“Okay.”
She kept running through the woods. Branches swatted her bare arms, legs, and face, and she stumbled a few times, but kept going, making sure she was headed downhill. She still didn’t hear anyone behind her, but she didn’t slow her pace though she was becoming out of breath.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m getting there.”
“As soon as I see you, I’ll call 911.”
“Hang up and call now.”
“I don’t want to lose you. Do you see the lake?”
“Not yet.”
“Have you crossed the gravel drive that runs around the lake?”
“I don’t know. It’s dark.”
“Can you hear anyone behind you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Stay on the phone and keep moving.”
COREY STOOD ON A BOULDER near the lake, scanning the woods at the top of the slope. A half-moon was rising and he hoped Bennie Rosato would see him silhouetted against the water. She could be right about someone chasing her, but he didn’t think she’d stumbled onto a terrorist camp.
Those things didn’t happen in real life.
A sign of the times, though, as everyone liked to play cop.
He’d learned never to form a conclusion without evidence. For instance, Bennie Rosato had turned out to be a woman.
He said into his phone, “Listen, my cabin is the lighted one a few hundred yards to the right of yours, as you face the lake. Understand?”
“I got it.”
“Go there. I’m heading there now to get my gun.”
“What?”
“I’m a federal agent. I have a gun.”
“Thank God. But why aren’t you carrying it?”
That, he thought, was what an FBI postmortem inquiry would ask. So he came up with a good excuse. “Your dog distracted me.”
“You’re blaming a dog?”
“Just head for my cabin.”
He started jogging that way, glancing at the woods as he moved.
BENNIE NOTICED THE TREES THINNING out around her, then she crossed the narrow gravel road that circled the lake and picked up her pace. The forest vanished around her and she was on a bare rocky slope close to the lake. To her left was her cabin and to the right was the other lit one.
John Corey’s.
In fact, she saw a man running along the shoreline toward the cabin. She wanted to yell out to him but didn’t want to risk it if she was being followed.
She added a burst of speed and ran down the slope on a course that would intersect with Corey. She waved her arms to attract his attention, but he didn’t see her, though he was glancing at the woods as he ran. She whispered into her phone, “I can see you. Look to your right.”
But he wasn’t listening to his phone.
She looked back over her shoulder, relieved to see that no one was on the slope behind her. She turned on her flashlight and waved it around.
Finally, the man on the shore saw her, stopped, and turned toward her.
He called out, “Bennie?”
They ran toward each other in the moonlight, like lovers in a three-hankie movie. As they got closer, she saw that Corey was a good-looking man, tall and with the unmistakable air of a lifetime spent in law enforcement, but this wasn’t the time for biographical details. She slowed her pace, caught her breath, and began to stand down. As he approached, she saw that he was wearing a gray sweatshirt, baggy cargo pants, and old running shoes. Most federal agents dressed more buttoned up, but he seemed relaxed. She shut off the flashlight, reached him, and put out her hand.
“Bennie Rosato.”
He took her hand and said, “John Corey.”
Then he added, “At your service.”
COREY STUDIED BENNIE ROSATO IN the moonlight.
She was either wearing elevator sandals or she was as tall as he was, about six feet. Her bare arms and legs were extremely well toned, like an athlete’s. Whoever had been chasing her was lucky they didn’t catch up. He thought her blond hair looked like it had been combed with an eggbeater, but maybe her sprint through the woods had messed up the coif.
He focused on her face.
Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight and were the color of her lips. Blue. She must be cold. She had good cheekbones, a slightly jutting chin, and an aquiline nose. She wore little makeup and probably didn’t need much. And finally, he noticed that she filled out her T-shirt.
Actually, he noticed that first.
All in all, an attractive woman with a striking presence.
“Are you okay?”
She was sweating and still breathing hard.
“I think so.”
He glanced back up at the slope. “Were you followed?”
“I don’t know.”
“The woods are deceiving at night.”
“I know what I saw, Mr. Corey.”
“Right. Please call me John.”
“Are you really a federal agent?”
“I am.”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“What else could go wrong tonight?”
She frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just joking.” He further explained, “My ex-wife is a lawyer. And my estranged wife is also a lawyer, and an FBI agent.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
She tossed him a half smile.
He wanted to tell her his joke about him marrying lawyers so he could screw a lawyer rather than vice versa, but he didn’t know her well enough. Maybe later. Instead, he said, “Let’s go to my place.”
“Why?”
“So I can get my gun.”
She hesitated. “Do you have any ID? A badge?”
“My creds and badge are with my gun. You can see them all in my cabin. We shouldn’t be standing here in the open.”
“I think we should call 911. We’re not going to cowboy this out alone.”
“I already called. No connection.”
She hit the 911 feature on her phone, but it didn’t connect.
He tried 911 again too, but couldn’t get a connection. “Service sucks. By the way, you left the slider open in your cabin.”
“It’s not my cabin. I won a Woodsy Weekend Getaway.”
“Congratulations.”
“I should have stayed in Philadelphia.”
“Right. A weekend in Philadelphia seems like a month.”
“Not funny.”
“Sorry.”
“Are you from Washington?”
“New York.”
“Figures.”
He couldn’t resist and said, “So second prize is two weeks in Philadelphia, and third prize is four weeks in Phila—”
“I’m going to my cabin, getting my dog, and going home.”
“You’re leaving me alone with terrorists?”
She shot him a look.
“I know,” he said. “I’m a wiseass.”
She started to walk away, then hesitated. “Look, I don’t like to admit I need help, but this is the life-or-death exception. Walk with me, would you?”
“My gun is in my cabin.”
“Why do you need a gun, if you don’t believe me about the terrorists?”
“Why do I think I can outtalk a lawyer?”
“Are we having a power struggle?”
“No, a divorce.”
She shook her head.
He said, “Look, Bennie, I think you saw something. I don’t know what you saw and neither do you. But I’d like you to come to my cabin and you can tell me what you saw and we’ll keep trying 911, and if we can’t get through, we’ll go to the nearest police station. Okay?”
She didn’t appear like someone who surrendered control easily, but she also was scared.
That was clear.