by Fiona Quinn
“I hope she’s still alive, and I get the chance to tell her that.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lacey
Saturday
Lacey woke up when the persistent beeping of the oven timer sounded. She’d been napping on the living room sofa at Deep’s insistence. He said that being a witness to a crime was sort of like being a traveler in a foreign country, where your brain is turned to the highest setting all the time, trying to understand the language, the culture, and the new sights. It was fatiguing, and she needed the extra sleep. Lacey couldn’t argue with that. She’d been exhausted ever since the day of her accident way back in September. Her brain, indeed, had needed a little extra sleep.
She stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, and punched the timer on the stove as the back door swung open. Without thinking about it, Lacey shuffled into Deep’s arms, her cheek nestling into the dampness that clung to his sweater. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of wool and wind. Pushing to her toes, Lacey tipped her face back for a kiss. It was only when the electric sizzle of soft lips on hers made its way through her body that Lacey realized what she’d done.
“Oh!” Lacey lowered her heels and looked wide-eyed at Deep.
Deep grinned down at her, his hands still wrapped around her waist. “Hello to you, too. That was a nice welcome home, and all I did was take out the garbage. What happens if I go grocery shopping?” He wiggled his brows.
She knew he was teasing her, but all the same, Lacey’s cheeks warmed to bright pink. Deep released her and headed over to the oven to pull out the lasagna he had re-heated.
“Wait. Do that again,” Lacey said.
Deep set the pan on top of the stove and turned his gaze on Lacey. “Do what again?”
“Kiss me.”
He offered up a slow smile that warmed his eyes. “You have to say the magic words.”
“Pretty please?”
“Close enough.” Deep grinned and moved in her direction. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and started to lean down.
“No, sorry, not like that.”
He stalled.
“Just stand there, okay? Let me kiss you.” Lacey watched Deep’s face become a complicated jumble of merriment and confusion. But he dropped his hands to his sides as she approached him. She put her hands on his shoulders, pulled herself back up on her toes, and tilted her head. “Put your hands back around my waist,” she instructed. “Okay, now kiss me.”
And he did.
The second kiss was even better than the first. It was like a switch was turned on in her body, and she tingled down to her toes. He moved her around to deepen the kiss and add a tangle of their tongues, not letting her up until they were both breathless.
“You do that really well,” Lacey said. Her hands rested on his chest, and she could feel his accelerated heartbeat. She shook her head a little to clear her thoughts. “But I need you to kiss me again—this time, no tongue. Actually, don’t really kiss me. Just lean down – I need to be able to think. I can’t think when your lips are on mine.”
Now the confusion was gone from his eyes, and they were bright with full-on laughter. “Should my hands be here?”
“Uh huh. Lean down, and hush yourself, would you, please?”
He stood that way for about the count of three, and then he was kissing her again. “Sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t help myself.”
Lacey took a step back. “How tall are you?”
“Six feet even.”
“Steve is five-foot-eleven.” Her brow was pulled in tight. “Isn’t that curious?”
“You’ve lost me.”
Lacey reached out and grabbed Deep’s hand so she could pull him into the dining room. She sat in the chair behind Lynx’s ThinkPad, where she’d spent the morning cataloguing the photos.
She flipped through a couple of them. “Here, look. I’m kissing, Steve.” Excitement painted her words.
Deep gave her a good long look. She thought the smile that she usually found in his chocolate-brown eyes had dimmed. He pulled a chair over so they were thigh to thigh, and he could see the screen from the same angle as she.
Lacey moved forward in the file. “Here, I’m kissing Steve again. Can you do something to put these photos side by side?”
“Sure.” Deep turned the computer toward him and his fingers moved over the keyboard.
“Okay, so I’m five-foot-one in bare feet. If I’m wearing heels, they usually add another four inches or so, making me about five-five. Look at the picture on the right. This one seems about right to me. See how when I kissed Steve, I rose up on my toes and tipped my head back? When I do that, he still had to bend his head to kiss me. But look at this one on the left. Same dress. Same heels. But look, in this picture, my heels were flat on the ground, and I’m leaning in with only the slightest tilt in my head. Now look at my dress. See? It comes just under my knee in the right-hand photo. That’s where I like my clothes to be cut, but here on this other woman the dress is slightly above her knees. She’s the same size around the hips though. We probably have the same dimensions except for our heights.”
“You’re absolutely right, Lacey. Look, different time of day too,” Deep pointed out. “See? Same location, but look in the picture in the right, sun shining in the windows. In the left-hand side, the sun’s coming from the opposite direction. There’s about four hours’ difference in these two shots. Different weather, too. It’s easy enough to reset the date and time stamp on a camera. I’d say from the angle of the sun this last one is mid-afternoon. Where were you supposed to be around three?”
Lacey looked down on the schedule she had diagrammed on the white paper table covering. “At the time of the second photograph, I was supposed to be at the gallery for a meeting with my uncle. This is up the street from my apartment, so the wrong side of town.”
Deep studied the picture. “The right-hand picture with the female on her toes —”
“That’s me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, that’s why I was experimenting in the kitchen. I’m sure I stood on my toes and tilted back when I kissed Steve.”
“Oh, so that’s what was happening in the kitchen? I was a lab rat?” Deep sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge. “And here I thought my magnetic personality had finally drawn you in.”
Lacey’s face brightened with her smile, and there was even the tiniest fringe of laughter mixed in.
Deep leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. “That’s the first time you’ve really smiled since the gallery.”
“It’s the first time I’ve honestly smiled since. . .” Her eyes clouded over as she looked past him into the living room like she was seeing ghosts. “Well, in a very long time.”
Chapter Fifteen
Deep
Saturday Evening
“This is pretty amazing,” Deep said, staring at his screen. They had each moved back to their computers to try to work through the data, looking for more clues about Lacey’s mysterious double. Hoping for understanding.
“What’s that?” Lacey uncoiled herself from her twisted pretzel position on her chair and moved to the seat next to his.
“I’m using this face-recognition programming. See here? I’ll put up three pictures. A. B. C.”
Lacey let her eyes scan over the images.
“This is you on the left. This is the mystery girl on the right. The one in the center is an overlay that points out the differences, so that an operative can look to see if prosthetics are used to change her appearance. The computer analyzed her coloring – eyes, hair, and skin tone. Your eyes and hers are pigmented differently. The mystery woman is wearing colored contact lenses. The computer suggests that she used a hair colorant because her hair doesn’t have the variant shades mixed in like yours does. Hers is monochromatic. And you’re both wearing makeup in the exact same shades.”
“Which means?”
“That she knew your brand a
nd the color name and used the same ones you did. Those differences are probably only visible to computer analysis, though. People aren’t that observant. No – that’s not accurate. What happens is the brain interprets what it sees within the context of the known. So if one of you were in a room, walked out, and the other woman took your place – the person who saw this happen would read it as the same person even with these subtle variations.”
“I would agree with that. Even though it’s me in some of those pictures, I looked at all of the photos and I didn’t immediately see a difference. Now that I know there are two of us, it’s pretty obvious to me. Tell me about photo B.”
“The center photo is what you need to pay attention to. Here, where the dotted white line runs along—it shows the geographical differences in the planes of the face. The eye shape is almost identical. The noses are almost the same. Yours is only millimeters shorter, see that?”
“Her lips are fuller, too. Actually, that’s the most significant difference.”
“Let me magnify this. There, do you see how she’s used a lip pencil to shape her lips and make them a little smaller? Not enough that it’s obvious. She’s good at this, whoever she is.”
Lacey rubbed her index finger over her bottom lip. “Hmm.”
“What, hmm?” Deep tipped his head.
“The night in the bar. I was sitting on the stool, and I felt trapped. Leo Bardman was looming over by the exit. And the scotch-on-the-rocks guy, the FBI guy who grabbed my ankle, was at the end of the bar, blocking the hall that lead to the bathrooms and the kitchen. The FBI guy was staring at my mouth the whole time. I thought I had spinach in my teeth. That or he was really into red lipstick.”
“Always a possibility.” Deep winked. “Go through that part for me again. Higgins was there before or after Bardman showed up?”
“Who’s Higgins?”
“The FBI guy.”
“You know him?” Lacey asked.
“Yeah. Well, I worked a case with him last year. Good guy. I’m trying to figure out what he’s got to do with you, though. It’s possible he was re-assigned, or was lent to another task force.”
“Because normally he . . .”
“Works for Violent Gangs. He’s not on their Arts Crime team. And from the files on the thumb drive, I’d guess that that’s what we’re looking at here — some kind of arts con.”
“Did you recognize Steve, too?” Lacey asked.
Deep shook his head. “I don’t know Steve. Who got there first, did you see? Higgins or Bardman?”
“Higgins was there when I arrived. He already had a drink in his hand. He was sitting alone for the whole time I was waiting for Steve, and I thought that was a little suspicious.”
“Suspicious, how? Do you think he was looking for Bardman? Do you think he recognized Bardman when he came in?”
“Higgins? No, he was kind of fixated on me. He was dangling his drink in front of his face to hide the fact that he was staring. It’s not unheard of that a guy would stare at me at a bar, but he didn’t make any kind of move. He didn’t lift his glass in a salute; he didn’t order me a drink; he didn’t move any closer. He simply sat at the end of the bar alone.”
“You were alone – that could have been seen as suspicious, too.” Deep countered.
“True, but I was waiting for someone. Do you think that was the case here too? Do you think he was waiting for someone else to show up? Maybe he was off-duty, and when he saw the guy die, Higgins might have thought I had something to do with it, so he tried to hold me for the police? No, that couldn’t be it.”
“Why’s that?”
“You saw Steve in the video. He did first aid on that woman. Wouldn’t Higgins’s first job be to save that guy somehow? He’d have to prioritize, right? How’d I become the priority?”
“Good questions. I don’t know. But you’re right. If he was assigned to follow you, especially if he was assigned to protect you, then he’d have to stay with you and not get diverted.”
Lacey rocked around in her chair as she stared at the computer screen.
Deep checked his watch. “It’s getting close to dinner time. Are you hungry?”
“I wish I could —”
Deep put a hand on her arm to get her to stop talking. Footsteps on Lynx’s front steps had caught his focus. He signaled for Lacey to be quiet. Then, with hands cuffing her upper arms, he shifted her out of her chair and moved her into the bathroom. He pushed in the lock button and pulled the door quietly shut. He automatically shifted into combat breathing – inhale for four — as he moved to put himself between the person coming through the front door and Lacey. Hold for four — he pulled his Glock from the back of his waistband. His finger lined up with the trigger guard; his elbows tucked tight, ready to punch out and fire if need be. He pointed the barrel in the low ready position. Exhale for four — there was a scrape of the lock, and then a woman burst through the door.
When she saw the gun, she screamed. Her eyes tracked up to Deep’s face. “Holy crap, you nearly scared the actual shit out me,” Sarah said, her hands on her cheeks.
A grin spread across Deep’s face, but his heart still thrummed against his ribs. “Sorry about that, Sarah. I wasn’t expecting anyone.” He tucked his gun back away.
“It’s my fault. Lynx called and said she lent you her house – she said you were working on a project that needed your undivided attention. I forgot you were here. I . . .” She looked back over her shoulder across the street to her house, then back to Deep. “I have no idea why I’m here. You scared the thought right out of my head.”
Deep moved over to give her a warm hug. “I’m so sorry.” He caught her under the elbow and pulled Sarah farther into the house, shutting the door behind her. “Good to see you, though. How are the kids? Mikey? Ruby?”
“They’re a mess, as usual.” Sarah grinned. “Are you here by yourself?” Sarah’s eyes seemed to focus on the two sets of chairs that where set close to each other on either side of the table each with an open computer. The white paper covered the table with the timeline penned over its length. The notes Deep and Lacey had been jotting weren’t readable from that distance, but Deep still moved to block Sarah’s line of sight.
“All by myself.”
“Good, then come to dinner tomorrow night. I’ll make spaghetti and invite everyone over. Justin and Manny will be really glad to see you. Jilly-Bean still hero-worships you. It would mean a lot to her to see you.”
“That’s such a tempting invitation, thank you. But this assignment’s got my full attention. It’s time-sensitive. I have to stay fully focused on it. But when it’s over, I’m going to take you up on a neighborhood spaghetti feast.”
“Okay. Just let me know.” Sarah turned to leave.
“Uh, Sarah?” Deep caught her elbow. “Did you need something from Lexi’s house?”
Sarah threw her hands in the air. “Flour. I told Mikey I’d bake him cookies if he could be quiet while the baby was sleeping. Who would think he’d be able to follow through? I’m all out of flour, though.”
“Wait here, and I’ll go get the bag for you.” Deep moved toward the kitchen. He turned back as he made his way through the dining room arch to make sure Sarah understood that “wait here” meant she shouldn’t wander around looking at anything. Sarah kept her focus on the ceiling. She understood enough about what they did at Iniquus that she knew better than to pry. Deep grabbed the blue and white paper sack of Pillsbury flour, slid it in a plastic grocery bag, and took it in to Sarah.
Sarah kissed him on the cheek and jogged down the front stairs with a backward wave.
Deep went to tap on the bathroom door and let Lacey know it was safe to come out. Wide-eyed, she rolled into his arms and grasped him tightly around the waist. He wrapped his arms around her and felt her body relax into him.
“She scared me to death. I thought it might be that woman from the photographs.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lacey
&nbs
p; Sunday Morning
Lacey stood at the bottom of the steps, watching Deep work at his computer like a maestro over a grand piano. He was focused on the screen as his fingers flew over the keyboard. The morning hush was broken by a family outside calling to each other as they got into their car to head to church.
“Do you ever sleep?” Lacey asked as she moved into the room. Deep looked up with a smile. his fingers still tap-tap-tapping.
“I’m a hound on a scent.” He reached out a hand and pulled her gently into his lap, then rubbed her hair with his nose. “I’m sorry you didn’t sleep very well last night.”
“How’d you know?” Lacey lay her cheek against his head and tried to read over the information on his screen.
“You were thrashing around a lot, talking in your sleep. It’s pretty typical for people in a safehouse. The anxiety from what landed them there makes recuperative sleep difficult. If you need medication to help, I can get you something.”
“We’ll see,” Lacey said. “What’s this you’re doing?”
“I was trying to figure out who was in the photos from the flash drive. We know there was you and someone you call Steve Adamic.”
“You don’t think that’s his name?” She turned to look at Deep. He rewarded her with a kiss.
“Probably not. But I don’t make any assumptions. We know that there’s a guy that you call Steve Adamic. Is that his name? At this point, it’s irrelevant. We can tag him, and that’s what we care about. There are four other people in the photographs, right?”
“Yes.” Lacey twisted back until she was facing his laptop where it rested on a rolling computer table.
He had pulled up a gallery shot showing each of the people on the flash drive. “Using my access to our facial recognition database, I found this one woman here.” He pointed. “Her name is Lynda Stamos.”
“She’s the agent for Reagan O’Neil. One the artists on the flash drive.”