Diana Palmer - Invincible

“Okay, Dad,” she promised.

“Got the dress, did you?” he asked, and smiled.

“Yes! It’s beautiful! Green velvet. I’ll wear Mama’s pearls with it, the ones you brought her from Japan when you first started dating.”

He nodded. “They’re very special. I bought them in Tokyo,” he recalled, smiling. “She had the same skin tone that you inherited from her. Off-white pearls are just right for you.”

She frowned. “You buy them for a skin color?”

“I always did. Pearls come in many colors, and many prices. Those are Mikimoto pearls. An armed guard stands in the room with them.”

She lost a little color. “Maybe I should wear something else...”

“Nonsense. They need to be worn. That would be like getting a special dress and letting it hang in your closet for fear of spilling something on it. Life is what matters, child. Things are expendable.”

“Most things,” she agreed.

“I made supper, since I knew you were going to be late,” he said.

Her eyebrows arched. “That was sweet of you, Dad,” she said.

“It’s just a macaroni and cheese casserole. Your mother taught me how to do it when we were first married. I never forgot.”

“It’s one of my favorite dishes. Let me hang up my dress and I’ll be right down.”

“Sure.”

* * *

THE MEAL WAS DELICIOUS, even more so because she hadn’t had to cook it. She noticed her father’s somber expression.

“I’m really sorry about pushing Big Red,” she began.

He leaned back in his chair. “It’s not the car I was worried about.” His pale eyes were narrow and thoughtful. “It might not be a bad idea to send you over to Eb Scott and let one of his guys teach you the finer points of defensive driving. Just in case.”

Her heart jumped. “Dad, maybe there isn’t a real threat,” she said. “I mean, the guy who was afraid of what I remembered about him is dead.”

He nodded. “Yes, but there are things going on that you don’t know about.”

“You were talking to somebody on the phone who wanted you to come back. Come back where?” she asked bluntly.

He grimaced. “I used to work for the feds. Sort of. It was a long time ago.”

“Feds?” she repeated, trying to draw him out.

His chest rose and fell. “When you’re young, you think you can do anything, be anything. You don’t worry about consequences. You take the training and do the job. Nobody tells you that years down the line, you may have regrets.” He studied her oval face. “I was away when your mother got sick. What happened to you, because nobody was at home, was my fault. I should have been there.”

She glanced down. “They paid for it.”

“Not enough,” he said coldly, and his face was suddenly hard and merciless. “I don’t wish harm to anyone as a rule, but when your grandmother left the world, I didn’t shed a tear.”

Carlie managed a smile. “Me, neither. I guess he’s still around somewhere.”

“No. He died in a prison riot last year.”

“You didn’t say,” she faltered.

“I didn’t know. My former boss and I were making connections. We looked for anyone dangerous who knew you in the past. I had someone do some checking. I only found out yesterday.”

“It’s a relief, sort of,” she said heavily. She shook her head. “They were both crazy. She was the worst. My poor mother...”

He put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Mary was such a ray of light that nobody blamed her for what her mother did,” he reminded her.

“I know, but people have long memories in small towns.”

“You have your own spotless reputation,” he said gently. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I guess you’re right.” She laughed. “Robin hired a limo for us, can you believe it?”

“I like Robin,” he said. “I just wish he had more guts.”

“Now, now, we can’t all be real-life death knights with great swords.”

“You and that game. You do need to get out more.” He pursed his lips. “Maybe we need to organize some things for the young, single members of our church.”

“All four of us?” she mused.

He rolled his eyes.

“I like my life,” she declared. “Maybe it lacks excitement, but I’m happy. That should count for something, Dad.”

He laughed softly. “Okay. I see your point.”

* * *

THE CHIEF WAS UNHAPPY. He didn’t come out and say so, but he was on a short fuse and it was difficult to get anything out of him past one-syllable words.

“Sir, what about the new patrolman’s gear?” she asked gently. “You were supposed to give me a purchase order for it, weren’t you?”

“New patrolman?” He frowned. “Oh, yes. Bartley. Okay. I’ll do that today.”

She bit her tongue so that she didn’t remind him that he’d said the same thing the day before.

He caught her expression and laughed hollowly. “I know. I’m preoccupied. Want to know why?” He shoved a newspaper across his desk. “Read the headline.”

It said, Matthew Helm to Fill Unexpired Term of U.S. Senator. She stared at Cash without understanding what he was upset about.

“There were three men in the running for the appointment,” he said. “One was found by police in San Antonio, on the street, doped up by an apparent drug habit that nobody knew he had. A tip,” he added. “The second withdrew from the nomination because his son was arrested for cocaine possession—a kid who’d never even used drugs, but apparently the glove compartment in his car was stuffed with the stuff. Another tip. The third contender, Helm, got the appointment.”

“You think the others were set up,” she began.

“Big-time,” he replied. He glared at the headline. “If he wins the special election in May, we’re in for some hard times in law enforcement. I can’t prove it, but the prevailing theory is that Mr. Helm is in bed with Charro Mendez. Remember him?”

She nodded. “The enforcer who worked for the late El Ladrón,” she said. “He was a cousin to the Fuentes brothers.”

“The very same ones who used to run the distribution hub. He’s now head of the drug cartel over the border in Cotillo. In fact, he’s the mayor of that lovely little drug center.”

“Oh, dear.”

“I really wish somebody had furnished Carson with more than three hand grenades,” he muttered.

“Shame!” she said.

He chuckled. “Okay. I’ll get the purchase order filled out.” He leaned forward. “Hell of a thing, to have a politician like this in Washington.”

“He’ll be a junior senator,” she pointed out. “He won’t have an important role in anything. He won’t chair any important committees and he won’t have powerful alliances.”

“Yet.”

“Surely, he won’t win the special election,” she ventured.

He looked at her. “Carlie, remember what I just told you about his rivals for the appointment?”

She whistled. “Oh, dear,” she said again.

“Exactly.”

The phone rang. She excused herself and went out to answer it.

* * *

CARSON WAS CONSPICUOUS by his absence for the next few days. Nobody said anything about him, but it was rumored that he was away on some job for Eb Scott. In the meantime, Carlie got her first look at the mysterious Rourke.

He stopped by her office during her lunch hour one day. He was wearing khakis with a sheepskin coat. He grinned at her where she sat at her desk eating hot soup out of a foam cup.

“Bad habit,” he said, with a trace of a South African accent. “Eating on the job. You should be having that out of fine china in some exotic restaurant.”

She was staring at the attractive man wearing an eye patch, with her spoon suspended halfway between the cup and her mouth. “Excuse me?” she faltered.