Nadira gave Had a quick peck on the mouth, making him blush, and then she swerved back out into traffic. Reggie was pretty sure the woman hadn’t even checked her blind spot.
Maybe she really hadn’t forgiven them, and her driving was intended as a long-form punishment. Reggie would almost believe it, if it weren’t for the fact that the Pakistani woman had always been this way.
To be honest, her driving had actually mellowed a bit. Since her father had died in a fiery explosion, there were moments where the normally irrepressible Nadira would become quiet and even pensive.
Had’s reaction had been similar, although for him it was a friend, not a father. At least they seemed to have been able to come together around his death, instead of being driven apart. As much as Reggie didn’t love all their taxi rides being death-defying trips into the abyss, she did like seeing those two together. They just seemed to fit.
“So, what is it this time?” Nadira asked. “Explosions? Booby traps? Encounters with psychopaths out in the depths of some long-abandoned city?”
“I could tell you, babe,” he answered, “but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Ah, I see.” Nadira caught Reggie’s eye in the rear-view mirror and winked at her.
“Actually, it’s just your run-of-the-mill decapitation,” he said with a grin.
Nadira shuddered. “You do realize that your statement is all kinds of twisted and wrong?”
“Yeah, baby, that’s the way I like it,” Had answered, giving her a playful shove that almost sent their car careening into a semi right next to them.
“Get a room, you too,” Reggie called up from the backseat. “Or at least one driver’s license between the two of you.” That last was delivered under her breath.
“I heard that,” came Nadira’s response. “And that’s just offensive.”
She said this while scooting from one lane to another and back again in order to pass a slow-moving car. All without any use of her blinker or even any apparent looking around to make sure the car was clear to change lanes. This woman was insane.
“I wish you could come with us,” Had murmured to Nadira. “I’ll miss you while we’re gone.”
Nadira seemed to think about that for a second. “South Carolina, you said? Too hot. Now, head out to Los Angeles, and we should talk.”
“Oh yeah,” Had agreed. “We could go to Disneyland.”
“Totally.”
Reggie tried not to roll her eyes as they continued speeding toward the airport. After all, she couldn’t really talk, could she? Sometimes she felt just as ridiculous when she was around Joshua.
Speaking of the former FBI agent, just where the hell was he?
* * *
Sariah watched as Had and Reggie clambered out of the taxi, Had beaming and Reggie walking with a bit of a shake to her legs. Nadira must have been driving.
Sure enough, two seconds later the Pakistani woman came out of the driver’s side door to help with some of the luggage and to give Had a squeeze before she popped back into the car. The woman’s driving was notorious, and it was fascinating to watch the difference in how both Had and Reggie responded to it.
Had was like an overgrown puppy, tripping over his own feet in excitement, and the rides in Nadira’s taxi seemed to exhilarate him to no end. Reggie, on the other hand…
What was interesting about her was that even when she appeared weak and shaky, there was an elegance to the way she moved through space. An economy of motion that somehow appeared almost ostentatious.
Reggie caught sight of Sariah and gave her a radiant smile, her face lighting up. Trotting over to see her, it seemed for a moment like she was going to give Coop a hug, but then contented herself by expanding her smile another notch or two.
The woman was radiant, there was no denying it.
“Reporting for duty, el capitán,” she said with a glimmer of mischief in her eye. “Or should that be la capitana?”
Then, after a beat, Reggie broke eye contact and began searching the curbside, seeming to look for something. Or someone.
Ah yes. The former FBI agent, and all he represented. That was the problem now, wasn’t it? Sariah felt a tinge of sadness permeate her body.
Now all they had to do was wait for Joshua. Before he had left, he’d told her, with the sullenness that seemed to accompany any of their communications these days, that he should be back no later than this evening.
The sullenness she understood. Sariah had shot and killed his daughter. Didn’t matter that Livvie’d been about to take Joshua’s life and anyone else she could in the process. Sariah could understand Joshua’s ambivalence toward her.
But now he wasn’t showing up for a case. And they needed him on this one. Badly. Messages had been left for the former agent, but they were all of the paper kind.
The man still refused to carry a cell phone, and while he insisted that it was because he didn’t want to be at Uncle Sam’s beck and call every second of every day, Sariah suspected that it was something else. Now that the alcohol monitor had been removed from his ankle, there was no way to track the man.
Well, there hadn’t been, up to this point. Sariah traced the outlines of the device that she carried in her pocket. This would perform all of the functions of the monitor, without sending a signal back every time the man took a drink.
He was back on the bottle. There was nothing that they could really do about that at this point. It was heartrending to see his self-destruction, but at least now Sariah would be able to keep tabs on him without him feeling like she was monitoring… or that BAU was monitoring… his liquor intake.
As Had came closer, Sariah was able to see him more clearly. What the hell was he wearing? Oh, that’s right. They were headed to the Deep South again. So, of course, Had needed to dress like a freaking cowboy. That was a quirk of his that Sariah would need to talk to him about. At some point. Maybe.
She suppressed a smile.
Another glance around the curb, just in case she had missed the former agent, and Sariah let out a deep breath. Time to get this show on the road. If Joshua missed the flight, he would just have to figure it out. They had to get out of here.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s head in.”
They were headed back to South Carolina, one of Sariah’s least favorite places to go. There was the South, which was bad enough. But then there was the Old South, and that was worse. South Carolina qualified as Old South.
At least they would be on the base for the most part. They’d be liaising with the United States Army Criminal Investigation Command, or CID. They were known for being thorough, territorial and fully autonomous. Bulldogs. But they wouldn’t be as bad as dealing with local law enforcement. So maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible.
She turned around and began walking toward the terminal, when she caught sight of a figure lounging on one of the benches in front of the building. The man’s frame unfolded as he stood and came forward to meet the group, his beautiful dog at his side, replete with her service dog regalia.
“Hey,” he grunted.
Joshua.
The man looked like hell. His eyes were rimmed with red, his skin was blotchy, and unless Sariah missed her guess, he seemed to be shaking. Anyone looking at him would think that he had the flu. But she knew better. This was something Sariah had seen before. More than once.
Joshua was detoxing.
She made eye contact with the man and lifted her eyebrow. “Good trip?”
There was a quick, abrupt nod of the man’s head, and something inside of Sariah lifted. It was something she hadn’t realized was there until it began to lift. A heaviness, a burden, a weight of responsibility that she’d been forced to bear as soon as Joshua began drinking again. And it felt like it was being taken off her shoulders.
She didn’t trust it. Not for a New York minute.
Bella pushed up against her leg, demanding attention, but Sariah wouldn’t give it to her. She had a task to perform right now.
Pulling
the device out of her pocket, she faced off with the former agent. “Lift up your pant leg.”
Joshua looked at the device, then stared into Sariah’s eyes, then back at the device. A sad half-smile appeared on his lips, but she could see how much effort the man was putting into even that simple act.
“Another alcohol monitor?” He shrugged, pulling up the cuff of his pants to give her access to his ankle. “Whatever. You’re the one who’s going to get hassled every time it goes off.”
Reggie pulled at Sariah’s elbow, whispering in her ear. “We couldn’t have done this somewhere private?” she asked.
Sariah ignored her, answering Joshua’s question instead. She bent down, placing the monitor around his ankle while she spoke.
“No. It’s not an alcohol monitor. It’s a way for us to track your location, as well as your health status. If we want to see if you’re drunk, it could probably tell us that, too. But honestly, I don’t give a shit.”
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Sariah stood back up, maintaining eye contact with the man for a long moment.
Joshua just looked tired and beaten down.
She felt a stab of something in her gut. Sympathy? Guilt? Maybe a strange combination of the two? The feeling blossomed, trying to expand outward, but Sariah shoved it down with a savagery that surprised even her.
How many times had her father tricked her into believing that he could change? How many times had she trusted those lies? And they were all lies, all of them.
It wasn’t going to happen again.
Sariah turned and marched into the building, leaving the others to follow as they wished. After all, they needed to be responsible for themselves.
That wasn’t part of Sariah’s job.
* * *
Joshua sank into the not-so-plush seat of the airplane, after making sure that Bella was situated beside him. The poor old woman who was sitting in the seat by the window almost seemed to have a heart attack at that, but within moments, Bella was charming the woman, pushing her nose into her wizened hand for pets. Joshua pushed down the smile that seemed to want to make its way onto his face.
“Is this okay?” the woman asked. “I know you’re not supposed to pet service dogs.”
“It’s fine,” Joshua answered. “She’s not that kind of service dog.”
“Oh?” she asked, clearly hoping for an explanation.
But Joshua just closed his eyes and rested his head against the headrest. This flight was going to be hard enough without making idle chit-chat with the Church Lady.
Because at some point here, whether it was minutes from now or closer to an hour, some attendant was going to come down that aisle and was going to ask him what he wanted to drink. Joshua felt drops of sweat bead up on his forehead at the thought.
Jack fell down and broke his crown…
Meeting the old man had done something for him. Like some foundational switch had been switched. All the guilt he had felt at his family’s death was still there. Joshua was pretty sure that was never going away. He wasn’t sure he wanted it to.
But it seemed to have been transformed. Instead of the dark ball of rage and self-loathing that he’d experienced over the years, the sensation now was one of deep sadness. On the trip back to Quantico, Joshua had started sobbing. No warning. No overt trigger. Just tears streaming down his cheeks, a river of pain and suffering contained in those drops of salt water.
Jack fell down and broke…
What the cab driver must have thought was beyond Joshua.
And with what felt like at least the partial lifting of the guilt and shame, Joshua felt like he was ready to try to stop drinking. Again.
But this felt different. Last time, it had been a white-knuckle, force of will kind of thing. And maybe that’s exactly what he was doing now, but there was something else.
For the first time in Joshua’s life, he was thinking about what he needed to do to stay sober. The last time he’d dried out, all of the attention, all of his rage and grief and shame, had been directed at Humpty Dumpty. At catching the killer that chopped up his victims and scattered them about the US.
But right now, he wasn’t thinking about any of that. He was focused on how not to take that next drink.
…to fetch a pail of water…
And that first drink was close.
He could almost taste it.
* * *
Had read through the In Flight magazine that was provided in the pouch in front of him. It was the first time ever that he’d had to do that.
The person sitting next to him had, in no uncertain terms, told Had that he had no desire to strike up a conversation and that he was going to sleep. He had then proceeded to begin snoring and hadn’t stopped since.
Flights, for Had, were always moments to connect with people. And now, instead of finding out something fascinating about a part of the US or the world that he’d never visited, Had was reading about the best steakhouses in the continental United States.
It was almost enough to put him off beef.
At first, Had’d thought that maybe he could talk to the person across the aisle. But she was busy chatting with the very tall, very muscular and very handsome man beside her. Had couldn’t really blame the girl. The man was magnificent.
And the seats both in front and in back of him proved far too difficult to access for easy conversation. Had even looked around the plane, hoping for an empty seat to which he could switch. It wasn’t like he was going to offend Sleeping Beauty over there.
But the flight was booked solid. Seemed everyone and their dog wanted to fly to South Carolina today.
So instead, Had was left with his thoughts.
It became clear very quickly why it was that Had preferred to chat with people on planes instead of being quiet. It was shocking he’d never realized it before.
Had was terrified of flying.
Images of the plane crashing down to the earth flooded through his consciousness, making him fidget and squirm. It seemed that the harder he tried to contain his nervous energy, the greater it became.
At one point, he accidentally bumped his leg against the sleeping man beside him. The fellow opened one of his eyes long enough to glare at Had with a baleful eye, and for a moment Had thought he was saved. But just as quickly as it had happened, it was over. The man was back asleep.
This was not going well. At all.
There was a brief respite as the attendant came down the aisle with the drinks and snacks. Had watched her approach, slow as molasses in the middle of winter. He saw as she stopped in front of Joshua, leaning in close to take his drink order.
And then she handed him… a glass of water? Had blinked, trying to clear his vision of screaming passengers and flaming death. Was that really what he had just seen? Maybe it was straight vodka instead. Did airlines even serve straight vodka? And that much of it? Maybe Had was so freaked out right now that he was hallucinating.
Was that a thing? Did phobias make people see stuff that wasn’t really there?
He shook his head, wiping away the sweat that was gathering on his forehead, his upper lip. His palms were clammy, cold and somehow moist all at once. Moist. He hated that word, but that was the only one that he could use to describe what his hands felt like right at the moment.
Maybe he should go talk to Coop. He spotted her… in the window seat. Completely inaccessible. Had said a word in his head that his mama would have slapped him across the mouth for saying out loud.
What about Reggie? There she was. Right there on the aisle.
On the other side of the attendant with the drink cart.
Had felt like his head was going to explode. Visions of him running down the aisle screaming, then being tackled by the air marshal flashed before his eyes.
At least the drink cart was almost to him. He fidgeted, trying not to get angry every time a passenger thought through an order.
Come on! He wanted to scream. It’s not like it’s
a surprise that they’re going to be asking you what you want to drink!
Right after thinking that, Had felt terrible. He was a bad person. A bad, bad person. His mama would be so ashamed.
Mama! He had never called his mama back. And the last thing that they had talked about was her coming out to visit him. Was there something about her maybe coming out to South Carolina?
There had been. But she wouldn’t do that, right?
Who was he kidding? This was Mama.
Had snatched up the phone receiver that was there on the seat in front of him. A quick call, just to make sure that she stayed put. That should do it. And then maybe they could chat for a while. It would be killing two birds with one stone.
But as he dialed after swiping his credit card, the phone just rang and rang and rang. That was not a good sign.
The last thing in the world he needed was Mama making herself part of the investigation. And that wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
For a moment, Had envisioned his mama taking over the investigation. It was an image so ridiculous and frightening that he didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry.
But there was another part of the pseudo image that was even more troubling.
She was doing a really good job at it.
CHAPTER 3
The blast of air that greeted them as they stepped out of the airport was hotter than what they’d experienced in Virginia. Or maybe, it was the continued detoxing that Joshua was going through.
This sucked. Bad.
Bella licked at his hand. Somehow she always knew when he was hurting, and she always did what she could to make sure he was comforted. A burst of warmth flooded his chest as he scratched her ears.
“Hey! Joshua! Wait up!” It was Had.
Joshua groaned. His relationship with Had was… complicated. Okay, that wasn’t accurate. He liked the guy, might even go so far as to say he loved him, except for the fact that Joshua hadn’t said those words to pretty much anyone for about fifteen years.
But, man, that guy could talk the ear off a donkey.
Had came up even with him, panting from the long run he’d just made. Bending over, the young officer rubbed Bella’s head, getting a lick on the nose as repayment.
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