Anna, and you believe in structure and in the system. Professor Quinn would have wanted what's best for Seth, and to repay an old debt, I gave him you."
Anna blew out a long breath. "No pressure, huh?"
"Pressure's all we've got around here." As if on cue, her phone began to ring. "And the clock's running."
Anna rose. "I'd better get to work, then. Looks like I'll be in the field most of today."
it was nearly one p.m. when Anna pulled up in the Quinns' drive. She'd managed to conduct interviews with three of the five names Cam had given her the day before, and she hoped to expand on that before too much more time passed.
Her call to Phillip Quinn's office in Baltimore had given her the information that he was on leave for the next two weeks. She was hoping she would find him here and be able to file an impression of another Quinn.
But it was the pup who greeted her. He barked ferociously even as he backed rapidly away from her. Anna watched with amusement as he peed on himself in terror. With a laugh, she crouched down, held out a hand.
"Come on, cutie, I won't hurt you. Aren't you sweet, aren't you pretty?" She kept murmuring to him until he bellied over to sniff her hand, then rolled over in ecstasy as she scratched him.
"For all you know, he's got fleas and rabies."
Anna glanced up and saw Cam in the front doorway. "For all I know, so do you."
With a snort of a laugh and his hands tucked in his pockets, he came out on the porch. It was a brown suit today, he noted. For the life of him he couldn't figure why she'd pick such a dull color. "I guess you're willing to risk it, since you're back. Didn't expect you so soon."
"A boy's welfare is at stake, Mr. Quinn. I don't believe in taking my time under the circumstances."
Obviously charmed by her voice, the puppy leaped up and bathed her face. The giggle escaped before she could stop it—a sound that made Cam raise his eyebrows—and defending herself from the puppy's eager tongue, she rose. Tugged down her jacket. And her dignity.
"May I come in?"
"Why not?" This time he waited for her, even opened the door and let her go in ahead of him.
She saw a large and fairly tidy living area. The furniture showed some wear but appeared comfortable and colorful. The spinet in the corner caught her eye. "Do you play?"
"Not really." Without realizing it, Cam ran a hand over the wood. He didn't notice that his fingers left streaks in the dust. "My mother did, and Phillip's got an ear for it."
"I tried to reach your brother Phillip at his office this morning."
"He's out buying groceries." Because he was pleased to have won that battle, Cam smiled a little. "He's going to be living here… for the foreseeable future. Ethan, too."
"You work fast."
"A boy's welfare is at stake," he said, echoing her.
Anna nodded. At a distant rumble of thunder, she glanced outside, frowned. The light was dimming, and the wind beginning to kick. "I'd like to discuss Seth with you." She shifted her briefcase, glanced at a chair.
"Is this going to take long?"
"I couldn't say."
"Then let's do it in the kitchen. I want coffee."
She followed him, using the time to study the house. It was just neat enough to make her wonder if Cam had been expecting her. They passed a den where the dust was layered over tables, the couch was covered with newspapers, and shoes littered the floor.
Missed that, didn't you? she thought with a smirk. But she found it endearing.
Then she heard his quick and vicious oath and nearly jumped out of her practical shoes.
"Goddamn it. Shit. What the hell is this? What next? Jesus Christ." He was already sloshing through the water and suds flowing over the kitchen floor to slap at the dishwasher.
Anna stepped back to avoid the flood. "I'd turn that off if I were you."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now I've got to take the bitch apart." He dragged the door open. An ocean of snowy-white suds spewed out.
Anna bit the inside of her cheek, cleared her throat. "Ah, what kind of soap did you use?"
"Dish soap." Vibrating with frustration, he yanked a bucket out from under the sink.
"Dishwasher soap or dish-washing soap?"
"What the hell's the difference?" Furious, he started to bail. Outside, the rain began to fall in hard, driving sheets.
"This." Keeping her face admirably sober, she gestured to the river running over the floor. "This is the difference. If you use the liquid for hand-washing dishes in a dishwasher, this is the inevitable result."
He straightened, the bucket in his hand, and a look of such pained irritation on his face, she couldn't hold back the laugh. "Sorry, sorry. Look, turn around."
"Because I'm not willing to ruin my shoes or my hose. So turn around while I take them off and I'll give you a hand."
"Yeah." Pathetically grateful, he turned his back, and even did his best not to imagine her peeling off her stockings. His best wasn't quite good enough, but it was the effort that counted. "Ethan handled most of the kitchen chores when we were growing up. I did my share, but it doesn't seem to have stuck with me."
"You seem to be out of your element." She tucked her hose neatly in her shoes, set them aside. "Get me a mop. I'll swab, you get the coffee."
He opened a long, narrow closet and handed her a string mop. "I appreciate it."
Her legs, he noted as he sloshed over for mugs, didn't need hose. They were a pale and fascinating gold in color, and smooth as silk. When she bent over, he ran his tongue over his teeth. He'd had no idea a woman with a mop would be quite so… attractive.
It's so amazingly pleasant, he realized, to be here, with the rain drumming, the wind howling, and a pretty, barefoot woman keeping him kitchen company. "You seem to be in your element," he commented, then grinned when she turned her head and eyed him balefully. "I'm not saying it's woman's work. My mother would have skinned me for the thought. I'm just saying you seem to know what you're doing."
As she'd worked her way through college cleaning houses, she knew very well. "I can handle a mop, Mr. Quinn."
"Since you're mopping my kitchen floor, you ought to make it Cam."
"Yeah, about Seth. Do you mind if I sit down?"
"Go ahead." She caught herself before she began to hum. The mindless chore, the rain, the isolation were just a tad too relaxing. "I'm sure you know I spoke with him yesterday."
"Yeah, and I know he told you he wanted to stay here."
"He did, and it's in my report. I also spoke with his teachers. How much do you know about his schoolwork?''
Cam shifted. "I haven't had a lot of time to get into that yet."
"Mmm-hmm. When he was first enrolled, he had some trouble with the other students. Fistfights. He broke one boy's nose."
Good for him, Cam thought with a surprising tug of pride, but he did his best to look disapproving. "Who started it?"
"That's not the point. However, your father handled the situation. At this point I'm told that Seth keeps mostly to himself. He doesn't participate in class, which is another problem. He rarely turns in his homework assignments, and those he does bother to turn in are most often sloppily done."
Cam felt a new headache begin to brew. "So the kid's not a scholar—"
"On the contrary." Anna straightened up, leaned on the mop. "If he participated even marginally in class, and if his assignments were done and turned in on time, he would be a straight A student. He's a solid B student as it is."
"So what's the problem?"
Anna closed her eyes a moment. "The problem is that Seth's IQ and evaluation tests are incredibly high. The child is brilliant."
Though he had his doubts about that, Cam nodded. "So, that's a good thing. And he's getting decent grades and staying out of trouble."
"Okay." She would try this a different way. "Suppose you were in a Formula One race—"
"Been there," h
e said with wistful reminiscence. "Done that."
"Right, and you had the finest, fastest, hottest car in the field."
"Yeah." He sighed. "I did."
"But you never tested its full capabilities, you never went full-out, you never punched it on the turns or popped it into fifth and poured down the straights."
His brow lifted. "You follow racing?"
"No, but I drive a car."
"Nice car, too. What have you had it up to?"
Eighty-eight, she thought with secret glee, but she would never admit it. "I consider a car transportation," she said, lying primly. "Not a toy."
"No reason it can't be both. Why don't I take you out in the 'Vette? Now that's a fine mode of entertaining transportation."
While she would have loved to indulge in the fantasy of sliding behind the wheel of that sleek white bullet, she had a point to make. "Try to stick with the analogy here. You're racing a superior machine. If you didn't drive that car the way it was meant to be driven, you'd be wasting its potential, and maybe you'd still finish in the money, but you wouldn't win."