The Rocky Road to Romance (7 page)

“There isn't anyone bleeding to death on the kitchen floor, is there?” Steve asked.

“No,” Elsie said. “He was moving fast once
he saw me take out my gun. He was heading for the back door, and I had to aim real low so as to get him in the leg. Police get testy when you shoot a man too high in the back.”

“Did you get him in the leg?”

“No. I'm not so good at legs.”

Steve went into the kitchen. There was a large hole in the back door and another one in the wastebasket beside the door.

Kevin was at the kitchen table, eating a piece of leftover pie. “She's death to wastebaskets,” he said. “Got it right in the kneecap.”

“How'd he get in?”

Kevin pointed to the patio door in the dining room. “Carved out a chunk of glass with a glazier's knife and unlocked the door.”

Steve started to dial the police. He punched in two numbers and stopped. Elsie didn't have a license for her gun. If Elsie were in trouble with the police, he wouldn't have anyone to ride with Daisy. He ran his hand through his hair and swore under his breath. “Everyone pack up. You're all coming to my house, and you're going to stay there until we find out what's going on with this guy. Take clothes for
overnight. We can do a more thorough move tomorrow.”

“That's fine with me,” Kevin said. “I'm no hero. I'm not excited about staying here to get blown away while I sleep. I'm only fourteen. I have a long life ahead of me. I got an A in sex ed last year. It would be terrible to waste all that knowledge.”

Elsie shrugged. “Don't make any difference to me. I haven't hardly unpacked yet.”

Daisy leaned against the doorjamb. She'd never been so scared in her life. Her heart was still racing, and her stomach was nauseous. She'd felt vulnerable and victimized when her car had been stolen, but that was nothing compared to what she was feeling now. She shivered when she thought what might have happened if it hadn't been for Elsie and her gun. She'd been lucky, she realized. She hadn't taken any of this seriously. She'd hired Elsie, not because she thought Elsie would make a good guard but because she wanted to give a chance to the elderly.

Now she didn't know what to do. A one-way ticket to Texas sounded appealing. She
realized she'd been thinking along those lines a lot lately and pushed the thought aside. Running away never solved anything, she told herself. She didn't like being bullied out of her house, and she didn't like giving in to her fear. Unfortunately, she had Kevin and Elsie to consider. It would be wrong to endanger them just to satisfy her belligerent pursuit of independence.

“I suppose it would be a good idea to hide out for a while,” she said to Steve. “It's nice of you to offer us the use of your house.”

 

Daisy was sitting at the kitchen table, enjoying a second cup of coffee, when Steve ambled in. She opened her mouth to tease him about sleeping late on a glorious Saturday, but her thoughts scattered at the sight of him. His hair was silky clean, fresh from a shower. His movements were efficient, but his eyes were soft and drowsy, as if the shower hadn't quite awakened him.

He wore a gray T-shirt with the sleeves cut out and a pair of shorts that had been washed to butter softness. She'd never been a sucker
for muscle, but Steve Crow in a sleeveless shirt made her eyes glaze over. He wasn't big and full of bulges like a wrestler; Steve was lean and hard and dangerous-looking. Her thoughts flew back to the night of the barbecue when they'd made love on his living room floor, and she remembered in breathtaking clarity just how lean and hard and yummy he could be.

She'd spent a lot of time lying awake thinking last night and had reached the conclusion that she would be much better off if she could maintain a platonic relationship with Steve. It wasn't exactly a new concept, but it seemed to be a decision that required constant rethinking and reinforcement.

Now they were alone in the kitchen, and she was having a difficult time remembering why a platonic relationship had seemed so important. It would be easier if Elsie or Kevin were here, she told herself. There wouldn't be such a strong feeling of morning intimacy; there would be diversions. As it was, she found her attention focused on Steve, and she found herself trying desperately not to look like a starving
woman suddenly confronted with a five-course meal.

Steve poured himself a cup of coffee, leaned against a kitchen counter, and openly studied Daisy. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were wide. She had that “kid in a candy shop” expression on her face again, he thought. She was looking at him like he was lunch—and he loved it. He wanted to be the bill of fare for the next fifty years.

“Where did Elsie and Kevin disappear to?” he asked.

“They went back to the town house to get essentials. You know, clothes, toiletries, the kitchen sink.” Her eyes narrowed a little as she looked at him. “There's something I've been wanting to ask you.”

“Anything.”

“What were you doing at my house at two in the morning?”

“I was worried about you, and didn't entirely trust Elsie to be able to handle a disaster. So I camped out in the SUV.”

“You were willing to sleep in your car all night just to protect me?”

“Mmmm.” He sipped his coffee. “I have plans.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Oh, boy? Is that a negative reaction?”

“I don't know if I can handle any more plans right now. I'm about all planned out.”

“Some of my plans don't require much planning. For instance, I plan to take you to a garden party this afternoon.”

“You mean a barbecue?”

“No. This is definitely a garden party. There'll be inedible little sandwiches without crusts, white wine with fruit floating in it, and tasteless cookies for dessert.”

“Gee, I can hardly wait.”

He took a frozen waffle from the freezer and slid it into the toaster. “You haven't even heard the best part. My Aunt Zena will be there.”

Daisy leaned forward in her seat. “You mean there's really an Aunt Zena?”

“You bet. Aunt Zena comes from the Crow side of the family. Her father was Crow, but her mother was Hungarian. Her third husband was elected to Congress sort of late in life. He died six months after taking office.
Aunt Zena decided she liked Washington, so she stayed here. Now she's heavily into fund-raising.”

“Is this party a fund-raiser?”

He took his waffle from the toaster and ate it like a cookie. “Yup. Some junior congressman from Oklahoma. I get invited to all of Aunt Zena's fund-raisers. She's decided I need to get married. Not only do I have to contribute to all of her causes, but I have to show up and run the gauntlet of eligible women she's drummed up for me.”

He sat across from Daisy, slouching back in his chair with his coffee cup resting on his stomach. “This is the part where you are supposed to show some jealousy as you contemplate all those eligible women.”

Daisy smiled at him. “Won't Aunt Zena be disappointed if you show up with me in tow? What about the sacrificial lambs she's recruited for this bash?”

“Hell, she'll be ecstatic. I'll tell her I'm madly in love with you, that we've already made whoopee on the floor and our bodies fit together like a dream, and that you've moved into my
house. Aunt Zena will be relieved. I think she's running out of marriage applicants.”

“You wouldn't dare tell her that!”

“I might.”

She tipped her nose up a little. “Well, then I'm not going with you.”

“Okay, then how about if we tell her we're engaged?”

“No.”

“You're not very cooperative,” he said. “This is my big chance to get Aunt Zena off my back.”

“You can tell her we're friends.”

“Honey, I'm friends with eighty percent of all the unmarried women in Northern Virginia and the District of Columbia.”

“That's a lot of women.”

“I've been to a lot of fund-raisers.”

“Well, it's friends or nothing.”

He reached forward, took her face in his hands and kissed her. It started out as a playful type of kiss with his eyes open and smiling, but all that changed when their mouths met. He dragged her onto the table, mindless of the coffee cups crashing to the floor, and in an instant his hands were under her shirt.

She gasped in protest, but his mouth covered hers, and objection quickly turned to obsession as desire bit into her.

He came fast and hard, trembling under the intensity of his own passion, wondering at the pinnacle if he would live through it, wondering if a man could survive loving a woman like this.

Still on the kitchen table, they slowly became aware of their surroundings. Coffee and cereal had been flung from one end of the kitchen to the other, dishes lay broken on the floor, chairs had been overturned.

There was the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, and Daisy and Steve looked into each other's eyes and saw panic.

“Elsie and Kevin,” Daisy whispered.

They scrambled to their feet and adjusted their clothes. They both glanced furtively at the only escape route which would lead to a shower and knew they'd never make it. Elsie was already in the foyer.

“Just act like nothing happened,” Steve said.

“We can pull this off.”

Daisy clapped a hand to her mouth to stop a
hysterical giggle. He had smashed Froot Loops on his knees and his shirt was torn.

Elsie stopped in her tracks at the kitchen door, and Kevin looked over her shoulder. “Whoa,” he said, “who trashed the kitchen?”

“Bob,” Steve told him. “Bob did it.”

Steve took his eyes off the road for a moment to smile at Daisy. She was wearing a little white number that hugged her body in all the right places and still miraculously projected an image of classy respectability. The slim skirt stopped a few inches above her knee, showing off long, tanned legs and dainty feet trapped in gold strappy sandals. The top of the dress was off-the-shoulder, with a band of material that wrapped across her upper arms and slanted down to her full breasts. The dress was entirely devoid of ornamentation, proving the old adage that less is sometimes more. She wore dangly gold earrings and wide gold bands at each wrist.

She was a knockout, and Aunt Zena would
love her, Steve thought. Zena would also be suspicious and nosy as hell, but an impetuous love-at-first-sight romance would appeal to her.

They rolled through Potomac, Maryland, in the racy black car, down wide streets where high six-digit incomes and suburban sprawl had spawned the tract mansion. Steve turned into a gated driveway and followed the smooth blacktop to a monster of a house riddled with columns and porticos and upgraded window trim. It rose phoenixlike, in redbrick splendor, from silver-dollar-sized wood chips and a great expanse of manicured lawn, its nether parts obscured by professionally tended azalea, holly, and rhododendron.

“An architectural masterpiece,” Steve said. “Neobeltway.”

Daisy gaped at it. “I'm glad I don't have to deliver papers here.”

A white-coated attendant helped her from the car and ran around to the driver's side.

“Is this Zena's house?” Daisy asked Steve.

“No. Aunt Zena has a condo in Georgetown. This little honey belongs to George and Ethel
Begley. They're really very nice people. I don't know why they chose to live at Tara here.”

They walked into the vaulted foyer and were greeted by Ethel. She gave Steve a cheek-kiss, rewarded Daisy with a dazzling smile, and propelled them forward into the cool interior of the house.

A sideboard held liver pâté, salmon mousse, and French bread crusts. The pâté and mousse looked fresh on their lettuce beds, and Steve took a crust and scooped up some mousse.

An older woman barreled through the French doors leading to the patio. Her hair was black and pulled into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She wore dark red lipstick and plum eye shadow. Her gray silk suit firmly whispered designer original. Daisy knew it was Aunt Zena from the first moment. She was a big, handsome woman. Near seventy, Daisy guessed, and still going strong.

Zena hugged her nephew. “I've been waiting for you.”

Steve returned the hug, then slid his arm around Daisy's shoulders. “Aunt Zena, I'd like you to meet my friend Daisy Adams.”

“Daisy Adams, that name sounds so familiar. Are you a Republican?” she asked Daisy.

“No,” Daisy said, “I'm a graduate student.”

“Daisy Adams, Daisy Adams,” Zena repeated. “Oh my Lord, you're the Dog Lady!”

A small crowd was forming behind Zena. “Is it really the Dog Lady?” someone asked. “It's the Roach killer,” someone else exclaimed.

“I didn't actually kill him,” Daisy murmured.

Zena clasped Daisy to her ample bosom. “This is so exciting. We need to make an announcement. I want everyone to know my nephew is dating the city's leading crime-stopper.”

Daisy grabbed Steve by the lapel and mouthed the word “help.”

“Maybe we don't want to make a public announcement just yet,” Steve suggested.

A flash went off, a minicam appeared, more people pressed into the dining room. The junior senator came forward to shake Daisy's hand. “This is a real honor,” he said. “This country needs more people like you—people with a commitment to ridding our streets of drug dealers.”

“Thank you, but I was just driving along…”

Steve muscled his way through the group, pulling Daisy after him. He didn't want Daisy to receive any more publicity. He didn't want her made into a hero. He didn't want her to become hot news. Someone was threatening her, and splashing her face across a TV screen again would only make things worse. He got her onto the patio and used his body to shield her from the people filtering out behind them. It was an effective device. This wasn't a pushy mob. These people were used to rubbing elbows with politicians and minor celebrities; they were masters at waiting for the right moment, seizing it, and backing away.

Daisy didn't mind the attention from the press. She figured that was their job, just as reporting traffic was her job. For a while she was news. She didn't fully understand it, but it was okay. She knew it would fade.

She held tight to Steve's hand, not because she disliked the crush of people, but because she was thrilled that he wanted to protect her. She'd never considered herself to be fragile,
had never asked to be cosseted, never before wanted it. And no man had ever assumed such a macho role on her behalf. She was surprised to find herself enjoying it now.

She accepted a glass of champagne from a waitress and looked around. It was a pretty yard with lots of flowers and shrubs and delicate white wrought-iron furniture. The people were pretty, too. And polite. They'd left her alone when Steve had dragged her off to the patio. “Is there anyone famous here?” she asked.

“You mean besides you?”

“I mean really famous.”

He took a fast survey. “There are lots of people here who are well-known. Senators, members of Congress, business moguls, but I don't see anybody I'd classify as movie-star famous.” He took a sip of her champagne. “I suppose the most newsworthy person is that little guy over there in the dark suit. The guy with the thick mustache and swarthy complexion. That's Abdul Rhaman…”

“Abdul Rhaman! I saw his picture in the
Post.
He's in town negotiating a trade agreement.”

Steve's smile was tight. “He's in town drumming
up money to equip an army,” he said quietly. “That's probably why he's at this party, and that's probably the reason for the press contingent. You don't usually find them at parties like this one.”

Daisy's eyes grew wide. “I should interview him!”

“What?”

“I have the tape recorder in the car. I could get an interview from him, and we could send it over to the station.”

His protective instincts were screaming to take her home and lock her in a closet, but that wasn't a viable alternative, he told himself. He looked at her face, flushed with excitement, and knew he couldn't deny her the interview. Besides, he had to admit, it was a good idea. It didn't relate to drugs or the Roach, so she wouldn't be putting herself in any deeper jeopardy. And Abdul would be cooperative. He was trying to pry money out of these people, trying to look civilized. “Okay,” Steve said. “Go for it.”

Daisy belted back the remainder of her champagne, gave Steve a quick kiss on the lips,
and whirled off toward the house. She hadn't gotten her interview with the Roach, but she was going to get Abdul Rhaman—and she was going to do a good job.

She raced through the dining room and the foyer and then stood on the front steps, shielding her eyes from the sun while she searched for Steve's car. She spotted it parked halfway down the circular drive.

A chauffeured Lincoln Town Car drove up and double-parked directly in front of her. The driver waved the attendant away while a man got out. He smiled and nodded hello to Daisy.

She acknowledged his smile and hello with one of her own and strode off to get her recorder, thinking Washington was a friendly place and the party not nearly as bad as Steve had predicted.

Minutes later she flew up the stairs with recorder in hand, mentally planning her interview. She swung through the front door, paying little attention to the people around her, trying to recall facts about Abdul that she'd read in the paper. She wanted a smooth, intelligent
interview, she decided. She wasn't going to shoot for depth, and she wasn't going to try to nail old Abdul to the wall on the arms stuff. She didn't want to get in over her head the first time out.

As she reached the patio, she was nervous enough for her heart to beat faster, nervous enough not to see Ethel Begley's schnauzer dart in front of her. Both the dog and Daisy let out an ear-piercing yelp on contact. Daisy lost her balance and lurched forward, arms outstretched, slamming into the back of the man who had arrived in the Lincoln. They went down hard in a heap on the cement patio, and in the process a gun went skidding off into the grass. Daisy saw it skim her fingertips and recoiled in horror.

Six men instantly materialized from the crowd to scoop up the gun and pin the man to the ground.

Daisy raised her head to see Steve bending over her. He had his hand on her arm. “You okay?” he asked.

“What happened?”

“My guess is you knocked the gun out of the
hand of some guy who'd crashed the party to snuff out Rhaman. Rhaman's goons were all over him.”

“ ‘Goons'?”

“Undercover protection.” He pulled Daisy to her feet, straightened her skirt, and brushed the hair out of her eyes. “You seem to have this weird propensity for running down criminals.” He picked up the recorder.

“It was an accident. I tripped over the dog.”

“Uh-huh.” He saw the cameraman swing his minicam from the gunman to Daisy. “Show-time,” Steve said, taking her hand. “Pretend you're Miss America and wave good-bye.”

“Good-bye.” Daisy waved, smiling at the camera.

Steve put an arm around her and nudged her through the wall of curious onlookers. “We have to leave now,” he said. “Miss Adams is needed elsewhere. Once a party is rendered safe, it's our moral obligation to move on.”

“What about the interview?” Daisy asked at the door. “I never did the interview.”

Steve hustled her down the stairs and out
onto the driveway, not waiting for an attendant to bring the car. “Rhaman's gone. They got him out of there before that gun hit the ground.”

He opened the door for her and watched her slide into the passenger seat, wondering at her priorities. Job first, personal safety second. It was consistent with the rest of her life, he decided. She'd been goal-oriented for so long she knew nothing else. He walked around to the driver's side and sat beside Daisy. “You ever have any fun?”

“Of course I have fun. I have fun all the time.”

He cranked the car over and pulled out of the parking space. “Doing what?”

She thought about it for a minute. “I suppose I have fun doing little things. I like to watch the sun come up when I'm delivering papers. I like the way it colors the sky in soft dreamy pinks and grays and yellows and for a short while the world seems safe and quiet. I like the way shirts smell steamy and fresh when you iron them. I like to listen to the wind rustling through a maple tree, bending
the leaves back so you can see the pale green undersides.”

“What about
big
fun? You ever have any big fun?”

“You mean like a trip to Paris?”

“Yeah. Or going to the movies, or buying yourself a pair of shoes you didn't need, or taking an entire day to do nothing?”

“Last week I ate a whole bag of Oreos in one sitting.”

Steve grinned. “Regular rebel, aren't you?”

“After I get my degree I'll have lots of time for fun.”

“I think we should designate tomorrow as a fun day.”

“I have to study.”

“Wrong.” He eased the car into traffic. “You can spend the rest of today studying. Tomorrow you must have fun.”

She slanted a suspicious look at him. “What do I have to do to have fun?”

“It's a surprise.”

“It's not something kinky, is it?”

“Not unless you want it to be.”

Daisy felt embarrassment creeping through
her. “No. Anyway, I don't think I could top this morning.”

He glanced over and smiled. “Don't underestimate yourself.”

He was teasing her, she thought. It was a nice kind of teasing, filled with affection and intimacy. The sort of teasing people did when they were really lovers. An odd feeling ran through her. It was a feeling she didn't want to identify, didn't want to dwell on. It was a sad feeling that had to do with missed opportunities and loneliness and longing. She cautioned herself not to think about it. She tried to push it from her mind, but the hollowness wouldn't leave her. How could her life be so full and suddenly feel so empty, she wondered.

 

They parked in the driveway at Steve's house. “You really need to do something about your garage,” Daisy said. “It's silly to have a garage and not be able to use it. You should call a locksmith.”

“No rush,” Steve told her. “The key's around here somewhere. It'll turn up.”

Elsie was in the family room watching television.
“You just missed it,” she said to Daisy and Steve. “They broke into one of them news-talk shows to show pictures of Daisy saving the life of Abdul Something. And then they showed her with some congressman, and they ended up by saying how she was living with the heir to the Crow oil fortune.”

Steve shrugged out of his suit jacket and yanked at his tie. “Didn't waste any time, did they?”

“How did they know I was living here?”

“I mentioned it to Aunt Zena,” Steve said. “She must have passed the information along.”

“My reputation has been besmirched,” Daisy said. And good Lord, she hoped her parents didn't see that piece on the news.

He put his hand to her cheek. “That's not the part that bothers me. I don't like the media making you into a superhero at a time when some nutcase is threatening you. And even worse, I moved you here hoping he wouldn't be able to find you for a while. The evening news just told a million people where you live.”

“I want to know about this oil fortune,” Elsie said.

Steve opened the top button on his shirt. “As far as fortunes go, the Crow fortune isn't all that much, and my parents have always done their best to spend it.”