A Rare Chance (9 page)

“What about his parents?”

“Divorced after twenty-five years. His father's retired, spends what money he has on horses and the lottery. His mother works for a senior center in Lexington, lives beyond her means. Pete says she likes to pretend she's from money.”

Gabriella frowned. “Why would she do that?”

She seemed truly mystified. Cam shrugged. “Why would anyone? I don't know. Pete's mother and father both always wanted at least one of their sons to make a lot of money, help them out in their old age, give them bragging rights. Here one's a cop and the other's a drug counselor. No money there.”

“But if they love what they do and they can support themselves—” Gabriella stopped herself with a laugh. “I'm sounding like Scag. He's never given a fig about money. He pulls together grants, does the odd lecture so he can afford to chase after orchids. He's barely managed to support himself, but there's no question he loves what he does.”

“So money's not important to him.”

“It's a means to an end. It has nothing whatsoever to do with his sense of self-worth, the satisfaction he gets from his work. Having money has never been one of his goals. He's never cared about having stuff: a house, furniture, expensive clothes, possessions in general. It's not that he's particularly frugal. He just doesn't want anything.”

Cam regarded her seriously. “Now why am I not surprised?”

“I do want stuff,” she said quietly.

“There's nothing wrong with that.”

“I don't think of myself as materialistic, but I like my apartment, my greenhouse, my furnishings. I certainly don't need to have Scag sneering at me because I'm not scrambling for money so I can fund my next orchid expedition. Still, I wouldn't—well, I'd never pretend to be something I'm not.” She straightened, as if suddenly realizing she'd said more than she'd intended. “It's getting late. I should be going.”

Cam nodded, not giving in to the urge to delay her. He needed distance. He couldn't get it with her near, with her very much under his skin. He followed her to the door, meaning only to see her out. Instead, he found himself staring into her eyes as if he were at the edge of a bottomless pit, ready to jump.

“You can handle Pete Darrow,” he said.

She nodded, not averting her eyes from his. “I appreciate your confidence in me.”

“Just do as he says and try not to cross him.”

“I won't go looking for trouble. But if I do find out anything—if anything strikes me as unusual or note-worthy—I'll call or stop by.”

“Do that.”

He could see her swallow. “Thanks for dinner.”

He cupped her chin in one hand, touched his thumb to the corner of her mouth. She didn't pull away. He lowered his mouth to hers, gave her plenty of time to tell him to back off, gave him plenty of time to think twice, three times, about kissing her. Each time, he thought,
Why the hell not? She's attractive, she's intriguing, she's right here.
And in a way he never had before, he needed her, wanted her. It was as if his soul were crying out to him, only he was too bullheaded to listening to what it was saying.

It was a brief kiss, a light kiss, a toe over the edge of the bottomless pit. He ached with the urge to careen over the edge and into whatever lay beyond.

But he pulled back just in time.

“Do you want me to walk with you?” he asked.

Her dark eyes sparkled suddenly, an echo of the Gabriella Starr who'd faced down crocodiles and snakes and irate landowners and had probably had fun doing it. “If you want to get some air. I don't think I need a bodyguard. I suspect if Pete Darrow thought you were protecting me from him, it would only irritate him more.”

“Probably would.”

Cam leaned back on his heels, studying her. “You haven't answered my question, Gabby.”

“I think,” she said, pulling open the door, “I should find my own way home.”

Cam heard her take the stairs fast, and he knew she wasn't in a hurry because of Pete Darrow or the Reading brothers or the need to get back to her orchids. She was in a hurry because of him. Because of herself.

He settled down on his couch just in time to see her legs cross in front of his window. No doubt about it. Falling for Gabriella Starr would be a dangerous business—but for years Pete Darrow had told him a little danger in his life was a good thing.

G
abriella was having coffee and reading the
Boston Globe
on her rooftop deck, enjoying the warm Saturday morning air, when Scag arrived for his rounds. “I'm reading about the Red Sox loss last night,” she told him.

“I would be too.”

She glanced up from her paper. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means you've been hiding all week and now you intend to hide all weekend.”

“I haven't been hiding.”

Scag snorted and ripped open the greenhouse door, his cane tucked under one arm. His gray-faced, bag-of-sticks look had subsided, but his leg still irked him. He definitely appreciated the climbing temperatures. Although orchids grew virtually everywhere in the world, the preponderance of them were in warmer climates.

“I haven't,” Gabriella reiterated as her father disappeared into his preferred world.

She scowled, folding up her newspaper and slapping it down on the umbrella table, annoyed because she knew Scag was right. She
had
been hiding. She'd spent as much of the week as possible in her office with the door shut or out of her office in meetings. She hadn't caught Pete Darrow following her, and, as far as she knew, he hadn't told Joshua or Titus about her white lie about the night on the rocks or about her neglecting to mention that Scag was in town. She hadn't caught Cam Yeager following Pete Darrow.

She hadn't gone running to Cam Yeager.

She hadn't had dinner with him again and she hadn't kissed him.

She had, however, thought about him. The undertone of sexual tension between them had erupted to the surface, and logic told her she needed to beat it back down before they saw each other again. A serious romantic relationship with him was impossible, and she didn't go for flings. He was a law enforcement type, he was deliberately holding back information from her, he was on some kind of mission regarding Pete Darrow. He could barely tell an orchid from a tulip. Scag would never go for his one and only daughter hooking up with a cop turned prosecutor.

There were a hundred reasons she and Cam Yeager didn't belong together.

But, logic aside, their impromptu evening together had turned her inside out. She'd
liked
his easy smile, the casual way he threw dinner together, the gleam in his sea-blue eyes, the confidence he exuded, his natural irreverence. Together, they were appealing—and dangerous. She'd found herself wanting to trust him, though she'd learned the hard way to be careful about trusting anyone but herself.

She didn't like playing by two different sets of rules: hers and his. She talks; he doesn't. She trusts him; he doesn't trust her. She needs him; he doesn't need her. That wasn't how she operated, no matter how much she wanted to feel a man's arms around her.

So burying herself in her work had seemed an entirely appropriate option.

It also helped her avoid dealing with the increasingly complicated issue of Joshua Reading and Lizzie Fairfax. Instead of cooling after a week of near-constant contact, their relationship had only seemed to heat up. They were virtually inseparable. Lizzie had called Gabriella a couple of times, just to say, breathlessly, that she was deliriously happy, in love, trust her, trust her, trust her.

When Gabriella filled Scag in on the latest about Lizzie and Joshua, her father had merely said, “Lizzie likes being in love. No, strike that. She likes
falling
in love. It's the drama, you know.”

Whatever it was, it was awkward having one's oldest, closest friend fall for one's boss.

Gabriella groaned, jumping to her feet. She could help Scag in the greenhouse, but he hated having her underfoot when she was restless. And restless she was. She could prowl and pace and drive herself crazy, she thought, or she could burn off some of her edginess with a couple of hours at her health club. Maybe she'd take in an afternoon game at Fenway. This early in the season, she might get a ticket at the door.

Her day planned, she trotted down the steep stairs into her apartment.

Her telephone was ringing. She almost let her message machine take the call. It'd probably be Lizzie, telling her that she and Joshua were off to Bermuda or someplace for the weekend, on the spur of the moment. They'd done enough in the past week to fill Gabriella's social calendar for months.

“Are you jealous, m'dear?” she muttered to herself.

To prove what a ridiculous notion that was, she snatched up the phone. “Gabriella Starr.”

“God, you can even do corporate in your bedroom slippers.”

Cam Yeager.

“I'm not in my slippers,” she said. “I'm in my bare feet, and it's nine o'clock.”

“Ah. Nine o'clock. You've probably done a hundred sit-ups and three sets on the weight machine by now,
and
run some figures on your computer.”

She laughed, although she knew it would be easier to keep her distance if he annoyed her. “Actually, I was checking the baseball scores.”

“Orchids and baseball. I'll have to check my Freud. Well,
I
just rolled out of bed.” His voice was low, deep, unselfconsciously sexy. “Funny I thought of you.”

“Funny.”

He laughed, then said abruptly, with no transition, “I have a favor to ask.”

Gabriella leaned against the counter next to her refrigerator. Her kitchen was spotless, deep-cleaned during a midnight bout of restless energy. She'd even scoured the cabinet under the sink. She acknowledged a faint weakening in her knees. “What kind of favor?”

“I want you to arrange it so I can get onto Reading Point without being seen.”

She swallowed, her throat tight. “You're serious, aren't you?”

“Yes,” he said. “I want to hide in your car under a blanket or something while you go through the security gate. Then I want to sneak out of your car, have a look around, and sneak back in again.”

“Why?”

“Because Darrow knows I came in on the rocks last Friday. He'll make sure I don't do it again. I know it's a lot to ask, but I don't think it'll be a big risk on your part. I've done this sort of thing before. If we're caught, I can say I coerced you.”

Gabriella fingered an orchid magnet on her refrigerator, her feet going cold. “I didn't mean, why you need help. I meant, why you need to get to Reading Point at all. Are you looking for something? Do you want to spy on Darrow? What?”

“I'm playing out a hunch. If anything pans out, I'll let you know.”

Gabriella waited for more, but more didn't come. “That's it? That's all you're going to tell me?”

“That's all there is. You can tell me more about Joshua and Lizzie Fairfax's relationship on the way. It seems to be getting hot and heavy. You talk to her much?”

“Why should I tell you anything when you tell me nothing?”

“Gabriella—”

“Look, if you don't like your ex-partner's choice of job, that's your headache. I can't see what it's got to do with me or why you need to get out to Reading Point. You're asking me to risk my job.”

“If you can give me a hand,” Cam said, his tone unreadable, “let me know. Otherwise I'll see you.”

He calmly hung up in her ear.

Gabriella slammed down the phone. What a closemouthed, stubborn individual.

And yet she couldn't deny the excitement she felt at having heard from him. Never mind that she'd given up the kind of thrill-a-minute life he seemed to lead. Being a cop, ex or otherwise, he was probably addicted to the adrenaline rush of constant danger, constant pressure. She didn't need that. She didn't
want
it. Following his ex-partner, getting himself trapped with the cold tide coming in, investigating her background, now wanting her to sneak him onto Reading Point were all par for the course for him.

No, best she stayed away from Cameron Yeager.

Scag appeared in the doorway up to the roof. “I just found black rot in Number Two. You want to come up and help?”

Gabriella sighed. Black rot was a nasty fungal infection that needed to be stopped in its tracks. It wasn't nearly as exciting as sneaking Cam Yeager onto Reading Point. She sighed. “Sure, Scag. I'll be right up.”

 

Pete Darrow watched Lizzie Fairfax slide into the seat beside him. He'd picked her up jogging down the main road just beyond Reading Point. He liked the way she moved. Even nervous as she was, she didn't show it. She had class, self-restraint, dignity. And she was a very attractive woman. He noticed the slim curve of her legs under the close-fitting black leggings she wore. Nice. She had her honey-colored hair pulled back in a simple ponytail for her jog. She had very green eyes, with flecks of gold. When she smiled, they sparkled.

She wasn't smiling now. She was perspiring, a little out of breath. “What do you want?” she asked in a tight voice.

“You shouldn't be out here by yourself. Where you going?”

“For a run.”
If it's any of your business,
her tone said, as if going upper class on him could cover her nervousness. It didn't.

“You should try to stay inside the security gate,” he told her, not roughly.

“You needn't worry about me, Mr. Darrow. Did Joshua send you after me?”

“With what happened to him last month, we both decided you shouldn't stray too far on your own.”

It was close enough to the truth. In fact, Joshua had pounded up to Darrow's room above the garage and screamed at him to go find her. He liked knowing where his new lover was.

Darrow pulled into a scenic turnaround. He smiled at Lizzie. “Not that we don't trust your judgment.”

Her lower lip trembled—not much, but he wasn't imagining it. Falling for Joshua Reading the way she was, she would have to be questioning her judgment. Darrow didn't have much use for Joshua Reading, beyond how the rich bastard could benefit him.

“Come on. I'll take you back and you can go for a walk down on the rocks if you want. I'll keep an eye out.”

She managed a weak smile, knowing—she had to know—there wasn't a damned thing she could do about him. He came with the territory she'd decided to explore. “How reassuring.”

Later that afternoon, after he'd taken his own walk down on the rocks—not to see the view but to make sure Cam Yeager wasn't up to any of his tricks—Darrow could hear Joshua and Lizzie at it up at the house. It was a nice enough day that the windows were open. He winced at the sounds. Screams of pain, screams of ecstasy. Some from Joshua, most from Lizzie.

Darrow shook his head. You just never knew about people. Why the hell did Lizzie stay with the SOB?

“
No, please, no
…”

Lizzie.

Then Joshua: “
Yes, yes, yes!
”

Darrow felt a sickening thud in his stomach at the thought of the two of them together. He'd heard enough. He started down the gravel walk back toward the driveway and his beat-up Toyota. He could have been in a hundred other places, doing a hundred other things, but none of them would probably have made him feel any better. The world sucked. People sucked.

And he was no better than anybody else. When he located Joshua's illegal arsenal—and he was more convinced than ever that there was one—he intended to blackmail the SOB. Make Joshua Reading pay to keep his new security man quiet. Darrow had been fantasizing about the amount he'd squeeze out of Reading. A hundred grand? Five hundred? He wasn't greedy. He just wanted enough to invest, live off the interest, quit working.

In Joshua Reading's world, a hundred grand was pocket change. Even five hundred grand wouldn't sting much.

One final, ripping scream from the house. Darrow couldn't tell if it had come from Lizzie or Joshua. He wasn't sure it made any difference.

 

Cam watched the Fairfax house on Chestnut Street, just up Beacon Hill from his place, all day Wednesday, waiting for Lizzie Fairfax to show up. Her parents weren't due to return to Boston for another couple of weeks—one thing, at least, he'd learned during the past ten days. His indirect approach had netted zilch. He'd plumbed his sources, he'd hit the computer, he'd checked out TJR Associates' buildings, he'd looked into the firm's finances until his eyes rolled back into his head.

He'd stayed away from Gabriella Starr.

Their brief phone conversation on Saturday had convinced him she'd been as taken aback by their dinner that Monday evening as he had. It would be very, very easy for them both to plunge in over their heads. But he hadn't been straight with her, and she knew it. How could he tell her about the rumors that one of her bosses was a gun nut? They were just that: rumors.

It was a gray, rainy day. Cam had camped out in the foyer of a family friend's house across and up from the Fairfaxes. Chestnut was a quiet, picturesque street, running parallel to Beacon and perpendicular to Charles, not as steep as some on Beacon Hill. The traffic was one-way down the hill, toward Charles.