Late!

Claire slammed the door of her Volkswagen and dashed across the parking lot, juggling a purse, a briefcase, and a travel mug full of hot coffee. Her first Monday Meeting as an agent for Golden Gate Properties and she was late. Not the best way to make a favorable impression on her new colleagues. Not to mention the boss.

She pushed through big glass doors into the redwood-lined lobby of the office building and punched the elevator button. Fifteen seconds passed. Thirty. The door didn't open. Claire turned and ran up the stairs to the third and top floor.

Should have set two alarms, she thought as she arrived at the entrance to the conference room. Should have allowed more time to negotiate the miserable morning traffic. Should have skipped making coffee. Should have...

"...had this listing," said the cool voice of Tess McMillan, owner and head broker of Golden Gate Properties. "It's Claire's turn to get the next cold-call client. But since she's not here, the listing goes to the next in line. That's you, Avery."

"I'm here," Claire said as she rushed in the door. "I'm sorry I'm late." She wished she weren't out of breath and panting. The only vacant chair left was at the far end of the long oval table. So much for slipping inconspicuously into a seat.

Half a dozen pairs of eyes stared at her as she set her purse and briefcase on the floor, placed the mug on the table, and sat down at the empty place. Two men, four women. All were strangers except Tess, who had impressed upon Claire her expectation that good real estate agents did not spend their time hanging around the office; they were out showing properties. The Monday Meeting was the only time in the week that the whole staff got together.

Claire smiled at them, hoping to convey the message that she was calm and capable. Which she knew herself to be. Except for this morning, when it counted.

She glanced down and was dismayed to see that milky drops of coffee marred the glossy rosewood surface in front of her. Just to make her entrance perfect, the mug's lid had come loose, letting hot liquid dribble out. Trying to look as if she were merely getting settled into her seat, Claire rubbed her arm over the table, blotting up the spill with her sleeve. Thank goodness she'd worn a dark jacket.

Tess, standing at the head of the table, made a show of frowning as she looked at her watch. She was attired in a stylish pink suit, but her bearing suggested she envisioned herself wearing a military uniform.

"So what's your excuse?" said the youngest woman, a sleek blonde whose silky hair cascaded to her cleavage. "Alarm didn't go off? Car wouldn't start?"

The man sitting next to Claire gave her a sympathetic look. A good-looking guy, with warm brown eyes and thick black hair. Probably close to her own age, thirty-five. He offered her an out, saying, "I heard a car wreck had traffic dead-stopped on the freeway."

"I'm sorry," Claire repeated. "It won't happen again."

No way was she going to tell them about waking up hot and sweating in the middle of the night, images from the nightmare still tumbling through her mind. Or about lying awake for hours, staring into the darkness, afraid to close her eyes. Or about finally falling into a leaden slumber, so heavy and deep that when the alarm went off, she was hardly aware of reaching out and turning it off before the void of sleep reclaimed her.

The other man chuckled. "Bet you blew us off for something more fun, right, sweetheart?" He was heavyset and balding, and he gave Claire a wink. "A little M.Q.? Got a hot boyfriend?"

"M.Q.?" Claire said. Was this some real estate term she'd failed to learn?

The black-haired guy whispered an explanation: "Morning quickie. Ignore him."

Claire returned the lout's wink with the glare he deserved. Frankly, she would have much preferred to be tardy because of a sexual romp than another nightmare. But there was no boyfriend. Only Zach, and that was over. Any day now she would receive the papers that made their divorce final.

"Behave yourself, George," Tess snapped, and Claire was pleased to see the balding man slump down like a cowed puppy. "That's no way to greet our newest associate. Everybody, meet Claire Scanlan. Claire, this is everybody."

Tess rattled off a string of names so quickly that Claire didn't catch them, although she knew who most of these people were. She'd seen their pictures on open-house flyers and read their profiles on the company Web site. They greeted her with cheerful hellos and small waves of their hands. All but the blonde smiled, though the balding man's smile came attached to a leer.

"Now back to business," Tess said. She was a tall, slender woman with champagne-colored highlights in her artfully tousled hair. Claire guessed her to be in her early fifties, but her hairstylist, shopping consultant, and personal trainer kept her buffed and polished enough to look at least a decade younger. "Claire, as you arrived I was saying that I had a call from a prospective seller this morning. When listings come in from someone who doesn't ask for a specific agent, I assign them in rotation, and it's your turn. Here's the information."

Tess handed a sheet of paper to the middle-aged redhead next to her, who passed it to the blonde. There it stopped.

"Wow. Ocean view, architect designed, hot tub, private screening room. I so should get this one. Since she wasn't here on time."

"Claire is here now," Tess said, "and it's her turn. You'll get the next listing, Avery."

"No fair. You said you were giving it to me." Avery arranged her face into a pretty pout. Claire could see the young woman's gaze shift from one member of her audience to the next as she assessed everyone's reaction.

Tess drew herself up even taller. "I'm always fair."

The man with black hair slid the paper out of Avery's grasp. He let out a low whistle as he read it. "Hey, Claire, you might be better off to let Avery keep this one. It's the LeGrande house."

That created a sensation. Everyone was suddenly on high alert. Several hands reached out to grab the paper, and there was a babble of voices:

"You mean Stefan LeGrande, the architect?"

"Talk about a place that's jinxed."

"No joke. Good luck selling that one."

"No way I'd touch that listing."

"Isn't that where a whole family got murdered?"

"Give it back," Avery demanded as she snatched the paper again.

Claire felt her breath catch. She had to force the air out of her lungs. "Did you say murdered?"

Tess tapped a pencil against the table, as if she were wielding a gavel. "Oh, quit acting like school kids, all of you. Avery, Claire, we'll talk about this listing when the meeting's over. Now, let's move on. We had four open houses yesterday, and I want to hear how they went. Who'd like to start?"

Tess McMillan's office was designed to exude wealth, comfort and reassurance. Seeing her in this environment, sellers were eager to list their homes with Golden Gate, confident that Tess would get them top dollar. Buyers invested their dreams in her, believing that the homes they bought would let them prove, to themselves as well as to the rest of the world, they had achieved the pinnacle of success.

Claire understood the psychology behind the décor. The wealth part was obvious. Oriental rug, rosewood desk, works of art on walls and in niches--the room was full of beautiful objects and they all whispered money. The view of San Francisco Bay outside the window was perhaps the office's most expensive feature: a waterfront address in exclusive Marin County didn't come cheap.

It was the comfort part that was eluding Claire at the moment, as she and a scowling Avery Collier sat in twin leather chairs in front of the desk, facing their boss in her power seat on the other side.

"Claire was late," Avery pointed out to Tess for what must have been the twelfth time. "You already told me I could have this listing before she even got here."

The best tactic, Claire decided, was to be cooperative, keep the peace. Maybe that would make up for the faux pas of her late entrance. "Let Avery have it if she wants it. There will be other houses. I'm new, so maybe it's better if I wait and--"

"You're both new," Tess said. "You started last Tuesday, Avery the Tuesday before that."

"Oh," Claire said. "I didn't know that." She offered Avery a smile.

Avery swept her long blond hair behind her shoulders. "That still makes me senior to her."

"I lost two top agents a month ago. One moved back East and one had a baby." Tess pursed her rouged lips, expressing obvious distaste for both of those lifestyle options. "I figured I had two choices. One, I could replace them with experienced agents. Trouble is, experienced agents sometimes are tired and bored. They don't always have the kind of energy and enthusiasm we want here at Golden Gate Properties."

She glanced through the interior window that gave her a view of the large office "bullpen" where the agents had their desks. It occurred to Claire that Tess might be thinking of one person in particular. Maybe more than one.

"Two," Tess continued, "I could go with rookies. I decided there'd be an advantage to having novices who still find real estate fresh and exciting, who want a challenge, who are hungry and eager to make their mark. Your job is to prove me right."

"No problem," Avery said. "That's exactly what I intend to do."

Claire nodded. "Me too." She felt like she was losing ground here, although she wasn't sure what ground, or why.

"And I can do it with the LeGrande listing," Avery added.

"Frankly," Tess said to them, "I have serious doubts about accepting the listing at all."

"You can't turn it down. The place has to be worth three or four million." Avery didn't bother to filter the avarice out of her voice. "Think what the commission will be."

Tess tapped her perfect oval nails on her desktop. "It's a problem property. People may enjoy the thrills and chills of murder in books or on TV. But ask them to spend a few million bucks to make their home in a notorious crime scene, and watch how fast they back off."

"What happened there?" Claire asked. "Who was murdered?"

"You've never heard of the LeGrande case?" Avery looked shocked and delighted at Claire's ignorance. "A wacko drugged-out kid shot his family to death and then took his own life. About a year and a half ago. All the TV news shows covered it."

Tess nodded. "That's right. It got national coverage because the father was a famous architect."

Claire fingered the amethyst beads of her necklace. "I was living back East then. If the story made the news there, I missed it." Not that she'd been paying much attention to current events at the time. Zach's midlife crisis had led him to enroll in law school in Boston, and she'd been working long hours as a legal secretary to put him through. What she didn't discover until his graduation party was that her husband's quest to reinvent himself had also led him to a classmate's bed.

Well, Little Ms. Lawyer was welcome to the bastard. With luck, he'd make her life as miserable as he'd made Claire's.

Still, there were moments she missed him. A lot. Until law school turned him into a stranger, she had thought they were perfect together. Their interests had matched, and so had their dreams. He'd been kind, funny, supportive--her best friend. And never, until Zach, had she experienced such rapturous, delicious sex. She couldn't imagine having such intense pleasure with a man ever again.

Tears stung her eyes and she blinked hard to keep any from sliding down her cheeks. She didn't dare let Tess or, worse, Avery, think she might be crying.

She forced herself to tune back into what Tess was saying:

"Another drawback--the property is stale. It's been on the market for six months. Landry and Associates had the house on a three-month exclusive, and when it didn't sell, the listing went to Whitecap Realty. They couldn't move it either. I don't relish getting my distinguished rivals' leftovers."

"Why not?" Claire sat up straighter. "Let's grab the opportunity to show them how much better we are than either one of them."

Tess looked surprised. Then she smiled. "That's the right attitude."

"We could talk to the seller at least," Claire said. "And look at the house ourselves before we decide."

"We?" said Avery, blinking artfully shadowed eyelids.

"Excellent idea," Tess said. She scribbled something on a notepad, tore off the sheet and scribbled again on the one underneath. "It will be good experience for both of you. I was going to suggest tossing a coin for the listing. But having you both take a look is a better idea. The client can choose which of you he'd prefer to work with. Here's the address."

She handed one slip of paper to Claire and one to Avery. Like we're kids, Claire thought, so we won't squabble over who gets to hold the precious information.

"The seller's name is Ben Grant," Tess said. "His message said he'd be at the house until noon. I'll call his cell phone and tell him you two are on your way."

Chapter 3

The wind tugged stray tendrils of hair from Avery's hastily tied braid as she aimed her brother Kurt's Porsche 911 convertible around a switchback on Highway One. Thank God she had insisted that they take the Porsche to the LeGrande house. A sunny June day, vistas of green-and-gold hills with occasional glimpses of ocean, air scented with wild fennel and eucalyptus--the trip definitely called for a car like this. Sleek, black, and sporty. Totally awesome.

Claire had offered to drive, but when she led the way to a lime green lump of a Volkswagen in the parking lot, Avery balked. How could a top real estate agent impress clients in a car so uncool? As soon as she raked in a few fat commissions, Avery intended to buy a Porsche like Kurt's for her own.

The car whipped around the next curve.

"Whoa, slow down," Claire warned.

Avery risked taking her eyes from the twisting road long enough to glance at the woman in the passenger seat. Wisps of short dark hair flew around Claire's face. She looked concerned but not scared. Avery did her new colleague a favor and eased back on the gas pedal.

"Better?" she asked.

Claire smiled. "Much."