Conspiracy

25

Lia and Dean stopped at a small family-style restaurant not far from the Foresters’ house for an early dinner. Lia immediately regretted it. The restroom was filthy, in her experience never a good sign. But Dean had already ordered for both of them by the time she got to the table.

“You really think you know what I want?” she asked him.

“Turkey wrap.”

“Maybe I wanted a hamburger.”

“That would be a first.”

It wasn’t so much that he was right as the fact that he was smug about it — quietly smug, of course — that annoyed her.

“I felt bad for the kid,” said Dean.

“Yeah.”

“I’d hate to see that happen to my son.”

“What son?”

“If I had one.”

Lia, confused, said nothing until the waitress came with their drinks — seltzer for Dean, iced tea for her.

“You knew I wanted iced tea, too, huh?” Dean nodded.

“I’m that predictable?”

“Only about food.”

“Do you have a son, Charlie Dean?”

Dean stared at her. The words had blurted from her mouth, almost of their own volition. She’d stopped being Lia DeFrancesca, Desk Three op. She was just… herself.

“I don’t have any children,” said Dean. “You know that.”

“Yeah.”

“What I meant was, when I have kids, I wouldn’t want them to think I killed myself.”

Lia didn’t hear the rest of what Dean said. When I have kids.

When.

With her?

Was that his plan? Was it her plan? Did she want kids?

After her week at Tina’s, children were even further than usual from Lia’s thoughts.

But did she want kids?

The question was too much to think about right now. Lia forced her attention back to what Dean was saying. She’d missed the transition, but he was talking about Mrs. Forester.

“Maybe she’s right,” said Dean. “He might have told people at the Secret Service that he wanted custody of the kids, but that might have been bull.”

“Why do you say that?” Lia asked.

“Because of what he did. Because if he really loved the kids, he wouldn’t have killed himself.”

“I don’t think it was suicide,” said Lia. “And neither does Rubens — that’s why we’re going to Vietnam. Whoever tried to kill McSweeney killed Forester first.” Dean didn’t say anything, which usually meant he disagreed.

“I doubt she bought those NASCAR tickets,” said Lia.

“He must’ve loved the kids.”

“Taking somebody to a car race doesn’t mean you love them,” said Dean.

“How would you know?”

Dean frowned — then changed the subject. “How was your friend?”

“Still pregnant. How was your hunting?”

“OK. I missed.”

“You missed?”

“The lion came out of the brush at less than ten yards. I had a point-blank shot. I missed.”

“It surprised you.”

“Yeah.”

“Then what happened?”

“It jumped on me. I rolled around. Finally I shot it.”

“Charlie.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know why the hell I missed.” The waitress came over with the food. The turkey wrap was excellent, though Lia was loath to admit it.

“Let’s say you’re right and Forester was killed and it’s all related,” Dean told her, returning to their mission. “Why kill him? What did he know? The Secret Service had no information. If they had, they would have prevented the assassination attempt.”

“That’s what we have to find out. Duh.”

“What if there’s nothing there?”

“Won’t be the first time,” said Lia, digging into her sandwich.

Desk Three Operations Personnel Director Kevin Montblanc met them as they stepped off the elevator near the Art Room about an hour later.

“Uh-oh,” said Lia. “What’s wrong?” Montblanc laughed. His moustache helped make him look a bit like a walrus, dressed in a soft sport coat cut in a way that made him look like an English gentleman from the 1920s.

“Do I always signify a problem?” Montblanc asked.

“Always,” said Lia.

“There’s been an assignment change is all. Charlie, you’re to meet with Ms. Telach as planned. Lia, you’re going to work with the Secret Service and FBI. Mr. Rubens wishes to speak with you himself. He’s in his office.”

“I’m not going to Vietnam with Charlie?”

“Afraid not.”

“OK.”

Lia turned to Dean, sorry now that she hadn’t continued the conversation they’d started and then aborted in the restaurant about kids. Foolishly she’d thought they’d have plenty of time to talk about it.

She wanted to tell Dean that she would miss him, and to take care of himself, and to miss her — but she felt awkward in front of Montblanc.

“See you around, Charlie.”

“Yeah,” said Dean.

She spent the entire trip up to Rubens’s office trying to decipher the meaning of that “yeah,” before concluding it meant nothing more than “yes.”