‘Have you … been to see him?’
‘Went yesterday, right after his scan—’
‘Scan?’ I interrupted. ‘What scan? He didn’t have anything scheduled or I would have been there. Do they think …?’
Unable to finish forming the words of wretched hope, I turned away, moved across to the Buell and ran a hand over the smooth acrylic tank. Whoever habitually kept the Willner cars gleaming had gone to the trouble of wiping the dust off the bike, I noticed absently.
When he spoke again, Parker’s voice was much closer behind me than I was expecting, and perhaps because I couldn’t see his face, I heard the hesitation in his voice more clearly. ‘Look, Charlie—’
‘Just tell me, Parker.’
He sighed. ‘The consultant ordered him up for another CT scan yesterday,’ he said at last. ‘Apparently his physical therapist has been growing kinda concerned about some of his responses.’
‘Concerned how? About what?’
‘His brain activity,’ Parker said flatly. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie, but … they think it may be slowing down.’
My shoulders went rigid. When I made a conscious effort to relax them, it seemed my self-control went at the same time. I let my chin drop, stifled a kind of half gasp, half sob, and felt Parker’s hands on my arms. He turned me back to face him and ducked to get a good look at the misery I couldn’t hide.
‘Do
I took a steadying breath and stepped out from under his fingers. He made no moves to stop me, letting his hands drop.
‘Yeah,’ I said with a shaky smile. ‘I know. Thanks, Parker.’
‘I’d tell you to be careful on this one, but I know you will be anyhow,’ he said. ‘Apart from that, how’re you finding things here?’
‘OK,’ I said carefully. ‘I thought Dina and I were getting on pretty well – until last night. I’m waiting to see how she behaves when she wakes up. If she’s still not talking to me, you might have to use Gomez for this after all.’
Parker smiled more fully then, as if glad to be back on safer ground. It made him look younger, too, despite the old gaze. ‘According to Dina’s mother, you’re the only one she’d trust to get the job done and not give a damn who you rode over to do it.’
‘Ah.’ I recalled with discomfort the reckless comment I’d thrown at Benedict Benelli the night before, about how if he turned out to be peddling drugs to his friends, I’d take him down regardless of family influence, and the ripples it was likely to cause. ‘I don’t suppose she qualified that at all, did she?’
Parker made an amused sound in the back of his throat, too dignified for it to be a snort. ‘She likes you well enough and thinks you’re doing a fine job, Charlie,’ he said. ‘Someone offers you the moon, don’t ask for the stars as well.’
I would have remarked on the exaggeration of that statement, had it not been for the fact that we both knew he wasn’t talking about Caroline Willner.
Sean was still alive – for the moment. I tried to tell myself that anything else was a bonus.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I sat on the old Quarter Horse, whose name was Geronimo, and watched Dina cantering in decreasing circles on an increasingly het-up Cerdo. We were in the Olympic-size all-weather outdoor arena at the local riding club, where Dina took the white horse every week for private lessons in equestrianism.
The instructor was a tall, well-built Australian called Raleigh, who seemed to take delight in pushing horse and rider to the point of explosion. They’d been trying to perfect a difficult dressage move, canter pirouette, for the best part of an hour, so far without satisfying Raleigh’s exacting standards.
To my mind, Dina hadn’t attained nearly enough willing submission from her horse in order to achieve the lightness and balance required for the movement, so each attempt rapidly degenerated into a hauling match. I reckoned Cerdo was consistently ahead on points.
But I kept such an opinion firmly to myself.
Raleigh turned and caught me watching. ‘Taking a breather already, hey?’ he demanded. ‘Let’s see you try it, then, Pom.’
I gave him a bland smile, ignoring the vague insult, and nudged Geronimo forwards. First into an ambling trot – not his best pace – and then into a collected canter around the outside edge of the arena. Although I hadn’t been on a horse seriously since I’d left home as a teenager, riding out with Dina on the beach every day had rekindled those half-forgotten skills. In that respect, it was very much like riding a bike, as well as giving me aching seat bones for the first few days.
This was our second time under the stern scrutiny of Raleigh. Dina told me that his nickname was the Wizard of Aus because of his ability to turn out first-class competition riders in a very short space of time. It seemed to me that his reputation was rather more important to him than the kind of gradual progress that Dina and Cerdo needed to make together.
I kept that one to myself, also, but I’d made a point of riding just a little more sloppily than I was capable of in front of Raleigh. I’d found out very quickly in this business that nothing gets a bodyguard fired faster than showing up their principal in public, particularly at any kind of sporting activity. Obviously, that did not include anything involving firearms or martial arts. If your principal thought they could outshoot or outfight you, they also tended to think they could do without you. The best plan was not to accept that kind of challenge in the first place.
We were riding with English saddles, which were not as armchair-like as their western counterparts, and it was clear that Geronimo was more at home in less formal attire. Now, I neck-reined the Quarter Horse in a fast tight circle, feeling him squat down on his ageing haunches as he spun round like we were roping a zigzagging steer.
As expected, Raleigh yelled, ‘Jeez, Pom, call that dressage? Useless!’ and turned his attention back to Dina.
I let Geronimo fall back to a walk and patted his sweating neck as I scanned the area near the arena. The riding club consisted of a smart collection of horse barns built around a central courtyard, surrounded by white- railed paddocks and a substantial cross-country course that ran for the best part of a mile.
In the yard, there was even a clock tower with a weathervane on top, tubs of well-tended flowers evenly spaced along the neatly swept concrete, and a cafe with tables arranged along an open balcony for a view of the arena where we practised. I ran a critical eye over the few spectators, but none of them rang any alarm bells.
Adjacent to the outdoor arena was an indoor one of similar enormous size, for use in bad weather. A far cry from the muddy farmyards and patchwork buildings of my youth.
It had rained lightly during our previous visit, and Dina’s lesson had taken place indoors as a result. From a security point of view, I would have preferred the same again, but Raleigh told us it was already in use. I thought about making an issue of it, then just shrugged. Dina and I had still not regained our earlier easy relationship after the party, and I knew that she would consider any insistence on my part as showing her up in front of her mentor.
Something else to be avoided.
Besides, in light of the previous two ambushes, I was more worried about being tagged while we were en route from the Willners’ house to the riding club in the Navigator, which was considerably slowed down by having a horse trailer on the back. Making aggressive evasive manoeuvres with such an unstable cargo would be impossible.
I didn’t like the arrangement, and said so, at which point Dina dug her heels in, much as she was doing now. Cerdo didn’t appreciate it any more than I had.
It was late morning and the day was nearing its hottest hour, but that alone wasn’t enough to cause the sweat to cream into lather where the reins rubbed against the horse’s arched neck. He gave off waves of agitation in the lash of his tail, the uneven stamp of his gait, the laid-flat ears and white-rimmed eyes.
