“I can explain, Madeline,” he said.
She flinched slightly like a fly had just landed on her face. She pointed into Walker’s trunk. “A Ramo sniper rifle,” she said in a leaden voice, her eyes still glued to the inscription on the righthand corner of the black leather that encased what was obviously a deadly weapon. She looked up at him. “Russian, I think you said it was?”
“I can explain, Madeline,” he repeated quietly.
He reached for her shoulder but she stepped back.
“You shot at me?” she asked incredulously.
He exhaled in frustration and glanced skyward. After a moment of what appeared to be exasperated indecision on his part, he replied, “Yes. But I’m an excellent shot, Madeline. You were never in danger.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Everything had taken on a dream-like quality—the dark night enveloping them, the trunk with the gun, Walker’s stiff expression in the glow of the trunk light, contrasting with the memory of everything that had come before that moment and her newfound sense of hope.
“I had to do something that would scare Tony enough, something that would motivate him to ask me inside the Aspen Lodge with my team,” Walker said quietly. He looked over at the trunk and briefly shut his eyes. “It was my idea. I suggested it to my boss. I knew Tony would be upset at the idea of you being threatened in any way . . . upset enough to invite me into his private sanctuary.”
“Your boss? I thought you were your own boss.”
“I am. Or I will be, as soon as this operation is finished.”
“Operation?” she whispered.
He nodded. “I’m technically still under the employ of the Secret Service, Madeline.” He looked at her face and nodded toward the car. “Come on. Get in, and I’ll explain on the way. It’s probably for the best. I was going to tell you later today anyway.”
Madeline got into the passenger seat of the car like an automaton. She said nothing as Walker drove through the dark, narrow mountain roads and listened while he explained about his undercover operation and Tony’s alleged crime. She felt numb, not saying a word until he pulled back into the drive at the Aspen Lodge and parked his car.
“You said you came back to Lake Tahoe because of me,” she said, staring straight ahead.
“I did, Madeline. I would have been back here if this shit had happened with Tony or not. I wasn’t lying about that.”
“But you really came back to Tahoe to arrest Tony for computer wire fraud,” she continued, her voice low and flat as if she just received a blow to the head and someone was trying to coach her through the last few minutes while she’d been muddled.
“It’s one of the reasons I came back. When I saw those photos of you from Secret Service surveillance, it was like a kick to the gut. I may have shot that bullet in order to get Tony to open his doors to me, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a true threat against you, with all Tony has gotten himself involved with. The Russian mob is ruthless. Maybe I made a preemptive strike with that rifle, but I was mimicking that exact type of thing they would do to put pressure on Tony for more goods. You were vulnerable, Madeline, and you didn’t even know it. I don’t regret doing something in order to make you safe.”
She turned and looked at him. She blinked twice, trying to see a face that’d haunted her for a better part of her life in better focus.
“How do you know I’m not just going to walk in that house and tell Tony the truth about what you’ve been doing in his house?” she asked.
His expression grew grim. “Even if you did, it wouldn’t change anything. We have ample evidence, Madeline, and it’s already been sent to DC. The arrest is going to happen, whether it’s right now or later this afternoon. I’d think you’d want me to break it to him in person . . . man-to-man.”
“Man-to-man,” she whispered, stunned. “You betrayed Tony by using your friendship.”
“I did what I had to do. You have no idea the type of threat he’s risking by his actions. It’s one of the mandates of the Secret Service to pr
otect the integrity of the U.S. financial system, Madeline. I’m doing my job.”
He started when she laughed, high and scathing. “Your job. Heaven forbid something should stop you from doing your job, Walker.”
He didn’t follow her when she got out of the car and ran on bare feet toward the lodge.
Six
Tony opened the sliding glass doors that led to the helm and joined Madeline on the bridge seating area at the front of the yacht.
“The anchor’s down. Didn’t I pick an ideal spot?” Tony asked, sprawling on the white-cushioned circular couch. He looked like a bronzed Greek god wearing nothing but a pair of ivory trunks. He held a glass half filled with cranberry, vodka and ice. Madeline had noticed he’d been drinking ever since the brunch Alessandro served them at nine thirty this morning. Her desire to confront him about his upsurge in drinking had been quieted by Walker’s alarming news.
Tony should do whatever pleased him this afternoon. It would likely be his last day of freedom for a while.
Her throat tightened with anguish. Why had Tony done it, the idiot? Why?