Lovelace and Button (International Investigators) Inc. (32 page)

“Well…”

“It's not until next summer.”

“Go on,
Daavid,
” encourages Daisy. “It is for a good cause.”

“Maybe,” he says warily. “You'll have to let me know what you would want me to do.”

The warning shrieks of bald eagles electrify the tree-tops as they look down from their high perches in the foothills of Mount Baker and see an approaching car.

“Eagles!” calls Bliss excitedly, spying the piebald birds in the crimson blush of the setting sun as he and Daisy drive up the long track to their remote lodge.

“Zhis is so beautiful,” whispers Daisy, craning to see into the canopy of the rainforest.

“I just hope they haven't re-let the place,” Bliss laughs, only half-jokingly, as he pulls up to the door of the log cabin in the fading light, then scrabbles under a pot of geraniums for the key. But nothing has changed: the fresh smell of pine mingles with the smoky memory of a log fire; the evening light streaming through the west-facing window adds a comforting glow; the view from the balcony, across the valley to Puget Sound and the distant snow-capped peak of Mount Olympus, has not been marred by the days of stress. And, while the maid might have suspiciously eyed the unruffled bed and untouched
toiletries each morning, she had not informed the proprietors of the lovebirds' apparent absence — after all, an hour's pay is an hour's pay — so the luxurious cabin is as neat and clean as it had been on their arrival.

“Oh,
Daavid,
zhis is so
romantique,
” says Daisy as he makes a play of carrying her over the threshold into the cozy nook.

“Finally,” he says, kissing her gently, then laying her on the settee in front of the fieldstone fireplace. “Now, you just stay there,” he tells her. “I'll light the fire, open some champagne and get the food from the car.”

The kindling catches quickly, although the room is already warm from a few hours of evening sun. The champagne, a Veuve Clicquot which has been cooling its heels in the fridge since Monday, bursts exuberantly into chilled glasses, and an assortment of Chinese goodies, cooked up by a real Chinese chef in Seattle's Chinatown, is being re-energized in the microwave.

“It'll only take a minute or so,” says Bliss, slipping into the living room to place chopsticks on the table as an excuse for another kiss.

“Shall we eat on the balcony?” suggests Daisy, reaffirming her Mediterranean preference for everything
en plein air
, and Bliss is quick to agree.

“I'll grab some candles,” he says, bouncing joyfully back to the kitchen.

The waning moon, still beneath the eastern horizon, leaves the stage to the stars and, un-shadowed by city lights, the heavens put on a show that takes the couple's breath away.

“Orion, the Big Dipper, Mars, Jupiter…” points out Daisy as her finger traces the sky, then Bliss takes hold and steers it to his favourite planet.

“Venus,” he says softly before guiding the finger to his lips.

“Oh.
Daavid,
” Daisy giggles, but she stops when the splash of headlights lazes through the forest from the road below. “Is zhat a car?”

“Probably another cottager,” says Bliss, scanning the surrounding hillside for signs of occupation, though finding none. “Or someone who is lost.”

Bliss is wrong. The car's occupants know exactly where they are going, though one of them, John Dawson, isn't convinced it's a good idea.

“I just wann'a few words with him, that's all,” snarls Bumface in the driver's seat. “Make sure he keeps his freakin' mouth shut in future.”

“And you're sure this is the right place?”

Bumface nods. “It's what he put on his visa application.” But Dawson is still wary. “Look, Steve,” he tries. “We've got some money. We're in the clear. Why screw it up?”

“C'mon, John. How long d'ye think it'll take ‘em to find us?”

“South America's a big place, Steve. Anyway, we only did what we were told.”

“Well, the lottery thing wasn't exactly kosher…” carries on Bumface, tuning out his partner.

“Plausible deniability, they call it, Steve,” mutters Dawson, also not listening. “As far as I was concerned, it was all okayed by the White House.”

“It was fun though, wasn't it?” laughs Bumface, continuing his own conversation. “Congratulations, Bob — you greedy freakin' moron — you've just fallen for the oldest trick…” he cackles with the same infectious enthusiasm he'd employed to scam Minnie, Joliffe and
the dozens of other victims, then he turns to Dawson with a smile on his face. “Can you believe how freakin' happy they were, John?”

“So were the patients,” Dawson reminds him, still on his own track.

“The one I liked best was the old bird who wanted to send an extra fifty bucks,” laughs Bumface, without a thought to the carnage he has caused. “‘Buy your kiddies a little prezzy from me, dear,' she told me, and she was bawling her eyes out, she was so freakin' happy.”

“It kind'a gave you a good feeling, didn't it?” admits Dawson, recalling the times that he'd been whooping in the background, becoming so wrapped up in the joy of someone's apparent good fortune that he had overlooked the fact he was sending them down a black tunnel from which many might never escape. “That's why I reckon we should just cut and run,” he continues. “We can set up anywhere and do it again.”

“Not until I've had words, John,” says the driver, his face set on the muddy lane winding through the woods to Bliss's cabin. “He screwed up the entire operation and I wann'a leave him with a little reminder.”

“Hot and sour soup, sweet and sour prawns, and honey-garlic ribs,” announces Bliss, as he lays the dishes on the rustic picnic table, while above him the crescent moon rises over the mountains and adds a warm glow to the cold starlight. But the chilly evening air is already sapping some of the heat out of the occasion, and Bliss's buoyant mood is sinking with the memories of the three anxious days and nights he had spent searching for the women.

“I thought I was going mad,” he confesses as they start to eat. “I was beginning to wonder if it was just some crazy dream.”

“It is over now,” Daisy gently reminds him. “Everyone is all right.”

But while Bliss is certainly grateful for the safe return of the women, he has a growing resentment over their treatment. “It's Daphne I'm thinking about. She can't afford to lose three days. It's not as though she's got that many left.”

“Oh, I zhink zhat maybe it was a little exciting for her.”

“Actually, I think you're right,” admits Bliss with a laugh. “And Trina seemed to think it was just a lark. Although she thinks
everything
is a lark. Did you hear what she wanted me to do for her fundraising stunt?” he asks disbelievingly.

“Zhere is a car,” Daisy says in surprise, hearing the sound of an engine closing in on them, though Bliss is still preoccupied with dark thoughts of Trina.

“I can't believe that woman at times.”

“It is going to one of zhe other cabins, I expect,” says Daisy, and her suspicion is apparently confirmed a few seconds later when the engine dies.

Beneath them, where the muddy lane from the cabin meets the road, two figures emerge from the parked car and meld into the cover of the trackside trees.

“I bet that Captain Prudenski was in on it from the beginning,” Bliss is complaining, unfazed by the car's arrival. “All the time he and his men were so-called searching — I bet they knew exactly what was going on.”

“Never mind,
Daavid.
You were right.”

“I know, but it's very frustrating when everything you do fails. Sometimes I wonder why everyone else
seems to slip so easily through life when I keep hitting the rough edges.”

“But it is exciting?” suggests Daisy. “Zhat is what policemen do, is it not?”

“Maybe… although I think I've had my fill of adventures,” he says with a tone of finality. “That's why I was happy when they gave me a cushy number at Interpol. And look where that led me.”

The dense forest absorbs the sound of movement as Dawson and his partner climb the hillside towards the cabin, but their progress is slow as they sneak carefully through the undergrowth and hide in the shadows. Then the five-gallon gas can in Bumface's hand clunks heavily against the stump of a felled tree as he stumbles in the twilight.

“Shush,” warns Dawson, reaching out to stop his partner, and he uses his machine gun to point to an easier route.

“What gets me…” Bliss continues, intending to whine about the blasé attitude of Montague as he pulls the CIA station chief's cheque from his pocket. Then he freezes in disbelief.

“Fifty-five thousand dollars,” he breathes, and he quickly shoves the piece of paper under the candle for confirmation. “Oh my God! He's added fifty grand.”

“What is zhat, David?”

“Hush money, Daisy. That's what it is,” he fumes. “The bastard thinks he's bought me off.”

“But z
hat
is a lot of money. What will you do?”

“First thing — I'm not cashing it,” he carries on, angrily standing up and storming around. “They're not gonna buy my silence.”

“
Daavid
— zhis is our last night together,” Daisy reminds him.

“I'm sorry,” he says, realizing that the worries of the past three days are scratching the gloss off his romantic plans, and he drops to his knees at her feet and peers into her eyes. “Daisy,” he continues, “would you move to England if I asked you?”

“
Oui.
I zhink so.”

“Thank you. Thank you very much,” he says before kissing her again, then he leaps to his feet. “I won't be long. I've got something for you,” he says, and he tops up their champagne glasses before bouncing back into the cabin and heading for the bedroom. He has an important question in his mind — a question he would have asked on Monday night, had he not fallen asleep; on Tuesday, had they not been tearing around in search of the Kidneymobile; on Wednesday, had they not been in different countries; and Thursday if he hadn't been so concerned about the fate of the missing women. But now it's Friday, and all the clouds have lifted. “So,” he questions as he takes an antique diamond engagement ring from his suitcase and balances it in his palm, “what are you waiting for? Do you think she would prefer a new one?”

“That's the phone line,” whispers Bumface, pointing to the terminal box at the base of a telegraph pole just below the cabin, and he quickly wrenches out the wires.

“Go for it,” Bliss tells himself as he buffs the large diamond, but memories of Sarah, his ex-wife, glue his feet to the bedroom floor.

“You're never home — not when it matters,” her voice echoes in his mind as he recalls her griping over his struggle to balance career and family.

I've changed,
he tries telling himself, but he can't escape the way he's neglected his French friend since Monday.
That was different,
he protests.

“
Daavid…
” calls Daisy, suddenly chilled by a rustling in the undergrowth beneath the balcony.

“Coming,” he says, but he's still stalling as the woman in his thoughts accuses him of neglecting her in his quest to solve other people's problems — frequently slogging into the early hours, and throughout weekends and holidays.

“Most criminals don't work nine to five, Monday to Friday,” he had often attempted to explain, but it had rarely mollified her.

“
Daavid.
Are you coming?” calls Daisy with a concerned edge to her voice, beginning to fear that it may be a cougar or a bear skulking in the bush.

Ten feet beneath her, in the dark shadow of the wooden decking, Bumface is carefully emptying the gas can into the brushwood. “Are ya ready?” he whispers to his associate as he ferrets in his pocket for a box of matches.

Dawson clicks off the safety of his machine gun. “Guess so,” he says, with little enthusiasm.

“Get up there, then,” Bumface continues in hushed tones as he nods up the wooded slope towards the front of the cabin. “And get ready to zap him.”

“What have you got to lose?” muses Bliss, pushing himself towards the bedroom door, but Sarah still stands in his way, complaining about the amount of
time he'd spent in the company of robbers, murderers and rapists. “It's my job,” he had objected honestly, but now he is haunted by the recollection as he considers his future with Daisy.

“
Daavid…
”

“I'll be right there!” he calls with his hand on the door. “No going back,” he warns himself as he takes the next step, then he pauses to worry.
What if she turns me down?
She said she'd move to England.
But what about her mother and grandmother? She's an only child — will she leave them?

“
Daavid…
I zhink I heard something…” Daisy is saying when the
whoosh
of an inferno and an explosive burst of gunfire rip through the forest, sending Bliss hurtling out of the bedroom and through the living room towards the balcony.

“Daisy!” he yells, but the roar of the gasoline-fed firestorm overwhelms his voice, and a second volley of shells zips through the balcony, sending a cascade of splinters into the air.

“
Daavid…
” Daisy is pleading as he reaches the balcony door, but a wall of flame shooting up the side of the cabin traps him inside.

“I'll have to go ‘round!” he shouts, and he heads back through the cabin towards the front door.

Outside, as golden flames burn a bright hole in the darkness, Dawson crouches in the shadow of Daisy's car with the cabin's front door in his sights.

“Get him,” mutters Bumface maliciously, having scrabbled up the bank to join his colleague, and the fire is reflected in his eyes as he waits for Bliss to emerge.