Hidden Pearl Read Free Page B

up."
    She wracked her brain. "Sherrill? Sam? I'll bet it's Sam. You kind of look like a Sam."
    He leaned against the edge of his desk, legs stretched out, his booted ankles now crossed.
    "Okay," she said, changing lenses for a telephoto. "Not a Sam. How about Sherman?" He shook his head. "Why is it a secret? Now you've really got my competitive streak going. Maybe Sue, like that Johnny Cash oldie? That would explain keeping it a secret." She snapped a photo.
    “I thought you were through for the day.”
    “I’m never through.”
    "You're not old enough to remember that song.”
    "It’s still around. Besides, I’m thirty. How old are you or is that also a state secret?" The camera flashed again.
    "Thirty-six."
    "Samson? Sherman? No wait, I already guessed that." She narrowed her gaze, studying him more intently. "Sean?"
    "You're wasting your time," he said with a faint smile.
    "If I guess it, like in the fairy tale Rumplestiltskin, do I get a prize?" she asked teasingly.
    "What would you want?"
    She was flirting with him. Very unprofessional, Christine, she told herself but didn’t feel like stopping even though she never mixed business with pleasure, couldn't afford to start thinking of the handsome S.T. Taggert as a man. It was time to get out of there before the teasing turned into something else. She rose from her chair and stretched.
    "I don't know," she said, "but since it's obvious you're not going to give it to me, I guess I'll have to search it down through the computer."
    She could see he didn’t like that idea one bit. She had already done a search on him to prepare for this article and there wasn’t a lot of information for a man of his success. Now she knew why.
    Sensing his sudden disquiet, Christine said, "I guess I should call it a day. I..." She pressed her lips together, then said, "I'm sorry I forced the pictures onto you. I really meant it when I said you can kill them all if you don't like the end results."
    "You put a lot of work into them."
    She shrugged, picking up her equipment bag. "A lot of what I do gets tossed for one reason or another. Not everything turns out a winner; so don't worry about it. I'll get back to you when I get the rolls developed."
    "How long does that take? I’m surprised actually that you don’t use digital."
    “I do sometimes but it’s a habit I have of enjoying working with the darkroom more than a computer. I have a friend in town with a lab; so probably by the end of the week.” Then she remembered her next appointment was with the evangelist Peter Soul half way down the Willamette Valley. It was scheduled to run into the week-end. She did some mental calculations. "Wait, that won't work. I'll be out of town until next Monday. How about then?"
    "I'm likely to be here," he said.
    “Oh and my name is not hon but Chris.” She grinned as she walked out the door.
     
    As Christine walked into the crisp spring air, the dusk already closing in around the city, she thought about S.T. Taggert, about the different aspects to the man she'd seen as she'd followed him around.
    His talent, as an architect, as a man who brought life to concrete and steel, couldn't be denied and she admired that, but even more she admired the kind of man she saw revealed in the way he dealt with the people who worked for him. He seemed at times to be sprung tight as a spring, but he was never harsh with the workers. That could have been an act for her benefit but she didn't think so. She'd watched as he treated people with respect and in return had their respect.
    She swallowed as she realized she was thinking of him as a man--the very thing she'd told herself not to do. Her mother would have been thrilled, but Christine sensed getting involved on a personal level with a man like S.T. would be a huge mistake. She knew nothing about him in the areas that mattered and though she'd sensed a glimmer of interest from him, she knew--without knowing how--that he would suppress it. She would do the