Peri looked through the skylight at the flock of birds overhead, and then the familiar pop-pop of a rifle. “Duck hunting?” she guessed, and then got out, hesitating just outside the car to take a deep breath, pulling the smoky air deep into her lungs and feeling it relax her. There were eyes on her, but they only made her feel daring, and she stretched like a lioness, showing her fangs to those who might test her. Her boots scuffed, and she collapsed in on herself. Her black jeans and the turtleneck sweater she’d put on this morning would make it easy to get lost, hard to find in the predawn gloom.
“There,” Silas said softly, and she turned to follow his gaze. A man had come out of one of the vans, bundled up and carrying what looked like coats and boots. He had a dog with him, and her eyebrows rose when the man hailed them.
“Agent Reed? Dr. Denier? Ms. Helen took the liberty of arranging for the proper attire!” he called out, red-cheeked from the cold as he came to a confident halt before them.
Peri dropped her hand for the dog to sniff, feeling the lingering cold on his fur as she gave the happy animal a quick ear rub. He was a hunter, not security, and he liked his people. Silas cleared his throat, and she shrugged, reaching for the smaller of the two coats.
“Thank you.” It smelled new, and she tugged it on over her WEFT jacket, feeing the warmth of the rich wool immediately, but Silas shook his head, content with his long coat—as out of place as it looked amid the broken marsh grass.
“I’ll take you out to where she’s at when you’re ready,” the man said sociably. “Would you like a coffee? Ms. Helen insists the ducks can smell it, so we can’t take it to the blind, but there’s no hurry.”
So she really is duck hunting, Peri thought as she glanced at Silas, then answered for both of them. “No. Thank you.”
The man set the boots down, eager to please. “You’ll find the boots are sized as well.”
Silas looked at his inappropriate dress shoes still holding the salt from Detroit’s streets, and Peri wasn’t surprised when he shook his head again. “I’ll keep my boots, too. Thanks,” she said.
“Then let’s head out,” the man said, and the dog trotted ahead of them, clearly knowing the way. Walking slowly behind, Peri wrapped the scarf that had come with the coat around her neck. It didn’t smell like anyone, which said that they had been expected for at least a day. Ms. Yeomon, whoever she was, was a planner, and concern stole around Peri’s heart.
But the gloves she found in the coat’s pockets were warm, and she put them on as their guide led them deeper into the marsh. They had a removable flap for the fingertips—shooting gloves.
Silas leaned close as they found the boardwalk. “They didn’t search us.”
“You don’t think we were scanned?” she said softly. “Probably before we even got out of the car, at the bridge we had to go over. My car is bullet resistant, not scanner proof.”
“I suppose.”
Her pulse jerked at the sound of another shot, and the dog with them whined eagerly. The scent of gunpowder was strong as they came out onto a cleared platform that was probably used for observing wildlife on less dangerous days. Though they were near the ocean, it was a freshwater pond, and she squinted at the puddle ducks still flying in, the lure of a resting spot overriding the obvious danger.
Silas nudged her, and she brought her gaze back to the two people standing at the blind at the edge of the structure—one man, one woman. Helen, obviously. The dog trotted ahead, getting a fond ear rub, shortly followed by a command to sit—which it did without hesitation.
Peri exhaled slowly, not sure what she had expected. The woman was older, in her late fifties, probably, despite the well-done efforts to keep her face from showing it. She was dressed in camouflage-colored fur and held an open twelve-gauge shotgun over her arm. Seeing Peri and Silas, she smiled and beckoned them forward, her hands sleek within her shooting gloves.
“If you don’t need anything,” their guide said, but it was clear he’d been dismissed.
“Thank you, no,” Peri said distantly, wishing Silas would quit scowling. “Smile, will you?” she said out of the side of her mouth as they crossed the worn planks.
“I don’t like that they’re the only two people with a weapon.”
True. “Relax. If anyone can get Bill to back off, it will be a rich, attractive, powerful woman. He’s a sucker for powerful women.”
Silas dropped his head. “I’ve noticed.”
“Agent Reed.” The woman beamed as she handed her shotgun to the athletic-looking man beside her, taking her glove off before extending her hand to grip Peri’s. “Can I call you Peri? Please, I’m Helen. I was so pleased when I heard you and Dr. Denier had arrived. Thomas, give her your weapon. It’s more fun being cold when you can shoot at something.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman’s grip was surprisingly strong, and Peri took the shotgun when her security passed it reluctantly over. It was still warm from his hand, and she knew that it had shot in it; he hadn’t wanted to give it up. And yet he did without complaint, she thought, wondering at the woman’s personal power. “It’s been a while since I’ve shot,” she said, looking the gleaming steel over and calling it good.
“You never forget.” Helen dropped two shells into her gun and locked it up. “At least, that’s what I’ve been told. I’ve not missed a year since my husband died.” Her gaze went distant out over the marsh, and Peri saw the age at the corners of her eyes in the new sun just rising. The woman’s lips twitched, and then she turned her gaze to her security. “Thomas. A moment, please?”