Vengeance (19 page)

He wisely didn't.

* * * * *

Take me with you. Come on, I like riding in the car
.

Cerberus jiggled impatiently next to the Jag, staring hopefully from it to me. He'd fooled me into letting him out, citing a need for "the facilities." Now he refused to go back inside the house and his delaying tactics had cost me ten minutes already.

Where are we going?

"I need to return that prospectus to Lucinda."

Take me with you. Come on, pleaassssseeee?

My marathon alcohol binge the night before had mercifully prevented nightmares from plaguing me during my usual four hours of sleep. The immortality virus attacked the liquor in my bloodstream so I awakened unharmed by the half-bottle of whiskey I consumed. My wounds were closed and all I had to show for them was deep purple bruises along my upper chest and side, with two small puckered red indentations to indicate where the bullets entered and left. I was stiff, sore and mildly hung over, but it could have been a lot worse.

I was in no mood to argue with an eager dog or a pissed-off Lucinda, but I suspected I was in for both before the day was out. "Oh, all right." I opened the rear passenger door and Cerberus bounded inside, settling on the blanket in the backseat of the car.

I eased the Jag down the drive, noting the emerging tulips and daffodils that lined the sides. For most people spring was a time of renewal and hope. For me it always signaled another anniversary of my stranding in time, the beginning of another year of anger and loneliness. Why should this year be any different? Just because Lucinda was reborn that didn't mean we'd automatically love each other. She didn't even know who she was. How could she ask my forgiveness if she didn't remember her betrayal?

"The History Patrol really screwed this up," I muttered to Cerberus, who had his nose poked out the window, avidly sniffing.

Actually, a number of things combined to screw it up. Hey, Cookie Lady!

I waved to Edna Taylor, who was in the yard raking dead leaves out of a flowerbed. "You're lucky those cookies didn't asphyxiate us both."

Spoilsport. It was just minor indigestion.

"Minor indigestion? Good God, the smell alone should have killed me."

You're lucky my feelings aren't easily hurt. Otherwise, I'd think you were angry with me.

I braked the Jag so hard the tires screeched. Cerberus pitched forward in the back seat, sprawling over the cushion, his butt sliding into the footwell. "Angry? Why would I be angry? You hid information about my past, you're defending a woman who betrayed me and caused my death, you keep dropping these hints about some kind of History Patrol conspiracy and you're slopping food and water all over my kitchen. That's not to mention the stench you caused when you got sick, the dirt you've tracked in and the amount of money you've cost me. Angry? Now why would I be angry with you?"

I have as much reason to be angry with you, but am I? No, I'm being an adult about this. I'm trying to make the best of a bad situation
.

If I hadn't been so pissed off, I would have laughed at his hurt look. "Adult? You're being an adult? You're a dog--how can you be an adult?"

At least I didn't get drunk last night and yell at Lucinda. Don't you think you should apologize? After all, she has no knowledge of her past. She doesn't know why you're angry. And that thing with Meyer--
He sneezed and I ducked just in time.
I think you should give her a chance to explain. He's probably lying.

The damn dog was once again articulating exactly what I was avoiding. Lucinda had sounded honestly surprised last night when I accused her of sleeping with Meyer. What if Cerberus was right? What if Meyer was lying and I jumped to conclusions? It was the sort of thing Meyer would do and I knew it.

I started the car moving again. I hoped if I saw Lucinda in a public place it might mitigate some of her temper. On the other hand, it was probably best to apologize in private. Perhaps I should take some flowers or a gift of some kind. The old Lucinda, the one I loved in the 18th century, had been fond of daisies. Where could I find daises in March in Minnesota?

Is someone following us?

I glanced in the rearview mirror. Cerberus stared out the back window at the traffic that joined us as we merged onto the main road leading to the freeway. "Which car?"

Black sedan, three cars back. They picked us up at the gas station
.

I signaled a right hand turn. "Is it following?"

Yep
.

"Let's see if we can lose them on the freeway." Three blocks later I merged with other traffic heading for the on-ramp. "Keep an eye on them for me."

It's convenient to have me for a sidekick, isn't it? Who'd believe a killer would be working with a dog?

"Don't get used to it." I downshifted to join the flow of traffic. "Still following?"

Yep. Three cars back. It's hard to see inside, they've got tinted glass
.

"It's probably somebody from the Agency." I slipped the Jag into a tight squeeze between two semi-trucks. A blare of horns told me what the drivers thought of the maneuver.

Or Meyer
, Cerberus said.
Roll up the window, would you? It's getting cold
.

I touched the controls and the car was suddenly quieter. "This isn't Meyer's style." I shifted again into the right lane. "He'll come after me in the open."

Why the hell hasn't he come after you before this? Oof.

I looked into the backseat. My quick turns had unseated him. He was sprawled on the backseat, righting himself with a shake of the head.
I'm fine
.

"Good to know. I was worried."

Sarcasm isn't your strong suit. So why hasn't Meyer come after you?

"I'm not sure. I don't think he perceived me as a threat initially." I got stalled behind a behemoth SUV, driven by a petite soccer mom. She glared at me as we slipped past. "He always seemed more interested in staying behind the scenes. I've never understood..." I focused on my driving, glancing in the rearview mirror. The large sedan was still there, but many cars behind.

What?

"I don't know why he wanted immortality. It's not all it's cracked up to be."

Fear
, Cerberus said with certainty.
Some people are afraid to face God.

Before I could pursue that line of reasoning, we were at the exit for another freeway. I timed it perfectly then crossed three lanes of traffic, squeaking onto the on-ramp with inches to spare.

Lost 'em. I wonder who it was
.

"Did you get the license number?"

Nope. They were too far away
. Cerberus resumed staring out the side window and something in his posture made me think he was deep in thought. We were almost to Lucinda's office when he said,
Why did you make that comment earlier? You said, "she's Lucinda and that's enough." Why'd you say that?

I hoped he'd missed that. I parked the Jag before replying. "I don't know. It just doesn't feel right to kill her." I looked at the cars in the lot, recognizing Fairchild's BMW and Cara Delacroix's Mercedes sports coupe, Lucinda's grimy Subaru parked in between like a thorn between two roses. "I always trust those kinds of feelings." I parked the Jag at the far end of the lot. "I'll only be a minute. Will you be okay here?"

Sure. Just crack the windows. Don't forget to be sincere when you apologize.

"Who said anything about apologizing?"

Cerberus sniffed.
If you don't, you're an idiot and I certainly wasn't--

He stopped talking so abruptly that I peered into the backseat as I emerged from the car. "Are you okay?"

Fine, fine. Just getting settled. Don't hurry. Do it right
. He pawed at the blanket, which was already looking worn and disreputable. It was only a couple of days old. How did he do it?

"Yes, mother." I strode across the parking lot, the spring breeze and sun warm on my face. I dressed for this interview in faded denims, a dark blue shirt and a navy Hugo Boss leather jacket. I was trying to strike a balance between Adroit Businessman and Casual Chic, remembering what Lucinda had said about me being "pressed."

The receptionist at the glass-and-chrome desk informed me that Lucinda was in a meeting and would be free in twenty minutes. I settled down to wait in the small lobby when Cara Delacroix emerged from a door behind the receptionist. She spoke to the girl behind the desk then approached me. Today she wore an ivory-colored silk blouse under a high-collared burgundy jacket that matched her tight burgundy slacks. Her thick hair was bundled into a no-nonsense topknot, but several alluring wisps were free, floating around her long, elegant neck. I appreciated the view as she walked toward me in her strappy stiletto heels.

"Mr. Haidess. Are you here to see Lucinda?"

I held up the prospectus. "I wanted to discuss this with her."

Cara crossed her arms under her breasts, straining the fabric of her blouse and allowing me to see the imprint of the lacy bra underneath. "Perhaps I can answer any questions you might have." She inclined her head, indicating a hallway to the right of the receptionist. "My office is right here. We can chat until Lucinda is free."

A little voice in the back of my head was saying this wasn't a good idea, but I reasoned I could use the opportunity to pump Cara for information about Meyer. Reasoning won out over intuition. I got to my feet. "Lead on."

Cara's office was artfully decorated with a lush Boston fern in one corner, rich mahogany-appearing furniture and an uncluttered work surface with a state-of-the-art computer. Good reproductions of Klee and Miro graced the pale plum-colored walls. She gestured to a plush guest chair in front of the ornate desk as she closed the office door. To my surprise she didn't go behind the desk, but instead leaned against it, stretching out her long legs so they almost touched mine. She put her hands on the desk behind her and her jacket slid open, revealing a gap in her blouse where I glimpsed a triangle of pink flesh.

"I'd like to try to put to rest any worries you might have about this deal, Mr. Haidess."

"Really? Why are you so concerned about Masterson's deal?" I dropped the prospectus on the chair next to me and leaned back, steepling my fingers in front of my chin, prepared to tangle with her in a minefield of words.

Her dark brown eyes were luminous in the filtered sunlight coming through the blinds. She smiled, her full lips pouting then tilting up at the corner. "Let's not beat around the bush, Nico. I can call you Nico, can't I?" Without waiting for permission, she continued. "I find you very attractive and I know you find me attractive too. I see no reason why we shouldn't enjoy ourselves while you're assisting my sister with her...business decisions."

I kept my face still even as my head clamored for me to get up and get out of that office. "Perhaps because I am assisting you sister and it might be considered a conflict of interest?"

She shrugged one thin shoulder. What I took for a negligent dismissal was actually the first step in removing her jacket and tossing it back on her pristine desk. Her fingers moved to the buttons of the silk blouse. "That's irrelevant."

It was difficult, but I held up a hand. I had to admit to a curiosity about what was under that silk. "Please, Miss Delacroix, don't put me--"

"Cara." She leaned forward and her blouse fluttered open. Her breasts were small and high, assisted by the seemingly delicate bra that appeared to be spun of lace. I recognized excellent engineering when I saw it and her bra was a marvel at accentuating the positive. "I'm sure we can keep business and pleasure straight." She put her hands on the arms of my chair, her face moving closer to mine.

I have always found breasts fascinating and given the opportunity for closer examination, I'll take it. She saw it in my eyes. With a smug smile, she touched the front clasp of her bra and her breasts sprang free.

A swirling scent engulfed me then a cold breeze washed over me from the door opening behind us. I should have paid attention to my instinct and avoided reasoning. I jerked my gaze away from Cara and stared over my right shoulder. Lucinda's pale face and big gray eyes seemed to fill my vision.

I was out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Lucinda didn't get angry. She just looked from Cara to me then shook her head. "I don't know why I believed you." There was a wistful quality in her voice that tore at my heart. She looked like a bewildered child, standing in the doorway with her shoulders drooping. Even her black curls seemed to lose their energy.