On Fire(31)

Matthew Granger.

Straker heard a car out on the main road. In another minute, Lou Don-man  pulled into the driveway and rolled down his window. "Riley and her  sister are in town having supper. I saw your car down by the harbor. You  want a lift?"

Straker hadn't expected to need his car. When he'd headed to Boston,  he'd left his boat in his father's care. Last night, before barging in  on Riley and Sig, he'd fetched his boat, leaving his car with his  parents.

"Thanks," he said, and climbed in. He and Dorr man had their  differences, but a ride was a ride. And he needed to see Sig, if not her  little sister.

"I thought at first this body'd lead back to you," Don-man said, his eyes on the road.

"Figured you'd brought terrorists or some damned thing out here. Turns out it leads back to Emile."

It was as close to an apology as Straker was going to get, and more than he'd expected.

"You've got your hands full."

"Yeah." The down east accent was natural to Dorr- man; he'd never left home, probably had grown up wanting to be sheriff.

"Having those two women staying at Emile's isn't helping. Riley's a  loose cannon. Always has been. The two together--well, they make me  nervous."

Straker understood, but he kept his mouth shut.

"If you can talk them into going home, you'd be doing me a favor."

"Same here."

Don-man dropped him off at a popular village restaurant that served  heaping plates of fried fish, with a salad bar, baked potatoes, fries,  onion rings, ten kinds of pies for dessert. The wind was picking up, the  sun going down fast. Straker debated going in for a bowl of haddock  chowder, but Riley and Sig emerged, laughing.

"I swear," Riley said, "I'm never touching another piece of fried food as long as I live."

Sig patted her rounded stomach. She wore an oversize hockey shirt and  stretchy pants, but still managed to walk with a natural elegance.

"I don't think I've ever eaten that much. A whole fishermen's platter. I deserve heartburn! "

Straker hung back while they got into Riley's car, with its Boston  Center for Oceanographic Studies sticker and stuffed whale in the rear  window. She had on slim pants and an anorak, her fit body and quick  movements packed with energy and intensity. He remembered their kiss,  the feel of her hand on him. They'd been on dangerous ground right from  the beginning, he and Riley St. Joe. She wasn't one to crumple or go all  meek with him. She was no china doll. She was a woman of strength,  conviction, passion, great loyalty. She didn't make life easy on the  people who loved her.





Finally he walked over and tapped on her window, which was half-open.

She jumped, then groaned when she saw him.

"I thought you were still off doing your Robinson Crusoe bit." "You  should pay more attention to your surroundings. What if it hadn't been  me tapping on your window?"

"Like it's any big relief it is you. For heaven's sake, I just had a  fish dinner in a quiet little village on the Maine coast. I'm not  worried about thugs lurking in the bushes."

He leaned in closer.

"You weren't worried about finding a dead man on your picnic, either."

She went just a little pale.

"You're disgusting."

"Shoot the messenger," he said.

Sig smiled at him from the passenger seat.

"Don't tempt her, Straker.

She's probably got a . 38 in the glove compartment. Now, if you two  don't mind, I made a pig of myself, and I'd like to get back and walk  off my dinner. "

"Fine with me." He pulled open the rear door and climbed in.

"You can give me a ride."

Riley glanced over her shoulder at him, said calmly, "You've your nerve, you know that?"

He grinned.

"I've done a few scarier things than get in the car. Not many, but a few."

She wasn't embarrassed or intimidated, and she wasn't about to back  down. But she wasn't mad, either. Her eyes sparked, and she licked her  lips. He knew she was imagining what they could be doing together in the  back seat. She'd never admit it, but for once they were on the same  wavelength.

"Oh, shit," Sig mumbled, sinking low in her seat.
                       
       
           



       
"Sig? Riley?" Matt Granger was crossing the street to the small parking lot. He swore to himself.

"Son of a bitch."

Sig glanced into the back seat. She was very pale.

"Straker--quick, toss me that blanket."

He grabbed a fleece throw off the floor and shoved it over the top of  the seat. She took it gratefully, unfurled it and buried herself under  it as best she could.

"What do you want me to do?" Riley asked her.

"Get us out of here."

He could hear Riley fumbling for her keys. These two were as different  as night and day, Straker thought, but they'd go to the ends of the  earth for each other. If Sig didn't want her husband to know she was  pregnant, Riley would back her up.

It was a damned conspiracy, but Matt Granger was helpless in the face of  it. He stormed around to Sig's window, which was partway down.

Taking no pains to be subtle, she reached up and locked her door. In  Granger's position, Straker didn't know what he'd do. Push the car into a  ditch, for starters. Keep these two put for ten minutes, anyway.

If Granger had ever possessed the same manners and cool bearing as his  older sister, they were long gone. He looked ready to rip the window out  and smash it onto the parking lot.

"Goddamn you two-what the hell do you think you're doing?"

That had been Straker's line last night. Hadn't done him much good.

Sig smiled, snottily cool, in control.

"Well, seeing how you asked so nicely, and so clearly have our best  interests at heart, I'll tell you. We're just coming from dinner. We  both had the fishermen's platter. I had apple pie for dessert, Riley  abstained." She paused a beat.

"Anything else?"

Every muscle and nerve ending in Granger's body went nuts. Straker could  see it happen. He understood. These women would drive any man over the  edge. A day by himself on an island hadn't exorcised Riley from his  mind, not to mention his body.

"Go back to Camden," Granger said through clenched teeth.

"Paint."

Sig yawned.

"I don't take orders very well. That's one reason I'm a painter." She snuggled down into her fleece throw.

"You go home. Matt.

You have no reason at all to be here. My grandfather's family goes back  generations in this area. I spent summers here as a child. "

Granger hissed through his teeth.

"Sig, goddamn it" -- "Riley came up for the weekend," she continued, not  giving him one millimeter. "We decided to spend some time together."

This was bullshit, of course, and Granger knew it. He leaned as far into  the car as he could manage without tearing off the door.

"You two are trying to find Emile. You're in over your heads. He's  dangerous and possibly insane. If anything happens to you, it's not  going to be on my conscience."

"Riley, start the car." Sig breathed in deeply, taking charge.

"If my husband doesn't move back, run over his feet."

Granger pounded the roof of the car.

"Goddamn it, Sig, you won't listen!"

"I'd listen if you talked." She was furious now, biting out her words.

"But you don't. You just want everything your way. You're so damned  eaten up with your self-righteous anger..." She flopped back against her  seat.

"Riley, let's go."

Riley turned the ignition.

She wasn't fast enough for her sister.

"Now."

"I'm going, I'm going...."

Granger kicked the door. He was speechless with rage, fear, a tangle of emotions. Straker felt a pang of sympathy for him.

"Riley!" Sig urged. An angle of streetlight caught her face, the high cheekbones, the long, straight nose.

Straker understood her urgency. He had seen the same green look on her  little sister just a few days ago. Sig had her teeth clenched, her  fingers tight on the throw.

"Step on the damned gas."

Straker leaned forward, one hand on the seat behind Riley's head.

"Go," he told her.

"Granger'll move back."

"Straker? What the fuck" -Matt started to say.

But Riley said, "Stand back. Matt," and hit the gas.

Sig lasted a mile. When Riley hit a bump in the road, Straker told her  to pull over. Her sister almost fell out of the car. He jumped out after  her and held on to her while she emptied her stomach on the side of the  road, sobbing, swearing, screaming in frustration and agony.                       
       
           



       

Riley paced behind them with a water bottle and the fleece throw. When  Sig finished, mumbling apologies, crying, he and Riley dabbed her face  with water, wrapped her in the blanket and helped her lie down in the  back seat. Her teeth chattered. She clung to the blanket, sobbing for  her husband.