Brody sat on the edge of a chair that was covered in cat hair. Greg had already explained that the cat didn’t like strangers and was in hiding. It was his niece’s cat, but she was in college and couldn’t have him in her dorm room. Therefore, her parents—Greg’s brother and sister-in-law—were minding the cat. They owned the small apartment where Greg was staying during his recovery and marital troubles. He’d agreed to look after the cat while he was there. Not necessarily to clean up after him.
On the job, there was no one more thorough, more exacting, more disciplined than Diplomatic Security Service agent Gregory Rawlings.
Brody eyed his friend and colleague. “You happy, Greg?”
“Not wired that way. How was Florida? Your folks doing okay?”
“They’re fine. Florida was warm and sunny.”
“I like warm and sunny. So tell me why I married a woman from Minnesota, who thinks seventy-eight degrees is hot. Your old man has the life, doesn’t he? Fishing guide in the Keys. I could do that if I don’t go back on the job. Think he could use a partner?”
“He could use one, but that doesn’t mean he wants one.”
Greg sat up straight. “Independent cuss like you, Brody?”
“My father and I do have some things in common. I found him working on his boat. The damn thing looks like it’ll sink. He said it’s seaworthy.”
“Any boat can sink,” Greg said. “Look at the Titanic.”
Brody got to his feet. “You’re in therapy for your moods, aren’t you, Greg?”
His friend grinned. “My moods are great. How are yours? What about your mother? Isn’t she working as a fairy or something at Disney?”
“She’s a hostess at a restaurant at Disney World. She doesn’t wear a costume. She’s doing well. Thanks for asking.”
“Are your folks proud of you, or do they wish you were in Florida, too?”
“I’m not in this job to make my parents proud.”
“But they are proud?”
“My father said he’s proud. My mother asked me if I had a woman in my life.”
“You tell her about your hometown girl?”
“I did not,” Brody said, keeping his tone even.
Greg tossed the television remote onto a coffee table with two empty beer bottles and one empty pizza box. Brody had been relieved there weren’t more bottles and boxes.
His friend looked past him, his eyes glazed over. “The woman in my life is in Minnesota. She’s not coming back, Brody. I want her to be happy, and she can’t be happy with me. I figured that out before she did.”
“You made it a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“We tried couples’ therapy on my last home leave, did I tell you? My idea, even. I still can’t believe it. It was before I got shot, obviously. After that— I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. I don’t give up easily, but Laura and I grew too far apart. She’s not the same woman I married. I’m not the same man. That would be okay if we’d changed together, but we didn’t.” He waved a hand. “Whatever.”
“I’m sorry, Greg.”
“About what? I’m good. She’s good. Kids are good. We’ll adjust. People get divorced all the time. Time to move on.” He cleared his throat and jumped to his feet, agile for a man his size and despite a near-fatal bullet wound. “That was the cat hair in my throat. I’m not emotional.”
“You do need to vacuum this place.”
He pointed to the kitchen. “Vacuum’s in the utility closet if you feel the urge.”
Brody collected the empty beer bottles and pizza box and brought them to the kitchen. He got a pitcher of tea out of the refrigerator, filled two glasses with ice, added the tea and brought the glasses into the living room.
He handed one to Greg. “Vic Scarlatti is in New York,” Greg said.
Brody nodded. “I heard.”
“Your mother ever have a fling with him?”
“Never. I didn’t ask. She volunteered the information. She said he’s not her type despite his fluency in French. I didn’t try to follow her logic. She hasn’t been back to Knights Bridge since my high school graduation.”
“Why would she go back? Especially in winter. Did you tell her you went back?”
“I told her I was checking on the land, figuring out whether now was the time to sell it. She knows there’s more to it.”
“Mothers. They just want to know we’re happy. Also that we’re not in jail. Also that we’re not bleeding on a dirty floor in some nasty, dangerous place where we’ll die like a rat and they’ll never see us again.” Greg sat back down with his tea. “But that could just be my mother.”
Brody felt himself start to relax. “I’ve met your mother, Greg. She’s like you. She doesn’t have the worry gene.”
“She’s moving into this place next month. She sold her house. She told me if she finds one cat hair, she’s sending it to me. She doesn’t care where I am.” He grinned. “She wants to paint the walls apple-blossom pink. She likes to pretend she’s a sweet old lady.”
“She is a sweet old lady in her own way.”
“She says I need more balance in my life.”
“Funny,” Brody said, “my mother said the same thing.”
“They never give up. There’s no such thing as balance with our approach to our work and the tough assignments we take on. It’s not the job, Brody. It’s us.”
“You’re going back in,” Brody said, not surprised.
“Yep.” Greg put his feet up on the coffee table. There was no hint of self-pity or pain—physical or emotional—in the teal-blue eyes that settled on Brody. “And my intel says you’re getting promoted, Agent Hancock. They want you in London.”
Brody said nothing. He didn’t doubt Greg’s intel. After seventeen years in the Foreign Service, Greg Rawlings had sources everywhere and legions of people who trusted him, for good reason.
“You can have a family in London,” Greg added, his gaze still on Brody.
“I can have a cat, too, but I don’t have one, any more than I have a family.”
“What about the hometown girl? Wouldn’t she be interested in London? Scones, palaces, gardens, Harrod’s.”
Brody pictured Heather in Vic’s cellar, her blue eyes shining as he’d held her. He felt his throat tighten with a mix of emotions that had become familiar over the past week in Florida but that he was no closer to untangling. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Just let them sort themselves out on their own and go away.
“We’ve got some mop-up work to do first,” Greg said, voice matter-of-fact.
Brody pulled himself out of his thoughts. “When?”
“No start date yet but soon. Saddle up, my friend.”
“In the meantime, do you know where Adrienne Portale is?”
Greg’s face split into a wide grin. “Of course.”
* * *
When Brody left the soon-to-be apple-blossom-pink Mrs. Rawlings’s apartment, Greg had out the mop, broom and vacuum. Add a bucket of hot water and a sponge, and Brody figured there was hope. Half of what his friend had been coping with in recent months was the death of his marriage and the realization that he had to learn to be a different kind of father to his teenage son and daughter. He could no longer pretend he was the devoted husband and father who was always there for his wife and kids, even when he was thousands of miles away and out of touch for weeks at a time. That had been part of the problem. The pretending. The insisting he was always there when he wasn’t. The facts were otherwise, but he’d refused to believe them because they challenged his view of himself. Meanwhile, his wife and kids had been living with the reality, drifting away from him and his illusions.
Or so Greg had explained when he and Brody split a beer before Brody left.
Brody hadn’t followed all of Greg’s logic b
ut, as he drove into Manhattan, he was confident his friend had turned the corner and was fine. Brody didn’t know anyone more resilient than Greg Rawlings, but a bullet wound and a divorce were a lot to handle at one time.
He parked half a block down the street from Thad Bowman’s Upper West Side wine shop. He and Greg had decided he should start there. Adrienne was staying with a mutual friend a few blocks away. Odds were she was making a stab at getting back together with her ex-boyfriend.
In a few minutes, she emerged from the shop, a red wool hat pulled over her dark hair and her black coat buttoned against the damp, gray afternoon. She stopped short when she saw Brody. “What are you doing here?”
“Checking to see if you’re all right. As a friend. No one sent me.”
“Vic or the DSS, you mean.” She glanced back at the wine shop then shifted back to Brody. “It was a mistake to try, but I had to know.”
“You wanted to be sure you two didn’t break up because of your turmoil over your background.”
“I was obsessed with finding out if Vic was my biological father.” She bit her lower lip, pausing before she continued. “I’m not proud of everything I did, but I never meant to hurt anyone. I guess I felt I was the one who’d been hurt. Lied to, denied the truth. But my mother was in town and we talked and...” Adrienne crossed her arms on her chest, as if she needed to hug herself. “I have a better understanding of why she made the choices she did.”
“What are you going to do now?” Brody asked her.
“Wallow or deal with things, I guess. I miss Rohan and Echo Lake. And I miss Vic. I can’t explain. I didn’t think it would be this bad. I don’t know what to do.” She smiled. “Wallow awhile longer, I guess.”
“You’ll figure it out.” Brody nodded to the wine shop. “This guy Thad—you can do better.”
Some of the tightness seemed to go out of her, and finally she laughed. “I appreciate that, Agent Hancock. Thank you.”
“Vic decided to go ahead with renovations.”
“Do you think if I told him I want to be part of his life, he would listen?”
“Vic’s got his faults, but he always listens.”
Adrienne tilted her head back, studying him a moment. “You feel you owe Vic, don’t you? That’s what this visit is about, isn’t it?”
“Nah. I’m just hoping you’ll finish stocking his wine cellar.”
“Are you ever serious?”
He winked. “I’m always serious.”
He left her and drove down to Vic’s street in the low fifties between First and Second Avenue. Brody didn’t love driving in New York, but it didn’t intimidate him. He found a parking space, checked with the doorman and took the elevator up to Vic’s fourth-floor apartment.
Vic had set a battered suitcase by the front door. “I’m leaving for Knights Bridge in the morning. Elly O’Dunn says Rohan misses me. He misses Adrienne, too, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“You should invite Adrienne to dinner tonight, before you leave.”
“Should is a bad word, Brody. You shouldn’t use it.” Vic grinned, but the strain was evident in his face. His grin evaporated. He glanced around the small apartment. “I should give up this place. It’s served its purpose in my life.”
“You’ll be happy in Knights Bridge?”
“Happier than I would be anywhere else.” He clapped a hand on Brody’s shoulder. “Come. I have no alcohol in here, but I have a bottle of San Pellegrino and a lime. Let’s have a drink together. You can tell me about your promotion.”
“You’ve been talking to Greg,” Brody said.
“He called a little while ago. He knew you’d be stopping by. He wanted me to tell you that his place is now spotless. I assume you know what that means?”
“It means the Greg we know is back.”
“That’s a good thing, I suppose. Let’s talk, Brody. I’m sick of figuring out bathroom fittings and discussing puppy poop.”
“Poop, Vic?”
“You expected more colorful language?” He grinned again, clearly more himself as he led Brody back to the kitchen. “I’m ever the diplomat.”
* * *
It was after dark when Brody arrived back in Knights Bridge. He slowed as he passed the town common on Main Street. The skating rink was lit up, and he saw Heather with her two nephews, all three laughing as they skated in crazy zigzags, arm in arm. The only Sloan brother he noticed was Eric, not in skates as he stood by the bench. He looked right at Brody and shook his head, as if he’d known Brody would be back sooner or later. Brody waved at the Knights Bridge police officer and continued on his way.
He didn’t go into Vic’s house. He went straight down to the guesthouse. His blanket, sheets and pillow were still stacked up on one end of the sectional, his old Risk game still on the coffee table.
He stood at the windows. The snow on Echo Lake gleamed in the light of the full moon. A stiff wind blew through the trees, creating shifting shadows on the lake.
Plans for the mop-up operation were moving fast.
He didn’t have much time.
He went outside and got back in his car.
Seventeen
Heather was surprised when Eric walked with her from the skating rink back to Thistle Lane. He hadn’t skated, of course, but she’d stayed out on the ice for over an hour, burning off energy after work. “I hear it’s full speed ahead on the Scarlatti renovations,” he said as they made the turn at the library, lit up for an evening program.
She nodded. “We’re in good shape, although I had one of those days of one problem after another. The usual annoyances.”
“Surprises, delays and Adam the perfectionist?”
“I tell myself that we want a stonemason who is a perfectionist.”
“I guess so,” Eric said with a grin. “Vic’s still out of town?”
“Mmm. He’s at his apartment in New York. He’s still deciding where he wants to stay when we start tearing apart the house. It doesn’t matter to me since he’s available by email, text and phone.”
“What about Adrienne Portale?”
“I haven’t heard from Adrienne since she left Knights Bridge.”
Heather hadn’t told anyone, including Eric, that Adrienne was Vic’s daughter. It wasn’t her story to tell.
He slowed as they came to Phoebe’s house. He was in jeans and a leather jacket, not his uniform. “I wish you’d told me Brody was looking into a series of unexplained incidents that had Vic concerned.”
“I didn’t know much until it was over.”
“A man like Vic doesn’t have just the occasional plumber mad at him, Heather.” Eric stopped at the end of the shoveled walk out to the lane. “Neither does Brody.”
“All’s well that ends well, right?”
“This time.”
“Brody’s job is protecting people like Vic. If there’d been any real danger, he’d have—”
“Protected you, too?”
Heather felt her cheeks flame and was glad for the darkness. “Dealt with the situation,” she said. “It’s water over the dam at this point, Eric. Why are you bugging me about it now?”
“I’m not bugging you, Heather. I’m talking to you. Brody’s a good-looking guy with a dangerous job. Some women fall for that type.”
“I imagine they do.”
He didn’t budge. “You know what I’m saying.”
“I do, and you don’t have to worry. Brody’s visiting his parents in Florida.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know. Call him and ask him.” She motioned toward the house. “I succumbed to a Valentine’s Day display at the country store and bought two chocolate hearts. Want one?”
Eric scowled. “No, Heather, I don’t want a chocolat
e heart.”
“They’re fresh. They’re not leftover from last year. It would be a real opportunity for you to save me from myself.”
“I give up,” her eldest brother said. “If anyone can handle a federal agent with time on his hands, it’s you.”
“Are you ever going to tell me about the fight you guys had with Brody?”
“It would serve no purpose.”
“No arrests were made,” she said, trying to prod him into talking.
“Correct.”
“That means there’s no record of the incident I can look up.”
“Right again.”
“Okay. You won’t talk. I’ll tackle Justin next. Then Brandon. Then Adam. Then Christopher. Take you in order.”
“You do that. Meanwhile, enjoy your chocolate hearts.” Eric started down Thistle Lane. “If you need me, little sister, you know where to find me.”
“You know I hate being called little sister,” she yelled back to him.
He didn’t bother turning around. “I know.”
She went inside and helped herself to one of the chocolate hearts while she heated up stew Maggie had dropped off, taking pity on her long day after hearing about Adam’s nitpicking—which he would call his specifications. What was especially annoying was that he was right.
She saw she had an email from Vic. He was alerting her that he would be returning to Knights Bridge tomorrow.
She emailed him back: Excellent. Safe travels!
The past week had been quiet without him and Adrienne at the house. Heather had tried to tell herself that Brody hadn’t been in Knights Bridge long enough for her to miss his presence, but she knew better.
Even Rohan was away, if only down the road at Elly O’Dunn’s house. Heather had stopped to see him several times. Elly had tried to extract information about what was going on up on Echo Lake, but Heather had stuck to describing progress on the renovations.
She ate Maggie’s stew and her second chocolate heart. Despite her sugary indulgence, she felt in control and normal, at least on the surface. As she’d buried herself in work and her routines since Brody, Vic and Adrienne had all left Knights Bridge, she’d noticed a strange emptiness in her that she’d never felt before. As excited as she was about Vic’s renovations, she recognized that a part of her had been going through the motions this past week.
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