by Cat Connor
My life is an endless parade of bizarre moments held together in a twisted framework of fragile memories.
“Hey, Conway, what’s going on?” Doc tapped my arm.
The stupid thing was I knew it was him, but all I could see was Mac.
“There’s someone at the door,” Doc said. “I’ll get it. You just sit there and concentrate on speaking or breathing, or whatever it is you aren’t, but should be doing.”
My hand flipped out and smacked him as he moved.
“I’m right fuc’n here.”
Processing this latest horror was not easy. Lexington blew my mind. I never thought I’d have to go back there. Once upon a time, it was the nearest big town to me and a favorite coffee destination. What fresh hell is this, that’s making the past determined to shit with me in so many exciting new ways?
Doc and Rowan appeared before me. Doc’s expression was one of bemusement. Rowan’s was one of concern. Poles apart.
Carla threw her headphones onto the bed and bounded across the room to hug Rowan.
Eleven
All These Things That I’ve Done
I left Doc in the room and walked with Carla and Rowan down to his waiting car. A well-dressed, well-toned, and muscular man opened the door for her. I watched Carla scramble in, leaving her bags on the sidewalk. She fastened her seat belt and sat grinning at me through the open window.
I eyed the man as he placed bags in the trunk. He wore a sidearm.
Moments later he was introduced to me.
“Ellie, this is Jed – he’s my bodyguard. He’ll be accompanying us today.”
I shook his hand. Ex-SWAT. Then I saw something else. It wasn’t SWAT, it was navy. A hint of navy.
“SEAL?”
He nodded.
“Little Creek?”
“Virginia Beach,” he said.
DEVGRU. “Who’s the driver?”
“One of my men,” Jed replied. “Fully qualified, been with me for about four years now. Also former SEAL.”
I nodded.
“Have a safe trip.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He climbed into the front passenger seat, closed the door and left me alone with Rowan in front of the Marriott. Sideways looks from passersby gave hints that perhaps Rowan may be famous. The holster I wore on my hip probably deterred the usual autograph seekers. The last two days had spun me in freaking circles and I really didn’t care what anyone on the street thought as I stepped into his arms. I wanted to jump in the car and go with them. The idea of sinking into oblivion protected by two former navy SEALs felt good. It was a special level of safety and security. One my child needed.
“You okay?” he whispered into my hair.
“Sure. I’m okay.”
Maybe I was holding on a little tight.
“Darlin’, this isn’t okay. This isn’t all right. I don’t know what’s going on—”
“It’s work. Everything will be fine.”
Arbab won’t find me before Noel finds him. The boxed meat is some kind of sick joke. Mac will stay dead. The killer in Stonewall Jackson Hospital will be some statistical anomaly, not an actual killer. Silver linings all around.
“I’ll take good care of Carla. Come join us when you can. We’re playing a charity concert next week. Would be great if you could come.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Stay in touch.”
“Count on it.” I remembered the undercover operation. “You have my cell number. I will be undercover, just go with anything you hear and don’t question it.”
He nodded. I felt his chin rub the top of my head.
“Gracey called me.”
I tried not to tense.
“Really?”
“She told me about the box of meat, Sam and Lee, calling you.”
Good that he thinks meat, not hunks of assorted people. Damn that ass bandit.
“And?”
“Management decided to increase security for the entire band.” There was a pause so laden with thoughts I could’ve cut them all free. “The FBI is involved – a favor? Or is this something serious?”
Don’t want to go here. “It’s part of an investigation,” I said and added, “Not mine.”
I didn’t lie. It felt good. It’s not my investigation.
“We’ll get going.”
“Yeah, you should. You look exhausted.” Exhausted or not, his blue eyes still shone with a suppressed smile.
“Come for a few days, soon as you can.” Rowan tipped my chin up with two fingers and kissed me, slowly. “Soon.”
I could’ve stayed there forever.
“Definitely.”
He let me go and opened the door.
Carla squealed, “Bye, Mom!”
“Bye, sweetheart, be good.”
I closed the door while looking into Rowan’s eyes and wished I were going too.
By the time I walked back up the hallway to my room I found a smile. Hell, I was dating Rowan Grange. The smile came from knowing at least twenty million women had died a little inside when that news hit the blogs and trashy magazines. Someone would’ve caught our kiss on camera and that too would make them die a little inside.
Doc lay on my bed. Feet crossed, hands behind his head, watching television.
“Comfy?”
“Yes. Everything good?”
“Absolutely.”
“What’s with the …” He ran his finger over his own smile.
“Women worldwide hate me,” I replied happily, while checking for anything Carla may have left behind.
“And that makes you smile?”
“Yeah. I’m a bad person.”
I reached under the bed and pulled out a pair of socks and a tee shirt. The kid would lose her head if it wasn’t screwed on. I dropped them into my open bag.
Lexington. I’m going back to Lexington. Yep, that killed the smile.
“Sandra called about Robin Conway.”
“And?”
“Strangled in her bed.”
“Fuck! I should’ve listened when I heard the damn song the first time.”
“What song?”
“’Rockin’ Robin.’”
“You hear any songs that mention my name you let me know A-sap,” he said, switching off the television with the remote and standing up. His voice softened, all humor gone. “Sometimes a song is just a song. You’re human. We don’t always get things on the first go-round.”
“That’s another Conway. Another one. This is not good,” I replied, resting against the counter edge.
“I think we should head down to Lexington this evening. Any preference on hotels or motels?”
“Not The Mountain Oasis,” I said without looking at him. That really would be pushing my mental stability to the outer reaches.
Space: the final frontier. There was a weird buzz and Star Trek morphed into something new and I couldn’t stop it. Nathan Fillion sauntered into view. Took me a second to catch up; I knew it wasn’t Castle I was seeing but what was it? Firefly. I looked up at Mal Reynolds and realized I was on his ship. His eyes met mine and he said, “Here’s how it is—”
“No, Mal, let me tell ya how it really is. I need to join your crew. God knows I’m interesting enough to fit in, and enough people want me dead to make it fun for you.”
Half a smile twitched in the corner of his mouth. “Welcome aboard,” he said and faded to gray just like his surroundings.
“See ya, Mal,” I whispered hoping it wasn’t audible.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
I glanced around the room and zipped my bag closed.
“I’m packed.”
Twelve
Living In Sin
“Do you need to go into the office?” Kurt asked as I completed the paperwork to check out of the hotel.
“Nope. Need to drop in at home though. Need some stuff.” I put my credit card back in my purse, folded the paperwork with care, and then stuffed it into
my bag. I am a mass of contradictions.
“Hope to see you again, ma’am,” the receptionist crowed.
I nodded and moved away from the desk.
Kurt held the door for me. “It’s a crime scene, complete with police cordon tape and guards.”
I figured as much. I pictured a chalk outline around the tweaker’s crumpled body – not crime scene procedure in reality. The thought brought a smile to my face. Now I’m living a B-grade movie, complete with chalk outline and crazed killers. Gotta love it.
“I still need to pick up some things,” I replied, and tapped on the trunk, reminding him to open it for me. With my bags stowed I swung into the front passenger seat of Kurt’s car.
“Hey, I drove here last night. I can’t leave Ma … my truck here indefinitely.” A way out lurched into focus. “Maybe I should follow you.”
Yeah. Then I’d have my own car and I could escape Lexington whenever I felt the urge. Or just never turn up. That would work. Well, for about half an hour, before someone found me. A red Toyota Tacoma 4x4 double-cab, riddled with bullet holes, was going to stick out like a dog’s you-know-what. Of course they could simply activate the GPS in the truck; it was installed so no matter which car I drove, I wasn’t off the grid. The old double-edged sword dilemma. The GPS kept us safe and directed emergency services when everything turned to custard, but it also meant I couldn’t run away. Some days I just wanted to run.
Eyes watched me. I glanced sideways. Kurt watched me, his hand still on the ignition key.
“Lee or Sam could pick up your car and take it back to the office,” he said.
For a moment I wondered if my thoughts weren’t thoughts but spoken words. I didn’t want to ask and he was still looking at me as if I had two heads.
Opting for a de-escalation of the look I was getting, I pulled out my phone and called Sam. He was only too happy to pick up the truck.
Good. That was settled then.
“You’re sure about home? Can’t we buy whatever you need on the way?”
“It’s easier if I stop in at home.”
I can’t go back to Lexington with blonde hair, looking so much like me. I lived in Rockbridge County, people know me down there. What’s more they know I married Mac and that I’m FBI – hell, I think all of Mauryville came to our wedding and the launch of our bestselling poetry book – not necessarily in that order. The combination of the poetry book and Rockbridge County made me feel sick.
Visions of Abigail swinging from a nail on my backdoor almost choked me. Poor Abigail, she was a good chicken.
Kurt started the car. “We’ll go to your place.”
A horrid ball of dread squished into my stomach. No amount of telling myself it would all be okay diminished the anxiety. An internal jitteriness translated into my hands shaking.
I checked my cell phone, in case I’d missed something important. An offer of coffee with my Dad or maybe a sale at Bed, Bath & Beyond; they would be important. Straws tumbled all over and I was left grasping the very last one.
When I turned it over in my hand it read screwed.
Kurt must’ve detected movement. “What you got there?”
My hands were empty and shaking. Imagine that?
“Nothing.”
He sighed. It was quiet but it was a sigh. One of those don’t-tell-me-it-was-nothing sighs. I looked out the window. All hope faded. I was going back to Lexington and nothing short of my death would stop that. There was an out. Maybe I could tell Doc I wasn’t ready to go back; he was there, he’d understand.
Maybe’s ass.
A sudden growl made me jump. My head spun. It wasn’t from Doc, or the vacant back seat. Was it from me?
Out the windshield, I could see home, or at least the trees that signposted my road. As we turned the corner I could see the street. It was a quiet street with wide grass verges. Not even a street really, but a cul-de-sac that appeared as though it had sprung from the woods surrounding it. Almost at the end was home. FBI and police tape waved gently in the breeze. Two police cars sat, one on each side of the street. Just sitting. Silent sentries.
Fluttering became pounding as Doc pulled into the driveway. My breathing quickened. Adrenaline? I almost jumped out of the car while it was still moving.
Tape was tied to the mailbox, strung across the lawn, and around the front door. I headed for the back door, not even bothering to acknowledge the officers. I knew Doc would badge them and follow me.
My heart pounded, leaping partway to my mouth as I opened the backdoor. My fingers tightened around the butt of my Glock. Jumpy much?
Doc coughed. Before I knew what had happened I’d spun on my heels and drawn on him.
“Conway!”
I looked from Doc to my Glock and back.
A smile and a quick apology wouldn’t cover it. I slipped the Glock back into my holster and shrugged.
“Little jumpy, sorry.”
“You’re kidding?” He let his feigned astonishment rain down.
Instructions from the voice in my head poured forth. Ignore him. Do what you have to do. Go upstairs and don’t be you anymore.
There was so much effort involved in not running up the stairs three at a time. Two at a time was plenty. My heart raced.
Doc was behind me. I kept telling myself he was there. Don’t shoot Doc. I went into my bedroom and into the walk-in closet. The search through drawers began. Fifteen minutes later I stood in my bathroom with two packets of temporary hair dye and a dark-blonde wig. In front of me on the counter was a small box containing colored contact lenses. Brown.
Goodbye blue eyes? I heard The Who singing ‘Behind Blue Eyes’. It took me a minute to realize it wasn’t Limp Bizkit singing.
I looked deep into my dark blue eyes, trying to find something that suggested that going back to Lexington was the right thing to do. No matter how tentative the suggestion.
“Conway?” Doc’s voice penetrated the closed bathroom door. “You all right?”
I looked at the time on my watch.
Staring at the mirror for ten minutes wasn’t helping me make a decision. My brain kicked in. It had to be the dye.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
I opened the box and mixed the dye. With an old white towel wrapped around my shoulders I covered my hair, root to tips with the first pack of dye, then mixed the second lot and repeated. I hoped two packs of dye would allow good coverage. Nothing worse than a patchy home-dye job and I didn’t have time to go to a salon.
The smell was almost overpowering. I went back out into my room. Doc was sitting on the sofa by the far wall, reading a book. He looked up.
“Thought I could smell dye. What color are you going?”
“A dark brown, I hope,” I replied, catching sight of my darkening hair in the bedroom mirror. “Ten minutes and we’ll know.”
Just so long as it doesn’t go green.
I used the time to pack some extra clothes. No telling how long we’d be gone. A nagging feeling of disquiet churned. I shoved some of my favorite clothes into the bag, including my academy sweats.
From my nightstand I took two spare Glock magazines, and a new box of nine millimeter bullets. I packed them into the same bag I’d shoved the extra clothes. I could’ve sat down and just chilled but I was scared Kurt would ask me questions and I might spill the truth. A great big cloud of dark hovered over my head.
The end of the world is nigh.
Best to keep busy.
Time spared me too much thought by moving faster than I expected.
“I’ll wash this out,” I said as I ducked into the bathroom, shut the door and turned the shower on. For three seconds I debated the pros and cons of sticking my head under the water streaming from the shower head or stripping off and having a shower. Two seconds later a pile of my clothes lay on the floor and I was washing out the dye. Rivers of dark brown poured over me and ran down the glass walls.
I finished rinsing and stepped out, dripping all over the bathmat.
Wrapping the old white towel around my head I grabbed an extra towel and dried off. It wasn’t long before I was dressed and standing in front of the steamed mirror, watching as a small clear patch appeared and spread.
I unwound the sodden towel from my head for the big reveal and let my hair fall down my back.
It was dark brown all right. No sign of green or any missed areas.
With the care that came from knowing I wouldn’t be home for a while, I hung the towels and bathmat so they wouldn’t go moldy. I did consider dumping the now blotchy old white towel straight in the trash. But there would be no one home to take the trash out. Moldy towel in the trash would smell as much as a moldy towel in the laundry hamper. There was a knock at the door. I reached over and opened it.
“What do you think?” I asked as Kurt surveyed me.
“I like it.”
“Me too.”
I ran a brush through my hair, pushing my bangs back off my forehead. My eyes fell upon the contact lens box. I didn’t want to put them in.
“Brown?” I held the box up for Kurt to see.
“No.”
That was quick.
“Okay.”
His expression changed. “Go brown.”
“Okay.” What the hell? All of a sudden I was Miss Congeniality. Stop me before I agree again.
“You all right?”
“Of course,” I replied. “Just getting ready to be your delightful wife.”
“Blue, Conway. Keep your eyes blue.”
Whatever. I dusted a light coating of mineral powder across my face, smudged a thin black line of kohl pencil close to my lashes, and added a swipe of mascara.
“Done.” I tossed the mascara back into the vanity drawer. I kept a pre-packed makeup bag in my go-bag. So I already had everything a girl could require in a bathroom, in the car.
“If only all women could get ready as fast as you,” he said, leaning on the wall. Our eyes met in the mirror. “Can I check your arm?”
Without arguing, I wriggled my left arm out of my long-sleeved tee shirt and showed him. Doc pulled the waterproof dressing off and inspected his handiwork.
“Looks good. Let’s leave it without a dressing now.”
“Okay.”
There I go again, being agreeable. The end of the world really is nigh.
