The Edge of Ruin (20 page)

I gave him a mock salute and moved into the body of the plane. It seemed cramped after the Gulfstream. Ah, how quickly you got accustomed to the life of the very rich.

“What are you smiling about?” Dagmar asked.

I told her, and she smiled back at me, which intensified the laugh lines around her eyes. I realized she was probably a person who, in normal times, smiled a lot. I felt a momentary flare of guilt that I was adding to her burdens. Then I looked at it logically—
monsters/me, monsters/me.
Probably the monsters were causing more heartburn than I was.

“Yes, soon you’ll be deciding which yacht you want to buy based on the draw of the keel, and which harbors you can actually enter versus having to take the helicopter into Monaco,” Dagmar said.

“If I ever become that person, you have my permission, in fact, I
order
you, to shoot me,” I said.

“I don’t like guns. I’ve never shot a gun,” Dagmar said.

“Okay, then have Sam do it. She’d probably welcome the chance.”

Dagmar laughed, nodded, and took a seat, but I pushed father back toward the tail of the plane. Pamela was leaning across the aisle arguing with Grenier.

“You violated your parole. You jumped bail. They will put you in jail.”

“Your brother will protect me. And you can defend me. I’m sure you are formidable.”

Pamela harrumphed and flung herself back against the seat. “This is so stupid.”

I knew she meant me. I tried to explain. “Look, I think it will help having him with me. The very fact I would tolerate having him around, or that he would hook up with me, helps make our argument. We’ve done a lot of damage to each other.” At my words Grenier lifted his right arm and inspected his stump closely; he then gave me a thin smile. “The fact we’d work together proves how serious things are.”

Pamela just folded her arms and looked pointedly out the window. Grenier and I exchanged a glance. We’d actually discussed this. What I didn’t mention was the added part of the conversation.

“I’m coming because you, dear boy, are going to need some respite from your terrifying sire. Not to mention all the estrogen swirling about. You’ll be grateful to have me along.”

I stole a glance at my father’s profile. His eyes were closed, and his Bose headphones were already firmly in place. I knew he hated to fly. I wasn’t sure if it was the actual flying, or the disruption of being out of his space. I knew Dagmar didn’t like my father, I knew Angela didn’t like my father, and now I could add Grenier to that list. If it had just been the disgraced minister I could have shrugged and thought,
consider the source
, but I liked Dagmar and I had a hunch she had a pretty good sense about people. And I cared deeply for Angela and I knew she was fiercely protective of me, which meant—I didn’t like what it meant.

He’s my father.
But I wasn’t really sure where the thought took me.

R
hiana huddled against the swooping, graceful back of the Victorian fainting couch. Her bare feet were tucked up under the floor-length bathrobe, and she had an intricately crocheted afghan pulled up to her chin. It was both scratchy and greasy as wool and lanolin vied for primacy.

The heater kicked on, and the rush of air through the vent set the crystal drops on the chandelier to shivering and ringing. She was beginning to think the chandelier had been a mistake. The ceiling wasn’t really high enough to support its four-foot length. Maybe she’d repaint. The rose and green wasn’t working for her anymore.

Thoughts about interior decorating worked for a few brief moments to take her mind away from the hellish scene in that hotel room. Andresson was safely back at the Virginia compound, and no one seemed to know—or at least no one remarked—about his absence. Rhiana knew that women were being delivered to the dark paladin. She didn’t want to know any more than that.

The darkened glass in the large oval mirror with its floral-patterned gilt frame swirled with purples and black ribbons of color. She waited for her father to speak, but the mirror returned to its nonreflective state. Suddenly viscous drops of black and purple oozed from the crystal pendants on the chandelier. Hundreds of drops pattered like a blighted rain onto the polished marble floor. Madoc’s body appeared like pulled taffy. The human form stabilized, and he gave his collar a twitch.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” Rhiana said, trying to keep her voice level and the tone casual.

He offered no excuse or explanation, just said abruptly, “How are you coming on securing the paladin and the sword?”

“It’s coming,” she replied.

“Well, it just got easier because Oort is in Washington.”

Rhiana sat up. “Any idea why he’s come?”

“We presume it’s to sound the alarm to your kind. We’ll be monitoring who he meets, and try to limit his contacts, but you should act quickly.”

His exit was more conventional than his entrance. He walked out the door of her Georgetown mansion. Rhiana wondered if he’d noticed that he’d lumped her in with humanity. Two months ago it had all been how special she was, how superior she was to humans, how much they valued and treasured her.

Your kind.

T
here hadn’t even been time to unpack before Richard had shooed her out of the homogenized condo. The condo had good-quality leather furniture, a flat-screen TV hung on one white wall, and pale gray carpet underfoot. The only unusual feature was a baby grand piano in the living room. The big armchair near the gas fireplace was beckoning, and she pointed out that there were only two hours left in the business day. He had overruled her, and in a particularly snotty way.

“I’ve got two people in jail. I know it’s a
huge
effort, but maybe you could try.”

“And what are you planning to do? Sit around and play the piano?” she’d shot back in her nastiest tone of voice.

She didn’t know why finding that damn piano in the rental had irritated her so much. Maybe it was the way Dagmar petted and accommodated her brother. But Richard wouldn’t fight. He just turned and walked away from her, back toward his bedroom. Which was another sore point for Pamela. Richard had a bedroom to himself while everyone else had to share. Even with five bathrooms Pamela foresaw many arguments with four women sharing the space.

Which brought her around to Angela. The little coroner had followed Richard into his bedroom, but emerged a few minutes later looking upset. Pamela would have loved to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.

Without Dagmar’s gift for artless patter, and Sam and Syd’s affectionate squabbling, it would have been a tense and silent ride to the various government buildings. They had dropped Angela off at the FDA, where she had an old friend from medical school. Dagmar had an acquaintance who was now an Under Secretary at Treasury. She thought she’d just try dropping in to see what she might learn. Since it was so late in the day Pamela and her father began at State, where they could at least start the paperwork for Tanaka’s passport. Sam and Syd went on to FBI headquarters to beg forgiveness for Syd’s sudden departure and do a little reconnaissance.

Everyone, except Sam and Syd, had rendezvoused back at the condo for dinner, which had consisted of a stack of pizzas. Grenier had managed to eat one of the extralarge pies by himself. Then, after bestowing a garlic-and-pepperoni-laden belch on them, he had demanded money from Richard. When Richard balked, Grenier pointed out that the town ran on rumors. Rumors abound in bars, and alcohol always helped to prime the pump. Like the two agents, he was also still absent.

Pamela was snuggled under the down comforter reading a travel book about Tuscany and still tasting the too greasy pizza. There was a light tap on the door. Pamela recognized the pattern. It was Richard.

Holding her place with a forefinger, she closed the book and said, “What?” She didn’t make it sound welcoming.

The door opened, and Richard walked in. He was dressed casually in blue jeans, boots, and a ski parka.

“You’re going out?”

He nodded. “I’d like you to come with me. It’s time you see what we’re up against, and accept that it’s real.”

The feather comforter felt suddenly even cozier. She held up
Under the Tuscan Sun
. “I’m reading. And I’d have to get dressed again,” she said.

“Yes.”

“This is really important?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“No.”

Richard when he was laconic irritated her more than all the other times, but she got up and dressed.

They were escorted by Rudi and Estevan. As they stepped out into the hall, their only neighbor on the floor was also leaving. His dog, a tiny white ball of fluff, began yapping shrilly. Her owner was a tubby little man who wore three-thousand-dollar suits and pink-tinted glasses. He gave them a look, sniffed, thrust his button nose in the air, and tried to march past them, but Rudi cut him off and chivvied him up against the wall. The man’s complaints were as shrill as his dog’s.

“Hey, you should have sold out, man,” Estevan said with a grin.

And Pamela remembered Dagmar saying something on the plane about how she had tried to buy his tiny condo for Joseph, Estevan, and Rudi to share, but the owner had refused.

Bet he’s sorry now. We really are a menagerie. I wouldn’t want to live next door to us.

The doorman held the door, and Joseph held open the back door of the limo. Rudi slid behind the wheel, and they pulled out into Washington’s insane traffic. Even at this hour of the night the city pulsed with energy. They seemed to just be driving aimlessly, moving into suburban hell. Up ahead was a multiscreen movieplex with its surrounding growth of chain restaurants like mushrooms sprouting at the foot of a dying tree. They were soon tangled in three lanes of heavy traffic trying to leave the theater, and finally they were stopped among the cars.

Rudi suddenly ordered tersely, “Go!”

Richard grabbed her wrist, and they ducked out the back door of the limo. White streamers of exhaust filled the air as if this were a herd of steel buffalo exhaling all around them. Mingled with the reek of exhaust was the hint of brine from the ocean, and Pamela realized how much she’d missed the smell of the sea during the weeks in bone-dry New Mexico.

Richard pulled her into the backseat of a beat-up Neon. It was being driven by Sam. The light changed, and the herd rolled forward with a rumble and a growl. Brake lights flashed and flared as drivers jockeyed for position. A small opening appeared in the lane to their left, and Sam sent them rocketing through it.

The young agent drove with a mad flair. Pamela had a death grip on the panic strap above the door, and a particularly fast turn sent her careening into Richard. He hissed in pain as she fell against his injured thigh.

“Could you slow down!?” Pamela snapped at Sam. She got the expected response.

“Nope.”

Just because it was expected didn’t make it any less irritating.

They ended up somewhere in Baltimore, in a neighborhood that wasn’t quite residential or quite urban. There were a number of three- and four-story buildings and lots of shotgun houses in between. Dumpsters, overflowing with hunks of drywall, lumber, and old appliances, lined the street. Renovation and gentrification were under way.

They pulled into the driveway of a two-story house. Sam flashed the headlights, and the garage door opened. She rolled in. The door closed, plunging them into total darkness. For an instant Pamela had a moment of irrational, throat-closing panic. Then the overhead fluorescent lights came on.

A tall, powerfully built African American man stood holding open the door into the house. He waved and beckoned. Sam hopped out and opened the back passenger door. On Richard’s side. The young agent offered her hand to help him out. Forgotten, Pamela opened her door and climbed out.

Despite the cold, Sam wore only a bolero-style leather jacket over a silk shirt, a short jean skirt, and sharp-toed, high-heeled boots. She bounced up to the man in the doorway, and he enfolded her in a bear hug.

The big agent released Sam, then turned to the Oort siblings.

Richard inclined his head. “Agent Franklin.”

“Good to see you again, Mr. Oort,” the black man said and offered his hand. Her brother’s slender hand disappeared into the man’s broad one.

“Thank you for offering us this help,” Richard replied.

“Oh, there’s a price,” Franklin said. He glanced at Pamela. She hated that measuring, suspicious look that every law enforcement person she’d ever met seemed to cultivate. “You brought an extra.”

“My sister Pamela,” Richard said.

“Bob Franklin.” They shook hands. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” the agent said.

“And you,” Pamela responded. Now that he faced her Pamela could see the heavy bags hanging beneath his eyes. They were so pronounced it looked like he’d been punched.

“Please come in,” Franklin said.

Despite the late hour there were a lot of people in the house, among them Syd. Many had that hyperaware quality that marks cops of every stripe, but there were a number of spouses and children. Franklin’s wife was a good deal younger than the agent, and their three children ranged in age from two to seven. Pamela guessed it was a second marriage and a second family.

The air was rich with Cajun spices and the yeasty scent of beer. Logs crackled in the fireplace, and a few older kids were shaking an old-fashioned popcorn popper over the flames. The opening kernels sounded like small explosions, and the scent set Pamela’s mouth to watering.

On the overstuffed sofa four little kids slept among the flowered throw pillows. The little round faces were red from the heat of the fire and the effort of sleeping so deeply. Nestled among the floral pattern they looked like elfin children asleep in a garden.

It would have seemed like a party but for the grim expressions that formed lines around the agents’ mouths and lurked like shadows in the backs of their eyes. Bowls of gumbo were shoved into their hands. Pamela accepted a beer. Richard declined.