Snake Skin

by CJ Lyons

  She sagged there for a moment, just long enough to cast her own quick prayer into the heavens. Hoping He really wasn't a big fan of snakes since she'd just freeze-dried a couple dozen of them.

  "You okay, Lucy?" Fletcher asked. "Did they bite you?"

  "Someone check Norma and get EMS." Lucy checked herself for injuries. Just a bruised left shoulder where she'd landed in the pool. No bites that she could find. Relief washed over her. "Did someone call animal control?"

  She flexed her fingers, numb from the CO2. Probably got frostbite. Better than snake bite.

  The bad joke was the product of fear and adrenalin. She stalled for time, scraping her boot heels clean along the ledge, regaining control.

  "Hey, boss," one of the ICE agents called from the rear room. "You're gonna want to see this."

  Glad to have an excuse to move and work off her residual adrenalin, Lucy rushed past the pool to the room. It was decorated with everything a kid could want—bean bag chairs, a wii console, toys, stuffed animals, footballs, a mini-basketball hoop...more swag than a Toys R Us.

  Huddled together on a twin sized racecar bed were two identical blond boys. Maybe six years old. They were scared and crying, terrified by the men with guns.

  Lucy scattered her people with a jerk of her chin. They backed away from the boys and watched from outside the open door.

  She smoothed a hand across her slime and hair-spray shellacked hair, hoping she didn't look too scary, and knelt before the boys, her eyes level with theirs.

  "Hi guys. I'm Lucy. What's your name?"

  One of them, the smaller by a hair, swallowed hard then spoke up. "I'm Hank and this is Teddy. Can we go home now?"

  "Sure you can. That's why we're here." She sat back on her heels, giving them space. "Do you know your last name? Can you tell me where home is?"

  "My dad is David Jankowsky and my mom is Nancy and we live at 712 Pennsacola Drive, Monroeville, Pennsylvania," he said, intoning the information in a singsong.

  "Jankowsky, that's the pediatric dentist on trial for fondling his patients," Fletcher told her from the doorway. "His kids were kidnapped four months ago—taken from the wife while she was grocery shopping."

  Even though it was before her arrival in Pittsburgh, Lucy knew the case—her second in command, Isaac Walden, had been working with the Monroeville PD and Allegheny County Sheriff on it. So far they'd had no leads, just frustration and a media frenzy.

  She smiled at the boys. "We're going to call your mommy right away. I think she'll be very happy to see you."

  Hank nodded, sniffing hard, being a big boy and not crying. Teddy did the same but his tears escaped.

  "Walter said their church was actively recruiting," Lucy told Fletcher as they walked out to the parking lot, leaving the evidence recovery techs to their business. Child services was on the way to pick up the twins who were being treated by the state troopers to law enforcement's universal anecdote: orange juice and Snicker bars.

  "You sure you're okay?" Fletcher asked. The ICE surveillance tech looked like he'd been the one almost killed, his glasses were askew, shirt half untucked, face flushed and sweaty. "Where the heck do you think they got all those snakes from?"

  Setting up the boutique online child modeling agency as part of Operation Honeypot had been Fletcher's idea. So far they'd nabbed several US nationals trafficking for sex with minors as well as drawing Canadians across the border—hence the need for Immigration and Customs Enforcement on the taskforce.

  As a lowly GS06 civilian tech, not even a full-fledged ICE agent, Fletcher was flushed with pride at the operation's success. Lucy already had to turn down his request to play a more active field role when their next group of sex tourists arrived tomorrow. Worse than telling a kid he wasn't allowed to go trick-or-treating.

  He trailed after her as Lucy walked to his SUV, now double parked ten feet away from the van where "Katie" slept. She opened the rear of the Blazer and sat down on the running board, her legs wobbly, adrenalin finally abandoning her.

  With trembling fingers she retrieved her wedding ring. She brushed it against her lips. Her pulse finally calmed as she slid it back where it belonged. She reached for her bag, grabbed a water bottle and took a deep gulp, spilling water down her shirt and not caring.

  Then she emptied the muck from her boots and checked her arms and legs again for bite marks. She'd seen guys shot and not know it because of the masking effects of adrenalin. Nothing. She wiggled her bare toes in the sun, soaking up the heat.

  The thought of trying to explain a rattlesnake bite to her husband, Nick, made her wince. Although it might finally get her back on Megan's "cool" list—a welcome change from the cold shoulder her twelve-year-old had been giving her lately.

  "I can't wait to get my hands on their computer. See what else they've been up to." Fletcher prattled as he packed up his surveillance equipment. "Oh, by the way, your cell phone has been going nuts."

  He handed her the cell and she glanced at the missed calls. All from Megan. Along with texts asking if they were going to be late for the doctor's appointment.

  Damn it, she hated leaving, but really all that needed done here was paperwork and documentation. Nothing Lucy needed to stay for. In fact, if she wasn't the only woman on her squad rated for UC work, she wouldn't be here on a Saturday at all—she'd be home and looking forward to getting back to work on Monday to shuffle paperwork and review reports.

  Still hadn't gotten used to that part of being promoted. She wasn't sure she ever would—she loved being in the field. Used to be she always told fellow agents that supervisory special agents never made arrests, just supervised and took all the credit. Now that she held the rank and had her own team, she was trying to find a way to lead from the front lines and still get all the administrative work done.

  As always, she wanted it all. Usually she figured out a way to get it.

  Fletcher re-appeared, a key ring in his hand. "The van needs to go back. Why don't you take it?"

  Still, she hesitated. Men and women carrying guns and displaying a variety of law enforcement insignia bustled around the parking lot in an efficiently choreographed mob. The FBI's Sexual Assault Felony Enforcement squad was multi-jurisdictional: ICE agents mingled with her own FBI team, there were several Staties as well. Back at the office, they shared space with the High Tech Computer Crime Taskforce, Operation Predator, the Innocent Images Initiative, and even had a few postal inspectors and IRS agents working with them.

  To some it might seem like a motley crew, seasoned street operators working side by side with computer geeks like Fletcher. But it was her crew and she hated to leave them with the job unfinished.

  Of course, with this job, there was never any finishing. Something Nick was constantly reminding her of. But she'd only been here three months, charged with setting up and running the FBI's newest SAFE unit, and she hadn't yet figured out where to draw the line.

  Nick had. That was for sure. After a month of not seeing her unless she woke him as she climbed into bed at night, he'd insisted that she establish some kind of routine so that she could spend time with him and Megan.

  Which sounded great…unless you were the parent who was constantly delinquent.

  She glanced at the state trooper vehicle where the twins beamed as they tried on Smokey Bear hats eighteen sizes too big for them. The breeze carried their burble of laughter. She smiled.

  "Let the Staties take credit on this one," she told Fletcher. "I'll make it up to Walden, clear it with Greally."

  Fletcher's frown let her know he didn't appreciate her generosity. Or more likely, he didn't think his boss would.

  Tough. This morning she was enjoying being one of the good guys. Her phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. Megan. Sigh. Even if her pre-teen didn't always see her that way.

  "Call me if you need me," she told Fletcher, heading towards the van with the mannequin in the back seat. She flipped her phone open. "Hey sweetie, I hear you're not feeling well."


  "If you're too busy, I can call Dad. Again," Megan said. Somehow the twelve-year-old's tone managed to carry more disapproval than a Taliban watching a striptease.

  "No, it's fine. I'll be there in twenty minutes." Thank god the operation was on the right side of the Fort Pitt tunnel. And there'd be no traffic on a Saturday morning.

  "The doctor said he has to leave for the hospital by 9:30."

  "I know, Megan. I'll get you there. I promise." Silence. "Did you take some ibuprofen? That will help you feel better."

  "Yeah, Dad told me to take some. And to drink lots of fluids."

  "Good." Lucy started the van and pulled away from her team, resisting the urge to go back and remind them that they had another meet set for tomorrow. This one was in a motel, so no room for snakes. At least she hoped not. She shuddered, told herself it was the AC. "I'll be there soon."

  "When we lived in Virginia, I never got sick."

  Lucy tightened her grip on the wheel. Bad enough she had the powers-that-be in the Bureau judging her every move, she really didn't need it coming from her twelve-year-old daughter. "Think of it as building up your immune system."

  Megan grunted in reply.

  "Well, if you're really sick, I can call your gram to come watch you." One of the few perks of moving to Pittsburgh was that Lucy's mother was only forty minutes away in Latrobe.

  Megan used to love spending time with her gram. But not since adolescence had gotten a stranglehold on her. Now family was soooo boring.

  "Whatever," Megan said and hung up.

  Lucy tossed the phone aside and hit the gas pedal. Maybe the stress of moving and starting a new school, making the soccer team was too much for Megan. One more thing to feel guilty about. As if trying to juggle a career and her family weren't enough already.

  Way she figured it, every kid she rescued here at work put another penny in the karma bank, saving up to protect Megan. That was some consolation for time spent away from her family. Not that she could ever explain that to Nick or Megan.

  She glanced in the rearview, caught the mannequin's eye and winked. "Let's not tell her about the snakes, okay, Katie Mae?"

  Chapter 4

  Saturday, 9:06 am

  Lucy twirled her wedding band around her ring finger, rubbing it clean of the smudge of Ruby's lipstick. Megan swung her legs from her perch on the exam table, her gown flapping open, revealing tanned legs and bruises she wore with pride ever since making the soccer team.

  There were so many things Lucy should be doing: double-checking on the snake handlers' processing and paperwork, prepping for tomorrow's op, reviewing the latest NCMEC bulletins, cleaning her guns...

  Megan rustled through a tattered copy of National Geographic, looking up over the top of the pages, glaring at Lucy.

  "You know you look like a slut," she finally observed in a bored, world-weary tone. As if her mother always dressed like a trailer-trash single-mom ready to sell her kid to strangers. "And what's that smell?"

  Lucy remained silent, staring at the duckling wallpaper above Megan's head. Lately, since they'd—no, she'd—uprooted Megan and moved to Pittsburgh, everything Lucy said only made things worse.

  "You could wait outside," Megan continued. "Really, it's fine. I go in alone for my checkups now, you know."

  Lucy wasn't sure she liked that idea either. Hard to believe her baby was twelve, almost a teenager. The thought was laced with strychnine. Lucy knew all too well what dangers waited for Megan as she grew older. Hated that no matter how good she and Nick were as parents, Megan would still eventually face them alone.

  "Don't forget soccer next week," Megan said, adding one more thing to Lucy's to-do list. "You promised brownies. And not those lame store-bought ones with the gooey icing."

  "Only if the doctor says it's all right for you to play."

  "Mom..." With the single syllable Megan assigned Lucy responsibility for the fall of civilization and the fate of the future of all mankind. "I can't miss anything. I'm the new kid, remember?"

  "We've been here three months. Think maybe it's time you let up on the guilt trip?"

  Instead of appearing chastised, Megan merely grinned as if she had plenty more tricks up her sleeve and was just waiting to use them on her mom. Or more likely, her much more gullible and malleable father.

  Megan was a pro at getting what she wanted—took after Lucy in that respect. Just as her features reflected Lucy's Italian heritage more than Nick's Irish. Thick, almost black hair, high cheekbones, dark eyes. The only thing Megan inherited from Nick was her creamy complexion with its propensity to freckle easily.

  "I want to be certain the doctor has all the facts," Lucy said. She used her work voice, although she knew Megan saw right through her mask of control. "We need to get to the bottom of this."

  Megan shot her a look that said, "whatever", but stopped short of actually rolling her eyes. "You always assume the worst."

  When it came to imagining "the worst," Megan did not have a clue. Lucy fully intended to keep things that way for as long as possible.

  "And you worry too much," Megan continued her analysis of everything wrong with her mother. "That's because of what you see at work. It's just strep throat. I already feel better after the Advil. But you think everyone's always in danger."

  That's because everyone was always in danger. In Lucy's world, at least. But she forced a smile and said, "Glad to hear it. And no, you're not getting a FaceBook page."

  Megan's eyes widened at her mother's omniscience. Then her lips curled into a wheedling smile. "You could use it too, you know—like a stake-out or something."

  Despite the stuffy heat of the exam room, Lucy shivered at the thought of inviting the creeps she hunted into her home. Letting them anywhere near Nick or Megan. "That's not funny. Keep this up and you won't be going on-line again until you're old enough to vote."

  The door swung open, interrupting Megan's protest. The doctor breezed in, wearing jeans and a polo shirt. He did a double-take at Lucy's worse-for-wear appearance. "Hi, sorry to keep you waiting. This beeper won't shut up. Now, what brings you guys here on such a beautiful Saturday morning?"

  Megan opened her mouth, but Lucy jumped in before she could say anything, earning her another glare. This time complete with eye-roll. "Megan saw Dr. Collins two weeks ago and he said she had strep. She took ten days of the medicine but her glands are still swollen and the fever came back."

  "Hmm..." He flipped through her chart. "Strep test was positive, but there's no guarantee it can't come back again. We call it the boomerang effect. Anyone else at home sick?"

  "No." Lucy hesitated, knowing she sounded over-protective. "She's been looking pale to me even before the strep, and she has no energy. She's not herself."

  "I'm fine." Megan threw Lucy a Magnum caliber stare before she could say more. "It's only that we just moved here and with a new school and new friends and soccer and teachers giving out so much homework—"

  "I'll bet that wasn't easy, leaving your old friends behind." The pediatrician stood in front of Megan, focused on her, warming his stethoscope with one hand, skillfully shutting Lucy out of the conversation. She straightened, irritated at first, but then took a breath and relaxed when she saw how he put Megan at ease.

  As he examined Megan, he kept talking. "Mono is pretty common in kids your age and a lot of kids will get it and strep at the same time. Open up." He glanced at Megan's tonsils. "Actually those look pretty normal. Let's feel those neck glands."

  Lucy watched as he danced his fingers up and down Megan's neck. Then he had her lift her arms up and felt her armpits. Finally, after examining her belly and groin, he sat back down. "She definitely does have a few nice-sized nodes. I'd like to do some more testing."

  Megan straightened at that, her hands clenching the edge of the table, casting off her world-weary facade. "What kind of tests?"

  "I'll get another strep test here in the office today. But if that's negative, then I want you to go to the hospital
for some blood work."

  "Blood work? With a needle?" Megan squeaked. "No way. Mom, I feel fine—really, I don't need any tests."

  Before Lucy could answer, her cell phone rang. She turned the sound off without looking at the display and stood, taking control of the situation. "Megan, you'll do what the doctor says. What are these tests for?"

  "Just a blood count and a mono test. If the strep test is negative."

  "That's all? Mono, that's not too bad." The tension that had locked her jaws eased. Mono she could handle. Her phone began to vibrate and her pager went off as well. Damn. "I'm sorry." She yanked the pager from her belt and glanced at the message. 911. "I really need to get this. I apologize."

  "No problem. I'm just glad it wasn't mine. Why don't you go ahead and make your call while I start the strep test?"

  "You okay with that?" she asked Megan, her cell phone already in her hand.

  The new Megan, the stranger who gleefully channeled Bette Davis at will, resurfaced. "Mom. I'm not a baby. Go."

  Summarily dismissed as superfluous, Lucy stepped out into the hall and punched the speed dial for her office at the Federal Building. "Guardino here."

  "I like that doctor," Megan said as Lucy drove them home through the twists and curves of Pittsburgh's South Side. "He was kind of cute."

  Lucy resisted the urge to steer the car to the nearest cloistered convent. Over the past year her daughter had gone from thinking that boys had cooties to comparing their "pecs" and "six packs". And now Megan was noticing men.

  She was so not ready for this.

  She'd always told Nick that she'd be the go-to person for anything from dirty diapers to broken arms—right up to puberty. Then it was time for him to take over.

  After all, he was the psychologist, able to unravel the mysteries of the adolescent mind far better than she could. He'd agreed, saying it wasn't politically correct to deal with horny teenaged boys by threatening them with a loaded forty caliber Glock.