by Jette Harris
“How long are you planning on being there?”
“Five to ten minutes.”
“And… what’s the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?
Heather cracked a smile. “European or African?”
Steyer’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. “Stick to main roads, no back roads. If anything happens, don’t call us, just call 9-1-1.”
“Yessir.” She bounced with excitement, but a jarring pain radiated around her torso and down her spine. Settling, she turned excitedly to her grandfather, who was sitting at the kitchen table. He stood, his smile looking a bit forced.
“You remember how to drive that thing?”
“I’m sure I can figure it out.”
****
Although Heather half-expected a sudden impact or to see a Jeep following her, the drive to Best Buy was uneventful. She wasn’t certain what she would do if her expectations came true, but she decided just to keep driving. Maybe flick him off. Roll her eyes. Run him over with her insultingly-small sedan.
Being denied all of these options, she parked beside the Best Buy and made sure her doors were locked after she climbed out. She felt exposed on the sidewalk, and kept her head down but her eyes up.
Two clerks chatted by the kiosk between the entrance and exit, a large man about her age and an older woman.
“Excuse me…” At first the words stuck in her throat. Her face tingled as if tears were filling her eyes, but she didn’t understand why. She must have made some kind of noise because they turned to her. Their smiles faded. Her face flushed. She placed a hand over her chest to ensure the scars there were still concealed. She pushed the words out: “Where do I go to pick up an order?”
The woman shook herself out of her surprise. “Um… The—uh—customer service counter… over there…” She pointed to the far wall.
“Thanks.” Heather ducked her head and hurried away, but tried to look like she was not hurrying. She could hear the sharp hiss of whispering. Suddenly it felt like everyone she passed turned to stare at her, eyes wide.
Holy shit, I’d rather put up with Avery. Her face burned hotter at the flippant thought.
When she reached the customer service counter, no one was there. She spread her hands flat on the surface and closed her eyes to take a deep breath.
“You OK?”
Heather started and sighed with relief. Kyle, her former track captain, stood behind the counter. His mouth moved like he couldn’t decide if smiling would be appropriate. A lump of gratitude filled her throat. She nodded.
“I don’t know why I didn’t expect people to stare,” she whispered.
“It’s because you look like a zombie.”
“Really?”
“No, they’re staring because they’re assholes.”
Disarmed, she laughed. He finally decided it was appropriate to smile.
“It’s cool you’re here, because I was thinking about you earlier. As soon as I saw you, I knew you were the one—”
Her smile disappeared and the muscles in the back of her neck twisted. Kyle leaned down and lifted a heavy box set, the complete M*A*S*H television series, onto the counter.
“—because I thought of you when this came in yesterday.”
Her muscles relaxed and she slumped. “It’s nice to have something else to be associated with.”
He frowned. After a beat, he patted the box. “Need me to carry this?” His eyes flickered over the sling on her arm. “They said you broke your arm…”
She squirmed and tugged at her sleeve. “My collarbone, but yeah, I could use the help.”
He shifted to emerge from the counter, but settled again. “Are you… OK otherwise? All things considered…”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t know how to answer that. I mean, I’m not about to bleed out all over the floor or run into traffic or anything.”
“That’s good to hear. I have to clean the floors.” He picked up the box and carried it out onto the floor. She fell into step beside him, using his body as a shield from prying eyes until they stepped into the humid evening air.
He seemed aware of her timidity and glanced around to make sure no one was around to hear. “Are you going to the memorial on Sunday?”
“Say what?” She stumbled to a stop.
Kyle paused, mouth open as if he had just revealed a surprise party. “A… um… the… the school is hosting a memorial ceremony…”
Her brow went higher. He shook his head and shrugged.
“I can’t believe they haven’t told you. Maybe they just haven’t… yet…”
Numbly, she began to move again. “Maybe… Maybe Grandpa hung up on them. He’s been getting a lot of calls from, like, reporters and prank calls and stuff. Maybe he thought it wasn’t really the school.”
“Yeah, of course. But even if you don’t get the call, you should be there. You deserve to be there.”
“Yeah…” Her heart sank and she walked the rest of the way in silence. You deserve to attend the memorial service because you weren’t smart enough, you weren’t fast enough, you weren’t clever enough to save them.
Heather led him to her car and opened the back door for him to slide the box in.
“You’re still driving the same car?”
“Yeah, why…” she was going to ask, Why wouldn’t I? but realized that it was a stupid question. There were plenty of reasons why. Looking at the car, a knot formed in her throat.
Realizing that he had touched upon a sensitive subject, Kyle continued hesitantly. “I just thought they might need it for, you know…” He shrugged. “… evidence.”
Heather shook her head, studying the car with fresh eyes. Her parents bought it for her when she first started to learn how to drive. They could have afforded something spiffy, like some of the other parents got their kids, but she was happy with practical. There were a few too many miles on it for its age, the paint was faded, and it had seen its fair share of scratches and dings well before Rhodes had rear-ended her. Despite all of its faults, and now the trauma associated with it, she had never considered getting rid of it.
“I love my car…” She stroked the door frame affectionately.
“I know…” He stood in awkward silence for a moment. “I’m glad you’re OK.”
It was Heather’s turn to shrug, but the gesture made her wince. Her shoulder still didn’t want to move like that.
“Well,” he voiced her response with a nervous chuckle, “relatively.”
“Yeah…” Knowing what he really wanted, she stepped forward and pulled him in for a hug—making sure to keep her left arm turned away.
“Take care,” he said when he let her go. “Call me if you need anything.”
Heather nodded. You and everyone else. “Will do.”
She climbed into the car, and Kyle shut the door behind her. She hit the lock. They gave each other one last wave good-bye before he disappeared around the corner. The radio blared when she turned the key. As she searched through the stations for a driving song, a shadow fell across her. She closed her eyes.
Please, don’t be… She forced herself to turn her head.
Avery Rhodes stood at her window. He was wearing a new-looking Braves ball cap and sunglasses, but she would have recognized his mouth anywhere. He leaned inches from her. A smirk tugged at his lips, but he managed to keep a straight face. The air suddenly grew thinner. She flinched when he reached to pull at the door handle. It was locked.
“Open the door.”
A momentary urge to follow his order made Heather’s face burn. Swallowing it, she shook her head. She twisted around to find the red Jeep parked behind her, blocking her in. With shaking hands, she picked up her phone and dialed 9-1-1.
“I will break the window.”
Hot anger rose in her face. As soon as the dispatcher answered, she spoke quickly. Sighing, Rhodes went to the back of the Jeep and pulled out a tire iron.
“Help is on the way,” the dispatcher sa
id. “Please stay in the car, and stay on the line.”
When Rhodes returned, he paused. Raising his brow, he made it clear that he was giving her a second chance. Heather tossed the phone into the passenger seat and threw the car into reverse. As Rhodes pulled back his arm, she hit the gas.
Glass flew everywhere, pelting her face. She was thrown forward as her tiny sedan hit the Jeep. The world spun. Rhodes grabbed her shirt and pulled her back. The contact snapped her into clarity. She pulled the car forward.
“You’re only going to hurt yourself!”
As he reached his other hand in to unlock the door, she threw the car in reverse again. He released her and jumped back as she accelerated. She almost took his arm with her. Having the mind to cut the wheel, Heather pushed the Jeep and slid clear of it with the sound of metal against metal.
Rhodes made a half-hearted attempt to run after her. She drove to the entrance of the parking lot and paused to pick the phone back up. As she updated the dispatcher, Rhodes limped back to the Jeep. He pulled a backpack out of the back seat and what looked like a jug of apple juice. He poured the brownish-liquid over the dashboard and the front seats, tossed the jug in, and lit a match. Flames engulfed the cabin within seconds. Grabbing the tire iron from where he had dropped it, he began to hop-run, holding one leg stiffly.
Heather felt compelled to follow him.
****
The gas station parking lot swarmed with Cobb County and Powder Springs patrol cars, but Heather was nowhere in sight. Her Honda sedan, trunk and bumper crumpled, gaped empty.
Remington frowned. His eyes slid from one patrol car to the next, but the back seats were empty. Steyer tapped Remington’s arm and pointed to a brown Jeep Wrangler idling in the back corner. The back window said K-9 STAY BACK, and the back driver’s-side door was open. They walked over and peered inside.
Eyes fixed forward, legs pulled close to her body, arms locked around the neck of a stoic-looking golden Labrador, Heather looked as if she were attempting to fold into herself. Another Labrador sat between her and the open door. When the agents came into view, the dogs closed their mouths and studied them. They must have recognized the agents and decided they liked them, as they began to pant once more.
“I’m glad you boys’re stickin’ around.” Sergeant Young held a bottle of ginger ale and folded a receipt into her pocket. She leaned into the Jeep. “How’s your stomach, baby girl?”
Heather grumbled a low reply. Steyer tapped Remington’s arm and nodded toward a wet, lumpy mess on the pavement by the Honda.
“I got you a ginger ale when you’re ready to let go.” Young left the bottle, pulled out a clipboard, and beckoned the agents toward the back of the car.
“How is she?” Steyer asked, accepting the clip board. An Incident Report was clipped to it. The report started in Heather’s familiar small, neat script, but it grew sloppy and disjointed as it progressed down the page.
“Apparently she was right as rain before I got here, but as she filled out the report, she just kinda fell apart.”
“Just like in the hospital,” Remington said. “She held it together until she had to share it.”
“Mm-hm.” Steyer’s eyes ran over the report like a typewriter. Remington could practically hear the ding! as he reached the end of each line. “Do we know if she’s currently under the influence?”
“Come again?” Young asked.
Steyer handed Remington the report and tapped a line: He told me to open the door. I was so accustomed to obeying him, I almost did.
“Did she take her medications? If so, what and when?”
“She might be OK answering that,” Young said.
As Remington finished the report, Young and Steyer returned to the back door. He is walking with a limp… and he torched his car. Remington turned toward the column of black smoke coming off the remains of a red Jeep Cherokee.
“We got his car,” he said in disbelief. He felt like he was floating as he joined them.
“Yep,” Young said, following his gaze.
“—my Klonopin and Amoxicillin when I woke up… maybe nine.” Heather’s voice was soft and wavering. “I knew the car was coming so I didn’t take anything in the afternoon.”
“Your report says you wanted to go with him?” Steyer asked delicately.
She shook her head across the dog’s neck, eyes still fixed forward. “I just almost unlocked the door. Like… instinct. Like a reflex.”
“How are you feeling now?”
“I want to kill him.”
Well, at least that’s normal, Remington thought. Steyer must have thought something along those lines as well, because he blinked a few times before he replied.
“We’ll need to speak to him before you do.”
“OK.”
“How are you feeling now?”
“OK.”
“OK?”
“OK.” She nodded. The dog—Remington guessed it was Agatha—looked rather besieged. Steyer gave Remington a look that said he didn’t believe she was really OK.
“Heather?” Remington called.
“Hm?”
“Your grandpa’s on his way with Lieutenant Kondorf. They’ll be taking you home.”
She took a low, deep breath and muttered something.
“What’s that?”
“I need a bag,” she repeated. “I need to get the stuff out of my car.
“OK,” he said. Young nodded and headed back to the convenience store. “We’ll grab a bag for you.”
Heather unfolded with small, slow movements, and seemed to make an effort not to meet their gazes. They stepped away from the door. When she climbed out, she kept her eyes on the ground. Young escorted her back to the Honda to gather her things.
“So, it is safe to assume that Avery Rhodes did not go home.” Remington’s stomach roiled as he said it, as if it knew independently of him that this was far from over.
Steyer nodded, taking the clipboard back. “I knew he wouldn’t. So, what does this tell us?”
“He wants her alive.”
“Yes, he does,” Steyer agreed again. “We already know that he is a pretty good marksman. If he just wanted to get rid of her as a witness, he could have sniped her from the woods. In fact, he could have done that anywhere, any time. But, no… he wants her alive.”
“And unharmed.”
“Yes… ‘You’re only going to hurt yourself,’” he quoted from her report. “Because he loves her.”
Remington snorted, giving his partner a look.
“Do not underestimate the power of obsession,” the senior agent warned him. “He pursued her in public, loudly. He risked a large amount of witnesses, potential interlopers.” Steyer turned and pointed to the pillar of smoke in the distance. “He sacrificed his means of transportation. Something is driving him.”
Not convinced, Remington shook his head. He turned back to watch Heather pull a large box set of DVDs from her back seat. Young offered to hold it for her, but Heather shook her head. “He should have known.”
“Hm?”
“He should have known she would do something like that to get away.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She’s gutsy. He knows that. It’s probably why he likes her. He probably thinks he can convince her to run off so they can go and be reckless together.”
“You think he sees a bit of himself in her?”
“Sure,” Remington replied. “Isn’t that why most people fall in love?”
Steyer shrugged.
“Maybe, then, he did it because he thought she might actually open the door.” Remington took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Heather jumped up as a tow truck pulled into the parking lot.
“I want people on her,” Steyer said. “At least two at all times. See if we can get Byron and Kondorf to do it on special assignment, people she knows.”
****
Heather said good-bye to the dogs and began the pain-staking process of brushing their fur off
her shirt. Regardless of her success, Grandpa was still probably going to have a sneezing fit whenever he got close to her for the rest of the day.
Agent Steyer pulled a phone from his breast pocket and answered it, “Steyer here.” His eyebrows went up as his caller spoke. “Take a deep breath. Where are you?”
Heather’s throat tightened. Someone else is hurt.
Steyer beckoned an officer over. “Stay inside. I’m sending an officer to collect you.”
“What’s happened?” Heather asked when he hung up.
“No one is hurt,” he assured her. “The Phoenix stole a car on the opposite end of the shopping center.” He pointed in the direction the officer should be heading. “She’s at White House, Black Market. We’re going to take Heather to go over the scene, so meet us over there.”
Remington beckoned Heather over to their car and popped the back door open. She hesitated before climbing in. She didn’t want to break down again—especially in front of the FBI.
They drove her back to the Best Buy parking lot. Heather sank down in her seat. People crowded around the spaces, surrounding the yellow caution tape. Not just police and firefighters, but shoppers with bags hanging from their arms and employees of the surrounding shops.
A Cobb County fire engine idled beyond the scorched hull of the Jeep. An ambulance waited nearby. The fire had been extinguished for a while. Most of the uniforms were chatting or taking notes.
Remington nosed the car up to the caution tape. Heather leaned up to peer around. On the corner, just beyond the caution tape, Byron was talking to Kyle. He looked very coply with a notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. Kyle’s face didn’t betray any anxiety, but he clutched his elbow close to his body. When Byron noticed the car pull up, he nudged Kyle and nodded toward it. Heather gave them a small wave. Kyle seemed to uncoil with relief.
Steyer pulled the far door open—the door opposite the spectators—and Heather scooted out. She could feel all eyes on her. Remington held up the caution tape and they flanked her as they walked to the parking spot. Despite the crowd on the opposite side of the tape, close to the scene of chaos, it felt calm and quiet. Even the uniforms congregated outside the area.
Heather managed to keep it together as she led them back through the incident. She even felt a stir of pride as she described accelerating into Rhodes’s Jeep.