The Waterfall

They came to a cluster of log buildings set in a grassy, rolling meadow. No marker announced this was the base and main training facility for Redwing Associates, an international investigative and security firm with clients ranging from business executives and government officials to high-profile entertainers and sports figures. Many came here, to Wyoming, to learn for themselves how to assess, prevent and manage the risks they faced, whether it was kidnapping, assassination, corporate espionage, disgruntled ex-employees, obsessed fans or computer fraud.

Security was subtle but not unnoticeable. When Lucy came to the end of the long, winding driveway, a man in casual western attire introduced himself. “I’m Jim Charger, Mrs. Swift. I’ll take care of your car. Mr. Rabedeneira is expecting you.”

She tried to smile. “Plato Rabedeneira?”

Jim Charger didn’t return her smile. “That’s right, ma’am.”

What was Plato doing here? And why was he expecting her? Lucy fought off a rush of uneasiness. “Well, I guess you guys really are that good, aren’t you?”

Still no smile. “Your children can stay out here with me or go in with you. Your choice.”

“They’ll go with me.”

He motioned for her to go into the sprawling main house, its rustic log construction deceiving. This was no ordinary ranch house. No expense had been spared in its furnishings of wood, leather and earth-colored fabrics. The views were astounding. Not one square inch of it reminded her of Sebastian’s roots in southern Vermont.

Plato joined her in the living room, in front of a massive stone fireplace. He took both her hands and kissed her on the cheek. “Hello, Lucy. I heard you were in the area.”

“You must have spies on every corner.”

“Not every corner.”

He laughed, dropping her hands. He was a dark-haired, dark-eyed, intensely handsome man who’d worked his way out of a very tough Providence neighborhood into a very tough profession, where he’d excelled. He’d helped his mother, who’d raised him alone, earn her college degree; she was now a professor at a community college, and one of Jack Swift’s constituents.

Colin, Lucy thought, had never been tempted to jump out of a helicopter into the teeth of a storm to rescue fishermen and yachters. He had been content with his work at the State Department and testing himself on the tennis court—which had killed him.

“When did you start working for Redwing Associates?” Lucy asked.

“I was injured in a rescue jump eighteen months ago. When I woke up from surgery, my summons from Sebastian was waiting for me.” He turned to Madison and J.T., both obviously enthralled. “Well, you two have grown up. It’s great to see you.”

He was so charming, Lucy thought. She would feel safe if she had to dangle from a rescue helicopter over churning seas with him. Colin had been well-mannered and kind, a man people tended to like automatically. Sebastian Redwing, she thought, was none of the above. He wasn’t charming, well-mannered, kind or likeable. He wouldn’t care about making her or anyone else feel safe. That, he would say, was up to them. He was just very, very good at what he did.

“You kids want a grand tour of the place?” Plato asked. “Go back out front. Tell Mr. Charger I’d like him to show you around.”

The prospect of a tour clearly excited J.T. more than it did Madison, who seemed transfixed by her father’s ultra-fit, very good-looking friend. But she went along with her brother, and Lucy suddenly felt self-conscious, even a little foolish. Redwing Associates dealt with real threats and real dangers. Kidnapping, extortion, terrorist attacks. Not late-night hang-ups and bullets dropped through an open car window.

“You’re looking well, Lucy,” Plato said, eyeing her.

“Thanks.”

“How’s Vermont?”

“Great—I have my own adventure travel company. It’s doing surprisingly well for a relatively new company.”

“I don’t get adventure travel, I’ll admit.”

She smiled. “That’s because you’ve had to clean up after too many adventures gone wrong. Safety is our first priority, you’ll be glad to know.”

He moved to the leather chair, and she noticed his slight limp. It would never do in the demanding world he’d left, and at Redwing Associates, it would keep him behind a desk.

He dropped onto the couch, his expression turning serious. “You want to tell me why you’re here?”

“I had business in Jackson. I just thought I’d stop in and say hello.”

“You didn’t know I’d be here,” he pointed out.

“I know, but Sebastian—”

“Lucy. Come on. Since when would you or anyone else make a special trip to say hello to Sebastian?”

She sat on the edge of a wood-armed chair, thinking it would be nice if she could just sit here and visit with an old friend, reminisce about the past, forget the bullet hole in her dining room wall.

Of course, Plato would see through her halfhearted story. Cold feet were probably common in both his past and current work.

At least Plato had sent flowers and written a card when Colin died. He couldn’t get away for the funeral, he said, but if she ever needed anything, she had only to let him know. He’d be there. Colin had trusted him, too. But, possibly because of the different nature of their work—or their personalities—it was Sebastian he’d made her promise to go to if she ever needed help.

“Has he changed?” she asked.

“That depends on your point of view. Look,” Plato said, “why don’t you tell me what’s going on. Then we can figure out what to do about it.”

Meaning, whether she needed to bring it to Sebastian’s attention.

Lucy twisted her hands together. At home, in her business, she was at ease, confident, capable. This was foreign ground for her. Sebastian Redwing and Plato Rabedeneira had been her husband’s friends. She and Colin had fallen in love so fast, marrying within two months of their first date. Madison had come along the next year. Then J.T. And then Colin was gone.

She really didn’t know Plato or Sebastian.

“Lucy?”

“It’s silly. I’m being silly, and I know it. So please feel free to pat me on the head and send me back to Vermont.” She leveled her eyes on him. “Trust me, you’d be doing me a favor.”

“Well, before I do any head-patting, why don’t you tell me what’s going on first. Okay?”

She nodded, gulped in a breath and told him everything. She kept her tone unemotional and objective, and left out nothing except her own reactions, the palpable sense of fear, the nausea.

When she finished, she managed another smile. “You see? Pure silliness.”

Plato rose stiffly, his limp more noticeable as he walked to the massive stone fireplace. He looked back at her, his dark eyes serious. “You won’t go to the local police?”

“If you’re convinced it’s the best thing to do, I’ll consider it. But they’ll call Jack.”

He nodded. “That might not be such a bad idea.”

“These incidents—whatever they are—have nothing to do with him.”

“Maybe not. The point is, you don’t know why they’re happening.”

Lucy ran a hand through her hair. She felt light-headed, a little sick to her stomach. Jet lag, the dry air and the altitude were all taking their toll. So was reliving the events of the past week.

“Either there’s no connection at all between these incidents,” she said, “or someone’s just trying to get under my skin. If I go to the police, it proves they succeeded.”