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The Waterfall

Page 20

by Carla Neggers


  “Madison and J.T.”

  “Two more times, Lucy. You won’t do them any good passed out cold.”

  She knew he was right. In another minute, she was calmer, breathing normally. He snatched up the note and read it. A slight tightening of the jaw was his only visible reaction.

  “I didn’t expect it,” she said. “I knew it was something, but not this. What kind of sick person would do something like that?”

  She got to her feet, held onto his arm to help steady herself. Maybe he didn’t have running water or electricity, maybe he’d renounced violence, maybe he had his demons to fight, but he was there, rock-solid.

  When she regained her balance, she climbed the steps. Forever, Colin. Sick, sick, sick. She got to the front door. “Madison, J.T.—it’s okay, you can come on out.”

  “I’ll get rid of the flowers,” Sebastian said.

  Lucy nodded. “Thank you.”

  “And I’ll call Plato.”

  Sebastian’s take on Barbara Allen was direct and to the point. “She’s up to her eyeballs in something.”

  Lucy smiled. “Is that your professional opinion?”

  “Gut.”

  They were at the kitchen table, drinking decaf coffee long after dinner. Madison and J.T. had gone up to bed. Lucy asked, “Is your gut always right?”

  “About whether or not I want a cheeseburger. With who’s lying, hiding, contriving, plotting to rape and pillage—” He shrugged. “It’s almost always right. I’ve been wrong on occasion.”

  “I sometimes forget what you do for a living. When you’re here, you seem so normal.”

  “I’m not,” he said quietly.

  She ignored a warm shudder, remembered pulling up to his shack with the dogs and the dust. No, not normal. “How does Redwing Associates manage without you?”

  “I hired good people.”

  “About Barbara.” Lucy sipped her decaf, which was a little stale. “Up to her eyeballs in what? You have an idea, don’t you?”

  Nothing.

  “Sebastian, I deserve to know.”

  “It’s not a question of deserving. It’s a question of what you’ll do with the information.”

  “You don’t trust me.”

  He frowned at her. “I don’t know what that means. Do I trust you to sit back and do everything I tell you? No. Do I trust you to do what you think is right for the sake of your children? Yes.”

  “That’s too specific. I mean trust in general.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  “Yes, there is. It’s when you trust someone to have an internal compass that will always point them in the right direction, not toward no mistakes—everyone makes mistakes—but toward at least trying to make good decisions.”

  “I’m not sure your idea and my idea of a ‘good decision’ are the same.”

  “That’s not the point, either. It’s not about thinking alike. It’s about trusting a person to be who they are.”

  He drank his coffee. If he thought it was stale, he gave no indication. “You’ve been sitting out here in these hills too long and talking to too many crunch-granola types. Lucy, I trust you. There.”

  “Good.” She sat up straight. “Then tell me what you think Barbara’s up to her eyeballs in.”

  “Blackmail.”

  She dropped her mug, coffee spilling over her hand and onto the table. He got up, tore off a couple of paper towels and handed them to her. She was shaking. She blotted the spilled coffee, not looking at him. “My God. Blackmail?” Then the realization hit. “Not Darren Mowery. Sebastian, please tell me—”

  “I wish I could, Lucy. I’ve been holding back on you, hoping I could tell you Darren’s not involved in what’s been happening to you. But he is.”

  Lucy nodded, breathing rapidly. “I understand.”

  “No, Lucy, you don’t. Darren was my boss, he was my mentor, and he was my friend. He went bad, and I went after him. I knew I might have to kill him.” Sebastian returned to his seat; he was calm, as if they were discussing whether the tomatoes were ripe enough to pick. “I should have made sure he was dead or in jail before I left Colombia. I didn’t.”

  “And now—” Lucy frowned, trying to make sense of the bits and pieces she had. She left the coffee-soaked paper towels in a mound on the table. “Is he blackmailing you?”

  “Would that he were. That’d be easy. No, he’s blackmailing your father-in-law.”

  “What?”

  “Darren contacted him while you were in Wyoming. Jack paid him off, and when it wasn’t enough and Darren came back for more, he got in touch with my office.”

  “And they got in touch with you,” Lucy said, her head spinning.

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Before the falls.”

  “Well, you’re a hell of a better liar than I am. Or Madison, even. Jesus. You’ve known that long?”

  “Jack wouldn’t give Plato the details. I let him sweat a few days. He still won’t budge.”

  “But you know it’s this Darren Mowery character,” Lucy said.

  Sebastian nodded.

  “Then arrest him!”

  “That’s the thing about blackmail, Lucy. The victim doesn’t want to go public. He doesn’t care about whether the blackmailer goes to jail. He just wants him to keep quiet.”

  Unable to sit still another second, Lucy jumped to her feet. She ran outside, down the back steps, into the grass. It was cool on her bare feet. She could hear crickets as she fought back tears. Blackmail! Jack was being blackmailed!

  Sebastian followed her out into the grass, not standing too close. The more he had to think about, Lucy thought, the more he seemed to go deep inside himself and maintain an outward calm. It was a skill she didn’t have, except on the water. When a crisis hit while kayaking or canoeing, she operated on training, instinct, skill. She couldn’t afford to panic.

  But this was what he did, she remembered. He dealt with blackmailers. Blackmail victims.

  “How much did Jack pay—do you know that much?”

  “Twenty grand in two installments.”

  “That’s all?”

  “For now.”

  She exhaled toward the starlit sky. “I just want to make a quilt with my daughter. I want to take my son fishing. I want to live my life. Damn.”

  “Plato will be here tomorrow.”

  She nodded.

  “Lucy.” He touched her cheek with one finger. “Oh, God, Lucy. If I could make this all go away, I would, even if it meant you never came to Wyoming and I didn’t get to see you.”

  She shut her eyes, squeezed back tears. “Do you think Barbara’s involved in the blackmail?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think it has anything to do with me?”

  “Yes. I don’t know how, but yes.”

  She sank her forehead against his chest and let her arms go around him. He held her. She recovered slowly, stopped crying. “I hate crying,” she said. “I haven’t cried in years, except when I stubbed my toe last summer, and really, it was more because I was pissed.”

  “Lucy, you’re one of the strongest women I know.”

  “I’m not. I just get up every day and do the best I can.”

  “There,” he said, “you see what I mean?”

  She opened her eyes and saw his smile, and she kissed him lightly, savoring the taste of him, the feel of his hands and the night summer breeze on her back. “If I could,” she whispered, “I’d ask you to make love to me tonight.”

  “Lucy—”

  “My children are upstairs in bed. They’re afraid, and they need to know where I am.”

  “I love you, Lucy Blacker.” He touched her hair, her mouth, then kissed her in a way that made her know he meant what he said. “I always will.”

  “Thank you.”

  He laughed suddenly, so unexpectedly it took her breath away. “Thank you?”

  “Well—I don’t know. Yes, thank you.”

  He smacked
her on the behind. “Go upstairs to your kids before I toss all honor to the stars and carry you off to bed.”

  “That’s very tempting, you know.”

  “Believe me, I know.” J.T. was asleep when Lucy entered his room. As if drawn by an invisible force, she turned to the picture of him with his father. “Colin,” she whispered, touching his image. “Thank you for what you were to me. For Madison and J.T. and our years together. Thank you.”

  She went down the hall and listened at Madison’s closed door, then slipped into the guest room. She gazed out at the darkening sky, thinking of blackmail and Jack and a dangerous man who wasn’t dead, and when she crawled into bed and pulled her quilts up to her chin, she thought of Sebastian. And she smiled. The Widow Swift was falling in love again.

  The memo came across his desk late, around nine, and at nine-fifteen, Jack Swift gave up on working until midnight as he’d planned and got a cab home. It was a routine memo. His staff was aware Sebastian Redwing had once saved his life and had been Colin’s friend, and they regularly passed along pertinent information on Redwing Associates.

  Happy Ford, a Washington, DC-based consultant for Redwing Associates, was shot this evening here in the city. She’s in critical condition. Prognosis optimistic. Unknown if injury sustained in work-related activity. No suspects at this time.

  Mowery.

  In his bones, Jack knew Darren Mowery had shot this woman.

  He got to his house, ran upstairs, started throwing clothes into his suitcase. Lucy, the children. He had to get to them. Somehow, he’d crossed Mowery. Somehow, he’d screwed up.

  “I did everything the bastard asked!”

  His suitcase fell off his bed, its contents spilling across the floor. He collapsed onto the thick rug amidst boxer shorts and chinos and sobbed. He pulled his knees up under his chin, wrapped his arms around his ankles and cried like a two-year-old. He couldn’t stop. Colin, Eleanor. Gone. Dead. Buried. Everything he’d lived and worked for about to go up in smoke.

  He had nothing left. Nothing.

  And now Lucy and his grandchildren—he didn’t know. He didn’t know what Mowery would do.

  “Jack?” Sidney’s voice, calling from downstairs. “Jack, are you here? I called your office, and they said you lit out like a bat out of a burning cave. What’s going on?”

  In another minute, she was in the doorway.

  She gasped. “Jack.”

  “Oh, Sidney. Sidney, what am I going to do?”

  Thirteen

  Lucy ignored J.T.’s protests and made him go blueberry picking with her first thing in the morning. “Wild blueberries make the best muffins,” she told him. “They’re just starting to ripen.”

  “Why can’t Madison go?”

  “She’s still asleep, and you’re right here, bright-eyed and raring to go.”

  He made a face and slumped his shoulders, dragging his heels. If she’d told him he could go play Nintendo or watch TV, she knew he’d perk up, which only made her more determined. She handed him a coffee can. “You can be miserable or you can be cheerful. Your choice.”

  “I wish Georgie could come over.”

  She’d called Rob and Patti last night and suggested they keep Georgie home today. Lucy slung an arm over her son’s shoulder. “You’re getting so big. Are your feet bigger than mine yet?”

  He liked that idea, and they walked up along the western edge of the stone wall that bordered the field, finally climbing over it to a cluster of low-bush wild blueberries. They squatted down, the sun already warm on their backs. It was supposed to rain later on, but now the air was humid and so still that Lucy swore she’d be able to hear a spider move.

  “They’re still green,” J.T. said.

  “Not all of them. We only need a cup for muffins. They’ll be perfect when Grandpa’s here next week. We can have him down for blueberry pancakes, blueberry pie, blueberry ice cream.”

  “I hate blueberry pancakes.”

  “J.T.”

  He smiled at her over the blueberry bushes. He still thought his cute smile could get him out of trouble. Just like his father. Lucy noticed there wasn’t the usual pang of regret, the ache of realizing that her son would never really know his father. It wasn’t okay—she hated it. But they’d be all right.

  “Look! Mom, look, I’ve got one, two, three—five blueberries! Look at this one, it’s huge.” He plucked them fast, tossed them into his can as he reached for more. “Wow, I’m in the right spot.”

  “Good for you, J.T. Just keep picking.”

  He lost interest three handfuls of blueberries later, but Lucy decided they had enough for muffins. They clambered over the stone wall, her life, at that moment, back to normal.

  She saw Sebastian walk out onto the back steps and sit down. He waved to her, and her heart skipped a beat, just as if she were a thirteen-year-old with a crush. Except this was different. She and Sebastian weren’t kids. She was thirty-eight; he was thirty-nine or forty. Colin was the right man for the woman she’d been, but she wasn’t that woman anymore. The past three years had changed her. She’d lost a husband, she was raising two children on her own, she’d started her own business and moved to the country.

  J.T. skipped ahead of her. “Hey, Sebastian!”

  “Hey, J.T. You’re up with the roosters.”

  “Mom and I picked blueberries.” He stuck his can under Sebastian’s nose. “Look.”

  Lucy followed at a slower pace, knowing push was coming to shove. She had a plan. She was tired of waiting for the next shoe to drop. But she knew Sebastian wouldn’t like what she had in mind.

  “We’re making muffins,” J.T. said.

  Sebastian eyed her as she got closer. It was as if he could sense she was up to something he wouldn’t like. “Muffins, huh?”

  “Yes,” Lucy said. “I thought we’d take some muffins up to Barbara and surprise her.”

  His eyes darkened just slightly, but enough. She was right. He didn’t approve. “J.T., you’ve got a few stems in your berries. Why don’t you take your can into the kitchen and pick them out while your mother and I talk.”

  “Don’t argue with her,” J.T. warned. “She’s not in the mood.”

  He pounded up the steps, never one to make less noise when he could make more. Sebastian stood, his bruises and scrapes even less noticeable today. “You’re going to take muffins to Barbara?”

  “Yes, it’s what I’d do if I didn’t suspect her of being involved with a blackmail scheme and leaving me mean-spirited presents.”

  “They were more than mean-spirited, and the point is, you do suspect her.”

  “Well, you do. I don’t know if I do. I’m not the one with twenty years of experience with creeps and desperadoes. I take people on adventures. Fun adventures. Nothing extreme, nothing scary. I mean, the unforeseen can happen and does.” She squinted at him against the morning sun. “But we have contingency plans.”

  “Lucy, whoever left those flowers yesterday knew you were here with the kids. If it was Barbara, she knew I was here. She took a huge risk. When I see something like this escalate, I don’t like it.”

  “I didn’t like it when it hadn’t escalated. Sebastian, Barbara knows I know she’s here. If I don’t go up to see her, she’s going to wonder why.”

  “Let her wonder.”

  “What if she’s innocent? Then I’ll have hurt her feelings for no good reason.”

  “No, for a damn good reason. If she’s innocent, she’ll understand.”

  “That I thought she was capable of leaving me flowers from my dead husband? I don’t think so.”

  “J.T. was right. You aren’t in the mood to argue.”

  Lucy pounded up the steps almost as hard as J.T. had and tore open the door. She looked back at Sebastian and caught her breath at how the sunlight struck his hair, brought out the hard lines in his face. Maybe she was jumping the gun to think she could have a relationship with him. It was one thing to fall in love, another thing to have a relationship t
hat worked. “I’m bringing Barbara wild-blueberry muffins.”

  “Plato will be here by noon.”

  “Good. In the meantime, you can hover.”

  The door slammed shut behind her.

  And he laughed. In another minute, he was making coffee and picking stems out of the blueberries with J.T. as if he’d admitted defeat, which Lucy knew he hadn’t. Maybe defeat had driven him out to the edges of his ranch and into a shack, but it hadn’t driven him into her kitchen. The man had burrowed under her skin, and he meant to stay there.

  She wrapped the muffins in aluminum foil and drove up the dirt road while they were still warm, because that was what she ordinarily would have done. She wouldn’t have walked for fear of squishing the muffins, and she wouldn’t have waited until they were cold, because they were no good cold.

  The only difference was not taking Madison and J.T. with her. They stayed at the house with Rob.

  Sebastian, she knew, was on the prowl in the woods. Hovering. She could almost feel his presence when she got out of her car at the rented house. There still was no breeze, the air warm and humid even up on the ridge. She followed a shaded gravel path and took the stairs to the deck. Sebastian had suggested she not go inside. Made sense to her.

  “Barbara? Hello, it’s me, Lucy!”

  “I’m here,” Barbara said from the screened porch.

  “Oh, I didn’t see you. J.T. and I made muffins this morning, and I brought you some. We picked wild blueberries bright and early.”

  “Sounds lovely.”

  Barbara pushed open the screen door, smiling as she came out onto the deck. She looked perfectly normal to Lucy. A bit formally dressed for Vermont, perhaps, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for Jack Swift’s assistant. Lucy tried to place when they’d first met. It was when she and Colin were dating, for sure—not long after the assassination attempt. Barbara Allen had been a fixture in Jack’s office for as long as Lucy could remember. Could she feel taken for granted and resent it?

  But when Barbara smelled the muffins and seemed so genuinely delighted, Lucy couldn’t imagine her stalking and harassing anyone, much less her boss’s daughter-in-law. If nothing else, it would be dumb, and Barbara wasn’t dumb. “Thank you so much,” she said. “I love wild blueberries.”

 

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