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baffled by his reaction.
You re not some kind of undercover cop, Clare. You can t just go marching in
and start asking blunt questions about a sensational murder.
She was starting to get irritated. It annoyed her that he did not immediately
appreciate the cleverness of her scheme.
Give me some credit here, she said. Until recently I ve made a pretty good
living detecting frauds and scam artists. I am not a complete amateur at this
kind of thing.
You may be good with scammers but you re a total amateur at investigating a
murder. I do not want you going to that spa alone.
Don t worry, I ll be careful, she said, striving to make her voice soothing.
What could possibly happen?
Let me think. Right, I remember now. The last time you went to a spa you
nearly got brained with an eight-pound dumbbell.
She shuddered. Okay, point taken. But the person wielding the dumbbell is
gone, so dumbbells shouldn t be a problem. Besides, no one at the Phoenix spa
knows me. I ve never been there before in my life.
You can t be sure you won t be recognized.
I booked my appointment under a phony name, she said, proud of that bit of
initiative. I m going to pay in cash. No one will see a credit card.
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I still don t like it, he said.
I appreciate your concern.
It s not concern you re hearing, he said. It s panic.
I m sure that expensive business consultants do not panic. Look, I just
wanted to let you know where I m going to be this afternoon in case I m late
getting back here. My appointment is at four o clock. I booked a fifty-minute
massage, so what with changing clothes and paying the bill, I should be out a
little after five. But it s a long drive so I might not return until close to
six.
Book an appointment for me, too, Jake said flatly. I m coming with you.
That s not necessary.
Book an appointment for me, too, Jake repeated. Or I ll do it myself.
Okay, okay, she said. What kind of treatment do you want? Massage? Steam?
I don t give a damn as long as you don t sign me up for anything that
involves wax.
Jake was still in a grim mood when he drove the BMW into the parking lot of
the Secret Springs Day Spa.
You know, Clare said, if you re going to get like this every time I make a
decision you don t approve of, we may have a problem with this partnership.
Relationship. He unsnapped his seat belt, got out and closed the door a
little too deliberately.
She scrambled out and looked at him over the roof of the car.
What is that supposed to mean? she demanded.
You called what we have a partnership. Sunlight sparked dangerously off the
black lenses of his sunglasses. It s a relationship.
Oh. She wasn t sure how to take that. Well, you know what I mean.
No, he said deliberately, I don t always know what you mean, especially
when you use a word like partnership. In my world partnership has serious
business connotations. Try another term. He paused a beat. Unless, of
course, you want to sign a written contract with me.
She blinked, feeling more than a little flummoxed. Then, out of nowhere,
laughter bubbled up inside her.
Something tells me I d be a fool to sign a contract with you, Jake. You re a
business consultant. I m sure that when it comes to wheeling and dealing
you re way out of my league.
His jaw tightened. His face was now a stony mask. So much for trying to coax
him out of a bad mood with a little humor, she thought. She hadn t had much
luck with Myra, either. Obviously she wasn t going down well as a stand-up
comedian today.
Then to her astonishment, the corner of Jake s mouth edged upward in a
humorless smile.
You can bet I d enforce every damn clause, he said.
He delivered the warning in soft, ice-and-lava tones that gave her the
exciting little-hair-stirring-on-the-nape-of-her-neck sensation. She could not
come up with an adequate response, so she decided to keep her mouth shut.
Jake opened one of the heavy glass doors, held it for her and then followed
her into the air-conditioned, artistically lit reception area.
She took off her sunglasses and surveyed the polished stone floors, the long,
gleaming granite desk and the two generically beautiful receptionists. One
male, one female.
The male receptionist smiled at her, showing perfect white teeth. May I help
you?
We re the Smiths, Clare said smoothly, moving toward the granite desk. We
have an appointment.
Smith? Jake muttered in a voice that did not reach beyond Clare s ear.
That s the best you could come up with?
She ignored him and came to a halt in front of the desk. Something about the
extraordinarily warm, welcoming smile the female receptionist was bestowing
upon Jake irritated her. The name on the little bronze and black tag pinned to
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the woman s obviously enhanced chest was Tiffany.
I have you right here, Mrs. Smith, the male receptionist said. His name tag
read Harris. You re booked for the Ritual of Renewal treatment, and Mr. Smith
will be enjoying the Ritual of Relaxation Massage. Harris paused briefly,
checking his computer screen. It says here that you requested a female
therapist, Mrs. Smith.
That s right, she said.
Tiffany brightened her smile for Jake. Do you have a preference, Mr. Smith?
Well Jake began.
Mr. Smith wants a masseur, Clare said quickly. She frowned at Tiffany. I
made that request when I booked the appointment today. I was told that a male
therapist would be available.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jake smile benignly. He was enjoying
this, she realized.
He looked at Tiffany. Whatever Mrs. Smith says.
Tiffany did a little eye-rolling, signaling her sympathy for his plight as a
henpecked husband. Clare gave serious consideration to climbing over the
granite counter and throttling her.
I ll have someone show you both to the dressing rooms, Harris said. You
will begin your rituals by changing into robes and slippers.
He pressed a button behind the counter. A few seconds later an attendant
appeared.
Please follow me, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, the attendant said.
Chapter Thirty-two
The therapist s name was Anya. She was built like a Viking goddess. Her
English was accented with traces of a language that had its roots in a country
that had once taken directions from Moscow. She was very powerful.
Easy, Clare gasped, sucking in her breath as the woman leaned into her work.
Not so hard, please.
Perhaps madam is not accustomed to exfoliating treatments. Anya stroked
heavily down Clare s right leg. It is necessary to use force if one wishes to
obtain the greatest benefit.
I think you may be removing an entire layer of my skin.
That is the whole point, madam.
It feels like you re scrubbing me with sandpaper.
When I am finished, you will feel like a new woman, Anya promised. Your
skin will glow.
In the dark?
Hah, hah. Madam has a sense of humor.
Anya went to work on Clare s other leg, lathering on the salt rub mixture
before massaging it heavily into the skin. Clare gritted her teeth and tried
to focus on the reason she was subjecting herself to the torture.
Have you, uh, been at this spa long, Anya?
Five years, madam. Anya s voice rang with pride. She scraped the salt
concoction off the back of Clare s calf. I was among the first therapists
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