by Nora Roberts
temperatures rising, she worked for another hour.
“You need to give that a rest,” Brooks told her.
“Yes. I need to fine-tune. It’s close, but not perfect. I don’t want to do anything else until I consider a few options. I’m checking something else now. Unrelated.”
“I checked in with Anson. He’s meeting Garrison and Assistant Director Cabot in about ninety minutes.”
“I estimate I’ll need another day on the program.” She glanced back briefly. “I can’t divulge to the authorities what I plan to do. It’s illegal.”
“I got that much. Why don’t you divulge it to me?”
“I’d rather wait until I’ve finished it, when I’m sure I can do what I hope to do.” She started to say more, then shook her head. “It can wait. I’m not sure of the proper dress for this afternoon or—” She broke off, horrified, spun around in her chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What?” Her sudden and passionate distress had him bobbling the bowl of cereal he’d just poured. “Tell you what?”
“I need to take a covered dish to your mother’s. You know very well I’m not familiar with the rules. You should have told me.”
“There aren’t any rules. It’s just—”
“It says right here.” She jabbed a finger at her screen. “Guests often bring a covered dish, perhaps a personal specialty.”
“Where does it say that?”
“On this site. I’m researching barbecue etiquette.”
“Jesus Christ.” Torn between amusement and absolute wonder, he dumped milk in the bowl. “It’s just a get-together, not a formal deal with etiquette. I picked up extra beer to take over. We’ll grab a bottle of wine.”
“I have to make something, right away.” She flew into the kitchen, began searching her refrigerator, her cupboards.
He stood, watching her and shoveling in cereal. “Abigail, chill it some. You don’t need to make anything. There’ll be plenty of food.”
“That’s not the point! Orzo. I have everything I need to make orzo.”
“Okay, but what is the point?”
“Taking food in a covered dish I’ve prepared myself is a courtesy, and a sign of appreciation. If I hadn’t checked, I wouldn’t have known, because you didn’t tell me.” She put a pot of water on the stove, added salt.
“I should have my ass whipped.”
“You think it’s amusing.” She gathered sun-dried tomatoes, olive oil, black olives. “I may not know precisely how this sort of thing functions, but I understand perfectly well your family’s opinion of me will be important.”
“My mother and sisters already like you.”
“They may tend in that direction, until I rudely attend the barbecue without a covered dish. Just go out and pick a small head of radicchio out of the garden.”
“I’d be happy to, but I don’t know what it looks like.”
She spared him a fulminating glance before storming out to pick it herself.
That sure took her mind off illegal computer viruses and stepping into the arms of the feds, he thought. And since she was on a tear, he thought it might be wise to stay out of her way for a couple of hours. When she stormed back in, he made a mental note that radicchio was the purple leafy stuff, in case it came up again.
“I need to go into the station for a couple hours,” he began.
“Good. Go away.”
“Need anything? I can pick whatever up on the way back.”
“I have everything.”
“I’ll see you later, then.” Brooks rolled his eyes at Bert on his way out as if to say, Good luck dealing with her.
He’d barely gotten out the door when his phone rang.
“Gleason.”
“Hey, Chief. There’s a little to-do over at Hillside Baptist,” Ash told him.
“I don’t handle to-dos on my day off.”
“Well, it’s a to-do with Mr. Blake and the Conroys, so I thought you might want in on it.”
“Hell. I’m rolling now.” He jumped in the car, backed it up with the phone at his ear. “What level of to-do?”
“Shouted accusations and bitter insults, with a high probability of escalation. I’m rolling, too.”
“If you get there ahead of me, you start heading off that escalation.”
He thought, Hell—and hit the sirens and the gas when he swung onto the main road.
It didn’t take him long, and he pulled up nearly nose-to-nose with Ash as they came in from opposite directions.
“You shaved off your …” It couldn’t rightfully be called a beard, Brooks considered. “Face hair.”
“Yeah, it got too hot.”
“Uh-huh.”
As Brooks had judged, the to-do had already bumped up to a scene, and a scene was one finger jab away from a ruckus, so he decided to wait to rag on Ash about the haze he’d scraped off his face.
Lincoln Blake and Mick Conroy might’ve been at the center of it, but they were surrounded by plenty of people in their Sunday best, lathered up and taking sides on the newly mowed green slope in front of the red-brick church.
Even the Reverend Goode, holy book still in his hand, had gone beet-red straight back into the sweep of his snowy hair.
“Let’s simmer down,” Brooks called out.
Some of the voices stilled; some of the chest bumpers eased back as Brooks moved through.
Blake had brought his stone-faced assistant, and Brooks had no doubt he was packing. Arkansas still had laws against guns in church—Christ knew for how long—but it was short odds some of those gathered on that green slope wore a weapon along with their tie and shined-up shoes.
Add guns, he thought, and a to-do could go from a scene to a ruckus to a bloodbath in a heartbeat.
“Y’all are standing in front of a church.” He led with disapproval, laced with a thin cover of disappointment. “I expect most of you attended services this morning. I heard some language when I got here that’s not fitting at such a time and place. Now, I’m going to ask y’all to show some respect.”
“It’s Lincoln here started it.” Jill Harris folded her arms. “Mick no sooner walked out the door than Lincoln got in his face.”
“A man’s got a right to say his piece.” Mojean Parsins, Doyle’s mother, squared off with the older woman. “And you oughta keep that parrot nose of yours out of other people’s business.”
“I could if you hadn’ta raised a hooligan.”
“Ladies.” Knowing he took his life in his hands—women were apt to leap and bite, and were as likely to be carrying as their men—Brooks stepped between them. “It’d be best if you, and everybody else, went on home now.”
“You entrapped our boy, you and that Lowery woman. Lincoln told me just what you did. And the Conroys here, they’re trying to make a killing off a bit of teenage mischief.”
Hilly Conroy elbowed her husband aside. From the look of her, Brooks decided she’d finally found her mad. “Mojean Parsins, you know that’s a lie. I’ve known you all your life, and I can see on your face you know that for a lie.”
“Don’t you call me a liar! Your boy’s run that hotel into the ground, and you’re trying to make my boy pay for it.”
“You don’t want to stack your son up against mine, Mojean. If you do, and you try spreading those lies, you’ll be sorry for it.”
“You go to hell.”
“That’s enough.” Mojean’s husband, Clint, stepped forward. “That’s enough, Mojean. We’re going home.”
“You need to stand up for your boy!”
“Why? You’ve been standing in front of him his whole life. I apologize, Hilly, Mick, for the part I played in making Doyle the embarrassment he is. Mojean, I’m going down to the car, and I’m driving home. You can come or stay, that’s up to you. If you stay, I won’t be home when you get there.”
“Don’t you talk to me that—”
But he turned, walked away.
“Clint!” After a quick, wide-eyed lo
ok around, she trotted after him.
“This has about worn me out,” Jill commented. “I’m going to walk on home.”
“Why don’t Hilly and I give you a ride, Ms. Harris?” Mick stepped forward, took her arm. “I’m sorry about this, Brooks.”
“You just take Ms. Harris on home.”
“This isn’t finished, Conroy.”
Mick sent Blake a cold stare with weariness around the edges. “I’m telling you for the final time, I’ll do no business with you. Stay away from me, my family and my properties. Keep your assistant and his like away from me, my family and my properties.”
“If you think you can squeeze more money out of me, you’re mistaken. I made you a fair offer.”
“Go on home,” Brooks told Mick, then turned to Blake.
Here he didn’t bother with disapproval or disappointment. He arrowed straight into disgust, and let it show.
“I’m going to be talking to Mr. and Mrs. Conroy later.”
“Getting your stories lined up.”
“I’ll be talking to Reverend and Mrs. Goode as well. Do you want to imply your minister and his wife are liars, too? The fact is, my deputies and I will be talking to everybody who witnessed or had part in this business this morning. If I find there’s been any level of harassment on your part, I’m going to advise the Conroys to file a restraining order against you and whoever you’ve been using to dog them. You won’t like it. You’ll like it less if one’s filed and you cross the line of it.”
“You can’t bully me.”
“You’d know all about bullying, so you know that’s not what I’m doing. I’m outlining the situation. You may want to talk it over with your lawyers before you do anything you might regret. For now, I’m telling you to move along. Your wife looks upset, and embarrassed.”
“My wife is none of your business.”
“That’s the truth. It will be my business if you cause another ruckus.”
“Lincoln.” His color down again, his voice calm, Reverend Goode stepped forward. “I understand you’re in turmoil. I’m here if you want to unburden yourself. But I must ask you to take Genny home. She looks ill. I must ask you not to come back to this house of God with an unchristian purpose. Go home now, Lincoln, and tend to your wife. I’ll pray for you and your family.”
“Keep your prayers.” Blake strode away, leaving his assistant to help Genny down the slope toward the waiting car.
“You’re going to need some strong prayers, Reverend.”
Goode sighed. “We do the best we can do.”
SHE CHANGED CLOTHES THREE TIMES. It was completely unlike her to worry about wardrobe unless it was for the purpose of establishing identity or blending in. Her research indicated that attire would be casual, unless specifically stated. But that could include a casual dress or skirt, neither of which she currently owned.
Now she felt she needed to acquire some.
If they succeeded—no, when they succeeded, as it did no harm to employ Brooks’s positive thoughts—she’d find use for a more expansive and varied wardrobe.
Now she settled on dark blue capris and a red shirt and sandals she’d rarely worn and only bought in a weak moment. She spent some time with makeup, also rarely worn since she’d become Abigail, as blending and going unnoticed had been the goal. But she had a good hand with it, if she said so herself.
She’d use that hand if—when—she transformed to Elizabeth, to cooperate with the authorities and give testimony against the Volkovs.
As she glanced to the monitor to watch Brooks come home, she put on John’s earrings, worn when she felt a need for confidence.
She went downstairs, found Brooks in the kitchen, scowling down at a can of Coke.
“Something happened.”
“Unrelated.” He popped the top, guzzled. “There was a to-do edging toward ruckus down at the Hillside Baptist Church.”
“Organized religion has an unfortunate history of fostering violence.”
He just rubbed the cold can over his forehead. “This wasn’t about religion. Blake’s been hassling the Conroys—and he took that to church this morning. He takes something that public, makes a fool of himself, he’s lost control. He’s not going to leave this alone. I’m going to have to talk to the Conroys about taking some legal steps to …”
He finally focused on her. “You look really good.”
“I have on makeup. I thought it was appropriate.”
“Really good.” When he smiled, the anger and stress she’d seen in his eyes warmed away.
“How do you do that? Relax so quickly?”
“I’m taking a pretty woman to a barbecue, and it sure takes the edge off my bad mood. Where’s the stuff you made?”
She took it, then a six-pack of beer, out of the refrigerator. “If you feel you should follow through on the problem now, I’m sure your family will understand.”
“You’re not getting out of this so easy. Colorful,” he commented, as he picked up the bowl. “Ready?”
“I suppose.” She clipped a leash on Bert. “You could brief me on the areas of interest of people who’ll be there. It would help me make conversation.”
“Believe me, making conversation won’t be an issue.” He snagged the beer on the way out. “As soon as we announce we’re getting married, every woman there’s going to be all over you about wedding plans.”
“We don’t have any.”
“Take my word on it, honey, you will before the day’s over.”
She considered that while she rode with the bowl on her lap and her dog sniffing at every inch of the back of the cruiser.
“They may not be pleased.”
“With what? You and me?” He flicked her a quick glance. “They’ll be pleased.”
“I don’t think they would, if they knew the full extent of the situation.”
“I wish I could tell them to prove you wrong, but it’s better if we don’t.”
“You seem so calm. I’ve learned to be calm when something has to change, but this is different. It’s hard to be calm, to wait for Captain Anson to call, to wonder what the authorities will say and do. To think about testifying, about being so close with the program.”
“Whatever happens, we’re together. That keeps me calm.”
She couldn’t claim to be. Her stomach jumped, her heart kicked, and with each passing mile she had to fight to keep her nerves concealed. She tried to think of it as going into a new community, stepping out for the first time with fresh identification. Nerves plagued her each time, but she knew how to conceal them, how to blend so anyone who noticed her saw exactly what she wanted them to see.
It had worked for a dozen years. It had worked until Brooks. He’d seen something else, something more, but she thought of that now as a blessing. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t have this chance at a genuine life.
And the genuine life she might have would include backyard barbecues.
When he parked, she thought she had herself fully under control.
“Relax,” he told her.
“Do I look tense?”
“No, but you are. I’ll take that; you get Bert.”
He tucked the bowl under his arm, hefted the six-pack, and with her hand steady on the leash, they walked toward the house. Toward the music and voices, toward the scent of grilling meat.
She recognized three of the women—Brooks’s mother and his two sisters, but not the other women, the men, the children. The thought of being thrust into the midst of so many strangers dried her throat and thickened her heartbeat.
Before she could get her bearings, Sunny set down a platter and hurried over. “There you are.”
“I had a little business to deal with,” Brooks told her.
“I heard.” Sunny tied Abigail’s tongue into knots with a quick, hard hug before she gave Bert a casual rub. “Don’t you look pretty. And what’s this?”