Bodyguard of Lies Read Online Free PDF Page B

inside the car. She guessed he was finished when he tossed the once again closed carton into the back seat. He was still humming as he walked around and climbed behind the steering wheel.
    He reached out one large warm hand and clasped her knee. Neeley knew at once there was nothing sexual in the touch. He just wanted to give her some firm, physical contact, something to snatch her back from the mindless shock. Then he backed out of the parking slot, aimed the car for the American sector and asked if she was hungry.
    Over ten years later, sitting alone, his grave nearby, she still remembered his first touch. It was as familiar and powerful as the last taste of Jean-Philippe's smiling lips.
    Neeley shivered. There was much to be done before she left.
    Gant had told her that he would find her something like the Bronx meeting for her to get money. She'd always wondered where his money came from but all he would say was that the government paid him every month for past services rendered. With his death that income would be gone and she'd be on her own.
    Gant had talked of his root family rarely, telling her he had a mother and a brother. The mother lived somewhere in New York but Neeley had never met her and as far as she knew neither had Gant in the time they were together. Of his brother, Gant had also spoken sparingly. She sensed something dark between Gant and his brother Jack and she had not pried. Gant’s given name was Anthony, but she had never referred to him by it or any derivation of it or heard anyone else do it either.
    He’d told her once his father had disappeared when he was twelve, an odd choice of words that left many unanswered issues that Neeley had not probed into. He also had someone he called his Uncle Joe, although Gant had indicated the man was not really blood, but a surrogate father that had raised him in the years after his father’s disappearance. This Uncle had been the one to call Gant with the information on the drug deal.
    "Then there are three other things you have to do," Gant had added. He'd reached into his pocket and given her a key. "This is for a locker in the bus terminal in Hartford, Connecticut. Go there. Get what's in it."
    She taken the numbered key.
    "Then go to Boulder." He'd smiled, recalling better days. "Remember the climb we made in Eldorado Canyon? The first route you led?"
    Neeley had nodded. “Thin Air.”
    "There's something up there that you will need."
    “And the third?”
    Gant had pulled out a letter. “It’s for my brother.”
    “How do I find him?” Neeley had asked.
    “You’ll meet some day. Trust me on that.”
    “How will I know him?”
    Gant had given a wistful smile. “That won’t be a problem.”
    And that had been it. He'd offered no explanation or hint of what she would find in either location or how she would find his brother. When she'd pushed him for more, he shook his head. "I can't tell you what will happen to you once I'm gone; all I can give you is what I had to keep the dead time going." He’d paused and reached into his pocket, pulling out a slip of paper. A phone number was written on it with a 212 area code— New York City. He’d given it to her. “That’s Uncle Joe’s number. If you really are in trouble and need help, call him. He knows your name. He’s very—“Gant seemed to search for the word, and then he smiled wistfully—“resourceful.”
    Then he'd tossed his empty beer into the grave and turned for the cabin. The gaping hole and his words had filled her thoughts those last few months. The hole became a symbol for the cancer that was killing Gant and she hated it. But she had always hated the dark small places that Gant insisted were really refuge. He would spend endless hours staring at the hole through the wide front window, wrapped in the big comforter as Neeley fought to keep the fire blazing. Gant had lost so much weight that she could easily carry him, but his voice remained strong as ever. He could no longer