Free The Waterfall by Carla Neggers Page A

yours.”
    â€œShe hates me, you know.”
    Plato grinned. “Of course, she hates you. You’re a jackass and a loser.”
    Sebastian didn’t take offense. Plato had always been one to speak out loud what others were thinking. “Her kid bled on my porch. How am I going to protect a twelve-year-old kid who gets nosebleeds? The daughter’s a snot. She kept comparing me to Clint Eastwood.”
    â€œEastwood? Nah. He’s older and better-looking than you.” Plato laughed. “I guess Lucy and her kids are lucky you’ve renounced violence.”
    â€œWe’re all lucky.”
    Silence.
    Sebastian felt a gnawing pain in his lower back. He’d slept in the hammock. A bad idea.
    â€œYou didn’t tell her, did you?” Plato asked.
    â€œTell her what?”
    â€œThat you’ve renounced violence.”
    â€œNone of her business. None of yours, either.”
    If his curtness bothered Plato, he didn’t say. “Darren Mowery’s hanging around her father-in-law.”
    â€œShut up, Rabedeneira. You’re like a damn rooster crowing in my ear.”
    Plato stepped closer. “This is Lucy, Sebastian.”
    He rolled off the hammock. That was what he’d been thinking all night. This was Lucy. Lucy Blacker, with the big hazel eyes and the bright smile and the smart mouth. Lucy, Colin’s widow.
    â€œShe should go to the police,” Sebastian said.
    â€œShe can’t, not with what she has so far. Jack Swift would pounce. The Capitol police would send up a team to investigate. The press would be all over the story.” Plato stopped, groaning. “You didn’t let her get that far, did you?”
    â€œPlato, I swear to God, I wish you were still jumping out of helicopters rescuing people. I could sell the company and retire, instead of letting some dipshit busybody like you run it.”
    â€œYou didn’t even hear her out? I don’t believe it. Jesus, Redwing. You really are an asshole.”
    Sebastian started down the porch steps. He was stiff, and he needed coffee. He needed to stop thinking about Lucy. Thinking about Lucy had never, ever done him any good. “I figured she told you everything. No need to make her go through it twice.”
    â€œLucy deserves—”
    â€œI don’t care what Lucy deserves.”
    Sebastian could feel his friend staring at him, knowing what he was thinking, and why he’d slept out on the porch. “Yeah, you do. That’s the problem. You’ve been in love with her for sixteen years.”
    That was Plato. Always speaking out loud what was best left unsaid. Sebastian walked out to his truck. It was turning into a beautiful day. He could go riding. He could take a run with the dogs. He could read ghost stories in his hammock.
    The truth was, he was no damn good. About all he hadn’t done in the past year since he’d shot a friend gone bad was kick the dogs. He’d renounced violence, but not gambling, not carousing, not ignoring his friends and responsibilities. He didn’t shave often enough. He didn’t do laundry often enough. He could afford all the help he needed, but that meant having people around him and being nice. He didn’t have much use for people. And he wasn’t very nice.
    â€œI can’t help Lucy,” he said. “I’ve forgotten half of what I knew.”
    â€œYou’re so full of shit, Redwing. You haven’t forgotten a goddamn thing.” Plato came and stood beside him. The warm, dry air, he said, helped the pain in his leg. And he liked the work. He was good at it. “Even if you’re rusty—which you aren’t—you still have your instincts. They’re a part of you.”
    Then the violence was a part of him, too. Sebastian tore open his truck door. “I hate bullshit pep talks.”
    â€œRedwing—goddamn it. You’ve never felt sorry for yourself for one minute of your