Free The Waterfall by Carla Neggers

likely, he just didn’t want to be around people.
    â€œTell me why you’re here,” he said.
    â€œI promised Colin.” It sounded so archaic when she said it. She pushed back her hair, too aware of herself for her own comfort. “I told him if I ever needed help, I’d come to you. So, here I am. Except I really don’t need your help, after all.”
    â€œYou don’t?”
    She shook her head. “No.”
    â€œGood. I’d hate for you to have wasted a trip.” He started back across the worn floorboards toward the porch. “I’m not in the helping business.”
    She was stunned. “What?”
    â€œPlato’ll feed you, get you back on the road before dark.”
    Lucy stared at his back as he went out onto the porch. In the cabin’s dim light, she saw an iron bed in one corner of the room, cast-off running shoes, a book of Robert Penn Warren poetry, a stack of James Bond novels and one of Joe Citro’s books of Vermont ghost stories. There was also a kerosene lamp.
    This was not what she’d expected. Redwing Associates was high-tech and very serious, one of the best investigative and security consulting firms in the business. Sebastian’s brainchild. He knew his way around the world. If nothing else, Lucy had expected she might have to hold him back, keep him from moving too fast and too hard on her behalf.
    Instead, he’d turned her down flat. Without argument. Without explanation.
    She took a breath. The dust, altitude and dry air hadn’t given her a bloody nose like they had J.T. They’d just driven every drop of sanity and common sense right out of her. She never should have come here.
    She followed him out onto the porch. “You’re going to take my word for it that I don’t need help?”
    â€œSure.” He dropped back into his hammock. “You’re a smart lady. You know if you need help or not.”
    â€œWhat if it was all bluster? What if I’m bluffing? What if I’m too proud and—”
    â€œAnd so?”
    She clenched her fists at her sides, resisting an urge to hit something. “Plato fudged it when he said you were on sabbatical, didn’t he? I’ll bet Madison was more right than she realized.”
    â€œLucy, if I wanted you to know about my life, I’d send you Christmas cards.” He grabbed his hat and lay back in the hammock. “Have you ever gotten a Christmas card from me?”
    â€œNo, and I hope I never do.”
    She spun around so abruptly, the blood rushed out of her head. She reeled, steadying herself. Damn if she’d let herself pass out. The bastard would dump a pitcher of well water on her head, strap her to a horse and send her on her way.
    â€œI’m sorry, Lucy. Things change.” She couldn’t tell if he’d softened, but thought he might have. “I guess you know that better than most of us.”
    She turned back to him and inhaled, regaining some semblance of self-control. She was furious with herself for having come out here—and with Plato for having sent her when he had to know the reception she’d get. She was out of her element, and she hated it. “That’s it, then? You’re not going to help me?”
    He gave her a half smile and pulled his hat back down over his eyes. “Who’re you kidding, Lucy Blacker? You’ve never needed anyone’s help.”
    Â 
    Plato didn’t come for Sebastian until early the next morning. Very early. Dawn was spilling out on the horizon, and Sebastian, having tended the horses and the dogs, was back in his hammock when Plato’s truck pulled up. He thumped onto the porch, his gait uneven from his limp. It’d be two years soon. He’d have the limp for life.
    â€œYou turned Lucy down?”
    Sebastian tilted his hat back off his eyes. “So did you.”
    â€œShe didn’t come out here for my help. She came for