by Stella Kelly
Katrina noticed that his tone was relaxed, even humble. He seemed so self-assured, like a man who knew exactly who he was and where he came from. She used to feel that way once, and at the realization, a pang of jealousy struck her unexpectedly. “It’s funny, we both come from New York’s intensity yet we seem so different.”
“Oh, how so?” he asked.
“Well, you seem quite conservative. Maybe it’s your profession. I’m pretty relaxed and easygoing.”
He laughed out loud. “Easygoing?”
Katrina shot him a look, “Yes. What’s so funny?”
“I’m sorry, Miss...?”
“Turner.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Turner, but you seem anything but easygoing. No offence.” He put his hands up in mock surrender.
Katrina tensed at his moonlit observation. “Well, maybe if we’d met under more relaxed circumstances your opinion would be different. You’d be a little uptight too if some strange guy was in your room.”
“Hell yeah! But, if a strange and beautiful woman was in my room, that might be nice.” He looked at her sideways and smiled.
Katrina chuckled, noticing his dimple. “Men.”
“Seriously though, we did clear the air about that, remember?”
“Moving on then. Please, can you at least call me Katrina? Miss Turner sounds so…”
“So what? Preppy, conservative – uptown?” he asked playfully.
She eyed him and smiled again. Rather than answer, she asked her own question. “Are you hungry by any chance?”
“Why, do you have a secret stash of healthy snacks in your pocket?”
“No, but I’m on friendly terms with the chef. We could raid the kitchen. And at this hour, I’m not looking for anything healthy.”
Agent Nielsen looked at his watch. “I have about half an hour before I switch with Agent Kensing. I’m up for a fridge raid, sure.”
“Good. Follow me, agent.”
Entering the side door, the house was dark and quiet aside from the faint voices from the television floating down the hallway. The boys had already gone to bed and Trudy and the Greenbaums had turned in too.
“Secretary Mitchell is in his study,” Cole whispered. “And my fellow agent is stationed near the front door.”
“Must be either Damien or Jacque watching TV then. We’ll have to tip-toe.” He watched her slip off her sandals and lead the way. As she walked, she shimmied his jacket off her toned shoulders and reached back to hand it to him. “Thanks for that. It was very kind of you by the way.”
Cole nodded before she looked ahead and crept farther down the hall. There was something kind of intimate about sneaking around in the dark with her. It made him feel a little guilty and unprofessional, but for some reason he let the moment carry him away. He was so used to following rules, for once it was okay to just go with it.
“I happen to know that Jacque made extra crème brule this afternoon. My fingers are crossed.”
“Sounds good.”
The light from the fridge illuminated the dark kitchen as Katrina reached in and grabbed two ramekins from the back. “The spoons are in the drawer there,” she pointed. As she closed the fridge, the kitchen fell into darkness once more. “We’d better keep the lights off. Don’t want to draw attention. I don’t feel like sharing.” She let a giggle escape and the sound was like music to his ears. He smiled, though he knew she couldn’t see it in the darkness. Still, he couldn’t contain it. What a turn of events this evening had taken. First they were at each other’s throats, and now they were taking part in a stealth mission – together. Funny how things turned out. With as little noise as possible they pulled out the stools at the island and took a seat, feeling mischievous.
“Mmmm,” Cole moaned as he took his first bite. Katrina echoed his sentiments. No words were necessary. The confection was indescribably good. By the fourth bite, the kitchen lights illuminated and they turned to find Jacque standing by the light-switch, his arms crossed.
“Yes, my friends, you are caught!” he grinned. “And? What do you think?”
“Beyond good, Jacque.”
“Very, very good. Excellent actually,” Cole agreed.
“Alright then. But please, include me next time. I’m starved!”
Chapter Four
The alarm went at 5am sharp. An early riser, Cole had his morning ritual that he’d kept consistent since his days on the college rowing team at Harvard. This consistency offered a feeling of personal control regardless of his location and it also kept his body in peak physical condition.
Rising from the bed, he stretched both arms up and yawned. Dropping to the floor, he spread his hands out shoulder-width and began a lengthy series of push-ups. Next came the sit-ups. This daily ritual helped to clear away any cobwebs on his mind and align his focus for the day ahead. Discipline. That was his life’s path, and no amount of distraction would interfere with that purpose. Aside from, perhaps, a cute brunette with the greenest eyes he’d ever seen.
He rose from the floor, sweating now, and slipped on a heather grey tee shirt and long black athletic shorts over his boxers. He pulled on the short white socks and runners, lacing them up in the darkness. He could do this in his sleep; in fact, some mornings he was convinced he did. Walking over to the window, he drew back the curtains and slid open the pane. The chorus of birds in the hedges and the sliver of rising sun in the distant east enticed him to get outside. He found mornings to be the most uplifting time of the day.
Silently creeping down the hall, he brushed his teeth and ran cool water over his face. He found not having his own bathroom awkward, but it was part of the job. The permanent staff had their own en suites, but not the agents. They had to share. Cole spotted a second toothbrush, deodorant, and Old Spice – evidence of Kensing.
Quietly walking down the long hallway, Cole passed through the kitchen and noticed a large bowl of fruit perched on the island. Breakfast later, he thought as he glanced at the clock above the eight-burner gas stove. 5:20 am, right on schedule. The quiet calm of the mansion was invigorating, soothing. This was his time, no one else’s.
Punching in the security code, he disengaged the alarm and exited the side door onto the expansive flagstone terrace. The ridiculously frigid air-conditioning inside was replaced with tropical air that engulfed his every pore. A cool breeze blew across his face and he took a deep, refreshing breath. Closing his eyes, he reached up toward the sky, shaking off the last traces of slumber. He would run a loop of the grounds, one loop of the golf course, and then finish off at the beach for some stretching and a cool down. Solitude. There was nothing like it.
<><><>
The floral bedspread jarringly juxtaposed the seven submachine guns placed evenly apart across the bed. Four walkie-talkies and eight pair of handcuffs were piled neatly beside the row of guns. A stocky man stood taking inventory of the arsenal until a light knock at the door made him turn and sprint toward it just as it began to open.
“Housekeeping,” a woman’s voice announced innocently enough.
“Get out! I don’t need anything,” the man commanded gruffly and shut the door, locking the deadbolt and sliding the chain in place. He walked back to the bed and counted everything, meticulously going over his supply. The guns were cleaned; walkie-talkies turned to the correct channel; handcuffs and keys accounted for. He couldn’t chance anyone tying him to this. The last thing he wanted was to go back to prison.
He scanned the room, taking inventory of the other essentials. A stack of comic books perched on the corner of the rickety bedside table; boxes of granola bars, bags of chips, and bottles of water lined up along the top of the dresser that also held a boxy, outdated television set. The floral drapes were drawn and the overhead light was on despite the rising brilliance of the Bermuda sun. The atmosphere smelled stale, the room claustrophobic, but he didn’t care. It was temporary, all temporary.
He walked toward the peach colored bathroom and stood in front of the vanity.
Looking up at his image, he was struck by how old he appeared. The years seemed to have crept up without notice. The stubble on his rounded jaw was a couple of days old now. Perhaps he should shave, but then again, the shadow may help conceal his identity. Running a calloused hand over the rough hair, he scratched his cheek. He spit in the sink and stood tall, puffing up his broad chest. Turning to the side, he flexed, admiring the view. The last few years he’d spent at the prison gym had paid off. He’d never looked so muscular, so powerful. The bulk underneath his white tee shirt was covered in tattoos, but he would be conscious to cover them up despite the tropical heat and humidity. Again, he didn’t want to risk someone seeing the body art and identifying him later. He would be a stealthy whisper, gone after the money was transferred securely into the intended bank account. He would be a ghost. He’d waited so long for this chance.
<><><>
Katrina stood in the sand and stretched, letting her muscles flex as she reached toward the dawning sky. Every new day she spent at the mansion seemed like a new chance at life. The sun was always rising, so she could count on that. And the ocean, although at times tumultuous, was a constant. At least some things never changed.
Looping her towel around her neck, she took a final deep breath before turning to leave. As she did, she spotted Agent Nielsen descending the staircase and a smile pulled uncontrollably at the corners of her mouth. As he drew closer, she saw that he too was smiling and happy to see her.
“It’s like we never parted!” he said standing in front of her.
Glancing down, Katrina admired his muscular calves and then the way his grey tee shirt pulled tautly across his well-built chest. Sweat marks indicated he’d had a great workout already. “Are you always up this early?” she asked, wiping sweat from her own brow with a forearm.
“I had to work off all that crème brule,” he laughed easily and rubbed his stomach. “Yes, actually, I have a routine I follow. It helps to start my day.”
“Me too. I hadn’t expected to see anyone awake at this hour. I’m glad it’s you and not Agent Kensing.”
“Trust me, from what I hear it would take a crowbar to wake him. He’s been known to be late for shifts, and he already has me on every morning shift this week.”
“When do you start?”
“The Secretary and the Deputy have a round of golf this morning at nine. I’ll patrol the grounds first and then join them. It’s been a while since I played golf.”
“And when was the last time you did Pilates?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Uh, try never.”
“Maybe tomorrow morning you’d be up for that instead of your usual run. Just a suggestion.”
“You mean an invitation?”
“Sure, you could call it that.”
“I’ll think about it.”
<><><>
The golf carts pulled away from the tarmac onto the soft green at the sixth hole just as Secretary Mitchell’s cell phone rang again.
“Hello, Vivian.” He rolled his eyes at his son Jimmy who jumped down and grabbed the appropriate club. Cole spotted Jimmy mimic his father, the act making him chuckle.
“Yes, Vivian, I’ve already signed those papers. We’re just golfing here. Is there anything else?”
Secretary Mitchell swatted a hand at Deputy Greenbaum indicating he should go first. The Deputy and Cole hopped down from the second golf cart and took their places beside Jimmy. The boy’s energy was contagious. He was keen to begin his hit, eager to learn.
Secretary Mitchell ended his phone call and joined the others. He leaned on his club casually while watching Deputy Greenbaum prepare for his shot.
“She doesn’t give you a moment’s peace, does she,” Cole said, referring to the Secretary’s assistant Vivian.
Secretary Mitchell shook his head. “She certainly keeps me on a short leash. She’s constantly fine-tuning my itinerary even while I’m on vacation. It’s a bit much.”
“I suppose it’s better than being disorganized.”
“Yes, I suppose. But still, give me a break,” he laughed easily.
“How long has she been with you?” Cole asked as he watched Deputy Greenbaum’s ball soar through the air. Jimmy then saddled up to the tee he’d just placed in the grass. All three men watched as the boy took a practice stroke, taking a huge divot out of the green in the process. The ball bounced off the tee and Jimmy’s face flushed in embarrassment.
“Ouch! Good try, kiddo. Let’s set it up again,” Secretary Mitchell reassured before turning to Cole. “She’s been my assistant for about two years now. Her skills have made an impact, but she really keeps to herself. Never gets too personal.”
“I guess that’s par for the course, so to speak, with her job.”
“Right, good one,” Secretary Mitchell smiled. “It’s kind of silly, her keeping track of everything even while I’m away, but she’s always been thorough. I can’t fault her for that.”
“No, it could be much worse. You could be stuck with someone you don’t agree with.”
“And you speak from experience I’m sure,” Secretary Mitchell gave him a knowing look. “You have no choice in who you’re partnered with, do you. I can tell you and Agent Kensing have never worked together before. There’s a clash in personalities there.”
Cole was a little taken aback by the man’s candid comment. “Is it that obvious? I hope it isn’t interfering with the atmosphere here. We’re trying to be professional.”
“If anything, it’s entertaining. Don’t worry, Agent Nielsen. It isn’t affecting anyone in our small group. We’re all having a lovely time so far.”
“Good.” Cole placed his ball on the tee and set himself up. “Watch and learn, Jimmy,” he joked as he connected with the ball. The sound of the hit resonated and they all watched as it effortlessly soared toward the seventh hole.
“Not bad. Better than your last hole,” Deputy Greenbaum commented.
Cole took the ribbing in stride. “Please keep in mind I have my eyes on the surrounding property for your safety too. I’m distracted,” Cole smiled effortlessly.
“Sure, sure, good excuse.” Secretary Mitchell smiled as he set up his tee.
Over the course of the next few holes, Cole couldn’t help but admire the relationship Secretary Mitchell shared with his son. The dignitary treated Jimmy with care, patting him on the back often and tussling his hair. The way he spoke to the boy reminded Cole of the way his father spoke to him – tender yet direct. There was an obvious level of respect. In turn, Cole noticed Jimmy’s relaxed demeanor, his general joy at simply being. He seemed interested in the world instead of a video game or pretending to be too cool for everything. Perhaps Jimmy would be that way in a couple of years, but for now he appeared carefree and happy.
Watching his son take a shot on the twelfth hole, Secretary Mitchell remarked on how much he resembled his mother and how much they both missed her.
“It’s been such a difficult time for us, but I think Jimmy is finally coming to terms with it all. We had to grieve in a fairly public way so it was hard to put on a brave face when in reality I wanted to crawl into bed and not come out. But, for my son, I’ve had to be strong.”
“It was cancer, wasn’t it?” Cole asked, but like everyone else in America, he’d heard all about it already.
“Yes, breast cancer.”
“I’m sorry, Sir.”
“Thank you. It’s such a shame, such a waste. She was a wonderful person, a fantastic mother. Like I said, we miss her.”
Cole wasn’t surprised by the man’s candidness with him. He often found that the people he protected would turn to him in confidence – perhaps they knew that because of his secretive profession, he too would be secretive with the personal information they shared. Knowing the information wouldn’t go far, they seemed to open up to him freely and without reservation.
“What do you men say we go sport fishing one of these days?” Deputy Greenbaum suggested.
“We could chart
er a boat at the end of the week. That might be something Jimmy would be interested in too, and your boys, Edward. What do you…”
Secretary Mitchell’s words were cut short and the men turned in the direction of what sounded like a scream in the distance.
“Who was that?” Jimmy asked.
They spotted Zachery running in their direction as quickly as his young legs would carry him. Sensing danger immediately, Cole turned and ran to meet the teen.
“It’s Noah,” Zachery hollered hoarsely. “He fell off the cliff.” The older boy turned and pointed toward the distant drop-off.
“What were you boys doing out there?” Deputy Greenbaum finally joined them, hearing his son’s frantic words as he approached.
“Lets go,” Cole raced off toward the cliff. He sprinted faster than he’d ever run, not sure what he would encounter once he reached Noah. Had the boy fallen onto the rocks below? Had his brother exaggerated?
Looking to his left, Cole spied Katrina sprinting in the sand and then mounting the soft incline that met the golf course on the far side of the beach. She too had heard the screams and was looking at something up ahead. Just behind her, Helene Greenbaum was trying to catch up.
“Noah!” she cried, sensing the worst for her son.
Cole reached the cliff first, stopping abruptly and searching frantically. He didn’t see anything but the ocean stretching out in the distance. “Noah!” he shouted into the tropical breeze. Inching closer, Cole leaned over the edge expecting the worse. He found himself gazing down into Noah’s young face. The boy gasped when he saw Cole, his face contorted as he struggled to hold on an arm’s distance down the cliff face.
“Help,” he whispered. His hands gripped the rocky ledge and his feet dug into the black earth. He was stationary, but for how long Cole couldn’t be sure.
“Hold on, Noah, I’m here now.” Cole dropped to his stomach and shimmied to the edge. Reaching down, he grabbed onto the boy’s forearms just as his footing gave way, sending tiny rocks and chunks of earth plummeting into the swirling ocean some fifty feet below. Noah cried out, tears flowing down his dirt-smeared cheeks. He tried to look down which made his body twist slightly and Cole was forced to readjust his grip.
