Sterling felt a sudden sense of loss, although he hadn't known Louis that well. But he was so young, and now he was gone. "I know what you mean."
"I feel sorry for Carine." Jodie shook her head, displaying one of her rare tugs of real compassion. "Of all the people to find him. I hope she's gone back to Cold Ridge. She should just sit in front of the fire in that little log cabin of hers and relax for a few days."
"Manny Carrera is a friend."
"I know he is. There's just nothing good to be found in this situation, is there? I thought we were doing Carine a favor when we hired her. Now look. It's hard to believe Manny could murder someone, but I suppose we have to keep an open mind."
Sterling shook his head. "I can't do it, can you? Manny's no murderer. I refuse even to consider that he might be guilty."
"That's because you're fascinated by him," Jodie said. "Speaking of doing people favors-"
"Don't, Jodie. I won't take responsibility for Manny's situation. I didn't ask him to show up at the house when he did."
"Why was he there?"
"I have no idea. He's a good man, and I'm sorry he's under even the slightest cloud of suspicion. That doesn't make it my fault."
"No, of course not." She smiled abruptly, unfolding her legs and sliding to her feet. "But who are you trying to convince, hmm? Keep in mind that normal people don't jump out of helicopters to rescue people."
"Manny helped save our lives, Jodie."
"And how many times have he and Hank Callahan and Tyler North said we don't owe them a thing? They like what they do. They didn't rescue us because it was us-they rescued us because we were in a tight spot and they were in a position to help."
"Still-"
"Don't let your gratitude and respect affect your judgment."
He watched her walk across his office, her impatience less visible as she came behind his desk and kissed him on the top of the head. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently. "We'll get through this," he said.
"We just need to remember to take care of ourselves."
In a business situation, Sterling would know what to do to take care of himself. But this was different. He felt a spurt of pain in his temples. "I'm so damn tired. I keep picturing Louis-"
"Don't," his wife said. "It won't get you anywhere. I know, I've been doing the same thing."
She eased in front of him, then lowered herself to his lap, sinking against his chest. He could feel her exhaustion. "We'll get through this, my love," she whispered, but it seemed almost as if she was addressing someone else. "I'll make sure we do."
He leaned back with her, rocking gently, but he was aware that he had no physical response to her. Not that many years ago, he'd have cleared his desk and made love to her then and there. A tense, difficult situation wouldn't have stopped him. He'd have welcomed the distraction, the release. So would she.
But Jodie was different these days, or he was different, and certainly he'd never dealt with a murder before, the deliberate taking of a human life. A man he knew, a man he'd hired. It changed everything, and he was afraid, terrified to his very core, that his nonreaction to his wife was only the beginning, and ultimately the least of his worries.
Ten
The Mount Chester School for Boys occupied three hundred acres on the outskirts of the village of Cold Ridge, its picturesque campus dotted with huge oak trees still hanging onto their burgundy-and-burnt-orange leaves under the darkening November sky. Carine was almost relieved when Ty said he needed to stop at the school to check on Eric Carrera, Manny's son. It gave her a chance to get her bearings now that she was back in her hometown for the first time in months.
She'd said little during the three-hour trip north. There was no taking back what she'd initiated at her apartment. She'd wanted it to happen. Emotionally, she was over Tyler North. Physically-physically, she thought, he was a hard man to resist.
"Did you notice my abs?" she'd asked him during the drive.
He'd almost driven off the road. "What?"
"My abdominal muscles. I've been running and swimming, doing all sorts of calisthenics." She didn't mention she was trying to pass the PJ preliminary fitness test. "Chin-ups. Flutter kicks."
"Sure, Carine. That's what I was thinking. Gee, she's been doing flutter kicks."
"Flutter kicks are the worst, don't you think?"
He hadn't said a word. Now, apparently as tense as she was, he used more force than was necessary to engage the emergency brake. "I'll be right back."
She watched him head up the stone walk to the late-nineteenth-century brick administration building, whose design was classic New England prep school, with its tall, black-shuttered windows and ivy vines, that died back in the autumn cold. If she'd lived, Carine thought, her mother could still be here, teaching biology to another generation of boys. Mount Chester was a solid private high school with a good reputation, but it didn't have the prestige of an Andover or Choate. Carine, her sister and her brother-and Ty-had all attended the local public school.
She knew sending Eric to Mount Chester had to be a financial stretch for the Carreras, but they believed it would be good for him to be on his own, although Carine suspected there was more to it than that.
She climbed out of the truck, immediately noticing that the air was colder, a nasty bite in the wind, but she could smell the leaves and the damp ground, not yet frozen for the winter. Fallen leaves covered most of the lawn, most already dry and brown, some still soft, in shades of yellow, orange, maroon, even red-although the reds tended to drop first.
"Eric'll meet us out here," Ty said, returning to the small parking lot.
Carine nodded, sticking her hands into her pockets, trying to acclimatize herself to being back in New Hampshire.
Eric Carrera shambled down the blacktop walk from the main campus and waved, grinning as he picked up his pace. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed like his parents, and small for his age, but the way he walked reminded Carine of his father, although he didn't possess Manny's economy of movement.
"Hey, Uncle Ty, Miss Winter," Eric said cheerfully, "what's up?"
"Your dad asked me to put eyes on you," Ty said.
"Because of what happened? Mom told me. She called a little while ago. She said she wasn't sure if Dad would have a chance to call. You know, because of the police and everything. She wanted me to know what was going on in case I heard it on the news."
"You okay?"
"Yes, sir."
He wore a hooded Dartmouth zip-up sweatshirt and cargo pants, but he looked cold and too thin. He'd joined Manny and Val Carrera at Antonia and Hank's wedding a month ago. Antonia had told Carine that Eric was doing well, managing his asthma and allergies with medication and experience, knowing what triggered attacks, taking action once he felt one coming on-calming himself, using his inhaler. He wore a Medic Alert bracelet and, in addition to his rescue inhaler, carried an EpiPen-a dose of epinephrine-everywhere he went. He could treat himself in an emergency, save his own life. At least now he knew what his deadly allergy triggers were: bee stings, shellfish, peanuts. His allergies to tree pollen and dust mites, although troublesome, were less likely to produce an anaphylactic reaction that could kill him.
But it had been a long road to this point, and it had taken its toll, not only on Eric, but on his parents. Carine had seen that at Hank and Antonia's wedding.
"How's school?" Ty asked.
"It's okay." Eric shrugged with a fourteen-year-old's nonchalance. "I'm playing soccer. I'm not on the varsity team or anything, I just play for fun."
"That's great. This thing with your dad-it'll get figured out."
The boy nodded. "I know. He called you?"
"No. I was in Boston today and talked to him."