Kathleen Creighton - One Summer’s Knight

“By all means, call your sister. Tell her what you have to, to make sure she doesn’t worry, but don’t let her know where you are, understand? You, me and the feds are the only ones who know you’re here, and that’s the way they-and we-want to keep it. That means you don’t answer the phone if it rings. There’s a lock on the front gate, and an intercom, but nobody’s expected-except for Mrs. Abernathy, and I’ll call her-so if anybody buzzes the house, don’t answer. We’re pretty secluded here, but I want you and the kids to stay away from the front gate, anywhere you might be seen from the road, okay? Just as a precaution,” he added when he saw the deepening consternation on her face. Once again he made that movement with his hand as if he meant to touch her, then glanced at the cat in her arms and changed his mind.

“You’re safe here,” he said softly. “Okay?” He waited for her nod, then answered it with his own. He started to turn away, then for some reason, hesitated. Inexplicably, Summer’s heart quickened. Her body felt warm-too warm. Then, with a look of alarm, he all but bolted for the stairs.

“Mom! Mom!” Summer braced herself as her children surged around her like an incoming tidal wave. “We’re all done eating-can we go swimming now? Please? Can we, can we?”

“Clean up your mess first. And-oops-” she made a lunging grab for the Chihuahua as she raced by hard on Riley’s trail, but missed “-quick, David, grab Beatle. You both know the rules about swimming alone. You’re not to go near that pool until I’m out there, you hear me?”

David’s reply was unintelligible, muffled by Beatle’s happy tongue, and Helen was too busy exploring the gymnastics possibilities of the stairs and banister rail to answer at all. Summer allowed her shoulders to slump with her silent exhalation as she watched her esteemed attorney and reluctant host make his way up the long, curving staircase and disappear from sight.

How he must hate this, she thought He was being polite-very nice, really-but she knew she and the children were driving him right up the walls.

She reminded herself that it was only temporary. That Riley or the FBI would find them a more suitable place soon. There must be someplace else they could go. Some place safe .

Or, they would find the people who were responsible for the phone calls. For the threats. For destroying her house. Maybe they’d even find Hal, now that the FBI was involved. Surely it’s going to be okay.

“You’re late,” Danell sang out by way of a greeting when Riley sailed into his office sometime later that morning. “Client’s waitin’ on you.” She extended her arm over her head, holding up a handful of pink slips for him to grab on his way past her desk. “Your messages, in order of priority. Hey, what happened to your finger?”

“Thanks…I caught it in a door.” He took the messages and shuffled through them, noted that the one on top was from his investigator, Tom Denby, then tucked them into his jacket pocket and said, “Dan- nell …”

She turned her eyes to him. “Yes, boss?”

“I wonder if you’d do me a favor.”

“Now, you know I’d do anything in this world for you when you bat yo’ eyelashes at me like that, sugah,” she purred in a syrupy drawl. The phone sounded its discreet electronic tone. “First, though, I’m gonna take this call,” she added in her normal voice, which was Southern enough to begin with. “Would you excuse me, please? Good morning, law offices.” She listened alertly, glanced at Riley, then murmured, “Yes, sir, just one moment, please,” and punched a button. “You might wanna take this one,” she said, offering him the receiver. “The man says to tell you it’s Jake, and it’s urgent You want it in your office? I already put the client in there.”

Riley set his briefcase down and got the receiver tucked in between his shoulder and jaw, and Danell punched the button for him. “Jake,” he boomed out in a “Hey, old buddy!” kind of way. “What can I do for you?”

The FBI man’s cop-monotone was a low rumble in his ear. “Uh…yes, Mr. Grogan, I’m calling to update you on our… situation.” There was a cough, and in a slightly more animated tone, he asked, “How’re Mrs. Robey and the kids? Everybody settled in okay?”

“Oh, fine, fine, couldn’t be better,” said Riley jovially, showing his teeth to Danell, who just rolled her eyes.

“Uh-huh. And all the, uh, animals?”

“Oh, great.”

“So, I take it you didn’t have any unwanted company on the trip? Nobody followed you?”

“No problem-not a thing,” Riley drawled.

“Okay, good…good.” There was the sound of a throat carefully cleared, some papers shuffled. Then he said, “Thought you’d want to know. Just got the report from the Augusta police. The fire was arson. No attempt to disguise the fact. And something else. The place had been tossed before it was torched-a thorough job of it, too. No leads, either. Nothing. Nada.” A pause, and an exhalation. “A professional job. Pretty obvious warning.”

Riley felt a chill between his shoulder blades. He held on to the smile for his secretary’s benefit, but it was starting to feel twitchy. “Yeah? Who for, I wonder?”

The only reply to that was a snort And then, softly, he said, “I hope I don’t have to tell you, Grogan.” Another pause. “It’d be best if nobody knows about your, uh, houseguests-and I do mean nobody -you follow me?”

“Sure do,” said Riley.

“I don’t suppose she’s feeling up to talking to us this morning?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Uh-huh. So, what am I supposed to do, wait for you to get around to us?” Jake sounded sarcastic.

“That’s right,” said Riley, with a big grin for Danell. Ignoring the FBI man’s swearing, he handed the receiver back to his secretary, who cradled it and gave him a sideways, borderline put-out look.

“Didn’t sound all that ‘urgent’ to me,” she said with a sniff. When it came to guarding his precious time, the woman was a regular rottweiler.

“Ah, don’t mind Jake. He’s an old acquaintance,” Riley lied with a placating smile and an easy shrug. “From law school. Only gonna be in town for a short while and wanted to know if we could get together for a drink. So I guess you could call it urgent, in a way.” He picked up his briefcase.

“You wanted me to do you a favor,” Danell reminded him, only partly mollified.

“Oh.” He paused, frowning. It’d be best if nobody knows. … He turned back to her. “Uh, yeah-would you see if you can clear the afternoon for me? I have some personal business I need to take care of.” He took a couple of steps toward his office, then pivoted once more, took a message slip out of his pocket and slapped it on his secretary’s desk. “And while you’re at it, get Tom Denby on the phone.”

With the exception of a few particularly stressful times in his life, Jimmy Joe Starr had never been much of a worrier. That didn’t mean he wasn’t now and then concerned. The way he saw it, there was a big difference between worrying about things he didn’t have any control over, and being concerned about the happiness and well-being of the people he loved. And that about described where he was at the moment. He was concerned, because lately it seemed to him that the person he loved most in this world hadn’t been either well or happy.

Now, Mirabella did have her moods; she’d warned him of that fact way back when she’d been tryin’ her best to talk herself out of marrying him, and he’d had occasion since then to exercise the patience and understanding he’d promised her then. Moods he was used to. Moods he could handle. But what he wasn’t used to and didn’t have the first idea how to deal with was this feeling he had that his Marybell was keeping something from him. Not that he expected her to tell him everything-he didn’t. Jimmy Joe, like his six brothers and sisters, had been raised to respect a person’s right to privacy, and he didn’t consider that right any less sacred just because the person in question happened to be his wife. But there did come a time when a person’s right to privacy got to be outweighed by a loved one’s concern. There were times, he truly believed, when a man’s beloved’s personal business became his business. Jimmy Joe was sort of thinking this might be one of those times.