Bad Influence Read online

  It wasn’t true what Delaney said about her being afraid to live. She lived. She’d just been raised in a more measured life. The habits of thirty years didn’t get thrown off overnight—particularly when there was nothing wrong with them. Perhaps she’d never chased the wild bolt from the blue, but that was because she’d seen firsthand the kind of peace and happiness that came from mutual respect, shared goals, trust. So what if it didn’t work for Delaney? It had been something solid and wonderful for Paige’s grandparents and even her parents. And Paige believed it was out there for her.

  She liked order, predictability. If she preferred guys like Rich Patterson to the Frito Bandito out in the lobby, it was because they were doing something with their lives. They were attempting to make a difference in the world. If she’d yet to find true love among the dry discussions, someone who made her pulse beat faster, that was her business, right?

  And if somewhere deep down she wondered if she was going to be sorry at the end of her life that she’d lived so quietly, that was her business, too.

  The time dragged by, with the orderlies bustling in to take her grandfather off for tests and then return, and the doctor coming back to put on the cast. When she saw the hot-pink roll of fiberglass in his hand, she stopped him. “Not that. He’d much rather have the clear kind, trust me.”

  “Sorry. We’ve kind of had a run on casting material. Central Services hasn’t had a chance to restock.”

  “Not even blue or green?” Though those would scarcely be the choice of her understated grandfather.

  “How about pink or pink? I wish we had something else to offer, but we don’t right now. He picked a bad day to break something. He can put a sock over it, though.”

  “Oh, trust me, he will,” she said.

  Lyndon’s eyes fluttered but didn’t open, so Paige gave in.

  And the doctor left and the waiting went on. Paige looked at her watch and yawned.

  A nurse appeared. “We’ve got the results of the CT scan,” she said briskly.

  “What are they?” Paige asked.

  “Good news, just like we expected. The doc says he’s healthy as a horse, outside of being banged up. Everything came out negative.”

  Relief had her feeling weak. For all that she’d been sure he hadn’t been seriously hurt, there had been that tiny bit of doubt nibbling at her. Now finally she could relax. “That’s great. So what happens now? Can I get him home?”

  “We’re going to keep him overnight to monitor the chest pain. You can come get him in the morning.”

  Lyndon opened his eyes and blinked sleepily at Paige. “I’m sorry about all the trouble,” he mumbled.

  “Hush, Granddad.” She squeezed his hand. “It’s no trouble. I’m just sorry you’re hurt.”

  “We’ll get him all fixed up,” the nurse soothed. “A nice snooze tonight and he’ll be raring to go tomorrow.” She turned to Paige. “We’ll need you to go out in the lobby and do the admitting paperwork. We’ve got his wallet and clothing set aside. You can come pick him up tomorrow morning about eleven.”

  Paige leaned over to press a kiss on her grandfather’s forehead. “Take care,” she said softly. “I’ll be back for you tomorrow.”

  “’Bye, sweetie,” he mumbled. “You have the key to the house, right?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Sleep well.”

  His eyes drifted closed and she walked away.

  Pushing open the door to the lobby, she gave a jaw-creaking yawn. Her grandfather wasn’t the only one who was nodding off. Maybe it was the worrying or the drive, but despite the fact that it wasn’t even ten yet, she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was get to her grandfather’s house and tumble into bed.

  It wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, though, she saw with a sinking heart. There was a line of people waiting for processing. A long line. Clearly getting through the emergency room required a Zenlike sense of calm and more endurance than she was entirely sure she possessed. She gave her name and went out to the seating area.

  The families of the kids were gone, probably upstairs in the surgery unit, waiting for word. The Frito Bandito was there, though, in practically the same position as when she’d left, an open magazine in his hands. He glanced up, dark-eyed, as Paige walked toward the chairs. One black brow rose. “Still here?”

  “Still here.” She sat with a sigh, wondering if the chairs were really as uncomfortable as they seemed or whether all chairs just felt that way after so many hours.

  “I figure it’s medical research,” he said. “They’re trying to see how long they can keep us waiting around before we go nuts.” He grinned and she felt the flip in her stomach. She blinked. Dangerous, this one. When she’d first seen him, he’d merely looked disreputable. Now she saw the hollow cheeks, the dark eyes, the careless confidence that set something in her blood to simmering.

  The bandito set his magazine aside with a thump of finality and rose to walk to the rack on the wall. He flipped through the various issues for a while, and she indulged herself by studying him. Just because she didn’t want to touch didn’t mean she couldn’t look. And he was something to look at, in a rough-edged kind of way. Long and lanky, stripped down to nothing but muscle. Lean, not brawny, a man who looked as though he could handle himself in a street fight. Not the kind of guy you’d take home to the parents, maybe, but something about the way he looked standing there was enough to make her consider revising her policies on one-night stands and unstable men.

  He turned from the magazine rack before she realized his intent. Caught looking, she realized with a flush. His teeth gleamed and she felt the flutter again in her stomach. Definitely dangerous. No romance, no sweetness, just pure, hot sex. He wasn’t a guy who’d bring you flowers or hot soup in bed when you were sick, but he looked like the kind who could make you come so hard you forgot your own name. He was the sort Delaney would go for in a heartbeat.

  He wasn’t Paige’s type at all.

  He hadn’t grabbed a magazine from the rack—maybe because the content ran more to Women’s Day than Chopper Monthly. That didn’t discourage him from checking out the glossies stacked on the tables. He prowled the room like a big cat, restless, powerful and just a bit threatening. Finally he grabbed a magazine and dropped down into a chair.

  Two seats away from her.

  Paige swallowed and glanced over at the registration desk, but the clerk was still busy. Then she glanced over at what he held. “Highlights?” she asked before she could prevent herself.

  That killer smile flickered again, easy, assured. “Hey, after four hours, things are getting desperate.”

  “If you’re looking to ‘Hidden Pictures’ to keep you from going over the edge, you might be expecting a little too much.”

  “Looks like I need something else, then, doesn’t it?”

  Unaccountably she found herself sucking in a deep breath as though she’d been suddenly deprived of oxygen. “So what are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Waiting, mostly,” he said. “How about you?”

  “The same. Exit paperwork.”

  “Trust me, you could grow old and die first. You can read my Highlights if you want.”

  Without thinking, she glanced at the magazine he held and then found herself staring instead at his hands. Like the rest of him, they looked long and strong, as though they knew how to touch a woman.

  And she could imagine how they’d feel. Hot and a little rough on her skin. He wouldn’t ask, he’d take—and he’d bring a woman to the point she didn’t care.

  Paige felt an involuntary shiver run through her and glanced up to see him studying her. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing the puzzle?” she asked.

  “Maybe I already am.” Again the smile. “So who are you here for?”

  “My grandfather. He got into a car accident.”

  “No kidding. My grandmother just got knocked around in a fender bender herself.”

  Another surprise. No biker buddy, no b
ar fight. “Is she all right?”

  “Nothing she won’t survive. She’s a tough one. How about yours?”

  “A little dinged up. They’re keeping him overnight for observation.”

  The clerk called out a name.

  “How about that?” The bandito rose. “And just when things were getting interesting.”

  “That you?”

  “Looks like I’m getting out of purgatory.”

  “I guess I’ve got a few more sins to work off.”

  He stopped and looked at her. “Now there’s a thought that’ll keep me up tonight.” He started to walk away and turned back. “Hey, listen, I play Thursday nights at Eddie’s on the waterfront. Maybe you could come by.”

  Paige blinked. Not a biker, not a bandit. A musician. She looked again at those hands and, despite herself, she was intrigued. Too bad it wasn’t possible. “I’ll try to do that if I’m still in town,” she said.

  “Here’s hoping you wind up with a reason to stick around, then.” And he grinned, stuck his hands in his pockets and walked away.

  2

  M ORNING GENERALLY had a way of making things feel better, even if they didn’t look it. Paige studied her grandfather from a chair in his room. A purplish-red bruise blossomed on his left temple, but the blurry, unfocused look was gone from his eyes. Under protest, he’d stayed in his hospital gown and in bed, tapping his fingers impatiently as they waited for the doctor, the hot-pink cast gaily incongruous against the white coverlet.

  “Your idea?” He nodded at his arm.

  Paige’s lips twitched. “I thought you could grow to love it.”

  “I’m never taking pain medication again. God only knows how I’ll wake up next time.”

  “Look at it this way—it could have been argyle.” She grinned, relieved to have him back to his old self.

  “I spoke with your father this morning,” he said.

  “I called him last night before I went to bed. I thought he ought to know.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” her grandfather said grudgingly. “But it’s not like I’m really hurt. Now he’s making plans to come over in a month or two.”

  “Is he?” she asked, pleased. “It’ll be good to see him.”

  “No sense in him leaving his work. I’m fine—or I would be if they’d let me out of here.”

  Paige grinned. “I don’t think U.S.-Czech relations are going to be destroyed if Dad leaves for a week, Granddad. He cares about you. Besides, if the positions were reversed, you’d be the one dragging me to get on a flight to Prague.”

  “I suppose. We’ll have to see if we can all manage to get together while he’s here.”

  “Definitely. I’ll give him a call next week to see if he knows anything about when he’ll—”

  “Good morning.” The hazel-eyed doctor walked in, clipboard in hand. “How are you feeling?”

  “All right,” her grandfather said. “A little sore but ready to leave.”

  “I’m not surprised,” the doctor said and ran Lyndon through a brisk exam, like a mechanic running an engine through its paces. “Sit up a little.”

  Lyndon winced.

  “Chest hurt? That’s the torn cartilage. It’s going to take time.” He handed Lyndon a prescription. “This is for the pain. They should take the edge off for the first couple of weeks. They’ll help with the ankle, too. You’re going to want to keep off that as much as possible. Rent a wheelchair and use it.” He turned to Paige. “Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  His eyes settled again on her grandfather. “Other than that, you’re cleared to go. Just be sure to come back here Friday for a follow up. I assume you’re going to take care of that?” He looked at Paige inquiringly.

  Lyndon cleared his throat. “Paige lives in Los Angeles. I’ll get a driver to take me around.”

  “You’re going to need more than a driver,” the doctor told them. “For a couple of weeks, you’re going to need help with everything—getting in and out of bed, standing up, sitting down, all of it. You need someone full-time.”

  “He’ll have someone,” Paige said assuringly and looked at her grandfather. “I’ll stay until you’re up and around.”

  “But you have a business to run,” Lyndon protested.

  She smiled. “I think my boss will understand.” Whether her clients would be prepared to brook a month or more delay on their projects was another question, but she didn’t consider staying a matter of choice. For her grandfather, she’d do just about anything.

  “I’ve got Maria,” Lyndon said.

  “Maria’s a housekeeper and a cook, not a nurse. And, anyway, you know it would drive you crazy to have her underfoot all the time.”

  “It’ll drive me crazy to have you underfoot,” Lyndon grumbled, but beneath the bluster he looked grateful and more than a little relieved.

  Paige just laughed and pressed a smacking kiss on him. “You don’t have a choice, Grandpappy. You’re at my mercy. Come on, let’s get you dressed and out of here. It’s time to go home.”

  T HE BIG TOWN CAR purred along the curving road that headed up the bluffs toward Lyndon’s home. There hadn’t been a chance in hell that he would have fit into Paige’s sporty little BMW, and his Cadillac was currently the worse for wear. Hiring a car and driver had merely been pragmatic, and if she enjoyed the luxury of being able to admire the city instead of watching where she was going, that didn’t make her a bad person, did it?

  Santa Barbara perched between the steep backdrop of the Santa Ynez Mountains and the blue of the Pacific. In the sun that burned through the coastal morning overcast, the ubiquitous terra-cotta roofs gleamed.

  One of the comforting things about Santa Barbara was that little changed. Forget about Spanish Revival, the city was original Spanish, right down to the two-hundred-year-old Franciscan mission tucked away in the heart of town. In most places, a major tourist attraction would be surrounded by shops and restaurants. In Santa Barbara, the mission and its accompanying greensward sat in the midst of homes and quiet streets, even as it had been surrounded by adobes in the eighteenth century.

  The mission was one of her earliest memories, walking down the stairs from the Favreau estate, holding hands with her father and mother. The original mansion had been built on the bluffs overlooking the mission perhaps a hundred years before by Lyndon’s oil-magnate grandfather. Then the stock market crash of ’29 and the thirties had hit, decimating the Favreau family fortunes. Lyndon’s father had sold off the main house and most of the land, retaining only the mother-in-law’s cottage that he’d built in the twenties—if any ten-thousand-square-foot home could properly be called a cottage.

  Only one reminder of the long-ago glory days remained—the gate in the wall between the two properties. Once, it had been open so relatives could come and go. Now it was just a locked door between Lyndon’s house and his neighbor’s.

  He stirred as they drove up to his estate. “That’s what caused it all.”

  “What?”

  “The sign.” He pointed.

  “You got into a car accident because of a sign?” Paige stared at her grandfather.

  “I was distracted,” he muttered, turning to look out the window. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  And there it was, a white placard on the verge before the neighboring estate that said simply: Coming Soon, The Burlesque Museum.

  “The next gate,” Paige told the driver and stared at the sign as they passed. No date, no specifics, just the words guaranteed to give her conservative grandfather fits.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said dismissively. “They can’t do it around here. It’s zoned residential. I mean, there’s the mission and the Museum of Natural History, but—”

  “But those don’t involve strippers,” her grandfather ground out. “I grew up in that house. My grandfather is spinning in his grave right now. Traffic, cars parked on the street, hoodlums. I won’t stand for it. The neighborhood won’t stand for it,” he insi
sted, his mouth firming. “That woman is not going to get away with this.”

  “What woman?” Paige punched the security code into the keypad and the big gates rolled back.

  “Gloria Reed, that’s who.”

  “Gloria Reed?” She frowned. “Your next-door neighbor?”

  “Her and her fool museum idea. This accident was all her fault. She pulled out right in front of me.”

  “Wait a minute—you ran into your neighbor? ”

  “I wouldn’t have run into her if I hadn’t been surprised by that blasted sign,” he defended. “She just put it up without warning. And she always comes out of her gate too fast. That woman is a menace. Shameless,” he added as they pulled into his estate and drove up to the house. “Why, here she is in her seventies and she’s taken up with some long-haired kid who looks like a criminal.”

  My grandmother just got knocked around in a fender bender.

  Paige closed her eyes. “Long-haired kid?”

  “Appalling for a woman her age. He looks young enough to be her son. Her grandson, even.”

  “I think he is,” she said faintly. The car pulled to a stop before the front door.

  “How would you know?”

  “I think I met him last night in the emergency room.”

  “She was hurt?” Sunlight slanted across his face to show a flash of mingled surprise and guilt as the driver opened the door.

  “They kept her overnight, like you.”

  Lyndon opened his mouth, then closed it. “Her grandson.”

  Paige nodded and got out of the car.