WASHINGTON, D.C.,
AUGUST 22, 3:10 P.M. EDT
Garin heard laughter coming from down the hall. Raucous laughter. Familiar laughter. And from the looks on the faces of several of the physicians, RNs, and techs walking in the corridor, unacceptably loud laughter, for it clearly disturbed the other patients.
But nothing would be done about it. Because no one dared to do anything about it. Earlier a charge nurse had poked her head into the room to admonish Olivia Perry’s visitors to keep it down. Upon seeing the intimidating forms of Congo Knox and Dan Dwyer, she quickly concluded that the hospital could use more sounds of levity and mirth.
Garin entered Olivia’s room and saw Knox and Dwyer sporting enormous grins at the foot of her bed. Next to Knox, in front of the window, was a beaming Luci Saldana.
Glimpsing Garin out of the corner of her eye, Olivia turned. Even after several days in a hospital recovering from the trauma of an explosion, she somehow managed to appear stunning. The only outward signs of injury were a small bandage on her left temple and a few discolored bruises on her face and neck.
Olivia smiled broadly and Garin felt an electrical charge.
Dwyer was the second to notice Garin, taciturn as usual. “Uh-oh. Fun’s over. Undertaker’s here.” More laughter. Luci came over and gave Garin a hug.
“Saved the world twice this summer,” Knox said. “What’s next, Mike? You going to Disney World?”
A flicker of a smile crossed Garin’s face, everyone in the room taking a mental snapshot before it vanished.
“Whoa,” Dwyer said, “I haven’t seen him this happy since we described Hell Week to him at BUD/S. What happened? Did the CIC convince you to come back on board for more mayhem in the service of truth, justice, and the American way?”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Garin replied. “I’m leaving tonight to see Clint Laws.”
“Outstanding. The Professor of Death and Destruction. Sounds like the band’s getting back together again.”
“We’ll see.”
Dwyer affected a gravelly British accent. “We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do us harm.”
Garin leveled his gaze at Dwyer. “He’s still out there.” The gravedigger’s voice had returned.
Dwyer rolled his eyes. “Geez, Mikey. Give it a rest. You’ve stopped him twice now already.”
“Have I?”
There was silence for several seconds.
“Clearly you have, Michael,” Olivia assured him.
“He didn’t shoot me,” Garin said flatly. “Why not?”
“Because you didn’t have a weapon drawn. The others did,” Dwyer answered. “Respectfully, Mikey, you’re overthinking this.”
“No. There was something else. He let me live for a reason.”
“Probably to aggravate the hell out of the rest of us.”
“Bor not shooting me means something, Dan. It should worry you.”
“Hell yeah, it worries me. It means a guy with exceptional shooting skills but piss-poor judgment is running around loose out there.”
“I have no idea what you guys are talking about,” Luci interjected cheerfully. She took Knox’s hand and pulled him toward the door. “But I’m pretty sure Captain Sunshine didn’t come here to talk about death and destruction.”
“Obviously, you don’t know him as well as we do,” Dwyer retorted.
With his free hand Knox grasped Garin’s. “Mike, if I can be of service, just let me know. I’m with you.”
“Ho, Deadeye,” Dwyer said, following the pair. “I’m paying you a gazillion dollars and you wanna run off and join this guy’s circus?”
Knox pumped Garin’s hand once. “You know how to reach me.”
The merry trio left the room. As they retreated down the hall, Garin heard Dwyer say, “Beer at my place. I think that nurse liked me. I’m gonna invite her, too.”
Garin turned to Olivia with eyebrows raised.
“A couple of more days,” Olivia said, answering the question on Garin’s face. “I had a concussion, a couple of hairline fractures, and some internal bleeding. I’m okay now. They just want to keep me for observation. After President Marshall called to check on me they’re clearly not taking any chances.”
She leaned back on the pillows propped behind her. Her impossible abundance of hair fanned in a halo around her head and shoulders. She took the killer’s hand, ambivalence yielding to attraction. Now both of them felt a charge.
“How is your ear?”
“It’s an ear,” he deflected. “I’m on antibiotics and steroids.”
“It’s more than that, Michael.” She patted his forearm wrapped in bandages. “And the burns?”
“We’ll see. Maybe some skin grafts.”
“You owe me a spaghetti Western marathon.”
“As I recall, it was a Dirty Harry marathon,” Garin replied.
“We’ll alternate. A Fistful of Dollars, Magnum Force, For a Few Dollars More, The Enforcer . . .”
“I’m not sure I can last that long.”
“I’m absolutely certain you can.” Olivia blushed at her own boldness.
“Did the president thank you?” Garin asked.
“He was very nice.”
“Without your analysis, we’d be in the middle of a catastrophe.”
Olivia blushed again. A compliment from a killer. She shouldn’t have anything to do with someone like him, she thought. She was a Stanford PhD—a rising policy star. She should be seeing Senator What’s His Name. Insufferable, but safe and predictable. Garin, on the other hand, was all chaos and almost certain heartbreak. Yet she savored the sound of his voice.
“So, it’s a date, Mr. Garin?”
“I believe it is, Ms. Perry.”
She released his hand. “Call me when you return from seeing Clint Laws. Dan can give you the number.”
“It may be a few days after I get back,” Garin said. A chilling look came over his face. “I have to tend to some unfinished business first.”
Then Garin turned abruptly and left without another word. Olivia gazed at the broad shoulders tapering to the narrow waist as he disappeared around the corner. Moments later the nature of his unfinished business began to dawn upon her. And it occurred to her it was possible, quite likely even, that she would never see Mike Garin again.
Ruth Ponder was sitting in her living room watching the news when the phone rang. Most of the folks who had been with her from the outset were sitting with her. A talking head was describing the events that had occurred in Washington, D.C. Her daughter Barbara answered the wall phone in the kitchen. After a long pause Barbara called Ruth with a tone somewhere between anxiety and awe.
“Mom. Telephone. Come quick.”
Ruth rose and was followed by Rev. Broussard and several of her neighbors, concerned about the sound of Barbara’s voice. Barbara, wide-eyed, handed Ruth the phone.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Ponder. Please hold for the president of the United States.”
“Pardon?”
A second later: “Hello, Mrs. Ponder, this is John Marshall.”
“Goodness. Are you sure? I mean, I’m sorry, I don’t know how I’m supposed to address you, sir.”
“John will do just fine, ma’am.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that, sir. Would you mind terribly if I just called you Mr. President?”
“You can call me whatever you like, Mrs. Ponder.”
“Oh my goodness. Oh my. Mr. President, you should know I voted for you last fall, as did my late husband, Amos. He said he didn’t always agree with you but he could tell you loved America.”
“That I do, ma’am.”
Ruth Ponder’s family and friends were gathered around her with expressions of amazement.
“Matt Colton tells me he promised to call you back, but I asked him if I might have that privilege. Matt informed my staff that the information you provided was critical to our ability to protect the country. In a true sense, without your husband and you, this nation would have suffered an attack far more devastating than the one it has.”
“Oh, Mr. President, thank you very much, but I just gave Matt a tiny bit of information in the hope that Amos’s killer would be found.”
“Mrs. Ponder, your information saved untold lives. I cannot express my appreciation deeply enough. You are a patriot, ma’am. On behalf of the United States of America, thank you.”
Ruth Ponder clutched her chest. “Oh my. Oh my goodness. On behalf of Amos and my family who are here with me right now, as are Reverend Broussard and some of our friends, thank you, Mr. President.”
“If we can be of any assistance, Mrs. Ponder, just let me know.”
Ruth Ponder paused. “Mr. President, did they by any chance get the man who shot my Amos?”
“I’m sorry to say we did not, ma’am.”
“Oh. Yes.” Ruth’s voice became a whisper. “Well, I do understand, Mr. President. I understand how difficult these things can be. Matt said as much.”
“Mrs. Ponder?”
“Yes, Mr. President?”
“It’s true we did not capture your husband’s killer. Yet. But I know a man who I suspect is doing something about it as we speak. I’m sure Amos would’ve liked him a lot. I feel sorry for anyone who is in his sights.”