This place had always been home, even during his CIA years, but now it suddenly felt like something he’d left behind and simply come back to visit. But it was not quite, somehow, where he belonged anymore. No matter how important it was to be here at this moment.
Much to his disgust, Ari displayed zero respect for Rio’s interlude of thoughtfulness and played a killer Q word. Rio said, “Oh, right,” and was plenty happy that his cell phone chose that moment to ring.
“CIA,” Ari murmured. “I know you arranged for that call to save your ass.”
“Of course.” Rio flipped the phone open, discovered Kimmer’s cell number on the caller ID and greeted her, “Hey there! You kept it charged.”
Her hesitation was all it took. No smart response, no flippant comment. Just that hesitation. He straightened; it was enough to catch Ari’s eye. “Kimmer?”
“Rio.” And another hesitation. “Things got busy here today. Hank’s goonboy friends weren’t as gone as we thought.”
He couldn’t figure out her tone of voice. Kimmer didn’t hesitate over goonboys. She got mad. And then she did something about it. “You’re okay?”
His father’s paper lowered again, and his mother turned sideways in her chair, her ankles neatly crossed and her posture quietly attentive.
“I’m okay,” she said, and Rio gave the faintest of nods, automatically including his family in on the conversation. “I won’t need to work out for a few days, but I’m okay.” The phone crackled; wherever she was, she didn’t have a great connection. But he heard her take a breath, and knew she would finally say what she hadn’t been saying. “Pigeon Man torched the house.”
Rio blinked, felt a strange kick in the chest and realized he’d stopped breathing. Breathing was good. Breathing would let oxygen flow to his brain. Would give him something to say. Some distant part of him realized she’d said the house instead of my house, as though she couldn’t yet face the loss. And just as he was about to ask again if she was okay, she rushed through another set of words. “Not the whole house. Molotov cocktails, but the firefighters got there pretty fast. The hallway’s a loss, and the porch, and the den. Basement’s flooded, the kitchen, too. But Rio…” and she ran out of words again.
He suddenly understood. “Oh, God,” he said. “OldCat.”
“In the bedroom.” Kimmer’s voice came through strained and he didn’t think it was just their bad connection. “Untouched, but…the windows were closed. The smoke…”
Rio closed his eyes. Tough old cat. He’d thought he’d done the right thing by taking him off the docks. He’d thought the old fellow deserved a posh retirement.
Kimmer said, “I’m sorry,” and behind the usual steel in her voice Rio heard the misery.
“You didn’t do it,” he said, finding his voice at last. “Pigeon Man did it.”
Ari raised his eyebrows at “Pigeon Man.” And though there was no way he could have followed the details of the conversation, the dark look on his face said he’d understood about OldCat’s passing.
Kimmer’s voice got hard again. “I misjudged him. I misjudged the whole situation. I didn’t take Hank seriously so I didn’t take the rest of it seriously, either.” But then she regained some of her offhand flippancy. “On the other hand, Pigeon Man, otherwise known as Jarvis Slowicki, made the same mistake about me. And he’ll have plenty of time in jail to think about it—unless they kill him like they did Wolchoski.”
“Wolchoski’s dead?” He’d definitely lost his grip on this conversation.
“And Hammy Hands. Also underestimated me. You’d think he wouldn’t make that mistake twice.”
“You’d think,” Rio said. But he got his conversational feet back under himself and said, “What now?”
He really hadn’t expected more hesitation. But after a loud crackle of static she said, “I’m not sure. I’m about to pull Owen out of some wine thing he’s got going on tonight. The sheriff’s department is looking for me…things got a little dramatic with Pigeon Man on my street. I don’t think the fact that I left him gift-wrapped is going to make much difference. I’ve got to avoid them or I’ll never—” She broke off. Stayed silent.
“You there?” Rio asked. His brother and parents watched him quite openly, and for the first time since his awkward teenage dating days, Rio wished they weren’t. He wished he was down in Glenora—or wherever Kimmer now sat—having this conversation in person.
“Yeah,” Kimmer said. “Here’s the deal, or at least what I know of it. Hank killed one of the goonboys, because said goonboy was making time with Hank’s woman-on-the-side. I think maybe…dammit, I think he came to me for help not just because he thought I could handle things for him, but because once I had, he could divert goonboy attention from him to me. Buy his way to safety by giving them the one who’d really caused all the trouble up here. I think that’s why he made up that bit about the recording, to make me more enticing to the goonboys.”
You’re plenty enticing, Rio thought, but he didn’t say it. He said what Kimmer didn’t seem to be able to, even though she’d never doubted her brother’s nature. “That son of a bitch set you up.”
She seemed relieved to hear him say it. Relieved, no doubt, that he could see it in spite of Hank’s family status. “Probably. Whether he intended it that way or whether he made it up as he went along…he thinks he’s safe now.”
“As if.”
“Exactly. As soon as they’re satisfied they don’t need more information from him, they’ll get rid of him. And my guess would be that they’ve just about reached that point. They’ve lost five men now. Jarvis seems to be a new believer as far as the recording is concerned. And I bet when the goonboss hears that, he’ll cut his losses. It’s not like he has to kill me to save face. He’s got no reputation to preserve here, and no one to contradict him if he says he’s taken care of the situation. All he’s got to do first is kill Hank.”
“I can be there in a day.” A very long day of excessive driving for which his back would make him pay, but he could still make it.
“You went up there for a reason,” Kimmer reminded him.
“And guess what? They don’t really need me. They’re tolerating my help so I can feel useful.” Rio ignored Ari’s surprised look. “I’ve picked up a prescription and cased out some assisted-living situations. But Sobo is feeling better. Her medications are working, and life here has changed…but it’s settling in.”
“No,” Kimmer said. “It’s bad enough I don’t get the whole family thing when it’s so important to you. I’m not going to get in the way of what you need to do for yours.”
“Kimmer—”
“No!” she said, and hung up.
Rio stared at the phone, and looked up to find his family watching him with concern. “She’s frightened,” he told them. And he knew it for the truth. Not frightened of the goonboys…
He closed his eyes, put himself in her place. Owen had drawn the line about maintaining Hunter’s local reputation. Rio had openly struggled with Kimmer’s attitude toward family, and then he’d left to return to his own. She’d never assume he would return for good, not even with OldCat and many of his clothes left behind. Except now OldCat was gone…along with her home.
She must think she’d lost everything. Or was about to.
But now Rio understood the depth of Hank’s betrayal. He just hoped he hadn’t understood it too late.
Kimmer hadn’t seen herself in a mirror. She didn’t know what she looked like. She knew her jeans were torn; she knew she smelled like smoke. Her legs and arms ached from the day, and she was tired enough that maintaining her balance with the very heavy gym bag swinging off her shoulder and her arms full of one very special afghan proved to be a challenge.
As soon as Owen looked up and glimpsed her in the doorway of Full Cry’s wine tasting room, his eyes flashed a peculiar combination of concern and anger. No one else noticed—or would have recognized it had they seen it, as quickly as Owen covered his reaction. She faded away from
the doorway, knowing he’d make polite excuses for his impending absence. The old barn, as refurbished and spiffed up as it was, still held the same kinds of nooks and crannies that had served her so well in her childhood. She found one, propped herself up in it, and waited.
For the moment.
Until she’d talked to Rio, she hadn’t known what she intended to do. She’d known Owen would want to keep her under wraps and pull in Hunter agents to clean up whatever trouble remained here locally. She’d known she would resist such a course, that she wanted to follow up on her own. To look through those mug shots Owen had obtained for her. To take herself down to Pittsburgh and find the big goonboy behind Hank’s chop shop and put a complete and final stop to this mess.
And then she’d talked to Rio. Rio who’d gone up to see his beloved ailing grandmother and the family he missed. Who’d offered to drive back in a day, when his back had forced him to take two days on the trip up into Michigan. And who’d done all those things because of what he’d so recently said to her: it’s not about the other person. It’s about you and who you are.
Or maybe who she wanted to be.
In her heart she’d known just as Rio had so quickly realized—once the big goonboy thought she was out of the picture, he’d move on to Hank. Possibly Hank’s family. His children. Hank…Hank probably deserved whatever he got. But the kids? Two little girls, he’d said, though he hadn’t had any photos in his wallet. They wouldn’t deserve it if the situation slopped over on to them.
And dammit, in order to live with herself, she had to make sure that didn’t happen. Hank wasn’t likely to come out ahead no matter what, but she had to make sure the situation didn’t affect the girls.
She at least had to try.
That meant not heading out to Pittsburgh to deal with the goonboss as she so badly wanted, but heading for Hank’s place. Doing what she had to, and then trying to wrap things up in the city—preferably with a nice neat bow—to make this mess right with Owen.
Not that Hank had told her where he lived. But she wouldn’t have to prowl the Internet hunting for phone listings, because she’d taken it off his license while he was here.
Gee, if I’d known I was headed your way, I’d have saved your underwear instead of trashing it.
Or maybe not.
But first she had to get back on the road. And that meant getting past Owen without, somehow, severing her ties to the agency.
If it was even possible.
Fifteen minutes passed before Owen walked by. Kimmer made a clicking noise with her tongue. Quiet. Subdued. As was she.
Owen gave her a hard look. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on, and I should. But we’ve obviously got to get you out of sight while I figure it out. Let’s go.” As an afterthought he held out his hands to accept part of her load—from the way he held them he obviously expected the bundle, but Kimmer slid the heavy weapons cache off her shoulder and held it out, resisting her arm’s impulse to tremble under the awkward, extended weight. Surprised or not, Owen took the bag.
He led the way out of the barn, a back way known only to longtime employees and otherwise blocked by a door that looked sealed shut. They exited at the back corner and Kimmer struggled to keep up with him, annoyed by her fatigue and his impatience. He quickly triggered the security protocols at the viniculture building, adding the code that would allow them both to pass without creating a lockdown. They made their way to his office in silence. Once there, Owen settled the gym bag to the floor with every indication he had discerned the contents, and sat behind his desk. “Now,” he said. “What the hell is going on?”
Kimmer kept it short. “Hank was in a lot deeper than we thought. Still is. And he sold me out to try to save his ass. Hell, I think he probably set me up to save his ass. I believe you’re familiar with the weasel factor in my family.”
Owen took it in with narrowed eyes, then gestured at her. “That’s the big picture. I need the details.”
So she told him about finding Pigeon Man on her lawn. She told him Pigeon Man’s name. She told him the locals needed a heads-up about Pigeon Man’s location. She told him about the house. She told him about leaving Trooper McMillan in midgape on her front lawn. And she carefully placed OldCat’s bundle on Owen’s desk. “This is Rio’s cat. He didn’t survive the fire. I don’t think I’ll be in a position to take care of him.”
Owen looked at the bundle in surprise, and then quite gently removed it, placing it on the worktable behind him. “We cremate the winery cats and spread their ashes over the vineyard,” he said. “I can arrange for that, if it suits you.”
Kimmer felt relieved of a tension she hadn’t known she’d carried along with her fatigue and anger and grief. “Please,” she said. “Rio always said the cat deserved respect after the life he’d survived.”
“Then consider it done. And you?”
“Not quite ready for cremation,” Kimmer said dryly. “Though we should talk about the fact that McMillan and his friends will be looking for me.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, but the thinning of his lips revealed more about his true response. “That’s a given. They’ll call—any moment, I expect. Suppose you answer my question anyway.”
Kimmer took him seriously enough to close her eyes and assess herself. “A shower. Something to eat. A good night’s rest. I’m bruised but not broken. And I want to look at those mug shots. We still haven’t identified Hammy Hands…he might be the final piece of the puzzle leading us to the goonboss.”
Owen’s eyes narrowed. He knew her well enough to expect that she’d want to follow up any leads they found. “You should know I’m inclined to give you to the locals.”
Kimmer gaped at him. She knew she gaped at him, and she couldn’t stop herself.
But Owen had obviously been thinking about the matter even before this latest development. “As far as I can tell, you’ve got a good case for self-defense with everything you’ve done—even Harrison has acknowledged you saved his officer. You’ve discharged another weapon within a residential area…that’s about it. Even then our legal firm will probably get those charges dismissed. But this situation has gone beyond a rueful shrug and an apology, Kimmer, especially if Ingleswood breaks her story—and she just might, after this evening. Harrison and the staties have to believe that we’ll play by the rules. I believe you understand the necessity of rules.”
She shot him a glare of pure ire. That wasn’t a fair blow, and he knew it. Not even when she actually understood his position.
Except it was the position she’d most feared. The one that put her in a no-win situation. She rubbed her hand over an itchy cheek; it came away smudged with soot and she scowled at it in lieu of scowling at Owen. “Do that, and I’ll be tied up for ages.”
He nodded. “Possibly.”
She shook her head, sharp and defiant. “I need to get to Hank’s place. We all know that whatever he thought would save his ass, it wasn’t good enough. I probably don’t have much more than a day or two before they send someone to take care of him, now that Hammy Hands is dead and Pigeon Man is in custody.”
“I don’t think that’s best right now. I’ll send someone else—”
His phone rang. The extra line, the number that Owen put on his business cards for anyone outside Hunter and that had its own separate phone. The Bat Phone. He reached for it and said, “Get out.”
She hesitated only an instant, but when he confirmed his words with a jerk of his chin at the door, she saw the weary duplicity in his eyes and understood. She left her gym bag and stepped out into the hall—just far enough so he couldn’t see her. And indeed, when he answered the phone, the murmured conversation quickly got to the point. Owen didn’t try to hide his concern as he informed his caller that he had no idea where exactly, Kimmer might be located. Okay, points to him for splitting hairs into microscopic sections.
She didn’t mistake it for the notion that she’d won her argument. Owen simply wasn’t ready to turn her over i
n the middle of the discussion.
And indeed, when she heard him hang up and came back around the corner to linger in the doorway, he shook his head. “I’ve only put them off. They have every reason to believe you’ll be in touch with me. The only reason they believed me now is because they’ve stationed a trooper at the winery entrance and they know you haven’t gone past them. This was more of a heads-up notice than a demand. Next time it’ll be a demand.”
Not to mention that come daylight, they’d probably find her car.
Kimmer dove right back into her argument. “Look, I know how to blend in down there. It’s why you sent me down there last fall in the first place. And in case you hadn’t noticed, this is exactly the reason I asked you not to. I didn’t want those miserable people who call themselves my brothers to screw up my life again. And, oh!” She mimed slapping her forehead in dramatic discovery. “Look! One of them has.”
That shook him. He slowly sat back in the spiffy comfort of his office chair, and he didn’t look comfortable at all. He rubbed a hand over his face, eyes closed in thought. Eyes still closed, he said, “Tell me you understand the position this situation has created for the agency.”
She wanted to say give me a break. She wasn’t stupid. Though he probably thought that under the circumstances, she was likely blind. So she took a deep breath of her own and she recited, “I understand the position this has created for the agency. Hell, Owen, I went back there today, didn’t I? I let them grill me, didn’t I? Just because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I was willing to step in and help their deputy?”
“Yes,” he said. “You did that.”
Kimmer crossed her arms over her chest, a deliberately defiant gesture. “If I hadn’t, I would have been home when Pigeon Man pulled up in front of my house. I would have stopped him.”
“Maybe,” Owen agreed. “Maybe not.”
“Another Hunter operative could go to Hank’s,” Kimmer said. “But he’d lose time getting Hank’s family to trust him.”
Owen made a gentle snort of a noise. “And you think he’ll trust you?”
Beyond the Rules Page 17
