Backcast (33 page)

Linda sighed. “I think you may just be right.”

“So.” Viv held up her empty wine glass to flag their server. “Is Kate Winston taking you up on your offer?”

Linda blinked. “How did you know about that?”

“Please. As we've already demonstrated, the walls up here have ears.”

Linda looked over at Gwen. Gwen gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged.

“You knew about this, too?” Linda pushed her wine glass away. “I really
do
need to stay out of the bar.”

“It's okay.” Gwen patted her on the arm. “I only know because Shawn told me.”

“Shawn told you?”

Gwen nodded. “I
am
still her agent.”

“Right. Of course. Well.” Linda sighed. “I guess it's pretty much common knowledge, then.”

“The only knowledge that's
common
is that you made her the offer,” Viv clarified. “Do you know what she's decided?”

Linda was quiet for a moment.

“Well?” Viv shot the word out like an accusation.

Linda smiled and reached for her water glass. “In fact, I do know.”

Gwen smiled. “But you're not going to tell us.”

“Correct.”

“Well, that's just plain ridiculous.” Viv sat back against her seat in disgust.

“Calm down, pookie.” Towanda nudged her. “We'll find out soon enough.”

Viv was still fuming.

“Look at the bright side.” Gwen snagged another piece of bread. “It's binary. Either she did or she didn't.” She looked at Linda. “Knowing Kate, I'd say it's a fifty-fifty proposition.”

Viv tapped her fingers on the table in agitation. Then she expelled a deep breath, pushed back her chair, and got to her feet. “Where the hell is Cricket?”

Gwen was confused. “Cricket?”

Viv stormed away from the table.

Towanda nodded. “She needs someone to hold the bets.”

“You are aware that everyone is watching us, aren't you?”

Darien nodded. “Of course. You had to know they would.”

“I suppose so.” V. Jay-Jay scanned the restaurant. “Where did Viv go?”

“Who knows? Maybe she spotted some actuarial infraction and had to go intercede.”

“That's probably about as likely as any explanation.”

Darien smiled and shook her head. V. Jay-Jay noticed.

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking how funny it is that we ended up as the object of so much scrutiny.”

“It was bound to happen.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Oh, come on. Look at us. We don't exactly fit together very well.”

“On the contrary.” Darien raised an eyebrow. “I think we fit together just fine.”

V. Jay-Jay looked down at the tablecloth.

“Are you blushing?”

V. Jay-Jay didn't reply.

“Oh, my god.” Darien leaned forward. “You
are
blushing.”

“Please don't advertise it.”

“Why not?”

“It's
embarrassing
.”

“It's not embarrassing. It's charming.”

V. Jay-Jay sighed. “I don't know what to do with you.”

“I have a few ideas.”

“Can you be serious?”

“What makes you think I'm not being serious?”

“You have a tell.”

Darien was confused. “I have a what?”

“A tell. Like a card player or some other kind of gambler.”

Darien raised a hand to her face. “You mean like a facial tic or something?”

V. Jay-Jay looked amused. “Or something.”

“What is it?”

“Your tell?”

Darien nodded.

“It's something you do with your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

“Yes. I noticed it about you on the first day we were here.”

“You noticed me on the first day we were here?”

“Of course.”

Darien felt irrationally pleased by that. She scooted closer to the table. “What did I do?”

“It isn't what you did. It's something you said. It was during our first group meeting. Viv made a comment about how Barb's concept for the sculptures reminded her of the funhouse at Coney Island.”

“I remember that.”

“Do you remember what you said?”

Darien thought about it. “No.”

V. Jay-Jay smiled. “You said that in your experience, funhouses were rarely fun.”

“Oh, god. That sounds like something I'd say.”

“That's what I thought, too. It told me something about you.”

“What? That I have a sophomoric sense of humor?”

“No.” V. Jay-Jay rolled her eyes. “That you're self-deprecating. Which, I might add, you just illustrated again.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

V. Jay-Jay slowly shook her head.

Darien sat back. “I remembered noticing you, too.”

“You did?”

“Uh huh.”

V. Jay-Jay didn't reply. Their standoff lasted about five seconds. Darien folded first.

“Come on, Vee. Aren't you going to ask me what I noticed about you?”

“I don't have to. I already know what it was.”

“What?”

“When Barb was splitting us up into teams, I caught you staring at my legs.”

Darien opened her mouth to disagree, but V. Jay-Jay cut her off.

“Twice.”

Darien sighed. “I guess I have more than one kind of tell.”

“I guess so.”

“Did it annoy you?”

V. Jay-Jay considered her answer. “No. I found it oddly exciting.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“You do have great legs.”

“Thank you.”

They lapsed into silence again. Darien couldn't remember the last time she felt so at ease—so comfortable with where she was and where she thought she might be headed. She hated for their time together to end. That was especially true now, since they'd finally agreed to see where their fledgling relationship might go. There were still a lot of things up in the air, however. When they might see one another again, for starters. The logistics of that one would be tricky. Vee lived in Boston, and Darien, when she wasn't on the road, made her home outside Philadelphia. Vee hadn't mentioned anything to Darien about any ideas she had for when and how they might meet—or if she thought about it at all. And Darien was nervous about asking. She didn't want to appear stalkerish or overanxious. And part of her really just wanted Vee to be the one to make the first move.

She looked across the table at her. Vee was so beautiful with her dark hair and olive-toned complexion. She was fragile, too. But her fragility was well concealed by the brusqueness she wore like a second skin. It had been a revelation to Darien to discover what a
shy and uncertain woman lurked behind the curtain of diffidence that Vee presented.

She supposed they were alike in that way. And in many other ways, too. Especially when it came to exercising any kind of confidence about relationships.

“Why are you staring at me?”

Darien blinked. Vee was looking back at her with an unreadable expression.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare.”

“It's all right. You looked really lost in thought.”

Darien fiddled with her table knife. “I guess I was.”

“What about?”

“I was just thinking about how soon this trip will be over.”

V. Jay-Jay nodded.

“You'll go home. And I'll go back to work.”

“I know.”

“And I was just wondering.” Darien was now drawing patterns on the tablecloth with the tip of her knife. V. Jay-Jay reached across the table and stilled her hand.

“You were just wondering when we might see each other again?”

Darien nodded dumbly. She felt like a loser. And an idiot.

V. Jay-Jay squeezed the back of her hand. “I have some thoughts about that.”

Darien met her eyes. They looked almost teal in the light reflecting off the window.

“You do?” She hoped she didn't sound as giddy as she felt.

“Yes. Being up here and witnessing all this tournament hoopla has inspired me. So I'm thinking that I'll go back to Boston and purchase some horribly overpriced watercraft. Then I'll promptly default on the payments. With luck, the loan company will quickly dispatch a tall and bewitching asset recovery agent to my door.”

Darien smiled. “We don't normally come to your door. We normally head straight for wherever the asset is stored.”

“What if I promise to keep my asset wherever I am?”

“Then I probably would show up at your door.”

“See?” V. Jay-Jay smiled back at her. “My plan will work like a charm.”

“It might. However most loan companies will wait until you've missed at least three consecutive payments before contacting us.”

“Three payments?” V. Jay-Jay didn't look happy with that suggestion. “You mean, three months?”

“Yep.”

“Well that's certainly disappointing.”

“I agree.”

V. Jay-Jay sighed. “I suppose we could consider a more expedited approach.”

Darien was trying to hide her smile. “Such as?”

“I could just invite you to come and see me. I mean, if you would be willing to consider it.”

Now Darien did smile.

V. Jay-Jay squeezed her hand again. “Is that a yes?”

Darien lifted her hand and laced their fingers together.

“Oh, yeah.”

On day two of the tournament, the winds roared in steadily from the south. The lake was so choppy that most of the anglers retreated closer to shore. Quinn was fishing some of the spots on the Pisces map that were nested in tight along the shoreline. But it was so blustery that even in the buffered areas, casting was next to impossible. She had to keep adding weight to her lines just to keep them from flying back and hitting her in the face.

Montana kept yelling at her to cast
with
the wind, but it was easy for her to forget. She only knew one way to do things and trying to introduce variables at this stage just confused her. Consequently, she'd ended up losing several of her best rigs because the lines got blown off course and tangled up in trees that stood close to the water.

Being in first place was weighing on her. She couldn't deny that. She had worried all last night that she'd be too preoccupied now with winning to concentrate on the work she still had to do. And fishing was all about work. You couldn't be distracted. At least,
she
couldn't be distracted. She understood she'd been a lot better off when nobody thought she had a shot. That meant that her best would always be good enough, and no one would judge her performance—regardless of the outcome.

But not anymore.

As soon as she walked away from the weigh-in yesterday with that first place card, she knew she was in for it. Now every pair of eyes belonging to every angler in the tournament was focused solely on her. Now it was hers to lose. Now it was hers to screw up.

And screwing up was one thing she knew a lot about.

For the first time since she got the idea about entering this tournament, she regretted her decision.

They'd been at it for nearly three hours now, and Quinn hadn't had a single nibble.

Marvin was being quiet—for once. He sat there on his natty throne, reading one of the back issues of
Guns & Ammo
he'd borrowed from Page Archer. Quinn was pretty sure that was because he realized that all of this would soon be over. If they showed up at the marina this afternoon with nothing in their live well, they'd effectively be out of the tournament. There'd be no way they could catch three bass tomorrow that would be large enough to make up for not putting any points on the board today.

Montana was on the bridge, doing her best to keep the pontoon from drifting into the rocks along the shore. It wasn't easy. The waves were pitching and rolling and kept carrying them closer than it was safe to be.

Montana was pointing at something in the water—probably a spot she thought looked promising. She yelled something at Quinn, but the wind just carried her words away.