by Fiona Quinn
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2015
A Kindle Scout selection
Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
For my husband, Todd
And our children
A. Connor, B. Lauren, C. Noelle, D. Alexandra ~ my life’s most amazing teachers.
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Acknowledgements
About Fiona Quinn
In Praise of Fiona Quinn
Preview: Missing Lynx
Newsletter
One
The black BMW was coming straight at me. Heart pounding, I stomped the brake pedal flush to the floorboard. My chest slammed into the seat belt. My head snapped forward. No time to blast the horn, but the scream from my tires was deafening. The BMW idiot threw me a nonchalant wave—his right hand off the wheel with his left hand pressed to his ear, still chatting on his cell phone. Diplomatic license plates. Figures.
Yeah, I didn’t really need an extra shot of adrenaline, like a caffeine IV running straight to an artery. I was already amped. My breath hissed between my teeth, relieving some of my tension as I sent a quick glance down to my purse. A corner of a cream-colored envelope jutted out.
Focus, Lexi. Follow the plan. Give the letter to Dave and leave. Let him work this out.
The near miss with the BMW guy probably wasn’t all his fault. I couldn’t remember the last ten minutes of drive time. Pressing down on the gas, I veered my Camry back into the noonday gridlock, weaving past the graffitied storefronts of DC.
Inching through the bumper-to-bumper traffic, I focused on my rearview mirror as a bike messenger laced between the moving cars on his suicide mission to get the parcel in his bag to the right guy at the right time. Once he handed over his package, he’d be done. Lucky him. I knew that handing over my letter to Dave was just the beginning.
When I finally parked in front of Dave Murphy’s midcentury brick row house, I sat for a minute, not quite ready to go inside. I’d pushed this whole mess to the back burner, but after last night’s nightmare … Well, better to get a professional opinion from someone who’d been handling crackpots for a while. Dealing with this letter and the nutcase who wrote the darn thing required something beyond the heebie-jeebies and Criminal Psych 101 textbook that I brought to the table.
Overall, this has been a pretty suckish week. I glanced down at my hands. The tremor in them sent the afternoon sunlight dancing off my brand new engagement and wedding rings. I felt like an imposter wearing them—like a little girl dressed up in her mother’s clothes. I’m too young to be dealing with all of this crap, I thought as I shoved my keys into my purse. I pulled my long blond hair into a quick ponytail. I couldn’t let another minute pass. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out into the February cold and cast an anxious glance up and down the street.
When I ran up the stairs and banged on Dave’s front door, the screen squeaked open almost immediately, as if he’d been standing there, waiting for my knock.
“Hey, Baby Girl,” he said, stepping out of the way. “Come on in.”
“Thanks.” I walked in and plopped down on the blue gingham couch. It had been here since I could remember. The fabric was threadbare and juice stained, probably by his twins. On a cop’s salary, fine furnishings ranked low in priority. Right now—edgy and confused—I appreciated the comfort of familiarity. “Glad I found you at home.”
Dave shifted into detective mode—hands on hips, eyes scanning me. “Long time, no see.”
“Where are Cathy and the kids?” I asked.
“They’ve got dentist appointments. Did you come to tell us your news?” He pointed at my left hand and settled at the other end of the couch, swiveling so we were face-to-face.
“Um, no.” I twisted my rings, suddenly feeling drained and bereft. What I wouldn’t give to have my husband, Angel, here. The corners of my mouth tugged down. I willed myself to stay focused on the reason for the visit. My immediate safety had to take priority over self-pity.
Dave raised a questioning brow, waiting for me to continue.
“I got married Wednesday. I’m Lexi Sobado now.” My voice hitched, and tears pressed against my lids. I lowered my lashes so Dave wouldn’t see. But I knew his eyes had locked onto mine.
“Married? At your age? No introduction? No wedding invitation? Why isn’t he here with you now?” Dave crossed his arms over his slight paunch. “I’d like to meet the guy.” He all but snarled.
Dave must think I’d come here because my husband screwed things up already. I pulled the pillow from behind my back and hugged it to me like a shield. “I’m sorry. I should have let you and Cathy know what was going on—I was caught up, and I just …” I stopped to clear my throat. “Angel and I got married at the courthouse, and no one came with us. Not even Abuela Rosa.”
“Angel Sobado. So he’s kin to Rosa?”
I nodded. “Angel is her great-nephew. I couldn’t bring him with me today because he deployed to the Middle East Thursday. That’s why everything happened so fast. He was leaving.” The last word stuck in my throat and choked me.
Dave leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Lacing his fingers, he tapped his thumbs together. “Huh. Well, that’s a helluva short honeymoon, Lexi. Married on Wednesday and gone by Thursday.” Dave’s tone had dropped an octave and gained a fringe of concern.
His compassion gave me permission to break down. But those Angel emotions were mine. Private. Right now, I needed to hold myself in check long enough to get through my mission. I chewed my lower lip, and shifted my feet back and forth, glaring at my purse.
“Might even explain the expression on your face,” Dave said, narrowing his eyes. He slouched against the arm of the over-stuffed couch and waited me out. When I couldn’t stall any longer, I reached a hesitant hand into my bag, pulled out the plastic Ziploc holding the envelope, and held it up for Dave.
“The expression is because of this,” I said.
Dave took the bag. After a brief glance, he laid the vile thing on his coffee table and hefted himself to his feet. Over at his desk, he pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then carefully removed the letter.
Dearest India Alexis,
O my Luve’s like the melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune!
As fair thou art, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I:
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a’ your bones are white and dry:
Till a’ your veins gang dry, my dear,
And your skin melt with the sun;
I will luve thee until your heart is still my dear
When the sands of your life shall no more run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve,
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve, so I can watch you die.
Dave read the words aloud then stared at me hard; his brows pulled in so tight the skin on his forehead accordioned. “What the …”
“Someone slid the poem under my door, and it’s scaring the bejeesus out of me.” I gripped the pillow tighter.
Dave peered over the top of his reading glasses. “Last night? This morning?”
“Wednesday morning.” I braced when I said it, knowing it would tick Dave off that I waited to bring the letter to him. Ever since my dad died, his buddies had stepped in and tried to take over the fathering job, even though I’d be turning twenty in a few days.
True to my expectations, Dave was red faced and bellowing. “Wednesday? You waited two whole days to tell me you’ve gotten a friggin death threat?”
Yup, this was exactly the response Dad would have given me.
Dave jumped up, pacing across the room. Obviously, he didn’t think this was someone’s idea of a joke. Fear tightened my chest at this confirmation. I had hoped he’d say, “No worries—someone’s having fun pranking you,” and then I could go on about my life without the major case of heebie-jeebies that tingled my skin and made me want to run and hide.
“It was our wedding day.” I modulated my voice to sound soft and reasonable. “I only had a few short hours before Angel had to take off. So yeah, I decided to focus on us instead of this.” I motioned toward the paper in his hand.
Dave took in a deep breath, making his nostrils flare. “Okay.” I could almost hear his brain shifting gears. “When you first picked up the letter, did you get any vibes?”
I considered him carefully. “You mean … ESP-wise?”
He nodded stiffly, his eyes hard on me.
Vibes. That wasn’t the word I would have chosen to explain my sensations. “I didn’t hear anything. It was as if an oily substance oozed over me. Coated me. The smell made me vomit.” I tucked my nose into the soft cloth of the pillow and breathed in the scent of cinnamon fabric freshener. My voice dropped to a whisper. “It felt like evil and craziness, and I can still smell the stench.” A shiver raced down my spine.
Dave’s lips sealed tightly; he was probably trying to hold back a litany of expletives. Finally, he asked, “That’s all?”
“So far.”
“Did any of your neighbors notice anyone unusual lurking around? Did you check with management and run through the security tapes?”
“Dave, didn’t you hear? My apartment building burned to the ground three weeks ago. I assumed you knew. It was on the news …”
Dave’s eyebrows shot straight up.
“I’ve been living in a motel the Red Cross rented out for all the families from my old apartment building. But to answer your question, no, nobody saw anything, and there were no cameras trained on my motel corridor.” I bit at my lips to keep them from trembling. I was used to holding my emotions in check, presenting a sweet exterior, but right now I was filled to overflowing, and my mask kept slipping out of place.
“Shit, I had no idea.” Dave ran a hand over his face. “Jeezis, Lexi. I’m letting your parents down. Apartment burned, married, husband gone, and now a stalker … Do you think that about covers all of your surprises for me today?”
I slit my eyes and paused for a beat. “Yeah, Dave, I think that’s it for today.” Okay, even if he was like family, the way Dave was talking still pissed me off. I was frightened. I wanted a hug and his reassurance. What I was getting was … Dave’s brand of love. He wouldn’t be this red faced and agitated if he wasn’t worried about me. Tears prickled behind my eyelids, blurring my vision.
“Hey, now. Stop. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Did you already let Spyder McGraw know what’s going on?”
I wiped my nose with the back of my wrist. “Spyder’s still off-grid. I have no idea when he’ll get home.”
“Were you assigned a different partner while he’s gone?”
“No, sir. I only ever worked for Spyder—he sort of wanted to keep me a secret.” I still couldn’t believe Mom had sat Dave down and told him all about my apprenticeship with Spyder McGraw. Under Spyder’s tutelage, I was following my dream of becoming an Intelligence Officer, learning to outthink and outmaneuver the bad guys trying to hurt American interests. Only four people—Spyder, the Millers, and Dave—knew that side of me. I would prefer Dave didn’t know.
“Still, did you consider bringing this to Spyder’s commander? Iniquus would probably give him a heads-up. Get a message to him.”
“Iniquus is my last resort. Sure, Spyder told me to talk to them if I ever found myself in trouble.” I sucked in a deep breath of air. “Bottom line? He never wanted them to know I worked for him, well, for them … Safety in anonymity and all that.” My fingers kneaded the stuffing in the pillow. “Besides, I guess I was hoping this would all just go away.”
Dave’s eyes were hard and unblinking. “You know better. Once some psycho’s caught you on his radar, you’re stuck there until someone wins.”
“So I need to make sure it’s me who wins.” I moved the pillow to the side and rubbed my palms on my thighs to dry them.
“Exactly right.” He considered me for a minute. “You’ve kept up with your martial arts training?”
“I have a sparring partner who’s pretty good. We rent time at a Dojang twice a week.”
I focused up where the ceiling and the wall made a shadowed crease while Dave read over the poem again. He put the letter and envelope back in the Ziploc and placed it on his mantle.
Pulling off his gloves with a snap, he looked down at them. “Jeez, I hate these things. They give me a rash. Look, I’m going to take this down to the station and open a file. If you get anything else, I want you to bring it to me right away. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is the only poem, letter, communication of any kind you’ve gotten?”
I nodded. For the first time since I came into Dave’s house, I became aware of sounds other than our conversation and the thrumming of blood behind my eardrums. A football game played on TV. I glanced over as the announcer yelled some gibberish about a first down, then back at Dave. “You must have taken graveyard shift last night,” I said.
He picked up a remote, zapped off the TV, and sent me a raised eyebrow.
“It doesn’t take a psychic. You look like an unmade bed.”
Dave ran a hand over his dark hair, thick on the sides, sparse on top. He hadn’t used a comb today or bothered to shave. He was hanging-out-at-home comfy in jeans, and beat-to-hell tennis shoes. It looked like the only thing I was interrupting was the game rerun.
“Double homicide. Turned into a long night up to my ankles in sewage.”
“Yum.” I tried on a smile, but it was plastic and contrived.
Dave narrowed his eyes. “We need to move you. Pronto. It’s priority one. You need to be someplace secure where I can keep better tabs on you.”
“I’ve been looking since the fire, but I haven’t found anything.”
“Would you consider buying?” he asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I’m looking for a low-cost fixer-upper I can work on to help me get through this year without Angel. Diversion and all that.” I waggled my hand in the air.
“How about here in my neighborhood? I could keep a better eye on you—and you won’t be showing up at my door with a suitcase full of surprises.”
I grimaced and followed Dave into the hallway. He grabbed his coat from the closet and shrugged it on. “I’m taking you over to meet my neighbor. She has the other half of her duplex on the market.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “You shouldn’t be running aro
und without a jacket.” He handed me an oversized wool parka that smelled like raking leaves. He kicked a Tonka truck out of the way to shut the door.
On the front porch, I slid into the shadows and took in the length of the road. No cars, no barking dogs, everything quiet. Dave glanced back. “Coast is clear.”
I tucked the coat hood up over my ponytail. Screened by Dave’s broad back, I started across the street. Down the road, a car motor revved. I reached under my shirt and pulled out my gun.
Two
A rusty “For Sale by Owner” sign swung from the porch rail. Bare wood showed through the curling paint. I rocked back on my heels, as my skeptical eye took in the turn-of-the-century duplex. “A big snow storm’s heading this way in a few days. You think the roof will hold?” I asked.
Dave gazed up at the roofline. “It’s not in the best shape,” he conceded. “But of the houses for sale around here, this one might fit your budget.”
“It’s been on the market awhile?”
“Two years. So the price tag is bottom basement.”
“Okay.” I kicked at the sidewalk. “I’m keeping an open mind.”
Dave turned his gaze, following my arm to where I held the Ruger under the fold of my coat. He gripped my shoulders, pushed me toward the ancient oak standing sentinel in front of the house, and scanned up and down the street. His attention back on me, Dave wagged a stern finger. “I didn’t see that. What’s more, you’re going to make damned sure no one else sees that, or you’ll end up in a jail cell.”
I nodded my understanding.
“You’ve been up to the shooting range lately?” he asked.
“Once a week,” I said.
“Good.” He checked the neighborhood again. “Wait here.”
As Dave clomped up the rickety steps, I holstered the gun. He banged on the door, and a tiny woman with a stooped back and cane pushed open the screen. Her translucent skin, stippled with age spots, creased as she smiled up at Dave.
“Hello, David. What a lovely surprise.” She held the door wide. “Won’t you come in for a cup of tea?”
“I brought a friend to meet you.” Dave gestured toward me, and I climbed the stairs to stand beside him in her living room. She might have been all of five feet tall. At five six, I towered over her.
