Chapter 13 Beacon #2
His knee pressed against mine under the table. I’d been lost in thought, and he’d noticed.
“Start with the people around him,” I said. “Not his known associates. Go deeper, to the ones adjacent to those. Two degrees out. That’s where the real picture starts.”
“Roger that,” Dagger responded.
“Got a minute?” Bishop asked when the others had returned to their work.
“Of course.”
We walked out of the main room and into the corridor.
“How did it go with Anna and Polina?” he asked.
I gave him a one-word answer—fine—rather than tell him my grandmother had suggested I was falling in love.
I glanced at the time, stunned to see it was midafternoon, when there was a knock on the door of the private meeting room where I’d gone to work.
“Come in,” I said, without standing to open it.
“Break time,” Bishop said, picking up my jacket from where I’d draped it over a chair.
“Where are we going?” I asked as he held it for me to put on.
“Out on the water for an hour. I want to show you something.”
I glanced at my computer screen. The work would still be there when we returned, and a break sounded nice.
As we walked out and down the boathouse stairs to the dock, my fingers wrapped around my father’s compass in my pocket, wishing I could remember more about the time I spent with him here.
Bishop pulled a canoe from the rack, carried it over his head, set it in the water, and tied it to a cleat so he could grab a paddle.
I stepped in while he held it steady, then he got in and pushed us off.
The lake was calm as we glided through the water.
“Is that what you wanted to show me?” I asked, pointing to the island in front of us.
“It is. Do you remember coming out here when you were younger?”
“Maybe. It’s all fuzzy. I was only four when I was last here.”
A bird hit the water off our bow and disappeared. “What was that?” I yelped.
“A bufflehead,” he responded without missing a beat.
I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Really, or did you make that up?”
He chuckled. “Really. They’re pretty common around here.”
We glided to the island’s dock as smoothly as we’d left the one at the boathouse.
Bishop tied the canoe off at the cleat and reached for my hand to help me out.
We walked to the south end, where there was a fire pit, and sat on one of the four logs that ringed it.
Above us, a chickadee worked at the bark of a birch without any interest in us at all.
“I take it you’ve been out here before.”
He nodded. “I’ve worked a few ops with Sentinel Cyber and the Shadow team who are headquartered here. I got out on the water every chance I got.”
“To fish?”
“Sometimes. Mostly to be still.”
My whole adult life, the work had been the point of every hour. I couldn’t imagine intentionally being still.
I closed my eyes and focused solely on how the breeze coming off the lake felt on my face. It was unseasonably warm for mid-November. “Indian Summer,” I blurted, turning to face him.
“Yeah? It is. What about it?”
“I remember someone saying it’s only called that in November.”
Bishop took my hand. “Close your eyes again.” I did. “Now, tell me who you see. Who told you that?”
“My father,” I whispered, squeezing his fingers. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“My pleasure.”
We stayed a few minutes longer, then he untied the canoe and paddled us to the camp. A pair of buffleheads rode the small chop near the shore. They dove and surfaced in turns.
He brought us in at the dock, I stepped out, and after he returned the canoe to the rack, we followed the path to the boathouse.
“How does cacio e pepe sound?” he asked before we went inside.
“Really good.”
“Dinner will be served at eighteen hundred.”
“I’ll be there.”
He’d opened the door, but quickly shut it. “Thirty minutes on that island, and I didn’t do this once.”
When he cupped my neck and kissed me, I was tempted to tell him that, if we left now, I could help him cook.
He made the decision for me when he announced we were five minutes late for a videoconference with Doc and Gunner.
“Wait. What videoconference?”
He raised a brow. “It’s on your calendar, kitten.”
I pulled out my mobile and saw the alert on the screen. “So it is.”
The door to Ohkwari was unlocked when I arrived at seventeen thirty. I opened it and stepped inside.
Bishop was at the stove, the fire was roaring in the main room hearth, and the table was set for two. He looked over his shoulder when he heard me.
“You’re early,” he said.
I hung my jacket on the hook by the door and crossed to the kitchen. I peeked into the pot, where he had butter melting with cracked pepper. The pasta was boiling on one of the other burners, and freshly grated cheese was in a dish on the counter. “I thought maybe I could help.”
“You can. Definitely.”
I washed my hands and dried them. “Okay, ready for your instructions. I hope I’m up to the task, whatever it is.”
“Oh, you are. In fact, you’re very good at it.”
I raised a brow.
Bishop set the spoon he’d been stirring the butter concoction with on the counter and snaked his arm around my waist. “Kiss me, kitten.”
I reached around him and turned off the burner under the butter, then gave him the best kiss I could.
“Wow,” he said, breaking it only because the timer went off, indicating the pasta was ready.
“How’d I do, chef?”
“Pretty good.”
I put one hand on my hip. “Pretty good?”
“Yeah, but I think, after dinner, we should practice more.”
He plated dinner while I poured two glasses of wine.
We ate and talked about inconsequential things like buffleheads and whether the Indian Summer would hold through the weekend, and how the bread Anna had served with dinner the night before would’ve gone perfectly with the cacio e pepe.
We were finishing putting the dishes away when Bishop’s mobile buzzed.
He picked it up, read the message, then handed it to me.
It was from Henry, saying the evening card game would commence as soon as we arrived. It went on to say that everyone was seated and waiting for us.
“What do you think?” he asked.
I handed the mobile to him. “It doesn’t sound as though we have much choice.”
We kissed a few minutes more, put our jackets on, and returned to the main camp.
When we walked in, Henry was already shuffling.