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She drew her knees up. She was wearing black Lycra shorts, and the thigh muscles were long and looked like cable under skin. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and wiped her face with a towel.
She looked around. “Boy, it’s beautiful here.”
“That’s why people come,” he said warily. “And where exactly did you come from?” He was trying hard to place her.
She pointed south. “I drove over to the state park and put in there.”
“That’s seven miles by water!” he exclaimed. The woman wasn’t even winded.
“I do this a lot.”
Her scull drifted closer. And King finally recognized her. He could barely contain his astonishment.
“Would you like a cup of coffee, Agent Maxwell?”
She looked surprised for a moment and then seemed to sense that such a pretense was both unnecessary and even silly under the circumstances.
“If it’s not too much trouble.”
“One fallen agent to another, no trouble at all.”
He helped her dock the scull. She eyed the covered boat slips and the storage sheds attached to each. King’s jet boat, kayak, Sea-Doo and other vessels were sparkling clean. Tools, ropes, gear and other items were neatly stacked, hung or otherwise arranged.
“A place for everything and everything in its place?” she said.
“I like it that way,” replied King.
“I’m sort of a slob in my personal life.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.”
They walked up to the house.
Inside he poured the coffee, and they sat at the kitchen table. Michelle had put on a Harvard sweatshirt over her tank top and slipped on a pair of matching sweatpants.
“I thought you went to Georgetown?” said King.
“I got this sweat suit when we did some rowing on the Charles River in Boston while we were training for the Olympics.”
“That’s right. The Olympics. Busy woman.”
“I like it that way.”
“Not so busy now, though. I mean you have time for early morning water sports and paying visits to ex–Secret Service agents.”
She smiled. “So you won’t accept my being here as just a coincidence?”
“The real tip-off was the sweat suit. Sort of tells me you hoped to get out of your boat at some point before you got back to your car. On top of that, I doubt you would have rowed seven miles, Olympian or not, unless you knew I was home. I had several phone hang-ups this morning about thirty minutes apart. Let me guess, you have a cell phone in your scull.”
“Once an investigator, always an investigator, I guess.”
“I’m just glad I was home to greet you. I wouldn’t have wanted you to wander around. I’ve had people doing that here lately, and I don’t really care for it.”
She lowered her cup. “I’ve been doing some wandering lately.”
“Really? Good for you.”
“Went down to North Carolina, a little place called Bowlington. I believe you’ve heard of it.” He put down his cup too. “The Fairmount’s still standing but it’s closed up.”
