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Trish snapped back to awareness. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“You were saying there are enough diamonds to what?”
“To blind a person, Debra Carpenter. Shame on you.”
Deb took a long look at the bracelet. “There are a lot, aren’t there?”
“I’ll say. It must have cost a mint.”
Deb’s smooth brow creased in a frown. “You don’t suppose Tom is having an affair, do you?”
“Yeah, right!” Trish scoffed. “When mules fly like Pegasus.”
The two women looked at each other, broke into laughter, and once again clinked their glasses together.
As soon as Trish returned home, she looked up the telephone number of Kim Harrington in New York, and was lucky enough to catch her at home. In loyalty to her brother, Kim refused to give her Dave’s address. After Trish explained they had run into each other again, and she had to talk to him, Kim finally conceded that at age thirty-four her big brother was old enough to handle his own problems. She relented and gave Trish Dave’s telephone number and address.
Thoughts about McDermott, Robert and diamonds kept running through Trish’s mind for the rest of the day. She had forgotten about the diamonds entirely and realized she had never mentioned them to the CIA. From what she remembered of the conversation between Robert and McDermott, the Irishman had indicated Robert had the diamonds in his possession. He would still have to have them because he and Ali had never left her before Dave and his squad showed up. And since they’d been transported home on military planes, Robert could easily have smuggled the diamonds into the country. She was curious enough to try and find out.
Trish rooted hurriedly through a dresser drawer, found what she was looking for, and hurried back to her car.
Chapter 4
From habit Dave glanced around the barroom as soon as he entered. The place had begun to fill with the after-work crowd. Singles hoping to make a lucky connection for the night and tired businessmen needing a jolt of whiskey to jump-start their psyches and get back in the race.
He walked over to the bar, sat down on one of the stools and ordered a Scotch on the rocks.
He’d finished the drink and was nursing the second one by the time Mike Bishop showed up and slipped onto the stool beside him.
“Sorry I’m late. Baker caught me on my way out.” Mike ordered a beer and as soon as the bartender left, he asked, “So, what’s on your mind, Dave?”
“Prince Charming’s not too happy with me these days,” Dave said, referring to Jeff Baker’s code name in the Agency. “I figure it’s because of the mission.”
“That’s bullshit, Dave. Nobody’s blaming you. This isn’t the first mission that went bad. Hell, I can think of a dozen or more of them when I was leading the squad.”
“He says the Agency’s taking heat over the bin Muzzar slaying. Mike, I swear my squad had nothing to do with his death. We didn’t fire a shot until we reached the cover of the rocks. If he was killed at the palace, it was after we pulled out.”
“I believe you and so does Baker. And we all knew the whole damn mission stunk from the beginning. You gotta let it go, Dave.”
Dave motioned to the bartender for a refill. “What about McDermott? I want another crack at him, Mike.”
“You’ll get it. That is if the Brits don’t get to him first. They’ve got their own ax to grind with him. Right now, no one knows where he is. He’s got a slew of aliases and fake passports. The SOB could be anywhere. It’s going to take time to track him down, but I promise you the Dwarf Squad will get the call when we do.”
“You get anything of value out of his backpack?”
“Just another alias and a phony passport.”
“I gather you didn’t get anything out of Manning either.”
“No. Claims he never met the guy until then.”
“Yeah, right.”
Dave shrugged. “What can I say? His wife gave us the same story. She came across pretty sincere to me, but she could be a damn good actress.”
“Yeah, a guy’s a fool to believe anything a woman tells him.” Dave picked up his drink and downed it. “What?” he asked in response to Mike’s puzzled stare.
“You’re beginning to sound like me before I met Ann. What’s your problem, Dave?”
“Colin McDermott. That’s my problem.”
“Screw McDermott. How come you’re suddenly belting down shots of Scotch like they’re lemonade? You want to talk about it?”
“I’ll get around to it sometime. I’m just not ready right now. Like I’ll ever be. Right now I’m so screwed up, I can’t even think straight.”
“Well, when you are, you know my number.”
For the next quarter hour they discussed whether the Packers would beat the Redskins on Sunday, then Mike finished his drink and stood up.
“I’ve got to get going. This is Lamaze night.”
Dave shook his head. “Who’d have ever believed it? You’re really eating up married life, aren’t you?”
“You’ve got that right. Every bite of it, pal. Ann’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m one lucky bastard, Dave, and I know it.”
“Do you ever miss it, Mike?”
“Miss what?”
“Missions. The rush.”
“Hell, no! I was fed up with that life before I even met Ann. She’s shown me how good life can really be. It’s time you ought to think about settling down and starting a family.”
“What is it about you married guys? Once you lose your freedom, you don’t rest until you take your friends down with you. Misery loves company, is that it?”
Mike chuckled. “You’re right about one thing, Dave. Marriage is real misery—when I’m away from Ann. What gets me through the day most of the time is knowing she and Brandon will be at home waiting for me.”
Mike finished his drink. “Speaking of sharing your life, pal, looks like you can have some company of your own tonight, if you’re interested. That blonde down there can’t keep her eyes off you.”
Dave glanced at the attractive woman sitting alone at the end of the bar. She smiled at him.
“I’ll leave you to finer pursuits.” Mike slapped him on the shoulder. “No time like the present. Go for it, pal. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The bartender came over with the bottle of Scotch. “Ready for another, Dave?”
He nodded. “What’s the lady drinking, Bernie?”
“Chardonnay.”
“Give her a refill.”
He watched Bernie amble down to the other end of the bar and fill the woman’s glass. They exchanged a few words and then she nodded toward Dave, picked up the glass and smiled again at him.
Dave stood up and reached for his glass. Nodding at the blonde, he raised it in a slight toast. Then he killed the Scotch, tossed some bills on the bar and left the barroom.
He was in no mood to make a connection. Lord knows he needed one. Seeing Trish again had tied him in knots. Knots the blonde wouldn’t be able to free, any better than any other women had in the past six years. They’d all been nothing but a necessary physical release and emotion never entered into the act.
When in hell would it end? It had been six years now. When would he be able to look at a woman and want her as much as he’d always wanted Trish every time he saw her? As much as he wanted her right now even knowing she was a married woman—knowing what she had become.
Looking back now, he realized his dad had been the same way. Even though his mom had died young, his dad had never considered remarrying. Dave couldn’t recall his dad even dating another woman—much less bringing one home. What about his needs? Female companionship. Sex. Was it like this for him, too?
The realization filled him with shame. He had never thought about his father’s needs while he was growing up. In fact, he and his sister had taken pride in knowing their dad had gone to his grave never loving any other woman but their mother. What selfish self-indulgence on their parts!
“Forgive me, Dad. Guess I deserve what I’m getting. I understand now what you must have gone through, but it’s too late to tell you.”
Pausing outside the bar, Dave took a deep breath. The fresh air felt good. The four drinks had begun to hit him, so he decided to hike the three miles to his apartment in the hope of walking off the effects of the alcohol.
Dammit! Seeing Trish again—and what she had become—dredged up memories he’d rather forget. He had good cause to get drunk—and stay that way—but he’d be damned if he’d start falling into bed at night in a drunken stupor.
He turned and strode down the block.
Trish felt a stab of pain the instant she saw Dave coming down the block. She’d recognize the shape of his head anywhere, the broad outline of his shoulders and the easy grace with which he moved through any crowd.
She’d been sitting in her car for the past hour waiting for him. Thank God he was alone. She would have driven away if he hadn’t been.
Her gaze fixed lovingly on his tall figure as she watched him enter the building and pause at the bank of mailboxes.
As he checked his mail, the firm features of his profile were spotlighted in the lobby’s brightness. Nothing appeared to have changed in six years. The same tanned face with its straight nose, sensual mouth and square jaw. He still wore his dark hair neatly clipped to his proud head. If anything, he was more handsome. Her heart ached looking at him. Would she ever get over this man?
She waited as he disappeared through the inner door. Shortly after, a light went on in a front apartment on the second floor.
Her courage began to falter again. What was she doing coming here? A dozen or more times in the past hour she had waged an inner struggle to turn on the ignition of her car and drive away as quickly as she could.
Before she could lose her nerve again, Trish got out of the car and crossed the street. The building was not secure, and she entered the inner door and started to climb the stairs to the second floor. Each step she took was like plucking the petals off a daisy—Should I go? Should I stay? Recalling the loathing in his eyes made it hopeless to ponder “he loves me, he loves me not.” He loved her not! So what had possessed her to come here?
She paused outside the door marked 2A.
Dave had just tossed aside his suit jacket and loosened his tie when a knock sounded on the door. It had to be Mrs. Graham from across the hall. What was her problem now?
Three years ago he had prevented her from being mugged and since then, whenever he was home, she had him doing odds-and-ends jobs, from loosening jar covers to taking care of her cat when she went out of town. Not only did he hate cats—their dander made him sneeze—but he was always on call. The squad could be sent out on an hour’s notice at all times.
Besides, if he wanted the responsibility of a pet, he’d have his own. He loved dogs. The vision of Ayevol, the buff-colored cocker spaniel he and Trish had had when they were together, flashed through his mind in a painful memory. He sure missed that little hound.
Nevertheless, as much a nuisance as Mrs. Graham could be, she was a sweet old lady and he never had the heart to turn her down. In addition, she kept him supplied with the best homemade chocolate chip cookies he’d ever tasted.
Anticipating her holding a plate of them, he smiled and opened the door.
“What can I do for you, Mrs.—” The words froze in his throat.
Don’t do this to me, God.
“Hello, Dave. May I come in? I have to talk to you.”
“I don’t think that would be wise, Mrs. Manning. Besides, I can’t think of anything we have to say to each other.”
“It’s very important, Dave.”
He turned away. She followed him in and gently closed the door. Then she hesitated as if she was drawing strength from the feel of the solid wood.
Dave folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall. “So what’s so important, Mrs. Manning?”
“Do you mind if I sit down?”
“Does it matter? You usually do what you want anyway.”
He could see she was trembling. He wasn’t in the best condition himself. The walk and night air had worked off most of the Scotch, but he still was in no condition for a face-off with her.
“Sorry, I only have beer or Scotch to offer you. If I remember, your tastes run toward white wine. Of course, that was six years ago. It would appear that many of your tastes have changed since then.”
“I don’t want anything to drink. I need someone’s advice.”
“Daddy out of town?”
She flinched at the sarcasm. “Please, Dave, let’s not throw darts at each other.”
So what if the remark was childish and spiteful? Thanks to her he had stored up six years of bitterness and resentment. It was about time he got some of it off his chest.
“So what’s so important? Say what you came to say and get out of here.”
She bolted to her feet and headed for the door. “I can see this was a mistake.” She paused at the door and looked back accusingly.
“You used to be a nice guy, Dave. I’m sorry I bothered you.” She turned again to depart.
“That’s the kettle calling the pot black.”
She spun on her heel. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve got a short memory, lady. Have you forgotten we walked in on that ménage à trois you were about to enjoy. Or were you too drunk to remember?”
“You don’t understand. That was happening against my will. I couldn’t stop them.”
“Yeah, right. And you weren’t stinking drunk either. They drugged you. Right? Look, Mrs. Manning, whatever bedroom games you and your husband like to play is not my business.”
“It’s true. They did drug me,” she cried out.
“You said you had something important to tell me. Does it relate to Colin McDermott?”
“I think Robert is mixed up in some kind of crooked operation with McDermott and bin Muzzar.”
