Free Life of Secrets by Bowen Greenwood Page B

the
concerto on the stereo, letting it finish. The kids had been tough in her
lectures and seminars, Matt had been his usual self at dinner, and she was in
no hurry to move, except for the fact that there might be a drink in it for her
if she did.
    Finally, she
went inside. From the garage, she entered the kitchen of her long, narrow
townhouse. Normally she would have kicked off her pumps and headed for the wet
bar after a day like this.
    Chambers,
however, violated other people’s private space for a living. It had given her a
sixth sense for knowing when a space was not empty.
    Her home was
not empty.
    Silently, she
reached inside her blazer back and drew a subcompact 9mm from its holster,
amused at what the university administration would think if they knew. Rather
than kicking her shoes into the closet as usual, she eased them off to make
less noise. She stepped over to the door that led from the kitchen to the
dining area and living room and slipped her head around for a peek, without
even a little rustle.
    Standing in
front of her picture window, staring out at the college kids walking by on O
Street, was a person whose silhouette she couldn’t fail to recognize. Rail
thin, straight as a flag pole, wearing a suit. Although she was seeing him from
the back, she knew it would be a three piece.
    "Father.
What a pleasant surprise. Do you mind if I turn on a light?"
    The elder
Chambers didn’t turn to greet her. He simply said, "As you wish," and
lifted the tumbler at his side. Noticing it, Alyssa’s eyes flicked over to her
bar. He’d gotten into her Macallan 25, which she’d
been saving for a special occasion. Biting her lower lip in annoyance, she
poured some over ice in a tumbler, put her pistol behind the bar, and walked
over to stand beside and half a step back from H. Franklin.
    She thought of
him as H. Franklin just then but didn’t dare say it out loud, as he hated being
called that.   In fact, she’d never used it aloud with anyone but Matt
and her mother. He preferred "Chambers" as a form of address, or
"Frank" from people who had earned the right to feel close to him.
    With her he
wouldn’t answer to anything but Father.
    She was his
daughter; she knew him well. He had come here for some purpose of his own, and
he would divulge it in his own time. Asking would only cause him to look down
on her for impatience.
    Instead of
speaking, Alyssa held her glass to her nose and breathed in. Mac 25 was very
good scotch, and she didn’t intend to let the company spoil her enjoyment of
it.
    "I want to
hire you."
    She blinked.
She was instantly on guard. One did not speak of "hiring" a
professor. His words implied he knew about her other job, but he wasn’t
supposed to know. Alyssa was fanatical about who knew. She passed on many
clients who wouldn’t do business with her without seeing her face. She could
count on the fingers of one hand the people who knew her face and name and also
knew that she was a thief.
    He didn’t say
anything more for quite some time. Alyssa’s mind raced through the
conversational strategies. Normally, if he left something unsaid, he would say
it later. Asking just made you look weak. But in this case, remaining silent
for too long might be taken as an admission.
    "Really,
father? Some white paper you need for a client?"
    "It was
never going to be kept secret from me, of course. Not for long. A Chambers
expects to succeed at what he does. I admire you for that attitude – for
believing you could keep it a secret. But I have more experience at being a
Chambers than you. You wanted to keep it secret, and I wanted to find it out. I
won."
    There was no
point in denying. He had made it clear that he knew. The facts were on his
side. Lying would invite disdain.
    So, she simply
kept silent and waited.
    "There’s a
new young fellow running for Congress this year. Naive. Unrealistic. Thinks he
can succeed by doing right rather than doing what’s necessary to win. Not
unlike that Ken Wells