to keep from sliding back into the creek, they reached the top. In front of them was a four-lane highway, cars whizzing by at forty miles per hour.
‘There’s a cab!’ Edie exclaimed, pointing to a bright yellow vehicle in the distance. ‘Wave your arms so the cabbie can see us.’
Several feet from where they stood, a bullet embedded itself in the asphalt.
Galvanized into action, Edie ran along the hard shoulder, her arms wildly swinging to and fro. Almost instantly, car horns began to blare, one motorist rudely gesturing as he drove past. C?dmon had no choice but to give chase. Drenched to the knees, twigs and debris clinging to their garments, they looked like a pair of escaped asylum inmates.
In a reckless show of heroics, Edie stepped into the roadway, frantically hailing the fast-approaching cab.
The driver swerved into a skid, barely managing to brake his vehicle to a screeching halt several feet from where she stood.
Rushing over, she yanked open the back door.
Like a jack-in-the-box, a wide-eyed passenger popped his immaculately groomed head through the opening. With an upraised arm, he prevented her from getting into the vehicle.
‘In case you didn’t notice, this cab is already taken.’
Undeterred, Edie shoved her hand into her bag. A second later, she slapped a hundred-dollar bill into the passenger’s hand. ‘Now shut up and move over!’
The man obediently slid to the far side of the seat.
29
‘Drop us off at the next corner,’ Edie ordered the cab driver, handing him a ten. Having yet to utter a single word, the cabbie stopped in front of McPherson Square, a city park overrun with homeless men huddled around metal subway grates, their worldly possessions bundled in plastic shopping bags. Still pissed off she’d had to pay a hundred-dollar bribe to the obviously affluent consultant-type, who had got out at a K Street lobbying firm, she grudgingly waved to the driver to keep the change.
No sooner had C?dmon slammed the cab door shut than she turned to him. Confused, angered and more than anything else terrified, she said, ‘I can’t believe they actually killed Eliot Hopkins.’
‘Like you, I didn’t foresee today’s turn of events.’ Sliding an arm around her shoulders, he led her to one of the benches that ringed the park. Although they were both soaked to the knee, no one in the park took any notice of their bedraggled state, more than a few of the bench-warmers in far worse straits. It was no accident that she had picked McPherson Square, the downtown park an excellent place to fade into the city landscape.
‘Just as they manipulated yesterday’s murder scene at the Hopkins Museum, no doubt Colonel MacFarlane had planned a similar device for today’s bloodshed.’
Edie derisively snorted. ‘I can see the headlines now — LOVE TRIANGLE TURNS DEADLY.’
‘Or some such tripe.’ C?dmon’s red brows drew together. ‘I think we’re both in need of a fortifying cup of hot coffee,’ he said, gesturing to a branch of the ubiquitous Starbucks on the nearby street corner.
‘Do you mind if I sit here and wait for you? To be honest, I don’t know if I’m capable of putting one waterlogged foot in front of the other.’
C?dmon surveyed the park. Not only were there homeless men on nearly every bench, there were homeless men bundled in sleeping bags, the only thing protecting them from the cold, pieces of corrugated cardboard.
‘Go on. I’ll be perfectly safe. They might look dangerous, but these guys are perfectly harmless,’ she assured him.
‘Ironic to see so many men living rough while others live in the lap of luxury.’ He glanced at the nearby Hilton Hotel.
‘Yeah, well, unless we can figure out a safe place to lie low, you and I may be reduced to the same plight come nightfall.’
‘A topic we’ll discuss when I return.’
Edie nodded, inclined to leave the decision-making to C?dmon. Without his quick thinking, she’d be lying in a puddle of her own blood, the second member of the imaginary love triangle. Whether she liked to admit it or not — and she didn’t — she needed his protection.
With a backward wave of the hand, C?dmon departed on his coffee run.
‘Don’t forget the biscotti,’ she yelled at his backside, the shout earning another wave.
Her legs about to give way, Edie sat down on the bench. Within moments it began to hail, pellets of crystallized ice assaulting her person, hitting her on the cheeks, nose and forehead. She hunched forward, tucking her chin into her chest. She listened to the uneven tattoo of ice striking the wood planks of the weathered bench. With nowhere to run, and fast running out of places to hide, she felt imprisoned in a winter canvas of grey, taupe and white.
Suddenly seeing red instead of winter neutrals, she shoved her hand into her bag, retrieving her BlackBerry. Hopefully, she had enough juice to make a local phone call.
She dialled 411.
The days of speaking to a real person a thing of the past, she slowly said, ‘Rosemont Security Consultants,’ when prompted by the automated operator. A few seconds later the same computerized voice recited a seven-digit phone number. Edie hit ‘1’, requesting to be connected.
The call was answered on the first ring.
‘Rosemont Security Consultants.’
Momentarily taken aback that the office receptionist was a man not a woman, ‘I want to speak to Stanford MacFarlane,’ she brusquely demanded, hoping the lackey on the other end picked up on her don’t-mess-with-me attitude.
He didn’t.
‘I’m sorry, but the colonel is unavailable to take any calls at this time. If you would like to leave a —’
‘Tell him that Edie Miller is on the line. Trust me. He’ll take the call.’
The receptionist put her on hold, Edie treated to the annoying strains of elevator music.
Midway into Sinatra’s ‘My Way’, the line reengaged.
‘Ah, Miss Miller. What an unexpected surprise.’
Edie shivered, Stanford MacFarlane eerily cordial.
‘I trust that you’re feeling —’
‘Can the bullshit, MacFarlane. How do you think I feel after watching one of your goons gun down a scared old man?’
‘None too well, I suspect. You do know that you’re proving a most elusive target.’ Edie wasn’t certain, but she thought she detected a note of grudging respect in his voice.
Disgusted by the thought that she and C?dmon had become some kind of perverted pastime, she said, ‘I know what you’re up to, you sick bastard! Eliot Hopkins told us all about your plan to find the Ark of the —’
From out of nowhere, an unseen hand yanked the BlackBerry away from her ear. Craning her neck, Edie was surprised to find C?dmon standing behind the park bench. In his right hand he held her BlackBerry, in his left, an egg-carton carrier of coffee. Without a word, C?dmon unceremoniously shoved the mobile into his jacket pocket. Then, acting as though nothing was even remotely wrong, he handed her a cup of coffee.
‘If I recall correctly, you take two sugars.’
Edie’s shock turned to outrage.
‘Do you know why the British have never rebelled against the monarchy? Because you’re afraid to take action! You’re afraid to say, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it any longer!”’
‘Unlike you, I believe that restraint is the better part of valour.’
‘Oh, stuff an argyle sock in it, will ya? I’m beginning to think you love the sound of your own voice.’
C?dmon straightened his shoulders, drawing himself to his full imposing height of six foot three. ‘Because of
