Naked Risk (Shatterproof #3) (11 page)

It was early in the flight, early in the morning, so we were starting off with a traditional English breakfast: scrambled eggs, sausage,
rosti potatoes, and cherry tomato confit.

“I don’t think I’ll need to eat for the rest of the day,” she said after we f
inished our meal and the trays were cleared.

“We’ll still be in the air at teatime, but you’ll be ready for a snack by then, I’m sure.”

“
Teatime
,” she said, letting the word hang there by itself, then saying, “I guess I’m going to have to start getting used to that?”

I nodded. “Indeed.”

I had offered the window seat to Catherine, but she declined, citing the fact that she didn’t like to fly to begin with and looking out the window only made her more nervous.

When the captain’s voice came through the cabin’s speakers telling us that we would be landing in about twenty minutes, I asked her if she was sure she didn’t want to look out the window.

“The aerial view is amazing,” I told her.

“Maybe I’ll look with you.”

It turned out that we were caught in a delay, and twenty minutes turned into forty. Weather was the culprit and we were forced into a holding pattern, circling high above the city. I looked out the window for the entire time, seeing nothing but the tops of clouds.

As the minutes ticked slowly by, I thought of the conversation Catherine and I had
during the flight. She had raised the issue, telling me that she felt like she was leaving nothing behind—no people, no roots, nothing at all—and that she felt like she could live anywhere because of that.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” she had asked.

“No,” I had said, shaking my head and caressing the back of her hand with my thumb. “It’s not odd at all.”

“I guess you’re right,” she had said, after thinking about it for a moment. “The way I lived…no friends, really…no family—”

I had cut her off, saying, “I’m your family now.”

Her thoughts
had made me even more confident that this was going to work. That conversation had occurred about an hour before landing, and we’d been silent ever since.

When I felt the plane descending, I urged Catherine to sit on my lap and watch with me.
She unhooked her seatbelt, first looking around to make sure no flight attendants were nearby. She moved over to my lap and I wrapped my arms around her waist.

Together we watched as the
plane dipped below the cloud deck, giving us our first view of London.

It was just after
7 p.m. local time, and the first hint of dusk was settling in, beginning to cast a purplish glow across the city as the sky had begun to clear.

Down below, the city lay out before us.
The roads were crowded with cars, the buildings were starting to light up for the night, lush greenways broke up the concrete and glass city like carefully placed jewels. Boats slowly drifted down the River Thames and I pointed out Tower Bridge, its many lights twinkling over the water. When she asked me what the huge Ferris wheel was, I told her it was called The London Eye, and promised to take her up in it.

I looked at Catherine’s face. Her eyes were wide and she was taking in every bit of it that she could. I was absorbing every bit of her enjoyment, telling myself I wanted to spend every day of the rest of my life trying to put that look of wonder on her face.

As the plane touched down at Heathrow, I was thinking of how the rest of the night would go. I assumed smoothly, as I had planned it well enough, and had spoken to Spencer about it at length.

He had recently been in touch with some of our colleagues in the employ of Mr. Atherton, guys who had gotten out in recent months.

I had been back to England once in ten years—for my grandparents’ funerals. But I had spent no quality time here. I hadn’t even talked to anyone when I came home for those few days.

There was a better than good chance—actually, I could guarantee it—that I would see old friends and neighbors I hadn’t seen in over a decade. They would very likely ask about my ten-year absence.

I didn’t want to deal with any of that. I didn’t want to have to reintegrate myself back into my own society. This would take some getting used to, no doubt, but I had been so well trained to assimilate myself in the American culture, surely I had it in me to slip right back into my own. But if asked about my years away from England, I would dodge the question, be vague, chalk it up to service. It was none of anyone’s business what I had been doing.

No one other than Catherine, of course, and Mr. Atherton.

Chapter Twenty-o
ne –
Catherine

Watts rented a car at Heathrow and we drove westward for an hour or so, out into the rural countryside. It was almost 9 p.m. and darkness was falling all around us, but I could still see the landscape of v
ast pastures and rolling hills.

It had been a while since I had been out of an urban environment, and while I looked forward to experiencing London, I also couldn’t wait to see more of this part of Watts’s homeland.

Watts told me we were almost to Mr. Atherton’s farm. “Now, don’t be alarmed, but there will be a checkpoint and guards that we’ll have to stop for before entering the farm.”

“Okay.” My voice came out flat and serious, but honestly it was difficult to hide my excitement. Far from being alarmed or scared, I was
intrigued by his life and eager to explore everything about him, starting with this.

I caught Watts glancing over at me. “Y
ou’re not the least bit worried,” he said flatly, a statement not a question.

It was as though he had read my mind. “No,
I’m not.”

“Good then, because here we are.”

I looked from his face and forward out of the windshield. A large gate stood before us, and a man came out from a small concrete guardhouse holding some kind of rifle. He circled our car, ending up on the driver’s side.

Watts rolled down the window. “Daniel Watts.”

The guard nodded. “Right, sir.” He walked back into the guardhouse and the electronic gates swung open. Watts drove us through them. I looked in the side mirror and watched them close behind us. Two more armed men on the inside stood off to the side before retreating back to wherever they were standing post.

“He didn’t need to know who I was?” I asked.

Watts shook his head. “He probably knew. Doesn’t matter. You’re with me.”

It was how I imagined it would be entering a military compound, which, after everything Watts told me, I guessed that’s pretty much what the place was.

We drove along a winding gravel road for a few minutes. It was getting darker, not only because of the hour but also because the road was lined with deep, thick woods on either side. The trees hung over the road, creating a canopy that made it feel as though we were driving through a tunnel.

The wooded portion of the road ended and we emerged out from under the trees. That’s when I saw the house for the first time.

When someone talks about a house on a farm, I think of quaint houses made of wood, maybe painted red, with a stone chimney, wrap-around wooden porch, a barn off in the distance and…well, not much else. Something small. Charming, but small.

The Atherton
house was a mansion. It was the centerpiece of the property, built up on a small hill. Four stories tall, Renaissance style architecture, and it made me think of a castle more than a house.

The gravel road turned into a paved driveway that ended in a circle at the front door of the house. Watts pulled up and turned off the car.

He looked over at me, but before he could say anything I said, “Ready.”

Two men in suits came out of the house. They greeted us as we exited the car. One of them said he would park the car for us, the other asked us to follow him inside.

Watts took my hand and we followed the man inside. I was surprised once we entered the house. The exterior was authentic and old—the place had obviously been here a long time—but the interior had been modernized down to every last detail. It was like entering a newly-built, five-star hotel.

We walked down a hall and I admired the art on the walls, while noticing that Watts wasn’t looking at anything. Sure, he’d seen it all before, but I could sense that wasn’t the reason for his disinterest in the décor. He was clearly focused on seeing Mr. Atherton.

And moments later, that’s just what we were doing.

The old man was small,
slight, and couldn’t stand. He was in a wheelchair and looked very stern. Miserable, actually. That is, until he noticed us and a wide smile spread across his face.

“Mr. Watts,” he said. “Good of you to come.”

“Yes, sir,” Watts said. “It’s good to be back.” He let my hand go and moved his to the small of my back. “Mr. Atherton, this is Catherine Kolb.”

“Pleasure, Ms. Kolb. How was the trip?”

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, “and the trip was great, thank you.”

Mr. Atherton’s eyes drifted to Watts. “Private plane not good enough for you?” He laughed heartily, a slight wheeze along with it. “I kid. I know how you do enjoy that airline food, Mr. Watts. I trust you and Ms. Kolb had dinner somewhere?”

“Actually, we didn’t,” Watts said.

“Perfect.” Mr. Atherton had been reading and he placed the book on a table next to him. “I’ll have something sent up to your room. It’s a lovely night, perfect for a m
eal on the balcony off your suite.”

This was starting to seem unreal to me. An
d what did he mean by “your suite”? Watts hadn’t mentioned anything about us staying here.

“That sounds great, sir.” Watts turned to me.

I nodded. “Yes, thank you. That’s very nice.” It was more than nice. It was a godsend, because I was getting hungry and I knew that I’d want to eat pretty soon.

“Great. Settled. In the meantime, Ms. Kolb, would you mind if I had a chat with Mr. Wa
tts here? Privately? It won’t take long, and I’ll have someone show you around if you wish, or you can feel free to explore the grounds yourself.”

I didn’t want to leave Watts. I was in a country I’d never been to, visiting the home of a man I had never met
, with armed guards all over the place. But I knew Watts trusted everyone here and he wouldn’t let me do anything that posed a danger, so I said, “Of course.”

Watts kissed me on the cheek and said he would come find me shortly.

“Thank you,” Mr. Atherton said. “Go wherever you want, see whatever you want, and of course you and Mr. Watts here are free to stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks,” I said, amazed at the kind of hospitality I was being treated to. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. I
’d have been a fool to feel anything other than comfortable and grateful.

Chapter Twenty-two –
Watts

“Let’s get the most pressing issue out of the way first,” Mr. Atherton said after Catherine left the room. “
Have a seat and let’s discuss Mr. McDowell.”

I felt my heart in my throat. For the first time in a long time, I was nervous, and it was because I worked for this man and I admired him. It mattered to me what he thought, always had,
but by the way he had greeted us and offered to let us stay at the house, it was apparent that he wasn’t angry. Still, this was probably not going to be an easy conversation.

A man entered the room carrying a tray. He placed it on the desk and poured two cups, placing one in front of Mr. Atherton, the other in front of me. I thanked the guy, held the cup up to my face, and let the steam bring the aroma to my nose.

“Anything else, sir?” the man asked Mr. Atherton.

“Not now. This is perfect
. Thank you.”

The man left.

Mr. Atherton sipped his tea and I took a taste myself. I had completely forgotten how great the tea was in Britain. Maybe it was the water. Whatever it was, I had lost the taste memory over the years and as I sat there in Atherton’s great-room, it was as though I was experiencing it for the first time.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to end this chapte
r of your life, Mr. Watts,” Atherton said. “I was, however, quite concerned when I heard that the FBI got to that last cell before you and Mr. Spencer did. They could have easily gotten to you as well.”

I had thought of that more times over the last couple of days than I cared to remember.

“And I have concerns about whether Howard McDowell might have tipped them off.”

It was shocking to hear that. I’d never considered it. The guy clearly saw me as a threat because of what he viewed as my irresponsible connection with Catherine, but was he out to destroy me? Had he planned on putting me in a situation where I could have been caught by U.S. authorities?

Whatever the case, I was beginning to relax a little talking to Mr. Atherton about it.

“Let me apologize for his behavior,” he said. “McDowell was a right bastard. Perhaps the coldest man I’ve ever met. But he was efficient, exactly the kind of field director I had in mind when I started this venture. I apologize if he was difficult to deal with, but it had to be done.”

“I understand.”

“If there’s one thing I hate
almost
as much as terrorism and the slaughter of innocent people, it’s a traitor. That’s what Howard McDowell is. Or
was
. I know what happened earlier and as far as I’m concerned, you’ve done this organization a favor.”

I kne
w the relief was showing on my face. I just nodded.

“He was also wrong about Ms. Kolb.” Atherton said, looking down at his tea, then up at me. “I want you to know that the order to stop seeing her absolutely did not come from me. I would never deny any of my men their wishes when it comes to women. And, frankly, I didn’t give two shits that she worked for the FBI.”

“I was serious about what I said,” Mr. Atherton said. “You and Ms. Kolb are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Stay a night. Stay a month, six months. Stay for years. It’s up to you.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that. I don’t know how long—”

Atherton waved me off. “No need to decide now. You have a home here.” He looked down. “Goddamn thing is like a prison,” he said, fussing around with the wheel-lock. “But it was either this or have people carry me around room to room or stay in bed all the time.”

I studied his face. It had become thinner, almost gaunt in the ten years since I’d last seen him. The rest of his body had withered away as well. I remembered seeing him the first time and thinking
how he could have passed for Winston Churchill’s twin, complete with the rotund figure and pudgy face. Now, though, he was a mere stick-figure shadow of his former self.

“Cancer, Mr. Watts.
It’s eating me alive. Be thankful you never took up smoking.”

“I’m sorry.”
Why hadn’t I heard about that?

He shook his head as he sucked on an unlit pipe.
“Never mind me for now. I want a full briefing later in the week. I don’t expect you to spend hours right now talking with me, but I would like to hear it in a few days.”

“Absolutely.”

He coughed violently, then got it under control. “I owe you an enormous thanks. I have paid you in money, of course, but I’ll never be able to truly repay you. If only you knew the days and nights I spent just looking out at the landscape, knowing that justice was being done somewhere in the world.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, then looked at me again. “I’ll never be able to adequately repay you—or any of the others—for what you’ve done for me and for civilized society as a whole, but from here on out, Mr. Watts, anything you need, anything at all, I’ll do what I can to make sure you get it.”

He didn’t have to thank me. I’d been paid, yes, but I had given ten years of my life to seeking justice for the senseless slaughter of my parents and my sister. That was reward in itself.

Still, I didn’t want to be rude and snub his offer. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that very much.”

“Did you ever know how many other men like you were out there?” he asked.

“No.”

“Twenty-seven,” he said. “Some in the U.S. Others in Canada. Most of them across Europe, though. Ten are right here in the U.K.”

The number sounded low to me. I always thought it would have been higher, closer to fifty or even upwards of seventy-five or so.

Mr. Atherton continued: “It’s a lot to manage, but it’s worth it. Every single bit of it, without question, has been worth it.” He paused and then chuckled a little. “When this started so many years ago, I thought it would go on for a while. A year, perhaps two.” He shook his head and his facial expression turned to one of disgust. “It will never end, Mr. Watts. Never. As long as there are people who live to ensure that others die senselessly, this war will go on. And make no mistake, it’s a war. But I don’t need to tell you that.”

“No, sir. I
’ve seen it all first-hand.”

“And you’re one of the best. That’s not an empty platitude, either. You’re a remarkable operative.”

“Thank you.”

“A much better operative than a bookstore owner.” He smiled. “By the way, we’re having that closed up for you.”

I nodded.

I noticed a picture on a table. It was
a much younger Atherton, standing behind a boy, his hands draped on the boy’s shoulders. It had to be his son.

I had no pictures of my family. I had decided, back when I left Britain, that I wouldn’t take anything like that with me. Everything had gone to my grandparents’ house, and after they died,
everything had been cleaned out by a company I had hired. I assumed most of the stuff, from furniture to all manner of belongings, had been discarded or auctioned off.

At the time, I had no desire for sentimentality. Now, though, approaching the age of thirty, and many years wiser, I wished I’d kept some of it.

The one consolation: everything would be new, and everything would have Catherine’s touch.

Atherton shifted in his chair
, grunting as he tried to make himself comfortable. “Goddamn thing…” When he was situated, he said, “Back to Ms. Kolb for a moment. You should know that I learned a great deal about her. What there was to learn, of course, which isn’t much. I know what you know, which is probably all she knows.”

I nodded. I supposed I shouldn’t have been all that surprised that he had looked into her past, but I was surprised that he was talking about it.

“Has she talked about looking for her birth parents?”

“No. I don’t think she has any interest.”

“Not even just to gain important health information? Whatever that affliction was that haunted her childhood, well, I’m sure there are better doctors around should the problem arise again. God willing, it won’t.”

“
I think she’s going to be okay in that regard.” At least, I hoped she would.

Atherton frowned. I knew how much he valued family. The death of his son and the death of my family were what brought us together in the first place.

“She may not have any interest now,” he said, “but someday she might. If for no other reason than to simply answer the ‘who’ and ‘why’ questions. My advice to you, Mr. Watts, is to let her come to that conclusion on her own, of course, but when she does—and I think she will—you should put your best intelligence gathering skills to work on that issue and that one only. You’re an excellent investigator. Now, even though you and I are technically ending our business arrangement, I’ll promise you one thing.” He grinned.

I smiled back at him. “Yes, sir?”

“When the time comes for you to find out about her past, you’ll have the full resources of my intelligence network at your disposal.”

He was very insistent about it. I hadn’t even considered it before he brought it up, mainly because Catherine hadn’t expressed any desire to know. But I knew if it ever became an issue that I would do anything and everything
in my power to get whatever information she needed.

“Count on it, sir.”

He held up his teacup as if toasting to me. I returned the gesture.

“We’ll talk later in the week.
Until then, promise me you will show your lovely Catherine a good time, yes? Let her know she made the right decisions along the way, especially the one about coming here with you. And that, Mr. Watts, is my final order.”

I stood, thanking him, and began to walk toward the door.

“One more thing,” he called out. “Over here on the desk. It’s just out of my reach. There’s an envelope for you.”

I walked over to the desk and picked it up without saying anything.

Mr. Atherton winked. “Just a little something to help you and Ms. Kolb get a fresh start. No need to look in there now. You can open it later. Oh, and I’ll have food sent up to your room.”