Asking For It (28 page)

She'd seen the office maps of Wildwood. The water that was going to serve their project came from a hill that loomed above the site to the south. Deirdre seemed to remember a note on the map, the name of some camp.

Spooning plum sauce onto her pancake, Deirdre wondered if she could get the camp's name from the map at the office, then find a phone number for the place. The camp probably used water from the same creek Griffith was planning to use for Wildwood Homes. It was possible somebody at the camp would know how many gallons per minute the stream could deliver.

She might be able to find this answer out on her own, and thereby satisfy Edward March of GoldFed Financial.

Deirdre was smiling widely as she dropped some moo shu onto her pancake. In not helping her, Ricky had ended up doing her a favor; he'd encouraged her to figure it out for herself.

She glanced over the table at him and smiled, warm and happy.

Tomorrow she'd take a look at that map.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was so quiet Ricky's ears were ringing when he closed the door of apartment 2C behind him. Walking on careful feet, he passed Deirdre's bedroom window and continued toward the exterior stairs.

He'd been too restless to stay the night.

Now he padded down the stairs to the moonlit sidewalk. His face twisted as he acknowledged the source of his restlessness: his own perversity. Deirdre, given the slightest encouragement, would have told him anything he wanted to know about Wildwood. And he'd shut her up! Citing the unlikely event his law firm could get involved, he'd refused to let her speak.

Was he insane?

With his tie loose around his neck and his jacket unbuttoned, Ricky sidestepped overgrown tree roots in the sidewalk on the way to his Mustang parked at the end of the block. Maybe he was going crazy, but sitting there at Deirdre's kitchen table, he suddenly hadn't been able to cross the line any more. Call it an outbreak of integrity, but he couldn't allow her to pour her innocent little heart out to his predatory self.

Ricky's scowl was a distorted image reflected off his car door as he unlocked the vehicle. He should have let Deirdre talk. He should have let her blab her fool mouth off.

He could have discovered something important, even vital. He could have brought the end of this whole thing that much closer.

Once he'd folded himself into the car, Ricky stuck his key in the ignition and roared the Mustang to life. Next time, he promised himself, he would let Deirdre talk. He was ready for this to end.

But his head turned and he looked at the two-story apartment building, the one that was lime-green in the daylight, before he drove away.

~~~

"My, my. New clothes, Grif?" Kate stood among the growing crowd of campers waiting to get into the dining hall for the last supper of the session. She eyed Griffith with undisguised appreciation. For the past three days, she'd done her best to relax into this situation, to
enjoy
her feelings for Griffith. It hadn't been easy, though. She still had a lot of disbelief to work through. Could he be for real? Could this be happening?

Oddly, her confidence grew whenever Griffith appeared rattled, himself. Now a muscle jerked in his jaw and he couldn't quite meet her eyes.

"Talked Lupe into getting something my size while she was in San Luis Obispo." One of his hands smoothed the material of the plaid button-down shirt. "Kate — "

"The right size helps," Kate interrupted. To her eye, Griffith's thoroughbred build would telegraph through if he were wearing a feed sack, however.

"Right," Griffith said, and frowned. More and more campers were joining the crowd waiting for supper. "Listen, Kate, I wanted to talk about — "

"Oh, look." Kate interrupted him once more to point at Arnie, who slipped out through the supposedly bolted double doors of the dining hall. "Somebody managed to sneak in early."

Griffith looked askance at her. Kate knew Griffith wanted to talk. She was pretty sure she knew the topic. What she didn't understand was why she was avoiding the discussion.

They needed to talk about what was going to happen tomorrow, when he went home. On at least one level, she wanted to talk about it. She wanted to pursue the relationship.

But she couldn't prevent a sense of dread. This had to be too good to be true. Didn't it? Could something so wonderful, so unexpected, be happening to
her
? After all these years, and with her dismal record, she had a decent man in her life? She wasn't sure she could accept that, somehow.

Meanwhile, Arnie, smiling, strolled up to her. "I was in your office checking messages." He handed Kate a folded sheet of paper. "This one's for you."

"Oh," Kate said. "Thanks."

Griffith's eyes lowered to the piece of paper that was now in Kate's hands. He gave it a brief stare of utter intensity before looking away.

So far, Kate hadn't offered to let him use the phone, and he hadn't asked to. They both understood that if he called L.A. he'd feel he had to leave, and she'd feel she had to let him. So, Kate hid the note in her hands until the big double doors of the dining room opened for real and campers began to stream inside. Only then did she take a couple steps back, unfold the thing, and look down.

In Arnie's ragged scrawl she read, "Deirdre Marshal from Blaine Development wants to talk to you."

Kate folded the note back up very quickly. Her heart jolted.
Blaine Development
. That had to be Griffith's company, the one she'd kept him from for two weeks now.

And so? Why was she panicking? Griffith's company had apparently run him to ground — on her property. So, what? Griffith wasn't going to raise a stink, at this point, about the methods she'd used to keep him here.

But while everybody filed into the dining hall, Kate turned to face the mountains, heart pounding and mind spinning. Did she simply hand Griffith the note and let him return the message? Or would that be violating their unspoken agreement? Did she owe it to him to let him stay one last night and, coincidentally, give him a chance to have that talk with her, the one they both needed to have? She rubbed the folded note between her fingers.

"Kate?"

She turned. Griffith, wearing a concerned frown, was pushing past the streaming kids toward her.

Hand him the note, Kate thought. Let him work it out. But the spurt of relief she felt told her this would be the coward's way out. She'd be putting off the relationship discussion — or disposing of it altogether. Not to mention she'd be forcing Griffith to field some mighty awkward questions from Ms. Marshal.

"Is there a problem?" Griffith's brows drew together. "Are you all right?" He set his hand on her shoulder.

Instantly, Kate put a smile on her face. "Nope. No problem." But his frown didn't ease. He could tell something was wrong. And he cared. Yes, of course he cared. Suddenly Kate knew what she had to do. Be brave. Let him have his say. Tonight. "There's no problem." She lifted the carefully folded paper. "But I probably ought to go return this call. Have somebody say Grace, would you? I'll be down as soon as I can."

"All right." He took his hand off her shoulder. She'd given him a job. That usually distracted a male, Kate had learned. He even smiled. "But you want to make sure you don't miss dinner tonight. Arnie mentioned something about spaghetti and meatballs."

Kate laughed. "No, I certainly wouldn't want to miss that."

Together, they walked into the dining hall until, with a pat on Griffith's arm, Kate peeled away to go up the stairs and to her office.

To return a phone call to Deirdre Marshal at Blaine Development, and improvise a song-and-dance that would answer any questions and give Griffith another night before he had to return to L.A.

~~~

Griffith watched Kate slip up the stairs to her office. Turning from the sight, he tapped Orlando's shoulder.

"Grace," Griffith said. "You lead."

Orlando's eyes widened. Every fourteen-year-old had had a chance to lead the prayer except for him, as he'd been thrown out of the older group on the third day of camp and stuck with Griffith's nine-year-olds.

"Go," Griffith said. When Orlando warily obeyed, trudging up to the podium, Griffith looked back toward the stairs. Kate was gone.

There were still so many things about her he didn't know. For instance, he had no idea what that phone call could have been about. What sort of worries did she have? What pressures? It was a cinch that rounding up funding for the camp was a constant hustle, but was there anything else, perhaps something more personal?

Griffith sat at the head of his camp table and said Grace along with everybody else, but he was frowning. If he wanted to know more about Kate and her life, he was going to have to bite the bullet and tell her so — tonight. Hell, it was his last chance.

"Move over, Elroy. There you go. Thanks."

Griffith looked up. Arnie was squeezing his big body between Elroy and the end of the table, where Griffith sat. Once planted, Arnie looked over at Griffith and grinned. "How ya doin' there?"

It was as good as a shot fired over the bow. "Fine," Griffith said carefully.

Arnie kept on grinning. He leaned closer to Griffith. "You talk to her yet?"

That shot hit center mast. Griffith stared at Arnie. "Have I talked to whom, about what?" As if he needed this!

But Arnie appeared to think Griffith needed a kick in the pants. "Have you talked to Kate, man, about what's going to happen after you go back home tomorrow?"

Not knowing how to answer such an impudent question, nor what answer he could possibly give, Griffith fell back on a cold-eyed glare.

Arnie made a disgusted noise. "You didn't think I gave you that box of Trojans only for fun and games, did ya?"

Griffith's eyes widened and he glanced from side to side. "Keep it down, will you?"

Arnie paid no attention. Either he thought these kids didn't know what Trojans were — a naïve assumption — or he didn't care. "Well?" he demanded.

Griffith took a second to breathe. "And this is your business how?"

Arnie drew himself up. "I'm practically a father to that girl. Well...a big brother, anyway. Besides, you know as well as I do you'll be miserable if you let her get away."

Griffith gave Arnie one more glare, then reached for the bowl of spaghetti noodles. As he stabbed into the pasta, he admitted, "I'm going to talk to her tonight."

"That's what I wanted to hear." Arnie beamed and gifted Griffith with a heavy slap on the shoulder. "Great strategy, too. Waiting until the last minute. Gotta keep 'em on their toes, now, don't we?"

Griffith slanted Arnie a look as he dumped pasta from his serving forks. "Sarcasm doesn't become you."

"Oh, was I being sarcastic?" Grinning, Arnie patted Griffith on the shoulder, not quite as violently this time, and rose from his seat.

Narrow-eyed, Griffith watched him leave. Yes, he was going to do his part, and he was reasonably certain that Kate would do hers, and agree to keep the relationship going. So Griffith's foot-dragging was incomprehensible. What was he worried about?

Griffith took a forkful of spaghetti. His gaze stole to the opening that gave onto the stairs up to Kate's office. Yes, he would do his part tonight.

Meanwhile he wondered what was taking her so long on the phone.

~~~

Kate locked the door of her office, sat in the old chair behind her desk, and switched on her satellite telephone. She took a deep breath and, before she could lose her nerve, dialled the phone number Arnie had written at the bottom of her message.

A woman answered the phone. "Deirdre Marshal," she said in a pleasant voice.

Suddenly, Kate's stomach became a cringing midget. But she forced her voice to come out strong and confident. "Good evening, Ms. Marshal. I wasn't sure I'd still find you in. This is Kate Darby. I'm the director of Camp Wild Hills. You called me earlier today?" Was it craven, Kate wondered, to pretend she didn't know why Deirdre Marshal had called?

"Oh, thank you for calling back." To Kate's surprise, the tone of the woman from Blaine Development did not go hard or accusing. On the contrary, she still sounded pleasant and even grateful. "There's some information I need," the Marshal woman went on. "And I was hoping you might have it."

Some information? Ms. Marshal didn't know for sure then that Griffith was at the camp? "Uh...anything I can do to help," Kate said, continuing her innocent routine.

"This may seem off the wall," the Marshal woman apologized. "But my question concerns the stream that flows past your property; Wild Tail Creek I believe it's called?"

Kate blinked several times. "Yes, that's the name." But what did Wild Tail Creek have to do with Griffith Blaine?

"I assume you're using water from the stream as a domestic supply for your camp."

"Yes-s-s." And this regarded Griffith how?

Ms. Marshal released what sounded like a relieved sigh. "Then you must know the flow dimensions, how many gallons per minute the stream delivers."

Kate sat in her office chair, completely flummoxed. What on
earth
...? "I wonder if you could tell me... Exactly why does Blaine Development, in Los Angeles, want to know?"