The Swap

by Nancy Boyarsky

  A realization clicked into place. “You know, something still bothers me about the day I arrived, when you turned up at the house,” she said. “You must have known the Lowrys’ disappearance left us in a potentially dangerous situation. Why didn’t you warn us?”

  “At that point, there was no reason to think you were in danger,” he said. “We weren’t expecting Lowry to bolt, and we were unaware he’d bilked Hayes out of a large sum of money. Looking back, we now know he’d been planning this for some time. Arranging the home exchange so his house would be occupied.”

  “Then, when the car bomb went off,” she said, “I told Keaton that Chazz and Kevin were responsible, but she insisted it was terrorists. I can’t understand why Keaton didn’t tell us what was going on.”

  “Detective Keaton didn’t have the full story,” he said. “We never involve outsiders in an undercover investigation, not even our fellow officers. No one is privy to this information except the investigation team itself. That’s our policy.

  “You have to understand,” he went on. “If we let the whole division in on it, there’s danger of a leak that could risk officers’ lives. Despite what you see on television, we never allow a private citizen to get involved in an undercover investigation — especially a foreign tourist like yourself. It would put you in too much danger.”

  “Too much danger!” she repeated. She was too angry to listen to him anymore. Getting up, she stalked out of the stable and walked a short distance down the hill.

  Reinhardt was right behind her. “We did do our best to protect you,” he said. “But you kept evading us. You’re rather good at that, you know. But I do owe you an apology. We completely underestimated the ability of those men to plan a crime and carry it off.” He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, gently pulling her around to face him. “Nicole, you must believe me when I say I’m truly sorry. We were wrong. We should have warned you, even if it meant jeopardizing the investigation.”

  She looked into his eyes, and her anger evaporated. He was genuinely sorry; she could see that. She also understood the pressure he was under. As a cop, he was obliged to follow the rules, and the operative rule was that he couldn’t tell anyone about his investigation. But he had risked his life to save her from Hayes, and look how she was treating him. My God —what a wreck she was.

  As they made their way back into the stable, she said, “I’m sorry I blew up like that. After all you’ve done.” She held up the flask, which was still in her hand, and offered it to him. “Here,” she said, “You must be cold, too.”

  He waved it away. “Sorry. I’m on duty.”

  “But you said Hayes’ yacht might not arrive for hours.”

  “Ah, but there’s our unexplained discovery in the boathouse.” Then, after a moment’s thought, he added, “Besides, here I am on a moonlit loch with a beautiful woman. If I don’t keep my wits about me, there’s no telling what might happen.”

  Smiling to herself, Nicole resumed her seat on the mound of hay and wrapped herself in the blankets. Once she was settled, Reinhardt came over and sat beside her.

  For a moment, the two of them gazed at the shimmering water. Nicole was acutely aware of his thigh touching hers, the fact that their relationship had gone through some kind of subtle change.

  It was Reinhardt who broke the silence. “I imagine you won’t be sorry to see the last of this place,” he said.

  This didn’t seem to require an answer. Nicole, who was feeling calmer, inched herself backwards and leaned against the wall.

  “If things go smoothly,” he went on, “we could have you on a boat heading out of here by daybreak. You’d be in Glasgow before noon.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “What about you? Will you be glad to leave?”

  She felt him turn and look at her. “It’s always good to finish an assignment,” he said.

  “Do you have someone waiting at home?” she asked.

  “I’m divorced,” he replied. “Men in my line of work don’t make very good husbands, I’m afraid. The hours are bad, and you can never predict what time you’ll be home. There are missed dinners, birthdays, anniversaries. Everything we do is teamwork, and your assignments often call you out at the odd hour — the middle of the night, or just as you’re setting off on holiday. The women don’t like it.”

  She turned to look at him. “You haven’t answered my question.”

  He was lying back, propped against his elbows. When he answered, he sounded drowsy. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten what it was.”

  “If there was anyone waiting at home.”

  “Not at the present moment. You are inquisitive, aren’t you?”

  “Born that way, I’m afraid,” she said. “Insatiably curious. Want to know everything about the people I meet. I’m not usually this aggressive, though. It must be the brandy.”

  “Have some more,” he laughed.

  “If you do.”

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “You must be freezing.”

  “It is a bit chilly,” he agreed.

  “Look, why don’t we share the blankets?” Nicole said. “I mean, if we bundle together, we’ll be warmer.” Without waiting for his answer, she unwrapped the blankets from her shoulder and stretched them around him.

  Already she felt warmer, but as she tried to nestle against him, she could feel how tense he was. “Here, relax,” she said, ducking her head under his arm and wrapping it around her shoulder. She pulled the blanket more snugly around them. “There,” she said.

  Reinhardt took a breath, as if he were about to say something, then stopped. After another long pause, he cleared his throat. “I’ll bet you’ll be happy to get back to your husband.”

  “That’s one bet you’d lose,” she said. “I’ve left him.”

  Nicole could sense Reinhardt turning to stare at her, feel his breath on her cheek. Through an act of will, she continued gazing out at the night sky and its rippling reflection. “As soon as I get back to London,” she went on, “I’m going to pack my bags, fly back to L.A., and file for divorce.”

  “I say, I don’t mean to pry, but isn’t this a bit sudden?”

  “Not really.” Nicole was quiet, trying to think of a way to explain. She was still too angry with Brad to discuss their problems calmly, especially with someone she barely knew.

  “The thing is,” she began carefully, “we’ve been growing apart for some time. Brad is the sort of person who compartmentalizes things. He has other areas of interest — perhaps the most important parts of his life — he isn’t willing to share with me. It wasn’t much of a marriage.”

  He took in a breath. “Well, the man’s a fool.”

  “It’s all right. Really! I’m fine with it.” And as she said this, she realized it was true. She picked up the flask, uncapped it, and took another sip. This time, when she handed it to Reinhardt, he took a substantial gulp.

  Emboldened, she reached out and touched his cheek. With that touch, he turned to look at her, and it was as if a door had opened; a decision had been made.

  “I wish you didn’t have to leave,” she said.

  Without answering, Reinhardt leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. His touch was so gentle it almost wasn’t a kiss. Then he pulled her against him and kissed her again, much more earnestly. Just as she moved her hands to the back of his neck and let herself melt against him, he drew back.

  “I can’t do this,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair. “I’m on duty.”

  Reinhardt released her and pulled away to sit beside her, both of them looking out at the loch. Nicole inched close enough to rest her head against his shoulder. He put his arm around her.

  She was sure she hadn’t dozed, but when she opened her eyes, she was lying on the straw, and the blankets were tucked around her. She breathed his name.

  “I’m over here,” he said.

  When she sat up, she could see Reinhardt standing just outside the doorway. He came over and crouched down bes
ide her. “The ship has entered the loch,” he said. “I have to go.”

  Then she heard it, too. It was more a vibration than a sound, like a fly buzzing in the distance.

  “I need to give you a few things,” he said. “There isn’t much time.”

  When Nicole saw the gun, she said, “Take that with you. I have no idea how to use a gun.”

  “Don’t worry. I have my own,” he said. Despite her protest, he quickly explained how to release the safety catch and aim the weapon. “I’m also leaving a flare gun, so you can signal if you get into trouble. I don’t expect you’ll need it. But you never know.”

  Reinhardt handed her the key to the boat. “This will start the boat’s engine,” he said. “It has an ignition switch, much like a car. To steer, you move the rubber-coated handle on the motor to the right or left. The boat responds to a light touch, so it’s only necessary to move the handle a few degrees to turn the bow. In a pinch, I think you could manage. Remember—the plan is for you to wait here until I come back. Promise me you won’t leave.”

  “What if they set the place on fire?”

  He smiled. “I’ll count on you to use your own good sense.” The final item out of his backpack was a large Cadbury bar. “In case you get hungry,” he said as he handed it to her. “You take care of yourself.

  “The whole thing will be boringly routine. I promise,” he added. “You’re not to worry.” Reinhardt bent down to get his backpack and slip it on. He kissed Nicole quickly on the top of her head and then disappeared through the shrubbery alongside the stable.

  Twenty-Nine

  After Reinhardt was gone, Nicole settled down on the pile of hay, not knowing quite what to do with herself. She felt weary and, at the same time, too restless and prickly to sit still. Sleep was out of the question. Her hands and feet were like ice, and the blankets were little use against the cold. She thought of the brandy but lacked the energy to get up and see if there was any left.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Reinhardt, the long hours ahead, and all the dangers they posed for him. Other thoughts raced through her mind. What if he were killed before she had a chance to know him? And even if the raid went according to plan? Then what? They didn’t even live in the same country. The whole thing was impossible.

  She got up and went to the doorway. Everything was still, as if the whole island were waiting, holding its breath.

  Despite her promise, she couldn’t possibly wait up here, cut off from any news of the raid. She had to find out what was going on. And, really, what difference did it make where she spent the next few hours, as long as she kept out of the way?

  Nicole picked up one of the blankets and struggled to tear it in half. It was surprisingly sturdy, and she had to use her teeth to make the first rip. In one triangular half, she rolled up the things Reinhardt had left for her: the key to the motorboat, the flashlight, the candy bar, the other blanket, and the remaining piece of the torn one. As she tied the bundle into a makeshift knapsack, she eyed the two items remaining on the floor. The gun appeared small and deadly in contrast to the bulkier shape of the flare gun next to it. On an impulse, she selected the flare gun and tucked it into the top of her knapsack.

  She headed downhill along the same route Reinhardt had taken. It was a relief to be going somewhere, to have a sense of purpose. Once she made her way through the first stand of trees, the pier came into view, and she stopped to stare.

  A large white yacht was docked there, and several men had begun unloading it. The craft was about eighty to ninety feet in length and appeared to be built for both power and speed. Its hull, dotted with portholes, was broad and deep enough to hold a sizable cargo. Yet the ship, with its flying banners and fringed awnings, looked more like a rich man’s toy than a working transport for smuggling narcotics. That was probably why Hayes had chosen it.

  Nicole edged farther downhill to a point about a hundred feet above the access road that ran along the shore. This, she decided, was as close as she dared. She headed for a large fir tree with branches that came within a few feet of the ground. Crawling under them, she settled herself on a nest of pine needles. Then she placed her knapsack against the trunk of the tree and rested her back against it.

  Through the lower branches, she had a good view of the house and pier, as well as the road connecting them. Six men were using dollies to haul heavy-looking wooden crates from the hold of the yacht, down the pier, and into the back of a truck. Two other vehicles were parked behind it, almost identical to the first; they were all unmarked and of the same indeterminate make. In the still night air, she caught the sound, if not the sense, of occasional snatches of conversation.

  Despite the residual tumult of her stomach, she found the scene reassuring. The men were immersed in their work, and their concentration suggested they suspected nothing of the raid. As for Reinhardt and the others, they must be safely holed up somewhere, waiting for the cutter. Maybe the whole thing really would go according to plan, just as Reinhardt had said.

  Her thoughts shifted to the time spent together, the feelings he’d awakened in her. She knew almost nothing about him in particular, nor about policemen in general, at least on a personal level. She’d always wondered what inspired people to go into law enforcement, half suspecting it was a symptom of an authoritarian personality, the need to order others around and hold power over them. Yet she saw no sign of this in Reinhardt. Whatever had taken him into police work, he seemed to genuinely care about people.

  With the same clarity, she also saw that any relationship they might have would be doomed. There were too many obstacles, not the least of which was geography. If that could be overcome, there were the demands and dangers of his work. Even now, when she thought about the raid and the risks he faced, she felt almost sick with worry.

  Yet there was no denying the chemistry between them. How often did that come along? Maybe they could work something out. Even a long distance romance or an occasional holiday together would be better than nothing. But there was the question of whether this possibility would occur to him or if his interest would last beyond the scope of this assignment, when he was no longer responsible for her.

  At that moment, Nicole caught movement against the hull of the yacht. A spider-like figure in black was silently leaving the ship, using a rope to climb down from the deck. Meanwhile, the men continued working, apparently oblivious to the activity behind them. She held her breath as the man dropped to the pier and disappeared, still unnoticed, into the shadows.

  It occurred to her that this stranger might be with the police. Was the raid underway? Had they decided to go ahead without waiting for the cutter?

  For a minute, perhaps two, nothing happened. The men continued carrying the crates into the vans. Then a man hurried off the ship and shouted an order she couldn’t quite make out. The men loading the trucks immediately stopped what they were doing. Two of them began running toward the house, while the others scrambled onto the yacht, leaving the pier deserted. The lights on the ship went out; a moment later, the pier went dark.

  Nicole got up, felt around for her things, and scrambled out from under the branches. Her instinct told her to run for the stable, where she’d be safe, but she paused for a last look. The white yacht was standing at the dock, silent and seemingly deserted. The three trucks remained parked nearby with rear doors open, the wooden crates stacked on the ground.

  Someone must have tipped off Hayes’ men. She thought of the stranger she’d seen climbing off the yacht. But if he’d come to warn them, why would he sneak away?

  She was starting up the hill when she heard the hum of a motor and turned to see a white van speeding toward her on the road from the house. She recognized it as the same vehicle she’d seen parked near the house earlier.

  As the car swung along a curve in the road, she was caught in the glare of headlights. She stood frozen, half blinded by the beams, until they released her. Seconds later, as the vehicle screeched to a stop, she turned and
started running up the slope.

  Behind her, a car door opened, and she heard someone scrambling after her. She tried to move faster, but the hillside was steep, and she felt herself losing ground. Abandoning the climb, she headed across the face of the hill toward the boathouse. As soon as she reached the shrubs surrounding it, she pushed her way into the foliage and lay flat, holding her breath. Seconds later, her pursuer came crashing through the bushes and began to circle her. It wasn’t until she heard it panting that she realized it was a dog, an enormous one. Whoever was after her had sent the animal to track her down.

  In slow, careful movements, Nicole got to her feet, loosened the knot on her knapsack, and pulled out the chocolate bar. By now the dog had taken a position nearby and was growling, poised to jump. She recognized it as one of the huge, shaggy hounds she’d seen in Hayes’ library. She snapped the bar in half and held out a piece. The growling stopped. She threw the candy as hard as she could, but the dog leapt up and caught it midair. After devouring it, wrapper and all, he moved closer, staring at her with a rapt attention that was almost as menacing as his growl. She broke the remains of the candy bar into two pieces and raised her arm to throw one, concentrating on the need to hurl it farther.

  At that moment, someone grabbed her from behind. “Look what we ‘ave ‘ere,” he said. From the rank breath and fractured diction, she knew immediately who it was. He was pulling her against his huge stomach, tightening his arm around her neck when the dog jumped up and braced its enormous paws against her. The thrust knocked both her and Chazz off balance. All three of them tumbled to the ground.

  The dog grabbed the remaining chocolate and darted away, crunching it in his teeth. Nicole scrambled to her feet. Before Chazz could grab her again, she reached into her knapsack, still dangling from her arm, and pulled out the flare gun. She swung the weapon at him, striking him squarely across the nose. He screamed in pain and stumbled backward a few steps. She stumbled with him, trying to get away, but he had a firm hold on her shirt. She hit him again. He let out another howl but didn’t let go.