Necessary Evil (2 page)

Jessie wondered at his place in life: Other than waiting for his mother to finish work, which he did rather well, this child's only job was keeping the crayon in the coloring book. He had no conflicts pulling him in opposite directions, no tests looming on his horizon to determine if he would be judged fit or worthwhile. No conscious possibility of flunking life. That would come later. Jessie gave him a smile—her second of the day. She enjoyed the connection as their eyes met, and she silently wished him well.

As Jessie crossed the street to her Volvo, the snow hurled down in blinding torrents. The keys didn't fit in the car door lock at first—probably due to the overanxious shake in her hands—and it took a minute to make them work. She didn't want to drive back over the mountain in this snow, but she had to get back to Claudie. Besides, where else would she stay in this desolate county but at her sister's?

Jessie had never believed that circumstances controlled people unless people allowed them to. She now struggled to maintain that belief. Frank Bilotti would like nothing better than to put her mind in that vise called fear. The hearings at headquarters in Washington would begin quickly if she decided to bring charges. Then, either she would lose her job and be drummed out of the FBI in disgrace. Or, if the truth wriggled free from all the lies, three experienced agents who had served with distinction would lose their shields. In the latter case, more than a few of her colleagues would hate her, although she knew that her friends—and there were plenty of those—would stick by her. There was a third possibility: All four agents—including Jessie—would be fired and forfeit their good names forever.

Frank had been her mentor, her friend, and her colleague. Having mentored many in her own right, she held that relationship sacred, and her trust had been absolute. Frank had breached that trust in the crudest possible way, and for no purpose other than saving his own professional life. If only it had been just ordinary, gut-wrenching, black-hole-in-your-life adultery, maybe Gail could have survived the traditional humbling. Frank's line might have begun something like: "The wife and I are seeing a counselor." But Jessie's best friend had fallen victim to Frank's demented needs and been publicly vilified.

Jessie's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. She needed to do something with her anger other than drive it down the road. God, if she got stuck while driving over Elk Horn Pass, she could freeze to death. That would be one way to rid her memory of Frank Bilotti. Maybe coming to stay with her sister in the mountains hadn't been a good idea. There was so much silence out here. So many open spaces. You couldn't really hide from your thoughts the way you could at Thanksgiving in New York, knocked around in the crowds like a billiard ball, jostling past the guys with Salvation Army suits on the corner. Instead, she now faced eighteen miles of death-defying driving in blinding snow.

She had no affinity for the mountains, hated bugs, and picnics of every kind, and didn't care for animals large enough that their leavings wouldn't fit in a sandwich bag. So why come to a place you hate? Simple. To help someone you love.

Claudie needed her, and that was a good reason to be here. Jessie hoped that she could deal with her own problems by helping someone else. Grady White, Frank's boss, had told her that it wasn't bad medicine to help others as long as you got around to yourself in the process.

In her own self-analysis, Jessie started out with one major vulnerability: She was frightened to death of failing at anything.

She had spent her early years in upstate New York near the bend in the Willis River. At thirteen, she moved to the Bronx, having personally earned in record time all the merit badges that the Girl Scouts had to offer.

After that it was a different matter: pimples, hormones, periods, boys, parents who didn't understand, downright ignorant brothers, tears, hysteria, clothes that didn't fit, fights about what to wear, and weird cravings for things she couldn't have—a list too long to remember. And the lost-animal home. Even as a child, it was her credo that she had to be tough and perfect. But something inside her was soft. It came out first with the animals. Incredibly determined, she had created a backyard menagerie of those particularly lucky creatures that fell into her hands before they met the ultimate sanction at the city animal shelter. To support her critters, she got a paper route. The animals went at age fifteen. She swore off loving animals as best she could, and at age sixteen, became a somewhat introspective girl who plunged headlong into the world of computers.

It was only with her MBA that she had a sort of social blossoming. Awkward at first, she learned how to reach out to people. Shortly after school, she wed. She thrived at her first job, at Delphi, a high-tech company, where she soon headed the information technology division.

When Gail, her best friend since childhood, suffered an auto accident that broke multiple bones, almost ruined an eye, and generally made her a nervous, quivering person, Jessie gave up the better part of her "free" time to help her old friend. Just about that time, Jessie's husband, Norman, announced their breakup to their respective families.

Gail was the reason Jessie had joined the FBI. Gail had a job in the public relations department for the Bureau in Washington, D.C. Although Jessie was a computer whiz, and she was more or less happily buried in her work, and had lots of friends, she wanted to do something more creative. Gail, for her part, wanted Jessie for a roommate, now that Norman was history, so she convinced her to join the Bureau, effectively arguing that Jessie could specialize in computer crime—no street work—and match wits with the smartest crooks in the business. There was no end to the personal creativity she could bring to the task of hunting down virus disseminators, techno-terrorists, and other computer criminals.

Jessie surprised herself by going for it—the right thing at the right time, she guessed—turning down two promotion offers from Delphi. A lot of things about making the move were painful, including the sizable cut in pay, and the interminable, but ultimately rewarding, training.

She rapidly formed many good relationships, chief among them the one with her boss, Frank Bilotti. She had known him for three years before he did the unthinkable.

Although Gail had been the initial victim, it was Jessie who was the witness on whom the entire case against Frank rested. Without what Jessie saw and heard, there would be no investigation of Frank Bilotti. What Frank did to Jessie was threaten her career, and what she held most dear, her reputation, in order to force her silence. What he really did was break her heart. Then it was a professional war.

Of course, when the Bilotti thing blew up, Gail had pointed out that it was ludicrous for Jessie Mayfield to leave the dung heap of a bureaucratic mess for the dirt roads and insect-ridden, off-the-grid, back-country living of Wintoon County. This was not a Jessie Mayfield kind of place. There were no hot dog stands, Jewish delicatessens, sushi bars, or theater districts— nothing but her sister Claudie.

When Frank found out that Jessie intended to bring him down, Jessie just purchased an airline ticket, found Gail a good shrink and an extra friend, then hugged her good-bye and said she'd be back in a month. Given the nature of the accusations (word of which had immediately filtered up and down the Bureau's ranks), and despite Frank's flat denials, counter-accusations, and old-boy buddies backing him up, the FBI would have given Jessie a six-month administrative leave of absence if she'd asked for it. As it was, she was taking a month. Until then, Frank could sweat.

As Kier wound his way down from Elk Horn Pass, he felt the four-wheel-drive climb over the billowy drifts and enjoyed the familiar sounds of his truck's heavy-treaded tires compressing new snow. The mindless driving eased his anger at the hell Winona had just been through. Kier had noted, but not remarked upon the infant's dark complexion. It could have been Winona's natural child, fathered by a fellow Tilok. Tilok parentage seemed unlikely, though. Few Indians could afford the reproductive technology of this clinic. It wasn't like the measles or an appendectomy or a normal birth where government dollars or insurance coverage was available. Could the parents have been from some other mahogany-skinned race? Kier wondered. He had been expecting a white child, and this visit had been an eye-opener in more ways than one.

As the grade lessened and the road met the valley floor, a thought occurred to him: He wasn't going to get back over Elk Horn Pass tonight or tomorrow. The snow would be impassable until the heaviest plows got off other jobs and managed to break through. This wild valley, being so sparsely populated, was not a high priority for county snow removal.

Being stuck in Mill Valley would actually come as a welcome relief—a little time off from his veterinary practice in Johnson City. He could stay in his cabin and complete the construction of a bookcase that had been unfinished for months. It all dovetailed with his visit to the Donahue ranch. For a mare in foal, Kier might have sent an assistant into the valley, but the Donahues were as close to him as family.

The evergreens to either side of the roadway were imposing, white cones. Interspersed, from ground to sky, the hardwoods sent out gnarled winter-darkened branches with iced toppings— witches' fingers, the Indian kids called them.

Windblown snowflakes choked the air. In the valley, the new snow would soon melt. But in the high country, winter had arrived. Nearly vertical, moss-bearded granite faces and green, conifered slopes rose thousands of feet from the river gorge that cupped the road on which he drove. According to Tilok legend, the world began here. A little of the coastal California mountain range still belonged to the sovereign nations of the Hoopa, Yurok, and Tilok tribes, but the greater part by far belonged to the U.S. government.

Rounding the corner at the abandoned Murdock homestead, Kier looked up the old road past the leafless maples and into the old orchards that were feasting places for the deer, and ghost places for men—reminders of a time when small farmers populated the valley. They lived a simple life, with no radio, lots of kids, lots of food, hand-me-down clothes, and screen doors to control the bugs.

Even through the fresh snow at the Murdock turnoff, he could see the imprints of multiple, deep-treaded tires. His pickup bounced and fishtailed as it rolled over the big, frozen ruts. Strange. Few vehicles would be heavy or large enough to leave such a calling card. Either a loaded dump truck or water truck had made several trips or, even more unusual, several heavy vehicles had traveled to the Murdock's in a convoy.

Kier considered turning around and investigating, but the snow already covered the valley floor, and he needed to check out the horse. If Claudie was right, the mare would drop her foal any time now.

Six of the eight miles down from the summit, Kier saw the tail of a snow-covered, boxy car just ahead of him. It looked like Claudie Donahue's Volvo, and given the number of cars in this area, it almost certainly was. Strange that she would be coming back from town in this weather, especially with the mare's delicate condition and her own health impaired by a bout of shingles. Kier thought it odd that Claudie didn't pull over to let him pass, since the truck could break a path through the snow for her sedan.

Now the Volvo slowed even more. The blizzard was whiting out everything so badly that maybe Claudie feared she would miss the turnoff. But that wasn't like her. She knew the road as well as anyone.

Kier flashed his headlights repeatedly, signaling for her to stop, and finally she did. He pulled alongside the car, slid across the seat, and rolled down his window, sticking his face into the wind and snow. Her window lowered, and Kier's mouth fell open. This was not Claudie Donahue.

"What do you want?"

The woman behind the wheel had curious brown eyes like brook-shined stones, wet with intensity. Her brown hair was pulled back sleekly to the top of her head, where it cascaded back down in well-coifed curls. Her dark sweater was embroidered with gold thread, and her lapel sported a gold rose pin. She had the look of the city. Nothing this refined had ever arrived in Mill Valley, much less in a blizzard.

For a moment the words stuck in his throat—not so much because of her appeal as at his shock at encountering this creature that didn't quite fit in this world of dirt, trees, ice-covered mountains, barns, manure, and sawdust.

"You going to the Donahues'?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Maybe I could help."

"Didn't know I needed any."

"Well, I'm the local vet, and I'm going there now."

"Oh. Hello." Her face softened slightly. "Well, I guess I'll see you there then. I'm visiting my sister to give her a hand until she gets a little better."

He hesitated, wondering if she knew he ought to go first and break trail. Shouting in the storm felt awkward, especially since they hadn't had any introduction.

Her chained tires dug in and she lurched ahead. Perhaps she felt more secure with him trailing along behind.

And then he knew.

He hadn't been thinking. She was Claudie's sister, Jessie. He knew perfectly well from photos that Jessie was brunette and beautiful.

''A woman from New York City, driving in these mountains, in a whiteout," he told himself, shaking his head.

The most he had heard about Jessie at one sitting was a few years back, when Claudie told Kier her kid sister was joining the FBI, her specialty computer crime. Claudie had been so proud. According to Claudie, Jessie was a tough one, the type who kicked guys in the testicles and smiled.