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“Join me?” she said in French. It was the language of the house now. He wanted to bring his level up from advanced to a native and they wanted the same for Anna. Unfortunately, she was resisting witha windmill-tilting obstinance inherited from her father. She’d literally taken to calling omeletsegg-pancakes-with-stuff-in-them.
“In cleaning or drinking?” Rapp responded.
“Both.”
“Why not?”
He poured himself a glass and started stacking plates in the dishwasher. Two-year-old Chucky Nash was asleep on the counter not far away, but seemed oblivious to the noise.
“So, are you bored yet?” Claudia asked. “No one’s shot at you in almost two days.”
“Nope,” he said honestly. “I know you don’t believe me, but I’m looking to be a little more selective about my beatings.”
“With Cook gone, maybe America can enjoy a little peace.”
“Or at least a lull between storms.”
“Such an optimist.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“Irene wants to see you tomorrow. Did she mention it?”
“No.”
“Eleven a.m. sharp.”
Rapp despised going into Langley. Now more than ever.
“Tell her to come here. You can make her that thing she likes.”
“I don’t think it’s going to work this time.”
“Why not?”
“Because the meeting is at the White House. Apparently, the president wants to thank you personally for getting those men out.” She smiled and raised her glass. “My little hero.”
CHAPTER 7
RAPPsquinted against the sun as he climbed a grassy slope that bordered Maggie Nash’s house. He found Joe Maslick around back, pouring sweat as he put a fresh battery in his drill. Temperatures were only in the high eighties, but the humidity had spiked after a midday rain shower.
“Not finished?” Rapp said. “What’ve you been doing all day?”
“Humping wood and gear up that hill. By myself. You know, because a guy who looks just like you and goes by the same name left me hanging.”
“I had to meet with the president.”
“Well, la di da. How about you make it up to me by tossing me a beer?”
Rapp opened a cooler and dug a couple of cans from the ice. Maslick drained his in one long pull, crushed it, and tossed it toward a tree already littered with empties. Rapp pointed to a couple of bags of concrete next to a stack of lumber.
“I thought we were just putting on a gate.”
Maslick shook his head in disgust. “Whole deck’s sinking on the northeast corner. The door won’t work right if it’s not flat.”
“You have a plan?”
The former Delta operator had no problem lifting the offending edge of the deck three inches off its support. “This is about straight. I was going to weld in an extension to the bracket and pour another footer to reinforce it.”
