A Rare Chance Read online

  But, never one to stew, Gabriella realized if Joshua Reading and Lizzie Fairfax wanted to see each other, there was precious little she could do about it.

  Would Pete Darrow follow Lizzie too? Did Joshua have any idea what he’d gotten himself into by hiring him?

  She shook off the question and headed back to Marlborough Street, determined to at least call Cam Yeager and make sure he got home all right last night. That wasn’t impulsive. That wasn’t sticking her nose where it didn’t belong.

  First she decided to check on Scag up on the roof. It was warm enough she might even consider dinner on her deck. She had a teak umbrella table, chairs with plump yellow cushions, a couple of lounge chairs, and a charcoal grill. Mostly her view was of other rooftops, many with decks, but she could also see glimpses of the Charles River off to the west.

  She joined Scag in the first section of her greenhouse—Number One, as he called it. Its cool conditions were suited to its assortment of cymbidiums, ondontoglossums, plain green-leafed paphiopediums, and dozens of other orchid varieties that filled every available space, crowded onto shelves and hanging from hooks. Orchids tended to be picky about both light and temperature. If there had to be a choice, Scag would give them the light they needed and compromise on temperature. Generally speaking, too little light and they were likely not to bloom. Too much and their leaves yellowed.

  A narrow, pebble-covered aisle led down the middle of Number One, through a door and into Number Two, with its intermediate temperatures, and then to warm, humid Number Three, the largest of the three sections. They cost a small fortune to maintain, and Gabriella was no Nero Wolfe, Rex Stout’s famous fictional detective, who had the time, help, and money to keep up his much more massive rooftop greenhouse.

  Scag was on a tall wooden stool at the worktable he’d appropriated as his own, cutting away the dead roots of a cattleya for repotting. He worked knowledgeably, quickly. His fingers were callused and scarred, covered with brown spots and prominent veins. Supplies—potting materials, pesticides, tools, fertilizers—were crammed onto shelves and hooks above and below the worktable, three plank boards laid over sawhorses. As meticulous as he was with the plants, he was a horrible slob—a not uncommon characteristic, Gabriella had discovered, of orchid enthusiasts. It was as if his eye only saw orchids, not discarded packaging, candy bar wrappers, dropped fern bark, pieces of broken pots, empty containers, moldy coffee mugs.

  “Hand me a cup of pine bark, will you?”

  A typical Scag greeting, and Gabriella took no offense. She’d long ago accepted Scag’s ways. She dipped a dented metal cup into a large bag of pine bark she’d bought with high hopes of spending a few free hours in her greenhouse. It had stood unopened for weeks. Now Scag had ripped an unartful hole in the top, zeroed in on his task of rescuing her orchids.

  She handed over the pine bark, watching as he dumped it into one of his special soil mixtures. This one she recognized as the mix of pine bark, fern roots, charcoal, and peat moss preferred by cattleyas, a popular, generally easy-to-grow orchid genus. As knowledgeable about orchids as he was, as many thousands as he’d seen over the years, Scag was no orchid snob. He appreciated them all.

  Gabriella couldn’t name the particular species he was working on—there were dozens of cattleya varieties—which would only confirm her father’s conviction that she’d been in corporate America too long.

  “This little guy kind of got lost in that mess in Number Two,” he said. “I’m hoping I can save it.”

  “It could look worse.”

  “It could be dead, you mean.” He finally looked up, frowning at her. “Where’ve you been?”

  She should have been at his side, of course, helping him restore her greenhouse to good health. “I had lunch with Lizzie. She and Joshua Reading are having dinner together tonight.”

  “He’s your boss, isn’t he?”

  “Actually, I generally report to his older brother, Titus.”

  Scag had his dark eyes narrowed on her. “So what’re you worried about?”

  He would be able to tell she was worried. She manufactured a nonchalant shrug. Heart-to-hearts had never been an easy thing with Scag, even on subjects on which she wanted his guidance. “Nothing, really. Lizzie deserves to have a little fun after she dragged you up here. If it’s with Joshua Reading, so be it. Is there something I can do around here? I don’t have any plans for the afternoon.”

  “Hell, I almost forgot. Some guy’s down in Number Two or Three. He came by about twenty minutes ago, asked if I minded if he waited for you. I said yes, and he said he’d wait anyway. Almost smacked him with my cane.”

  “Scag, you just let a stranger up here?”

  “Thought it was the UPS man with my supply order. Besides, the guy said he knows you. Acts like a cop.”

  Halfway down the aisle, Gabriella stopped and looked around at her father. She tried not to reveal the sudden increase in her heartbeat. She knew two cops: Cam Yeager and Pete Darrow. Either one on her roof was bad news. “Acts like a cop? Why do you say that?”

  Scag shrugged. “He’s got that lock-’em-up-and-throw-away-the-key look.”

  “Scag—”

  “Go on. You’ll see.”

  Her heart pounding in anticipation of an unpleasant scene, Gabriella burst through the aluminum door into Number Two, its phalaenopsis, cattleyas, brassias, and miltonias suited to its intermediate conditions. Big fans circulated the mild air, filled with smells of orchids, potting mixtures, greenery. Scag had only just begun to arrange the dozens of plants according to their individual requirements for light, air, and humidity. Gabriella had done her best, jamming new plants into the generally appropriate greenhouse section and keeping them watered and, when she thought of it, fertilized.

  Cam Yeager was examining a brassavola glauca in full bloom about midway down the narrow aisle. The orchid’s exotic flower was a creamy green with a strong perfume, a contrast to Cam in his Bruins sweatshirt and jeans that clung to his thick sprinter’s thighs. He wore a long-sleeved, button-front shirt in a rumpled butter-colored cotton, the cuffs turned up. He had on a pair of black running shoes different from the battered ones he’d worn on the rocks the day before. He looked casual, sexy, tough. Gabriella wondered if he was aware of the impact he had on her. Just as well if he wasn’t.

  “I was just going to call you,” she said. “I wanted to make sure you got home all right.”

  “No you didn’t. You’d have called last night.”

  She gave him a cool look. “You don’t give anyone room to maneuver, do you?”

  He grinned. “Not an inch.”

  “How’s your ankle?”

  “It hurts.”

  He took in the crowded greenhouse with a quick glance. “Quite the orchid nut, aren’t you?”

  “They’re a harmless enough hobby.”

  “For most people.”

  She swallowed. Did he know about Scag?

  He regarded her with an efficiency she’d come to expect from him, his sweeping, penetrating glance taking her in from head to toe. She was relieved she’d changed from her gym clothes for her lunch with Lizzie. Even so, her casual jeans and sweater weren’t a business suit, weren’t a dinner dress. She felt more exposed, more vulnerable to whatever Cam Yeager wanted to see in her.

  He ran a thick finger along the delicate edge of the orchid nearest him. “Some of these guys aren’t much to look at, but this one’s okay. What’s it called?”

  “A brassavola glauca. There are about fifteen species of brassavola. They can grow as either epiphytes or lithophytes.”

  “You’re losing me.”

  She smiled. “Epiphytic orchids grow on other plants, usually trees. Lithophytes grow on rocks. Then there are terrestrials, which grow in the ground.”

  “Opportunistic little devils, aren’t they? You know, orchid comes from the Greek word orchis.”

  “Yes,” Gabriella said, deliberately matter-of-fact. She would not let this man rattle her. “It
means testicle.”

  He glanced at her. “I don’t see the resemblance myself.”

  “The resemblance isn’t in the flower. It’s in the roots.”

  “Ah.”

  “Are you fluent in Greek, or is orchis just one of those things that’s stuck in your mind?”

  “The benefits of a classical education. I had three years of Greek in high school. Certain words have stood the test of time better than others. Sixteen years old, I’m going to remember orchis.”

  Gabriella gave him a steady look. “I hope you’re not going to make me regret rescuing you last night.”

  “I don’t know. Do you have a lot of regrets, Gabriella Starr?”

  She maintained her poise despite the slight darkening of his eyes, the shift in his stance as it became not menacing so much as exceedingly confident. As if he had charge of their conversation, even if she might not know it. The suspect under the hot light. His irreverent talk had been a deliberate way of softening her up, taking her off guard.

  “We all have regrets,” she said.

  “Yeah. I guess we do.” He didn’t push, but Gabriella had no illusions he’d backed off. “You made it home all right last night? No trouble from Darrow?”

  She shook her head. “I saw him briefly. He gave no indication he suspected I’d rescued you.”

  “Means nothing. He hasn’t followed you today?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Cam nodded. “Right. Come on,” he said, turning on his heels, “you can show me what’s through this door. More orchids, I presume?”

  He went ahead of her through the aluminum door into Number Three, walking with a very slight limp. This last section of her greenhouse was like a jungle, warm, humid. Scores of orchids hung from hooks, drooped from shelves, crept along tree ferns and bark slabs. Many were blooming, many were not. Few had felt the effects of Scag’s loving, skilled care.

  “If I weren’t already curious about you,” Cam Yeager said, glancing back at her, “I would be now.”

  Already taken aback by his presence, Gabriella felt her throat go tight and dry. She could barely breathe in the cloying, warm air. She watched Cam walk down the aisle, touching orchid leaves, pseudobulbs, blossoms. He seemed alternately amused and impressed by her collection.

  “I doubt you’re here to look at orchids,” Gabriella said.

  He came back toward her. “You know a lot about orchids?”

  “A fair amount. My father and mother both taught me. My mother was a florist on Cape Cod. She died three years ago. My father’s Tony Scagliotti. He’s one of the world’s foremost experts on orchids.” She regarded Cam with a determined steadiness. “But I think you already know that.”

  He smiled. It wasn’t a gentle or disingenuous smile. He didn’t mean to make her feel better. He meant simply to let her know that now, finally, they were on the same wavelength. “Yep.”

  “It’s not a secret, you know.”

  “I could have asked and you’d have told me all about yourself?”

  “I didn’t say—”

  “Right. You didn’t say. You let me find out on my own, which I did. I checked with my trusty computer.”

  “But you didn’t know his name. You only had my name.”

  “Oh, that part was easy. Basically I fed your name into a computer and out popped your mother’s name, your father’s name, your date of birth—”

  “God, I hate computers.”

  She flew around, suddenly uncomfortable, unable to get a decent breath in the cloying air. She stormed back up the aisle toward Number Two, not caring if Cam Yeager followed. How dare he investigate her like a common criminal? If they were in this mess together, his idea of “together” and hers were entirely different. He wasn’t even close to treating her like an equal partner.

  “Helps to be an ex-cop,” he said behind her, unrepentant.

  She tore open the door to Number Two, holding on to it as she glared back at him. “Did it say Scag and my mother never married?”

  “Pretty much.”

  Groaning in frustration, she pushed through into the middle section of the greenhouse. She stood in the narrow aisle of pebbles, letting the drop in temperature and the steady flow of cooler air from the fans calm her. She could sense Cam’s presence behind her, hear the creak of the aluminum door as it shut. He was in full control of himself, maybe in his view of her too.

  “I suppose your computer also told you I got a C-plus in Algebra II in high school.”

  “No, but you graduated college magna cum laude.”

  She fastened her gaze on a perfect oncidium. Its sprays of small, delicate flowers, its symmetry and beauty, all helped ease the tension that had gripped her. It was inexplicable, uncontrollable. What did she care if Cam Yeager knew about Scag? If he saw just how incorrigible she was when it came to orchids? She needed only to focus on what he was up to regarding Pete Darrow and the Readings, not on what he knew about her and her past. She didn’t care if he approved of her. She didn’t care if he understood her.

  Slowly, her muscles loosened, her breathing calmed, and she was able to unclench her jaw.

  Cam Yeager was a challenge. He was not a crisis.

  “The bosses know Scag’s back in town?”

  She shook her head, still unable to speak. Was Yeager determined to stay one step ahead of her? Or would he level with her one of these days, tell her everything he was holding back?

  “What about Pete Darrow?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “He’s going to find out. Count on it. Look, Gabriella, I have nothing to gain from shooting your star out of the sky.” His voice softened, and he moved closer, not quite touching her. With the orchids, the narrow aisle, the close confines of the small greenhouse, she was even more intensely aware of him. “I’m just trying to keep an old friend from self-destructing, if that’s what he’s doing. But you need to know what you’re up against. If you have anything to hide, Pete Darrow’s going to find out what it is.”

  “I have nothing to hide.” She brushed back her hair, perspiration dampening her forehead. Why did she feel as if she did have something to hide? “Pete Darrow can dig all he wants. He won’t find anything.”

  “Any reason he might think you know anything about Joshua Reading’s attempted kidnapping that you haven’t mentioned?”

  “No. I resent your even asking.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll go up any dark alley, Gabby Starr. You might as well learn that about me. If it’ll get me where I want to be, I’ll go.”

  “Must have been a real treat being your partner.” She felt lightheaded, everything on the verge of spinning out of control. “Look, the only ‘secret’ I have is that I haven’t told anyone my father’s in town. Frankly, it’s nobody else’s business.”

  “Would the Reading brothers think they ought to know?”

  “They might. It’s not that they object to Scag, but they wouldn’t like the publicity he could generate. They prefer to control when and how their names get in the paper. They know that part of the way I go about things can be attributed to my background. But they don’t want it coming back to haunt them.”

  Cam touched the foliage of a cattleya, inadvertently brushing her fingers with his. “Tough to explain to those bankers you negotiate with that you served time in prison.”

  So he knew about that too. “It was just for a few weeks.”

  “You and Scag got tossed in the slammer plenty of times for breaking the law.”

  She shrugged, wishing she felt as nonchalant as she was trying to look. “Rarely more than for a night or two, until we could get things straightened out.”

  “You’d been working in finance here in Boston, showing no inclination to go traipsing off with your loony father. What changed your mind?”

  “My mother’s death.”

  He nodded, his sea-blue eyes softening. “That’ll do it.”

  “I’d made some good investments—lucky ones, actu
ally—right after I earned my MBA. So I could afford to succumb to the fantasies I had of Scag’s life. I’d always considered it too nomadic for me, unstable, even irresponsible. My mother never bad-mouthed him or sugar-coated what he was, just let me figure it out on my own. After she died—” She breathed out, remembering. “Scag had gotten this grant, and I had this money, and somehow life suddenly just seemed too short. So off we went.”

  “No regrets?”

  “I learned a great deal during those two years. I’m better at what I do because of them. I might be a little more unorthodox than in the past, but it works.”

  “Sweetheart, if you’re like your old man, ‘unorthodox’ is an understatement. He’s been arrested dozens of times for trespassing, harassment, being a general pain in the ass. He’s been kicked out of countries and thrown into jails all over the world, fined right into bankruptcy. And for two years, you with him.”

  “I’m not bankrupt,” she said lightly.

  But he didn’t smile. She could feel his eyes on her, feel their intensity. She couldn’t let his natural irreverence lull her into thinking he wasn’t alert, thorough, absolutely tenacious. A former police detective. A man clearly determined to get to the bottom of his friend’s decision to go to work for Joshua Reading, no matter what it cost.

  She sighed. “My father’s uncompromising when it comes to protecting orchid habitats and stopping orchid poachers.”

  “Poachers?”

  “People who would steal endangered orchids and sell them abroad. It’s illegal, but that doesn’t stop someone truly determined to get his hands on a particular species. Some orchid aficionados have to have every wild species in their possession, no matter how endangered. Most of the orchids the average person would recognize—the ones I have here—are produced from seed or by division, which can be tricky, or through cross-breeding and cloning. They’re not wild.”

  Cam drew back, eyeing her. “I’ll bet Scag’s tough on poachers.”

  She licked her lips, remembering to whom she was speaking. Cops, Scag liked to say, were pretty much the same the world over. “He never hurt anyone or seriously damaged any property.”