Sea Swept by Nora Roberts Page B

of the dice, Cam thought. He liked nothing better. “Christ knows, I’d rather be swinging a hammer than a damn vacuum hose. I’m in.”
    “Just like that?” Phillip threw up his hands. “Without a thought to overhead, profit and loss, licenses, taxes, insurance. Where the hell are you going to set up shop? How’re you going to run the business end?”
    “That’s not my problem,” Cam said with a grin. “That would be yours.”
    “I have a job. In Baltimore.”
    “I had a life,” Cam said simply, “in Europe.”
    Phillip paced away, back, away again. Trapped, was all he could think. “I’ll do what I can to get things started. This could be a huge mistake, and it’s going to cost a lot of money. And you’d both better consider that the social worker might take a dim view of us starting a risky business at this point. I’m not giving up my job. At least that’s one steady income.”
    “I’ll talk to her about it,” Cam decided on impulse. “See how she reacts. You’ll talk to Grace about pitching in around the house?” he asked Ethan.
    “Yeah, I’ll go down to the pub and run it by her.”
    “Fine. That leaves you to deal with Seth tonight.” He smiled thinly at Phillip. “Make sure he does his homework.”
    “Oh, God.”
    “Now that that’s settled,” Cam eased back, “who’s cooking dinner?”

Six

    T RACKING DOWN Anna Spinelli was the perfect excuse to escape the post-dinner chaos at home. It meant the dishes were someone else’s problem—and that he couldn’t be pulled into the homework argument that had just begun to heat up between Phillip and Seth.
    In fact, as far as Cam was concerned, a rainy evening drive to Princess Anne was high entertainment. And that was pretty pitiful for a man who’d grown accustomed to jetting from Paris to Rome.
    He tried not to think about it.
    He’d arranged to have his hydrofoil stored, his clothes packed up and sent. He had yet to have his car shipped over, though. It was just a bit too permanent a commitment. But between the time spent repairing steps and doing laundry, he’d entertained himself by tuning up and tinkering with his mother’s prized ’Vette.
    It gave him a great deal of pleasure to drive it—so much that he accepted the speeding ticket he collected just outside of Princess Anne without complaint.
    The town wasn’t the hive of activity it had been during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries when tobacco hadbeen king and wealth poured into the area. But it was pretty enough, Cam supposed, with the old homes restored and preserved, the streets clean and quiet. Now that tourism was becoming the newest deity for the Shore, the charm and grace of historic towns were a huge economic draw.
    Anna’s apartment was less than half a mile from the offices of Social Services. Easy walking distance to work, to the courts. Shopping was convenient. He imagined she’d chosen the old Victorian house for those reasons as well as for the ambience.
    The building was tucked behind big trees, their branches now hazed with new leaves. The walkway was cracked but flanked by daffodils that were ready to pop out with sunny yellow. Steps led to a covered veranda. The plaque beside the door stated that the house was on the historic register.
    The door itself was unlocked and led Cam into a hallway. The wood floor was a bit worn, but someone had troubled to polish it to a dull gleam. The mail slots on the wall were brass, again polished, and indicated that the building had been converted to four apartments. A. Spinelli occupied 2B.
    Cam trooped up the creaking stairs to the second floor. The hallway was more narrow here, the lights dimmer. The only sound he heard was the muffled echo of what sounded like a riotous sitcom from the television of 2A.
    He knocked on Anna’s door and waited. Then he knocked again, tucked his hands in his pockets, and scowled. He’d expected her to be home. He’d never considered otherwise. It was nearly nine o’clock,