The Uneven Score by Carla Neggers Page B

stole upstairs, knowing what she had to do. Before they dug their hole any deeper—and definitely before Whitney ended up alone and at the mercy of Daniel Graham— Paddie and Whitney had to consult. Whitney would urge Paddie to tell Daniel everything. Then they would go on from there.
    But first Whitney had to get to Paddie.
    “Before Daniel gets to me,” she muttered as she slipped into his bedroom.
    During her search that morning, she had noted the set of keys on his dresser. She seized them now and ran quietly back downstairs, sneaking out through the front door onto the porch. When she finally did explain, she hoped Daniel would understand.
    It was a sunny, warm day, and she would have liked nothing better than to sit out on a lounge chair and practice her horn and recuperate from yesterday. But, Whitney thought, duty called.
    She cut around back. There were several cars parked on the blacktop, but only one, a dark green Porsche, looked like Daniel Graham. The key fit, and, after stalling out twice and wondering constantly if she was doing the right thing, off she roared.
    Now, she thought glumly, Daniel had her for breaking and entering, trespassing, and car stealing. Only, of course, she wasn’t stealing, she was borrowing. She hoped their kisses had meant something after all and he was willing to make such distinctions ... when she explained.
     
    Orlando Community College was a gleaming, modern campus on the southeast side of the burgeoning city. Signs of new, rapid, and not always sensible growth were everywhere: housing developments, construction, shopping centers, apartment complexes, neon signs, real estate agents. Whitney found herself mysteriously longing for the signs of the old, slowed down, and not always sensible growth of upstate New York. But, she reminded herself as she parked the Porsche in the shade of an oak, there was seventeen inches of snow on the ground in Schenectady. And no Disney World.
    The Porsche was a sensitive car. Her four-wheel-drive Subaru back in Schenectady was not. And that, she decided, explained why she had stalled out three times on her way over from Daniel’s place, which she had finally figured out was west of Orlando. She got lost twice, but having weary attendants at service stations explain just exactly where she was helped her find the college. Promising herself she would study the maps each of the attendants had thrust at her, Whitney finally parked the car and headed up a sidewalk flanked with azaleas and dogwoods.
    The auditorium—Graham Auditorium, naturally—was connected to the main administration building. Whitney got herself yet another map from an information booth and found her way through the maze of halls. She entered the auditorium on Level B behind the last row of seats. Except for a single light which lit the unoccupied stage below, the auditorium was dark. The door behind her banged shut automatically. Whitney jumped, startled, and chastised herself for her nervousness. She’d been in dark concert halls before.
    It was bigger than she had expected, deep, and, although there was no balcony, traditionally designed. The seats were cushioned and covered with a red fabric, and there were three carpeted aisles. The stage seemed to have ample room for a full-scale symphonic orchestra. Paddie’s office would be on Level A, probably somewhere behind the stage. Whitney sucked in a breath and moved silently down the steep far-right aisle.
    She felt the movement behind her before she heard it. There was no time to react. Something compact and hard pressed into the small of her back. A muffled voice—eerie and without accent, neither male nor female—told her not to turn around.
    “Why are you here?” the neutered voice demanded.
    “Me?”
    “Yes, you! Why?”
    “I’m just the new horn player,” she replied carefully. That this wasn’t Daniel was beyond doubt. He of the kick-ass-and-take-names school of diplomacy would not have been able to restrain