by Neesa Hart
“Eli, listen to me. The Paschells just want to visit down there. They say they’re worried about Grace, and they want to check on her. Don’t be so antagonistic.”
“I hate to break this to you, but my in-laws never do anything for altruistic reasons. If they want to come down here, it’s not because they’re worried about my daughter.”
Martin made a slightly disgusted sound that conveyed a world of disapproval. “I know that, but they’re starting to talk about custody, Eli. You have got to pay attention.”
He was having trouble breathing. “Did they say that?”
“Not in so many words, no.”
“They better not, either. I’m not letting them take her away from me.”
“Then don’t be so belligerent about this. What’s the harm in allowing them a visit?”
“Grace is just starting to get settled here,” Eli explained. “I don’t want to upset the balance.” He didn’t want them anywhere near her, was the real story, but he kept that to himself. Martin would figure it out on his own.
“I understand that, but I think you need to give this serious thought. If they start pushing you for custody, your reputation could suffer.”
“To hell with my reputation.” Eli knotted the phone cord in his fist.
“The administrators at the lab might feel differently than you about that.”
“Then screw them,” he said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea right now, Martin. That has to be enough.”
“It is,” Martin said, his voice so soothing it grated Eli’s nerves. “All I’m saying is, perception is important. Your research on the Kelsen Project is drawing incredible speculation. You’re a public figure now, and your private life is part of the equation.”
“I understand that.”
“At least let me tell the Paschells you’ll consider a visit when things are more settled. It will keep them calm.”
“They’re not coming down here,” Eli insisted.
“I’ll tell them you’re thinking about it.”
Eli swore at him. Martin’s sigh was long-suffering. “Did you even read the press clippings I sent you?”
“Yes,” Eli said irritably. “Certified mail, Martin? What’s next, a singing telegram.”
“I was hoping to convey a sense of urgency.”
“What you conveyed was melodrama.” The clippings had detailed a few challenges from some prominent research scientists to his research. He leaned against the wall in his kitchen and wiped a hand through his hair. “Look. Do what you think is best. If you want to issue a statement about the research, fine. If you want to try and appease the Paschells, that’s fine, too. But I don’t want them here. Not right now.”
“I understand.” Martin’s tone softened. “How is Grace?”
“Better, I think.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Martin paused. “Anything you want me to tell your bosses at the lab?”
Eli released a harsh breath, his frustration steadily tying a knot in his gut. “Tell them we’re doing fine, and Georgia isn’t the backwater capital of America.”
“I’ll see if I can dress that up a bit.”
“That’s what I pay you for, Martin.”
The other man laughed. “You pay me to keep your butt out of trouble.”
“My point exactly.”
“All right, Eli. I’ll stall the lab. I’ll stall your in-laws, and I’ll find a way to notify the media and the world scientific community that you are alive and kicking despite evidence to the contrary. Any other dirty work you want me to take care of?”
Eli shook his head with a slight smile. “That covers it, Martin—oh, one more thing. Grace will have a dance recital at the end of the summer. I’m sure you’ll want to be here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Martin assured him.
“I knew you wouldn’t. I’ll get the dates to you so you can buy your plane ticket. Thanks, Martin.” Eli said his good-byes, then hung up the phone.
“Father?” The voice came from the doorway.
Eli spun to face her. “Hi, honey. I thought you were spending the afternoon with Beth today.”
She shrugged. “I was.” Entering the room, she dumped her backpack on the table. “We finished practicing our dance routine. Liza gave me a ride home.”
But didn’t come in, he noted. “I see.”
Grace studied him for long seconds. “Are you mad at Martin?”
“No.”
“You sounded like you were mad.”
He shook his head as he moved toward her. “I was frustrated, but not with Martin. He’s taking care of something for me.”
“Is it a lawsuit?”
Eli ground his teeth. There was no lawsuit—not yet, anyway. And if Grace thought there was, he’d bet his right arm she’d gotten the information from her grandparents. “There is no lawsuit,” he told her. He spun a chair around so he could straddle it. “Martin is handling some press releases and some publicity from the lab for me, so I don’t have to worry about it while we’re here.”
She frowned. “Are you—” Grace bit off the question.
“Am I what?”
Her face was a mask of worry. “Are you going to go to jail?”
Eli stared incredulously at her. “No,” he said harshly. “No.” God, what had Mara’s mother told her? “Honey, come here.” He indicated the chair in front of him. “Grace, tell me what’s going on.”
Grace slipped into the chair. “I heard Martin on the phone with your lawyers. Everyone was yelling. Then Grandfather said something about your legal problems, and I thought—”
“You thought what?”
“Grandfather made it sound like you were in trouble.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“And you’re not going to jail?”
“No.” He drew a deep breath. “That’s not even a remote possibility.” Eli tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t want you to worry about that.”
“Why is Martin so worried, then?”
“The Nobel prize nomination has brought a lot of scrutiny and attention to some of my research. There are some doctors who are trying to disclaim what I proved in the lab.”
Grace’s eyebrows knit together. “That’s stupid. If you proved it, you proved it. What are they trying to claim?”
“That I didn’t do my research right and my results are wrong.”
“But they aren’t,” she insisted.
He gave her a wry smile. “Thanks for your support. The point is, my bosses at the lab are nervous about it. They want me to go back to New York to defend myself.”
She swung her feet back and forth beneath the chair. “Why can’t you just tell them to mind their own business?”
Eli laughed. “Sometimes adults fight over stupid stuff, Grace.”
“Like you and Mama?”
He caught his breath. “Some of the stuff your mother and I fought over was stupid, yes.”
“Like me?” she asked quietly.
His hands tightened on the back of the chair. Had his mother-in-law been present at the moment, he wasn’t sure he could have kept from applying the same force to her throat. “No. I know you heard some of the arguments your mother and I had about you, but I want you to understand that we had those arguments because we both loved you. Both of us wanted what we thought was best for you. We just didn’t always agree on what that was.” He fought back a wave of guilt as he realized, again, just how much of a toll his ill-fated relationship with Mara had taken on his child. “In fact,” he added, “I can honestly say that no matter what we argued about, or how often we argued, I was always really grateful to your mother for giving you to me.”
“Are you sure?” she said softly.
The disbelief in her voice lacerated him. “Absolutely sure,” he answered, his voice rough. “I’m so happy to have you living with me, Grace. Never doubt it.”
Grace hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”
His heart rate began to return to n
ormal. “What do you want to do for dinner?”
“Pizza?” she said hopefully.
He groaned. “We’ve had pizza for the last three nights.”
“It’s better than your cooking.”
Her expression was so serious, he couldn’t tell whether she was making a joke or not. He stared at her. Grace stared back. “Are you teasing me?”
Grace shook her head. “No. You’re a terrible cook. Martin is much better.”
“Well, Martin isn’t here.”
“I suppose we’ll starve before the summer is over.”
He searched her expression. A hint of humor lurked in her clear blue eyes—eyes so like her mother’s. The spark took him by such surprise, he probed it, trying to burn it into his memory. “You are teasing me.”
Her lips twitched. She’d gotten that expression from him. “So can we get pizza?”
Eli laughed. “No. We can’t get pizza. How about tacos?”
“Can I have mine without lettuce?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “Even Mama could make tacos, and she cooked even worse than you do.” Grace slid off her chair. “Will you help me with my homework after dinner?”
“Sure.”
Picking up her backpack, she slung it on her shoulder. “Then maybe I can help you figure out how to get Liza to go out with you.”
She hurried from the room, and Eli buried his head in his hands. Nothing, not his greatest accomplishments in the lab, not his career achievements, not even the knowledge that the work he conducted saved lives and helped millions of people had ever given him this rare feeling of euphoria.
Liza had fled the sidewalk after dinner that night with a mixed sense of dread and anticipation. The weekend passed, as did the next three days of classes, with little or no contact with him, and her nerves had finally begun to settle. Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror near her cramped office in the administration building, she scrutinized her every feature. It was an okay face—it probably wouldn’t stop traffic, but she was moderately attractive. If she could fix one thing about it, she’d narrow her nose a little. She’d always longed for the patrician nose of a super model.
Irritated, she dabbed powder on her face to cut the shine. Even if her nose were pencil-thin, she still wouldn’t have the kind of face that sent men tumbling into fantasy land. No, no matter what he said, Eli had been taunting her—playing at the sophisticated kind of flirtation he was probably used to. In her more honest moments, she admitted to herself that she felt the connection between them, but neither of them had the simple, unencumbered life that allowed for spur-of-the-moment decisions. He had his daughter to consider, and she had her own reasons for caution.
And if the last week were any indication, reality had finally set in. Even if they agreed to pursue their relationship—she pulled a brush through her hair—the logistics would be next to impossible. Evidently, he was finally starting to realize that. In a town as small as Terrance, on a campus as small as Breeland, privacy was unheard of. She was busy, he was busy, and the chances of them finding time for a conversation, much less anything else, were next to nil.
When she’d realized that, she’d started to feel—safer. Another word to wince at, she admitted, as she dropped her compact and brush back into her purse. Safe, predictable, comforting. That had been her preferred status for years. Why, now, did it seem so disheartening to picture herself in that role for the long term.
One look at The King of the Jungle, she mused, and she’d heard the call of the wild. For the past week, she’d been firmly lecturing herself on what had happened the last time she’d answered that call. It had ruined her life. Almost for good.
Fortunately, the lecture was easier to swallow when Eli wasn’t tempting her with his golden eyes and his firm lips. The man had, she admitted, just about the sexiest lips she’d ever seen. She remembered focusing on them the first time she’d seen him lecture. Full and firm, they begged to be touched. Just the thought of stroking them, kissing them, made her shiver. It was no wonder she felt precariously close to tumbling over a cliff when he was taunting her.
So she should, she told herself, feel extremely grateful that except for faculty meetings, and across the width of the dining hall, she hadn’t seen him since their dinner with Bill and Anna. Anna gave her glowing reports about his progress with his classes. As far as Liza could tell, the girls were enjoying his lecture style. She’d had no additional spectacular reports of exploding flower pots, but as the second week drew to a close, the general consensus was that Eli Liontakis had taken Breeland by storm and won them with effortless charm and grace. Amelia Pankhurst, she thought with a dry smile, seemed particularly intrigued by the presence of such an eminently eligible bachelor.
Liza looked at her reflection and frowned. When, she wondered, had she become such a stick in the mud? Here she was, well into what appeared to be a phenomenally successful summer program, and her mood was as sour as three-month-old milk. With a slight sigh, she pushed a blonde curl behind her ear. “Oh, get a grip, Liza,” she muttered and reached for the door handle.
She pulled it open to find Lindsay, looking strained, pacing in the hallway. “Hey, Lindsay. What’s up?”
“Oh, thank God.” Lindsay grabbed her hand and started pulling her toward her office. “One more minute, and I was coming in after you.”
“What’s going on?”
“You have visitors. Mrs. Forian told me to come find you.”
“Visitors?” Liza’s eyebrows lifted.
“Yes. They claim they’re Grace’s grandparents.”
A chill coursed through her. She wasn’t precisely certain why, but she just knew that Eli wasn’t going to like this. “Okay.” She shook her hand free. “I’ll handle it. You go get Dr. Liontakis. He’ll want to see them.”
Lindsay gave her a concerned look. “He’s in class.”
“Tell him to let his class out early. The girls will appreciate it.”
“All right.” Lindsay hesitated. “Liza—is something—wrong?”
Liza studied her closely. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t like those people,” the girl admitted. “They’re weird.”
As far as Liza could tell, Eli didn’t care for them either. “It’ll be all right, Lindsay. I promise.”
“Are they going to take Grace away from here? Because she’s just sort of coming around. I don’t think that would be a good thing.”
Liza sighed. “Me either. And, no, they aren’t. Eli’s her father and guardian. She’s not going anywhere he doesn’t want her to.”
Lindsay exhaled an audible sigh of relief. “Oh, good. I like her.”
“I like her, too. Go get Dr. Liontakis, Lindsay, okay.”
“Got it.” She hurried off in the opposite direction. Liza took a deep breath and shoved open the door to her office. The scene that greeted her made her feel oddly violated. The tiny, cramped space—strewn with books and paperwork—had been her personal sanctum for years. Now, it felt invaded by something almost repugnant.
Only Anna, seated behind the desk, looking perfectly composed, assured Liza that the other two occupants of the tight space hadn’t rummaged through her desk. A formidable looking woman, with expertly coifed hair more white than brown, wearing a tailored mauve silk suit sat perched on the front of the battered leather visitor’s chair. Liza’s gaze darted quickly to the corner where a tall, scowling man who looked as though he hadn’t spent more than five minutes outdoors in the last twenty years, leaned with one shoulder braced against the rickety bookcase.
She looked quickly at Anna, who gave her a slight nod. Liza dropped her bag on the cluttered table by the door and walked into the room. “Hi. I’m Liza Kincaid.”
The woman fixed her with a glacial stare. “We are Grace Liontakis’ grandparents. We’ve come to see how she’s getting along here.”
Not to see her, Liza noted. “Well, you’ll be very happy to know she’s doing extr
emely well.” She moved behind the desk to stand next to Anna. A show of unity seemed prudent. “And I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your names.”
Grace’s grandmother gave her a withering look. This was not the type of woman, Liza suspected, who generally got asked for ID. Her husband cleared his throat. “I’m Leonard Paschell, and this is my wife, Doris.”
Liza nodded. “Grace speaks of you often.” She didn’t bother claiming it was nice to meet them.
Doris Paschell moved closer to the edge of her seat. She looked, Liza thought, like a vulture perched over rotting prey. “We’ve been talking with Martin, and I’m quite concerned about Grace being here. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you—”
Liza cut her off with a wave of her hand. “I’m not sure what Martin has told you, but I can assure you that you have nothing to worry about. Grace is fitting in very well.”
Anna nodded. “She’s enjoying her dance classes, making new friends, generally seems to be taking to the program like a duck to water.”
Doris’s expression soured further. “It is my understanding,” she said through partially clenched dentures, “that the children at this school are chosen from among, er, less-advantaged applicants.”
Liza ground her teeth. Anna leaned back in the desk chair and continued to assess Doris Paschell with cool disdain. “Many of them, yes.”
“Then you’ll understand, of course, why we feel a certain anxiety about Grace’s interaction with them while she’s still so vulnerable after her mother’s death.”
“We were always careful,” Leonard interjected, “about the friends we chose for Grace.”
“Sometimes,” Liza countered, unable to keep the frost from her voice, “children like to choose their own friends.”
“And sometimes,” Doris’s expression was condescending, “children don’t know what’s best for them. That’s why they have adults in their lives.”
Liza could feel her anger peaking. She hoped Eli got here soon before she deprived him of the pleasure of strangling these people. “And Grace is fortunate to have her father. He cares about her very much.”
Doris’s lips compressed into a line so tight, her upper lip all but disappeared. Anna shot Liza a warning glance. Leonard cleared his throat again. “Yes, well, you can understand why we want to have an active role in our granddaughter’s life. Mara was our only child.”
