Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way Page 10

"Do birds fly? But Sean looked pretty beat — he said to say goodnight, by the way, and Cam didn't really finish his afternoon nap."

  "You could get off easy," Peter said.

  "Yeah."

  And then they were left to gaze at each other. Peter felt as speechless as an acne-faced adolescent. The whole thing was so unexpected: her being nice to him, him being a fourth wheel. It was all a blatant opportunity that, for some reason, he didn't know how to take advantage of.

  "Ahem. Dinner was great," he finally managed to say.

  "Ha." She rolled her eyes. "If your idea of entertainment is watching a toddler smear himself with spaghetti sauce — Hey, did he get some on your shirt?" She squinted and stepped closer.

  Feeling oddly diffident, Peter backed away. "Uh...I'm sure he didn't." He looked down and hastily covered the small red spot with his hand. "Even if he did, I know how to do laundry, as well as dishes."

  She halted her approach, and laughed again. Peter smiled even as something turned, warm and alarmingly squishy in his chest. God, he liked it when she laughed.

  "Listen," she said. "I don't know if you're in a rush or anything, but about this time of day I make myself a cup of decaf." She made an inch sign with her fingers. "With an eensy hit of chocolate fudge sauce."

  Peter smiled. "Sounds good to me." Problem was, it sounded way too good, much better than a simple offer of coffee should sound. Even with chocolate fudge sauce. Hastily, Peter reminded himself of his mission: to find Anja and her research. He wasn't here because, maybe, Brittany was starting to like him.

  "Have a seat," Brittany told him. With a brief smile, she turned in the direction of the kitchen cabinets.

  Peter took a seat at the built-in bench in the breakfast nook. The mission, he reminded himself as he watched Brittany reach up for a package of coffee filters. The gesture stretched her cotton shirt interestingly over her breasts.

  Peter cleared his throat. "Uh, have you lived here long?" The question could lead the conversation to the subject of her neighbors, including, of course, Anja. It could also get Peter's mind off Brittany's breasts.

  "I've been here about two years." Brittany spoke over her shoulder. "Thanks to a good lawyer, I got enough money from my ex to buy this place, and be a stay-at-home mom." She turned enough to show Peter a grimace. "Not that I did too good a job at the mom thing today."

  Peter narrowed his eyes. "You're a great mom."

  "Because great moms lose their children?" Sarcasm dripped off her tone.

  "Actually, I happen to know they can, and do." Peter tapped his thumb on the tabletop. "Because I saw it happen to you."

  It took her a minute to get it. She finished pouring a spoonful of coffee grounds, then turned to blink at him. "You're judging great mom-dom by me?"

  "Mm, not exactly." Meeting her skeptical gaze, Peter rubbed his thumb against the edge of the table. "See, I have a wide experience with mothers. I had, oh, about thirteen of them."

  Brittany's skeptical eyes went wide.

  He pressed his thumb harder against the tabletop. "Foster mothers," he explained. "My birth mother, poor girl, was a teenage drug addict. I was taken away from her when I was three."

  Brittany didn't say a word as she stared at him.

  Peter chuckled and raised a shoulder while wondering what on earth had prompted him to admit this to her. Maybe he just couldn't stand to hear her rag on herself when he'd seen her in action, mother-wise. "Please don't feel sorry for me." His face grew warm. "It wasn't so bad, really. But you better believe I know the difference between a good mother and a bad one. You could say I'm something of an expert."

  She stared for another half a second, then raised an eyebrow and turned back to the coffeemaker. "Shows how off my guess was."

  "Excuse me?"

  She glanced over her shoulder as she continued making the coffee. "My guess was you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, but had taken up blue collar work in order to thumb your nose at your rich parents."

  Peter burst into laughter, partly at the image, and partly in relief that she wasn't completely freaked out by his true life story.

  Brittany laughed along with him. "But seriously," she then said, turning completely. "Going from family to family sounds...difficult."

  "Nah. The stuff with my birth mother happened so far back I don't even remember it, and foster care wasn't steady, but it worked." Especially once Peter had gotten the knack of charming everybody. It got so he could even get the family's real kids to like him.

  In the kitchen, Brittany tilted her head, mildly incredulous.

  "Well... Maybe I do have trouble forming long-term attachments," Peter admitted, less than half-jokingly. "For example, I'm thirty-three years old and have never been married, or even close to such a situation."

  Leaning against the kitchen counter, Brittany crossed her arms over her chest. "Some might say never marrying was merely wise."

  It was Peter's turn to tilt his head. "Is that what you would say?"

  Brittany snorted.

  "But you got two kids out of it," Peter pointed out. "They seem to be worth it."

  "Maybe. But...marriage is still a bad idea."

  "You'd rather have had the kids without the benefit of marriage?"

  She barked a laugh. "With Cam, I did. Blake was running around on me while I was pregnant." She shook her head. "And when I caught him, he used my pregnancy as an excuse. Said he couldn't get turned on by a woman who was big as a cow. It was my fault, see?" Brittany gazed at Peter narrow-eyed. "His cheating was my fault."

  Peter stuck his tongue in his cheek. Did she think he was going to side with her ex? "A man who can't get turned on by the woman who's big with his own child is missing some basic human characteristics. Either that, or he's simply a fourteen carat asshole."

  Her eyes went wide before she laughed. "Fourteen carat — That's a great way of putting it. And accurate."

  Peter smiled, thoroughly enjoying the delight on her face. "I've got a phrase for every type of drib."

  Brittany sucked in her cheeks. "Picked up from all those bad mothers, no doubt."

  They both laughed, and Brittany smiled at him before turning to pour the coffee. It was a warm smile, an almost...intimate one. As if they'd shared things, things that went beyond casual.

  Which, of course, they just had.

  Peter felt a funny flip in his belly. Hastily, he got up from the table to help her carry the coffee cups.

  One cup of coffee, he told himself, and he'd get out of there. Anja or not, he needed some space.

  But he didn't leave until they'd had three cups of the chocolate fudge coffee and shared way too much laughter. And even then he thought about her as he drove the pickup across town and back to his apartment. He thought about her all night long.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "So what's Anja's excuse this time?" The demand came from Shana, who had one long leg crossed over the other on the lounger in Olivia's living room.

  Olivia set down the mobile phone, over which she'd just finished her call from Anja. "It's a pretty good one. She can't come to Girls' Night In tonight because she's not even in town."

  "I knew it," Brittany piped up, from her position cross-legged on the floor. "I don't think she's been home since, oh, last Girls' Night In."

  Sweeping her skirt to the side, Olivia took a seat on the sofa. "She said she needed a peaceful, quiet place to finish this urgent project, something about a 'back door.' You know, I never can fathom the scientific part of what she tells me."

  "That makes two of us," Shana agreed. "Anyway, she's missing her turn to pick the activity." Her eyebrows shot up and she straightened in the chair. "So we get to."

  "Actually — " Olivia scratched the corner of her mouth. "Anja did choose something."

  "No way," protested Brittany.

  "Well, she certainly can't make us do anything," Olivia agreed. "But she suggested we open the champagne she gave me for Christmas, and then — " Olivia stopped to sigh.
"And then she wants us each to divulge some deep, dark secret."

  "Forget that," Shana said, without a beat of hesitation.

  "I'm with her," Brittany agreed.

  "She isn't here in person, for one thing," Shana went on. "For another, I haven't heard any deep, dark secrets from her. And besides all that, I just don't feel like it."

  "I'd go for the champagne, though," Brittany remarked.

  "Yup." Shana climbed out of the lounger. "Where is it?"

  "The big pantry," Olivia said. "You'll have to throw it in the freezer to chill."

  "Big pantry. Freezer." Shana strode purposefully toward the kitchen.

  Brittany leaned against the sofa. "I do have a secret to tell," she admitted. "Though it's not very dark or deep."

  "I'm listening!" Shana called, speaking across the open counter that separated the kitchen. She opened the pantry door and pulled out the bottle of champagne. With a deep lungful of air, she blew a cloud of dust off it.

  Brittany leaned forward to set her arms on the coffee table. "I had a bad mommy moment yesterday. I lost Sean."

  "You lost him?" Olivia asked.

  Brittany's mouth set in a grim line. "He walked right out of the house — and I didn't realize it."

  "How awful," said Shana, glancing over her shoulder as she opened the freezer door.

  "You must have been terrified when you discovered he was missing," guessed Olivia.

  "Petrified."

  "What'd you do?" Shana walked back from the kitchen.

  Brittany heaved a deep sigh. "I ran to the house painter. Can you imagine?" She laughed. "And the painter found Sean."

  "Thank goodness." Shana sank back into the lounger. "Where was the kid?"

  "At school, where he'd told me he was going when I wasn't listening." Brittany shook her head. "I absolutely panicked. It was a darn good thing Peter was there. He really kept his head."

  "Peter, I assume, being the house painter," Shana remarked dryly.

  Brittany slit her gaze at Shana, then laughed. "Actually, I'd forgotten his name, but fortunately I heard Sean use it. Anyway, Peter was...great."

  Olivia and Shana exchanged a glance.

  Brittany widened her eyes. "Not that great. He was just...competent." Her brows drew together. "As soon as I told him Sean was missing he went into this weird, totally controlled mode. It made me start to wonder..." She tapped a finger slowly up and down on the tabletop.

  Olivia prompted, "It made you wonder what?"

  "I don't know." Brittany pressed her finger down on the tabletop. "I guess it made me wonder if he used to be a cop or something."

  Shana stuck a tongue in her cheek. "Not that you're interested in his life, or anything."

  Brittany scowled at her.

  "He did something important for you," Olivia put in, attempting to smooth the waters. "Something big. It's only natural you should be a little curious about him now."

  "Right," agreed Brittany, latching onto this explanation with obvious relief. "It's only natural."

  "And it certainly doesn't hurt that he happens to be awfully good-looking," Shana added archly.

  Brittany shot her a narrow gaze. "He happens to be a nice guy...in spite of that fact."

  Neither Olivia nor Shana needed to ask if Brittany's ex-husband, Blake, had been good-looking.

  "So that's my secret," Brittany said, and raised her eyebrows at Shana. "You're next."

  "Hm!" Shana bounced one leg as it rested over the other knee. "Did I say I was going to tell one?"

  "So you have one," Brittany deduced, grinning.

  Shana scowled.

  Olivia cleared her throat. "Uh, have you seen your neighbor recently, Shana?" She'd spoken to Mr. Dashwood herself a few times since the dog incident, and still couldn't help liking him.

  Shana threw Olivia a dark look. "No, I haven't seen him. I'm careful to avoid that. But..." She closed her eyes. "But he has been...sending me things."

  "Sending you things?" asked Brittany. "Like what?"

  "Well, let's see." Shana sighed. "On Tuesday it was flowers. This rather unusual — and okay, elegant — bouquet of orchids and lilies. Who'd have guessed he had that kind of taste? Then just today he sent me a poem."

  "A poem!" Brittany exclaimed.

  "Yes, a poem," Shana confirmed grimly. "He didn't write it, thank God. He even copied down the real author's name, Walt Whitman, but it was..."

  "Romantic?" Olivia guessed.

  "No." Shana's brows drew together. "Not romantic, exactly. More like...poignant. Evocative. I don't know. Although I have to admit it was...something."

  "Romantic," Brittany said.

  Shana glared at her.

  "So he's trying," Olivia said.

  "Though we're not sure why," Brittany added.

  Olivia waved at her. "Hush."

  Meanwhile Shana's frown deepened. "I don't want him to try. I want him to go away."

  "Really?" Olivia asked.

  "Really." Shana looked over at her. "That is, I think so. Oh!" With a frustrated gust of air, she stood up. "I'm going to see if that champagne is ready yet. And when I get back — " She leveled a stare at Olivia. "You're going to tell us all about your date with Gideon."

  "Oh," said Olivia, blinking. "You don't want to hear about that."

  "Wanta bet?" Brittany retorted.

  Olivia rolled her eyes. "I haven't spoken to him since our date. Does that give you an idea how it went?"

  "Why? What'd he do?" Shana stood there, the champagne apparently forgotten.

  Olivia sighed. What had Gideon done? He'd unleashed a physical yearning that was far stronger than it had any right to be, considering the fractured state of their relationship. His tactic had been underhanded. It had been an end-run around her desire to put things on a different footing, a footing of more open communication.

  He'd wanted to get his own way.

  Her teeth set against each other, as they did every time she thought about it. He always wanted to get his own way, be in charge, have control.

  "He's impossible," Olivia said out loud.

  "He made a move on you," Shana guessed.

  "He made a move on me."

  Brittany regarded Olivia questioningly. "You didn't like that?"

  "She liked it too much," Shana answered for Olivia, looking shrewd.

  Olivia's teeth clenched again. "He's trying to manipulate me." He'd been very good at it, too. He'd managed to get out of answering her question, the one about what he hadn't yet told her, about what had happened to him nine months ago.

  Brittany stretched her arms along the seat of the sofa. "Well, I'll tell you what I learned, after a lot of frustration: if you're angry at him, don't take it out on yourself."

  Olivia blinked and stared at her friend. If you're angry at him, don't take it out on yourself. Whoa. Brittany was right. She was so right! Olivia had been 'taking it out on herself,' stewing, trying to deal with her anger. It should be Gideon who had to deal with it.

  "You are a genius," she told Brittany.

  "Hey, that's what I keep trying to tell you." Brittany grinned.

  Olivia smiled back. "What would I do without you two? Go sit back down, Shana. I'll get the champagne myself, and put it in my very best, thinnest crystal." She laughed, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Who knows? I may get drunk enough to actually ask to watch one of your videos."

  "I won't," Brittany promised. "There isn't enough liquor in the world to get me that drunk."

  "Oh, really?" Shana smiled smugly. "We'll see about that."

  ~~~

  A trio of ancient fans stirred the air over a laboratory full of equipment that was five years out of date. Five years wasn't so bad, Dr. Hagar Subrahmanyam considered, knowing the far worse state of the rest of the university on the Caribbean island. By a judicious application of threats and bribery she'd done well with her own little corner.

  Still, it was a long way from where Hagar intended to be...


  "I brought you some tea," she told the Russian scientist on Wednesday night, just as Anja was closing her cell phone. Hagar swung the wide sleeve of her native sarong out of the way as she set the tray gingerly down on the lab bench, a safe distance from the petri dishes that the Russian scientist had placed beside her microscope.

  Today Anja looked relaxed and happy. Very different from the way she'd looked when she'd first arrived on the island Sunday night and begun working feverishly, muttering something about a "back door."

  "Thank you," the Russian said, and smiled. She made sure to close her laptop before taking one of the delicate china teacups from Hagar's tray.

  "I thought you might be ready to take a break." Hagar smiled wryly. "This 'vacation' of yours is going to work you into the ground."

  Anja chuckled. "But it is good work. And I'm nearly done."

  Hagar concealed a jump of excitement. Anja was nearly done? Unfortunately, Hagar had only a vague idea of what Anja was working on. The Russian kept her thoughts to herself, her laptop on her person at all times, and the games she played with the petri dishes could mean anything, 'back door' clue notwithstanding.

  The only thing Hagar was reasonably certain of was that Anja was flying solo. If not, she'd be using her employer to provide security, rather than relying upon personal vigilance and the safe at her island hotel.

  No, Hagar did not know what Anja was working on, but all indications pointed to something significant. It was all Hagar could do to suppress a hum of satisfaction. She could practically smell it. A lifetime of patience, and her philosophy that it was a good idea to 'make friends,' was about to pay off.

  She'd 'made friends' with Anja two years ago, at the sort of science conference that was really an excuse for an exotic vacation. At a party on the beach, drunk, Anja had confided to Hagar that her research was classified it was so important. Hagar had thought her crazy. Why would drug research be classified by the government?

  But instead of mocking Anja, Hagar had humored her. She'd 'made friends.' One never knew when a friend could turn out to be important. Profitable. Anja was obviously brilliant and perhaps she actually did do classified research. Perhaps at some point in the future this 'classified' nonsense could result in something practical. Remunerative.