He smoothed her tangled hair gently, then realized that she was crying. "Julia, what's wrong?"
Not looking at him, she whispered, "You were right, this was a mistake."
"Only if you let it be." He felt chilled. "We're both well past the age of consent, and not exactly at high risk for any terrible diseases. Most important, we're not betraying anyone. We have every right to be together if that's what we want."
"Sam hasn't even been dead a month!"
"He loved you, Julia. He wouldn't have denied you what comfort you could find with a friend." He hesitated. "The last time I saw him, he...he told me to look out for you."
"I doubt that this is what he had in mind." She stood and swiftly put her appearance to rights. "I'm sorry for dragging you into my misery, Charles. It wasn't fair of me."
"For God's sake, Julia, don't apologize!"
She stepped over the dogs and bolted for the kitchen, moving with the speed of a first-class tennis player.
"And don't run away!" He went after her, and promptly tripped over Retort. By the time he disentangled himself from the dog, the Mercedes was barreling down the long drive toward Ruxton Road, blending into the moonlight silvered trees.
Swearing, he stood in the door and watched her go. The sound of her car faded away, leaving only the hard, icy rattle of twigs in the night wind and a distant hum of traffic on the Jones Falls Expressway. His hands dropped to the heads of the dogs, who had followed him to the door.
Julia was right, having sex had been a mistake. Before, one of them had been miserable.
Now they both were.
Chapter 16
∗ ∗ ∗
In Las Vegas, the twenty-four hour city, Kate was able to call for a rental car at midnight and have it waiting after she breakfasted at the coffee shop the next morning. She had sneaked out of the suite early to avoid Donovan.
Though she reached the job site before eight, he was already there. He walked out of the Palace as she parked her car, carrying a chopped broom handle in one hand and a stick of dynamite in the other. "Time for your first lesson in the nuts and bolts of the business, Kate. We're going to do a test shot."
Donning her hard hat, she said, "Ready when you are!"
Together they climbed to the lowest of the shot floors and walked to a support column at the back of the building. A large pneumatic drill lay on the floor beside the column and safety equipment such as goggles and ear protection was stacked nearby.
"Ever use a feed leg drill?" Donovan asked. "These suckers weigh eighty pounds, which is why the bore holes are done by two-men crews. One person guides, the other holds the drill and keeps the pressure behind. You won't have to do this often, but you need to know how if you're going to be the boss."
Drilling holes in concrete was an aspect of explosive demolition that hadn't figured in Kate's childhood dreams, but she wasn't going to say that to Donovan. If she wanted this job, she had to be willing to be a laborer as well as an engineer. "I haven't used this type of drill, but I've operated smaller ones. I'll manage."
He gave her a brisk lesson on technique before they both donned safety equipment. Then he scooped up the drill, making it look easy, and drilled a pilot hole in the floor about six feet from the column with a shattering burst of noise.
After bracing the leg of the drill in the pilot hole, he said, "I'll guide the business end. You control the drill itself. You'll probably hit rebar, and you'll know when that happens, but keep going. The drill bit is carbide and designed to cut through steel."
She took hold of the drill, and almost dropped the damned thing. Eighty pounds was heavy, even with the support of a leg brace.
If Donovan was amused by her clumsiness, he had the grace not to show it. He helped her wrestle the drill into position and wrapped a gloved hand above the chuck.
Cautiously she compressed the handle grip switch. The drill kicked like a mule and made enough racket to raise the dead, but to her pleasure, she could handle it.
Boring into the column took concentration and strength. The vibrations jangled through her hands and arms while dust and pulverized concrete spat from the deepening hole.
About nine inches into the column, she hit a piece of rebar, one of the steel rods that provided the reinforcement in "reinforced concrete." Donovan had been right that she'd know when that happened--the drill shrieked and bucked, but she held on tight and kept going.
Inch by inch, she bored into the heart of the pillar. There seemed to be a lot of rebar. She couldn't say that she'd like doing this all day, every day, but there was a heady satisfaction in attacking concrete and steel--and winning.
When she judged that the hole was a little more than halfway through the column, she withdrew the drill and released the grip switch. Blessed silence.
Donovan helped her lower the drill, then picked up his broom handle rod and slid it into the hole. "You got the depth right. Now it's time to load your first explosive." He presented her with the stick of dynamite.
She was finally getting to play with explosives! She took the stick.
He pulled a brass punch from a loop on his belt and the thin metallic tube of a blasting cap from a pocket. "Punch a hole in one end of the stick and slide the blasting cap in. Always use brass for this, not iron, to avoid sparking."
The blasting cap was a narrow cylinder with two wires, one green and one red, attached at the end. After uncoiling the wires, she inserted the cap into the hole she'd made, leaving the wires trailing out.
Donovan showed her how to tie the wires around the stick in a half-hitch. Then she used the broom handle to push the explosive into the drilled hole. So far, so good. "Isn't a sandbag usually put in to keep the force concentrated within the column rather than blowing out the hole?"
"Your memory is good." He pulled a sandbag from a pocket and tossed it to her.
She tamped that against the stick of dynamite. "Now what?"
"Before we connect the charge, we wrap the column with chain link fencing and geo-textile fabric to keep debris from flying in all directions." Donovan ran a hand down the roughly-textured column. "The fencing holds in the large chunks of concrete. The geo-textile is for the smaller pieces."
On the other side of the column were two long rolls of pre-cut material, one a dark, synthetic looking fabric and the other chain link fencing. Donovan had been very thorough in preparing this lesson for her.
Working together, they wrapped the column in the fencing, then covered it with the coarse fabric. Donovan's tall body was only inches from hers, near enough so she could feel his warmth in the cool morning air as he secured the coverings with heavy steel wire. He looked unnervingly attractive in practical work clothes that emphasized his strength and fitness. She moved away as soon as her grip was no longer needed.
"Now connect wire from that spool to the detonator and run it outside," Donovan said. "I'll meet you there."
How many times had her father done this? Or Donovan? Now it was her turn.
By the time she'd brought the wire outdoors, Donovan was waiting with the well-worn blasting machine. "This is only a test shot, but the principles are the same as for bringing down a whole structure. The only difference is scale."
She knelt by the blasting machine to connect her wires, but he stopped her with a gesture. "Attaching the blast wires to the machine is the last--the very last--step. First we make sure the area has been cleared."
He unhooked his walkie-talkie and pressed the transmit switch. "Bull, Donovan here. We're ready to do the test shot. Your people all clear?"
"I think so," Berrigan's deep voice crackled from the radio. "But give me a couple of minutes to make sure."
After Berrigan called through the all clear, Donovan said, "Okay, hotshot. Wire up and fire when ready."
Her heart jumped. It might not be much of an explosion, but it was going to be her very own. Carefully she twisted the connecting wires to those of the blasting machine, then hesitated as she studied the two buttons.
>
"Warm up the machine by holding down the green button," Donovan said. "When the red light on the 'Fire' button come on, you're ready to go. That's when the countdown starts, going from 'Ten' to 'Fire.' Then push the second button. Both of them have to be depressed to set off the explosion. Got it?"
She pressed the first button. "Should I do a countdown?"
"Yep. This is the real thing, even if it is small scale."
After the red light came on, she began to count down. "Ten, nine, eight..."
Fire! With a surge of pure excitement, she pressed the second button, completing the electrical connection. Above them, a boom rolled through the empty building, rattling windows and spitting dust into the clear desert air.
Kate gave a whoop of triumph. She'd done it. She'd done it!
"Way to go, Kate! You're on your way."
She laughed, a little embarrassed by her exhilaration. "It's a very child-like kind of kick, isn't it? Like a toddler knocking down a pile of blocks."
He grinned. "Right. No matter how much we talk about how this is a business and a necessary part of the construction cycle, at heart we do it for the pure kid fun of making loud noises and breaking things."
"That's the real reason it's not considered a job for women, isn't it? Blowing stuff up is such a guy thing."
"Yes, but you've just been admitted to the club."
The treacherous intimacy that lurked beneath all their conversations was present in full force. She wrenched her gaze away. "Time to examine the results."
"Here." He pulled a pair of dust masks from one of his pockets. She was no longer surprised at what he might produce from somewhere around his person.
She slid the elastic over her head so that the dust mask covered her nose and mouth, then entered the building to investigate her first explosion. The dust was beginning to settle when they reached the test area, and she was disappointed to see that the column hadn't been severed. Though the concrete had shattered, the steel bones of rebar were almost all intact. "Did I do something wrong?"
Donovan's shrewd gaze studied the damaged column. "Nope, it's just that there's one hell of a lot of rebar here--far more than usual. No way to know in advance since we didn't have blueprints. That's why we do tests--to ensure that we know what's going to happen. I'll have some more test holes drilled to check that this level of reinforcement is standard throughout the building. Then we'll do another test shot. At a guess, these columns will take a stick and a half of dynamite."
We. Whatever Donovan's personal reservations about having her work in PDI, Kate was now part of the team.
Chapter 17
∗ ∗ ∗
The excitement of Kate's first blast was followed by mundane office work as Donovan set her to making phone calls. She was philosophical. Even as a small child, she'd known that for every grand bang, there were weeks and months of routine work.
She had just talked to the local explosives supplier when Hollywood invaded. Kate and Carmen were alone in the office when the other woman said excitedly, "There's a huge limousine pulling up outside. Do you think it's Kenzie and Raine?"
Kate looked up from her list. "I wouldn't think that movie stars would drop by to look at a location, but I suppose it's possible. Shall we find out?"
Carmen headed purposefully to the door. "If it's them, I want an introduction."
They stepped from the trailer in time to see Raine Marlowe, one of Hollywood's most bankable women, slide from the limo like an otter. She wore mirrored sunglasses and a teal blue silk jumpsuit that did justice to every inch of her perfect figure, along with a flowing Isadora Duncan scarf and bitch goddess boots with stiletto heels.
Kate thought back to the first time they'd met, when Rainey had been a frightened, angry child with haunted eyes. The illegitimate daughter of a famous female rock star and an unidentified lover, she'd been orphaned at the age of six by her mother's drug overdose.
Clementine--just Clementine, no last name required--had been found wearing a T-shirt that said, Live Fast, Love Hard, Die Young, and Leave a Beautiful Corpse. Clementine had done all four. Somewhere in the Valhalla of dead rock stars, she was probably rejoicing in the knowledge that she had become a legend.
But while premature death was a good path to fame, it was a lousy thing to inflict on a little girl. Kate vividly remember the day when Raine--at that time still bearing the name Rainbow that her mother had bestowed on her--had showed up for classes at Friends School.
She'd looked dazed, both by the loss of her mother and the culture shock of being jerked from Los Angeles to the conservative Maryland home of her grandparents. The elder Marlowes had never approved of Clementine, but by God, they'd do their duty by her daughter.
From the depths of her own security, Kate had sympathetically set out to befriend the new girl. She'd been the one to start calling her Rainey. The nickname had stuck.
Of the five girls who eventually dubbed themselves the Circle of Friends, Rainey had been the zaniest. She grew up with apricot hair, a small-boned, perfectly-proportioned body, and a passion for outrage. In the middle of her sophomore year at Goucher College, she'd taken off for California and never looked back.
Like Kate, she never returned to Maryland once she'd made her escape. Her disgusted grandparents washed their hands of her, just as they'd done with Clementine.
Rainey had plunged into the world of movie making, studying acting, going to auditions and even taking college courses purely for the fun of it. She'd enjoyed modest success right from the beginning, laying the ground work for when she became an "overnight sensation" in her late twenties.
Through it all Rainey had kept in touch with her old friends. Living on the West Coast, Kate had seen the most of her. Every year or so, they would take a long weekend together at some interesting spot. The last such getaway had been in Carmel over two years earlier, shortly before Rainey had met Kenzie Scott. Ever since, Rainey had been too busy for weekends with girlfriends.
Though there had been occasional phone calls, the conversations never went very deep. Rainey's professional and personal life were great, and how was Kate?
The calls left Kate disturbed. Though her friend's career was soaring, the movie business took a heavy toll on its successes, and under Rainey's tough surface was vulnerability. But they had always respected each other's privacy, so Kate couldn't probe for more than her friend wanted to volunteer.
As she climbed from the limousine, Rainey's gaze found Kate. "There you are!" She threw herself forward into a hug.
Kate returned the embrace enthusiastically. For years, she'd wondered if the day would come when Rainey would think of her as a distant and not very interesting part of the past, but it hadn't happened yet. "Damn, Rainey, you certainly have the scary movie star look down perfectly. How did you find me here?"
"We've been on location, and I just heard about your father's death. I'm so sorry, Kate. He was the best. But at least he went out with style."
"That he did. I just wish he'd done it thirty years from now."
"There's never a good time to lose a parent." Rainey pulled off her sunglasses, revealing changeable blue gray eyes that looked much older than her flawlessly made-up face. "Anyhow, when I called your office to offer condolences, Liz told me you're working in the family firm for the next year. Since I knew PDI was doing this shot for the movie, I made the limo come by here before we went to the hotel, just in case. I'm glad that you finally made it into the business."
"I sure did. Want to see my hard hat?"
Her friend laughed. "I have a picture of you wearing one when you were in second grade. It looked right even then." Two men had emerged from the limousine after her, and were now surveying the shining shell of the casino. Rainey beckoned to the taller man. "You've never met my husband, have you? Kate, Kenzie Scott. Kenzie, this is Kate Corsi, my oldest friend."
It was said that actors usually looked diminished in person, but not Kenzie Scott. He was big--tall and broad-shouldered and be
autifully fit, with charisma to burn and green eyes to die for. Kate barely managed to prevent her jaw from dropping.
"She doesn't look old to me," Kenzie said in a deep voice. "Quite the contrary." Though he could speak perfect American for a screen role, his natural accent was irresistibly British.
Kate offered her hand, then blushed when he gallantly bent to kiss it. She'd seen Kenzie Scott on the big screen, where he projected the action hero excitement of Harrison Ford combined with the urbane charm of Cary Grant. And here he was, kissing her hand. "I feel some cognitive dissonance here. I've always thought you were twenty feet tall."
The tanned skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. "It's a common misconception. But here I am, alas, in the too, too humble flesh."
Kate saw Carmen lurking by the trailer. "I'd like you both to meet Carmen Valasquez, who, I am reliably informed, is the power behind the throne of the development company that is taking down the Palace and putting up something better. Carmen, meet Raine Marlowe and Kenzie Scott."
Wide-eyed, Carmen came forward. As Rainey and Kenzie greeted her, the other man who arrived in the limo, a rangy fellow that Kate recognized as Hank Hawkins, the movie's director, called, "Hey, Kenzie, over here."
With a word of apology, Kenzie joined the director. Carmen said shyly, "I've loved your films, Miss Marlowe. Every one of them."
Rainey laughed. "Even my first starring role, Biker Babes from Hell?"
"Especially that one. Not only did it give me courage to dump my jerk of a first husband, but I went out and bought me a Yamaha. Which had a lot to do with catching my present husband, actually. You wouldn't believe how that bike of mine turns him on."
"I'd believe it," Kate said, thinking of the motorcycle Donovan had when they were married. "Bikes are sexy."
"I'm glad that turkey of a movie had some good effects," Rainey said. "Even while I was making it, I knew that someday I'd be embarrassed to have it on my resume."
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