Nash had never observed this estate while he lived with Rhett Temple at his home because it was well hidden off the road behind high walls and mature trees. The place had a Tuscan feel to it, with a stone exterior, towers and turrets, and a cobblestoned motor court. In the rear was a large pool, a tennis court, an outdoor grilling area, a sprawling guesthouse, and several smaller cottages serving as staff quarters. There were also sculptures, fountains, and waterfalls, and outdoor spaces with seating areas connected by flagstone pathways arrayed around the manicured grounds.
The plants and shrubs were in full bloom, lovely and fragrant.
Nash and Thura were assigned to the luxurious five-bedroom guesthouse. When Thura walked into the place he spread his arms wide and cried out, “I am in America. No shit.” Then, like a kid, he went into his room, jumped on the bed, and just lay there beaming at the timbered ceiling.
Along with the attendants they had brought with them, the estate came with a staff that Steers told Nash she had thoroughly vetted. However, he and Thura intended to keep their eyes and ears peeled for any sign of a traitor in the ranks.
Nash swam in the heated pool early each morning and then ran around the grounds until his shirt was soaked and he was breathless. Thura often came with him, to both keep in shape and tell Nash what a fabulous place America was, until Nash had grown weary of hearing about it.
Nash also walked the grounds admiring the hardscapes and fountains and secluded areas, where there were inviting benches and the sounds of water falling softly. He had seen Steers several times tucked away in one of these nooks, with a canvas on an easel, and painting away. He never disturbed her during these moments, but he did linger and watch her. She usually wore a loose-fitting smock but always with her arms fully covered. Sometimes she also wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, which made him smile because it looked so incongruous on her, or at least the person the world saw as Victoria Steers.
But then his mind would go to that box in the basement with his dead daughter’s things in it, and his happy expression when observing Steers the artist rapidly turned hard and bitter.
He had been given a vehicle to drive—a Range Rover, ironically, like the one he had owned as Walter Nash—and he would drive into town some days when Steers and Masuyo did not need him. Either he or Thura always remained on guard. Nash had continually pressed Steers to let him hire additional protectors who could also stay in the guesthouse or staff quarters, but she had steadfastly refused.
“I do not know if one of them will contain another Hao,” she had said, referring to the man who had tried to kill her. “This is a worry I do not have with you and Thura.”
Her comment had made him feel guilty, since he was working against her. But then he had told himself that Steers had brought this on herself. He certainly hadn’t asked for any of it.
Since he’d gained Steers’s trust she had been less restrictive on his actions, and now as her head of security he had even more freedom.
Driving into town one day he called Morris on a burner phone, and the agent answered.
“So you’re back in America?” Morris said.
“Come on, Reed. I’m sure you tracked our movements every step of the way.”
“Of course we did.”
“I’m actually surprised you didn’t arrest her when we were going through customs.”
“While wemightbe able to get an indictment on Steers with what we have now, the rest of her partners would go free. The Bureau has decided it’s all or nothing on this sucker.”
“I can understand that.” He paused. “How is. . .Judith?”
“She’s adapted better than most to being in protection.”
“Can you tell me where she is?”
“I don’t even know. That’s US Marshal jurisdiction. But I can tell you it’s nowhere near your old home.” Morris paused. “By the way, she knew it was you.”
“Excuse me?”
“That night when you killed those men in your home. She knew it was you.”
“How do you know that?” asked a stunned Nash.
“I said you were quite capable and she said something like, ‘What do you expect from a fucking Eagle Scout?’ I take it youwerean Eagle Scout?”
“Yes, but why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“What good would it have done?”
Nash couldn’t come up with an adequate response to that.
Morris said, “But there has been a development that you need to know about. I have no idea how you might be able to use it, or us either, for that matter.”
“What is it?”