Burnt Sienna

“Sure. Finish cooling him down.”

“You know about horses?” At once she remembered. “That’s right. Last night, you said you rode when you were a boy.”

“At my grandfather’s farm. Do you want me to get a halter?”

“Why not? You’ll find one in -”

“The tack room in the stable. First door on the right. I saw it when I was looking around.”

When he came back with the halter, Sie

“I’m not a portrait artist. My specialty is landscapes.”

“What?” Sie

“Actually, it’s called ‘offer a commission.’ I’m sensitive about the word hire. Basically, your husband likes my work, and he’s awfully hard to turn down.”

“That’s my husband all right.”

“But I do know how to paint, Mrs. Bellasar.”

“I don’t doubt it. Call me Sie

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Just a couple of apples I shared with my friend here.”

“Then maybe we could have breakfast.”

3

While a guard watched from a side of the terrace, they sat at a wrought-iron table, an umbrella sheltering them from the sun, which was warm for February.

“Chase?” She sipped her coffee. “That’s an unusual first name.”

“Actually, it’s a nickname. My first name is Charles, but at one of the grade schools I went to -”

“One of them?”

“I went to a lot. It’s a long story. The teacher put a list of our names on a bulletin board to make it easier for us to get to know one another. To save time, she used abbreviations. Richard was Rich. Daniel was Dan. Charles was Chas. She put a period after it, but the period had a little curlicue that made it look like an e, so the kids started making fun of me, calling me Chase. It didn’t bother me, though. In fact, I thought it sounded kind of cool, so I kept it.”

“Nothing metaphysical about being chased or chasing your destiny?” Sie

“There were plenty of instances, especially in the military, when chasing was going on. As far as being an artist goes, I think I did find my destiny. But you’re not doing a portrait of me. I need to learn about you.”

“I thought you’d be working by now,” a voice interrupted.

When Sie

But Chase took a bite from his own, responding calmly, “We’ve already started.”

“You have a strange way of painting.”

“Painting’s the easy part. It’s the thought that goes into it that’s hard. I’m being efficient, eating breakfast while I study my subject.”

Chase made it sound like a joke, but when he glanced at her, his gaze assuring, Sie

A burst of machine-gun fire broke the stillness. From the range beyond the Cloister. On edge, Sie

“Sounds like a.50-caliber,” Chase said.

“You have a good ear.”

“Well, I’ve been shot at by them often enough.”

“One of my engineers is working on a modification, a faster feeding mechanism.”

“How are they compensating for the increase in heat?”

“That’s the problem.”

The subject infuriated her. No. Inwardly shaking her head, she corrected herself. What infuriated her was that the man with whom she had been talking, an artist who had seemed to display sensitivity during the conversation, was as comfortable talking about guns as was her husband. The two were no different.

She stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go shower, fix my hair, and get ready for the session.” She made herself look indifferently down at Chase. “What would you like me to wear?”

“Those boots, jodhpurs, and leather jacket you’ve got on are fine. And if you wouldn’t usually shower right now, I wish you wouldn’t. I want to get an idea of what you are, not what you’d like me to think you are. Don’t fix your hair or freshen your makeup. Don’t do anything special. Just let me look at you.”

His gaze was once again total. It made her shiver.

Whump-whump-whump. With an increasing roar, one of the helicopters returned, a distant speck that enlarged into a grotesque dragonfly and set down on the compound’s landing pad, halfway between the château and the Cloister.

“I look forward to seeing the progress you make,” her husband said, a vague warning in his voice. But it was obvious that his attention was elsewhere as he stepped from the terrace and walked with anticipation along a stone path near a rose garden and a fountain, approaching a man stepping down from the helicopter.

4

The man was too far away for Malone to get more than a general look at him. The hearty way he and Bellasar shook hands, then gripped each other’s arms, it was clear the two knew each other well and hadn’t seen each other for a while. Wider at the hips and waist than at his chest, the newcomer had rounded, forward-leaning shoulders, which suggested he spent a lot of time hunched over a desk. He wore a suit and tie, was Caucasian, and had hair only at the sides of his head. At a distance, his age was hard to tell, maybe mid-forties. He turned with concern toward several large wooden crates being unloaded from the helicopter. Each crate was heavy enough to require two men to lift it, and as one of the men stumbled, almost losing his grip on his end of the crate, the newcomer stepped frantically backward, gesturing in alarm, his barked command to be careful echoing the hundred yards to the terrace.

“Ah, the artist’s life,” a caustic voice said.

Reluctantly, Malone switched his attention from the helicopter toward Potter, who stepped from the château.

“A pleasant chat over a late breakfast. No schedule to worry about.”

“I’ve already had this conversation with your boss,” Malone said.

“Then there’s no point in being repetitive.” Potter took off his glasses and polished them. “I never question methods of working as long as they get results. Good morning, Sie

“Good morning, Alex.”

“Did you enjoy your ride?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Are you getting along with Mr. Malone? He has a tendency to be abrasive.”

“I haven’t noticed.”

“Then perhaps it’s only to me.” Potter put his glasses back on and stepped from the terrace. His squat figure got smaller, as he followed the same route past the rose garden and fountain that Bellasar had, joining the group as they entered the Cloister.

“He obviously doesn’t like me,” Malone said, “but am I wrong, or did he seem a little distant to you?”

“There’s only one person he gets along with, and that’s my husband.”

“A first-class guard dog.”