“I’ll see what’s out there.”
“Ivy, it’s possible that we could be followed. Which means . . .”
“I could be in danger. I figured that out already.”
“So I have a request.”
“Only one?”
Despite his serious mood, Steve had to chuckle. “Well, four actually. First, you have the security on your house reviewed. Second, you learn self-defense tactics. I can teach you or you can take a class.”
“Okay on both.” Those were steps she should take anyway, living alone the way she did.
“Three, you learn to shoot and carry a gun.”
“No way.”
“Then I will stay in D.C. and we will not risk seeing each other.”
Ivy was silent for a long time. Steve waited, letting her think it through.
“I am not happy about it, however if you will help me learn to shoot and select a gun I can handle, then okay. You said four things and that is only three.”
“If you sense danger, you call me or you call 911 or you drive to a police station – anything that will get you away from that danger.”
“No problem, there.” Ivy felt a chill go through her. “You live a whole different life, don’t you?”
“So ordinary people can live their ordinary lives. That is what the FBI does. We work to keep things safe, or at least to keep the worst of the scum at bay.”
“Okay Big Guy, I have some requests too. First if you spot anything, you will alert me.”
“Second?”
“Say yes to the first one.”
“Yes.”
“Second if you leave town, you will tell me.”
“Not going anywhere until Mathew is recovered.”
“And lastly no bugs at my house. I can handle everything else, even having agents around, but I do not want the house bugged. I will not tolerate having anyone listen to private conversations."
"Yeah, got it.”
Ivy jutted her chin out, making her vocal cords tighten as she spoke. "This is not negotiable."
Their conversation left Ivy concerned, exhilarated and apprehensive. Poor Mathew -- her heart went out to him. While she only had an impression of him from their meeting at the airport in October, Steve's high praise of him made Mathew seem more familiar than he was. He was badly injured and he lacked a family to care for him, with his mother too much into her own life even to stay in touch. Nonetheless how conflicted Ivy felt -- saddened by Mathew's injuries, apprehensive about the potential danger, excited by the prospect of seeing Steve more regularly. Living under a possible threat would be a change in lifestyle after all her years of independence. Ivy was not the most patient of women and was certainly a private one. On the positive side, this change would pull her head out of the office. She stared out into the rainy night at the lights on the hills beyond and nodded to herself. She could do this.
Should she invite them to her house? They could take over the downstairs where the two guest rooms were. While she would see much more of Steve that way, it seemed too soon. She needed time alone to deal with the upcoming transition at work, moving to part time and then retiring. It was too early in their relationship. She smiled then, pleased that Steve wanted to be in Portland and closer to her during this time.
***
The day before Steve and Mathew were due to arrive, a group of agents and technicians scheduled time to install a hospital bed and temporary security devices in the apartment Ivy had found in the Pearl District. It was a chilly, blustery day that threatened snow, although so far only a few fat flakes had come down. They did a walk-through of the apartment, drawing up a floor plans and noting access points for the building.
Ivy's life had taken such an unpredictably weird turn that she was unsure it would ever be the same again. Now as she waited for Steve and Mathew to be driven in from the airport, she wondered if that was what Steve had seen in her -- a potential refuge when he needed it. Was she a lonely older woman who was just plain gullible? Was Portland only a place for Steve to hide out from the perps the FBI hunted? Did she really appreciate who Steve was? While she had seen the FBI badge along with his gun and gear, her mind wandered into dangerously negative territory.
She walked down the hall, went into the bathroom and took a long, hard look at herself in the mirror. Doubts were crowding in around her, making her feel both vulnerable and more than a little foolish. Had she deluded herself into thinking that she was so special that Steve was falling in love with her? While she had never sensed any falseness in him, should she confront him and ask for the truth? She decided to wait until after Mathew was settled in.
That morning Ivy stocked the kitchen. Knowing that Steve was not a cook, she selected foods that would be easy to prepare, especially for breakfast and lunch. At home the night before she made a big beef stew, a meatloaf and a pot of chicken soup going for comfort food to suit the weather where snow was swirling around outside. Downtown Portland might receive a snowfall or two a year and this year several inches were forecast with this storm.
With the snow now coming down in earnest, Ivy worried about Steve and Mathew’s safe arrival. Around noon, Steve called to say they had landed and were on their way. Silly though it seemed under the circumstances, Ivy went around the apartment turning on the Christmas lights she had brought from the Portland house. She put a little tree in Mathew’s room to give it a holiday feeling and a larger tree in the living room, as well as some greens, candles and mini-lights here and there. She had baked an apple spice cake that morning and the apartment was scented with cloves and cinnamon.
Mathew, sandy-haired and pleasantly handsome, who Ivy remembered for his laughing eyes, was wheeled into the apartment from a big government Suburban. His haggard face showed his pain, though he clutched Ivy's hand with some strength as he went by, murmuring thanks. She stayed out of the way while Steve and the agents who drove them settled Mathew in. With more drugs pumped into him, he was quickly asleep.
After conferring with Steve, the agents did another inspection of the apartment and then departed. She noticed that they called him “Pete”. With Mathew settled, Steve pulled Ivy close, thanking her again for her help. He took in the twinkling decorations and smiled a little. They made him realize that he would have to do Christmas shopping, something he had not done since he lost his parents.
Rather than put it off, Ivy decided to confront Steve.
“Who is Pete?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“My alias. Guess I should have told you. Even the local agents don’t know my real identity or Mathew’s. They think we’re witnesses to a crime and are in the Witness Protection Program. The Chief set it up.”
“To hide you from the perp?”
“Yeah and from, never mind.”
“Steve, tell me. Keeping me in the dark will only make me more anxious.”
“I think we have a mole at the Bureau.”
“Who is tipping off this perp?”
Steve nodded glumly.
“Why didn’t you tell me this over the phone? Is that why those guys yesterday kept calling me Mindy?”
“You didn’t correct them did you?”
“No. Why didn’t they ask for ID?”
“I had emailed your photo. Told them you were a local contact arranging our personal logistics. Your full name is Mindy Madeline.”
“You make that up?”
“Yeah. Same number of syllables. My full name is Pete Kampton and Mathew is Ivan Holden.”
“Is the lease in that name and everything?”
Steve nodded. “Got all the ids too.”
“Do I get phony ids?”
“No. I am trying to keep you untraceable.”
“Steve, be honest with me. Is this why you pursued me? To have someone you could hide out with?”
He looked surprised and then sad. “Oh god Ivy. Nothing like that. You are NOT part of this FBI life. If that is what you think, then we shouldn’t
have come out here. I so want to know you more. I spent the last week working to cover my tracks so that you would not be sucked into this.”
Ivy stayed silent for a long time thinking over this conversation -- false identities, her alias, hiding from a mole at the Bureau, Steve trying to shield her from the perp. Steve waited. She noticed that for a man as demanding as he could be, he was surprisingly patient when she needed to think things over.
“How is this going to work? Do we act like friends and see each other now and then?”
“I sure hope not. I checked with the landlord and you can bring the dogs here if you want to spend the night. I paid an extra pet fee. When Mathew can move around, maybe we can come up to your place on weekends or I’ll schedule a local agent to stay with him when we go out.”
Ivy nodded. “Speaking of the dogs, I need to get them outside. How about I brave the snow now and go home?”
“You coming back?”
“You lighting that fire?” she asked, pointing to the gas fireplace.
“As soon as you’re back and I have my woman here to cuddle. Hey, you have any board games or jigsaw puzzles? My parents and I always brought them out on snowy or rainy days.”
Ivy laughed so hard that the sound of it filled the room. These twists in Steve’s persona kept catching her off-guard. This consummate FBI agent wanted to play Scrabble?
“See you in an hour or so. Why don’t you make some sandwiches? I stocked the kitchen. Do we have a secret knock or anything?”
“You make one up. I’ll commit it to memory.”
He pulled her up and for about ten minutes kept her wrapped in his embrace, kissing her until she was glowing with anticipation of spending the night with him. As she closed and locked the door to her SUV, Ivy wondered if she might be going through a pre-retirement crisis, throwing her lot in with this FBI agent and putting her safe, carefully constructed life in danger. These were not small-time risks she was taking. If things went awry, she could find herself playing in the good guy/bad guy big leagues.
Chapter 9
On Tuesday, Steve received a call from the Director of the FBI, asking him about Mathew and wanting to discuss the case against the drug lord. In Mathew's absence, Steve appointed a fully recovered Brian to head the investigation, putting Moll in charge of coordinating with the other departments which he did well, in spite of or maybe because of his offbeat personality.
As the days passed, Mathew made steady progress. With his bones knitting nicely around the pins in the shattered femur by the week before Christmas, he started to put a little weight on the damaged leg and went around the house with crutches, hoping soon to only use a cane. Steve set up a basic workout area in the living room for Mathew to do the exercises the thrice-weekly physical therapist would leave for him, using a resistance band in more ways than Steve thought possible.
On Friday evening of Christmas weekend, Ivy helped Steve get Mathew into her car and load up what they would need for a long weekend. She drove up to her house, taking a circuitous route for Mathew to see a few of the Christmas lights around the west side of the city, including the landmark martini glass on the side of one building. On Saturday Steve took the bus downtown for a long shopping trip, coming back so laden with shopping bags and packages that it took three trips to bring them in from the cab he used. Most of the packages were casual clothes for Mathew, however Steve bought a few surprise gifts for Ivy, including a lustrous pearl necklace from him and a matching set of pair of pearl earrings from Mathew. The pearls had been Mathew’s idea and as soon as Steve saw the single strand of perfectly round pearls with a pale pink luster, he could picture them around Ivy’s slender neck.
Back at the house, Ivy hung the three stockings she had rush ordered in personalized quilted velvet for Steve, Mathew and herself, each one hanging on the backs of their chairs in the dining room. On Christmas Eve, she would fill them and ensure that each one sported a big orange, a homemade gingerbread man and a candy cane sticking out of the top. Stockings hung, she then lugged brightly-wrapped and beribboned packages up from the project room downstairs and put them under the tree, including gifts for the Steve, Mathew, the corgis and the cat.
On Christmas Eve, Ivy surprised Steve by making food from his childhood -- a versatile Scandinavian pancake called Ebelskivers. The exact recipe and contents varied region by region in the Scandinavian countries. From Steve's evident delight, she had the gist of it right. Ivy cooked the little round pancakes in a special pan that held seven. She put on some Norwegian folk music she had found on CDs and had the two men sitting out by the fire while she brought out the pancakes as each round turned a delicate golden color. They were drinking wine while Ivy fed them courses of the Ebelskivers, varying the filling each time. She made savory ones with delicate fillings of triple crème brie and smoked salmon, goat cheese and bacon, gouda and ham, or basil and ricotta. Steve ate so many that Ivy had to rummage around in the refrigerator to find additional fillings. By the time that they hit the dessert Ebelskivers with raspberry jam on the inside, Ivy found she could barely get one down.
While enjoying the tasty morsels, Steve kept them amused with stories from when he was a boy, particularly ones where other transplanted Norwegians in the D.C. area gathered at his parent's house, playing traditional music and doing folk dances in the living room. Steve could still do those dances. He hummed tunes and danced, sometimes jumping up in the air, as he illustrated the dance steps, including pivots and what he called svikts. He pulled Ivy over to join him in an arms-over-the-shoulders pivot and showed her how to do the basic dance steps. Mathew could not believe that he was seeing serious Steve Nielsen, FBI executive and agent extraordinaire, cavorting about performing folk dances. He was like a young teen performing for a girl he had a crush on. The more Ivy laughed, the more he would add to his dance routine. She did draw the line on him trying to kick a hat off a stick as the young Norwegians do.
Near the end of the evening, flushed by a number of glasses of wine, Steve finished a dance routine to a round of applause, sank down on the couch, and huffed out, "Call me Sven Nielsen from now on."
Ivy and Mathew laughed.
"No, I mean it. The name on my birth certificate is Sven Nielsen. It means Steven in the Nordic countries."
"Yeah, right." Mathew said.
"I'm serious. When I was born, my parents named me Sven. Once it was nearing time for me to go to kindergarten, they wanted me to fit in and started calling me Steve."
Ivy glared at him with a mixed expression of consternation and surprise. "Pete, Sven, Steve? Is Nielsen really your last name?"
"Of course it is. While I may have other identities, you know the real me."
"How many names do you go by?" she asked a little crossly.
"No more than five at a time," Steve joked. As federal agents, the two men were accustomed to using false identities to protect their real ones.
"Being around you two makes me feel as if I am learning to skateboard and every time I get the hang of it, the sidewalk takes an unlikely turn."
"And that coming from a woman who can't decide if she is Ivy Vine or Ivy Littleton or even Mindy Madeline," Steve taunting her.
She glared at him. Mathew decided to set the record straight. "Ivy, Steve (née Sven) Nielsen really is Steve Nielsen."
"Thank you, Mathew." With her good humor now restored, Ivy went over and pulled Steve up. "Com'on then, Sven. Show me those dance steps."
Watching Ivy and Steve playfully enjoying themselves, Mathew was warmed by a feeling of belonging. The lost little boy inside himself felt less alone and unloved. They made him believe that he was worthy of love. Mathew realized that was a plain truth -- all these years he perceived himself as unloved because he thought he failed to deserve love. He must stop letting his past rule his life. He had to forge his path to his future, secure that he had Ivy and Steve to orient him, as he pivoted and svikted through life. They had become In Loco Parentis -- In the Place of a Parent.
; Odd as it may be during this healing process, for the first time in his life Mathew felt that he had a family. No father could have tended to him better than Steve did, from the time he pulled him out of the line of fire, through the flight back to Washington, staying with him during the two surgeries and then caring for him during these weeks of healing. In all the years they worked together, Mathew never thought that Steve had that level of devotion in him, much less any form of nursing skills. Mathew did remember that Steve had flown with Brian to Bern, and was at the hospital with him every day, even after Brian's mother arrived to fuss over him.
What a remarkable man Steve was with so many facets to his personality, Mathew mused. He goes from brusque team leader to unrelenting adversary on cases, to gifted analyst, to creative mentor, to caregiver, and with Ivy, to devoted lover. Seeing those extremes consolidated into that one brilliant man was remarkable. Then there was Ivy whose kind heart seemed gladdened at having him around. As a couple, Steve and Ivy lived as if they had been together for years, instead of near the beginning of their relationship. The only downside of seeing them together was that it raised Mathew’s expectations for finding his life partner.
This time of recovery was solidifying his decision to leave the FBI. Mathew expected to heal well enough to continue fieldwork but in his heart, he was finished with it. His career had been challenging and rewarding, however now he could no longer give any job his full commitment. Where and when would he find his Ivy? No way could he wait until he turned sixty as Steve had.
He was at such loose ends about his future -- going into business failed to excite him, as did practicing as an attorney. Propping his leg up, he frequently sat staring at the walls, with his iPod on and music playing. He had been reading a book on the vineyards of Oregon that Ivy had given him. When she noticed that, she had given him a couple of more books, one about starting a vineyard and another about Northwest wines. He also began to surf the web to research operating a vineyard.
Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) Page 12
