The Burning Point Page 3

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" The paralyzed silence was broken by the sound of smashing glass as Donovan dropped the tumbler he'd been holding.

  Kate sprang to her feet as waves of horror swept through her, coming from so deep inside that she almost blacked out. "No!" she said in a choked voice. "That's crazy. Not in a million years!"

  Her gaze whipped over to Donovan. His stunned face mirrored her own shock.

  They were supposed to live together? The thought made her blood freeze.

  "The will is entirely legal," the lawyer said. "Including a provision to disinherit anyone who contests it."

  Kate closed her eyes, feeling the hammer of blood in her temples. Her father hadn't known why she'd divorced Donovan, of course, and whose fault was that? She had chosen silence over public scandal. Talk about no good deed going unpunished!

  She began to shake as the swift fury Sam had called an "Italian moment" swept through her. Opening her eyes, she glared at Donovan. "Did you put Sam up to this?"

  "Do you think I'm insane?" His voice rose incredulously. "I'd sooner share a den with a wolverine."

  Much as she wanted to rip at him, it was impossible not to recognize his shock, or a revulsion equal to her own. Kate spun to face her mother. "Did you know about this?"

  "Yes. And really, Kate, do try to control yourself. You're making a spectacle."

  "Good! I want to make a scene." Kate's fists knotted at her sides. "How could you have allowed Sam to draw up a will that's so...so outrageous?"

  "Sam was a devout Catholic who believed in the sanctity of marriage," her mother said. "Though you're not Catholic, Donovan is, and you married in the Church. Since the marriage was never annulled, to Sam it still existed."

  "Sam could be pretty medieval, but even he knew that divorce was a fact of life," Donovan retorted. "He couldn't possibly have believed that a damned will could resurrect a marriage ten years dead."

  Kate couldn't have agreed more. She should have insisted on an annulment. Donovan had never asked for one, and she hadn't wanted to initiate anything that might require communication between them. Her failure to force the issue gave Sam an excuse to claim the marriage was still valid.

  Not that her father needed an excuse. Despite his very real faith, he hadn't married in a Catholic ceremony himself because Julia had wanted the rites of her own church.

  Nonetheless, he was quite willing to use his daughter's Catholic marriage as a bludgeon to get his own way one last time. Bitterly she said, "What if Donovan or I had married elsewhere? Would Sam have expected us to get divorced?"

  "I insisted there be alternative provisions in case there was a change in marital status between the time he drew up the will and his death," Charles said. "However, that's moot since you're both single and able to comply with the conditions if you choose."

  "If I choose." Kate's seething gaze returned to Donovan. It had been hard enough to speak to him in a roomful of people. The idea of living with him was....unthinkable. "Sam didn't know what he was asking."

  But Donovan did. From his refuge by the fireplace, he watched her as if she were a ticking grenade. Reluctantly Kate recognized that he had been betrayed as badly as she. Instead of inheriting the business that by right of dedication and hard work should be his, Donovan was being victimized by Sam's last ghastly whim.

  Pulling herself together, she said through gritted teeth, "Well, be damned to the money and Sam's attempt to control us from the grave." She headed toward the door.

  "Wait," Charles said forcefully. "I know this is a shock, Kate. But remember that if you refuse to comply, it isn't just your own inheritance you're throwing away. Tom will also be cut out entirely, and Sam specified that PDI would be sold to Marchetti Demolition."

  Donovan swore when he heard that, and Kate came to a halt. Bud Marchetti was an old friend of her father's and had regularly tried to buy PDI and turn it into a division of his conventional wrecking firm. Sam had always laughed off such offers, but obviously he'd reconsidered.

  "I don't blame you for being upset," Julia said quietly. "As you said, the will is outrageous, but Sam never gave up hoping that the two of you would get together again."

  Kate's eyes narrowed. "Surely you didn't share his delusion."

  "No, but I thought his idea had merit." Her somber gaze went from Kate to Donovan. "Not because there is any chance you two will reconcile. I don't know what went wrong with your marriage, but it obviously left deep scars or you wouldn't both be so determinedly single ten years later. Maybe if you spend a year together, you can come to terms with whatever happened, and get on with your lives."

  Restraining the urge to swear violently, Kate bit out, "Never!"

  "Note, the condition is living under the same roof, not sharing the same bed. In effect, you'd merely be housemates." Charles spoke as calmly as if they were discussing tax strategy. "Sam went into some detail about what is acceptable. In a hotel, a suite can be used rather than a single room."

  Kate's jaw clenched at this evidence of how carefully Sam had plotted this. He must have spent the last ten years figuring out ways to force his daughter and former son-in-law together again.

  Charles finished, "Incidentally, Sam also specified that you would live in the house you occupied during your marriage, which Donovan still occupies."

  Absurdity piled on insanity! Sensing her distress, Oscar trotted over and began rubbing against her ankle. She stroked his head, her chilled fingers warmed by his small furry body. Straightening, she pointed out, "I'm not the only one who would have to agree to this. Donovan can't be any more willing to cohabit than I am."

  Instead of the instant agreement she expected, his expression became troubled. "Kate, we need to talk."

  "An excellent idea." Julia rose wearily. "Charles, let's go find something alcoholic. I could use a drink. A large one."

  Before following her, Charles pulled a letter from inside his suit coat and handed it to Kate. "Your father left this for you."

  She stared at the letter, then jammed it into her jacket pocket. Julia and the lawyer departed, leaving Donovan alone with Kate. She stalked to the window and gazed out, her back rigid.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  What the hell had gotten into Sam, Donovan wondered? To the extent that he'd thought about it since Sam's death, he assumed that Julia would inherit the company, and put Donovan in charge. Even if Nick Corsi hadn't already left to start his own company, Donovan would have been the best choice. He'd worked endlessly to master demanding technical skills until he was as good as Sam, maybe better. He'd developed new methods to drop structures that at first glance had looked impossible, and spent much of what spare time he had earning an MBA.

  He sure as hell hadn't worked his ass off to end up as one of Bud Marchetti's employees. But because of Sam's whim, the firm would be lost, and Kate would have still more reasons to hate her ex-husband.

  Breaking the silence, she said without turning from the window, "It's starting to snow. Time for you to go home."

  "You can't get rid of me that easily," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "I have four-wheel drive."

  She wrapped her arms around her waist, shivering. "Surely you can't want to take part in this...this travesty, Donovan. It would be sheer hell."

  "At first," he agreed. "Still, maybe...maybe we should at least consider doing it."

  She spun around, horrified. "You can't be serious!"

  Starting with the one thing he was sure of, he said, "I want Phoenix Demolition, Kate." He began to pace about the room, keeping his distance from her. "I've given PDI most of my time and energy for a dozen years. We're the best in the world at explosive demolition. With Sam gone, no one can run the company better than I."

  "I also have a business that I've sweat blood over, and it's three thousand miles away," she shot back. "I can't just walk away from that, or let down my partner, Liz."

  "It's a bitch, Kate, and far more disruptive for you than me." He stared into the fire. "But forget PDI, forget the arrogance
in what Sam is trying to do. The real issue is exactly what Julia said--the fact that you and I are still hung up on the past." He glanced at her, hoping she would understand what he couldn't bear to put into words. "At least I am. You probably are. too, or you'd have settled down years ago. You...you were good at marriage."

  "Maybe my mother has a point. But if I ever decide I need help, I'll go to a good therapist, not move in with you. We almost destroyed each other before, Patrick. We'd be mad to get so close again."

  "Not necessarily. Through most of our marriage, you and I were good friends. What broke us up was all related to the fact that we were also mates. Man and wife. This would be different. If we can become friends again, maybe we can get beyond what happened. It's worth thinking about."

  Dear God, Kate thought. Yes, they'd been friends, sharing laughter and cooking and the creation of a home. But did he really think they could spend a year falling over each other and not end up in bed? Had the red-hot frenzy they'd called love died in him?

  As she studied the sharply planed face of the man she'd loved and hated, adored and feared, her mind slid back to the night when it all began.

  Chapter 4

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  "Did you see that gorgeous guy parking cars?" Laurel Clark, the only one of Kate's closest buddies to share the debutante game, rolled her eyes meaningfully as she freshened her lipstick in the ladies' room.

  "Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome?" Kate replied with a grin. "I told my parents that I wanted him washed and fluffed and brought to my tent. Dad was not amused."

  Laurel chuckled. "He's taking this debut business more seriously than you are."

  "It's a symbol of worldly success. Not only has he done well with his business, but he married a woman from the Baltimore Blue Book. He loves the fact that his one and only daughter can be presented to society. Not bad for a guy from Little It'ly." She dug into her silver handbag for her compact. "Not that I expect society to be impressed, but now that I've buttered Dad up by being a good little deb, I think the time is right to ask for a summer internship with Phoenix Demolition."

  "What if he says no?"

  "He won't. Ever since I was a tyke, I've known I'd work there when I grew up."

  "I do not understand your desire to blow things to bits."

  Kate hesitated. "The buildings are going to come down anyhow. Isn't there more dignity in going with one last, glorious bang rather than being slowly smashed to bits with a wrecking ball?"

  "When you put it that way, it does sound more interesting. But better you than me. I hate loud noises." Laurel turned and peered over her shoulder to check the back of her gown. "In these fancy white dresses, we look like wedding cakes."

  "Speak for yourself." Kate powdered her nose, then snapped the compact shut. "When I get married, my cake will be chocolate."

  "I want two slices when the day comes. Still, there's something to be said for tradition. This particular ritual--presenting young people to society--is centuries old. It survived the revolutionary '60's and swinging '70's, which is pretty impressive."

  "To tradition, then, even if the 'Baltimore bachelors' we're introduced to tonight are old enough to be our fathers!" Kate caught up her full skirts and curtsied deeply. "And now it's off to sweet-talk Dad into giving me that summer job."

  Laughing, they left the ladies' room and were presented to the creme de la creme of old Maryland society. As the evening progressed, Kate had to admit that even though the tradition was archaic, it was also fun. By the time her father collected her for the father-daughter dance, she was bubbling with confident good humor. As they moved into the music, she asked, "Does the cotillion live up to your expectations, Dad?"

  He gave her the high-voltage smile that could charm a stone statue. "I know you're just humoring me, but yes, it's what I hoped for. I read about this ball in the newspaper when I was a kid, and it was like...reading about Versailles. I never thought I'd have a daughter who would be part of this world." He brushed a kiss on her forehead. "You look gorgeous, cara. Just like your mama."

  "And you're the most distinguished looking father in the room." It was the honest truth; he'd always been handsome, and the gray at his temples only enhanced his appearance. She felt a rush of pride. In a room full of men who maintained their fortunes by shuffling papers, Sam Corsi actually did things. He'd invented a business, and was the best in the world at it. Even the King Louis who built Versailles couldn't have said that.

  Time to make her pitch. She fluttered her lashes, half teasing and wholly in earnest. "Dad, I want to be a field intern at PDI this summer. It's time for me to start really learning the business."

  His smile disappeared. As he spun her around to avoid hitting another couple, he said, "I thought you'd given up that foolishness. You haven't mentioned it in years."

  "I was biding my time," she said cheerfully. "I understand why you didn't want me doing fieldwork when I was in high school--high explosives aren't to be taken lightly. But now that I'm in college, you can't say I'm too young. You couldn't have been much older than I am now when you learned blasting."

  "That was different. I was in the army corps of engineers. I was also a man, and demolition is a man's business. That's why the company will go to Tom eventually."

  She'd known he'd say that. "Tom doesn't want to spend the rest of his life wrecking buildings. He's only working for you this summer because he can't resist the prospect of computerizing the office. Since he doesn't want PDI, the company should come to me. I'm as much your child as Tom."

  Ignoring what she'd said about her brother, he said, "Demolition work is dirty and dangerous, and I won't have my daughter doing it."

  She felt a stab of exasperation, but kept her voice even. "Times have changed, Dad. Women do just about everything but play professional football. I've hung around PDI long enough to know there isn't a job in the company I can't do. Heck, I'm better qualified than Nick, and you're taking him on this summer."

  Her father's jaw tightened. "Your cousin is male, a qualification you'll never have. Be grateful I'm letting you study architecture. Frankly, I don't approve of that, either, but you need something to keep you out of trouble until you get married."

  Kate stopped stock-still in the middle of the dance floor. As other couples hastily changed course to avoid hitting them, she sputtered, "Good God, how Victorian! Since when is a penis required to make calculations and load explosives? I didn't choose architecture as a way of killing time until I trapped a husband--I'm doing it because it's great training for PDI."

  "Watch your tongue, young lady!" His expression changed to that of a tough businessman. "No way in hell will you work for PDI, and I don't ever want to hear about this again. Is that clear enough for you?"

  She stared at her father, her whole body going cold with shock. This couldn't be the end of her dreams--she knew she belonged in the company as surely as that the sun would rise the next day. It was the future she'd craved her whole life. "Working for PDI isn't some whim, Dad," she said, her voice shaking. "I may look like Mother, but at heart I'm like you. I love the crazy mixture of projects, the challenge of getting all the details right, the excitement of a flawless shot. Just give me a chance to prove--"

  "Enough, Kate! The only way you'll work at PDI is over my dead body."

  Her shock transmuted into rage. "Then I'll do demolition somewhere else! PDI may be the best now, but I can learn to be better. And I will!"

  "You will not!" he snapped. "Dammit, I'm your father, and you'll do as I say."

  She jerked away, eyes blazing. "This isn't the nineteenth century, Sam, and my life belongs to me, not you. To hell with you and this damned, artificial ball!"

  She whirled and stormed across the ballroom, colliding with dancers as tears stung her eyes. It was a family joke that she could always persuade her father to give her whatever she wanted, and she hadn't really believed he'd turn her down now. Oh, she'd expected him to huff and puff a little, but she'd been so sure that he'd be se
cretly proud that she wanted to follow in his footsteps.

  But now he'd issued a public proclamation, and being Sam, he'd never change his mind. Kicking herself for having succumbed to anger, she stalked through the lobby of the theater. Maybe he would have said yes if she'd chosen a better time, or asked differently. Or maybe she shouldn't have mentioned that Tom didn't want to work at PDI. Her brother had quietly made that clear for years, but her father had resisted the truth, as if denial would make Tom's distaste for demolition go away.

  No, a different time wouldn't have helped. In retrospect, she saw how badly she'd underestimated her father's conservatism. He was great in most ways, but at heart he was an old world Italian traditionalist who thought that the measure of a man's success was having women who didn't need to work. He'd indulged her in the past because she'd never really asked for anything that conflicted with his view of the way things ought to be. If she wanted to sit at home and...and do needlepoint until some suitable man married her, he'd be delighted.

  No way, Kate thought. She wanted action. Challenges. She wanted to blow up a ravaged old building in one beautiful, terrifying instant, and do it with such precision that there would be no need to clear the parking lot next door. She was her father's daughter, and by God, she would prove it!

  Ignoring the staring people who'd noticed her fight with Sam, she flung open the front door and marched down the stone steps. The chilly air gave her pause. Now what? She didn't even have her handbag.

  There was no way she'd meekly return to the ball for the rest of the evening. Her heart cried out for a grand gesture, even if she froze to death in the process. She wrenched off the tight kid gloves, popping the tiny pearl buttons, and crushed them in one hand before hurling them into the wall. Then she strode down the street. She should have cooled off by the time she reached home. No, not home, she'd go to Rachel's house. It was a small rebellion, but the best she could think of at the moment.

  She'd walked only a few steps when a male voice with an East Baltimore accent said, "Can I help you, miss?"