Cold Comfort (30 page)

"Then let's pack for Washington. I'll take Caroline's letters with me."

"Put those and your mother's letter in something safe. We'll make copies to take. You may never want to use them, but short of DNA, they're the best proof you're going to have of who you are."

"I guess that's the kind of thing they've been after, going through my files."

"Or maybe they wanted to know if there was any evidence concerning Caroline's death. There's no statute of limitations on murder."

Packing wasn't difficult
—
she'd never
un
packed. She sat on the bed while Riley made his calls, a book in her hand and Spike curled up beside her. Claire felt like a wooden doll, going through the motions of living. This must be what shell-shocked meant. Was it worth all this, trying to find the man who'd fathered her? Yes, she decided. If she didn't, she'd soon be dead.

Claire heard the door open and the low murmur of voices. Her book lay open to the same page. She didn't know how long she'd been sitting there, but she hadn't read a word.

"Are you ready?" Riley stuck his head into the bedroom. "Ray spotted an empty car in some trees on a side road. It could belong to Fortunato or his new pals. Ray and a couple of guys are going to stay here and take care of things, but right now we want to create a little diversion so we can get you out." He handed her a heavy bag. "These are Fred's. He's smaller than I am. Put them on and get your hair up under the hat."

She opened the plastic shopping bag—jeans and a strange vest with straps in all directions, a leather jacket, a baseball cap, running shoes, and a rubber face mask. She held up the mask. Nixon, right down to the five o'clock shadow. She stared up at Riley Was he serious?

He lifted his shoulder and smiled. "The drug store where they stopped only had a couple. It was that or Santa Claus. With the hat and Fred, it'll do."

"Fred?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"You'll meet him in a minute."

Claire wriggled into the jeans, which she could only zip partway
—men and their lean hips—
and held up the heavy vest. Definitely not a fashion statement. She guessed it was bulletproof. After a brief struggle, she managed to fasten the Velcro tabs and shrugged, adjusting to its feel and weight.

In her purse she found a few bobby pins to hold up her hair. She positioned the mask over her face so she could see, and picked up the cap, surprised to find it hard, lined with metal. Settling the cap over her hair, she tucked in the loose ends and tugged the brim down over the mask. The jacket fit over the thick vest, giving her some upper bulk, changing her shape. She turned to the mirror. A strange
—very
strange
—
man stared back at her. The image matched her distant, detached feeling. Who was she?

On the way out to meet the men, she tried a little swagger.

Ray laughed out loud. "Hello, Mister President. Nice purse."

Casting a dubious glance in her direction, Riley said, "Very convincing
—
let's hope the other team's a long way off and nearsighted. Okay, Fred, your turn."

After quick introductions, the smallish man named Fred picked up a bag and disappeared into the bedroom. A few minutes later, a woman with big, dark hair came out.

"Hi, sweetie," Fred said, chucking Ray under the chin. He swished around the room in a gaudy dress, heels, and vivid red lipstick, stopping before Claire. "What do you think?"

"My hair's not that big
—
and that's not the only thing," she said, laughing.

Fred winked and patted the hair. "It would be if you had a steel helmet under it. My full figure comes from a Kevlar vest and a couple of oranges. I wanted to attract attention."

"You will." Riley handed Claire's purse and blue parka to Fred. "Okay, let's go. If they're out there, they'll wait till we get outside. I want to be on the outside with Fred between me and Ray. Claire, you stay on the other side of Ray, closer to the house. We'll be moving fast, and if anyone's there, they'll be focused on Fred. He and I will get in the Buick. They have to think it's Fred who's being protected. Claire, you and Ray take the Jeep and disappear."

The men moved into position, guns drawn. Fred held his in his right hand, down against his skirt. He clutched Claire's purse in his left. Riley gently squeezed Claire's shoulder and pushed her over beside Ray. He picked up her overnight bag and his duffel bag with his left hand.

She turned back to him. "But what if
—
"

"No." He touched his finger to her lips. "No matter what happens, you get in the Jeep and keep your head down. Your job is to stay safe so we don't have to worry about you. Don't distract us."

She nodded. He would concentrate on protecting her above anything. His safety might depend on her behavior. "I want a gun."

All three men stared at her. Riley spoke first. "Can you shoot?"

"Joey Fortunato? Absolutely."

"I mean, can you handle the weapon? Have you had any training?"

"No, but I've seen movies and know what to do."

"Deliver me," Ray said, rolling his eyes.

"No gun, sweetheart. You'd worry me more than the bad guys. I wouldn't be able to take my eyes off you." Riley waited, studying her face.

"Okay, okay. Out the door and into the Jeep." She owed Joey Fortunato. He'd killed an old man and shot Riley because of her. She wouldn't forget.

Riley squeezed her hand. "If Ray isn't with you in thirty seconds, slide over and get the hell out of here. The keys are in it. Go to the police station and wait for me."

She understood, but what if something happened to him? Or to Ray or Fred? What could she do?

Seeming to read her thoughts, he said, "Just go. I'll get there, I promise you." He nodded and Ray opened the door. Riley, scanning the woods, took Fred's arm and stepped in front of the smaller man, as if to shield him. For a second, there was only silence.

Then a shot rang out, zinging off the Buick. Riley shoved Fred toward the car door and crouched, firing across the trunk into the woods. Ray dragged Claire forward, firing as he ran. A second shot came from the big tree on the other side of the lawn. Riley jerked back, spun sideways. Claire screamed, started toward him, but Ray tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her in his wake. More shots sounded, and Fred staggered against the car door, fell inside.

Ray shoved Claire into the Jeep. "Stay down."

Barely able to think, Claire reached over to turn the key in the ignition. "Please let Riley be all right," she whispered. "And Fred." Fred, shot posing as her.

Ray scrambled into the Jeep and took off. "Good girl. Don't worry, they'll be okay."

She couldn't see, could only hear gunfire. It was all she could do to stay hunched over. What happened to Riley? She pictured him lying on the ground, blood seeping out of his chest. He'd already been shot once, wasn't over that yet. "Where was he hit?" She didn't need to explain.

"Vest
—
don't worry." Ray glanced at the rearview mirror. "He's in the car
—
here he comes, right behind us."

Ray leaned out the window, took aim, and fired. "Hot damn! The guy behind the tree's down."

A bullet ricocheted harmlessly off the rear door frame. Ray said something unintelligible and sped through the gate. The big Jeep Cherokee swerved to one side and slid on the wet ground as they turned toward the road.

"Is he okay?" Claire heard bullets strike metal behind them. "Did they hit him? Did he make it?"

"Yep, he's out. Hang on." The instant the SUV reached the blacktop, Ray floored it. "We want to be a long way from here before they get to their car. Unfortunately it has a little problem—two flat tires."

"Can I sit up? I'm getting sick." The fumes from the hot, rubbery mask added to her discomfort.

"Okay, but if I say so, you duck fast."

Claire straightened up and buckled her seat belt, took a few deep breaths. The landscape blurred as they flew past. She looked back. "Where's Riley? And what about Fred? I saw him fall."

"They'll both be okay. We'll meet them at Jordan's." He spared a quick glance in her direction. "Leave the mask and hat on until we get there."

"Jordan? The doctor who treated Riley's arm?"

"Yeah. He called her before we left, said we might need her." Ray turned onto a side road and slowed, smiled across the seat at her. "This job is a triple threat." He held up a finger. "One, if anything happens to you, Riley will kill me. Two, some very nasty people are after us." He held up the third finger. "And I have to be sure we aren't followed, because if I lead them to Jordan's, she'll kill me."

Claire smiled even if Nixon didn't. "Who is Jordan? How do you all know her?" She didn't really care right now, just talked to keep her mind off Riley and the men chasing him.

"She was with a volunteer medical unit in Bosnia. Captured by the Serbs. Riley got her out." His flat tone didn't encourage questions.

Too nervous for diplomacy, she asked anyway, her voice muffled by the rubber face covering hers. "What happened to her?"

"Bad things. Things you don't want to know about, and she wouldn't want me talking about. I just told you so you'd know not to ask questions when we get there."

"Were you there too?"

"Yes, me and Riley and Will Porter." He made a sharp left onto a wooded road and glanced at her, grinning. "Riley probably won't let you meet Will."

Letting herself be distracted, she bit. "Why not?"

"'Cause Will's the kind makes women suck in their stomachs and hide their wedding rings."

Ray's knowing nod brought a smile to her lips. "You mean he looks better than Riley?"

"Honey, half the men in the world look better than Riley. You ever get those stars out of your eyes, you'll get a shock."

"I don't have anything in my eyes
—
just a fondness for Rottweilers."

Ray turned to her in surprise, then burst out laughing. "Girl, you and the Pres got a way about you."

He repeatedly checked the rearview mirror and made a number of turns. Claire, by sheer will, kept herself calm on the surface, but inside she was a mass of jangled nerves. She wouldn't be easy until she saw Riley and Fred, saw for herself they were all right. If something happened to Riley.... She lifted the mask to rub her eyes.

Ray reached over and patted her hand. "Don't worry. He's got more lives than Spike."

"You've seen that scar on his chest, haven't you? He's not indestructible."

"No, he's not, but he lived through it." His gaze flicked back and forth between the road and the mirror. "We were in South America, chasing a drug dealer named Espinosa. The job went sour, and Espinosa grabbed an old woman to use as a shield. Riley wouldn't shoot, and Espinosa shot him. Turned out the woman was the slimeball's mother."

"What happened?"

"Will got behind Espinosa and drew his fire while I got Riley out."

"You three must have been through a lot together. How did you meet?"

"Riley and I were Navy, Will was in the Marines. He was on board our ship. We did a little work together, got to be friends. Now we stay in touch."

"Do you and Riley work with this Will Porter now? Riley said there were several people. How are you all connected?"

After a brief hesitation, Ray answered. "We were all in the Middle East at the same time
—
several of us from all branches of service. Jocko's one. We each had," he paused and cut his eyes at her, "certain talents, and they teamed us up for a couple of special operations. We got the jobs done, and the brass put us together on other missions."

She didn't want to speculate on their "talents." "What happened when you got out?"

"Will stayed in longer than me and Riley, but none of us could handle a nine to five pushing paper. We all took up some kind of security work
—
those were the skills we had." He raised an eyebrow in her direction. "It's not a life that lends itself to families. Only one happy marriage among us."

Another subject she chose to avoid. "Do you all work together on a job?"

"No, but we're always available for each other
—
you know
—
'One for all, and all for one'?"

"Like the three musketeers?" She believed it.

"Yeah, but there are more of us."

She leaned back and thought about what he'd told her
—
probably more than Riley would have wanted. They drove in silence until Ray passed Jordan's drive, watching carefully behind them. "I'm clear," he said, making a U-turn. He punched a number into the cell phone. "I'm here, bringing baby in."

"Why 'baby'?" She didn't like the sound of that.

"Habit. I don't say anything I don't have to on a cell phone, not when I'm working. Too easy to listen in." He rolled to a stop in front of Jordan's house.

Claire leaped from the car as Riley, hunched slightly forward, came out on the porch. "Are you all right? How's Fred?"

"Yo, Nixon. You can take off the mask." He lifted the hat off her head when she reached him. "I'm fine, just sore. It glanced off the vest, nothing serious. Fred has a cracked rib and some heavy bruising, but he'll be okay."