CHAPTER 1
Present day Manhattan
It all started with the tarot cards.
And then the dreams of burning.
And of course the cat.
But at two o’clock on that Halloween afternoon, those things were still in the future.
Jillian sat at her desk at Llewellyn Enterprises, tapping a pencil on the wood as she stared at her new design. She’d set out to create a contemporary cross, with clean, sleek lines, to be available in yellow and white gold, and platinum. Every year since she’d finished college and joined the company full-time, she’d done a special Christmas design, available in a very limited quantity. By tradition, the invitation to purchase went out November fifth, all orders had to be received by the twentieth, and the pieces were delivered by special courier one month later. She loved designing jewelry. There was something so permanent about it. Pieces could be handed down through generations. A beautiful piece could be timeless—or speak volumes about the decade of its creation.
This piece, however, wasn’t saying what she had intended at all. It wasn’t that she disliked the design—on the contrary, it was coming along beautifully. She simply hadn’t envisioned it quite this way.
“Wow, that is pretty. I guess you’re worth your paycheck.” The voice, masculine and amused and coming from over her shoulder, was so startling that she nearly bolted out of her chair. The speaker was her cousin, Griff, handsome and too charming at thirty. Tall and well built, with sandy hair and hazel eyes, he wore Armani with runway perfection.
She hadn’t seen him enter her office. She had been so intent on the drawing that she’d been oblivious to everything else.
“Thanks.”
Griff stretched out playfully on her teak desk—à la 1930s Hollywood movie. “Excellent, sweetie. Excellent. It speaks ‘new millennium’ loudly. Unfortunately, it appears that the new millennium you’re planning on promoting is man’s movement into the 1000s—Celtic-looking thing, isn’t it?”
“Hmm,” she murmured.
He traced the pattern she had drawn, grinning away. “Oooh, the old boy is going to go ballistic over this one,” he said flippantly, referring to Douglas Alexander Llewellyn, her grandfather, his great-uncle, and CEO of Llewellyn Enterprises. “Could his angel have failed this time? He does think you’re an angel, you know. He’s unaware that you’re half angel, half fire-breathing dragon.”
“He realizes it completely. He’s just very fond of dragons. And, Griff, get your body off my desk. I have work to do, and I don’t need your scrawny self getting in my way.”
“How dare you?” he asked, in a tone of genuine indignation. “My body isn’t scrawny. It’s practically perfect—in every way. In fact, it’s too bad we’re cousins and that we’d have horrible, two-headed-monster offspring, or I’d let you see just how perfect.”
Jillian wrinkled her nose and sat back, looking at him. “Thank God that the possibility of two-headed children is going to spare me. I shudder to think of it. You’re just going to have to share all that perfection with someone else.”
“Actually, we’re only second cousins. Maybe the kids would only be pathetically cross-eyed. Come to think of it…” he mused, “did you know that William of Orange married his first cousin, Mary Stuart, and they ruled together as William and Mary?”
“And they left no heirs,” she reminded him pleasantly.
“Half the royalty of Europe was closely related. Everyone out there was a descendant of Queen Victoria.”
“And half the royalty of Europe was—and is—very strange,” she said. “Griff—”
“C’mon, the old boy is kind of like a king, and he’d be so happy to think he was leaving his little kingdom to those of his own blood, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think, and I’m thanking God at this moment that surely you’re not serious,” she said, shaking her head.
“You’re just refusing to see the possibilities.”
“Griff, was there a point to this visit?” she asked pointedly, glancing at her watch. Griff liked to torture her—good-naturedly, of course, or so he claimed, as did the rest of her family members who were part of Llewellyn Enterprises—Daniel, Theo and Eileen. Jillian knew that she tended to be her grandfather’s fair-haired child, despite the fact that she hadn’t risen to the head of the family class on purpose, nor was she calling the shots at the company now. But she had grown up with her grandfather, she knew him best—and loved him best. Jewelry design was her favorite part of the work, while Theo was a crack marketer, and Eileen’s expertise was public relations.
Daniel was the one with his hands on the reins, though—right behind her grandfather’s. He knew the business, every aspect of it, and with the scope of their various concerns, she was glad. Perhaps her grandfather could control everything, but he was the only man who could. People tended to think of the company as one giant prize. It wasn’t. It was a giant jumble of various enterprises, and it took a variety of talents to keep it in its current excellent shape.
Griff always told her that his expertise was looking good and pretending to be busy, whether he was or wasn’t. And, of course, being charming. He had a point. She couldn’t help but like Griff herself.
Eileen was her first cousin, an only child like herself. The boys were the grandsons of her grandfather’s brother, who had perished in the ever precious “Old Country.” Douglas had outlived not only his brother, but also his two sons and his nephew, the boys’ father, Steven. Jillian often thought of how it must have pained him to lose so many people he had loved so much. But he never faltered; he went on, giving his devotion to the remaining Llewellyns. No one had been forced into the business; they had come because of the same fierce sense of family pride and loyalty.
“You know,” Griff said, wagging a finger at her, “you could do a lot worse. I am handsome, witty, urbane and charming.”
“Of course I could do worse. But you’re my cousin. So, Griff—”
“Don’t you remember playing naked together on those fur rugs when we were babies?”
“Griff, we never played naked together on any fur rugs.”
“I guess not. If we had, you would have remembered.”
She groaned and laid her head on the desk. “Griff, what’s your problem? You’re cute, you’re—”
“Cute? I want to be sexy and devastating.”
“Okay, you’re sexy and devastating.”
“That’s better.”
“And I’m really trying to finish up and get out of here today.”
“I’m really here on an errand of mercy.”
“Oh?” she queried carefully.
“It’s Halloween. I didn’t want you going home alone. You know, poor little rich girl, all alone in the family mansion. That big old place where none of the rest of us are invited to live.”
She leaned back, grinning. “You are such a pathetic liar.”
“Well, in a way, but not really. I don’t want to live in the family mansion. I like my privacy. And believe it or not, the family fortune isn’t my bag, though I do like to live with a certain style.”
“Griff, I have no fear of you ever changing.”
He grinned. “I’m worthless, totally. And happy. And smart enough to be grateful.”
“You pretend to be worthless, but you know you’re not. Anyway, I need to get out of here.”
“So you can sit by the fire like a little old lady and hand out candy to the kiddies? No. Ever since Milo died, you don’t do anything or go anywhere. It’s time for you to start doing things again. You’re not a mole. Not to mention, you’re far too young and…yes, good-looking. Why, Jillian, some people might even call you beautiful. Thanks to good family genes, of course. And right now all that beauty is just being wasted. You need to get out again.”
She felt a rush of air escape her. It was odd how life went on, but that, at strange moments, grief would come sailing back and, like a blanket, wrap itself around her. She had known what she was doing when she got married. She had always known she would lose Milo.
And she knew that Griff really was here to help her.
So she smiled. “For your information, I am going out.”
“A date?” he queried.
“Maybe.”
“With Robert Marston?” he asked carefully.
“Robert Marston?” she repeated impatiently.
Robert Marston had just started working for the company. He wore Armani just as well as Griff did, but he came with sharp, very dark eyes and, in Jillian’s opinion, a sharper—possibly darker—mind. He was handsome, intelligent, deep-voiced and very articulate. He had gone to school with Theo, and spent the past five years with one of the fastest-growing computer companies in the world. He was the type of man who walked into a room and drew attention. By his physical nature he seemed to exude authority.
She had felt wary of him from the moment she had first seen him—and that had actually been from quite a distance. She didn’t even know the color of those dark eyes of his. There had been far too many rumors flying about for her to willingly meet the man her grandfather had brought into the business.
Was he stepping on her cousins’ toes? Or were her cousins in agreement with the situation, content for Marston to be the one with the power? Somehow, she doubted it.
“Why on earth would you assume I’m going out with him?” she asked too sharply. She had wanted to convey courteous impatience. She was afraid that her tone had given away concern.
His grin told her that he had, indeed, heard far more than impatience in her voice. “Well, are you going out with him?”
“No, I haven’t even met him yet. I saw him across a room. And I don’t believe in going out with business associates.”
“So?”
“I’m going out with Connie.”
“With Connie?” he repeated. Was that relief she heard in his voice? Connie had been one of her best friends forever, way back to grade school. Connie was also her administrative assistant. And since it was such a family enterprise, Connie’s husband, Joe, also worked for the company. He was on Daniel’s staff.
“Yes, Connie and I are going out. As we do every Halloween,” she reminded him.
He dropped his teasing manner for a moment and looked at her seriously. “You’re really going to go—”
“Christmas shopping, yes.”
“As everyone does on Halloween,” he responded with a fine line of sarcasm.
“It’s a personal tradition,” she said with feigned indignation. It was a strange tradition, she knew, and it had started when they were little kids who went trick-or-treating together. Now Connie had two daughters, a dog, a cat, a bird and in-laws coming out the kazoo, so she traditionally started her Christmas shopping on October thirty-first, convinced that the best Christmas sales came on Halloween, when everyone was doing last-minute scrambling for a costume. They had a great time shopping, then going trick-or-treating with the girls, and then, usually, just spending the evening together checking out the acquired candy.
“All right,” Griff said. “Just so long as you’re really going out.”
“I really am.”
“Not to baby-sit or hand out candy.”
“No.” Her voice was steady. She wasn’t baby-sitting, and she wasn’t handing out candy.
“And you’re really going to have a good time.”
“Really.”
“Because if you came with me, I’d show you a good time, you know.”
“I’m sure you would.”
He slid off her desk at last, brushing her cheek with his fingertips. “I’d show you off to all my friends. You are gorgeous, you know.”
She caught his hand and squeezed it. “Thanks, Griff.”
“Oh, by the way, Daniel asked to see you. His office.”
“When?”
Griff looked at his watch. “Hmm…a while ago, I guess.”
“Griff, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.” He placed his hands on her desk and leaned toward her again. “Why don’t you defy him? Just go home!”
“Because it might be important,” she said impatiently. She stood and walked past him.
“Hey, Jillian?”
She turned back.
“Happy Halloween. And merry Christmas shopping.”
* * *
Eileen Llewellyn paced in front of the storyboards set up in her office, looking at the newest sketches for the catalog campaign. Of medium height, with coal-dark hair that was expertly styled to flatter her heart-shaped face, she was elegant, efficient and a picture of total sophistication. She liked business suits with tailored jackets, short skirts and high heels. She walked with an aura of confidence and authority. One look from her cool blue eyes could silence a room. She had been born to soar in the business world.
But at the moment she was agitated. She groped for the pack of cigarettes on her desk, slipped one out without looking and lit it, grateful in the back of her mind that the company owned the building and she could smoke in her own office whenever she damn well pleased. Exhaling a cloud of smoke eased her aggravation slightly, but still, she continued to stare at one storyboard, in particular. It showed a woman in an off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved, dramatic gown with a flowing skirt; it somehow had the look of something from another time, another world. The woman was draped across an iron chair near a fireplace, and a man was bending down before her, his fingers brushing the bare flesh of her throat while he set a locket around her neck. It was a wonderful sketch. Striking. Seldom could one piece of art speak so clearly, especially in the commercial world. The artist was to be highly commended. It conveyed everything it should. The timelessness of a gift of fine jewelry. The pure romance of such a gift. The class, refinement…more. It was wonderful. What she could do with this one sketch alone…
But, damn, it was irritating.
There was a tapping on her door.
“I’m busy,” she called out sharply.
The door opened, anyway.
Theo walked in. He was a tall man, imposing in stature. Though barely thirty, he had already acquired a few gray strands in his dark hair. They gave an impression of wisdom and authority. He knew how to use his physical presence well, but he didn’t intimidate her. She glanced at him over her shoulder, irritation evident in her eyes.
“Theo, I said—”
“Yeah, I can see you’re busy, puffing away.”
“What do you want?”
“It’s great, isn’t it? I want to use it for more than just the catalog. I want to pull some of the ads we’ve already got for December and rush this in, instead.”
She flashed him a frown. “Theo, it’s way too late to go changing the Christmas ads! December magazines are already on their way out.”
“I was thinking newspapers. And maybe a television campaign, after Christmas.”
“Television? It’s a sketch!”
Theo was silent for a moment, arms folded over his chest, eyes on hers. He smiled slowly. “We both know the real thing isn’t a sketch.”
No, the real thing wasn’t a sketch. It was Jillian. A perfect likeness. The woman was tall, elegantly slim, but shapely, as well. The hair was long and a beautiful reddish blond. The eyes were deep green, like expensive emeralds. It was Jillian.
And she had been drawn with love. Or at least with pure infatuation.
“Eileen?” Theo said.
She let out a sigh of impatience, stubbing out her cigarette. “Jillian is a designer. Yes, she’s good-looking, Theo, really good-looking, but she isn’t an actress.”
“She could carry this off, and we both know it.”
“Brad Casey in art must have a hell of a crush on her. Besides, who knows if she’d even be willing.”
“Brad Casey saw something and used it in this drawing. As to Jillian being willing? Our Jillian? She is Llewellyn Enterprises. She lives and breathes the company.”
“Careful. She gets angry when you say that,” Eileen warned.
He arched a brow. “Hmm. I’m just a hard-working second cousin—you’re a direct descendant of the old boy, just like our Jillian.”
“Well,” she said sweetly, leaning back against her desk to light another cigarette and survey him with cool blue eyes, “Grandfather doesn’t seem to care about that, does he. No one compares with Jillian, but you’re right up there, aren’t you, Theo?”
“Eileen, it sounds as if we need to supply your office with a scratching post.”
“Would you stop, Theo? I didn’t start this. Look—”
“Eileen, you know I’m right, you know this is brilliant. Pure accident, and yes, that poor sod Brad Casey probably does have a crush on Jillian. But it’s perfect.”
A hard rap on the door interrupted them. Griff swept in, bearing a silver tray with a tea serving and Halloween cookies. He slid the tray onto Eileen’s desk and looked at the sketches.
“Wow! Our golden girl is a beauty, isn’t she? I mean, for real. No wonder the old boy dotes on her.”
“Griff, some of us want to get out of here today,” Eileen said, walking around behind her desk.
“Television spots would be perfect,” Griff told Theo. “I heard you through the door,” he said in response to Theo’s quizzical look.
“Thanks for the input,” Theo said briefly. “What’s with the cookies?”
“The old boy sent them out to all of us—his idea of trick-or-treat, I guess,” Griff said. “I gallantly swept them from the hands of the young office assistant about to hear you two airing the family laundry.”
“We weren’t airing the family laundry,” Eileen said impatiently.
“Think Jillian will be willing?” Theo asked Griff.
“We can persuade her.”
“I want to move on this before Marston gets any more involved.”
“Endear Jillian to us before Marston gets his hands on her, huh?” Griff teased.
“What are you talking about?” Theo asked impatiently.
“He’s brilliant, right? And the old boy has pulled him in above all of us.”
Theo turned away, studying the sketches again. “Don’t be ridiculous. I suggested Marston. I went to school with him.”
“He’ll be just like Big Brother—watching,” Griff said.
“This is a company, not a kingdom,” Theo said impatiently.
But Eileen was studying Griff thoughtfully. “Douglas Llewellyn is all about family. Marston is nothing, really, not without—” Eileen said.
“Jillian,” Griff said. “Ah, but then…”
“What?” Eileen asked.
“There’s you, of course. Another direct descendant. You could slip in and cut her out of the running, keep an eye on him.”
“Griff, you’re ridiculous. I’ve been engaged for—”
“Oh, yeah. You and Gary Brennan have been engaged for what—five years? You won’t give the poor fellow a wedding date. He might want you to go by Mrs. Brennan. Horrors,” Griff said with a shudder. “Would you give up the family name, Eileen? Even for love?”
“Many businesswomen keep their maiden names, Griff,” Eileen said icily. “I adore Gary—we just haven’t had time to plan a wedding.”
“No time in five years. Imagine that,” Griff said with mock solemnity.
“I told you—I adore him,” Eileen said sharply.
“I’m sure you do. But you’d throw the poor boy to the sharks in two seconds if he were any threat to your position at Llewellyn Enterprises,” Griff teased.
“There is no threat to me—I actually work,” Eileen snapped back, eyes narrowed.
“Touché,” Griff told her.
Theo let out an impatient sound. “I hope to God we’re not being overheard. We sound exactly like a pack of squabbling children, and we’re supposed to be running a major company. We all work here, and we work hard.” His eyes fell on his brother, and he shrugged. “All right, most of us work hard. But to suggest that there was an underlying reason for bringing in Marston, to even think that anything should go on is…”
“Is what?” Griff demanded
“Sick,” Theo announced. “And the old boy is in perfect health. To begin to imagine that anything is going on is—”
“Theo,” Griff interrupted, “your lack of curiosity is positively boring. Don’t you think it’s just a little bit strange? I mean, we’ve been dividing the executive duties here since we got out of college.”
“You’ve had executive duties, Griff?” Eileen asked.
“You’re not being very nice,” Griff said.
“I am nice,” she snapped back, a trace of hurt in her tone. Griff heard it, she knew. He always saw the smallest sign of weakness in those around him. “I am nice. I’m simply efficient. When people are ‘artistic,’ they don’t have to be quite so efficient.”
Theo came around behind her, speaking softy. “Artistic? Like cousin Jillian?”
“Theo, I love Jillian dearly. We have a bond. Just like you boys have the bond of brotherhood.”
“We’re all Llewellyns,” Theo said flatly.
“And you’re just as nice as can be,” Griff told Eileen, grinning.
“God himself is going to come down and slap you right across your silly face one day,” Eileen told him.
“Did I just say she’s nice?” Griff asked Theo.
“Griff, some of us do have work to do.”
“I know. That’s the point. I’m getting scared. I may have to actually start working around here, now that Marston has suddenly been called in. The old man has been watching Jillian grieve all this time. She’s been widowed a year now,” Griff said. He looked at the other two. “Almost a year. The traditional mourning time is coming to an end.”
“The old man has figured out that there’s more work than all of us can handle, and he’s brought in a crack management and numbers man who happens to be an old school friend of mine. That’s all there is to it. And I’ve got things to do,” Theo said impatiently. “Eileen, this image here is the one I want to go with. When I meet with our major accounts, I’ll be letting them know that a Llewellyn will actually be displaying our jewelry in our next ad campaign. Get busy with it. See what kind of guest shots we can get on the talk circuit. You can use the family name when you’re trying to land guest spots on radio or television. It may be a bit crass to try to cash in on our good works, but God knows, we give enough to charity at Christmas.”
“We like to get our tax breaks in before New Year’s,” Griff muttered.
“If we didn’t make a fortune, we wouldn’t be able to give away big bucks,” Theo snapped. “Get on with it, both of you.”
He walked out of the room.
Griff grinned at Eileen. “Get on with it, huh?”
“Get out of here, Griff.”
He left, and Eileen sat down, drumming her beautifully manicured nails on her desk. How dare they accuse her of jealousy? She loved Jillian, who was the closest thing to a sister she had. She made a face and mimicked Theo’s tone. “Get on with it. I’m not a servant, Theo. Get on with it?”
She was silent for a minute, then she said softly, “Oh, I’ll be getting on with it, all right.”
She picked up a cookie with pumpkin-orange icing and little black chocolate-drop eyes. She took a bite—a savage bite—glad she made the cute little cookie snap.
Then she set the cookie down, stared at the tea service.
“Oh, yeah. I’ll get on with it, all right.”
* * *
Jillian swept past Daniel’s secretary with a quick smile and knocked on his door.
“Yes?” he said sharply from behind the wood.
“It’s Jillian.”
“Get in here.”
She froze for a moment, disturbed by his tone. Then she gritted her teeth and walked in, closing the door behind her. He was behind his desk, writing, and he didn’t look up. She stood before his desk, feeling like an errant school child. Then she grew angry and impatient.
“Daniel, you asked to see me,” she reminded him.
He looked up at last, staring at her as he recapped his pen. “Yes, quite some time ago,” he told her.
Like his brothers, Daniel was an attractive man. He liked clothing and appearances, and dressed well. His eyes were a deep brown, a true deep brown that could appear black. His gaze was always fathomless. Many times, when she’d been young, Daniel had been her protector. Ten years her senior, he had often taken her to and from school. In those days, he had been like a big wolf between her and any danger—be it real or imagined. She had loved him deeply; he had been her favorite relative.
But that had been a long time ago.
In the past several years, with her grandfather handing out more and more responsibility, things had changed.
Daniel had held the reins of power for a long time.
The fact that she was a direct descendant seemed to be raising a barrier between them—though he didn’t seem to show the same reserve to Eileen. Maybe it was all in Jillian’s mind. And maybe she had been so involved with the details of her work—and the death of her husband—that she had built her own walls between them.
“Sorry,” she said briefly. She decided not to mention the fact that Griff had forgotten to tell her that she was supposed to come here. “Really.”
“I thought you were trying to get out of here today?”
“I am. But I gave Connie the day off—” She broke off at his frown. “Daniel, she never misses work. She had some things to finish for the kids.”
“And the two of you are off together this afternoon. I’m not so sure it’s a good thing to have your best friend as your assistant,” he told her.
“Daniel, we don’t miss a beat as far as work is concerned. You know that. Joe works for you, and he’s a great employee.”
“Sit down,” he told her, indicating one of the chairs in front of his desk.
She sighed and did so. He heard her sigh, and looked at her sharply. “Daniel, no one puts more time into this company than I do,” she reminded him.
“Oh, I agree,” he murmured. “It’s as if you’re married to it.”
There was a note of bitterness in his tone. Did he think she was trying to make herself the indispensable one?
“Daniel—”
“Never mind,” he said curtly. He thrust his copy of her design for the new cross toward her. “What is this?”
She inhaled, staring at him. “A cross.”
“Yes. It’s supposed to be a contemporary design, Jillian. Sharp, hot, contemporary. A look to the future.”
“Yes,” she said, and faltered. “I know.”
“So?”
“I don’t know what happened. But—”
“It’s a great design. Beautiful. But not contemporary.”
He was right. Definitely right. They’d all been in the meeting, and it had been Douglas Llewellyn himself who had stressed the need to look to the new millennium.
She seldom failed, but she had failed this time. Her voice wavered as she told him, “Well, we can use this in the general line, and I’ll just start over.”
“No.”
“No?”
“We don’t have time, and this…it’s not what we planned, but we can go in another direction. You know. Something like, ‘As we enter the first decade of a new millennium, we welcome the new—and cherish the beauty of our past.’ I’m not sure if that’s quite right, but something like it. I haven’t talked with the old boy yet, but I’m sure he’ll go with it.” He was quiet for a minute. “Especially since it’s you who designed the cross.”
“Daniel—”
“I just wanted to let you know that we would go with it,” he said, interrupting her. “I’m sure you were aware yourself that it doesn’t fit the original concept.”
“Of course.”
He lifted his hands in dismissal. She met his eyes, feeling that she needed to apologize for something. She hadn’t done anything, she reminded herself. The design was different from what they had planned, but…
It was also very good.
“Daniel—” She broke off.
His secretary had tapped on the door and now hesitantly stuck her head in. She was a capable young woman, but to Jillian, Gracie Janner had always given the impression of being a doe caught in the headlights of an eighteen-wheeler. She had frizzy dirty-blond hair that seemed like a puffy halo around her head, and huge hazel eyes. Jillian was as nice and soft-spoken as she could be to the woman, but Gracie always seemed to be on edge. Nervous.
Afraid.
“Cookies and tea, Mr. Llewellyn,” Gracie said. “Jillian, I believe your tray has been sent to your office, but I can run down and get it—oh, my God, I called you Jillian. I should have called you Miss Llewellyn. Or are you still going by your married name? Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Jillian is just fine, Gracie. I’ve told you, please, my first name is just fine.”
“Cookies and tea?” Daniel said impatiently. “You brought me cookies and tea?”
“From the Great Pumpkin above,” Gracie said, trying to joke. She was as slim as a saluki, and appeared frazzled. Joking wasn’t her forte. Maybe she was perfect for Daniel. He didn’t seem to know how to joke anymore, either.
“Thanks, Gracie, but we’re finished here. I’ll just run back to my own office,” Jillian said. “Happy Halloween to you both,” she murmured as she got up and moved toward the door.
“Um, happy Halloween,” Daniel said. Then, to her surprise, he called her back.
She paused in his doorway.
His voice was slightly gruff when he spoke again. “Go out and have a great night. And remember, it’s only Halloween. You and Connie leave some Christmas stuff out there for the rest of humanity, hmm?”
“Will do,” she promised. Her voice was light. But tight, as well.
She was sorry about whatever it was that lay so strongly wedged between the two of them, but for the moment, there was nothing she could do about it.
She had been dismissed.
She hurried back into her own office.
Her tray of cookies and tea had been left on her desk. With a few things to clear up, she poured herself tea. She usually liked milk in her tea, but it had gotten cold, so she just shrugged and sipped it black as she started clearing her desk. She picked up one of the cookies, then put it back down, drawn again to her design for this year’s Christmas cross.
What had possessed her?
The design was beautiful. Intricate, delicate. One of the best things she had ever done. But contemporary? Definitely not.
She picked up the cookie again, studying the cross. She leaned low, looking at her own work. It really was so Celtic.
She set the cookie down again. “Am I unintentionally…stealing?” she murmured aloud. “Did I take that off a gravestone in Ireland or a picture somewhere or—?”
She heard the tinkling of a small bell. Jeeves, a big black alley cat who had one day made his way inside and become a company pet, suddenly leapt up on her desk.
She absently stroked his back. “Am I a cheater, Jeeves?” she murmured. “Can’t be.” She shook her head and threw the design into her upper right-hand drawer. Once again she stroked the cat, then poured him a saucer of the milk intended for her tea.
“Drink up, buddy. Have some cookies, too.”
The cat let out a mournful cry, looking at her with huge golden eyes.
She smiled. “Excuse me, you’re a cat, not a dog. Lap up that milk.”
The cat did so, needing no more invitation. Jillian stroked the animal one last time, making a mental note to leave her office door open.
The litter box was down the hall in Griff’s office. Her cousin did, after all, have his responsibilities. Cat food, water—and the litter box.
It had been his idea to keep the cat and feed it. Studies had shown that pets were good for people, lowering blood pressure, making them calmer, more friendly. Eileen had pointed out that cat hair also made many people sneeze.
The cat had stayed. Luckily, no one in the office had been allergic.
“It’s all yours, Jeeves,” she said cheerfully.
She was leaving. She glanced at her watch one more time. Taxi or subway? She was due to meet Connie in fifteen minutes.
Feet. She wasn’t that far from the coffee shop where they had planned to get together. She would just walk fast. That would be her best bet.
“’Night, Jeeves,” she told the cat. Happy Halloween. Trick or treat.
She grabbed her coat and her handbag, and exited her office.
The cat, heedless of the comings and goings of mortals, gave no note. It greedily drank up the milk.
Suddenly the animal’s body went rigid, then convulsed.
It collapsed by the tea tray.
The body twitched once. Twice.
And then it was still.
Dead still.