скачать книгу бесплатно
She was shocked. He was supposed to have made a joke and been out of there. Didn’t he remember his own MO?
Turning, she took down a glass from the cupboard. A juice glass. She didn’t entertain enough to justify highball crystal.
“You pour,” she said, handing him the bottle and pushing the orange juice his way.
He took a splash of juice to go with his vodka, leaned back against the opposite cupboard…and suddenly she was nervous. The man seemed a lot more vital, standing in her kitchen.
“I didn’t realize you knew the Thorntons all that well.” He adjusted his glasses.
His eyes were brown. She’d never noticed before.
“I don’t really. They drop off fruitcakes at Christmas, but I think everyone gets them.”
He nodded. “Never did figure out the appeal there.”
“Me, neither. But my mother likes them. I give them to her.”
“Good, she can have mine next year, too. I feel like a jerk when I throw them away.”
Jan chuckled with him. Took a sip of mostly orange juice and wished it was mostly vodka.
“A few years ago, my washer valve broke when I was out of town,” she said. “The whole house flooded. The Thorntons had just moved in, and they noticed the water coming out from under my doors and called the city to turn off the water. They also helped me move out all my furniture while the damage was being repaired.”
“Where was I?”
“I have no idea.” She smiled at him again. “That was before I’d actually met you. But I think you were gone. For about a month I didn’t see any papers at the end of your drive when I left for work in the morning.”
Oh. Well. It only took a second for her to realize that she’d just admitted that she paid attention. And remembered something that had happened almost four years ago. That was embarrassing.
“I took a…river rafting trip,” he said, stumbling a bit over the words—as if he was finding this experience awkward, as well. “I was gone for almost a month,” he continued, resting one foot in front of the other. “Must have been then.”
She wanted to look away. And didn’t.
“So how were the Thorntons?”
“Fine. They named him Mark.”
“I hear hesitation in your voice,” he said, his expression curious. “Why? Don’t you like the name?”
Were all writers as observant as he was?
“Of course I like the name.” She shrugged, putting her edgy reaction down to fatigue. “I’m sure it’s nothing. They just seemed to go on and on about how happy they were that the baby’s a boy. I got a pretty strong sense that if they’d had a girl they would actually have been disappointed.”
“Maybe they wanted to please the grandparents or something.”
“Maybe. I can’t imagine the sex of a child mattering to me as long as he or she was healthy, but I realize it makes a difference to some people.”
He switched legs, crossing one over the other. She couldn’t really explain why she wasn’t offering him a seat. Standing just seemed like a better idea.
“I also couldn’t help wondering if my father was disappointed, when I turned out to be female.” Jan’s gaze shot up, stricken when she realized she’d spoken aloud. Simon didn’t care about her anxieties.
And he was only supposed to see what she presented to the world. A daring, driven attorney who did things her own way, but always played by the rules.
“Did he act disappointed?” His direct gaze, the soft tone in his voice, made her knees shake.
She shook her head and took a seat at the table in the middle of her kitchen. Simon followed her, bringing the bottle and the carton of juice.
“I don’t really remember much about him,” she continued, telling her better judgment to shut up. She had to start working through things or she’d go nuts. And really, who was safer to think aloud with than a distant neighbor who didn’t have any reason to care, beyond a generic sense of compassion.
“He died when I was four.”
“He was sick?”
“He accidentally shot himself.”
“What?” Simon’s glass hit the table solidly, his eyes narrowing. “How?”
“He was drunk and got his gun out to load it, to go hunting. It was already loaded and it went off….” She closed her eyes against the assault of memories, as if doing so could erase all the blood. “There was an investigation, and the evidence corroborated events exactly as my mother had said they happened.”
“Where were you at the time?”
“At home, taking a nap.” She tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. Picking up her glass, she tried again. “I don’t remember the shooting at all, but I’ll never forget standing in the archway leading to the living room and watching while they cut out a piece of living room carpet that was saturated with his blood.”
And she’d never spoken of it, either. Jan peered over at Simon, afraid of what she’d done by telling him. Afraid of what she’d see in his eyes.
He looked confused, lost—like a man who was picturing the horrifying scene through the eyes of a four-year-old child.
“Were the two of you close?”
“I’m not sure. My mom’s been emotionally fragile ever since it happened—at least I’ve assumed it started then. In any case, it’s too hard on her to talk about my dad, so we won’t.”
“Seems like, at four, you’d have some memories, if you and he had much of a relationship.”
Something that had occurred to her, too. “I just have flashes,” she said, finishing her drink and pouring another. “I remember moments of anger, but I can’t ever bring back enough to know what he was angry about or who he was angry with. I can just picture his face, red, his mouth, thin, and his eyes small and kind of black.”
“That’s a pretty clear picture,” Simon said. “Sounds like he was angry a lot.”
“Maybe. I also remember a birthday—maybe my third or fourth. I can’t recall anything about the day, except that he and I laughed a lot and he threw me up in the air and caught me and said he always would.”
She smiled when what she felt like doing was crying. “I like to think he’s still up there, catching me. When my brother was little, he used to tell everyone he was special because his daddy was an angel who watched over him.”
“How old was he when your dad was killed?”
“A few months.”
“So he doesn’t remember him at all.”
“Nope.”
“It’s natural that he’d build him into some kind of hero or loving guardian, but those feelings don’t necessarily have any connection to the kind of man your father really was.”
“I know.”
“And your mother never shared anything that gave you any indication? No story about how they met? What he did for a living?”
“Not much.” Jan sighed, wanting to lay her head on a caring shoulder. For a second. “They were high school sweethearts who married fairly young. And they waited several years before having me. He worked for a trucking company, at some point. I discovered that tidbit when I moved my mother to Sedona. I was helping her get her finances together and I found documents concerning a small pension she’d been getting all these years, though it wasn’t clear from the dates if he’d been working at the time of the accident. I’m fairly certain he was an alcoholic, based on something Clara Williams—she was a neighbor and my mother’s closest friend—said once, when I was telling them about a friend who’d bought a fake ID and gotten drunk.”
“That could explain the anger. Some guys get mean when they drink.”
“Yeah.” And some were nice. Please God, for her mother’s sake if nothing else, let him have been a nice drunk.
“You said your mom had problems. Is she okay now?”
He was really sweet to ask. Surely he’d rather be home at his computer. Or doing whatever else he did until all hours of the night.
“She’s fine.” Jan gave the short version, in deference to his kindness. “She had a pretty bad bout of depression nine or ten years ago. I’d just started law school and moved into my own apartment. Johnny was seventeen and going through the rebellious teenaged crap. It was too much for her to handle alone. But she got help. And then there was a bout a couple of years ago. She wouldn’t get out of bed, wouldn’t eat. She finally agreed to check herself into the hospital and came out with this idea that she had to move to an adult-living community in Sedona. She did, and she’s been doing well ever since.”
Simon finished his drink, but didn’t pour another. “You could do an investigation. To track down information about your father.”
She’d thought about it a few times. “I’ve just never been sure enough that I wanted to know,” she said. “If it turns out he was a louse, I’m descended from a louse and that’s all there is to it. And if I find out he was a great guy, I lost one of the best things that ever happened to me.”
Simon stood. “You’re right,” he said. “You may be better off not knowing. That way anything’s possible.”
It made a strange kind of sense. She was tired enough to accept it.
“Thanks for taking out my trash.” She followed him to the front door.
“Thanks for the drink.”
She started to say “anytime,” but decided against it and held the door for him instead.
He began to leave, then stopped abruptly and turned, his face two inches from hers.
She could hardly breathe, struck with the completely unfamiliar desire to have wild, passionate, unrestrained and irresponsible sex. The kind you had without accountability or any thought of tomorrow.
“Lock the door behind me.”
She was deciphering the words when, halfway across her yard, he turned. Jan quickly shut her door and clicked the lock as loudly as she could.
And only then realized that while she’d just told Simon her entire life story, she still knew very little about him.
6
A gentle breeze blew through the trees surrounding the old wooden cabin, mixing with the sounds of chirping birds to create a background of nature music. Bobby Donahue swelled with pride as he surveyed his acreage in the mountains several miles outside Flagstaff. He’d done well.
Reaching over, he untied the blindfold covering Tony Littleton’s eyes.
“Sorry about that,” he said, “but the cause is too important to risk discovery. This place is a combination storeroom, training ground and safe house. There are selfish people out there who don’t want our voices to be heard because the truth of our message threatens their personal bottom lines. I have to be very careful. I can’t let you know exactly where we are or how we got here. Not yet, anyway.”
“No problem,” Tony said, his voice eager as he glanced around, reminding Bobby of a cocker spaniel pup he’d had as a kid. That dog had been his constant companion—until his father had snapped its neck one night, when it barked during basketball playoffs.
Perhaps it was time to get another one. The experience would be good for Luke, exposing the two-year-old to deep and abiding affection, and Amanda could take care of it.
“No one comes up here—ever—without me.”
“I understand. Believe me, you have nothing to worry about from me. It’s like you’re my personal savior. I’m so jazzed about this opportunity I lie awake at night thinking about it.” The skinny young man walked a few feet in one direction and then another, as though trying to take in the whole world at once. Bobby smiled, basking in the certainty that his life’s mission was the true course, the only course, and that all would be well.
This was why Bobby took in all new recruits himself—the resurgence of passion, faith and hope he gained from exposure to theirs was priceless. He’d practically had an orgasm the first time he’d felt the fire of purpose in his veins.
The air was cooler up on the mountain, feeding his lungs, stimulating him. “There’s not much inside besides supplies,” he said, taking a key ring from his pocket to open the bottom lock on the only visible door. And then, instructing the boy to close his eyes and not move an inch, he rounded the building, pulled a large knot out of a tree, took the lock box out of hiding, quickly worked the combination and retrieved the key to the second lock. All the while keeping an eye on Tony with the help of hidden surveillance mirrors he’d installed all over the compound.
Moving with the animal grace he’d worked so hard to acquire, he used the key on the front door and returned it to safety.
The boy passed the test. He didn’t peek.
“Okay, let’s go in,” he said. He might have hit the mother lode with this recruit. Tony Littleton had “future leader” written all over him. Hell, years down the road he might even be presidential material.
“Wow!” Tony turned full circle in the middle of the cabin’s main room. “There must be thousands of cans in here. What’re they for?”
“Food storage,” Bobby said proudly, grabbing one of the silver gallon-sized metal storage containers. “All essentials that will keep for up to seven years. Macaroni, dried beans, mashed potatoes, pudding, soups, spaghetti, cereal, dried milk, canned meat. We’ve got fifty gallon jugs of water in the shed.”
“No kidding.” Tony’s voice reflected his awe as he read some of the labels. “Cool, you even have refried beans!”
It was as if the kid was already tasting them—seeing himself as a member of the family at the table. Bobby paused to take a couple of deep breaths, holding back tears of joy.
“It’s like I’ve been searching for this all my life,” Tony said, turning to face him. “I’ve always known I had a greater purpose, that I had a special job to do that would benefit the world. Something inside me recognized it the very first time I spoke with you in that chat room. Everything you said about justice and the world, about the need for men who had the courage to do God’s work, about wiping out the conspirators, fighting the forces of evil and filling the world with God’s true chosen people rang completely true to me. It’s like you were reading inside my deepest self.”
Yes. Yes! The zeal was there. The passion. The beliefs. And soon, the training would be, too. He’d start with targets today. Explosives work could come later. And by this time next year, little brother Tony Littleton would be wearing red laces in his boots.
“It’s the strangest thing, Jan.” Andrew came into Jan’s office, closing the door as he always did when he wanted her uninterrupted attention. The other attorneys on the floor had the habit of dropping in on her to discuss cases, ask her opinion; they always seemed to assume that she was available.
“What’s strange?” Friday, the twenty-ninth of September. Three days before Hall’s hearing and still no word from Ruple. She could think of little else.
“I just got a report on those bank account numbers we found in Hall’s computer.”
“You found some commonalities? They all had business with the same bank, or bought from the same online company?”
He approached her desk. Dropped a file in front of her. “They’re all dead.”
That one hadn’t occurred to her.
“Dead?” She stared at him, her stomach heavy. “Are you sure?”
The question was rhetorical. He wouldn’t have brought the information to her unless it had been validated. She sifted through the papers, anyway. Names, socials, copies of death certificates. The victims were from all over the state.
“So this sicko targets obituaries?” It was brilliant, really. Stealing from an estate when everything was in confusion and the heirs wouldn’t know what to miss—at least at first.
“It’s the conclusion I’m drawing.”
