face was
contorted with rage, and though Anne couldn't hear what she was saying, she knew she was talking because her lips were moving.
Was she Jilly? The stranger did have blond hair, and she was tall and shapely, as Carrie had described, but she certainly wasn't what Anne would consider beautiful by any means. Perhaps, if her expression weren't so hostile and if she were smiling instead, she might be pretty. But not beautiful.
Her complexion was lovely. She'd give her that. From a distance it looked almost flawless, and Anne decided she really must find out what kind of facial cleanser the woman used to get such perfect skin. Or was it heavy makeup? Anne made a mental note to find out.
Her haircut was a little too short and spiky, but the color was wonderful. Highlights, Anne thought, and she wondered if the unpleasant woman would give her the name of her stylist. Why, she'd kill to have highlights like that. Suddenly feeling self-conscious about her own appearance, she patted her hair down, certain she'd gotten it mussed during her little nap.
'My goodness,' Anne whispered when she saw what the woman was carrying. She had a red gasoline can in one hand and an ax in the other. 'What does she think she's doing?'
The woman's head was down, and she hadn't spotted Anne yet, but as she strode to the steps, Anne remembered where she'd seen her before. She was pictured in one of the clippings she'd found in the chest. Oh, yes, she remembered now. The woman
and her ex were fighting over ownership of this house.
Anne rushed to the foyer and stood in front of the elongated beveled glass panes that framed the door. She could hear what the woman was saying now. She was spewing filth. Anne's hand went to her throat. She was appalled by the vulgarity. The woman must have said the 'F' word a good ten times, enraged at a judge for giving her house away.
Ah… now Anne understood. The house had been awarded to the husband. Anne didn't have any sympathy for the crude woman. She obviously hadn't been a good wife. Shouldn't the husband make all the important decisions? He'd paid for the house. He should keep it.
The woman rushed up the porch steps, screaming now. 'That son of a bitch thinks he's going to take my house and leave me penniless? Screw the prenup. He thinks I'm bluffing. I told him he'd never live here. Surprise, surprise, bastard. When I'm finished redecorating…' She spotted Anne and came to a dead stop. Then she roared, 'Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?'
'Hello there,' Anne called out. 'What are you doing with that ax and that can?'
'None of your fucking business.'
'I really would appreciate it if you wouldn't use obscenities in my presence. It offends me.'
The woman put the can of gasoline down, dropped the ax, and reached into her pocket to get her key out.
'Did the bastard hire a housekeeper?' she yelled loudly enough so that Anne could hear through the door.
'I assure you I'm not a housekeeper.'
'Open the fucking door.'
'Oh, I don't think that's a good idea.'
The woman shoved the key in the lock and tried to turn it. When she realized it wouldn't work, she screamed, 'Damn him to hell. How dare he change the lock. How dare he. He knew… He had that judge in his pocket. Well, fuck him.'
She pulled the key out of the lock, threw it down, and glared at Anne. 'If you don't open this door, I'm going to use this ax. You don't want to mess with me, bitch. Not today.'
'Are you threatening me?'
'Open the damned door.'
The sneer was the last straw. Tears flooded into Anne's eyes as she swung the door open and forced a smile. 'Won't you come in?'
There was a second's delay, long enough for the woman to shove Anne back and step over the threshold.
The explosion blew half the mountain away.
Chapter 24
Keeping up with Jilly was a full-time job, but Monk found it thoroughly exhilarating. He hadn't felt this alive in years. He was
the cautious one, of course, while she, with the enthusiasm of a novice, planned her grand schemes, never worrying about the
little mundane things, like the FBI tracking one of the credit cards she'd used.
Monk couldn't fault her for making that mistake. He blamed himself because he should have destroyed the cards after he'd
used them. He kept all of his credit cards under various names and addresses in his attache case, and Jilly had simply helped herself to the first ones her hand touched.
The result hadn't been as bad as it could have been, though. John Paul Renard was now involved, and Monk was absolutely delighted about that turn of events. He'd known that Renard was trying to track his movements for over a year. He'd intercepted several inquiries Renard had made to various law enforcement agencies in Europe. Now Monk had the opportunity to get rid of the pest before he caused real trouble, and Monk could humor Jilly at the same time.
Before they'd settled on using Utopia to bring the women to Aspen, his beautiful fiancee had had the time of her life, sitting at the table hour upon hour, poring over her notes. Oh, how she loved the intrigue, the excitement, and most of all, the danger, and she was trying to teach Monk how to have fun too. Whenever he did anything to please her, such as agreeing to last-minute changes in her complicated plans, she aptly rewarded him in creative ways. All of them of a sexual nature. Just thinking about some of the things she'd done to him and allowed him to do to her made him blush like a teenager.
She was turning him into a true romantic, but he didn't view that as a weakness, for his obsession was with Jilly and no other. He believed with all his heart that, if the erotic games they played in bed didn't kill him, they would grow old together.
Oh, yes, she was an obsession. His every waking minute was spent thinking about her, protecting her from harm. As long as he maintained his vigilance and cleaned up her mistakes, they would be safe.
Monk had had to talk Jilly out of one scheme. She had briefly toyed with the idea of kidnapping Avery and sitting down with her
to tell her the truth about Carrie. Jilly was such an innocent. She believed she could convert her daughter. Monk gently explained that, after all the years of brainwashing by Carrie, Jilly would never be able to convince her daughter that she was, in reality, a loving mother.
Jilly wasn't perfect by any means. She had a twisted view of motherhood, for she believed that because she had brought Avery into this world, she owned her. She spoke of Avery as her possession, not a person, and Carrie had taken that precious treasure away from her. For years her anger at her sister had festered, but Jilly was patient when it came to vengeance. No matter how long it took, she would get even.
She insisted on being the one to push the button that would blow the house apart. She promised Monk she wouldn't shed a tear over her sister's death. Carrie had brought this on herself. She was the reason Jilly hadn't succeeded in life; she was the reason Avery hated her. She was the reason for every one of Jilly's failures. And so it was only fair that Jilly get to watch her sister die.
Monk wasn't put off by Jilly's brutal honesty. How could he cast the first stone? She had accepted him with all his sins, and he could do no less for her.
Now he was trying to clean up the mistakes at the abandoned mine. Jilly had been sure they would climb down into the shaft to find the next clue as to Carrie's whereabouts, and then Monk could have dropped a couple of
