Read Online Dangerous Games by Michael Prescott - Free Book Online

lens gazing down at her.
    Then a metallic voice rasped, “Come in,” and the gate slid open on a metal track. She drove down a long circular driveway that looped around a lighted koi pond with a marble fountain, and parked alongside the front steps of the house. It was a two-story Tudor that looked disarmingly small but no doubt extended far back into the property. Lights were on, both inside and outside.
    She got out, fingering the gun in her coat to reassure herself that it was there. She glanced around at the large property, taking in the thickets of eucalyptus trees, the beds of flowers artfully arranged.
    A shimmer of movement attracted her eye. She turned, then relaxed when she saw that it was only the quick passage of a golden koi through the pond. Dozens of the fish streamed in the bright water like shooting stars in a clear sky.
    She headed up the steps. Again she had the sense of being watched. Her gaze scanned the windows. She saw nobody, but when she reached the top of the steps, the door opened before she could ring the bell.
    “Agent McCallum. Come in, please.”
    Madeleine Grant was not what Tess had expected. She’d pictured an older woman, harried and flighty, but Madeleine was no more than thirty-five and seemed perfectly composed. She wore a pantsuit that showed off her toned muscles. Tess guessed she spent a lot of time with a personal trainer.
    “It’s good of you to see me on such short notice,” Tess said.
    Madeleine waved off the remark. “I’m the one who should be grateful for your quick response.”
    With the practiced informality of a hostess, Madeleine led her through the paneled foyer. Tess noted a closed-circuit video monitor discreetly stationed in a corner, offering a view of the steps. That was how Madeleine had watched her.
    They stepped into an elegant living room, meticulously appointed like a magazine photo spread. Tess contrasted it with the cramped living-dining area in her Denver apartment, afghans piled on the sofa and half-finished books scattered everywhere.
    “You have a beautiful home,” she said. “It must take a lot of work to keep it up.”
    “I have a small staff.”
    “Do you?”
    Madeleine hesitated, as if regretting she’d spoken. “Yes…a live-in cook and housekeeper. This is their night off.” Her glance flickered nervously to the dining room.
    Tess followed her gaze. The dining table had been set for one. The dishes had been only partially cleared, as if someone had been interrupted while cleaning up. Not recently, though—the ice in the glass had melted.
    Madeleine gestured toward the chairs and divan. “Have a seat. Would you care for anything to drink?”
    “No, thank you.” Tess settled into an armchair. Madeleine sat facing her.
    Tess didn’t want to begin the interview directly. It was better to establish a rapport. She asked a few questions and learned that Madeleine was unmarried and unemployed. Her father had been a film producer. “Reginald Grant, perhaps you’ve heard of him.”
    Tess hadn’t.
    “You never saw any of his films? Lucky you, they were all shit. Made money, though. That’s all Daddy cared about. He was a moneymaking machine. Drove my mother to an early grave. Then he dropped dead of a heart attack at fifty-five.” Her father had left her the house and enough money to be “comfortable,” as she put it. “I know I sound like the quintessential rich-bitch Westside cliché, but I like to think I’m a little more complicated than that.”
    “Everybody is more complicated than that,” Tess said.
    “I never wanted to be one of those women who devote themselves to other people’s charities because they have no interests of their own. Or one of those even less interesting women whose lives revolve around shopping, hostessing, and the beauty salon. Actually I’ve pursued three different careers in my life. At the moment I’m between things, but some friends and I are in discussions about a retail venture on Melrose. It