The Waterfall

by Carla Neggers

  “She and Barbara haven’t run into each other?”

  He shook his head. “Barbara says not. We spoke earlier today. I want this to be my surprise.”

  Sidney got to her feet, kissing him lightly. “You’re an odd man, Senator Swift.”

  And jumpy, Jack thought when his cell phone rang and he nearly fell off his chair. Sidney sank back into her chair, obviously assuming his startled response was a result of his distraction over her kiss.

  “Hey, Jack.” Darren’s voice, instantly recognizable. “How’s Ms. Sidney tonight?”

  Jack ignored the twist of pain in his gut. He kept his voice calm, professional. “We’re both fine, thank you. What can I do for you?”

  “Remember the number I gave you that day in your office?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s do another ten-thousand-dollar transfer. Keep things nice and friendly, build a little trust between us.”

  “I thought—”

  “That’s your problem, Senator. Don’t think. Just do.” Mowery gave a sick little laugh. “Didn’t Yoda say something like that?”

  And he disconnected.

  Jack shakily set the phone back on the table. He knew he was pale. He could feel it. Sidney watched him, brow furrowed. “Jack?”

  He managed a small smile. “July is always ulcer time in Washington. Another martini?”

  Lucy woke up early and made sure she was out of the kitchen before Sebastian wandered in. He was on his own this morning. His presence in her house was throwing her off in unexpected ways. She didn’t sleep well, she had unsettling dreams when she did sleep, and she felt constantly on edge—not irritable, just aware, alert, as if her senses were on overdrive.

  This morning, she was scheduled to conduct a canoe lesson with local kids on a nearby pond. She had no intention of canceling, or, she thought, of getting Sebastian’s okay. That was the other thing about having him around. She was used to being in charge. She didn’t like the idea of him thinking he was in control just because she’d asked for his help. She hadn’t abdicated any responsibility for herself and her children.

  J.T. helped her get together paddles and life vests. Some of his friends were in the group, but he liked to think of himself as a co-teacher more than a student. “Remember,” Lucy warned him, “no one likes a know-it-all.”

  “But if I know something, I know it.”

  “That doesn’t mean you have to be obnoxious about it. We all have our gifts,” she said, hoisting paddles into the back of her car, “and yours is to have a mother who taught you how to paddle when you were a tot.”

  “Mom.”

  She grinned at him. “Was I being obnoxious?”

  Madison floated across the lawn. “Do you mind if I join you? No point hanging around here. Sebastian will just put me to work.”

  “He could use the time to rest,” Lucy said.

  His bruises had blossomed, making him look worse, although he was actually doing much better. He hadn’t taken any Tylenol yet today. Lucy wondered if having him around was a deterrent, sort of like having a big, mean dog lying in the shade.

  Except he was sexy, and last night she’d tossed and turned imagining him in her bed. Not good. Dangerous thinking. Crazy thinking.

  He came out to the car before they left, wearing jeans and a dark polo shirt, no shoes. Lucy’s mouth went dry at the sight of him.

  “I’m just making sure both kids are in the car with you,” he said. “I don’t want any surprises.”

  “We thought you could use some quiet time.”

  His mouth twitched. “Toddlers get quiet time. You going to the pond or the river?”

  “The pond.”

  “How many kids?”

  “About a half-dozen, not counting my own. It’s a very public spot.”

  He peered into the car, and both J.T. and Madison tried not to stare. His face wasn’t as bruised as it could have been, but ugly purple and blue splotches had formed around the cut above his eye. He seemed more energetic and focused this morning, less as if he might pass out at any second. He’d gone to bed early. Lucy had sat up in the living room reading, wondering what it might be like to have him to talk to.

  Not that he talked, she reminded herself. He was succinct, closemouthed or antisocial, depending on one’s point of view—or mood. In his work, no one cared about his personality, just his competence.

  “All right,” he said, straightening. He swept her with a humorless glance. “Don’t be late.”

  Lucy bristled. “I answer to myself, Redwing.”

  His voice lowered so Madison or J.T. wouldn’t hear. “You don’t want me coming after you.”

  Actually, she didn’t. A hot, almost electric current ran up her spine. She thought she concealed it well, but Sebastian smiled knowingly before retreating to the house. The man noticed everything.

  A couple of hours on the pond renewed her spirits. The kids she taught were eager to learn, and Madison and J.T. were skilled enough Lucy didn’t really have to worry about them. She relished the feel of the paddle dipping into the water, the occasional small splashes on her arms and legs, the sounds of birds and laughter. Her doubts and questions receded, and the heightened state of awareness—almost frenzy—finally quieted. By the time they packed up and headed home, she felt centered again.

  But it all went to hell when she pulled into her driveway and saw Sebastian and Rob Kiley chatting on her front porch.

  It was as if her two lives—the one in which she was in control versus the one in which she had lost control—had collided in a blinding crash. The two men waved and smiled, but she could see Rob’s smile was forced.

  “How’s the pond?” Sebastian asked, sounding calm, not as pain-racked.

  Lucy faked a smile of her own. “Probably much the same as when you two were kids. Catching up on old times?”

  Rob got to his feet stiffly, his normal easygoing demeanor lost to obvious tension. “Sebastian never knew my grandmother gave Daisy a fruitcake every Christmas in honor of Joshua Wheaton for saving my father’s life.” He managed a faint glimmer of humor. “Daisy always fed it to the birds. Sixty years of fruitcakes literally out the window.”

  “It was good seeing you, Rob,” Sebastian said. He, too, rose, and, without even a glance at Lucy, he retreated inside.

  Rob sat back down. “Okay, Lucy. Talk.”

  So, she was right. The two men had colluded. “Talk about what?”

  “Sebastian Redwing.”

  She sighed.

  Rob shook his head, biting off any irritation. If he hated one thing, Lucy knew, it was feeling any kind of negative emotion toward anyone. “Okay, here’s what I know so far,” Rob said. “He’s Daisy’s grandson, his grandfather was killed rescuing my father from the falls, his parents were killed in a hit-and-run accident when he was fourteen. He went on to become some kind of shadowy security guy. He saved your husband’s and father-in-law’s lives during that attempt to assassinate the president a bunch of years ago, and he sold you this place.” Rob settled back in his chair; he was so tall and lanky, he barely fit. “He lives in Wyoming. And you were just in Wyoming. As I recall, you went at the last minute.”

  Lucy sighed again, wishing she could be back out on the water. Maybe that’s what she should do—pack up the kids and head to Canada, paddle lakes and streams and coastlines and just wait out whatever was going on here. Hide. Retreat. The passive approach, she thought.

  “Rob, I’m sorry.” She shook her head, her voice tight and tense. “I should have told you what was going on before now.”

  “Lucy, I deserve to know. My kid hangs out here.”

  “You’re right.” She leaned back in her chair and gave him a direct look. “Rob, the truth is, I’m not sure what’s going on. Something, yes, but I could be putting incidents together that are unrelated—”

  He held up a hand, stopping her. “Start at the beginning and take me through it, step by step. I’m not good at piecing things together and reading betw
een the lines. Just give it to me straight.”

  She told him everything, start to finish. She only left out the volatile chemistry between her and Sebastian. “If you want to pack up Georgie and clear out—”

  “No. It has to be business as usual. We’re not going to let this sick bastard win.” Rob was adamant, if a little shocked. “I’m just sorry you’ve put up with this for so long on your own. Why the hell didn’t you say something? You didn’t suspect me, did you?”

  “No! I just—” She threw up her hands, at a loss. “I guess I’m just used to handling things on my own.”

  “Maybe too used to it,” Rob said quietly.

  Lucy didn’t answer.

  “This Redwing character’s good?”

  “He used to be. He’s been retired or on sabbatical or something for the past year.”

  “Why?”

  She frowned. “That’s a good question. I’ll ask him.”

  “I’m not much on cloak-and-dagger shit myself. Look, I don’t blame you for not wanting to bring in the police, but if you get any hard evidence—you have to take it in, Lucy.”

  She nodded. “I will. I promise.”

  He smiled a little. “Grandpa Jack will calculate his political advantage and decide whether to keep the lid on this thing or not.”

  “That’s so cynical.”

  “Practical.”

  Lucy laughed, feeling better. “Thanks, Rob.”

  “For what?”

  “For not jumping down my throat for keeping this to myself for so long.”

  He waved a hand. “I figure your just punishment was helping Redwing down from the falls the other night. Serves you right when you could have had a strapping guy like me carry him down on my back.”

  “You’d have called the EMTs.”

  “He was in that bad shape, huh?”

  She nodded.

  “Think he fell?”

  “I don’t know. It was his first time back to the falls since his grandfather’s death. He was distracted.”

  “Mini-landslides don’t just happen up there. Maybe after heavy rains, but not this time of year when it’s this dry.” He got to his feet. “I think I’ll go check on the boys.”

  Sebastian decided to make dinner. He got Madison and J.T. to pick whatever was ripe in the garden. What he didn’t steam or throw into a salad, he chopped up and grilled. He found some chicken in the refrigerator and tossed that on the grill, too. It was a charcoal grill, and he had a couple of false starts before he got the damn thing lit. His life-style had never called for much charcoal grilling.

  The smell of the charcoal, the feel of the heat on his face, the long, quiet day in a place he loved and yet had tried to forget—all helped him to feel more centered, calmer, steadier. He could go deep inside himself, where he was still and balanced, and think. Darren Mowery. Jack Swift. Blackmail. Lucy and her weird goings-on. They all fit together. He just had to find out how.

  And he had to keep his mind on the job, not on what it felt like to be back home, definitely not on what it felt like to be with Lucy. He didn’t know what it was about her, but she’d crawled under his skin and buried herself there fifteen-plus years ago. There was nothing he could do except live with it. Last year, he’d let emotional involvement cloud his judgment with Darren Mowery. He hadn’t seen the changes in Darren, the creeping cynicism, the loss of empathy. Maybe they’d always been there, buried under a veneer of professionalism, and only last year had they surfaced, taking over.

  Sebastian flipped a piece of chicken. Maybe it was like the way seeing Lucy again had taken him over, made him capable of doing who knew what. Thinking about her while grilling chicken and vegetables, for one.

  He needed to think about what to do about Jack Swift. Understanding his leverage was the first step. In his experience, United States senators didn’t like to talk about what a blackmailer had on them.

  The screen door creaked open and banged lightly shut, and Lucy joined him, plopping down in an old Adirondack chair. She had two bottles of Long Trail beer and handed him one as she stretched out her legs, crossing her ankles. She had very good legs, tanned, slim, strong.

  She smiled. “Smells good.”

  “That’s the charcoal and barbecue sauce. I could grill up a pile of skunk cabbage and it’d smell good.”

  “I don’t think I’d like skunk cabbage. I haven’t even worked up the courage to try dandelion greens. People in town tell me they were a favorite of Daisy’s.”

  Sebastian remembered his grandmother pointing out the tender leaves, instructing him how to pick them without bruising them. “They were,” he said.

  “Did you eat them?”

  “With salt, pepper and vinegar.”

  “Gross.”

  He laughed. “Daisy and one of her old friends used to make the occasional batch of dandelion wine. God, it was awful.”

  Lucy smiled again, watching him as she sipped her beer from the bottle. It was a move that struck him as incredibly sexy. Her eyes seemed darker, even more vivid, against the deepening blue of the early evening sky. “So,” she said, “did you ever think you’d stay here when you were a kid?”

  “I never thought I’d leave.”

  “Then you didn’t hate it here?”

  “No, never.” He looked around at the fields of tall grass and bright flowers, the wooded hills, the apple trees and maples and oaks. He could hear the brook and the wind, and remembered thinking that here, it was as if he were inside his own soul. He shook his head. “I couldn’t imagine not being here.”

  “Why did you sell, then?”

  “Things change.”

  He flipped vegetables, and he could feel her watching him, wondering what kind of boy he must have been. The orphan. Daisy’s grandson. A child of tragedy and incalculable loss.

  “What changed?” Lucy asked quietly.

  “I did.”

  She was silent, but he knew she wasn’t letting him off the hook. Not Lucy. She would dig in, probe, commit for the long haul. He’d known that about her the day she married his best friend.

  He glanced back at her, drank some of his own beer. “Daisy lived here. It was her home. For me, it was a refuge, a place to hide. And one day I knew I couldn’t hide anymore.”

  “You had to go out and learn how to save people. You couldn’t save your grandfather—he died before you were born. And you couldn’t save your parents. You weren’t there.”

  He looked at her. “No. I was there.”

  She almost spilled her beer. She paled slightly, then whispered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. No one’s ever said. Did Colin know?”

  “We drank too much one night after the assassination attempt, and it came out.” Sebastian shrugged. “We were young. We never spoke of it again.”

  Lucy rallied, but he could see she was touched. “Nothing like bullets and booze to bond a couple of guys together. Was Plato there?”

  “He drank wine. Merlot. We never let him forget.”

  She smiled, and Sebastian remembered how much she’d loved her husband, how much Colin had loved her. She was different now, and yet the same. Strange. Impossible to articulate.

  She set her beer in the grass. “So, you saw your parents get killed, and you came here to live with your grandmother. Then you left. You went into security and investigative work, started your own company, made a lot of money and retired for the past year to a hammock and a shack without electricity or running water.”

  “My life in a nutshell.”

  She studied him, eyes narrowed. “And you renounced violence.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “A man named Darren Mowery.”

  “I know the name. You worked for him when you and Colin first met. DM Consultants. He saved the president’s life.”

  “That’s who Darren was. He changed.”

  “Tell me,” Lucy said quietly.

  “There was a kidnapping case a year ago. A Colombian businessman—a client—a
nd his wife and their three children, all under ten. I took on the case myself.”

  “What happened? The children weren’t—”

  He shook his head. “They lived. DM Consultants had just gone bankrupt. I knew Darren blamed me. I knew he was desperate. Tempted.”

  “He was involved in the kidnapping?” Lucy said.

  “He helped engineer it. He damn near got off with thirty million dollars.”

  Her eyes widened. “My God!”

  “It was a wealthy Colombian businessman,” Sebastian said with a small smile.

  “What happened?”

  “I foiled their plans. I had to shoot three of Mowery’s Colombian cohorts in front of the children.” He could hear their screams now, see their horrified faces. Children. Little children. “The men were pawns.”

  “Would they have killed the family?”

  “Yes. And Darren would have taken the money. I caught up with him in Bogotá. He went for his gun, and I shot him. Pretty straightforward. The Colombian authorities arrived, and I went back to Wyoming.”

  Lucy’s face had gone pale again. There was a slight tremble to her hands. “Do you know if he’s alive or dead?”

  She was unnerved enough. Sebastian didn’t need to tell her Darren Mowery was sneaking around her father-in-law’s office. “He’s alive.”

  “But in prison,” she said. “The Colombians must have—”

  He shook his head. “There was no way to prove his role in the kidnapping. I knew that when I left him for dead. Lucy, I didn’t finish the job. There’s no excuse.”

  “So that’s why I found you in a hammock.”

  “That’s why. I leave operations to people Plato and I have hired and trained, men and women we trust. The company requires a lot of attention at what Plato likes to call the ‘desk level.’ I’ve ignored that, too, for the better part of the past year.”

  “No wonder Plato was glad to get you out of Wyoming,” Lucy said, obviously struggling to insert some humor. “What are you, Sebastian—forty, by now?”