“so I’ll just jump in. Kylie, and that’s Jeff and Harry. Harriet, but we all call her Harry.” The two kids, one blond, one dark, waved. “The baby’s still in her chair in the dining room—honey, check her, would you?”
“Yep,” Joe said, and walked out of the kitchen trailing children.
The noise level dropped to almost nothing, and Bryn felt awkward again. “Hi,” she said, and held out her hand. “I’m Bryn. Bryn Davis. I, ah …” How was she supposed to explain any of this? How top-secret was it, anyway? “I work with Joe. Oh, and this is Mr. French. I promise he’s housebroken.”
Kylie smiled at the dog, then shook hands. She had fine blue eyes, and Bryn sensed a sharp, lively intelligence behind them. “I never heard him mention you before.”
Joe appeared in the doorway again with a baby on his hip, comfortably braced in his big arm. “She’s new,” he said. “Honey, take her a minute; I have to lock up the boom sticks.”
“Jesus, Joe, you’re walking around with her and your guns?” Kylie rolled her eyes and took the little girl, who cooed and nestled against her with more trust than Bryn thought she’d ever had shown to her in her entire life. “Go. Shoo. Get less dangerous.”
“Impossible,” Joe said. “I’m a lethal weapon, baby.”
“Shut up.”
He blew her a kiss and disappeared again. Kylie jiggled the baby—Juliet—on her hip and exchanged another smile with Bryn. “So,” she said, “he talked you into the heart-attack special, right? I hardly ever let him eat that stuff, which is probably why he’s running late. Here, let me get you a plate; go on into the dining room.” She raised her voice to a yell. “Jeff, come in here and rinse the dishes!”
“Mooooooom, the show’s starting!”
“It’s recorded, honey; put it on pause and just do what I tell you.” Kylie handed Bryn a plate, picked up the food and drink, and followed her into the dining room. It was a warm kind of room, all earth tones and wood, with family photos on the walls. Bryn felt a little odd eating fast food there, until Joe Fideli came back, plunked his own down on the table, and began digging in. Kylie settled in across from him.
Bryn found out quickly that she wasn’t just hungry; she was
She didn’t feel quite as dead anymore. Especially when Mr. French stretched himself out in a warm blanket across her feet.
Kylie and Joe chatted about family stuff, occasionally asking her a question or two; it was all unforced and comfortable, and Joe finally got around to telling his wife that he’d invited Bryn to use the guest room. That got another second of hesitation, as if she were trying to figure out his motivations, and then a quick agreement. Kylie got up to fix the room while Joe slurped the last of his drink.
“Do they know?” Bryn asked softly. “I mean, about what you do.” Whatever that was.
“They know I’m in corporate security,” Joe said. “And that my work is top-secret. So she won’t ask you any questions. She’s just going to assume you’re someone I’m protecting. Which is true.”
“Do you usually bring people you’re protecting home to meet your family?”
“Not ever,” he said. “Hope you feel special about it.”
He started to get up from the table. Bryn put a hand on his arm, holding him in place. “Joe.” She got his full, alert attention. “Thanks. You’re sure I’m not putting anybody in danger by being here?”
He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You really think I’d bring you within a mile of my kids if I thought there was any chance at all of that? Bryn, you’re a nice girl, and I admit, I got you brought back mostly because I felt I’d let you down. But you ever pose any danger to my family and I’ll make you permanently dead, and I won’t hesitate for a second.”
She believed him. She let go, and Joe picked up her empties and cleaned up the table, just like a normal guy.
“If I ever did pose a danger to them, I’d want you to do it,” she said. “You’ve got a lovely family.”
“You say that now; wait until you spend a couple of hours with the little terrors,” he said. “Come on. I owe Jeff a video game or two.”
Normal life.
Bryn wondered if she would ever have this again, this taste of a future, of life, of family.
Well, she thought,
Chapter 4
In the morning, the family had breakfast, and Joe drove Bryn to drop off Mr. French at her apartment, and then to see what was left of Fairview Mortuary.
It was a grim sight. Most of the building was still standing, but the other part was blackened and had collapsed in on itself. The serene little garden out front had been trampled into mush by firefighters and emergency crews.
“When you stage a rescue, you don’t go about it subtly, do you?” she asked. Joe shrugged.
“I tried that,” he said. “Fairview had hardened the doors. Only choice I had was to break down the loading- dock wall, and I had to use explosives to do it.”
“And you just carry those around with you.”
“Yeah,” he said, “I do. In my job, it pays to be prepared.”
“Like a Boy Scout.”
“With C-four.”
There were a substantial number of trucks pulled up in the driveway, unloading materials. Repairs, it seemed, were already under way, and a work crew in hard hats was swarming around the place looking purposeful. Bryn got out of the SUV and walked toward the building, then stopped. She turned to Joe. “What about the bodies?” she asked.
“Which bodies?”
“Fairview, Fast Freddy, Mr. and Mrs. Jones, Mr. Garcia …”
“The basement bodies. They were removed already.” Joe cleared his throat. “Mrs. Jones and Mr. Garcia were special problems. They were, ah, cleared separately.”
He meant dismembered. Or burned. Or both. Bryn felt a little wave of faintness come over her, and had to grip Fideli’s arm tight for a second until it passed. He didn’t say anything about it, which she appreciated. Once she felt steady again, she started to walk on—and then stopped, stock-still. She turned to look at Fideli. “Just those two?”
“Yeah,” he said, and his brows came down to a level, concerned line. “Why?”
“Because Fast Freddy was the same. Like me, I mean. Revived.”
“Fuck,” he spat, and pulled out his cell phone. He turned away and marched off, talking softly but quickly. She waited. He finally finished and came back, looking even grimmer. “Should have done a blood test. Damn it. Body’s already been processed and sent off for cremation.”
“Well—that’s okay, then, right?”
“Would have been,” he said, “except that nobody had any warning ol’ Freddy might get all better, get up, and walk away. Which he did. He’s in the wind.” He shook his head. “Listen, Bryn, I’ve got to get back—”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be fine, Joe. Thank you for … for everything.” Including, she thought, the clothes on her back … a gift from Kylie of a butter-soft tan sweater and jeans that fit like a dream. Even the shoes—loafers again— were her size, or close enough. Kylie had gotten her sizes and gone on a midnight shopping run, and that woman had some clothing feng shui, no doubt about it. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about Freddy.”
“You had other things on your mind, and I never asked. This one’s on me,” he said. He climbed in the truck and started it up, then leaned out the window. “Forgot to tell you, your ride’s over there in the lot. It’s the black one.” He tossed her a set of keys, which she caught automatically, still not understanding. He grinned at her and backed out, then gunned the engine to a full roar on his way out of the parking area and onto the main road.
Bryn watched until he was out of sight, then looked around again. She wasn’t quite sure what her role here was supposed to be, considering the damage that had been done—or she wasn‘t, until a big Cadillac sedan made the turn off the road and pulled up in the lot near her.
