Gage was silent.
“It’s fine, Gage,” she said, her voice resigned but serene. “This is a journey we all must take. This one is mine alone. You’ll have yours someday—everyone will.” Claudia paused. “I’ve come to accept it. In some small way, I look forward to it.”
“Still, I know it must be difficult.”
“Gage, as you might imagine, my family is rather peculiar. With each passing day, I grow more convinced that one of my children ended my husband’s life. I’m considering amending my will.”
“Claudia, I’ve been thinking about this a great deal. Is part of this job figuring out who killed your husband?”
“Pardon me?”
“Do you want me to investigate? Because I don’t know anything about—”
“No, Gage,” she interrupted. “The job is just as I’ve described it.”
“I apologize if I was being presumptuous.”
“No need. The mystery of who killed him will never reveal itself unless someone confesses. No, I simply want you near me in my final days. This cancer will do its job—and I’d like to make sure no one kills me in the process.” She laughed a humorless chuckle. “I guess that’s a touch of absurdity, isn’t it?”
“You shouldn’t feel bad for wanting to remain safe.”
“I’m not afraid of dying, Gage. But I don’t want to be murdered.”
They spoke for a bit longer and made plans to meet at Frankfurt International Airport, in the Lufthansa First Class Terminal.
“Will I have any problems accessing the terminal?”
“No, dear. Just go to the restaurant beside the bar. It’s the only one in the first class terminal. I’ll meet you there. I’ll also have someone call you once your ticket has been purchased, and they’ll give you my flight number in the event you arrive before me.”
After the call, Gage raked the yard in front of Hunter’s house, making piles of dry leaves from the two massive oaks. Because of the lack of rain, he raised quite a bit of dust, setting off several sneezing fits. Sheriff lingered nearby, eyeing the piles of leaves. Finally, Gage gave him the go ahead and roared with laughter as the dog pounced in and out of the leaves. When they were both tired, Gage finished up, hauling the leaves to the back of the property to the compost pile.
His mind drifted back to the job.
This type of job was completely different than anything he’d done since the unpleasantness surrounding the diaries. The closest would have been the arrangement he’d had with Elena Volkov, who Hunter had described as a “smoke-show.” But in that instance, there had been tangible evidence that someone was trying to kill her. All Gage was going on this time was Claudia’s word that her husband had been poisoned. Because he had a bad heart, Gage wondered if her husband could have had naturally occurring high levels of potassium chloride. He made a mental note to check on this.
More than anything, the setting of this particular assignment is what truly excited Gage. Although, as Colonel Hunter mentioned, Gage had been back to Germany since the affair with the diaries, the prospect of actually living there again thrilled him and frightened him all at the same time.
How would he handle the memories of Monika’s murder? Would they be strong at first, and lessen over time? Or would they grow in intensity, leaving him an emotional wreck?
And what of his former headaches, the ones allegedly caused by PTSD? They’d altered his life when he lived in Germany before—like a fire reduced to embers, would they somehow flare up again with his presence as the fuel?
He pondered what he was being asked to do. Gage’s contract work was typically straightforward—he was given a task, he performed it, then he was paid. This one, however, was quite different. Other than the six-month maximum, this job consisted of sitting on his hands. More strange than that was the mystery surrounding the mission itself. The mystery of Claudia; the mystery of her husband’s death; and the mystery of Gage himself.
Why me?
She’d mentioned purchasing the information about what he’d been through in Germany. During their chat in his cottage, Claudia also remarked about a number of other extremely private details, such as his former identity. She knew about his near death in Spain at the hands of Los Leones. She mentioned a cartel dustup in Peru. She claimed to know about his past experience as a bodyguard. She even remarked about his brush with a family of Greek criminals in the Caribbean.
Gage asked her who she’d commissioned to do such research on him and she’d just smiled. There was something intriguing about this woman. It was as if her mind held a million secrets—her mysteries proving magnetic to Gage.
Once Gage had stored the yard equipment, he fed Sheriff before rinsing himself off with the hose at the rear of the house. Hunter drove in, retrieving a couple of grocery sacks from the passenger side of his pickup truck. The two men eyed one another.
“So, when do you leave?” Hunter asked.
“Friday.”
Hunter nodded, a knowing expression on his face. “How long?”
“No more than six months.”
“You prepared for that?”
“No,” Gage answered. “But it’ll be good for me.”
“I agree.” The old warhorse appeared grudgingly satisfied. “I’m happy for you. And I knew you wouldn’t change your mind. Each of us has irresistible pulls in our life and one of yours, son, is Germany.”
“You know me pretty well, don’t you?”
“I bet you’ll find some new lady friend while you’re there, too.”
“No, sir, I won’t.”
“Okay…” Hunter replied. But his countenance spoke volumes.
Gage followed him inside. When Hunter had put the groceries away, Gage leaned on the counter and asked him a question.
“How did she know
