“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 f
elt 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.”
“Good for them,” Elsie said. “If I had money, I’d spend it, too.”
Daisy didn’t think Steve was such a slouch when it came to spending money either. He bought cars and houses in less time than it took her to select a pound of ground beef for supper. She pulled the earrings from her ears. “I guess I’d better hit the books.”
Elsie aimed the channel changer at the television. “Too bad you have to study. There’s a show coming on now about giraffes. I’ve been waiting all week for this show. Someday when I get rich I’m going to Africa to see a giraffe.” Her attention was caught by the sound of a car being gunned down the street. “Sounds awful close, don’t it?” Elsie said. “Sounds like it’s right up on the front lawn.”
They were in the family room, in the back of the house, and the crash of broken glass carried to them from the front. It was immediately followed by an explosion. Everyone stood in suspended animation for a moment before reacting, waiting to see if there was another explosion.
Steve was the first to move. “Stay here,” he said to Elsie and Daisy, but of course they didn’t. They ran after him to the living room, stopping abruptly at the sight of fire. It raced along baseboards and swept up the front wall. It quickly gained momentum, crackling and hissing as it destroyed everything in its path.
Steve pushed Elsie and Daisy back into the kitchen. “Call the fire department and get out of the house,” he said, giving the phone to Daisy. He hooked his hand around a kitchen fire extinguisher and ran back to the living room.
Seconds later Daisy was beside him with an extinguisher from the family room. In minutes sirens screamed in the distance and the house shook with the rumble of fire trucks.
Elsie was standing her ground with the garden hose when Fairfax Number 4 broke into the foyer. “I think I’ve got it licked,” she said, “but it’s nice of you to come to help out anyway.”
Half an hour later the house was certified safe to reenter. The fire had been pretty well confined to the living room. The front windows had been blown out by the blast, and the rug and walls were charred, as were the few pieces of furniture. Gray sooty water pooled on the floor and spilled out the front door, down the steps. Elsie, Daisy, Kevin, and Steve stood on the scarred lawn and looked at the smoke-blackened exterior of the colonial.
“Firebomb,” Steve said. “If we’d been in the living room, we’d be dead.”
Daisy had her arm around Kevin. She was ready to pay serious attention to the threats. The phone call had been almost laughable, and the intruder might have been a random burglary, but this vicious act of vengeance couldn’t be denied.
There was a dark blue-and-white squad car angled into the curb, behind the one remaining fire truck. A tan late-model sedan pulled in next to the squad car and two men got out. Detectives, Daisy decided, noting the street clothes on the men and the antennae on the sedan. They approached a uniformed cop and a discussion followed. Daisy caught one of the men looking over at her. His face was impassive, his mouth grim. His shirt had lost its starch hours ago, his suit slacks had begun to bag in the seat, his brown shoes carried a film of dust. He’d had a long day, Daisy thought.
Fairfax County wasn’t exactly the crime center of the universe, but she supposed it had its share of break-ins, forgeries, and occasional arson. Probably it didn’t get many firebombings. Maybe the detective in the baggy pants would be excited to get a firebombing assigned to him. From the slump of his shoulders Daisy guessed excitement wasn’t part of his present emotional makeup. He flicked her another speculative look, and she decided pain-in-the-behind was about the way he’d sized her up. When he started across the lawn toward her, she plastered her best social-worker smile into place.
“Lieutenant Walker,” he said, extending his hand, first to Steve, then to Daisy. “I understand you’ve been threatened before?” he said to Daisy. “I’ll need a detailed statement from you.”
Twenty minutes later he whistled through his teeth and closed his notebook. “You consider going on a cruise? Maybe spending a month in Disneyland?”
“I’m this close to my doctorate,” Daisy said, measuring the air with her thumb and forefinger. “I can’t leave now. I’m in the middle of my dissertation. And who would take over my crossing-guard job or my job at the nursing home? Who would do the traffic reporting?”
“Lady, you don’t leave town, and you’re going to be doing the traffic report from grave-side.”
Daisy narrowed her eyes. “I’m not going to be intimidated by some sleaze.”
Walker gave a long, loud sigh. “How’d I know you were going to say that?” He looked at Steve. “Can’t you talk some sense into her?”
Steve gave Walker a what-are-you-from-the-moon? look.
“Yeah,” Walker said.
Elsie stepped up to him. Her hair sprang from her scalp in tufts, flecked with foam from the extinguishers, her face was splotched with black soot, and her sneakers were soaked.
“Elsie Hawkins,” she said, holding out her hand. “Rough and Ready Security Guard. Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m on duty here. And not only am I going to protect Daisy, but I’m going to get this guy. He’s gone too far this time. I waited all week to see that show on giraffes, and that son of a squirrel made me miss it. Blew up the living room during the opening credits. Some people have no consideration.”
Daisy could see the incredulity register on Walker’s face, and she watched in amusement as he lifted his eyes to Steve in silent question.
Elsie noticed his skepticism. “Listen, sonny,” she said to Walker, “I may be old, but I’m not stupid. I know my way around the block pretty good. As long as it don’t rain I’m almost as good as new.”
“Rain?” he said dully, eyes slightly glazed.
 
; “Arthritis, you ninny. Old people get arthritis when it rains. Never had it so bad before, but this dang steel hip isn’t all healed over yet…” She made an impatient sound and waved him away. “I got better things to do than to stand here gabbing. I bet everything I own smells like it’s been barbecued.”
Steve stood in the shower and let the water beat against him. He shook his head like a dog in a rainstorm and ordered his body to wake up. Firebomb or not, this was Daisy’s fun day, and he intended to be downstairs making French toast when Daisy came back from jogging. He couldn’t remember if he’d washed his hair, so he washed it again.
Daisy had been assigned twenty-four-hour protection. Steve thought about the cop who had accompanied Daisy on her jog, Officer Schmidt. The man had been on duty all night. Steve felt a little better knowing the poor guy was undoubtedly in more agony than he was. He toweled off, dressed in khaki shorts and a black T-shirt, and padded down to the kitchen.
He had the table set and the French bread sliced when Daisy returned. She’d tied her hair back into a ponytail and her face was free of makeup, slightly flushed, glowing with health and a sheen of perspiration. Steve felt a ridiculous stab of guilt over his body’s instant and soon-to-be-obvious reaction to a woman who could easily be mistaken for sixteen. Schmidt was just five steps behind her, breathing hard. So much for my fantasy life, Steve thought, handing Daisy a glass of orange juice.
He offered juice to the cop, but the man waved it away. Steve saw his eyes slide to the coffee brewing on the counter. “Coffee?”
The answer was an affirmative grunt. The cop was wearing jeans and running shoes and a T-shirt that was soaked through. He had his gun and a walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. “No one told me I was going to have to run a damn marathon at five in the morning,” he managed between breaths.
Daisy sipped her orange juice. “Usually Elsie runs with me,” she gleefully lied, “but I thought I’d give her the morning off since she was up so late doing laundry last night.”