Reconcilable Differences. Ana Leigh
“Oh, yes. Cute, Deb. There are enough diamonds there to…” Diamonds. She suddenly remembered Colin McDermott had mentioned diamonds to Robert in Morocco.
“To what?” Deb asked.
Trish snapped back to awareness. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“You were saying there are enough diamonds to what?”
“To blind a person, Debra Carpenter. Shame on you.”
Deb took a long look at the bracelet. “There are a lot, aren’t there?”
“I’ll say. It must have cost a mint.”
Deb’s smooth brow creased in a frown. “You don’t suppose Tom is having an affair, do you?”
“Yeah, right!” Trish scoffed. “When mules fly like Pegasus.”
The two women looked at each other, broke into laughter, and once again clinked their glasses together.
As soon as Trish returned home, she looked up the telephone number of Kim Harrington in New York, and was lucky enough to catch her at home. In loyalty to her brother, Kim refused to give her Dave’s address. After Trish explained they had run into each other again, and she had to talk to him, Kim finally conceded that at age thirty-four her big brother was old enough to handle his own problems. She relented and gave Trish Dave’s telephone number and address.
Thoughts about McDermott, Robert and diamonds kept running through Trish’s mind for the rest of the day. She had forgotten about the diamonds entirely and realized she had never mentioned them to the CIA. From what she remembered of the conversation between Robert and McDermott, the Irishman had indicated Robert had the diamonds in his possession. He would still have to have them because he and Ali had never left her before Dave and his squad showed up. And since they’d been transported home on military planes, Robert could easily have smuggled the diamonds into the country. She was curious enough to try and find out.
Trish rooted hurriedly through a dresser drawer, found what she was looking for, and hurried back to her car.
Chapter 4
From habit Dave glanced around the barroom as soon as he entered. The place had begun to fill with the after-work crowd. Singles hoping to make a lucky connection for the night and tired businessmen needing a jolt of whiskey to jump-start their psyches and get back in the race.
He walked over to the bar, sat down on one of the stools and ordered a Scotch on the rocks.
He’d finished the drink and was nursing the second one by the time Mike Bishop showed up and slipped onto the stool beside him.
“Sorry I’m late. Baker caught me on my way out.” Mike ordered a beer and as soon as the bartender left, he asked, “So, what’s on your mind, Dave?”
“Prince Charming’s not too happy with me these days,” Dave said, referring to Jeff Baker’s code name in the Agency. “I figure it’s because of the mission.”
“That’s bullshit, Dave. Nobody’s blaming you. This isn’t the first mission that went bad. Hell, I can think of a dozen or more of them when I was leading the squad.”
“He says the Agency’s taking heat over the bin Muzzar slaying. Mike, I swear my squad had nothing to do with his death. We didn’t fire a shot until we reached the cover of the rocks. If he was killed at the palace, it was after we pulled out.”
“I believe you and so does Baker. And we all knew the whole damn mission stunk from the beginning. You gotta let it go, Dave.”
Dave motioned to the bartender for a refill. “What about McDermott? I want another crack at him, Mike.”
“You’ll get it. That is if the Brits don’t get to him first. They’ve got their own ax to grind with him. Right now, no one knows where he is. He’s got a slew of aliases and fake passports. The SOB could be anywhere. It’s going to take time to track him down, but I promise you the Dwarf Squad will get the call when we do.”
“You get anything of value out of his backpack?”
“Just another alias and a phony passport.”
“I gather you didn’t get anything out of Manning either.”
“No. Claims he never met the guy until then.”
“Yeah, right.”
Dave shrugged. “What can I say? His wife gave us the same story. She came across pretty sincere to me, but she could be a damn good actress.”
“Yeah, a guy’s a fool to believe anything a woman tells him.” Dave picked up his drink and downed it. “What?” he asked in response to Mike’s puzzled stare.
“You’re beginning to sound like me before I met Ann. What’s your problem, Dave?”
“Colin McDermott. That’s my problem.”
“Screw McDermott. How come you’re suddenly belting down shots of Scotch like they’re lemonade? You want to talk about it?”
“I’ll get around to it sometime. I’m just not ready right now. Like I’ll ever be. Right now I’m so screwed up, I can’t even think straight.”
“Well, when you are, you know my number.”
For the next quarter hour they discussed whether the Packers would beat the Redskins on Sunday, then Mike finished his drink and stood up.
“I’ve got to get going. This is Lamaze night.”
Dave shook his head. “Who’d have ever believed it? You’re really eating up married life, aren’t you?”
“You’ve got that right. Every bite of it, pal. Ann’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m one lucky bastard, Dave, and I know it.”
“Do you ever miss it, Mike?”
“Miss what?”
“Missions. The rush.”
“Hell, no! I was fed up with that life before I even met Ann. She’s shown me how good life can really be. It’s time you ought to think about settling down and starting a family.”
“What is it about you married guys? Once you lose your freedom, you don’t rest until you take your friends down with you. Misery loves company, is that it?”
Mike chuckled. “You’re right about one thing, Dave. Marriage is real misery—when I’m away from Ann. What gets me through the day most of the time is knowing she and Brandon will be at home waiting for me.”
Mike finished his drink. “Speaking of sharing your life, pal, looks like you can have some company of your own tonight, if you’re interested. That blonde down there can’t keep her eyes off you.”
Dave glanced at the attractive woman sitting alone at the end of the bar. She smiled at him.
“I’ll leave you to finer pursuits.” Mike slapped him on the shoulder. “No time like the present. Go for it, pal. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The bartender came over with the bottle of Scotch. “Ready for another, Dave?”
He nodded. “What’s the lady drinking, Bernie?”
“Chardonnay.”
“Give her a refill.”
He watched Bernie amble down to the other end of the bar and fill the woman’s glass. They exchanged a few words and then she nodded toward Dave, picked up the glass and smiled again at him.
Dave stood up and reached for his glass. Nodding at the blonde, he raised it in a slight toast. Then he killed the Scotch, tossed some bills on the bar and left the barroom.
He was in no mood to make a connection. Lord knows he needed one.