The Waterfall (23 page)

“Well, well, well.” Sebastian grinned as he opened the passenger door and slid in. “I like your spirit, Lucy Blacker.”

“You weren't supposed to hear that.”

He slumped low in the seat. “Eavesdropping is an unappreciated art.”

“You listened in on my conversation with Barbara?”

“Yep. Female version of a pissing contest.”

“I don't know what got into me.” Lucy started the engine, backed out in a fury. “I don't care if she works twenty-four hours a day and thinks I'm a frump. Really, I don't.”

“She sucked you into measuring yourself by her standards instead of your own.”

Lucy shifted into drive, hit the gas pedal and tore off down the dirt road. It needed grading, and her car bounced over the washboard ruts. “It's tempting to say she has to make more of her position with Jack and work ‘dawn to dusk' because she has no life.” She gulped for air, relaxed her grip on the wheel. “But then I'd be as bad as she is, judging her for her choices. Well, you're right. It was a pissing contest.”

“You want to slow down? If we get wrapped around a tree, Plato will end up raising your kids.” Sebastian leaned back in his seat, not looking as if her driving bothered him at all. “You don't want that. He used to jump out of a helicopter in the middle of a nor' easter.”

She slowed, but not because she was worried about hitting a tree or Plato Rabedeneira raising her children. She glanced over at Sebastian. He had on a black polo shirt and jeans that fit closely over his thighs, and even the fading scrapes and scratches on his arms struck her as sexy, evidence of his hard life, his hard thinking. His choices. She sighed. “What are we going to do about Barbara?”

“We?”

“She's not going to stop. Whatever she has against me, I'm pretty sure I just made it worse.”

“You couldn't have said or done anything to make it better. She's determined to hate you. She likes it. Hating you makes her feel better about herself.”

“Do you really think she's in cahoots with Mowery?”

“I'd say there's a high probability.”

“Meaning,” Lucy added, “whatever he has on Jack could be something that would also hurt me.”

Sebastian regarded her with a steady, reassuring calm. “Would Jack jeopardize his reputation and his bank account to protect you?”

“Yes. Yes, I think he would.”

“Because of Madison and J.T.?”

“No, not just because of them—but they're a factor, absolutely. We're all the family he has. After Colin died—” She stepped on the brake, stopping the car. “Oh, my God. Sebastian, what if it's something to do with Colin?”

“If you know something,” Sebastian said quietly, his tone professional, deadly, “if you even suspect something, now's the time.”

“I don't. There's
nothing.
Jack and Colin both—with both of them, what you see is what you get. Colin had no secrets, not from me. He died suddenly, without any warning at all. We had no idea he had a heart condition. He didn't have time to hide anything. I went through all his stuff.”

“Did he keep a journal?”

She nodded.

“Did you read it?”

“No. I burned it without reading it. Wouldn't you?”

“Probably not.”

She shot him a look and realized he wasn't kidding. “You'd read a dead person's journal?”

“I might. I wouldn't rule it out and just burn it. What if it contained the secret to cold fusion?”

She found herself biting back a laugh. “You're full of shit, Redwing.”

He grinned at her. “You needed to lighten up. What about Jack? What could he have to hide?”

“He might have some unpaid hospital bills. That's about as nefarious as he'd get.” She took her foot off the brake and stepped on the gas pedal. “Maybe Mowery and Barbara made up something.”

“That's possible,” Sebastian said.

She sighed at him. “How can you be so calm?”

“Who says I'm calm?”

When they reached the house, Lucy put Madison and J.T. both to work with her in the barn. Rob wore a look that told her he wanted to interrogate her, but he wouldn't do it in front of her kids. So they actually managed to get some adventure travel work done.

And at noon, on schedule, Plato Rabedeneira arrived.

“Holy shit,” Rob breathed, peering out the barn window at Plato and his big, shiny black car. “You know, Lucy, sometimes I start thinking you're just this ordinary adventure travel person, this widow with two kids, and then the cavalry rolls in.”

“This is nothing. You should see what would happen if I called Washington.”

“Grandpa Jack.”

She nodded.

Plato got out. Apparently he'd parked his plane next to Sebastian's at the local airstrip and had the car waiting. He wore a black suit and dark glasses, and his limp was more pronounced, probably from the long hours in the plane.

“Think he's armed?” Rob asked.

“To the teeth.”

Lucy went out to the driveway and practically felt Rob's shudder when Plato kissed her on the cheek. “Hey, kid.”

“Hi, Plato. Thanks for coming out here. Just one thing before I let you into my house.” She crossed her arms and gave him the kind of look she'd given J.T. and Georgie when she caught them playing war with her tomatoes. “I can't believe you sicced Sebastian on me knowing—” She faltered, realizing she was already in over her head, and finished lamely, “Knowing what you knew.”

Plato grinned. “You mean that he's a reprobate or that he's in love with you?”

“Both.”

“I was thinking I'd sicced you on him.”

“Ha.”

His dark glasses made him even harder to read. “He's still the best.”

“I hope so. I need the best.”

“Where is he?”

“Right here,” Sebastian said, walking down from the front porch. “What's with the car and the dark glasses? You're lucky I didn't shoot you.”

“You don't have a gun,” Plato said, “and you wouldn't use one if you did.”

“Maybe I've changed my mind.”

“Good. Your sabbatical's over. You can get back to work.”

“Sabbatical. Jesus, Plato.”

But the joking ended, and Plato said, “I have news.”

He glanced at Lucy, who shook her head, adamant. “Oh, no, you don't. I'm not going anywhere. Whatever you two have to say, you can say it in front of me.”

“Sebastian?”

Lucy gritted her teeth but didn't jump in and argue her point further. Technically, Sebastian was Plato's boss, and his military training would compel him to follow the chain of command—but they were
friends,
and who the hell had given Sebastian the last word? She was agitated, frustrated, and it was entirely possible what they were discussing was none of her business.

“Go ahead,” Sebastian said.

“It's not good news,” Plato said. “Happy Ford was shot last night in Washington. She's critical, but she should pull through.”

Sebastian had no visible reaction. “She's getting everything she needs?”

“Everything.”

He looked out across the road at the lush, wooded hills. “Mowery?”

“We haven't been able to talk to her.”

“Then we don't know where he is,” Sebastian said.

“No. She thought she'd picked up his trail yesterday afternoon. That's the last we heard.”

“If she dies, it's my fault.”

Plato shook his head. “If she dies, it's the fault of whoever pulled the trigger.”

“I should have killed Mowery a year ago.”

“Only a year ago? Why not fifteen years ago? Why not the day you met him?”

Madison and J.T. bounded out from the barn. Lucy felt her heart flip-flop at their energy, their youth, their obliviousness. Her babies. Dear God, she had to protect them!

Sebastian's eyes had narrowed into slits. “You're on kid watch.”

Plato grimaced. “I was afraid of that.”

“Take them out of here. Keep them safe.”

Sebastian walked back up the porch steps and disappeared into the house. The door banged shut behind him, and Lucy jumped. She tried to smile. “I'm a little on edge.”

“Good,” Plato said. “It'll keep you alert.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Help your kids pack up. Two changes of clothes, two pairs of shoes, no animals.”

“Sleeping bags? I have a ton of freeze-dried provisions—”

His unsmiling mouth twitched. “I'm not taking them into the outback, Lucy. We'll find a motel somewhere.”

“You'll call me?”

“No. If I call you, it means there's trouble.”

Her knees went out from under her, but she held steady. “Plato, I don't know if I can…”

“You can come with us.”

She shook her head. “No. I have to figure this out. I trust you.”

He tucked a finger under her chin. “Trust Sebastian.”

“Mom,” Madison said, and Lucy could feel her terror. “What's going on?”

“Cool car,” J.T. said.

Lucy didn't know how to explain. She composed herself, and plunged in. “I want you two to go with Plato. It could be for a few hours or a couple of days, until I get things sorted out around here. He'll take care of you.”

The color drained out of Madison's face. “
Mom.
What about you?”

“I'll be fine. I'll be here with Sebastian, and with any luck, I'll just get a lot of work done.”

J.T. was still enthralled with the car. “Can I ride up front?”

Plato grimaced. “Sure, kid.”

Madison tried to smile. She was older, and she knew more, guessed more. But she was determined to be brave. Lucy could see her struggling not to panic. “Um—can I take my quilt?”

Lucy knew she meant the hexagons she'd found in the attic.

Plato didn't. He sighed. “Quilt? Yeah, sure. Take your quilt.”

P
lato leaned in the doorway of J.T.'s room. “Kid's packing for the new millenium,” he said to Lucy. “Your daughter's worse. Maybe you better go on downstairs and pour yourself a glass of lemonade, Lucy. I'll supervise.”

She nodded. “They're nervous.”

“They're packing too much. I didn't bring the moving van. Go on. We'll get it pared down in no time.” He unfolded himself from the doorway and joined J.T. by his bed. “J.T., where'd you get all this crap?”

“It's not crap, it's my stuff.”

“Well, it's a shitload of stuff.” He picked up a Micro Machine. “Hey, I like this little helicopter here. I used to jump out of one of these babies.”

“Really?”

Lucy could see her son was smitten. A tough, handsome ex-parachute rescue jumper who swore and knew helicopters—Plato would end up paring him down to a change of undershorts. He'd probably find some way of working his charms on Madison, too.

Lucy slipped downstairs to the kitchen. She didn't know where Sebastian was. Rob had gone off to Manchester on a supply run.

There was no lemonade made. She took out a frozen can of concentrate and set it in the sink, turning the hot water on to a trickle.

The phone rang, making her jump.

“Lucy? Thank God. It's Sidney Greenburg.” She paused for air. “Jack's in trouble.”

Blackmail trouble, Lucy thought. She wondered what her father-in-law had deigned to tell Sidney. “What kind of trouble?”

“He told me about the blackmail. How much do you know? Damned little, right? He's such an ass. He thinks he's being noble. Lucy…” Sidney groaned. “I hate this. I hate every single minute of it.”

“I know.” Lucy calmed herself by watching the ice melt on her can of frozen concentrate. “Tell me, Sidney. I can take it.”

“Of course you can. I told Jack you could. Some jackass named Darren Mowery is blackmailing him over an affair Colin may or may not have had shortly before he died. There are supposedly pictures. If Jack knows the name of the woman, he won't tell me. I assume it's someone who'd interest the media, but who the hell knows.”

Lucy stuck her finger in the hot trickle, ran it over the top of the still-icy can. An affair. Colin. “This is ridiculous. Colin didn't have an affair. Even if he did, he's dead, and it was a private matter.”

“I know! That's what I told Jack! He said once something like this gets out in Washington, it can take on a life of its own. I said bullshit and told him to call you at once. He was so upset. He really thought he was protecting you and the kids by paying this bastard.”

“I don't need him or anyone else to protect me from the truth. He can protect me from lions, tigers and bears if it comes to it, but never the truth.”

She could almost feel Sidney's sad smile. “He meant well. He cares about you and his grandchildren so much. He'll never get over Colin. He couldn't save him on the tennis court—he can at least save his reputation.”

“Where's Jack now? Did he put you up to calling me?”

“Lucy, there's more.” Sidney took a deep breath. “Jack showed me. This Mowery character put up pictures of you on a secure Internet site. Recent pictures. Like from last week.”

“Jesus,” Lucy whispered.

“Jack was horrified. He took it as an implied threat that if he didn't cooperate and follow instructions to the letter, this guy could get to you.”

Lucy shut off the hot water. “Sidney, he can get to me if Jack
does
cooperate!”

“I know. I have to say, when I saw those pictures of you, I didn't think, either. I'd have cut Mowery a check for every dime I have. Now—” Her voice faltered, and she fought back a sob. “Lucy, Jack's missing. I don't know what the hell to do.”

“Missing? What do you mean, missing?”

“He was supposed to meet me at my office an hour ago. We were going to call you together. He didn't show up. I called his office, and he never showed up there today. I went to his house—that's where I am now—and he's not here.”

“Call the Capitol Police, Sidney. Tell them
everything.
Okay? Tell them to send someone up here right away. Damn it.
Damn it.
” Lucy scooped up the frozen concentrate and banged it down onto the counter. “Jack and I both waited too long, trying to protect ourselves, Madison and J.T., each other. Colin. Oh, Sidney…I'm so sorry.”

“Lucy?”

“I've got a stalker,” she blurted. “I thought it was Barbara, but now—I don't know, maybe someone's using her as a decoy.” She rubbed her forehead, tired, frustrated, too much coming at her at once. “I can't figure it out. I've got Plato Rabedeneira and Sebastian Redwing here. They're like a couple of big, mean guard dogs.”

“Listen to me, Lucy. Listen!” Sidney spoke briskly, taking charge. She was a brilliant, kind woman Lucy had always admired. “A couple of weeks ago, Barbara Allen went a little nutty on Jack and told him she's been secretly in love with him for twenty years.”

“Oh, no.”

“I wouldn't be surprised if this Mowery character had taken advantage of her. She thinks she's tough as nails, but she's kind of like a turtle. Her hard outer shell protects a soft, mushy inside. She won't be happy when she realizes Mowery's manipulated her. My bet is, she'll lash out before she admits a weakness. She'll do anything to keep people from seeing that mushy inside.”

Lucy managed a smile. “I'm impressed.”

“Forget it, my mum's a shrink, and I'm an anthropologist. I come from a family that thinks too goddamn much. You take care, do you hear me?” She spoke fiercely, her intensity palpable. “I'm counting on Costa Rica.”

Sidney hung up, and Lucy stood in the middle of the kitchen, shaking.

Sebastian fell in behind her. “I don't know about you, but lions, tigers and bears would be fine with me right about now.”

Lucy whirled around at him. “You listened in? Goddamn it, Redwing! How dare you? How—” She slammed her foot into a cabinet. “That was a private conversation.
Damn
you!”

He grabbed her wrists and held them up close to his chest, nothing about him calm, nothing retreating deep inside him. “Damn me all you want, Lucy. I'm not here to make you feel comfortable or to live according to your rules. I'm here to keep Darren Mowery from killing anyone else.”

“This isn't about you!”

“It is about me. It's about me and a mistake I made a year ago. Mowery isn't blackmailing Jack Swift over an old affair he and Barbara Allen cooked up. He isn't after twenty grand or Jack's vote on legislation. Jack doesn't know this man.
You
don't know him.”

“And you do?”

“Yes.”

“He wants you,” Lucy said abruptly. “Oh, my God. This is about revenge, isn't it?”

Sebastian's grip softened, and he released her, caught up one hand and kissed it. “Lucy, when I'm whitewater kayaking, I'll do everything you say. I promise.”

She nodded, tried to smile. “I'll hold you to that. Any guess where Mowery is?”

“Not here. Not yet. My guess is he's already reined Barbara back in, recommitted her to the program. Sidney's calling the Capitol police. They'll get things into motion.”

“We should call the local police. They're not a bunch of yokels. If I tell them to be discreet—”

“Lucy, I know who they are. I went to school with half of them. Let the Capitol police get them involved. Right now, if Mowery does have Jack, he has the advantage.”

“He'll kill Jack—”

“He'll kill everyone if it suits him.”

Lucy started for the back door. “I'm going up to warn Barbara she's in over her head.”

“She won't thank you for it.”

“I don't care.”

She plunged out the door, leaped down the back steps even as she fought for calm, for control, for one quiet space in her mind where she could think.

Sebastian followed her. He didn't seem to be moving as fast as she was. Longer legs, she thought, but she felt like a whirling dervish, spinning, spinning, but not centered.

“I'll go with you,” he said.

She ground to a sudden halt in the warm grass. Dark clouds were sweeping in from the west, and she could feel the humidity gathering around her. “You only want to come along because you don't want me going alone. You're a loner, Sebastian.” She tilted her head back, gave him a long, clear-eyed look and saw him as he was. “It's easy to love me from a distance.”

He touched her mouth and, with no warning whatsoever, he kissed her, a quick, passionate kiss that almost sank her to the ground. He stood back and smiled. “It's not easy to love you at all.”

“Sebastian—”

“Later. Let's go.” She saw he'd grabbed her cell phone off the counter. He dropped it in his pocket. “Tough to believe Larry the Lump from ninth grade is the chief of police.”

 

Barbara slipped through the back door of Lucy's converted barn, past the canoes, kayaks, life vests, rescue equipment and office supplies, and into her work space. How pathetic. Lucy had given up a job with a prestigious Washington museum for this, Barbara thought. Her desks were nothing but hardware-store doors set onto handmade trestles. Cows and horses had once trod across the wide-board floor. There was a woodstove to supplement the electric heating unit, and the walls were covered with posters of northern New England, the Canadian Maritimes, Costa Rica. Only because of her Swift connections in Washington could Lucy have survived in business this long.

She had one of those plastic cubes on her desk, filled with pictures of Madison and J.T. None of Colin, Barbara saw. None of Jack. It was as if Lucy had wiped them out of her life. She'd come to Vermont to start over, and start over, she had.

Now she had Sebastian Redwing wrapped around her little finger, and no doubt Plato Rabedeneira, too. Didn't they see through her? But Barbara knew better. People were stupid. Men were particularly stupid. Twenty years in Washington had taught her that much.

If only Jack would admit he loved her, Barbara thought. If, when she'd finally come forward, he'd had the courage to say, as she'd fantasized countless times, “Oh, Barbara, I've been waiting all these years for you to give me the slightest hint you cared. Even when Eleanor was alive, I dreamed of us being together one day.”

Sentimental nonsense, of course. In real life, Jack had patted her on the head and sent her off. Good Barbara. Reliable Barbara. What if he were just another stupid man, after all? Twenty years of her life, gone!

She stroked the barrel of the Smith & Wesson .38 she'd appropriated from her father years ago. It was the same one he'd used to teach her and her sisters how to shoot with. He still wandered around the house, grumbling about what had happened to it. “I hope some stupid bastard doesn't hold up a gas station with my goddamn gun!”

A crude man, her father. It was an old gun, hopelessly out-of-date in a world of semiautomatics. But she had a silencer that fit it, and she knew it would do the job.

Plato Rabedeneira.

Madison had called from the phone in her room. “I'm packing,” she'd told Barbara. “Don't tell anyone I called, okay? I just didn't want you to think we were ignoring you. All kinds of weird things have been going on around here, and my mom's friend Plato's taking J.T. and me off somewhere.”

“Are you scared?”

“I'm trying not to be. We're leaving in a few minutes.”

Barbara eased to the front entrance of the converted barn. Plato was out by his car. He was so handsome, but slowed down by his limp and out of his element in the hills of Vermont. She remembered his dropping to the ground when he was shot during the assassination attempt on Jack and the president. He hadn't made a sound.

She tucked her gun into her waistband and pulled her shirt over it. She didn't have a focused plan. She'd seen Sebastian and Lucy walking up along the edge of the field. Did they all suspect her? Had Lucy poisoned them against her?

Refusing to rush, Barbara walked out of the barn and across the yard toward the front porch. She would say she'd come to thank Lucy for the blueberry muffins. Maybe she'd invite them to dinner. Spaghetti. Kids always liked spaghetti.

They couldn't leave.

She wouldn't let them.

Madison stomped down the front porch steps. The hanging petunias needed watering. Lucy neglected them, just as she did her children.

The girl was complaining bitterly to Plato. “You're not making J.T. leave his Micro Machines.”

Plato swore under his breath. “All right. Hurry up.”

“I'll only be ten seconds.” Victory sounded in her voice. “This is going to be a
fabulous
quilt.”