He approached cautiously. She opened her door and stepped out, reassured by the weight of Jeffrey’s beeper in the pocket of her skirt. She remained silent, waiting for Red Robin to speak first, if this man was in fact Red Robin.
He came to a halt several feet from her and ventured a hesitant “Miss Buchanan?”
She wanted to say that she didn’t know of any other fool who would come here for the third time, but instead she said, “Yes?”
“You’re right on time. Early, in fact.”
The night couldn’t hide Red Robin’s wiry slimness, or his glasses, or the head of dark, curly hair that contrasted sharply with his pallor. Nor could it diffuse his features enough to prevent her realizing that he was, indeed, the man she had seen at the reception so many weeks before.
“I’ve been early each night. I didn’t want to miss you.”
“Look. I’m sorry about that. It’s just that this is difficult.”
“I’m sure it is, Mr.…?”
“Red Robin’s fine.”
She’d had to try, but she wasn’t surprised when she failed. At least the man didn’t look dangerous, she decided. She could probably put up a good fight if he turned on her, unless he had a gun or a knife. But she had her beeper. It was very dark.
She forced her thoughts ahead. “You have something you want to tell me?”
“I think I’ve given you the vague outlines.”
“‘Vague’ is no good. My paper won’t print it.”
“Try diplomatic corps.”
“Still too vague.”
“Try the United States Senate or…or the Cabinet.”
She shook her head. “I need specifics.”
“Try differential hiring and firing.”
Again she shook her head.
“Try sexual harrassment.”
“Nothing new. Try again.”
He took a deep breath. “Try homosexual harrassment.”
Cilla grew still. The data bank of her mind flipped through cases she knew of. They were few and far between and had only involved one, maybe two, recognizable names. But he had mentioned three powerful groups, and his implication was that he had many names to offer. Homosexuality was a new twist to an age-old scam.
“You have my attention,” she said. “Go on.”
He fiddled with the lapel of his jacket, then nervously thrust his hands in his pockets. “There are powerful men in this town who have certain other men on their payrolls for doing nothing.”
“Every bureacracy has its deadweight,” Cilla pointed out.
“Well, it shouldn’t! There are others of us who are more than willing to work, yet we’re shunted around to make room for the favorites.”
Cilla noted his anger and wondered if he was hurling accusations purely out of revenge. “You feel you’ve been wronged?”
He started to answer, then stopped. When he did speak, his tone was carefully modulated. “The fact is that many people have been wronged. Not only are the taxpayers footing the bill for the sexual antics of some of its most prominent leaders, but these same leaders are being influenced by people who are using their…their sexual prowess for precisely that purpose.”
“We’re being compromised.”
“Exactly.”
“Can you give me an example?”
He looked away and pressed his hands to his sides.
Cilla prodded. “I’ll need specifics, Red Robin. I’ve already told you that.”
“I’ve given you specifics.”
“You’ve given me the general nature of the offense.” She paused. “What is it you want of me?”
“I want you to expose these people.”
“You’re the one who knows who they are. I can’t conduct blind witch-hunts, particularly not if we’re dealing with as important people as you suggest. I need specifics…names, dates, places, files.” She studied his profile. His brows were lowered, his lips tight. “Look, this is done all the time. A source comes to us, tells us all he knows; we verify it, then print it. I can assure you that you’ll remain anonymous.” She was beginning to wonder if he fit into the scheme. If he had lost his job or been demoted, her theory of revenge might fit. But if there was something more, a personal vendetta, she had to know. “Why have you come to me? Why do you want all this exposed?”
His head came around. “Because it’s wrong.”
“But why do you feel so strongly about it? Have you lost your job?”
“No. I have one.”
“Where?” She didn’t want to mention that she remembered meeting him before lest he get more nervous.
“It’s not important.”
“It is if I’m supposed to get a fix on what you’re saying.”
“It’s not important.”
“Then I have to assume you’re gay and that you’ve been jilted and are out for revenge.” It was a variation on her earlier thought and came spontaneously, spawned in part by the frustration of having to pull teeth.
He drew more agitated. “Assume what you will. My personal situation is beside the point.”
“It’s not if it’s the reason you’ve dragged me here.” She knew she was goading him, but she remembered what Jeffrey had said about calling his bluff. She did need specifics, damn it, and if she had to badger Red Robin for them, she’d do it.
He took a step back. “Don’t you want the story?”
“Of course I want it, but you haven’t given me anything yet. Come on, Red Robin. Tell me something solid.”
He shook his head, turned to walk off, then stopped. He looked down at his feet unsurely, then whirled to face her. “Did you know that much of the inside information we get on the Middle East comes from gays who infiltrate the upper echelons of those embassies?”
“Which embassies?”
“Did you know that one of the deputy secretaries of Labor is having an affair with a man who is a union lobbyist?”
“Which secretary?”
But Red Robin only shook his head and started off. He didn’t turn this time, and when Cilla called out to him, he ran faster. Within minutes she was standing alone in the parking lot, her hands hanging limply by her sides.
“I need more!” she yelled to the night. “I need evidence!”
But the night didn’t have it. All she could do was to hope that Red Robin heard and would think about what she had said.
William Marshall walked boldly through the offices of the Department of Commerce and announced himself to Blake’s secretary. “He’s expecting me,” he added curtly, then stood straight while Blake was buzzed. Given his choice, William would not have requested this meeting. He had spent weeks debating it, had seen Blake socially any number of times during that period but had been unable to speak frankly with others around.
“Bill!” Blake appeared at his door and gestured. “Come on in.” The two shook hands, then sealed themselves in Blake’s office. “I was surprised when you called. Is everything all right?”
William settled into an upholstered armchair and propped his briefcase against the desk. “I’m not sure. That’s why I wanted to talk with you.”
Sinking into a matching chair, Blake frowned. “About what?”
“Danica. When was the last time you saw her?”
Blake’s features tensed, though he maintained an even smile. “She was down last month. You saw her with me at the Weigner reception.”
“You haven’t seen her since?”
“She’s busy now that she has this radio show of hers. It’s a wonderful opportunity for her, don’t you think?”
William ignored the question. “Will you be seeing her much this summer?”
Blake hesitated, growing more wary. “I doubt it. She spends her summers in Maine.”
“It might be a good idea if you tried to get up there.”
That was the last thing Blake wanted to do. “Why?”
William pressed his lips together, wondering if he was making a mistake by confronting Blake but not sure where else
to turn. He had threatened Michael, but Michael had threatened him back and even now continued to see Danica. As for Danica, she was totally guarded when William was around, and he hadn’t even shown her his pictures. Somehow he doubted she would pay him any more heed than Michael had done. William didn’t like feeling impotent, and that was precisely how he had begun to feel on this matter.
“Because,” he began angrily, “I think that she’s far too involved with this Buchanan fellow, and if you don’t do something to stop it, she’s apt to embarrass us all. You do know that she sees him, don’t you?”
Blake kept his expression bland while he chose his words with care. He had no idea how much his father-in-law knew, but was sure that Danica wouldn’t have told William what she had told him. “I know that they’re good friends. They like each other. It’s only natural that they spend time together, particularly as his house is so close in Maine.”
“They’re more than good friends. They’re lovers.”
For a minute Blake was taken aback, not because he was hearing something he didn’t know but because William had said it. “How do you know that?” he said coldly.
“I have pictures!”
This did stun Blake. “Of their making love?”
“Not exactly. But only an imbecile would fail to read between the lines.”
Blake sat back stiffly. “Have you got them here?”
William drew the packet from his briefcase and handed it to Blake, then waited while the other man studied the prints inside. “I’m sorry to have to be the one—”
“How did you get these?” Blake growled.
“I hired a private investigator.”
“On what authority?”
William realized that Blake was angry at him and decided that it was a defense mechanism. Accordingly, he softened his tone. “I’m her father. I’ve been looking at her from a greater distance than you have, so it’s understandable that I’d have suspected things sooner. I wanted to know if there was any cause for alarm, so I hired someone to follow her around for a while.”
“You shouldn’t have done that, Bill.” He tossed the photos on the corner of his desk. “It’s not your business.”
“I think it is. She’s my daughter. What she does reflects back on me. As far as I’m concerned, she betrayed us both.”
“She’s an adult, and I’m her husband. This is a matter between Danica and me.”
“You don’t see her often. You have no idea what she’s been up to.”
“I know more than you give me credit for.”
The conversation was not going as William had expected. He had assumed he would be bringing Blake shocking news, even more, shocking evidence, yet Blake seemed barely surprised. He was more angry at William than at his own wife! “Do you mean to say that you’ve known about this all along?”
“I’ve known about it. Danica told me.”
“She told you?” For someone who had always been able to gauge and regulate others, William wondered if he was slipping.
“She told me.”
“So what are you going to do about it?” William roared.
Blake grew all the more composed. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? Blake, what kind of insanity is that? Your wife’s carrying on with another man, with your knowledge, and you’re just going to sit back and let it go on?”
Blake found a certain satisfaction in seeing William so ruffled. It made him look all the more in control by comparison. “Danica is discreet. You would never have known about this yourself if you hadn’t hired an investigator. She’s with Buchanan mostly in Maine, where no one’s going to see or care.”
“Don’t you?” William gasped, unable to believe what he was hearing.
Blake took a deep, even breath and let it out slowly. “Of course I care. Danica’s my wife. But I try to understand her. She’s going through a crisis of some sort, perhaps sowing the wild oats she never sowed before we were married. I have faith in her, though. She knows which side her bread is buttered on. She’ll get tired of Buchanan soon enough. You’ll see.”
William scowled. “You sound so damned confident. If it was me, I’d be screaming down the walls, making her toe the line.”
“And she’d only rebel more. Don’t you see, Bill? The more upset I get, the longer she’ll carry on. Danica knows what her responsibilities are. When I need her here, she comes.”
“Do you know what she’s doing this summer?” William peered at him through narrowed eyes.
“She’s on a boat hunting for gold.” He chuckled. “Pretty amusing, actually.”
“I don’t see any humor in it. You know who she’s with, don’t you?”
“Buchanan. He’s hoping to get a book out of it. She’s working as his research assistant.”
William snorted. “Fat chance.”
“I believe her. She did a good job for Bryant. I’m sure she’ll do no less for Buchanan.”
“My God, man, but you’re innocent. Do you honestly believe she’s working? Doesn’t it strike you that a boat is a perfect place for an ongoing affair?”
“There are four other men on that boat. I doubt she’ll have the privacy to do much of anything. In fact, my guess is that she’ll come back from the summer never wanting to step foot on a boat again. It can’t be luxurious living, and we both know Danica’s used to that.”
William sat forward. “If you were smart, you’d hit Buchanan with an alienation-of-affection suit.”
“Why would I want to do that? There’d be publicity, for one thing. For another, if I brought suit, it would only serve to alienate Danica.” He held up a hand, pleased with his show of self-assurance. “Trust me, Bill. I know what I’m doing.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” William mumbled as he rose from his seat. “Well, I’ve said what I came to say. It’s in your hands now.”
“That’s right.” Blake stood to see the other man out. “And Bill? No more investigators, please. Let me handle this my own way. We’ve been friends for a long time. Danica’s antics I can take; your interference I can’t. I appreciate everything you’ve done, but it’s mine now. Okay?” It was the closest he had ever come to telling William Marshall off, and he rather enjoyed it. He was a force in his own right now. It was time Bill accepted that.
William held up both hands palm out. “You can have it. Just don’t come crying to me when she makes fools of us all, because I’ll remind you of what you’ve said today. If she hurts her mother, it won’t be because I didn’t try to stop her.” Lowering his hands, he flung open the door and stalked out, determined to have the final word.
Blake let him go because he knew he had made his own point. The last thing he needed was for Bill to be sticking his nose in, trying to change a situation that suited Blake just fine.
Closing his door, he leaned back against it and raised two fingers to massage the tension from the bridge of his nose. Lord only knew, he had enough to worry about without having Danica on his neck, he mused, then pushed himself wearily from the door and headed back to his desk.
Danica was happier than she had ever been. Michael had rented a small cabin cruiser for the summer—one not quite as fancy as they had been on the summer before, but they hadn’t wanted to look pretentious mooring a luxury craft alongside Joe Camarillo’s modest salvage vessel.
Actually, the smaller cruiser suited them just fine, since most of their hours were spent with the crew aboard the salvage vessel. Though Michael dived with the men from time to time, Danica opted to remain on deck. Salvage vessel or not, it gave her the same sense of freedom she craved. Away from land she didn’t think of Blake or her father, but concentrated on helping Michael in whatever way she could.
Once a week they cruised back to shore and drove to Boston, where Michael waited proudly while she taped her program. She was always happy to return to the sea, though, loving the small cabin where she and Michael talked for hours at night, made love more often than not, and were nearly inseparable.
L
ate in July they returned to Kennebunkport to entertain Cilla and Jeffrey for the weekend. Gena, who had been keeping Rusty, joined them, and the five had many hours of lively discussion. It was a happy time for Danica, the glimpse of a dream come true. She felt she was one of the family, and basked in the love and closeness enveloping her so snugly. To her delight, Cilla and Jeffrey relaxed with her, drawing her into discussions of their cases in a way that stimulated her mind as well as her heart.
“Red Robin.” She grinned. “I love it!”
“He’s a doozy,” Cilla remarked, lips thinned. “I think I’d like to wring his neck. He’s the worst kind of tease.”
“You haven’t seen him in a month?” Michael asked.
She shook her head. “We’ve met twice, and he calls from time to time wondering why I haven’t printed his story. I keep telling him that I need more, but I can almost hear him shaking in his boots.”
“What will you do if you don’t get more?” Danica asked. “Can you go ahead with anything you’ve got?”
“I’m working to verify the few things he’s told me, but it’s hard. The kind of liaisons we’re talking about are well hidden. I’ve gone to several gay bars, but someone high in government isn’t about to frequent those places, and anyway, when I start asking questions, everyone clams up. I have to be so careful, so vague. I can’t ask if so-and-so has ever been seen there because, given the power level involved, I’ll be in real trouble if I start pointing fingers. Anyway, gays protect each other.”
“Not Red Robin,” Michael reminded her.
“Mmmm. He finally did admit that he was gay, which was some victory. I assume he’s been spurned. He’s angry, but he’s also frightened. I’m hoping that at some point his anger will overcome his fear and he’ll give me what I need. It’s one thing if I have evidence to work with, but can you imagine how awful it would be to accuse an innocent man?”
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