Читать книгу Invincible - Diana Palmer - Страница 8
ОглавлениеCARLIE HAD HOPED that her father wouldn’t hear about her adventure. But when she got inside the house, he was waiting for her, his arms crossed over his chest.
“He lied,” she blurted out, blushing, the dress in its plastic bag hanging over one arm.
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
She hesitated. He might not know after all. She cocked her head. “Are you...angry about something?”
“Should I be?”
He made her feel guilty. She drew in a breath and moved toward him. “I was speeding. I’m sorry. Big Red can really run...”
“A hundred miles an hour,” he said, nodding. “You need special training to drive at those speeds safely, and you don’t have it,” he added patiently.
“I didn’t know it was Carson behind me,” she said heavily. “I thought it might be whoever still has me targeted.”
“I understand that. I gave him...well, a talking-to,” he amended. “It won’t happen again. But you keep your cell phone where you can get to it in a hurry, whatever you’re driving. Okay?”
“Okay, Dad,” she promised.
“Got the dress, did you?” he asked, and smiled.
“Yes! It’s beautiful! Green velvet. I’ll wear Mama’s pearls with it, the ones you brought her from Japan when you first started dating.”
He nodded. “They’re very special. I bought them in Tokyo,” he recalled, smiling. “She had the same skin tone that you inherited from her. Off-white pearls are just right for you.”
She frowned. “You buy them for a skin color?”
“I always did. Pearls come in many colors, and many prices. Those are Mikimoto pearls. An armed guard stands in the room with them.”
She lost a little color. “Maybe I should wear something else...”
“Nonsense. They need to be worn. That would be like getting a special dress and letting it hang in your closet for fear of spilling something on it. Life is what matters, child. Things are expendable.”
“Most things,” she agreed.
“I made supper, since I knew you were going to be late,” he said.
Her eyebrows arched. “That was sweet of you, Dad,” she said.
“It’s just a macaroni and cheese casserole. Your mother taught me how to do it when we were first married. I never forgot.”
“It’s one of my favorite dishes. Let me hang up my dress and I’ll be right down.”
“Sure.”
* * *
THE MEAL WAS DELICIOUS, even more so because she hadn’t had to cook it. She noticed her father’s somber expression.
“I’m really sorry about pushing Big Red,” she began.
He leaned back in his chair. “It’s not the car I was worried about.” His pale eyes were narrow and thoughtful. “It might not be a bad idea to send you over to Eb Scott and let one of his guys teach you the finer points of defensive driving. Just in case.”
Her heart jumped. “Dad, maybe there isn’t a real threat,” she said. “I mean, the guy who was afraid of what I remembered about him is dead.”
He nodded. “Yes, but there are things going on that you don’t know about.”
“You were talking to somebody on the phone who wanted you to come back. Come back where?” she asked bluntly.
He grimaced. “I used to work for the feds. Sort of. It was a long time ago.”
“Feds?” she repeated, trying to draw him out.
His chest rose and fell. “When you’re young, you think you can do anything, be anything. You don’t worry about consequences. You take the training and do the job. Nobody tells you that years down the line, you may have regrets.” He studied her oval face. “I was away when your mother got sick. What happened to you, because nobody was at home, was my fault. I should have been there.”
She glanced down. “They paid for it.”
“Not enough,” he said coldly, and his face was suddenly hard and merciless. “I don’t wish harm to anyone as a rule, but when your grandmother left the world, I didn’t shed a tear.”
Carlie managed a smile. “Me, neither. I guess he’s still around somewhere.”
“No. He died in a prison riot last year.”
“You didn’t say,” she faltered.
“I didn’t know. My former boss and I were making connections. We looked for anyone dangerous who knew you in the past. I had someone do some checking. I only found out yesterday.”
“It’s a relief, sort of,” she said heavily. She shook her head. “They were both crazy. She was the worst. My poor mother...”
He put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Mary was such a ray of light that nobody blamed her for what her mother did,” he reminded her.
“I know, but people have long memories in small towns.”
“You have your own spotless reputation,” he said gently. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I guess you’re right.” She laughed. “Robin hired a limo for us, can you believe it?”
“I like Robin,” he said. “I just wish he had more guts.”
“Now, now, we can’t all be real-life death knights with great swords.”
“You and that game. You do need to get out more.” He pursed his lips. “Maybe we need to organize some things for the young, single members of our church.”
“All four of us?” she mused.
He rolled his eyes.
“I like my life,” she declared. “Maybe it lacks excitement, but I’m happy. That should count for something, Dad.”
He laughed softly. “Okay. I see your point.”
* * *
THE CHIEF WAS UNHAPPY. He didn’t come out and say so, but he was on a short fuse and it was difficult to get anything out of him past one-syllable words.
“Sir, what about the new patrolman’s gear?” she asked gently. “You were supposed to give me a purchase order for it, weren’t you?”
“New patrolman?” He frowned. “Oh, yes. Bartley. Okay. I’ll do that today.”
She bit her tongue so that she didn’t remind him that he’d said the same thing the day before.
He caught her expression and laughed hollowly. “I know. I’m preoccupied. Want to know why?” He shoved a newspaper across his desk. “Read the headline.”
It said, Matthew Helm to Fill Unexpired Term of U.S. Senator. She stared at Cash without understanding what he was upset about.
“There were three men in the running for the appointment,” he said. “One was found by police in San Antonio, on the street, doped up by an apparent drug habit that nobody knew he had. A tip,” he added. “The second withdrew from the nomination because his son was arrested for cocaine possession—a kid who’d never even used drugs, but apparently the glove compartment in his car was stuffed with the stuff. Another tip. The third contender, Helm, got the appointment.”
“You think the others were set up,” she began.
“Big-time,” he replied. He glared at the headline. “If he wins the special election in May, we’re in for some hard times in law enforcement. I can’t prove it, but the prevailing theory is that Mr. Helm is in bed with Charro Mendez. Remember him?”
She nodded. “The enforcer who worked for the late El Ladrón,” she said. “He was a cousin to the Fuentes brothers.”
“The very same ones who used to run the distribution hub. He’s now head of the drug cartel over the border in Cotillo. In fact, he’s the mayor of that lovely little drug center.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I really wish somebody had furnished Carson with more than three hand grenades,” he muttered.
“Shame!” she said.
He chuckled. “Okay. I’ll get the purchase order filled out.” He leaned forward. “Hell of a thing, to have a politician like this in Washington.”
“He’ll be a junior senator,” she pointed out. “He won’t have an important role in anything. He won’t chair any important committees and he won’t have powerful alliances.”
“Yet.”
“Surely, he won’t win the special election,” she ventured.
He looked at her. “Carlie, remember what I just told you about his rivals for the appointment?”
She whistled. “Oh, dear,” she said again.
“Exactly.”
The phone rang. She excused herself and went out to answer it.
* * *
CARSON WAS CONSPICUOUS by his absence for the next few days. Nobody said anything about him, but it was rumored that he was away on some job for Eb Scott. In the meantime, Carlie got her first look at the mysterious Rourke.
He stopped by her office during her lunch hour one day. He was wearing khakis with a sheepskin coat. He grinned at her where she sat at her desk eating hot soup out of a foam cup.
“Bad habit,” he said, with a trace of a South African accent. “Eating on the job. You should be having that out of fine china in some exotic restaurant.”
She was staring at the attractive man wearing an eye patch, with her spoon suspended halfway between the cup and her mouth. “Excuse me?” she faltered.
“An exotic restaurant,” he repeated.
“Listen, the only exotic restaurant I know of is the Chinese place over on Madison, and I think their cook is from New York.”
He chuckled. “It’s the sentiment, you know, that counts.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” She put down the cup. “How can I help you?”
“Is the boss in?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Sorry. He’s at the exotic local café having a thick hamburger and fries with a beautiful ex-motion picture star.”
“Ah, the lovely Tippy,” he chuckled. “Lucky man, to have a wife who’s both kind and beautiful. The combination is rare.”
“I’ll say.”
“So, okay if I leave a message?”
She pushed a pad and pen across the desk and smiled. “Be my guest.”
He scribbled a few words and signed with a flourish.
She glanced at it. “You’re Rourke?”
He nodded. His one pale brown eye twinkled. “I guess my reputation has preceded me?”
“Something like that,” she said with a grin.
“I hope you were told it by your boss and not Carson,” he said.
She shook her head. “Nobody told me. I overheard my dad talking about you on the telephone.”
“Your dad?”
She nodded. “Reverend Jake Blair.”
His face softened. “You’re his daughter, then.” He nodded. “It came as a shock to know he had a child, let me tell you. Not the sort of guy I ever associated with family.”
“Why?” she asked, all innocence.
He saw that innocence and his face closed up. “I spoke out of turn, there.”
“I know he did other things before he came home,” she said. “I don’t know what they were.”
“I see.”
In that instant, his own past seemed to scroll across his hard face, leaving scars that were visible for a few seconds.
“You need to go to one of those exotic restaurants and have something to cheer you up,” she pointed out.
He stared at her for a moment and then chuckled. “How about going with me?” he teased.
She shook her head. “Sorry. I’ve been warned about you.”
“How so?” he asked, and seemed really interested in her answer.
She grinned. “I’m not in your league, Mr. Rourke,” she said. “Small-town girl, never been anywhere, never dated much...” He looked puzzled. She gave him her best starstruck expression. “I want to get married and have lots of kids,” she said enthusiastically. “In fact, I’m free today after five...!”
He glowered at her. “Damn! And I’ve got a meeting at five.” He snapped his fingers. “What a shame!”
“Just my luck. There, there, I’m sure you’ll find someone else who can’t wait to marry you,” she added.
“No plans to marry, I’m afraid,” he replied. Then he seemed to get it, all at once. His eyebrows arched. “Are you having me on?”
She blinked. “Am I having you on what?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I can’t marry you,” he said. “It’s against my religion.”
“Which religion would that be?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I’ll have to find one that prohibits marriage...” He burst out laughing.
She grinned.
“I get it. I’m a bit slow today. Must stem from missing breakfast.” He shook his head. “Damned weird food you Yanks serve for breakfast, let me tell you. Grits? What the hell is a grit?”
“If you have to ask, you shouldn’t eat one,” she returned, laughing.
“I reckon.” He smiled. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Ms. Blair.”
“Miss,” she said. “I don’t run a company and I’m not planning to start my own business.”
He blinked. “Come again?”
She frowned. “How can I come again if I haven’t left?”
He moved closer to the desk. “Confound it, woman, I need a dictionary to figure out what you’re saying.”
“You can pin a rose on that,” she agreed. “Are you from England?”
He glared at her. “I’m South African.”
“Oh! The Boer Wars. You had a very famous general named Christiaan de Wet. He was a genius at guerilla warfare and was never captured by the British, although his brother, Piet, was.”
He gaped at her.
She smiled shyly. “I collect famous generals. Sort of. I have books on famous campaigns. My favorites were American, of course, like General Francis Marion of South Carolina, the soldier they called the ‘Swamp Fox’ because he was so good at escaping from the British in the swamps during the Revolutionary War,” she laughed. “Then there was Colonel John Singleton Mosby, the Gray Ghost of the Confederacy. I also like to read about Crazy Horse,” she added shyly. “He was Oglala Lakota, one of the most able of the indigenous leaders. He fought General Crook’s troops to a standstill at the Battle of the Rosebud.”
He was still gaping.
“But my favorite is Alexander the Great. Of all the great military heroes, he was the most incredible strategist...”
“I don’t believe it.” He perched himself on the edge of her desk. “I know South Africans who couldn’t tell you who de Wet was!”
She shrugged. “I used to spend a lot of time in the library. They had these old newspapers from the turn of the twentieth century. They were full of the Boer Wars and that famous Boer General de Wet,” she laughed. “I almost missed class a couple of times because I was so entranced by the microfilm.”
He laughed. “Actually, I’m distantly related to one of the de Wets, not really sure if it was Christiaan, though. My people have been in South Africa for three generations. They were originally Dutch, or so my mother said.”
“Rourke is not really a Dutch name, is it?” she asked.
He sighed. “No. Her name was Skipper, her maiden name.”
“Was your father Irish?”
His face closed up. That one brown eye looked glittery.
“Sorry,” she said at once. “That was clumsy. I have things in my past that I don’t like to think about, either.”
He was surprised at her perception. “I don’t speak of my father,” he said gently. “Didn’t mean to unsettle you.”
“No problem,” she said, and smiled. “We’re sort of the sum total of the tragedies of our lives.”
“Well put.” He nodded thoughtfully. “I might reconsider about that marriage thing...”
“Sorry. My lunch hour’s over.”
“Damn.”
She laughed.
He studied her with real interest. “There’s this do, called a Valentine’s Day dance, I think. If you need a partner...?”
“Thanks, but I have a date,” she said.
“Just my luck, being at the end of the line, and all,” he chuckled.
“If you go, I’ll dance with you,” she promised.
“Will you, now? In that case, I’ll dust off my tux.”
“Just one dance, though,” she added. “I mean, we wouldn’t want to get you gossiped about or anything.”
“Got it.” He winked and got to his feet. “If you’ll pass that note along to the chief, I’ll be grateful. See you around, I expect.”
“I expect so,” she replied.
* * *
WHAT A VERY strange man, she thought. He was charming. But she really didn’t want to complicate her life. In his way, he seemed far more risky than even Carson, in a romantic sense.
When she got home, she mentioned his visit to her father.
“So now you know who Rourke is,” he chuckled.
“He’s very nice,” she said. “But he’s a sad sort of person.”
“Rourke?” he asked, and seemed almost shocked.
“Yes. I mean, it doesn’t show so much. But you can tell.”
“Pumpkin, you really are perceptive.”
“He said he’d take me to the Valentine’s dance. That was after he reconsidered the wedding, but I told him my lunch hour was over...”
“What?” he blurted out.
“Nothing to worry about, he said he wasn’t free today anyway.”
“Listen here, you can’t marry Rourke,” he said firmly.
“Well, not today, at least,” she began.
“Not any day,” came an angry voice from the general direction of the front door. Carson came in, scowling. “And what did I tell you about keeping that cell phone with you?” he added, pulling it out of his pocket. “You left it on your desk at work!”
She grimaced. “I didn’t notice.”
“Too busy flirting with Rourke, were you?” Carson added harshly.
“That is none of your business,” she said pertly.
“It really isn’t,” her father interjected, staring at Carson until he backed down. “What’s going on?” he added, changing the subject.
Carson looked worn. “Dead ends. Lots of them.”
“Were you at least able to ascertain if it was poison?”
He nodded. “A particularly nasty one that took three days to do its work.” He glanced at Carlie, who looked pale. “Should you be listening to this?” he asked.
“I work for the police,” she pointed out. She swallowed. “Photos of dead people, killed in various ways, are part of the files I have to keep for court appearances by our men and women.”
Carson frowned. He hadn’t considered that her job would involve things like that. “I thought you just typed reports.”
She drew in a breath. “I type reports, I file investigative material, photos, I keep track of court appearances, call people to remind them of meetings, and from time to time I function as a shoulder for people who have to deal with unthinkable things.”
Carson knew what she was talking about. His best friend, years ago, had been a reservation policeman. He’d gone with the man on runs a time or two during college vacation. In the service, overseas, he’d seen worse things. He was surprised that Carlie, the innocent, was able to deal with that aspect of police work.
“It’s a good job,” she added. “And I have the best boss around.”
“I have to agree,” her father said with a gentle smile. “For a hard case, he does extremely well as a police chief.” He sighed. “I do miss seeing Judd Dunn around.”
“Who’s Judd Dunn?” Carson asked.
“He was a Texas Ranger who served on the force with Cash,” Jake said. “He quit to be assistant chief here when he and Christabel had twins. But he was offered a job as police chief over in Centerville. It’s still Jacobs County, just several miles away. He took it for the benefits package. And, maybe, to compete with Cash,” he chuckled.
“They tell a lot of stories about the chief,” Carlie said.
“Most of them are true,” Reverend Blair replied. “The man has had a phenomenal life. I don’t think there’s much he hasn’t done.”
Carson put Carlie’s phone on the table beside her and glanced at his watch with a grimace. “I have to get going. I’m still checking on the other thing,” he added to Reverend Blair. “But I... Sorry.”
Carson paused to take a call. “Yes, I know, I’m running late.” He paused and smiled, gave Carlie a smug look. “It will be worth the wait. I like you in pink. Okay. See you in about thirty minutes. We’ll make the curtain, I promise. Sure.” He hung up. “I’m taking Lanette to see The Firebird in San Antonio. I have to go.”
“Lanette?” Reverend Blair asked.
“She’s a stewardess. I met her on the plane coming down with Dalton Kirk a few weeks ago.” He paused. “There’s still the matter of who sent a driver for him, you know. A man was holding a sign with his name on it. I tried to trace him, but I couldn’t get any information.”
“I’ll mention it to Hayes,” Reverend Blair said. “He’s still hoping to find Joey’s computer.” Joey was the computer technician who’d been killed trying to recover files from Hayes’s computer. The computer itself had disappeared, leading Hayes to reset all the department’s sensitive information files and type most of his documentary evidence all over again.
Carson’s expression was cold. “Joey didn’t deserve to die like that. He was a sweet kid.”
“I didn’t know him,” Reverend Blair said. “Eb said he was one of the finest techs he’d ever employed.”
“One day,” Carson said, “we’ll find the person who killed him.”
“Make sure you take a law enforcement officer with you if it’s you who finds him,” Reverend Blair said shortly. “You’re very young to end up in federal prison on a murder charge.”
Carson smiled, but his eyes didn’t. “I’m not as young as I look. And age has more to do with experience than years,” he said, and for a minute, the sadness Carlie had seen on Rourke’s face was duplicated on Carson’s.
“True,” Reverend Blair said quietly.
Carlie was fiddling with her phone, not looking at Carson. She’d heard about the stewardess from one of the sheriff’s deputies, who’d heard it from Dalton Kirk. The woman was blonde and beautiful and all over Carson during the flight. It made Carlie sad, and she didn’t want to be. She didn’t want to care that he was going to a concert with the woman.
“Well, I’ll be in touch.” He glanced at Carlie. There was that smug, taunting smile again. And he was gone.
Her father looked at her with sympathy. “You can’t let it matter,” he said after a minute. “You know that.”
She hesitated for a second. Then she nodded. “I’m going up. Need anything?”
He shook his head. He took her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Life is hard.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, and tried to smile. “Night, Dad.”
“Sleep well.”
“You, too.”
* * *
SHE PLUGGED IN her game and went looking for Robin to run some battlegrounds. It would keep her mind off what Carson was probably doing with that beautiful blonde stewardess. She saw her reflection in the computer screen and wished, not for the first time, that she had some claim to beauty and charm.
Robin was waiting for her in the Alliance capital city. They queued for a battleground and practiced with their weapons on the target dummies while they waited.
This is my life, she thought silently. A computer screen in a dark room. I’m almost twenty-three years old and nobody wants to marry me. Nobody even wants to date me. But I have bright ideals and I’m living the way I want to.
She made a face at her reflection. “Good girls never made history,” she told it. Then she hesitated. Yes, they did. Joan of Arc was considered so holy that her men never approached her in any physical way. They followed her, a simple farm girl, into battle without hesitation. She was armed with nothing except her flag and her faith. She crowned a king and saved a nation. Even today, centuries later, people know who she was. Joan was a good girl.
Carlie smiled to herself. So, she thought. There’s my comeback to that!
* * *
SHE WAS TYPING up a grisly report the next day. A man had been found on the town’s railroad tracks. He was a vagabond, apparently. He was carrying no identification and wearing a nice suit. There wasn’t a lot left of him. Carlie tried not to glance at the crime scene photos as she dealt with the report.
Carson came in, looking weary and out of sorts.
She stared at him. “Well, it wasn’t you, after all,” she said enigmatically.
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“We found a man in a nice suit, carrying no identification. Just for a few minutes, we wondered if it was you,” she said, alluding to his habit of going everywhere without ID.
“Tough luck,” he returned. He frowned as he glanced at the crime scene photos. He lifted one and looked at it with no apparent reaction. He put it back down. His black eyes narrowed on her face as he tried to reconcile her apparent sweetness with the ability it took to process that information without throwing up.
“Something you needed?” she asked, still typing.
“I want to speak to Grier,” he said.
She buzzed the chief and announced the visitor. She went back to her typing without giving Carson the benefit of even a glance. “You can go in,” she said, nodding toward the chief’s office door.
Carson stared at her without meaning to. She wasn’t pretty. She had nothing going for her. She had ironclad ideals and a smart mouth and a body that wasn’t going to send any man running toward her. Still, she had grit. She could do a job like that. It would be hard even on a toughened police officer, which she wasn’t.
She looked up, finally, intimidated by the silence. He captured her eyes, held them, probed them. The look was intense, biting, sensual. She felt her heart racing. Her hands on the keyboard were cold as ice. She wanted to look away but she couldn’t. It was like holding a live electric wire...
“Carson?” the chief called from his open office door.
Carson dragged his gaze away from Carlie. “Coming.”
He didn’t look at her again. Not even as he left the office scant minutes later. She didn’t know whether to be glad or not. The look had kindled a hunger in her that she’d never known until he walked into her life. She knew the danger. But it was like a moth’s attraction to the flames.
She forced her mind back on the job at hand and stuffed Carson, bad attitude and blonde and all, into a locked door in the back of her mind.
