“In the field?”
He nodded.
“It was that or die?”
He could hear Moose that night. “Live, Grit. Come on, live.”
He left Myrtle to order another scotch. On his way out, he thought about what she’d said. He did have friends in positions that could put them in the know when it came to assassins on the loose.
He splurged and took a cab back to his apartment in a bad part of town. It was in a square brown-brick building with four other apartments. His was on the ground floor overlooking the street.
He shared the sidewalk in front of the entrance with a fat rat.
“That fella’s so ugly, he’s almost cute,” Moose said.
Grit ignored him and unlocked his apartment door. When he flipped on the light in the entry, a half-dozen roaches scurried across the cheap wooden floor.
“Nothing cute about a cockroach.” Moose wasn’t letting up, obviously. “Man, Grit. Why don’t you find a better place to live?”
Grit didn’t care about rats and roaches so long as he didn’t find one in bed with him. And there was no point paying for a better place when he didn’t give a damn where he lived.
It wasn’t something he needed to explain to Moose-Moose knew.
But he was gone. He’d never cared for cockroaches.
Sixteen
Her cabin got so cold overnight, Jo wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d had to chip ice off herself when she crawled out of bed. She pulled on her new wool socks and headed to the shower. The ancient propane heater was trying, but the place wasn’t even remotely warm. At least no one had slipped in overnight and stolen food out of her refrigerator or attacked her in the dark.
“Always a positive when waking up,” she muttered, turning on the water in the shower. She waited until it was steaming before she stripped and got in.
She was toweling off when she heard a knock on the door, which just helped her hurry into her clothes that much faster. She figured she’d be up on the mountain today and put her new wool socks back on, the one pair of wool pants she’d brought up to Vermont with her and, for layering, a moisture-wicking exercise shirt and a wool pullover sweater.
When she yanked open the door, she expected to see Elijah, but instead, a short-haired, broad-shouldered man in expensive cold-weather hiking attire greeted her politely. “Special Agent Harper? My name’s Kyle Rigby. Thomas Asher asked me to stop by and let you know I’ll be checking on his daughter and getting her back to Washington.”
“You’re…what? A friend?”
He gave a small smile. “Mr. Asher and I have never met. He hired me.” The smile disappeared. “Feel free to check with him yourself. He appreciates your efforts, but he doesn’t want to impose on your friendship or put you in an awkward position-he didn’t expect Nora to take off this way.”
“No one did.” Jo stepped out onto the front step in her stocking feet, letting the door swing shut behind her; she didn’t want any heat to escape. She eyed the big man in front of her. His parka was unzipped, and he wasn’t wearing a hat or gloves. She didn’t see a backpack but suspected he would have everything he needed for a November hike. She asked, “Are you familiar with the area, Mr. Rigby?”
“Kyle,” he said. “And you’re Jo, right?” When she didn’t answer, he continued in the same clipped, professional tone. “Mr. Asher doesn’t like the idea of Nora being out on the mountains by herself, especially given the shock she’s had. He prefers to keep the situation private. Involving you, given your job…” Rigby didn’t shift his gaze from her. “It’s simpler to hire me.”
“Do you have search-and-rescue experience?”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Are you working with a team?”
“Like I said, I know what I’m doing. I’m here to get Nora Asher safely back to her family. That’s it. I don’t doubt everyone here will cooperate to make sure that happens.”
“Did Thomas give you any update on the investigation into Ambassador Bruni’s death?”
“No, but that’s not why I’m here. Sorry, I don’t have a lot of time. Sunset’s around 4:00 p.m. and the forecast calls for a fair amount of snow at higher elevations in the next couple of days. Nora’s inexperienced and very upset. It’d be good to find her.” He dipped a big hand inside his jacket, withdrew a business card and handed it to Jo. “Call me on my cell phone if anything comes up. Leave me a message if I’m out of range.”
“I’ll do that. Where are you staying?”
“The second apartment in the Whittakers’ guesthouse. They insisted through Mr. Asher that I stay there. It’s decent of them.”
“Were you there last night?”
He shook his head. “I dumped my stuff off before I drove out here. I’d hoped Nora had come back during the night.” He shrugged. “But she didn’t.”
“What’s your plan now?”
He ignored her question and walked back to his car. Jo remained on her step and watched him drive off down the dirt road, the sun higher now, glistening on the lake. Then she directed her attention to the trees behind the next cabin, where she’d noticed a slight movement.
Elijah stepped out from behind a hemlock with a.30-06 rifle balanced comfortably on one shoulder. “Off the case, are you?”
“There is no case. Thomas has a right to hire someone if he wants to.” Jo crossed her arms to keep herself warm. “Elijah, is that a freaking machine gun?”
“Rifle. You know the difference, Ms. Secret Agent.”
“Secret Service agent. Which you know.”
“It’s almost deer season. I was cleaning my hunting rifle.”
“You’ve never gone deer hunting in your life.”
“Once. I was thirteen.” He stayed close to the woods, the morning sun glinting on the rust-colored oak leaves behind him. “I went up on the mountain with my father, and I got a buck in my sights-a big guy.”
“You didn’t fire,” Jo said. “I’d have heard the story if you had. Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know. My father didn’t understand, either, but I never took to hunting. That was years before he left you this property.”
“So it was.”
“He was a good man, but he never gave people something for nothing.” Elijah’s eyes, with their piercing Cameron blue, settled on her. “I figured he owed you.”
“If he did, it was in his own mind, not mine.”
“Maybe so.”
Jo wasn’t about to tell him about his father’s vision of the children they’d never have; that part of their conversation was between her and Drew. But she couldn’t help wondering how much her response to Elijah last night-the taste of him, the feel of his body hard against hers-had to do with her visit with his father. For the past seven months, she’d been thinking about Elijah in a way she hadn’t before Drew Cameron had turned up at her Washington apartment.
But such thinking wasn’t going to get her anywhere, and she dropped her arms from her chest. “Take your rifle and go home, Elijah. I need to get back inside. My hair’s turning to icicles.”
“Cold morning for a shower in a barely heated cabin.”
“At least there is a shower, although sometimes it’d be nice to have a tub.”
“I have one at my place if you ever-”
“Thanks.” She cut him off quickly. Today, she’d promised herself, would be different. Her life was complicated enough right now without kissing her neighbor and one-time lover. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“You could always borrow my bathrobe if you didn’t bring one with you.”
“No way do you have a bathrobe, Elijah.”
He looked amused. “You don’t think so?”
She opened the cabin door, sorry she’d brought up the subject. But he didn’t move, just stood there with his rifle still on his shoulder. She frowned at him. “What are you doing?”
“Picturing what kind of bathrobe you have.”
“I don’t own a bathrobe.”