Cold River - Carla Neggers [104]
“Grit.”
He gave her an innocent look. “Am I supposed to pretend you two aren’t having relations?”
She grinned at him. “Relations? Who says relations anymore? Myrtle?”
“Me. Speaking of Myrtle, she’s waiting for us.”
“All right, let’s go.” Jo paused and glared at him. “Bring up my sex life again, and I will shoot you in the head.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Something about his expression must have gotten to her, because she stopped abruptly, winced with regret. “Grit…I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s okay. I have good days and bad days. Today’s not one of the good ones.”
They went back outside and got in her car. He and Myrtle had driven it down from the frozen north. Jo had flown with Francona. She sat behind the wheel.
Grit eyed her. “Don’t you need directions to Myrtle’s house?”
She gave him a sideways glance. “No.”
Grit settled into his seat. “You Secret Service agents know everything, don’t you? Do you know where I live?”
“In a crummy apartment with beige-white walls and dead flies.”
“Roaches, too.” He closed his eyes. “I hate roaches.”
“Rats?”
“Myrtle says probably.”
“What is it with you two?”
“Kindred spirits. She’s like a tough, crazy aunt. Don’t tell her that.”
“You didn’t know her before November?”
“Nope.” He opened one eye and looked over at Jo. “Is this an official interview? Should I call you Agent Harper?”
“I’m just making conversation.”
She’d been in a tight, tense mood since she’d faced Charlie Neal making waffles in Vermont. The kid could fry her career. He almost had. But it was also having Elijah there and seeing him go Special Forces soldier with the vice president’s son. She’d realized he wasn’t the same kid she’d fallen for in high school and had the reality hit her that he had spent the past fifteen years as a highly professional soldier.
They drove up Massachusetts Avenue and onto a side street of attractive brick houses. Myrtle’s had fit right in until her office had caught on fire. It was in the front of the house. She’d told Grit she’d picked that room for the view of the rhododendrons in the spring.
He truly hadn’t figured out yet if she’d been kidding him about the rhodies.
Myrtle was outside inspecting the boarded-up fire damage from her plush yard when he and Jo headed up the front walk. “I could make it livable while they work on it. I just haven’t bothered.”
“Denial,” Grit said.
She scoffed and stepped in among evergreen shrubs for a better look. “How can I deny a burned-out office? Give me a break.” She pried back a prickly branch. “I look reality square in the eye every day, and what I see isn’t pretty. When I arrived back in Washington, I felt as if I’d arrived home from exile. But Vermont has its charms.”
“Do you want me to give you a boost up to the window?”
She gave him a cool glance over her shoulder. “No, Grit, I do not.”
His cell phone trilled. He wanted to ignore it, but he had a feeling it was Charlie Neal. Mark Francona personally had the kid buttoned up, but that didn’t mean anything. Grit flipped open his phone, and Charlie said, “Alex Bruni was a difficult personality.”
“Like you or different?”
“Different, although he was intelligent.”
Charlie, Grit realized, was just stating the facts, not bragging.
“He was more arrogant. I’m not arrogant. I know I seem arrogant to some people because—well, I just do.”
“Because of the one-eighty IQ.”
“That’s an approximation. Regardless, Ambassador Bruni often rubbed people the wrong way, but he didn’t care. He blows off Drew Cameron in April. Two weeks later, Mr. Cameron’s dead. Seven months later, Ambassador Bruni’s dead, too.” Charlie paused for a breath. “Something about Drew Cameron’s visit in April clicked with Ambassador Bruni, and he became a danger to the killers.”
“You’re speculating,” Grit said.
“I know. Ambassador Bruni had to feel guilty for stealing his best friend’s wife, don’t you think?”
“Maybe it wasn’t stealing.