A Rare Chance (20 page)

“Only because he chose to go. I don't think I'd have gotten far trying to toss him out on his ear. You know,” he went on in his philosophical father tone, turning his attention back to a tiny epiphyte—a tree-growing orchid—he was remounting on a bark slab, “I kind of figured one of these days you'd go for a cop.”

“What do you know about me and cops?”

“A lot more than you think.”

But Gabriella didn't rise to the bait. She'd learned a little self-control in her year with TJR Associates. She wasn't going to talk about Cam Yeager or her love life with her father, a man who'd never married her mother, who'd been a part of his only child's life when it was convenient for him and not necessarily when she needed him. It wasn't that she still held a grudge. What was the point? Scag was Scag, and she didn't blame him for her flaws and occasional fits of unhappiness and dissatisfaction. By the time she was in preschool she'd learned to accept her father for who he was. But that didn't mean she'd trust any advice he had on how to have a satisfying, committed, long-term relationship with anything but an orchid.

“Well, I don't want to talk about it. I'm going downstairs,” she announced, heading for the door. “I haven't had lunch yet. If you need me for anything, give a yell.”

By late afternoon she was feeling restless and aggrieved. What if keeping secrets from Joshua and Titus—never mind out of loyalty to Lizzie—ended up costing her her job? What would she do? How could she support her Back Bay lifestyle, hundreds of orchids, a destitute father? What kind of reference could she expect from the Reading brothers? What kind of questions could she expect from a potential employer about why only a year with TJR Associates, why the two years with Tony Scagliotti, what kind of problems they could expect Scag to cause
them?

And where the hell was Lizzie? Why hadn't she called at least to say that she was safe—or even to check on her damned package?

If she were Lizzie Fairfax, Gabriella thought, trying to rein in her free-floating anxieties and frustrations before she did something impulsive, where would she go?

But she'd never been able to think like Lizzie any more than Lizzie had been able to think like her. They'd just learned to accept each other, differences and all. That didn't mean Lizzie wouldn't worry about what she perceived as Gabriella's recklessness and her tendency to speak her mind, when Lizzie was always so attuned to how she was being received. It didn't mean Gabriella didn't worry about Lizzie's obsessiveness in relationships, about what paths her need to love and be loved, her need for drama, would take her down.

She could call Lizzie's parents and find out if they'd heard from their daughter. It wouldn't be beyond Lizzie to sneak off to the Fairfax home in Palm Beach and leave Gabriella to wrestle with the resulting mayhem. Lizzie would simply say Gabriella could handle the situation, she was tough, she was a trusted friend.

But Gabriella had her doubts that Lizzie had even considered the consequences of her actions. She hadn't thought beyond getting her package into Gabriella's hands and herself out of Boston, away from a relationship she no longer wanted.

Still, Palm Beach was worth a try. Gabriella was reaching for the phone, eager to have something to occupy herself, when her intercom buzzed.

Cam's voice came over the static. “It's me.”

She buzzed him up. One, she knew she had no choice. He'd stay down there buzzing her apartment until someone called the police or she let him up. Two, she wanted to see him. She could feel it in every fiber of her body.

“You're a sick woman, Gabriella Starr.”

When he walked into her small entry, he almost took her breath away. Kissing him—almost making love to him—had only heightened her attraction to him. She noticed everything about him. The faint lines at the corners of his sea-blue eyes. The frayed cuffs on his ancient Bruins sweatshirt. The snug fit of his jeans over his thighs. She herself had on fleece shorts, a cropped, baggy, short-sleeved sweatshirt, and no shoes. It was just barely warm enough for shorts and bare feet.

“Well,” she said, “hello. Scag said you dropped by earlier.”

Cam smiled. “He accused me of wanting to search the place.”

“Did you?”

“Of course. When a suspect is holding back information, a good detective wants an unhampered look at everything she owns.”

“Think I'm holding back?”

“Always.”

It wasn't an insult. There wasn't a trace of bitterness or even annoyance in his tone. He was simply stating the facts as he saw them. She started back toward the living room. “Scag's up on the roof still if you want to see him. I assume, seeing how it's not yet five, you aren't here to see me.”

“You are home early, aren't you?”

“Yep.” She picked up her cordless phone and handed it to him. “Order some Chinese food and we'll have an early dinner and I'll explain everything. Okay?”

His eyes zeroed in on her. “Everything?”

“Everything I can,” she amended. “Invite Scag to join us. I'll just turn off my computer and head on up.”

“I've had one hell of an unproductive day, so I'm in no hurry if you need to finish up something.”

Already halfway down the hall to her bedroom, she glanced back at him, surprised by how at ease she felt, considering he'd just admitted he'd search her apartment given half the chance. “Just my resumé. It'll keep.”

He went still, his gaze staying on her. Then he said, casually, “You like your Chinese food hot or mild?”

“Hot.”

He smiled. “I should have known.”

When he was gone, Gabriella debated a quick call to Palm Beach just to satisfy her curiosity. But she didn't need Cam dialing for Chinese delivery and overhearing. “Self-control, m'dear,” she mumbled, quickly saving the two lines she'd managed to complete of her revised resumé and turning off her computer. She'd needed something to do, some way to occupy her mind, and under the circumstances, updating her resumé had seemed a good idea.

How much would she tell Cam?

How much
should
she tell him?

On her way back through the kitchen, the telephone rang. She picked up the extension next to the refrigerator.

“I'm calling from Paris,” Lizzie said.

“Lizzie! Good Lord, are you all right? Hang on a second.”

Gabriella set the receiver on the kitchen counter and quickly checked the stairs up to the roof in case Cam was wandering down in search of her. But the stairs were empty. She picked up the receiver, without an iota of guilt. If he'd search her apartment, she'd talk to her friend.

“I'm back,” she told Lizzie, keeping her voice down. “Are you okay? Paris. My God. Then you meant it when you said you were leaving the country.”

“Of course I meant it, and I'm fine. But I won't pretend the past few days have been easy.” Her voice cracked, and she paused, regaining her composure; she came across as all raw nerves and conflicting emotions. “I'm sorry, Gabriella. I know what I must be putting you through. I will
never
take up with a friend's boss again. Never.”

“It's okay, Lizzie. Don't worry about me. But you've got to tell me more. Why did you run? Something happened between you and Joshua, didn't it? You didn't just get cold feet.”

Lizzie sobbed, on the verge of completely losing control. Gabriella kept quiet, not wanting to say anything that would push her friend over the edge—or make her hang up.

In a moment, Lizzie rallied, clearing her throat as if she were asking the price of a new shade of lipstick. “Everything happened between us,” she said. “Our relationship—marriage—just wasn't going to work, and I had to get out. I couldn't think beyond getting free of him, of myself too. It's hard to explain.”

“You couldn't just have it out with him?”

“No—no, I'm not like you, Gabriella. Maybe now that I'm here in Paris I can call him; I know he must be worried.” She paused, a steeliness coming into her tone. “But I won't go back to him. No matter what, I won't go back.”

“You don't have to, Lizzie. No one can force you to marry someone you don't want to marry or to stay in a relationship that's run its course. What about Pete Darrow? Did he do anything, say anything that unnerved you?”

“I can't talk anymore, Gabriella. Maybe after I've gotten some distance from this whole experience. I thought—I thought this time I was in love.” She broke down again, but only for a few seconds. “I'm sorry about the position I've put you in. I know you love your work, and here I'm—here I've made such a scene with Joshua.”

“Take that one off your worry list, Lizzie. I can handle Joshua Reading.” In any case, the horse was already out of the proverbial barn. “You just concentrate on doing what you have to do. If Joshua wants to blame me, that's his problem.”

“I wish I had half your guts,” she said in a low, self-pitying voice.

“Stop it, Lizzie. You got yourself off to Paris when you felt you needed to, didn't you?”

“But I've left you with my mess.”

“You've been there for me plenty of times.” Gabriella meant what she said, her irritation with Lizzie vanishing; she struggled to keep her own emotions from spilling over onto her friend, who was clearly fragile enough as it was. “Don't go fretting about me, okay? You take care of yourself.”

Lizzie started to cry, her words barely intelligible through her sobs. “Oh, Gabriella, promise me you won't hate me when this is over.”

“I'm not going to hate you, Lizzie. Not ever.” She spoke briskly, hoping to penetrate Lizzie's despair.

“My package…”

“I've got it,” Gabriella said.

“Oh, thank God.” She sniffled, her relief palpable. “Gabriella, you're wonderful. I knew I could count on you. You haven't opened it?”

“I said I wouldn't. It's in a safe place, just as I found it.”

Her mood brightened almost instantly. “I just need some time to get my head together. Then I'll come back and straighten everything out. I promise.”

Gabriella heard it in Lizzie's voice, knew she was already too late. “Lizzie—damnit, don't hang up!”

But she already had.

And just as Gabriella was about to slam the phone down, she heard the distinct click of another extension being hung up.

“Yeager.”

She bounded up to the roof and found him at the umbrella table with the cordless extension still in his hand. He had his feet up on the table, his ankles crossed, and while he didn't look guilty, he most certainly didn't look innocent. “Paris, huh?”

Given his impeccable timing, Scag chose that moment to wander out from the greenhouse. He glanced at Cam, then at Gabriella. “Time for me to go home, I see,” he said, and went, Gabriella managing only a quick goodbye.

She turned her attention back to Cam. “You're shameless,” she told him.

“Yeah, well, so are you.” His sea-blue eyes were unrepentant and utterly unyielding as they zeroed in on her. “What package and where is it?”

“I should have known you'd have the gall to eavesdrop on a private conversation.”

“You sure should have. The package?”

She made a dismissive sound, as if his question were of no relevance. “Lizzie left a package for me at the airport, and I promised I would put it in safekeeping and not open it—which is what I've done. It's nothing sinister.”

Cam's gaze remained fixed on her. “How do you know? You just said you hadn't opened it.”

“I promised her I wouldn't.”

“Well, I didn't. So show it to me and let me open it. I'll let you know if I find anything sinister.”

Gabriella flopped down onto a teak chair. “You have no honor,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.

He burst out laughing.

“I mean it,” she said. “What kind of person would sneak around a promise that way?”

“It's a loony promise, Gabriella, and maybe even a dangerous one. You don't know Lizzie's in Paris. You don't know if someone might be looking for that package. You don't know,” he went on, leaning toward her, everything about him suddenly, relentlessly
there,
“if having that package puts you in danger.”

Gabriella decided the only reasonable course of action was to ignore him. “You're going to make a hell of a prosecutor. When's dinner get here?”

He didn't back off; she hadn't expected he would. “You don't know if Pete Darrow followed you to the airport.”

“He didn't.”

“Oh, and you know that for a fact. Darrow's good, Gabriella. I wouldn't forget that if I were you. Remember, the only reason you've spotted him tailing you is because he wanted you to spot him—to spook you, to get you to make a mistake.”