The Constantine Conspiracy by Gary Parker Page B

and stared out at the parking lot. Rain had started to fall. For reasons he couldn’t quite fathom, he suddenly knew who he wanted to call. But that made no sense. What good would it do to call a park ranger in Montana, a woman he’d barely met, and not under the best of circumstances at that?
    But where else could he turn? Something about Shannon Bridge beckoned to him, the confidence she exuded, the self-assurance with which she’d given him her number. She knew I’d remember it , thought Rick, expected me to do exactly that. But why? Thinking on it now, it seemed totally out of place. She’d given him her number like a pilot dropped food to a lost survivor on a deserted island; like she knew he’d rush for it when he became desperate enough.
    Rick recalled the number, then moved back to the cell, picked it up, and punched it in. A second later, Shannon Bridge answered.
    “Shannon Bridge?” he asked.
    “Rick Carson,” she said, almost like she had expected him to call. “Whose phone is this?”
    “Don’t worry about that. You ready for that gelato?”
    “It took you long enough.”
    “I’ve been a little busy.”
    “You okay?”
    “Still breathing but not sure for how long.”
    “I know how that feels,” she said.
    “How so?”
    Bridge’s voice caught, but then she answered. “Not your problem.”
    Rick hesitated, suddenly feeling foolish. “I’m not exactly sure why I called,” he stammered.
    “My charming personality and excellent figure, I’m sure.”
    “Those too, but there’s something else. I . . . we need to talk.”
    “I’d like that. I found a DVD in your dad’s desk.”
    “A DVD?”
    “Yeah, after you left, Luisa brought me a key.” Bridge quickly told him how she’d found the DVD. “I . . . well, I kept it. Didn’t say anything to the police.”
    “Is that legal?”
    “It seemed the right thing at the time.”
    “You see what’s on it?”
    “Nope, tried a little while ago but it’s password-protected. Any idea what your dad used for passwords? Most people pick one or two and repeat them over and over.”
    Rick studied the matter but nothing jumped out at him. “Need some time to think about that. Could be a lot of things.”
    “That’s what I thought.”
    “I should get off the phone,” he said. “Cops track these things pretty easily.”
    “Thought you wanted to talk.”
    “I’d prefer face-to-face.”
    “You want me to come to you?” she asked.
    “Thought that would be best. You willing to do that?”
    “I have some vacation coming to me. Where are you?”
    Rick hesitated, surprised by her quick acceptance of his invitation and distrustful of her because of it. “You agreed awfully fast to come to me.”
    “Your excellent figure and charming personality.”
    Rick didn’t respond and Shannon quickly got serious again. “You’re right,” she said. “You have no reason to trust me. But I’m on your side, believe me.”
    “Why should I?”
    “I can’t answer that, not yet.”
    “What if I said you had to?”
    “I’d say let me come see you. We can talk then, clear up a few matters. You won’t be disappointed, I promise you.”
    Rick paused one more second, but then, seeing no option, gave up. “Fly to Atlanta, call me when you land, I’ll give you directions,” he said.
    “I’ll bring the DVD, and a computer. Couple of other things too,” she said mysteriously.
    “What things?”
    “Wait until we meet; I should be able to catch a flight in the morning.”
    “See you then.”
    “Stay safe.”
    Rick hung up and lay back on the bed. His eyes closed a few minutes later and then, somehow calmed by his short talk with Shannon Bridge, he fell asleep to dreams filled with a woman wearing green and a bloody sword shaped like a cross.

14
    Wednesday, 7:00 a.m.
    S omebody assisted him,” Augustine said, his angular frame lounging in his chair in his New York office.
    “True,” Charbeau said, his thick face filling the plasma screen on