Whistler's Angel (31 page)

“You’re thinking about getting married again?”

“I’m…thinking that I miss her. I like being with her. As I say, down the road. Nothing imminent.”

“Have you asked her?”

“I’ve asked her to move here. I didn’t say as what. I’m sure she’ll have some thoughts on that subject.”

“Well, my feelings are that I like you together. I’m sure that Claudia would feel the same way. Want to ask her yourself? I’ll put her on.”

“Not now. You talk it over. Let it settle for a while.”

“Look, Dad…if it’s us that’s holding you back…”

“No, I have some things that need attending to first. In the meantime, leave the damned telephones on. I don’t like it when you’re out of reach.”

Whistler waited for his father to break the connection, then he breathed a qualified sigh of relief. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have lied to his father, even though what he’d said had been technically accurate. If he’d told him the truth, he’d have to have told him how Claudia took out that shooter. It should be up to Claudia who she’d tell, if and when. And God knows what his father’s reaction would have been. He would surely have sent some people here to look after them. The twins, most likely. This island had been traumatized enough without those two. Anyway, depending on why Moore had come calling, their role in all this should continue to fade.

Phil had slowed his engines and maneuvered his boat abeam of the yacht’s starboard quarter. Whistler dropped fenders so that they could tie up, but Phil said, “We’re going to stand off and wait for Eddie. That okay? He said
he wants to talk to you alone.”

Whistler looked toward Leslie. She was gesturing again; she was pressing palms down, and she was nodding. She seemed to be saying that this would be all right. She mouthed the words, “
He’s a good guy. Don’t worry
.” Whistler next looked at Moore. He looked into his eyes. He saw a new interest, a new curiosity, beyond what he’d seen the night before. And he noted that Moore had brought a small briefcase with him. He wondered what Moore might have to show him.

Whistler answered, “Come aboard,” and he held out a hand, waiting to
help the Sergeant climb the railing.

“Nice boat, Mr. Whistler. Good morning, Miss Geller.” He smiled and added, “Yeah, I know your true names. Once the press was gone, Leslie told me why you fudged them. That isn’t a problem for now.”

“Coffee’s on. Would you like some?”

“Thank you. I would. And I’d like to talk to just you, if my may.” He turned to Claudia. “Would you mind very much?”

She looked into his eyes, rather strangely, thought Whistler. But she gave him a smile. She asked how he took his coffee. She said she’d bring it up when it was ready.

Whistler gestured toward the table at the rear of the cockpit and invited the policeman to sit. Moore asked him, very quietly, “How’s she doing this morning?”

“Much better. How else can I help you?”

Moore didn’t respond. He was looking toward the hatch as if hoping for another glimpse of Claudia.

“Sergeant Moore?”

“Huh? Sorry. I don’t mean to stare. Miss Geller is an interesting young woman.”

“Is she why you’re here?”

“Well…a number of things. I could use that cup of coffee. This thing has kept me hopping all night.”

“I’m sure it has.”

“As to why I came out here with all that’s going on, it’s more about you than Miss Geller.”

“Go on.”

“I spent a little time sitting at a computer. I heard you when you said you didn’t want to be involved, but I think you’ll understand if I got curious about you.”

Whistler shrugged. “I don’t imagine that you found very much.”

“Well, I did confirm some of what little you told me. Not much beyond that because your records are sealed. It’s almost fair to say that you ceased to exist from about…what age…twenty-five or twenty-six?”

“A lot of peoples’ records are sealed. You know that.”

“You stayed in Special Ops? You’re still Army?”

“I’m inactive.”

“You don’t want to tell me what you did in Special Ops?”

“I think you know that I can’t.”

“Whatever you did, it must have paid very well.” Moore took in the yacht with a sweep of his hand. “Or are you independently wealthy?”

“Good investments.”

Moore sat back. He nodded. “I’m relieved to hear that. Special Ops has been known to do drug interdictions. All those drugs, all that cash, there must have been a few temptations.”

“You heard me when I said good investments.”

Another glance toward the galley. And again he dropped his voice. “Do you mind if I ask how you hooked up with Miss Geller? I guess I want to ask whether she worked with you, but I don’t suppose you’d tell me that either.”

“Sure, I will. She didn’t.”

“How long have you known her?”

“Look, Sergeant…”

“Call me Ed.”

“I don’t know you well enough. As to Claudia, I’ve known her for a year and a few months. She’s had no connection with anything I’ve done. She’s as gentle a creature as you’ll ever meet, so suppose we leave her out of this discussion.”

The sergeant raised a hand. “Try not to get sore. I have a reason for asking.” He rubbed his chin and winced in a show of discomfort. He said, “Let’s back up. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m not sure that I’m even here as a cop. Do you think we could talk man to man?”

“Are you wired?”

Moore’s face took on a chill. “You can frisk me if you like. Or we could go swimming. We can have this conversation treading water.”

Whistler was tempted to not have it at all, but he needed to see where it was going. Claudia had appeared at the hatch holding two coffee mugs in her hands. Whistler took a few steps forward. He reached for the mugs. She held on for a moment and said softly, “Be nice. If he wants you to call him Ed, call him Ed.”

“You could hear?”

“And I can feel. He’s an honest man, Adam.”

“You could tell that by looking into his eyes?”

“I could tell that he’s nervous. We both make him nervous. But, Adam,
he did keep our names out of this. He wants to know that he didn’t make a mistake. And I think he wants you for a friend.”

“Why would he?”
“He admires you, Adam. You heard that last night. I think he wants to be like you.”

“We’ll see.”

“He knows more about us than he’s letting on. It’s better if you let him be your friend.”

Whistler was doubtful, but he said, “I’ll be nice.”

“He hasn’t had breakfast. I’ll put on some bacon. Ask Leslie and Phil if they’ll join us.”

“When? Now?”

“Not now. When you’re done. Go finish your talk.”

He hesitated. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m better.” She touched him. “I’m fine.”

“You seem…distant this morning. Like you’re in another world.”

“No, I’m in yours. More than ever, I suppose. Go finish your talk with your policeman.”

Whistler walked back aft, a little worried about her. Nor was he sure that this meeting was so harmless. He knew that Claudia was right about one thing, however. The sergeant knew more than he was saying.

“Okay, man to man.” He handed Moore his coffee. “Let’s start with what’s

on your mind.”

Moore looked over Whistler’s shoulder. “She could hear us?” he asked.

“I’m back here barely whispering.”

Heightened senses, thought Whistler. Been that way since she recovered. He supposed that he’d gotten used to it himself. But he answered, “No. Just a word here and there.”

Moore wet his lips, took a sip from his mug, and took a deep breath before speaking again. “The reason I wondered whether she worked with you…”

“You’re not still on that knife question, are you?”

Whistler blinked at the question. It was not what he expected. “What exactly do we mean when we say
gifts
?”

“The gift of hands? Healing? That sort of thing?”

“Ed…you’ve lost me. Where did this come from?”

“Ragland’s wife…at the hospital…we spoke at some length. Her name is Olivia, seems like a good woman. She wants to see you both, by the way. She said she’d like to thank you in person.”

“There’s no need. Now what was this thing about hands?”

“She was saying how Miss Geller found the bullet in her husband and, well…with her hands, somehow worked it toward the surface.”

“You’re not serious.”

“It’s preposterous, Ed.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t there. Mrs. Ragland was. In fact, where she was sitting, she was facing you, right? I’d say she must have had a pretty good view of anything that might have happened.”

The knife again, thought Whistler. He said, “Yes, she might have until that first shot. After that, I suspect, her mind was elsewhere.”

“Even so, she was calm and together when we spoke. Did you know that she was a reporter herself before she teamed up with Ragland? She’s a Brit, by the way. BBC, I think she said. She used to be a foreign correspondent.”

“Your point?”

“She’s no flake. And she’s not unobservant.”

“Yet she thinks that Claudia can make bullets go away. Has she said this to anyone else?”

“Her husband. He has also asked to see you.”