looking over the wall afterwards.’
‘Yeah, I made it out. With no thanks to you,’ I said. ‘Didn’t help being crowned with a bottle just before the place went up.’
He sat up a little straighter. His palms fell open. ‘I couldn’t be sure whose side you were really on.’
‘I wasn’t the one shooting at you.’
‘You were about to burn down the house.’
‘I think that’s a little academic now,’ I pointed out.
A shadow crossed his face. ‘They still haven’t found my father.’
Brush Cut and one other had followed us into the room. The rest all stood in various poses of menace in the hallway.
‘Relax, Jorgenson, will you? If I was going to kill you I’d have done it by now.’ I held his gaze and he finally gave a nod in return. He waved the pack away, but indicated that Brush Cut and the other man should stay handy. I said, ‘Better if we spoke in private.’
‘You haven’t killed me yet,’ Jorgenson replied. ‘Doesn’t mean you won’t.’
Rink laughed sardonically, ‘You think these frog-giggin’ assholes would stop us?’
‘Hey!’ Brush Cut said. He stepped up close, realised just how big Rink was and faltered. Rink turned his head to regard the man as though he was something he’d tracked in on his boots.
‘Try it, buddy,’ Rink said. ‘Go on. I’m in the right mood for slapping someone down.’
Jorgenson smiled at the testosterone-charged atmosphere. ‘Mr Seagram is a highly regarded executive protector. He came from the Marine Corps with top recommendations.’
‘Hurrah,’ Rink grunted. ‘What did you do in the service, Seagram? Cook?’
‘West Point,’ Seagram stated.
Rink sniffed, unimpressed. ‘Yeah, they have cooks there. Decent cooks, I’ll give you that.’
Seagram looked like he’d been slapped. But I could tell his mind was caught in flux. Rink had insulted him and paid a compliment in the same breath. Rink grinned, showing he was just ragging him. It was one of those forces things where all soldiers put down anyone who wasn’t in their own troop. Seagram moved away, at a loss as to how to respond.
‘Are we all finished now?’ Jorgenson asked.
‘We haven’t started yet,’ I told him.
‘That’s true. I don’t even know who you are.’
‘Where’s Marianne?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Because we’re here more for her than for you.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘You can ask.’
He shook his head. ‘And you are?’
‘I’m Joe Hunter.’
‘What about him?’ Jorgenson looked at Rink.
‘ He can speak for himself,’ Rink said. ‘My friends call me Rink. But you can call me Jared Rington.’ He turned and shot a wink at Seagram. ‘Mr Rington to you.’
Seagram hissed something under his breath. He turned his back on us and went to lean against the bookshelves. The other man, who’d remained silent throughout, blinked rapidly, looking from Seagram to Jorgenson. He was a whip-thin man with spiky, sandy-coloured hair and freckled face. He wasn’t long out of high school, judging by his fresh face. Looked like he wished he was back there.
‘What’s your interest in me?’ Jorgenson asked.
‘Zero. It’s Marianne we’ve come about.’
Jorgenson’s lips twitched down. ‘Marianne doesn’t know you either. She told me about speaking to you in the garden. But she says that she’d never seen you before that. Is that true?’
‘Do you doubt her?’
‘No.’ Jorgenson stared into my eyes. ‘I love her.’
‘Tough love,’ Rink muttered.
Jorgenson snapped his gaze on Rink. Colour flushed up from his throat, making his cheeks a dapple of red blotches.
‘What does that mean?’ he demanded.
I leaned one fist on his desk. Time to interject, I thought. Rink wasn’t in the best frame of mind to lead the negotiations. ‘Forget it,’ I told him. ‘What I’m concerned with is what happened last night. The man at your house was there to kill the two of you. We’re committed to protecting Marianne. Now, you say you
‘Yeah, I made it out. With no thanks to you,’ I said. ‘Didn’t help being crowned with a bottle just before the place went up.’
He sat up a little straighter. His palms fell open. ‘I couldn’t be sure whose side you were really on.’
‘I wasn’t the one shooting at you.’
‘You were about to burn down the house.’
‘I think that’s a little academic now,’ I pointed out.
A shadow crossed his face. ‘They still haven’t found my father.’
Brush Cut and one other had followed us into the room. The rest all stood in various poses of menace in the hallway.
‘Relax, Jorgenson, will you? If I was going to kill you I’d have done it by now.’ I held his gaze and he finally gave a nod in return. He waved the pack away, but indicated that Brush Cut and the other man should stay handy. I said, ‘Better if we spoke in private.’
‘You haven’t killed me yet,’ Jorgenson replied. ‘Doesn’t mean you won’t.’
Rink laughed sardonically, ‘You think these frog-giggin’ assholes would stop us?’
‘Hey!’ Brush Cut said. He stepped up close, realised just how big Rink was and faltered. Rink turned his head to regard the man as though he was something he’d tracked in on his boots.
‘Try it, buddy,’ Rink said. ‘Go on. I’m in the right mood for slapping someone down.’
Jorgenson smiled at the testosterone-charged atmosphere. ‘Mr Seagram is a highly regarded executive protector. He came from the Marine Corps with top recommendations.’
‘Hurrah,’ Rink grunted. ‘What did you do in the service, Seagram? Cook?’
‘West Point,’ Seagram stated.
Rink sniffed, unimpressed. ‘Yeah, they have cooks there. Decent cooks, I’ll give you that.’
Seagram looked like he’d been slapped. But I could tell his mind was caught in flux. Rink had insulted him and paid a compliment in the same breath. Rink grinned, showing he was just ragging him. It was one of those forces things where all soldiers put down anyone who wasn’t in their own troop. Seagram moved away, at a loss as to how to respond.
‘Are we all finished now?’ Jorgenson asked.
‘We haven’t started yet,’ I told him.
‘That’s true. I don’t even know who you are.’
‘Where’s Marianne?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Because we’re here more for her than for you.’
‘Can I ask why?’
‘You can ask.’
He shook his head. ‘And you are?’
‘I’m Joe Hunter.’
‘What about him?’ Jorgenson looked at Rink.
‘ He can speak for himself,’ Rink said. ‘My friends call me Rink. But you can call me Jared Rington.’ He turned and shot a wink at Seagram. ‘Mr Rington to you.’
Seagram hissed something under his breath. He turned his back on us and went to lean against the bookshelves. The other man, who’d remained silent throughout, blinked rapidly, looking from Seagram to Jorgenson. He was a whip-thin man with spiky, sandy-coloured hair and freckled face. He wasn’t long out of high school, judging by his fresh face. Looked like he wished he was back there.
‘What’s your interest in me?’ Jorgenson asked.
‘Zero. It’s Marianne we’ve come about.’
Jorgenson’s lips twitched down. ‘Marianne doesn’t know you either. She told me about speaking to you in the garden. But she says that she’d never seen you before that. Is that true?’
‘Do you doubt her?’
‘No.’ Jorgenson stared into my eyes. ‘I love her.’
‘Tough love,’ Rink muttered.
Jorgenson snapped his gaze on Rink. Colour flushed up from his throat, making his cheeks a dapple of red blotches.
‘What does that mean?’ he demanded.
I leaned one fist on his desk. Time to interject, I thought. Rink wasn’t in the best frame of mind to lead the negotiations. ‘Forget it,’ I told him. ‘What I’m concerned with is what happened last night. The man at your house was there to kill the two of you. We’re committed to protecting Marianne. Now, you say you
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