Assassin

17

Carver was not a horseman. He'd always left that kind of thing to the fancy-dressed toy soldiers in the Household Cavalry, keeping the tourists happy at Buckingham Palace with their shiny breastplates and plumed helmets. But since arriving at the ranch he'd grasped that if he wanted to know Madeleine Cross and understand who she really was, he'd have to change his ways.

One morning, lying in bed with her head nestled on his shoulder and her legs wrapped around his, the heat of her on his thigh, she started telling him about her childhood.

'We were absolutely blue-collar,' she murmured. He could feel her breath on his skin, and her own skin was smooth and warm against the arm he'd draped around her. 'My father took jobs wherever he could find them, working the fields as a farmhand, or on construction sites. I wore hand-me-downs from the families Mom cleaned for.'

'If you were so poor, how come you learned to ride?' Carver asked.

'I had a horse called Blaze. Well, he belonged to our neighbour, but to me he was mine. I used to ride him bareback in the summer. When I'd dismount you could see the sweat-prints from my legs on his back. You know, it's crazy, but even now, when I talk about Blaze, or just think about him, I can smell him, that horse-smell, the leather and sweat.'

'There you go,' said Carver, 'horses smell. No wonder I can't stand them.'

She propped herself on her elbows and he shifted under her, so that they were face to face.

'But you can stand me, right?' she asked.

'Oh yes,' he said, a greedy smile on his face, his hands moving down to her buttocks, pushing her closer to him.

'And you desire me very much…'

'I think that's pretty obvious.'

She gave a little wriggle. 'Mmm… seems to be.'

'So are we going to do something about that?'

He moved his mouth towards hers, closing his eyes, expecting her to meet him. Instead, she pushed away with her hands, slipped out of his grasp and off the bed. By the time he looked up, she was standing several feet away, her naked body glowing in the light that filtered through the bedroom curtains.

'No!' she said. 'We don't do anything until you at least try to ride one of my horses.'

'You're kidding…'

'Not at all,' she insisted, opening her underwear drawer and pulling on her knickers.

Carver got out of bed, never taking his eyes off her and stood in front of her, half a head taller and sixty pounds heavier. She remained motionless as he ran his strong hands down the sides of her body, pausing for a moment on her waist before continuing downwards, his fingers spreading over her hips and sliding under the flimsy strips of fabric they found there.

'I could rip these off right now,' he said.

'Don't,' she said, quietly, but with absolute seriousness.

Carver's pulse was racing, his breathing heavy. His hunger for her was overwhelming and he was certain that she wanted him just as much. If he took her now there would be absolutely nothing she could do to stop him, but her trust and faith in him would be lost. Without that, they would have nothing.

So he stepped away from her, slowed his breathing and even let a wry smile play across his mouth as he said, 'All right then, where are the gee-gees?' Carver fell off more than his jarred bones, aching backside and injured dignity would have liked, but Maddy taught him to ride Western-style, leaning back in the saddle, the reins in one hand, his stirrups so long that his legs fell straight down the flanks of his horse. With Buster bounding along beside them, they rode out across the open land that took up most of the ranch's 120 acres and picked their way uphill between the pine trees, where the air was cool. In the early morning, with the dew still glistening under the horses' hooves, the pines gave off a scent that was as sweet as a pina colada. Carver could smell vanilla, too.

'Some folks call them Sugar Pines,' Maddy said.

While they'd been riding through the woods, Buster had suddenly started barking. He'd dashed away into the undergrowth, stopped dead, and then begun digging at the earth with his front paws, growling excitedly. Carver had felt a tremor of danger from a source he could not place, an indeterminate, undefined threat. But then Maddy smiled at him, and the feeling vanished like the shadow of a cloud when the sun comes out, burned away by her presence.

'He's just chasing rabbits,' she said, kicking her horse into a walk. She called the dog. Reluctantly, Buster stopped his digging and trotted after them. A minute later, the whole episode had been forgotten and the main thing on his mind was trying to work out exactly what he had going with Maddy. Whatever it was, pretty soon he'd have to leave. It was going to take three flights and the best part of twenty-four hours to get him to Norway and Thor Larsson's wedding.

Standing in the kitchen a few hours later, watching Maddy cook supper, a thought struck him.

'I've been invited to a wedding,' he told her. 'Would you like to come?'

'OK, weddings are good, so long as they're not mine…'

'No, it's a mate of mine called Thor Larsson. He's this ridiculously tall Norwegian with a big mop of ginger hair. He looks like a Viking Rastaman. We've done a lot of work together.'

'Really? What kind of work?'

Carver shrugged. 'Hard to describe – security consultancy, that sort of thing. Anyway, Thor's lived in Geneva for years, like me, but he's Norwegian and so's Karin, the girl he's marrying. The wedding's going to be in Oslo. Do you want to come?'

'Of course I'll come, that would be great. I guess I'll have to get someone in to look after the horses, but, oh my God… what am I going to wear?'

She was laughing as she said it, but Carver kept his face deadpan.

'We have to change planes in Paris,' he said thoughtfully. 'If we left early we could stop off for a night, do a little shopping in the morning. I need a suit. Maybe you could find something too. My treat.'

She sighed happily, then wrapped her arms around him. 'You just earned yourself a really fun night,' she said.