That pricked my annoyance. “She just thinks I’m careless because she hates my job. She wants me in a bubble for the rest of my life, a domestic, or a secretary, but that’s not me. I’m careful in my job.”
“Your dad said he found you on his window ledge.”
My eyes rolled on instinct. “I was working. I wasn’t suicidal, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“Not intentionally suicidal, at least,” he said with a smile from over his mug. “But it’s not like you avoid danger, is it?”
I was torn, stuck between defending myself to a stranger, and running from all the words he flung my way.
“What do you want? Are you the MS police? Here to take away my freedom?” My arms flailed out before collapsing against my thighs with a slap. “I get rest. I take my prescription. What do you want from me?”
“Glatimer Acetate injections can only do so much, Lindy.” The mug rattled slightly as he set it down. “Besides, how do you know I meant you were careless with your safety, maybe careless with your life meant something else.”
The words were like a bomb that fell way too close to my front lines.
“I don’t have to deal with this,” I said. “Thanks for the muffins and the cryptic conversation, but I have a murder to solve.”
I didn’t wait for his reply, and even as the door banged behind me he was still silent. And yet the implications of his words rang in my mind.
I was careless with my life, meaning, I didn’t care about my life beyond my job. My future. My next thirty years. I never gave it a thought. Even now with Ryder, I missed him, I loved him, and yet a relationship with him filled me with dread. Not because I didn’t want it, but rather because I didn’t want him to be there if I fell apart. I couldn’t handle the idea of him being hitched to my failing body. Even worse, I didn’t want to live in a world where he gave up on me. Instead, I threw it all away before I ever managed to build it.
Careless. That’s what he meant by careless.
♦ ♦ ♦
I let Amos sleep for another two hours while I stared at my blank phone, stuck somewhere between wanting to reach out to Ryder because he needed me, and wanting to leave it alone because I could hurt him. When my frustrations burned through everything I had left, I left the room.
“Get up,” I said from behind the couch. He was likely faking anyway, like I did when I was a kid, and I wanted my dad to carry me to my bed after staying up watching westerns with him.
Amos groaned and buried his face into his pillow. “You’re a hardened warden, Lindy Johnson.”
“Trust me, you’ve had more sleep than I have.” My voice was still strained, from sleep or from the nightmare, I wasn’t sure.
“Yeah, I know.” He pushed the blankets back. “I heard you screaming in your sleep. Not like I could get any sleep beyond that.”
“Thanks for the help waking me up.” I didn’t bother to hide my sarcasm.
“I tried,” Amos stretched the words out, “but you locked the door, love.”
“People do that when they live with a suspected murderer.” I pulled a cereal box from the top shelf. The bowls clanked as I pulled two free. “Besides, you could have picked it.”
He was watching me in that way only Amos could, peeling back layers and sifting through my most personal thoughts.
“I was about to, but I hit the door a few times real loud and you quieted down.” He looked away. “Figured you’d want your space, knew I’d be the last person you’d want to talk to.”
He was likely the reason the nightmare had ended. Guilt for calling him a murderer burned deep.
“Thank you,” I said, and then the only sound was the cereal tinkling against the bowl as I poured it.
“You still have them, then? The nightmares?”
I knew he was watching me again, so all I had to do was nod. “They’ve gotten worse since we were…” I stopped myself before I reminded either of us that we had been a couple. “They’ve gotten worse.”
“I remember them being pretty bad. Those couple of times I slept on your couch after our cases were over, I could barely shake you free.”
I didn’t want to talk about it. Nightmares back then had been related to Jackie, even if I didn’t know it at the time. Last night, that was different, that wasn’t something that had happened in my past, that was something that could happen in my future if I wasn’t more careful. Emotions were already too high, too much more and I knew I’d burst open. I couldn’t afford that, I couldn’t break now, not when there was no one left to put me together again.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. I knew it was a lie because I wasn’t sure anymore.
Amos sensed my need for a new topic and pulled a chair out at the table to join me for breakfast. “How was last night? You sing a little ditty?”
That at least earned him a smirk. “You know I don’t sing.”
“But you talked with someone? Get any leads?”
“Maybe.” His level of interest surprised me. Up to this point he had barely seemed to care about the case, indifferent at best. “Someone mentioned she sang at Club Feugo. It was nowhere in the police files, so of course it interested me. Have you heard of it?”
If I hadn’t been watching carefully, I never would’ve seen it. A microscopic tensing around his eyes, the kind I knew he was working diligently to cover. His palm rubbed against his mouth, a sign of deception, but he quickly removed it so I wouldn’t notice.
“I might have heard it in passing.”
“The police report mentioned a day job but there weren’t any notes as far as the investigation went. Do you know what she did?”
“Yeah. Secretary at a law office. Russell & Colvin, office is downtown.”
“I’ll go check it out today.”
His eyes locked on his cereal. “I’ll stay here doing nothing.”
All traces of his earlier excitement faded. Once more he sank beneath the depression of his situation. The bracelet on his wrist became his newest obsession, spinning it around his wrist until the skin beneath turned red from the friction.
I loaded my empty bowl into the dishwasher and did a quick search for the address. To my surprise a job ad was listed within the search results. Receptionist, likely Honey B’s old job.
“They’re hiring,” I told Amos.
He perked up slightly. “Gonna give it a go?”
“Best way to see what was happening.” I pulled my laptop from its case and emailed a doctored resume to the address listed. Amos happily worked his magic creating an ID on the fly. I changed from sweats to a pencil skirt and blouse I found in my closet. Obviously something Mom had worn in the ’80s, but fashion was cyclical, right? At least that’s what Eleanor always told me.
“I’ll be back later. Stay out of trouble.” I headed for the door. Amos still stared at his now swollen cereal, loading the spoon then letting it slide back to the mush with a plop. “Maybe take a shower or something.”
He nodded, but I think I could have told him the house was on fire and he would have nodded. I paused with my hand on the door. I needed more information to go on. Time was running out, I could feel it.
“Have you thought of anything else I might need to know? Anything pertinent?”
I swear he sank lower in his chair, but he spoke with trust that had originally been absent.
“She was paranoid.”
“You mentioned that about your last meeting—”
“No,” he stopped me, “before that meeting. She kept saying she was in danger, wouldn’t meet me anywhere. Out of nowhere, she was paranoid. She didn’t trust anyone.”
♦ ♦ ♦
“Experience with the law? Absolutely.” I tried to keep the light in my eyes as if this sort of job would excite me. “My dad has worked in prosecution my whole life, so I pretty much grew up in law offices.”
“Would I know him? Are you from around here?” Martha, the HR rep for Russell & Colvin, asked.
I caught myself because it
wasn’t as if I could give my father’s name, not when I’d used Katie Fullerton as my alias, complete with my fake ID. There were perks to working with criminals, I suppose.
“No, I’ve only recently moved to the area,” I spoke faster to distract her from my lie, “and I know my experience helping my father is in prosecution, but I like the idea of helping the underdog for once. It has a more positive spin than catching the bad guys.”
If I was going to be honest, I preferred doing both, maybe that’s why PI had always appealed to me so much more than any law employment. Granted, I’d left my work as a PI off the resume, instead fabricating a few more menial jobs with Kip and Uncle Shane written as my references. I doubted it would come to that anyway. She’d nearly fallen out of her seat when she heard she had a walk-in for an interview.
“Well, I like your drive. This is a fast-paced office. Do you think you can handle it?”
“I like pressure, and I thrive under stress.” I realized I wasn’t lying, and then I had to wonder what was wrong with me.
“Well, you don’t have a lot of experience working at a secretarial position, but I’m willing to take you on at a trial basis if you’re willing.”
It took some work to hide my shock. More desperate for help than I imagined.
“When can I start?”
Her forehead crinkled inward. “Is today too soon?”
I think something inside me died, just a little bit.
Lindy Johnson, front desk receptionist.
My mother would be so proud.
♦ ♦ ♦
Cathy took as much time as she could to show me the ropes. Nothing scared me much except the multi-lined phone. No phone should have that many ways you can screw up. I waited for her to go back to her office before I began rifling through the drawers. Nothing jumped out. Nothing but a small pen with a honey bee charm dangling from the top. It couldn’t be a coincidence. I felt closer to finding the truth than ever.
♦ ♦ ♦
I dropped eight calls in one hour and still didn’t manage to get fired. Somewhere around the third hour I began having a bit more luck. By five p.m., I was almost confident, but nowhere near looking forward to tomorrow.
Logging out of the system, I shut down the computer, grabbed my things and left in a crowd of paralegals as they walked out. It wasn’t until I was halfway to my car that I remembered I’d left my phone in my center desk drawer. Knowing Amos was likely stir crazy at home, I scurried back and snagged it from the drawer. The office was almost empty when I made my exit for the second time. The elevator at the end of the hall dinged. I picked up my pace to try to catch it. A large man, thick chops on his face, maybe Hispanic descent, stepped off as I moved to get on. His shoulder caught mine, hard, knocking me back as if he hadn’t seen me there, or maybe he didn’t care.
“Hey!” I hadn’t worked a nine to five in ages and my mood was sour because of it. He barely looked over his left shoulder. My personal space wasn’t even a blip on his radar. Not so much as an apology. I considered going after him and laying into him for his behavior, but the logo on his shirt caught my eye.
Club Feugo.
It was too much of a coincidence to ignore.
Chapter 11
Sleep was my enemy. The night was too cold, then too hot. Too many clothes, not enough. Too awake and yet exhausted. I felt wrong, every part of me felt broken at night. Night is the time when I couldn’t keep my mind busy. Nighttime was when I felt weak and I wanted to reach out to him, but I couldn’t. I loved him so I stayed away, but the nightmares kept coming. Memories of Raife, the what ifs and the should haves, until they buried me like an avalanche, and I prayed for morning so the torture would end.
♦ ♦ ♦
I woke up before the sun, or maybe I never went to sleep. My one dragging foot still startled the water fowl, but I didn’t mind because I loved watching the egrets take flight. A week had gone by, and I felt the difference in my stamina. No more than two miles, but I ran more than walked. I gave the cows a run for their money with my improved coordination.
Each plodding step gave me time to think. I should have been thinking about the case, but instead I centered on Ryder. Uncle Shane hadn’t called in two nights. I tried calling him before bed, but it went straight to voicemail. He was probably working a case. The world didn’t revolve around me and my problems. Crime continued in his neck of the woods, and I’d have to be patient. Still, didn’t he know it made it hard for me to be a good girl when he didn’t call to update me?
My lungs burned from the cold by the time I started my cool down. My hands went numb about the start of the second mile. Not from my disease, just the lack of heat.
It didn’t matter. Something was coming for me. I couldn’t see it yet because, like the sun, it hadn’t crested the horizon. Whatever it was, it was dangerous, and I needed to be ready.
♦ ♦ ♦
My mother might have dreamed of a time when I would sit at a desk all day answering the phone and faxing memos, but day two of it and I was done. I would take picking locks and digging for evidence in a dumpster any way over saying, “Call on line two, please hold” a dozen times every hour.
When Keya, one of the paralegals, asked if I was willing to help her file a stack of paperwork, I happily put the phones on voicemail and followed her. All morning I’d questioned my choices. Maybe the law office had nothing to do with Honey B’s murder. If that were the case, then I was working a dead-end job to pass the time until I could go home.
She left a stack with me and took another stack to the far wall of files. I heard a key grate against a lock and looked quickly to my own cabinet. No lock. She had the important files.
It was still mindless work as I said the alphabet over and over in my head to remember if v came before q. Somehow filing Russian last names that varied by one consonant made my kindergarten training blur.
I stared at one file for three minutes before the handwriting finally conquered me. It was either “Selevusdanovberg” or Salavudanovberg,” but no matter how many times I squinted at the name, I couldn’t tell.
“You stuck?” Keya asked from across the room. Our file stacks had been the same size, but it was clear she was far superior at the work.
“I can’t get this name,” I admitted. She held out her hand, and I crossed the room to give it to her.
“Oh, this is Adrian’s work. His a’s and e’s are so similar. This is the Selavusdanovberg account. They have a freight company that operates on the industrial side of town. Mostly liability contracts between them and their customers.”
She was far more willing to give up information than I expected.
“What are these files you’re working on?”
One eyebrow tilted as if it were a great conspiracy. “These are our most important clients. The ones who need the most discretion and secrecy.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We handle Anise Montoya’s cases. She’s an international pop star!”
I pretended to look for the pop star I’d never heard of, but instead scanned the other names. Sure enough nestled in the c’s was ‘Club Feugo-BB.’
“Isn’t law work fun?” Keya asked as though we were bonded in some way.
“So fun,” I agreed, and in this case. I was right. Because in my world, picking locks was always fun.
♦ ♦ ♦
There was a terrace near the office where most of the paralegals escaped to eat lunch. Day two I decided to follow them. I was halfway through my sandwich when my phone rang. Seeing Uncle Shane’s name, I pressed the accept button on the second ring.
“How is he?” I asked before he could speak.
My uncle’s gentle chuckles filled the phone. “I’m a bad influence on you. Stella would scold me for the way you don’t even say hello anymore.”
He was right. Stella used to hold information ransom until we’d asked her about her day and told her about ours. Aliens could be invading and she’d insist on knowing what you’d bought at the grocery store that
morning before you told her to escape.
“I miss her,” I admitted, something I tried not to acknowledge too often because her death still cut deep.
“Me too, Slugger.” Uncle Shane took a deep breath before he said, “I just got off the phone with Isabelle. Ryder’s stitches are holding. They are talking about sending him home soon.”
“That’s good, right?” A couple people started to stare. I realized I must have been talking too loud, so I dropped my volume. “That means I can come back soon, right?”
“It’s good, Slugger, but not that good. Physically he’s healing, but mentally he has a long way to go.”
The heavy pause between his phrases meant there was more that he didn’t want to tell me.
“He met with a psychologist today. They showed him what they called low risk triggers. Mostly pictures of people camping, trees, had the scent of campfire in the room. When that went well, they moved up to more borderline higher risk triggers. Isabelle said they had one of the solar lanterns from your packs, a pair of hiking boots for him to wear like the ones he wore, and a picture of an automatic weapon.”
“What?” I demanded. “That was considered borderline? That was part of his training, part of his abuse, that can’t possibly be just borderline. Is he hurt? Did he break?”
“There was no reaction, Lindy. Nothing. Not even a flinch. Even the gun. He said he didn’t like it, but Ryder has never liked guns, so that’s not surprising. But he couldn’t remember anything.”
My mind raced over the news, but there were no cohesive thoughts I could grab a hold on. “I don’t understand. Is that good news or bad news?”
“Both,” Uncle Shane said. “It’s great that he wasn’t triggered too quickly, but it means the memory loss might be permanent. He may never remember.”
The last sentence rang on repeat through my last three hours of work.
Never remember.
That’s all I could do.
I spent my spare time imagining the way his unshaven face felt beneath my palm. The way his hands cupped my hips with such precision that I wondered if we’d been carved from the same block of clay. The way I ached to touch him or smell him on my clothes after he was gone.
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