by Rick Murcer
CHAPTER-8
He touched her picture and smiled. His tears had stopped haunting him, at least for the time being. His composure could be a sign—maybe he was getting used to the idea that she was no longer his, even though he still found it hard to believe. Giving up one’s anchor isn’t easy.
When she had been in his life, she offered tremendous security to him. She accepted him for what he was and where he was during that time in his life. Her eyes were gentle and her caress, tender. Her words were like a breath of life. Never angry, always understanding. She’d truly loved him, hadn’t she?
Love was a word thrown around far too frequently without the deep reservoir of meaning it truly held. Love wasn’t about the physical, although the expression of intimacy between them had been significant. She had taught him love was about giving oneself totally to another. To consider one’s needs and wellbeing far above your own was an art long forgotten by most. Not by her. She’d mastered that part of their relationship and had taught him in the wake of her actions.
But no more. She’d been away from him for six months, and his life wasn’t the same.
It wouldn’t be again, he suspected.
He’d called her cell phone often, but all he heard was her voicemail message. She did not return one call. He supposed he knew that she wouldn’t, but hope and faith had played many for fools over the years. He was simply another in that lineage.
At least he got to hear her voice when he called.
Gently, he placed the picture face down in the seat of his vehicle and climbed out.
The SUV was still parked in his large garage, away from any potential eyes. He moved to the back, pushed the button under the handle, and watched the large tailgate rise.
Staring in the back, he tilted his head and frowned as realization pounded at the door of his sanity. This would be the last one. The last step toward reconciliation. Whatever came next, he’d welcome with open arms.
His task would be finished, his offering complete. Then maybe, just maybe, the peace he sought would arrive with the fanfare he desperately coveted.
Hope and faith.
Reaching to close the door, he hesitated, and then stretched out his hand, stroking the man’s head.
“Do not worry, my friend. Tonight, when the moon is full, you will give your all to right the wrongs that plague this world. Your noble sacrifice will be an experience that you will take into the next life, as the Great Priestess has said.”
The man’s eyes were half open, perspiration teasing his forehead and upper lip. He mumbled something through the red bandana covering his mouth.
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the syringe and pulled off the needle cover.
“Sleep now. Tonight will be amazing.”
After the injection, he closed the door and headed toward the garage door leading to the house.
Indeed, tonight he would finish what he started. Let the gods see his earnest.
He smiled as he walked into the afternoon sunshine.
“May evil fear what comes for them,” he whispered.
CHAPTER-9
Torres swore in Spanish and then rewound the video to 9:50 a.m.
Manny and Sophie moved closer to the screen, Manny standing directly over Torres’s shoulder. Before he gave his own frustration another thought, he spun Torres’s chair in his direction.
He understood he was on vacation, and he understood that in the security world and in law enforcement in general, you usually got what you paid for, but to ignore a woman in that much duress was just poor work. It pissed him off far more than it should have.
“Let me get this right, you didn’t go back and review every inch of the video before you talked with her and Pedro? I actually sort of get that for the first hour or so he was missing, if you believed this was nothing too serious. And I can see how you wouldn’t have noticed the car being in a different spot. But what the hell were you thinking when he didn’t show after the first two hours? Never mind, don’t answer that. Anything you say will just sound weak-ass and idiotic.”
“Manny, take it easy,” said Sophie, touching his arm. Her smile grew, however.
The security chief sat in his chair, not moving, his eyes narrowing. Manny was sure he was contemplating the possibility of getting another job on the island after he decked a guest.
After a few moments, Torres smiled a humorless smile, his voice cold, his dark gaze colder. “We are not the FBI, Agent Williams. We are a small island off the main grid, as you Americans say. We do what we do with what we have. We didn’t believe this situation serious. The FBI is called when the crime is already committed and someone tells you that they have a problem, yes?”
Manny took a deep breath, checking the emotion that had attacked him without warning. His intense reaction would be something to reflect on later.
He spoke softer. “Yes. You’re right and I’m on vacation, but I could see by her body language and the tone in her voice that there was something wrong. You and the resort’s staff should have been able to detect that. Good God, you’re in the people business.”
“That is perhaps true. We did what we felt necessary. Discussing this judgment of our inaction further will delay what we need to do. Now, would you like to see the recording or talk more?” asked Torres, still as cold as ice.
It was Manny’s turn to smile without humor.
“By all means, Senor Torres.”
Torres turned back to the screen and began to move through the video at triple the normal speed. Two minutes into the review, a man wearing a white, wide-brimmed hat flashed onto the screen.
Torres stopped and reversed the video to where the man first appeared. Then the security chief began moving one frame at a time until there was a clear shot of the man bending over the driver’s door of the Lexus.
The man had a dark tan, was fairly well built, and from what Manny could tell was over six feet in height. He wore plaid shorts with a teal island shirt, and as Manny and Sophie bent closer in unison, Manny noticed a key in the man’s hand. The time stamp indicated 10:17 a.m.
“Is that Aaron Rathburn?” asked Sophie.
Torres nodded. “It is him.”
“He’s obviously getting ready to go somewhere. Let’s find out when he comes back,” said Manny.
Torres moved the video forward, and they watched the Lexus pull out of the lot and disappear to the left of the resort, heading toward San Miguel. Fast-forwarding again, the car reappeared. Torres manipulated the video to when the car first appeared and slowed it to normal speed.
The Lexus swung into the area in front of the trees, two spots over from where it had left. After the vehicle rolled to a stop, the door opened almost immediately. The man who got out was wearing the same hat, shirt, and shorts as Aaron Rathburn. He glanced slowly in several directions, keeping his face away from the camera, and then walked toward the right, moving at a leisurely pace, almost strolling.
Manny frowned. Keeping his face away from the camera looked intentional, but it could have been just a coincidence. Also, Rathburn was walking away from the resort, not in the same direction he’d come from at 10:17. Why? There was something wrong.
“Please rewind to just when he stepped out of the car and pause the video,” Manny said.
Torres swore again. He must have noticed what Manny had.
“I think you’d better contact the local authorities.”
“I believe you are correct, Agent Williams.”
Torres ran his finger over the video as if he needed to be convinced one last time that the man who had exited the car was shorter than and smaller than the missing Brit.
There was no denying that Aaron Rathburn hadn’t returned the car.
CHAPTER-10
It had been ages since he’d laid eyes on her. Untold, uncountable years, it seemed to him. He simply couldn’t remember exactly how much time had eroded away. Time, the great con artist, and no one is immune to its favor or its curse.
He sh
ifted his weight, taking another sip of coffee. Who was he kidding? He knew exactly how long it had been.
Twenty-nine years, four days, and about eleven hours. He missed her virtually every second they’d been separated. His dreams kept her image in his mind, and his hope kept her in his heart. Yet, those weren’t the same as being near her. The true scent of her hair, the gentle touch of her hand, the beautiful curve of her face were no match for his imagination.
No man had ever missed a woman’s presence more. Not a one.
He sighed.
Wondering if she missed him was no longer on his radar. If that was the case, she would have made an attempt to see him. Or at least written. That’s what lovers did.
Perhaps she simply wasn’t able to bear the thought of him in the state to which he’d been reduced. That often happened to relationships like theirs. He’d seen it over and over again in his home away from Galway, Ireland.
Closing his eyes, he refused to go down a road that wasn’t his to take. People could experience so much despair—merely the thought of seeing their soul mate in compromised situations would bring on a deep depression. Perhaps even suicidal tendencies.
He ran his right hand over the jagged scars on his wrist.
In the end, however, when his mind had cleared, he was relatively sure her reasons for not seeing him had nothing to do with missing him. Her decision appeared to be far more disconcerting. The only logical conclusion he could marshal was that she’d found someone else. Wasn’t that what had separated them in the first place?
Suddenly, the thought of that possibility rocked him like it hadn’t in years. The peace he thought he had made with the idea of infidelity was a shadow in his precipitous, crimson anger.
To hell with a woman scorned; what of him?
Clasping his hands together, he scowled like a rejected school boy who had asked his secret heartthrob for a date, only to receive a what the hell look and a cruel laugh of rejection.
Slamming the coffee to the floor, he reached for the knife resting on the passenger seat and began to exit the car. The door swung open five inches, and then it stopped. He stopped.
He closed his eyes, fighting tortuous memories far more vivid than they should be. The experts said his anger should be gone. They proclaimed time as the crowned healer of healers, and he’d had enough time.
My ass. I don’t feel healed.
Slowly closing the door, he inhaled, freed the breath, inhaled and released two more times, then let go of his emotion. Control was returning, for now. Besides, he needed to focus on the positive, the good aspects of their long-distance reunion.
He did, and again found her face in his mind’s eye.
In spite of what had happened . . . no matter the reason for their separation, he had to release the past and see the future for what it could become. Their separation had been a casualty of life’s experiences. It wasn’t her fault that the two of them weren’t able to fully develop what they’d begun almost three decades prior. Abnormal circumstance was the true culprit regarding their separation. Nothing more.
He wiped his sweaty palm on his black jeans, tugged on his earlobe with his free hand, and brushed his long, silver hair from his forehead. Reaching for the dash, he lifted the small, powerful camera, fingering it nervously. Yet he wasn’t nervous. Excited was the more appropriate word.
Separation had indeed made the heart grow fonder.
She’d aged some, but who hadn’t? Yet it was still her. And she was as beautiful to him now as she had been then. More captivating. More . . . desirable.
The object of his intense affection stepped off the stoop, opened the rear door of the SUV, and loaded the baby into the car seat. She halted, said something to the blond-haired, teenage girl standing on the passenger side of the SUV. They both laughed, then entered the Chevy Traverse.
The vehicle backed out of the driveway and headed west. Waiting a moment, he slipped the car into gear and started after them.
He could hardly wait to see the look on Haley Rose Franson’s face when, at long last, they met again.
CHAPTER-11
“Just keep your ass moving, boy. You’re not getting involved in this. Chloe will kill you dead. Dead, get it? And I don’t have that many friends, comprende?”
Sophie kept both her hands in the small of his back, ushering him down the hall like a six-foot first-grader heading to the principal’s office.
“Okay. Okay. I get it. I had no intentions of getting involved any deeper. But we had to help Penny. We had no choice,” he said, looking over her shoulder.
They continued walking toward the elevators. “Don’t give me that shit, Williams. Hello-ooo. This is me-eee. I know what you were thinking.”
“Do you now?”
She rolled her eyes. “What did I just say?”
He laughed. “Looking into our crystal ball again, are we?”
“Yes, I did. As if I needed to. Damn, a blind man could read your face.”
“That bad?”
“Yep.”
His friend shrugged. “You’re right though. We had to help her, and we did. Security and the locals will take it from here . . . as screwed up as they might be.”
Hitting the elevator’s UP button, he glanced at Sophie.
She was right on both accounts, as usual when it came to reading him. Over the years, she’d gotten to know him better than all but three people on the planet. She understood what motivated him and how his mind led him—and her along with him—down the paths they’d taken as a team and as close friends.
Those experiences had led to her next correct assumption.
The scale of difficultly at not taking over the full investigation regarding Aaron Rathburn was a full-blown ten on the workaholic gauge. The locals, led by Torres, were going to screw this up. A man could die in the wake of their ineptitude.
Sophie waved her hand in front of his face. “Hey, right here. Stop it. Damn, Manny, just stop. You can’t keep doing this crap. Chloe, and the rest of us, need you to enjoy us away from the job. Away from that dark shit that drags you in.”
The elevator opened, and they stepped in.
“I know. I can do this. But—”
Sophie reached up and put a small hand on each side of his face. “No buts, other than Chloe’s, and maybe seeing Barb’s and mine, are going to be on your radar for the next five days. Understand?”
There was no mistaking the quasi-anxiety in her voice.
He put his right hand on hers. “What if they screw this up, and Rathburn dies because of it?” he said softly. “How do we live with that?”
“We live with that because you can’t be everyplace at once. None of us can, except your God, as rumor has it . . . and the last time I looked, there was only one God of the Universe. He’s not taking replacement resumes, right? Come on, Manny. People do things to people every day. We can’t stop that. You helped them find a serious lead for Rathburn. The rest is on them. Let it go. Besides, there is more than one way to save a life. Yes?”
She stepped back as the elevator door slid open. They locked eyes. For a moment, he believed she was talking about saving his family’s life by being there for them, but then he realized it was him she was speaking of, his life.
Point, set, and match.
He finally nodded. “Right, on all accounts. I get it, at least in the brain. Not so sure my gut agrees with you.”
Pulling him from the elevator, they headed down the marbled floor toward their rooms.
“That’s okay. Despite popular opinion, you ain’t so damned perfect. Just get with the program, okay?”
“Deal.”
“I have one more question,” she said, stopping at her and Dean’s door. “This is important, so pay attention.”
“Fire away.”
“Should I go topless with my thong at the pool? I mean these puppies should be seen, right?” said Sophie, grabbing her breasts.
It was Manny’s turn to roll his eyes. “Seriously? That
was your question?”
“Damn right. Nothing more important than keeping the fire alive in a relationship. Dean likes the look, so I thought I could share it, ya know?”
Kissing her on the cheek, he headed for his room and his waiting wife. “Some things probably shouldn’t be shared, Sophie,” he said.
“True, but these need exposure.” Then she laughed.
Her door opened and closed. Sophie was out of sight, but the smile he wore said she wasn’t out of his mind. Wisdom and wit in the same conversation was a trick reserved for only a few. Sophie may own that one.
Manny turned the corner and stopped, his smile evaporating in a New York second.
The door to their room was completely open. Chloe was nowhere to be seen, but the gaping doorway didn’t tell the complete story. Quite the opposite picture in fact.
A man stood in the center of the entrance, glowering at him.
CHAPTER-12
Belle Simmons kissed her cell phone, listened for the Marvin Gaye tune that served as her ringtone to reach her ears again, then picked up the phone from her desk. After wiping the face of the phone clean with a tissue, her finger hovered over the green button that said she’d take the call.
She cleared her throat and sent the butterflies packing, most of them anyway. This felt like the first call from a boy.
Anyone worth his or her salt—working in the criminal-profiling world, that is— had dreamed of this phone call at least once in their lives. Some, like her, had more than dreamed. Obsessed was more like it.
It wasn’t just the FBI moniker stamped on the caller ID. Not even the jets and instant respect associated with a unit like the BAU. That was all pretty intense, yes. But it was mostly about working with the best, and no one was better at this insufferable profiling game than Manny Williams. It didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes either.