The standard semifinals came first. Twelve couples had to spin around the dance floor at the same time.
The announcer called out two kinds of waltzes—regular and Viennese—and something boring called the foxtrot, which didn’t have anything to do with foxes. Harry thought at first his favorite would be the tango, which involved a lot of stamping and twitching.
But when the announcer called the quickstep and the pairs went galloping around the floor like a stampede of horses, he decided he liked this dance best. There were even a couple of collisions, at which the kids laughed uproariously.
“Cool!” said boy beside him, whose name turned out to be Dag.
A panel of judges made marks on score sheets as the couples whizzed by. Harry couldn’t stop himself from listening in on their thoughts.
They liked the way Rajeev and Vareena did the tango, but they preferred a tall couple’s fox-trot and, for the quickstep, a pair of dancers in scarlet costumes.
When the names of the six final couples were read off, Rajeev and Vareena weren’t among them.
Harry glared at the judges. He wished now that he’d done something, but at least the Latin section was still to come.
A few minutes later, when the twelve Latin semifinalists were introduced, out came Rajeev and Vareena in different costumes, sleeker and tighter. This time they seemed even more energized, as if throwing everything they had into winning.
There was a blond couple who hadn’t been in the other competition, as well as a chubby redhead teamed with a bald man. There was an African-American couple, too, who must be Marika’s parents.
As the pairs took turns bowing to the audience, Harry wondered what he should do to help his friends. He didn’t want any of the others to get hurt, just to stumble or run into each other. That ought to do it.
Then another thought occurred to him. “Dag,” he said. “Which ones are your folks?”
The little boy indicated the blond couple. Okay, Harry would have to spare them.
“That’s my parents.” Marika pointed at the red-haired woman and the bald man.
She must be mixed-up. “No.” Harry pointed at the African-American pair. “Those are your parents.”
The little girl shook her head, chuckling. “No, silly! I’m adopted!”
Well, he couldn’t zap the redhead, then. And Harry couldn’t bring himself to trip the African-American couple, either, just in case Marika was playing a joke on him.
Then he noticed the other boys and girls sitting around the room, some in chairs, some on the floor. Did they all have parents out there?
Harry’s heart sank. He couldn’t go through with it, not even to help Rajeev and Vareena. Everybody here must have practiced long and hard, and they all had friends who were rooting for them.
As the competition began, the snappy music improved his spirits. With passion and fire, the couples stalked and clicked through the cha-cha, the samba, the rumba, the paso doble and something called jive that looked like rock ‘n’ roll.
At least he could tell that the judges liked Rajeev and Vareena. They made the right kind of movements for the Latin numbers. Even without reading minds, Harry could see that the pair were well matched in height and style.
So it wasn’t a surprise when the names of the finalists were read off, with Rajeev and Vareena’s among them. Marika’s and Dag’s parents made it, too.
Harry let out a long breath. He was glad his friends were still in the running. He was glad he hadn’t tried to help them, either. Now that he thought about it, he could see that it would have been cheating.
Among those applauding loudest was a dark-haired woman sitting across the room, behind a tall man. When the man leaned aside to talk to somebody, Harry got a clear look at her.
Boy, was he surprised to see Cousin Lois. Who would have thought she would take such an interest in ballroom dancing?
Chapter Fourteen
Tara had half a mind to give Chance the cold shoulder for the rest of the evening. He’d had no business popping into her mind, even if they were playing a mind-reading game.
Not only had he poked into her perceptions, she’d been unwittingly thrust into his. She didn’t want to feel the way his heart speeded up when he looked at her. She didn’t want to acknowledge the masculine heat that stirred when he inhaled her perfume.
The man was impressive enough when viewed from the outside. Even in a conservative tuxedo, there was no disguising his muscular build or the confident stance that bordered on arrogance.
Tara wasn’t sure what to do with the warmth he aroused in her, but she did know that she couldn’t act on it. In the last few weeks, she felt as if unresolved bits and pieces of her life had begun to fall together, but the puzzle remained unsolved.
She didn’t know why she felt so strongly linked to Chance. She didn’t know why she sensed danger whenever they grew too close. She only knew that the prospect of merging with him again threatened her self-control and in some way her very existence.
With the presentation finished, clients and staff members were gravitating to him. Chance recognized each of them with a tilt of the head and a subtle narrowing of his gray eyes, as if acknowledging a unique bond between him and that person.
Standing at his side, trying to view him objectively, Tara decided that part of the man’s success came from the fact that he did indeed regard each co-worker and client as special. He never took them for granted or lumped them together.
This was part of Chance’s gift, the way his intuition blended seamlessly with knowledge and experience. There was nothing magical about it, she supposed, but the results were amazing.
These reflections softened her uneasiness. When the others drifted away and Chance asked her for a waltz, Tara agreed.
Stepping onto the dance floor, she was reminded of the competition under way a short distance from there. She and Chance would never execute a waltz with the smoothness and elegance of Rajeev and Vareena, but that wasn’t the point.
Tonight’s dancing was not a performance but a combination of relaxation and, she supposed, communication. It was one way that men and women could reach out to each other without words—and without getting too deeply involved, either.
As the music soared, Chance led her firmly on a private trajectory. They were matched well enough in height, yet he dominated the space through which they moved, his powerful shoulders and straight back declaring a zone of privacy.
No one else could feel the way their bodies connected across several inches of air while they wove a pattern among the dancers. No one could see the electricity tingling between them.
Tara became aware of Chance in every pore, as if the sensuous fabric of her suit conducted and enhanced his presence. Her breasts prickled at the nearness of his chest. Silver excitement ran through her core as his thigh brushed hers.
“That was quite a mind-reading performance tonight, wasn’t it?” he murmured. “I wonder what people thought of it.”
“They thought we planned it,” she replied, grateful for the distraction.
He regarded her quizzically. “Did it feel different to you? As if the connections were clearer?”
“Connections?” Tara tried to keep her edginess from showing. “You sound as if you’re referring to some new kind of fiber optics.”
He ducked his head, acknowledging her point. “I didn’t mean it that way. But something’s growing between us whether we want it to or not.”
A primal twist of fear caught Tara off guard. Why should she be alarmed? Annoyed, yes, or possibly displeased, but why did her hands go cold?
An image flashed across the landscape of her mind so quickly that it was more of an impression than a memory. A wall of fire surrounded her and Chance as they huddled together against one wall of a high-ceilinged room. As she watched, a long, scarred wooden table burst into flames.
“Aunt Cynda’s warning,” she said, then realized the remark must seem to come out of the blue.
But not t
o Chance. Steering her around an older couple, he said, “You feel it, too? I’m concerned, but I don’t see anything amiss.”
The soft music segued into a rock number. Tucking her hand beneath his arm, Chance led her off the dance floor.
People gathered around as if they had been waiting to talk to him. Few had specific questions or concerns, Tara noticed. They were drawn by the man’s magnetism and reassured by his strength.
She, on the other hand, felt far from reassured. Since the day she decided to return to his household, she had tried to persuade herself that the two of them could coexist on a platonic level. The signs of their growing attachment had been everywhere but she had managed to ignore them, even that day at the dress shop when he had treated her with such tenderness.
Tonight she could no longer fool herself. He was right about the connection when their minds met. And the sensation of danger grew stronger by the minute.
She ought to leave as soon as possible. Not just this party, but his house and perhaps Los Angeles, as well. There could be no real safety, only the illusion of it, until she put as much distance between them as possible.
But I can’t. The simple statement came from the heart, and frightened Tara more even than that half-imagined, half-remembered image of flames.
She didn’t believe in fate, and yet from the moment she and Denise set out on their drive that long-ago Halloween night, some force had pulled her directly into Chance’s arms. She didn’t believe in unfinished business from past lives, either, but the night outside this hotel lay thick and waiting, like a panther stalking them.
With a wrench, Tara forced her attention onto a stocky man who was taking his leave of Chance.
“I’ve stayed too long,” the man said with an apologetic smile. “I made them schedule the meeting late just to accommodate me, but I should have been there by now. I did tell them to start without me, but I’m chairman of the board, so they can’t come to any agreements until I get there.”
Tara didn’t know who the fellow was, but Chance obviously did. He knew all his clients. “I didn’t realize—I mean, you’re on so many boards, it hadn’t struck me. The company is the one my father’s trying to acquire, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I didn’t put two and two together until now. I keep strictly out of these matters, of course.”
“Oh, I know that.” The man, whose name tag read Victor Moustaki, waved a hand in dismissal. “As a matter of fact, I started investing with you because your father recommended you so highly. I checked you out first, and he was right”.
“You’re meeting with Ray tonight?” The timing set a red light flashing in Tara’s brain. “Would you mind if I ask where?”
“The Green Friars Country Club,” he said.
BEFORE THE FINALS in the standard competition began, a demonstration of show dancing by professionals had been scheduled. The grown-ups around him leaned forward eagerly, but Harry was tired of sitting on the hard floor and he’d seen enough dancing for a while.
He sneaked down an aisle and went to the dressing room to see Rajeev and Vareena. They were huddled side by side on a worn couch, while Rajeev anxiously inspected his sister’s shoe.
“The heel is definitely loose,” he pronounced as Harry entered. “There must be someone here who knows how to nail it down.”
“I am not dancing with a nail sticking into my foot!” protested Vareena.
“You should not get hysterical”, said her brother. “We have come so far, what is a little pricking?”
“Maybe you could use Super Glue,” Harry said from the doorway.
Rajeev looked up, his dark eyes approving. “An excellent suggestion. Do you have any?”
“Not on me,” said Harry.
One of the African-American competitors spoke from a chair in front of a lighted mirror, where she was retouching her makeup. “The head of the judging panel usually comes prepared. I saw him heading for the coffee room.”
“Thank you so much!” Rajeev jumped up. “Let us not waste time!”
“We should look after the boy.” His sister got to her feet, keeping her weight off the troublesome shoe.
A slim hand came to rest on Harry’s shoulder, and Lois spoke from behind him. “Hi, guys! Need any help?”
When the situation was explained, she volunteered to take Harry for a walk around the club. “It looks like a fascinating place, doesn’t it? We should be back in plenty of time to see you compete.”
“We would be most appreciative,” said Vareena.
“The glue will need time to dry!” warned her brother. “We must find the judge at once!”
Lois drew Harry into the hallway to let the pair pass. “We’ll be fine. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Harry wasn’t sure Mom would want him wandering around the club with Lois. She’d told him very strictly to stay at the dance competition and not to go anywhere without Rajeev or Vareena.
But Lois was his cousin, the first one he’d ever met. They’d had fun together at the carnival, hadn’t they? It probably hadn’t occurred to Mom that she would show up here.
Harry knew better than to trust strangers. Not that he was afraid of them. Anybody who messed with him would get frozen in place, or see an illusion of policemen shooting at him. Unless the stranger turned out to be a sorcerer or—what was that other word that sounded so ferocious?—a warlock, like Dad.
But this was Lois, not some stranger. Besides, the dance demonstration was going to be boring-until Rajeev and Vareena’s turn came again.
“Where are we going?” he asked as they strolled down the hallway.
“Did you know there are some parts of this club that aren’t open to the public?” Lois’s eyes got big, like his teacher’s did when she was reading the class a story.
“Like the kitchen?”
“That’s one example.” Opening an unmarked side door, she led the way up a narrow staircase. “Also the executive offices. And the locker room is for members only.”
“Don’t locker rooms smell funny?” Harry had been hoping to discover a game room.
“Okay, you convinced me. We’ll skip the locker room!” Lois grinned, but she sounded more nervous than amused. They reached a landing, and through an open doorway Harry could see the second-floor corridor.
“What’s here? Let’s take a look.” He started forward, but Lois caught his hand.
“These are the offices,” she said. “It’s only half of a second floor anyway, and it’s not very interesting.”
“Why is it only half of a second floor?”
“Some of the rooms downstairs have extrahigh ceilings, so they take up most of the second story. Come on, let’s go see the attic!”
A squiggly feeling in his stomach troubled Harry. He thought maybe it was his conscience, or it might be the spicy leftovers Rajeev had fed him for dinner. “We should go back.”
Lois crouched down to Harry’s level. She was a very pretty lady. “Actually, this is kind of a game we’re playing. I need your help.”
“In the attic?” he said.
“The man who built this house, a long time ago, modeled it after a castle somewhere,” she told him solemnly. “There are secret passageways and hidden alcoves for spying on people.”
That sounded even better than a game room. “Who else is playing?”
“Ray,” she said. “You know. Your grandfather.”
That was the man who’d been so mean to Mom on Field Day. “I don’t like him.”
“You won’t be anywhere near him,” she promised. “In fact, we’re going to snoop on him, sort of.”
Harry tried to think of what Mom or Dad would say, but he wasn’t sure. He certainly didn’t want to go sit on that hard floor downstairs while Lois had fun playing this game.
Dag and Marika would sure be envious when he got back and told them about his adventure! And Al and Sammi at school would be impressed, too.
“Let’s just go have a look,” said Lois.
They went up another flight
of stairs. A sign said OffLimits. Do Not Enter!
“Maybe it’s not safe.” The stairs were kind of creaky.
“They don’t want the guests getting lost,” Lois said. “Would I come up here if it were dangerous?”
“I guess not.” Harry felt a bit better when she turned on the lights, although they were dim. Naked bulbs exposed a sprawling room with a peaked roof and sloped ceiling.
Along one side, metal folding chairs were stacked in rows. Built-in cabinets bore labels, most of which he couldn’t read, but one said Table Linens, and another, Chandelier Bulbs.
He was trying to figure out how to pronounce the word chandelier, which was not on any of the first-grade spelling lists, when his cousin tugged him onward.
“Try to be quiet,” she whispered. “Remember, this is a spy game.”
There wasn’t much else up here, just a lot of open space and dust. It was hard not to cough, but Harry did his best. He boped the secret passageways weren’t full of spiderwebs. In video games, you never had to worry about stuff like that.
“How do you know where everything is?” he asked.
“There was a lot of publicity when the house got sold and became a club, twenty years ago,” she said in a low voice. “Ray clipped an article that gave the history and sketches of the floor plans. He had a feeling it might be useful. He’s held meetings here before.”
“Meetings?” said Harry.
They reached the far wall. Pulling a flashlight from her purse, Lois located a slim, vertical crack. She ran her hand up and down it, then pushed at several points. Just when she was starting to mutter some of those words Harry wasn’t allowed to use, a panel slid open with a snick.
“Well, thank goodness,” she said.
To his relief, Lois went through the opening first. When he followed, Harry found they weren’t in a narrow passageway but a small room.
When Lois turned off the flashlight, he saw a yellow pinprick shining in the wall. “It’s a peephole”, explained his cousin, steering him toward it. “Take a peek.”
All Harry could see was darkness, with the point of light above his head. “It’s too high.” He stood on his tiptoes, but it wasn’t enough.
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