Angel City (7 page)

Early the next morning, she decided to sneak out of the house for a walk. She wasn't twenty steps before Officer Jannsen stepped out from behind a tree.

“You're not supposed to leave the house alone.”

“I'm not alone, I'm carrying a passenger, remember?”

“Where are you going?”

“I don't know. Town, I guess. It's only nine kilometers.”

“Nine and a half. I'll go with you, Kat.”

“I don't want you to go with me.”

“Too bad.”

Katherine watched Officer Jannsen pull a cell phone from her belt, dial some numbers, hit send. Then came the Glock from under her coat. She checked the magazine. That done, she pulled two matching gold rings from her pocket. She held one out to Katherine.

“Cripes sake, Anne, it's just a walk.”

“You want to walk, this is how you walk. You don't like it, we go back to the house.”

Katherine held up her left hand.

“Okay, I do.”

Officer Jannsen slid a ring on Katherine, then herself.

They walked down the wooded drive to a narrow road. The road wound down a hill, not passing another house or driveway till they reached Carson Highway. They stopped at the edge of the road and waited for a timber-laden eighteen-wheeler to come and go. Katherine looked at Officer Jannsen, noticed the backpack over her shoulder was rather large.

“What's in the bag, a bazooka?” Katherine said.

“One ballistic blanket, spare nine-millimeter clips, four stun grenades, one field medical kit, two liters O-neg blood.”

Katherine rolled her eyes. “Jeez, Louise.”

They crossed Carson Highway onto Rainbow Falls Road for six more kilometers before it ended at Grover's Mill; population 970, not including the bus tours to Rainbow Falls that passed through town, twice a week on Tuesday and Friday afternoons like clockwork. Officer Jannsen turned to Katherine.

“All right, we walked to town. Now what?”

“I'm hungry.”

“There's food at the house.”

“If I wanted food at the house, I would have stayed at the house.”

They walked along Main Street to a place called Molly's Diner. Katherine had seen it in passing once, after a trip to the doctor down in Portland with Officer Jannsen and two bodyguards. Katherine remembered asking if they could stop and go in and have a cheeseburger and Coke. The answer was NO. The answer was always NO. And now, damn it, Katherine was going to have it
her
way.

The place was filled but for a corner booth. Katherine walked to it and slid in. Officer Jannsen followed her, took off the backpack, and set it on her side of the booth. There was a small jukebox mounted to the table. Katherine flipped through the selections.

“See, that wasn't so bad. Nobody even tried to kill me.”

Officer Jannsen pulled out her cell, hit a few keys, pressed send.

“I'm not against you going out, Kat. But we have to be with you.”

“Every minute of the day?”

“Yes.”

Molly herself came over wearing a tie-dyed dress and a necklace of amber stones and peace symbols. Her hair looked like it had been born free and stayed that way all her life.

“Howdy, ladies. New to town or just passing through?”

Officer Jannsen delivered the cover story. She was from Quebec, Katherine was from North Carolina. They met at Mount Holyoke in an art history class and had been together ever since. Katherine was expecting a baby, and they moved to Washington to take advantage of the state's domestic partnership laws; that and to get as far away as possible from Katherine's right-wing nutter family who didn't approve of her lifestyle choices.

Molly thought that was just fine, because she was all for women doing whatever the hell they wanted in this man's world, and she said they'd have plenty of quiet in Grover's Mill since the town was full of old hippies growing medical marijuana and other related artsy folk who just wanted to keep to themselves and live quietlike.

“So what can I getcha, girls?”

Officer Jannsen ordered a coffee. Katherine wasn't sure what she wanted till Molly said her homemade flapjacks with natural maple syrup were just the thing for a woman with child. Katherine said that sounded perfect and asked for a glass of water to wash it down.

“No problem, honey,” Molly said, heading for the kitchen.

Officer Jannsen pulled a bottle of water from the backpack.

“Here, I brought water from the house.”

Katherine watched her set a bottle on the table, push it across. One liter, no label. Katherine unscrewed the cap, took a sip.

“We use well water at the house, don't we?”

“Yes.”

“Where's it come from?”

“Where does what come from?”

“The water. Does it come from a spring, a lake?”

“It's water.”

“Don't bullshit me. Not today.”

Officer Jannsen spoke softly.

“Lausanne.”

Katherine belted out her surprise. “Lausanne, as in fucking Switzerland?”

“That's right. And how about keeping your voice down?”

Katherine dropped the decibels.

“Are you telling me tap water from Lausanne gets shipped halfway around the world and we fill our well with it? That's fucking crazy. I mean, what's the matter with the water that was in the well in the first place?”

“The chromium levels were too high.”

“For a woman who's knocked up, you mean.”

“Knocked up?”

“Pregnant. Bun in the oven. In the female way.”

Officer Jannsen scanned the diner, then leaned across the table.

“Lausanne's water has certain minerals you can't get anywhere else. The doctors say they're necessary for the baby's development.”

“I bet they do.”

Officer Jannsen stared at Katherine.

“What's on your mind, Katherine?”

“You knew I was pregnant from the beginning. You never told me.”

“Those were my orders.”

“Do you know who the father is?”

“It's not my concern who the father is.”

Molly delivered the espresso and flapjacks, talked about the weather a minute, and left. Officer Jannsen looked around the diner again.

“Once more, what's on your mind, Katherine?”

“How long do I have to stay in Grover's Mill?”

“Until Inspector Gobet says otherwise.”

“Why? You told me the bad guys were dead.”

“They were part of a much bigger organization, a very deadly organization. Our intel says you're still in the gravest of danger if you try to live in the open.”

“Bullshit.”

“It isn't bullshit, it's real. You know how real it is. And you know it's as deadly as it is real.”

“Then how come you guys are here and not the FBI, or the CIA, or the fucking YMCA?”

“What?”

“How come there are no American cops protecting me? Why you guys?”

Officer Jannsen smiled.

“Do you think we could be here, in America, without the permission of the American authorities?”

“I don't know what to fucking think. I haven't been thinking for myself for four and a half months. And when I got switched on again, whoopee, I'm pregnant.”

Officer Jannsen sat silently.

Katherine looked out the window.

It was pretty here, she thought. There was a town hall, a tree-lined square, a fire brigade, B&Bs, shops and restaurants catering to tourists. The firemen had rolled out the antique hook and ladder and were giving it a wash and shine. And beyond them, at the corner of Main and Elm Streets, Katherine saw the black Ford Explorer parked with a clear view to Molly's Diner. The four men inside watching her watch them.

“The day shift is here.”

“We go where you go, Katherine.”

“So who's watching the house?”

“The night shift.”

“So me taking a walk to town is screwing up everyone's schedules.”

“Not really, there's a swing shift squad. Besides, keeping you safe is our job, Katherine.”

“Me and the baby, you mean. Let's not forget the baby no one bothered to tell me about.”

Officer Jannsen looked at her watch.

“Why don't you eat your breakfast, then we'll go home.”

“Oh yeah. Can't be late for my Midday Buzz teatime, can I? Not by one fucking minute. Know what? After breakfast I might just keep walking. All the way to the next county and get a bikini wax. How about that for an idea?”

Officer Jannsen's face became expressionless. Katherine knew the look. It meant she'd gone full-tilt Swiss cop.

“I want to make things as easy for you as I can, Madame Taylor—”

“‘Madame' is it now? When did that happen? Oh, that's right, I'm pregnant. Fuck the ‘mademoiselle' routine. And ‘madame' has that nice hooker ring to it, doesn't it?”

“If you make things hard for me or any of the protection unit, I'll have no choice but to keep you confined to the house.”

Katherine smiled.

“I really like it when you talk tough. Makes me go all tingly inside.”

She dug into the flapjacks. After a few bites, she leaned back across the booth.

“C'mon, Anne, you have to admit, going through all that . . . that stuff and finding out I'm going to have a kid is a mindfuck.”

“I understand, Katherine. And I'll do all I can to help you.”

“Call me Kat. After all, we're married and expecting a baby. Might as well get friendly about it. You do know how to be friendly, don't you?”

“My job is to protect you, not to be your friend.”

Katherine sighed, combed her hand through her hair.

“Know what? Let the guys in the Explorer protect me twenty-four/seven. I need you to knock off a couple hours a day and just be my friend, someone I can talk to. Can you get it through your head that I need you to loosen up once in a while and be a pal? Because if you don't, I swear, magic teas or no magic teas, I'm gonna lose my friggin' mind once and for all.”

Officer Jannsen nodded. “As long as it doesn't compromise my job.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Katherine picked up her fork, jabbed another chunk of flapjacks, and mixed it through the syrup.

“So, now, let me ask you a favor. You know, girlfriend to girlfriend. Three favors, to be exact.”

Officer Jannsen gave it that half smile of hers.
Looks damn cute when she does that,
Katherine thought. Officer Jannsen raised her hands in mock surrender.

“
D'accord.
What's number one?”

“Give me fifty cents.”

“Now?”

“Right now.”

Officer Jannsen reached in her pocket and found the coins, dropped them on the table. Katherine picked them up and slid them into the jukebox, pressed a button. The Doobie Brothers: “South City Midnight Lady.” Officer Jannsen watched Katherine bop her head to the beat and sing along:

“Up all night I could not sleep.

The whiskey that I drank was cheap.

With shaking hands I went and I lit up my last cigarette.”

Katherine got to the chorus. Something about a hooker with a golden heart. Officer Jannsen crossed her arms.

“And what's favor number two? Or is it me sitting here listening to you sing badly?”

“This is a great fucking song and this jukebox has all my favorites. So you know what? We're going to have date night, once a week, right here in this booth.”

Katherine bit into the flapjacks, talked with her mouth full.

“Okay, favor number two is, we open a candle shop in Grover's Mill.”

Officer Jannsen shook her head. “We talked about that when we first got here. Inspector Gobet doesn't think you're ready for that kind of exposure.”

“Well, Inspector Gobet is going to have to live with it if he wants me to play ball. Just tell him to send over my candle-making stuff from Switzerland the next time they make a water delivery.”

She held up her left hand, flashing the wedding ring.

“Besides, it'll add to the whole two hot lesbians living together and having a baby thing. You heard Molly, we'll fit right in in this town.”

She watched Officer Jannsen raise an eyebrow, and not in a completely objectionable manner, Katherine thought.

“Well?” Katherine said.

“I need to get it cleared with Berne, but I'll ask. What's number three?”

Katherine opened the bottle, swallowed some more Lausanne tap water that had been shipped halfway around the world.

“There's nothing around our house but a bunch of evergreen trees, is there? No nosy neighbors, no kids looking for their lost dogs, no Jehovah's Witnesses who'll come knocking at the door to save an ex-hooker from her sordid past?”

“No neighbors, no Jehovah's Witnesses. Just you, me, and the rest of the protection detail.”

“Good. Because after I order another stack of flapjacks and we play just about every song on this jukebox, we're going to walk home and do some girlie stuff.”

“Girlie stuff?”

“You know, sit in the garden, talk about clothes. I give you a pedicure, you show me how to shoot a gun.”

Officer Jannsen took a moment to replay the last bit.

“I don't think Inspector Gobet would classify weapons training as girlie stuff.”

“We're in America. What wholesome girl doesn't know how to shoot a gun by the age of ten? Not that I fall under the heading of wholesome, but you get the idea.”

“Katherine—”

“It's Kat.”

Officer Jannsen sighed. “Kat. First of all, you can't go shooting in the woods at the back of the house.”

“Where do you guys practice?”

“We have an underground firing range.”

“Where?”

“Out in the woods.”

“Cool, let's get going. I can hardly wait to shoot stuff.”

“Kat, people who get off shooting stuff are usually the people who should never touch a gun.”