by Quinn, Fiona
“How’d Christmas go with Gladys and her visitation?”
“She didn’t show. I’m not sure she’s even living in town no more. Her phone’s been disconnected, and her dad said she isn’t staying with him.”
I handed Manny a coffee mug. “What are the boys saying about that?”
“They don’t mention her, so I don’t either. I’m gonna sit tight and see what happens. So, what’s up? You wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Did you hear Mrs. Nelson’s moving into an assisted living facility?”
“Yeah. Things are gonna be weird not having her right across the street. She’s like an institution – the closest thing my boys got to a grandma.”
“She won’t be far. I’m sure she expects visits.” I poured myself another cup of tea while Manny checked his phone. When I had his attention again, I said, “I’m going to go ahead and buy her half of the duplex.”
Manny whistled. “That’ll be a chunk of change. So this conversation must be about poker?”
“It is.”
“What’s gotta get done? New bathrooms, kitchen, HVAC for sure. Anything else?” He cracked his knuckles.
“Paint and floor refinishing.”
“Not a problem. I’ll need babysitting when I go out. And I want food as barter.”
“You want to spell that out?” I put another packet of Splenda in my mug and swirled my spoon around.
“Sure. Do you remember when you made the month of food all up in them plastic baggies, I stuck them in the freezer, and we just had to cook ‘em up with your instructions?”
“Packaged meals are easy enough.”
“Three-months-worth.” He added – finger in the air.
“Okay. When do you think you can start?”
“Tonight. I gotta game, and I was gonna ask if you’d babysit. The guy who did your heating system is gonna be there, so this here is one of those happy coincidences.”
“Can the boys spend the night with me?”
“That’d be good. I’ll bring them over at bedtime.” Manny set his mug on the table, went back to my living room where he huffed into his coat. “Back to the salt mines.” He smiled and went out whistling. Wouldn’t it be great if all of my problems were so easily handled? I stood at the door and stared down the street at my new neighbor’s house.
***
Manny’s boys were tucked under the duvet in my guest room completely zonked from their day of cold, fresh air. I pulled back the covers to climb into my own bed with my Kindle when my cell phone rang. Striker.
“Hey,” I smiled widely, scooting myself down under my covers. “I was thinking about you.”
“Good thoughts, I hope.”
“Command gave me an update on Spyder.” I clicked off my bedside lamp, and the moon sent a rivulet of light over my white comforter.
“And?” Striker sounded wary.
“No better, no worse. Still nothing in the way of test results. With him being incommunicado, there’s no pressing reason to stop me from leaving over New Year’s. So, I needed to figure out what kind of dress to wear to the party in Miami.”
“Something sparkly, short, and dance-y.”
“Sparkly and short, I can manage. What’s dance-y?” I twisted my hand in the air, scattering moonlight through the diamonds in my rings. Angel’s rings.
“I’ll let you figure that out. Where are you right now?”
“Tucked in bed.” The long silence following my response made me blush. I cleared my throat. “Um, I went to bed early. I’m tired. Did you need me for something?”
“Nope, just called to find out how your day went.”
“It went fine, thank you. I made a deal with Manny about poker — food for upgrades at Mrs. Nelson’s — so I’ve been food processing onions all day.”
“Are you almost done?”
“Ha. I wish. Not even close. I hope it was okay that I stayed home from the office. They told me to take a few days off.”
“You’re doing exactly what you should be doing. I don’t want you back at Headquarters until after the New Year. Did you enjoy the snow?”
“There’s something magical about a snow-covered morning. So beautiful. What did you do today?”
“Paper work, briefings…”
“You didn’t take a mental health day?” My brows drew together. I didn’t want to be treated as if I were delicate. I needed to prove I belonged on the team.
“I didn’t shoot anyone - it was business as usual for me.”
“True, you didn’t. For a second there I felt like a wus for not showing up at the office.”
“Nope, following orders. Are you going to be cooking all day tomorrow?”
“It shouldn’t take the whole day. I need to take a break and go find a present for Cammy. Can you come with me?” I stifled a yawn.
“I’ll pick you up around noon. We’ll grab some lunch out — give your eyes a break from the onion fumes. I have to find something for Cammy, too.
“Okay. G’night.”
“Sweet dreams, Chica.”
I had a hard time hanging up. I was remembering the safe house and how every time I got creeped-out with the heebie-jeebies, I’d skitter to Striker’s bed – the only place I found relief from my pervasive anxiety. Most nights, it was the only way I got any sleep at all. When I thought about it, I could still smell Striker lying next to me, fresh and warm from the shower, with the scent of soap and mint toothpaste. In his sleep, his arms would snake around my waist and pull me into him. I lay very still, pressed against his body. Our contours, like puzzle pieces fitting perfectly, seeming to belong together. And as I lay there, guilt swamped my senses.
Oh yeah. There it was…the guilt.
The Molinary boys sat at my kitchen table in their Batman jammies, hair ruffled from sleep, kicking their dangling feet in their warm slippers. They were six and almost eight and looked just like their dad minus the gut and over-active eyebrows. I stood at the stove making pumpkin pancakes when Beetle and Bella gave warning barks followed by the doorbell. I went to let Manny in.
“Goodness, get in here. It’s freezing.”
Manny stomped in, shucked his coat, and toed off his boots. “No kidding, I crossed the street, and my face is numb.”
“Come back here; the kitchen is warm. Do you want hot cocoa or coffee?”
“Coffee, please.” We moved toward the back of my house. “Hey guys! How was your night? Were you good boys for Aunt Lexi?”
“Yes, sir,” they chimed, as they shoveled pancake into their mouths, dripping syrup down their chins.
“How about you?” I set a plate of pancakes and a mug of coffee in front of Manny. “Any success?”
“Mixed bag. The HVAC guy stood us up. His wife got pissy about something. He’s gonna be at a game tonight though. I did get your bathrooms and kitchen. We can mark those off the list. I didn’t win big enough for top-a-the-line like in here, but I made sure you got good, lasting quality. I’ll take some measurements today, and we can check their web site for styles. They’ll start the install on the second, unless you need me to push the job out later because of your closing date.”
“The second should be fine. You need me to babysit again tonight?” I asked, dropping into the chair across from Manny.
“Yup.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow around lunchtime for Miami, though.” I curled one leg underneath me as I leaned in for a warming sip of coffee. “I won’t be back until late on the first.”
“Okay. I’ll be over bright and early to get the boys. Who’s taking care of Beetle and Bella?”
Good question. I drummed my fingers on the table. “This all just came up, and I haven’t made any plans for them. They’re okay here on their own, if you wouldn’t mind feeding them and making sure they get let out in my backyard to potty.”
“We can handle it. We’ll make a stop in when we take care of old Mrs. Spritzer’s dog.”
By the time Striker let himself in my front door, I was dusted in
flour, and splotched with pumpkin. Egg smudges dappled my apron.
Striker leaned against the door jam, dressed in civilian clothes. Yummy. I liked how his moss-green sweater hung on his broad shoulders and how his jeans tightened around his thigh muscles. And I liked the way his eyes travelled over me with that slow smile of his. It made me hungry – but not for food.
“This looks like a cooking circus. I can’t decide whether to give you a kiss or lick you.”
Color rose in my cheeks. “Ha! You’d better stand well back. This is definitely a mess.” I grinned over at him.
“Are you going to be able to go now? Or should we do this later?”
“Now’s fine. I was expecting you. Can I get you anything to drink? I need to run upstairs and shower real quick, then we can get going.”
Ten
In and out of the bathroom. I tugged my hair back into a long ponytail. I did the minimum with makeup, hurriedly pulled on jeans, snow boots, turtleneck and thick, wool sweater, and clomped down the stairs. As we headed out, Striker grabbed my hand. Good thing, too. I slipped and slid over the re-frozen ground to a charcoal-gray, Iniquus Humvee, with chains on the wheels, parked across the street.
“Striker, I need to sneak by the hospital. Mrs. Nelson has her list ready for me.”
“What’s the list about?” He wrapped his hands around my waist and hoisted me up to the front passenger seat.
“She can only take so much with her to her suite in the assisted living facility. The rest goes to Missy next door.”
“Mrs. Nelson can’t tell you over the phone?” Annoyance hardened Striker’s jaw.
“She can barely talk after her stroke. You said Command would let me visit her.”
“Her,” he said sternly and narrowed his eyes at me.
I batted my lids innocently at him. “Who else would I be going to see?”
Striker shook his head at me. He moved gracefully around to the driver’s side, slid under the wheel, and put the Hummer in motion. He was telling me a story from work, idling in front of Missy’s house as Dave’s kids, Colin and Fletcher, scrambled out of the road. Jilly and her brothers sat on their porch, laughing and throwing snowballs from their cache.
I wasn’t paying attention to Striker, anymore. Suddenly, my head swam with vertigo, and I refocused on the view outside the Hummer window as if the scene were playing out in slow motion on a silent screen. My gaze finally came to rest on a middle-aged woman, who looked Latin American, standing hands-on-hips in front of her new house, watching the goings-on.
The woman turned her head our way. Chills galloped down my spine as her feral eyes glittered darkly at me. I imagined a slow menacing grimace, her baring sharp white teeth. The leopard. Danger is moving in. Holy crap, I knew her. And from the way she considered my face, I realized she recognized me too. How? Where?
My gymnastic mind did tumbles and flips, trying to find a memory to land on. My breath had caught in my throat. My hands went rigid with cold. I was a rabbit surprised to have found my way into the path of a rabid fox. My limbic system responded with petrified-stillness. I vaguely registered the fake smile the woman plastered across her face as she waved over at us. Before I could decide how to respond, we rolled past.
“Chica?” Striker reached over to rub my arm. “Hey, are you okay?”
My body shuddered as the spell broke. “What? Yeah, fine. Why?”
“I’ve been talking to you, and I don’t think you have any idea what I’ve been saying, and when you saw the woman on the sidewalk your face went completely blank like a plastic mask.”
“I know her. I’m trying to figure out how. I definitely recognize her face…it’s from a long time ago.”
“You don’t seem happy about this. What was your first impression when you saw her?”
I shrugged and turned to stare out the passenger window. Danger is moving in. I wanted that thought all to myself right now. I wasn’t ready for Striker’s intrusion.
Striker let me alone the rest of the drive as I tried to place this mystery woman. Her face had aged since I had seen her last. And maybe I hadn’t even seen her. Maybe she had been in a photograph I saw a long time ago.
My head throbbed. When we sat down at the table, I opted for a cup of tea. Striker ordered the steak dinner. I sat silently, only vaguely aware of the clink of glasses, and the murmur of voices. The server startled me out of my reverie when he put a plate down in front of Striker.
Striker took a sip from his water glass. “Are you ready to talk?”
I nodded, not sure I could.
His jaw was tight, his green eyes keen on me. He looked like a man ready to do battle. “What are you thinking about? It seems serious.”
“Yes. It feels serious.”
“And?”
“Why do you guys stay in the barracks? Is it because people would be attacking you left and right if you tried to live with the regular populace?”
My question seemed to surprise Striker. He contemplated me before answering. I guess he was trying to figure out why I took a new angle. “Is this about the Mason Building attack? That was a random crime that. . .”
“No. It’s not.” My voice dripped vehemence.
“Spyderman, then? I understand you’re upset about the no-contact deal.” He concluded, wrongly.
I said nothing.
Striker leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, his eyes speculative. “We stay in the barracks because it’s convenient to the job and the job can be all-encompassing. Many of us have somewhere else that we live; like I have my house on the water, and Jack has a place with Suz. Spyder stayed at his own house, off Iniquus Campus, before this last assignment. I’m not sure what he’ll do now.”
I glared at Striker — pissed, but for no good reason. Even though I certainly wasn’t angry at Striker, my eyes basted him with rancor.
Striker studied at me for a long minute, and I guessed he realized he missed the mark. He tried again, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “So, when you say being attacked left and right,” he said, “I’m assuming your thinking about Travis Wilson.” He paused, and I gave him a nod. Sure. Why not lay my panic at the feet of maiming-stalker-Wilson, since I didn’t really have anywhere else to lay these emotions? Well, yes, they belong to leopard woman, but I couldn’t tell Striker that.
“When Travis Wilson was stalking you, we were working on the assumption that he went after you because of your association with Spyderman and Iniquus.” He balanced his elbows on the table as he leaned in to speak in tones that wouldn’t carry to the other tables. “That was speculation. There’s no proven connection between the two men.”
“I’m well aware.” My tea sent up curling ribbons of steam. I took a tentative sip, as I tried to contain my insecurity. All I wanted to know was how to get safe and why a damned leopard came to live in my neighborhood.
“And with Wilson dead, we’ll probably never get our questions answered. I did ask Spyderman about him, and he doesn’t know of any correlation between Wilson and him.” Striker’s tone was serious, his gaze direct.
My eyes opened wide. My fist came down on the table, making the cutlery jump. “You asked him? When? Why do you get to talk with him and not me?” Striker glanced around. That came out a little bigger than I had planned. People had stopped eating and stared over at us.
“I went by last night after I talked to you on the phone. He sends his love. The rest is classified.”
“Damn it, Striker,” I groaned. “I just want to live a quiet suburban life. I keep trying. I wanted to take a little hiatus from my studies to help you and Spyder out, and then I was going to go right back to my plan.”
Striker definitely seemed perplexed by my new tack. “This is the ‘I’m your typical everyday suburbanite plan’?”
I leaned over the table and hissed, “Why can’t I live a normal life?” I sat back and put up my hand. “Stop. Don’t answer me. I don’t want to hear your theories about my being a Ferrari d
riving only on Sundays. They’re ridiculous. And on this one you’re wrong.” I stared down at my napkin trying to get control of my swirling emotions.
“Lexi, look at me.” Striker waited until our eyes met. “Why do I get the impression we aren’t talking about Spyder or Wilson. What’s going on here?”
I shook my head with a scowl. I didn’t know. If I did, I could act. But not understanding – not having a plan – made me …”Endangered” was the only word I could fish out of my whirlpool of thoughts. I took a deep breath and tried to smile sweetly, years of fluff-training came to my aid. Striker seemed to buy the change of pace — though to me the veneer of my smile was rice-paper thin. “Let’s change the subject. You have something you needed to tell me?” I asked.
The warrior stance shifted to the background. Striker took a bite of his steak and chewed slowly. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “When are you going to be able to rent out your duplex?”
“I close sometime around the 10th. Manny’s getting the upgrade contracts together. Maybe by the third week of January if everything works like a charm. Why?”
“Gater wants to move in.” He focused down at his plate and shoveled up another bite of steak. Something wasn’t right here. Striker was fibbing.
I narrowed my eyes at him, my make-believe smile forgotten. “Oh really? When did this come about?”
Striker offered up his boyish lopsided grin.
God, I loved his smiles.
“About ten minutes ago.”
I waited for an explanation.
“I have to go out of the country on assignment.” His voice sounded nonchalant, but his posture was guarded, probably getting ready for my barrage of un-answerable questions.
“When?” The Johannesburg file flitted through my mind. Shit. He was going down-range. Tears prickled behind my eyes. This is really too much for me to handle. Okay, I know – selfish as hell for me to be thinking of myself right now.
“I’m not sure. There are still a couple of key things Command needs to put in place. Soon, though.” Striker’s calm voice steadied me.
