Doranna Durgin - Survival Instinct

The first printer was a bust; she knew as soon as she entered the shop that they weren’t of the caliber Longsford would use. In these high-tech days where genteel formality often fell by the wayside, he always sent beautifully printed invitations. One of the national entertainment magazines had gone so far as to print a photo of one in their piece on a recent party.

Dave had been thorough in his research, she’d say that for him.

At the second printer’s she walked in and caught the proprietor’s eye in an instant. Maia was a woman with class, someone used to buying what she wanted and used to making things happen. She said nothing, nodding a fractional greeting before she put the printout on the counter and pushed it toward him.

He put a finger on it, pulling it closer, and pretended to examine it before he nodded. “This is one of ours,” he said, and pushed it back to her.

She smiled, guileless and relieved. “I’m so pleased to have finally found you,” she said. “I love the look of the invitation, and would like something similar for an upcoming event. I’d choose my own font, of course-this has a lovely bold, masculine look, but that’s not quite me.”

“Not quite,” he said, somewhat bemused at her take-charge approach. Good. The less time he had to think, the better.

“But if we could use the same paper, and that ink-the embossing is perfect, and I love the matte surface-I’d be delighted. Do you have a font book I could look through? And I’d love to see that paper.” She dug through her fashionably petite purse and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “This isn’t so much an invitation as it is an announcement, but I think it’ll look wonderful in a small fold-over version, don’t you?”

He traded his font sample book for her carefully printed words about a cocktail party at a swanky hotel. Peering at them through the glasses sitting near the end of his nose, he gave a little nod at the simple lines of invitation, but then looked up at her in question. “That’s it?”

She smiled as if quite delighted with herself. “It’s enough. They’re going out by hand.” She pushed the font book back at him. “This one. What do you think?” Also a bold font, but arguably feminine. Perfectly appropriate, even though the cards would never be distributed. She couldn’t come in asking for the details of Longsford’s invitations without a good backstory, and she had to support the backstory with action.

Not to mention that should Longsford hear about it, he’d only be more convinced that she intended to follow through with her efforts to sell the Ranchwood property. Her proposal would suit anyone on the hunt for charitable donations and eventual profit on the side, and he’d know it. Opportunity knocks once, and then moves on…

The printer was nodding at her choice. Karin pulled out a tiny notebook and flipped it open, also producing a classy, expensive pen that Dave might or might not have missed by now. “And what’s the name of that paper…and the ink?”

“Arches Cover, slate,” he murmured, making his own notes. “How many of these would you like printed?”

“Two hundred,” she said. “I know it’s not much…I could do the same on almost any desktop these days. But the quality…the impression the invitations give…it just wouldn’t be the same, don’t you agree?”

“A rhetorical question, I assume,” he said. “And do four-by-five-inch cards suit you?”

“Perfect. What was that ink again?”

And he told her as he finished writing up her order, even making sure she had spelled it right. He promised the results within a week, and he gladly took her credit card number for a deposit.

Her own credit card this time; this was an expense likely to stand out to any Hunter accountant’s eye, especially should the sudden activity on the card bring the account to anyone’s attention. She’d already transferred most of her Ellen accounts into Maia’s holdings, but she didn’t have nearly enough to finance this gig and then still move on. She might well have to pay herself back by completing the scam.

She waited for the thrill at the thought, but it didn’t come. She still managed to smile at the nice man behind the counter, and she left the printer with the information she’d come to get. It was as she was leaving that she suddenly understood. She’d planned to have someone at her side for this job…and she didn’t.

Bill the driver didn’t open the shop door for her, but he did spring from the car to open the back passenger door. “You stayed a few moments, Miss Maia,” he offered, as he slid back behind the wheel. “Was that the jackpot?”

Karin smiled. “That was indeed the jackpot. Now…I have a little shopping to do. Women’s accessories, that sort of thing. Can you recommend a spot?”

“Just leave the driving up to me,” he promised, and deftly navigated the thickening traffic.

Karin lost herself in the details, staring at the note in her hand. Now she needed an entirely different sort of printer to forge an invitation for Longsford’s party two evenings from now.

After that it was just a matter of wooing him, and the wooing wouldn’t be hard. Not with an investment tailor-made to suit both his greed and his need to establish control. It might take a week or so…and she certainly still had details to sort out. People to hire as extras, a few more technical things to sort out. If she’d been on her home turf, she’d have known exactly who to go to. Here…

She’d know more before the evening was over, one way or the other.

She parted ways with Bill in the late afternoon, peeling off a generous tip for his day’s work and reserving his time for Longsford’s party. It was getting a step or two ahead of herself, as she had yet to acquire the invitation-but then, that was what she was about to start working on.

She’d given herself five long blocks to walk before she reached the hotel, here in the middle of rush hour. The streets were jammed with traffic and the sidewalks likewise, making it difficult for a woman with a handful of shopping bags to make any graceful progress. Karin sidestepped several near-collisions until she found the older man who suited her needs. For him, she contrived to trip into his path.

Her shopping bags went flying; she bumped into him and he into her during their efforts to recover her belongings-the scanty panties and lacy bras she’d bought just for him. And he didn’t have the slightest clue when she lifted his watch.

After that she sorted out the lacy things with efficient cheer, stuffing them back into random bags and making apologies and calling him a gentleman. For a moment she was worried-it had been a while since she’d seen a man’s face so red-but he went on his way with swift, stable strides and she decided maybe he wouldn’t have a stroke after all.

She didn’t look at the watch until she was back in the hotel room, a smooth journey with no more bumps or jostles. There, she dumped the lingerie on the middle of her big queen bed and pulled the watch out from the tangle.

Oh, yeah. A large Tiffany Mark bracelet watch. Self-winding, in stainless steel. Well over two thou retail.

This would get someone’s attention.

She pulled off the Maia clothes, hanging them with neat precision. She’d need to grab some food, but first of all she had to get out of here unseen. She wasn’t leaving this place as Maia. She pulled on a pair of tight, worn jeans, not especially stylish but attention-getting all the same. A black turtleneck, taken from Dave’s thrift-store purchases. Her own worn army surplus field jacket over it all…and Dave’s Ruger stuck into the deep pocket of that jacket. She slicked her hair back tight, turning the blond society coif into a mean ponytail, and pulled out the brown contacts. She scrubbed her face of its gentle makeup and applied mascara and a hard eyeliner, leaving the rest alone. A few things in her back jeans pockets, the watch in an inside jacket pocket, a Baltimore Orioles baseball cap on her head with the ponytail sticking out the back…