But time always seemed to get away from Sophie, and tonight was no exception. She didn’t get to bed until well after one a.m., which would have been fine if she didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn for her second round with William Harrington.
JOURNAL ENTRY 22
ARCTIC CAMP
Brandon and I headed out again. It was a bitterly cold day, but we took every precaution against frostbite. Last week, Eric and Kirk had spotted a pack of wolves crossing this plateau, and they tracked them to see where they would settle. Brandon and I won’t set up our monitoring equipment until we are certain we have found a stable sampling.
HARRINGTON HAD BEEN INSISTENT THAT THEY MEET TWO hours before the race. He was waiting for her at the designated spot in front of a fountain that was one of Sophie’s favorites. It was shaped like a weeping willow with water gently cascading down from the top branches.
He was doing stretching exercises as she approached. True to his word, he wore his uniform: white running shorts, which she thought were a little too form-fitting; a red T-shirt; black running shoes; and red socks with a thin white band around the top. She snapped quite a few photos while he chatted away and made suggestions for poses. Sophie wasn’t much of a morning person, but Mr. Self-Involved seemed not to notice or care that she wasn’t saying much. How could he possibly notice? He never stopped talking … or giving directions.
“Are you sure you’ll have your camera ready at the finish line? Do you know where you’ll wait? I think the steps across the street from the finish line would be the best spot. It’s important that you get a good picture, don’t you think? Especially since it’s going to be on the front page.” His tone sharpened as he asked, “It is, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to check—”
He interrupted. “I was promised the front page.”
“You were? Then I guess—”
Again he interrupted. “It was implied.”
“I see.” She didn’t, but it was all she could think to say. Oddly enough, her response seemed to placate him.
“Now about the photos,” he began. “You have to be ready. A professional photographer would know that. I honestly don’t understand why you’re taking the pictures. You should have brought one of the photographers from the paper with you. Do you even know what you’re doing? Be sure to snap at least one of me at the starting line, and you have to get just the right angle with the sun behind me when I cross the finish line. Not exactly right behind me, mind you, or you’ll get a glare, and we don’t want that, do we? But you need to be ready or you’ll miss the shot.”
She swore that if he told her she needed to be ready one more time, she was going to start screaming. “Yes, you mentioned that.” About twenty times now, she silently added. “And I assure you, I’ll be ready.”
He acted as though she hadn’t spoken. “I know what we can do. Do you have any of your business cards with you?”
She found one in the bottom of her purse and handed it to him. She didn’t have a logo or a business address on her cards, just her name and her cell phone number. She’d had them printed after she had left her old job. Trying to stretch every dollar, she was determined to use all of them before she had more made.
Harrington unzipped a pocket in the back of his running shorts and pulled out a thin leather wallet. He opened it to slip her card in but stopped as though he’d just had a second thought. Stuffing the wallet back into his pocket, he said, “I think I’ll give this to someone on the film crew.” He knelt down on one knee and tucked her card in his right sock. “He can call you when I get close to the last hill. You know, so you can be ready.”
Ready for what? She was dying to ask that question just to see how he would react. Not well, she guessed. He didn’t seem to have much of a sense of humor, and normally this early in the morning, neither did she.
He stretched his arms over his head, rolled his shoulders as though he were trying to get rid of a crick in his neck, then said, “Okay, I’d better get going. I like to be the first to sign in, and I’ll need to limber up even more. I allow thirty minutes for stretching.”
“Exactly thirty minutes?”
“Yes, of course. I don’t like to be surprised, so I plan down to the last detail. I believe it’s important to be precise. You might want to mention that in your article about me.”
“You’d better get going then … if you want to keep on schedule.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
He was jogging down the path when she called out, “Good luck.”
He glanced back at her. “I don’t need luck. See you soon.”
Sophie was happy to be rid of him for a little while. She backtracked to a coffee shop three short blocks away, drank two cups of hot tea, and, feeling human again, headed to the starting line to watch the race.
Runners were milling around the street with numbers safety-pinned to their shirts. She had her camera ready to take the photo of Harrington as he started out, assuming that he would be in the front of the pack, but she couldn’t find him anywhere. She circled to the other side of the starting line, found an empty park bench, and stepped up on it, craning her neck to find Harrington in the throng. Still no sign of him. His red T-shirt should have made it easier for her to pick him out of the crowd, but who knew that so many people would be wearing red today?
The loud pop of the starting gun sent the runners scurrying for position. A sea of faces streamed before her, but none of them belonged to William Harrington. She had missed him.
Irritated, Sophie slumped down on the bench with her camera in her lap. If Harrington was so adamant that she get a shot of him at the beginning of the race, why wasn’t he in front? He had been one of the first runners to arrive at the park, even before the organizers had set up their tables, so he’d had ample time to get a good spot. Why would he let others take off ahead of him? With thousands of runners swarming down the street like some massive colony of ants, there was no way for her to see every one.
She looked around the crowd of spectators for some sign of a film crew and couldn’t see any.
There was nothing to do now but wait. The course of the race wound through the streets and ended half a block from where she was standing. She made her way to the finish line to watch for the winner to appear.
Minutes later she saw a figure rounding a corner a couple of blocks away. The crowd cheered him as he drew closer.
Okay, here we go, Sophie thought. She raised her camera, ready for the shot at the finish line.
The runner came closer and closer, and was within a hundred yards of the line as the other competitors came into view far behind him.
Sophie lowered the camera slightly to get a better look. Uh-oh. The winner wasn’t William Harrington. It was a man she’d never seen before. She quickly glanced back at those now approaching. Harrington wasn’t among them either.
Runner after runner came across the line, but still no Harrington. He wasn’t first—nor last—nor anywhere in between.
The man had simply disappeared.
JOURNAL ENTRY 23
ARCTIC CAMP
Eureka! We have identified the pack. Six adults and three pups. We were able to pick out the alpha male right away. He s quite easy to identify because of his thick white coat tinged with a small dark patch across his back. He is also physically larger than the others. Brandon is thrilled with this new family we will study.
The alpha male is magnificent.
IT WAS SOPHIE’S TURN TO PAY FOR DINNER. Regan insisted on eating at The Hamilton, the flagship of her family’s five-star hotel chain. She reserved one of the private dining rooms adjacent to the atrium. The two-story windows looked out over Lake Michigan.
As Regan led the way to the table with Cordie and Sophie trailing behind, Sophie said, “I don’t understand why you insisted on eating here.”
“I told you. I was in the mood for scallops, and I love the way Chef Eduardo prepares them,” Regan declared.
Sophie wasn’t buying it. While it was true that Eduardo’s scallops were outstanding, she knew the real reason Regan wanted to eat there. If they ate at her family’s hotel, a bill wouldn’t be presented. Convenient, since it was Sophie’s turn to pay.
“You’re just doing this because you know I’m poor,” she said.
A waiter pulled out a chair for her. Sophie flashed him a smile, thanked him for the menu he offered her, then turned to Regan again.
“Admit it.”
“You don’t like dining here?” Cordie asked. She was looking at Sophie over the top of her menu.
“I love dining here, but that isn’t the issue. I simply want Regan to admit—”
“That you’re poor? Okay. You’re poor,” Regan said cheerfully.
Cordie nodded. “Yes, you are. Very poor. I’d say you were dirt poor, but you know, that expression doesn’t make any sense to me. What’s dirt poor?”
Sophie frowned. “Not being helpful, Cordie. Regan, I want you to admit that my being poor is the reason we’re eating here.”
“Of course it’s the reason,” Cordie said.
“Yes, it is,” Regan agreed amiably.
Cordie put her menu down. “You aren’t going to get huffy, are you, Soph?” Her smile indicated she wasn’t too concerned about the possibility.
“My being poor is all your fault, Regan, and yours, too, Cordie. I was perfectly happy going along with my life, buying whatever I wanted. I had a beautiful car, credit cards without limits, amazing clothes, and I didn’t have a single worry line.”
“You weren’t happy,” Regan countered. “Yes, you had to give up your car, but walking is better for you than driving. You still have beautiful clothes even if they’re last season’s. You don’t need credit cards, and you still don’t have a single worry line.”
“Poverty agrees with you,” Cordie said without laughing.
“You asked us to help you wean yourself off your father’s money,” Regan reminded her.
“Yes, but did you have to be so … enthusiastic about it? So rigid? What’s wrong with buying an occasional Prada blouse?”
“The clothes are gorgeous, but taking the money from your father to pay for the blouse is wrong,” Cordie said.
“The money your father gave you was gotten by illegal means,” Regan said.
Sophie reached for her water glass. “How do you know that for certain? He’s never been convicted of any crime, and aren’t you supposed to be innocent until proven guilty?”
“I don’t know it for certain,” Regan said. “That’s what you told us, which is why Cordie and I agreed to help you.”
“Help me be poor?”
“Help you do the right thing.”
Sophie impatiently brushed her bangs out of her eyes and sat back. “I really hate being poor.”
“It’s not so bad,” Cordie said. “You’ll learn to budget like I do.”
“Oh please, you’re not poor. You have a huge trust fund your father set up for you, and Kane Automotive is now nationwide. You know what your problem is? You don’t care about money because you have it. I want to buy … stuff. Oh, God, I sound shallow.”
Before Cordie could argue, Sophie said, “Let’s not talk about money anymore. I’m starving. I want to order dinner.”
Although the room was quite elegant with candlelight and crystal, none of the three had champagne appetites. Sophie ordered salad and soup. Cordie wanted grilled chicken, and Regan ordered a grilled cheese instead of the scallops. None of them wanted to drink anything stronger than iced tea.
“Do you realize it was on this very day a million years ago that the three of us met in kindergarten at the Briarwood School?” Regan asked.
“You two became my sisters that day,” Cordie said.
“I remember you arrived in a limo,” Regan told Sophie. “I thought you were a princess with your white-blond hair and blue eyes.”
“You arrived in a limo, too,” Sophie said.
“My father drove me in his old pickup truck,” Cordie laughed.
“Sophie, you got us into so much trouble with your schemes,” Regan said. “You were always the champion for anyone you thought was being treated unfairly.”
“You’re still that way,” Cordie told her.
“Do you remember the time we got locked inside the coat closet?” Regan asked.
Cordie chimed in. “We were positive no one would ever find us. When we discovered a candy bar in the pocket of Billy Miller’s jacket, we were so relieved because we figured we could ration it among the three of us and survive for days.”
One memory led to another and another as the three reminisced about their childhood antics. Dinner was served and devoured while each of them told her favorite stories.
“I wondered why you reserved a private dining room, but now I know why. We make a lot of noise laughing and carrying on,” Cordie said.
“Aiden suggested this room,” Regan said. “He says we get rowdy.”
“Your brother’s right.”
“When did you talk to Aiden?” Cordie asked. “Is he coming home soon?” She realized how eager she sounded and quickly added, “I’m just curious. That’s all. I lead a very dull life. I do,” she insisted when she thought her friends were going to protest. “Think about it. I teach high school chemistry to kids who just want to blow up stuff, and when I’m not teaching or preparing lesson plans, I’m working on my thesis. I don’t even know anymore why I’m doing it. If one more student brings Mentos to my lab with bottles of Coke, I won’t be responsible for my actions. I need to know that there are people out there doing exciting things. All three of your brothers travel the world building hotels. They lead glamorous and fascinating lives, and I love hearing about them.”
“Not them, him,” Sophie said. “You love hearing about Aiden.”
“Why wouldn’t I? He’s the oldest and the most sophisticated. He’s probably on a jet flying around Australia this weekend. You know what I did yesterday afternoon and all day today? Research. I was stuck in a library doing research.”
“Oh, please. I’ve so got you beat,” Sophie said. “I gave up my Friday night to sit and listen to the most obnoxious, self-centered, narcissistic man talk about himself. I also had to get up before dawn today to meet him in the park and listen to him yet again. His name is William Harrington. My boss wanted me to write an article on him, but Harrington bailed on me.”
She then told them about the 5K and how Harrington had disappeared.
“Do you think he got sick?” Cordie asked.
“Maybe he was hurt warming up,” Regan offered.
“No, I think I know what happened,” Sophie said. “I talked to a couple of the event coordinators after the race. They told me they knew Harrington and that he’d never checked in. The winner of the race was a newcomer named Brett Mason, and everyone was talking about how fast he was. I think Harrington heard all the talk before the race and was afraid of the competition. He wasn’t about to take the chance that he might lose his twenty-fifth race, so he took off. I can’t believe I wasted all that time on him and ended up without a story. I don’t know what happened to him, but I’m determined to find out and make him apologize.”
Regan shook her head at her two friends and their frustrations. “Do you know what both of you need?” she asked.
Sophie groaned.
Cordie sighed and said, “Let me guess. You think we need to fall in love and get married. That’s easy for you to say, you found the perfect man.”
Regan’s lips curled upward in a dreamy smile. “Yes, that’s true. Alec is perfect.” She quickly switched back to being serious. “But we’re not talking about Alec and me. We’re talking about the two of you. I don’t think you have to get married necessarily. Just fall in love. Make room for a relationship, that’s all I’m suggesting. I know both of you could go out with a different man every night of the week if you wanted to …”
“You’re not going to tell us we’re too parti
cular, are you?” Cordie asked.
“No, no, of course not. But I think you’re doing what I used to do before Alec came along. You’re dating the wrong kind of men. They’re all … I don’t know … country club. You know what I mean?”
Ignoring their dismissive frowns, she continued, “I want to fix both of you up with real men.”
“Real men as opposed to … ?” Sophie asked.
“I don’t do blind dates,” Cordie said at the same time.
Regan ignored their protests. “Alec has lots of friends. He has a partner now. He’s really good-looking, and he’s unattached. Sophie, I think you should go out with him.”
For a second or two Sophie thought Regan was joking. When she realized she was serious, she said, “He’s FBI. You can’t honestly think I would be interested in him, and he certainly wouldn’t be interested in me. You do remember who my father is?”
Regan shrugged. “I didn’t forget, but I think going out with an FBI agent might help you get over your aversion to anyone associated with law enforcement.”
“What is this? Behavior modification? I don’t have an aversion,” she protested. “You know I love Alec, and I like his friends Gil and John, and they’re both in law enforcement.”
“Gil’s retired, and you’ve known both John and him for a long time. You’ve gotten used to them, and they don’t work with the agents who have been investigating your father. It’s not the same thing. You still have the aversion. I really think you ought to give it a shot. His name is Jack MacAlister, and I’m sure Alec could talk him into a blind date.”
“You’re joking, right? You have to be joking. You are, aren’t you?”
Regan didn’t answer. “I have news. Alec and I are going to be looking for a place to live here in Chicago.”
“You’re staying permanently?” Sophie asked excitedly.
Everyone started talking at once. Sophie couldn’t stop smiling. Regan and Alec had moved a couple of times since he’d joined the FBI.