Chapter Ten

It took only a few hours of hanging around his condo, flipping between cable news stations and juggling telephone calls to and from Edie, Derek Frye and—because he was never content to leave anything to chance, the National Transportation Safety Board investigator-in-charge at the command center set up in Montrose—for Zach to come down with a raging case of impatience. He was used to being in charge; to making things happen—he did not excel at waiting. His clash with Kendall had served to briefly break up the nerve-wracking monotony of waiting, but then so would beating one's head against a brick wall have done.

Hearing voices outside, he got up from watching the television to glance out his front window. Greenlee was leaving Kendall's condo with her charmingly Neanderthal-ishhusband and, much to Zach's surprise, they had little Miranda in tow. He would have paid good money for the secret of how they'd managed to pry Miranda away from Kendall…. Well, well, well…chalk one up to you, little Greenlee, he thought dryly. Perhaps he was reading too much into it, but even through the barrier of the window glass Zach could sense the couple's proprietary manner toward his niece. And Kendall believes I'm the snake in the grass.

While he was up, he poured himself two fingers of the fine Scotch Derek had turned down and knocked most of it back in one gulp. The noon news was beginning, but when it led off with a report about a military helicopter in the Middle East being shot down by insurgents, Zach winced and turned it off.

Just as he hit the remote button, a blood-curdling scream, followed by a second, came from the direction of Kendall's condo. The remote hit the floor as did the tumbler of whiskey in his other hand, the remainder of the amber liquid splashing over his expensive Italian loafer and soaking into the off-white carpet. Acting purely on instinct, Zach was out the door almost before they hit, his adrenaline flowing, his stifled energy expanding in the welcome release of the few long strides required to cross the courtyard and burst through Kendall's door.

Kendall was in a heap across the floor, her slim form leaning against her kitchen counter, hugging herself and moaning pitifully. She was alone in the room; the floor around her was free of spilled blood or other liquid, shards of broken glass, or sharp implement. Had she just received some bad news? No, the television was on the same channel he'd been watching, now showing of political rally footage. Telephone call? He grabbed up her wireless phone and displayed the number of the most recent incoming call…none for the past hour.

So what accounted for Kendall's dramatic performance? But wait, this was Kendall. Since when did her dramatics need a cause? Maybe she'd seen a mouse or a cockroach. He began to repent of his own impulsive response and wish he could sneak back out undetected, but he seemed to be in for it now. Cursing himself for being such a rash fool as to rush into this, Zach slowly approached Kendall and crouched before her. She looked at him rather blankly, but at least she looked at him.

"Kendall?" he asked, waving the palm of his hand in front of her face.

No answer. She seemed to be in shock. Mental, emotional, or physical? Or was it something else?

Silently, Zach swore again. If she was in physical shock, how could he tell? Kendall always looked that way: She was naturally pale, and the typically skimpy dress she was wearing, baring her arms and much of her chest, was hardly conducive to warmth—so naturally she would be shivering. But physical shock victims needed to be kept warm; so whether that was the case here or not, he decided he'd better err on the side of caution. He'd also better try to forget this was Kendall Hart, the virago who wanted his head on a platter, and regard her only as an innocuous neighbor who needed help. Otherwise, he might be tempted to treat her far less gently.

Utilizing the first thing at hand, which happened to be the Italian suede calfskin shirt jacket he wore over a black t-shirt, Zach yanked it off and tentatively drew it around her shoulders. She gave a slight frown but didn't resist beyond that. Zach actually found himself preferring the more recognizably vocal model to this nearly catatonic version.

Repeating, "Kendall, Kendall, come on," he snapped his fingers under her nose. Which was also mostly useless. Although she seemed to have some awareness of him, she wouldn't or couldn't respond. What should he do next? Shock victims needed to lie flat, but there was no way he was going to attempt that. Zach wondered. Kendall was breathing normally enough, neither gasping for breath nor on the verge of fainting. She just seemed…numbed. Was the situation really dire enough to call 911? He wracked his brains for someone to phone for advice. The on-call doctor for the Seasons East?

With Kendall still huddled under his jacket, Zach climbed to his feet and located her telephone. But as he began to punch in Edie's number, Myrtle Fargate popped into his mind…ah, that was it! Even though as far as he knew Myrtle had no formal medical training, she was an extraordinarily practical woman of uncommon good sense, who knew Kendall and all her tricks well. Directory assistance provided Myrtle's number, and in a moment he had Myrtle on the line. He barely had time to identify himself and explain the urgent purpose of his call when he heard Kendall gasp.

To his immense relief, she was staring up at him with awareness. He asked Myrtle to hang on a moment while he checked Kendall out. "Porch light's on, I see. Anybody home, Kendall?"

"Who let you in?" She sounded slightly bewildered.

"You answer my questions first; then I'll answer yours. I've got Myrtle Fargate on the line at the moment. Should I get medical attention for you?"

"No, I—Myrtle?"

"Here. Talk to her. She'll tell you I'm not here to steal the silver."

Kendall's expression was unreadable as she listened to Myrtle. Her few one- or two-word answers told an interested Zach nothing until she said in a low voice, "I'm really okay, Myrtle. I—I just misinterpreted something I heard on the news and I guess the stress got to me." When the call was finished, Kendall struggled to her feet and dusted herself off, a process Zach ungallantly observed without offering assistance.

Now she was recovered from her mysterious fit, and he knew the reason for it, he simply wanted to escape before this encounter escalated into another round. Zach stuck out his hand. "I'll be going. Jacket, please?"

She did not comply. "Tell me something first. Myrtle said you rushed over when you heard me scream. Why?"

"You know how thin these walls are, Kendall. Doors too. Shoddy construction."

"It's your turn to answer me."

"Atavism."

"Like I know what that means?"

"It means most men are programmed to respond when a woman screams."

"So did you think if something happened to me, you could grab Miranda?" she pressed.

Although he didn't expect an expression of fervent gratitude for his genuine if unenthusiastic rescue attempt, Zach was flabbergasted by Kendall's immediate return to hostilities. "Tell you what," he said coldly. "Try not to set your house on fire—from now on you're on your own."

After an uncharacteristic few moments' silence, she said in a small voice, "I was just trying to—oh, never mind."

"Trying to what, Kendall? Add to my rap sheet?"

"I just wanted to hear what you'd say."

"As it happens, I knew Miranda wasn't here. I saw Greenlee and her estimable husband leave with her earlier. Anything else you'd like to accuse me of before I go, just to make sure we're both on the same page?"

Instead Kendall changed the subject, asking, rather diffidently for her, "Aren't you even going to ask why I had a melt down?"

"I heard what you said to Myrtle. Another of your misinterpretations."

Distractedly she rubbed her arms and looked away. "The TV was on but I was working at the sink. I couldn't catch everything they were saying—but I did hear something about a plane crash, so how else was I supposed to react? This may be hard for somebody like you to understand, but I just lost it. Then I realized they were talking about a military plane, not the Cambias jet. I was too relieved to even absorb it—and then I felt guilty for being thankful it was some strangers who died, and not my family."

"I saw the same report," Zach replied evenly. "My jacket, please, Kendall?"

"All right, all right already! Here, take it. God forbid you should ever show any normal human emotion!" Kendall's voice quavered slightly. Pulling the jacket from her shoulders, she lobbed it at him.

Zach's caught it midair without comment. "You've already cast me as the villain who engineered the Cambias jet disappearance and who now plans to abduct Miranda," he shrugged. "I'm puzzled you'd expect human emotion from me as well."

"Yeah, well, me too, Zach," she muttered. "Me too, except for what just happened. It doesn't add up…I can't figure it out."

Zach shrugged before heading for the door. "And never will—not as long as the answer you start out with is wrong."

Back home, he retrieved the whiskey tumbler from the carpet. "What a waste of a good Scotch," he mused, scrutinizing the stain. He didn't particularly care if the spilled whiskey damaged the rug—his taste ran more to gleaming hardwood floors than wall-to-wall carpet, but he'd bought the condo carpeted—but he was too meticulous to wait for his weekly cleaning service to deal with it. And he wasn't above performing such a menial task himself so, spraying the spot with carpet shampoo, Zach attacked it with a damp sponge.

Scrubbing was something for his hands to do, something productive, or at least something not destructive, such as pounding a hole in the wall with one or more clenched fists would have been. Five minutes later he had the cleanest spot of carpet on the eastern seaboard, his hand still mechanically scrubbing while his thoughts had traveled thousands of miles away, from Kendall's living room to the remote mountain passes of southwestern Colorado.

He could charter a plane to Montrose, be there before daylight, join in the search for the son whose existence raised such mixed emotions in him, but mostly the search for Bianca…. Zach had climbed his share of tall hills; what was a mountain range? Except for the tiny details: He wasn't an experienced climber, he'd never participated in a search for anyone or anything before, much less in such a difficult terrain, and even if you couldn't miss a downed plane, he didn't know the first thing about conditions in the San Juan Mountains. Zach was man enough to own that his presence, much less his assistance, would not be welcomed at search headquarters.

Fuck this, he thought in mounting frustration. Why was he still hanging around here anyway? He couldn't even remember why it had seemed a reasonable idea at the time. Maybe he couldn't go climbing mountains, but when he was about to start climbing his own walls, a change of scene was called for. When driving oneself crazy, the route should at least be scenic. Zach decided to check things at the casino, and then blow off some steam at the health club. But first, to make the workout really worthwhile, maybe he'd provoke some drama in Mr. and Mrs. Laverys' smug little domestic sphere by dropping by and letting them know he didn't intend to be shut out of his niece's life by them any more than he intended to be shut out by Kendall