Storm Vengeance

by Pamela Cowan

  “It’s gonna be okay, Stormy girl,” Tom said softly, his breath warm against her neck.

  Storm stepped back and smiled into his eyes. He bent down and they kissed, but this time it was a lover’s kiss, filled with promises of a future. When it ended, she said, “Miss you,”

  “You too,” he said.

  “You three.”

  She made herself step back and Tom took the handle of his roller bag and, with a small wave of his hand, turned to go.

  A shiver ran down Storm’s spine as she watched him walk away down the long concourse. It was that odd sensation her mother had said was caused by someone walking on your grave.

  Storm shook it off but couldn’t quite shake off the sense of foreboding. Her marriage was in trouble and she knew it. The distance between she and Tom was more than physical. Her vocation would continue to tear them apart. She knew this because seeing him go made her feel buoyant, as if a weight had lifted and she was suddenly free. The stress of trying to explain her erratic hours and late nights had begun to make her resent his presence.

  Knowing the right choice for the sake of her family was to end her relationship with Lauren, quit her job, and follow Tom to New Mexico only made things harder. She wished she had a choice, and maybe a week ago she had. But she had read that report Big Ed put on her desk, and since that moment there had been no other option.

  Driving home from the airport, Storm sank deeper and deeper into dark thoughts of losing Tom and the kids. The radio was playing low in the background. She reached out and wrenched up the volume. As the sound of an old song she’d always liked filled the car, a memory came with it. Her father using a black marker to mark a spot on the cheap plastic radio on the table next to her bed.

  “This high and no higher. I catch it higher, the whole damn thing’s going in the trash. You hearing me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Damn right.”

  He might as well have thrown the “whole damn thing” in the trash. After turning it off, she’d never touched it again. He hadn’t won that one. She hadn’t lost. She didn’t need to lose this one either. There had to be a way to keep Tom, Joel, and Lindsey in her life and safe while still doing what she had to do. To think she couldn’t do it all, have it all, was like giving up. And giving up would be the first step in losing them, the family she loved more than life, so she wouldn’t do it.

  It didn’t help that her new partner was mentally disturbed or that she was followed everywhere. Storm couldn’t even think about that just yet. She was afraid if she did, her head would explode.

  When she got home, she found Dannisha on the couch curled over a book.

  “I’m not sure that’s good for your spine,” Storm joked.

  Dannisha sat up straight and smiled. “I’m sure it’s not. If you’re wondering if your children are still alive, they are. They’re in the family room watching TV. It was too wet out to do anything outside.”

  “That’s fine. They get a snack?”

  “Yeah, Joel ate enough for two, and Lindsey probably ate half a carrot dipped in a half cup of ranch.”

  “Well, that’s something. How about you? You doing okay? School okay?”

  “I’m good. Chemistry is tough. I love all the experiments but the math, all the converting to and from metrics. If anything shoots down my grade point average, it’s going to be that.”

  “I remember. My nemesis was statistics. If ever there was a course designed by torturers. Anyway, are you still okay with doing this again tomorrow night? Only this time you should plan on spending the night, since I have no idea when I’ll get in.”

  “Don’t see why not. Class gets out at three, and I don’t have a study group that night, and heaven knows I don’t have a social life.”

  Just then Joel, who must have heard Storm’s voice, rushed in.

  “Mom’s home!” he announced at the top of his voice as he threw his arms around her waist and hugged her.

  “Get back here,” Lindsey yelled from the family room. “Mom, tell Joel to get back here. He’s messing up the game.”

  “I gotta go,” Joel said. “We almost killed the monster, and the princess just won a gold sword.” Storm gave him another quick hug and kissed the top of his head. He smelled like shampoo and little boy sweat. Then she let him go so he could sprint back to the game and save him from the wrath of his big sister.

  Dannisha gathered her books into her backpack, and Storm paid her for both nights.

  “I guess I’ll have to go track down my daughter, if I want to see her,” Storm said, as she walked Dannisha to the door.

  “Ah, it’s just her age,” Dannisha said.

  “Sure.”

  Storm walked down the hall to the room they’d furnished with a television, a leather couch with recliners, and a card table for playing games. The oh-so familiar screech of tires and the bright bouncy song that repeated itself throughout the game pulsed through the room as Storm paused to watch them play.

  Joel sat on the edge of the couch, tongue caught between his teeth as he concentrated on keeping his player on the curving road. Lindsey sat cross legged on the floor, her back against the couch. Her player wielded a gold sword and sliced strangely robotic knights in half, revealing strange shapes that turned into coins and diamonds while a counter in the corner of the screen whirled as it tracked her growing score. Even playing a game with her brother, Lindsey gave it the focus most reserved for life and death decisions.

  With the damned CARES report fresh in her mind, Storm felt such a fierce protective love for her children it overwhelmed her. She could feel the sting of tears in the corner of her eyes. What wouldn’t she do to protect them or, if need be, avenge them?

  Those girls, those poor Prentice girls, had never had anyone love them that way. They had been failed by the very people who should have been willing to die to keep them from harm. Their parents deserved to hurt as much as they’d hurt their kids, and they would. Storm’s mood soared with that thought. It dried her tears and brought a smile to her lips.

  “You guys want to go out for pizza, maybe get an elephant ear at Amy’s?”

  “Woohoo!” yelled Joel, tossing his controller on the couch and leaping to his feet.

  “I do,” said Lindsey, and she turned off the game without hesitation. “Where are we going to go to get the pizza?” she asked, and Storm’s already good mood rose another notch to see her too-serious daughter’s rare smile.

  “Wherever you want. You get to choose tonight,” Storm told her.

  “Chuckie’s,” said Joel.

  “Not Chuckie’s,” said Storm and Lindsey in unison. Then they’re eyes met, they smiled at each other, and Storm felt that special connection she had with her daughter. The one she shared with no other. It was an amazing feeling. She wondered at it and embraced it and was afraid of it.

  She had a similar and yet slightly different connection to her son. She loved them both, and it was terrifying. Because how could you love someone and be loved so completely and ever risk losing it? It made her want to lock her children in the house and never let them out into the cruel and waiting world, while at the same time she wanted to set them free to see and experience all the wonderful things the world had to show them.

  The paradox could make you crazy. Rather than try to analyze it, she’d take them out for pizza and then make a stop at Amy’s, their favorite food cart. They’d buy an elephant ear, take it home, and carve it up into four equal pieces. She’d feel Tom’s absence then, when there was no one to take the fourth slice. She loved him too. She shouldn’t have to remind herself of that.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  WHO THE HELL WAS Lauren? If she let herself believe Ms. Tristan Garrity—and why would anyone make up such a story?—then everything she knew about Lauren was a lie.

  Ever since talking to Ms. Garrity, Storm had spent a lot of time thinking about Lauren Barry and everything she knew about her.
Though her memory was vague—it had been twenty years, after all—she was pretty sure that after the accident, there had been a drive to collect money for the family, to help with medical bills and what not. Would the town have done that if Lauren’s family was fabulously wealthy?

  Storm sat in her office, bent over her computer, hugging a cup of coffee from the break room in both hands. It was another miserable cold day and she’d had very little sleep. Nightmares and insomnia had plagued her.

  There were a lot of strange things about Lauren. For one thing, Lauren never seemed to work, yet she rented a large house in the country with acreage. She drove a Lexus. She dressed well. Strangest of all, she seemed to have a full-time counselor who came at her call, and sometimes when she wasn’t calling. That suggested money on a scale Storm was completely unfamiliar with.

  The smell of coffee and Italian cream soothed Storm’s nerves, and the caffeine began to burn away her sleepiness as she waited for the law enforcement database to come up. When it did, she typed in Lauren Barry, gave the city as Beaverton, and waited.

  A moment later a report on Lauren Barry came up, but this Lauren was a fifty-nine year old woman with a couple of DUIIs.

  Storm’s next step was to type Lauren’s name into her Internet browser. She added “Beaverton” and “car accident” and was rewarded with several pages of information. She selected the first on the list, an article from The Oregonian.

  A 15-year-old who was hit by a car in Beaverton is in critical condition at the hospital.

  Emergency crews responded to the corner of SW Second and Angel Street in Beaverton at 6:30 a.m. Wednesday.

  Investigators said Lauren Barry was walking west along SW Second Street on the sidewalk when she was struck by a car.

  Barry was taken to Oregon Health & Science University and was listed in critical condition Thursday.

  The driver was identified as Joseph Donald Dean, 45, of Beaverton. Beaverton police said alcohol may have been a factor in this accident.

  Dean was arrested at the scene. Charges have not yet been filed. The Washington County crash analysis reconstruction team responded to assist with the ongoing investigation.

  Storm read between the plain facts of the article. Drunk at six thirty in the morning meant her father had never gone to bed. He’d been out partying and was probably heading home. Lauren was on the sidewalk, so no chance that she’d stepped into traffic. The car had left the street. He’d been drunk, no doubt, and he’d probably passed out or fallen asleep at the wheel. The article gave her a lot of information about her father, but little about Lauren.

  Hoping the next article would be better, Storm clicked on it.

  A 15-year-old Beaverton teen struck by a vehicle on SW Second and Angel Street in Beaverton on Wednesday remains in critical condition at Oregon Health Sciences University Medical Center.

  Lauren Barry, a student at Beaverton High School, had been walking to school on the sidewalk on the north side of the street when she was struck by a white Chevy Impala, according to the Washington County Sheriff’s Office.

  The Chevy, driven by Joseph Dean, 45, of Beaverton was traveling west near Beaverton High School about 6:20 a.m. Wednesday.

  Dean drove across the curb and onto the sidewalk at a high rate of speed. His vehicle struck a tree, then spun and struck Ms. Barry.

  Investigators have said that a combination of alcohol, speed, and reckless driving are suspected contributors to the crash. Traffic detectives are continuing their investigation into the crash.

  “I would not wish this on anyone,” said Barry’s father, Jeffrey Barry. The family welcomes thoughts and prayers from the community.

  A donation account to help cover medical expenses was set up for the teen at OnPoint Community Credit Union. People can stop by any branch to donate.

  Donations. She’d been right. There had been a drive to collect money. Why would anyone do that for a wealthy family? They wouldn’t. Storm read on.

  A 15-year-old girl who was hit by a car in Beaverton on Wednesday morning remained in critical but stable condition Monday night, her family said.

  Lauren Barry (pictured), a student at Beaverton High School, was taken to the hospital with broken legs and facial injuries after a car struck her on her way to school.

  “We leave everything in God’s hands,” said her father. “We forgive Mr. Dean and pray that he finds peace and healing. The doctors say she will walk again, and that she will look the same with time. It’s hard, but we are hopeful.”

  For Lauren Barry’s family, who said they thought they might lose her, the news that she is expected to make a full recovery has made them much more optimistic.

  Lauren Barry (pictured). Storm leaned toward her monitor and looked close at what was probably a school picture. Newsprint made it grainy. She stared long and hard, tried to convince herself she was wrong, that plastic surgery could account for the changes, but it didn’t work. She knew that the Lauren Barry her father had hit with his car was not her Lauren Barry. The woman who had kidnapped her and later helped her kill someone was a complete mystery.

  Now what? Storm sat up and took a sip of the now lukewarm coffee. The stack of files she was supposed to work on that afternoon sat on her desk, and that was where they’d stay. Things were a little out of control, and the coffee sucked.

  Storm turned the business card over and over in her hand. Whoever Lauren really was, telling her about meeting Tristan Garrity seemed like a bad idea. So did partnering with her to commit another crime.

  But for Big Ed and the damned CARES report, she’d do the smart thing and walk away; tell Lauren she didn’t feel good about this one. Then she’d hire her own investigator to figure out just who Lauren was and what she was up to.

  Well, no she wouldn’t. People who live in glass houses . . .

  Storm rubbed her temples. She needed to run. A good run would help clear her head so she could think. She used to get up early and run every morning. Being out there with the hush of the streets, pretending she was the last person alive. She missed that. But you can’t get up early if you stay up late, and you have to stay up late if you want justice. That was just the way it was.

  Tonight, for instance. The plan was she’d meet up with Lauren around midnight. They’d go over everything one more time. Then they’d drive to the Prentice place around one and watch the house for an hour or so. If all seemed right, they’d find a way inside and do what they came for. Getting there early in the morning, when they’d be sleepy and not thinking or moving quickly, would be good. Getting there on a work day meant most of the neighbors would be in bed.

  The plan could still work, but Storm had to know that Lauren wasn’t being watched. Was Garrity just coming when called, or was she keeping up surveillance on her client? She seemed worried that Lauren might disappear on her again. That could lead to job insecurity. How many parents, no matter how rich, would pay for a full-time counselor slash babysitter if that sitter kept losing track of her charge?

  Storm set the card on her desk and tugged at the cuffs of her sleeves. But how could she make sure the counselor wasn’t following Lauren?

  The how, once she figured it out, wasn’t all that complicated. The hardest part for Storm was concocting a believable story to tell Lauren. She’d never been a good liar. Her aunt had claimed it took a lot of intelligence and a hell of a good memory to lie well. Storm claimed neither of these things, but with Lauren, lies and stories seemed both necessary and wise.

  “You told me there’s an investigator asking questions about me,” she told Lauren. “That means someone is probably keeping an eye on me and maybe everyone I know. Who have I been going to lunch with? You. That means he’s probably watching you too. We have to be careful. We can’t afford for someone to follow either of us and figure out what we’re doing tonight.”

  “I didn’t think about that,” said Lauren. “What should we do now?”

  “I have an idea.”

  Storm’s idea was simple.
Lauren would drive to the Willow Creek Transit Center. She’d get on the first train heading east and get off the train at the next stop, Elmonico, which wasn’t very popular and was surrounded by flat open fields and a commuter parking lot. If Tristan was keeping an eye on her client, Storm, parked in the lot, would be able to see her get off the train when Lauren did.

  If Tristan was there, then Storm would call Lauren and they’d cancel. Maybe try for another night.

  The only other thing that Storm had to deal with was not making her babysitter suspicious. Dannisha was going to show up at eight to watch the kids. That was a reasonable hour for someone planning to go out. Storm would have to find a way to fill the hours between then and midnight, when she had to pick up Lauren.

  “Listen to Dannisha and go to bed when she tells you,” Storm told Lyndsey and Joel. “Don’t abuse getting to stay up later tonight or it won’t happen again for a long, long time.”

  “A really, really, really, long time?” Joel asked, his wide grin making him irresistibly cute.

  “Almost forever,” Storm told him. Then she reached out and gathered him in her arms, hugging him close. He smelled like peanut butter and crayons. She kissed his forehead, a good loud smack of a kiss. The kind of kiss that would have had his sister squirming and saying, “Oh Mom!” He just giggled and kissed her cheek, an equally loud kiss that made her want to hug him again.

  Instead she stood up and waved to her daughter, who was sitting on the floor with an art project for school strewn across the coffee table. “See you in the morning,” she called. “Banana pancakes for breakfast.”

  With a shrug, Lindsey said, “Sure, whatever,” but at least she looked up long enough to answer and wave goodbye.

  “Good luck,” Lauren said to Dannisha, who rolled her eyes and mouthed “Girls.” Then reached for a notebook and the start of what Storm guessed would be another long study session.