buy pom-poms and join a cheerleading squad."
He forced a jaunty grin on his face. "How old are you these days?"
"On a good day, thirty. On a bad day, about a hundred and twelve. How about you?"
"On a good day, thirty-six. On a bad day, about fourteen. I regress." She laughed, but the sound died quickly. She looked at him in bewilderment. "What's wrong?"
Kyle realized that his face was revealing a lot more than he'd planned. "I've never heard you laugh before. It's a nice sound."
She glanced away, her expression troubled. "Well, we didn't get a chance to spend much time together, before. What, an hour in Surador? A few days at the hospital in Virginia? And the situations didn't lend themselves to humor."
"I'm glad you can laugh now."
"Can you?" She watched him closely.
He nodded. "On the good days."
"Do you and your brother stay busy down in Ft. Lauderdale? With the new work?"
"As busy as two old retired men want to be."
"Well, Gramps, how does it feel to run a safe, normal import-export business?"
Kyle considered telling her the truth, but decided that it might make her more wary of him. The business was a front for a private investigations service very discreet and very far above the average P.I.'s milieu. Their clients included small foreign governments and multinational corporations. But compared to their former occupations, the work was definitely safe and normal.
"There's a lot of money in shipping and receiving European antiques," Kyle told her lightly. "And no one tries to kill you over them."
"You look good, Kyle. I mean that."
His stomach tightened. He didn't dwell on his scars. He knew exactly how awful they were, but Sara sounded very sincere. He liked the quality and gentleness of her lie. "I've had a lot of plastic surgery. I'll have more, as time goes by." He changed the subject quickly. "Where's the secret door?" He gestured toward the stone wall. "How did you get out and sneak up on me? If I give you some cereal box tops, can I have your special map and decoder ring?"
Her eyes crinkled with amusement. "The keep was designed to be mysterious. My grandfather was a creative architect. My mother added a few secret touches of her own."
"Which is a polite way of saying 'Mind your own business, nosy.' "
"I'm afraid so." Frowning, she added, "It has to be that way. If I'd been secretive about my work before, there wouldn't have been any trouble." Sorrow flickered in her eyes for an instant as her gaze swept his face; without words she showed her guilt over his own condition.
"You were doing your job," Kyle told her gruffly. "I was doing mine. We couldn't help what happened."
She shook her head. "I could have."
"How?"
"By not trusting Valdivia to begin with." Visibly shaken, she raised a hand to her throat. "That's the first time I've said his name out loud since I came home from South America. I'd prefer never to say it again."
The mention of Diego de Valdivia broke the tenuous spell Kyle had built. She stepped back, obviously on the verge of leaving. "Don't," he told her. Kyle moved toward her and held out his hands in supplication. "How could you have known that he wasn't an ordinary businessman who was just curious about your research with herbicides?"
It was no use. She looked guilty and distraught and more than a little angry. "It's over. He forced me to create something I hated, something so awful that it still makes me sick to think about it, and I don't feel any better knowing that our government has control of it now. I can't do anything about that, but I can make sure that my research never gets twisted that way again."
"Valdivia's dead, you know. You're letting his ghost haunt you. You're here all alone"
"Good-bye, Kyle." she said, her voice strained. "It was good to see you again." She began backing into the forest. "Maybe someday wetake care. Take good care of yourself. You deserve all the happiness in the world. Bye."
He moved forward, grimacing with frustration. "It's not that
He forced a jaunty grin on his face. "How old are you these days?"
"On a good day, thirty. On a bad day, about a hundred and twelve. How about you?"
"On a good day, thirty-six. On a bad day, about fourteen. I regress." She laughed, but the sound died quickly. She looked at him in bewilderment. "What's wrong?"
Kyle realized that his face was revealing a lot more than he'd planned. "I've never heard you laugh before. It's a nice sound."
She glanced away, her expression troubled. "Well, we didn't get a chance to spend much time together, before. What, an hour in Surador? A few days at the hospital in Virginia? And the situations didn't lend themselves to humor."
"I'm glad you can laugh now."
"Can you?" She watched him closely.
He nodded. "On the good days."
"Do you and your brother stay busy down in Ft. Lauderdale? With the new work?"
"As busy as two old retired men want to be."
"Well, Gramps, how does it feel to run a safe, normal import-export business?"
Kyle considered telling her the truth, but decided that it might make her more wary of him. The business was a front for a private investigations service very discreet and very far above the average P.I.'s milieu. Their clients included small foreign governments and multinational corporations. But compared to their former occupations, the work was definitely safe and normal.
"There's a lot of money in shipping and receiving European antiques," Kyle told her lightly. "And no one tries to kill you over them."
"You look good, Kyle. I mean that."
His stomach tightened. He didn't dwell on his scars. He knew exactly how awful they were, but Sara sounded very sincere. He liked the quality and gentleness of her lie. "I've had a lot of plastic surgery. I'll have more, as time goes by." He changed the subject quickly. "Where's the secret door?" He gestured toward the stone wall. "How did you get out and sneak up on me? If I give you some cereal box tops, can I have your special map and decoder ring?"
Her eyes crinkled with amusement. "The keep was designed to be mysterious. My grandfather was a creative architect. My mother added a few secret touches of her own."
"Which is a polite way of saying 'Mind your own business, nosy.' "
"I'm afraid so." Frowning, she added, "It has to be that way. If I'd been secretive about my work before, there wouldn't have been any trouble." Sorrow flickered in her eyes for an instant as her gaze swept his face; without words she showed her guilt over his own condition.
"You were doing your job," Kyle told her gruffly. "I was doing mine. We couldn't help what happened."
She shook her head. "I could have."
"How?"
"By not trusting Valdivia to begin with." Visibly shaken, she raised a hand to her throat. "That's the first time I've said his name out loud since I came home from South America. I'd prefer never to say it again."
The mention of Diego de Valdivia broke the tenuous spell Kyle had built. She stepped back, obviously on the verge of leaving. "Don't," he told her. Kyle moved toward her and held out his hands in supplication. "How could you have known that he wasn't an ordinary businessman who was just curious about your research with herbicides?"
It was no use. She looked guilty and distraught and more than a little angry. "It's over. He forced me to create something I hated, something so awful that it still makes me sick to think about it, and I don't feel any better knowing that our government has control of it now. I can't do anything about that, but I can make sure that my research never gets twisted that way again."
"Valdivia's dead, you know. You're letting his ghost haunt you. You're here all alone"
"Good-bye, Kyle." she said, her voice strained. "It was good to see you again." She began backing into the forest. "Maybe someday wetake care. Take good care of yourself. You deserve all the happiness in the world. Bye."
He moved forward, grimacing with frustration. "It's not that
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