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  Enemy in Camp

  Janet Dailey

  An [ e - reads ] Book

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, scanning or any information storage retrieval system, without explicit permission in writing from the Author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 1980 by Janet Dailey

  First e-reads publication 1999

  www.e-reads.com

  ISBN 0-7592-0117-X

  Author Biography

  Janet Dailey was born Janet Haradon in 1944 in Storm Lake, Iowa. She attended secretarial school in Omaha, Nebraska before meeting her husband, Bill. Bill and Janet worked together in construction and land development until they "retired" to travel throughout the United States, inspiring Janet to write the Americana series of romances.

  In 1974, Janet Dailey was the first American author to write for Harlequin, her first novel was NO QUARTER ASKED. She has since gone on to write approximately 90 novels, 21 of which have appeared on The New York Times bestseller list. She has won many awards and accolades for her work, appearing widely on Radio and Television. Today, there are over three-hundred million Janet Dailey books in print in 19 different languages, making her one of the most popular novelists in the world.

  Other works in Janet Dailey's Americana Series also available in e-reads editions

  Dangerous Masquerade

  Northern Magic

  Sonora Sundown

  Valley Of the Vapours

  Fire And Ice

  After the Storm

  Difficult Decision

  The Matchmakers

  Southern Nights

  Night Of The Cotillion

  Kona Winds

  The Travelling Kind

  A Lyon's Share

  The Indy Man

  The Homeplace

  The Mating Season

  Bluegrass King

  The Bride Of The Delta Queen

  Summer Mahogany

  Bed Of Grass

  That Boston Man

  Giant Of Mesabi

  A Tradition Of Pride

  Show Me

  Big Sky Country

  Boss Man From Ogallala

  Reilly's Woman

  Heart Of Stone

  One Of The Boys

  Land Of Enchantment

  Beware Of The Stranger

  That Carolina Summer

  Lord Of the High Lonesome

  The Widow And The Wastrel

  Six White Horses

  To Tell The Truth

  The Thawing Of Mara

  Strange Bedfellow

  Low Country Liar

  Dakota Dreamin'

  Sentimental Journey

  Savage Land

  A Land Called Deseret

  Green Mountain Man

  Tidewater Lover

  For Mike's Sake

  Wild And Wonderful

  With A Little Luck

  Darling Jenny

  Preface

  When I first started writing back in the Seventies, my husband Bill and I were retired and traveling all over the States with our home—a 34' travel trailer—in tow. That's when Bill came up with the great idea of my writing a romance novel set in each one of our fifty states. It was an idea I ultimately accomplished before switching to mainstream fiction and hitting all the international bestseller lists.

  As we were preparing to reissue these early titles, I initially planned to update them all—modernize them, so to speak, and bring them into the new high-tech age. Then I realized I couldn't do that successfully any more than I could take a dress from the Seventies and redesign it into one that would look as if it were made yesterday. That's when I saw that the true charm of these novels is their look back on another time and another age. Over the years, they have become historical novels, however recent the history. When you read them yourself, I know you will feel the same.

  So, enjoy, and happy reading to all!

  Introduction

  Introducing Janet Dailey's AMERICANA. Every novel in this collection is your passport to a romantic tour of the United States through time-honored favorites by America's First Lady of romance fiction. Each of the fifty novels is set in a different state, researched by Janet and her husband, Bill. For the Daileys it was an odyssey of discovery. For you, it's the journey of a lifetime.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Enemy in Camp

  Chapter One

  THE TAXI went as fast as the traffic on the boulevard of Jefferson Avenue would allow. Ahead rose the gleaming structure of the Renaissance Center, part of the rebirth of downtown Detroit. The seventy-story cylindrical tower of the Plaza Hotel dominated its four sister towers that surrounded it like ladies-in-waiting. The monolith of modern architecture overlooked the Detroit River, the Canadian province of Ontario on its opposite shore, and the expanse of water to the northeast called Lake St. Clair.

  Under a red light, the taxi driver slowed the cab to a stop at the intersection of the entrance driveway to the Renaissance Center and glanced in the rearview mirror at his female passenger. "We're almost there, miss," he announced and noticed her glance at the delicate gold watch on her wrist. "I told you we'd make it in no time flat."

  "Yes, you did." The smile Victoria Beaumont gave him was vaguely absent, but not a glimmer of her inner impatience was visible in her expression.

  The cabbie didn't mind the faint disinterest of her smile. He liked the sound of her voice, so calm and well educated. Not that she had talked to him much. Other than confiding that she was late for a luncheon appointment at the Renaissance Center and would he please hurry, she hadn't volunteered any conversation except to make polite responses to him. He'd done all the talking.

  "I wouldn't worry about him bein' upset. As soon as he sees you he'll forget that you're late." There was no doubt in the cab driver's mind that his attractive passenger was meeting a man for lunch.

  He silently wished he was ten years younger, forty pounds lighter and possessed a head full of hair. The stack of packages and dress boxes on the seat beside her indicated he would also need a fat wallet, but the cabbie overlooked that.

  "I'm not so certain about that," Victoria replied, choosing not to disabuse his impression she was meeting a man.

  "If he don't, then he don't know a good thing when he sees it," the cab driver insisted and unabashedly studied her profile in his mirror.

  Her complexion looked smooth and soft to him, with a faint golden tinge from the sun even though it was only May. She had nice cheekbones, and a perfect nose, too, not too straight and not too short. Her mouth was sensational, soft and shiny from some dusty-rose lipstick. He'd been around enough to know she was something special.

  "Are you a model?" he asked.

  "No." Victoria didn't volunteer the information that she was a member of the idle rich—which was a fallacy—the rich were never idle. Their appointment calendars were always filled with charity meetings, social clubs, tennis dates, and a variety of parties, all of which could become terribly boring.

  "You sure got the looks for it," the cabbie replied. "I oughta know. I get all kinds of passengers in my cab from hookers—beggin' your pardon—to housewives. But you're d
ifferent. You got class, you know? I mean, you ain't the kind of woman a guy makes fresh remarks to."

  "Thank you." Victoria was certain there was a compliment in there somewhere, but it was a struggle to keep back the bubble of amused laughter. Her eyes were dancing with it, though, and she looked out the window so he wouldn't think she was laughing at him.

  "It ain't just the way you smell," he assured her, having been enveloped in the sensual cloud of her expensive perfume since she had entered his cab. "It's the color of your hair. On any other woman it'd probably be called a washed-out brown, but on you it looks blond. What color do you call it?"

  "I don't know." Victoria had never had to label it before. It was much too light to be considered brown and lacked the golden cast to be a true blond. "Biscuit-colored, I suppose."

  "Yeah, I guess," the driver agreed after a moment's hesitation. "And there's the way you got it fixed, too. When my wife goes to a beauty shop, she either comes out lookin' like a poodle or else like she's had her hair starched. Even though your hair ain't long it looks loose and casual, sorta windswept. It doesn't make a guy think he'll ruin it if he touches it, you know?"

  "Yes, I think I do," Victoria murmured to disguise her amusement. The cabbie was so engrossed in her reflection she had to call his attention to the traffic light. "It's changing to green."

  "Right," he answered in a voice that pretended he had known it all along.

  When the traffic ahead of him moved out of the way, he turned the cab into the drive and stopped at one of the entrances of the center. Moving agilely for a man his size and age, he was out of the cab and around to the rear passenger door to help Victoria out, assisting her with a gallantry that was more touching than amusing.

  "Thank you." Victoria added a generous tip to the fare.

  "You're welcome." He began hauling out her packages and garment boxes from the rear seat. "You want some help with this?"

  "I think I can manage." It took some maneuvering to slip her fingers through all the plastic grips, but she succeeded with help from the cab driver. "What time is it?"

  "Half past one. And you tell that guy if he's upset with you for bein' late, there's plenty of other fellas that'd be happy to be in his shoes."

  "I'll remember that." This time there was nothing distracted about the smile lighting her face.

  The driver started toward the entrance door to open it for her and stopped. "What color are your eyes?" His own narrowed on her with puzzled intensity.

  "Gray."

  An audible breath of amazement came from his throat. "I never knew anybody with gray eyes before." It was said to himself as he moved to hold the door for her. "If you ever need a cab again, miss, you just call up and ask for Joe Kopacek. That's Czech," he identified the nationality of his name.

  "I'll remember, Mr. Kopacek," Victoria promised with a faint nod that unknowingly resembled an imperial acknowledgement.

  Inside the entrance, Victoria was confronted by a labyrinth of corridors connecting a multistoried center of shops. It didn't seem to matter how many times she came to the center she still had difficulty orienting herself. Standing by a wall was a uniformed man, a security guard.

  "Excuse me, could you direct me to the restaurant?" she requested with a formal smile touching her lips.

  "Which restaurant?" he grinned at her question. "I think there are fourteen in this complex."

  "Lord!" It was a muffled exclamation of irritation. Victoria couldn't remember a specific one being stated now, so she opted for the one where they usually lunched when they were downtown. "The hotel has a terrace-type café, doesn't it? Near the elevators?"

  "Yes," the guard nodded and pointed to the corridor on Victoria's right. "Go that way and keep to your left. You can't miss it."

  "Thank you."

  Victoria followed his directions and arrived at the open center of the complex. It was an ultramodern area of layered, curving, rising buttresses of concrete, its bland sterility alleviated by the abundant usage of potted plants and trees. Crisscrossing walkways and escalators connected one side to the other and one level to the next. At a bottom level was the restaurant Victoria was seeking. The impression was one of a sidewalk café, except that it was in the center of the complex and merely cordoned off from the rest of the lobby.

  Making her way to the restaurant entrance of bamboo screens Victoria scanned the tables. The hostess approached to inquire, "How many, please?"

  "I'm meeting someone here," Victoria explained and caught sight of a familiar brown-haired woman seated alone at one of the tables with her back to the entrance. "There she is."

  With a brief smile of dismissal to the hostess she wove her way through the tables. The boxes and packages in her hands made her progress slow to avoid bumping into those seated at the tables. When she reached the one where the woman was sitting, Victoria stopped to begin piling her packages in an empty chair.

  "Hello, mom. Had you given up on me?" Victoria greeted her with a direct reference to her tardiness. "I lost all track of time, I'm afraid."

  "As long as it was only time that you lost, and not one or two packages along the way," Lena Beaumont announced with a dryly indulgent look at all the parcels.

  Victoria simply laughed at that and sat in the chair next to her mother. "I see that I missed dad." She observed the used coffee cup and crumpled napkin at the place setting opposite her.

  "Yes, he had an appointment and couldn't wait."

  The waitress appeared to give Victoria a menu and offer her coffee. "No, thank you. Iced tea, please," she requested and began to peruse the fare. "What did you and dad have, mom?"

  "I had a club sandwich and your father had soup and some kind of fish." There was a subdued gleam in the gray eyes that were very much the same color as her daughter's, although age had given them the glint of wisdom.

  "Mmm." It was a noncommittal sound Victoria made. When the waitress returned she closed the menu and ordered, "Spinach salad with very little dressing—low calorie if you have it."

  "Yes, ma'am," the waitress nodded and collected the menu before moving away.

  "You have more willpower than I do, Tory," her mother sighed. "You should loan me some of yours so I can get rid of this extra fifteen pounds I'm carrying around."

  "On you it looks good," Victoria insisted. Both were the same height and the same approximate build. Despite the extra weight, her mother still possessed the necessary feminine curves, but no one would ever accuse her of being heavy.

  "Spoken like a diplomatic daughter," Lena Beaumont laughed.

  "On the subject of looking good, wait until you see the clothes I found." With a flick of her long fingers, Victoria gestured toward the packages piled in the chair near her.

  "What did you do, purchase a new summer wardrobe? I know you 'don't have a thing to wear,'" her mother teased on a dry note.

  "It isn't so far from the truth," Victoria defended. "There are a lot of clothes in my closet, but most of them are very juvenile in style. I am twenty-three. It's time I began dressing like it."

  "Yes, that's very old," she mocked.

  "No, it isn't," Victoria refused to rise to the bait. "And you know very well what I mean. Most of my clothes have been more fad fashion than style fashion. Adrianne was mentioning the other day that the second-hand clothes shop needed donations desperately, so I thought I'd clean out my closet and take what I don't want anymore to the shop."

  "That's an excellent idea," her mother agreed.

  "I thought so." Victoria paused, her gray eyes resting on the drink glass with its olive on the bottom that sat where her father had been. "What's this? A martini lunch? That isn't like dad."

  "He was celebrating."

  "What?" Victoria lifted a finely arched brow, not finding any particular significance in her memory for this particular day in May.

  "He persuaded Dirk Ramsey to spend a couple of weeks with us at Mackinac Island this June," Lena Beaumont explained.

  "He what?" Her asto
nishment bordered on incredulity. "Why on earth is that something to celebrate? And why would he want to persuade that sniping, vicious…" Victoria couldn't find adjectives vile enough to describe the political journalist whose syndicated column appeared in all the major newspapers in the country, and several abroad.

  "Keep your voice down, Tory," her mother reproved.

  "I don't particularly care who knows what I think of that poor excuse for a reporter who makes his living out of impugning other people's character." Victoria lowered her volume, but not the venom of her tone. "Look at the innuendos he has made against dad in his column. They were virtually lies!"

  "There was just enough truth in them to make them undeniable," Lena reminded her.

  "That is precisely my point. This Dirk Ramsey interprets things in the way that is the most damaging. What does he know about dad? Oh, they may have seen each other once or twice, but dad admitted that they had never even been introduced!" Victoria flared. "Yet Ramsey has practically accused dad of being the puppeteer who pulls the strings in the governor's mansion. He has hinted that dad's sense of civic responsibility is motivated by greed. And he has insinuated that dad's interest in national affairs is an attempt to have a private back door to the White House, or else a justiceship on the Supreme Court! It's sickening what that man gets away with in print."

  "Tory, you are old enough to be aware that your father is not only wealthy, he is also very influential," her mother began in a reasoning tone.

  But Victoria wasn't to be reasoned with. Her eyes were the turbulent gray of storm clouds rolling in from the lakes. "His legal firm is also one of the most respected in the state, possibly in the country. When dad was actively practicing law he was one of the best attorneys. I fully understand that since he has become politically involved it's natural for him to come under public scrutiny. I don't object to that. I object to some stranger maligning his integrity."

  "That is precisely your father's point." Lena Beaumont paused and held up a silencing forefinger as the waitress arrived with Victoria's salad and freshened her mother's cup of coffee. Victoria kept quiet while the waitress was there, but it was a simmering quiet.