Chapter 24 #3
She watched the grin move over his face. “That doesn’t surprise me. What do you have in mind?”
“I’ve been working on something, but I need to refine it a bit more. It’s technical.”
He glanced over, and down at her laptop. “Nerd stuff.”
“I suppose. Yes, nerd stuff. If we do this, I’ll need to spend more time and effort on the programs I’ve been developing.
In the meantime, and again, if your captain agrees, you have to decide on your communication.
Once he makes contact with the FBI on this matter, they’ll track his communications. ”
“We’re going to make a stop on the way, pick up some prepaid cell phones. That should cover it for the time being.”
“It should.”
He reached over, briefly laid his hand over hers. “We’re going to find a way.”
She believed him. It made no sense, defied all logic, and yet she believed him.
Her nerves ratcheted up when Brooks drove down the quiet street in the pretty neighborhood. Old leafy trees, green lawns, lights glowing against window glass.
Captain Anson might attempt to arrest her on the spot. He might insist on contacting the feds.
He might not be home, which would be anticlimactic and somehow more stressful.
He might—
“Relax,” Brooks said and stopped in front of a tidy two-story house with attached garage and a lovely red maple in the front yard.
“That’s not possible.”
He shifted so they were face-to-face. “In or out, Abigail? It’s your choice.”
“In, but I can’t relax about it.”
If she had to run, she wouldn’t allow him to run with her. She wouldn’t allow him to give up his life, his family, his world. She had an extra set of keys in her bag, and could be out and gone, if necessary. If that happened…
“Whatever happens, I need you to know these past weeks have been the best of my life. Being with you changed me. Nothing will be the same for me again, and I’m glad of it.”
“We’re going to win this, starting now.”
“All right.” She ordered Bert to stay, and got out of the car.
After Brooks skirted the hood, he took her hand. She did her best to focus on that contact as her heart began to thud in her throat.
Lights glowed in the window, and she could smell spring, and the oncoming summer—the grass, the heliotrope, dianthus, some early roses. She felt the anxiety build, an anvil on her chest, and closed her eyes against it for a moment while Brooks knocked.
The man who answered boasted broad shoulders and heavily salted dark hair gone thin at the temples. He wore khakis and a blue golf-style shirt with reading glasses hanging from the pocket by the earpiece.
His feet were bare, and from somewhere behind him, Abigail heard the commentary of a ball game.
His eyes were a hard steel blue, until the smile burst onto his face.
“Son of a bitch, it’s Chief Gleason at my door.”
“It’s good to see you, Captain.”
“Son of a bitch,” Anson repeated, then gave Brooks a one-armed hug while he measured up Abigail. “Are you going to introduce the lady?”
“Abigail Lowery, Captain Joe Anson.”
“Nice to meet you, Abigail. Man, Nadine’s going to be sorry she missed you. She took her mom on a girl’s trip—a spa thing—for her mom’s birthday. She won’t be back till Sunday. Well, come on in.”
The living room looked comfortable, Abigail thought, lived in and easy, with framed family photographs on a wall shelf and prettily potted houseplants on the windowsill.
“I was catching the game back in the den. Just let me switch that off.”
“Sorry to interrupt, to drop by like this.”
“No need. It’s my second night baching it. I’m boring the hell out of myself.” He slipped into an alcove off the living room. Seconds later the sound went off, and an ancient yellow Lab followed Anson creakily out of the den.
“He’s harmless,” Anson said to Abigail.
“I like dogs. He has a very intelligent face.”
“Huck was always smart. Mostly blind now, and more’n half deaf, but he’s still got his smarts. Why don’t we go on back to the great room, have a seat? How’s your dad doing, Brooks?”
“He’s good. Really good.”
“That’s good to hear. And the job?”
“I like it, Captain. I like where I am and who I am there.”
“He’s a good cop,” Anson said to Abigail. “I hated losing him. How about a beer?”
“I wouldn’t say no.”
“I would,” Abigail said, then realized the simple truth sounded rude. “I mean, if I could have some water.”
“Sure. I got some lemonade. It’s not half bad.”
“That would be nice, thank you.”
At Anson’s direction, they settled into a seating area off the large, open kitchen. At the back, wide glass doors led out to a patio, where she saw what she assumed was an enormous grill under a black cover, and several outdoor chairs and tables.
As Anson got the drinks, the old dog shuffled over, sniffed at her, then rested his head on her knee.
She stroked his head, rubbed his ears.
“If he bothers you, just tell him to go sit.”
“He isn’t bothering me.”
“Abigail’s got a dog. Great dog. Bert’s out in the car.”
“What the hell did you leave him out there for? Go get him. We’ll take this out back, let the two of them get acquainted and pal around.”
“Bert would like that. If you’re sure, I’ll go get him. I ordered him to stay, so he wouldn’t get out of the car for Brooks.”
“You go ahead, and just bring him on around the back. Side gate’s on the left.”
“Thank you.”
When she went out, Anson handed Brooks the beer, jerked a thumb toward the sliders. “What’s going on, Brooks?” he asked, as they stepped out.
“A lot.”
“Your lady covers it well, but she’s got enough nerves lighting her up to power the whole city of Little Rock.”
“She’s got reason for them. I talked her into coming here, to you, because she needs help. And because I’m in love with her.”
Anson let out a breath, took a long swallow of beer. “What kind of trouble is she in?”
“I want her to tell you, and I need you to hear her out. All the way. I’m counting on you, Captain.”
“She’s not from around here, or up where you come from, either.”
“No, but Bickford’s her home now. We both want it to stay that way.”
They heard the gate open and shut. Huck’s head went up—not at the sound, Anson knew—at the scent.
Anson’s eyebrows lifted when Abigail walked around the house with Bert.
“That’s one big, handsome bastard.”
“He’s very well behaved,” Abigail assured him. “Ami,” she said when Huck, quivering, walked over to sniff the newcomer. “Ami. Jouer.”
Tails slashing the air, the dogs sniffed each other. Huck walked over to the fence line, lifted his leg. Bert followed suit. Then they wrestled.
“Huck’s got some life in him yet.” Anson offered Abigail the lemonade, gestured to a seat. “Brooks said you had a story to tell me, Abigail.”
“Yes. I should start by saying my name isn’t Abigail Lowery. Technically. It’s Elizabeth Fitch. When I was sixteen I witnessed a man named Yakov Korotkii, who is a lieutenant in the Volkov crime organization, murder his cousin Alexi Gurevich and my friend Julie Masters.”
Anson sat back. After a moment, he glanced at Brooks. “You did say a lot.”
Then he turned those steely eyes back on Abigail. “Why don’t you tell me about that?”