Page 8 of The Fourth Option
“Thank God.”
There was a brief silence as if neither party knew what to say.
Walker cleared his throat. What did you say to the widow of the man you were responsible for killing?
“Where are you, Chris?”
Leigh Ann had always been inquisitive.
“I’m uh…”
“Out of the country or something? You’re not back with the Agency, are you?”
“I’m still medically retired. Just a little remote. Pacific Northwest.”
“Sounds like there’s static on the line.”
“Rain on the roof. Ocean beyond windows. Storm’s rolling in off the Pacific.” His voice was gravelly and hollow.
“Are you alone?”The concern in her voice evident.
“I’m on an Indian reservation.”
“A reservation?”
“Yeah.”
Paladin gave a slight growl.
“Well, not quite by myself.”
“How are you, Chris?”
Walker’s eyes went to the pistol on the bench seat next to him and replied after two seconds of introspection. “I’m doing great.”
Chris knew the pause did not go unnoticed. Leigh Ann had always been in tune with other people’s mental states, far more so than her late husband. She had been the ballast in the Staub marriage.
“Yeah?”she asked gently.“How are you feeling?”
“You mean, how’s my head?”
“Well, yes. I’m a nurse, remember?”
The traumatic brain injury had been the final nail in his CIA career. “I didn’t forget. Head’s good.”
He glanced back at the gun on the seat beside him, his eyes travelingto the bullet hole in the ceiling. It had started to leak, the hole staring back at him like an accusation.
Leigh Ann’s tone shifted into nurse mode.“Blurred vision? Dizziness? What meds are you on?”
Walker had forgotten that Leigh Ann was a talker.
“Was just about to try a new one, actually,” he replied, his eyes going back to the 1911.
“Which one?”
“Nothing you’d recommend.”
“It’s good to hear your voice.”
