by Cat Connor
“She’s in the kitchen. I’m Sara Dubois.” We shook hands. “Is there something wrong?”
I nodded. “I need to talk to Carla.” I introduced Joey.
Sara smiled. “You’re Carla’s friend?”
Joey nodded but said nothing. Sara showed us into the kitchen. From the doorway, I saw Carla; she didn’t look any different from the last time I saw her. She looked up at our footsteps. Her smile frozen. Confusion clouded her face.
“How are you Carla?” I said, hoping I was smiling.
She nodded a little as she spoke, “I’m good. Is something wrong?” Panic flashed across her face.
The words froze in my throat. I felt them slipping away. “Carla.”
“Ellie?”
“Come here.” I held out my arms. With my arms wrapped around her I whispered, “Cassie died today.” Tears fell, dripping onto her hair.
“Cassie?”
“Yes.”
“Were you there?”
“I was.”
“Was it terrible?”
I didn’t know what to say for a few minutes. The lump in my throat hurt as much as the hollowness within me echoed. Eventually I managed. “Yeah, it was.” I wiped my eyes with one hand. “It’s going to be okay though. You and me, we can get through this.”
She tried to smile. Her heart wasn’t in it. I should’ve brought Sam and Lee.
“What about Roscoe?”
“He’s okay. Cassie’s brother is coming up from Richmond to take care of him.”
“Can I come to the funeral?”
“Yes.”
I hugged her so hard. I didn’t want to let her go. I’d forgotten about Joey until he stood next to me.
“Joey, I’m sorry. It wasn’t great of me to bring you along for this.”
Carla looked at him as if she hadn’t seen him enter the room with me. A smile flickered in her eyes. “Joey.” Then she looked up at me. “You’re the best, you know, Ellie.”
I let her go, watching as she propelled herself into Joey’s arms.
I moved aside. Joey swung her around then put her down, she clung to him, talking and crying non-stop. Sara poured me a coffee. We sat at the kitchen table far enough away from Carla and Joey that they could talk, without us over their shoulders.
“Cassie was her social worker, yes? She’ll miss her terribly. But I’ve never seen her so animated as she is now with Joey,” Sara said. “She doesn’t talk much.”
That I found a little strange. Despite everything I’d always found Carla to be talkative, maybe that was just with me and everyone I know. I wiped a finger under my eyes, removing smudged mascara.
“She’s a tough kid, she’ll be fine. I think we have to remember that it’s only been a year and a half since her mom’s murder and this is her third foster home.” I sipped my coffee and let my words sink in.
“Of course,” Sara said.
“We’re all going to miss Cassie, but Carla will never be alone.” I replied, knowing it came out like a not-so-subtle warning and promptly tried to change the subject. “Good coffee.”
I finished my coffee. Joey and Carla were sitting talking on a sofa just beyond the kitchen area of the open-plan kitchen, dining and family room. Crying became laughter and lit the room.
My cell phone rang and startled me into answering it quickly. Truthfully, the phone call was a welcome intrusion. My brother’s voice said, “Can you swing by the grocery store on your way over for dinner?”
“Dinner?” I didn’t remember a dinner. I didn’t want to do dinner. I wanted to go home and drink a fifth of bourbon by myself.
“Tonight Ellie. At my place. Dinner with me and Dad.”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“Milk.”
“Okay. I’ll get it.”
“You all right?”
“I’m okay, just busy.”
I hung up. Dinner. How come I couldn’t remember dinner plans? It’s been a shitty day.
“I’d better get Joey home,” I said. “Hey Joey, come on, I’ll drop you home.”
“Can’t I stay? I can get a bus,” he replied.
I threw him my phone, he snatched it one-handed from the air. “Call your caregiver – let them know where you are.”
He threw it back. “Dad’s a drunk and Mom … she doesn’t know what day it is.”
I looked at Sara. She nodded. “We’ll run him home after dinner.”
“Thanks. Take it easy Joey. Carla, come say goodbye.”
Carla leaped off the sofa and ran over to me. She threw her arms around my waist and gave me a huge hug.
“Thank you for bringing Joey.”
“You’re welcome. I’m sorry about Cas.” I am really fuc’n sorry. “I’ll let you know when the funeral arrangements have been made. Call me if you need me.”
It was hard to believe the kid hugging the stuffing out of me was going to be fourteen in just over three weeks. We met when she was twelve and a half.
“I’m sorry too.”
“I’ll call you in a few days – but call me anytime if you need me,” I replied, hugging her back. “See you soon.”
A soft fat snowflake landed on my nose on my way down the path to the car. The feeling of someone watching returned.
Don’t forget the milk.
Three
Another One Bites The Dust
Nothing I like better than waking up confused. My eyes took their own sweet time adjusting to being awake. A wispy aura of mystery shrouded everything. The ceiling above me was not mine; mine was pristine white. This one was watermarked, fly poop-covered and pale tan. I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. Still had my boots on. Still had my clothes on. Both good things. I let my mind do a quick inventory of my limbs and pockets. I seemed intact but my pockets felt empty and I could tell I wasn’t wearing my holster. My dry mouth, the odd taste in the back of my throat and the nausea suggested drugs. Chloroform maybe. Does anyone still use that shit?
Sun filtered through grime-coated windows. The rays felt warm on my face as they slid between roughly nailed boards. Boarded windows are never a good sign. I stood up. From nowhere a hand shoved me, tipping me off balance. I landed with a thump on the bed. A cloud of dust rose.
“What the fuck!”
“You aren’t going anywhere, lady.” A clean-cut man stepped into view.
He leaned over me. I could not tell exactly how tall he was, but he seemed about six feet as I sat on the bed. I started to stand again. He pushed me back. “Sit down and be still.”
“And you are?” I asked, letting the situation settle into some sort of form that made sense. However, nothing made sense. Last thing I remembered was stopping for milk at the 7-Eleven on Blake Lane.
“Doesn’t matter who I am,” he replied. “I want you to access some files for me.”
I recognized his accent. New Jersey.
“That’s not going to happen,” I said standing up again. He had moved a few feet away. I was out of his reach and remained on my feet.
“Yeah, it really is. You see, I need to get a look at some files the FBI have. And you are FBI.”
My mind ran scenarios and none of them were good. I just hoped Aidan or Dad let my team know I was missing. There was a nagging sense that maybe they would not. It is tiring watching the world move on. Sometimes I dodge commitments, turn off my phones and hide – you do that a few times and people get used to it. I knew they could brand me unreliable, instead of missing.
“I don’t think so. I’m not about to let you into the FBI system.”
“Then we’ve come to an impasse.”
“I’m going to leave now,” I said, digging deep for some serious calm and stepping a few decisive feet toward him. He took one-step back. “You can carry on and play your little game alone.”
“Lady, that ain’t gonna happen.” His lips parted. It could have been a small smile. “You just have to find a file for me that am all.”
“Not going to happen.”
/>
“Just do it lady. I’d hate to have to mess up your pretty face.” I saw the knife in his hand. “We could prevent all the nastiness if you would do as I ask.”
Knives do not thrill me.
“Now what? We’ve established I’m not going to help you.” I dipped my head slightly at him. “Your move.”
“You could run,” he said, slouched against the doorframe with one hand on the door handle. The blade glinted in the dusty sunlight as I wondered what happened to the snow-clouded sky. He picked at the flaking paint with the knife. A small patch of light danced on the ceiling, like a fairy flittering about above his head. With a nasty smirk, he said, “Or … I dunno … you could do as I ask.”
The fairy disappeared.
“Or I could take that freaking knife and slit your throat,” I replied. I stared into his eyes and noted the color. One eye was dark brown, the other lighter, more amber in color. Cassie was killed by a man with odd brown eyes. I looked at his boots. Brown. Not any brown. Coyote brown. I stored the information along with his height, weight, hair color, hair length and a good eidetic image of his whole face. Was he Cassie’s killer?
A very real possibility hit me with such force I felt my body sway: what if he killed me?
“What’s your name?”
He flicked another flake of paint with the point of the blade. It flew through the air and landed on the floor, disappearing into deep dust and more paint flecks. Captivated I watched as a plume of fine sparkling dust spiraled like fireworks from the floor.
“Seems fair that I should tell you. I know who you are, Special Agent Conway.”
I felt my breath catching in my throat. It stuck like dry toast as I replied, “Who are you?”
His strange brown eyes met mine. “David Dunn,” he said.
The name of my potential killer was David Dunn. Why was that familiar? And why would he give me his name? Either he’s not bright or it doesn’t matter. Interesting.
“You were stationed around here?” I asked while moving my weight to my back foot.
He smiled or rather his lips moved. It could’ve been a snarl. Straight, evenly spaced white teeth. It didn’t look as though he smoked or drank much coffee. I surmised his parents spent a lot of money to get his teeth that straight. They must be so proud.
My eyes closed. I couldn’t smell smoke on his clothing or skin. He wore a familiar deodorant; it wasn’t strong enough to be a cologne or spray. I conjectured he used a stick. Supermarket, common, nothing remarkable or memorable.
Military-style short hair. Clean-shaven. His whole appearance reminded me of something I knew well and his coyote brown boots gave a lot away. I felt the chimes of familiarity turn into a carillon.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Wondering how long it will be before you show me how big and scary you are,” I replied, beckoning to him. “Come on dickhead. God knows I could use the laugh. Or do you prefer unarmed women taken by surprise in their own homes?”
He closed the distance between us in two strides.
The blade pressed against my throat.
“You’re awful smart-mouthed for someone who is my prisoner,” he sneered.
“Don’t hold back. Smack me about. Slit my throat.” I lowered my voice. “But make it fuc’n good because you do not want me coming after you, ever,” I said, pushing his hand away. There was no resistance.
He stepped back and smiled again.
I goaded him some more. “I know you killed my friend. Let’s get on with it, shall we? How long before NCIS come looking for you?”
His eyes flickered and the smile faded. I watched it leave. How quickly his manner changed. Lines appeared on his forehead. The look in his eyes hardened. He was a Marine. Growing up on naval bases, I knew a Marine when I saw one. Here we go again – kidnapped by a Marine. What is it with the unhealthy interest Marines have in me?
“Why would they?”
“Because you’re a Marine. I’m a Fed remember? We’re in Virginia, and this could get you the chair. And the woman you killed – Cassandra Smith – was a federal employee.” My last memory was Virginia, so I was hoping I was still there.
“I won’t fry for this,” he said with more conviction than he should have. “You don’t know anything. I didn’t kill anyone.” There was a lack of resolve in his voice.
I swear I could smell burning flesh in his future.
“Yeah, you did. You think NCIS won’t cough you right up?”
Dunn wanted something but it wasn’t to kill me. I scanned the room. No other doors, windows partially boarded up, broken furniture piled in one corner, a dilapidated old bed in the other and a flashy laptop sitting at the end of the bed. A vision of Carla came into my head. I saw tears running down her face as she said, ‘If you die, I won’t have anyone.’
“I’m not going to die today,” I said, hearing real certainty in my voice for the first time in a long time.
“Don’t be so sure, lady.”
Everything came together in my mind and I sifted through the information: he was Cassie’s killer.
I stepped back. The movement allowed some room between me and Dunn, the renegade Marine.
“How long have you been at Belvoir?”
His eyes darted from me to the wall behind me. “Who says I’m stationed at the Fort?” Some of his confidence zapped.
“You just did.”
He looked slightly confused. “It doesn’t make any difference where I’m stationed.”
It probably didn’t but the last Marine I tangled with was from Fort Belvoir. A bottle of water lay on the floor reminding me how thirsty I was.
A smile crept onto my face. I couldn’t help it. On the screen in my mind, I saw bright colored bunting around tents and heard people calling out and cheering. As I turned, I saw why. With the thunder of hooves on hard-packed ground, two horses charged down a tilt line toward each other. Knights in full battle armor balancing shields and lances, grim determination in their eyes. Splintering wood as the lances hit. One knight slipped sideways in the saddle, knocked askew by a lance strike. The crowd stomped and clapped. Queen’s ‘We Will Rock You’ filled the arena. A knight I recognized as Heath Ledger nodded at a beautiful girl.
Nothing but a cruel reminder that my knight was dead.
In front of me the boy with a stick transformed into a dick with a knife.
My eyes darted around the room.
“The only way out, is through me,” Dunn drawled.
“Your Intel must be crap if they didn’t warn you about me.”
He paused a moment too long before replying, “I know about you, Agent.”
“No, you really don’t,” I said with a smile. “Atta boy for thinking you do, dumbass.”
“I know you got your husband killed.”
Without blinking I replied, “Then let me go before the same fate befalls you.”
He pushed himself off the doorframe and lurched toward me, his knife hand by his side. “Now letting you go would be unhealthy for me.”
I rocked back on my right foot, angling my body away from him. I hoped for a scared look and maintained eye contact. He didn’t seem to view me as a threat. He was bigger than I am with a longer arm reach. I rocked back again, this time with my left foot, putting another step between us. I now had the room I needed.
He glared. Intimidation?
Enough already.
I fuc’n hate knives. They tend to cut me and make a mess. He was in front of a door. He was blocking my exit. I could do some kind of Steven Seagal maneuver and turn his arm into a pretzel but I didn’t want to get that close.
I focused on his eyes and imagined a point beyond him, below his hips, then kicked right through the moron with a front snap-kick to his groin.
“Goal,” I muttered.
The knife dropped as he did. I hooked it closer to me then bent down and picked it up.
Dunn lay crumpled on the floor clutching himself and groaning. There was a moment when
I thought the knife would jump from my hand and stab his cowardly gut. He made me feel stabby. With the impulse controlled, I stepped over him and opened the door. I strode straight into Lee’s path. A big arm circled me and lifted me aside. Another set of hands caught me and I looked at Sam.
“What kept you?” I asked.
“You seemed to have the situation under control,” Sam replied with a shrug.
“Thanks.”
Sam smiled showing his perfect, straight white teeth. “Your buddy over there took your cell phone. And because he’s real bright, he never turned it off. Then he had several attacks of genius and made a few calls. We tracked you through your phone.”
I did get the impression he wasn’t officer material. I nodded my head toward the crumpled figure of Dunn. “He’s going to need a few minutes.”
Sam grinned and looked at my feet. “I gotta get me some of those steel-capped cowboy boots you like so much.”
They really were cool, and you couldn’t tell by looking that the toe concealed a protective steel cap. Do I know how to buy decent boots or what?
“Day and time?” I said quickly.
“Thursday, seven fifteen in the a.m.,” Sam replied. “You all right?”
“I’ll let you know,” I replied. “Lee, we want to talk to him about Cassie’s death.”
Lee hauled Dunn to his feet and stepped sideways as the Marine vomited. Lee gave him a minute to finish then slapped cuffs on him.
“You and me are gonna have a little chat,” Lee said and shoved the Marine through the door ahead of him, missing the doorframe by a quarter inch. “Careful now, you don’t want to smack your pretty head.”
“Notify Special Agent Noel Gerrard at NCIS, they’ll want in on this too. Also, find out if he’s really a Marine or if we have another naval corpsman, just like last time.”
A random interlude mixed with television in my head and Gerrard became Jethro Gibbs from NCIS. I couldn’t decide if life was imitating art or vice versa. The cuffed Marine turned his face toward me and whispered, “Hawk’s back. He says, ‘Hello, Gabrielle’.”
My stomach twisted into a tight knot. I shivered. I didn’t want Hawk back.
