C. Palov: Templar's Quest

The pain, however, came later. In the days immediately following her infant son’s death, she’d been too numb to feel anything, having gone through the funeral in an almost catatonic state. To this day, she still couldn’t recall a single detail from the ceremony. Only afterwards did she realize that the dazed fog had been a survival mechanism.

All too soon, that numbness gave way to an unbearable heartache.

At the time, she didn’t think she could contain, let alone exorcise, the pain. The best she could do was manage the grief – at least during the daylight hours – by binging on work. Gorging herself on an inhuman schedule. The constant white noise of office computers, printers, beepers and one-sided telephone conversations forced her to concentrate on the job at hand. The intense focus helped to keep the grief at bay.

In recent months, the pain had diminished somewhat. At least enough that she’d begun to think about resuming a ‘normal’ life. Whatever that meant.

Ten minutes into the mostly silent drive, Kate pulled up to the entrance of the French Embassy, tri-coloured flags waving jauntily in the humid breeze. A smartly dressed group walked past, the guard waving them through the open gate. Although Sergeant McGuire hadn’t volunteered any specifics, she assumed he’d been invited to an embassy party.

‘I see a space a little further down the street. How good are you at parallel parking?’

She shot her passenger a questioning glance. ‘Why do I need to park?’

‘I thought you might want to come in and, you know, mingle.’

‘You want me to go with you to the party?’

‘Yeah. You on board?’

Taken aback by the invitation, Kate stared at the uniformed man seated beside her. Under no circumstance would she describe him as handsome. Although she wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was un -handsome. Rugged-looking best summed him up. And it had been nearly two years since the divorce.

Unfortunately …

‘I’m afraid that I have to decline the, um, gracious invitation. As you can plainly see, Sergeant McGuire, I’m really not dressed for an embassy soiree.’ Kate lamely gestured to her navy-blue linen skirt. Paired with a sleeveless cream-coloured blouse, it was the sort of nondescript office fare that rarely garnered a second glance from the opposite sex.

‘Hey, I think you look great. By the way, my first name is Finn.’ The sergeant stared expectantly at her.

‘Oh, right … and I’m Kate.’

‘Kate. I was damned close.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Nothing. Listen, this is just my way of saying “Thank you”. And, I promise, no strings attached. Come on. I bet there’s free booze and a long buffet table. What do you say, Kate? You look like you’ve had a helluva day.’

While that was true, she barely knew Sergeant McGuire. A few weeks ago at an office birthday party, she’d accidentally bumped into him and spilled coffee on his uniform. She’d offered an awkward, bumbling apology. He, in turn, gruffly refused to let her pay for the dry cleaning. In the whole of that sixty-second exchange, there’d been no sparks. Not even a dim flicker.

Which might explain why she was tempted to accept Finn McGuire’s offer. It was a ‘no strings’ opportunity to do something other than eat carryout and watch a DVD. ‘No strings’ was about all she could handle emotionally.

Giving the invitation serious consideration, Kate glanced at Finn’s left hand. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band. More importantly, there was no telltale tan line. Two years ago she swore that she’d never do to another woman what had been done to her.

Finn gave her a coaxing smile, managing to look almost handsome.

Okay, so what if he’s not my type. A glass of wine and a little banter with a living, breathing member of the opposite sex might do her some good.

Mind made up, Kate steered the car towards the vacant parking space.

5

He was a bastard. No doubt about it.

But if the situation turned dicey, Finn figured he’d need the Camry to escape the premises. That’s why he’d cajoled Kate into coming inside. And why he then lifted the key ring out of the leather bag hanging from her shoulder.

Having gone on red alert the moment they stepped inside the joint, he again scanned the well-heeled crowd.

‘The smoked salmon canapé with caviar is to die for. You have to try one,’ Kate said, wiping a crumb from her upper lip.

Not nearly so impressed, Finn glanced at the buffet table; a twenty-foot-long floral and candle-strewn extravaganza with enough food to feed an entire platoon. Although no red-blooded soldier of his acquaintance would willingly eat the crap that the French were serving at their fancy chow line.

‘Thanks, but I’m more of a pigs-in-a-blanket kind of guy.’

Kate gave a good-natured chuckle. ‘I’m afraid to ask.’ As she spoke, a distinguished-looking African man dressed in a flowing yellow and brown agbado strolled between them, causing a brief separation.

‘Jeez, we should have brought our own UN interpreter.’

‘I’ll have you know that I can say “Hello” in twenty different languages,’ Kate informed him, a challenging cant to her chin. ‘Although I’ll spare you the litany.’

‘Appreciate that.’ Lightly placing his hand on the small of her back, Finn guided Kate through the crowded reception hall. With two hundred or so jibber-jabbering attendees, it was the perfect place for an assassin to lurk. No wonder FJ-58 stipulated the embassy party.

‘The opulent fête champêtre and sumptuous joie de vivre put me in mind of a Watteau painting.’

‘Sorry. Not registering. You lost me at French fries.’ Flagging down a penguin-suited waiter, Finn snatched two glasses of champagne from a silver tray. ‘Here you go. What’s a party without a lil’ bubbly?’ Forcing his lips into a semblance of a smile, he handed Kate one of the glasses.

‘What I was trying to say is that I feel out of my element.’

‘I hear ya.’ A few feet away, Finn observed two female guests bend and sway as they gave each other a well-practised air kiss.

‘You know, Sergeant, er – I mean, Finn –’ Kate took a measured sip of her champagne – ‘I don’t know anything about you. However, if I had to make an educated guess, I’d say that you hail from the Boston area.’

‘Guilty as charged. I’m a Southie born and bred. The lady clearly knows her accents.’ Mimicking his date, he took an obligatory swallow. Christ. Talk about French pansy piss.

‘Given that you sound like Mark Wahlberg in The Departed , it wasn’t so difficult. Good movie, by the way, although a bit on the violent side. It’s all about all these Boston gangsters who –’

‘Yeah, I saw it,’ he lied.

‘I grew up in Pasadena … in case you were wondering.’

He wasn’t.

‘Right. Pasadena. Rose Bowl parade.’ He surreptitiously searched the tight clusters of champagne-swilling partygoers. Come on, asshole. Come to daddy.

‘Don’t they teach children to speak in full sentences in South Boston?’

‘Nope. Can’t recall that Sister Michael Patrick ever used a complete sentence. “Stand.” “Sit.” “Pray.” “Open your books.” ’

Clearly amused, Kate laughed, champagne sloshing over the side of her glass. ‘Which are complete sentences, albeit commands.’

Knowing it was time to cut her loose, Finn cleared his throat. ‘Listen. Kate. I just caught sight of someone I know and I, um, need to talk shop for a few minutes. Would you mind if I –’

‘Not to worry. I’m a big girl. Besides, the dessert table awaits me.’ A good sport, she waved him on his way.