by John Bowers
Nick nodded. “Fair enough.”
“I don’t know about you, Marshal, but it’s my dinner time. Are you hungry yet?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I hope you like Mexican food.”
“I was raised on it.”
“Good. Let’s get back inside before Luisa comes looking for us.”
***
Dinner was quiet and stiff, almost formal. The dining room was as opulent as the rest of the house, with a table long enough to feed twelve; Nick and Prater were joined by Michael and the conversation was shallow. Prater steered the talk away from business. The food was excellent, the best Mexican fare Nick had eaten in years, and afterward he wandered into the kitchen to meet Luisa.
“Señora, ¿usted se llama Luisa?”
The middle-aged cook turned in surprise, then smiled. “Jess, I am Luisa.”
Nick stuck out his hand and introduced himself. To his surprise, the woman actually curtsied.
“That is the best Mexican meal I’ve had since I left home,” he said. “Tu eres reina de la cocina.”
She blushed with pleasure. “¡Muchas gracias! ¿Hablas español?”
“My mother was Latina,” he said. “She taught me the language growing up.”
She seemed pleased. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Marshal. What would you like for breakfast?”
He grinned hopefully. “¿Tienes chorizo?”
“¿Chorizo con huevos?”
“Absolutely!”
“It will be my pleasure. I will see you in la mañana.”
Nick retrieved his luggage from the car and Michael showed him to his room. It was a fancy guest room on the lowest level, overlooking the pools and horse barns. The furniture was expensive and the room looked as if it had never been used.
“Bathroom is down that hall,” Michael said, pointing. “If you get hungry, Luisa leaves sandwiches on the counter in the kitchen…you’re free to visit any part of the house.”
He stood there a moment, staring at Nick in admiration. Nick dropped his bags on the bed and turned.
“Thanks.”
“No prawblem.”
The young man smiled and started to back away. He stopped.
“Marshal?”
“Yeah?”
“Is someone trying to kill the senator?”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. “He didn’t tell you?”
“No…he seemed agitated for the last few days but I didn’t know the details. Why would anyone want to hurt him?”
“I don’t know, Michael. I’m not even sure the threat is real, but I have to proceed as if it is.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
Nick rubbed his face and nodded.
“Yeah. I’ll be interviewing the staff tomorrow. You and I will sit down and have a chat, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. Anything I can do.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Michael smiled. “Good night, Marshal.”
Nick locked the door behind him and took a few minutes to inspect the room. He looked behind drapes, pictures, chairs, the desk, and under the bed. Nothing appeared out of order. He pulled an electronic device out of his luggage and activated it, making sure the room wasn’t wired for sound. The only electronics he found were the regular power outlets and a wireless web connection.
He sat down at the desk and opened his pocket ‘puter, logged onto the web, and did a few minutes’ research, cocking an eyebrow at some of the results. Grimly he put the ‘puter away and stood up.
He stood at the window for a while and stared out across the sloping landscape. The suns were down now but Centauri B still backlit the distant hills with solar light, enough to cast a silvery glow across everything. Nick had to admit it was a gorgeous location, one to inspire an artist. He slid the floor-to-ceiling window open and stepped out onto the patio, walking toward the edge where steps led down to the pools. The air had chilled. He saw night lights in the horse barns and around the tennis courts, but otherwise the property was still. Somewhere in the distance a horse whinnied and another answered. Then only the breeze as it washed across the ridge.
He glanced up at the stars. The constellations were familiar, similar to how they appeared from Terra. The Centauri system was only four light years from Sol, so that was no surprise. There was no moon, so the sky was a uniform color, gradually getting darker as he looked to the east, away from Centauri B’s glow.
He sat down on a patio chair and pulled a portable comm out of his pocket. It was still early in the evening at home—Trimmer Springs was one time zone over from Centauri Springs. He placed the call and stared at the screen until it was answered. Suzanne Norgaard peered out at him with a smile.
“Hey there, lawman. Where are you?”
“I’m at the bottom of the continent, almost. How are things at home?”
“Quiet, as usual. Did you have a good trip?”
“Long and boring.” He made a kissing motion with his lips. “I miss you.”
“That’s what a girl likes to hear. Do you have any idea what I would like to do to you right now?”
“Yes, I do, but don’t say it—it’s hard enough looking at you without being able to do anything about it.”
She smiled wickedly. “First I would rip off your shirt—”
“Suzanne…”
“Then I would suck your chest all the way down to your belt—”
“Suzanne…”
“Then I would unbuckle your belt…” Her tongue emerged from between her lips.
“Stop!” He was almost panting, his blood pressure soaring. “Suzanne, you can’t do this to me.”
She giggled. “What’s the matter, Nick? Your fantasies taking over?”
He nodded. “The fires are burning. If you stoke them any higher I might not be able to control myself.”
“And what are you going to do down there all by yourself?”
“Who said I’m by myself? I met a really hot woman today.”
“Really!”
“Yeah, some kind of reporter. She wants to interview me.”
“Is she Vegan?”
“No—”
“And you think you’re going to scare me with threats like that? If she isn’t Vegan, she isn’t even female.”
He had to laugh. She knew him too well.
“You just watch yourself,” he said. “It isn’t safe to pull the pin on a grenade and just walk away.”
She took a step back from her comm screen so he could see her upper body. Her eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Shall I take off my shirt?”
“No! Goddammit, Suzanne…”
She laughed and moved in until only her face was visible.
“Okay, coward. I just thought it might help you remember what’s waiting for you at home.”
“I haven’t forgotten. I’ll never be able to forget.”
“I didn’t think you would. But if you ever do, just remember that Vegans are descended from Vikings, and Vikings do terrible things to people.” She smiled dreamily. “I wish you were here.”
“So you can to terrible things to me?”
“Yes. Terrible, terrible things.” She bared her teeth.
“Me, too. Hopefully I’ll be back soon.”
“I’m counting the minutes. I love you.”
“I know.”
She blew him a kiss and they disconnected.
Nick closed the phone and leaned back with a sigh, staring at the stars. He still wasn’t sure about this whole marriage thing. He had sort of, halfway, proposed to her after she was shot, but it had been more of a panicked reaction to almost losing her. As much as he loved her, as deeply committed as he felt, marriage was just so…final.
Early in his career, he’d decided that marriage was a bad idea for a U.F. Marshal, for any number of reasons. Marshals were constantly being posted all over the galaxy, sometimes living in environments so extreme that family life was all but impossible. A marshal’s
life was dangerous, tenuous, and it was hardly fair to subject a wife—never mind children—to that kind of uncertainty.
Nick had decided never to marry.
Then he met Suzanne.
Then it got complicated.
They hadn’t set a date yet, but it was pretty much a foregone conclusion that they were engaged. As long as he stayed on Alpha Centauri it might work, but there was no guarantee. A young marshal with talent and experience might be needed anywhere, and Nick wasn’t yet thirty. Suzanne was six years older and ready to settle down, but he was five years into a ten year commitment and couldn’t just quit. It might be another ten or fifteen years before he reached the age where the Federation took pity on him.
They had talked about this, but nothing was resolved. In Suzanne’s mind the matter was settled—in Nick’s it was not.
He rubbed his eyes and put the thought away. It wasn’t a problem he could solve tonight, and he already had enough to think about. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the cool breeze that washed over him.
His eyes popped open as he heard a glass door sliding open behind him. Almost at once he picked up a whiff of expensive perfume, then heard the click of heels on the stone patio. It was a steady, deliberate stride that approached him, like the studied gait of a runway model…or a woman demanding to be noticed. He sat up slightly but didn’t turn around. She walked six feet past him and stopped, then turned and stood there with her head cocked to the left, an impish smile on her face.
“Mind if I join you, Marshal?”
Nick blinked in surprise. “Miss Gannon. What the hell are you doing here?”
Cybele Gannon settled into a patio chair with a smile.
“Where else should I be? I live here.”
Chapter 5
Nick stared at the brunette in surprise. She held a drink in her left hand and a small recording device in her right. She appeared extremely pleased with herself.
“You live here?”
“Yes.” She sipped her drink. “My full name is Cybele Gannon Prater. I dropped the last name when I started stringing so there would be no obvious connection to my father. When I make it professionally, I prefer that no one suggests nepotism.”
Nick nodded. That sounded reasonable.
“So you knew I was coming here when we met this afternoon.”
“I did. But I was hoping to corner you before you actually arrived.”
Nick studied her thoughtfully. She was no Suzanne, but you didn’t have to be Vegan to be beautiful. Cybele Gannon had a natural grace, a pretty face, and a slender frame with all the right components. Even without cosmetics she would have been striking, but she had the money to have her face done professionally, and the effect was magnetic.
“I guess you have me trapped,” he said noncommittally.
She laughed. “I guess I do. Would you like a drink?”
He started to say no, then reconsidered. Technically he was never off duty, but it was late and he was still wired from his trip down. He nodded.
“Scotch, if you have it.”
“Single malt?”
“Perfect.”
She was gone less than a minute, returning with a heavy glass filled halfway to the top. Nick gazed at it in consternation.
“Are you planning to murder your father?”
“What?” She looked startled.
“You gave me enough scotch to knock me out for a week, leaving you free to make your getaway.”
She laughed, relief in her voice. “I’m sorry, I just figured you were one of those two-fisted drinkers. U.F. Marshals are supposed to be tough, aren’t they?” She settled back into the patio chair. “I promise you I didn’t slip anything into your drink. I’ll take the first sip, if you need proof.”
He grinned wryly and took a swallow, savoring the flavor as the liquor burned its way into his stomach. He stared at the glass a moment, then met Cybele Gannon’s direct gaze.
“There isn’t going to be any interview.”
“Why not?”
“Interviews are for politicians and celebrities, not U.F. Marshals. If you wanted to ask about the job, then I might consider it, but ‘what makes Nick Walker tick’, as you put it, is nobody’s business. The less people know about me, the better I can do my job, and the safer for everyone.”
“I disagree, Marshal…may I call you Nick?”
Nick shrugged.
“I disagree, Nick. You’re not just any U.F. Marshal. I’ve done a little comparative digging, and your history is unique among the marshals I’ve investigated. You’ve probably seen more action in five years than the average marshal sees in a career.”
“I’ve been unlucky. So what?”
Cybele Gannon barked a short laugh. “Unlucky! My god, how do you figure that? If you were unlucky you’d have been dead years ago.”
He shrugged again. “I guess it’s all in your perspective.” He sipped his drink and set the glass down on the deck.
“In my opinion,” she continued, “if people know more about you, they might be more likely to cooperate when you need it. Have you thought about that?”
“I’ve never had a lot of trouble with people cooperating, unless they have something to hide. All you’re likely to accomplish with a glitter piece is to cause me trouble.”
She tilted her head. “How would it cause you trouble?”
“I don’t usually deal with petty criminals. The people I hunt are generally more cold and calculating; they’re not afraid of their shadows and they’re always looking for an edge against law enforcement. You give them the ‘inside story’ on me, whether it’s true or not, and they’ll use it. You could even get me killed, Miss Gannon.”
Her eyes widened a fraction.
“I certainly don’t want to do that, but again, I disagree. I think the bigger the legend surrounding you, the more intimidating you’ll be. Criminals will be afraid to cross you.”
He shook his head slowly.
“I’m afraid you don’t know much about criminals. My best defense is mystery, not legend.”
She stared at him for long seconds, tapping a fingernail on the arm of her patio chair.
“Let me ask you a question,” Nick said. “Do you have any idea who sent the wanted poster to your father?”
“No.”
“Did you send it?”
“No! Of course not! Why would you even ask me that?”
“Stranger things have happened, and every question has to be asked.”
“Is he in any real danger?”
“I don’t know yet. It could be just a hoax, or some kind of harassment. Harassment is still a crime, but not necessarily a threat.”
She nodded thoughtfully, then focused on him again.
“So, about the interview—”
“No interview, Miss Gannon. Write a novel.”
Friday, March 23, 0445 (CC)
Centauri Springs – Alpha Centauri 2
It wasn’t until three o’clock in the morning that Alpha Centauri B, the smaller of the binary suns, finally receded and full darkness settled over Centauri Springs. The town lay still and quiet in the chill air, nothing moving except small animals and a single police car that slowly patrolled the streets. The police car was on the east end of town when a second car appeared, a hovercar that approached from the south.
The hovercar stopped at the same fuel depot where Nick Walker had gassed up a few hours earlier; the depot and food mart were closed for business, but the attached au’tel was not. A wiry, rawboned man with a shaven head and tattoos down both sides of his neck climbed down from the pilot’s seat and walked up to the auto-clerk built into the side of the building. He keyed in his basic information and used a cash card rather than his thumbprint to pay for the room. Retrieving a key, he walked down the side of the building until he found his room, let himself inside, and didn’t come out again.
Gil Prater Estate – Alpha Centauri 2
Nick woke six hours after falling asleep an
d peered out the window onto the patio. Centauri A was barely up, throwing slanted yellow light across the landscape, but Senator Prater was seated at a patio table with a data book and a cup of coffee. An early riser—not surprising considering his line of work.
Nick hopped into the shower and came out ten minutes later feeling alive again. After getting dressed and strapping on his gunbelt, he left the guest room and wound his way through the multi-level mansion toward the dining room. He smelled the food before he found it, and found Michael seated at table with English muffins and coffee.
“Good morning, Marshal. Did you sleep well?”
“Like the dead.”
The door to the kitchen swung open and Luisa peered in. She saw Nick and smiled. Without a word she carried in a steaming plate of huevos con chorizo and placed it before him, then returned a moment later with a cup of coffee. Nick stared at the plate and breathed the familiar but nearly forgotten aroma.
“¡Dios mío!” he breathed. “That smells heavenly.”
“Just like you’ mama use’ to make?” Luisa said.
“Maybe even better.” He picked up a fork and took a bite, lifted his chin and closed his eyes to savor the spicy flavor. He glanced up at the woman and winked. “Definitely better.”
Luisa beamed with pleasure. “There is plenty more, Marshal. As much as you want.”
“Thank you.”
She left the dining room and Nick began to eat. The chorizo was mixed into the eggs and scalded his palate as he ate, permeating his sinuses and filling him with nostalgia. Michael Smith watched in quiet amusement, chewing his muffins without comment. After several minutes Nick sat back with a sigh, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and reached for his coffee.
“Luisa is a wonderful cook,” Michael observed.
Nick nodded. “Best Mexican meal I’ve eaten in years.” He swigged his coffee, then looked at Michael. “You ready for that interview?”
***
The interviews didn’t take long. Nick didn’t really suspect any of the house staff of sending the wanted poster, but had to eliminate them all the same. Plus, it never hurt to know as much as possible about the people close to a case.
Michael Smith appeared to be transparent…what you saw was what you got. Michael was twenty-five, single, and had no criminal history. The story he told Nick matched what the senator had said; Michael’s father had been a college buddy of Gil Prater, and when both he and his wife were killed by terrorists during the Coalition uprising, Michael, who was sixteen at the time, had come to live with Prater.