by Crowe, Stan
“Blue blazes,” he muttered. “I can’t believe this.”
“What can’t you believe, Clint?” she said, sidling closer. “That you finally found me again? That I still love you after all these years?”
He shook his head absently. “How many of those letters did you read?” he asked, his voice small and so boyish it was maddeningly cute.
“I read all of them.”
“Even that last one? The one you… never replied to?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, and nodded curtly.
“Blue blazes,” he intoned again. “I am so sorry, Sully. Lindsay. I…,” he said with a gulp. “I was an idiot. Young, stupid, just having fun.”
“Kind of a sick idea of fun, don’t you think?” she said, trying to lighten the mood with a bit of teasing. She wished she could stroke his face.
Clint turned his gaze on her, and filled her eyes with his stare. She shuddered, thrilled to the core at his attention. His arms came up slowly as if to embrace her again. “I must have hurt you pretty bad, didn’t I, Lindsay?”
She nodded, sniffling lightly for effect.
“So thoughtless…,” he murmured, hanging his head. “Idiot.”
“It’s okay, Clint. I’m still here. I healed.”
He shook his head gravely. “Maybe, but it never should have happened that way in the first place.” He looked up at her again, and her heart did a barrel roll. “I wish I could take that pain away, Lindsay. Make it like it never happened at all.”
His arms dropped limply to his side, and Lindsay barely managed to choke down her surprise and frustration.
“But I can’t,” he murmured. “The best thing I can do is not add to it more than I already have. I hope you can forgive me the past. And the present.” He stepped back. “I need to find Fey. This needs to end now before anyone else gets seriously hurt. And we need to get you untied. Be right back.”
In the blink of an eye, he whirled on his heel and sprinted away toward the house, leaving a stunned Lindsay in his wake.
TWENTY
Clint knew he wouldn’t be right back. He’d have Molly cut Sully free for safety’s sake. Or maybe one of the dozen black suits that were suddenly swarming this beach. Surprisingly, Jonathan accosted Clint before he got within fifty feet of the beach house, and pulled a very real looking badge from his pocket. It took some persuasion, but Clint finally talked the ersatz chauffeur into clearing him to proceed. Clint found Molly standing in the driveway, tapping furiously on a tablet.
“Where is Miss Sullivan?” she asked, without looking up.
Clint scratched at his ear. “Yeah, about that. Hey—wait. You know her?” Clint craned his neck to see the screen, and noticed a complicated form with various bits of information.
Molly continued playing with the tablet. “Of course I know about her. Let me finish here, and I’ll meet you inside.” She turned her eyes to him, and he suddenly felt warm. “I’m sure you’re hoping for an explanation.”
Sully’s—no, Lindsay’s—eyes were red when she stormed into the basement living room five minutes later, making it very obvious that she was rubbing her wrists. Clint eyed her from across the room, but said nothing. She seemed happy to return the favor, and turned her back on him to look out toward the Sound, where the sunrise was in full effect.
Various men were taking measurements, pictures, and odd bits and pieces from around the room. One was examining the security cameras. Molly’s story promised to be a good one. When she walked down the stairs, moments later, Clint stood, and crossed to her. Lindsay twitched, but kept her eyes elsewhere.
“Miss Sullivan,” Molly said, stopping next to Sully. She waited for the redhead to finally look at her before continuing. “Thank you for taking care of my friend for these past few days. Thank you for also helping the Bureau with this investigation.”
“The Bureau?” Clint blurted. “Wait, like… the Federal Bureau of Investigation?”
“No, Clint,” Molly replied blandly. “I’m with the Bureau of Clothing. The one your parents have in their bedroom.”
“You’re a riot, Molly.”
Molly blinked once. She turned back to Lindsay, and continued. “I’ll be handling this case for the duration. You are relieved, and free to return home. Your vehicle is waiting upstairs. The tank is full, and I’ve given you a one hundred dollar gas card as a courtesy.”
Lindsay’s eyes widened. “What… are you talking about? What do you mean I’m ‘relieved’?”
Molly arched an eyebrow. “Mister Christopherson hired you to find a person, correct?”
The detective’s eyes narrowed. “My business is my own.”
Molly shrugged, and looked at Clint. “How much did she charge you, Clint?”
Clint felt his face get hot. “Uh… about that, well…”
“A simple number would be good Clint.”
“She was going for just shy of six grand, but I sort of… didn’t pay.”
Molly didn’t bat an eye. “Six thousand then, for your troubles.” She produced a checkbook from her suit coat. “Who would you like this made out to, Miss Sullivan?”
Lindsay looked back and forth between Clint and Molly. “Clint? Is there something you’d care to, I don’t know, tell me?”
Clint sighed. “Yeah. Sully, er, Lindsay, meet Molly Weatherpound. Molly, meet… Well, I guess you already know Sully.”
Lindsay stepped next to Clint and bent toward his ear. Clint readied himself for anything. He only hoped it wouldn’t hurt.
“Who is this woman?” Lindsay demanded in a whisper.
“My twin sister’s best friend.”
“You know what I mean. Quit screwing around. This woman knows way too much about me. And why are you under investigation by the FBI? I want full disclosure here.”
Molly cleared her throat, and Clint and Lindsay turned to her. “Mister Christopherson is not specifically under investigation. I have placed him under Bureau protection as a material witness, which,” and she glared at Clint, “I had previously informed him of.
“Mister Christopherson has helped us finalize our case against Miss Jane Li. I’m not at liberty to discuss details, but I can say that Miss Li had underworld connections, primarily through her father. As such, Mister Christopherson remains a person of interest until the case completes. This little joyride the two of you took jeopardized his protection, as evidenced.” She gestured around, and Clint could see the damage from the morning’s tussle.
“I was able to use your lack of judgment, Clint, to set up a sting that has made convicting Jane that much simpler. You still should have stayed at the hotel as you were instructed.”
“How’d you find me, anyway?” he asked.
“Your cell phone,” Lindsay cut in. Molly gave Lindsay a sour look, but Lindsay continued anyway. “Cell phones send signals every several seconds to keep the network updated on their position. If Miss Molly here could get access to those records, she would have been able to track your movement to wherever you used your cell. You’ve been using a cell phone most of this trip. Did your friend, here, know your number?”
Clint felt a shiver run down his spine as he nodded. “That’s a bit creepy, Molly. We’re friends and all, but I didn’t think you were the stalker type. Is Sully right?”
Molly’s mouth flattened into a line. “My methods are immaterial, but yes. Nor are GPS tracking units magical. I’m sure your friend here knows all about using them. Jane never knew I’d planted one on her car.”
Clint arched his brow. “GPS trackers aren’t exactly on the right side of the law, Mols. You sure the FBI approved that?”
Molly shook her head. “Never mind about the GPS tracker.” She held up the checkbook toward Lindsay again. “Who do I make it out to? You, or your firm?”
“I…” Lindsay looked torn.
“Look, Miss Sullivan, your office lease is three months overdue; you’re twenty days from eviction. You’re equally behind on your bills. Your Audi is a write off, wh
ich is, I presume, why Mister Christopherson’s Corolla is here. I did you the favor of calling off the SFPD manhunt for you—your mother had reported you as kidnapped, and the SFPD chief was understandably upset as well.
“You haven’t had any business since opening your doors. This five thousand will at least maintain your office space. You can keep Mister Christopherson’s case in your credentials. I also have a small list of clients whose needs align with your qualifications, and I’d be happy to give them to you to help move your business forward. This situation is beyond you, but it’s a credit that you tried anyway. I suggest you do as the song says and ‘take the money and run.’”
Sully stammered again, and Clint actually felt bad for her.
Molly continued to stare.
Suddenly, Sullivan squared her shoulders, and looked Molly in the eyes. “I… I don’t need the money, thank you. Or the other cases. I’m not quite finished with this one. My business with Clint’s request will in no way interfere with the FBI’s work. I’ve been hired to do a job, and I’ll thank you to let me finish it.”
Molly’s face remained bored. “You’re one of those ‘independent women,’ aren’t you?”
Sully looked momentarily taken aback, but recovered nicely. “Says the woman who is in charge of an FBI raid.”
“I earned it.”
“So did I. And I’m not done with the job. So if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.” Lindsay went nowhere. Nor did Molly. For nearly a half-minute, the two ladies were locked in a glower. Clint wondered whether he’d be electrocuted if he stuck his hand between them.
“So, how about those Giants?” Clint finally chipped in cheerily.
He heard his women friends exhale, and Sullivan made for the stairs.
“I hope your pride can take the bruise of being runner up, Miss Sullivan.”
Lindsay froze and whirled on Molly. “I beg your pardon?”
“You may beg.”
Lindsay stalked back to Molly, and got in her face. She smiled sweetly. “I do believe you said something about ‘runner up,’ yes?”
Molly didn’t even blink. “I’m taking up Clint’s search as a personal favor to a friend. And let’s face it, I have vastly more resources at my disposal than you do. I don’t need to pretend.”
“Why you…” Lindsay’s hands came up, and Clint saw Molly subtly shift her weight to her back leg.
“Whoa! Ladies!” Clint shoved a beanbag between the pair. “I know I have that effect on women, but let’s tone this down a bit. You can both play nice and find Auntie Fey for me, m’kay?”
There was more fuming and staring, but with a little nudge on the beanbag, Clint finally prompted Sully to move first. Lindsay poured her annoyance into her eyes as she gave Clint a parting glare before stomping upstairs.
TWENTY-ONE
Lindsay’s decision to quit the case—to quit Clint—was finalized seventy-two hours later when two events transpired. Further information on Fey was non-existent following the hostage situation with Crazy Jane (not to mention that nearly being murdered had thrown off Lindsay’s groove something fierce). All her normal search techniques fell flat, and Lindsay secretly began to wonder whether Fey was even still in town. She dared not contact Uncle Tom for the tongue lashing she knew she’d receive, and since she knew Tom would sick her parents on her in a heartbeat.
Meanwhile, Molly had continued her vigil over Clint. Suspiciously, she had been unfailingly polite—almost friendly, even—toward Lindsay in the aftermath of her initial battery of insults. The FBI agent had treated Clint and Lindsay to high class eating for every meal. Worse, Clint’s “friend” consistently showed real interest in Lindsay’s background, and seemed genuinely impressed by how hard Lindsay had been to find information on, and the security measures she’d taken to keep herself “off the grid.”
Hence the fact the SFPD hadn’t found her within a couple of days.
Despite that, Lindsay had a hard time finding much to like about Molly. Sure, the woman was smart, looked great without makeup, and had the kind of figure Lindsay would die for, not to mention that she was clearly good at what she did.
Clearly.
It was no wonder she had been the one Clint had been sketching the other day at the police station; Lindsay had recognized the other woman almost at once. It didn’t help that Molly had been even lovelier in person than in pencil.
Then there was the man issue. True to his word, Clint had done his best to not lead Lindsay on. His normal, joking demeanor now seemed to become instantly strained around her. Though he still made stupid quips, he seemed to have lost his edge and his tongue around her. Almost as soon as Molly was on the scene, Lindsay noticed him spending an increasing amount of time with the other woman, while his encounters with Lindsay were growing ever briefer and more awkward. After the first day, Lindsay was seriously considering taking Molly up on the offer for cash and cases. It made perfect sense, right? To the point, however, it would make for a reasonable segue away from Clint.
But, then, she didn’t care about him anyway. At all.
Then, things changed again. She woke first as always, the dragon inside her was screaming for her to find Clint. She drowned the dragon in coffee with some of that yummy caramel creamer she’d found in the cupboard, and went to the door, still in her nightgown, to get the morning paper. The news was more of the same. Trouble in the Middle East. Economy in the toilet. Something about a vehicle fire at an RV park. Human rights marches and abuses.
Hold on… she wondered.
Lindsay flipped back to the page with the fire and squinted at the picture. Almost immediately her heart began to sink. She read the brief article three times. Late the previous afternoon, Seattle locals reported a fire in a trailer park. Fire crews had responded immediately, but not quickly enough: there had been a fatality. Forensics had concluded the fire had been accidental—probably related to the antiquated electric stove inside the RV. The victim had been burned beyond recognition. Lindsay combed over the grainy black and white photo intensely. The burning vehicle was a mobile home built probably in the 1950s or ’60s—she’d seen her share of RVs in the past two weeks. Peeking through the flames were ghosts of word fragments, the most complete of which read “ishhous.” Lindsay closed the paper with a trembling hand, and sat back in her chair, unaware that she’d let her coffee mug slip from her hands, even after her mind registered the sound of shattering on the floor.
So it ends, she thought bitterly. A tear slid down her cheek. A tear for Fey, though she’d never known the woman. Then there was a second tear for her own loss. For a moment she hoped that Fey’s death would bring about the end of Clint’s curse by default, and free her from its grasp as well. The truth was clear even before she finished forming the thought. It was Clint or nothing, even through the hatred. Lindsay sighed. So much for freedom.
The next question was what to do about Clint. If she couldn’t be free of him, then it would be best to simply take him with her and have him for herself. She liked that idea, despite his little moment of insanity on the beach. She was curiously fine with a unilateral relationship.
The problem would be getting him away from that woman.
Lindsay thought of several approaches, but each time she came up with a solution, she found at least two ways that Molly might be able to foil the approach. Molly would have to be taken out of the equation. The Taser and cuffs would work, but Lindsay doubted the Fed would have those in an unsecured location. Eventually she settled on a plan so ironically cliché that it might just work: sleeping agents in coffee. She had observed that Molly took her Joe straight, black, and first thing in the morning.
Lindsay would have to rise early.
She dressed quickly for the day and then slipped into the Corolla (which the FBI had so kindly brought to the island), and made her way into town. A few pharmacy visits later, Lindsay was back at the house, grinding pills into powder.
Three more issues needed addressing: how much sleeping
agent would be necessary? Would the flavor of the coffee mask the taste long enough to get Molly a sufficient dose? Last, how long would it take to work? Lindsay knew she should also ask herself how she’d convince Clint to take a long journey with her, but she was sure she’d come up with an answer to that as well. In fact, if she could drug Molly, why not Clint? She hurriedly crushed up more of the pills, and swilled some of the powder in a glass of warm water to see how well they dissolved. The pills vanished beautifully, and when Lindsay sipped at the water, she found she couldn’t detect any particular taste. Heartened, she added more of the powder, wanting to make certain that her prey would be sufficiently docile when she took him. Another sip. Still no taste. One more. Nothing. Lindsay’s face lit in a predatory grin. Two questions down. Now, to determine how long…
The moon was high when Lindsay came to. Panic flared briefly as she awoke in a dark and unfamiliar room, and her neck hurt from lying in an odd position. As her eyes adjusted to the lower light, she began to recognize her surroundings, and calmed herself. Perking an ear, she listened; only the standard symphony of the evening greeted her. Sensing that all was in order, she got up from the floor, and massaged her neck vigorously as she flipped on a light. Her lap was damp, and she looked down to see a glass tipped over on the floor next to where she had lain. Apparently, she had the answer to her third question. Now, all that remained was to wait for dawn.
So, how to share this wonderful evening with the man she desired above all else? Certainly Molly would be there, edging Lindsay out again, but Lindsay could find a way to focus Clint’s attention. She repaired to her closet to see what would best suit the occasion.
After intense scrutiny of her limited wardrobe, Lindsay selected the skimpy swimwear the clothier had tossed in the bag as a bonus gift. It wasn’t exactly professional, but it was certain to drag Clint’s eyes away from his little guardian. Lindsay showered, skinnied into the swimwear, and made herself beautiful. A spritz of perfume, a last look in the mirror, and she was out to conquer. Why wait, right?