and budget. Legate offered me a wider arena.”
She detected a note of sadness in his voice. “Do you miss contracting?”
“In a way. There’s something satisfying about putting a plan down on paper and seeing it through to completion. At Legate, nothing is ever simple.”
When he peeled back the foil, she caught a tantalizing whiff of a fragrant marinade drowning three steaks. “You never told me you could cook.”
“Every bachelor has at least three things they can make. All of mine involve red meat.” He handed her a bottle of red wine from the fridge. “Grab a couple of glasses from the shelf by the sink and come with me.”
They went outside through a sliding glass door. A long deck stretched the entire length of the house. Built out from the cliff, the deck seemed suspended in air. Anya went to the railing and peered over the edge. The drop was thirty feet to a rocky shoreline where breakers splashed, throwing up a frothy spray. “Good thing I’m not afraid of heights.”
“Or earthquakes,” he said. “When I moved in, I had the supports redesigned to compensate for shifting earth and erosion. But if the Big One hits, this deck is toast.”
“You like having a bit of danger in your life, living on the edge.” She looked down. “Literally.”
He fired up the gas grill and placed the steaks on it. “Neville calls it risk-aggressive behavior. For some reason, this is a positive attribute for a paper-pushing administrator.”
“You don’t strike me as a paper-pusher.”
“You’d be surprised at how boring my life can be.” With the steaks sizzling, he joined her at the railing and pointed to the west. “If we stand right here, we can watch the sun dip below the horizon.”
The skies, frothed with clouds, had begun to take on a crimson tinge. A salty sea breeze brushed her cheeks and throat, but Anya was warm inside the black blazer she wore over her dress. She looked up at the broad-shouldered man who stood beside her. Now that she’d started digging below his polished surface, she wanted to know more.
“We’ve never talked much about you,” she mused. “I know that you and Jeremy went to high school together in Denver. You were a runner.”
“I still hold the school record for the 500.” He smiled down at her. “I’ve always been fast.”
“So I’ve heard.” Jeremy had told her all sorts of wild stories about Roman and his harem, but she was beginning to see him as a multifaceted person who was far more fascinating than a mere womanizer. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about your family.”
“Probably not.” He opened the wine and filled their glasses.
“Come on, Roman. Tell me about your mother and father.”
“My mother was a Gypsy,” he said, taking a sip.
“That’s why I’m named Roman, short for Romani. The Gypsy word for man.”
Very appropriate. Roman was the quintessential man. Utterly virile. “Go on.”
“Gypsies are supposed to be wanderers, and my mother was true to form. She took off for good when I was ten.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be. She was impossible and loud. Godawful loud. Always yelling about something. And my father wasn’t much better. He stuck around for me and my younger brother, but he never was much good at making a living.”
“Where is he now?”
“Don’t know,” Roman said. “Don’t care.”
“And your brother?”
“Lukas was killed in a motorcycle accident about ten years ago.” A shadow darkened his features. “I miss him.”
But he didn’t keep photos. Roman wasn’t a man who dwelled in the past. He took what life threw at him and moved on. Anya wished she could do the same. “My childhood was the opposite of yours. It was my father who left. In a way, we’re mirror images of each other.”
“Not really. Your mother was successful. You traveled the globe. My family never left Denver, and we barely scraped by.”
Having money made a difference. It was true. And Anya’s father hadn’t completely deserted her. He stayed in touch with birthday cards, phone calls and the occasional visit.
She’d always thought her life would have been easier if he’d completely abandoned her. That way, he’d be gone for good, and she’d be able to forget all about him.
“About your father,” Roman said. “I don’t remember seeing him at the funeral.”
“He telephoned.” And he had sounded truly, deeply sympathetic. His voice was at the edge of tears. But he told her he couldn’t be with her. His presence might bring danger.
This was the most perplexing aspect of her relationship with Wade Bouchard. He claimed to be part of an international cadre of scientists who were dedicated to bringing unethical practices and experiments to light. If she believed in his goals, her father was an admirable person. “Dad was always racing off to save the world. Like a superhero. Supposedly, he stayed away from me and my mother so we wouldn’t be attacked by his enemies.”
“He’s in SCAT, isn’t he? Scientists Concerned About Truth.”
“I never understood that nebulous organization. Occasionally, they issue statements to the press or on the Internet. And they have a dinky little office in Washington. But a worldwide organization?” She shook her head. “It seems more likely that my dad is a raging paranoid—fighting demons that don’t exist.”
“Those sound like your mother’s words.”
Anya nodded. “Mother doesn’t have many good things to say about Wade.”
“For what it’s worth,” Roman said. “I don’t think your father is delusional. There’s ample room for ethical concerns when it comes to the business of science and technology.”
“Of course. But there are also rational and legal methods for investigation.”
“And if those methods fail?”
What was he suggesting? “You can always tell what’s right from wrong.”
“Can you?”
He returned to the grill to tend the steaks, leaving her at the railing. She stared out into space, lulled by the rhythmic wash of waves against the rocks below. She should have been peaceful, but a small voice teased at the edge of her consciousness. What’s right? What’s wrong?
She remembered the Legate motto—For The Greater Good. It suggested that the needs of the many were more important than the needs of the few. Logical? Yes, but not always true. Legate’s policies had apparently resulted in enemies so dangerous that they needed armed security guards and high walls.
Amid all the bustling activity of genius
