“I don’t see how, Chuck. Look, Helene and Fritz Brighton are two of the best agents ever to come out of Langley. They were so natural, it was almost sinful. We didn’t even have to build them a cover. It was so damn perfect, it was scary, and it worked all these years. Then one drunk teenager comes along, and bam, it’s all shot to hell. No one, and I stress no one, could have seen that coming.”
“Not to mention the daughter,” Carpenter said morosely. “They want out. They said they were breached. We were not able to convince them that the deaths were accidental. They won’t buy it. They are 100 percent convinced their cover is blown. They don’t feel safe anymore, and they want to see their daughter. They know too much. The two of them are safe, aren’t they, Julian?”
“Of course they’re safe. As long as they don’t do anything stupid. If you’re looking for a guarantee that they won’t do something stupid, I can’t give it to you.”
“What? Suddenly they want to be parents again? Twenty-two years after they walk away from their daughter, they’re suddenly feeling parental love? I think it’s more likely they’re scared. And all of a sudden, with the death of the substitute parents, they’re looking at their own mortality,” Carpenter said, an ominous ring in his voice. “Did you . . .”
“Of course I did. I have two teams guarding them twenty-four/seven. They aren’t going anywhere, no matter how much noise they make. Worst-case scenario, we move them again,” Metcalf said as he rubbed at the stubble on his chin. It itched like hell.
“They’re beyond clever. They’ll figure something out if they want out bad enough. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to arrange a meeting between the daughter and her parents.”
“All calls on their sat phones are monitored, as well as the Internet. I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Chuck, but I won’t discount it, either. I’m going to try to make it home to get cleaned up, and if the shuttles are leaving D.C., I’ll make my way to New Jersey and have a heart-to-heart with Ms. Lucy Brighton, CEO and general pain in the ass. Unless you want to play it differently.”
Clarence Carpenter shook his head. “Keep me in the loop.”
Chapter Twenty
Julian Metcalf barely resembled his usual dapper self as he paced his spacious house in Georgetown. Oh, he was freshly showered, shaved, and coiffed, but instead of his designer duds, he was wearing fleece sweats and stout snow boots. The only concession to the designer wear he was known for would be the top-of-the-line ski jacket he’d don when his driver arrived to take him to the airport.
Frustrated with the commercial airline ticketing, he’d commandeered an agency jet, which would take him all the way to Freehold. No sense paying for the fuel for his own Gulf-stream when this was agency business. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember where it planned to set down and how he was to get out to Lucy Brighton’s new farmhouse. He took a second to wonder if he was losing it.
No, I am not losing it. What I am is goddamn cranky at the way things are playing out. He needed to put a lid on things, and he needed to do it quickly.
Metcalf looked down at the cell in his hand to see a text that said his driver was three minutes away. Just time enough to put on the designer jacket, secure his three cell phones in his zip pockets, and make his way down the icy front steps of his Georgetown home. He thought about Agents Blevins and Davis then. He’d learned a whole new language when the agents tore into him by saying they were less than a hundred feet from the farmhouse when they were ordered to halt the operation. He winced when he thought about the early morning call he’d gotten saying Davis was in the hospital with frostbite. What was it Blevins had blustered? Oh, yeah. “Just give me the name of the asshole who ordered this caper so I can rip him a new one.” Metcalf had surprised himself when he manned up and admitted he was the asshole. That hadn’t stopped Blevins, though. His rant went on for another five minutes before he hung up.
Metcalf let his mind wander to the last phone call he’d gotten from Helene Brighton. She’d been crying and whining about how he could have allowed this to happen and demanding to know what he was going to do about it. He had set her straight and had asked to speak to Fritz. The same Fritz Brighton he hated with a passion. Superior agent or not, he still hated him. Almost as much as he hated Helene Brighton, Fritz’s bitch of a wife. How, he had always wondered, could the two of them be such outstanding agents, such qualified doctors, yet be such ugly people on the inside? Forget parenthood.
Never having been married, never having had children, he didn’t understand how the two of them could have created a child like Lucy Brighton. From everything he’d heard, from all the reports he’d seen over the years, from his own personal hands-on contact, which he’d filtered through to her parents, Lucy Brighton was top-notch, a first-rate human being, as well as a highly talented artist and businesswoman. And now she was in a heap of trouble and demanding answers. Answers she had every right to.
Metcalf thought about the dossier he had on Lucy Brighton, which he’d skimmed with his early morning coffee. There wasn’t one negative thing in the report. She was a stand-up person, with a flawless moral compass. She’d single-handedly built a company she could be proud of. She was kind, loyal to friends, generous, and hardworking. Who could fault someone like that? Yes, she deserved the truth. He had to wonder how she would handle it, though.
A black car covered in snow slid to the curb. Metcalf waved to the driver to let him know not to get out. He opened the door and slid in, grateful for the warmth. Their destination? Andrews Air Force Base, where his plane waited.
The breakfast that Angie was supposed to make never materialized, with Luke and Lucy both saying they weren’t hungry. Lunch or brunch would be good later. They were all too tense as they waited for what was to come.
“I don’t get it. Whoever it was out there in the snow last night with that LED flashlight was within a hundred feet of us. And then they turned tail and went back the way they came. That has to mean something,” Luke said, his arms flapping in his own breeze.
“Maybe whoever it was, was staking us out. For all we know, they could be hiding out there somewhere,” Angie said.
“Then they’re dead, frozen to whatever tree they were hiding behind. It’s thirty degrees out there, and if you look out the front window, the tracks they made have been filled in. Gerrison’s phone call pretty much confirmed to me that whoever it was got called off. Now this new person is coming to visit,” Luke said.
“What’s that noise?” Lucy asked, running to the front window. “Oh, look. It’s a snowplow. Wonder how that happened. Oh, I bet the Realtor called someone to plow the road. It is a mile and a half long. Luke, will you check it out?”
Luke already had his jacket on and was opening the door when the driver of the snowplow waved to him. Lucy heard him bellow, “Jackson Realty sent me. You’re clear all the way to the highway. The snow is tapering off. I’ll be back around three to give it another shot.”
“Thanks,” Luke bellowed in return. “How are the main roads?”
“Pretty clear, sanded and salted. If you go out, be careful.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
Back in the house, Luke shrugged out of his jacket. “At least we aren’t stranded.”
“You mean in case we have to make a quick getaway?” Angie asked in a jittery voice.
“Yeah, something like that,” Luke mumbled. “It’s really cold out there. I think I’ll build up the fire. We can have lunch in front of the fire when you two are ready.”
When Luke was out of the room and out of earshot, Lucy looked over at Angie. “I think he’s worried. I don’t think he’s a worrier by nature, and that bothers me.”
Angie nodded as she opened the refrigerator. “Are you worried, Lucy?”
“No. I’m scared. There’s a difference. What about you?”
“I’m with you. The bright spot, if you can consider it a bright spot, is that we weren’t hauled away last night by those two agents. I think it was becaus
e we said we sent out letters to lawyers and threatened to go to the media. And I suppose it doesn’t hurt that it would be pretty difficult to make the CEO of IBL just disappear. Given how many people know something about what is going down, I doubt that even the FBI could handle the hullabaloo when the shit hit the fan. What’s going on now is probably what those people call damage control.”
“I think you’re right, Angie. We need to get back on track here. Did you happen to see where we put that box with the Dizzie duck prototype?”
“I carried it in. I remember that. I think it’s on top of the dryer in the laundry room. Why?”
“I’m trying to shift my thought processes into work mode so I don’t go off the deep end where all this other stuff is concerned. And I like to think about things before I commit them to paper. I need to figure out how Dizzie will interact with Izzy, Bizzy, and Lizzy. You know, what a duck is capable of that will come across as believable. We have three boys, Izzy, Bizzy, and Lizzy, and since Dizzie is a girl duck and Lizzy is a boy parrot, that’s going to take some ingenuity on my part, doncha think?”
“Here you go,” Angie said, handing the FedEx box to Lucy, who pulled the packing strip and withdrew a bubble-wrapped stuffed duck.
Lucy took one look at the duck and burst out laughing. “Oh, this is so perfect, I can’t tell you. She captured Dizzie to a T.”
Angie smiled at the white duck with a crooked beak. “Why does she have a green and red feather on her wings? By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Isn’t Lizzy a girl’s name?”
“It is if you spell it Lizzie, but I spell it Lizzy, so that makes it a boy. I wonder why no one ever asked me that before. Anyway, Dizzie got in a fight with another duck, and Izzy, Bizzy, and Lizzy saved her. She was wounded, and Lizzy gave her two of his feathers. Ducks are monogamous. Did you know that? They have only one mate for their entire life. Up till now, Dizzie has not had a partner. I’m thinking Lizzy wants to apply for the position, not understanding he’s a parrot and Dizzie is a duck. He thinks that because he gave her two of his feathers, she now belongs to him.”
Angie flopped down on a chair at the kitchen table. She cradled the stuffed duck in her arms. “Lucy, that is so perfect, I don’t have the words to tell you. That is going to take off like a rocket. What is Henry saying?”
“He loves it. Said orders will go through the roof. We are going to go into production January 2nd. Dizzie will be made in the good old US of A, just the way Izzy, Bizzy, and Lizzy are. Just so you know, Angie, come the first of the year, we will be working around the clock until mid-June to get all of this up and running. Are you sure you’re up to it, compadre?”
“Oh, yeah. I can’t wait. My pencil is just itching to get started. This sure beats working for that slave driver at that advertising agency I used to push a pencil for.”
Standing outside the kitchen doorway that led to the family room, Luke unashamedly eavesdropped. Working around the clock till mid-June. Where would that leave him in the scheme of things? He had houses to build, a commitment to buyers who had signed on the dotted line. Lucy had a duck to prepare for market. What was that old saying, something about the best-laid plans of mice and men? In his life, he’d never heard such excitement from anyone as he was hearing from Lucy as she talked about her cartoon characters, who, if he didn’t know better, sounded like her children. And perhaps, in some way, they were the playmates and siblings she had never had. It was her answer to make up for all those lost years. How in the hell could he ever quibble with something like that?
Luke sucked in his breath, knowing that he would have to fold his tent and steal off into the night. He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but even he knew he couldn’t compete with Izzy, Bizzy, Lizzy, and Dizzie. He felt sick to his stomach at the realization. Damn, he’d had such wonderful plans. Truly, truly wonderful plans. That’s what you get for putting the cart before the horse, he chided himself.
“Yoo-hoo, Luke! Where are you? Quick. Come out to the kitchen. I want to introduce you to Dizzie Duck,” Lucy called.
Luke plastered what he hoped was a silly smile on his face and bopped into the kitchen. He hoped he sounded sincere when he agreed with both women that yes, indeed, Dizzie was a charmer. He kept the smile on his face until he thought his face was going to crack wide open.
Lucy appeared oblivious to Luke’s discomfort, but Angie sensed his turmoil and wondered what, if anything, she could do. How much had he heard? Surely, the part about working round the clock till mid-June. Even if she offered to take on the bulk of the heavy lifting so Lucy could spend quality time with Luke, Lucy wouldn’t buy into it. She was hands-on for every phase of her creations. She would just assume Luke would wait in the wings for her. Angie wasn’t so sure about that.
The phone on the counter shrilled to life. The trio looked at one another.
Lucy came out of her duck trance, reached for it, and said, “Hello. . . . Yes, this is Lucy Brighton. . . . Yes, I was told you would be calling me. As a matter of fact, I am at home because of the weather. Yes, I can see you at three o’clock.”
Lucy broke the connection and dusted her hands dramatically. “Mr. Julian Metcalf will be favoring us with his company at three o’clock, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Is he coming alone?” Luke asked, just to have something to say. His brain was still swirling around Lucy’s working round the clock till mid-June. He looked over at Angie and hated what he was seeing in her eyes.
“He didn’t say,” Lucy said, stroking the duck’s feathers, which felt like silk.
Angie bolted up from the table. “Why don’t you two adjourn to the family room and take Dizzie with you, while I make us some lunch? How does soup and sandwiches sound? Or maybe I could whip up some baked Alaska and that dark brown stuff on a shingle?” Angie said, knowing full well neither Luke nor Lucy was paying attention to a word she said.
“Fine,” Lucy said, sensing something going on that she didn’t understand.
Luke muttered something about toasting something or other as he followed Lucy out of the kitchen.
Angie sat down at the table and poured herself a cup of coffee. She needed to think. Just when things were looking up for her friend in the romance department, she was going to shoot herself in the foot. The words “You never appreciate what you have until you lose it” rang in her ears. How could she convince Lucy that love should come first? How? Maybe she just needed to mind her own business and stay out of Lucy’s personal life.
Angie sat at the table for a long time. Her coffee turned cold. She drummed her fingers on the tabletop, her eyes on the glass window in the back door and on the snow, which appeared to be tapering off. Off and on she thought about her promise to make lunch. How long could it take to slap some ham and mustard on two slices of bread and heat up some canned soup? Ten minutes? She wished she knew what was going on in the family room. If she was nosy and sneaky, she could stoop low enough to go to the door and listen.
She nixed that idea almost immediately. She went back to trying to figure out a way to have a dialogue with Lucy that wouldn’t seem like she was interfering in something that was none of her business.
Even if she had stooped low enough to eavesdrop, Angie wouldn’t have been able to hear what was going on, because Lucy and Luke were across the room, sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace.
“So . . . ,” Luke said.
Lucy smiled. “So . . . what?”
“Listen, Lucy, I’m not the kind of guy who suffers in silence, and I am suffering here. I’m not going to pretend I didn’t hear what you and Angie were saying in the kitchen when you opened the box with the duck in it. I had myself convinced you and I . . . What I mean is, I hoped that you and I had something going on here. Speaking for myself, I want you to know I’m falling in love with you. I thought . . . hoped . . . you were feeling the same way, and then, oops, suddenly I’m competing with a stuffed duck named Dizzie, who has a red and a green feather. I don’t know how to comp
ete against a duck. Are you going to help me out here before I say something really, really stupid?”
“What are you trying to say here, Luke? Whatever it is, I’m not getting it.”
Luke continued to flap his arms, his eyes wild. “I heard what you said to Angie about working round the clock till mid-June. Working round the clock doesn’t leave any room for a . . . social life or me. You live here. I live in Florida. There, I said it!”
Lucy leaned forward. “Luke, welcome to the high-tech world. There are telephones, e-mails, Skype, and there are airlines that fly between here and Florida. Not to mention long weekends and holidays. Why do you think I hired Angie? Even I knew I was burning the candle at both ends. Back when Dizzie was just a crazy thought, I had plans to make Angie a big part of IBL. I knew then I had to have a life outside of the company and its cartoon characters. By June the new series will be launched, and IBL can hire people to help us out with the details. But first, we have to get it off the ground. Can’t you cut me some slack here?”
“So what you’re saying is you want us to be . . . together, and we’ll both have to work at making it happen. It is happening. Every time I think about leaving here and going back home, it makes me nuts. I want to be with you.”
“That is sooo sweet, Luke. I want the same thing, and we’ll get it. You need to believe that. You have houses to build and houses to finish. We both have commitments. We can’t start a life reneging on those commitments. And we need to save our money to put our kids through college. Do you have any idea how much college costs these days? If the last couple of years have taught me anything, it’s that I cannot rely on the stock value of my interest in IBL, which is very substantial even with this recession, to let me coast through life.”
Whoa. There was that word sweet again. This lady was so far ahead of him, he was dizzy trying to keep up. Luke cleared his throat. “Kids means marriage.”
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