Blake!
The thunderous voice echoed along the upstairs landing.
In here, Mr. Smith! Blake called.
Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, and a tall, balding hulk of a man walked into the room. Mr. Smith had a Marine Corps tattoo on one brawny arm, and he wore khaki slacks with an olive drab T-shirt. He was the ugliest, and the kindest, man Meredith had ever known. He had to be in his middle or late forties, but nobody knew just how old he was. He had a spotless service record and had come from a successful career in the CIA to work for Henry Tennison. After Henrys death, Meredith had inherited him, so to speak. From his big nose to his green eyes and square face, he was a treasure. Hed aborted the kidnapping attempt on Blake. And nobody bothered Meredith when he was with her. She raised his salary every year without his having to ask. Next to Blake, he was the most treasured person in her private life.
Bedtime for you, mister, Mr. Smith told Blake without cracking a smile. Front and center.
Yes, sir! Blake saluted, laughing, and ran to the big man, to be swung up on his shoulders.
Ill settle him for the night, Kip, he told Meredith. His eyes narrowed. You shouldnt go. You need another week in bed.
Dont fuss, she said gently, and smiled at him. Im all right. I have to do something with Aunt Marys things you know. And its a dandy opportunity to reconnoiter the opposition.
Recon what? Blake asked.
Never mind, she told him. She leaned forward and kissed his rosy cheek. Sleep tight, my lad. Ill be along to tuck you in.
Mr. Smith is going to tell me about Vietnam! Blake told her excitedly.
Meredith grimaced. Vietnam War stories hardly seemed the proper bedtime tales for a young boy, but she didnt have the heart to argue.
I want to hear about the snake again.
She frowned at Blake. The what?
The snake. Mr. Smith is teaching me about all the animals and stuff in Vietnam, he continued.
She flushed. Shed thought the stories were about something else entirely.
Mr. Smith saw the flush and almost smiled. Fooled you, huh? he asked smugly.
Thats what you get for misjudging innocent people.
Youre not innocent people, she pointed out.
Im innocent of a few things, he argued. I never shot anybody twice.
She looked toward the ceiling. My bodyguard, the saint.
Keep that up and Ill go back to the government, he promised. They treat a guy right.
Ill bet they never bought you kidskin moccasins and your very own Jacuzzi, she said haughtily.
Well, no.
And they dont give you three weeks paid vacation and offer you free hotel rooms and carte blanche at restaurants, she continued.
Well
And they dont hug you like I do, Blake exclaimed, throwing his arms around Mr. Smiths thick neck as hard as he could.
Mr. Smith chuckled, returning the hug. Got me there, he admitted. Nobody in the CIA ever hugged me.
See? Meredith asked smugly. Youre well off and dont know it.
Oh, I know it, he said. I just like to watch you squirm.
One of these days, she began, pointing a finger at him.
Thats our cue to leave, Blake, Mr. Smith said, turning with the boy in his arms to head for the door. Shes good for an hour on that subject.
Meredith hid a smile and went back to her packing.
TWO DAYS LATER she arrived in Billings on the bus. She could have flown, but that was an admission that she had money. A bus ticket was considerably cheaper, and besides, the bus station was located next door to the office of Harden Properties, Inc.
She waited for her suitcase, her hair loose around her shoulders, wearing a pair of jeans and a faded denim jacket over a sweatshirt. She wore a pair of scuffed boots shed used for riding back home, and shed left off her makeup. By and large, she looked very much as she had the day shed taken the bus out of Billings six years before. Except that she had a different secret now, one she was going to enjoy keeping until the proper time.
In an office building just catercorner to the bus station, a man sitting at a desk happened to notice the movement of passengers disembarking. He got out of his swivel chair and moved to the one-way window, staring down with dark eyes that seemed to burst with mingled emotions.
Mr. Harden?
What is it, Millie? he asked without turning.
Your letter.
He had to force himself to turn away from the window. Surely not, he thought. That couldnt be her, not after all these years. Hed seen her in crowds before, only to get closer and find another face, the wrong face. But he felt as if it were Meredith. His heart began to beat with the fierce rhythm shed taught it. He felt alive for the first time in six years.
He sat down, his tall, fit body in a dark blue suit so striking that even his secretary of many years stared at him. He was thirty-four now, but sometimes his lean, deeply tanned face seemed older than its years. There were lines around his eyes, too, and threads of gray in his thick, black hair. He had an elegant look for a man whose primary interest was agricultural properties and acquisitions and who had a ranch and spent time with cattle and horses.