The Waterfall (10 page)

“Mind if I join you?”

The restaurant was also a favorite with reporters and senior congressional staff, all perpetually at the ready for good, fresh gossip. There was no graceful way out. Darren had known it when he'd walked in here. Jack felt his smile falter. “Please do.”

Mowery dropped onto the opposite red leather-covered bench. “Did you order the crab cakes?”

Jack nodded. Mowery was making the point that he knew the senator's habits, his likes, his dislikes, and that the supposed information he had on Colin was only the beginning. Which was exactly what Jack had feared—what he'd
known
—when he'd transferred ten thousand dollars into Mowery's specified account.

“I did as you asked,” Jack said in a low voice.

“You sure did. And in short order, too. Much appreciated.”

The waiter appeared. Darren ordered a beer. No time for lunch, he said. Jack felt no relief.

“Here's an address and a password.” With one finger, Mowery passed his business card across the table. “They're for a secure Web site. You might want to take a look.”

Jack snatched up the card and dropped it into his suit coat pocket. “Mowery, for God's sake, if you've posted pictures of my son on the goddamn
Internet
—”

“Relax, Senator. It's not that simple. Nothing ever is, you know.”

“People are already asking questions about your visit to my office the other day. This won't help.”

The beer arrived. Darren took a sip. He shrugged. “So?”

“What do you want from me?”

He drank more of his beer. “Check out the Web site. Then we'll talk.”

 

Lucy relished the mundane routine of deadheading the daylilies and hollyhocks in front of the garage. After the dead bat incident, she'd loaded up everyone with chores. J.T. and Georgie were pulling weeds, Madison was cleaning the kayaks and canoes and wiping down the life preservers. Lucy had asked both her children to stick close to home today. She was still debating sitting down with them tonight and telling them why. But she didn't want to act precipitously, scare them unnecessarily.

A shadow fell across her, and she looked up at Sebastian. “God, you keep materializing out of thin air.”

He touched her elbow. “I came across the side yard. I don't think anyone saw me. Lucy, I need to talk to you.”

“In here.”

She ducked into the garage and moved to the back, among the shadows, out of view. The room smelled of old wood and grease and was exactly as Daisy had left it. Lucy hadn't touched a thing, from the half-century-old wooden wheelbarrow to the cleaned, oiled tools hanging from rafters and lined up on shelves.

Sebastian seemed attuned to every nuance of his environment. He'd grown up here, Lucy reminded herself, and knew this place and its history better than she did. She was aware of his closeness. He could move with such silence and speed, his presence immediate and overwhelming. She never had a chance to brace herself.

“What's going on?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Did you let Madison go off into the woods on her own?”

Lucy was stunned. “
What?
No! She and J.T. are both doing chores today. She's out behind the barn cleaning canoes and kayaks.”

“No, she isn't. She skipped out. I just saw her up in the woods.”

Lucy clenched her hands into fists. “That little
shit.
”

“Kid's got initiative,” Sebastian said.

“She didn't tell me. I had no idea.”

“I thought about going after her.” His eyes seemed distant, calculating. “I decided to check with you first. I don't like coming between parents and their children.”

“She got a phone call from one of her friends. I debated making her call back after she finished—” Lucy huffed, furious with her daughter. “Where is she?”

“On her way back. I got ahead of her.”

“You wanted to make sure I wasn't letting her and J.T. run around on their own when I've got some bat-killing lunatic on my case.” Frustration and fear welled up in her, and she kicked at an oil stain on the concrete floor. “I'm not an idiot.”

Sebastian stayed calm. “I can get a counter-surveillance team in here by morning. Plato can spring a few guys loose. If someone's conducting surveillance on your place, they'll know it.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Lucy, whoever put that bat in your bedroom knew you weren't around. That means you're being watched.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, tapped a foot in nervous frustration. She wore a sundress today, with sandals and tiny gold earrings. Her hair was pulled back with a twisted red bandana as a head-band. Madison had liked the look, said it was” retro.” Retro what, Lucy didn't know.

“I hate this,” she said.

Sebastian didn't answer.

“If I have a ‘counter-surveillance' team in here, I might as well call the Capitol Police and be done with it. I don't care how discreet your guys are, Sebastian. People will notice. You know they will. We don't get many guys with no necks and earpieces skulking around the woods.”

“Is that a no?”

She dodged his question. Wasn't this why she'd gone to him in the first place? So he could be the judge? She didn't know anything about surveillance, counter-surveillance, dangerous lunatics.

She headed to the front of the garage, then turned back to him. “Do you know what route Madison's taking?”

“The brook path.”

“I'll intercept her. She can find out what cleaning a kayak with a toothbrush is like.”

Sebastian grinned. “Good. I was beginning to think you were too soft on those kids.”

“If I want your opinion, Redwing, I'll ask for it.”

“You did, as I recall.”

“And as
I
recall, you sent me packing—and it had nothing to do with my parenting skills.”

He moved to the front of the garage, but still in the shadows. She was in full sun and couldn't make out his eyes. His expression was serious, and she wondered if he ever really laughed. “No,” he said, “it was about who'd leave a dead bat in your bed.”

She clamped her mouth shut. The dead bat, somehow, bothered her more than the bullet hole in her dining room window.

“It didn't die of natural causes,” Sebastian added.

“Big surprise.”

“Lucy…”

She faced him. “No counter-surveillance or whatever-it-is team.”

“I can't be everywhere.”

She nodded. “I know. I have to think. Give me…” She squinted, warding off an oncoming headache. “Let me find my daughter.”

“Stay with J.T. and his friend. I'll see to it Madison gets back okay.”

“She's a good kid, Sebastian. She's just fifteen—”

But he was gone, and Lucy walked out back to the vegetable garden, where J.T. and Georgie were busily weeding the rows of beans. They'd picked up their pace when they saw her. They hadn't touched the pumpkins. She went over to the raised bed, little green pumpkins hanging from their prickly vines. She started pulling weeds, the big scraggly weeds. She'd yank them out, shake off the excess dirt, toss the cast-off plant into a pile. One after another. Not breathing, not thinking.

“Mom, geez,” J.T. said.

She didn't break her pace. “I'm mad at Madison. Steer clear.”

He didn't need to be told twice. “Come on, Georgie, let's go down to the brook—”

“No!” Lucy swung around at the two boys, a pig-weed in one hand. “Not now. Go into the kitchen and get yourselves something to drink. I bought Popsicles.”

“What kind?” Georgie asked dubiously. “My mom always buys the fruit juice popsicles. They stink.”

Lucy forced herself to smile. “These are the gross, disgusting kind with added sugar and artificial color.”

He laughed and clapped his hands. “Okay, J.T., let's go!”

In another minute, she saw Madison walking up from the brook. She came in behind the barn, looking oblivious to the trouble she was in. Lucy abandoned her weeding and made herself take three deep, cleansing breaths before she confronted her daughter.

The air was warm, with a light breeze. A gorgeous summer afternoon, the grass soft under her feet. She made herself pay attention to everything her senses were taking in, not just her anger and frustration and fear.

Madison was in a good mood. “Hi, Mom. I only have two more canoes, then I'm done.”

“Where have you been?”

“I took a break after I finished the kayaks. I walked up to the falls. Don't worry, I didn't get too close.”

“Madison, I asked you to do a job. You didn't do it.” Lucy took another breath, tried to be direct, firm, reasonable. “If you wanted to take a walk, you should have told me.”

“Mom, what's the matter with you? I always go off into the woods alone.”

“Not today. I specifically asked you—”

“I
know.
I'm getting the stupid job done. It's boring, that's all. I thought you'd be happy I wanted to go into the woods. I mean, it's not like I could go to a mall for a break.”

Not that old song today. Lucy gritted her teeth.

Madison kicked the ground. “There's no pleasing you.”

“Look, this isn't getting us anywhere.”

Lucy blinked up at the sky, trying to figure out what to do. Lock her daughter in her room? Level with her about the intimidation? She didn't know. There was no playbook for this one. She wanted to protect her children. That much she knew. But how?

She looked back at Madison, noticed the scratches and dirt on her arm from thrashing through the woods. Two weeks ago, Lucy would have been thrilled at the idea of her daughter making an effort to enjoy her surroundings. “I want to be kept informed on your whereabouts, that's all. And for the next few days, I don't want you or J.T. in the woods alone.”

“Okay, fine. Fine! I'll just stay here and rot.”

“Madison—”

But she stormed off to the house, pounding up the back steps, yelling at her brother and Georgie in the kitchen. A minute later, loud music emanated from her room.

Lucy resisted the urge to march up there and turn down the music herself, lace into her daughter about her behavior. But that wouldn't make either of them feel any better, and more important, it wouldn't help the situation. She'd overreacted to Madison's understanding of her transgression. And then Madison had overreacted.

Lucy started back to the house. Had Sebastian witnessed that little mother-daughter scene?

Just then, Rob and Patti Kiley's ancient car pulled into the driveway, and Patti jumped out, waving happily. She was an active, smart woman with graying hair and a bright, crooked smile that inevitably soothed those around her. “We brought dinner. We decided you were looking just a tad stressed. So, dinner on the porch, then a walk to the falls. Maybe we'll throw caution to the wind and take a dip.”

Lucy couldn't hide her relief. “You're a godsend.”

Rob got out of the car and nodded at Madison's room, the house practically vibrating with her music. “You want me to go up and agree with her that her mother's a crazy bitch and doesn't understand her?”

Patti glared at him.
“Rob.”

He grinned. “Well, isn't that what all teenagers think of their mothers?”

“No, it's not. That's pure prejudice.”

“Okay.” He shrugged; it was often impossible to know when he was serious and when he was pulling everyone's leg. “I'll just go up and offer to take her driving. Lucy?”

Lucy could feel herself beginning to relax. It wasn't just Madison and whoever was trying to get under her skin. It was Sebastian, too. His intensity, his seriousness. He was one for worst-case scenarios. She understood—her business required her to plan for worst-case scenarios. But that's not how she wanted to think right now.

She smiled. “Great idea, Rob. Thank God for good friends.”

T
he path along Joshua Brook hadn't changed much since Sebastian was a boy. He preferred this route. When he'd visited his grandmother, he'd always made a point of walking up to the falls. Daisy never joined him. For her, the falls were a place of tragedy, danger and loss, not beauty and adventure.

He remembered visiting her late in her life, when the strenuous hike up to the falls was beyond her capabilities. “I sometimes think I'd have been better off if I'd gone up there right after Joshua died,” she'd told him. “But I waited too long. Sixty years.”

“You've had a good life, Gran.”

“Yes, I have.”

But she'd never remarried, Sebastian thought now as he ducked under the low branch of a hemlock. What she'd tried to tell him—he'd been too thickheaded to see it—was that by refusing to go to the falls, she'd allowed at least a part of herself to stop time and refuse to acknowledge that Joshua Wheaton was dead. She'd buried him, she'd gone on with her life. But there was still that place deep inside her where her husband was on his way up into the woods on a wet March day after a boy and his dog. He was the young man she'd married—and she wasn't a widow, even sixty years later.

The path narrowed and almost disappeared as it went up a steep hill. Sebastian had to grab tree trunks and find his footing on exposed roots and rocks. The brook was fast-moving after last night's thunderstorms, coursing over gray, smooth rock down to his right. He was below the falls, close now.

He had made sure Madison Swift was back with her mother. As she'd sneaked back from the woods, he'd noticed the kick in the girl's step and wondered at its source. He doubted it was the beauty of the Vermont woods that had her in such a good mood. A boy? Friends? A fifteen-year-old could get into a lot of mischief on her own in the woods.

The air was drier than yesterday, not as buggy, even close to the water. Sebastian went past a huge boulder almost as tall as he was, the path disappearing with the thin, eroded soil.

He was near the falls now. A large, upward sloping boulder blocked his view, but below it, he could hear the water rushing over the series of slides, pools and cascades it had carved into a huge monolith of granite.

The falls were beautiful, intimate, deceptively treacherous. Sebastian worked his way methodically up the steep hill, eased out to the edge of the granite wall. Above him, the brook started its precipitous, downward journey over, through and into the massive rock, shaping it into long, curving, picturesque slides and cascades that dropped into a series of three pools. The first was deep and unforgiving with its surrounding sheer rock wall. It was directly below him, impossible to reach except by a risky dive out over the protruding rock. But he could understand the appeal of its clear, cold water, the thrill of the dangers it presented.

Water from the pool funneled over another slide that formed a second smaller, shallower pool farther down the falls, before cascading to a final large, shallow pool. The water in this last pool went from ankle-deep to, at most, three-feet deep this time of year; swimmers were in no danger of being swept up in the current or bashed against rock. A proper Vermont swimming hole. Below it, the brook reformed, quietly continuing downstream past the Wheaton farm.

Sebastian caught himself. It was Lucy's place now.

He ducked past a scraggly hemlock, half its roots protruding out over the falls, and peered down, imagining his grandfather coming up here sixty years ago. With the snowmelt, the water would have been high, raging. Had Joshua Wheaton even noticed the power and beauty of the gushing waterfall? Was he that kind of man?

Sebastian remembered wanting to be as brave and heroic as his grandfather. Now, he wondered if Joshua had gone over the falls because he'd screwed up, because he just didn't know what else to do and was flat out of options.

A noise…

Rocks, sand, a movement. Sebastian reacted instinctively, but already he knew he was too late. He'd let his mind wander. Now, there was no time to adjust, no room to maneuver. Rocks, sand and dirt gave way on the steep hillside above him, cascading onto his narrow ledge. There wasn't enough room for him and the small landslide coming at him.

He grabbed for the hemlock, but a softball-size rock struck him on the back of his knees. He thought he heard a grunt, an exhale, above him. Then another rock hit him in the small of his back, throwing him completely off balance.

His body pitched forward, and for a timeless moment he was suspended in air. He was the grandfather he never knew, about to tumble to certain death.

Only his would be an ignoble death, Sebastian thought. Knocked off his feet while his mind was elsewhere.

His training and experience took over, forced out all thought. He tucked his chin into his chest to protect his head and let his butt and shoulders take most of the fall. He hit rock, bounced, hit more rock, bounced again and hit water.

He went in hard in a sprawling dive that stung, and the water was cold, cold, cold. His mind flashed on Plato, who'd done this sort of thing for a living and would have his own commentary if Sebastian survived.

His momentum took him under. He tried not to suck in water. He smashed into the gravel bottom, scraped his face raw, banged his knees. He found his footing and pushed up through the water, gasped in the cool air.

The landslide fell into the pool—small stones, pine needles, black soil. Sebastian didn't wait for another rock to come flying at him. Painfully, as quickly as he could manage, he swam to the opposite bank of the deep pool. He felt along the vertical rock wall, barely able to see, until it gave way just above the next water slide. He hoisted himself onto the rock slide, blood pouring down his face, his head spinning, the thirty-foot drop to the next pool directly beneath him.

If the water had been any higher, the current any stronger, he'd have gone over. Instead, the rock slide, smoothed and curved from the endless stream of water, came at him fast. He was passing out. He couldn't stop himself.

Grandpa.

He collapsed, and the blackness took him.

 

He knew he'd been unconscious only seconds. Long enough. He moved his shoulders, just a twitch, and pain erupted through his head. He ignored it. Water flowed under him. He eased up onto his hands and knees, scraped and cut and bruised from the fall.

He remembered the grunt, the exhale of air as whoever was on the hill above him had hurled those rocks at him. It wasn't kids. It wasn't an accident, fate. It was deliberate, and it meant he was still in the open, in the line of fire. Anyone above him on the ledge could see him. A well-aimed rock could finish him off.

He hadn't actually seen anything. And his mind hadn't been on the job, on the moment. It had been in the past, proof he should never have come back here. He should have sent Plato or Jim Charger or Happy Ford. On paper, he was still the damn boss even if Plato really had run things for the past year.

He grabbed for handholds along the rock, cursing himself for his inattention. Lucy, memories. A toxic combination.

He moved off into the shade and shadows, reached up with both hands and caught hold of the protruding roots of a thin pine. His head pulsed with pain. He had one chance. If he didn't pull himself up the first time, he'd end up back down in the water. Either he or the skinny tree would give out. Maybe both.

Ignoring the pain, the blood, his spinning head, he heaved himself up, pulling hard on the root. It gave way, and he quickly shot one hand out and grabbed a thicker section of root, hoisting himself up over the rock and onto dry, soft ground. He fell in the shade of the pine.

His hands and arms were bloody and badly scraped. He could feel more blood dripping down his temples. His back was at least bruised.

He swore viciously.

Then he heard voices below him, from the shallow, pleasant swimming hole at the base of the falls. Kids. Tourists. Lucy. He couldn't tell.

He dropped his face onto the dried pine needles. Screw it. He wasn't moving. The path on this side of the falls was seldom used. He'd take his chances. If someone found him and called the rescue squad, so be it. He'd think of some reason for being here besides removing dead bats from Lucy Swift's bed.

“I'll be right back,” he heard a woman's voice saying not too far away. Lucy. It was almost as if he'd imagined her voice, as if it weren't real. “I
know
I heard something.”

It was real. She hears something, Sebastian thought, and goes off to investigate by herself. No wonder someone had gotten away with shooting up her dining room.

“Who's the one lying here half-dead?” he muttered out loud.

He sounded terrible.
Half-dead
was an under-statement.

Above the rush of the waterfall and his own pain, he could hear more laughter, kids squealing. Adult voices. At least she hadn't left Madison and J.T. on their own.

“It was probably just a squirrel,” a man's voice called up to her.

“I know. I'm just curious.”

Sebastian shivered, the water evaporating on his skin making him colder. He wondered if the cold was what had killed his grandfather. Joshua had gone into the falls in March, not mid-summer.

A fat mosquito landed on his bloodied arm. Sebastian didn't have the strength to swat it, but watched it crawl in the red ooze. He swore some more, under his breath this time.

He could hear Lucy thrashing her way up the narrow, difficult path on his side of the falls. It would take her along the ledge above his head, about four feet up. If he stayed quiet, she might walk right past him, assume her friend was right, that she'd heard a squirrel, and go back to the swimming hole.

Which left the problem of how he'd get the hell back to his motel. His car was tucked out of sight down the dirt road. A long way off in his condition. He'd probably pass out a few times before he made it. In the meantime, whoever had created the little landslide and thrown rocks at him could return and finish him off. It wouldn't take much, and he deserved it. On the other hand, what good would he be to Lucy?

“You're not much damn good now,” he muttered.

Suddenly she was there, standing on the path above him. All she had to do was look down through the trees.

He should have followed his instincts and stayed in Wyoming. Ridden his horse. Slept in his hammock. He hadn't gambled in months, so that was out. He could play solitaire and read poetry.

He sighed, even his eyeballs aching. “Hello, Lucy.”

She jumped, although not as much as he'd have expected. Maybe she was getting used to having him around. “Sebastian? What are you—oh,
Jesus.
”

Without hesitation, she slid down the hill on her butt—intentionally—and crouched next to him, the adventure travel expert at work. She had on shorts and a T-shirt. She hadn't, mercifully, bothered with a swimsuit for her dip in the brook with the kids. The water was only up to her knees.

Sebastian tried not to look as bloody and beaten as he was. He grinned. Or thought he did. “I could use some dry clothes.”

“You could use an ambulance. What the hell happened?”

“Landslide. I fell.”

The pretty hazel eyes narrowed. He could see doubt. And fear. She touched a finger to a spot above his right eye. “You need a doctor. You could have a concussion.”

“Nah.”

“You could need stitches.”

“I don't mind scars, and I'm not going to bleed to death.”

She stared at him for a few beats. “A landslide, huh?”

“Yep.”

“It wasn't an accident,” she said.

“It could have been. Theoretically.”

She nodded. “Sebastian, tell me. Do I need to call an ambulance?”

He shook his head. A mistake. Her face swam in front of him, and all that stopped him from throwing up was the thought of it landing in her lap. She'd pitch him back in the water or get her friends up here and call an ambulance. There'd be a scene.

He shut his eyes, let the world get still again. “No,” he said, eyes shut, “I'll be fine.”

“I should call the police.”

“They won't find anything. I didn't see anything.” He'd only heard the grunt, the exhale—not enough.

“Sounds familiar,” she said in a low voice.

Sebastian opened his eyes. “I just need water and a few Band-Aids.”

“Bullshit.”

“Lucy!” her friend called from below. “You find anything?”

She stood up, yelled down over the falls, “I'll be right there!” She crouched back beside Sebastian. “That's Rob. He's a friend. He knows first aid better than I do. I could ask him—”

“No.”

“God, you're stubborn. All right. He and Patti can go back with the kids. I'll make up some excuse and help you get to my house and patch you up.” She eyed him. “Unless you can't make it. If you collapse on me, I'm getting a rescue team in here and having you hauled out on a stretcher.”