by K. M. Hodge
“No, Senator, I’m sorry I can’t answer either of those questions.”
Scott frowned at Alex’s response. “Can’t or won’t?”
Alex shrugged. “Either way, it doesn’t matter. All I can tell you is that, for the time being, she’s safe.”
The senator’s line of questioning and brusque attitude chaffed him. A feeling of relief washed over him when he saw Jason walking up to them.
Scott smiled politely at Jason and shook his hand. “I’m glad you were able to make it, Knettle. It’s good to see you again. I just wish it was under different circumstances.”
Jason smiled politely back at the Senator. “It’s good to see you too. I’m sorry for your loss. Addie was a great girl. She’ll be missed.”
Scott put his arm around Jason. “Have you heard from Kat?”
Jason paused with a confused look on his face. “No, I haven’t talked to her since they put her in federal custody. I think that is the whole point of the witness protection program. I don’t know any more than you do.”
Before they could finish their conversation, Alex interrupted them. “I’m sorry, Senator, but I really need to speak with Mr. Knettle alone. Official FBI business. I’m sure you understand.”
Scott eyed him suspiciously, but moved along to be greeted by other mourners offering their respects.
“Jason,” Alex said once they were out of earshot of the senator. “There are some questions I’m hoping you might be able to help me with. Katherine trusted you, and therefore, so do I.”
Jason’s eyebrows lifted but he nodded slowly. “What can I do for you, Agent?”
“I’ve got kind of a hunch that I would like to run by you. I’m hoping if we all work together, we can get Katherine home sooner rather than later.”
Jason nodded. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
“Good. I was hoping you would say that.”
While walking to their cars, they arranged to meet up later in the week. He hoped Jason could shed some light on questions about the people in Katherine’s life and their possible connection with The Syndicate. A hunch had been playing over and over in his mind, and they were usually spot on.
Brian, the marshal in charge of her, told him earlier that she had been safely installed in the witness protection program and seemed to be doing okay. Despite the good report, he wouldn’t be assured until he saw to her safety himself.
He needed to solve this case so that he could go to her and return to what they had started in Florida. The memory of those two short days haunted him.
***
Sam Hill Nursery and Organic Community Garden
Aransas Pass, Texas
May 31, 2008
7:00 PM
~~~
Nothing good ever lasts.
She ripped another prickled weed out by the roots, and dug her hands deep into the soil, her body covered in coastal grit, sand and salt. It was just a way to pass the time and wait for the other shoe to drop. Her once perfectly manicured nails were cracked and muddied from the long hours she put in at the nursery. Much to her boss’s dismay, she never wore gloves, as her need to feel something real—despite the damage it did to her skin—was too strong. Even the fire ant bites she left unchecked. It should all bother her, but it didn’t, or at least not enough for her to do anything about it. The physically demanding work left her dirty and aching at the end of each day, but she enjoyed it.
This new life left her with lots of time to think, which scared her at first. She’d spent so much of her life trying to avoid thinking. Now her mind played and replayed the reel of all the horrific things that had happened to her over the years. There was no longer anywhere for her to run to get away from the thoughts that plagued her.
When it became too much for her, her thoughts would inevitably turn to him. She would languidly recall his distinct smell, the way he had tasted, and how his stubble had felt on the sensitive skin of her cheek and neck. She was under no delusions that she’d been in love, but she’d felt something. For a brief time she felt safe with him, and that meant everything to her. She was afraid to hope that they might ever be free to resume what they had started.
The voice of her elderly boss calling from across the rows of red leaf and bib lettuce—by her new name—broke her from her reverie. “Holly?”
“Yes, Susan?”
Susan, whose frail back was heavily hunched over, tried to stretch and straighten up as best she could.
“I’m done for the day sweetheart. Can you finish weeding these last few rows and close up for me? I need to get home to Frank and a nice hot Epsom salt bath.” The poor old woman winced in pain.
Katherine—er... Holly, she had to remind herself—nodded wordlessly as her boss shuffled out to her pickup truck and drove away. She stretched her own stiff back and arms, leaned back onto her heels, and put her hands on her lower back to deepen the stretch.
The coastal wind had been picking up all day, leaving her with the distinct taste of sandy sea salt in her mouth. She hated the grit that coated her freckled and burnt flesh. After enduring it for over two months, she wondered sadly if she would ever get used to it, and her palpable loneliness made it harder and harder for her not to drink.
Every day, when she rode her bike past the Sparky liquor store, she felt the very real temptation to fall off the wagon. It would be immeasurably easier to hide from everything in a bottle, but she had worked too hard to get and stay sober. Even after a decade of sobriety, she still fought daily against that inner instinctual calling that all addicts hear. When she first arrived on the island, the need for alcohol had overwhelmed her. Having almost thrown away her nearly ten years of sobriety in Florida, she knew she needed help. In a panic, she went to the local library and used their computer to find an AA group.
Katherine had been a drunk once. She was determined that Holly would not be.
The great thing about AA was that she could plug into a group no matter where she was, even in hiding. The closest AA meeting, that wasn’t in town, met on the mainland in Corpus Christi—a bit of a trek, especially given her mode of transport: a beat-up Huffy bike she’d bought second-hand.
She didn’t let that inconvenience get in the way of her staying sober. The forced exercise was good for her, too.
The meetings were the only thing that seemed to help her to stay strong and work the steps of the program—something she had been lax in doing. A month into hiding, she hit her sobriety anniversary and received her ten-year chip—as Holly, of course. She carried it with her wherever she went, and whenever she felt the urge to drink, she would clutch the chip in her hand like a worry stone and pray.
The stillness of this time in hiding unnerved her. She had known chaos for so long that she felt lost in the quiet. Yet this moment of respite was just the eye of the storm passing over, and the impending eye wall was all around her—it would hit sooner or later. All she could do was wait for the storm to return and bend her to the point of breaking. The thought made her shiver, and goose flesh took residence next to the freckles spotting her bare arms and legs.
She pushed the thoughts out of her head and put her all into her work. She pulled, dug, and yanked out the weeds from the remaining rows. When she had finished, she picked up all the garden bags full of yard waste, and contemplated what to eat for dinner. It was already 8:00 PM, and she couldn’t skip another meal. She had to eat.
As she locked up the nursery and got on her bike, she thought about Alex again, warm hopeful thoughts that helped her cope.
***
Alex’s Townhouse
Alexandria, Virginia
June 1, 2008
8:30 AM
~~~
Alex shifted in bed as the sound of his phone ringing pulled him awake. A small hand with long painted nails caressed his bristled cheek.
“Your phone keeps ringing,” she said.
He opened his eyes one at a time while reaching for his phone that was charging on the stand by his bed. B
y the time he unplugged it and pulled it towards him, it had already beeped to announce a new voice message. His free hand rubbed his face and eyes, which were too blurry with sleep to see who had called.
He rubbed his eyes again to bring them into focus. 8:30 AM. Three missed calls.
Shit. That can’t be good. His sleep-addled mind played with the idea of just ignoring it, but the small voice of reason in the back of his mind won out. A tired groan escaped his lips as he sat up and stretched his long legs over the side of the bed.
Sara had already rolled over.
He yawned and stretched again, and put his feet and legs to purpose on the scratchy carpet beside the bed, still nude and in no hurry to dress. He had always been comfortable with his body. It was what lay under his skin that he kept covered up.
He hobbled into the kitchen, started the coffee pot, and sat at the beat-up kitchen table he’d rescued from the dump several years before. With a swipe of his thumb he pulled up his voicemail notification, and the sound of his boss’s voice suggested it was going to be a bad day.
It’s Sunday, for God’s sake! So much for a day of rest.
He deleted the message and rose to pour himself a cup of coffee. Sara’s soft, tanned hands and arms wrapped around his waist, and her greedy hands and skillful mouth quickly brought him to a state of arousal. He could easily take her on the counter, the table, the floor....
As he turned towards her, still trapped within her insistent embrace, she gracefully brought her arms up around his neck and wrapped her long legs around his midsection. She used her strong arms and legs to lock herself around him by her ankles.
His mind clouded with lust—his drug of choice. Even after two long, languid days and nights together, he was still wanting. They shared a strong insatiable addiction for sex, and an abhorrence of relationships, making them perfect for each other. Though they both worked for the CIA, they’d met at a meeting for sex addicts.
They had been sleeping together on and off for over ten years, depending on where Langley assigned them. He knew nothing of her day-to-day life, and she knew nothing of his. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
As much as he wanted to fuck her again, there wasn’t enough time. Thankfully, with the chemical help Doc had prescribed, he was able to deftly change gears. He gently reached around and unhooked her ankles and arms from around him, and placed her back on her feet.
“No time to play this morning, little bunny,” he said.
Sara pouted in response—the kind of duck face pout that pretty girls made, which made him cringe in disgust. Without a word, he walked away from her to the bathroom to get ready, leaving her standing there, unsatisfied and wanting.
He derived more than just a small amount of pleasure in denying her what she wanted. He was fucked up... and he knew it.
***
Le Droit Park
Washington, D.C.
June 1, 2008
10:00 AM
~~~
Alex stood stiff against the cold hard pole of the Metro’s green line. His boss at the CIA, Supervisor David Magellan, had requested a meeting in Le Droit Park, near Howard University. He hadn’t been back to the ‘Shaw’ in years. It served as a halfway point between where he and his superior lived.
The familiar static sound of his stop being announced brought his attention back to the task at hand. He pushed and prodded his way out of the subway and into the morning light at the top of the stairs.
All along the sidewalk, streetwalkers and drug dealers offered him all the sex and coke he could ever want. Hookers and drugs aside, there were several new businesses that had popped up, and two brand new high-end looking condos advertised vacancy.
Yuppie revival. He rolled his eyes.
Half a mile into the walk, he saw his destination: Church’s Chicken. A little bell rang announcing his entrance as he opened the door. A few patrons glanced up at him before returning to their meals. He scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces until his eyes caught the one he’d come for.
“You wanted to meet me, sir?” He slid down into the ripped booth seat across from his boss.
Magellan passed an envelope across the booth’s table to him.
With a little trepidation, he reached for the envelope and laid its contents onto the table. Inside were three pictures. One was of Katherine working outside a nursery, with the name of the place visible. All it would take was a quick Google search for anyone seeing these to find out where she was hiding. The remaining two photographs made Alex’s blood run cold—real game changers.
He dropped the pictures and looked up at Magellan. “Who else has seen these?”
His boss scratched his well-trimmed white beard and sighed with irritation. “That’s classified.”
His heart hammered in his chest and he bit his lip to control the rage bubbling up inside, as pieces started to fit together in his mind. “Are you trying to smoke them out with her as bait?”
His boss rose from his seat and placed a hand on Alex’s taut shoulder. “Wait a few minutes and call Brian. Just warn him. Don’t tell him what you’ve seen. I know you can be convincing enough.” With that, Magellan walked away as if nothing had just happened.
Alex waited until he left before calling Brian to warn him that Katherine was in danger.
“Williams speaking.”
“Hey, Brian, it’s Alex.”
“Hey, Alex--”
“Brian, she’s in danger. Her location has been blown. You need to get your man out there now.” Alex wet his lips with a quick sweep of his tongue.
“What? You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not kidding. Call me as soon as you hear anything.” He ended the call and tried to breathe, feeling as though he had the wind kicked out of him.
A feeling of cold dread settled into his gut. He tried to keep his emotions in check as best he could, but as he got up to leave, he shoved and kicked chairs out of his way in a huff. If even one person dropped the ball, it would be over for Katherine.
The CIA was calling a Hail Mary pass play... with Katherine’s life in the balance.
***
Chinatown
Washington, D.C.
June 1, 2008
10:30 AM
~~~
Sara thumb-tapped the wheel in an impatient staccato beat. The light was taking forever, and her head was pounding from the compounding stress of her current situation. She had gotten several disturbing emails and text messages, all before 10 AM. The photographs her boss had emailed out that morning weighed heavily on her.
Beside her on the passenger’s seat, her phone rang. “Hello?”
The voice on the other end made her skin break out in goose flesh.
“There has been a change of plans. We need you to step things up,” the voice demanded.
Sara sucked in a quick breath. “I know. Did you get the pictures I emailed you?”
The voice on the other end rose sharply. “Yes, but we need to talk about that later. I need the information from the jump drives. Did you get inside his apartment yet? Did you find them?”
She tried to calm her nerves. “No, I haven’t. I’m going to try again tonight.”
The voice sighed with irritation. “You need to get your head in the game. Don’t think for a second that he won’t throw us both under the bus for this. We can’t afford for you to fuck up here. Drop the affair with that spook and do your job!”
“I know. I understand what’s at stake here.” Maybe she should be surprised that he knew about her thing with Alex, but she wasn’t; he was the kind of person who just knew things.
“Good. Now listen closely. I don’t want to have to repeat myself. I have to rent a car and don’t have time for your bullshit, okay?”
Sara swallowed hard as her mouth became dry. “I’m listening, Charles.”
***
Katherine’s Beach Condo
Aransas Pass, Texas
June 1, 2008
12:30 PM
~~~
Katherine walked out of the library letting the rain seep through her worn skin. Other people squealed as they ran with a purpose under their makeshift umbrellas. They had places to go and people to see and didn’t have time to get wet. She had nowhere to go... no one to see.
Half a mile away from her condo the sun came out, and her stomach staged a protest over the lack of food she’d been providing it. Innumerable cups of coffee and half a croissant were not enough to subsist on, but what she put in her mouth was one of the few things she had control over.
Her legs wobbled as she walked up the steep hill leading to her condo. Out of breath, she steeled herself to make it up the steep flight of stairs to her front door. The steps, treacherous when dry, were a death trap when wet.
The sound of her screen door blowing open and closed made a chill run down her spine. When she looked up from the steps, she noticed the heavy wooden door on the other side of the flapping screen—it was ajar.
Someone’s inside. Instinct kicked in and she reached behind for her gun, to no avail. Her gun was back in D.C.
Cell phone. She patted her pockets, but it wasn’t there. It was inside the condo. Her eyes darted about. I need a weapon. She spotted a loose board and crouched down for it.
The sound of gun cocking froze her in place.
“Stand up, Red.”
The familiar voice was anything but a comfort to hear. She straightened, certain he could see her heart hammering against her shirt, and eyed the Glock 42 pointed at her chest. “Charles.” His name tasted foul on her tongue.
“Red, if you had wanted to go to the beach, you could have just said so.” Charles lowered his gun, grabbed her arm, and pulled her through the door and inside.
She didn’t resist. The fight had drained out of her from the moment he spoke her name. She was deflated—done.
As the door closed behind them, he pushed her hard up against it, covering her body with his. “I missed you.”
His hot breath tickled her ear.
“You’re not an easy woman to find. Thankfully, I know a lot of resourceful people.”
