The two locked gazes for a long moment. Finally, Samantha waved a dismissive hand. “Take him back inside.”
She turned her back to the pair, tracking their retreat by the sound of Wilson’s keys hanging from a ring on his belt. When the jingling sound faded away completely, her anger went with it. A sense of calmness settled over her. Jacob Landman’s days were numbered. He carried the vanishing gene but, by his own admission, was unable to vanish. They had samples of his DNA. Who needed him?
Later, she sought out Hamilton Knowles. “I’m sending S-15 to exploit the weak link you identified. If she fails, we’ll let K-35 to do his thing. We have no other options.”
Knowles gulped. “Then let’s hope S-15 gets the job done.”
“Yes,” Samantha breathed. “Let’s hope so.”
ZOMBIE-LIKE, GABE trudged wearily across the courtyard, lugging Birdie, her diaper bag, his backpack, and the duffle containing his basketball gear. He hadn’t bothered asking Papi if they could sleep in. Waste of breath. He knew what the answer would be. “School comes first, son.” He’d have to tough it out and hope he could make it through the day.
Earlier, after a brief look in the mirror, he’d mumbled a string of vile curses. The face that looked back at him had bloodshot eyes, one of which was ringed with a deep purple bruise, thanks to his sluggish reflexes and a basketball bouncing off his face. Dark stubble shadowed his cheeks. If he wanted to eat—and he did—there was no time to shave. His formerly straight, perfect nose now had a bend in it. “Damn,” he muttered to his image. “You look like you belong on a wanted poster.”
Gabe stepped into the childcare room and deposited the sleeping baby in her crib. Jogging to his first period class, he gulped down a Red Bull, and slipped into his seat as the bell rang. Boomer and Lacey were uppermost in his mind, not English Literature. When the class ended, he ignored the curious stares and questions about his battered face and hurried to Boomer’s classroom.
No Boomer. Instead, a nervous-looking young guy introduced himself. “I’m Mr. Donaldson, the sub. Coach Boomer called in sick.” He offered his hand for Gabe to shake, a hand clammy with perspiration. “It’s my first sub job,” he offered. “You in my next class?”
“No, and don’t be telling students this is your first job or they’ll eat you alive. Good luck, man.”
Unable to concentrate, Gabe sought out Abby who was standing in the hall, talking to a kid with a white-blond Mohawk and nose ring. When he spotted Gabe, he stepped away from Abby and faded into the crowd.
Gabe put a hand on Abby’s shoulder. “Hey, I need your help.”
“What?” She was still gazing after the kid with the nose ring. What was that about?
“Boomer called in sick. I’m cutting class and heading over to his house. Would you check on Birdie between classes and make sure she’s okay? I’ll be back by lunch.”
Abby looked up at him and whispered, “Have you heard anything about Lacey?”
“That’s what I need to find out.”
“I’ll check on Birdie.”
Gabe spotted the Mohawk kid standing in front of a locker, staring back at Abby. “Who’s the kid with the metal in his nose?”
Abby glanced away from Gabe and back. “Just a friend.”
“Huh,” Gabe said. Had Abby just blown him off? No time to worry about it now. Besides, it wasn’t like he and Abby were a couple or anything.
“Later,” Gabe said.
“Yeah, later.” Abby turned and walked into her classroom.
Gabe jogged to the student parking lot. Just as he reached his car, he heard, “Hey Delgado, where do you think you’re going?”
Vice principal, Mel Tompkins, popped out from behind a massive Suburban.
Gabe ground his teeth in frustration. He so didn’t need this right now. He forced himself to speak calmly. “Hi, Mr. Tompkins. Dentist appointment. Be back soon.” He opened the car door.
“Did you check out of school?”
Gabe wrinkled his forehead in an attempt to look puzzled. “Check out?”
“Yeah, that’s the procedure,” Tompkins growled.
“Oh, guess I forgot,” Gabe slipped into the car.
“Come with me and we’ll take care of it.”
“Can’t right now. I’ll be late to my appointment.” Gabe jammed the key in the ignition and fired up the engine. He closed the car door and pulled away from Tomkins, who was yelling and waving his arms.
“Great,” Gabe muttered. Cutting class meant he’d be facing Saturday school with a bunch of losers. Gabe shook his head in amazement. How was it possible that one tiny fifteen-pound human being had transformed Goodtime Gabe into a class-cutting, worry-driven, bruised and battered hot mess? It boggled the mind.
Taking care to not to speed—all he needed to make the day complete was a traffic ticket—Gabe drove sedately to Boomer’s house. Boomer’s truck was in the driveway. Tightly drawn shades covered every window. The porch light still burned. The house looked abandoned. Forlorn.
Gabe didn’t bother repeating his actions of the previous night. No knocking. No doorbell. He headed directly for the back of the house. Before he rounded the corner, he heard muttering and the clanking of broken crockery and aluminum cans.
Gabe stopped and peered into the back yard. Boomer was on the deck scooping up garbage and tossing it into a large plastic bin. His actions were punctuated with colorful cuss words. When he saw Gabe, he froze.
“Coach,” Gabe said. “We need to talk.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
BOOMER’S FACE twitched and he jerked his head toward the house. “Inside.”
Gabe nodded and followed his coach, both of them picking their way carefully through the remaining garbage. Before Gabe entered the house, he scraped a glob of canned tomatoes off the bottom of his left shoe.
Boomer pointed at two stools pulled up to the counter. “Sit. I need coffee. Want some?”
“Yeah,” Gabe said. He perched on a stool and picked up a folded newspaper, the local news section. A small article with the headlines, Woman Dies at Sea-Tac caught his eye.
Sea-Tac police are investigating the death of 37-year-old Paula McMillan who was struck by a shuttle bus late last night. The circumstances around her death indicate it may not have been an accident. The article went on to say, McMillan, a resident of Sacramento, California, has no immediate family.
Boomer set a mug of steaming black coffee in front of Gabe and leaned against the counter.
Gabe pointed at the article and tried to keep his tone neutral. “Your wife was with this woman last night. You know they had my kid. Right?”
Boomer’s face was gray with fatigue. He looked as if he’d aged ten years overnight. “When you came here last night? I didn’t want to believe you. Now, I don’t know what to believe.”
“Where is she?”
Boomer took a sip of coffee, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples. “Don’t know. She’s not at her mom’s house, that’s for damn sure.”
Gabe stared at his coach, wishing he had the ability to read minds. It was entirely possible Boomer knew his wife’s location, that he’d been part of her scheme from the beginning. Waiting, with his hand out, for the payoff.
“Where’s her car?” Gabe said.
“Good question. Not here.”
“Did you report her missing?”
“Too early. Tomorrow, if she’s not back,” Boomer said.
They lapsed into an uneasy silence. The whole situation was beyond bizarre. He, Gabe, was acting like a prosecuting attorney interrogating a witness. Boomer was playing the role of stunned victim, unable to string together a complete sentence. Frustrated, Gabe decided to quit screwing around.
“Boomer,” he said. “Your wife grabbed my kid and was minutes away from boarding a plan
e to Sacramento. When she saw me, she took off running. Doesn’t that seem odd to you? Since you haven’t asked me a single question, seems like you must know about it. Or is Lacey in the habit of snatching babies?”
Boomer’s face darkened and he blinked rapidly. “Sacramento? Are you shitting me?” He shook his head sadly. “That woman’s freakin’ nuts, man. Spends money like a drunken sailor. Runs up bills all over town.” He paused and shook his head. “Big mistake. Shoulda kept my first wife.”
Was Boomer part of it? Gabe still couldn’t tell. But of one thing, he was sure. Boomer was deep into self-pity.
“Who’s in Sacramento?” Gabe said.
Boomer shrugged. “No clue.”
Gabe picked up a pen lying on the counter and put a big check mark next to the article about Paula McMillan’s death. He handed the newspaper to Boomer. “Like I said before, your wife was with this woman. We heard McMillan was pushed in front of a shuttle bus.”
Boomer’s face drained of color. “You sure Lacey was with her?”
Fear for his wife or fear for himself?
“Yeah,” Gabe said. “Which means she could be in danger. Why did Lacey want my kid? Just tell me, Boomer.”
Boomer’s jaw jutted in belligerence. “How about you tell me? Seems like you’re the answer man.”
Gabe recoiled and swallowed hard. He’d been raised to respect authority figures, especially teachers. This whole episode was upside down and seriously messing with his mind. But then he remembered. An innocent party was involved, a child who depended on him to protect her.
Gabe stood and leaned toward Boomer. “And you’re the one who’s sliding away from all the questions. Makes me think you know more than you’re saying.”
The two stood, almost nose to nose, both unwilling to blink. Finally Boomer threw up his hands. “Okay, kid, all I know is that Lacey had something going. Something she said would bring in the big bucks. This was after I’d been bugging her about spending money.”
“Did she say what it was?”
“No, but she did say our money troubles would be over.”
Gabe hardened his gaze. “And you didn’t ask her how she intended to get this money?”
Boomer held up a hand. “Hey, hey, don’t be playing the blame game with me. You haven’t exactly been filling me in on your situation. We offered help. You refused.”
“You’re trying to put this on me?” Gabe could hardly believe what he was hearing. “The minute your wife got her hands on my kid, she headed for the airport. How do you explain that?”
Boomer looked like he was trying to form an answer but was saved by the doorbell. Gabe followed him to the front door. Boomer threw it open to reveal a large man with a buzz cut and shrewd gray eyes. Clad in slacks, blue dress shirt, and a sport coat covered by a clear plastic rain jacket, the man flashed his ID. “Detective Ross Paulson, Port of Seattle police department. Are you Ben Woodard?”
Boomer nodded.
“Can I come in? It’s about your wife.”
Boomer stiffened. He gripped the doorjamb. “What about her?”
“Coach,” Gabe murmured. “Let him in.”
Boomer shook himself as if waking from a dream and stepped back from the door. “Yeah, yeah, sorry about that.”
Since Boomer seemed incapable of making a decision, Gabe stuck out his hand and said, “I’m Gabe Delgado, one of Coach’s basketball players. When he didn’t show up at school today, I came over to check on him.”
Paulson gave him a brief nod, shook his hand, and followed Boomer into the darkened living room. Boomer switched on a lamp, swept the clutter from a sofa piled high with decorative pillows, and invited the detective to sit.
“You want me to stay, Coach?” Gabe said.
Boomer nodded and sank into a chair opposite the detective. Gabe leaned against the wall.
Paulson’s face was grim. He cleared his throat, seemingly reluctant to begin.
Filled with dread, Gabe watched and waited.
“So,” Boomer began, his voice shaky with apprehension. “What about my wife?”
“I’m afraid it’s not good news.”
Boomer closed his eyes for a long moment. “Just tell me.”
“Late last night, a guy walking through long-term parking saw a woman sitting in her car, slumped over the steering wheel. He knocked on the window. When she didn’t respond, he reported it to security. They called us. Long story short, Mr. Woodard, your wife is dead. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Boomer drew a shuddering breath. Let it out. Shook his head. “No, that can’t be right. She was fine yesterday morning. People don’t just die like that.”
“I’m afraid there’s more,” Paulson said. “She was strangled. And her neck was broken. We’ll know more after the post mortem. Time of death, etc.”
With a hoarse cry, Boomer bent from the waist and buried his face in his hands.
Paulson started to speak, then changed his mind and stared at the floor.
Gabe ground his teeth, trying to calm his racing heart and stem the fear coursing through his body. Both the women were dead. Murdered. It was almost beyond comprehension. Who had that kind of power? Who was so desperate to get their hands on Birdie they’d kill those who failed at their mission?
He glanced over at the detective, wondering how much Paulson knew. Did he know Gabe was at Sea-Tac last night? Did he know about his confrontation at the gate with Lacey and McMillan, both of whom were now dead? He felt a flush rise in his face like a flashing neon sign that said, I’m guilty. His knees were shaking. He flattened himself against the wall, wishing he had Birdie’s ability to vanish. If Paulson glanced his way, Gabe knew his expression would give him away.
But Paulson refocused his attention on Boomer. “We’ll know more after we put all the pieces together.” He paused and pulled a notepad and pencil from his jacket pocket. “Mr. Woodard, this is awkward, but I need to know where you were last night.”
Boomer raised his head and bristled, glaring at the detective through swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “You think I murdered my wife?”
“You know we have to eliminate you as a possible suspect. Please answer the question.”
“I was right here. Gabe can tell you. What time was it when I got home?”
Gabe’s heart stuttered in fear as Paulson’s laser beam gaze swung over to him. “You were here last night? Why?”
Moment of truth. Gabe’s mouth opened and closed. Should he make up a story? Paulson was bound to find out Lacey had the baby. Lying would only get him in more trouble. Before he could answer, Boomer said, “He needed some extra help. I think it was around nine. Right, Gabe?”
Okay, not the whole truth but not a blatant lie. He nodded. When Paulson’s interest returned to Boomer, Gabe released the breath he’d been holding.
“Did you know your wife was at Sea-Tac?”
“No,” Boomer said. “She told me she was going to her mom’s place in Tacoma.”
In a deceptively soft voice, the detective said, “The body was still warm when we found her at eleven last night. You sure you were here at the house all night?”
Boomer narrowed his eyes and pointed at the empty pizza box on the coffee table. “Call Dominos. They delivered a pizza here around 10:30 last night. They’ll verify what I told you.”
Paulson jotted a note and turned to Gabe. “What about you?”
Boomer jumped in. “He’d already left.”
“That right, son?”
“Yes.”
With a weary sigh, the detective pushed himself off the plush sofa and stood. “I’ll let you know when you can claim the body. I assume you’ll take care of notifying her parents.”
Boomer nodded and collapsed back onto the chair.
After Paulson left, Gabe said, “C
oach, he’s going to find out Lacey had my kid. We should have told him. He’ll be back. You know he will. And, he’ll be mad as hell we didn’t tell him the whole story.”
Boomer stood and flapped a hand like he was shooing away a pesky fly. “Just go, Gabe. I can’t deal with it right now.”
“But . . .”
“Get the hell out of here, Delgado! If it wasn’t for that kid of yours, my wife would still be alive.”
Boomer’s hateful words pushed Gabe to the edge of his emotional cliff. In fact, his toes were curled over the edge. Rage rolled through his body like wild fire. He clenched his fist, just inches away from punching his coach in the face.
Boomer gave him a grim smile. “You wanna hit me? Go ahead. Take your best shot. It won’t bring my wife back.”
Fighting tears, Gabe lowered his fist, spun on his heel and walked out of Ben “Boomer” Woodard’s house.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
GABE SAT IN HIS car in the school parking lot, trying to get his head together. The events of the past twelve hours, plus bone-deep exhaustion, had robbed him of his ability to think straight. He slumped back in the seat and closed his eyes. He had time for a fifteen-minute power nap before it was time to pick up Birdie and go to lunch.
He’d just drifted off when his cell phone buzzed. Gabe dug the phone from his pocket, opened one eye, and saw he’d missed three phone calls and two texts, all from Papi. In the back of his mind, Gabe had formed a plan—a half-assed plan—to get out of Saturday school. It involved his brother Simon’s ability to create fake documents. Should be a piece of cake for him to jimmy up a fake dental appointment notice. But judging from the urgency of Papi’s messages, Vice Principal Tompkins had wasted no time notifying Papi. That pretty much shot Gabe’s half-assed plan straight to hell. Actually, when Gabe considered the events of the past twelve hours, Saturday school was the least of his worries.
Might as well get it over with.
Gabe punched in a number and decided to play dumb on the off chance this was about something else. “Yeah, it’s me. You called?”
“I received a call from a Mr. Tompkins. He said you did not check out of school properly for your dental appointment. He was quite annoyed.”
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