Don't Look Away (Veronica Sloan)

by Leslie A. Kelly

  He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair back off her face, tucking it behind her ear. Ronnie swallowed hard, noting the tenderness, knowing what he wasn’t saying with words but still wanted to express with gestures. And she suspected he, like she, had never forgotten that afternoon in Texas, or stopped wondering what might have happened between them if they’d met under different circumstances.

  “I’ll be all right,” she promised.

  “I know you will.”

  He finally smiled and she managed to smile back. Something about dealing with Sykes in all his bossy-tenderness was enough to bring a smile to her face even on what had been her crappiest day of the past few years.

  “I guess I’ll go spread the word that you’re awake.”

  He headed for the door, but right before he left, Ronnie remembered something he’d said a little while ago. Something about him being here, not to take over her case, but to do something she might like even less.

  “Hey, Sykes, you never told me. What exactly are you doing here? Other than going through my mental underwear drawer.”

  He tsked, a brow going up. “Why, Sloan, I never got near your lingerie. Are you saying I didn’t go back far enough?”

  Glaring, she shot back, “You go digging in my head again, you’d better hope it’s because I’m dead.”

  His faint smile faded and his stare gained heat that she felt even from several feet away. “Let’s not even joke about that.”

  She heard something in his voice—a note of intensity that she didn’t often associate with him.

  “Seeing you like that, helpless and hurt…well, I don’t want to ever see that again, Sloan. Got it?”

  Nodding once to acknowledge his sincerity, and that bossiness as he ordered her to never allow herself to be hurt again, she licked her lips and cleared her throat. Her heart had skipped a beat or two, and she had to keep her hand down at her side to prevent herself from reaching up to fix the mangled remains of her hair.

  Damn Sykes for making her feel…cared for.

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  He hesitated, then murmured, “You never did meet me for that drink.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  When they’d said their goodbyes in Texas, he’d suggested they plan to get together for a drink in a few weeks to compare notes on how things were going with the O.E.P. He hadn’t been proposing any kind of class reunion; she’d been the only one included in the invitation, and they’d both known it. He’d claimed they could meet on neutral territory, somewhere between New York and D.C.

  If he’d given her a date and the name of a hotel before they’d left Texas, she might have considered it. A one night stand and out of her system he’d go.

  But when he’d emailed her a few weeks after training to try to set it up, she’d blown him off. Not because she was a bitch. Not because she was playing hard-to-get. Not because she was disinterested.

  She’d done it because she was a chickenshit. It had been hard enough to stop thinking about the man once she’d come back from Texas. Letting him back into her life—into her thoughts—was a bad idea, and she’d steered clear.

  Now, though, it looked like she couldn’t avoid him anymore. The decision had been taken out of her hands.

  “Maybe we’ll get a chance to do it soon,” he said, his tone low, serious and intimate.

  She met his steady stare. “Maybe.”

  The moment lengthened, they continued to eye each other, her with wary curiosity, him with frank interest. She sensed he had more to say, and that it probably wasn’t anything she wanted to hear. Oh, she wasn’t vain or stupid, she knew Jeremy Sykes wasn’t pining away with love for her. He wanted her, though, of that she had no doubt. Just as much as she wanted him. But to voice that, to give life to the words and the silent longing would put her in the position of having to deal with them. And she just wasn’t up to that.

  Finally, he broke the silence. “I’ve missed you, Sloan.”

  She licked her lips and ignored the fluttering of her heart. “Sorry, can’t say the same.”

  A soft laugh told her he’d seen through that lie. “You sure don’t make it easy on a guy.”

  “Easy’s over-rated.” Nothing ever really came easy; Ronnie was used to working hard for everything she got. She just hadn’t decided yet whether any man was worth working that hard for.

  This one could be.

  Maybe. But not today.

  “Hey, you never actually answered my question about what you’re doing here,” she said, feeling foolish for even thinking that way about Sykes, given their current situation—namely, her being banged up in a hospital bed looking like somebody’s yanked her half bald, and him looking as annoyingly perfect as always.

  “No, I didn’t,” he said, his eyes twinkling, telling her he’d avoided answering on purpose.

  Dread rose within her. What could possibly be worse than having this distracting man swoop in and take off with her first O.E.P.I.S. investigation?

  “Oh, shit,” she whispered, a possibility occurring to her. One that would, indeed, be worse.

  He winked. “I think ya got it.”

  Steam building in her already aching head, she glared at him. “I am not working with you on this case. Forget it.”

  Okay, maybe the powers that be had covered their bases, not sure how long she’d be down, bringing in somebody else to cover for her until she got back. But, once she was well, there was absolutely no reason the two of them had to do anything together, much less work on her big case. Being thrown into Sykes’s company during the nearly 24/7 frenzy of a major murder investigation would knock her for a loop she wasn’t ready to handle.

  He reached for the door handle, calling over his shoulder as he left.

  “Hate to break it to you, Sloan, but you don’t have any choice in the matter.”

  -#-

  There had been a time when Brian Underwood had truly looked forward to his one night a week out with his buddies. Drinks and poker with his work friends had been almost a ritual, a holdover from his single days, a tradition he’d stuck to as a way to hold on to his independence, even after the allure of hanging out with the guys, getting drunk, and losing money had faded.

  That had changed when he and Lindsay had started having kids. The one-night-a-week had become every other Wednesday. Even then, the gatherings hadn’t necessarily been something he looked forward to anymore, but his wife insisted he go once in a while, if only so she wouldn’t feel guilty about occasionally going out with her girlfriends. He always made a point of stopping at an Italian bakery and buying Lindsay her favorite dessert—fresh cannolis—as an I-love-you-thanks-for-being-a-cool-wife-and-letting-me-go-out-with-my-friends offering.

  Frankly, he’d rather just stay home. That had been especially true since the baby had been born. Lindsay was with the kids all day, every day, and not only did he feel like he had to come home and do his part every night, but he also was one of those suckers who just loved babies. Especially his own babies. If things had been great when it had been just him, Lindsay, and four-year-old Michael, they had become just about perfect with the arrival of Sarah, just 3 months old and already the owner of a huge chunk of his heart.

  Sitting around a smoky apartment drinking beers with a bunch of drinking, farting guys just couldn’t compare. Especially because he could feel the all-too-familiar clawing nails of a headache beginning to dig into his brain. The work stress was getting to him and he wanted to go play with his kids and go to bed.

  But this week’s gathering had fallen on a special day. He’d not only just scored a home run with a massive project he’d been working on for months, he’d finally gotten the promotion he’d been busting his ass for. It came with a big raise. So when his buddies insisted that he attend tonight’s game at a friend’s downtown apartment, wanting to share in a celebratory drink—or four—he hadn’t been able to refuse.

  Lindsay had been fine with it. When he’d called home to tell�
�or, ask—her, she’d been giddy over his good news and had said, “Yes, of course you should go. Have fun!”

  “If you’re sure…”

  “Of course I’m sure!”

  “Okay, babe. I promise I’ll bring you a cannoli.”

  “Don’t even think about it, mister,” she insisted. “I’m trying to lose this rest of this baby weight. That raise of yours is going to pay for our Labor Day trip to the shore and I want to look at least somewhat decent in a bathing suit.”

  He laughed and insisted, “You’re beautiful!” He meant that with all his heart. She was beautiful in his eyes, and always would be, whether she looked the same way she did on the day they’d met, or now when she had stretch marks, milk-filled breasts and ten extra pounds, or the way she would when they were in their nineties after a long, great life together.

  “Thank you,” she said. “But I’m serious. No cannoli. Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Good. Now go, have fun. But behave. Remember, I know your password to your computer and can check up on you.”

  He had laughed at the mock-threat, a familiar one in his house. While her warning that she could check up on him was in jest, it was also possible. If she wanted to, she could check his downloads and see what he was up to every second of every minute of the day.

  Sometimes he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But given the financial benefits of participating in the Optical Evidence Program, plus the boost it had given him in his civil service job, making him look like a real forward-thinking team player, he had to think he’d made the right choice. Plus, of course, he’d never do anything to betray his wife’s trust. She’d claimed his heart in their sophomore year of college and he’d never even looked twice at another woman since.

  Lindsay didn’t have top secret clearance, as he did for his job with the Labor Department office here in Philadelphia. But his wife had been part of his decision to agree to serve as a test subject for the O.E.P. He would guess any spouse would have to, given the intimate moments that could potentially be shared via his downloads.

  Lindsay never got too hung up on that, occasionally snapping off a joke when they were making love that she wanted to be sure she looked nice for the camera. That really was a joke. Although he had to retain his visual records on his own computer equipment, Brian didn’t have to upload his O.E.P. data to the researchers in Washington every single day, just once a week so they could ensure everything was working correctly. For him, that was Thursday mornings. Meaning they never had sex the night before. His bi-weekly poker games were probably the only interesting things for anybody checking up on him to see, because Lindsay always wore a flannel nightgown, curlers and face cream to bed on Wednesdays.

  Which meant he would not be getting laid tonight—not a big change, since their sex life had been sporadic since Sarah’s birth. One of these days they’d get back to normal; in the meantime, he was happy to just hold his beautiful wife in his arms as she nursed their sleepy daughter.

  “Okay, guys, I have to call it a night. I need to get home and get some sleep,” Brian said. “I suspect Lindsay’ll have me on two a.m. feeding duty as payback for staying out so late.” He rose from his seat, smiling and thanking his work friends, still crowded around a card table at his buddy Dan’s apartment.

  “No, you can’t leave yet,” said Dan. “It’s not even ten.”

  “It’s after eleven,” Brian said with a laugh. “I’m gonna be dead meat if I don’t get home.”

  “Henpecked,” called one of the other guys.

  “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He meant that completely.

  His friends refused his offer of money toward the beer and pizza, and he waved as he walked out the door of the old brownstone. Dan lived several blocks from the garage where Brian usually parked for work; they’d all walked down together after quitting time. He headed back that way, walking quickly, mentally counting the number of drinks he’d had and how long ago the last one had been. He had only had a few beers, stretched out over several hours, and didn’t think he was anywhere near impaired. But he still focused on the number and the time, and how he was feeling, wanting to be certain. Not just because he’d promised Lindsay, but because he was a cautious man. His life was too good to even think about putting it at risk.

  “Hey, asshole, watch where you’re going!” a voice called. The shout was accompanied by a loud beep.

  Brian leapt back, realizing he’d just started to cross the street against the red light. Rolling his eyes over his own stupidity, he called back, “Sorry, dude, thought it was green!”

  The driver waved and Brian felt pretty sure there’d been a middle finger sticking up. You had to love the City of Brotherly Love.

  Knowing there was an alley that would provide a shortcut between this street and the next, he headed for it. It was right around the corner from the little Italian bakery where he usually bought Lindsay her treats. True to his word, he hadn’t done it tonight, and felt awkward going home empty-handed.

  Then he thought about it. He wouldn’t be going home empty-handed. He’d be going home with the promise of ninety-eight hundred more a year.

  Smiling at that thought, he reached the alley and headed down it. Within a dozen steps, he was swallowed up by the darkness, the tall buildings on either side blocking much of the light from the street he’d just left, and from the one in front of him, which seemed a long way off from here. The old buildings were occupied by businesses, maybe some apartments on higher floors, but none of them with windows looking down into this trash-strewn alley.

  Hmm. Maybe the shortcut hadn’t been such a great idea.

  Downtown Philadelphia had its rough areas and its good ones. This neighborhood was a mix, so while he didn’t immediately go on high-alert, he definitely kept his eyes and ears open. He’d hate to cap off his great day by getting mugged.

  Listening for anyone following him shouldn’t be difficult. The night should have been louder, but the narrow alleyway had swallowed up the sound along with the light. He could barely even make out the rumble of car engines on Chestnut Street and had the strangest sense of being cut off from civilization, even though it was only by half a block. This secluded throughway must be the Bermuda Triangle of Philly, so adrift did he feel.

  Suddenly, ahead of him, a shape moved in the darkness. Quick, low to the ground.

  A high-pitched screech broke the night.

  He leapt backward, almost tripping over his own feet, watching the inky black figure dart between two trash cans, sending the lid of one crashing down. The metal lid spun on the gravelly road, its clash and clang the only sounds breaking the silence, save the thump of Brian’s suddenly raging heart.

  “Damn cat,” he muttered, laughing at himself. His imagination had obviously gone into high gear if a stray feline had nearly made him wet his pants. If anybody at the O.E.P. headquarters actually watched his uploads, they’d probably be laughing at him tomorrow for that overreaction.

  His lips still widened in a smile, he resumed his walk, seeing the welcoming lights of the next block looming a little larger. Just beyond that intersection was the garage. He’d be home in thirty minutes, maybe even in time for the end of Sarah’s eleven p.m. feeding. God, he loved holding her in his arms while he rocked her to sleep at night.

  Another trash can lid clanged. “Not gonna get me this time, cat,” he said with a smile as he passed the alcove from which the creature had first come.

  Gravel crunched behind him. Something moved, disturbing the air. But he was slow to react; his mind seemed unwilling to scream danger and be called the boy who cried wolf.

  “Is someone…”

  Before he could finish voicing his question, a hard, metal object scraped his neck, sharp and jarring.

  “What the hell?”

  Stunned, Brian threw an arm up and tried to spin around. But the object came to life, sending wave after wave of electric pain shooting through him. He cried out as the muscle
s in his body began to quiver and to seize. He’d never known such pain, so hot and fiery, burning him from the inside-out, sending thought and comprehension away until panicked terror was all that remained. He tried to scream, but his vocal cords froze as well and his wails of pain became gurgles of agony.

  Dropping to his knees in the middle of the alley, he then fell flat onto his stomach, as stiff and rigid as a board. He registered the sound of bone crunching as his face slammed into the road . Brian immediately tasted blood, plus the chalky, bony bits of his two front teeth, which now littered his tongue. He tried to breathe. With his face pressed flat on the ground, he managed only to choke on flecks of dusty gravel and dirt. Finally, with great effort, he turned his head a tiny bit and gulped some fresher air.

  “Waaahh?”

  He strained, trying to move again, trying to function, but could only twitch, shocked and helpless, unable to so much as lift a finger. The night was so dark. So deserted. A half a block in either direction there might be people milling about, but they were much too far away to hear his guttural, throaty groans.

  The only thing he could move was his eyes. And although even thinking was difficult, his training kicked in and he did remember to try to see who it was who had attacked him.

  He blinked, seeing drops of his own blood dripping down over his eyelashes, though he couldn’t feel them land upon his cheeks. He saw pavement. A small, rank puddle of stagnant water. The rough brick of the nearest building.

  Mostly though, he saw his own mortality.

  Someone rolled him over. He stared up, through the tunnel created by the tall buildings, toward the sky far above, at the bright stars that shone over the city.

  He and his little boy made wishes on those stars every night before bed.

  Star light. Star bright.

  Oh, God, my son, my baby girl, they need me. Please don’t hurt me.

  He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t make a sound. He could only lie there, struggling to control his terror before he choked on it.

  Then he saw the figure cloaked all in black, carrying a large, sharp-bladed knife. And terror was all that remained.