And Then You Die

by Iris Johansen

“Esteban requested a report on you and your sister when you were sighted heading for Tenajo. He wanted to make sure you weren't with an agency that would bring difficulties down on his head.” He opened the refrigerator door. “So I tried to convince him he should let me come after you and terminate any threat.”

  She stiffened.

  He took out a carton of milk and set it on the bar. “He wouldn't let me do it. I realize now he wanted to let the disease kill you.”

  “You would have killed us?”

  He shook his head. “If I could have done it without blowing my cover, I'd have warned you and tried to get you out of the area without Esteban knowing.”

  “And if it would have blown your cover?”

  He got down two glasses from the cabinet. “Then I would have had a decision to make.”

  “But you blew your cover at San Andreas.”

  “It was a calculated risk, and by that time I'd found out a lot more about the operation.” He poured milk into the two glasses. “I'd been trying to work my way into Esteban's confidence for over two months. I needed that information.”

  The passion in that last sentence caused her eyes to widen. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “So you'll know how important stopping Esteban is to me.” He looked straight into her eyes. “If I'd needed to do it, I would have killed you, your sister, and your guide.”

  “Nothing should be that important.”

  “Tell that to the people who died at Tenajo.”

  “But you didn't save Tenajo.”

  “No.” His lips tightened. “No, I didn't.” He turned his back on her and reached up into the cabinet.

  He was feeling guilt, she realized suddenly. Terrible guilt. Underneath that harsh exterior, he was human after all. The knowledge came as a shock.

  He brought down two plates from the shelf. “Take the milk into the dining room. I'll bring the chicken.”

  His face was once more without expression. She got off the stool and picked up the glasses. “Frozen dinners seem more suited to the kitchen.”

  “My mother taught me that dinner should always be served in the dining room. It's a habit I can't shake.” He paused. “And yes, I did have a mother. I didn't crawl out from under a rock.”

  She found herself smiling. “I was thinking more along the lines of a metal egg from an alien planet.”

  He blinked. “My God, I believe you're joking with me.”

  She had been joking. Incredible. Not only had she found humor in the moment, but she had also felt enough at ease with Kaldak to indulge in it. “A temporary lapse.”

  He made a face. “Don't worry, I won't grow on you. Too many rough edges.”

  Rough edges, an alarming perceptiveness, and an almost fanatic intensity––he possessed all those things. He had shown a moment of weakness, but he had recovered with lightning swiftness. She had been crazy to think he was vulnerable in any way.

  “Sit down. I'll get the silverware.” Kaldak was behind her, setting the steaming plates on the table. “It's not very nourishing but it's food and you haven't had anything to eat since yesterday. I heard your stomach growl in the car on the way from the airport.”

  “It's rude of you to mention it.”

  “It would be ruder not to feed you.”

  She was hungry. Yet, there was something wrong with that reality. When you were worried or depressed, your body should just stop being beset by basic needs.

  He was back with the silverware and napkins. He sat down opposite her. “Dig in.”

  She picked up her fork. “Is that what your mother would have said?”

  He shook his head. “Part of my rough edges. Some things are ingrained. Some things we learn for ourselves.”

  But his table manners were impeccable, she noticed. “Is your mother still alive?”

  He shook his head. “She died a long time ago. So did my father. How about your parents?”

  “My mother died when Emily and I were small. My father was killed in an automobile accident when I was fifteen.”

  “That's an especially bad time to lose a parent.”

  “But I had Emily. She was in medical school and had an apartment in the city. We sold Tyngate, the house we grew up in, and she moved me in with her.”

  “No problems?”

  She grimaced. “A few. I wasn't the most stable kid and I missed Tyngate. At first I gave her a pretty rough time, but we worked things out.”

  “Tyngate,” he repeated. “It sounds like an estate.”

  She shook her head. “Just a big old house on the river. Nothing fancy.”

  His gaze was fixed intently on her face. “But you loved it?”

  “Sure. I still miss it sometimes. But Emily's right, we had to move on. It's wrong to cling to the past.”

  “Tell me about this Tyngate.”

  “Why?”

  “Just curious.”

  “I told you, it wasn't much. Comfortable. We had a pier and a boat. I don't know why it meant so much to me.” She looked down at her plate. “You know, I read Katharine Hepburn's autobiography once, and Tyngate was something like the place where she grew up. It was sort of . . . golden. Emily and I had wonderful times when we were kids. We swam and sailed and built a tree house. I always felt safe there. No matter how complicated and weird the outside world became, Tyngate stayed sort of safe . . . and innocent.”

  “Innocence is at a premium these days. You should have kept the house.”

  She shook her head. “There wasn't much insurance and Emily had enough trouble supporting the two of us. No, she was right.” She hadn't thought of Tyngate for a long time. She felt a sudden wave of nostalgia. “But every kid should be able to grow up at a place like Tyngate. It should be written into the Constitution.”

  “Write your congressman. They're always ready to embrace anything that touches kids. It's politically correct. Drink your milk. That's politically correct too.”

  She was glad of the change of subject. Memories of Tyngate would always be tied with Emily, and they sharpened the anxiety she was feeling. “I'm drinking it. I told you to stop giving me orders.”

  “I wouldn't want to ruin my image by being polite.”

  The words were said without a smile, and it took a minute for Bess to realize they were meant to be humorous. “I wouldn't worry about that.”

  “But I do. All the time.” He picked up his milk. “It's necessary.” He drank deeply before lowering the glass. “Perception is everything. It's what makes the–– Why are you laughing?”

  Without thinking, she took her napkin and wiped his upper lip. “You have a mustache. You remind me of Julie. She always ends up with––” The thought of Julie reminded her of the wrenching reality of Emily's situation. How could she have forgotten it for even a short time?

  “Julie is your sister's child? The one who has the friend on the Internet?”

  She nodded.

  “Is she like Emily?”

  “No, she's not like anyone. Emily says she's a little like me, but I think she's an original.”

  “You're close to her and Tom Corelli?”

  “I love her, and Tom has always been kind to me. I like him very much.” She became aware of the tension that hadn't been there a minute earlier. “Why do you ask?”

  “What about anyone else? Who else are you close to?”

  “You sound like Esteban. He was giving me the third degree too.”

  “Esteban's reasons and my reasons aren't the same.”

  “I hope not. He was interested in any next of kin who might bother him if he cut my throat.”

  “And I'm interested in keeping you from getting your throat cut. You're divorced, aren't you? Do you still maintain a relationship with your ex?”

  “No.” She wrinkled her nose. “We were married only nine months. One big mistake. Emily told me he was a loser, but I didn't believe her.”

  “Why not?”

  “My hormones got in the way. Matt's a musician. He's gorgeo
us, sexy, and he could even hold a conversation if it didn't get too deep. He didn't like deep.” She sipped her milk. “And he had no use for fidelity. He was sleeping around two months after we were married.”

  “But the marriage lasted nine months.”

  She shrugged. “I'm stubborn. I didn't want to admit I'd made another mistake. So I tried to make it work. But there wasn't anything there to build on.”

  “Another mistake?” he repeated.

  “I'm not perfect like Emily.”

  “Tell me about your friends. Is there someone special?”

  “No, I travel a lot because of my job. It's hard to maintain friendships when you're always missing anniversaries and birthdays and–– Why?”

  “Where do you live?”

  “I sublet an apartment in New Orleans.”

  “Any neighbors that you're fond of?”

  “I like all my neighbors.”

  “No one in particular?”

  She shook her head.

  “Pets?”

  “You shouldn't have pets if you're not there to take care of them.”

  “So you have no one but Emily and her family?”

  She frowned. “I have friends, lots of friends. All over the world.”

  “I'm sure you have. Don't be so defensive.”

  “Well, you're making me sound like Little Orphan Annie.”

  “I'm just trying to determine where you're vulnerable.”

  “I'm not vulnerable.” Sudden uneasiness overcame her. “Am I? Julie and Tom?”

  “Maybe. Your New Orleans apartment is already under surveillance, but after dinner I want you to give me Corelli's address and phone number. I'll arrange protection for them.”

  “Done. But I don't think we have to worry right away. Tom and Julie are in Canada on a camping trip. They're away the three weeks Emily and I were supposed to be in Mexico.”

  “How accessible?”

  “Not unless you're a grizzly bear. Tom's a wilderness expert, and when they go camping, it's serious stuff. They always park their car at a ranger station and live off the land.”

  “Radio?”

  “No, but they take flares in case of emergency.”

  “You'd better give me the location of that ranger station so I can put a man there to meet them when they come out.”

  “Good idea.” She leaned back in her chair. “Now tell me what we're doing in Atlanta, Kaldak.”

  “I told you, I need help from a friend.”

  “What kind of help?”

  He didn't answer.

  “What kind of help?”

  He scowled. “You're not going to let it go, are you?”

  “Why should I? It's my life. It's Emily's life. You've been very kind to me, but I don't want protection if it means not knowing what's going on. I can't function like that. Everything has to be clear and out in the open. You've not been telling me everything, have you?”

  “No,” he said. “I can't tell you everything. Not yet.”

  “When?”

  “I'm not sure.”

  “That's not good enough, Kaldak. I've let you push me and prod me and run the show. From now on, if you want me to cooperate, you cooperate with me.”

  He studied her face and then slowly nodded. “Okay. But I don't know everything myself yet. It would be guesswork. Let me go see my friend and we'll talk afterward.”

  “I want to go with you.”

  “He's in a very sensitive position. I'm going to ask him to break some rules. He may not go along with me if someone else is there.” He picked up the dishes and carried them to the sink. “Don't worry, I don't intend to skip out on you. I'll be back tomorrow evening.”

  She hadn't been worried about that. “And I'm supposed to sit here and twiddle my thumbs?”

  “Sorry.”

  So was she, but it was obvious she wasn't going to get any more concessions from him. “And do you promise me that you'll be honest with me?”

  “Would you believe me if I gave you my word?”

  “Yes.”

  He inclined his head. “I'm honored. I promise you that I'll tell you all about my meeting when I get back tomorrow evening.”

  The words still held a note of evasion. “The truth.”

  “The truth.” He grimaced. “You're very good at probing. It's no wonder you've won so many awards.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “You know a lot about me. Esteban said you weren't able to get much information.”

  “I didn't want him to know any more than he had to.” He shrugged. “I've admired your work for some time. I liked the pictures you took of that bandit in Somalia.”

  “So did I.” She stood up. “Which reminds me, I have to call John Pindry and tell him I can't complete my article for his magazine.”

  He shook his head.

  “He has deadlines. It wouldn't be responsible to just leave him hanging.”

  “Let it go for a while. We don't want any mention of Tenajo to leak out yet.”

  “I wouldn't tell him about––” Oh, well, they wouldn't expect to hear from her yet anyway. “I'll write Emily's address on the phone pad and then I'm going to bed. I'm so tired, I'm about to fall into a coma.”

  “I'm surprised you lasted this long.” He began washing the dishes. “You've been through a hell of a lot in the last week. You handled it well.”

  She felt a rush of surprise mixed with pleasure. “I guess we do what we have to do.”

  “I guess we do.” He added solemnly, “When we're not perfect like sister Emily.”

  Was he teasing her? she wondered in astonishment. It was hard to tell. “She is perfect. Well, almost.”

  “And you're chopped liver?”

  He was teasing her. She smiled as she wrote Emily's address and phone number on the pad. “Hell, no. I'm a damn good photographer and a magnificent human being.”

  “I notice you put the profession first.”

  Her smile faded. “So?”

  “Nothing. I just found it interesting.”

  He was digging, trying to get at what he deemed the truth. “Back off, Kaldak.”

  He nodded. “Okay, sorry. I have an analytical mind too. It's automatic for me to probe.”

  Had she been under the microscope all evening? He certainly had asked a lot of questions and not all of them concerning her close associates. For some reason, the idea stung. “Good night.”

  “Good night, Bess.”

  She started up the stairs. She had almost reached the loft when she looked back at him. Kaldak washing dishes was an incongruous sight. And yet every movement was precise and clean, just like the way he had killed the guard at San Andreas.

  He looked up suddenly. “What?”

  She searched for something to say. “You do that very well. Did your mother teach you?”

  He nodded. “She always told me to clean up after myself. It's smart. A clean deck makes life much smoother.”

  Everything has to be smooth.

  He had said those words at the hospital.

  But she had spoiled his careful plans and a man had died. He had been angry with her, angry that he had been forced to kill. “Go to bed,” he ordered. “I'll be gone when you wake up. There are eggs and bacon for breakfast. Don't leave the room. Don't open the door for anyone. Do you understand? Not for anyone.”

  “Okay, I heard you the first time. When will you be back?”

  “As soon as I have what I need.”

  She turned and started up the stairs.

  “Bess.”

  She looked back at him.

  “There's no way you're chopped liver.”

  “I can't do this, Kaldak,” Ed Katz said. “I work with a team. Someone would know.”

  “Give them the day off.”

  “Why can't you go through regular channels?”

  “There would be reports and reports on the reports. I don't want any leaks.”

  “You could do this yourself.”

  “I don't have the
facilities.”

  Katz bit his lower lip. “I don't like this. It's too scary.”

  “You like it. You're practically salivating to get started.”

  “So I'm curious.”

  “You owe me.”

  “Shit.” Katz ran a hand through his long, dark hair. “Why don't you take my firstborn child instead?”

  “You don't have any kids.”

  “Well, it's not that Marta and I haven't tried. We're trying a new hormone therapy that may work. When do you need this?”

  “By tonight.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Do as much as you can. I need something, anything.”

  Katz scowled. “Then get out of here so I can get started.”

  “I'll wait.”

  “Nothing like a little pressure.”

  Kaldak smiled. “Exactly.”

  Eight

  What the hell was he going to tell Bess?

  Kaldak's hands tightened on the steering wheel.

  He'd thought it would be bad but not this bad. He'd had no idea Esteban was so close. He should lie to her. The Company would say she had no real need to know, and he was good at lies. They came easily these days.

  He didn't want to lie to her. He was sick to his soul of lies.

  And he liked Bess Grady. She was such a complicated combination of fragility and strength, uncertainty and boldness. He liked her guts and her honesty and even the stubbornness that was causing him so much trouble.

  And he had made her a promise.

  To hell with “need to know.” He would tell her what he could. It probably didn't matter anyway.

  Not now.

  “Well?” Bess said as soon as Kaldak walked into the room. “You took long enough.”

  “I did some driving around. I wanted to make sure I wasn't followed.” He headed for the kitchen. “Do you want coffee?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “No, I want you to talk to me.”

  “Well, I need it.” He measured coffee and water into the machine and turned it on. “Why do they always have these two-cup jobs in hotel rooms?”

  “Where did you go today, Kaldak?”

  “I called Ed Katz with the CDC and had him meet me at the center.”

  “And?”

  “I brought him the money I took from the poor box at the church to analyze.”

  After everything that had happened, she had forgotten about the money.