Final Winter

But she kept the vest on, which Brian found distracting. He’d rather looked forward to the view of her cleavage, he thought as the afternoon dragged on and the phone rang a few times and they received word that nine of their colleagues had been killed up in Connecticut. None wounded. There were six survivors from the lower level of the building.

Adrianna looked around at them and said, ‘We’re done for the day. We’ll take the Final Winter matter up again, tomorrow morning, seven a.m. Please be prompt.’

As he stood up, Brian was surprised that Adrianna hadn’t looked right at him with that comment about being here on time. Then he was surprised again when she came up to him and said, ‘Brian, do you have plans for dinner?’

‘Not a one.’

‘Good. Please join me at my place, will you?’

Brian thought back to how the day had started, with the news of the upcoming anthrax attacks. Then he pondered on the thought that they would have to come up with a plan to immunize hundreds of millions of people without their knowledge and consent and tried to absorb the implications of the news that a terrorist attack had knocked off some of their comrades.

And now there was a dinner offer from the princess. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘That’d be fine.’

All in all, Brian thought, walking with Adrianna to the elevator, it had been one hell of a day.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Adrianna Scott lived a fifteen-minute drive from the office park, in a collection of townhouse condos that called them-selves Fox Hollow Estates. Brian followed her Toyota Celica with his own rented Lexus — why the hell not, if you’re working on the road, why not rent something fancy? — and he took a space next to hers. Within a minute or so they were in her home, a narrow two-story building that was the end unit of a row of dwellings.

Adrianna turned on the lights in the kitchen as they went in. She said, ‘I get to pay extra each month for the privilege of living on an end unit, and most days I think it’s worth it. Means there’s at least three walls that don’t bring in sound from the neighbors. Hold on, will you? I want to go upstairs and change. I’ll be right back down. Grab something from the fridge, if you’d like. Oh. And one house rule, if you don’t mind.’

‘I’ve been here sixty seconds, and already you’re tossing rules at me?’

She ran a hand through her hair, the gesture making her look tired. ‘No shop talk, not for a while. About today or about what happened up in Hartford. We’ll have plenty of time to talk about it later.’

‘Usually I hate rules, but that’s a good one.’

Adrianna went upstairs to the left and Brian went to the kitchen, which was off to the right. The kitchen was small but tidy. Even the cookbooks seemed to be sorted by size. He went to the refrigerator, opened it up. Saw a collection of Heinekens on the bottom shelf, picked up one of the green bottles and popped it open. He debated whether to pour it in a glass or not and decided what the hell. He took a sip from the ice-cold bottle as he wandered through the rest of the condo. The floor was polished hardwood and next to the kitchen was a small dining area — round wooden table with four wooden chairs. Beyond the eating area was a living room — couch and two chairs, television set on a dark wooden stand, and a set of bookshelves.

He went up, examined the books. Medieval art history, it looked like. And the history of Rome as well. Some reference books. And a Second World War history book: The Army That Never Was. He picked .it up, gave it a quick glance, saw what it was about. The story of General George Patton and how he was assigned during the build-up to the Normandy invasion in 1944 to be in charge of a mythical army group that the Germans thought was going to invade France. He remembered seeing something about that in the George C. Scott movie. He put the book back on the shelf.

Near the bookshelves was a fireplace, closed off. On the mantelpiece were two old brass candlesticks, flanking a photograph in a thick frame. Brian went forward, examined the photo. A much younger Adrianna Scott, standing behind an older woman who was sitting in a formal chair. Both women were wearing black velvet-like dresses trimmed with lots of white and red ribbons. Adrianna’s hands were on the shoulders of the older woman. He took another sip of beer.

‘My aunt,’ Adrianna announced, coming into the living room. Gone were the charcoal-gray skirt and black pullover, replaced by dark blue sweat pants and a white sweat shirt that said NAVY in big blue letters. The ponytail was gone as well. Now her hair hung loose, and she suddenly looked smaller and younger.

‘Nice photo,’ Brian said.