Coyote (5 page)

I looked up at the five-nippled subject above us. ‘If you're wrong I
am
giving you that painting.'

Des responded by snapping open the newspaper he'd brought with him and pretending to read it.

‘Good idea,' I said. ‘It's about time we found an angle to get Seymour Kershaw back. If he dangles enough money in front of their noses, either Klaasen or Melnick will find a way to squeeze him in. We need to find a way to hook him first.'

‘Like what?'

‘I don't know yet … But we have to find one. Come on!' I prodded.

‘Who is this Hector Q. Kershaw anyway?' asked Des. ‘And what's he got to do with the massacre at Dry Gulch?'

Des had been in the States an even shorter time than I had. But everyone had at least heard of the Dry Gulch massacre, even if they didn't know the details. It was a famous legend of the Wild West.

I swiped Seymour's newspaper from Des and scanned the article that had brought him to our door — the text on Hector's diary. I read aloud, ‘In
1867 the governor of New Mexico, his family and his entourage were murdered in a renegade Indian attack led by Coyote Jack. Hector Kershaw was the only survivor.'

Des frowned. ‘There was a survivor? I thought they all died?'

I ignored that. ‘Hector was found the next day, struggling back to Santa Fe covered in blood.'

‘But why is his name plastered all over San Francisco?' asked Des. He was right — there were statues of Hector Kershaw everywhere.

I scanned the article again. ‘Hector was out west on business for his wealthy Boston banking family — checking their investments.' I paraphrased the article and added in bits of Wauhope's lecture. ‘Anyway, surviving the massacre changed Hector — he may've started out a sedate banker's kid, but by the time he arrived here he'd turned into a man of action. When he reached San Francisco he became a deputised lawman and risked his life cleaning the place up. In the end he gave his own life saving the city from the Corsairs.'

Des looked at me, one bushy eyebrow raised.

I answered his unspoken question. ‘The Corsairs ran the underworld of old San Francisco.'

‘Okay,' said Des. ‘So Hector survived the infamous Dry Gulch in New Mexico to later become a big hero here.'

‘So it seems. And that's why we have to nab this one, Des. It's just the sensational first case we need.'

‘Didn't you say that there was a professor interested in Hector's diary?'

‘Yeah.' I nodded. ‘Jackson River said it will clear the name of his ancestor, Coyote Jack. That Coyote Jack wasn't responsible for Dry Gulch.'

Des whistled. ‘This may be a piece of luck after all, Kannon.'

‘That's right, Des. I intend to corner Jackson River ASAP and find out what he knows.'

Jake arrived with our food and drink.

I ordered another coffee, drained the one sitting in front of me, and then started my dinner. It smelt so good my mouth watered. I tucked in. It may only have been a burger and fries but they were the best I'd ever had. Fresh, crisp in the right places … and there was a tasty sauce I didn't recognise. From the noises Des was making, his chicken salad must've been just as good.

‘I'll head out to Berkeley tomorrow,' I muttered, wiping my mouth. We'd both finished everything off in record time. ‘River had said he was a criminologist at UC Berkeley. I'll see what I can squeeze out of him about our hero Hector's diary.'

‘Speaking of heroes,' said Des, casually scanning my face. ‘When does Marshal Honeycutt hit town again? It must be soon.'

I covered my reaction. When Des made casual remarks it was time to watch out.

Daniel Honeycutt was a Time Marshal — the National Time Administration's version of an astronaut. While Klaasen, Melnick and I were Time Investigators — that is, for private hire — the marshals were sent through the time portal strictly on government missions.

Daniel was away on one now.

‘You must be looking forward to seeing him again?' asked Des. ‘After what he did …'

I looked away.

Jake arrived with my second coffee so I fiddled with that, mentally willing Des to drop the subject.

But as usual Des kept pushing. ‘It's six months since you last saw him, isn't it?'

Earlier this year, Daniel had been my supervisor on my first training assignment through the time portal. We were sent on a mission to solve a cold case that turned out to be very hot indeed. At the end of it, Daniel had planted himself in front of me when the suspect we'd been tracking had shot to kill.

The suspect blasted a hole through Daniel's chest, but he'd been aiming for my head.

Des was right, I hadn't seen Daniel since the hospital. Six long months ago. The National Time Administration, freaked out by the secrets we'd both accidentally uncovered — secrets that could destroy the NTA and shake up the FBI — had first hidden Honeycutt away while he recovered, then sent him on a mission that, by all accounts, could finish him off.

All I could do was wait and hope that I was here when Daniel came back. And that he came back at all …

‘What's he like — this Daniel Honeycutt?'

I searched Des' face. It was concerned. ‘Marshal Honeycutt's a military expert. He was a Marine before he became a marshal.'

‘I thought all the Time Marshals came from law enforcement?'

‘Honeycutt was in Naval Intelligence.'

‘A spy?'

‘I guess. I'm not sure.'

Daniel would never confirm it. Along with a whole lot of other details of his background he didn't consider anyone's business — mine included.

‘The NTA use him for their … special operations,' I said. I didn't add they were the really dangerous missions.

‘What's Marshal Honeycutt doing now? He's on a mission, isn't he?'

‘Yes.' I didn't want to talk about it. It scared me too much. ‘All I know is that he was sent to Japan. To Hiroshima.'

‘When?'

‘1945.'

Des cast me a startled look. ‘When in 1945?'

‘I don't know exactly … but I can guess.' My tone gave it away.

‘You mean the NTA sent him to Hiroshima just before the first atomic bomb strike? What if Marshal Honeycutt was injured and couldn't get out in time? That would mean they couldn't send in a rescue team to retrieve him — he'd just disappear along with the other eighty thousand people who were vaporised!'

I didn't answer. I'd already played that whole ghastly scenario in my head too many times. If a time traveller died in the past they stayed dead. There was no way to use the portal to save them. That was just a fact I had to live with.

‘Daniel's smart,' I said, trying to reassure myself as much as anything else. ‘Whatever mission he's been assigned he'll carefully work his way into place first, set up a good cover story.'

But why the hell did the NTA send a six and a half foot blond marshal into a suicidally desperate, wartime Japan? They'd shoot him on sight or torture him as a foreign agent.

‘Is this a normal level of risk for a mission?' asked Des in disbelief.

I looked at Des. He'd called me reckless but Honeycutt hurtled through life like an asteroid on a collision course with the sun.

Besides, time travel was always risky …

I shrugged. ‘Look, it seems risky to me but I don't really know all the details.'

Des sat and digested that. ‘Were you and Honeycutt …?' He struggled to phrase it. ‘Did you …?'

‘No.' His meaning was clear. ‘We were professional investigators working on the same case.'

I could see my ability to fool Des had faltered. But he didn't ask more.

I hadn't lied, nothing had actually happened between us, but what we'd seen … what we'd been through together … had bonded us in a way I couldn't explain, even to myself.

I'd met Daniel Honeycutt when I was still getting over being dumped by my first and only love — Alex.

I still wasn't over it.

But whatever was or wasn't between us, Daniel had, without hesitation, put his own life on the line for me. That had to count for something.

Since Des moved over here earlier this year, he'd made solid connections in the San Francisco Police Department. He could be startlingly charming when he chose, and had a fund of bizarre cases that he was open to sharing with the right audience. Now he and his cop buddies had drinks once a week. He decided to see what they could tell him about the Kershaw case, so he made a phone call and left after promising faithfully to stick with light beer.

We'd agreed that while he was busy doing reconnaissance, I'd empty the boxes, mop the floor and generally get the place ready for our first day of business — tomorrow. No, today!

A good while later, finally everything was in place … Well, to my standards anyway; Des'd probably not see it that way. I finished by watering my little Illawarra Flame Tree. I crouched next to it, holding a candle up to check its condition. It'd survived the move okay, but November was late spring in Australia and its drooping leaves seemed to implore me to send it home.

I glanced out the window and sighed. This rain had to stop soon, didn't it?

Exhausted, I sagged onto my desk chair and, sans computer, started writing out a strategy for the Kershaw case. The candlelight shed a mellow yellow gleam on my writing pad. I really needed some caffeine for this job … I looked around for the kettle and remembered there was no way to heat the water. I checked my watch — Jake's Place was closed.

Damn. Back to work.

Okay. So first I had to verify the evidence on which River based his claims that Hector Kershaw had a diary. And where he thought it could be. That meant I had to find where River was at Berkeley and then …

I started to nod off.

I was too tired for this. I stood and opened the window behind my desk. It was still raining but the rush of wet air brought a welcome coolness. Beyond, a single streetlight illuminated the building on the opposite side of Prendergast Street. The soft lighting disguised the ravages time and neglect had wrought on its classically lovely face. Another beauty, like the Zebulon, from an era when buildings looked like Mediterranean temples.

There was a name carved into the marble facade but I couldn't read it. Too tired.

I rubbed my eyes and sat down to consider my empty in-tray. Soon it would be full of bills. Wanting something better to look at while I waited for Des, I pulled open my top drawer and indulged myself.

I brought the photo out and up, close to the candle flame.

Two boys in military school uniforms — the taller one fifteen, the other two years younger — stood on the front porch of an elegant Garden District mansion
in New Orleans. They were both blond, with startling green eyes. The elder one had an affectionate arm around his brother's shoulders — his expression was teasing. The younger one looked up at his big brother, pride gleaming in his eyes. They were just about to leave for boarding school.

It was Daniel Honeycutt and his younger brother, Kyle. It was the day Kyle first went to military school — a day of pride for the Honeycutt males who came from a long, illustrious line of soldiers.

It was the only photo I could find of Daniel Honeycutt. I studied his teasing face — he was so young. But even at fifteen you could see the man he'd become. Strong, open … loyal to the death. I'd found that last one out the hard way. Was he all right now? Did he need my help? I had to stop torturing myself …

The candle-lit photo swam in front of my eyes. It'd been a very long day. I put my head down on my arms and …

Next minute I woke up with my head on one side, the flickering candle casting bizarre shadows on the wall opposite. I slowly sat up and stretched the kinks out, yawning …

Then blinked.

I must be dreaming — there was an angel sitting in my client chair.

A big, unshaven archangel with blond-streaked chestnut hair, clad in torn jeans, a black T-shirt and dusty combat boots.

A fallen archangel …

He gazed across at me out of jade-green eyes rimmed in dark lashes … tiger's eyes. It was the expression that underlined the big cat connection …

Hungry.

‘Hallo, Kannon.'

I jerked up, fully awake. ‘You're back.' I slid the photo I'd been cradling under my note pad.

How long had Daniel sat there, watching me sleep?

‘But I thought you'd be away for …'

‘For as long as the NTA could keep me?' His voice was ice cold. ‘Yes, that's what they thought too.'

We stared at each other in a kind of shock. Six months had passed since I'd last seen him. He'd been lying in a hospital bed with tubes running out of his chest. Now Honeycutt was his old self again …

Unpredictable. Dangerous.

‘But what about the mission? How …?'

‘I cut corners. A lot of them. I knew you'd be taking your first case around now and if I waited too long you'd be gone. That wasn't going to happen.'

‘But you were sent into wartime Japan. How could you cut corners?'

‘I posed as a German,' he said casually. ‘As an SS officer.'

‘You're kidding.'

He wasn't.

My eyes narrowed. What the hell kind of lunatic thing had he done? ‘And just what was your objective?' No one would tell me.

‘What do you know about the mission, darlin'?' The accent was honeyed Southern. He was Louisiana born and bred.

Honeycutt was about to lie.

We knew each other's tells … His Southern accent disappeared into a clipped neutral when he was angry and became as thick as molasses when he was trying to slip one past me. I knew the exact same thing happened with my Australian accent.

‘What was the mission objective, Honeycutt?' I insisted.

‘You know I can't give you details, Kannon.' Clipped neutral.

We stared at each other assessingly.

‘What can you tell me?'

He studied me. ‘Okay, but don't ask me for details.'

I nodded agreement.

‘Our mission together revealed a few … let's call them “loose threads” … concerning US wartime weapons research. I went to Hiroshima to interrogate a double agent who was there in August, 1945, reporting his findings to the Japanese High Command.'

August? I felt the blood drain out of my face. The atomic bomb was dropped on August 6th.

How close had he come? Had Honeycutt heard the sirens blaring as he left? I didn't want to know. I'd lost too many people I cared about in my life already; I couldn't lose another one.

Something in my face softened his.

We stared at each other with … Was that longing?

‘So, this is your new detective agency?' He uncurled his muscular frame and moved past me to the bay windows.

My pulse quickened. I'd forgotten how Honeycutt moved — like a big cat. This time it was predatory.

I'd forgotten a lot of things …

‘How long are you back for?' I was still soft from sleep and having trouble making sense of it all.

‘Until I'm ready to leave again, darlin'. The NTA owe me big time — and they know it.'

‘When did you arrive?'

He stared into my eyes hard. ‘Six hours ago. But I changed first; I wanted that SS uniform off me as fast as possible.'

That meant he'd come here straight from the debriefing. How did he even know how to find me straight out of the portal?

Honeycutt lounged back against the windowsill, just behind me. I swung my chair around and my knees almost touched his. Daniel stared down at me, his blazing eyes saying more than I could read. All I knew was what I felt. An overwhelming desire to run my mouth across his …

I shook my head. I had to take my time with this. He was like playing with plastic explosives — I wasn't sure I could recover from this one.

Daniel slid his arms forwards, straining his black T-shirt against his chest, and firmly held the arms of my chair with his long, muscular fingers. ‘We need to talk, darlin'.'

His body language said we needed to do something else entirely.

 

We both heard it at the same time. Footsteps down the hallway; the front door opened.

Honeycutt went on alert. ‘Are you expecting someone?' He must be still edgy from his mission.

‘It's okay.' I swung my chair back to the door. ‘I'll bet that's my partner, Des Carmichael.'

Des plunked his bag down on the secretary's desk in the foyer, then came straight into my office. He scanned my face, then surveyed Honeycutt's protective position next to my chair with amused interest.

‘Daniel Honeycutt, I presume?' Des stuck out his hand. ‘Glad to see you made it back in one piece, Marshal.'

Honeycutt grabbed it and they shook with genuine pleasure.

I blinked.

Both men were prone to overly swift character judgements. But I could tell they each liked what they saw.

Honeycutt kept silent while Des and I went over the case, just asking the occasional catch-up question. But as soon as he'd heard it was to search for a diary in old San Francisco he'd relaxed. He had to return to the NTA for more debriefing and then needed to catch a few hours' sleep at his place in Marin County. We arranged to meet after that. He said he'd find me.

Des and I locked up and went down to the street. The rain had subsided from a deluge to a heavy shower. We were both heading home to Half Moon Bay, on the coast just south of San Francisco. Des rented a place near the little seaside town; my beach house was further south.

Des got into his car, then rolled down the window and beckoned me over. The rain was slanting in his window, so I held my umbrella over us both. ‘You know, Kannon, I like your Marshal Honeycutt.'

‘He's not my anything, Des!' I snapped. Then felt confused at my reaction.

‘Well, that's not what Honeycutt intends.' He smirked at the thought.

I didn't reply. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I was more than relieved to see Daniel well and whole, but … now that I was confronted with it, the thought of opening up again made my chest ache.

Des smiled at my indecision. ‘That's right, Kannon, you'd better be bloody sure about Honeycutt before you start anything.'

‘Not again!' I rolled my eyes. ‘Cease with the Ice Age dating tips, Des … please!'

He'd got sick of watching me grieve over losing Alex and had taken to giving me regular ‘Get back on
the horse' pep talks. And they were usually uttered in frank enough language to feel like blunt force trauma. When Des felt you needed to know something he didn't hold back.

‘Some things never change, Kannon. And I recognise the look your Marshal Honeycutt has …' Des nodded to himself. ‘Yeah, you'd better be sure. Because I don't think this one will let you go … not once he has you.'

‘I'm
not
rushing into anything, Des.' I shifted uneasily.

‘Oh, really?' Des eyed me with amusement. ‘Well, there's always a first time for everything, isn't there?'

‘I am not rushing into anything!' I insisted, now annoyed more with myself than him.

‘Hmm …' Des studied my expression. ‘Daniel's a good man, Kannon … You can trust him.'

I straightened up at that. ‘I'm going home. You can stay here and talk to yourself!'

‘Before you go … What's that famous Marine motto?'

‘
Semper Fi
,' I replied. ‘Always faithful.'

‘Yeah, that's it,' he said with satisfaction and drove off.

I stood there for a moment, listening to the rain and wondering about Daniel. I had absolutely no idea how to handle him.