“The good news is that we might still find his laptop.” Sawyer’s tone was gentle, as if uncertain of her mood.
“We’ve already looked everywhere.” Kaylin wasn’t sure she had a mood. Should she be relieved no one had deliberately set out to harm her father? Or should she be upset that he hadn’t been careful enough to stay alive? Should she be frustrated that they hadn’t found evidence of murder? Or relieved? Either way, her father was gone, but sorting out her own feelings had her head spinning worse than after an hour practicing pirouettes.
“You okay?” Sawyer asked.
“I’m trying to figure out what I should feel.”
“You can do that?”
“What?”
Sawyer’s eyes narrowed. “My feelings just are. I can’t decide what they should be.”
She sighed. “Mine are conflicted.” She leaned back into the seat, glad she didn’t have to focus on driving. Sawyer was a good driver, his competent hands steady on the wheel, and when he braked for a red light, he came to a smooth stop. “On the one hand, if I believe Deputy Bryant and the team of forensic experts, then I’d be angry that Dad was careless enough to accidentally set off the explosion.”
“But—”
“On the other hand, I’d be relieved to know those Middle Eastern guys had nothing to do with his death.” She sighed again and tried to shrug the tension out of her shoulders.
“You don’t believe the official report?”
“Their theory doesn’t account for the missing laptop or that Dad’s formula might have been valuable. They’re treating him like an amateur. He did have a doctorate in chemical engineering. He was brilliant.”
“Can you think of any place else where Henry could have left his laptop?” Sawyer turned right onto Highway 301 and merged into traffic behind a vegetable truck that had a hand-drawn Ruskin Tomatoes sign on the back window.
“I’ve been racking my brain.” Kaylin didn’t believe her father had mislaid his laptop. He wasn’t the absentminded professor. He’d been extremely careful with his data, meticulous about his work. But he was human, and she supposed he could have slipped up.
Sawyer drove to the local waffle house. They chose a table in the back where they could talk quietly without being overheard. The morning rush of nine-to-fivers was over, and the snowbirds, retirees from up north who came south for the winter, were mostly gone. He ordered his breakfast, waffles with blueberries and a large glass of orange juice, and she chose waffles with fresh strawberry topping and coffee.
Sawyer grinned at her order. “My grandmother loves strawberries.”
“You could have invited her to join us.” Kaylin floated her napkin over her lap. She’d never met his grandmother but knew she’d taken him in as a kid, something she doubted her own grandparents would have done.
“Gran’s off on a seniors singles cruise.” His grin widened. “She told me she has her eye on a nice young man of sixty. She’s eighty.”
“She sounds full of life.”
“You have no idea. Last summer Gran decided she wanted to learn karate.”
Kaylin laughed. “Every woman should know how to defend herself.”
“That’s what she said.” Sawyer’s easy grin faded. “Do you and your sisters know how to defend yourselves?”
“Dad insisted we all take a self-defense class. But it was a long time ago, and I don’t remember as much as I should.” She turned and stared at him. “Why? You think we’re going to have more trouble? Should I be worrying about Becca and Lia?”
Sawyer looked her straight in the eye. “I don’t know.”
A man who didn’t mind saying he didn’t know something? How unusual. In spite of herself, his admission kicked her impression of him up another notch. Over the last few days, he’d earned a lot of notches. Sawyer couldn’t have been more helpful, less intrusive. At times he fit into their family so easily he became a part of it—even when the sisters were arguing.
She recalled how he’d stepped off the ladder to defend her against Becca. How he’d seemed willing to fight her battles for her. Not that she needed a man to defend her, especially when the weapons of choice were words. Kaylin could do that herself, thank you very much. Still, it was nice, sweet really, that he’d made the effort.
Kaylin rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward. “So tell me about Dean Witman. What part of Dad’s biodiesel business is left to buy?”
“Dean’s probably after the formula.”
“Which we don’t have?”
“But he doesn’t know that,” Sawyer reminded her.
“Unless he stole it, blew up the lab, and is covering up his actions by pretending to want to buy what he already took.”
“Damn.” Sawyer eyed her with new respect. “That’s quite a theory. Do you read mystery novels in your spare time?”
“Actually, I’m a CSI fan.” She held her breath, waiting for him to poke fun at her. When he didn’t, she began to breathe normally again. “What else do you know about Witman?”
“He runs his father’s multimillion dollar business. On the surface, he doesn’t appear to need to resort to underhanded tactics. He drives a Porsche and lives in River Hills, an expensive community—”
“South of Brandon. Okay,” she agreed. “But he could be mortgaged to the hilt. Or he might want out from under daddy’s thumb. Or he could have two ex-wives who have left him strapped for cash.”
“You ought to write TV shows.” He peered at her, his lips curled with amusement. “For such a practical woman, I never figured you had such a vivid imagination.”
“There’s a lot about me you don’t know. But there’s even more I don’t know about you.” She speared him with a curious look.
The waitress returned with their orders, interrupting the conversation. He skipped the butter but drowned his waffles in syrup. Impishly, he plucked a blueberry off the top and held it up to her lips. “Want a taste?”
“No thanks.” The idea of eating from his fingers seemed way too intimate. She busied herself by adding cream and sugar to her coffee, then dribbling syrup over her waffles. She speared a strawberry with her fork and offered him the first bite.
Eyes full of amusement, he didn’t hesitate, taking the strawberry into his mouth without his lips touching her fork. He chewed and swallowed. “Good choice.” Then he surprised her, returning the conversation to her earlier comment. “So what do you want to know about me?”
Everything. The silly thought popped into her head. She banished it fast, before it could settle in. “I never ran into you in high school.”
“That’s because I’m three years older than you.”
“We still overlapped one year.”
“After my freshman year, I dropped out.”
“Oh?” He didn’t seem the kind to quit. In fact, he seemed kind of laid back, with a steel core. Steel honed for whatever life threw his way. He was one of those rare men who was so self-confident, he didn’t need the fake macho BS to bolster his image.
His blue eyes twinkled. “Gran wasn’t too happy, but she forgave me when I did home schooling and ended up earning my diploma within a year.”
She should have figured his education process hadn’t been normal. Her father had been like that, too. “Then what did you do?”
“I got accepted into MIT.”
“At sixteen?”
“Yeah. I was a nerd.” He didn’t sound proud of his accomplishments. “Socially, I was so not ready for college, but I thrived academically.”
“Let me guess. You have a doctorate in engineering?”
“Chemical engineering and physics.” He nodded, a mischievous please-don’t-hold-my-brains-against-me eyebrow rising.
“So you’re a genius?”
“At MIT geniuses are as common as ne
rds.”
She laughed. He had a way about him that was just as charming as her father. A similarity that reminded her that friendly was good, too friendly was a real bad idea. Long ago, she’d decided to swear off dreamers. Now she was certain. Dead certain.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “You look as if you just bit into a rotten strawberry.”
The guy was perceptive. True, she’d never been great at hiding her emotions. Showing what she felt was a part of the dancer in her. Because dancing wasn’t just technique. The best dancers portrayed emotion. Too bad hers leaked out at the most inconvenient times.
She shook her head. “Sorry. Dad had a similar attitude towards his intelligence and when I thought of him . . .”
“No problem. While I wouldn’t mind telling you my life story, especially about my childhood cat, Fuzzy, we need to prep for our meeting.”
“Agreed.” Although his owning a cat named Fuzzy seemed incongruous with his masculine image, Sawyer really was the total package. Sure he had a great face, but it was his intelligent eyes and gentle charm that lured her. Not that she had any intention of allowing him to reel her in.
Keeping the conversation on business would be good. Not as interesting, but safer. She needed to think of Sawyer as her father’s business partner, not as an attractive, kind, and amusing companion. “So where do we start?”
“Let’s consider this meeting preliminary.”
Again she sensed his reluctance to accept an offer. “What does that mean?”
“It means we don’t agree to anything without first talking it over in private.”
“Agreed. What else?” She picked up her coffee cup and sipped, looking at him over the rim. His eyes caught hers, and the intensity she saw there tugged at her.
“I’m not sure where to start.”
Although his tone sounded casual, she suspected he’d already worked out this part ahead of time. He obviously didn’t want to sound as if he was telling her what to do. Nevertheless, it’s what he was doing.
She didn’t mind. He knew a heck of a lot more about biodiesel than she did. “Just assume I know nothing about Dad’s business and go from there.”
“The government is pushing alternative fuels big time. They’ve created tax incentives to buy, sell, and produce biodiesel. The soybean farmers are powerful lobbyists, fully behind growing soybeans and turning the crop into diesel. Our government likes the idea of homegrown as opposed to importing oil from the Middle East.”
“Got it.”
“If the tax incentives alone weren’t enough to make it attractive, the environmentalists jumped on board. Burning this fuel doesn’t pollute the air.”
“Sounds wonderful . . . in theory.”
“The industry has gone beyond theory. Any diesel vehicle can run on biodiesel without mechanical alterations, although they might have to use more fuel filters in the beginning.”
“Biodiesel clogs the engines?”
“Just the opposite. The fuel actually cleans out the old gunk. Old residues clog the filters, but after using biodiesel two or three times, the old gunk is gone, and the engines run even better. There’s extra lubricity, so less wear and tear on the engine’s moving parts.”
“Okay. I get it. It’s a great product. So why isn’t everyone making it?”
“Because the process is complex and slow. I won’t bore you with the chemistry.”
“Thanks.”
“Basically, your dad was working on a catalyst. A way to make the chemical reaction faster.”
“But if we don’t have his work, we don’t have anything to sell.”
“In general, I know what he was working on. If the lab were still there, I could probably duplicate his experiments and figure out what he discovered.”
“So even without the final formula it would be a big help to anyone else to have his research?”
“Exactly. But I’m not sure we want to reveal any information to Dean in our meeting.”
Again his hesitancy told her he didn’t want to sell. But to her it was a no-brainer. She didn’t want to own a business that had killed her father. And she wasn’t convinced they could really produce biodiesel and make it profitable. Besides, even if they had the knowledge, they didn’t have the means. Not unless Sawyer was wealthy. “Why do we want to keep silent about the only thing we have to sell? I understand we don’t want to go into specifics unless we have a contract, but why not tell Witman we know the direction of Dad’s research?”
“My gut instinct is saying to keep this between us.”
“Excuse me?” She’d expected more business analysis. Or a scientific reason. Not his gut instinct.
“We aren’t sure what really happened in the lab or if Dean could be connected. I just don’t think we should reveal too much.”
“That won’t be hard for me. I don’t know a lot. However, if the man makes us an offer—”
“We’ll discuss it after the meeting. Over dinner?” He made the suggestion with a casual air, but the glint in her eyes told her he was thinking about more than business.
“Dinner could be arranged. Especially if you don’t mind leftovers.”
Kaylin suddenly realized she was foolishly grinning. This wasn’t a date, just business. Yet never before had she looked forward to a business discussion. Her smile faded.
She needed to keep her priorities straight.
12
NO ONE was home. Lia used her key on the front door, pleased when Randy greeted her with a friendly wag of his tail. With Mitzy and Becca at work and Kaylin gone, the house seemed empty, better than school, but lonely.
Lia entered the kitchen, poured herself a cola, and snagged some homemade pistachio muffins left over from the weekend. With Randy on her heels, she headed up to her room. Posters of her favorite stars greeted her. She kicked her PJs from the floor, pleased when they landed on top of the pile in her clothes hamper. She’d have to do laundry soon. Maybe later.
The house seemed quiet. Too quiet. Lia plopped on her bed, turned on her iPod, placed the headset over her ears, and closed her eyes. Right now she wasn’t up to appreciating the awesome black walls with white trim that Kaylin and she had painted together a few months ago. Right now, black reminded her of death, of her father’s black suit when they’d laid him to rest. The black coffin. The black burned patch of grass where the lab used to be.
Randy jumped onto the bed and snuggled against her side, no doubt hoping she’d drop a few muffin crumbs while she listened to one of her all-time favorite albums. Usually pop ballads soothed Lia, but today she seriously couldn’t get into the music.
Perhaps she should have gone to school. Sooner or later she’d have to face the stares, the silent questions, the pity. But not today. Opening Seventeen, she thumbed through the pages, disgusted with the Photoshop-perfect models who never had a pimple or a bad hair day. If she ever grew tall enough, Lia had thought about modeling as a career, but those girls looked so confident, so intimidating, that she knew she’d never fit in.
Randy wagged his tail, and Lia removed her headphones. She broke off a piece of muffin and shared. When she heard a thump on the stairs, her adrenaline kicked in. Oh . . . God. Was someone in the house?
She must be imagining things.
But she heard another thump. Then a footstep.
Someone was here. And making a lot of noise. Her heart sped up, and her stomach churned.
Kaylin had told her not to go anywhere alone. Although Kaylin was a worrywart, this time she should have listened.
Should she call out? Maybe one of her sisters had returned early. But if it wasn’t Mitzy, Becca, or Kaylin, if there was an intruder, letting them know she was in the house wouldn’t be a good idea.
Lia picked up Randy, tucked him under her arm, and headed for her window. Already half
open, she easily slid the window all the way up.
More footsteps on the stairs urged her to hurry.
Placing her foot on the sill, she started to slide outside onto the roof, not the easiest maneuver with Randy in her arms. Half in, half out, the blinding sun made it difficult for her to see past her door into the dark hallway.
God. Someone was there.
Keep going.
Maybe they wouldn’t see her. For once her tiny size might work in her favor. Maybe they’d continue looking down the hall to Kaylin or Becca’s room. Damn it. She should have taken her cell phone with her. But it was sitting inside her backpack, right where she’d left it on her nightstand.
Fire-breathing dragons couldn’t have tugged her back inside.
“Anyone home?” a voice called out. Then someone stepped into her bedroom.
Heart pounding with fear, Lia almost dropped Randy, who barked and wagged his tail. Talk about a welcoming committee. Randy liked everyone. Even an intruder.
Lia scrambled out the window, scraping her leg in her haste.
“Lia. Where are you going?”
“Billy?” Mouth dry, Lia squinted back into her room, suddenly feeling foolish that she hadn’t recognized his voice right away.
He poked his head out the window. “What are you doing?”
Randy barked again. Lia had never been so happy to see Billy’s punked-out hair and his cheerful grin. But she didn’t want him to know she’d been freaked out. “I thought I’d come up here and work on my tan.”
He climbed out the window and joined her. “Cool.”
Actually, it was hot. But she couldn’t exactly complain since she’d just claimed she was out here to lie in the sun.
She settled her back against a gable that was part of the attic. “What are you doing here?”
Dancing with Fire Page 9
