Vengeance (20 page)

Behind her, John Fairchild said, "Oh, no," in a disappointed voice. "Oh, Cara." He was peering over Lucinda's shoulder and his plain, angular face reflected his emotion.

Lucinda glanced at the chair next to me and the prospectus sitting there. "You should have left that at the front desk, along with your morals." I caught a glimpse of her ashen face then a swirl of patchwork pastel as she turned and fled.

Fairchild looked from me to Cara. "You bitch." The door slammed behind him as he followed Lucinda out of the office.

I put my hands on Cara's waist. She was smooth and hot under my palms. I had to apologize and I had to do it immediately. Any delay would look bad. "Excuse me," I said in what I hoped was a cold voice.

Cara slid off my lap and stood, not bothering to pull her blouse together. "I'm sorry she saw us." Her voice was calm and disinterested.

"Really? You didn't appear surprised." I stood up, shaking with anger. I picked up the prospectus. "Tell Robert it didn't work."

Her eyes narrowed and, faster than I thought was possible, she slapped me. "How dare you imply that Dr. Masterson told me what to do?"

That was interesting phrasing. She sounded offended that I thought Meyer could give her orders. "That wasn't what I was implying." I stepped past her, heading toward the door. "I don't think he pimped you out. I think you did that on your own."

I was expecting the slap that time so I dodged it. I jerked the door open and didn't bother closing it when I left. I hurried down the hall to Lucinda's office but John Fairchild intercepted me. "She's not there. She's gone."

"Where?" I glanced back the way I came in, toward the front reception desk.

"I don't know. She'll be back, though. She never misses the Thursday staff meeting. It'll be interesting since Cara has to be there too." His plain face creased into a worried frown. "Look, just a bit of advice--stay away from Cara."

I held up a hand. "Trust me. I know all about women like Cara. She took me by surprise."

He barked out a short laugh. "Yeah, so I saw." When I glared at him, he shrugged unapologetically. "Sorry. I thought you had better sense than that."

"I normally do. Do you know when Lucinda will be back?"

"Probably after lunch. The meeting's at two o'clock. She always leaves early on Thursday to go to the gym and work out. She should be home around six." He raised an eyebrow and I nodded, taking the hint. I had eight hours to figure out an appropriate apology.

I emerged from the office. The grubby Subaru was gone. Cerberus peered out the back window, his snout poked out the six-inch crack like a periscope questing in enemy waters.
What happened?
he whined as I approached.
Lucinda came out and she was crying. What went wrong? Ooh, look at your face. Who hit you? Did she hit you? What did you say to her?

I got into the car and looked at myself in the rear view mirror. A red handprint stood out on my chicly unshaven cheeks. "Cara hit me."

Cara? That witch? Good heavens, you didn't--

"I'd rather not talk about it." I tossed the prospectus on the passenger seat, where it slid to the floor. I started the car and backed out so abruptly he was thrown once again into the footwell.

Ow. Be careful, would you? Give me some warning. Where are we going? Are we following Lucinda? She turned right when she left the parking lot.

"She's not in any mood to talk right now. I'll go over to her house tonight."

You'd better take a peace offering
. He sniffed greedily at outside air as it came into the car.
She looked upset
.

"I know, I know." I turned left going out of the parking lot. "I'll figure out something."

You'd better make it good. You should take me along too
.

"What? You're my peace offering?'

It wouldn't hurt to have the poor doggie with you. I can protect you if she attacks
. Cerberus grinned at me in the rear view mirror.
I could always eat a few more cookies and you could take me to her for help.

"God forbid." I downshifted and turned onto Minnehaha Parkway, a tree-lined street that meandered through older and pricier neighborhoods.

Where are we going?

"Shut up, would you? I need to think."

I don't know that my being quiet will help, but I'll do it
.

"Thank you." I monitored traffic around me but didn't see the sedan that followed us before. In twenty minutes I cleared the city and we were heading south, toward the east suburbs and the Hunt and Horse club where I had a membership. "Behave yourself," I told Cerberus as we pulled into the parking lot. "The dogs here are impeccably trained, well-behaved and know their place."

He snorted in disdain.
If humans only knew what dogs think of their masters, they wouldn't let their pooches sleep in the bedroom at night. Lead on, oh Fearless Leader
.

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. The club dated back to pioneer days. Different owners had added to it, making it a multi-leveled hodgepodge where it sat on a hill. I stabled a horse here in the 1920s and I had fond memories of riding back roads that were now county highways.

Cerberus followed behind me, to my relief maintaining a perfect heel position. "Thanks for acting like a dog."

He snorted.
You know why we don't mind heeling, don't you?
Before I could reply, he said,
Because it's much easier to hamstring a human when you're walking behind him
. He passed me as I stumbled on the bottom step of the wraparound porch where two men stood, their hunting dogs lounging at their booted feet. Both dogs were sleek, heavily muscled and alert.

Hey
, Cerberus said to the Doberman who regarded us from his spot at his owner's feet.

The big animal yawned.
Hey. New in town?

Just visiting
. Cerberus nodded to the other dog, a lean German shorthair who had gotten to his feet to watch us.
Be careful what you say, he's a--
And he used some indecipherable word that sounded like "gajja."

Both dogs regarded me with unnerving intensity.
I've never seen one before
, the German shorthair said. His eyes assessed me from my head to my toes.
He looks normal. Say something, would you?

I felt like a circus sideshow attraction.
We're just here for some target practice
. I nodded to the two men who parted so I could get to the door.

Wow. It is true. Some of them can talk
. The shorthair dipped his head to Cerberus.
More power to you. I couldn't do it. How do you stand it?

Cerberus looked up at me, then at the front door.
He's a quick study for a human. I'm getting him trained.

Their laughter followed us inside. As always, I felt as if I'd stepped back in time and was visiting a grandparent on the farm.
What did that mean?
I asked as I raised a hand in greeting to Sid, the manager, at his usual spot behind the counter that ran the length of the building. Log furniture dominated the space with trophy heads that peered down at us from recesses in the high walls. Two men and two women, dressed in outdoor gear and seated in front of the fireplace near the dining room doorway, watched us enter.

I'll explain some day. For now, suffice it to say, the animal kingdom is not impressed with the human kingdom and the mental capacities of our so-called masters. Are we really here for some target practice? I thought we were apologizing to Lucinda for our boorish behavior last night while we were drunk
.

I glared down at him.
We're working on an appropriate strategy
.

"Nico, nice to see you again," Sid said. "See you got yourself a dog, finally." He turned doubting eyes on Cerberus, who panted, gulped then drooled on the floor at my feet.

"In a manner of speaking. I'm just helping a friend."

Some help
, Cerberus muttered.
You made Lucinda cry, you pissed off Cara and...

I managed to tune him out long enough to sign the registration sheet. "Wait here," I said. Then I remembered. "I mean, stay."

Cerberus sagged down on the worn wood floor.
No problem
. He scratched at one ear, the thunk echoing in the big room.
I'll keep an eye on the natives
.

I looked at the two couples regarding him with poorly concealed horror.
Just don't slobber on their boots.

His laughter echoed in my mind as I followed Sid through the drop gate into the back room. Like a safety deposit vault at a bank, Sid's gun vault required two keys to access any member's locker. I swiped my ID card through the reader and the series of lights on the control panel changed color, opening the inner door. We went to my locker at the end of the row of about forty others and Sid took my key, inserting it in the lock along with the master key he always retained.

"What kind of practice today?" he asked, stepping aside so I could look at my private arsenal.

"Just a bit of target, I think. Is the indoor range available?"

"Yep. Most folks are itching to get outside and shoot. Indoor is empty."

"Good. I need a chance to think." I selected my HK P7 then we locked up and emerged into the main room. Sid unlocked the ammunition vault using the special touch keypad and handed me ten clips for the gun.

Voices came from the dining room, mixed with the clink of silver and glassware. I glanced at Cerberus, who snored in a patch of sunlight on the far side of the room. My guard dog. "Is it okay if he stays here?"

"Sure, if he behaves." Sid looked at the snoozing beast. "Interesting looking animal."

Across the room, Cerberus sighed, twitched then growled, obviously deep in an exciting dream. "That's an understatement."

There is a Zen-like quality to target practice that is soothing and this afternoon was no exception. Within minutes I was in the zone and able to push aside all worry and simply focus. Tension and stress oozed out of me as bullets tore through the target.

Midway through my last clip, a woman came into the far shooting booth, carrying what appeared to be a small Smith & Wesson. I recognized her stocky build and no-nonsense, competent shooting style. It appeared Parker sent someone to meet me after all. Our eyes met and she nodded in acknowledgement. Then she returned to her own target practice, firing an impressive array into the distant bulls-eye.

We met at the unloading boxes near the back of the room. "How goes it, Sheila?" I asked. "Did Parker send you?"

Sheila Bowers was in her late forties, with a round, deceptively humorous face that hid a pragmatic, cold-blooded nature and a conscience that matched. Her muscular, square shape attested to her passion for weight lifting. Sheila could probably bench press me without breaking a sweat. She was normally based in St. Louis, but she had worked in the Twin Cities, Omaha and other Midwest locations for as long as I'd been with the Agency.

"Hi, Nico. Yeah, I guess you could say Parker sent me. In a manner of speaking."

I raised an eyebrow in question. She finished emptying her gun and pulled it out, inspecting the chamber just as I did with mine. My side ached suddenly, probably a sympathy pain from the presence of the guns around me. I tried an experimental deep breath and winced.

Sheila noticed. "Problems?"

I shook my head. "Just bruised. So why are you visiting our fair cities?"

"Parker gave me a call." Sheila pushed back the Chicago White Sox baseball cap that contained her short wavy brown hair. "He said I might like to make a visit to the Mall of America." She winked at me. "That's our nickname for you, because of your clothes."

I frowned, remembering Lucinda's exasperation with my appearance. "Why are women offended by my sense of style?"

"I wouldn't say offended. Amused, maybe. I mean, let's face it. You don't need clothes to make the man. In fact, in your case, I'd say fewer clothes would really make the man, if you get my drift." She grinned at the wary look I shot her. "Calm down, honey, you know my shingle doesn't swing your way. You're safe. Anyway, Parker called me. He said he heard that developers might put a shopping mall like the Mall of America in Paris. The Mall of America might end up in a similar spot, he said. His words exactly."

I stowed the HK back into leather carrying case I used. "Interesting choice of words." Sheila had been my backup in a Paris operation where we took out a cop who played a double game, working for terrorists. "So you're here in a similar capacity? Parker felt I needed backup?"