While You Were Dead

by CJ Snyder

  After what seemed hours, the last of the tape fell away from her mouth. She exercised her chin, stretching out the muscles—who would have thought there were muscles in her cheeks? Then she went to work on the duct tape that covered her hands and arms clear up to her elbows. Why’d they have to use so much?

  Trussed up like a buck.

  That was from a story about Max’s secret spy days. He never really told her much, but she knew he was a hero. When she got free, she’d be a hero too, right? She pulled at the tape on her hands, biting at the edges to get a good tearing grip.

  Anybody can truss a buck—they’re already dead.

  That wasn’t Max, that was Bobby Jetnuck, dissing Uncle Max when she’d repeated his story at lunch the next day.

  “I’m not dead,” she whispered in the darkness. “I’m not gonna be dead, either!” She went back to work on her hands. Why’d they have to make the stuff so sticky, anyway? She spit out a tiny piece and attacked again. Saliva. That was good evidence too. She remembered one where they’d found the killer because of some gum. Her teeth marks would be on the tape, right? The camper lurched around a curve and her stomach heaved. Damn, but she hoped she never had to smell duct tape again for the rest of her life!

  Breathe, Lizzie. Breathe through it.

  Gee, thanks, Uncle Max. Remember that knife you said I was too young for? That would’ve come in real handy right about now.

  It was stuffy in the cramped upper bunk. Lizzie suddenly craved fresh air. The window slid from right to left. She reached blindly over her head to get a grip on it, then eased it open.

  Much better. The cool night air smelled wonderful and eased her strange headache too. Maybe they’d conked her on the head with a gun. She took a moment to roll her skull over the bed, feeling for a lump or a sore spot, but couldn’t find one.

  That’s why God gave you such a tough noggin.

  She spared a grin for Uncle Max’s words of wisdom and went back to work, pausing only for a mighty yawn. When her vision wasn’t obstructed by her hands in front of her face, she kept a watch out the window, too. When she got away, it would be good to know where she was.

  ##

  Kat’s knees gave out. One minute she was standing, facing a Max who scared her to death, and the next, just that fast, she was on her way to the cold concrete of her driveway. For all his worry, Max’s reflexes were as sharp as ever. He scooped her up, retrieved her keys and briefcase. Seconds later he deposited her on her couch, inside her spacious living room.

  “What happened?” Careful! It’s Miriam’s daughter you’re talking about.

  “We were eating. I got a call, went out to the truck and when I got back she was gone.”

  “The police?”

  “Nothing.” Defeat was written in the hard lines of his face, in his whisper. “Not a damn thing.”

  “Max, you have to know I would never–”

  “I know.” He straightened his shoulders, but it didn’t soften the anguish seeping out from him. “I know you wouldn’t. I just hoped–there isn’t anything else. . ..”

  “There’s always something else.” Kat wove her fingers together in a tight knot. It was either that or reach for him, and she couldn’t. “We’ll just have to find it.”

  “Where did you go this afternoon?”

  “To see Mom.” Her boarding pass was in her jacket pocket. She slid it into his hands, but he never looked away from her eyes. Kat cleared her throat and prayed for strength. His eyes pulled at her, urging her close, promising things she didn’t dare believe in. Not any longer.

  “In North Carolina?” He still didn’t look at the stub of stiff paper. “Or did they move her?”

  “N-North Carolina,” she admitted, wondering if her knees were strong enough to hold her up yet. Lizzie! “Do you, can I get you something? A drink?” She had to move, before he did.

  Then it was too late. His hands wrapped around hers, his skin cool and firm, and she told herself not to let her fingers tremble. He stared down, seeming to puzzle over their joined flesh, as if he studied one of the universe’s great mysteries.

  Kat fought dual urges. One screamed for her to yank her hands away and run. The other whispered, ‘Move closer.’ “What can I do?” she asked finally, when the silence simply had to be filled. Both desires were strong, insistent and her voice came out thin and wobbly.

  Max slowly shook his head, and her heart sank even lower. If there was anything they could do, anything anyone could do, Max would be doing it. His words confirmed it. “There isn’t anything else to be done. Not tonight.” He met her eyes again, his pleading now. “Talk to me,” he whispered. “Be with me. Let me explain.”

  That she couldn’t bear. She wrenched her hands free and got to her feet, wavering only slightly. “We can’t just sit here,” she murmured, knowing–feeling–his gaze on her stiff back.

  “Talk to me, Kat.” His voice trembled. Kat shut her eyes against the pull of it. “Tell me anything–how you met Miriam, what your life is like. . .just talk to me.”

  Not sure she could, she scrambled for a safe subject. Not Miriam, certainly. And her life? What life? She bit back a bitter chuckle, forced down a deep breath and strode to the open kitchen. Noting with satisfaction that her movements were now smooth and deliberate, she opened a cupboard and set two tall glasses firmly on the pale blue tile of the counter. “I’m a psychiatrist.” And a damn good one, too! She prodded her fear, hoping to jolt some self-confidence into her voice. “I see a few clients, but mostly I review cases and testify in court.”

  Easy, she warned herself, as the words threatened to pour out wildly. This might go on awhile. Pace yourself. She pulled a carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator, then a packet of cheese.

  “I see Mom every month.” She set out a plate and fumbled in the pantry for a box of crackers to go with the cheese. What else? There was more of course. There had to be more.

  “Kat.” His voice held a warning, warm and gentle and as sinister as she’d heard in years.

  She poured the juice, using two unsteady hands so she didn’t spill it. A glass for him. One for her. “Are you hungry? I have these, but I could–“

  ”Stop it.”

  Kat ignored him, reached for a knife and began to frantically slice cheese. “My work’s interesting, and satisfying when I can stop someone from misusing the system.”

  “Stop it.”

  He was too close, even though the island still separated them. She didn’t dare look at him, but she could see his hands, long fingers firmly splayed on the tile. Her hands were shaking badly now, so she released the knife before she cut herself. It clattered much too loudly onto the tile between them.

  Enough! Kat forced her eyes to meet his, daring him. “Stop what?” Her voice anything but calm, she glared at him. Too much anger, she chided herself. He’s distraught, he doesn’t know what he’s doing to you.

  “Stop building walls.” He gestured to the countertop, at the row of glasses, the carton of juice, crackers and a platter of cheese large enough to feed an army.

  “I–“

  He touched her cheek with a single finger, sending a thrill of memory shimmering over her skin, and her voice died in her throat. “Just stop,” he whispered gently.

  “I can’t.” The soft admission appalled her and she hastily pulled away from his too-welcome touch. “I’m, I–I don’t know what you mean.” She reached blindly for one of the glasses. It toppled, flooding the counter with orange juice and her heart with relief. She grabbed a towel and mopped at the spill until the counter gleamed once more. When she poured herself another glass, her hands were steady.

  This time when she looked at him, he smiled. A sad, understanding smile that nearly undid her. “It’s okay, baby.”

  The words tugged at her memories, her emotions and she shook her head, needing to clear it, to get control again, to stop reacting. It was time to go on the offensive and get back to the only subject that really mattered.. “I want to
help. We have to find Lizzie.”

  He simply nodded.

  “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital? Or somewhere they can reach you?”

  In answer he detached a cell phone from his belt and set it on the counter. The gesture was eerily familiar and she felt threatened all over again. She wanted to move, to run, but she didn’t dare walk out of the kitchen. He was still too close.

  “What can we do? To help the police?”

  “Nothing more tonight. They’re reviewing the hospital security footage. Tomorrow we’ll interview the rest of the employees.” The anguish slid back into his voice and she regretted her reminder.

  “They’ll find her, Max.”

  “I know.” He didn’t believe it.

  “They will.” Her voice shook with determination. She would find her child. “There’s nothing we can do?”

  “Not tonight.” He stared at her, his expression unreadable now, and the knot in her stomach tightened up again. Then he sighed, the sound beginning as a moan and ending in resignation. He yanked out a bar stool and flipped it, bracing his forearms on the high back as he straddled it. “There are things you need to hear. Things I need to say.” He held up a single finger when she began to protest. “You can stay in the kitchen if you want. But you will–“ He stopped and blew out his frustration as his hands fisted around the back of the chair. “I need to tell you. I need you to listen.” His voice, so tightly controlled, revealed a myriad of emotions, pain, anger that bordered on rage, that curious resignation and a yearning that reached into her soul.

  Still she fought it. What did any of this have to do with Lizzie’s disappearance? “Couldn’t we talk about this tomorrow? After we’ve found Lizzie. There must be something we can do.”

  “No.” Harsh and cold, he barked out the single syllable, then stopped and again reigned in his temper. “The top men in the city are looking for her. I’ve called in favors from all over the country. Everything that can be done is being done. It’s been too long already, Kat.”

  That last wasn’t about Lizzie and she knew it. But why tonight, when she was tired to her very core? Because you dared Fate. You owe him this Kat, no matter how much it hurts. What else could she do? Kat gave a small nod.

  “When I met you, I was at the campus recruiting.”

  Kat bit back a frown and gave a noncommittal nod instead. She wouldn’t say anything, not a comment, not a question, just let him offer his explanation and then he would go. She separated a cracker from its companions, nudged it over the side of the plate and poked at it with her finger.

  “Professor Lassiter’s son was in my unit–a buddy of mine, and he’d been injured on our last mission.”

  She couldn’t help but steal a quick glance. Recruiting? Missions? It wasn’t like Max to lie, but this one sounded like a whopper. Something of her thoughts must have showed in her face because he gave a tight, wry smile. Even that little ghost of a smile could flip her insides. Kat picked up the cracker, examined it like a defendant and broke off one corner.

  “Yeah, I know. Sounds strange.”

  “Sounds like the FBI,” she murmured, then bit her tongue. No comments!

  “Close,” he agreed, surprising her again. “Only it was Special Forces.”

  Kat didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Okay,” she breathed finally, drawing the word out. “Special Forces missions with Professor Lassiter’s son.”

  “Yeah.”

  The cracker pulverized in her fingers but she kept her lips sealed.

  “Greg, Professor Lassiter’s son, needed someone at home and I had some time coming.”

  “Six months?” The sneer slipped out before she could stop it.

  “Actually, yes.”

  “So you were on a mission?” She didn’t dare look at him now.

  “Yeah.” He sounded relieved.

  Kat dropped the cracker crumbs on the plate and reached for another whole one. “That explains it then. Thanks for clearing that up.”

  “I’m not finished.”

  Fury smashed the second cracker before she controlled it. Then she straightened and faced him, ice cold. “Close enough. What else is there? You work for the government. You disappeared, you died, you came back.”

  “Worked. I worked for the government. I don’t now.”

  She gave a smile that had wilted many a defense attorney in court. “Ahhh.”

  “Will you please listen?”

  Her smiled widened. She thought it might break her face. “Sure, Max. I’m listening.”

  “Our unit was highly specialized. Most of our missions didn’t last long. Usually we were in and out in a week, sometimes less.”

  “Nice job.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  Kat ignored that. “What does any of this have to do with – “ Too late she recognized the trap of her own words.

  Max did too. “Us?” he supplied helpfully. “Only everything. Which you’ll understand if you’ll just listen.”

  “I’m listening.” She picked up another cracker.

  “I can’t tell you all the details–“

  ”Of course not.”

  “But one of the reasons I was on leave for six months was because there was a leak in our unit.”

  The room got even colder. Exactly how stupid did he think she was? “And it being the government and all, it took six months to contract a plumber?”

  “A mole, Kat. One of our guys sold out.”

  She didn’t have to look at him. The pain of that deep betrayal resonated in his voice. Someone close to him. A friend.

  “It took us three months to find out who, but we still weren’t sure. My commander,” he clarified at her frown, “had a plan. I was closest to Bl--, the mole. I was to confront him with our knowledge, force his hand, and then take him down.”

  “Kill you?” Horrified at the implications, she forgot her hurt, her anger, and reached for his hand.

  He drew her hand into his and her soul into his own when he searched her eyes and gave a slight nod. “I didn’t have a choice, baby–he had to be stopped. And without a guarantee the plan would work, I had to let you go.”

  She tried to free herself, but he hung on. Too close. But he wouldn’t let her go, and she couldn’t stop her question. “Did he–were you hurt?”

  “No. The plan worked perfectly, except he went deep underground. It took me three years to find him.”

  “And?”

  His eyes never left hers and everything was there for her to read. More pain, bitterness, anger. Aching hurt. Terrible regret. For all that she saw in his eyes, his voice was deceptively soft. “And I took him out.” He didn’t let go of her hand as he stood and came around the island, into the kitchen, effectively eliminating her barrier. Kat backed into a cupboard door but Max didn’t stop until he was close enough she could feel the heat from his strong body. “I thought I’d come back to you. It’s all I thought about–all those months. Wanting you. Needing you.”

  The pain was intense, still too raw, threatening to engulf her. She had to find a way to stop this, stop him, before he undid everything inside that held her together. Finding none, she lashed out instead. “You never did come back. You didn’t try to find me.” The bitter accusation was soft and out before she could stop it.

  His voice was bitter too. “Yeah, I did. Just as soon as I could. I was just in time for your wedding.”

  Something broke inside, screaming and wailing despair and futility and wasted years, but Kat continued to fight. He wouldn’t release her, made a mockery of her weak struggles, so she used the only retreat left to her. She closed her eyes. “You were dead,” she whispered, then gave a soft cry as his lips brushed her cheeks.

  “I don’t blame you, baby. Never that. I wanted, want you to be happy. And I don’t expect your forgiveness, but I do need you to understand.” He brushed away a tear with the pad of his thumb, and then crushed her close when she uttered a choked cry and more spilled out right behind. “I’m sorry, Kat.” H
is breath fanned her ear. “So, so sorry.”

  The dam broke. Kat flung her arms around him and held on tight as raging emotions boiled through the thin shield he’d been battering since his arrival. Pain. Anger. Deep, horrifying grief, for Max. . .for them. Fingers in her hair, he cradled her head against his chest, rested his cheek on the top of her head and let her cry.