Jeannie said: “I don’t give a shit about the third twin.”
There was a pause, then he said: “It’s important to me.”
She sighed.
“Nothing. The lawyer will go to court, provided you give your permission.”
She began to think again. “Isn’t it a little dangerous? I mean, I presume JFU will have to be notified of our application. Then Berrington will know where the list is. And he’ll get to it before we do.”
“Damn, you’re right. Let me tell him that.”
A moment later another voice came on the phone. “Dr. Ferrami, this is Runciman Brewer, we’re on a conference link with Steve now. Where exactly is this data?”
“In my desk drawer, on a floppy disk marked SHOPPING.LST.”
“We can apply for access to your office without specifying what we’re looking for.”
“Then I think they might just wipe everything off my computer and all my disks.”
“I just don’t have a better idea.”
Steve said: “What we need is a burglar.”
Jeannie said: “Oh, my God.”
“What?”
The lawyer said: “What is it, Dr. Ferrami?”
“Can you hold off on this court application?” Jeannie said.
“Yes. We probably couldn’t get rolling before Monday, anyway. Why?”
“I just had an idea. Let me see if I can work it out. If not, we’ll go down the legal road next week. Steve?”
“Still here.”
“Call me later.”
“You bet.”
Jeannie hung up.
Daddy could get into her office.
He was at Patty’s house now. He was broke, so he wasn’t going anywhere. And he owed her. Oh, boy, did he owe her.
If she could find the third twin Steve would be cleared. And if she could prove to the world what Berrington and his friends had done in the seventies, maybe she would get her job back.
Could she ask her father to do this? It was against the law. He could end up in jail if things went wrong. He took that risk constantly, of course; but this time it would be her fault.
She told herself they would not get caught.
The doorbell rang. She lifted the handset. “Yes.”
“Jeannie?”
It was a familiar voice. “Yes,” she said. “Who’s this?”
“Will Temple.”
“I sent you two E-mails, didn’t you get them?”
What the hell was Will Temple doing here? “Come in,” she said, and she pressed the button.
He came up the stairs wearing tan chinos and a navy blue polo shirt. His hair was shorter, and although he still had the fair beard she had loved so much, instead of growing wild and bushy it was now a neatly trimmed goatee. The heiress had tidied him up.
She could not bring herself to let him kiss her cheek; he had hurt her too badly. She put out her hand to shake. “This is a surprise,” she said. “I haven’t been able to retrieve my E-mail for a couple of days.”
“I’m attending a conference in Washington,” he said. “I rented a car and drove out here.”
“Want some coffee?”
“Sure.”
“Have a seat.” She put fresh coffee on.
He looked around. “Nice apartment.”
“Thanks.”
“Different.”
“You mean different from our old place.” The living room of their apartment in Minneapolis had been a big, untidy space full of overstuffed couches and bicycle wheels and tennis rackets and guitars. This room was pristine by comparison. “I guess I reacted against all that clutter.”
“You seemed to like it at the time.”
“I did. Things change.”
He nodded, and changed the subject. “I read about you in the
“It’s done it for me, though. I was fired today.”
“No!”
She poured coffee and sat opposite him and told him the story of the hearing. When she had finished he said: “This guy Steve—are you serious about him?”
“I don’t know. I have an open mind.”
“You’re not dating?”
“No, but he wants to, and I really like him. How about you? Are you still with Georgina Tinkerton Ross?”
“No.” He shook his head regretfully. “Jeannie, what I really came here to do is tell you that breaking up with you was the greatest mistake of my life.”
Jeannie was touched by how sad he looked. Part of her was pleased that he regretted losing her, but she did not wish him unhappy.
“You were the best thing that ever happened to me,” he said. “You’re strong, but you’re good. And you’re smart: I have to have someone smart. We were right for each other. We loved each other.”
“I was very hurt at the time,” she said. “But I got over it.”
“I’m not sure I did.”
She gave him an appraising look. He was a big man, not cute like Steve but attractive in a more rugged way. She prodded her libido, like a doctor touching a bruise, but there was no response, no trace left of the overwhelming physical desire she had once felt for Will’s strong body.
He had come to ask her to go back to him, that was clear now. And she knew what her answer was. She did not want him anymore. He was about a week too late.
It would be kinder not to put him through the humiliation of asking and being rejected. She stood up. “Will, I have something important to do and I have to run. I wish I’d got your messages, then we could have spent more time together.”
He read the subtext and looked sadder. “Too bad,” he said. He stood up.
She held out her hand to shake. “Thanks for dropping by.”
He pulled her to him to kiss her. She offered her cheek. He kissed it softly, then released her. “I wish I could rewrite our script,” he said. “I’d give it a happier ending.”
“Good-bye, Will.”
“Good-bye, Jeannie.”
She watched him walk down the stairs and out the door.
Her phone rang.
She picked it up. “Hello?”
“Getting fired is not the worst thing that can happen to you.”
It was a man, his voice slightly muffled as if he were speaking through something to disguise it.
Jeannie said: “Who is this?”
“Stop nosing into things that don’t concern you.”
Who the hell was this? “What things?”
