This Child Of Mine

The main thing it will do, Kitt thought, is make Mark Masters even more hideously wealthy than his old man.

Masters smiled that luminous smile at the aide. “Think of LinkServe as a multimedia communications system—your telephone, your TV, your computer, your best friend’s face. All coming to you over one neat, linked communications—” he hesitated here, apparently searching for the perfect word “—box to serve you.” Then his smile expanded. “LinkServe,” he summed up.

“Wow,” the aide said, and Kitt wondered if the woman was “wowing” over the technology or the blue eyes.

The congressman leaned forward, frowning now. “Pardon me for asking,” he said, “but I must know. It was my understanding that you kept your percentage in LinkServe?”

“I’ve retained some interests, but only for as long as I’m in college. I assure you, sir, I want to be treated like any other intern in your office.”

The congressman hesitated, only for a heartbeat, but long enough for Kitt to pick up on his very real discomfort with this young man’s unexpected declaration of independence. “Well, of course, of course,” he said. “Just because you’re Marcus Masters the Third doesn’t mean you’re not like any other intern, here to learn about the legislative process.” He leaned toward Masters confidentially. “And you shall. For example, I trust this dinner has been edifying?”

Masters relaxed back into his chair. “Yes, sir, it has. Working with lobbyists like Ms. Stevens here is exactly what I want to do.” He turned a thousandwatt smile of perfect teeth on Kitt. It was the same smile that had looked so warm and benevolent earlier, except now it looked utterly feral.

Kitt managed a nod and a weak smile of her own. If she’d been broadsided before, she was absolutely flattened now. This man, this Marcus Masters the Third, had known exactly who she was and what she was up to the whole time he’d had her yammering about flowers and ghosts. The whole time he’d been saying “neat” like some kid at Disneyland. Had he known even back at the ice-cream social when he tried to flirt with her? Her cheeks flamed. Do you always wear your hair like that? Geez.

“Great!” Wilkens boomed, now that his own moment of tension with the younger Masters had passed. “I have an idea. Why don’t you spend some time with Kitt here, if that’s agreeable to your people—” Wilkens shot Kitt a look that signaled she’d better play ball “—and get the CRM’s take on this whole thing. Then write it up in a report for me by, say, the end of next week.”

“If that’s agreeable to Ms. Stevens.” Masters smiled at Kitt again, and this time she swore his incisors actually looked pointier.

She swallowed, suddenly feeling like a scrawny chicken facing a wily fox. “Well,” she stalled, “I’m afraid spending time at the CRM headquarters would be kind of…kind of…dull for Mr. Masters.”

“Nonsense!” The congressman was still talking too loud. “It’s the kind of experience Mark needs, distilling both sides of an issue for me.” He looked magnanimously at Masters.

Mark held a palm up at Kitt in oath. “I promise I will state your case fairly and impartially to the congressman.” His forehead creased sincerely.

Kitt had the queasy feeling she’d been outflanked. The feeling that her prey had suddenly become the predator, and a cunning predator to boot.

CHAPTER THREE

KITT PACED the length of her narrow third-floor bedroom and raked her hands through the weird ripples the stupid braids had left.

Two stories below, she could hear Lauren and Paige practicing their new vocal number. The three women had formed a trio as a creative outlet and had become quite popular at the church. But tonight Lauren’s delicate soprano contrasted with Paige’s athletic alto, and without Kitt’s second soprano modulating between them, they sounded strained. Kitt felt a pang of guilt. She should be downstairs practicing. But at the moment she could barely breathe, much less sing.

She had beaten a retreat home from the disaster at Gadsby’s, carefully hung up her expensive black pantsuit and proceeded to pace.

The memory of Mark Masters’s face when he’d asked her that pointed question about LinkServe, of his fingers rubbing the flower petals, of the way he ate, moved, used his hands, of his eyes, so blue and deep-set, all of it played in her mind like images from some cheesy romantic comedy.

It couldn’t be, just couldn’t be, happening.

But she recognized the signs in herself already. Signs of…infatuation. And, to Kitt Stevens, having these feelings had once proved devastating. Better not to even let anything start, she warned herself. Love wasn’t a fairy tale. Love meant entanglements, trouble…pain.

She could keep these feelings of attraction at bay, she reminded herself, if she kept her mind on her business. She marched to the bed, rummaged around in the covers, retrieved her portable phone and punched in a familiar number.

Jeff’s nasal voice on the answering machine said, “Hi. Eric is out golfing, and I’m working like a slave. Leave a message.” Kitt grinned because Eric’s message was similar: “I’m killing myself for the congressman and Jeff’s out barhopping.”

“Jeff, pick up. It’s me.”

“Yes, my sweets,” a live voice immediately answered. “I presume you called to crawl my ass about the Mark Masters screwup.”

“Later. And while I’m at it, remind me to chew you out for talking so pretty. But first, tell me what you found out.”

Jeff sighed. “It seems the younger Masters is Wilkens’s intern from the University of Oklahoma. Brilliant. Chose O.U. because of the Carl Albert Center.”

“The Carl Center?” Kitt muttered. “Where they do all that in-depth research into federal government operations? Is this guy some kind of policy wonk?”

“I guess. Of course, his father could send him anywhere, and tried to. But the kid, who’s no kid, by the way, dropped out of U.C.L.A. the first go-round. Got in some kind of woman trouble. The old man, the real Marcus Masters, the one who’s trying to control Wilkens, was only in D.C. for a day before he zipped out on his Lear.”

“Dang!” Kitt dragged her hand viciously through her kinky hair at that news. So, she’d missed her chance with Masters, and gotten the old man’s son underfoot in the process.

Jeff went on in a rush, “I’m guessing the son is the relative I heard about. Sorry for the bad poop, Kitt. Old man Masters was supposed to be at that reception, I guess because his son was one of the incoming interns. But he didn’t show. In fact, Trisha was really disappointed—”

“Trisha,” Kitt injected.

“What have you got against her, anyway? She’s really nice.”

Kitt kept her thoughts to herself, but said, “Go on.”

“Well, it turns out the old man wanted Mark to meet her. She works for an affiliate owned by Masters Multimedia.”

Keepin’ it all in the family, Kitt thought.

“Anyway, I promise, I knew none of this. I mean, I knew there were two interns who arrived late in the day that I didn’t meet—we let Eric handle them—but I sure as hell didn’t know one of them was Marcus Masters’s son. I can’t apologize enough for this mix-up. Kitt?…Kitt? Did you hear me? I’m really sorry.”

Kitt quit pacing and plopped down on the bed. Thinking. Scheming, actually. She didn’t really hold Jeff accountable for this fiasco. He certainly had nothing to do with the congressman’s bright idea to send Masters over to her turf. “Don’t worry about it,” she answered. “Send me some chocolates or a couple of tickets to Aruba or something.” She yawned loudly into the phone. “Listen, I’m beat. Thanks for checking the guy out. You and Lauren really should communicate more. Turns out she knew he was Marcus Masters’s son the whole time.”

“Maybe you should communicate with Lauren more often,” Jeff said. “She’s your roommate.” His voice dropped to a seductive level. “Hey. If I do send the tickets, will you take me to Aruba with you?”

Kitt raised the mouthpiece of the phone to her forehead, rolled her eyes to the ceiling, releasing a slow hiss of impatience.

“Kitt? You there?”

Kitt lowered the phone. “I’m just tired, Jeff. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ve got to figure out what to do with Mark Masters in the morning. Oh, by the way. I won’t need a ride.”

“Why? You braving the traffic?”

“No. After we left the dinner, when I was slinking home, Mark Masters caught up with me and offered to pick me up tomorrow.”

“What on earth for?” Jeff sounded suddenly wary, maybe even a little peevish.

“I honestly don’t know. Maybe he was just being nice. But I don’t buy the I’m-Just-Here-To-Learn routine he handed the congressman.”

“If he’s Marcus Masters’s son, you can bet he’s after something.”

“I can handle him.” Kitt yawned again.

“Uh, yeah, if anybody can, you can. That’s cool.”

But Kitt got the feeling Jeff didn’t think it was cool at all, and the truth was, neither did she. In fact, the whole idea of doing anything with Mark Masters, anything at all, felt vaguely…dangerous.