“A backup generator takes over,” he replied. “It would be foolish to be without one in a place where the power supply is so unreliable.” He returned the poker to its stand. “Why aren’t you asleep, Lori? I thought you were exhausted.”
“Too much to think about,” I said, and decided on the spot to make use of the opportunity afforded me by the power failure. Damian was wide-awake, and he seemed to be in a sympathetic mood—why wait until morning to discuss Cassie’s theory with him? I motioned for him to take a seat before the fire. “Would you be willing to hang out with me for a while? I’ve got so much on my mind. It would help if I could talk it over with someone.”
“As you wish.” He closed the foyer door and sat on the edge of the armchair I’d indicated, his back ramrod straight, his face wooden, his eyes focused on the fire. The sympathetic moment had evidently passed.
I sat in the armchair facing his across the hearth and studied his profile. I was at a loss to explain his abrupt mood swing until an amusing suspicion began to take shape in a wicked corner of my mind. I’d invited him to stay with me, in the dead of night, in a firelit room, with my husband far, far away and a king-size bed close at hand. . . .
“Relax, Damian,” I said. “I’m not planning to seduce you.”
He jumped as if I’d stung him.
“I . . . I never thought you were,” he stammered.
“I expect it’s the sort of thing that happens to you all the time,” I observed conversationally. “You’re not bad-looking, and you’re nicely put together, and you’ve got an intriguing scar on your temple.You’re a strong, silent, manly man—women must throw themselves at you.”
“Could we please change the subject?” he asked tersely.
“I don’t blame them,” I continued, as if he hadn’t spoken, “but I want to assure you that I’m not throwing myself anywhere near you. Even if I were playing the field, which I’m not, you wouldn’t be in the running. The strong, silent type has never appealed to me. In my experience, still waters run stagnant. Not that you’re completely stagnant, but—”
“Lori!” he exclaimed, turning at last to face me. “You really are the most infuriating woman. If you don’t change the subject this instant, I’ll—”
“I was just trying to get you to look at me,” I interrupted, with an air of injured innocence. “I didn’t want to spend the night talking to your left nostril. But admit it, you were a little worried about my intentions, weren’t you?”
Damian sat stock-still, staring at me, until a slow, slightly exasperated smile crept across his face.
“Yes,” he said, “I was a little worried about your intentions.” He eased back into his chair with a sigh. “It’s an occupational hazard. Fear makes some people needy. All too often they expect me to provide them with a variety of comforts not included in the contract.”
“You could add a subclause,” I suggested.
“No I couldn’t,” he responded sternly. “Emotional entanglements endanger me as well as my clients. In order to do my job properly, I have to maintain a certain level of detachment. Apart from that, it would be unscrupulous to take advantage of a client’s temporary dependence on me.”
“You’re a man of principle,” I said, bestowing upon him one of my highest accolades.
“I’m a businessman,” he countered, deftly deflecting the compliment. “Sleeping with frightened clients is not only distasteful and dangerous, it’s bad for business. It opens the door to endless recriminations as well as potential legal difficulties. When the danger’s passed, when my clients have recovered themselves, they are invariably grateful to me for refusing their invitations and readily recommend me to others.”
“Have it your way,” I said, folding my arms, “but I still think you’re a decent guy.”
“And I think we’ve talked about me long enough.” Damian cleared his throat peremptorily. “What’s keeping you awake, Lori?”
“Peter and Cassie,” I replied, and leaned toward him on the overstuffed arm of my chair. “What do you make of their crazy story? Do you think Erinskil’s a haven for drug kingpins?”
“I think . . .” Damian turned his gaze to the fire. “I think something’s not right.”
“But you can’t put your finger on it,” I said in a sudden burst of recollection. “That’s what you told me after we had lunch with Percy, when I asked if anything was bothering you. You said something’s not right, but you couldn’t put your finger on what was wrong. But that was yesterday.” My eyebrows shot up. “Are you telling me you knew that the islanders were up to no good before we ever spoke with Peter and Cassie?”
“I knew that the islanders were up to something as soon as we landed on Cieran’s Chapel.” Damian’s head swiveled as the lights came back on. “Well done, Mrs. Gammidge.”