But months went by, Cleo continued to train, and no information was released. Uncle Greg continued to teach her all he could, expanding her lessons to include a wide variety of methods of deception. Whatever grief he felt for his loss of Vera was channeled into making Cleo a perfect “agent,” as he referred to her, on behalf of the family.
On her twenty-first birthday, her uncle revealed that upon Vera’s death, certain information had been given to him, but he knew that Cleo had not caused Vera’s death.
She never learned where Uncle Greg had received his own training. Five years ago, he died of injuries suffered in a rock-climbing accident. At his funeral, Roy had hinted that Greg had once been in the CIA, but she had a feeling this wasn’t true.
Cleo rarely spent time around the rest of the family. She never liked being in a crowd, and didn’t like the idea of more than a few people being able to recognize her. She moved often, did not encourage neighbors who tried to become friendly. She focused her energies on training for the next situation in which she would be needed. That kept her away from home, for the most part.
Her exercise and training routines provided some release for her energy. A carefully orchestrated series of affairs with men in her “family” provided a release for her sexual tensions. She believed herself to be their superior in every way, and one day she would demonstrate this in a manner they wouldn’t like. Well, she might keep one around for fun.
She smiled to herself, picturing how that might work out. As for the rest, someday she’d be running everything. That was going to take planning and patience.
And the removal of a few obstacles along the way.
She stood and stretched and went back into the condo. She had come back from her place in the mountains after only two days. She had meant to stay away longer, but this fit of restlessness had come upon her and she’d returned.
She looked around her living room and sighed. She’d have to move again. She wondered if she should do that before the next job came along.
Uncle Greg’s voice sounded in her ear, warning her about staying anonymous.
She would be out of here before tomorrow night.
THE phone rang. She answered it and listened with a growing sense of anticipation.
“Can you handle another job so soon?” Giles asked.
“Of course,” she said.
“Keep your shoes on this time,” he said.
She nearly hung up in his ear. Instead, she remained silent.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No,” she said. She let another long silence stretch, then said, “I’m moving.”
“When?”
She moved her schedule up a bit. “Today.”
“Today!”
“Yes.”
“I suppose that’s wise. Do you have the new address?”
“Not yet.”
“Call me when you have it.”
He was certainly full of demands today. “I have to go now,” she said. She disconnected the call. That would be good for him.
She immediately dialed Fletcher Moving and Storage. She asked for Andy. While she waited for him to come on the line, she glanced at the clock near her bed. She hadn’t unpacked her gear from her trip out of town, so it would take only a few minutes to gather what clothing she needed from the condo.
Andy answered, excitement plain in his young voice. He knew that any request from her was to be dealt with immediately, and by a handpicked crew.
Andy required a softer approach than the older men. She used what worked.
“Where are we taking things? Not too far, I hope,” he said.
“Just store everything for now. It may be a while before I can pay everything I owe you,” she said, her voice soft and low. “But if you come over now, I’ll give you a special down payment.” She paused. “I haven’t dressed yet.”
He said he’d be right over.
She said that would be delightful, her mind already on what outfit she would wear when she was able to get dressed again.
CHAPTER 32
Monday, May 1
10:15 A.M.
REDLANDS
UNTIL we were about fifteen minutes away from the Garcia household, Ethan slept stretched out on the backseat, using three pillows, only one of which was beneath his head. The others were placed so that all the tender places on his back and shoulder were somewhat protected from the jouncing of the car. Dr. Doug Robinson had pleased him by saying he should be able to manage without the need for someone to stay with him during the day-and made him happier still when he said that Ethan could come along for the ride to Redlands-provided he continued to get lots of rest. This was not really something Ethan could avoid, much to his own frustration.
He made a sound as he came awake, one I don’t think he knew he made, since he usually tries to hide any sign of his discomfort. He slowly sat up and rubbed his face and hair with his right hand.
“Need something for the pain?” I asked. Frank had entrusted me with a couple of the pills in case the long ride-about seventy-five miles in each direction-proved too much.
“I’ll wait until after we talk to the Garcias,” Ethan said. “I don’t want to be too out of it.”
The we was not lost on me. “Ethan-”
“Your story.”
“Not really a story, but-”
“I won’t interfere. Promise.” He smiled and said, “But I have to ask, did you mention to Mrs. Garcia that you’re married to a cop?”
“Ben tells me that when you first met him, you told him you had considered a minor in anthropology.”
“Hmm. That doesn’t seem like an answer to my question, but-Did I say that to Ben? Imagine that.”
“Imagine is right, since I’d lay money you never took so much as a course in it.”
The smile became a grin. “Key word is considered. You don’t have to take a course to consider a minor. But I get your point-you actually are married to a cop. So you did tell her.”
“I went very easy on that. It could have backfired.”
“Yes, I see what you mean.” He paused. “Frank told me about Anna. That maybe she had other motives for being with Ben. That sucks.”
“It bothers me, too. I can’t convince myself the whole relationship was a ploy, but it bothers me all the same.”
“I’ve been thinking…if you’d let me help you out, maybe that’s something I could help with. I could track down Fletchers. You know, do what I can to find out how far the branches of that family tree stretch.”
My impulse was to tell him that he should just rest and recover, but I knew how bored he was. Other than doctors’ appointments and an AA meeting, he hadn’t been out of the house until today.
“If you think you’re up to it, sure.”
THE Garcias lived in a two-story house on a quiet block. Like all the other houses on the street, it was neatly landscaped and appeared to be well cared for.
Dora Garcia was a short, slender woman with dark hair that she wore in a chignon. Her big brown eyes had a hint of amusement in them, as if she had just remembered a good joke that she dared not tell in present company.
She welcomed us warmly and fussed over Ethan in a way that I suspect he would not have tolerated from anyone else. He could be a master manipulator, so I wasn’t sure about the sincerity of his appreciation, but she lapped it up.
Tadeo Garcia stood aside and watched us make our entrance, then took a seat in what looked like a favorite armchair. He was wide-shouldered and tall, one of those men whose sinewy strength does not desert them in maturity. His arms looked as if he tied knots in railroad tracks for a workout.