“Who?”
She thought about it. “Someone he can talk to. Someone he can trust. Most of all, someone who can take over a portion of the responsibility. An assistant, maybe.”
Luther shook his head. “He’d never go for an assistant. He works alone. Like me.”
“You didn’t work the Maui case alone. I was there, too, remember? And I’m still around.”
“Because I won’t let you go off on your own as long as it looks like you need a bodyguard,” he said. He drank some more whiskey.
“No,” she said quietly. “I’m still here because I want to be here.”
He contemplated the darkness. “Living in the moment?”
“That’s all any of us really has, isn’t it?”
“No,” Luther said. “We’ve also got our pasts.”
She sighed. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
Luther swallowed some more whiskey.
After a couple of minutes she tried again.
“I know what it’s like,” she said.
“Living in the moment?”
“No, killing someone with your aura. I’ve done it, too, remember?”
He looked at her over the rim of the glass. “For what it’s worth, Fallon says that, technically speaking, we didn’t actually kill anyone. We used our own energy to reflect the violent energy of our attackers. The process set up a dissonant wave pattern that shattered their auras. He said it was like they were killed by a ricochet from their own weapon.”
She contemplated that for a long moment. “Interesting but I’m not sure it changes anything. The bottom line is that we are responsible for the deaths of those people, and no matter how bad they were or how much they deserved to die, you and I still have to live with it.”
“Yes,” he said. “We do.”
“He was trying to kill you, Luther. You were fighting for your life.”
“His aura winked out like that damn laser. Like someone had turned off a switch.”
“I know what it’s like to watch that happen, too. It’s terrifying to realize that you have it within you to take a life without even using a weapon.”
He gazed into what was left of the whiskey. “Makes you feel like there’s something inside you that’s not really human.”
“Oh, we’re human, all right,” she said. “Humans have always been very good at killing. But we pay a heavy price when we use that talent. I don’t think anyone is the same after they’ve gone down that path.”
“I know you and I and Petra and Wayne have paid a price. What about guys like Sweetwater?”
“I expect that, in their own way, the members of the Sweetwater family pay, too,” she said. “Maybe that’s why they’re such a tight-knit clan. They need each other to survive what they do for a living. One thing’s for sure, I’ll bet none of them has any real friends outside the family, not even when they were children. They can’t afford to trust outsiders.”
“Yeah, I guess you would have to keep the truth about what Daddy does for a living from your kids. Kids talk.”
“And then, later, you’d have to teach them to lie to everyone. Finding a wife or a husband must be tough if you’re a Sweetwater.”
“Running that kind of family business would tend to limit your life-style,” he said. “Hard to talk business with your golfing buddies, that’s for sure.”
“Nevertheless, I think it’s different for people like you and me. Knowing that we can kill and in such a very personal way, with our auras, makes us feel . . .” She broke off, unable to find the right word.
“Uncivilized,” Luther said.
“Yes, uncivilized,” she agreed. “We don’t like to think of ourselves that way. It violates our sense of who we are. But one of the things that defines us is that we are survivors. When push comes to shove, that’s what we do. We survive or we go down fighting. I think we need to accept that part of ourselves, too.”
He did not look away from the night but he put his hand over hers on his thigh. She threaded her fingers through his, stood and led him down the hall to the bedroom.
They made love first; hard, fast, a little violent, affirming what Grace had said earlier. They were both survivors.
His phone rang, bringing him awake with an unpleasant jolt of adrenaline. His eyes opened to the sunlight outside the window. Going on ten o’clock, he decided. He grabbed the phone.
“Package got picked up a few minutes ago,” Petra said. “We watched the plane take off for the mainland. Tell Grace the walk-in’s clean. No need to worry about the health inspector.”
“Thanks,” Luther said.
“No problem. Like old times. How are you doing?”
“Okay.”
“You did what you had to do. Get over it and have breakfast with Grace.”
Luther closed the phone and looked at Grace.
“Petra says I should get over it and have breakfast with you.”
She smiled. “Sounds like a plan.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Grace scooped the tiny black seeds out of the papaya half and set the fruit on a plate.
Luther watched her while he made coffee, his expression bleak. He was still recovering from the trauma of what had happened in the garage, she thought. He needed time.
“This isn’t the kind of place you’re used to, is it?” he said.
Startled, she paused in the act of carrying the plates to the small kitchen table. “What?”
“This apartment.” He angled his head to indicate the cramped kitchen-living area and the small bedroom beyond. “It’s not exactly your style. I could tell that first day when we checked into the hotel suite on Maui. You didn’t even blink.”
She set the plates down very carefully, unsure of where the conversation was going.
“Should I have blinked?” she asked, wary.
“No, because you’re accustomed to that kind of first-class travel.”
“Ah,” she said. She smiled.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I now know where you’re going with this conversation. Yes, I did spend more than a decade traveling first-class. Martin Crocker knew how to make money and he paid me well. But before I met Martin I was living in an apartment that was about this size and buying my clothes in thrift shops. My cottage in Eclipse Bay is not much bigger than this place.”
He gave her a head-to-toe glance, silently underlining the fact that her shirt and trousers had not come from a thrift shop.