White Lies (The Arcane Society #2)(4)
Author: Jayne Ann Krentz

“Call me Jake. I’m a business consultant. Archer hired me to consult on a new pension and benefit plan for Glazebrook.”

Another lie wrapped in truth. Wow. This man was scary good. And scary interesting.

He had moved into the light cast by one of the wrought-iron veranda lamps, allowing her a good look at him for the first time. She had the feeling that had not been by accident. He wanted her to see him. She understood why. Even his choice of clothing was an act of misdirection.

She wondered if he actually believed that the black-framed glasses, the hand-tailored button-down shirt and the business-casual trousers that he wore were an effective disguise. The conservative cut of his very dark hair didn’t work, either.

Nothing could conceal the watchful intelligence in those dark eyes or hide the subtle aura of controlled power that emanated from him. He was all fierce edges and mysterious shadows. She would have bet the tiny amount of money left in her bank account that, like any proper iceberg, the really dangerous part of Jake Salter was hidden beneath the surface.

You didn’t have to be psychic to figure out that this was not a guy you wanted to encounter in a dark alley late at night. Not unless he was promising some very kinky sex.

The last realization made her catch her breath. Where had that come from? She was definitely not inclined toward kinky sex. Actually, she wasn’t really into sex of any kind. Sex meant letting go, becoming vulnerable and taking risks with someone you trusted. When you were a human lie detector, you had a lot of trust issues. When she did go to bed with a man, she made certain she was in control.

One of the great things about Greg Washburn was the fact that he had been quite content to let her take charge of the physical side of their relationship, just as he allowed her to control every other aspect of it. In fact, theirs had been a near-perfect engagement. She and Greg never argued about anything right up until the day he dumped her.

“You’re a little late,” Jake observed.

“My flight out of San Francisco was delayed,” she said.

“Clare.”

Clare jerked her attention away from Jake Salter and smiled at her half sister. “Hi, Liz.”

“I just saw Mom.” Elizabeth swept forward, her attractive face glowing with delight. “She told me you were here. I didn’t know you were coming down to Arizona tonight.” She threw her arms around Clare. “For heaven’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Sorry,” Clare said, hugging her. “I assumed you were aware I had been invited.”

“Dad probably wanted to surprise me. You know how he is.”

Not really, Clare thought, but she didn’t say it out loud. She had met the man who was her biological father for the first time a few months before. The circumstances had not been ideal. The truth was, she knew very little about Archer Glazebrook, aside from the fact that he was a legend in Arizona business circles.

“It’s so good to see you,” Elizabeth said.

Clare allowed herself to relax a little. With her sister, at least, she was on safe ground.

“You look terrific,” she said, glancing down at Elizabeth’s elegant white sheath. “Love the dress.”

“Thanks.” Elizabeth returned the survey. “You look—”

“Don’t say it. You know I’ll know you’re lying.”

Elizabeth laughed. “You look as if you’ve been traveling for half a day.”

“Now that’s the honest truth,” Clare said.

She smiled. It was so good to see her sister happy and cheerful. Eight months ago Elizabeth had been a woman in the middle of a nervous breakdown. The change was little short of miraculous. No doubt about it, widowhood had been good for her.

Elizabeth, like her mother, was a registered member of the Arcane Society. Myra was a level two on the Jones Scale, which meant that, generally speaking, she had slightly above-average intuition. If she had not descended from a long line of Arcane Society members and been tested, she would have gone through life oblivious to the psychic side of her nature, taking her flashes of insight for granted, the way so many people did.

Elizabeth, however, was a five with a strong sensitivity to color, visual balance, proportion and harmony. Her psychic abilities were one of the reasons she was so successful as an interior designer.

“There you are, Clare,” Archer Glazebrook roared from the open doorway. “What the hell took you so long?”

“My flight got delayed,” Clare said.

She kept her voice perfectly neutral, the way she always did when she was around the larger-than-life Archer Glazebrook. Since their initial meeting she had spent very little time with him. She was not yet sure what to make of him.

Archer could have been cast as the aging, hard-bitten gunslinger in an old-fashioned western film. He was sixty-one, with craggy, sun-weathered features and shrewd hazel eyes. Appearances were anything but deceiving in Archer’s case. He was born and raised on an Arizona ranch located close to the border and had spent most of his life in the Southwest.

Archer no longer rode the land. He bought and sold it, instead. And he developed it. He did all of that so successfully that he could buy and sell just about anyone in the state.

Eventually he would turn over his empire to his son, Matt, to run. But for now he was still in charge. Clare knew that this summer Matt, who was in his late twenties, was managing a Glazebrook job site in San Diego.

Clare had once asked her mother what she had seen in Archer Glazebrook that made her want to have a one-night stand with him. Power is an incredible aphrodisiac, Gwen Lancaster had said simply.

There was no doubt that Archer wielded power, not only through his business empire but also on the paranormal plane. In fact, one was linked to the other. He descended from a long line of Arcane Society members. His particular psychic ability allowed him to map strategies in unique ways. Many sensitives with similar talents wound up in the military or in politics. Archer had applied his psi-senses to the world of high-stakes deal making. The results had been spectacular.

At the sight of him tonight, flanked by two members of his legitimate family, Clare felt the old, familiar wistfulness well up inside her. She suppressed it with the same ruthless will that she used to control the psychic side of her nature. Just as she had since she first discovered that she had a father and that he did not know that she existed, she chanted her private mantra. Get over it. You’re not the only person in the world who was raised by a single parent. Worse things could happen to a kid and Lord knows they do, all the time.