by Diana Layne
“Who are these guys?” MJ asked. “Why go to all this trouble?”
Ben shrugged. “Retired senators is all I know. Obviously they got on her bad side.”
“But they’re so old. What did they all have in common that would interest Tasha? Why didn’t Jeff give you names?”
“Yes, that is curious.” He typed in a few commands. His eyes lit up. “Hm, here’s a site that lists all former senators. Wow, all the way back to the beginning.”
“Really? There’s a site like that? Someone has too much time on their hands.”
“Taxpayer dollars at work.”
“But how is that going to do us any good? We don’t know the men’s names in these pictures.” She stretched to look over the top of the computer. “Are pictures listed with the senators on that site?”
“There’s a link with most of the names.” He moved the mouse and clicked. “Yep. Pictures.” He studied the screen. “Come on over here.”
“So are you planning on clicking on each link?” she asked when she moved around to his side of the booth.
He was shaking his head, frowning. “That would take forever, I don’t have that kind of battery life.”
“And no doubt the restaurant would get irritated if we took up residence here.”
“There’s another problem. How are you at age progression?”
“What...?” When she looked at the screen she immediately saw the reason he asked. “They’re much younger. Which it would figure, of course, since we do know they are all retired.”
“And death creates a slightly different look, makes our task tougher.”
“Perhaps Tasha didn’t want us to get bored.”
“Ha. Ha.” He stretched his shoulder, rolling it in a circular motion.
“Arm bothering you?”
“A little,” he admitted. He pushed the computer toward her. “Why don’t you take over for now? We can stay here at least until after we eat.” He slumped back on the booth and closed his eyes.
She felt a moment’s sympathy for him, then shrugged. Nothing she could do to help. She turned her attention to the list. “There’s so many names, what we need is a way to narrow it down. The years each man served are listed here as well. It’s logical to assume that all the dead guys served around the same time.”
“Yep,” Ben said, eyes still closed.
“So. . .” MJ mused aloud. “When?” She tried to do the math in her head, resorted to using her fingers.
“Probably mid-80s to late 90s.” Ben didn’t open his eyes this time either.
“Well, that narrows it down.”
“Really it does. How long does each senator serve? Six years? Two terms spans twelve years then.”
“Okay, I’ll start with mid-80s.” She scrolled down the list, clicked on the first one. “He look like anyone in those pictures?”
Ben opened his eyes and leaned forward. “Hard to tell. I didn’t memorize those pictures.”
“Let me see if I can minimize both screens and we compare.” She arranged the smaller screens side by side. They only overlapped a little, it helped that Ben had a widescreen laptop.
“Yeah, that helps.” Ben looked on while MJ scrolled through the pictures Tasha sent and compared him to the senator on the webpage.
“Look, do you think this might be him?”
Ben leaned forward and squinted at the picture on the screen. “Possibly. Hard to say. Don’t suppose she could’ve taken a better face shot, huh?”
MJ cut a sideways glance to him, her irritation fading when she saw his face was flushed. “You don’t look so good. Better rest until the food gets–”
Just then the waitress walked up with two plates and slid their orders in front of them. With a smile and a thank you to the waitress, MJ waited until the woman turned away, closed the laptop and moved back to her side of the booth.
She pulled her plate to her, and was pouring ketchup into a puddle next to her fries when Ben said, “My laptop battery isn’t going to last long enough to go through all those pictures. I suppose we can drive around for a while and use my car charger.”
MJ set the ketchup back in place. “You need a nap.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Quit trying to be a prick. You don’t need any more practice.” She dipped a fry into ketchup. “We can’t go back to the cabin, the generator is enough to charge your laptop but no–”
“No way to access the Internet without cell phone service,” he interrupted. “But I can download the pages while you’re driving around and we can compare them at the cabin.”
MJ finished the fry and took a bite of hamburger. It had been too many hours since those princess pastries. She swallowed and said over the top of her burger, poised for the next bite, “You still need a nap. How about we find a hotel, you take a nap and I can download the pages while your laptop is charging.”
His eyes darkened, a half-smile tugged at his lips.
“I said you nap, I download, Mr. One Track Mind.” She dropped her gaze to break the hypnotic quality of his eyes and noticed he hadn’t yet taken a bite of food. “Eat. Or do you want to cut up your food for you and feed you?”
“Yes, mommy.” With a sigh, he picked up his fork and attacked his food.
They only exchanged a few words through the rest of the meal, and then they were in the car, MJ driving and looking for a hotel, Ben once again slumped back on the seat. She noticed he’d taken some pain meds with his antibiotic after the meal and figured he was at his limits.
“Here’s one.” She turned into the hotel drive.
Ben eyed the older, somewhat shabby building. MJ knew she was being generous in that assessment.
“You’re not picky, are you?” he said.
She shrugged. “A nap’s a nap.”
“You’re not the one who’ll be sleeping on the bed.”
“Fine.” She huffed and turned the car around. “I’ll find a four-star hotel for your highness.”
“That’s better,” he said, only allowing a hint of laughter to escape before he settled back on the seat.
MJ drove further into the small town until she found a hotel that would suit Ben. Once in the room, he collapsed on the bed, no other term for it, while MJ set up the computer.
She ignored the temptation to watch him sleep and spent the next two hours downloading web pages, feeling at last she was doing something instead of just waiting. And yeah it was better to have some direction, but exactly what good would it do to figure out who these dead guys were? What then? Would they be able to narrow it down, determine the connection and predict Tasha’s next move?
Or was it a time waster so Tasha could make an appearance at her leisure?
MJ sighed. She feared it was a time waster, but at least it felt more productive. She’d been comparing the photos for a half hour before Ben finally woke up.
“You look better,” she said when he sat up in bed.
He stretched, winced slightly at the pain, looked around the room then at her sitting in front of his computer. “How’s progress?”
“Downloaded them all, and now I’m comparing pictures.”
“Any matches?”
“Possibly. I need a second opinion.”
He slid off the bed and walked the few steps over to the table and chairs. Taking a seat in one, he said, “Let me see.” He reviewed her work. “It’s a good start,” he said. “We’ll make notes as we find matches. Got any paper?”
“Only this small notepad here in the room. But it will be dark soon, so if we’re going to get supplies we need to be leaving. I don’t want to find that road in the dark. Unless you want to stay here?”
“And leave my fish?”
She thought of the slimy silver thing. “I’d just as soon forget the fish.”
“You want him to have sacrificed his life for nothing?”
MJ blew out a breath. “Can’t have that. No, of course not.” And yet, as Ben packed up the computer to leave, MJ wondered
about if those old men had sacrificed their lives for . . . nothing. No telling until she caught up with Tasha.
* * *
MJ returned to the same small grocery she’d shopped at the day before for Ben to gather supplies for his healthy meal. She decided she better buy extra food for herself in case he really expected her to eat that fish.
She gathered her purchases and headed for the checkout, Ben following behind when she realized she was walking down the feminine products and birth control aisle.
Ben stopped. “Now here’s something useful.” He was standing in front of the condoms.
MJ stopped long enough to cast a glance over her shoulder. When she saw what he was looking at frustration warred with a renewed spike of desire. Frustration won and she said, “Dream on.”
“It’d help pass the time.”
The thought of him rolling on a condom, readying to enter her was an image she didn’t want, no sirree, not at all. Whether she wanted the image or not, there it was and desire made a fast comeback.
Strange how her body reacted with her breasts swelling and an ache between her legs in spite of what she told herself. Her body’s reaction turned her brain into a liar.
She’d been without sex for a long time, she reasoned, trying to justify her response. So what would be the harm of enjoying a handsome, sexy man? Her brain continued the Benedict Arnold role. No, stop, she said to herself. Not a good idea.
“We have dead old men to look at,” she reminded him.
“We can have a little fun when we get tired of the dead old men,” he countered.
Don’t even think about it. “I told you. . .” Bad idea, stop with the distraction already. “Um . . . I told you I bought cards.”
Her war with herself, her slow response gave her away.
“You were thinking about it.” He smiled, radiating confidence.
“I was no– hey, what are you doing?" she asked when he took a box off the shelf, her denial quickly forgotten.
"Sex is a lot more fun than Go Fish, but then again if we start out with strip poker, the evening could be really interesting.” His smug look never wavered.
She refused to react. “I hope you enjoy playing by yourself.”
Chapter 14
Back at the cabin, Ben prepared to cook the fish in the barbecue pit Ed had built behind a brick wall, creating a secure cook out area right off the screened in back porch. Ed never took chances, and MJ learned to view his precautions as practical rather than paranoid.
While Ben cleaned the fish and skewered the vegetables to grill, MJ studied the computer, comparing pictures. Candles lit the room, throwing shadows in the darkness. The computer monitor glowed off the top of her hands as she worked. She thought she found two possible matches.
“Any luck?” Ben asked as he sat the table around the computer.
“Possibly. I’ll want you to verify.”
“Okay.” He went back to the kitchen and rummaged around in the kitchen cabinets. “Want wine with dinner?”
“We didn’t buy wine?”
“Found some here in the cabinet.” He held out a bottle, dark in the dim light.
She didn’t know how he found it in the dark cabinets. “You think it’s wise for you to drink?”
“I was on a little drinking binge,” he said in a tone that bordered on defensive. “I’m not an alcoholic.”
“Whatever.” MJ shrugged and turned back to the pictures on the screen. “You get drunk and Tasha shows up, makes it easier for us to ditch you.”
Without another comment, he put the bottle back in the cabinet and filled two glasses from the tap.
During the dinner of grilled fish and vegetables served over prepackaged flavored rice, they discussed MJ’s findings. Once she thought she found a match she read all about the senator and took notes on their accomplishments in office looking for a common theme among the dead guys.
“The food was really good.” MJ scraped up the last bite and looked at Ben with new respect. “You’re a good cook.”
“Thanks. Now you get clean up duty.”
“What?”
“I cooked, you clean. Only fair.”
“I’m not sure you’re that good of a cook,” MJ grumbled, gathering up the dirty dishes.
While she heated water to wash the dishes, Ben took over her job at the computer. He found another match and they had enough information in the notes to start looking at possible links between the men.
“All three at one point or another served on the Foreign Relations committee,” Ben noted.
“That’s a good connection. But I’m not sure if that’s enough to get them a death sentence?”
“True,” Ben agreed. “Not even sure what the foreign relations committee does.”
MJ finished the dishes and sat at the table beside Ben, helping him scroll through the pictures. After an hour of squinting in the dark, she stretched. “It feels like I’ve been looking at dead men all day.”
“It’s been a good half day anyway,” Ben said.
“Or a bad one. I need a break.”
“Ready to play strip poker?” The light from the computer monitor reflected the gleam in Ben’s eye.
With a shake of her head and an exaggerated sigh, MJ said, “Not in this lifetime.”
Just then a spider crawled toward his hand. “Don’t move,” she ordered.
“What?” He caught sight of the spider, but before he could say something she thumped it off the table.
“Thanks. Though I would have preferred if you killed it.”
“Wasn’t hurting anything. You afraid of spiders?”
“Not scared. I just have . . . an aversion. Seems like I’m often sent someplace crawling with them. And scorpions.”
“So what are you afraid of?”
“Nothing really. I’m not fond of snakes or mice.”
“More aversions?”
“Yeah.”
“What sort of . . . intangible aversions do you have?”
“Meaning?”
The boy was being particularly obtuse. So she’d spell it out for him. “Why’d you start drinking?” She couldn’t believe she was asking such a personal question of someone she barely knew. But she sensed, on some deep level, another soul as wounded as her own.
His face remained blank. “Perhaps I lied and it wasn’t a binge. Maybe I’ve been a closet alcoholic for a long time.”
“How long have you been with Vista?”
Caution entered his eyes. “A few years.”
“Long enough that you would’ve been kicked out of Vista before now. You must’ve been a good agent for Jeff to give you another chance.
He played with the mouse pad on the computer and said without venom, “Got it all figured out, don’t you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what set you off. A job gone bad?”
“That would be a logical assumption.”
“And understandable.”
“Yes, you’d know about that wouldn’t you?”
MJ pinched her lips together and considered. Of course it would be logical for him to turn the conversation back to her.
Before she could decide whether the pursue what appeared to be a useless attempt at getting to know him, and what did she want to know him for anyway, she’d never see him again, he asked her something just as personal.
“What kept you from going on a binge after your job went bad?”
She was considering how to answer when he added, “Too perfect to give in?”
Ouch. Whatever set him off wasn’t healed yet for him to lash out like that. She supposed she deserved it for being nosy. “I did my own fair share of drinking. Finding Angelina saved me from myself.”
“Good for you,” he said in a choppy staccato tone. “I don’t need saving.”
“Says you.”
“Aren’t I the one who counts?”
“It would help to talk.”
“Talking’s overrated. Did it do you any good?�
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“Didn’t hurt.” She laid her hand on top of his, remembered the times Niko held her and listened while she talked.
Ben stared at her hand, before he pulled free. He put the computer in sleep mode and turned to her, only the candlelight illuminating his face. Creating a halo effect around his head. She harrumphed at the thought.
“What?”
Oh, damn, had she done that out loud? Oh, well. “The way the light is glowing, you look like you have a . . . um halo.”
A hint of a smile crossed his face before a sober look replaced it. “No angel here.”
His words were innocuous enough, but the tone sent a chill through her. Maybe she didn’t want to know. After all, it never paid to be too curious. “Don’t think I’m forcing–”
“Oh, no,” he snapped, cutting her off, “you wanted to play coffee table shrink, then you can damn well hear my story.”
“Dining table shrink.”
“What?”
“We’re at the dining table, not coffee . . .” her words became irrelevant at his look, any attempt at levity to use as a cover for the obvious pain, forgotten. “Oh, never mind.”
He took a deep breath, held it, exhaled. MJ waited, anxious to hear, not wanting to hear.
“I killed my wife and son,” he said without preamble.
She gasped before she could stop herself. Horrible images went through her mind at the same time her senses went on alert.
Would he be another man who tried to kill her? Should she sleep with one eye open? MJ shook away her alarmist thoughts. Jeff wouldn’t send someone dangerous to her. Yeah, and then there was Keith. Jeff had paired her with him, too.
No, there was no comparison, time and distance allowed her to see Keith for the narcissist he’d been. Just the little she knew, she recognized Ben didn’t share those traits. He was simply putting a deliberately bad spin on his statement. If it had really been as horrific as his tone indicated, if he’d killed them in cold-blooded murder, he would have never admitted it, and more likely would be rotting in jail.
