Homecoming (10 page)
“Ah.” His face was still in profile, and as enigmatic as an Easter Island head. “Well, when Newton puts his mind to something, he’s pretty convincing.” Jack finally turned to smile at Federica and she gasped. His left eye was bloodshot and he had the beginnings of a world-class shiner.
“Oh no, Jack.” Federica reached out to gently touch the bruised skin of his cheekbone and drew her hand back when Jack winced. “Who on Earth…” Federica’s heart lurched. “Not—not Newton?
Please
tell me you didn’t fight with Newton.”
“Okay,” he said agreeably. “You didn’t fight with Newton.”
“I can’t believe this.” Her voice was flat, exhausted.
This was worse than she could possibly have imagined. In a few days, she’d managed to convince the Carson’s Bluff Town Council that she was a basket case. She had kissed and practically fallen into a warm puddle at the feet of her main adversary. And now her chauffeur would probably be hauled into court for assault and battery of the town’s mayor. It couldn’t possibly get any worse, unless…
“And Newton?” Federica tried to keep the panic out of her voice. “How is he? Is he—”
“He’s fine.” Jack smiled faintly. “Last time I saw him, he was putting away his third bottle at Stella’s. Which I paid for, by the way.”
“He isn’t hurt?”
“Nope,” Jack replied. “I didn’t even get close.” Considering that Newton had started his days as a heavyweight contender, Federica wasn’t surprised. Jack fingered his chin, where a dark bruise had started. “That man sure packs a mean punch.”
“Mansion Enterprises will reimburse you for any damage,” Federica said stiffly. “I hope you won’t press charges.”
“Press charges? Weren’t you listening, woman? I bought him a drink. Several drinks. Any man who can get the drop on me like that is a friend I want in my corner.”
Federica looked at him, forgetting to blink. She was still very, very tired, which was probably why her mind wasn’t functioning as well as it should. Either that or he wasn’t making any sense.
“A friend?” she asked carefully.
“Yup. A friend.”
“You, you…” Federica tried to think of a polite way to phrase it. “The two of you engaged in fisticuffs, you’ve got a black eye and God knows what else and the two of you have become
friends?
”
“It’s a guy thing,” he said kindly. “You wouldn’t understand. We ready for breakfast yet?”
EMAIL FROM: [email protected]
Federica,
Head office tells me you haven’t been picking up any of your email messages and apparently you aren’t answering faxes either. I find this kind of behavior intolerable. The only thing I can imagine is that you are disturbed by the idea of working with Russell White.
Russell is in charge of negotiations in SF until I return from Prague, which might be several weeks, so you had better get used to the idea. This silence is costing us money, Federica.
Due to a minor emergency, our Carson’s Bluff deadline has been shifted to the 15th of June. You will finish on the morning of the 15th and I expect you to be in San Francisco by late afternoon, where you will be debriefed.
On the 16th of June, I want you to fly out to New York on the 5:30 a.m. flight.
Your schedule for the rest of the month is New York, June 16–20, where you’ll be meeting with Leslie Brooks, which you should have done after Singapore. London, 20–25th. Hamburg, 26th. Copenhagen, 27–30th. From Copenhagen, you will proceed directly to Kiev, where Mansion Enterprises is scouting for property.
Plan on staying at least a month.
Uncle Frederick
FAX FROM: ELLEN LARSEN, c/o Inter Airways, JFK
FAX TO: FEDERICA MANSION, c/o Sheriff’s Office, Carson’s Bluff
Dear Federica,
I’m stuck in JFK. We had what Inter Airways charmingly calls an “incident” about an hour out from New York. The right engine suddenly stopped functioning for about three minutes. The longest three minutes of my life. We lost a thousand feet in those three minutes. Then, luckily, the engine kicked back in.
I was really impressed with the pilot and the rest of the flight crew. They were very calm and laconic, very macho. But the pucker factor must have been extremely high because the cabin crew had to spray air freshener in the cockpit afterwards.
There was a dentist in first class who’d been giving me a hard time, a real jump seat sniffer. When he thought he was going to die, he shouted something about going out in style, grabbed me and started checking my fillings with his tongue. I had to bang him over the head with the in-flight magazine to get him to let me go.
The plane is undergoing a revision and I think we’ll be departing soon on another plane. Or at least, I
hope
on another plane.
You must still be in Carson’s Bluff, because your answering service message in SF is still the same. Your emails are bouncing back. Honey, I sure hope you’re okay. Was the sheriff really kidding about the man-eating rattlers and black widows? Will try to get in touch from Paris.
Love, El
MESSAGE NOT RECEIVED/NO SIGNAL
It had turned into a hot day, so they stayed in the cool shade of the veranda. Breakfast somehow segued slowly into lunch. Stella had outdone herself. Thick slices of honey-cured ham between equally thick slices of home-baked bran bread, a tomato and potato salad, chunky wedges of a sharp country cheese, half an apple pie and lots of Pigswill. After half a sandwich and a slice of cheese, however, Federica was full. She sat with her back against the railing post, nursing a bottle of beer, and watched Jack demolish the lot.
“You’re not leaving much for my dinner,” she observed.
“No.” Jack carefully folded the wax paper Stella had packed the cheese in, took a fork and started on the apple pie. “I’ll be feeding you tonight.” He slanted her a glance. “You up to going out?”
“Not very far,” she warned. “And not with other people.” Last night had taught her a lesson.
Jack uncapped a thermos of coffee. “Well, that’s fine, because I was planning on cooking for you myself. And don’t worry, I’m a better cook than Lilly.”
“I like Lilly.” Not only did Federica like Lilly, but she was grateful to her for organizing the first relaxed evening she’d had in a long time. Or, at least it
had
been relaxing until Horace Milton had hobbled along.
“Well, I like Lilly, too, but she’s no cook.” Jack passed Federica a steaming cup. “Here. Don’t let it interfere with your sleep.”
Federica cut off a yawn. “Sorry,” she said, embarrassed.
“Don’t worry about it.” Jack watched her down her coffee in slow sips. “Come here,” he said softly.
Federica blinked. Jack was sitting about a foot away. “Where?”
“Right here,” he said, and held out his right arm. There was a Federica-shaped space between his shoulder and elbow. “Let me tell you the story of Harry’s Folly.”
“Well, with that for an inducement, how can I resist?” Federica scooted over until her left arm touched his side. He looped his arm around her shoulder in such a way that Federica just had to rest her head on his shoulder if she wanted to be comfortable. She had kept her voice light, but the truth was that the idea of snuggling up to Jack Sutter was tempting beyond words.
His hold was perfect. Just strong enough to make her feel protected, just loose enough for her to be able to free herself anytime she wanted to. Though right now, the thought of being anywhere but leaning up against the solid shoulder of Jack Sutter was too insane to even contemplate.
For the first time in forever, Federica felt perfectly in tune with her life. She was replete with excellent food and better beer, the air was hot, but not too hot, the shade of the veranda was cool, but not too cool, and she was in the arms of a man who made her hormones hum.
She shifted until she found the perfect fit. Jack’s right hand cupped her elbow and she felt his chin rest on the top of her head. She shifted again until her back was to Jack’s chest and his other arm came around to clasp her around the waist. She was surrounded by warm, strong male.
“Once upon a time,” Jack said, his deep voice low, “there was a man and an idea. The man’s name was Harry Carson. No one knew where he came from or even if his real name was Harry Carson.”
There was a faint spicy scent in the air, either the pine trees in the distance, or Jack’s aftershave, or simply the smell of happiness. Federica closed her eyes and savored the smell, the feel of Jack’s strong body against hers, the thrum of his steady heartbeat against her back. Her breathing slowed as her eyelids drooped.
Jack paused a moment, casting about for the right words, trying not to be distracted by the soft feel of Federica Mansion in his arms. He had an ulterior motive in coaxing her into his arms.
He wanted to tell her the story of Carson’s Bluff, how the town had evolved, how Harry had won the money for his Folly and what he did with it and why. He wanted her to understand just how unique Carson’s Bluff was, what a magic refuge it was. How precious it was to him and its inhabitants.
It was hard to find the words and there were undercurrents everywhere. Something was happening with him and Federica. He hadn’t felt this way about a woman in a long time. Maybe never. Not even his ex-wife had stirred this deep curiosity mixed with admiration he felt whenever he looked at her.
But of course, he couldn’t forget that they were adversaries. On opposite sides of a life-or-death question. The citizens of Carson’s Bluff had elected him their representative in the upcoming battle. Carson’s Bluff versus Mansion Enterprises. He represented Carson’s Bluff and Federica represented Mansion Enterprises.
She represented more than just Mansion Enterprises. She was a stand-in for everything he and his family and friends hated and had resisted so far. Big Business. Money over quality of life. Power over people. Stress and battle and competition. He had to make her understand why they were fighting so hard to keep Mansion Enterprises away.
Right smack in the middle of this mess was the wild attraction between them. Federica needed to know the score.
He took a deep breath and continued.
“So one day Harry Carson came to a place called Libertyville. It wasn’t much more than an encampment. Just a few lean-tos and maybe thirty tents. A place where drifters didn’t want to stay for very long because they were all going to get rich quick. And go somewhere else.”
Jack opened his mouth to continue the story of Carson’s Bluff, but something about Federica’s breathing and the slight snuffling sounds from her chest stopped him.
He looked down at her and shook his head, smiling.
She had fallen fast asleep.
Chapter Six
June 2nd
Note taped to Jack Sutter’s front door.
Jack, please tell Federica I’m sorry the evening had to end like that. Norman was so upset that he had a relapse. At three o’clock in the morning, I found him at the computer, going over the files of old clients.
Horace was brutally truthful, as usual, but you know Horace. The United States Government couldn’t get him to shut up, and of course neither can we. Horace isn’t afraid of the truth and I suppose we shouldn’t be, either. I think we need to talk about this. Do you want to come over for a bite tonight? I promise that I’ll make Norman cook.
Love, Lilly
P.S. We’re all really worried, Jack. About you, too.
Message left on Jack Sutter’s answering machine.
“Jack, hi this is Wyatt. I had a vision last night, or rather, a voice spoke to me in the darkness. The voice sounded a lot like Obi Wan Kenobe. He said, and I quote, ‘
Why doesn’t Jack seduce Federica into surrender and recruit her for Carson’s Bluff
?’ Sound good? I mean, with those eyes and that figure, we’re not exactly talking hardship duty, bro. I still need to get down to Shelby. May the Force be with you.”
EMAIL FROM: [email protected]
Dear Frederick,
I’m double-encrypting this whole message. I’m tempted to send this snail-mail, or at least send it by courier because your Mister…your hacker has made me utterly paranoid about our computer security. He gave me everything but Russell White’s neck size in two hours and I’m sure he’d have given me that if I’d asked.
It was actually rather frightening what I was able to learn about White, including medical records. In case you’re interested, Russell White is healthy, except for his blood pressure, which is one hundred over ninety. He was almost thrown out of Stanford for suspected cheating, he came up negative with the National Crime Information Commission, he is HIV-negative, he has a penchant for Mercedes-Benzes and Armani suits and he is $250,000 in debt.
Your man was even able to give me the exact record of White’s indebtedness. White has consistently spent thirty percent more than his salary over the past four years and has tried to make up for it day-trading on the stock market, though with no success since he aims at short-term profits and isn’t good enough at high-risk stocks. He took a real drubbing in derivatives a month ago. From what I’ve been able to see, White is fundamentally a loose cannon on deck. Should we throw him overboard?
