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Authors: Judy Griffith; Gill
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wait a minute. How could he have seen it, unless he’d had a North America-wide clipping service on her case before it was published? A lot of trouble to go to to track down a “girlfriend” who’d been less than seven years old the last time he’d seen her.
“That was a year ago,” she said. “And since when do photos from the ‘around town’ type columns in our local papers make it by wire service all the way to Los Angeles? My father’s party simply wasn’t that important in the scheme of world affairs. Try another one, O’Keefe. That one didn’t quite fly.”
“The clipping didn’t make it to Los Angeles,” he said. “I didn’t see it until a week ago, and it took me from then until yesterday to discover your address.”
She felt hollow and frightened. “How—how did you get that?”
He grinned evilly and brushed an imaginary mustache beneath his nose. “Ve haff our vays, ve schpies.”
He wasn’t going to tell her. She pulled air in through a tight chest. Faint and far away, she could hear Ned working with a chain saw, clearing the road, making it possible to get this man off Piney Point as soon as the highways people put up another bridge. Hell, before that! When she’d first come to the point, they’d had to ford the creek, which must be how Ned had gotten here this morning. In the meantime, she’d simply have to be extremely careful. She might have known Jase O’Keefe when they were children, but that didn’t mean she had to trust him now. Or that she could.
Jase gazed at her suddenly white face, where those freckles he’d remembered stood out too starkly, and her green eyes had grown too large. In that moment, she looked hunted as she tried to hide a frantic expression that bordered on panic. Astounded, he realized she was afraid. Afraid of him? But why?
“All right,” she said tautly. “The hunt’s over. Now what do you want from me?”
Absurdly, he wanted to gather her close and promise her that she had nothing to fear from him, or from anyone else as long as he was near. Equally absurdly, he wanted to promise always to be near.
“I want to escort you to your father’s Christmas party this year.”
“What?” Her indignation didn’t quite hide the relief he saw wash over her. A hint of color returned to her face, forming a pair of bright flags high on her cheekbones.
“If you know my dad,” she said, her voice tense and angry, “you must also know that I never take a date to his party.”
“I don’t know your father. I’ve never met him.”
“No?” She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “So what’s your angle, O’Keefe? If you’ve never met my father, why do you want to go to his Christmas party?”
He met her gaze. “I want to meet your grandmother—or, more specifically, her new boyfriend.”
She stared at him in confusion for several seconds before she let her arms relax onto the table. “Sterling Graves?” she asked. “You want to meet Sterling? But why? I mean, why at my dad’s party? Sterling’s from Palm Springs. You’re from Los Angeles. Surely, you don’t have to come all this way to get invited to the same party as Sterling Graves.”
“I don’t simply want to meet him. I need to meet him, and not as a man from Los Angeles. If I go to that party as your friend, introduced as someone you’ve known for years, he won’t have cause to doubt me or my credentials or my reason for being there.”
“And he would have otherwise?” Shell drew in a deep breath and fixed a hard stare on him. “What are you up to? Who are you, that he might not want to meet you ‘as a man from Los Angeles’? If Sterling prefers not to meet you, why do you imagine for one minute that I’d slip you in under false pretenses? As I’m sure you know, since you know that my dad has an annual Christmas party, its guest list is exclusive; and outsiders are never, ever included. And that goes for you, long-lost and sadly forgotten friend or
“That was a year ago,” she said. “And since when do photos from the ‘around town’ type columns in our local papers make it by wire service all the way to Los Angeles? My father’s party simply wasn’t that important in the scheme of world affairs. Try another one, O’Keefe. That one didn’t quite fly.”
“The clipping didn’t make it to Los Angeles,” he said. “I didn’t see it until a week ago, and it took me from then until yesterday to discover your address.”
She felt hollow and frightened. “How—how did you get that?”
He grinned evilly and brushed an imaginary mustache beneath his nose. “Ve haff our vays, ve schpies.”
He wasn’t going to tell her. She pulled air in through a tight chest. Faint and far away, she could hear Ned working with a chain saw, clearing the road, making it possible to get this man off Piney Point as soon as the highways people put up another bridge. Hell, before that! When she’d first come to the point, they’d had to ford the creek, which must be how Ned had gotten here this morning. In the meantime, she’d simply have to be extremely careful. She might have known Jase O’Keefe when they were children, but that didn’t mean she had to trust him now. Or that she could.
Jase gazed at her suddenly white face, where those freckles he’d remembered stood out too starkly, and her green eyes had grown too large. In that moment, she looked hunted as she tried to hide a frantic expression that bordered on panic. Astounded, he realized she was afraid. Afraid of him? But why?
“All right,” she said tautly. “The hunt’s over. Now what do you want from me?”
Absurdly, he wanted to gather her close and promise her that she had nothing to fear from him, or from anyone else as long as he was near. Equally absurdly, he wanted to promise always to be near.
“I want to escort you to your father’s Christmas party this year.”
“What?” Her indignation didn’t quite hide the relief he saw wash over her. A hint of color returned to her face, forming a pair of bright flags high on her cheekbones.
“If you know my dad,” she said, her voice tense and angry, “you must also know that I never take a date to his party.”
“I don’t know your father. I’ve never met him.”
“No?” She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “So what’s your angle, O’Keefe? If you’ve never met my father, why do you want to go to his Christmas party?”
He met her gaze. “I want to meet your grandmother—or, more specifically, her new boyfriend.”
She stared at him in confusion for several seconds before she let her arms relax onto the table. “Sterling Graves?” she asked. “You want to meet Sterling? But why? I mean, why at my dad’s party? Sterling’s from Palm Springs. You’re from Los Angeles. Surely, you don’t have to come all this way to get invited to the same party as Sterling Graves.”
“I don’t simply want to meet him. I need to meet him, and not as a man from Los Angeles. If I go to that party as your friend, introduced as someone you’ve known for years, he won’t have cause to doubt me or my credentials or my reason for being there.”
“And he would have otherwise?” Shell drew in a deep breath and fixed a hard stare on him. “What are you up to? Who are you, that he might not want to meet you ‘as a man from Los Angeles’? If Sterling prefers not to meet you, why do you imagine for one minute that I’d slip you in under false pretenses? As I’m sure you know, since you know that my dad has an annual Christmas party, its guest list is exclusive; and outsiders are never, ever included. And that goes for you, long-lost and sadly forgotten friend or
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