Rough Weather - By Robert B. Parker Page 0,52

Susan said.

We were both drinking coffee. Susan had ordered a soft-boiled egg and some toast. I went a bit heartier: orange juice, three eggs over easy, sausages, home fries, toast, and of course, the basis of all gourmet breakfasts, pie.

“Why not?”

“You won’t,” she said.

“I’m kind of addicted to you,” I said.

“That’s because you love me,” Susan said.

“And I don’t love booze?”

“No,” Susan said. “You don’t, nor would you.” She smiled. “You’re much too loyal.”

The waitress brought my orange juice. I drank some. She refilled both our coffee cups.

“Doesn’t addiction mean that you are beyond controlling it?” I said.

“Which is why you would never have one,” Susan said.

“Because I’m addicted to self-control?”

“Or not being controlled,” Susan said. “You are much too autonomous to ever let something get hold of you . . . or someone.”

“Except?” I said.

Susan smiled.

“Nope, not even me,” she said. “There are, after all, things you will not do, even for me.”

The waitress returned and put the soft-boiled egg in front of Susan and my breakfast in front of me.

“How’d you know which of us got the big plate?” I said.

The waitress stared at me for a moment. Then she looked at Susan and looked at me.

“Just a wild guess,” she said. “You need anything else right now?”

We didn’t.

“There’s not much that I can think of that I wouldn’t do,” I said, “if you asked.”

“It’s because I know better than to ask,” Susan said.

“That’s crazy,” I said.

“You’d do anything I asked?” Susan said.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“Can I have your pie?” Susan said.

“No,” I said. “Of course not.”

58

It was like a presidential visit. First into my office were two Tashtego security guys in plain clothes with walkie-talkies.

“You Spenser?” one of them said.

“Yes, I am,” I said.

They both looked at Hawk, who was sitting on Pearl’s couch.

“Who’s he?”

“Security consultant,” I said. “His name’s Hawk.”

“He’s with you?” the Tashtego patrol guy said.

“He is,” I said. “No one else would have him.”

Hawk smiled a friendly smile.

“Okay,” the guy said. “We’re bringing Mrs. Bradshaw in.”

He spoke briefly into his walkie-talkie. Then he and his partner moved to stand on either side of the door. We waited. In a minute, four more security guys came to the door and stood aside and from among them, like an old Esther Williams water ballet, Heidi emerged and came into the office. She was wearing a fur coat, which she slid out of as she sat and let it drape over the back of her chair. She had on a stretchy, tight-fitting sleeveless black top and a camel-colored skirt. The skirt was short above black boots.

She looked around my office, her glance lingering on Hawk. Then she said, “Okay, Michael, you and the others can wait outside.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the security guy said. “Do you want the door left open?”

“No,” she said. “Close it.”

The men withdrew. The door closed, and there we were.

“Who is this gentleman?” Heidi said.

“My associate Hawk,” I said.

“Oh, my,” Heidi said.

Hawk nodded at her.

“He’s as male as you are,” Heidi said.

“But less winsome,” I said.

“Whatever that means,” Heidi said. “The two of you look like a testosterone commercial.”

It was the funny, warm, sexy Heidi today. Full of flirtatious innuendo. She really wanted something.

“And it’s all at your service,” I said. “Whaddya need?”

Heidi was quiet for a moment. She looked at Hawk for a long time, and then at me. She crossed her legs.

“May I speak freely?” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

She stretched a little in her chair so that her breasts pushed out. Then she put her head down and rubbed the bridge of her nose at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s terrible what happened to poor Harden,” she said softly. “Do you know who killed him?”

“Not yet,” I said.

“Can you tell me anything?”

“He was hiding out in a motel in Burlington, Mass,” I said. “Under the name Bailey. Somebody shot him in the head through the window of his hotel room.”

“Why was he hiding out?” she said.

“Don’t know.”

Heidi turned to Hawk, and as she leaned a little forward in the chair, her skirt got shorter.

“Were you there?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Hawk said.

“Do you know anything?” she said.

“Same as Spenser,” Hawk said.

She looked back at me.

“Do the police have a theory?” she said.

“Not yet,” I said.

“You found him there.”

“Yes.”

“How did you happen to go there?”

“He called me,” I said. “Told me he was in danger. Asked for help.”

“And you were too late,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Why you?” she said.

“Good question,” I said. “I haven’t solved a crime in quite a long time.”

She shook her head slowly.

“You inspire confidence,”