The Devil's Anvil (12 page)

I just looked at her. She hadn’t exactly asked a question, but I got her meaning. ‘You’re wondering why,’ I eventually offered.

She continued preparing my coffee, using her silence to obtain the information she was seeking.

‘I used to be in the military,’ I said, but that was nowhere near enough for her. ‘I volunteered for a special unit and spent fourteen years there. At the time it felt right: I was saving people. But to do that I’d to also kill, and now when I look back I’m not sure that everything I did was as honourable as I thought at the time. I’m not proud of some of the stuff I did back then. You might say that since I left the unit I’ve been trying to make amends in some way. I want to help people who need my help, and to do that I will risk my own neck. I’ll fight for them,’ I lowered my voice for my final words, ‘and kill for them if necessary.’

‘You’re trying to make amends by following the same exact lifestyle? The same violent path?’ Billie grunted out a humourless laugh.

‘No. As hard as it is for you to understand, it isn’t the same now. Back then I was acting under orders. I didn’t question them. I was a good soldier.’ I offered my own humourless laugh. ‘The difference now is that I’m steered more by my moral compass. I choose who to help . . . who to hurt.’

‘What gives you that right? You choose who to hurt! God!’

‘I phrased that poorly,’ I admitted. ‘What I meant to say was that these days I haven’t got some self-serving hierarchy pointing me at targets; these days I choose to help people in need and only hurt those intending them harm.’

Billie’s features were flat, emotionless, as she absorbed my words.

‘I guess I’m not too good at explaining myself,’ I said.

She shook her head. ‘No. It’s not that. I understand what you’re saying. It’s just that I’m surprised how alike we are.’

‘You seemed disturbed by what I was telling you.’

‘I was. No, I am. But you don’t disturb me. I realised that – given the chance – I’d do exactly the same. If my husband is alive and does make the mistake of showing his face I’m pretty certain that I’ll be his judge, jury and executioner. Without hesitation. For what he did to our daughter I’ll gladly shoot him dead, or smash in his head with the heaviest object to hand.’

Pouring coffee from the jug, Billie watched me for a reaction. She didn’t get one. When you talk about killing from your moral standpoint, you can’t be judgemental of others without sounding like a hypocrite. I took the offered mug, and nodded gratitude. Perhaps Billie took my gesture as a seal of agreement because she smiled, and immediately changed the subject.

‘When did you last eat?’

It was back when I was in Seattle. Far too long ago, I understood. My stomach growled its own agreement.

‘I can make you something if you like,’ Billie said. ‘There are some leftovers I can warm up.’

‘Please.’

She went to her fridge and began rummaging. While she was engaged in the task of cooking something up, I went through to the living-room window and peered outside. Dusk had settled in, but even with the lowering of night’s shade and the mist building over the lake the view was still spectacular. For the last few years I’d been living on Florida’s Gulf Coast near Mexico Beach, working mostly in Tampa. As much as I enjoyed the warmth and the beauty of the coastline, my heart always longed for a rugged mountainous skyline, forests and lakes. It very much reminded me of home. As a young man I regularly spent time in the wilder areas of Scotland, or in the Cumbrian Lake District. I could imagine myself living at Baker’s Hole, or somewhere like it. I turned and looked through the open doorway and watched Billie pottering around. She glanced briefly my way, and offered a smile. I smiled back at her, before she moved out of view. I could imagine myself living in a place like this with some female company, I thought.

Billie Womack wasn’t a classical beauty. But then again neither was I. She was pretty though, and looked younger than I knew she was. Perhaps it was the boyish way she wore her fair hair, the dimple that showed when she smiled lopsidedly, the way in which she bounced slightly on the balls of her feet when she walked, but I found her quirky looks and slightly spiky mannerisms more attractive than the faux beauty presented in movies and celebrity magazines these days.

We were alike in many ways.

We each carried a burden of loss. Billie had lost a daughter, and had been vilely betrayed by her husband, and she probably hurt constantly. Though my grief was different, at its base it was similar. I’d been in a couple of short-lived relationships recently, and though I occasionally thought about both, missed them, I didn’t still yearn for Imogen or Kirstie. Both women had gone on to enjoy happy, trouble-free lives, and were the better for me being out of them. I hurt when I thought about Kate Ballard. We’d barely begun our relationship when a murderous bitch acting on behalf of an enemy snatched her from me. I see Kate’s murder as my major failing, and often wonder how my life would have turned out if I’d been better at my job. More than Kate even, I missed Diane. She wasn’t dead, but we had divorced, and the decision to do so hadn’t been mutual, just necessary for her. Diane had remarried, and was enjoying her new life, and yes, it too was all the better for me being out of it.

I returned my attention to the window, and the view beyond. In the reflection on the glass I was aware of Billie passing to and fro across the kitchen. I watched her, sure that she was unaware of my perusal. I caught her pausing in the threshold and casting lingering glances at me, appraising looks that told me she was equally satisfied that I was as unaware of her interest. I allowed myself to enjoy the little game. Adjusting my vision slightly I could see my own face reflected back at me, and I noticed that I was wearing a sad smile. With some effort I straightened my face. I’d no right thinking about Billie in any way other than as someone I was employed to protect. In other words, I should keep my mind on my job.

I searched beyond the window.

Again I experienced that sensation of being watched.

I knew that Noah and Adam were probably still out there somewhere. Because of the mist their original position on the hillside would be a fruitless lookout, and I supposed they’d moved closer despite my friendly warning to back off. I had no real right ordering them away; like me, they had a job to do. But I’d told them that if Procrylon’s people were indeed here then they might not be as affable. Despite getting off on the wrong foot with those guys, I held no animosity towards them. In fact, I felt mildly responsible for their safety and hoped that they didn’t get caught in the crossfire.

Perhaps I was assuming a lot. There was no proof that Procrylon’s hired guns were here, other than that Brandon Cooper had said they would be coming. But Cooper was certain, and for that reason so was I. The point being, he knew a lot more than he was letting on. Earlier I’d admitted to Billie that Cooper was using me as his eyes and ears on the ground. That contradicted what I’d told her about me now acting solely under the guidance of my moral compass. Except I’d been telling her the truth when I also stated that she was my priority, contrary to what Cooper wanted.

I wondered how soon Rink would arrive.

One man can’t effectively protect another person; it doesn’t matter what level of skill or experience you possess. I wasn’t superhuman, and despite my over-indulgence in caffeine I had to sleep some time. At a minimum it took two people to stand guard around the clock, and more was better. The only good thing I could think of about our current predicament was that if a team did come for Billie, then they wouldn’t wish to kill her. What good was she to them dead? They would want to learn what she knew of Richard’s whereabouts, and then would prefer to keep her as bait to draw him to their trap. But again I was assuming a lot. There was so much I didn’t know about this case that I felt hamstrung.

While she finished preparing our meal, I went out to the rental car and fetched the extra items I’d requisitioned from Agent Cooper.

When I returned to the kitchen, Billie had laid out plates on the table. At its centre was enough food to feed us five times over. Billie was seated in the same chair as before and she offered me the place directly opposite. I noticed she’d refilled her wine glass, but I’d been too distracted to put her off. I didn’t comment, just took my place and waited for her to raise an eyebrow as my permission to eat. I ate, and it was good food, and it would be a shame for any of it to go to waste. Hell, I was hungrier than I’d realised.

As I was spooning down a third bowl of thick meaty stew, Billie retrieved the coffee jug and gave me a refill. She also put aside her wine glass and filled a second cup for her. She tipped it towards me in salute, smiling faintly, as if she’d guessed that I preferred she remain alcohol-free for the time being. ‘Cheers,’ I said, and returned the salute.

‘You want dessert?’ She looked over at the fridge.

‘No thanks. I’m full. Don’t think I could eat another bite.’

‘You don’t have a sweet tooth, then?’

‘I prefer savoury stuff. Meat, mostly. I’m a bit of a carnivore, I’m afraid.’

‘Finish off that stew, it’d be a shame to waste it.’ There was still a ladleful in the casserole, and despite my protestations I offered little resistance when she reached for it and piled the rest of the meat and vegetables in my bowl. ‘You look like a man who appreciates home cooking.’

Most of my life I’d existed on canteen food, military rations or what could be downed on the hoof. But she was correct: I did enjoy some home-cooked food when it was on offer. Her stew reminded me of a recipe my mother used to serve up back home in the north of England. We called it hotpot; I’m not sure what the equivalent was here in Washington State, but was too busy spooning it down to ask, and besides it would have been rude to speak.

‘Had enough?’ Billie ventured when I’d finished.

‘More than.’ I chuckled. ‘Hell, you must think I’m a glutton.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with having a healthy appetite. I’m pleased it’s finished, otherwise I’d have been eating leftovers for a week.’

I wondered that – even after all this time – she found it difficult catering for only one whereas before that she’d fed a family. Perhaps it was just her way to prepare food in quantity and save some for later, when a convenient dinner was required. Way out here in the hills she wasn’t in a good position to telephone for home delivery. Then again, I had to consider that she’d prepared the food especially for me after I’d agreed to come. We hadn’t broached the subject of where I was going to stay yet, but we both knew that there was only one answer to that.

‘I don’t want to put you to any more trouble. I’m happy to sleep on the couch,’ I said.

‘I wouldn’t hear of it. I have a spare room upstairs. You’re welcome to it.’ Her words were delivered as if she’d practised them, but I noted a fleeting shadow darting behind her features as if she felt a little uncomfortable making the offer to a relative stranger. ‘Just don’t go getting any funny ideas.’

‘I’d prefer to be down here, if that’s OK,’ I said. ‘I’m not much use as a watchman if I’m tucked up in a comfortable bed upstairs.’

Billie shrugged, as if she cared less for my comfort. I wondered whose room she had offered me. To be honest, I didn’t want to invade the space that she thought should belong to her daughter. ‘It’s early yet, but when you’re ready you can help fetch down some blankets.’

‘Sure,’ I agreed. ‘In the meantime, let me help you with the dishes, then there are some things I want to acquaint you with.’

She knew I’d brought the stuff from the car, and she craned her neck to peer through the open door into the living area, but I’d piled the gear out of sight on the settee. ‘I’ll just load up the dishwasher. Help yourself to more coffee if you like.’

I helped take the dishes to the machine. Then I refilled my cup, and hers too. We carried them to the living room where Billie stopped and blinked in surprise at what I’d brought indoors.

‘Are they bulletproof vests?’

‘They’re not infallible, but better than nothing,’ I said, lifting up the smaller of the two antiballistic vests. They weren’t military issue, weren’t even law enforcement issue, but were enough to stop most small arms fire. ‘This one’s yours.’

Billie looked torn by indecision. She looked from the vest to me and then back again. ‘You’re really taking this threat seriously, aren’t you?’

‘I’d be remiss if I didn’t. Here, try it on for size. Don’t worry, it’s adjustable.’

‘You’re joking, right?’

I held the vest out for her.

‘Lord! It’s heavy.’ Billie almost sank to her knees as she took the vest. It was heavy, but she was overreacting for effect.

‘Once the weight is distributed it’s not too bad. You’ll get used to it in no time.’