and complain, I’ll go by myself, and if I get stabbed again, I hope you’ll be happy.”
Just before I slammed the kitchen door, panes of glass trembling, I heard Rafe starting to say something and Abby’s voice cutting across his, low and fierce: “Shut up.” When I turned back at the bottom of the garden, all four of them had their heads bent over their books again, in their pools of lamplight; glowing, enclosed, untouchable.
The night had turned cloudy, the air thick and immovable as a wet duvet dumped over the hills. I walked fast, trying to wear myself out, aiming for the point where I could fool myself that it was the exercise making my heart race. I thought of that great imaginary clock I’d felt somewhere in the background, my first couple of days, urging me faster. Sometime after that it had faded away into nothing, left me swaying to Whitethorn House’s own sweet slow rhythms, with all the time in the world. Now it was back, ticking savagely and getting louder every minute, speeding towards some huge shadowy zero hour.
I rang Frank from down in one of the lanes-even the thought of climbing my tree, having to stay in one place, made me itch all over. “There you are,” he said. “What were you doing, running a marathon?”
I leaned against a tree trunk and tried to get my breathing back to normal. “Trying to walk off my hangover. Clear my head.”
“Always a good idea,” Frank agreed. “First off, babe, well done last night. I’ll buy you a fancy cocktail for that one, when you get home. I think you may just have got us the break we needed.”
“Maybe. I’m not counting chickens. For all we know, Ned could be bullshitting me about the whole thing. He tries to buy Lexie’s share of the house, she blows him off, he decides to give it one more go, then I mention the memory loss and he sees his chance to convince me we had a deal all along… He’s no Einstein, but he’s no idiot either, not when it comes to wheeling and dealing.”
“Maybe not,” Frank said. “Maybe not. How’d you manage to hook up with him, anyway?”
I had my answer to that one all ready. “I’ve been keeping an eye on that cottage, every night. I figured Lexie went there for a reason-and if she was meeting someone, that would be the logical place. So I thought there was a decent chance whoever it was would show up there again.”
“And Slow Eddie wanders in,” Frank said blandly, “just when I’d told you about the house, given the two of you something to talk about. He’s got good timing. Why didn’t you ring me, after he left?”
“My head was buzzing, Frankie. All I could think about was how this changes the case, how I can use it, what I do next, how to find out if Ned’s bullshitting… I meant to phone you, but it went straight out of my head.”
“Better late than never. So how was your day?”
His voice was pleasant, absolutely neutral, giving away nothing. “I know, I know, I’m a lazy cow,” I said, giving it an apologetic cringe. “I should’ve tried to get something out of Daniel, while I had him to myself, but I just couldn’t face it. My head was killing me, and you know what Daniel’s like; he’s not exactly light entertainment. Sorry.”
“Hmm,” said Frank, not very reassuringly. “And what’s with the stroppy-bitch act? I’m assuming it was an act.”
“I want to unsettle them,” I said, which was true. “We’ve tried relaxing them into talking, and it hasn’t worked. What with the new info, I think it’s time to kick it up a gear.”
“It didn’t occur to you to talk that over with me before you swung into action?”
I left a small, startled pause. “I just figured you’d guess what I was at.”
“OK,” Frank said, in a mild voice that started sirens rising in my head. “You’ve done a great job, Cass. I know you didn’t want to get involved, and I appreciate the fact that you did it anyway. You’re a good cop.”
It felt like something had hit me in the stomach. “What, Frank,” I said, but I already knew.
He laughed. “Relax; it’s good news. Time to wind it up, babe. I want you to go home and start complaining that you feel like you’re getting the flu-dizzy, feverish, achy. Don’t mention the wound hurting, or they’ll want to look at it; just feel crap all over. Maybe wake one of them up during the night-Justin’s the worrier, isn’t he?-and tell him it’s getting worse. If they haven’t taken you to the emergency room by morning, make them. I’ll handle it from there.”
My nails were cutting into my hand. “Why?”
“I thought you’d be delighted,” Frank said, doing taken aback and a little miffed. “You didn’t want-”
“I didn’t want to go in to start with. I know. But I’m in now, and I’m getting close. Why the hell would you want to pull the plug? Because I didn’t ask you before I rattled these guys’ cage?”
“God, no,” said Frank, still all bland surprise. “Nothing to do with that. You went in to find a direction for this investigation, and you’ve done that beautifully. Congratulations, babe. Your work here is done.”
“No,” I said, “it’s not. You sent me in to find a suspect, those were your exact words, and so far all I’ve found is a possible motive with four possible suspects attached-five, if you take into account that Ned could be lying his little head off. How does that move the investigation forwards, exactly? The four of them will stick to their story, just like you said at the beginning, and you’re right back where you started. Let me do my fucking job.”
“I’m looking out for you. That’s my job. With what you’ve found out, you could be at risk here, and I can’t just ignore-”
“Bullshit, Frank. If one of those four killed her, I’ve been in danger since Day One, and it never bothered you one bit till now-”
“Keep your voice down. Is that it? You’re pissed off because I haven’t been protective enough?”
I could practically see his hands flying up in outrage, the wide offended blue eyes. “Give me a break, Frank. I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself, and you’ve never had a problem with that idea before. So why the fuck are you pulling me out?”
There was a silence. Finally Frank sighed. “Fine,” he said. “You want to know why, fine. I no longer feel that you’re maintaining the objectivity required to serve this investigation.”
“What are you talking about?” My heart was hammering. If he had surveillance on the house after all, or if he’d guessed that I’d taken off the mike-I should never have left it for so long, I thought wildly, stupid, I should’ve gone back inside every few minutes and made some kind of noise-
“You’re way too emotionally involved. I’m not stupid, Cassie. I have a fair idea what happened last night, and I know there’s shit you’re not telling me. Those are warning signs, and I’m not going to ignore them.”
He’d fallen for the Faure; he didn’t know I’d been burned. My heart rate went down a notch.
“You’re losing your boundaries. Maybe I should never have pressured you to do this. I don’t know the ins and outs of what happened to you on Murder and I’m not asking, but it clearly wrecked your head, and you obviously weren’t ready for something like this just yet.”
I have a flash-bang temper, and if I lost it now, the argument was over; I would have proved Frank’s point. That was probably exactly what he was angling for. I kicked the tree trunk instead, hard enough that for a second I thought I’d broken my toe. When I could talk I said, coolly, “My head is doing just fine, Frank, and so are my boundaries. Every one of my actions has been directed towards achieving the goal of this investigation and finding a prime suspect in the murder of Lexie Madison. And I’d like to finish the job.”
“Sorry, Cassie,” Frank said, gently but very firmly. “Not this time.”
There’s one thing about undercover that no one mentions, ever. The rule is, the handler holds the brake: he’s the one who decides when you need to pull back or come out. He’s the one with the overview, after all, he may well have info that you don’t, and you do what he says if you value either your life or your career. But here’s the part we never talk about, the grenade you carry with you always: he can’t make you. I had never known anyone to throw that grenade before, but every one of us knows it’s there. If you were to say no, there would be-for a little while, at least, and that might be all you needed-fuck-all your handler could do about it.
That kind of breach of trust can’t be repaired. In that second I saw the airport codes in Lexie’s date book, that hard, ruthless scrawl.
“I’m staying,” I said. A sharp wave of wind ran through the woods and I felt my tree shiver, a deep judder going up into my bones.
“No,” Frank said, “you’re not. Don’t give me hassle on this, Cassie. The decision’s been made; there’s no point in us fighting about it. Go home, pack your stuff and start playing sick. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You put me in here to do a job,” I said. “I’m not leaving till I get it done. I’m not fighting about it, Frank. I’m
