David Baldacci - Split Second

He hooked Loretta's body with the pole and lifted her out of the water. He opened her mouth with his gloved hand and then crammed the money inside. He clamped her jaw shut and let go. She settled back to the bottom, the ends of the twenty-dollar bills sticking out of her mouth. It wasn't a very attractive look, but it was so very fitting an end for a blackmailer, he thought.

He spent time going through her possessions, searching for the item of his she'd taken all those years ago, but it wasn't here. To still be denied after all this time? Perhaps Loretta had had the last laugh. And yet she was lying quite dead in the bottom of a tub of water with money stuffed in her mouth. So who was really laughing?

He took his pole and left the way he'd come.

The Buick started up and rattled off. That chapter of his life, that loose end, was finally over. He'd have to drop Michelle Maxwell a thank-you note, perhaps among other things. He would never have known the woman's identity if the Secret Service agent hadn't come around asking questions. Loretta Baldwin had not been part of the original plan, only an opportunity that had fallen into his hands and was far too good to pass up.

He was finished with the little province of Bowlington for now. He wished Loretta Baldwin a nice eternity in hell for her crimes. He'd doubtlessly be joining her at some point, and who knew, maybe he'd kill her all over again.

Now, there was a thought!

King listlessly cast his line into the water and slowly reeled it back in. He was standing on his dock, the sun up barely an hour. The fish weren't biting, yet he didn't care. The spread of mountains seemed to be watching his uninspired efforts with a brooding focus.

Joan undoubtedly had several complex motives in making her offer. Which ones favored him to any degree other than the financial compensation? Probably none. Joan's schemes tended to only advance her interests. At least he knew where he stood with the woman.

With Jefferson Parks, King was less certain. The marshal seemed sincere, but that could simply be a facade; it often was with lawmen, King knew. He'd played that game in his investigative career at the Service. King didn't doubt that whoever had killed Howard Jennings would feel the full wrath of the big man. King just wanted to make certain that he didn't become that target.

The ripple of water gently touched one of the pilings on his dock, and he looked up to see its source. The scull slid across the lake's surface, the woman pulling hard on her paddles. She was close enough that King could see the muscled definition of her shoulders and arms revealed by her tank top shirt. As she slowed and coasted toward him, something about her looked very familiar.

She glanced around in surprise, as though unaware she was close to shore.

"Hello," she said, and waved.

He didn't wave back, only nodded. He cast his line again, purposely close to her.

"I hope I'm not interfering with your fishing," she said.

"That depends on how long you're going to stay."

She drew her knees up. She was wearing black Lycra shorts, and the thigh muscles were long and looked like cable under skin. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and wiped her face with a towel.

She looked around. "Boy, it's beautiful here."

"That's why people come," he said warily. "And where exactly did you come from?" He was trying hard to place her.

She pointed south. "I drove over to the state park and put in there."

"That's seven miles by water!" he exclaimed. The woman wasn't even winded.

"I do this a lot."

Her scull drifted closer. And King finally recognized her. He could barely contain his astonishment.

"Would you like a cup of coffee, Agent Maxwell?"

She looked surprised for a moment and then seemed to sense that such a pretense was both unnecessary and even silly under the circumstances.

"If it's not too much trouble."

"One fallen agent to another, no trouble at all."

He helped her dock the scull. She eyed the covered boat slips and the storage sheds attached to each. King's jet boat, kayak, Sea-Doo and other vessels were sparkling clean. Tools, ropes, gear and other items were neatly stacked, hung or otherwise arranged.

"A place for everything and everything in its place?" she said.

"I like it that way," replied King.

"I'm sort of a slob in my personal life."

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

They walked up to the house.

Inside he poured the coffee, and they sat at the kitchen table. Michelle had put on a Harvard sweatshirt over her tank top and slipped on a pair of matching sweatpants.

"I thought you went to Georgetown?" said King.

"I got this sweat suit when we did some rowing on the Charles River in Boston while we were training for the Olympics."

"That's right. The Olympics. Busy woman."

" I like it that way."

"Not so busy now, though. I mean you have time for early morning water sports and paying visits to ex-Secret Service agents."

She smiled. "So you won't accept my being here as just a coincidence?"

"The real tip-off was the sweat suit. Sort of tells me you hoped to get out of your boat at some point before you got back to your car. On top of that, I doubt you would have rowed seven miles, Olympian or not, unless you knew I was home. I had several phone hang-ups this morning about thirty minutes apart. Let me guess, you have a cell phone in your scull."

"Once an investigator, always an investigator, I guess."

"I'm just glad I was home to greet you. I wouldn't have wanted you to wander around. I've had people doing that here lately, and I don't really care for it."

She lowered her cup. "I've been doing some wandering lately."

"Really? Good for you."

"Went down to North Carolina, a little place called Bowlington. I believe you've heard of it." He put down his cup too. "The Fairmount's still standing but it's closed up."

He said, "In my opinion they should just shoot it and put it out of its misery."

"I've always wondered about something. Maybe you can enlighten me?"

"I'll sure do what I can," King said sarcastically. "I mean I don'thave much else to occupy my time, so by all means, let me help you out."

She ignored his tone. "The agent configuration with Ritter. You had low manpower, which I guess I understand. But the way you guys were laid out was a disaster. You were the only agent within ten feet of the man."

King took a sip of coffee and studied his hands.

"I know this is a huge imposition," Michelle said apologetically. "I just show up and start asking questions. Just tell me to leave and I will."

Finally King shrugged. "What the hell. You're getting a taste of what it's like with the Bruno kidnapping. That sort of makes us blood brothers, in a way."

"In a way."

"Meaning what?" he said testily. "That I screwed up more than you and you don't want to be lumped with me?"

"Actually I think I messed up a lot more than you did. I was detail leader. I let a protectee out of my sight. I didn't have anyone shooting. I didn't have to kill anyone while pandemonium was breaking out all around me. You lost your focus for a few seconds. Unforgivable in a Secret Service agent, probably, but I blew it all along the way. I think you shouldn't want to be lumped with me ."

King's expression softened and his voice grew calmer. "We had barely half the usual complement of agents. That was partly Ritter's choice and partly the government. He was not well liked, and everyone knew he had no chance to win."

"But wouldn't Ritter want as much security as possible?"

"He didn't trust us," said King simply. "We were representatives of the administration, insiders. Even though he was a member of Congress, he was an outsider. Way outside with a screwball platform and radical supporters. He even thought we were spying on him, I swear to God. Consequently they kept us in the dark oneverything. Changing schedules at the last minute without consulting us, it drove the detail leader, Bob Scott, crazy."