The Chemist Part 58

"This all feels anticlimactic, Ollie," Kevin complained, using a broom to push his chair in circles around the room. "It would have been more fun to shoot him."

The big headline for the day was Wade Pace's fatal aneurysm. The journalists had barely paused for a moment of silence before they were on to guessing what President Howland's strategy would be for finding his new running mate.

"Well, you did get to shoot Deavers."

"I was too stressed about Danny to really enjoy it, though," he mused.

Kevin had been terse in his explanation about how Deavers had gotten the upper hand. Alex could tell he was embarra.s.sed, but she didn't think less of him. How could anyone have prepared for the extremes that Deavers's paranoia had pushed him to? More than forty men, deployed into three perimeters, one more than a mile out from Deavers's position. Once Deavers. .h.i.t the panic b.u.t.ton, the perimeters had collapsed in. Kevin maintained that if he hadn't ignored his gut and brought a rocket launcher along, he would have made it out.

There was nothing else in the news, nothing about a violent shootout in an underground bunker on the outskirts of town. No word about a missing CIA deputy director. No mention of Carston, not even the relatively public kidnapping of his granddaughter. Maybe in tomorrow's news.

Kevin didn't think so.

"It'll be a gas-line explosion or something like that. That real story is all going to get buried so deep, they'll name Jackie Kennedy as the Dallas shooter before any of it gets out."

He was probably right.

They couldn't be 100 percent sure, of course, and they would continue to behave with caution, but the pressure was significantly decreased. Alex knew she would feel the lightness like a layer of helium under her skin, if she could ever convince herself to believe in their good luck.

After lunch, Volkstaff removed the st.i.tches from Alex's ear and complimented Daniel's even hand when she gave him the credit. Alex was bemused by how much the white-haired old man took in stride. None of them had tried to explain their unusual injuries or even make up a cover story, but Volkstaff asked no questions and showed no obvious curiosity. He didn't comment on the fact that Kevin was supposed to have died in prison, though apparently-Daniel informed her in a whisper-Volkstaff had been at the funeral. He asked only about old acquaintances from their childhood and, more particularly, the animals they'd known together. Though Alex had just barely learned to recognize love at all, she thought she might be falling for Volkstaff just a little, too.

Still, they couldn't live in the animal hospital forever. Volkstaff had other patients. After a few minutes of discussing options, Val surprised Alex by volunteering to house them again, back in her palatial penthouse, now that it was safe. For a fee, naturally. Kevin seemed the most shocked at her offer.

"Don't let it go to your head," she told him. "I want the dog. And I actually like Alex and Danny. Almost as much as I can't stand you." Then she'd kissed him-long enough that it got uncomfortable for everyone. Volkstaff politely turned his back, but Alex just stared. She would never understand what Val saw in Kevin.

"SOOO..." KEVIN BEGAN.

Alex turned from her organizing; it wasn't quite packing yet. Kevin was lounging in the doorway of the room Alex and Daniel had always shared in Val's home, his left arm braced against the top of the frame. For one second, Alex was irrelevantly jealous of tall people in general. It wasn't an uncommon feeling these days, always surrounded by giants as she was. She put it away.

"So what?"

"So how did the appointment go today? What did you and Volkstaff conclude?"

He didn't have to ask where Daniel was now-Daniel's normal shower-serenade volume would have gotten him in trouble if the other tenants were any closer. The Bon Jovi phase hadn't pa.s.sed yet; he was particularly fond of "Shot Through the Heart" at the moment. Alex didn't find it so funny, but she tried not to let it irritate her.

"The vet thinks Daniel's good to go. I concur. You Beaches are a charmed breed." She shook her head, still a little incredulous at how quickly and thoroughly Daniel had healed. "Also, he wants to look at your feet."

Kevin scowled. "My feet are fine."

"Don't shoot the messenger. I mean that literally."

His frown faded into his normal expression, but he continued to stand there in the doorway, staring at her.

"Sooo... ?" she echoed.

"So... do you have any ideas about where you're heading now?"

Alex twitched her shoulders noncommittally. "Nothing too specific yet." Like a coward, she turned back to her worn duffel and looked over her stowed chemicals again, checking that they were all appropriately protected from jostling. She might have been going overboard with the organization, she admitted to herself. They probably didn't need to be alphabetized. But she'd had a lot of time on her hands, and other than surfing the web for possible new digs, she was at loose ends. Daniel had objected to being examined more than four times a day.

"Have you talked to Danny about it?"

She nodded with her back still turned to him. "He says wherever I want to go is fine by him."

"He's planning to tag along with you, I guess."

Kevin's voice was casual, but Alex knew it must be a strain to keep it that way.

"I haven't discussed that part specifically with him, but, yes, it does seem to be the a.s.sumption."

He didn't say anything for a moment, and she really had nothing left to do with the bag. She turned slowly to face him.

"Yeah," he said, "I could tell it was going to go that way." His expression was indifferent. Only his eyes revealed the depths of his hurt.

She didn't want to tell the full story, but she felt guilty holding it back. "If it makes you feel any better, he seems to be a.s.suming you'll be there, too."

Kevin's eyebrows eased back from their normal compressed position.

"Really?"

"Yes. I don't think he's envisioned any more splitting up at this point."

Kevin inclined his chin. "I can understand that. Kid's been through a lot."

"He's bouncing back pretty well."

"True, but we wouldn't want to traumatize him again. Don't want him to have a setback."

Alex knew where Kevin was going with this. She suppressed both a sigh and a smile, keeping her face neutral.

"True," she said in her serious-doctor tone. "It might be best to keep his environment as stable as possible, aside from all the unavoidable changes."

Kevin didn't suppress his sigh. He blew out a huge breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "It'll probably be an enormous pain, but I guess I can stick close until he's adapted."

Alex couldn't resist pus.h.i.+ng back just a tiny bit. "I'm sure he wouldn't want you to put yourself out. He'll survive."

"No, no, I owe the kid. I'll do what I have to."

"He'll appreciate that."

Kevin met her gaze for one long second, his expression candid, and then suddenly sheepish. The moment pa.s.sed, and he grinned.

"What's the general area you're looking at?" he asked.

"I was thinking maybe the Southwest or the Rocky Mountains. Medium-size city, settle in the suburbs. The usual."

No one was looking for them, as far as they knew, but Alex was always a fan of playing it safe, just in case. She'd have to use a fake name regardless-Juliana Fortis was legally dead.

Daniel's singing cut off, then picked up again, m.u.f.fled by a towel.

"I know a town that might work."

Alex shook her head slowly. He'd probably already rented a house and set up the new ident.i.ties. She'd choose her own name no matter what he'd done. "Of course you do."

"How do you feel about Colorado?"

EPILOGUE.

Adam Kopecky sat today's files on his desk and reached for the phone with a smile already in place. He had the best job in the world.

Working as an a.s.sistant producer for a famous chef's reality road show could have meant many things, but for Adam, it meant flexible hours, a quiet little office, and a near-constant stream of positivity.

He was in charge of managing the visits to the various mom-and-pop eateries his chef would be featuring on the show, and while he was sometimes jealous of Bess and Neil, who were always on the road trying out every hole-in-the-wall they could find, he believed what he was doing suited his temperament better. Plus, Bess and Neil had to eat a lot of garbage to find the diamonds in the rough, and Neil had gained at least twenty-five pounds in this past year with the show; Adam had cobbled together a standing desk so that his more stationary job would not start to affect him the same way. And then, out of necessity, no one knew who Bess and Neil were, so no one was particularly excited to hear from them.

Thursday afternoon was Adam's favorite. Today he would call the chosen ones.

The show was heading to the Denver region in a month, and the lucky winners were a barbecue place in Lakewood, a bakery right in downtown, and then the outlier, a bar and grill that was closer to Boulder than Denver. Adam had been skeptical, but Bess insisted that the Hideaway would be the highlight of the episode. If possible, they should be there on a Friday night. The place was a local karaoke hot spot. Adam hated karaoke, but Bess was insistent.

"It's not what you're thinking, Adam," she'd promised. "This place is so cool, Chef'll need a parka. Doesn't look like much from the outside, but the style is there. Je ne sais quoi and all that. Plus the owners are seriously camera-ready. The cook's name is Nathaniel Weeks-so fine, let me tell you. I hate to admit to being unprofessional, but I did make a play. I got zero response. The waitress tipped me off that he was married. The good ones are always taken, right? But he's got a hot brother, apparently. Plays bouncer for the bar at night. I may tag along with Chef for this one."

She'd taken a bunch of pictures on her iPhone. As she'd mentioned, the outside was forgettable. It could have been anyplace in the West. Saloon-ish, dark wood, rustic. Most of the other photos were of plates of food that seemed to have too much style for such an unremarkable location. A few of the pictures must have been of the cook she liked so much-tall, full beard, thick curly hair. Adam didn't think he was especially attractive, but what did he know? Lumberjacks could be Bess's thing. A small woman with short dark hair was in a lot of the backgrounds, never facing the camera... maybe this was the chef's wife. He had the names of all the owners off the alcohol license. Nathaniel Weeks was the chef, so Kenneth must be the bouncer brother, and Ellis the wife.

Adam had remained hesitant, but the Hideaway had gotten Neil's enthusiastic thumbs-up as well. Best food he'd had in the past three seasons.

There were always a couple of backups-a coffee shop in Parker and a breakfast-only diner in Littleton were on this list-but Adam very rarely had to contact the backups. The show had a track record of boosting business by a healthy percentage for the first two months after an episode aired, with an ongoing lift for the rest of the year. There were even a bunch of groupie types who tried to follow Chef's journey and eat at every place he featured. Chef was always complimentary, and the show regularly pulled in almost a million viewers every Sunday night. It was the world's best advertis.e.m.e.nt, and it was free.

So Adam was prepared for the reaction at the Lakewood barbecue place, Whistle Pig. As soon as he said the name of the show, the owner was screaming. Adam thought he could even hear her feet pounding against the floor as she jumped up and down. It was like showing up at someone's door with one of those huge Publishers Clearing House checks.

Once the owner had calmed down, Adam went through the usual spiel, getting the date on her calendar, giving her the contact info she would need, prepping her for the kinds of access the show would require, et cetera. All the while, she kept thanking Adam and occasionally shouting the good news to someone who'd just walked into the room.

Adam had made this same call over eight hundred times now, but it always left him grinning and feeling like Good Saint Nick.

The call with the bakery was similar, but instead of screaming, the head pastry chef had an infectious belly laugh that Adam couldn't help but laugh along with. This call took longer than the first, but eventually Adam was able to compose himself, even if the local chef never did.

Adam had saved the Hideaway for last, knowing that a Friday-night karaoke event would be a little more complicated to arrange. Adam thought it might be too much of a departure for the show, but he supposed they could get some footage from both the dinner hour and the performances, then cut it together to see what would work.

"This is the Hideaway," an alto female voice answered his call. "How can I help you?"

In the background, Adam could hear the expected sounds-the clinking of clean dishes being put away, the chop, chop, chop of the prep work, the murmur of a few conversations lowered for the sake of the phone call. Soon they'd be plenty loud.

"h.e.l.lo," Adam greeted her heartily. "Could I please speak to Mrs. Weeks-Mrs. Ellis Weeks-or either of the Mr. Weekses?"

"This is Mrs. Weeks."

"Great. Hi. My name is Adam Kopecky, and I'm calling you on behalf of the show The Great American Food Trip."

He waited. Sometimes it took a minute to sink in. He wondered if Mrs. Weeks was a screamer or a gasper. Maybe a crier.

"Yes," Mrs. Weeks responded in a cool tone. "What can I do for you?"

Adam coughed out an awkward laugh. It happened sometimes. Not everyone was familiar with the show, though it really was a household name these days.

"Well, we're a cuisine-focused reality show that follows the food journeys of Chef-"

"Yes, I know the program." There was a hint of impatience in the voice now. "And what can I help you with?"

Adam was a bit thrown. There was the strangest sort of suspicion in her reaction, like she thought this was a scam. Or maybe something worse. Adam couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He hurried to set her straight. "I'm calling because the Hideaway has been chosen for our show. Our spies"-he laughed lightly-"came home raving about your menu and your entertainment. We hear you've become quite a local hot spot. We'd love to profile your establishment-get the word out to anyone who hasn't heard of you yet."

Surely now it would click for her. As one-third owner of the restaurant, she had to be adding up the financial possibilities in her head. He waited for the first squeal.

Nothing.

He could still hear the clinking, the chopping, the murmuring, and in the distance, a couple of dogs barking. Otherwise he would have thought the call had dropped. Or that she'd hung up on him.

"h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Weeks?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"Well, then, um, congratulations. We plan to be in your area the first part of next month, and we can be somewhat flexible within that time frame to work with your schedule. I've heard that Friday nights are a highlight, so we might want to plan for that-"

"I'm sorry-Mr. Kopecky, did you say it was?"

"Yes, but call me Adam, please."

"I'm sorry, Adam, but while we're... flattered, I don't think it will be possible for us to partic.i.p.ate."

"Oh," Adam said. It was half gasp, half grunt.

He'd had a few instances where schedules could not be made to fit, where exigent circ.u.mstances of the most weighty kind-weddings, funerals, organ transplants-had gotten in the way, but the dream had never died without a major effort on the part of the owners and major disappointment to follow. One poor woman in Omaha had sobbed into the receiver for a solid five minutes.

"Thank you so much for thinking of us..."

As if this were no more than an invitation to a distant relative's backyard birthday party.

"Mrs. Weeks, I'm not sure you realize what this could do for your business. I could send you some statistics-you'd be amazed at what a difference in your bottom line a spot on the show would mean."

"I'm sure you're right, Mr. Kopecky-"