itâ€™s always stronger, it always makes me love you more. But I worry.â€

Laurel was still, sensing something important was happening.

â€œWhat about, darling? What worries you?â€

â€œI think that Iâ€™ll hurt you, that youâ€™ll think Iâ€™m likeâ€¦that

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woman. That Iâ€™ll be too rough with you. Youâ€™re such aâ€¦so much a lady.â€

Laurel let out a sigh. â€œSo thatâ€™s why you always let me set the pace of our lovemaking, because you donâ€™t want to hurt me or remind me of her.â€ She was grateful to Stef for talking about it.

â€œYes. My feelings are so strong, so frighteningly strong sometimes. Iâ€¦worry.â€

Reaching up to turn the lamp back on, Laurel said, â€œDarling, look at me.â€

Stef gazed at her, raw emotion there for her to see.

â€œIâ€™m tougher than I look. I want you to take me any way you want me. And if you donâ€™t fuck my brains out for the rest of the night, youâ€™ll disappoint me. Because I deÃž nitely have plans for you.â€

When Laurel smiled slyly and reached for the lamp switch, Stef stopped her. â€œNo, I want to see you.â€ She rolled her on her back and pulled the covers off.

Laurel bent her knees and opened her legs wide. â€œTake me.â€

And Stef did, all night long.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

One month later there was a tea at Seraphinaâ€™s home in PaciÃž c Heights. Stef and Laurel had moved into one of the many suites in the grand old mansion. Another two rooms held all of the material recovered from the hotel and the records that Irina Castic had secreted in her rooms for over forty years.

Stef felt like they were living in a fantasy with so many priceless antiques and modern touches, too. An elevator had been installed at some point, probably when Seraphinaâ€™s husband had been ill. It wasnâ€™t used much because both of the older residents preferred the exercise of the stairs, but was kept in working order.

The work of the hotel had been halted two days before, there simply was no more money. Stef and the others were working on obtaining private funding from wealthy patrons but had found many doors closed to them. As promised, the Bohemiansâ€™ tentacles were far reaching.

Seraphina and Irina had planned the tea, and Sika made sure all were in attendance from the hotel. Sika had been virtually absent from the hotel for the past month, over at the mansion working with Carolyn Flemons, the designer. She was in the hotel only to meet her friend from West Marin and plan the new kitchen. Stef felt so guilty about not having the money to realize Sikaâ€™s dreams that she found herself avoiding that part of the hotel when Sika was there.

She kept herself busy making phone calls and running budget numbers, and when that became too tedious, joining Jock, Denny,

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and her crew and doing manual labor. The bones of the building were solid and set. Now all they needed was a few million more to complete rooms, and she had no idea how that would happen.

Seraphina said if she hadnâ€™t already sold the property sheâ€™d make a gift of it to them, but it was out of her hands. Even selling more of her holdings to help would have Trip and his cronies on her all over again.

Irina kept patting her hand and told her not to worry, but Stef couldnâ€™t stand the insecurity. That morning sheâ€™d decided to contact her father and ask for Ãž nancing help. As soon as this gathering was Ãž nished, sheâ€™d make the call. Sheâ€™d told her partners, and Sika had insisted she wait until after the tea party. Stef was dreading the moment she would have to admit her father was rightâ€”she couldnâ€™t make it on her own.

Laurel had sent a letter to the university saying that she would complete her teaching obligations for the term and then was going on an extended leave. If they chose not to accept that, she would resign.

A letter accepting her leave and signed by the university president as well as Rochelle Jacobs had been sent within the week. Evidently Rochelle was going to remain department chair, but the university was keeping tabs on her and was not going to rock the boat.

Laurel spent her days at the mansion with her precious Ãž nd and she was in heaven, but she was also faced with a conundrum.

Publishing her Ãž ndings, especially about the Elysium Society, would no doubt make her career. But revealing the societyâ€™s existence placed its future at risk and the accomplishments of its members in question. Revealing the names of some of its famous and illustrious members who were long dead would create repercussions over which she had no control.

The media could take the information and reduce all of the good works of these women into a quest for lesbian lust. The Bohos would most certainly do all they could to destroy their reputations, and their members included publishers and owners of huge media conglomerates. That knowledge helped her make her decision. The Elysium Society would stay secret.

When she and Stef Ãž nally fell into bed at night, they barely were

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awake long enough to make sure they were sharing the right bed with the right person. But the early mornings were very reassuring and started the day just right. It was good to be in love.

Stef watched the women Ãž le in and help themselves to sandwiches, tea, and coffee. Jock had even gone home and cleaned up, and Agnes had Lefty looking quite presentable, too. Agnes had become an invaluable executive assistant. Although Stef had yet to hear the sound of Leftyâ€™s voice, she knew that Jock trusted her, and that was good enough.

The doorbell rang again and Sika opened it to a lovely woman of about her age, whom she greeted warmly with a hug. Stef recognized her as the designer, Carolyn Flemons. Sheâ€™d been so busy that other than a perfunctory introduction, sheâ€™d left her to Sika. It didnâ€™t matter that sheâ€™d forgone her fee, really, because even if her designs were award winning, eventually they would need to be paid for. Another brick on the load she carried. Carolyn introduced her daughter, Keri, and although she said the other woman, Dana, was her daughter, too, there was no familial resemblance and it looked very much like Keri and Dana were together.

Right behind them were some other women she didnâ€™t recognize, perhaps friends of Sera or Irina. It looked like they were bringing their daughters and/or granddaughters. My, this really is a tea party.

One face she did recognize belonged to the woman who had stormed her ofÃž ce that day and given them the membership list of the Bohos. Conn Stryker was accompanied by a lovely woman, and they were obviously a couple. Stef could feel their connection from across the room. Odd, why here and why now? Several more couples entered, too. She recognized Sikaâ€™s friend who was helping design the kitchen, and the woman who was obviously her partner, known worldwide as a top journalist.

The last guest to arrive walked in quietly, came over to Laurel, and hugged her. Kate Hoffman looked like Laurel but deÃž nitely had the star quality about her. Stef stood and shook her hand politely, hoping Kate would like her and tell Laurel she approved. Kate grinned and hugged them both warmly and whispered something

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in her sisterâ€™s ear. She then sat nearby and chatted with some of the other guests. Stef tried to catch Laurelâ€™s eye but couldnâ€™t.

Taking another look at all of the women around the room, she could feel a building excitement. Of all the ages, shapes, and sizes, the one thing that they seemed to have in common was a keen intelligence in their eyes. By the time the last guests arrived, Stef was sitting forward, sensing something more than tea would be happening.

Seraphina stood with the aid of a beautiful hand-carved cane and greeted everyone. She had only to clear her throat to silence the low-level hum in the room. â€œToday is a marvelous day in my life, one that I have waited and wished for, for over forty years. Today is the day that the Elysium Society rises from the ashes and begins again.â€

Stef felt Laurel beside her on the rolled arm of the chair, squeezing her shoulder. The current in the room almost crackled.

Laurel had a tablet of paper and was taking notes.

â€œOur roots extend into the past, we arenâ€™t sure exactly how far. At least to the Civil War period, when we were active in the underground railway, supporting and hiding runaway slaves and Ãž nding jobs and training for them in their new lives. We had members who lived in Paris in the twenties and were part of the new intelligentsia. Our concerns were for women and the advancement of their rights and the rights of others. And always, always our purpose was secret. As far-ÃŸ ung as our membership was, the heart eventually rested here, in San Francisco, dating back before the great earthquake and Ãž re in 1906. My contribution was the hotel, and although circumstances dictated that I marry, I was able to maintain control of it. Until we were discovered.â€ Seraphina reached for Irinaâ€™s hand and seemed buoyed.

â€œMy husband, as much of a philanderer as he was, could not tolerate my love for Irina Castic. We fell in love before I had to marry him, and although I tried desperately to keep my vows, I could not bear to be apart from her. Someone discovered our relationship, I suspect my son. Trip was young but must have felt jealous of my obvious love of her and hers for me. More than that, whatever he

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said must have alerted Clayton that there was more going on at the hotel than just ladies having high tea and discussing books. Perhaps one of the guests of the hotel had been denied membership in the Society and alerted her husband out of spite. We might not ever know.â€ Her voice trembled and her eyes shone as she remembered the betrayal.

â€œHe seized control of the hotel, which was his legal right as my husband. He purposefully dismantled it, allowed it to turn into what it remained for all that time. The one condition he agreed to was to allow Irina, my lover, to live there. He only agreed to that to prevent a scandal and to get me to agree to never have contact with her again. He swore that if I did, he would not only evict her from the hotel, he would have her sent back to Serbia, where she most certainly would perish in jail. I had no choice, I had to protect her.â€

Tears rolled down her cheeks, and Stef wiped her own eyes.

â€œThe one thing he couldnâ€™t control was the fact that his son was too much like him. After many heated arguments, and many capricious and irresponsible episodes with Clayton the Third, he agreed to let me be executor of the estate. On his deathbed, he asked that I sell the hotel to the Bohemian Club.

â€œI will tell each and every one of you that I had no trouble ignoring that request. The hotel, and all of the holdings that he had not squandered, were mine. I was delighted when the opportunity to restore the hotel to women arose. Before I could offer more support, before I could once again unite with my beloved Irina, my son usurped me and I was incarcerated.â€

A pin dropping would have made every woman in the room jump. All were riveted to Seraphina Drake. She took the water that Sika offered and sipped thoughtfully, her hand trembling slightly.

â€œI must thank all of you for not only freeing me from that dreadful place, but for taking care of my Irina. We wish to begin the Elysium Society anew, with the women in this room. As you know, the Society is by invitation only, but the dues are commensurate with your ability to pay. It is character and dedication we seek, not wealth and exclusivity. This isnâ€™t a social club, it is an organization dedicated to women and the issues that affect us worldwide. And

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now Iâ€™m turning this over to Sika Phelps, who, with Laurel Hoffman, has developed the Ãž rst membership list of the New Elysium.â€

Stef whipped her head around to look at Laurel, wondering why Laurel hadnâ€™t told her. But she thought of their busy lives over the past month and understood. Laurel was a natural choice, of course.

Her researching capability and knowledge of the society would be invaluable assistance to Sika, Seraphina, and Irina. She hoped her eyes conveyed that she was proud of her.

A sinking feeling overcame her when she thought of what she had to report: that they couldnâ€™t go forward without further Ãž nancing, that she would need to ask her father to help. Her stomach lurched at what she saw as failing not only her business partners and the women in this room, but giving up her dream of independence from her family.

Sikaâ€™s voice, strong and calm, interrupted her thoughts. â€œThere are several points of business to attend to. First, each one of you has been asked to pay an initiation fee that you will choose.

â€œPlease stand and introduce yourself and tell us about your background and talents, education, or particular skills you wish to include in our master list of resources. You might be called upon to help with particular projects, based on this list. After you introduce yourself, give your envelope to Stefanie Beresford. Our Ãž rst order of business, our Ãž rst project, is to secure our home, the Hotel Liaison.â€

Laurel had to elbow Stef to snap her out of her daze as women started handing envelopes to her. Carolyn Flemons was Ãž rst and a check for $100,000 was enclosed, along with a note canceling her design fee.

Ember looked her hot and babydyke-cute self when she stood and pledged whatever skills she developed in the future and volunteer labor when it was needed. Her envelope contained one hundred dollars in cash.

And so it went. Doctors, lawyers, scientists, technology experts, CEOs, chefs, students, politicians, executive assistants, actresses, plumbers, photographers, authors, artists, and so on. All had high levels of expertise in various subjects and connections to

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other women all over the world. The average check was similar to Carolyn Flemonsâ€™s. But Conn Stryker and her partner, Leigh Grove, provided a check for one million dollars, along with all the planning and security equipment for the top two ÃŸ oors of the hotel. There was another stack of envelopes from those unable to attend. Stefâ€™s eyes must have been popping because there were a few chuckles from the audience. Kate Hoffman slipped Laurel a check that made Laurel give her a huge hug.

The top ÃŸ oors were designated to become a private club to house the Elysium Society, comprising some luxurious hotel rooms, meeting rooms, and a tech center. All with state-of-the-art security.

Each and every service would be provided by women for women.

Although there might be some rooms in the lower ÃŸ oors that would rent to men, the men would be unable to gain entrance to the Club.

Tears ÃŸ owed freely down Stefâ€™s face as she realized what this meant. They would not only be able to Ãž nish the hotel the way it had been envisioned, they would be able to meet their mortgage payments each month without worry.

Irina Castic stood before her with her envelope in her hands. It was larger and thicker than the others. She grinned mischievously.

â€œIrina, you are automatically a lifetime member of the society, you know that. You have beenâ€¦grandmothered in.â€ Stef smiled to reassure her friend that she didnâ€™t have to feel she owed anything.

â€œAh. How nice. But this is for you and Sika and Denny. And Laurel, of course.â€

Careful not to tear the envelope, Stef opened it and took out a fairly thick Ãž le of paper. She read and then reread the documents.

â€œThis canâ€™t be true. Irina? How could this be true?â€

Denny piped up with, â€œStefanie Beresford, if you donâ€™t tell us what youâ€™re looking at, Iâ€™m gonna get after you.â€ From the background noise, Denny wasnâ€™t the only one.

â€œIt is the Ãž rst and second deed to the hotel. Paid in full. Our debt has been retired.â€

The cheer that went up from the members was so loud, no one could hear Stef asking Irina a question. When they calmed down, she repeated it.

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â€œHow did you do this? The debt is over twenty million dollars.

Are these papers real?â€ She hated to insult Irina, but really, did she win the lottery? This was nothing to joke about.

â€œOh, my dear, I assure you they are real. My mother country Ãž nally decided to join the twenty-Ãž rst century and return the land stolen from my family by the Nazis and then the Communists. As it turns out, my property is worth quite a bit, so I sold some parcels and paid off the hotel.â€ Turning around to face the others, she said,

â€œThe hotel is ours. No one can take it from us again. Our work can proceed unencumbered by outside detractors.â€

Stef was out of her chair and hugging Irina, Denny, Sika, and anyone she could get her hands on, ending with Laurel. â€œDid you know?â€

â€œI knew something was going on and I helped Sika with the list, but I couldnâ€™t have imagined this. I think Ember might have had some idea. She helped Irina Ãž le the papers.â€

â€œThatâ€™s why the people at the nursing home fell all over themselves trying to sign Irina up. I always wondered how she pulled that off. Wow.â€

Stef sat heavily on her chair and closed her eyes. She felt Laurel beside her and smiled. Surrounded by old friends and new, she started to absorb the full meaning of family. She was exactly where she belonged, with people who believed in her, and a partner who loved her. And the real work of building their future was just beginning.

As the afternoon drew to a close, she led Laurel to the small garden that consisted of well-established roses, canopies of ÃŸ owering vines, and benches that brought privacy even in the midst of this beautiful city. They sat on a bench and stared at the bay and the Golden Gate Bridge before them. Fog was creeping over the Marin Headlands and through the towers of the bridge, giving everything around them a magical feel.

Stef slid her arm over Laurelâ€™s shoulder and kissed her slowly.

â€œItâ€™s all coming true, Laurel. Every bit of it. Will you share it with me?â€

Laurel leaned back and took in all of Stefanie Beresford. â€œMy

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sister approves of you. She told me sheâ€™s jealous because it looks like Iâ€™ve Ãž nally found the one. Sheâ€™s right. Iâ€™ll share every bit of it with you, my love. Every minute. I love you.â€

â€œI love you, too,â€ Stef said. â€œYou complete my dreams, do you know that?â€

Laurel held her tightly, emotions brimming. â€œAnd youâ€™ve built brand-new dreams for me.â€

They kissed again and held hands, laying silent claim to one another and to the future they would build together. Stef smiled in contentment.

Their future. She couldnâ€™t wait.

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About the Author

JLee Meyer utilizes her background in psychology and speech pathology in her work as an international communication consultant. Spending hours in airports, planes, and hotel rooms allows her the opportunity to pursue two of her favorite passions: reading and writing lesbian Ãž ction. JLeeâ€™s hobbies are photography, hiking, tennis, and skiing but she hasnâ€™t had time for them recently.

Writing is her passion, and learning this new craft has been a joy.

She and her partner CC live in Northern California with their two dogs. Hotel Liaison is her fourth novel.

Visit JLee at www.myspace.com/jleemeyer, or at her Web site, jleemeyer.com, or e-mail her at jlee@jleemeyer.com. You can also Ãž nd her at www.boldstrokesbooks.com.

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Naked Heart by Jennifer Fulton. When a sexy ex-CIA agent sets out to seduce and entrap a powerful CEO, thereâ€™s more to this plan than meets the eyeâ€¦or the ÃŸ ogger. (978-1-60282-011-1) Heart of the Matter by KI Thompson. TV newscaster Kate Foster is Professor Ellen Websterâ€™s dream girl, but Kate doesnâ€™t know Ellen existsâ€¦until an accident changes everything. (978-1-60282-010-4) Heartland by Julie Cannon. When political strategist Rachel Stanton and dude ranch owner Shivley McCoy collide on an empty country road, fate intervenes. (978-1-60282-009-8) Shadow of the Knife by Jane Fletcher. Militia Rookie Ellen Mittal has no idea just how complex and dangerous her life is about to become. A Celaeno series adventure romance. (978-1-60282-008-1) To Protect and Serve by VK Powell. Lieutenant Alex Troy is caught in the paradox of her lifeâ€”to hold steadfast to her professional oath or to protect the woman she loves. (978-1-60282-007-4) Deeper by Ronica Black. Former homicide detective Erin McKenzie and her Ãž ancÃ©e Elizabeth Adams couldnâ€™t be happierâ€”until the not-so-distant past comes knocking at the door. (978-1-60282-006-7) The Lonely Hearts Club by Radclyffe. Take three friends, add two ex-lovers and several new ones, and the result is a recipe for explosive rivalries and incendiary romance. (978-1-60282-005-0) Venus Besieged by Andrews & Austin. Teague RichÃž eld heads for Sedona and the sensual arms of psychic astrologer Callie Rivers for a much-needed romantic reunion. (978-1-60282-004-3) Branded Ann by Merry Shannon. Pirate Branded Ann raids a merchant vessel to obtain a treasure map and gets more than she bargained for with the widow Violet. (978-1-60282-003-6) American Goth by JD Glass. Trapped by an unsuspected inheritance and guided only by the guardian who holds the secret to her future, Samantha Cray Ãž ghts to fulÃž ll her destiny. (978-1-60282-002-9) Learning Curve by Rachel Spangler. Ashton Clarke is perfectly content with her life until she meets the intriguing Professor Carrie Fletcher, who isnâ€™t looking for a relationship with anyone. (978-1-60282-001-2)

Place of Exile by Rose Beecham. Sheriffâ€™s detective Jude Devine struggles with ghosts of her past and an ex-lover who still haunts her dreams. (978-1-933110-98-1)

Fully Involved by Erin Dutton. A love that has smoldered for years ignites when two women and one little boy come together in the aftermath of tragedy. (978-1-933110-99-8) Heart 2 Heart by Julie Cannon. Suffering from a devastating personal loss, Kyle Bain meets Lane Connor, and the chance for happiness suddenly seems possible. (978-1-60282-000-5) Rising Storm by JLee Meyer. The sequel to First Instinct takes our heroines on a dangerous journey instead of the honeymoon theyâ€™d planned. (978-1-933110-86-8)

First Instinct by JLee Meyer. When high-stakes security fraud leads to murder, one woman ÃŸ ees for her life while another risks her heart to protect her. (1-933110-59-7)

Queens of Tristaine by Cate Culpepper. When a deadly plague stalks the Amazons of Tristaine, two warrior lovers must return to the place of their nightmares to Ãž nd a cure. (978-1-933110-97-4) The Crown of Valencia by Catherine Friend. Ex-lovers can really mess up your lifeâ€¦even, as Kate discovers, if theyâ€™ve traveled back to the eleventh century! (978-1-933110-96-7) Mine by Georgia Beers. What happens when youâ€™ve already given your heart and love Ãž nds you again? Courtney McAllister is about to Ãž nd out. (978-1-933110-95-0)

House of Clouds by KI Thompson. A sweeping saga of an impassioned romance between a Northern spy and a Southern sympathizer, set amidst the upheaval of a nation under siege. (978-1-933110-94-3) Forever Found by JLee Meyer. Can time, tragedy, and shattered trust destroy a love that seemed destined? When chance reunites two childhood friends separated by tragedy, the past resurfaces to determine the shape of their future. (1-933110-37-6) Winds of Fortune by Radclyffe. Provincetown local Deo Camara agrees to rehab Dr. Bonita Burgoyneâ€™s historic home, but she never said anything about mending her heart. (978-1-933110-93-6) Focus of Desire by Kim Baldwin. Isabel Sterling is surprised when she wins a photography contest, but no more than photographer Natasha Kashnikova. Their promo tour becomes a ticket to romance.

(978-1-933110-92-9)

Blind Leap by Diane and Jacob Anderson-Minshall. A Golden Gate Bridge suicide becomes suspect when a Ãž lmmakerâ€™s camera shows a different story. Yoshi Yakamota and the Blind Eye Detective Agency uncover evidence that could be worth killing for. (978-1-933110-91-2) Wall of Silence, 2nd ed. by Gabrielle Goldsby. Life takes a dangerous turn when jaded police detective Foster Everett meets Riley Medeiros, a woman who isnâ€™t afraid to discover the truth no matter the cost.

(978-1-933110-90-5)

Mistress of the Runes by Andrews & Austin. Passion ignites between two women with ties to ancient secrets, contemporary mysteries, and a shared quest for the meaning of life. (978-1-933110-89-9) Vultureâ€™s Kiss by Justine Saracen. Archeologist Valerie Foret, heir to a terrifying task, returns in a powerful desert adventure set in Egypt and Jerusalem. (978-1-933110-87-5)

Sheridanâ€™s Fate by Gun Brooke. A dynamic, erotic romance between physiotherapist Lark Mitchell and businesswoman Sheridan Ward set in the scorching hot days and humid, steamy nights of San Antonio.

(978-1-933110-88-2)

Not Single Enough by Grace Lennox. A funny, sexy modern romance about two lonely women who bond over the unexpected and fall in love along the way. (978-1-933110-85-1)

Such a Pretty Face by Gabrielle Goldsby. A sexy, sometimes humorous, sometimes biting contemporary romance that gently exposes the damage to heart and soul when we fail to look beneath the surface for what truly matters. (978-1-933110-84-4) Second Season by Ali Vali. A romance set in New Orleans amidst betrayal, Hurricane Katrina, and the new beginnings hardship and heartbreak sometimes make possible. (978-1-933110-83-7) Hearts AÃŸ ame by Ronica Black. A poignant, erotic romance between a hard-driving businesswoman and a solitary vet. Packed with adventure and set in the harsh beauty of the Arizona countryside.

(978-1-933110-82-0)

Red Light by JD Glass. Tori forges her path as an EMT in the New York City 911 system while discovering what matters most to herself and the woman she loves. (978-1-933110-81-3) Honor Under Siege by Radclyffe. Secret Service agent Cameron Roberts struggles to protect her lover while searching for a traitor who just may be another woman with a claim on her heart. (978-1-933110-80-6) Dark Valentine by Jennifer Fulton. Danger and desire fuel a high-stakes cat-and-mouse game when an attorney and an endangered witness team up to thwart a killer. (978-1-933110-79-0) Sequestered Hearts by Erin Dutton. A popular artist suddenly goes into seclusion, a reluctant reporter wants to know why, and a heart locked away yearns to be set free. (978-1-933110-78-3) Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games, ed. by Radclyffe and Stacia Seaman. Adventure, â€œsport,â€ and sex on the roadâ€”hot stories of travel adventures and games of seduction. (978-1-933110-77-6) The Spanish Pearl by Catherine Friend. On a trip to Spain, Kate Vincent is accidentally transported back in timeâ€”an epic saga spiced with humor, lust, and danger. (978-1-933110-76-9) Lady Knight by L-J Baker. Loyalty and honor clash with love and ambition in a medieval world of magic when female knight Riannon meets Lady Eleanor. (978-1-933110-75-2)

Dark Dreamer by Jennifer Fulton. Best-selling horror author Rowe Devlin falls under the spell of psychic Phoebe Temple. A Dark Vista romance. (978-1-933110-74-5)

Come and Get Me by Julie Cannon. Elliott Foster isnâ€™t used to pursuing women, but alluring attorney Lauren Collier makes her change her mind. (978-1-933110-73-8)

Blind Curves by Diane and Jacob Anderson-Minshall. Private eye Yoshi Yakamota comes to the aid of her ex-lover Velvet Erickson in the Ãž rst Blind Eye mystery. (978-1-933110-72-1) Dynasty of Rogues by Jane Fletcher. Itâ€™s hate at Ãž rst sight for Ranger Riki Sadiq and her new patrol corporal, Tanya Coppelliâ€”except for their undeniable attraction. (978-1-933110-71-4) Running With the Wind by Nell Stark. Sailing instructor Corrie Marsten has signed off on love until she meets Quinn Daviesâ€”one woman she canâ€™t ignore. (978-1-933110-70-7) More Than Paradise by Jennifer Fulton. Two women battle danger, risk all, and Ãž nd in each other an unexpected ally and an unforgettable love. (978-1-933110-69-1)

Flight Risk by Kim Baldwin. For Blayne Keller, being in the wrong place at the wrong time just might turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to her. (978-1-933110-68-4)

Rebelâ€™s Quest: Supreme Constellations Book Two by Gun Brooke.

On a world torn by war, two women discover a love that deÃž es all boundaries. (978-1-933110-67-7)

Punk and Zen by JD Glass. Angst, sex, love, rock. Trace, Candace, Francescaâ€¦Samantha. Losing controlâ€”and Ãž nding the truth within.

BSB Victory Editions. (1-933110-66-X)