Sight Unseen

by Iris Johansen

  Kendra pointed ahead. “There are more musicians up there. Want to go see?”

  Zoey nodded. As they walked together, Kendra sensed less hesitancy from the little girl.

  Good. Come on, Zoey. It can be a wonderful world out here. Let me show it to you.

  Two young men were using an assortment of inverted plastic industrial food containers as drums, beating them with kitchen utensils. Zoey obviously liked the rhythms and unusual sounds, and she began bopping her head to the beat. Again, her surroundings seem to fade, but faster this time.

  This could work.

  This could be the key that Zoey needed to—

  The little girl shrieked.

  A pair of mimes had jumped in front of her and were doing their usual shtick. They were pretending to be marionettes, jerking in time to the performers’ drumbeats.

  Kendra pulled Zoey close and shielded her from the creepy spectacle. “It’s okay, honey. It’s all right.”

  The mimes approached them, putting on cheerful faces that were probably meant to comfort the girl, but only appeared more weird and frightening.

  Kendra leaned close to the mimes and pointed up the embarcadero. “Take that shit somewhere else,” she hissed. “Now!”

  Zoey was crying. Her mother, Danica, who had been watching behind a vendor cart, ran toward them. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.” Danica held her daughter close. “Nothing to be afraid about. Everything’s okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kendra mouthed.

  Danica nodded as she guided her daughter toward the parking lot.

  Kendra watched them, her fists clenching helplessly.

  Dammit.

  One step forward, two steps back.

  She stood there until Zoey and Danica disappeared from view.

  “Can you blame her?”

  That voice. That all-too-familiar voice. “Adam Lynch.” She turned around to face him.

  It was Lynch, all right. Powerful, sexy, dynamic. And he was wearing that movie-star smile that probably melted most women’s hearts but just pissed her off. “Hello, Kendra. Good to see you.”

  Lynch was dressed in slacks, loafers, button-down collar shirt, and a tan jacket. He stood out from the shorts-and-T-shirt crowd who currently inhabited the place. But then he always stood out wherever he was, she thought. It wasn’t only the appearance but the aura of magnetism and toughness that he emitted. “Hello, Lynch. My, my, what a surprise.”

  “Surprise?”

  “You know, this doesn’t seem like the kind of place you’d go for an afternoon out.”

  “Really? And where would you see me?”

  “Hmm. Maybe playing golf with your fellow government agents, drinking disgusting whiskey drinks, trading war stories, comparing notes on your favorite ammo clips.”

  He smiled again. “I’d be offended if that wasn’t pretty much how I spent last Saturday. You should join us sometime.”

  “I work on Saturdays.”

  “Yes, I noticed. Things were going really well with that girl until the mimes showed up.” He shrugged. “I could take ’em out for you. You know, for old times’ sake.”

  This made her smile. “There was a time I would have thought you were serious.”

  “There was a time I would have been serious. But that was before you knew me. I’ve mellowed.”

  “Not likely.” It had been almost a year since she had last seen Adam Lynch. He was a former FBI agent who lately had been working as a freelance operative of choice for a variety of officials in the U.S. Intelligence community. Lynch had recently recruited her for a case that, although overall successful, reminded her how grim and gut-wrenching that line of work could be. She had no desire for a return engagement.

  Lynch leaned against a lamppost. “I heard about your show on the bridge last night.”

  “My show? Is that what they’re calling it?”

  “It’s what I’m calling it. I wish I’d been there. I love watching you in action with all pistons firing.”

  Kendra nodded. He was wearing that infuriatingly charming smile again. It annoyed her that she could see the appeal even if she fought against it. “Why are you here, Lynch? Why in the hell are you spying on me?”

  “‘Spying’ is such a nasty word. It implies a nefarious purpose, which couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  “Oh, my money is definitely on nefarious. It’s in your DNA.”

  “I wasn’t spying. I was waiting for an opportunity to speak to you. I didn’t want to interrupt your session. I know how important your work is to you.”

  “It’s everything.”

  “I read about your study in the New England Journal of Medicine,” he said. “Your music-therapy techniques are being adopted for autism patients.”

  “It’s all about helping people make connections with the outside world. Whether it’s autism or Alzheimer’s, music is often the way to reach people and bridge those gulfs. I’ve been designing protocols to assess the effectiveness of various techniques. It’s a young science, but we’ve made a lot of progress.”

  “But you did manage to find time to join the Eve Duncan case. I read the file. Amazing investigative work, by the way.”

  “I only did that because Eve is a good friend. She needed my help.”

  “You helped save her life. And probably a lot of other lives.”

  She gestured impatiently. “Why are you here, Lynch?”

  “You were right. That accident scene on the bridge last night was staged.”

  “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

  “The case has been kicked over to the FBI. It has the mark of a serial killer. But you already knew that, didn’t you? That was remarkably similar to another case of yours, an old one.”

  “I don’t know if I’d say remarkably similar.”

  “I would. Multiple murders made to look like an accident. That was Stanley Veers’s M.O., was it not? He killed at least fourteen people over a three-year period in Houston and Austin.”

  “Veers is now on death row in Huntsville Penitentiary.”

  “Thanks to you. He killed people for years before anyone realized they were murders, not accidents. Serial killers usually like the attention, but not him. He created his own private thrill show. He liked the idea of committing murder right under everyone’s noses. I’m sure you thought of him when you were at that crime scene last night.”

  “Of course I did, though it was more ambitious than anything Veers did. The investigators think the killer may have coned off one end for a few minutes and used a truck to block the other. They’re still trying to identify possible staging areas. It’s a staggering feat to pull off. But unlike Veers, this one wasn’t all that concerned with covering his tracks. He wanted the world to know what he had done.”

  “But not immediately.”

  “Probably not. He knew the media would report the accident but that it would soon be revealed as something else. He’d get to have his cake and eat it, too.”

  Lynch nodded. “That’s the way the FBI profilers see it.”

  “And since when did you become the Bureau’s errand boy.”

  “Errand boy?”

  “They sent you to talk me into working with them on this case. Am I right?”

  “In a roundabout way. Senior Special Agent Griffin knew better than to contact you directly. You’ve made your attitude known in no uncertain terms regarding working with them again. He asked some higher-ups in D.C. to have me approach you.”

  “Roundabout is right. Why did he think you would be any more effective than asking me himself?”

  “Because I’m so damn charming and likeable?”

  “Next?”

  Lynch smiled. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I was tasked to talk to you because they thought we worked well together last year.”

  “Oh. Well, we did.”

  “You admit it?”

  “Of course. Som
etimes a sledgehammer is the best tool for the job.”

  He laughed. “So I’m a sledgehammer. And I guess that makes you a precision-tooled scalpel.”

  “Well, if you want to push the metaphor … yes.”

  “So be it. The Bureau wants a scalpel to help work this case. And not just any scalpel. They want you.”

  “You said that you were tasked to talk to me. But I thought you only took jobs you wanted to take. You’re a freelancer.”

  “That’s correct. I do only take jobs that interest me.”

  This time there was no high-wattage smile. Just sincerity and maybe a hint of warmth.

  Maybe.

  Lynch’s nickname in the Bureau has been the Puppetmaster, given for his ability to manipulate people and circumstances to his own ends. He had been able to pull off incredible feats by that skill. Was he manipulating her now? Probably.

  He stepped toward her. “Listen, to tell you the truth, I don’t give a damn about working on this case. I was only intrigued with the idea of working with you again. You know I always work alone, but that time with you was different, special. I wanted to do it again. If you tell me to go to hell, I won’t spend another minute on this investigation. I’m actually in the middle of something else right now.”

  “Cloak-and-dagger stuff?”

  “In a way. But the powers that be thought this was important enough for me to try to bring you in. Aside from your, shall we say, unique skill set, you’re one of the few people who’ve had any success dealing with a killer like this.”

  “Only because killers like this are so rare.”

  “You know that’s not the only reason. Modesty doesn’t become you, Kendra.” Lynch paused as a pair of Goth-looking street performers walked past, playing their violins. “By the way, who was the guy?”

  “What guy?”

  “The guy who was tagging along with you last night. I heard something about a blind date, but I figured the cops on the scene got that part wrong. Even you aren’t so socially inept as to bring a date to a murder scene.”

  “I needed a ride.”

  He clicked his tongue. “Oh, Kendra…”

  “I think he liked it.”

  “Even worse. What kind of ghoul likes going to a murder scene?”

  “You said you wish you could have seen me there last night.”

  “Because this is my job. Professional interest. What does this guy do?”

  “He’s a history professor.”

  “Definitely a whack job.”

  His attitude was very peculiar for Lynch, Kendra thought. “Hmm. Jealous much?”

  “Jealous? That’s ridiculous.”

  “I thought so, too, considering our relationship. I’m just going with what I see and hear. My ‘unique skill set’ you know.”

  “Then you’re slipping.” He laughed. “Have you seen that swimsuit ad that’s been showing up on the sides of buses around town? The one with the Asian woman in the striped bikini?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve actually been dating her.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s true. Her name is Ashley.”

  Kendra raised her brows. “Wow. She’s beautiful.”

  “Yes.”

  “And are you taking her to her high-school prom?”

  “She’s twenty-five.”

  “Then she should be old enough to know better.”

  He tilted his head. “Jealous much?”

  “Not in the slightest.” This conversation had taken a very personal turn, and she had always tried to avoid that with Lynch. He was a dangerous man both professionally and personally, and she admitted that she was drawn to him. It would be terribly easy to become involved sexually with him. It was what would come after that she worried about. Better to stay clear. “But I’m afraid you’re wasting your time, Lynch. I really don’t have the time or the inclination to play detective.”

  “So you’re telling me to go to hell.”

  She smiled. “Yes. Go to hell.”

  “Okay. Good enough. I can now tell them that I asked.”

  “Yes, you can. And … believe it or not, it was good to see you.”

  “The feeling’s mutual, Kendra. There’s one more thing. It may or may not make a difference to you, but there’s something about this case you don’t know.”

  “It won’t make a difference to me.”

  “Maybe not.” He reached into the side pocket of his sports jacket and pulled out the small manila envelope protruding from it. “It’s all in here. Look at it, don’t look at it, whatever.”

  Kendra took the envelope with a noncommittal shrug. “Okay.”

  As he started to leave, he pointed to the white-faced street performers who had found other people to annoy. “And if you need me to knock off those mimes, the offer’s still open.”

  She smiled. “Got it.”

  * * *

  KENDRA STROLLED THROUGH THE BUSY Gaslamp District and toward her condo building on E Street. She was trying not to let Lynch and that blasted murder investigation take over her thoughts. She had already decided not to open the envelope, but she still resisted the urge to toss it in one of the many trash cans on her way home. The FBI was smart to send Lynch as their ambassador. They had formed a strong partnership in their one case together, and he was enough of an outsider from all that bureaucracy that she trusted him.

  And, she had to admit, she did find him extremely attractive. His movie-star looks hadn’t captured her, but his supreme confidence—backed by smarts, aggressiveness, and steely determination—had sparked the heat that had grown between them during the course of their investigation.

  Sparked the heat. What was she, a schoolgirl?

  Shake it off.

  Kendra entered her building but decided to take a detour on her way to her unit. She approached a door on the second floor and knocked.

  Two seconds later, she heard the electronic dead bolt unlock.

  “Come in!” Olivia called from inside.

  Kendra opened the door. Olivia Moore was seated at her desk, typing away at her computer keyboard. It’s where she was almost every time Kendra visited these days.

  “Just a few more seconds. Sit down,” Olivia said as she continued typing. “Gotta keep feeding the beast.”

  “The beast” was Olivia’s blog, Outta Sight, which was a popular Internet destination for the vision-impaired. Her Web site, which the blind could enjoy with Screenreader and other specialized text-to-speech applications, featured interviews, travel tips, and product reviews. In less than two years, Olivia had grown her evenings-and-weekends hobby into a full-time job that generated a six-figure income.

  Finally, she pushed away from the desk. “Done. I was reviewing some new gadgets. I get stuff in the mail every day now. It’s amazing what’s out there. We sure could have used some of this stuff back at Woodward.”

  Kendra smiled. She and Olivia had met as children at Woodward Academy, the school for the blind in Oceanside. Among the many emotions that greeted Kendra upon regaining her sight was the sadness and strange guilt about leaving Olivia behind in the darkness. Olivia, whose vision had been taken by a childhood traffic accident, was not a candidate for the regenerative corneal procedure that had given Kendra her sight. Olivia, for her part, had expressed nothing but support and happiness for her friend. But Kendra knew that Olivia spent a lot of time scouring the Internet for experimental procedures that might one day give her back her own vision.

  Olivia tossed back her glossy dark hair, her beautiful face suddenly lit with a mischievous smile, as she picked up a palm-sized object and aimed it at Kendra. “Stay still for a second.”

  “So you can tase me? If I’m on the floor twitching and wetting my pants in the next ten seconds, I will be very angry with you.”

  “It’s not a Taser. Just wait.”

  After a moment, a man’s voice sounded from the device. “Aqua blue.”

  Olivia lowered the gadget. “Is that right? You’re w
earing an aqua top?”

  Kendra looked down at her shirt. “Yes. That’s impressive.”

  “It’s for picking out clothes, sorting laundry, or maybe even to help connect audio or video cables. There are some bugs, but it works pretty well. I just uploaded my review.”

  “Cool. You get to keep all this stuff that the manufacturers send you?”

  “Most of it. It’s good exposure for them. I just don’t have enough time to review it all.” She stood up and moved across the room to the sectional sofa where Kendra was sitting. “But enough about that. How was your date last night?”

  “Good. Mom kind of knocked it out of the park. He’s smart, kind of funny, good-looking…”

  “Uh-oh. I sense there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

  “No ‘but.’ I had a nice time. I’ll probably see him again.”

  “A nice time. Hmm. Tell me you didn’t do your Kendra thing on him, where you disturbingly told him his entire life story?”

  “Well…”

  “I knew it.”

  “It just happened. He didn’t mind.”

  “Of course he minded. That freaks guys out. Not just guys, but everybody. People like to parse themselves out to dates that they’re just getting to know … You know, they like to wait a few dates before they discuss the STDs, the rotten credit history, the six hyperactive kids who…”

  “Or the prison time?”

  Olivia’s face froze. “Seriously?”

  “Yes. It was a drug thing in college. It’s long behind him.”

  “If you say so.”

  She was silent a moment. “I actually have some bigger news. I saw Adam Lynch just a few hours ago.”

  “And there’s the ‘but.’”

  “No, why do you keep saying that? There’s no ‘but.’”

  “Oh, yes. The hunky government agent from your past appears, and the new guy pales in comparison. That’s your ‘but.’”

  “If we can move past my ‘but’ for a second, Lynch tried to recruit me for another job.”

  Olivia nodded. “Of course he did. You told him to go to hell, right?”

  She smiled. “I used those very words.”

  “Good. How many times do you have to tell them you’re not interested in this stuff? I don’t see how they have the nerve to—”