Catherine Coulter - FBI 4 The Edge

by Неизвестный

"My angel," I said, grabbing her up in my arms, and swinging her around. "I hadn't expected you this soon. What did you do, immediately hop a plane?"

  She kissed my ear. "Yes, we took the red-eye." Then she said over my shoulder, "Hello, who are you?"

  I let Sherlock slowly back down on her feet. We turned together to see Laura, in her sweats, her hair tangled around her flushed face, Grubster curling around her bare feet.

  "So soon, Mac?"

  "This is Sherlock, Laura. I got her through her final physical exam at the Academy. She would have failed miserably if I hadn't been there."

  "Ha. He was noted for his magnificent brawn, but I had the brain power." Sherlock and Laura shook hands, Sherlock eyeing Laura like you'd expect a mother to do.

  "Where's Savich?" I asked, giving Sherlock a final hug. "You did let him come with you, didn't you, Sherlock? I mean rather than leaving him home to take care of Scan? He's come in handy before, hasn't he?"

  She laughed and poked me. "That man is a dream and don't you ever doubt it. We took Scan over to his grandmother, Savich's mom, who couldn't wait for us to leave so she could spoil him rotten.

  "Hey, it's after eight o'clock in the morning, Mac. Dil-lon is walking the cliffs, checking for any recent signs of people close to the cottage. He wanted me to wait, to give you more sleeping time, but hey, I couldn't. I was worried about you. You're okay, Mac, really? And you too, Laura?"

  I was wondering if Savich knew werewolf tracks when he saw them. "No one came back last night. Maybe the bears are hibernating."

  "Both Dillon and I are good at finding bears. We're all together now, Mac, not just you two alone anymore." Sherlock began to examine me, not saying another word, just lightly touching my arms, my face. She pulled up my sweatshirt and began looking me over. "Your ribs okay now?" I felt her fingertips lightly brushing over my still-bruised middle.

  "Yeah, I still get tired quicker than I used to, but it's better every day. Hey, Sherlock, don't pull down my pants."

  "Oh, all right." She straightened again, then gave me several long looks. "How do you guys feel now after all that phenobarbital?"

  Laura said, "I'm still just a bit on the groggy side, but it's nearly gone."

  "Since I'm a manly man, I had almost no aftereffects."

  I got a punch in the arm.

  "I'm off to make some coffee," Laura said. "Everyone want some?"

  I heard her moving around in the small kitchen that was separated from the living/dining room by a bar with three stools bellied up to it.

  "Squawk."

  "That's Nolan, and his first word of the new day." Laura had pulled off his cage cover.

  Laura called out, "You can open his cage if you want to. All the windows are closed, he'll be just fine. Also, if you could sprinkle some sunflower seeds for him. I'm making him some toast right now. Yes, Grubster, I hear you, the world hears you. I'm going to open some cat food for you. Don't fret."

  I watched Sherlock open Nolan's door, saw him stare at her a moment, then, a step at a time, venture outside his cage. He cocked his head at Sherlock. "Squawk."

  He jumped to the back of one of the love seats. He took a sunflower seed from Sherlock's outstretched fingers, carefully dropped it on the sofa back, then hopped up on Sherlock's shoulder and began chewing on her hair. Sherlock began to laugh.

  "Squawk."

  "Eat your breakfast, Nolan," Sherlock said, and set him on the sofa back.

  Grubster was meowing his head off. Then, suddenly, there was silence from him. He'd doubtless buried his face in a bowl of cat food.

  "Come sit down, Sherlock," I said. "I don't remember how you like your coffee."

  "Just a bit of fake sugar and a dollop of milk," Sherlock said to Laura. "Oh, if you don't have any of that stuff, black is just fine."

  "No, we're in luck," Laura said. "That's the way I drink my coffee too. Mac?"

  "Don't pour me any yet, Laura," I called from the cottage door. "I want to see what Savich is up to."

  "Put on some shoes before you head out," Sherlock said, absorbed with putting another sunflower seed in Nolan's mouth.

  When I walked outside, I was surprised to see a beautiful clear morning, the sky as blue as Jilly's eyes, with just a light breeze. I turned south to see Savich striding toward me. He saw me and waved.

  Like his wife, when he reached me he studied me closely. "You okay?" Thank God he didn't feel it necessary to feel me up.

  "Yeah, nothing to worry about. Did you see anything? Sherlock's already inside drinking coffee. Come on in. I'm surely pleased to see both of you."

  "I didn't see any signs of anyone out here. The ground's still soft from all the rain. There would have been footprints if anyone had come close. But you've already checked out here, haven't you?"

  "Not this morning."

  "Now you don't have to. Sounds like you guys are in deep shit. I'm glad you called us. But it's going to be sticky, Mac. We're both really sorry about Jilly and any involvement she may have in all this. I want you to know, too, that we talked it over on the way here, and for Jilly's sake, we're with you for a day or two. I agree with you we should be safe enough for that long. Someone would have to be crazy to come after four federal agents when everyone knows why we're here.

  "I said as little as possible to Jimmy Maitland. For the moment, at least, since you're on leave and have already talked to your boss, Carl Bardolino, he's going to let us go with this. As I said, Sherlock and I discussed this situation thoroughly on the flight to Portland. We've got more questions. Then we can discuss strategy." He paused a moment and gripped my shoulder. "I'm very sorry about Jilly, Mac. No word about where she is?"

  "No. I'm sorry about your having to leave Scan."

  "He'll do just fine. Sherlock says he's too young to be ruined just yet, so it doesn't matter how often my mom tickles his stomach and tells him he's the prince of the world. I sure hope she's right."

  It sounded so normal, so very unlike the past four days of my life. I sighed. "Come meet Laura Scott."

  Chapter Sixteen

  After we'd each drunk a cup of coffee strong enough to cut through sludge, I said, "There's a whole lot we need to do today. Since we don't know how long we can count on staying here, we've got to make good use of every minute."

  I looked over at Savich, who was staring into his nearly empty coffee cup. He looked every inch a mean son of a bitch, big and muscled, wearing jeans and a dark blue turtleneck sweater, short boots. You could count on him to cover your back. "It's fifteen minutes after eight o'clock in the morning, Mac. I ain't going nowhere until I get food in this empty belly."

  Sherlock said, "Before we do anything, you guys need to go shower. A shave for you, Mac. Your hair's standing on end. Actually, both of you could use some more sleep. But it's odd. You both look real relaxed." She raised her eyebrow, blinked twice, and walked quickly into the kitchen.

  "She knows," Laura said to me.

  "I hope she approves of you."

  Laura and I didn't share the shower, but it was a temptation. We brushed our teeth together. When we returned, I inhaled the smell of bacon and eggs and nearly cried. I saw that Nolan was riding around on Savich's shoulder. Grubster was sitting on Sherlock's lap.

  "Quite a menagerie you've got," Savich said, and lightly stroked his fingertip down Nolan's breast.

  "Squawk."

  The table was set. We all sat down like grown-ups. Savich brought out the plates of food he'd kept warm in the oven. "Eat up." Savich ate for five minutes, then said, "Mac, you mentioned this old fellow, Charlie Duck, who was murdered. What about him? How does he fit into all of this?"

  "All we have is his dying words to Doc Lambert: 'a big wallop, too much, then they got me.' He knew something about Laura's drug case, no question at all in my mind about that. But what?"

  Laura said, "There hasn't been a whole lot of time to think since I met Mac, but I agree with him. Charlie found out something he shouldn't have and that's why they killed him."
>
  I said, "After breakfast I want to call the M.E. in Portland and see what he has to say. I want to speak to Maggie Sheffield, the sheriff, and see if she's learned anything. I'd assume that she would have called here if she'd gotten any leads on Jilly."

  "Charlie Duck's funeral is this afternoon," Laura said as she fed a sunflower seed to Nolan, who was seated on a chair arm. "We can go see what's in the pot and maybe stir it up."

  "We're going to start stirring the pot much sooner than that," I said. "Paul's first on the list."

  Savich reached down and fed a bit of bacon to Grubster. He said to Sherlock, "Do you think they'll keep us as interested as Scan does?"

  "He's already a hell-raiser," Sherlock said. "Savich is trying to find some weights light enough for him so he can begin his training." She looked at Grubster, who was now washing himself on one of the love seats. "That's some cat," she said. "Big varmint but a sweetie."

  "I found him when I was a sophomore in college. He was so tiny and skinny then, not larger than one of his legs is now. The vet thinks he's about seven or eight years old now. Once Grubster trained me with a can opener, he never stopped eating."

  Sherlock made more coffee. I lit the logs in the fireplace. The room was soon warm and cozy. Sherlock said unexpectedly, "It was probably a good thing you saw Laura use a gun. She was forced to tell you everything. I hate to go into situations blind."

  "My wife," Savich said, patting her thigh, "can find a silver lining in a ditch. But you know, it's probably better that the shooters got away. If you'd taken them in, the shit would have hit the fan and you'd be sitting here watching yourself on national news. The agency directors would be arguing about who should be in charge, and the criminals would probably disappear while all the bureaucratic chaos was going on. You and Laura would be separated and sent to different sides of the country for endless debriefings that would ultimately lead nowhere. So Sherlock's right, as usual."

  He stood up and picked cat hairs off his jeans. "I do have an announcement to make. Laura is nuts about you, Mac, so there's one good thing in all this mess. Now, let's get this show on the road."

  I heard a car coming down the dirt road. I reached automatically to my belt. "Where did you park your car, Savich?"

  "Behind the cottage."

  "Good," I said. "Everyone stay put." I pulled out my SIG, eased open the front door, and stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cal's light blue BMW Roadster convertible roared toward me. The earth was still damp from the rain, so the car didn't kick up any dust though she'd jammed on the brakes to do just that. I remembered our own party at her parents' house and winced.

  I quickly tucked my SIG into the back of my pants, called out, and waved to her. Cal got out of the little car and looked at me, but didn't wave or say anything, just waited for me to come to her. She was wearing baggy jeans and a huge sweater that came nearly to her knees. Her glasses were firmly on her nose. Her hair was scraped back in a ponytail.

  When I was nearly to the car, she jumped me, just as she had the night of the party. Her legs went around my waist, her arms around my neck. She started kissing me enthusiastically all over my face.

  I gave her a hug and peeled her off me. "Hi, Cal, what's cooking?"

  "What's wrong, Mac? Don't you want to make love?

  How about over on the edge of the cliff. It's warm enough, or I'll get you warm soon enough. How about it?"

  "I've got company, Cal."

  "Oh yes, Mom told me you were here at Seagull Cottage with Laura Scott, that you were playing FBI agent and protecting her. That right?"

  "Yeah, that's right. It's early, Cal. What can I do for you?"

  "I just came around to see if there was anything I could do to help. Where's this Laura Scott you're protecting?"

  "I'm right here."

  Sure enough, Laura was standing on the single step that led to the front door. "Hi," she said. "I'm Laura Scott."

  "I'm Cal Tarcher. No one can figure out why anybody wants to kill you."

  "Easy enough," Laura said. "I'm a DEA agent. I was undercover until just last week, when my cover broke down. See, I was getting too close to something. Would you like to come inside? I think there's some breakfast left. You and Mac seem to be great friends."

  "You're a DEA agent? Does that mean you're a drug cop?"

  "That's exactly what I am."

  "What are you doing here, with Mac?"

  "That's a very long story. Would you like to go on in?"

  I said in Laura's ear after Cal passed us both and went inside the cottage, "You didn't have to invite her in, dammit."

  "Why not? You two sure do seem on very good terms. I'd be almost tempted to say intimate terms. Sherlock and Savich are holed up in the bedroom. Can we expect any more of your conquests to show up, Mac?"

  "Cut it out, Laura. It's not what you think. Besides, I'd barely met you when Cal nailed me."

  "She nailed you? Usually it's said the other way around. Poor Mac, all these women after your body."

  "You're the last so you'd better not put too many holes in me."

  She lightly patted my cheek and followed Cal into the cottage.

  Laura had removed all signs of Sherlock and Savich. I wondered why they hadn't wanted to stay out here. "How about some bacon and toast, Cal?"

  "Thanks, Mac. Hey, who's this?"

  "That's my cat, Grubster."

  Cal immediately broke a piece of bacon in half and fed it to Grubster. "He's a pig." Having said that, Cal took a big bite of toast. She leaned down and gave Grubster the other half of the bacon.

  "He'll kill for you now."

  "He's beautiful. Who's that?"

  "Squawk."

  "That's my mynah bird, Nolan. Would you like some coffee, Cal?"

  She nodded and Laura soon returned with the coffeepot and poured, then went back into the kitchen.

  Cal took a drink, then sat forward on her chair and whispered in a very loud stage voice, "I know you have to protect her, Mac, but just maybe we can get rid of her for a while? She seems nice, she'll probably want to take a walk on the cliffs. She won't have to stay out long. I figure I can have you out of those pants in under three seconds."

  Stones were piled on top of my tongue. "It might be nice to have a bed this time instead of the floor. What do you think?"

  "Cal," I said, "this isn't the time, really. Laura can't be alone. This isn't a game-someone's trying to kill her."

  "Oh, I don't know, Mac," Laura said, grinning, not six feet away, "I think I'd like a walk on the cliffs. You two can just go tangle up the sheets. Would you like me to make the bed before I leave?"

  I knew it. I just knew it. There was no justice, no fairness in the world. What there was, was Laura standing two feet away from Cal, no expression at all on her face, and I knew that was a bad sign.

  "You see, Mac?" Cal said. "Laura doesn't mind. You'd really make up the bed for us?"

  "It's not all that messed up," said the woman I'd made love to the previous night, the woman who Savich said was nuts about me. "We both slept like logs, little movement. Hey, I could just spread the covers and you two could tussle on top. How about that?"

  Cal was suddenly very quiet. "You two slept together last night?"

  "Yes," I said, standing. "We did. Now, Cal, we've got lots of stuff to do. Was there anything specific you wanted?"

  "No, just you, Mac." Cal slid off the bar stool. She took the last bite of her toast. She wiped her hands on her jeans' leg. "I thought this was just a cop assignment for you, Mac," she said slowly.

  "It's a lot of things, Cal. Is there any word on Jilly?"

  Cal shook her head. "Surely Maggie would call you first if she found out anything." She looked over at Laura, for a very long time. "Do you know what, Laura?"

  "No, what?"

  "I sure would like to paint you. Your face isn't all that interesting, but your clothes are so tight I can tell you've got a great b
ody. How about it?" I pictured Cal jumping Laura after she'd sketched her body.

  Laura was staring at Cal like she was two boards shy of a floor. Then, slowly, she turned to me. "What do you think, Mac?"

  "Cal's a good artist," I said.

  "No, do you think I've got a great body?"

  "Yes, and Cal's still a good artist."

  "Okay," Cal said, rubbing her hands together. "We can set up a time for next week. About us, Mac, we can talk about it another time, since you say you're so busy. Oh yeah, I got some of those French condoms, you know, the ones that are real slippery and ribbed?"