Cavanaugh left for Los Angeles the next morning, carrying with him not only the burden of the Whyte-Warren investigation but the emotional quandary of his relationship with Jodi.
She had left the apartment before ten the morning before and hadn’t returned by the time he left for work at noon. He had painstakingly plodded his way through his paperwork, finding it more of a drudgery than ever. He liked being in the field, working on a case such as the Whyte-Warren one where his intellect was challenged. Filling out forms and filing reports was not his idea of creative police work, though he knew it was necessary. On that particular Sunday it had been doubly frustrating.
He had wanted to be in Maine with Jodi. He had been looking forward to the trip because Jodi was relaxing and fun to be with. They had gone on many day trips in the past, and he liked the way she looped her arm in his as they walked along the beach or talked quietly in a small restaurant over a bucket of fried clams.
He had also been looking forward to the trip because he had known how important it was to her, and he felt guilty. So, after struggling with his forms until he had dispensed with the last, he yielded to impulse, picked up a bucket of fried clams at the waterfront and brought it home to Charlestown.
But Jodi still hadn’t returned.
So he got angry. He ate every last clam himself, got indigestion and had to take Mylanta. He wandered through the apartment wondering where she was and when she would be back. He pictured her out with another man and knew jealousy, then fear.
Yet when she returned late that night, giving no explanation of where she’d been, pride prevented him from probing. He behaved as though she had every right to be gone for an entire day without accounting for her time—which he knew she did, though it bugged the hell out of him. They shared their large bed that night, neither touching nor talking, and he left for the airport in the morning with little more than a perfunctory kiss good-bye.
Now, as the plane soared westward, he was suffering. He wanted Jodi. He wanted his job. He agonized, wondering if he could have both under the terms he had set. Jodi wasn’t dumb; she was a warm woman with a lot to offer a man, and though she had been understanding of his work for the past three years, he feared she was losing her patience. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so blunt in saying that his job came first, but it did, damn it! It was his life!
And Jodi—what was she to him? Hell, he just didn’t know.
If the two detectives with whom he was traveling, Buddy Annello and Sharon Webber, thought him particularly withdrawn during the flight, they must have assumed that he was simply brooding about the case, for they didn’t bother him. Once the plane landed in Los Angeles, Cavanaugh was fully caught up in the investigation.
So much so that he barely had time to think about Jodi during the five days he was away.
* * *
The late August sun brought more people than ever to Martha’s Vineyard. Jordan had chartered a small plane—pride prevented it from being one of his father’s—to fly Katia and him there from New York. The fact that the regular flights were so crowded had been only in part responsible for that action. He wanted the convenience of setting the timetable. He also wanted Katia to himself. It wasn’t that he planned anything illicit, because he was being very careful to avoid that, but because he enjoyed her company enough that he didn’t want to share her with even a flight attendant. It was also possible that he wanted to impress her, or, more accurately, make the time she spent with him as comfortable as possible. A chartered plane, at least this one with its plush velour seats and bar and small kitchen, did that.
When they landed they headed directly to the land he had bought. The old Marshall Arms Hotel sat on a prime spot in West Tisbury. It encompassed an expanse of Vineyard Sound beachfront, and, with the adjacent land Jordan had bought, stretched inland to include more heavily wooded areas of pine and oak. Jordan had wanted Katia to see the locale before the old hotel was razed. Now, as they stood before it, she was shaking her head in amazement.
“It’s beautiful.” Her gaze broadened to encompass the land beyond the hotel. “But that’s what’s so puzzling. I can’t believe that this hotel has been closed for two years and no one has snapped it up sooner. What with the crowds the Vineyard attracts and the fact that this end of the island is so much more peaceful than the other areas around Edgartown and Oak Bluffs it’s the natural spot for a resort.”
“The last owners of the hotel didn’t have the capital to make it into something big. And it isn’t that other developers haven’t tried to get the land, just that they didn’t have the patience or the wherewithal to cut through the red tape. I’ve been working with the townspeople for a year to get around local ordinances. The people here are possessive of their resources. They weren’t wild about the idea of condominiums. They pictured something garish.”
Katia squinted through the sun and glanced up at Jordan. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, he was every bit as appealing as the land, if in a slightly disreputable way. “What do you have in mind?”
“Okay.” He set his feet in the sand and gestured with his hands as he faced the aged hotel. “All that is coming down, and the new structure will be set a little farther back from the beach, per the ecologists’ wishes. I picture something lower, more modern—”
“Modern? But the charm of the Vineyard is in old New England.”
“And every other hotel and inn on the island is that. I want mine to be different. It will be imposing in an understated way,” like the house in Maine, Katia thought, “with lots of glass and natural stone. The condominiums will be set back even farther.” He pointed toward the woods, first on one side of the hotel, then the other. “I want them low, too. We’re not talking high-rise condos here. Two stories at most. More like little townhouses grouped in small clusters. I want them buried among the trees so that the people at the hotel don’t see them and vice versa. Privacy is critical. I want this to be an exclusive area.”
She nodded, trying to visualize things as he did. Her artist’s eye was already forming images for the ad campaign. “Do you have an architect?”
“Amidon and Dunn.”
She nodded again, familiar with the firm’s work. “Any preliminary sketches?”
“They’re working on it. Hopefully they’ll have something within the month, but I don’t expect we’ll see much until after Labor Day. Things are slow now. Everyone’s on vacation.”
“And then?”
“I’d like to have the razing done as soon as possible. If we can get foundations poured the inside work can be done over the winter. There’s a chance we can open by next April or May.”
“Which means that you’ll want to start advertising by November.”
“At the latest. The more units we sell early on the better. As soon as we’ve done the razing we’ll be blocking out the areas for building. As far as the condos go, they’ll have to fit in with as little disturbance to the natural landscape as possible. Another demand of the town fathers,” he added on a dry note.
“But I can understand their point. It would be a crime to destroy what’s been growing for years, and you have to admit that the trees are gorgeous.”
“They will make for privacy.”
“Mmm. How about price range? Have you thought that through?”
Jordan faced her as though prepared for a challange. “As I said before, I want this to be an exclusive area. Which means that whoever stays here or buys a place here will pay well for it. Which also means that we’ll attract a certain kind of clientele.”
“Rich. Okay. What are the estimates?”
“Three-fifty and up for the condos, depending on whatever customizing the buyers want. Two hundred a day at the hotel.”
Her eyes widened. “Exclusive is what you’re going to get with those prices.”
“I’m aiming high.”
The corner of her mouth turned up. It was a half smile, one that was both wry and amused. “You’ll get it, Jordan. You know that, or you’d
never be thinking of asking so much.”
“I think we will,” he agreed. He seemed to be relieved that she hadn’t jumped on his back, but he proceeded with caution. “There may be a snobbish element in what I’m saying, but hell, I’m not in this business for kicks. I’ve paid a hefty sum for the land here, and with the quality of building I want the costs will be exorbitant. But there is a market for luxury living, and if I don’t provide it someone else will.”
“It’s okay, Jordan,” she teased softly, putting a hand on his arm, “I’m not criticizing you. Just don’t ask me to shell out two hundred a day for a room—unless, of course, the room comes with a Jacuzzi, a personal maid, and an endless supply of champagne and caviar.”
“Sorry, babe,” he answered in the same teasing tone. “No personal maid. I can give you a Jacuzzi in the executive suite, and I think I can handle the champagne and caviar. But unless you’re willing to settle for me wearing a pretty little dress—”
She laughed aloud. “What a great picture! And you’d do it, wouldn’t you?”
He simply grinned, then reached for her hand. “Come on. Let’s take a walk. I want you to get a feel for the property. That was why I dragged you out here so quickly.”
“I was wondering about that.” Soon after she had agreed to work with him, Jordan had spoken with the head of her agency. It had been a formality, a mere courtesy. Of course the firm would handle his project. And, of course, Katia would direct the artwork personally. “I don’t usually get involved until the architect’s drawings are complete.”
“But the buildings are only a small part of what we’ll be promoting,” he said with such boyish enthusiasm that she had to grin. He was holding her hand tightly, leading her across the sand toward the far end of the old hotel. “It’s something in the air, Katia—something about the way the Sound laps at the shore and the way everything smells of trees and the ocean. The mainland seems a thousand miles away. Down-island, the streets are packed, but here there’s just a kind of pervasive tranquility.”
“I do know why you dragged me down here so quickly. Within a month that pervasive tranquility will be shattered by the noise of bulldozers and tractors and saws, drills and hammers.”
“But only temporarily. Have a heart, Katia. Once everything’s done the tranquility will be back.”
“There will be people then.”
“Of course.”
“It won’t be like it is now.”
“Sure it will. Well … maybe not exactly like it is now. But the tranquility will be here, and that’s what I want to sell. That’s where I want the thrust of the advertising to be. Think you can do it?”
Katia knew she could and she told him as much. Ideas were forming in her head—smooth, flowing lines, gentle colors, a soft, ink-outlined sketch—but she momentarily pushed them aside to let her senses fully absorb the scene firsthand. She walked easily beside Jordan; her Reeboks gave her good traction on the sand, then on the mossy earth beneath the trees, while her jeans and the oversized blouse she had knotted pertly at the hip were warm enough, cool enough, just right. Even aside from her positive reaction to the land she felt good. A day away from the city—a Friday, at that, which made for a long weekend—was a treat; though she was officially working, she could never think of being with Jordan as work. At least not today, when she felt so relaxed and happy.
Jordan talked softly as they meandered over every inch of the property. He pointed out where one or another cluster of buildings would be, shared the details of his plans, invited her feedback and listened to everything she had to say. They discussed various approaches to advertising; in this Katia invited his feedback, for anything and everything she could learn about his feelings would help her when she was back in the office.
As they walked her excitement grew. Hearing his ideas, being in on the ground floor of his plans was stimulating, but then, Jordan himself was stimulating. Surrounded by his aura and that of God’s lovely acres, she wondered why she had ever fought working with Jordan.
By the time they had completed the tour and returned to their original spot in front of the old hotel a car was waiting to take them into Edgartown. Jordan helped her inside, then gave the driver the name of a restaurant before he sat back in his seat, looked at Katia, rubbed his hands together and grinned.
“Now we play.”
She tried to look stern. “I thought this was a workday.”
“It was, but we’ve done all the work we need to do.”
“It’s only one in the afternoon. Honestly, Jordan. You’re disillusioning me.”
“We need to relax.”
“If I relax any more I’m apt to fall asleep.” Settling lazily into the seat, she looked out at the passing scenery. “This is very definitely a change from an average day at the office.”
“I think they work you too hard.”
“No. I love it.”
“You look tired.”
“Thanks.”
“Been out with the gynecologist again?”
She smiled but kept her eyes on the window. “As a matter of fact we went to a concert in the park last weekend.”
“Tell me he bought a picnic lunch, spread a blanket on the grass and plied you with wine all afternoon.”
“Nope. All night. It was an evening concert.”
“All night? You spent the night with him?”
She did look at him then. “And if I did?”
“I don’t like him.”
“You’ve never met him.”
“He’s not right for you, Katia. I know it.”
“How can you know that if you don’t know the man?”
“I feel it in my gut.”
She nodded. “Mmm. That’s scientific.”
“It is. My gut’s never guided me wrong.”
“No? What about that deal you made a few years back to produce electric cars?”
“How was I to know that the oil crisis would just up and end? Or that people would forget that it had ever happened and pretend that it will never happen again? My idea was good; it was my timing that was off. I’m telling you, someday electric cars will be in. Besides,” he added in a final defense, “I saw the problem and got out fast enough to minimize my losses. So my gut redeemed itself in the end.”
She chuckled. “Your gut, my foot! It was your financial adviser who redeemed himself.”
“Whatever. I still don’t like your doctor.”
“That’s okay. I don’t like Little Mary Sunshine.”
Jordan, who had delivered his final judgment on the doctor while scowling out his own window, turned his head and eyed her.
“Her name is Mary Sandburg. How do you know about her?”
“I saw a picture of the two of you in the paper.”
“What paper?”
“The Post.”
“Since when do you read the Post?”
“I don’t. Roger does. He makes it a point to educate me on the finer points he picks up.”
“My picture is a finer point? Hell, Katia, I was out with her once, and the damn photographer thought it would be real juicy to suggest a romance.”
Katia shrugged. “She’s very pretty, and she has money.”
“Yeah, from her third husband. She did well that time, but if she’s looking for a fourth in me she’s nuts.”
“You’re not interested?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” She lowered her voice, well aware of the curious glances cast in the rearview mirror by the young driver. “Her breasts are too big. You know what happens to women with big breasts when they hit middle age? You’re stuck with either huge bills for plastic surgery or sagging breasts.”
Jordan snagged her neck with his elbow and yanked her close to him. “You’ve got a fresh mouth,” he gritted, but he was trying not to grin.
“Better a fresh mouth than sagging breasts. Course, I could probably use a little more in that department—”
“I like your breasts.�
� His voice dropped to a growl. “Did the doctor like them?”
“The doctor,” she stated very slowly and softly, “did not see them.”
“You made love in the dark? See? I told you he’s not right for you. When two people make love it should be with every light on. They should get as much enjoyment in watching what’s happening as in feeling it.”
His words and the image they inspired sent a shimmer through Katia. It was augmented by the fact that they had entered Edgartown; somehow, the throngs of people on the sidewalks enhanced the sense of intimacy in the car. She spoke quickly, almost gruffly. “You sound kinky. But that’s beside the point. Alan and I didn’t make love in the dark. We didn’t make love at all.”
His stranglehold eased into something less forceful but equally as binding. “You didn’t?”
“No. There. Does that set your little brotherly heart to rest?”
Her confession hadn’t set anything to rest. In the first place, as much as he tried to make it so, Jordan’s heart wasn’t brotherly. He had endured the years she had been with Sean because the man’s constant presence—in New York, in Dover, in Maine—had kept her solidly off-limits. Now, however, she was free again, back in his life with a vengeance.
In the second place, the thought of Katia making love, period, aroused him. He had seen her breasts once, and though that had been years ago, he could feel them against him now and knew, beyond a doubt, that they were as beautiful as ever.
“It’ll do,” he said quietly. In the next instant he released her, but not before he had let his hand trail reluctantly down her back. He wanted to touch her. He couldn’t help it. But it only made the hunger worse.
With a deep breath he dragged his leg up and crossed it over his knee to hide his arousal. “So,” he said, wrapping both hands around his ankle so that his arms could provide an added measure of protection, “what else is new in your life?”
She wished he were still holding her, but took the loss in stride. “Not much since I saw you last. Oh … I had lunch with Sandy Kane two days ago.” Sandy and she had roomed together during their last two years at NYU; Jordan had taken them both to dinner several times.
Twilight Whispers Page 19
