Con waited beneath the canopy and allowed herself to think about Zhi. It was hard to fathom that he’d been gone for a year and a half when she remembered so clearly sitting at his bedside only a few days ago. She didn’t know why, but now that the shock of first hearing had passed, the urge to cry had passed with it. Not that it didn’t break her heart, but so much had happened to her that she felt at a strange remove from that part of her life. One of her had already mourned his death, did she have to go through it as well? Of course that made her feel guilty all over again for not falling apart the way maybe she felt she should.
Con looked up from her thoughts to see Peter Lee. Gone was his suit, replaced with a T-shirt and heavy-duty work pants and boots. Somehow she’d missed how muscular the man was back on Charles Island. And not a sculpted, movie-star physique but powerful, utilitarian muscle that looked like it had been built with a specific job in mind. The gun holstered on his hip hinted at what that job might have been. She took a step away from him. She’d really liked Peter. He was one of the main reasons she didn’t want to believe Gaddis was behind framing Levi Greer for murder. But showing up here, like this, made her wonder if she’d read Peter Lee all wrong.
He raised his hands. “Can we talk?”
“It’s a free country,” she said, although it had never felt less like one. “Are you following me?”
“The car’s GPS,” he explained.
Of course they’d been tracking her movements. The car didn’t belong to her. It had been na?ve of her not to have known that from the start. “I have an LFD, you know?”
“Mr. Gaddis felt this was too important for a call. You hanging in there?”
“It’s been a strange couple of days, you know?” she said, but refused to be sidetracked by Peter’s soothing everything’s-gonna-be-fine voice. This wasn’t a damn yoga class. “What’s with the gun, Peter? Seriously. What exactly is your job?”
Peter looked down at it as if he’d forgotten it was there. “I am Mr. Gaddis’s majordomo. I speak for, look to, and protect Mr. Gaddis’s interests. Whatever those may be.”
“Does that include shooting people?” Con asked.
“Not so far, but this is Virginia and the day’s not over. We’re not exactly welcome here, are we?”
Con’s eyes narrowed. “We’re?”
“First gen. West Point, class of ’21.”
She’d had no inkling that Peter was a clone and found that reassuring. “How’d you wind up working for Gaddis? Special Forces to majordomo seems like a strange career path.”
“Well, that’s a long story,” he said and then took so long choosing his next words that she wondered if he’d ever told it. “My original caught a bullet in Havana during the invasion in ’30. I was activated or whatever they’re calling it these days. Everything worked flawlessly. Life went on. Then the Times and Post broke that damn story in ’32. Let’s just say my family did not take the news well that I was a clone.”
“They didn’t know for two years?”
“Couldn’t tell them. Whole thing was classified up the ass. But I knew that when I signed up for the program. Got no one to blame but myself.” He shrugged. “My girl just turned sixteen. Would’ve been nice to have been there.”
Behind his laconic understatement, Con saw a pain so severe that the only way to survive would be to lock it away and ignore it for as long as possible.
“Don’t suppose I blame them,” Peter said. “They should’ve been told. I chose my country over my family. Had no right to expect any different.”
“So, Gaddis hired you?” She recalled the guilt in Gaddis’s voice talking about the fate of the first generation of clones. Was Peter some kind of penance?
“Well, that doesn’t really begin to cover it. Saved my life first. When he found me, I was living in Tupelo under a fake name. I was in a bad way for a few years there. Drugs,” Peter said stoically. “Mr. Gaddis paid to get me cleaned up. Hired me in ’36. I’ve worked for him ever since. Should have told you in Maryland. Just not something I talk about if I can avoid it.”
“Can I ask you something?” When he didn’t say no, she continued. “If you had it to do over again, would you?”
“Would I take the clone, you mean? Or would I have preferred to die in Cuba and be done with it? Suppose I go back and forth. Some days being dead doesn’t sound so bad.”