Doranna Durgin - Survival Instinct

Longsford spread his hands in a magnanimous gesture. “Any time you’d like. It is, I believe, your treat.”

“Definitely my treat,” she told him cheerfully. “Give me a moment with this menu…the food looks too delightful to shortchange my selection.”

“It’s all good,” Longsford said, implying he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t.

Karin didn’t need long. Seasonal greens with Manchego cheese and walnuts, glazed chicken Dijonnaise, and then just maybe that crema cotta for dessert. Mmm. But when the salad came, she made herself eat it in a purposeful way, not lingering over the mix of flavors or the way the strong nutty flavor of the sheep cheese hit her tongue.

Maybe it had come from a Mad Sheep.

And before she was done, she started talking. She told them of the real-estate situation-of their need to sell it fast and sell it all. She told them the area was zoned for several-acre parcels, and how much he could expect to get for each. She told them about the political spin, and the opportunity to make his money back while still acquiring feel-good vibes for his support of the environment.

And then she told him of that extra satisfaction-that the development company for Ranchwood Acres had long ago declared their philosophical opposition to environmentalist buyers. Their vision was of a manifest destiny for Florida-a tamed land. No more gators, no more panthers-no more territory for either.

“I’ve noticed that the environment is important to you,” Karin finished, about halfway through her chicken and now surrounded by the fruits of her morning’s labor-the photos, the pitches, the developer’s vision as stolen from the Web site and massaged to suit Karin. “But I’ve also noticed that you seem to enjoy letting the smug and self-assured-such as our developers-know they aren’t quite as important as they think they are.”

Longsford gave her a tight smile over an empty plate that had recently held a pasta dish. “I see.”

She shrugged. “It was forward of me to say so. But I did think you might find this deal particularly satisfying.”

Until this point, Carl Rucsher had done little more than catch Longsford’s eye in a way that Karin interpreted as surreptitious approval. All she knew for sure was that neither of them had cut her short, and they’d both finished their meals and had moved on with coffee. But now Rucsher offered, “With an investment like this, you could dump that old factory on North West.”

Longsford frowned, lifting his chin in a defiant gesture that Karin hadn’t expected. When did this man need to feel defiant? “It’s not in my name, so it has no effect on my public image. But it will when that area revitalizes and I’m one of the first to support it.”

“It’s been years,” Rucsher observed. Karin took the opportunity to focus on what remained of her meal, turning herself into another fixture of the table as Rucsher continued. “Just because it’s by a metro station…it’s also stuck in behind that new office complex.”

“Speculative investment demands patience.” Longsford made a dismissive gesture, tension in his voice. “In any event, it’s irrelevant to this discussion.”

“I’d be pleased if you would discuss whatever you feel is necessary,” Karin said. She eyed her empty plate, visibly pondering dessert, and then made a point to pull her attention back to the men. Even without glancing at her watch, she knew they were pushing the front edge of Kimmer’s phone blackout. “Also, you’ve probably noticed that I’ve listed a contact for the Ranchwood development company. She’s made a point to be available this afternoon, in the event that you’d like to speak directly to a Ranchwood representative.”

He raised an eyebrow, favoring her with a pointed expression. “Not concerned we’ll dispense with the middleman and you’ll lose your cut of the proceeds?”

She laughed. “I’m covered,” she said, still smiling. “I’ve already done enough to earn my cut.” She tapped the paper where Kimmer’s number was located. “I’m thinking hard about that crema cotta, so take your time.”

Rucsher caught Longsford’s eye for another meaningful look, one that Karin knew well. One of them, at least, had taken the bait already. “Everything’s checked out so far,” he reminded Longsford, letting Karin know that they’d investigated her back trail. The print job for sure, possibly the hotel.

“It’ll all check out,” she said. “And the Ranchwood rep will be disappointed if you don’t ask the hard questions. It only means you’re serious.” She turned in her chair, looking for their server. By the time she’d ordered her dessert and an espresso, Longsford had his phone out. She plucked a piece of crispy flatbread from the bread basket and kept herself busy by applying the lightest possible film of butter before she started to nibble, hiding her anxiety that they’d missed Kimmer. But Longsford tensed slightly only a moment after dialing, taking a breath to start the conversation. Thank God.

Longsford glanced at her frequently as he spoke to Kimmer, confirming the details Karin had already told him, asking leading questions and letting Kimmer fill in the blanks to his satisfaction.

And then he did what she’d been hoping for. He said, so casually, “I understand the Florida Conservation Coalition has an interest in this land.”

And Kimmer, primed and ready, apparently offered just the right response. For Longsford smiled that tight little smile of his and locked gazes with Rucsher, and Karin felt the thrill of the bait taken. The jazz.

She had him. Oh, there were details to attend to, conversations to have, more questions to answer. But deep down, he’d already made up his mind. And she had him.

Karin felt as if she were two different people during the remainder of lunch. Part of her ate her white-chocolate custard dessert, chatting pleasantly with her tablemates, confident that the scam was moving forward.

Another part of her sat back and tried to put things into perspective, reminding herself that this scam wasn’t about bringing it home. It was about putting Longsford away for the rest of his life, and that meant drawing the process out in a way she would never normally consider.

Except that in the background of it all, her life had still been wrecked. Rumsey teetered on exposing her. And Dave knew she was still alive. Knew her history. The havoc he could wreak if he chose…

She needed to get out of here as quickly as possible, money in hand.

And yet she still needed to linger, to soak up Longsford’s habits, find ways to use whatever advantage her resemblance to Ellen gave her. He’d obviously seen the resemblance even if he didn’t assign any particular meaning to it, and that meant she was likely to be his type. Physically, at least.

You’d think differently if I weren’t all made over as Maia Brenner. If I was still wearing Ellen’s clothes. You’d figure out the meaning to it then.

The resentment startled her, resentment that Longsford had failed to recognize a woman who could literally pass for Ellen’s twin. That he hadn’t paid enough attention to Ellen to see what was before his eyes, even though that failure kept Karin safe. Yes, resentment. Because Longsford had used her sister. Never truly respected her, merely acquired and controlled her just enough to establish a public perception of the couple.

And now I’m using you.

But not without conflict.

For Ellen’s sake, for Rashawn’s and Terry’s sakes, Karin had to prolong her time here, exposed to this monster hidden in a politician’s clothes, the scam a distant second priority.

But for Karin’s sake, she had to close down this con as soon as possible, grab the money and run. Literally. Away from here, maybe out of the country. With Ellen gone and her life on the farm blown, there was nothing keeping her here.