The Burning Point (13 page)

"Your dear cousin has been doing his damnedest to take as many clients as he can to his new firm, Implosions, Inc."

"Only to be expected, I suppose. But unless he's improved on the technical end, Nick is no match for you."

"He's no sharpshooter, but his field work is certainly competent, and he took a couple of good people with him. His big advantage is that he did so much of the account representative work that he knows the clients better. No sooner was Sam buried than Nick got on the phone to rustle as much PDI business as he could. Not only is he under pricing us, but I hear that his sales pitch strongly implies that Sam died because Nick wasn't there to see that everything was done exactly right. Charming."

Kate frowned. "Is PDI in serious trouble?"

"Nothing terminal, but things have been better. Sam hadn't gotten around to replacing Nick or the foreman who went with him, and now Sam's death has shot morale to hell. We're short-handed, and everyone is on edge. I've been going nuts trying to pick up all the loose threads. Sam had let some things slide lately." Donovan could feel the weight of the business on his shoulders. He'd carried a lot of the responsibility in recent years, but Sam had always been there as back-up. "Then there's Concord Place."

"That's a public housing project in the city, isn't it?"

"Right, and its time has run out. Five mid-rise buildings, one of those urban renewal projects that seemed like a great idea forty years ago, but haven't worn well. We've dropped a number of similar projects across the country. The city wants to put townhouses on the site. Safer, and more like a real neighborhood." Donovan took another piece of lasagna. He'd never been one to lose his appetite when stressed. "PDI won the contract for the demolition."

"There's a 'but' in your voice," Kate said.

Donovan stabbed his salad with unnecessary force. "Nick had surveyed the buildings and drafted the proposal. Just before the contract was awarded, he left PDI. Then Sam died. So Nick went back to the city Board of Estimates and tried to convince them that the contract should be transferred to his company on the grounds that he'd done the work, and with Sam gone, PDI was in effect no longer the same company that had received the contract."

"Nick has always been one tough competitor. Did he persuade them to change?"

"Charles Hamilton is not the PDI lawyer for nothing. After he got through baring his teeth and explaining the legal ramifications to the board, Nick didn't have a chance." Donovan wound mozzarella strands with his fork. "It would be bad public relations to lose a job like this that's right on our doorstep. Though to be honest, if we didn't need the money I'd be tempted to let Nick have it."

"Why?"

"Because it's turned into a political football. Despite the gang and drug problems, a lot of decent people live in those apartments, and they don't like losing their homes. Plus, a community organizer is using the demolition as a way to draw attention to the city's housing deficiencies. In short, a media circus, with PDI in the middle of it. I expect picketing when the weather gets warmer."

"I see why you have mixed feelings about the job."

He regarded her thoughtfully. "Having you at PDI may turn out to be a real plus."

"I'm just going to be an apprentice foreman."

"You're more than that. As Sam's daughter, you're also the keeper of the flame, whether you want that or not."

"If you say so. I was thinking of myself more as the prodigal daughter."

"That, too," he said. "I supposed it's time I gave you the bad news. Tomorrow morning I have to go to Las Vegas for a few days, then on to San Francisco. I hadn't mentioned it because I thought I'd be finished before you returned to Baltimore. If you have the energy, I hope you'll come with me."

"Another cross country flight? Tell me you're kidding!"

"Afraid not. If I can get you a seat, we'll have to be out of here by seven tomorrow to catch the plane." He rose and cleared away their plates, then poured two cups of coffee and set biscotti on the table between them. "PDI is taking down a major hotel casino, and the client's in a hurry because he loses a couple of hundred thousand dollars every week until his new place opens. I'll understand if you'd rather skip this trip, but it's the sort of high-profile job where having Sam's daughter would be a real asset."

That seemed to please her. "I'll go then, but I warn you, I'm going to have serious jet lag." She dunked a chocolate topped biscotti in her coffee. "Though I might not have the nerve to reappear in San Francisco after all those wrenching good-byes."

"You can sneak in and out of town incognito. We'd only be there long enough to survey a building for a proposal. At least it will be warmer in Nevada than it is in Maryland."

She gave him the first genuine smile since she had stamped in the kitchen door. "How can I resist an offer like that?"

Chapter 11

Over coffee and dessert, Donovan filled Kate in on PDI, the current employees, and upcoming projects. By the time the coffee pot was empty, she'd absorbed her first lesson in the business. Smothering a yawn, she rose and started to clear the table. That had always been their rule--if one person cooked, the other cleaned.

"I'll take care of this," Donovan said. "You must want to unpack and settle in."

"Thanks. I'll take you up on that." Before leaving, she spent a moment prowling around the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets to familiarize herself with where things were kept. "Which room is mine?"

"The guest room is the old master bedroom."

She should have known--the other original bedrooms were tiny, and neither had a private bath. The old master bedroom it would have to be. "I'm going to call it a night after I unpack. See you in the morning."

She left the kitchen and made her way to her new bedroom, bracing herself. Even so, she wasn't ready for the impact of stepping inside. The room had been redecorated, and she thought she detected her mother's fine hand in the color scheme, bedspread, and draperies. But the furniture was painfully familiar. She and Donovan had refinished every piece themselves.

Lightly she touched the warm chestnut wood of the country-style dresser, remembering how it had been painted a violent red. Though she'd paid only fifteen dollars, Donovan had questioned her sanity even as he carried it into the house. But when the wood had been stripped and oiled, the dresser had been revealed as a beauty.

And the bed...she turned away quickly. Not only did it have its own story of acquisition and rehabilitation, but it must be saturated with the memories of a thousand nights of passion and closeness. Well, seven or eight hundred, anyhow. Toward the end, tension had replaced closeness. The last couple of months she'd been tiptoeing around Donovan like a mouse trying not to wake the cat.

Her gaze fell on a framed photo on the desk.
Hell
. It was a picture of her that Donovan had been taken on their honeymoon, a close-up that was all blond hair and dreamy, satisfied smile. It hurt to remember how happy they'd been then. How confident that they would be in love forever. Dear God, but they'd been young. No wonder their marriage had failed. If she had a daughter who looked that young, she'd lock the girl in her bedroom and refuse to allow her to date.

She was surprised that Donovan hadn't destroyed the picture, or at least packed it away. Of course, he probably seldom entered this room. Not wanting to face her naive younger self, Kate placed the picture in the drawer of the bedside table.

At least the attached bathroom stirred no memories. Originally it had contained only a shower stall, but Donovan had managed to fit a short but deep bathtub into the available space when he remodeled, so she wouldn't have to borrow the master bathroom when she was in the mood for a soak.

She studied the decorative border of hand-painted tile. Donovan did beautiful work. On his mother's side he was descended from generations of Italian craftsmen, mostly stonemasons and cabinet makers. His precision and care had made him a natural for explosive demolition, where there was no margin for carelessness.

But dear Lord, how was she going to sleep in this house? In this bed? Would she ever be able to tune out the ghosts?

With a sigh, she began unpacking her bags. More belongings were being shipped, but she'd brought enough to mark the turf as her own. On the dresser, she put a picture of her main man, except that Ginger Bear was a cat, not a man. She'd like to think that he missed her, but knew that a furry opportunist like him was already sleeping with Jenny.

It took an hour to unpack and prepare for the next day's trip. When she was done, she locked the door, then changed into a warm robe and curled up in the old wing chair she had reupholstered with the help of a library book. She'd been quite a little nest builder in those days, using her spare time and creative talents to make the small house beautiful for herself and her husband. Once, she'd imagined their children racing through the house and playing in the woods....

She called Charles Hamilton's office. On his voice mail, she left a terse message saying that she had just moved into Brandy Lane, and he could start the meter running on her forced residence.

There was only one major task left--telling Alec Gregory that the year-long affair was over. Their last conversation had been when she'd called to say that her father had been killed and she was flying East. He had been heading out the door on a business trip to Asia, and they hadn't spoken since, though he'd sent her concerned email from exotic places. She'd kept her replies neutral, not mentioning her move to Maryland. She was pretty sure that Miss Manners would not approve of breaking up with a man by e-mail.

She did a mental calculation. Alec was still abroad, but he should be back in San Francisco just about the time that she and Donovan would be breezing through. Which meant she really should try to see him face to face. Breaking up with a man over the phone might be acceptable when they were on opposite coasts, but not when they were in the same city, even if only briefly. She wasn't looking forward to it. True, theirs hadn't been a great love affair, but they'd always had fun together. Good companionship, good sex, no conflicts. That was almost as rare as love. Maybe rarer.

Her gaze strayed to the bed, and she suddenly wondered if her easy relationship with Alec was the real thing, and what had bound her and Donovan was not love, but obsession. Her mind spun irresistibly back to the night when their marriage had taken the dark turn that led to eventual ruin.

∗ ∗ ∗

Yawning, Kate pulled her Mustang into the carport next to Donovan's old Chevy, glad that his study evening with other Loyola engineering students hadn't turned into an all-nighter. The spring semester was almost over, and long hours of preparation for final projects and exams meant that she and her husband had scarcely seen each other. Hoping that he was awake so they could spend some quality time together, she flipped the lights on as she entered the living room.

Her husband was sitting on the sofa with a can of beer in one hand and ice in his eyes. "Where the hell have you been?"

She dropped her handbag and portfolio by the door. "College Park, of course. My urban design team decided to work late. None of us were satisfied with what we'd done so far."

"It's after midnight. Do you expect me to believe that you and three men spent the whole night talking about some slum?"

"Yes, Donovan," she said patiently. "We sat around with pencils and sketch pads until we figured out how to make a rundown neighborhood into a nicer, more livable place. After we had a quick drink to celebrate coming up with some great solutions, I drove home, which takes close to an hour even this late at night."

"So you were out drinking with the guys. How many of them did you screw?"

Her jaw dropped. "Good grief! Where did that come from? Maybe you should stop drinking alone. You must be drunk to say something so...so
revolting
." She headed for the bedroom. Two years of marriage had taught her that her husband had a possessive streak and an occasionally ferocious temper, but this was outrageous.

He moved so swiftly that she didn't realize he'd come off the sofa until he grabbed her arm and swung her around. "Don't try to change the subject! If you're so innocent, why didn't you deny that you've been screwing around?"

"Why should I deny something so absurd?" She jerked her arm from his grasp. "Either you trust me or you don't. And if you don't, you're crazy."

With a shout of anger, he smashed his open hand across her cheek with a force that slammed her backwards into a chair. The padded arm jabbed bruisingly into her hip as she tumbled to the floor. She lay there, stunned.

This wasn't possible. No one had ever struck her in her entire life. Yet she could feel the imprint of his hand on her cheek, every finger length etched in pain.

Shock was followed by fury. How
dare
he! She raised her gaze to her husband, and saw that his expression had changed from rage to stark horror. For a moment they simply stared at each other, both of them frozen by the ugly moment of violence.