RETRACE

by Ehrlich, Sigal

  I jolt to a stand but Hunter doesn’t ask me to sit again. The air gets stuck in my lungs and my palms roll into two tight fists hearing this name. Hunter, nor either of us, will ever use suspects’ full names. Even though Jake’s office is checked daily for bugs. “He was spotted on U.S. soil a couple of days ago.”

  “Will you be collaborating with Jake’s people for the investigation? I’d like to be a part of the team if that’s possible, sir,” I say, looking at him square in the eyes. He slowly shakes his head, and for a brief moment I see a glimpse of pain in his measured stare. “I can do it.”

  He rubs a hand over his goatee and his blue eyes look up my way. “Reeves, Son, I trained you, I know what you’re capable of. I know how you function better than anyone.”

  Jake drops his stare to his busy hand that repeatedly slides his phone in circles over the table.

  “Even if I were to collaborate with Jake, I wouldn’t assign you to the team. I’m not sending you after him. It’s not that you are not capable of executing the job. Hell, you are one of the best I’ve ever had.” He lights a cigar, sucking thick smoke in, twice. He raises his eyes back to mine. “We both know it’ll be a suicidal mission, and I want you, and everyone involved, including the target, alive.”

  I clasp my teeth tighter as I keep listening to him. My heart is beating wildly, rage is streaming through my veins at the thought of the motherfucker who killed Ben, free and within reach. Jake crosses his leg over his thigh, leaning back in his chair, waiting for either of us to speak.

  Tense, I wait for Hunter to go on.

  “I’ll keep you in the intel loop.” He offers the best settlement he can, and it’s a mighty huge one. That, I know.

  “Sir, I appreciate it. Thank you.”

  “I might need you to work with the investigation team, though. Brief them on the old case.” He sucks his cigar again and speaks through the smoke cloud.

  My brows knit together, “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but why aren’t you using agent Blithe for that? She’s still in the bureau as far as I know.” I’m not sure why he wouldn’t just use my former handler, Agent Daria Blithe, she knows the old case inside out, if not better than I do.

  “She still is,” he answers curtly. “You lived the case, it was a part of you for over a year. No one can provide details better than you could, or anticipate A.Z.’s moves…”

  I nod.

  Hunter taps his cigar to a deserted coffee cup. “Don’t even think about doing any private investigation.” His eyes lift to mine. “Don’t you dare pull anything crazy that will force me to put you under arrest.” Another smoke puff hazes his face. “Because I will. I want him no less than you do. Ben was under my command. Losing an agent is like losing a son.”

  My eyes sting and that burning feeling in my chest each time Ben is mentioned shows its painful signs. I take a deep breath. “I’ll be at your service whenever you’ll need me.”

  Hunter gives me a soft blink while Jake clears his throat.

  “Reeves, I think that for the time being, till Hunter needs your assistance, you might want to go on a job. A simple one.” They both regard me, each with his own evaluating stare.

  “I’ll see, let me think about it,” I answer, leaving no room for further discussion. “If that would be all.” Not more than a short goodbye later I close the door behind me.

  Chapter 8

  Nia

  I stop by the little coffee shop around the corner from the studio. It’s barely ten a.m. and I’m already dead tired. It’s not that I usually enjoy a good night’s sleep; I’m used to being woken up from time to time, shaking, crying, sweating, all the lovely perks that follow nightmares. But last night had a new kick to it. My mind was spinning. It would be upsetting on so many levels to lose my new job. Obviously the money is an important factor, but also the sense of tranquility, the ability to let go for just a short period of time, is something I can’t easily dismiss. Being able to put smiles on little girls’ faces helps somehow make my self-contempt weaken, sometimes even vanish for a few rare moments.

  “Good morning,” a young barista with about a pound of metal donning her face, welcomes me. We both stifle our yawns.

  “Double Espresso and a Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte to go, please.” I flip through a magazine as I wait for my coffee. I down the Espresso as if it were a cure for a fatal disease, and grab the tall paper cup before heading to meet Mrs. Perry to be given my sentence.

  I gulp the last of the drink, discard of the cup in a nearby trashcan, and push open the door below the elegant soft pink “Tutu” sign in cursive letters. As I’ve expected, Mrs. Perry is by her desk. Gold, wire rim glasses rest mid-nose, her head slightly inclined toward her screen. I open the glass door to her clean-cut, elegance oozing office, prompting her to raise her eyes at the interruption. She straightens back in her chair and signals for me to take a seat with a gentle wave of her hand.

  “Good morning,” I say quietly as I take my seat, trying to breathe free the knot in my stomach. She runs a subtle gaze over me.

  “Good morning, Miss Mitchell.” She pinches the temple of her delicate glasses with two fingers, removes them and sets them to the table. Her powder blue eyes return my wary stare. “Do you have any idea why I’ve asked you to come here this morning?”

  The knot twists tighter. I decide to go with honesty. She doesn’t seem like someone who could be fooled easily.

  “Um, frankly, no. I could only assume it has to do with yesterday’s class.” She watches me quietly. “I sure hope it’s not one of the worse scenarios I’ve envisioned in the last twenty four hours,” I say, not doing such a good job in covering the depressed undertone. Her blue eyes crinkle at the sides. She’s smiling?

  “Yesterday’s class was quite interesting, especially the end,” she begins, and I realize I’ve been choking my bag’s strap with my grip for the last few moments. “Some of the parents were very pleased with it.” Her lips join the crinkle in her eyes. “Especially the fathers.” I feel my face go up in flames. “The girls were enthralled.” The expression on her face takes a kind tone.

  “However, it has nothing to do with the reason I’ve requested to speak to you, Miss Mitchell. The reason I’ve asked you to come in is, in your application you’ve noted that you’d be interested in working as many hours as possible. There aren’t any other spots left beside your current classes that I could offer you at this point. Thankfully we are fully staffed.”

  My eyebrows pull in as I wait for her to go on.

  “There’s a…” She halts for a short pause, considering her next words. “Sweet young girl that needs some extra attention. Her parents would like her to have a few private lessons, and I thought you’d be the perfect person for the job.”

  “Oh, this is good news,” I say, surprise lacing my words. “What made you think I was the right person for the job?”

  Her lips pull into a small, cheeky curve. “Call it a hunch, dear.”

  ~~~

  Late evening finds me slumped on my new, soft grey sofa, feet on the small glass coffee table above a furry cream rug. I’m bathed, exhausted, and to a degree, content. I spent the entire day organizing my new home. I literally stormed through the 2 bedroom apartment, putting to place everything in my path with not a moment of rest. The grumble coming from my stomach reminds me that the coffees in the morning were the only “food” I’ve had today.

  Heading toward the kitchen, I freeze in place when a loud sound cracks the silence of my home, a sound of something shuttering coming from upstairs. Another thud that sounds like an object crashing to the floor above me makes me flinch. At the third one the hair on the back of my neck rises in tandem to a wave of panic that washes over me. I wait with my breath held for a few moments and another crush booms my quiet apartment. Disregarding the many warning sirens hollering inside my head, I slide into my red flats, and rush out the door.

  The hint of violence, the fear of someone being in danger or threat, is stro
nger than any survival instincts I might possess. My heart bangs in wild beats as I stand before the door of the apartment located just above mine: 3012-B. I knock on the door and wait. When no answer comes, I knock again, persistent, resilient knocks.

  Chapter 9

  Reeves

  The knock on the door makes me halt with a piece of an honorary ornament at midair, another reward that was on its way to crash with the floor, courtesy of my recent frustration tantrum. I put the silver-glass object back to the shelf, and cover my face with both hands. I raise my head to the ceiling, inhale deeply, and with closed eyes under the shield of my palms, wait.

  No one even knows I moved in, at least not anyone who would drop by for a “friendly” visit, unannounced. Fragments of sentences and words from the conversation with Hunter earlier today spinning through my head add fuel to my colossal mindfuck. The thought about sitting this operation out drives me up the wall. I’d never dream of defying Hunter, though I must admit, the idea is way too tempting. The knocks on the door start anew, yanking me back from my contemplative state. This time they are heavier and much more determined, urging me to check who it might be.

  I’m not sure what startles me more, the person at my doorstep, her appearance, or the look in her eyes. For a stretched, stunned moment, we just stare at each other, confused. Our odd silence is broken by a collision of our voices as in unison we blurt one another’s names.

  “Nia.”

  “Reeves.”

  Her name on my lips is a firm utterance, holding a mildly rough edge. My name coming out of her mouth is but a soft, muddled breath. My brows sink in, I’m still shaking off the boiling anger her knocks pulled me out of, while she studies me carefully, in silence.

  “Yes…?” I question. She seems to be weighing her next words.

  “Uh… I heard some noises coming from… um… your apartment.” She heaves an audible breath. “I just wanted to make sure no one was in trouble.”

  I can literally feel my constricted features melt. It’s the look in her eyes, or the hesitation in her beautiful features, I’m not sure what exactly—maybe it’s just her presence that calms me down a few notches. I deliberately disregard her inquiry. The chances I’ll address the reason that brought her here are nonexistent.

  I open the door wider, taking a step back into the apartment and ask, “Wanna come in?”

  “Sure.” Surprising me, she walks in. I can tell by the expression she tries to mask, her own response to my invitation staggers her no less than it does me. She takes one look at the vast, opulent open plan that is the first floor of my duplex, and her stare ricochets back to me.

  “You can afford rent for this place working as a bouncer?”

  My lips pull up at the edge to the two pink spots that blossom on her cheeks. It’s quite obvious the words involuntarily just flew out of her mouth. Her pretty hazel eyes fall to the floor.

  “It’s actually mine. I own this place.”

  “Oh.” Her reply is barely a coherent word, nonetheless it still emits blatant disbelief.

  “The gig at the bar is just a side job, mainly to pass my time, or as a favor to Jake.”

  “Jake?” Her silky hair sways along with the slant of her head as our stares square.

  “Jake’s…” I say with a bite of ridicule. Another slow smile crawls to my lips at her reply.

  “Oh, yeah…” She twists her mouth into a semi-embarrassed smile and rolls her eyes.

  My eyes run over her, beginning at her lean legs deliciously wrapped under black yoga pants that reach just above her delicate ankles. Her face is naturally and exquisitely bare. She has on a shirt that resembles the one she wore after the naked parade, dropped to expose her shoulder.

  “Would you like anything to drink?” I ask. Her stare reaches to my eyes after she, not so stealthily, gives me the same visual examination I just gave her. The stretch on my lips broadens with the knowledge. She nods, surprising me yet again. I shake my head with a faint smile as I signal for her to follow me to the kitchen. She has some balls on her, walking into a stranger’s apartment after hearing noises that should have actually made her lock her own door instead.

  I open a cabinet to a variety of high-end liquors. She studies the loot appreciatively, sending another smile to tug on my lips. I don’t wait for her to choose her drink and just pour two servings from a 16 year old Lagavulin. Gazing at me, her lips curve into a grin that ends trapped by her teeth.

  “Neat.” I state. She nods. I hand her a glass, my stare directed at hers. She has such captivating eyes. A sudden epiphany clicks in, when I was watching her at the bar there was something about her eyes that affected me, something I couldn’t translate. Her eyes are indeed strikingly beautiful, but they seem to be in some perpetual mourning, even when she smiles. Ironically so, just like mine.

  “Cheers.” She lifts her drink. I mirror her and take a generous taste. I watch her over the rim of the sturdy glass as she savors the liquor; her lips twist to the rich heat trailing down her flawless, delicate throat.

  “Do you have a death wish?” I ask next, I’m not sure what comes over me but the fact that she put herself in danger coming over here pisses me off. If she were my girlfriend… What the fuck? If she were my sister, if she were Katie, she’d never hear the end of it.

  “Pardon?” Her eyes rip open.

  “Do… You… Have… a… Death… Wish?” I slowly accentuate each word as though speaking to a child. A slow one, that is.

  “No, I don’t think so…?” She says tentatively, her brows knitted. She takes another sip of her drink, doing that wrinkling thing with her nose.

  “So why the hell would you show up at a complete stranger’s door, after hearing noises that could only insinuate trouble?” I don’t intend for my words to come out with such a harsh bite, but they do.

  She puts her glass down to the breakfast bar, slowly lifting her stare to mine. “Because I thought someone might be in trouble.” The flatness of her tone doesn’t go unnoticed, it actually contributes to my mild exasperation.

  “You never know who might be behind the door, or what they could do to you.” I don’t fully comprehend the sudden urge, but I need her to promise me she won’t pull such stunts again.

  “Yes, you can never really know what goes on behind closed doors…” Her eyes drift to the sharp shards on the floor. The muscle above my jaw clasps as my eyes follow hers.

  “You can never know,” I mutter. She slowly pivots her eyes back to mine. Our stares lock in such intensity, it reaches all the way deep inside of me. “Nia, don’t do it again,” I say firmly and lose her for a brief moment to her thoughts.

  “That’s something I can’t promise.” Her voice is a soft murmur, as though it wasn’t event meant for me to hear. We both leave the evidence of my anger and frustration undiscussed, and meet for a short, hard stare-off.

  “So, what is it that you do to put food on the table in this shack?” Nia breaks the silence, obviously trying to lighten the tension we’ve got ourselves into. I gesture for her to sit at one of the stools while I settle in front of her, bracing my elbows on the counter.

  “I’m a bodyguard.” And then some…

  Her eyes fling to me. Unexpectedly, she lets out a short bout of laughter. Glee climbs to my eyes as I gaze at her, waiting for some kind of elaboration.

  “What like: I’ll Always Love You, kind of bodyguard?” My face scrunches in question. Noticing my query, she adds, “The famous movie with the bodyguard and the singer where they eventually fall in love?”

  It’s my turn to release a short chuckle. “I guess you can say that… Though my clients are mostly middle-aged, balding gentlemen. I usually try not to get involved with them, and definitely don’t allow myself to fall for them.” She laughs freely now, and I like the sound of it more than I care to admit. “Okay, maybe just once.” I feign solemnity. “He was kind and made me feel beautiful,” I add with a dramatic accord. Her light laughter rolls higher, triggering my lip
s to rise at the corners. For the first time I get a glimpse of how beautiful her eyes are when decorated with genuine contentment.

  I observe her as she swallows the last of her drink, contemplating on what I want to do next. Maybe work her to willingly bend over my kitchen counter? Just the thought of it makes my blood rage toward my groin. I kill the idea faster than I can say, “don’t fuck with, or fuck thy neighbor.” Not a clever thing to do, bag someone whose face you might encounter on a daily basis. But there’s something more to it, there’s something else about her that won’t let me go with my usual nailing routine. For the life of me, something about her, about what she transmits, just makes me take a step back.

  “So we’re neighbors.” I down my drink, drowning my previous thoughts in it.

  “We are…” Her hand moves to brush her heavy fall of hair over her bare shoulder. I watch the dark silk caress her flawless, olive skin, and need to hold my own hand from touching it.

  “Where are you originally from?”

  Her posture lightly stiffens, she starts rubbing a non-existent spot on the dark mahogany surface. With her eyes focused on her agitated finger she says, “Brazil.”

  My eyebrows rise and I tilt my head in question. I was expecting a neighboring town, or maybe another state. “You’re a bit far from home,” I say, and the memory of catching some faint accent in her voice when she screamed at me at the stark-naked incident lands in my mind.

  Her eyes that lift to mine throw me back a little. They are two deep mirrors of hazel muddle. “I am.”

  She turns to bore at her empty glass. The sigh slowly whistling out of her mouth sounds like defeat. Mine is a heavy one that tries to release something her expression twisted within me. As I’m about to try and return the smile to her face, I’m stopped by the chime of my phone. Our united attentions move to the black device vibrating and ringing between us. I snatch it before the next string of tunes comes as I notice the letters “KT” flickering on the display.