She added a burst of speed and ran down the slope on a course that would intersect with Corey. She waved her arms to attract his attention, but he didn’t see her, though he was glancing at the woods as he ran. She whispered into her phone, “I can see you. Look to your right.”
But he wasn’t listening to his phone.
She looked back over her shoulder, relieved to see that no one was on the slope behind her. She turned on her flashlight and waved it around.
Finally, the man on the shore saw her, stopped, and turned toward her.
He called out, “Bennie?”
They ran toward each other in the moonlight, like lovers in a three-hankie movie. As they got closer, she saw that Corey was a good-looking man, tall and with the unmistakable air of a lifetime spent in law enforcement, but this wasn’t the time for biographical details. She slowed her pace, caught her breath, and began to stand down. As he approached, she saw that he was wearing a gray sweatshirt, baggy cargo pants, and old running shoes. Most federal agents dressed more buttoned up, but he seemed relaxed. She shut off the flashlight, reached him, and put out her hand.
“Bennie Rosato.”
He took her hand and said, “John Corey.”
Then he added, “At your service.”
COREY STUDIED BENNIE ROSATO IN the moonlight.
She was either wearing elevator sandals or she was as tall as he was, about six feet. Her bare arms and legs were extremely well toned, like an athlete’s. Whoever had been chasing her was lucky they didn’t catch up. He thought her blond hair looked like it had been combed with an eggbeater, but maybe her sprint through the woods had messed up the coif.
He focused on her face.
Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight and were the color of her lips. Blue. She must be cold. She had good cheekbones, a slightly jutting chin, and an aquiline nose. She wore little makeup and probably didn’t need much. And finally, he noticed that she filled out her T-shirt.
Actually, he noticed that first.
All in all, an attractive woman with a striking presence.
“Are you okay?”
She was sweating and still breathing hard.
“I think so.”
He glanced back up at the slope. “Were you followed?”
“I don’t know.”
“The woods are deceiving at night.”
“I know what I saw, Mr. Corey.”
“Right. Please call me John.”
“Are you really a federal agent?”
“I am.”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“What else could go wrong tonight?”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just joking.” He further explained, “My ex-wife is a lawyer. And my estranged wife is also a lawyer, and an FBI agent.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
She tossed him a half smile.
He wanted to tell her his joke about him marrying lawyers so he could screw a lawyer rather than vice versa, but he didn’t know her well enough. Maybe later. Instead, he said, “Let’s go to my place.”
“Why?”
“So I can get my gun.”
She hesitated. “Do you have any ID? A badge?”
“My creds and badge are with my gun. You can see them all in my cabin. We shouldn’t be standing here in the open.”
“I think we should call 911. We’re not going to cowboy this out alone.”
“I already called. No connection.”
She hit the 911 feature on her phone, but it didn’t connect.
He tried 911 again too, but couldn’t get a connection. “Service sucks. By the way, you left the slider open in your cabin.”
“It’s not my cabin. I won a Woodsy Weekend Getaway.”
“Congratulations.”
“I should have stayed in Philadelphia.”
“Right. A weekend in Philadelphia seems like a month.”
“Not funny.”
“Sorry.”
“Are you from Washington?”
“New York.”
“Figures.”
He couldn’t resist and said, “So second prize is two weeks in Philadelphia, and third prize is four weeks in Phila—”
“I’m going to my cabin, getting my dog, and going home.”
“You’re leaving me alone with terrorists?”
She shot him a look.
“I know,” he said. “I’m a wiseass.”
She started to walk away, then hesitated. “Look, I don’t like to admit I need help, but this is the life-or-death exception. Walk with me, would you?”
“My gun is in my cabin.”
“Why do you need a gun, if you don’t believe me about the terrorists?”
“Why do I think I can outtalk a lawyer?”
“Are we having a power struggle?”
“No, a divorce.”
She shook her head.
He said, “Look, Bennie, I think you saw something. I don’t know what you saw and neither do you. But I’d like you to come to my cabin and you can tell me what you saw and we’ll keep trying 911, and if we can’t get through, we’ll go to the nearest police station. Okay?”
She didn’t appear like someone who surrendered control easily, but she also was scared.
That was clear.
“All right.”
They scrambled down the edge of the slope to the lake and began walking quickly along the rocky shore toward his cabin.
Not exactly hand in hand.
But shoulder to shoulder.
He crossed his back deck, slid open the glass door, and without waiting for Bennie went inside the cabin and made straight for the kitchen. His Glock was still on the table where he’d left it, stuck inside his pancake holster. Only an idiot or a rookie would have left the gun out in plain sight. What was he thinking? Then he remembered. It was the dog’s fault. Or maybe the scotch.
He was aware that Bennie was behind him and knew she was looking at the gun. So, as casually as he could, he picked up the holster, lifted his sweatshirt, and clipped it onto his belt in the small of his back. Then he said to his houseguest, “My mother told me that a gentleman should never pull a gun on his date.”
“This isn’t a date.”
“It could be.”
“No, it couldn’t.”
He reached inside a suede jacket hanging on a chair and pulled out his credential case, which he handed to her.
She let the case fall open, revealing his FBI photo ID and badge. She handed the case back to him. “This seems to be my lucky day.”
“The day’s not over yet. You want a drink?”
“Water.”
He smiled, plucked two glasses from the cupboard and made one water and one scotch and water. “Sorry, no ice.”
“I don’t need ice.”
“Did anyone ever tell you you’re kind of uptight?”
She smiled. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re not uptight enough?”
He smiled back.
They clinked glasses and she said, “Cent’anni.”
“Cheers.”
They drank, then he led her into the living room and indicated an armchair. He locked the sliding doors, then sat in a creaky rocker.
She looked around. “This is worse than my place. Did you win a Woodsy Weekend too?”
“I lost a bet.”
They both laughed.
She asked, “Do you have a landline phone here?”
“I don’t even have ice.”
“Let’s try 911 again.”
They both tried on their cells, but neither could get a connection.
He pointed out, “It could take an hour for a local cop or the State Police to get here anyway.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
“First tell me what you saw in the woods.”
“We can do that on the way to the police station.”
He looked at Bennie Rosato. She’d gone from lady in distress to ball-busting lawyer in ten minutes. “We’re going to take separate cars out of here. In case we’re not coming back. So tell me what you saw.”