I blinked. The vision was gone. Parker’s gaze was concerned, but his voice was tight. He understood, empathised even, but this was not the time to start unravelling on him.
‘Yeah,’ I said, and bent to the task.
We went as fast as we dared, which must have seemed appallingly slow if you’re trapped in your own premature grave waiting for release. I worked along one side, Parker along the other, from the head down, clambering over ourselves in the confined space like some macabre game of Twister. One screw loosened after another until my forearms and wrists were screaming and the blisters bled.
The lid was too thick to bend – thick enough to take the weight of both of us without a bounce. We probably could have driven over it, even without a concrete casing.
‘That’s the last of them,’ Parker said. ‘Get clear. I’ll do this.’
‘No chance.’ I shoved the knife back in my pocket, stilled when he caught my arm.
‘Charlie,’ he said quietly, ‘you’ve done enough.’
But I hadn’t, and we both knew it.
Expressionless, he nodded as if I’d spoken, released me and stepped back. We grasped the lid together, braced ourselves, and heaved.
CHAPTER TWO
I liked the Willners right from the off, and in some ways that made it all so much worse. Far easier to protect a principal if you can be objective about the exercise – ambivalent, even. Dedication to duty is one thing, but emotional investment is the way madness lies. And if not that, then certainly a spectacular burnout.
Still, by the start of that summer I was probably heading for both.
It was the first week in May when Parker Armstrong drove me out to Long Island for our initial consultation with the formidable Caroline Willner. I remember her fixing me with a piercing eye and asking the million-dollar question.
‘So, Ms Fox, are you prepared to die to keep my daughter safe?’
Despite the intensity of her gaze, her voice was little more than calmly curious.
My answer mattered to her, of course it did. But her attempt to hide that fact behind a cool facade was revealing. It made me more deliberate in my choice of words than I might otherwise have been, facing a wealthy potential client for the first time.
‘If it comes down to it, yes,’ I said. ‘But I’d rather we didn’t have to find out.’
She raised an eyebrow at that, lifting her teacup. Beside me on the sleek leather sofa, my boss twitched in sympathetic response.
We were sitting in the huge living area on the top floor of the Willners’ ultramodern house in the Hamptons, with plate glass windows offering a widescreen view of the shoreline. Below us, beyond a stark white security wall, the Atlantic surf rolled in all the way from North Africa. Caroline Willner had been sitting with her back to the glass when we were shown in to meet her, leaving us to be overawed by the open vista. She clearly did not share our concerns about the potentially uninterrupted field of fire.
‘What Charlie means, ma’am,’ Parker said smoothly, ‘is that close protection is all about anticipating trouble – keeping the principal out of danger in the first place. Dying on the job is considered a failure in our line of work.’
Even as he spoke, he realised what lay beneath and behind the words. His eyes flickered across to mine.
If Caroline Willner noticed this silent apology, she gave no sign of it. The woman opposite was no doubt used to people hesitating around her. She had the steely demeanour of someone who took no prisoners, suffered no fools. The crow’s feet radiating from her eyes and the lines ringing her neck showed she had the self-confidence to reject surgical intervention as the years advanced. Her hair was unashamedly silvered, but cut in a style as severely modern as her home.
An interesting mix of defiance and pride that would not, I noted, make her accept advice easily, particularly when it came to matters of personal safety. Such people tended to confuse caution with cowardice, and react accordingly.
Parker had given me the background on the drive out from the office in midtown Manhattan. That she was rich went without saying. You don’t own beachfront property in Suffolk County and scrape by on your uppers. The money came from investment banking and was largely of her own making. Since her divorce from some minor branch of the German aristocracy, though, she was no longer entitled to call herself Countess. I took in Caroline Willner’s fiercely upright posture and wondered if that rankled.
‘And have
‘Yes.’
The baldness of my answer – or perhaps the truth of it – surprised her. She covered by taking another sip of tea from a cup so delicate it was almost translucent. There was a smear of lipstick on the gilt rim, but none seemed to have come away from her mouth. It wouldn’t dare.
Her pale-blue eyes held mine with a certain arrogance, awaiting my elaboration. I said nothing.
‘But you didn’t die.’
I returned her stare blandly. ‘Not entirely.’
She nodded, disengaging for a moment as if checking with some internal database, nodded again slowly as the figures tallied when she hadn’t quite expected them to.
So, she had done her homework on us.
Or on me …
Parker and I sat side by side, holding our own cups in which the liquid had already cooled beyond comfort. We waited, unfazed by her brief silence and not rushing to break it. Clients of Caroline Willner’s status moved at their own speed. When it came to judging the pace of their mood, Parker was an expert.
He was a quiet man, not overly tall, not overly muscled, a chameleon who blended perfectly with whatever company he kept, without ever losing the essence of himself in the process. His prematurely grey hair gave him an air of maturity that inspired confidence in any client, belying a face that could turn surprisingly youthful when he smiled. And sitting here, in this exceptional house, he looked relaxed and quite at home.
Eventually, Caroline Willner said, ‘Dina came late in my life. By that time, both my husband and I did not expect to be blessed, and then … we were.’ A brief smile, almost rueful, but affectionate. Then she glanced up and it was gone. ‘An unfortunate side effect is that I have always felt a generation removed from my daughter, Mr Armstrong. My focus has been on my work and I regret that while Dina was growing up I probably did not pay her as much attention as I should have. We are not as … close as I would like.’
Caroline Willner sat very still as she talked, only her face showing animation. She looked from one to the other of us closely, checking for censure. We were careful to show her none.
Her hands were folded in her lap and now she straightened her fingers, absently inspecting the rings on her right hand. Habit rather than vanity, although I’d escorted enough precious gem couriers to know that the emeralds she wore must have cost well over twenty thousand dollars.
‘Has she been in any trouble?’ Parker asked, neutral.
‘No!’ Caroline Willner’s head snapped up, but her gaze slid on past. ‘Just a few foolish games. Drinking, partying, that kind of thing. She’s young and she’s fallen in with a crowd who are something of a bad influence. I never know where she is or who she’s with.’ Her eyes settled on mine again, more resolute. ‘I’m hoping that is something Ms Fox’s presence will rectify.’
A flutter of movement beyond the glass caught my eye. A girl on a big muscular white horse came bounding along the surf line, the horse’s gait snatchy through the knee-high water, neck flexed against taut reins. I had the impression he was more than a handful, and his rider’s decision to go paddling had been taken more in an attempt to regain control than for pleasure.
‘If I’m to take this job,’ I said mildly, ‘it will be on the understanding that I am not the girl’s gaoler, nor your
