John Sandford - Rules of Prey

"I'll want to stay around for your interview," said the Star-Tribune reporter. The Pioneer Press reporter nodded.

"No problem, but no breaking in."

Lucas watched as the two newspaper reporters extracted the story from Carla. She relaxed under the friendly attention, becoming almost ebullient as she told how the killer had fled for his life. After fifteen minutes Lucas called for a time-out.

"We've got to make the press conference at nine o'clock," he said to Jennifer. "You better get started."

"We'd like to get you to walk through it, just show us where the guy grabbed you, and what happened from there. Use it for the art, the pictures," said one of the newspaper photographers.

Carla re-created it, starting from the door, a mime of a woman carrying groceries and then suddenly attacked. As she walked about, becoming increasingly animated, the photographers danced around her, their strobes flickering like lightning.

When they were done, Jennifer led her through it again, acting the part of the attacker. When that was done, the two women sat and chatted, the cameraman taking frontal and reverse shots of both, with facial close-ups.

"Okay. Is there anything we missed?" asked Jennifer. She glanced at her watch.

"I don't think so," said Carla.

"We all done, guys?" she asked the other reporters. They both nodded.

"Okay, I'm shutting it down," Lucas said. "Nobody gets back in for a last word. If you think of anything you must have, get it from your guys at the press conference. Okay? Everybody cool?"

He ushered them out five minutes later.

"What do you think?" he asked Carla after they were gone.

"It was interesting," she said, her eyes bright.

"Yeah, well, the press conference will be different. Lots of very quick questions, maybe nasty. Don't mention this interview or the other stations will go crazy. By the time they see TV3, we want you out of sight."

On the way to the press conference, Carla said, "How long have you known Jennifer Carey?"

He glanced across at her. "Years. Why?"

"She stood in your space. And you didn't notice. That usually means… intimacy at some level."

"We've been friends for a long time," Lucas said neutrally.

"Have you slept with her?"

"We don't know each other well enough to talk about that kind of thing," he said.

"Sounds like a big yes to me," she said.

"Jesus."

"Hmm."

The press conference was short, loud, and finally nasty. The chief spoke after Carla.

"Do you have any suspects?" one reporter shouted.

"We are checking all leads-"

"That means no," the reporter shouted.

"No, it doesn't," Daniel said. Lucas winced.

"Then you do have a suspect," a woman called.

"I didn't say that."

"You want to tell us what you're saying? In short words?"

An hour after the press conference, whipping north along I- 35 in Lucas' Porsche, Carla was still hyper.

"So you'll have tapes of Jennifer's interview?"

"Yeah, the recorder's set. You can look at them when you get back."

"It sure went downhill after the chief called that guy a jerk," Carla said.

Lucas laughed. "I loved it. The guy was a jerk. But it chilled out Daniel, too. That's good. He'll be more careful."

"And you're not going to tell me about the suspect?"

"Nope."

It was a three-hour drive to Lucas' cabin. They stopped at a general store to stock up on groceries and Lucas chatted with the owner for a minute about fishing. "Two large last week," the owner said.

"How big?"

"Henning, the doctor, the row-troller? He got one forty-eight and a half inches off the big island in those weeds. He figured thirty-two pounds. Then some guy on the other side of the lake, tourist from Chicago, I think he was fishing out of Wilson 's, took a twenty-eight-pounder."

"Henning release it?"

"Yeah. He says he's not keeping anything unless there's a chance it'll go forty."

"Could be a long wait. There aren't that many guys in the North Woods with a forty-pound musky on the wall."

"It's beautiful," Carla said, looking out at the lake.

"Doesn't hurt to have the moon out there. It's almost embarrassing. It looks like a beer ad."

"It's beautiful," she repeated. She turned back into the cabin.

"Which bedroom should I take?" He pointed her back to the corner.

"The big one. Might as well take it, since I won't be here. There's a bike in the garage, it's a half-mile out to the general store, three miles into town. There's a boat down at the dock. You ever run an outboard?"

"Sure. I used to go north with my husband every summer. One thing he could do was fish."

"There are a half-dozen rods in a rack on the porch and a couple of tackle boxes under the glider, if you want to try some fishing. If you go off the point out there, around the edges of the weed bed, you'll pick up some northern."

"Okay. You going back right now?"

"In a little while. I'll stick the food in the refrigerator and then I'm going to have a beer and sit out on the porch for a while."

"I'm going to get changed, take a shower," Carla said.

Lucas sat on the glider and kept it gently swinging, his feet flexing against the low window ledge below the screen. The nights were getting cool and there was just enough wind to bring in the scent and the sound of the pines. A raccoon crossed through the yard light of a neighboring cabin, heading back toward the garbage cans. From the other way, a few lots down the lake, a woman laughed and there was a splash. From the cabin behind him, the shower stopped running. A few minutes later, Carla came out on the porch.

"You want another beer?"

"Mmm. Yeah. One more."

"I'm going to have one."

She was wearing a pink cotton robe and rubber shower shoes. She brought back a Schmidt and handed it to him, sat next to him on the glider, and curled her legs beneath her. Her hair was wet and the drops of water glistened like diamonds in the indirect light from the windows.

"A little cool now," she said. "You ever come up here in winter?"

"I come up here every chance I get. I come up in the winter and ski, cross-country. There are trails all over the place. You can ski for miles."

"Sounds great."

"You're invited," Lucas said promptly.

As they talked he could feel the warmth coming off her, from the shower.

"Are you getting cold?"

"Not yet. Maybe in a few minutes. Right now it feels fresh." She turned and leaned backward, her head on his shoulder. "It doesn't seem like a cop ought to have a place like this. I mean, a drug-and-vice guy with a Porsche."

"Doctor's orders. I got so I was doing nothing but work," he said. He eased an arm behind her shoulder. "I'd be on the street all day and sometimes half the night, then I'd go home and work on my games. I'd get so cranked I couldn't sleep even when I was so tired I couldn't walk. So I went in to see the doc. I thought I ought to get some legal downers and he said what I really needed was a place not to work. I never work up here. I mean, never money-work. I chop wood, fix the garage, work on the dock, all that. But I don't money-work."

"Guess what?" Carla said.

"What?"

"I don't have a goddamn thing on under this robe." She giggled a beer giggle.

"Jeez. Absolutely buck naked, huh?"

"Yep. I figured, why not?"

"So can I consider this an official pass?"

"Would you rather not?"

"No, no, no no no." He leaned forward and kissed her on the jaw just below her ear. "I was desperately figuring my chances. I'd been such a nice guy all along, it seemed sort of crass to suddenly start hustling."