“Are you all right?” He asked, finally, his voice softer, his eyes holding hers. “Things okay for you?”
“Things are okay.” She nodded. “You?”
“They’re okay. Good, even, you could say. For the most part.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Genna backed away, unable to stand one more minute looking into his face, and to her surprise, he let her go. She opened the door beneath the kitchen sink and began to look for a plastic bottle of some sort of cleaner.
“The table and the chairs on the balcony need to be cleaned off.” She found what she was looking for and started back outside.
“You know, we could eat inside,” he suggested, almost as if he was the host and she the guest.
Genna paused to consider this, then decided that outside with John felt infinitely safer—meaning much less intimate—than inside with John. She forced a smile and said, “It will only take me a minute.”
“Fine. I’ll fix our plates.”
“Fine.” She nodded, and went back through the small door into the warm June night.
“Fine,” she muttered to herself as she sprayed first the table, then the chairs and wiped them down.
“Just peachy,” she whispered as she dried off all with the paper towels.
“What was that?” John asked as he stepped through the doorway, a fat yellow candle in one hand, a pack of matches in the other.
“I said, the chairs won’t take any time at all to dry.” Genna stood up, her hands on her hips.
John laughed out loud and, setting the candle on the table, reached for her, his arms twining around her waist and drawing her in as gently and smoothly as one might hold a child.
“Ah, Genna, I’ve missed you,” he told her. “Just let me hold you for one minute, okay?”
“Not okay.” She put her hands on his chest and pushed him back from her.
“You know, you hold a grudge longer than anyone I’ve ever known,” he pronounced solemnly.
“John, I do not feel like going there right now,” she told him, the last vestige of her smile fading. “Do you want to eat, or do you want to talk about the same old things again?”
“I guess eat.” He sighed. “Go ahead and sit down. I’ll bring dinner out.”
But sooner or later, before the evening ends, we’ll talk about those same old things again. However many times it takes. . .
“So what’s the latest?” John asked as he placed a tray laden with two plates filled with their entrees and another of appetizers wrapped in phyllo, on the tabletop. “What’s the latest big case?”
As if he didn’t know. As if he hadn’t spent nearly an hour in Decker’s office that afternoon.
“The dregs. Kiddie porn.” She grimaced involuntarily. “There’s a network that seems to be getting bolder and more prolific with every passing month. Really nasty stuff.”
Her face clouded. “I hate getting that close to it, but I love the thought of putting it out of business.”
She got up and went into the kitchen and returned with two goblets filled with ice water. She handed one to John and sipped at the other as she sat down.
“Decker tells me you’re taking a little unscheduled trip to see Patsy.” John lit a match and touched it to the candle’s wick, holding it until the flame caught and burned.
“Then I suppose he told you about the Amish boys and the bikers?”
“He did. Sounds pretty bizarre to me.”
“Doesn’t it? The Amish have such a closed community, it’s hard to imagine anyone penetrating that and drawing them into something that’s not only illegal but immoral.”
“Decker said they only want you to nose around a bit.”
“What else did Decker say?” She looked mildly annoyed to find that her latest assignment had been the topic of conversation between her boss and her former lover.
“That you’ve been working seven days a week for the past nine months and that he was happy to have a legitimate excuse to send you off to visit with Patsy so you could get a little rest.”
“He obviously doesn’t know Patsy,” she muttered and John laughed.
“That’s what I told him. Patsy still taking life on two wheels?”
“Every chance she gets.” Genna managed a smile. “That woman is sheer kinetic energy. I’ve never known anyone like her. She simply cannot sit still and is not capable of doing one thing at a time. If she’s on the phone, she’s cooking, she’s dusting, she’s emptying the dishwasher. She accomplishes more in one week than most people do in a month.”
“She taught you well.”
“Yes. Yes, she did, John.”
And she gave me a home when I was no longer welcome in my own. She took me in when I had no place to go, and sheltered me when my world fell apart. She restored my faith when I had none. And she loved me when I had come to believe I was no longer lovable. Yes, Patsy taught me well. . .
“What are you working on these days?” Genna asked politely, no longer comfortable with the conversation.
Their knees touched briefly under the table. Genna deftly recrossed her legs.
“Same game, different players.” John shrugged. “You should try one of these appetizers, cold though they are at this point, and somewhat out of sequence with the meal. These are shrimp, scallops. . .”
“I’m allergic to shellfish,” she reminded him.
“I haven’t forgotten. I’m merely pointing them out to you so that you know which ones to avoid,” he said softly.
I haven’t forgotten a damned thing.
Aloud, he said, “These are chicken and those little triangles are mushroom.”
“Thank you.” Genna cleared her throat and stabbed one of the pastry-wrapped goodies that John had identified as mushroom. “What brought you to Woodside Heights?”
You did, dammit, would have been the honest answer. But knowing how she’d react to such a declaration, he said, “I’m on my way back to Virginia. Thought I’d stop in since I was in the neighborhood.”
No need to mention that her neighborhood was almost forty minutes out of Manhattan on a good day, and that a plane from Boston would have had him back at his own apartment outside of DC hours ago.
“Then you’re on your way back home from someplace else.”
“I’ve been in Boston for the past two weeks,” he nodded.
“The university?”
“Yes.”
No need to ask which university, since the murder of five young women over the same number of weeks had gripped the attention of the nation. As a special investigator with an unparalleled track record and uncanny instincts, John had been called to Boston after the third coed had vanished without a trace. A sigh of relief could be heard from one end of the city to the other when a suspect—an assistant track coach—was apprehended two days ago.
“I heard about the arrest on Tuesday,” Genna said. “I thought it might be your work, quick and clean. No fuss, no muss.”
“Thank you,” John said, feeling enormously pleased at her praise. Professional admiration wasn’t exactly passion, but it would have to do for now. “I appreciate the compliment.”
“So. What comes next?” Genna moved past the moment before he could turn it into something else.
“Back to the office and the twenty-five or so cases that were pushed to the side while I went to Massachusetts.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask if that was wise, for him to jump back into the same frying pan that he’d jumped out of a year earlier when he’d taken a leave of absence from everything. Including Genna.
She was still fighting the urge to do so when he said, “You’re wondering if I should be dealing with this stuff again, after what happened before.”
“It crossed my mind.” She put her fork down.
“Those were very different circumstances. That case—the Woods case—was unlike anything I’ve ever been involved with. Every depravity, every evil that man is capable of, that was all embodie
d in Sheldon Woods. And I stayed on the case too long, I admit it, though it hadn’t seemed as clear to me then. I should have backed away when I felt it getting to me the way it did. I saw too much of his work, over far too long a time. I allowed it to get inside me. I let him control the case, the investigation. And in the end, he was controlling me.”
She picked up her fork and sliced a piece of potato in two, then moved the halves around on her plate. She’d heard the story before. She knew how it ended. The retelling of it wouldn’t change a damned thing.
“We don’t have to talk about it, John.”
“Of course we don’t. Talking about Woods might lead to talking about other things that could conceivably lead to talking about us.” John quietly put his own fork down on the side of his plate.
“How many times do I have to say I’m sorry, Gen?” He asked. “What do I have to do to make it up to you?”
“It isn’t a matter of making it up to me. It’s done, John. When something is done, it’s over.” Genna spoke softly, hoping to conceal the tremor in her voice.
“Genna, everyone makes mistakes,” he said, as softly.
“Your leaving me was not a mistake. It was a conscious action. You chose to walk away.”
“It wasn’t quite that simple.”
“It was only as complicated as you chose to make it.”
“Not to make excuses for my behavior, but you of all people had to know that I was in way over my head. I was drinking way too much and falling way too far down that deep hole. By the time I realized what was happening to me, it was too late. I had to let it all go for a while, Gen. I had to get my life under control again. I was too close to destroying myself, and more than anything, I was afraid of taking you with me.”
“I could have helped you. You should have let me be there for you.” Her voice rose in spite of her resolve to keep it from doing so.
“But you were with me. Every hour of every day. . .”
“Well, that was just fine for you. Unfortunately, I wasn’t aware of where you were or what was wrong or what I’d done. . .”
“It was never you. If it hadn’t been for you, I might not have had the strength to fight it. God knows where or what I’d be now, if it hadn’t been for you. . .”
“I went through hell, John.” Genna’s voice finally cracked.
“If I could change that, I would. There was just so much going on inside my head, those first few months after we brought Woods in. If I hadn’t walked away when I did, I think I would have ended up. . . well, ending it all.”
“Every time we try to talk, it always comes back to this, doesn’t it?” She tried not to sound bitter.
“And it always will, until you forgive me and we straighten this out.”
Genna sighed. “I’ve forgiven you, John. Do I trust you not to do it again? Frankly, I don’t know. It hurt too much the first time. We can be friends—I’ll always be your friend. And I will always have total respect for you on a professional level. So that’s it, as far as I’m concerned. Buddies. Colleagues. But that’s all.”
“If that’s all I can have, then that’s what I’ll have to take. For now. But you should know that I’ll never give up on you.” John stood and dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “I loved you enough then to walk away when I was afraid I’d destroy you. I love you enough now to do whatever it will take to win you back. I’ll wait for however long I have to.”
“John. . .”
“Those few months I spent by myself were the worst of my life. As much as I’d dealt with over the years, Woods was different. It affected me in ways, on levels, that I’d never suspected a case could. I’d been so close to the monster. . . I was becoming afraid that I could become him. It was all starting to creep into my soul and under my skin. I’d learned how he thought and what he wanted and how he went about getting it.”
“It’s always been like that. For all of us.”
“You’re absolutely right. It is. But the difference with the Woods case was that I couldn’t get away from it. He wouldn’t let up on me and there was no place to go to get away from him. Not until we caught him.” John stood and walked to the edge of the small balcony, turning his back on her to look down at the grassy area below. “Just my luck to have a homicidal pedophile pick me as his main man.”
“I sympathize with everything you went through. God knows I couldn’t have handled the situation as well as you did. But I wouldn’t have walked out of your life without telling you why.”
“If I’d been thinking more clearly at the time, it wouldn’t have happened that way. I was just so afraid of what might happen, so afraid that I’d hurt you somehow.”
“You did hurt me. In the one way that hurt the most.”
It hung between them, the way it always did every time they got to this point in this same discussion, and her words stung, just as they always did. For Genna, John’s leaving her the way he had was the worst thing he could have done. It resurrected her deepest heartache and raised memories of a painful past. Abandonment. Betrayal. As a child, she’d been there. As an adult, she’d tried to put it behind her and just move forward.
To John’s mind, he’d done the right thing, leaving when and as he did. Going toe to toe with the murderous Woods for three solid months had nearly broken John Mancini. The man who mutilated and murdered fourteen young children had contacted John—and only John—several times every day during his bloody reign of terror. Before he had been caught, Woods had become so brazen that he’d even called John while in the act of torturing his victim, forcing the frantic agent to listen, helplessly, as a child was brutally murdered.
By the time it was over and Woods was captured, there was little left of John Mancini that hadn’t been badly mangled by the experience. Fight or flight, he’d thought at the time. Having no one to fight, he’d fled, hoping to cleanse himself of all the demons that had crept under his skin, hoping to emerge a stronger man for it. And eventually, he had, thanks to time off alone followed by months working with a psychiatrist handpicked by the Bureau. He’d regained the sense of himself that he’d barely hung onto during those twelve weeks he’d been inside the mind of the most despicable killer he’d ever run across. He’d washed himself as clean as one could of it all, and somehow had survived the process. He hadn’t realized that the price to regain his sanity and his soul would be the loss of the only woman he had ever loved.
John understood that to continue on with this line of conversation was a lose-lose situation. To permit the silence to keep on filling the space around them was just as deadly. He slapped his hands on the railing of the deck and returned to his seat at the table.
“My sister Tess sends her best and wants to know when you want that week at her beach house that she’d promised you.” John cleared his throat, admitting defeat, and sliced into his veal. It was cold and somewhat chewy, and seemed little more than a prop at this point.
“Did she? That’s sweet of her. I’m looking forward to seeing her at Angie’s baby’s christening. It was nice of your sister and brother-in-law to think to invite me.”
“Everyone’s happy for the opportunity to see you again, too.”
“Is Tess still dating Nate?”
“She’s been dating Nate since she was fifteen. Took a hiatus only long enough to marry Adam, which we all know was the biggest mistake she ever made.” John relaxed a little, relieved to have entered gentler waters.
“But she has her son. . .”
“The only thing Adam Conti ever did right in his entire life was to father that child. He’s a good kid, Jeff is.” John nodded.
“How is he?” Genna asked, equally happy to talk about something else—anything else—other than what had happened between them.
“Jeff is fine. He’s doing really well in school and he’s doing even better on the ball field. He’s going to several football camps over the summer.” John grinned. “He thinks he’s going to be the next Dan Marino. That kid has an arm you wouldn
’t believe. He thinks he’s got a shot at being the starting quarterback when he goes to high school this fall, but I keep telling him not to get his heart set on it. He can’t assume that they’ll let a freshman take that starting spot away from last year’s man, you know?”
“Oh, sure.” She waved her fork in the air. “I know all about that stuff.”
“Sorry,” John smiled, pleased that the Genna he’d known and loved was starting to resurface. “I get carried away sometimes when it comes to my nephew.”
“I don’t mind. He sounds like a great kid. I think it’s wonderful that you’re so proud of him.”
“It would be hard not to be. He’s been through a lot. The divorce was very difficult for him, and with his father remarrying last year, he had to let go of his dream that someday his family would all be back together again. I guess all kids go through that, when their parents split up, and you never know how it will affect them in the long run. So far, though, he seems to be keeping his feet on the ground.”
“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” Genna stood up. “Coffee?”
“Sure. Want some help?” He offered.
“I can do it.”
She picked up her plate and reached over to take his as well, and John fought the urge to grab her hand. But they’d had their go-round for the night, and he wasn’t eager to start it up again. It had been too long since he’d been able to sit and watch a candle’s light flicker across that much loved face, to hear her voice not in memory but in real time, to bask in that smile that turned up at both sides of her mouth like a pixie’s. These things would stay with him when he left her that night, and would have to do until he found the key to making it work for them again.
He handed her his plate and watched her disappear into the apartment.
She returned with two cups of coffee, then went back inside for the flat Styrofoam container of tiramisù and two small plates.
Voices Carry Page 3