“Except that they owe you for the bushes. And they owe those taxes.” Jeremy shrugged. “Debt can be a pretty heavy chain to drag.” A glowing insect popped into the air between them and vanished abruptly.
Morrisy flinched. “Did you contract some land to us and then regret it?” Her smile had gone tight. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
“No.” Jeremy picked up his plate with the uneaten sandwich on it. “My father never contracted our land. It died, and so did he. It wasn’t your fault.” He gave the Pacific BioSystems executive a slight bow. “Maybe I’ll see you in The Dalles,” he said to Carter. “Take it easy.”
“They have to blame someone.” Morrisy gave Carter a wry, conspiratorial smile. “You much catch a lot of it, too. You’d think we’d engineered the climate change just so we could make a buck.”
“Yes.” Carter looked after Jeremy. “We catch a lot of that.” Maybe that’s all it was — a sourceless anger and darkness, like in Chicago. Blame for no reason. If that was true, nothing he did in The Dalles was going to help. He frowned.
Dan Greely had made that anger feel pointed and personal. So had Sandy Corbett. And Nita, who had never stood in a shower. When you walk away, you leave your soul behind. Had one of them shot Delgado’s’ brother and Mike Watanabe? Harold Ransom, or the Corbett woman, or even Greely? It wasn’t at all impossible. Where the hell could you stand in this mess?
Carter felt a tiny click as the stem of his wineglass snapped. He stared numbly at the small blossom of crimson on his palm.
“Hello.” Gwynn paused on her way across the room, two full glasses in her hand. “What did you do?”
“I cut myself.” Embarrassed, he grabbed for a napkin. “I’m sorry about the glass.”
“Never mind about the glass. Come on.” She took him firmly by the elbow, smiling over his shoulder at Morissy. “I’ve got a first aid kit in the kitchen.”
Carter followed her through a swinging door and into a large, bright kitchen. A big sink was set into a center island with a polished granite top. Stainless steel appliances hummed and copper pots and pans hung from wrought-iron hooks overhead.
“Wash your hand.” She pushed him toward the sink. “I’ll get something for it. You know, I was about to rescue you from Pacific Bio’s clutches. You didn’t have to get so dramatic.” She winked at him over her shoulder as she rummaged in a cupboard.
“I didn’t . . .” He stopped, felt himself blushing. The wine had gone straight to his head after his sleepless night.
Gwynn reached for his hand, patted it dry with a clean napkin. “I suspect she’s feeling you out for a deal. You’re the new water lord in town. The only reason she came to this party was to meet you.”
Carter stared at her, feeling stupid. “I don’t have the authority to make any flow changes.”
“You might have the General’s ear. If you don’t, don’t worry. She won’t bother you much longer.” Gwynn laughed, reached up and touched his cheek lightly. “What desert island did you grow up on? The Corps controls the water, remember? These little deals . . . get done.”
Carter leaned slightly away from her touch. “I’ve never paid much attention to politics,” he said stiffly.
“Oh, you’re too wonderful.” And she stood on tiptoes to kiss him lightly, briefly on the mouth.
“I should be getting back,” he said, and she made a face at him.
“So soon?” She smoothed a strip of tape over the shallow cut on his palm. “Just because my wineglasses bite?”
“I’ve got things to do.” He moved toward the door, feeling utterly out of place here. “Uh, thanks for having me.”
“Any time.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’ll have to give you a chance to drink my wine without incurring serious bodily injury.”
“Sure.” He edged toward the door.
“Fine.” Her smile widened. “That’s a promise then. How about next Friday?”
A waiter saved Carter by coming in to ask about more wine. Gwynn had to go down into the basement to show him and Carter used the opportunity to escape. The crowd had thinned out in the main room; people were leaving. He didn’t see Johnny anywhere, and felt a pang of disappointment. He had probably assumed that Carter had already left, and had left himself.
A set of French doors that opened onto a small side patio stood ajar and Carter went out that way. He’d parked the car on that side of the house. He closed the doors behind him and took out his cell phone to give Johnny a call, see where he’d taken off to.
Johnny was out here, standing in the shade under the eaves with Morissy. The Pacific Biosystems suit was tapping her index finger lightly on her palm, her shoulder’s stiff with authority. Johnny’s posture was . . . defensive. Carter’s toe caught a loose stone, and at the sound they both turned.
“Carter?” Johnny’s laugh was too bright. “Where did you run off to? I thought you’d gone.”
“We’ll get together later, Johnny.” Morissy gave Carter a cool smile. “Nice meeting you, Colonel, however briefly. Perhaps we can get together another time.” She walked briskly around the corner of the house and disappeared.
She looked pissed. Carter caught Johnny’s arm as he started from the doors. “Wait a minute.” He caught Johnny’s flicker of irritation, ignored it. “What was that all about?”
“A little offer of sex.” He smiled at Carter’s reaction. “They’re always fishing for a price, but that ain’t it. She wasn’t happy about my turn-down. I saw you in the kitchen with Gwynn.” His smile carried the faintest trace of a leer. “She has the hots for you, my friend. I can tell.”
“Are they leaning on you?” Carter asked softly. “Pacific Biosystems?” Water Policy members, with a life term, top pay, and no permissible business connections, were supposed to be beyond corruption. But water was power, Gwynn was right. “Johnny, I get the feeling something’s eating you.”
“It’s not.” Johnny took a deep breath. “Look, Carter, do you have any idea of the responsibility we have?” His voice had gone hushed and his face had gone pale, except for twin spots of color on his cheeks. “I was the boy genius economist — the bright and shining new star in the world of water and money — so now I have the real stuff. The real power. But you know me.” He grinned, a feeble stretch of his lips. “Sometimes I get . . . a little over the top.”
“Don’t I know it.” Carter gripped his arm hard. “How many times did we nearly get busted? What are you telling me?” His voice sobered. “Are you in trouble?”
“No.” Johnny’s face firmed and he smiled — a real smile this time, if a bit rueful. “I got a little drunk at a party and . . . did some things that might have been misinterpreted. Morissy misinterpreted them in spades. I’m not for sale.” He met Carter’s eyes. “Not now, not ever. But she’s being . . . awkward.”
“Blackmail?”
“No, nothing like that.” Johnny laughed, half angry. “I don’t put stuff into email or on paper, for that matter, give me a break.” He started down the graveled yard, toward the street and the parked cars. “No, it’s a nuisance, is all. The media could pick it up and throw rocks, but they won’t break any bones. I wasn’t kidding about Gwynn, you know.” He looked back over his shoulder. “She and I parted friends a long time ago. She’s a very hot lady, Carter. With money.”
“She’s very nice.”
“You got someone already?” Johnny’s eyebrows rose. “You never could play poker for shit. When did this happen?”
“Someone I just met, Johnny.” He tried to make his voice casual. “Nita. Nita Montoya.”
“Latino?” Johnny’s eyebrows rose as they reached the cracked sidewalk. “Well . . . congratulations, I guess. Is this, like, long term?”
“God, I don’t know, Johnny.” Carter heard the irritation in his voice, couldn’t help it. “You tell me. Listen, I’ve got to get back to the base. Can I drop you somewhere, or do you have a car?”
“You can drop me at my motel.” Johnny followed hi
m to his car. “Tell me how you’re settling in up there.”
He didn’t tell Johnny much, but Johnny for once didn’t seem disposed to talk so that was fine. The swirling undercurrents of the party had left him uneasy, full of misgivings. You could be tempted. Anyone could be tempted. Gwynn had certainly been fishing this afternoon. He wondered what Morissy had on Johnny. Something, for all his disclaimer. When the time was right, he’d ask again, and maybe Johnny would tell him. But this wasn’t the time, and Johnny was vague about when they could get together again. Maybe tomorrow, he told Carter. If he didn’t have to bolt out of town suddenly.
It was late in the afternoon as he drove back to the base. The slanting beams of the sun touched the dusty land with gold and reflected from the random window in bursts of fire. He had checked in by phone and everything was quiet at the base. No trouble on the Pipeline. No one had even yelled at him as he drove the Corps car through town. Maybe he could keep this situation under control. Maybe it wasn’t another Chicago. Carter returned the guards’ salute as they waved him through the gate, anticipation stirring in his belly and groin.
He wanted to tell Nita about the party, hear her reaction. She had such a different perspective on this world. He wanted to tell her about Jeremy and his frog on the table. He might laugh. He had never seen her laugh, and he wanted to do that, suddenly — make her laugh. He parked in front of his apartment and hurried up the walk. Whatever would or wouldn’t work itself out between them, he wanted to see her now, to put his arms around her, bury his face in her hair and breathe the soft musky scent of her skin. The door was locked. He unlocked it and pushed it open. “Nita?”
Her name echoed through the apartment. He knew even as he shut the door. The sofa had been closed and the sheets lay neatly folded on it. He looked anyway, surveying the empty bedroom and bathroom.
She had not left a single trace of her presence behind, except for the folded sheets and the towel she had used. He picked it up, a lump heavy in his gut. Her scent rose faintly from the thick folds.
He threw it into the laundry hamper and tossed the sheets in after it.
Not strings attached, remember?
Part of him refused to believe it. She had a pass. She could walk through the door any minute.
She wasn’t going to. He knew it as surely as if she’d left him a note. She had left him a note — in the folded sheets and the empty apartment.
He wished now that he’d stayed at the fancy, freshly painted house. He wanted to get drunk with Johnny, tell him about Chicago and how it was his fault. And Johnny could tell him why Pacific Biosystems thought they could own him and they could laugh about it and maybe cry, like a couple of teenagers who couldn’t hold their liquor.
He didn’t call Johnny. He needed to go down to Operations and look over the flow reports himself, never mind that Delgado had already done it. He needed to review the day, check things out. He needed to think about the party gossip, and Dan Greely, and how they were going to put civilians on patrols without too many headaches. He walked through the apartment once more, checking to see if she’d left anything behind.
She hadn’t.
He didn’t slam the door on the way out.
CHAPTER NINE
Nita looked around Carter’s apartment as she braided her hair. In the bright light everything looked too sharp, too vivid. It made her head ache. She tied off the end of her braid with a thin, silk ribbon David had given her.
Last night, alone in the darkness, it had been so easy to believe that he had walked away.
In the harsh light of day, she wasn’t so sure. Anything could happen. A man could break his leg and spend weeks healing in a farmhouse somewhere. He could run away and then change his mind. “I don’t know,” Nita whispered. The word sounded as loud as a shout in the silent apartment. She bent and yanked the sheets from the sofa bed. The faint scent of their lovemaking rose from the cloth as she folded them, and she bent her head, pierced by the memory of last night. I came in here because I was lonely, she told herself. That’s all it had been — a midnight need for comfort.
If that had been true yesterday, it was a lie now. She bent double over the armful of folded sheets, a stone of pain in her belly. “I love you, David,” she cried. “I do.”
On the bed, Rachel woke with a hungry cry. Nita threw the folded sheets onto the floor as Rachel began to wail. “Not your fault, love.” Nita calmed herself as she went to pick up her daughter. “I’m angry at me, not you. Have your breakfast and then we’ll go.”
This was where David would come to find her, so she would wait for him for awhile longer. But not here. Nita stared at the wall as her daughter nursed. She couldn’t stay here. She didn’t dare. When Rachel was finished, she repacked her pack, filled her water jugs, and tucked Rachel into her sling. Standing in the doorway, hand on the knob, she looked around at the empty rooms. She had spent one night here; less than twenty-four hours.
It felt familiar — as if she had lived here for days. Weeks. Nita thought about leaving Carter a note, but what could she say that wouldn’t be a lie, or be misunderstood? She bit her lip. Silence was best; he would understand that message. It was a message she had to give him.
And herself.
Nita yanked the door open and walked through it, out into the hot, dusty wind. A different guard was at the gate, a woman about Nita’s age. She eyed Nita suspiciously, but without the razor-wire feel of the man yesterday. She despised Nita a little, and Nita wondered why. She lifted her head, holding out the pass Carter had given her. It wasn’t until she had walked halfway down that dusty road that led to the truck plaza and the highway that she realized that she still had the pass; the guard hadn’t asked for it. Nita held it on her palm, half tempted to toss it into the dusty weeds that lined the road. But a part of her wanted to keep it, and she tucked it carefully into the pouch around her neck, trying to ignore the small prick of her guilt.
If she was going to stay in The Dalles for awhile, she would have to find a job. She was running out of scrip. Hitching the pack higher on her shoulders, tickling Rachel’s belly until she smiled and gurgled, Nita plodded through the afternoon sun toward town and the stores there. Maybe one of them had a job open.
“I’m sorry.” The round-faced, balding manager of the government store was genuinely apologetic. “I wish I could give you some kind of job.” He leaned on the counter, surrounded by aisles of controlled items: liquor, beer and wine, cigarettes, candy, a small meat counter, and shelves filled with other small, water-expensive luxuries that the government had loaded with restrictive taxes. “Have you tried Laurel, the manager down at the market? She might have a job for you cleaning out the booths or something.”
“I tried her.” Tired to the bone, discouraged, Nita shifted Rachel’s sling higher on her shoulder. There were no jobs in this town. She had been up and down the main street, asking at every store and fuel station, not just the market. “She’s got a kid working for her.”
“Oh yeah, her nephew.” The manager frowned, scratching at the brown spots that speckled his bare scalp “Things are real tight in town, what with the water cuts these past two years. The district supervisor’s been making noises about closing this store. Crazy, I say, because the nearest government store’ll be Bonneville, but hell, no one’s got scrip to spend except the truckers. All they buy is booze, and they’re mobile anyway. I had the news on this morning. Italy and Greece are blowing up the refugee boats coming over from Africa — just sinking ’em. Can you believe it?” He shook his head. “Hell, what’s happening to us? You’d think our humanity’s drying up with the water. Look, I got about an hour before closing.” He scowled at the clock on the wall. “You can polish the front windows for me and sweep out the back room. I’ve been meaning to get around to that for a week now. I can pay something for it.”
It was a handout — because of the news story. “Thank you,” Nita said. She’d take a handout.
“You’re looking for a job?” A man had
come in from the street, tall and lanky with dark, graying hair.
“Hi, Dan.” The manager lifted a hand. “Nita here’s been trying to find something, but you know how it is. Dan Greely knows everyone.” He nodded emphatically. “If anyone can find you a job, he can.”
He was already regretting his offer of the sweeping job. Nita was too discouraged to be angry.
“I heard a woman was in town, looking for her husband. Is that you?” The newcomer leaned against the counter beside her.
“David Ascher. He was supposed to have a job here. He’s about your height.” She looked up, frowning. “He has curly black hair, only it’s starting to go gray.” The faint flicker of her hope died easily at the man’s headshake.
“I’m sorry. I haven’t heard of him. I might be able to help you out with a job, though,” he said thoughtfully. “I had a man working out at my farm. He left about three months ago, and I need some help. It’s field work, but I have an extra room in the house. All I can offer you right now is board and a share of the profit — if there is any profit this year.”
Nita considered, watching the man from beneath her lashes. The offer felt genuine, but the ride to Tygh Valley had made her wary. The man’s graying hair and his lined, sundried face put him in his forties, maybe more. About David’s age. He was staring at her, examining her face with a searching intensity that made Nita uncomfortable.
“Don’t I know you?” He sounded uncertain. “What’s your name, again?”
“Nita. Nita Montoya.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re not . . . Sam Montoya’s daughter, are you?”
His sudden tension brought her head up. “Yes.” She eyed him warily. “He died a long time ago.”
“I know.” The man’s voice has hushed, muted by a flood of emotion. “I knew Sam. I even remember you. You must have been about four, last time I saw you.”
She had been five and a half on the day the men had come to kill her father. Nita took a step backward as Rachel began to whimper.
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