Tell Me When It Hurts (29 page)

“
Oh, God, no! This is a green prospect for next year or the year after. Good horse—just needs some mileage and seasoning. She’s still skittish at loud sounds, sudden movements—as you saw—but she’s a good girl.” Fiona patted the mare on her neck. “Do you like horses?”

“
Oh, yes.”

* * *

Connor and Fiona had dinner that night at one of the restaurants in the hotel. It was fun, and Connor felt good talking, laughing, preening a bit for the beautiful woman sitting across from him. At the end of the evening, he drove her home to her cottage, escorted her to the door, and kissed her cheek, thanking her for a lovely evening.

Fiona smiled up at him quizzically and said, “Well, Boston, do call me or catch me at the barn tomorrow, or I really shall be positively heartbroken.”

She went in, and Connor walked back to his car, buoyed by the lovely evening, and drove back to the hotel, where he slept well.

The next day, he drove out to St. Andrews to meet with one of his best clients and discuss the next year’s order. The meeting went well, and Connor was pleased, though eager to getting back to Gleneagles.

Arriving there, he changed and hurried down to the barn, where he saw Fiona riding a gray horse. When she spotted him, she waved and cantered over.

“
You gave me a moment of insecurity, you know, Boston. Thought I’d lost all my charm,” she said, walking the big gray gelding up to the railing. “I’ve been riding ’round and ’round all day, you see, hoping you’d stop in. Old Gray Ghost here is positively dizzy. He gave up on you hours ago, but then, I’m more determined. See if
he
makes it to the World Trials.”

Connor smiled. “Had to do some business first, unfortunately. Dinner?”

Fiona turned her horse away and squeezed, and as he broke into a canter, she called over her shoulder, “Okay. My house, eight.”

* * *

Dinner was splendid. Fiona was a good cook. In his honor, she had made roast beef, baked potatoes, and salad.

“
Isn’t that what you Yanks are always eating in the movies?” she asked with a wink.

Connor smiled. “Only in Hollywood. In real life, we survive on burgers and pizza.”

He returned to Gleneagles at midnight, whistling.

The next day, they went to St. Andrews together. Fiona showed Connor where Prince William supposedly roomed, then took him to a small tea shop on a side street for tea and clotted cream with scones. They caught a production of
Hamlet
performed by a university theater group, then drove back to Perthshire singing Scottish ditties.

Connor parked his rented car in front of Fiona’s cottage and turned to her. In the moonlight, she looked fresh and pretty. “My dear Fiona, I have to leave tomorrow for London, then back to Wyoming. The past few days have been great. I . . . I’ve really loved having your company.”

Fiona looked down at her hands for a moment without speaking, then looked up, black curling eyelashes framing green eyes.

“
Will I ever see you again, Connor? Great men who are straight, available, employed, and love horses are not so very common around here.” The lightness in her voice had a serious edge.

“
Sure, you will. I’m in Scotland a couple times a year, and I’ll be watching for you in the Olympics—and, of course, we’ll always have St. Andrews,” he quipped.

Fiona looked at him, questioning, head cocked.

“
Well, you know how, in
Casablanca
. . .” but he stopped when he saw she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. “It’s just a little joke. Forget it. Look, Fiona, you are absolutely terrific. But my life is unsettled right now, and I wouldn’t want to mislead you, and I just—”

“
It’s that woman you told me about, isn’t it?” Fiona interrupted.

Connor hesitated, then said, “Maybe, in a way. I mean, I haven’t even talked to her in over five months, and I don’t think I’ll ever see her again, but . . .”

“
She’s in your soul, though.”

He looked up from studying his own hands and said, “No, she’s not in my soul. She
has
my soul. I have nothing to give anyone else until I get my heart and soul back from Archer. That’s just the way it is for right now.”

“
It’s always timing, isn’t it?” lamented Fiona, shaking her head. “Why are the good ones always taken, even when they’re not? Anyway, if you get your soul back, do come looking for me, darling. You know where to find me, Boston. At the big barn, attached to a big horse.”

“
You bet I will,” said Connor, hugging her good night.

CHAPTER 32

Archer sat on the porch with Hadley. It was the Fourth of July. The morning couldn’t have been more beautiful, and her preferred fireworks—fireflies, lots of them—would be out tonight. She held a mug of strong coffee and was rocking slowly in her chair. She and Hadley had arrived home yesterday evening from a few days with Gavin in Boston.

It had been perfect—at least for Archer’s purposes. Gavin was relaxed and happy to have her with him. She wanted to chat, catch up on local gossip, and get his feedback on anything and everything. They caught up on shoptalk first.

“
So, how’s business?” Archer asked as they settled into a corner booth at a local pub, around the corner from Gavin’s nineteenth-century condominium in Beacon Hill.

“
Architecture is fine and booming. And our . . . um, other business is clipping along as usual. I was in San Antonio myself three weeks ago. I rarely do jobs anymore, but this one called for my particular talents. After reviewing the file, I decided to take care of it myself.” Gavin took a sip of his beer. “You heard about Barry?”

“
Yeah,” said Archer, sipping her glass of Scotch. “I heard he’d gone somewhat berserk and wanted to do every job you would assign him. Where is he now?”

“
We sent him for R and R to the Jennings Institute in Hartford. We have two good contacts there—one who heads intake and one who’ll be his therapist. When Barry’s released, we’ll have to make him an inactive.”

“
Will he accept that?”

“
Yes, he will. He has no choice. We’ll have to sit down with him and get him some ongoing help, but he’s a good man—just heartbroken. He’ll be okay in administration but not in the field . . . not anymore.”

Archer nodded.

“
So, what happened to you and Connor? Not that it’s any of my business, but, well . . . what are friends for?” he added a little apologetically.

“
Long story, but if you want the
Reader’s Digest
version, his life is in Wyoming and mine is here.”

“
I see,” said Gavin, sipping his beer and nodding. “But just for a moment, playing devil’s advocate—and not that I want you to move any farther from me—what is so great for you about being here? I mean, they have phones in Wyoming, and they have courts of law in Wyoming, so what’s the draw here?”

Archer looked startled. He, of all people, should know. He, of all people, should understand. “
Anni
e is here. I have a life at all only because everything about her is here.”

Gavin nodded, looking down at the table and fingering the yellow paper napkin under his drink. “You know, Arch, I understand all of it. But, since all of us are in this great waiting room on earth until we can find peace, it’s not a betrayal of the cause to get some joy where you can find it.” He paused and seemed to aim for a tease, saying lightly, “And Annie’s not really just in the Berkshires, you know.”

“
I know, but . . .” She stopped, trying to find words, and finally just held her hands up in resignation. “It just plain seems wrong to be happy when Annie is dead and I’m not.”

Her hands dropped to her side, and her face fell, beseeching Gavin for an answer that she knew didn’t exist.

“
Archer,” he said, “Annie’s death isn’t made any less heinous because you survived and find that you can sometimes actually laugh. We don’t forget what happened; we just know we have to go on. And since there’s no great honor in killing ourselves, we go on. Think about this. Why do you do this thing that we do? Have you ever asked yourself that? Do you do it for vengeance?”

Archer thought for a moment, then said, “At first I did, but not now. Now I do it because I think it’s right. I feel sad every time I do a job, but I also feel like someone who is totally innocent may get some closure and a piece of life back because of what I did.”

“
Yeah, I know what you mean,” said Gavin, looking thoughtful. “But, Archer, even though you know I wish it could be with me, life does go on, and love makes it tolerable. It’s the
only
thing that makes it tolerable. To throw away a real shot at love seems . . . oh, I don’t know,
arrogant
maybe. Or wasteful. I don’t know, but it’s just not something to squander. At least, that’s how I see it.”

Archer nodded slightly, head cocked to one side, but felt unconvinced. She remained silent as she took another sip of her drink.

“
Look, Arch, we do this because we believe there are failures in the justice system, right? That justice wasn’t done. But we have our
own
failures. I’m not so blinded that I don’t see that piece of it. Barry’s situation isn’t common, but it’s pretty predictable, wouldn’t you say? For someone whose grief has exploded all bounds and has no other outlet? And our work didn’t spare Katharine from killing herself. To dull the pain is one thing, but you’ve got to have some positive counterbalance in your life. You’ve got to give yourself permission to look at the other side, even though in some ways it feels disloyal. If you don’t, it’s all negative and you can never heal.”

They both sat in silence for a moment.

“
And what do
you
have, Gavin? What’s your counterbalance?”

He took a sip of beer, wiped his mouth with the napkin, and grinned. “Hey, I have you. You give me faith, Arch, that there’s still beauty and goodness out there.”

Archer looked at him, then laughed. Gavin took her hand, kissed it lightly, and then motioned to the waiter to bring the check. “Hey,” he said, “let’s take Hadley for a walk before catching that movie, okay?”

“
Great,” she said, standing up and leaving her glass half full. “I’m doing a job in New York in two days, so I’ll need to leave kind of early this afternoon—have to review the particulars when I get back.”

“
No problem.”

* * *

They had had a lighthearted break, for the most part. Good food, good conversation, lots of laughter. It was so weirdly sad. Both of them had been parents; both had once been part of a couple, part of a family. Now she and Gavin were singles—unwilling, childless singles rattling around the world, clanking against each other, hoping to find something to fill the void until their own deaths. Did that mean they believed in God, in some concept of heaven? That they would see their loved ones someday bursting through St. Peter’s gate?

Archer shook her head at that one but was unwilling to reject the notion out of hand. Still, she didn’t want to count on God to carry out justice. She laughed ruefully at herself. She’d never been good at delegating, even to God, but it was the height of arrogance to think she and the Group could balance the scales better than God.

The Group—it had been her salvation, her god, for the past six years. She had thought long and hard before becoming involved—after all, it was hardly like joining the PTA or the Smith Alumnae Club. Though not an irreversible choice, it was certainly a life-altering one.

Outsiders would call them vigilantes—or worse—and Archer had long since stopped being defensive about it in her own mind. It had helped her to recover somewhat; indeed, it was the
only
thing that had helped. Not the Valium, not the Zoloft, not the shrinks, not even the group therapy. The Group alone had helped. After her first job, she had stopped cutting herself.

Still, Gavin was right. Katharine and Barry hadn’t been cured by Old Testament justice. Their losses hadn’t been lessened, or their burden lifted; they had self-destructed. Maybe she could find something else. Or could she?

Archer had reviewed her instructions before leaving the cabin. She had the essentials memorized. The job was straightforward. She didn’t need a hotel room; she was driving down and back in a rental car and taking her equipment with her. She did take the precaution of a disguise, however. Even in New York, a hospitable domain, she could take no chances.

At ten a.m., she set out for Springfield, Massachusetts, to pick up a rental car. She left the Jeep at the cabin and got a ride to the bus station from Jenny, explaining that the Jeep needed new brakes and that she was meeting a friend for lunch in Springfield. If something happened to her, she didn’t want her car found at the bus station.

When Jenny dropped Archer off at the bus station in Lenox, she didn’t see Archer slip into the ladies’ room, and she certainly didn’t see her emerge as an attractive Eurasian woman with straight black hair, dark eyes by virtue of colored contact lenses, pale skin made paler with the help of ivory make-up, and clear red lipstick. She wore fashionably narrow black pants, high patent leather heels, and a black cotton long-sleeved T-shirt. A shiny silver necklace held a modern free-form medallion close to her neck.