feel right about it.” Robert hesitated, then said, “I’m afraid for you.”
For the first time since he’d left Washington Sean felt the sting of doubt. Because Robert had always gotten hunches about things. Many had come to naught, and Robert was the first to admit this. But enough of Robert’s hunches had borne fruit to give him pause. He remembered the mission in Tel Aviv, when Robert, acting on one of his hunches, had refused to go back to the safe house. He and Robert had gone to ground elsewhere; Hauser and O’Brien had gone to the safe house. They found Hauser two days later with three bullets in his head. O’Brien they never found at all.
He waited for Robert to say, It’s probably nothing.
Robert did not.
But not even for Robert could he let himself be dissuaded. “I’ll be careful,” he said. “I promise.”
Robert nodded. “Fair enough.”
“And I promise that when it’s over, I’ll come back here. We’ll take a trip to the Riviera and play baccarat. Like in the movies.” Thinking: I don’t know if I’ll see you again. If this is the last time we meet, let’s end it all on a good note.
“Only if you buy the tickets. And I insist on first class,” Robert said with a smile. “Be seeing you.”
“Be seeing you,” he replied, turned and left. As he drove away he looked back once at the house behind its ivy-shrouded gate. Though the heat was on in the car he felt cold, for it seemed he was no longer looking at a fortress. He was looking at a prison.
Chapter Seven
W hen Katie Granville arrived at the Sunshine Coast Realty office, the client was already there waiting for her. It was the first time Katie had seen the client; until now she had been just a voice on the telephone. Katie put little trust in the first impressions of a voice, and even less when that voice came through so much distance. Katie never felt like she had a true connection with a client until they met face-to-face.
She rummaged on the passenger seat for her glasses, papers, and purse, all the while keeping a covert eye on the client. Mid-twenties. Hair that shade Katie’s mother had always called dishwater blonde. The client would have been pretty had she put on a few pounds, but it seemed to Katie that all the Americans she’d met were either too thin or too fat.
It was strange, Katie thought as she got out of her car and walked toward the client. There had been more and more Americans moving to what they considered the fifty-first state over the last few years, but most of them stayed close to the big cities like Vancouver, as if they were afraid to stray too far into foreign territory. As if they could not feel safe without knowing that their home country was only a quick hop over the border. Not that Katie’s territory was that far from the States. But it was unusual that this client had specifically asked not to live in a big city, but for some place “small, but not too small. Do you know what I mean?”
Katie thought she did.
“Hi,” Katie said. “I’m Katie Granville.”
The client smiled and extended her right hand. “Jennifer Thomson.”
* * *
L earn by going where you have to go. And where might that be? Possibilities were suggested, examined, rejected. How these decisions are made no one really knows, any more than the gambler knows which card to draw. But finally a name came to her, nothing so specific as a town; a place she had only been to once before, years ago. And yet the name had come to mind, bringing with it images that were partly memories, mostly distant recollections of travel magazines and TV programs. British Columbia, Canada.
As good a place to find refuge as any.
* * *
J ennifer bit back an apology; Katie had shushed her after the first one. “Don’t worry about it,” Katie said breezily, and despite everything Jennifer had to smile. Aboot . “No one ever finds the right house first thing.” Hoose.
Jennifer tried not to think about all the people she’d known who
For the first time since he’d left Washington Sean felt the sting of doubt. Because Robert had always gotten hunches about things. Many had come to naught, and Robert was the first to admit this. But enough of Robert’s hunches had borne fruit to give him pause. He remembered the mission in Tel Aviv, when Robert, acting on one of his hunches, had refused to go back to the safe house. He and Robert had gone to ground elsewhere; Hauser and O’Brien had gone to the safe house. They found Hauser two days later with three bullets in his head. O’Brien they never found at all.
He waited for Robert to say, It’s probably nothing.
Robert did not.
But not even for Robert could he let himself be dissuaded. “I’ll be careful,” he said. “I promise.”
Robert nodded. “Fair enough.”
“And I promise that when it’s over, I’ll come back here. We’ll take a trip to the Riviera and play baccarat. Like in the movies.” Thinking: I don’t know if I’ll see you again. If this is the last time we meet, let’s end it all on a good note.
“Only if you buy the tickets. And I insist on first class,” Robert said with a smile. “Be seeing you.”
“Be seeing you,” he replied, turned and left. As he drove away he looked back once at the house behind its ivy-shrouded gate. Though the heat was on in the car he felt cold, for it seemed he was no longer looking at a fortress. He was looking at a prison.
Chapter Seven
W hen Katie Granville arrived at the Sunshine Coast Realty office, the client was already there waiting for her. It was the first time Katie had seen the client; until now she had been just a voice on the telephone. Katie put little trust in the first impressions of a voice, and even less when that voice came through so much distance. Katie never felt like she had a true connection with a client until they met face-to-face.
She rummaged on the passenger seat for her glasses, papers, and purse, all the while keeping a covert eye on the client. Mid-twenties. Hair that shade Katie’s mother had always called dishwater blonde. The client would have been pretty had she put on a few pounds, but it seemed to Katie that all the Americans she’d met were either too thin or too fat.
It was strange, Katie thought as she got out of her car and walked toward the client. There had been more and more Americans moving to what they considered the fifty-first state over the last few years, but most of them stayed close to the big cities like Vancouver, as if they were afraid to stray too far into foreign territory. As if they could not feel safe without knowing that their home country was only a quick hop over the border. Not that Katie’s territory was that far from the States. But it was unusual that this client had specifically asked not to live in a big city, but for some place “small, but not too small. Do you know what I mean?”
Katie thought she did.
“Hi,” Katie said. “I’m Katie Granville.”
The client smiled and extended her right hand. “Jennifer Thomson.”
* * *
L earn by going where you have to go. And where might that be? Possibilities were suggested, examined, rejected. How these decisions are made no one really knows, any more than the gambler knows which card to draw. But finally a name came to her, nothing so specific as a town; a place she had only been to once before, years ago. And yet the name had come to mind, bringing with it images that were partly memories, mostly distant recollections of travel magazines and TV programs. British Columbia, Canada.
As good a place to find refuge as any.
* * *
J ennifer bit back an apology; Katie had shushed her after the first one. “Don’t worry about it,” Katie said breezily, and despite everything Jennifer had to smile. Aboot . “No one ever finds the right house first thing.” Hoose.
Jennifer tried not to think about all the people she’d known who
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