Then a sign caught his attention because it read NO LIFEGUARD ON DUTY.
He turned and headed back the way he’d come. All around, people sunned themselves, played radios, listened to MP3 players through earbuds. There were a few people splashing in the shallow end of the pool, kids with adults, teens horsing around. One elderly man did laps in a determined Australian crawl, somersaulting like a racer when he reached the end of the pool to push off and begin another lap again. Jeff glanced up at the lifeguard chair—an obvious throwback to an earlier time when everyone knew it was cheaper to hire lifeguards than it was to defend lawsuits.
“Gotcha.”
Am I talking to myself now? One more week with Nigel and I’ll need someone to fetch me out of the rain.
“The old man has done forty laps so far,” Nigel remarked. “I counted.”
Nigel wore a long-sleeved rash guard and a pair of red swim trunks. He sported a floppy cloth hat, reflective aviators, and a nose full of zinc oxide. His hair was caught back in a ponytail or braid. Either way it wasn’t visible. A striped towel covered his legs.
“Good thing he didn’t have a heart attack because you make a piss-poor lifeguard.”
“Hello. I have my buoy.” Nigel held up a standard lifeguard can. “And I could call for help. It’s no worse than having no one out here, and I fooled you completely.”
“You sure did.” Nigel’s arguments made him tired. “Come on, Red Chief. Time to go.”
Chapter Five
The immense log home Deidre had rented on Nigel’s behalf was amazing for something she’d had to locate in a pinch. It was luxurious—well furnished and well-appointed, plus it was secure enough, gated on the road side, fenced where it was accessible, nestled on top of a rocky cliff with a steep drop out back. The land was woodsy and private. It had a modern kitchen and a cozy living room—soaring windows with a great view overlooking the valley below. The living room featured comfortable leather seating, a big-screen, and a grand piano—a luxury Nigel would surely enjoy. He lifted the lid and played a light arpeggio on the high keys. Not terribly in tune, but serviceable.
“This isn’t bad.” Nigel glanced at Jeff, who had thrown the small duffel he carried into a bedroom downstairs. He was busy with Amil, dragging all of Nigel’s luggage from the SUV and up the stairs to the master suite.
Jeff didn’t look around but said, “It’s secluded, gated, and it’s got an alarm system, so that’s good.”
“Did you even see the view? The bedrooms look out over the gorge to the east, so we’ll get the sunrise.”
“When are you ever up that early?”
“Usually I see it from the other side because I’m up that late.”
“Well. The view is for you. It’s only my thing when it impacts my ability to keep you safe and private. For example, at night, if the lights were on in this room, you could be photographed from outside, so close the blinds or watch out for yourself.”
“I must be sure to give a proper show.”
Jeff stared at him for a second or two, then headed back outside.
“All right then. Positively no sense of humor. Check.” Nigel wandered to the kitchen, where he found a single beer in the refrigerator and an opener in one of the drawers. Jeff came in while he was standing at the sink drinking it.
“There’s not much to eat or drink in here,” Nigel told him. “I think this beer was left from the last guest. We’ll need some staples. Cheese and crackers. Tea.”
“I’ll go to the store after I check the place out. Make a list of what you like. Name brands if they’re important.”
The look Jeff gave him said, And of course, they would be.
“Deidre knows I don’t cook. Isn’t there a binder somewhere with takeaway menus?”
“I can cook. She knows that too.”
Nigel was skeptical. “I guess it’s only for a few weeks.”
“And thank you for that ringing endorsement.” Jeff headed back the way he’d come.
Nigel sighed audibly. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know.” Jeff turned back to face him. “It’s close quarters here. So let’s be realistic. Fantastic phone sex aside, we’re not friends. I’m here to do my job, and you’re here to lie low until your most recent behavior dies down and you can talk about your indiscretion on Jay Leno without people throwing tomatoes. I can do my job. Can you do yours?”
“Of course I can.” Nigel wanted to say he’d been doing his job since before Jeff was born, but at the same time he didn’t want to point out their age difference.
Still. He’d been playing a part, some part, since he’d been born.
The view out the window caught Nigel’s attention when he realized there was a hummingbird feeder and two different kinds of hummingbirds were vying for the opportunity to drink, like tiny sword fighters, dueling with their beaks.
How long he watched—the tiny birds were fascinating—he had no clue.
Maybe it was okay to slow down for a week. Maybe he could drop all pretense for once and just…be himself.
Christ. Who the hell am I?
Jeff’s gaze seemed to be drawn to the drama outside as well.
“I’ll do my best, Jeff.”
Jeff smiled at that. “Fair enough.”
Jeff crouched low and waded into the bombed-out wreckage of the village market. Glass and debris crackled beneath his feet. All around him, mixed in with the sounds of sirens and men shouting, came moans and cries of the injured. He walked past an outstretched hand and ignored its owner’s anguished plea for help.
Jeff’s eyes opened suddenly as he was gripped by a wave of shame so brutal it tightened in his gut like a nasty case of food poisoning. Had he done that? Had he been able to ignore suffering of that magnitude and walk calmly by without even a ping from his conscience?
Was that a dream or a memory, or…?
His attention shifted to something, some rumble of trash bins or rattle of bottles and paper outside his window that put him instantly on the alert.
What’s that?
He grabbed his phone for light and crept to his closet where he kept his Glock in a locked case. One lasting effect of his stint in the army was an inability to face the world without some form of firearm. He’d brought it along on this trip, not for Nigel’s benefit but because he couldn’t sleep unless he knew his weapon was close by.
There was no sound from inside the house and no indication anyone was trying the doors—yet.
On the way out of the bedroom he crashed into Nigel, whose hair stuck out in wildly tangled shreds around his sleepy face.
Nigel’s eyes widened. “You carry a gun?”
Jeff put a finger to his lips and spoke in a bare whisper. “Did you hear it too?”
Nigel nodded.
At that moment the security lights outside the big window in the living room went on, causing both men to freeze.
“It’s probably nothing. An animal. I’ll go,” Jeff whispered.
Nigel wrapped both hands around Jeff’s arm. “What if—”
“Hush.” Jeff motioned for him to be quiet again, and gave him the phone. He leaned over and whispered in Nigel’s ear, “Just in case, get into the bathroom, lock the door, and call 911. It’s probably a bunch of raccoons or something, but to be safe, get the sheriff out here.”
Nigel nodded. Jeff could tell he wanted to say more, but he turned to obey.
For once.
Jeff made his way through the kitchen to the rear door of the cabin. He unlatched it as quietly as he could and stepped out into the backyard, carefully testing each footstep for squeaks in the deck. The security light shone from the eastern side of the property. Where Jeff stood, he was deep in shadow. Cautiously he moved forward.
The redwood decking felt soft beneath his bare feet as he padded down the stairs and onto a carpet of dry grass and pine needles. Creeping past a hedge of Indian hawthorne against the wall, he held his hand up to shield his eyes from the glare of the l
ights. If, as he suspected, he’d surprised a family of raccoons in the act of Dumpster-diving for a midnight snack, he was going to feel pretty idiotic.
The side of the house where the trash bins were kept was so bright he didn’t see anything for several seconds, and when he did, his heart slammed into his rib cage.
The bear noticed him at exactly the same moment he noticed the bear.
Black—seemingly immense—it saw Jeff and froze. Jeff uttered a curse that shattered the silence of the thick darkness around them. Time stopped while they eyed each other. Jeff couldn’t take his eyes off the enormous beast. In a solitary second that seemed to last for eons, the bear stretched to its fullest height and roared to intimidate him.
Jeff lowered his gaze immediately, utterly docile, because yeah… Bears, man.
Bears are fucking terrifying.
Bears were worse than anything he’d ever faced. Maybe it was the unpredictable nature of a massive, four-legged predator. Seven hundred or so pounds of muscle and claws and teeth and fur.
Maybe it was because he was only wearing a pair of sleep pants and a rock-band T-shirt. His feet were bare. He didn’t have his phone with him, and his gun was worse than useless—a handgun would only wound a bear and make it angry.
Jeff prayed the bear wouldn’t charge.
He prayed God wasn’t up in heaven laughing because a guy who’s willing to drive a Humvee over mine-pocked roads and into a firefight isn’t supposed to piss himself when he sees a bear up close and personal. He prayed that for the first time since they met, Nigel would do as he was told—that he’d stay put, stay safe, and call for help.
He prayed his Boy Scout leaders had been right—that he remembered all the wilderness nature shit he’d read over the years correctly and he was doing the right thing for the kind of bear he faced.
Definitely black.
Definitely wild.
Definitely a fucking bear, rifling through their trash, poking huge paws around in the remains of dinner—roast chicken and asparagus. Pinot grigio and triple crème brie.
His thoughts echoed louder and louder until he repeated them internally like Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man.
Bears suck. Definitely. Bears suck.
Most of all, though, Jeff prayed it was only the one bear—that he wouldn’t see a couple of cubs out of the corner of his eye or he’d probably end his days on earth as mere ribbons of skin and tufts of hair, in pieces, whether he did the right thing or not.
A terrible, taut silence drew out between them.
There was nothing for it. Jeff had to move. He had to start slowly, one step backward at a time in a relaxed, nonthreatening retreat. Six inches, maybe a whole foot.
Drifting.
Easing nonchalantly backward into the shadows past the bushes and under the eaves of the cabin, back onto the deck and in through the door.
He breathed deeply, silently, in through his nose and out through his mouth as he slowly headed for the patio door and safety. He kept his gun lowered, safety on, and inched along. He was just putting a heel on the stairs that led to the deck when he heard Nigel’s strident voice.
“Oi, whoever’s out there, the police are on their way right now. I’d suggest you move along or prepare to be prosecuted for trespassing to the fullest extent of the law.”
Both the bear and Jeff exploded into action. The bear roared and postured, his massive neck blocking the safety lights so he looked like a bear-shaped halo in the darkness.
A thousand incoherent thoughts passed through Jeff’s head at once, but only three registered.
If the bear charged, he had to stand his ground. He had to protect Nigel. He had to get Nigel back into the fucking house, and Christ…
A wave of dizziness started just behind his eyes and seemed to flood through his bloodstream. He turned his head toward Nigel to warn him, but—for the first, the only time in his life—his knees buckled, his vision grayed out like a grainy black-and-white television, and he dropped to the earth unconscious.
“Jeff. Can you hear me? It’s over. The bear ran away.” Nigel’s face loomed over Jeff’s when he opened his eyes. He clutched Jeff’s hand to his chest so tightly Jeff’s fingers throbbed. Beneath them, Nigel’s heart felt dangerously close to exploding, its rat-a-tat-tat like machine-gun fire. Jeff pulled his hand back.
“Shh…settle down. I’m all right.”
“So…Mr. Gasp. This is your bodyguard, huh?” Leather shoes creaked in Jeff’s ear as one of Bluebird Mountain’s finest squatted next to him and leaned over, peering down at his face like he was examining some kind of roadkill. Jeff figured he must have looked bad because his face ached like he’d landed on it nose first.
“Don’t judge.” Nigel snarled. “There was a bloody, goddamned bear. It was at least eight feet tall, and it had claws like knives…”
“Nigel, it’s all right.”
“What happened?” the deputy asked. “You saw the bear and—”
“I was trying to simply back off, but when Nigel came out, I blacked out. I think I’m coming down with the flu. I’ve been feeling it for a couple of days.” He swallowed down his nausea and tried to rise. “I must be dehydrated. I should have been extra cautious at this altitude, and instead we’ve been drinking wine and—”
The man jerked his chin toward Jeff’s Glock. “That your gun?”
“Yeah.” Jeff nodded.
The officer picked up Jeff’s weapon. “Nice. You have a license to carry concealed?
“No.”
“Then I assume you travel with it in a locked case?”
Nigel turned on him. “Look, Officer—”
“Officer Marsden.” The man almost tugged his forelock—as if Britain’s rock royalty in the form of Nigel Gasp required some effort of that sort. “You can call me Ed, Mr. Gasp.”
“Very well, Ed. I don’t think I like what you’re—”
“Nigel. Back down. I don’t need you answering for me.”
Nigel pressed his lips together in a way that let Jeff know that wasn’t the last he’d hear about it. Jeff tried to get up from a sitting to a standing position but found it nearly impossible. Nigel’s face was paler than Jeff had ever seen it—which was saying something. Jeff wrapped his arm around the smaller man and gave him an awkward hug.
“It’s all right. I’m all right. Let’s go in. Okay? Can you make tea or something equally British and stiff upper lippy while I talk to Officer Marsden.”
Nigel’s brows lifted, but he nodded. He walked away first, and Officer Marsden—Jeff didn’t think the invitation to call him Ed had been extended to him—followed. Once inside the spacious kitchen Nigel got a plastic grocery bag and rummaged through the freezer for some ice.
Jeff sat at the small breakfast bar and offered Marsden a seat. The officer turned it down, preferring, Jeff guessed, to be seen holding up the wall in a stern fashion while on duty. He crossed his arms.
Nigel wrapped a makeshift ice pack in a kitchen towel and brought it over, pressing it gingerly against Jeff’s nose with both hands. Jeff took it from him. Nigel’s hand came away streaked with blood.
Now that was fucking embarrassing. Jeff could already hear what Deidre would say about this. You probably weren’t supposed to bleed on the client.
Jeff turned to Officer Marsden, who’d waited while he situated himself.
Marsden spoke first. “So what do you say you tell me what happened here? I didn’t get much out of Mr. Gasp besides a lot of hand-wringing and nonsense.”
“It was a bear,” Nigel reminded him. “Not some plush fluffy cartoon bear, either. It was immense. Ten feet tall. It had paws like soccer balls and razor-sharp claws…”
“Nigel.”
Nigel shot him a quelling look. “Like scythes.”
Jeff accepted a bottle of water from him, then turned back to Marsden. “I woke up at 0300 when I heard scrabbling noises outside. In case it was someone of the two-legged variety with malicious intent, I armed myself and went out the b
ack door to investigate. I believed I’d find raccoons or, at worst, a paparazzo. But I felt I needed to be prepared. Instead I came face-to-face with a black bear rummaging through the garbage.”
“We get bears from time to time. It’s likely to happen when the garbage can lids haven’t been properly closed or when people leave food out for pets.” Marsden eyed him with benign curiosity. “Course it looks to me like Mr. Gasp keeps his pet inside.”
Jeff ignored that. “Fine. We’ll be extra cautious and double-check the trash at night. This is our first night here. It’s possible the people who had the place before us had pets or left food out.”
“If that’s the case, the bear has been trained to look for food here by people who don’t have common sense. People even feed them sometimes.”
“They feed the bears?” On Jeff’s top ten lacking-common-sense ideas, feeding a bear was a solid number one. Not even Nigel would feed a bear.
Marsden shrugged. “People can be idiots about bears. Maybe they think they’re getting short shrift because we’re encroaching on their territory. Maybe they’re careless or they think, here’s my chance to see a bear up close. I purely hate when they do that. A fed bear only means a dead bear in the long run. Eventually Fish and Game is gonna have to find it and kill it.”
“Just for future reference, what should I have done?”
“Well now. Besides not charging out there in the first place, and staying conscious but careful in the second”—Marsden tucked his thumbs into his Sam Brown and stood with his hip cocked—“I don’t see that you coulda done better than to fall over in a dead faint. Kudos to you. Between that and your friend here wailing like a fire engine, you got her done.”
Jeff raked a hand through his hair. Crusty with blood? Christ. He was going to be sick, but please, let it be later.
“I have faced down worse things than bears.”
“I’m sure you have. But some things are predictable, and bears are not. Don’t think I don’t understand your reaction. I do. I’ll call this in to Fish and Game. See what they want to do about your visitor. Mostly I’d say stay in at night, no matter what you hear. If there’s some stalker or tabloid guy out there, peeking in the windows, maybe the bear can do your job for you.”
Gasp! Page 7