US Marshall 03 - The Rapids (21 page)

But he should have remembered she was on her way to being married to a marshal and was pals with the president, because he soon found himself in the
back of a black sedan with tinted windows. Nate Winter and an unsmiling woman in a dark skirt and blazer were up front.

They secretly escorted him into a windowless room in a nondescript government building somewhere in the suburbs.

Presently, John Wesley Poe joined them.

The unsmiling woman did the talking. “An American contractor has been kidnapped in Colombia by a team of Colombians and American mercenaries.”

“And how is this my problem?” Ethan asked.

“You can identify the kidnapped American.”

He leaned back in his chair, aware of Poe and Winter studying him, as if this was a test. “Can’t you identify him?”

“Actually,” the woman said, “no.”

The other two registered no visible reaction to what the woman, who had yet to identify herself, had said. “What’s your name?” Ethan asked her.

“I’m sorry. Mia O’Farrell. Dr. Mia O’Farrell.”

She had long, straight dark hair pulled back off her face and probably wasn’t more than thirty-five. “Doctor of what?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“You made a point of telling me your name’s
Dr.
Mia O’Farrell. I figured it was for a reason.”

She kept her gaze steady on him. “No reason.”

“Sure there is. You’re trying to establish author
ity over me and get me to go fetch this American out of the clutches of whoever’s got him.

“The American is important to us for reasons of national security,” she said, not withering under his scrutiny.

“His name?”

O’Farrell didn’t answer right away. Winter was staring at his hands, and Ethan knew if it was the marshal’s call to make, he’d give the name.

But it was Poe, finally, who spoke. “This is a voluntary mission.”

Ethan knew what that meant. “So its chances of success are slim to none.”

Poe stood up and came around the table, clapping a hand on Ethan’s shoulder. “It’s voluntary,” the president said, “but I could order you to do it. Technically, Major Brooker, I’m still your commander in chief.”

Ethan scratched the side of his mouth. “Problems with my paperwork?”

“Serious problems.”

“I was never good with paperwork.”

Winter almost smiled. Dr. O’Farrell didn’t come close.

Poe squeezed Ethan’s shoulder. “I need an answer, Major.”

Ethan thought of Juliet. Strange that he didn’t think of Char. He’d been a guilt-ridden, grieving widower for months. But he’d done the best he could
by her memory. He’d pushed and prodded and hounded, and at last he had answers. Vlad Samkevich was dead. Nick Janssen and Libby Smith were in prison. And Char had been on to all of them.

Now he had to find out who he was again.

“Yes, Mr. President, I accept the mission.”

N
ate Winter and Sarah Dunnemore were married on a warm, overcast mid-September day in the sprawling yard of the Dunnemore family home in Night’s Landing, Tennessee.

They were as beautiful and happy a couple as Maggie had ever seen, but a mosquito bit her and she thought she saw a snake.

It was her first trip back to the States since Ravenkill, which all, somehow, was becoming less a raw, open wound. Libby Smith was out of the hospital and had been denied bail as she faced prosecution. The media coverage had died down. Maggie had attended the memorial service for Tom Kopac at the embassy in The Hague, meeting friends who knew him better than she had and missed him terribly. But they’d laughed about his love of Krispy Kreme doughnuts, and they’d celebrated his life.

She walked out onto the dock that jutted out into the Cumberland River and kicked off her shoes, the fuchsia-colored ones she’d bought with Sarah in New York. The heels caught in the dock’s many cracks and gaps.

She heard laughter and storytelling up toward the porch. Tents had been set up, tables spread with cobblers and fried apricot pies and casseroles and fancy hors d’oeuvres. Maggie hoped she hadn’t been rude and stupid in accepting Nate and Sarah’s invitation. Rob had stayed in The Hague with her for five days. They’d gone bicycle riding and sightseeing, and they’d finally done the Binnendieze boat tour—and they’d gone back to the Rijksmuseum, where Nick Janssen had approached Rob’s mother back in April, trying to worm his way into her good graces.

Maggie remembered with a rush of warmth how she and Rob had made love, but it didn’t change the difficult logistics of their long-distance relationship.

Rob’s parents were intelligent and gracious, and Nate had whispered to Maggie his theory that Betsy and Stuart Dunnemore really were wizards, making her laugh. The Winters were there: Nate’s E.R. doctor sister, Antonia; his pregnant nature photographer sister, Carine; the crusty uncle who’d raised them after their parents had died on Cold Ridge. Antonia had her senator husband and their baby with her, but
Carine’s husband, an air force pararescueman, couldn’t be there, since he’d been deployed overseas since early summer. Taking his absence in stride, Carine had tried to get a picture of Maggie’s snake.

Gus Winter, the uncle, came alone, too. There was talk that he’d been seeing an ex-hippie named Moon Solaire, but she’d moved on to northern Maine and that was pretty much over. He was in his early fifties, a Vietnam vet and a mountain climber with the same build as his marshal nephew.

Maggie knew that Rob liked the Winters and was relieved his sister had married into such a tight-knit family. But Maggie had no trouble distinguishing the Cold Ridge Winters from the Night’s Landing Dunnemores.

Juliet Longstreet didn’t attend the wedding but apparently had sent the newly married couple a gallon of pure Vermont maple syrup.

Ethan Brooker had given them a song he’d written during his brief stay in Night’s Landing.

John Wesley Poe joined Maggie on the dock. Secret Service agents were on the river, upstream and downstream. “You should dip your feet in the water,” he said. “It’s still warm this time of year.”

“I don’t know. Snakes—”

“The snakes will leave you alone.”

“I like how you don’t deny they’re there.”

“Well, they might be,” he said, laying on his mid
dle Tennessee accent, “or they might not be. But they don’t have much interest in biting your feet. Trust me.”

She had no idea what to say to him, but Rob, in his black tux, walked out onto the dock with them. Poe seemed to tense up, as if he might say or do something wrong, but Rob smiled at him. “Sarah’s thrilled you came. Thanks for making it happen.”

“My pleasure. I know it’s a fuss to have me here—”

“We wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

It seemed to be enough for Poe. He relaxed, smiling at Maggie. “I’ll leave you two alone. There’s just one thing.” He paused, but any awkwardness was gone now. Turning to Rob, he spoke. “I’m told William Raleigh has excellent instincts.”

Rob smiled, but Maggie could sense his dread about what Wes Poe was about to say. “It’s hard for me not to think of him as a head case.”

“He wanted people to think that. It gave him room to maneuver. Agent Spencer?”

“Please call me Maggie.” She’d never talked to a president before, but found Poe easy to be around, more so than she’d expected. “My father and Mr. Raleigh were friends. That gives him an edge in my mind.”

“He says your father was one of the best.”

Even with her security clearances as a DS agent,
the details of whatever her father had done as an intelligence operative weren’t for her to know. “I’m sure my father would have said the same about Mr. Raleigh.”

The corners of Poe’s mouth twitched in amusement. “He’ll want you to call him William.”

She smiled back at the president. “Yes. He’s not a Bill, Will or Willie.”

“He says we need people with your talent, your courage, your ethics.” Turning to Rob, Poe continued. “Maggie’s
and
yours.”

If Rob was taken aback, he didn’t show it. He shook his head. “Everyone knows who I am.”

“Because of me,” Poe said. “Raleigh believes it can be an advantage. He was a bit notorious after the death of Maggie’s father—there were rumors Raleigh had screwed up and dived into a bottle. He looks like a heavy drinker. He used that to his advantage and was able to sneak around after Libby Smith and hook up with Ethan Brooker without anyone realizing he was up to anything.”

Feeling as if the conversation was taking a personal turn and not wanting to intrude, Maggie sat on the dock and dipped her feet in the Cumberland, snakes or no snakes. As Poe had promised, the water was warm.

“Whatever you decide,” the president said, still
addressing Rob, “I want you to know you have my blessing.”

“Do I?”

“I’ve known you wouldn’t stay in the Marshals Service. I think all of us have always known.”

Maggie glanced at Rob, who hadn’t shifted his position; he was stiff, unbending, and she realized he’d been down this road before. He’d bucked a man who had become president. But the shooting in the spring—how close Nick Janssen had come to destroying his family—had given Rob pause. He didn’t want to worry them. At the same time, he was who he was—which John Wesley Poe saw now and wanted to encourage.

“Sarah? My parents?” Rob shook his head again. “I won’t have their blessing.”

“You have options, Rob. Consider them all.” Poe himself looked stiff now, as if he expected Rob to throw his support back in his face. “That goes for Maggie as well. Both of you.”

“You’re making assumptions about us—”

Poe smiled then, his eyes twinkling. “I don’t know about that.”

Maggie had to look away. The logistics of her relationship with Rob were difficult enough. If she chose to let Raleigh suck her into another line of work and Rob didn’t want to follow her? Then what?

She kicked her feet in the slow-moving river,
feeling the undercurrents of her own life tugging at her.

Rob didn’t respond to Poe’s comment, and the president sighed audibly. “Two years,” he said. “If you and Maggie give us two years, then you can go back to doing whatever you want to do.”

“What if Maggie doesn’t want—”

“She does,” Poe said. “Bremmerton, Raleigh—they insist she does.”

She placed her hands behind her on the old dock and leaned back, looking up at the two men. “Maybe Rob and I need to talk, Mr. President.”

“Of course.” Poe looked at her, then at Rob. “We need you two.
I
need you.”

He started off the dock, but Rob raked a hand through his hair and gave a small grunt of frustration. “Wes…Jesus. I didn’t expect any of this. Thank you.” When Poe turned back to him, Rob smiled at his old friend. “Thank you for everything.”

Poe nodded without comment, and he left, Secret Service agents falling in around him.

Maggie focused on the murky water. She could hear someone singing, people laughing up on the porch. Rob sat down next to her, handsome—sexy—in his black tux. “Is the tux rented?” she asked. “Because if it is, I won’t throw you in the river. Damn. Why didn’t you tell me Poe was going to be here?”

He shrugged. “It was a given that he was invited.”

“I’m not used to having chitchats with the president, never mind deep conversations.”

But Rob, she realized, was used to staying true to himself, even in the face of great authority. He’d bucked two very different but powerful forces in his life—his own father, a quiet, brilliant man, and Wes Poe, a self-made millionaire, Tennessee governor and now president, to become a marshal.

He took off his shoes and socks and rolled up his pant legs to his knees. “My mother bought me this tux for Wes’s inaugural balls and parties after he was elected president. She thinks all men should own a tux.”

“I ended up with fuchsia shoes because of your sister.”

“You’d never know Sarah’s happiest in her dump-digging clothes and my mother wears sensible shoes.”

“They’re both very smart,” Maggie said.

“That they are.” He dipped his feet into the water and ran his toes along her foot, raising warm goose bumps all over her. “They want to turn us into spooks, Maggie.”

“She angled him a look. “George Bremmerton warned me more or less, before I headed here.”

“He knows everything and everyone, doesn’t he?”

“Except Wes Poe. He says they’ve never met.”

“Not yet, maybe. So this conversation wasn’t a complete surprise for you?”

She gave him a knowing look. “It wasn’t for you, either. You saw this coming.”

He gazed out at the river and its limestone bluffs, the familiar scenes of his childhood. Night’s Landing was home for him in a way no place ever would be for Maggie. Accepting Wes Poe’s offer—his
challenge
—to serve wasn’t the leap for her that it was for Rob. He patted her thigh. “Maggie, Maggie.”

“I’ve complicated your life, haven’t I? You never thought you’d get mixed up with the slightly repressed DS agent daughter of a murdered spy.”

“Your mother paints flamingos. I never thought I’d fall for a woman whose mother paints flamingos.”

“I gave one to Sarah and Nate for a wedding gift.”

But Rob kissed her forehead and whispered, “Tell me you ever imagined yourself falling for someone who’s practically family to the President of the United States.”

“The Southern frat-boy stuff was weird enough for me.”

He slipped his arm around her and pulled her close. “I want our children to come here and catch snakes and explore the caves, Maggie. I want them to go fishing and cook up fried pies and casseroles with Sarah and drink tea punch on the porch with my parents.”

“That sounds perfect to me.”

“I’m in love with you.” He said it softly, so that only she could hear it. “What they’re asking us to do—I’ll say no if it means losing you.”

“Here we are talking about kids when we haven’t even…Rob, are you asking me to marry you?”

“I am. Two years as a couple of secret agents or whatever it is Wes, Raleigh and Bremmerton have cooked up for us. Then the rest is forever. What do you say?”

Maggie smiled. “I say yes.”