by Brian Shea
“Sorry,” Nick muttered. There was so much he wanted to say but he held back.
“That’s the best you can do? Sorry?” Izzy was breathing heavily through the phone as she added, “I was there for you. Always had been. I thought we had something real. Maybe something lasting. Then, out of the blue, you up and leave.”
“I know. I just…” Nick fumbled with the words.
“You don’t know shit! I waited. Months I waited. And nothing. No call. Not even a weak-ass text message. Nothing!” Izzy unloaded. Her words were spoken through gritted teeth.
“You’re right. It was a shitty thing. You didn’t deserve it. You deserve better,” Nick said, softly.
“That’s the first thing you’ve got right so far. And that’s what I decided, too! I moved on. Hard as it was. But I moved on!” Izzy’s initial assault had passed, and her voice began to soften again.
Nick felt sick to his stomach. It had been seven months since he’d left Connecticut. Since he’d left Izzy. And he hadn’t made one attempt to contact her over the last three. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d taken out his phone and stared at her number multiple times a day since their last conversation, but he never made the call.
“Is there anything you want to say to me?” Izzy asked.
Her frustration returned with his silence.
“I’m not sure what to say,” Nick said.
“Then I’m not going to be the one to tell you. It doesn’t work that way.”
Izzy had walled herself up again, shielding her heart from Nick’s inability to commit. She delivered the final blow. “His name is Bill and he’s a good man.”
“Bureau guy?” Nick asked.
He was woozy at the thought of another man touching Izzy.
“No way. Never again. You were my first and last in that department,” Izzy said.
Her edginess dissipated slowly with a sigh.
“Met him at the rehab facility when I was recovering from my ankle injury. Which, by the way, is much better. Thanks for asking.”
Nick realized he hadn’t checked on her. The last time they talked she was still on light duty and using a cane to assist her mobility. She’d saved his life and he’d failed to look in on her recovery.
He made a meager offering, “I suck. What can I say?”
“Water under the bridge,” Izzy responded.
“I wish I could go back and do things over, ya know? Do things right,” Nick said.
“That’s not why I called. I’m not calling to rehash our failed relationship,” Izzy said.
“Why then?” Nick asked, embarrassed by the direction this conversation had taken.
“Declan called me. He was concerned. Thought maybe I’d have better luck figuring out what’s going on with you,” Izzy said.
Her voice returned to normal. The hostility seemed to have vanished as quickly as it had come. Like an afternoon rainstorm in the summer.
“But I didn’t say anything,” Nick said.
“It wasn’t anything you said. More how you said it.”
“Hmm. He’s a good read of people,” Nick said.
“So, what’s the deal?” Izzy said.
Nick could tell that her patience at this game of cat and mouse was waning.
“Nothing. Just a case I’m working. Bad one. I guess none of these crimes are ever good, but this feels worse. Bigger,” Nick said.
He thought back to the girls in the motel. The small child by the graffiti wall. And Mouse.
“You sound shook. What can we do to help?” Izzy asked.
Nick pulled the phone away from his ear. He was blown away by his old partner’s willingness to help, especially after he’d left her when she’d needed him most. Now she was ready to jump in and help. Isabella Martinez was the definition of loyal.
“Nick, are you still with me?”
“Sorry. Yes. I’m good. I’ve got this. Didn’t mean to spook you guys. I was just a little overwhelmed. Nothing I can’t handle,” Nick said, regaining his composure.
“Well, if that changes then you know how to reach me,” Izzy said.
Her voice was flat. The disappointment was evident.
“Yeah, I know. Thanks for looking out,” Nick said and then added, “Good luck with Bill. I hope things work out.”
Nick wished he could’ve stuffed a sock in his mouth. Why the hell would he wish her well with another guy?
“Okay,” Izzy muttered, awkwardly.
The quiet that followed was only seconds, but to Nick it was an eternity.
“Take care of yourself,” Izzy said, dejected.
The phone call ended with a click. Nick pocketed the phone and walked into the main lobby. The cool air of the building’s interior did little to ebb his burning desire to undo that last conversation.
26
“Thank God for Rusty and Jasper!” Jones said.
He was smiling as he sat on the corner of Anaya’s desk. His ample rump came close to knocking over the green reading lamp that cast its subdued light on the stack of precariously balanced files.
“That’s for sure,” Nick said, rejoining the group. “I never noticed before, but your desk might be as bad as his.”
Nick looked at Anaya while thumbing in the direction of Jones. A big grin formed on his face.
“Great minds think alike, buddy,” Jones laughed.
An ease settled over the group as the return of the girl gave hope to a seemingly desperate investigation. The girl sat slumped in the wooden chair positioned directly in front of the desk. Her toes stretched, touching the floor as she nervously swiveled the seat from side to side. Her arms were folded and her head was down. Mouse looked as if she were sitting in front of the principal with her parents standing in judgment. Although, Anaya’s delicate face and deep dark eyes held none of the trademark signs of the school administrators that Nick had faced during his adolescence. If the situation wasn’t so serious, it would’ve made a great Norman Rockwell moment.
“What am I going to do with you?” Anaya said.
She was kind but not weak in her presentation to the child. An undercurrent of firmness resonated in her voice.
Mouse peered up at the social worker through her straight black hair that was flopped over her face. It was as if she were peering from behind a dark veil. Even under the web of hair, Mouse’s eyes shone brightly. Nick saw the spark. It’s probably what’s kept her alive through this ordeal. There was a fire inside of this girl. A natural toughness.
“I can’t protect you if you keep disappearing,” Anaya said, filling the void created by the unresponsive child.
“Who’s the guy in the car?” Jones interjected.
The drawl was back but his tone easygoing. Not the gruffness he used on the street.
Mouse did not look at the detective. Nick knew it was common for victims to avoid eye contact with authority figures. Especially when those figures happened to be males. She maintained her passive avoidance.
“We want to help, but you’ve got to tell us somethin’, hun,” Jones said, pressing the girl a bit harder. He dropped in the drawl for added effect.
“Did you know him?” Anaya said, hoping to offer up some assistance by rephrasing the question.
Nick said nothing. He watched and listened. It wouldn’t be productive for him to speak. The sign of a seasoned investigator is knowing when to use silence.
Mouse looked down. And then an almost imperceptive movement of her head. She slowly shook it from side to side. Had he not been watching intently, Nick would have missed the girl’s first attempt at communication with the group.
Jones’s observant eye caught it too, and he responded, “So you didn’t know the guy? Then why’d he pick you up?”
“Did you ask for a ride from the man?” Anaya said.
Nick watched Jones and Anaya transition the lead while questioning the girl. It was obvious from the synchronous questioning that they’d deployed this tactic in the past. It was a watered-down version of good
cop/bad cop.
Mouse shook her head again. This time the movement was more noticeable. A sign that she was becoming more comfortable with the people in the room. An indication that a connection was being made. Nick evaluated body language with as much scrutiny as he did the spoken word.
“So, you didn’t know him? And you didn’t ask for a ride? Then how’d you end up in the car?” Jones asked, looking for some answer that would clear the mystery.
Nick caught Jones’s attention and gestured toward the door with a cock of his head, indicating he wanted to talk outside the room. Jones registered the request and stood up from the desk. The two slipped out and closed the door, leaving Anaya alone with her.
“So, she’s on the run and happens to get picked up by a guy she doesn’t know. Then the guy ends up crashing and dying while she runs away again,” Nick said, quietly.
“Well, what are we missing?” Jones asked, running his fingers through his thinning hairline.
“You and I both know something’s off here. She may not have known him, but there was definitely a reason she got in that car. There has to be some link,” Nick said. His mind raced to connect the dots.
“I’ve got it,” Jones said.
Without explaining, he reentered the room. Anaya was speaking quietly but in his haste Jones interrupted.
“You didn’t know him, but you know who he works for?”
“Yes,” Mouse said.
Her voice was low but what she lacked in volume she made up for in conviction. Mouse twisted slightly in her seat so she could direct her answer to the rotund detective.
“I’ll be damned. She speaks!” Jones exclaimed.
“Where is she now?” the Pastor asked.
His voice was steady, but the lack of inflection worried Cain.
“The Heathen is at the Child Protective Services building. I’m down the street,” Cain said.
He tried to show confidence, hoping to demonstrate to the Pastor that he was worthy of another opportunity. His right hand rotated the pocket knife. He registered the embossed lettering as his thumb caressed it, tempted to relieve his tension as he awaited the Pastor’s judgment.
“You are my Hand. If you falter, then so shall I. The Lord has spoken to me and you shall be granted another pass,” the Pastor said.
Cain bathed himself in the words. His eyes watered. Another opportunity given. A second chance at redemption.
“Remember, my son, those who stand in the way of you are defying God’s will. Bring the Heathen forth so that she may be judged!” the Pastor boomed.
These last words echoed through the phone as if standing on the pulpit. The call then abruptly ended.
Cain felt an exhilaration. Service is its own reward. He vowed that he would not fail again.
27
His fingers pressed deep into the neoprene surface and his back was straight. Downward dog seemed so simple now but had eluded him for the first few months. He’d watched Val slip into the position with ease, but every time he saw his reflection in the glass doors of the bookcase in their living room, he looked nothing like her. It took time for his body to find the feel of the positions. But once he did, it unlocked something inside him.
Enya blared through his earbuds, carrying him away as he embraced his ritual of sequential movements. Typically, Declan did his yoga before anyone was awake. He’d found the sweet spot in his life was 4:00 am. A time before the chaos of the day had begun, but sometimes even his early morning schedule went awry, as this Sunday morning had. Because of the raid on J’s Pizza shop earlier, he was now trying to fit his routine in while his girls were eating their lunch. The giggles coming from the kitchen were as soothing to him as the music in his ears. He smiled.
The phone vibrated twice on the floor in front of him, indicating a text message. Declan did not like being a slave to the phone, but his role on the Bureau’s HRT dictated otherwise. The unit remained on an on-call status. And they’d been busy hunting any connections to The Seven. Luckily, today’s mission took place in Hartford, enabling Declan to get home early after he wrapped up his debrief.
He glanced at the name accompanying the message. Dropping to his knees, he ended his routine and picked up the phone to read it.
Izzy: Call me.
Declan sat on the mat and spoke softly into the phone, trying hard not alert the children to the interruption to his routine. He knew if they thought he was done with his workout, then they would come barreling in to play.
“Hey there! So, what’d you find out?” Declan said in almost a whisper, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear.
“You were right. Something is definitely off with him,” Izzy said.
“Did he give any indication as to what it might be?” Declan asked.
“He said it was related to a case. Something bad, but he gave no details. He was very aloof,” Izzy said.
Her frustration bled through the receiver in the form of an exaggerated series of sighs.
“That’s weird. We chased a damn terrorist around the country and Nick never seemed fazed. I wonder what’s got him so messed up,” Declan said.
“Me too. He did tell me that he had unfinished business in Texas. Never let on to what it was or what he meant by it,” Izzy said. “To be honest, he always held back a bit when he talked about his time out West. Ya know? Kind of guarded.”
“Hmm. So, what’s the play?” Declan asked, eager to help his friend.
“Not sure. If you’re around later, let’s meet up for a quick bite. I always think more clearly with a little food in my belly,” Izzy suggested.
“Absolutely. There’s a great little spot here on Main Street. How does Village Pizza sound?” Declan asked.
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you at six. If that works?” Izzy asked.
“Six it is. See you then,” Declan said.
He turned on his music and resumed his routine, picking up where he’d left off. But it was too late. His three girls appeared before him, smiling their toothy smiles. The workout over, Declan conceded to their silent request for play. Laney stood off to the side and watched as Ripley and Abigail climbed onto his back.
The three stared at the small girl. Their eyes squinting and peering at her, like mentalists trying to see into her mind. All done with the intent to gauge how to best help her circumstances.
“You’re a real challenge for us. You are a flight risk, so we can’t put you in a traditional setting. You’d disappear from any family we put you with and there is no way I’m putting you in a group home. Not after the ordeals you’ve been through. And it’s all made worse by the fact that you’re in danger,” Anaya said. Her words were spoken to the girl but directed at the group.
“She’s going to need protection. A round-the-clock kind of deal. I don’t think your agency is capable of providing that,” Jones said.
Anaya’s head pulled back and her brow furrowed. Jones realized he may have come off a bit harsher than intended and quickly interjected, “No offense meant. Hell, I don’t even know if we’d be able to keep this one safe.”
“None taken. I agree. She is in need of a protective detail and a place to hide until we can figure this thing out,” Anaya said.
“We don’t even know who’s after her. That would be a nice place to start, but one thing is for certain, I don’t think they’re going to give up the hunt,” Nick said, tension in his voice.
“Agreed,” Jones said.
Jones rubbed his belly subconsciously. Hunger always came to him in moments of stress. Maybe that’s why he’d let his pants out twice since becoming a member of the sex crimes unit. Each case serious and each victim important.
“She could stay at my place. I’ve got a spare bedroom,” Nick offered.
He smirked at the awkwardness of the invitation. He’d never taken in a victim before and knew it would definitely violate some protocols. But working outside of agency directives was not something new to him.
Mouse adjusted in her seat,
twisting her body so she could make eye contact with the FBI agent. She said nothing. Her face was unreadable.
“I’ll stay with you too,” Anaya said, too eagerly.
Her eyes glanced around the room, trying to determine if the others had noticed the trace of enthusiasm of her comment. Blushing, her light brown cheeks took on the color of an autumn leaf.
Anaya continued, “I just meant that I think Mouse would be more comfortable if I were to remain with her.”
Mouse nodded but didn’t look away from Nick. She was still evaluating him. She stared directly into his light blue eyes, unblinking as though peering into his soul.
“So, I guess I’m the odd man out,” Jones said, with a laugh.
“You’re welcome to come too, but I’m going to be honest, either you or Anaya are going to be playing rock-paper-scissors for the couch,” Nick said, chuckling.
“No, I’m just kidding. My ex is dropping my son off tonight. It’s my week. So, a teenage girl in my house with my teenage boy is a definite no go,” Jones said.
Nick noticed that Anaya started drumming her fingers on the desktop uncomfortably at the mention of Jones’s ex-wife. It was nothing overt. Her eyes closed just a fraction longer than a blink. The subtlety of the micro-gesture told a deeper story. Nick was intrigued but not sure he wanted the answer. Sometimes he felt it was a curse that he was able to read people so well.
“I’m guessing we’re in agreement to keep this plan off the record?” Anaya asked.
“Absolutely. No boss is going to approve it,” Nick said.
“Mouse, are you okay with this?” Anaya asked.
Mouse nodded.
“If anyone asks, I’m just going to say that CPS is handling her,” Jones said.
“And I’ll say that she is at APD headquarters for an interview,” Anaya said.
“It sounds like we are a bunch of high schoolers planning to sneak out to a kegger,” Nick said, laughing.
“Mouse, I’m going to need you to trust us. That means, you can’t run away from us again. We can’t protect you if we can’t find you,” Anaya said.