Second Shot

Sean was wearing a charcoal gray made-to-measure that subtly disguised the height and the breadth of him but, to my eyes, did little to hide the deadly grace that was an innate part of his makeup.

I’d caught a glimpse of our reflections in the mirror above the bar when we’d arrived at the restaurant and I reckoned, to the casual observer at least, we probably looked like accountants. That was certainly the effect we’d been aiming for.

Harrington opened his mouth to protest at his client’s comments, but before he could speak Sean cut in again. “As I understand it, you’ve had constant phone calls and you’ve been forced to change your mobile number-twice,” he said calmly “Your ex-boyfriend has been hanging around outside both your home and your daughter’s nursery school. You’ve had notes left on your car. Unwanted deliveries. I think you need a little more than some kind of nanny, don’t you?”

Simone switched her attention from me back to Sean. In contrast to the rest of us, she was dressed in battleship gray cargo trousers and a dark red chenille sweater with sleeves that came down almost to her fingertips. Her curly dark hair was pulled loosely back into a ponytail. Harrington had told us she was twenty-eight, a year older than I was. She looked about eighteen.

“You make it sound so much worse than it is, Mr. Meyer,” she said, folding her arms defensively. “Notes on my car? OK, they’re love letters. Unwanted deliveries? Sure, bouquets of flowers. Matt and I were together five years, for heaven’s sake! We share a child.” She swallowed, lowered her voice. “You’re making him out to be some kind of stalker.”

“Isn’t he?” Sean asked, head tilted slightly on one side. His voice had taken on the same cool note and his face the same impassive watchfulness that had always unnerved me so badly, back when he had been one of my army training instructors, and had always seen entirely too much.

Simone flushed and avoided his gaze. Instead, she spoke to Harrington directly. “I’ll talk to Matt again,” she said, her tone placatory now. “He’ll see sense eventually.” She smiled at the banker with a lot more affection than she’d shown to either Sean or me. “I’m sorry you felt you had to take such drastic action on my behalf, Rupert, but there wasn’t any need, really.”

Harrington looked about to protest further, but he correctly read the stubborn expression on Simone’s face and raised both palms in an admission of defeat.

“All right, my dear,” he said, rueful. “If you’re quite sure.”

“Yes,” Simone said firmly. “I am.”

“Mummy, I need to go wee-wee,” Ella piped up in a loud whisper. The smartly dressed elderly couple at the next table clearly subscribed to the unseen-and-unheard school of child raising. They were too British to actually turn around and glare, but I saw their outraged spines stiffen nevertheless.

If Simone noticed their disapproval, she ignored it and smiled at her daughter. “OK, sweetie,” she said, sliding her own chair back so she could lift Ella down and take her by the hand as she got to her feet. “If you’ll excuse us?”

“Of course,” Harrington said, good manners compelling him to stand also.

Sean had already risen, I noted, and for a second I was struck by the air of urbane sophistication he presented. This from a man who had left behind his roots on a run-down housing estate in a small northern city, but who still knew how to slide right back into that rough-diamond skin when the occasion demanded. The banker would not recognize Sean on his home ground.

My eyes followed mother and child as they weaved their way between the busy tables. Although Simone was not my principal-and at that stage I didn’t expect she would become so-watching people was beginning to become a habit, all part of the career I’d chosen. Or maybe the job had ultimately chosen me. I was never too sure about that.

Sean didn’t need to learn to watch anyone. For him it was an instinct ingrained deep as an old tattoo, indelible and permanent. He was just too driven, too focused, to ever let himself begin to blur.

“I’m awfully sorry about this,” Harrington said as the men sat down again and rearranged their napkins across their knees. “She just won’t listen to reason and, quite frankly, her refusal to admit there might be any kind of danger, either to herself or to little Ella, terrifies us, as I’m sure you can appreciate.”

“How much did she win?” Sean asked, reaching for his glass of Perrier.

“Thirteen million, four hundred thousand, and change,” the banker said with the casual tone of someone used to working with those kinds of figures on a daily basis, but I still heard the trace of a sneer in his voice as he added, “It was, if I understand it correctly, what they term a double rollover.”

“Money’s still money,” Sean said. “Just because her ancestors didn’t steal it doesn’t make her any less rich.”