A Rare Chance

by Carla Neggers

  “You look as if you could use some time in the Jacuzzi,” he said.

  She smiled. “There are other ways to get warm.”

  “Sure. There’s hot chocolate, heating pads, fireplaces.”

  “I was thinking along a more intimate line.”

  “Ah.” He came closer, sliding his arms around her wet, cold middle. “Falling for me, are you, Gabby?”

  “I’ve realized I have no choice.”

  “A ringing endorsement if I’ve ever heard one.” But his sea-blue eyes turned serious, his grip on her tightening. “With me, Gabriella, you’ll always have a choice. I’m no Joshua Reading.”

  She nodded. “I know.” She brushed the stubble of beard on his jaw, already feeling warmer. “You want to go to your partner, don’t you?”

  “He did the right thing,” Cam said. “In the end, he did the right thing.”

  “He’ll forgive you for doubting him.”

  “Question is, will he forgive himself?”

  Chapter

  Eighteen

  Gabriella brought two glasses of wine up to her rooftop deck, where Cam was flipping through a tome on orchids he’d checked out of the library. Scag had decreed it adequate for an introduction to the field. Cam had decided even law books were more entertaining.

  It had been two weeks since the police had dragged Joshua Reading off in handcuffs, and Cam had yet to do any of the puttering he’d planned to do before starting at the D.A.’s office. Scag had put him to work in the greenhouse, displaying no patience whatever with Cam’s ignorance. “You law enforcement types,” the old man would grumble, as if that explained any horticultural inadequacies on Cam’s part. Thus far, he’d figured out that if Scag muttered something that reminded him of Latin class, he was talking about an orchid. If it had “Scagliotti” somewhere in its name—there was a specific place, but Cam refused to remember where—it meant Tony Scagliotti had discovered it.

  There was even one orchid Gabriella had discovered and named. It had “Starr” in it.

  She plopped down into a teak chair, in shorts and T-shirt, filled with energy from their run along the river. The past two weeks had brought the color back to her cheeks and the spark back to her eyes. She’d helped Lizzie find a therapist to help her work through the aftermath of her disastrous relationship with Joshua Reading. Pete Darrow had promised to be there for her too. It was up to her if she wanted to see him. He’d returned to his job as a detective. He was breaking in a new partner, a kid he maintained had an even thicker head than his old partner, just not the bank account. But if he’d wanted money, he’d have gone into another line of work. He knew that now.

  Deep down, Cam thought, Pete Darrow had known all along that his work was sacred ground. He’d had the brass ring in his grasp, and he’d thrown it away.

  After much soul-searching, Gabriella had decided to stay with TJR Associates. Titus Reading was a decent man, perhaps no more loyal to his brother than Gabriella to Lizzie Fairfax or Cam to Pete Darrow. His company did solid work. And he’d asked Gabriella to stay on. He needed her in-your-face guts and determination to help get him and TJR Associates through the nightmare of his brother’s fall from grace. His brother was in jail and would likely stay there for a long time. He was refusing to cooperate with authorities, who now believed the kidnap attempt on him was, in fact, a scare tactic used by his weapons suppliers as a very direct way of warning him not to get too arrogant.

  Gabriella sampled her wine, settling back in her chair. Scag had gone home for the day. He’d moved into a two-room suite in his rooming house, giving him the space he needed to commence work on his memoris. When he got Gabriella’s orchids in shape, he’d cut back his hours. He had, finally, decided to let her pay him for his work. They’d haggled over the price one entire afternoon.

  When he’d found out about his son and Gabriella Starr, Tom Yeager had howled. “I remember Tony Scagliotti. I fined him once for trespassing. Something about a white lady slipper. I wanted to throw him in jail just for irritating me.” But he’d added, turning serious, “Be happy, Cam. It’s time.”

  Yes, he thought, sipping his wine and eyeing Gabriella’s trim, bare legs. It was time.

  “Is there someplace in the world where there are no orchids?” he asked.

  Gabriella thought a moment. “The Arctic Circle.”

  He winced. “That won’t do.”

  “For what?”

  “Our honeymoon.”

  She smiled, comfortable with the idea of a honeymoon. “It’s either orchids or someplace very cold.”

  “I think we’ve plucked each other out of enough cold places to last awhile. I’ll risk the orchids. You won’t be distracted?”

  She set her wineglass on the table and came to him, sliding onto his lap, her dark eyes warm and content. “No,” she said, and his arms settled on her waist. “At least not by orchids.”