Invincible

by Joan Johnston

  “Come on, Mom. Get dressed,” Flick said.

  While Kristin examined her riding clothes, which were hanging near her locker, she tried eavesdropping on Elena and Irina’s conversation. But it seemed whatever conversation they’d been having was over. Irina left before she heard anything.

  Kristin wondered what Max would think when she told him that Irina had spoken with the woman she’d heard whispering when she was in the shower. He wasn’t going to like it, that was for sure. Irina was looking more and more guilty.

  Once Kristin had on her blouse and jodhpurs, she sat down to pull on a pair of luxurious leather riding boots similar to Flick’s. She paled at the thought of how much Max must have spent. She probably couldn’t afford the protective, velvet-covered riding hat, let alone the breeches, jacket, blouse and boots.

  To her amazement, everything fit her perfectly, just as Flick’s clothing had fit perfectly. How had Max known their sizes?

  “Probably sent a spy to the hotel to check our clothes and shoes in the middle of the night,” she said to herself.

  “What’s that, Mom?” Flick said.

  “I was just saying how nicely everything fits.”

  “Come on, Mom. I want to show Dad how I look.”

  When they met Max outside, Kristin found him outfitted in a tailored male version of their riding gear. He handed Flick a small leather riding crop and said, “This was my crop when I learned to ride.”

  Flick took the short leather riding crop as though it were a scepter and she were being crowned Queen of England. She flicked the whip a couple of times, then slid the leather band on one end around her wrist and, with the crop dangling, threw her arms around Max’s waist. “Thanks, Dad!”

  Once they were in the limo, Max said, “Flick, I want you to meet Freddy.”

  The limo driver turned to face Flick and said, “Nice to meet you, Miss Flick.”

  “Freddy’s also a connoisseur of big words,” Max said.

  “Connoisseur,” Flick said, scrambling across the seats in the back of the limo until she was draped over the front seat where she could easily talk to the limo driver. “That means you’re an expert,” Flick said. “I’m only adept with words.”

  Freddy grinned and said, “That means you’re as facile with words as I am. Good on ya, Miss Flick.”

  Flick laughed. “I’m able to use big words with ease, all right. But I don’t know what ‘good on ya’ means.”

  While Freddy explained to Flick that “Good on ya” was an Australian expression that meant “Good for you,” Kristin asked Max, “Why did you arrange for a limo?”

  “I figured we needed time to talk without Flick around. Freddy will keep her entertained up front while we do.”

  “I’m glad you thought ahead,” Kristin said. “I overheard something in the locker room we need to discuss.”

  “What?” he said.

  “Someone was talking in one of the bathroom stalls—I presume on a phone. I couldn’t see her because I was in the shower. She said, ‘Kill her.’ And ‘Too late.’ And ‘I can do that.’ She left the locker room before I got a look at her. But Flick saw her. She said the woman spoke to Irina when she came in.”

  “Flick saw her? Did you ask her what she looked like?”

  “She said she was dressed nicely. So maybe not a tennis player,” Kristin said.

  His eyes were troubled when he asked, “You’re sure she spoke to Irina?”

  Kristin nodded. “That’s what Flick said. When I came into the locker room Irina and Elena had their heads together. They were speaking quietly enough that I couldn’t hear what they were saying.”

  “I’m having a hard time believing Irina and Elena are terrorists plotting an assassination,” he said flatly.

  “How well do you know Elena, Max?”

  “You know Elena as well as I do. Which is to say, not at all.”

  “We don’t really know any of these people anymore, Max. It’s been ten years since Irina coached you. How much contact have you had with her since then?”

  Max made a face. “You’ve made your point. But Irina? And Steffan? And Elena?”

  “Maybe I misunderstood what I overheard. You know how people use expressions like, ‘I’m going to kill her,’ when what they mean is they’re mad at someone. Maybe it was something like that.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t,” Max said grimly. “What bothers me is that if Irina is involved, then Steffan probably is, too.”

  “Should we try to follow them tomorrow?”

  Max shook his head. “Too dangerous. Especially if there are more people involved. Too easy for someone else to spot a tail on Steffan or Irina. But it might not be a bad idea to see if we can have drinks with Steffan tomorrow evening. Maybe we can get him to tell us how he and Irina spent the day.”

  “He isn’t going to admit he’s part of a conspiracy, Max.”

  “No. But what he does tell us can be confirmed—or not. Which will tell us whether he was lying.”

  “Oh, I see. Should we invite Elena, too?”

  “Why not? It’ll make it seem more like a social occasion. Come to think of it, maybe Steffan will want to invite Elena. That would be even better.”

  “I never thought we’d find any substance to this threat,” Kristin said quietly.

  “Maybe we haven’t,” Max said.

  Kristin realized he was still hoping they hadn’t. She couldn’t imagine being forced to report that someone she loved and cared about was a terrorist.

  Kristin listened to the vocabulary contest going on between Freddy and Flick in the front of the limo. “Flick was impressed with the clothes,” she said to Max. “She loves the riding crop.” She hesitated, then added, “And she thinks you’re wonderful.”

  “The feeling is mutual. She’s a great kid,” Max said.

  “I know.”

  “I wish I’d been a part of her life from the start.”

  “I can’t undo the decisions I made, Max,” she said defensively. “I’m not going to apologize for them, either.”

  “You can make sure I get to spend the rest of Flick’s life being her father.”

  “By joining you in a loveless marriage? No thanks.”

  “It doesn’t have to be loveless,” Max said.

  “You don’t love me. I don’t love you. That sounds loveless to me.”

  “Keep your voice down,” he warned.

  Kristin looked to make sure Flick was still engrossed in her conversation with the limo driver before she said, “What are you suggesting?”

  He rubbed a hand across his nape, beneath the collar of his tweed riding jacket. “I don’t know.”

  “Your mother asked me if we’d discussed visitation rights.”

  She watched a muscle flex in Max’s jaw before he said, “I don’t want to visit my daughter. I want to live with her.”

  “What if that isn’t possible?”

  “There has to be some way to make it possible.”

  Kristin shook her head. “It’s too late, Max. Flick and I have our lives in America. You live here.”

  “I’ll move.”

  “What?”

  “You want to live in America? Fine, that’s where we’ll live.”

  “Where we’ll live?”

  “I’ll get a house nearby. Flick can move back and forth between your house and mine.”

  “No.”

  “Now you’re being unreasonable.”

  “I’m trying to protect my daughter—”

  “Get this through your head,” Max interrupted angrily. “Flick has two parents. She’s not just your daughter. She’s mine, too!”

  “Dad? Mom? What’s wrong?”

  Max swore under his breath.

  “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart,” Kristin said. “Your dad and I were discussing—”

  “Me,” Flick finished as she scooted back across the black leather seats to join them at the back of the limo. “You were arguing about me. I’ve been wondering if we’re going to b
e living together from now on. Are we?”

  Kristin’s heart hurt when she heard the hope in her daughter’s voice. She didn’t want to dash those hopes. But she didn’t want to encourage them, either. “Your father and I are trying to work that out.”

  “You sounded mad, Mom. Don’t you like Dad?”

  “Yes, Flick, but…” She met Max’s stony gaze. She waited for him to say something, anything, to take the awful, fearful look from Flick’s eyes.

  “Your mother and I were friends a long time ago,” Max said. “We’re learning to be friends again, but we don’t agree on everything. So sometimes we argue.”

  “Oh, okay,” Flick said. “Sometimes I fight with Jane. She was my friend at school in Switzerland. But we always made up.” She turned to Kristin and asked, “Are you and Dad going to make up?”

  Kristin nodded, because that was easier than trying to speak past the lump in her throat.

  “Are you going to kiss and make up?” Flick asked Max with an impish smile.

  He glanced at Kristin and raised a brow. “How about it, Princess? You want to kiss and make up?”

  Kristin met Flick’s anxious gaze and realized a kiss was a small price to pay for her daughter’s peace of mind. “Why not?”

  She leaned toward Max, expecting a peck on the cheek.

  Max caught her chin and angled her face so his mouth pressed lightly against hers. His mouth was soft, his kiss gentle. And she melted inside like ice cream on a hot sidewalk.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Max asked.

  “Not bad at all,” Kristin croaked. Her throat was still swollen with emotion, but she managed to smile for Flick.

  Flick clapped. “Now you’re friends again!” She clambered back to the front of the limo and said, “Freddy, my mom and dad kissed and made up.” And then, “Are we there yet?”

  24

  Max deeply regretted inviting Veronica to meet him at Hyde Park. He dreaded the confrontation he could see coming. Flick might not understand the implications of having another woman along for the ride. Kristin would.

  He was relieved to discover, when they arrived at Hyde Park Stables, that Veronica wasn’t there. Maybe she’d slept in longer than she’d planned.

  When Flick saw the small chestnut horse with a white blaze that had been selected as her mount, she was so excited she seemed ready to jump out of her skin. “He’s pretty big, Dad,” she said, backed up against him, staring warily up at the horse.

  “But gentle, miss,” the hostler said as he finished saddling her mount.

  Flick asked Max, “Can I pet him?”

  Max put a hand on her shoulder and walked her to the horse’s side. The horse turned his head to look at the little girl. Before she could jump back, Max said, “No sudden moves, Flick. You’ll frighten him. Just reach out and stroke his neck slowly and gently.”

  His daughter reached out a small, tentative hand. When she touched the animal, his shoulder muscles rippled as though to shake off a fly. Max held on to Flick to keep her from running.

  “Touch him a little more firmly,” he instructed. This time he took her hand and stroked the horse’s neck along with her, then its throat, and finally its nose.

  “His nose is so soft,” Flick said in wonder. “Like…velvet.”

  When Max sought out Kristin’s gaze to share his enjoyment of Flick’s delight, he saw that she looked anything but happy. He raised a questioning brow and watched her attempt a smile. She didn’t make it.

  Before he could ask what was wrong, the hostler said, “Are you ready to mount, miss?”

  Flick looked anxiously at Max.

  He smiled down at her and said, “When I lift you up, Flick, just slide your leg over the horse’s back and you’ll be sitting in the saddle.”

  Flick did as he instructed. She looked worried for a moment, but he had a hand on her hip to steady her. He kept a reassuring smile on his face and announced, “You’re up.”

  She grinned down at him, turned to her mother and said, “I’m sitting on a horse, Mom!”

  “I see, baby,” Kristin said.

  Max arranged the reins, one in each of Flick’s hands and said, “Pull this rein if you want him to go left, and this one if you want him to go right.”

  “Just like turning my bicycle,” Flick said.

  “Right,” he replied. “Now let’s get these stirrups adjusted.” He settled her booted foot in one stirrup with her knee slightly bent, then adjusted the buckle underneath to shorten the length. The hostler did the same with her other foot.

  “How does that feel?” Max asked.

  “Good, I guess,” Flick said. “Now what?”

  “You get to practice walking your horse in the ring until your mother and I get mounted.”

  The hostler led Flick to a fenced-in riding arena and gave her instructions on how to use her heels to urge the horse to walk, while Max checked to see what was delaying Kristin.

  “What’s wrong, K?” he asked quietly.

  “I’m scared, that’s what’s wrong,” she said, refusing to look at him.

  “Of the horse?” he asked skeptically. The placid animal was tied to a hitching post.

  “Of falling off the horse.”

  “I’ve never known you to be scared of anything,” he said. “What happened to make you frightened of horses?”

  “I got thrown from a horse when I was about Flick’s age.”

  “I wondered why you never let Flick go riding.”

  “I’ve never gotten back on a horse since.”

  “You didn’t get right back on after you were thrown?”

  She shook her head. “I dislocated my shoulder.”

  “Would you rather not ride?” he asked.

  “I don’t want to spoil Flick’s day.”

  “It’ll spoil Flick’s day a lot worse to see her mother in a panic,” Max said sardonically.

  “I can do this,” Kristin said. “I want to do this.”

  Max could see she was trembling. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded her head jerkily.

  “Okay. Let’s think about this a minute.” He stood in front of her, wrapped his arms around her and gently pressed her face against his chest. “Think about yourself sitting on that horse and walking along the beautiful, oak-lined trails in Hyde Park with me and Flick riding beside you.”

  He waited until he felt her trembling stop. Then he released her and took a step back. He lifted her chin with a forefinger and said, “No ordinary horse is going to get the better of the girl I know.”

  He took Kristin by the hand and led her to the pretty bay mare that had been saddled for her. He took that same hand and reached out with it to stroke the horse’s neck, much as he’d done with Flick. He ran Kristin’s hand along the horse’s forehead, moving the animal’s forelock out of the way.

  On her own, Kristin ran her hand down the front of the mare’s face and across her nose. “I forgot how soft a horse’s nose is,” she murmured.

  The horse’s ears pricked back and forth as she spoke.

  “Why is she doing that?” she asked nervously.

  “She’s checking you out, just like you’re checking her out. Come on, time to get on.”

  She grabbed for his hand and said, “I’m not sure I can do this, Max.”

  “Sure you can.” He freed himself from her grip, made a cup of his hands and said, “Put your left hand on the front of the saddle, face me and put your left foot in my hands, and I’ll boost you up. Once you’re up, slip your leg over the horse’s back and you’ll be in the saddle.

  Because she was so lithe, Kristin had no problem doing as he instructed.

  “Now breathe,” he said.

  She exhaled loudly before drawing enough breath to say in wonder, “I’m sitting on a horse.”

  He constrained the grin that was trying to break free and merely said, “Yes, you are. Now put your feet in the stirrups.”

  When she looked down to locate the stirrups, she said, “It
’s not as far down as I remember.”

  “You’re more grown-up,” he reminded her as he adjusted the stirrups one at a time.

  “How do you know so much about all this?” she asked.

  “I spent a lot of time on horseback at one of the boarding schools my brothers and I attended. As I recall, it was an incident with a horse that got us thrown out.”

  He mounted his horse and instructed her how to turn her horse left and right, how to stop her mount and how to make her go. He distracted Kristin from her fear with the story of how he’d let the headmaster’s stallion out of his stall, how the stallion had gotten friendly with the Latin instructor’s mare and how he and his brothers had been kicked out of school long before the resulting foal had been born.

  Kristin was laughing when they joined Flick at the riding ring.

  “Are you ready to go, Flick?” Max called.

  “Ready, Dad.”

  “I’m ready, too,” a voice called from behind him.

  Max turned his horse and found Veronica sitting on a prime piece of horseflesh—not a rented hack, but her own dainty Arabian mare—wearing a faultless hunter-green velvet riding habit.

  Kristin took one look at the other woman and said, “Come on, Flick. We’ll take the lead.”

  The woman who was supposedly afraid of riding horseback urged her mount onto the trail with their daughter beside her. He was left to deal with Veronica.

  “I didn’t think you were coming,” he said.

  “I thought you were kidding about having company for the ride,” she said, eyeing Kristin and Flick down the bridge of her very pert nose. “Who are those people again?”

  “The woman is Kristin Lassiter. I’m playing an exhibition match at Wimbledon with her. The child with her is her daughter.” There it was again. The reluctance to say my daughter. Or even our daughter. He’d created his very own drama by inviting Veronica to come along on this ride. He might as well get the worst over with.

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll introduce you.”