Split Second

She looked around. "I can see that. Nice place."

"What are you doing here, Joan?"

"Came to see an old friend who's in trouble."

"Really? Who's that?"

She smiled demurely. "Murder in your office. That's trouble, isn't it?"

"Sure it is. I was talking about the ‘old friend' part."

She nodded toward the house. "I've driven a long way. I've heard about the southern hospitality around here. Care to show me some?"

Instead, he contemplated firing a round over her head. Yet the only way he would find out what Joan Dillinger was up to was to play along. "What sort of hospitality?"

"Well, it's almost nine o'clock and I haven't had dinner. Let's start with that and then go from there," she said.

"You show up unannounced after all these years and expect me to cook you dinner? You've got some guts."

"That shouldn't surprise you by now, should it?"

As he fixed the meal, Joan explored the main level of his home, carrying the gin and tonic he'd given her. She perched on the counter in the kitchen while he worked away. "How's the finger?" she asked.

"It only hurts when I'm seriously ticked off. Sort of like a mood ring. And just so you know, it's throbbing like hell right now."

She ignored the barb. "This place is spectacular. I heard that you built it yourself."

"Gave me something to do."

"I didn't know you were a carpenter."

"I worked my way through school building things for people who could afford it. Then I decided what the hell, I'd do it for myself."

They ate at the table off the kitchen that had a commanding view of the lake. With the meal they drank a bottle of merlot he'd fetched from his wine cellar. Under different circumstances it would have been a very romantic setting.

After dinner they carried their wineglasses into the family room, with its cathedral ceiling and walls of window. When he saw she was shivering some, King turned on the gas fireplace and tossed her a throw blanket. They sat across from each other on leather couches. Joan kicked off her heels and curled her legs up under her and then placed the blanket over them. She raised her glass to him. "Dinner was fabulous." She breathed in the wine's bouquet. "And I see you've added sommelier to your list of credentials."

"Okay, your belly's full, you're suitably buzzed. Why are you here?"

"When something extraordinary entailing a major criminal investigation happens to a former agent, everybody's interested."

"And they sent you to see me?"

"I'm at a level where I can send myself."

"So this is unofficial on your part? Or are you just here to spy for the Service?"

"I'd characterize it as unofficial. I'd like to hear your side of things."

King cradled his glass, fighting an urge to throw it at her. "I don'thave a side of things. The man worked for me for a short time. He was killed. Today I found out he was in witness protection. I don't know who killed him. End of story."

She didn't respond but just stared into the fire. She finally rose, padded over to the fireplace and knelt in front of it, running her hand along the stone facade.

"Carpenter and stonemason?"

"I subbed that out. I know my limitations."

"That's refreshing. Most men I know won't admit to having any."

"Thanks. But I still want to know why you're here."

"It has nothing to do with the Service and everything to do with you and me."

"There is no ‘you and me.' "

"Well, there was. We worked together at the Service for years. We slept together. Given different circumstances we might have moved on to a more permanent arrangement. And I would like to think that if you heard that a man who happened to be in witness protection had been murdered at a place where I worked and my past was being dredged up again, you might come and see how I was coping."

"I think you'd be wrong about that."

"Well, that's why I'm here. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

"I'm glad my miserable situation afforded you this wonderful opportunity to exhibit your compassionate nature."

"Sarcasm really doesn't suit you, Sean."

"It's late, and it's a long drive back to D.C."

"You're right. It's too long a drive actually." She added, "Looks like you have lots of room." She rose and sat down next to him, uncomfortably close.

"You look fit enough to qualify for the FBI's Hostage Rescue," she said, running an admiring eye over his trim six-foot-one-inch frame.

He shook his head. "I'm an old man for that stuff. Bad knees, bum shoulder and all."

She sighed and looked away, tucking some stray hairs behind her ear. "I just turned forty."

"Consider the alternative. It's not the end of the world."

"Not for a man. Forty and unmarried for a woman, it's not so pleasant."

"You look great. Great for thirty, great for forty. And you've got your career."

"Didn't think I'd last that long."

"You lasted longer than me."

She put her wineglass down and turned to him. "But I shouldn't have." There followed an uncomfortable silence.

"It was years ago," he finally said. "Water under the bridge."

"Obviously not. I see the way you're looking at me."

"What did you expect?"