made Machiavelli look like a choirboy. Not surprisingly, once she got over wanting to play cloak-and-dagger games in the field she became an exceptional intelligence analyst.
“I won’t ask how you found me”, Jake said. “The folks you hang with could find anything. Why did you find me?”
“My, we’re in a bad mood, aren’t we? And it’s such a beautiful day, too.” She waved an elegant hand at the sun-dappled forest. “I’d heard that it always rains in the Pacific Northwest.”
He grunted.
“Does this mean you don’t want to talk about the good old days?” she asked.
His scarred eyebrow lifted in a sardonic arc. “The good old days? That should take about three seconds. Bye, Ellen. Don’t call me, I’ll call you. Your three seconds are up.”
Her cheerful smile vanished, leaving behind the restless, consuming personality that would never be satisfied with one of anything, including men.
“Hey, C’mon, Jake”, she said softly. “It was good and you know it.”
“Since when do you spend time looking over your shoulder at the ashes?”
“You’re determined to do this the hard way, aren’t you?”
“First thing a boy learns is it’s gotta be hard to be good.” She made an impatient gesture. “Have it your way.”
“I plan to. Good-bye. Don’t give my regards to Uncle Sam.”
Jake started to walk around Ellen to get to his cabin. She stepped out in front of him and looked up with eyes as blue and clear as a porcelain angel’s.
“Would you be more cooperative if we sent someone else?” she asked.
“No.”
“You don’t even know what we want.”
“I like it that way.”
The wind gusted, rippling the black silk collar of Ellen’s blouse. Absently she patted the collar back in place and examined her remaining options. It didn’t take long. She wasn’t a slow or timid thinker.
“I told them the old lover bit wouldn’t work”, she said calmly. “You haven’t made any attempt to get in touch with me for years. In fact, you never did. When you say good-bye, you mean it.”
Jake waited, knowing he wasn’t going to get rid of her easily. What he was afraid of was that he wouldn’t get rid of her at all. U.S. government intelligence types – no matter what part of the alphabet soup of agencies they might work for – didn’t bother honest citizens unless the professionals were up to their lips in shit and the devil was coming by in a speedboat.
“I could appeal to your patriotism”, Ellen said.
He smiled.
“Mother”, she muttered. “Reformed idealists are the worst. Once the fairy dust gets out of their eyes, they don’t want to play anymore.”
“We’ve had this conversation before.”
She tapped a manicured nail against her little leather purse and looked at the unfenced woods beyond Jake’s truck. A bald eagle soared overhead, its pure white head turning as it looked for prey. Though the bird’s shadow whipped over her face, Ellen didn’t look up.
“All right”, she said, deciding. “You want to find Kyle Donovan. So do we. We can help each other.”
Jake’s impassive expression didn’t change. He had been expecting something like this since he had seen Ellen get out of her car.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
“Why are you after Kyle?”
“You know why. He stole a million bucks in amber.”
Jake knew the amber was worth only half that. But if that’s what the Donovan family was claiming on the insurance, no one would listen to him anyway. The Donovans had wealth and friends in high places – same thing, really.
“So Kyle stole some amber”, Jake said. “So what? People steal ten times a million bucks and our dear Uncle doesn’t break a sweat unless taxes aren’t paid.”
“Kyle stole this money from a foreign country.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Wrong.”
“Get real. This is me you’re talking to, not some freshman politician hoping to get in your pants. You’ll have to come up with a better reason for