A Rare Chance

by Carla Neggers

  Chapter

  Eight

  Gabriella took herself out for lemon scones and cappuccino at a Newbury Street cafe on Saturday morning, not to get away from Scag and his dire talk of scales and black rot so much as to remind herself why she lived in Boston. After she had seen a good hunk of the world, Boston possessed a welcome familiarity, with its own unique mix of sedateness and energy. She and her mother would come to town every year for the flower show in March and then again for the Nutcracker or the latest show at the Museum of Fine Arts and, at least once a year, a Red Sox game. Her mother had been a die-hard Red Sox fan; money could always be found for their annual trip to Fenway Park.

  Happiness, she maintained, was something created, discovered in the everyday things. For her, the wild beach plums and lady slippers and cranberries of Cape Cod were enough. She hadn’t needed to canvass the world for the rare epiphyte. It wasn’t that she lacked ambition or drive, simply that she focused on goals and not yearnings. She believed in the achievable more than the intangible, and she wasn’t a restless woman. No matter what she wanted or how much she wanted it, she didn’t tie her happiness to getting it. Her affair with Tony Scagliotti at the age of twenty-one had taught her the necessity of that independence of spirit and soul.

  Gabriella broke off another small piece of scone. It was very fresh, soft and buttery. If only, she thought, she had her mother’s ability to be content. Maybe then she could get Cam Yeager out of her mind.

  She had finally, and however belatedly, done her research on him, calling a reporter friend. Cam had attended Harvard as an undergraduate, majoring in history and political science. Instead of going on to law school, as he and his family had anticipated, he had opted for the police academy. There was no apparent opposition from his family, despite their surprise. When he made detective, Pete Darrow eventually became his partner.

  He had earned his law degree at night, and not from Harvard, as his father had.

  Gabriella’s contact with him since the dinner party on Reading Point had been polite and limited. She’d found him up on the roof with Scag after work last night, helping to rearrange shelves and repair one of the fans, all with the notion of preventing further erosion of the health of her orchids. Scag had apparently called him. Cam’s being the son of a governor of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts in no way altered Scag’s assessment of his brute strength.

  Thomas Yeager, however, Scag remembered from his days as a judge, before he was elected governor. “ ‘Hang ’Em High Yeager,’ we called him,” Scag said, neglecting to mention that he referred to all judges that same way, his opinion of them not being any loftier than that of cops and prosecutors.

  Cam had tolerated her father’s prejudices and stereotypes with surprising equanimity. They’d all had dinner together, ordering in pizza and eating on the roof, enjoying the downright balmy evening. Afterward, Cam had volunteered to give Scag a ride to Cambridge.

  But before departing, Cam had told them that Pete Darrow was now following Lizzie on a regular basis. “I just thought you should know,” he’d said, as if it ought to be enough, as if Gabriella ought not to remind him he hadn’t yet told her why he was worried about his ex-partner’s job change, why he’d felt he needed to sneak onto Reading Point.

  It wasn’t enough, but Gabriella hadn’t pushed the point. “You don’t think Joshua put him up to it, do you?”

  He’d shrugged. “I’m just gathering information. I’ll think later.”

  Sighing, Gabriella finished the last of her scone and cappuccino, paid up, and headed for the dress shop where she’d promised to meet Lizzie to get ideas for her wedding gown. Gabriella had put on jeans and an oversized blue cotton sweater that was almost too warm for the pleasant spring weather. When she arrived at the elite, intimate shop, located above a trendy hair salon, Lizzie was already there, in a crisp navy and white combo out of keeping with her obviously somber mood. The stark colors seemed to drain the color from her face.

  Gabriella saw she had dark circles under her eyes, and her hands were trembling. She rushed forward, pushing past a very young bride-to-be who was carrying on about French lace. “Lizzie,” she said, “what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

  Lizzie’s green eyes misted, but she forced a small smile. “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just being silly and dramatic. You know me.”

  “When you’re being silly and dramatic, you don’t usually look like hell.”

  Gabriella spoke in a low voice in case of eavesdroppers. The shop didn’t do off-the-rack dresses, reflected in its eclectic decor of cushiony love seats in a deep sage green fabric, antique marble-topped Victorian side tables, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. There wasn’t a coat hanger in sight, although a short, narrow hall led to something that looked suspiciously like a suite of dressing rooms. The salespeople were all beautifully, expensively dressed. This was a corner of the world Lizzie Fairfax had grown up in, and occasionally, through her childhood and adulthood, had flirted with rejecting.

  “Lizzie,” Gabriella went on, sitting beside her on the fluffy love seat, “come on. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t meet Gabriella’s eye, staring instead at her hands, twisted together in her lap. “It must just be an anxiety attack. I’ve been having them every now and then.” She squeezed back tears. “I’ve got to get hold of myself.”

  Gabriella pried Lizzie’s hands apart and took one in hers, feeling how clammy and cold it was. “If it’s anything to do with the wedding,” she said carefully, “or Joshua or Pete Darrow…”

  Lizzie was shaking her head violently. “It’s nothing. Please, Gabriella.”

  Gabriella glanced around, but the salespeople and fellow customers were giving them a wide berth. She turned back to Lizzie, feeling a firmness of purpose, a certain steeliness. “Lizzie, I know Pete Darrow’s been following you.”

  It was as if she’d let all the air out of her. Lizzie collapsed against the couch and covered her eyes with one hand, tears streaming down her cheeks. Gabriella could have gone after Darrow and strangled him herself for upsetting her friend.

  “I wanted everything to be perfect,” she said, sobbing.

  “Don’t worry about Darrow. It’s not as if you have anything to hide.”

  She swung forward, her eyes wild. “It doesn’t matter if I have anything to hide! Joshua just—he—”

  “Come on,” Gabriella said, urging Lizzie to her feet, “let’s get out of here. We’ll look at dress designs another time.”

  Lizzie gave a pathetic smile. “I wanted us to have this day together, Gabriella, just like we planned when we were thirteen. Remember?”

  “I remember. We promised that whoever we married, whenever we married, we’d make sure we didn’t neglect each other.”

  “Except you were so sure you’d never marry,” Lizzie said, trying to laugh. “You’ve always been so stubborn and independent, Gabriella. I—sometimes I wish I were more like you.”

  They were making progress toward the door, and Gabriella caught the eye of one of the salespeople, a rail-thin man in a trendy suit. He looked more relieved than disappointed that they were leaving.

  “And sometimes,” she said, “I wish I were more like you, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie scoffed. “In what way?”

  “Your ability to get along with people, have fun, enjoy the moment—I like that about you.”

  “Do you? Lately I—I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ve liked much about myself.”

  This from a woman who’d just announced her engagement? But this was no time to press Lizzie on that serious point, and Gabriella guided her friend down the stairs and back outside, where the bright sun only made Lizzie Fairfax seem even more distraught and drained.

  “We’re both survivors,” Gabriella said, hoping to help restore her confidence. “We’ve always been alike in that. Remember that time in Colombia when the police thought Scag and me were in cahoots with a drug lord and the drug lord thought we were in cahoots with the police? Y
ou got us on a plane before either of them could catch up with us. When you need to act, Lizzie, you always do.”

  She nodded vaguely, delicately brushing away her tears with the tips of her fingers. “I’ve just never—I guess I’m not used to being the one on the firing line.”

  “Darrow hasn’t threatened you, has he?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  But she didn’t elaborate, and Gabriella, knowing how Lizzie could clam up about her own problems, especially if they made her seem weak or overly emotional or undignified, urged her down the street. She was thinking of her lemon scones and cappuccino. Something to eat, something to drink, and maybe Lizzie would tell her more about what was upsetting her.

  “Something wrong, ladies?”

  Gabriella recognized Pete Darrow’s cocky tone and swung around without thinking, without planning. Before he could wipe the smirk off his face, she hauled off and slammed a fist into his lower abdomen. He had just enough time to tense his rock-hard muscles, taking some of the sting out of her blow.

  “Christ,” he said, “I’m glad you don’t carry a gun.”

  He didn’t look particularly hurt or even particularly taken aback, but more amused than anything. “Stop following us,” Gabriella said. Her knees were shaking, and her hand hurt.

  Lizzie grabbed her arm. “It’s okay, Gabriella. Let’s go.”

  “Mr. Darrow,” Gabriella said, breathing hard, “if I catch you following either of us again, I’ll speak to Joshua and Titus Reading or I’ll call the police. You’ve overstepped your authority. This is harassment. You do not have the right to follow either of us.”

  “Gabriella,” Lizzie warned, tightening her grip.

  Darrow leaned back on his heels, studying first Gabriella, then Lizzie, through dark, half-closed eyes. “Joshua asked me to be here to pick you up, Lizzie,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “That’s all. He said you spent the night on Beacon Hill and walked down here this morning. But you two go ahead and think what you want to think. You just might think things through next time you do something stupid.”

  His eyes fell one more time on Gabriella, apparently the one in serious danger of doing something impulsive and stupid.

  “Lizzie and I were just going to a cafe—”

  “No, it’s all right, Gabriella,” Lizzie said, pulling herself together. “I’ll go with Pete.”

  Darrow patted Gabriella on the shoulder. “Relax, sweet cheeks. Neither of us will tell your boss you just nailed his security man in the gut.”

  “I don’t care if you do. You deserved it.”

  But he and Lizzie had already started down Newbury, leaving Gabriella to figure out whether Lizzie was doing what she felt she had to do or what she wanted to do. And not just in climbing into a car with Pete Darrow. Also, Gabriella thought, in marrying Joshua Reading. What had happened to change Lizzie overnight?

  Perhaps a talk with Cam Yeager was in order, in case he knew.

  Cam fell in beside Gabriella when she turned down Commonwealth Avenue. She was walking at a brisk pace, oblivious to his presence. The famous magnolias on the mall had gone by, their leaves budding out now, the grass a plush green. People were out walking their dogs, sitting on the benches reading the newspaper, making the bet that winter, finally, was over.

  “Wishing you’d hit Darrow harder?” Cam asked, getting her attention.

  She glanced at him, her deep, dark eyes registering only the faintest surprise at finding him next to her. “You saw?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Why didn’t you do something?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like—I don’t know what.”

  “Be glad he didn’t decide to hit you back.”

  She made a face as if she’d just had to taste something nasty. “It was awful. I was out of control. Lizzie was so upset, and there he was. I thought he was following her again.”

  “He was,” Cam said.

  “But he said—”

  “He was following her, Gabriella, and I was following him.”

  Her look turned even more distasteful. “You two.”

  “Yeah, us two.”

  “He says Joshua asked him to pick Lizzie up.”

  “Maybe he did.”

  Gabriella stopped abruptly, her dark hair glistening in the late-morning sun. “Are you suggesting Joshua is having Lizzie followed?”

  Cam shrugged. “It’s possible. It’s also possible Darrow’s exceeding his mandate to make sure his boss’s fiancée stays safe. Or he has no mandate and he’s just being a jackass.”

  “I wouldn’t want my fiancé to keep tabs on me,” Gabriella said with a shudder.

  Cam gave her a long look. “I’ll bet when you were two you told your mother you can handle things from here on out on your own, thank you very much.”

  “Having your fiancée followed—if that’s what Joshua’s doing—is not a sign of love. It’s a sign of possessiveness and distrust. It’s a power play.” She started back down Commonwealth, past the big Victorian townhouses with their tall windows and grand entrances. “I’d rather believe Pete Darrow’s acting on his own.”

  Cam shook his head. “Doesn’t matter what we’d rather believe. It only matters what the facts are. Right now we have more speculation than facts.”

  “Well, Lizzie’s scared and upset about something, and I intend to find out what.”

  “Why?” Cam asked calmly.

  She flew around at him. “What do you mean, ‘why’? Because she’s my friend!”

  “You can’t rescue her from herself, Gabriella, any more than I can Pete Darrow.”

  “I’m not trying to rescue anyone. I just—”

  Her mouth shut, and she stared up momentarily at the sky. When she again focused on Cam, her eyes had darkened and dulled, the fire gone out of them. It was not something, he realized, that he liked seeing. “Lizzie wants so much to be in love that she sometimes loses sight of what’s really happening in a relationship. Her fantasies get in the way of her seeing reality. It’s something you might expect in a thirteen-year-old. Once—I think it was the summer after our sophomore year in college—she fell for this Hollywood director summering on Cape Cod. He made promises to her.” Gabriella inhaled sharply, retaining an unsteady control of her emotions. “Guys always make crazy promises to her. Turned out he was married, had three kids, and his promises were meaningless.”

  “He lied to her,” Cam said. “That’s not her fault.”

  Gabriella shook her head. “No, he didn’t lie. He told her the truth right from the start. Lizzie just makes it seem as if the truth doesn’t matter to her. She wants so desperately to find the perfect love. She doesn’t know in her gut that there is no such thing.”

  “So speaketh the cynic.”

  She waved a hand, impatient. “You know what I mean. A romantic, intimate relationship isn’t perfect. It’s not supposed to be perfect. Perfection—I don’t know, it makes love sterile, it kills it.”

  Cam raised an eyebrow. “You must be a barrel of laughs on a date.”

  She grinned suddenly, teasing, sexy, unself-conscious, her unexpected humor catching him by surprise. Her dark eyes danced. “Maybe that’s why I don’t date much. I don’t trust perfection because it’s not real. Anyway, enough of that. Lizzie’s a mess, and I intend to find out what’s going on. And I don’t care if you think I’m trying to rescue her. She’s my friend.”

  “It’s your call, Gabby. You do what you have to do.”

  “And I suppose you’ll be tucked in some alley should things go wrong.”

  But he didn’t respond to her light sarcasm. He could feel the seriousness come over him like a dead weight. “I wouldn’t count on it if I were you. If you take on Pete Darrow, you’d better be prepared to go it alone. I might not be there.”

  She turned cool. “I was referring to your furtive ways, not my need to have you protect me. I’m always,” she said, her eyes meeting his, “prepared to go it alone.”


  “Gabriella—”

  “I need to get home. Enjoy your afternoon.”

  Taking long, purposeful strides, she moved up the wide sidewalk. Cam almost let her go. He had things to do. He didn’t need to argue with a woman ever determined to stick her head in the lion’s mouth. She hadn’t changed her ways. She was just as prone to taking risks as she’d ever been.

  She would go up against Joshua Reading and Pete Darrow to protect her friend. No question.

  “Gabriella,” Cam said, lurching forward.

  She didn’t stop. She was going to make him chase her.

  The hell with it, he thought. She was on her own. But he found himself trotting after her, grabbing her arm, spinning her around to him, and damned near kissing her. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman as much as he did her. He didn’t think he ever had.

  “I have somewhere I need to be,” he said. “When I’m finished, I’d like to talk to you. Will you be home?”

  Her eyes narrowed on him, wary, suspicious. But she nodded.

  “I’ll see you then,” he said.

  “Can you tell me where you’re going?”

  He noticed it wasn’t a demand, and—Gabriella Starr being Gabriella Starr—there wasn’t a hint of self-pity attached to it. So he figured what the hell. He might as well tell her. “I’m having lunch with one of the detectives who investigated Joshua’s attempted kidnapping.”

  “Well,” she said with a small, unsettled smile, “have fun.”

  Lizzie Fairfax didn’t talk the whole way out to Joshua’s apartment on the Boston waterfront. She insisted Darrow drop her off at the front door of the modern building, and he acquiesced, not so much to reassure her as because it didn’t make any difference. She’d go up to the bastard. Now that she was here, she’d do it. She thought she was in love with him.

  Tell her about the illegal guns he’s collecting, Darrow thought.

  “Don’t worry about your pepperpot friend,” he said instead. “I don’t hold a grudge, and she didn’t hurt me near as much as she wanted to.”