Carla Neggers - The Waterfall

It had never come to that. She’d conducted exhaustive surveillance before implementing her plan, even something as simple as the late-night hang-up. Lucy was too self-centered, too stupid, to catch her.

Firing into the dining room had been Barbara’s supreme act. It was even better than the bullet on the front seat. That was just the proverbial icing on the cake. Barbara had waited until Lucy and the children left for Manchester. She was parked up on the dirt road, as if she were off to check out the falls. She crossed Joshua Brook, jumping from one rock to another, and dropped down low, working her way up the steep, wooded bank until Lucy’s house came into view. She lay flat on her stomach in the brush. Mosquitoes buzzed in her ears, chewed on every inch of exposed skin. Her tremendous self-discipline kept her focused.

If she’d been caught then, at that moment, with her rifle aimed at Lucy’s house, she’d have had no cover story. The risk—the challenge—was part of the thrill, more exhilarating even than she’d imagined.

Her father had taught her and her three sisters how to shoot. He had never said he wished he’d had a son, but they knew he did. Barbara was the youngest. The last, shattered hope. She’d become a very good shot. No one knew how good—certainly no one in Jack’s office. Not even Jack himself. They knew her only in relation to her work, her devotion to her job and her boss.

Only after she’d fired and lay in the still, hot, prickly brush did she decide to go after the spent bullet. It wasn’t concern over leaving behind evidence that propelled her across the yard behind the barn—it was the idea of further terrorizing Lucy, imagining her coming into her dining room and seeing the shattered window, then realizing someone had slipped inside to dig the bullet out of the wall.

The back door wasn’t locked. Lucy often didn’t lock all her doors. Perhaps, Barbara thought, this would teach the silly twit a lesson.

The acid burned down her throat and into her stomach, gnawing at her insides. The urge to scare Lucy, throw her off her stride, had gripped her for days, consuming her. With each small act of harassment, Barbara felt a little better. The pressure lifted. The urge subsided. Now, she could think straight.

“So. You’re back.”

She jumped, suppressing a scream. “Darren, my God, you startled me. What are you doing here?”

He stepped over her feet and sat on the sofa. “Waiting for you.”

Even knowing Darren Mowery, Barbara thought, was a calculated risk. She’d heard the rumors in Washington. He’d gone bad, he’d lost his company, he’d been killed in South America. He was dangerous. She knew that much. She smiled uneasily. “You could have turned on the air-conditioning.”

“I’m not hot.”

“You must be half lizard.”

They’d bumped into each other a few weeks ago at a Washington restaurant and ended up having dinner a couple of times, although Barbara had no serious romantic interest in him—or he in her, as far as she could tell. She didn’t know where their relationship would lead, but her instincts told her he was important. Somehow, Darren Mowery would help her get off the grinding treadmill that had become her life. Perhaps it was because of him that she’d finally taken action against Lucy.

“You disappeared for a week,” he said.

“I didn’t disappear. I took a few days off. I told you.”

“Where did you go?”

She didn’t answer right away. Darren was a man who’d want to believe he was in charge, that he had the upper hand. He was very handsome, she had to admit. Early fifties, silvery haired. He could have stood out in Washington if he’d wanted to. Instead, he chose to blend in with his conservative dark suits and country club casuals, his only distinguishing feature his superb physical condition. He was in better shape than many men half his age, but his reflexes were the real giveaway. This was not a man who’d spent the past thirty years behind a desk.

“I went outlet shopping,” she said.

“Where?”

“New England.” Let him think she was being evasive. She didn’t care. She wanted him to know she was strong while at the same time believing he was stronger. It was a delicate balancing act.

He scratched one side of his mouth; he always looked relaxed, at ease with his surroundings. Yet he was observant, alert to every nuance around him. Barbara knew she couldn’t make a misstep with such a man. He’d probably searched her apartment, she realized; but she’d anticipated as much.

No, she had no illusions. She wasn’t yet sure of the exact nature of the game they were playing, but she knew Darren Mowery would kill her if she crossed him. She had to be careful, strong, sure of herself. And smart. Smarter than he was.

“We’ve been dancing around each other long enough,” he said. “Let’s put our cards on the table. I want to know everything. No surprises.”

What did that mean? Did he know about her and Lucy? Barbara dodged the little needle of uncertainty and suppressed the surge of excitement that finally they were getting down to it. She shrugged, nonchalant. “All right. You first.”

He studied her. He had very blue eyes. Stone-cold blue eyes. “Lucy Swift left for Wyoming today.”

It wasn’t what Barbara expected. Another, weaker woman might have panicked, but she sat back in her chair and yawned. She was the personal assistant to a powerful United States senator, a professional accustomed to managing the unexpected. She already knew about Lucy’s trip to Wyoming; she’d found out when she’d checked in with Jack’s office yesterday. Lucy must have told Jack, and a member of his staff had left Barbara a routine message. The unexpected was that Darren knew. “Yes, I know. Something to do with her adventure travel business, I believe.”

“Redwing Associates is based in Wyoming.”

“Ah, yes. Sebastian Redwing sold Lucy her house in Vermont. It belonged to his widowed grandmother. From what Jack tells me, he and Lucy aren’t very good friends. Didn’t Sebastian once work for you?” She was tempted to pick at an itchy mosquito bite, but resisted. “I gather his company is doing very well.”

Mowery didn’t react. Barbara liked that. It meant he had self-control. According to Washington gossip, there was no love lost between Sebastian Redwing and his old mentor. There was even talk that Mowery blamed Sebastian for the downfall of DM Consultants, Darren’s private security firm.

Barbara supposed it was theoretically possible that Lucy would go whining to Sebastian about what had happened to her this week, but she doubted it. Lucy was quite determined to prove herself capable, independent—which, of course, she wasn’t. Barbara had already calculated that Lucy wouldn’t go to Jack or to the Capitol Police. Lucy wanted no part of being a Swift.

“I get the impression you don’t like Lucy Swift very much,” Darren said.

“I don’t see what concern that is of yours.”

He leaned forward. “Cards on the table, Barbie. I have a bone to pick with your boss. I want to make him sweat. And I want your help.”

“My help?”

“I think you’ve got something on him,” Mowery said, smug and confident.

“No. Senator Swift is a man of sterling integrity.”

Mowery threw back his head and laughed.

Barbara pursed her lips. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, well, so am I. Barbie, Barbie.” He shook his head at her, sighing. “Office gossip says you threw yourself at the old boy a couple weeks ago, and he laughed you out of his office.”

Her stomach flipped over on her. “That’s not true.”

“What part? You didn’t throw yourself at him or he didn’t laugh?”

“You’re disgusting. I want you to leave.”