herself for her own comfort. “I told him if I ever needed help, I’d come to you. So, here I am. Except I really don’t need your help, after all.”
“You don’t?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Good. I’d hate for you to have wasted a trip.” He started back across the worn floorboards toward the porch. “I’m not in the helping business.”
She was stunned. “What?”
“Plato’ll feed you, get you back on the road before dark.”
Lucy stared at his back as he went out onto the porch. In the cabin’s dim light, she saw an iron bed in one corner of the room, cast-off running shoes, a book of Robert Penn Warren poetry, a stack of James Bond novels and one of Joe Citro’s books of Vermont ghost stories. There was also a kerosene lamp.
This was not what she’d expected. Redwing Associates was high-tech and very serious, one of the best investigative and security consulting firms in the business. Sebastian’s brainchild. He knew his way around the world. If nothing else, Lucy had expected she might have to hold him back, keep him from moving too fast and too hard on her behalf.
Instead, he’d turned her down flat. Without argument. Without explanation.
She took a breath. The dust, altitude and dry air hadn’t given her a bloody nose like they had J.T. They’d just driven every drop of sanity and common sense right out of her. She never should have come here.
She followed him out onto the porch. “You’re going to take my word for it that I don’t need help?”
“Sure.” He dropped back into his hammock. “You’re a smart lady. You know if you need help or not.”
“What if it was all bluster? What if I’m bluffing? What if I’m too proud and—”
“And so?”
She clenched her fists at her sides, resisting an urge to hit something. “Plato fudged it when he said you were on sabbatical, didn’t he? I’ll bet Madison was more right than she realized.”
“Lucy, if I wanted you to know about my life, I’d send you Christmas cards.” He grabbed his hat and lay back in the hammock. “Have you ever gotten a Christmas card from me?”
“No, and I hope I never do.”
She spun around so abruptly, the blood rushed out of her head. She reeled, steadying herself. Damn if she’d let herself pass out. The bastard would dump a pitcher of well water on her head, strap her to a horse and send her on her way.
“I’m sorry, Lucy. Things change.” She couldn’t tell if he’d softened, but thought he might have. “I guess you know that better than most of us.”
She turned back to him and inhaled, regaining some semblance of self-control. She was furious with herself for having come out here—and with Plato for having sent her when he had to know the reception she’d get. She was out of her element, and she hated it. “That’s it, then? You’re not going to help me?”
He gave her a half smile and pulled his hat back down over his eyes. “Who’re you kidding, Lucy Blacker? You’ve never needed anyone’s help.”
* * *
Plato didn’t come for Sebastian until early the next morning. Very early. Dawn was spilling out on the horizon, and Sebastian, having tended the horses and the dogs, was back in his hammock when Plato’s truck pulled up. He thumped onto the porch, his gait uneven from his limp. It’d be two years soon. He’d have the limp for life.
“You turned Lucy down?”
Sebastian tilted his hat back off his eyes. “So did you.”
“She didn’t come out here for my help. She came for yours.”
“She hates me, you know.”
Plato grinned. “Of course she hates you. You’re a jackass and a loser.”
Sebastian didn’t take offense. Plato had always been one to speak out loud what others were thinking. “Her kid bled on my porch. How am I going to protect a twelve-year-old kid who gets nosebleeds? The daughter’s a snot. She kept comparing me to Clint Eastwood.”
“Eastwood? Nah. He’s older and better-looking than you.” Plato laughed. “I guess Lucy and her kids are lucky you’ve renounced violence.”
“We’re all lucky.”
Silence.
Sebastian felt a gnawing pain in his lower back. He’d slept in the hammock. A bad idea.
“You didn’t tell her, did you?” Plato asked.
“Tell her what?”
“That you’ve renounced violence.”
“None of her business. None of yours, either.”
If his curtness bothered Plato, he didn’t say. “Darren Mowery’s hanging around her father-in-law.”
“Shut up, Rabedeneira. You’re like a damn rooster crowing in my ear.”
Plato stepped closer. “This is Lucy, Sebastian.”
He rolled off the hammock. That was what he’d been thinking all night. This was Lucy. Lucy Blacker, with the big hazel eyes and the bright smile and the smart mouth. Lucy, Colin’s widow.
“She should go to the police,” Sebastian said.
“She can’t, not with what she has so far. Jack Swift would pounce. The Capitol police would send up a team to investigate. The press would be all over the story.” Plato stopped, groaning. “You didn’t let her get that far, did you?”
“Plato, I swear to God, I wish you were still jumping out of helicopters rescuing people. I could sell the company and retire, instead of letting some dipshit busybody like you run it.”
“You didn’t even hear her out? I don’t believe it. Jesus, Redwing. You really are an asshole.”
Sebastian started down the porch steps. He was stiff, and he needed coffee. He needed to stop thinking about Lucy. Thinking about Lucy had never, ever done him any good. “I figured she told you everything. No need to make her go through it twice.”
“Lucy deserves—”
“I don’t care what Lucy deserves.”
Sebastian could feel his friend staring at him, knowing what he was thinking, and why he’d slept out on the porch. “Yeah, you do. That’s the problem. You’ve been in love with her for sixteen years.”
That was Plato. Always speaking out loud what was best left unsaid. Sebastian walked out to his truck. It was turning into a beautiful day. He could go riding. He could take a run with the dogs. He could read ghost
stories in his hammock.
The
