by Tami Dane
“That may be the case, but the witness has to be wrong.”
“Tell that to the uniform who saw it.”
I felt my own brows jump to the top of my forehead. “Your witness is a police officer?”
“Yep.” Gabe leaned closer still. “And get this, the witness swears the unsub is a woman.”
“Crazy.” Maybe I had been right about that.
Gabe moved closer yet. I was really getting uncomfortable. “What’s the story with the sample? Did you get it to someone?”
“Kind of,” I mumbled, looking away.
“What’s that mean?”
“It’s in the hands of the right person.” I wasn’t going to tell Gabe about giving it to JT. I had a feeling he’d freak out. “Hopefully, we’ll have a ‘fast and dirty’ analysis by tomorrow sometime.”
“Cool. You’ll tell me what you get?”
“Absolutely.”
Gabe shifted back, thank God. “What are you doing now?”
“Trying to decide how I can make myself look like a thirty-something suburbanite with shoulder-length hair.” I ran my fingers through my hair, currently cut in a no-nonsense, utilitarian chin-length bob. “And trying to convince myself that I won’t die if I try to run six miles.”
“So you’re going undercover?”
“I guess that’s what you’d call it.”
“Damn!”
That was an I-wish-it-were-me damn. I could tell. “Your father can try all he wants, but there’s no way you could do this one. I don’t think even Mrs. Ester would buy your being a woman.”
“How deep are you going?” Gabe asked.
“At this point, I’ll be taking up residence in a bank-owned house for a day or two. Luckily, the people who vacated the property left all their furniture.”
“Good luck.” Gabe leaned forward and set a hand on mine. “And be careful.” When I nodded, he stiffened, pulled his hand away, and stood. “I’ve got some research to do. The kid’s got some crazy allergies, and the parents are worried she might have an allergy attack while she’s being held hostage.”
“Good luck to you too. I hope you find her.”
“We will. And we’ll find her alive.”
That was one thing about Gabe I was coming to respect—he was always confident, positive, optimistic. Unlike me. I could work on that.
I finished planning out the details of my activities over the next few days, called a hair salon I found on the Net, and begged and pleaded for an appointment for extensions. It was only after I told the salon’s receptionist it was for an important FBI investigation that she miraculously found an opening for me. I had ten minutes to make a twenty-minute drive.
I did it in twelve minutes. And, fortunately, I didn’t get a speeding ticket. A beaming girl with too much makeup and too much body for the itty-bitty clothes she was wearing fired questions at me, interrogation style, as she led me to a chair in the back of the salon. Most of them I answered with the standard “It’s FBI business. I can’t answer that question.” But I did indulge her curiosity a little by answering what questions I could.
Mom strolled in just as Carl, the stylist, was introducing himself.
Mom said, “Honey, you just got your hair cut last week. What are you doing?”
“Did you talk to Katie?” I combed my fingers through my natural-for-the-time-being hair.
“Yes, Sloan. She’s fine. It was just a little anxiety. Everyone gets anxious sometimes.”
“I’m worried,” I confessed, staring at my reflection in the mirror.
“You’re a good friend.” Standing behind me, Mom smiled at me in the mirror. “Now, about your hair ...”
“I have to get extensions. And maybe some color.”
“Really? Why would you do that? Your hair is so cute the way it is. And the chemicals they use in hair dye aren’t good for you.” Mom made herself comfortable in the chair next to mine. A female stylist wandered up and asked Mom if she wanted anything: cut, blow-out, or set. “Oh, that sounds lovely. But I can’t.”
“Go ahead, Mom. My treat.” I nodded at the stylist. “Give her whatever she wants.”
“In that case, maybe I will get a little something done. Can you give me the same thing my daughter’s getting?”
The stylist looked askance at Carl.
“Extensions,” Carl volunteered. “And maybe a little color, to brighten her up.” My credit card was going to be steaming tonight.
“No color!” Mom said. “Unless you have henna.”
The stylist beamed and grabbed a black plastic cape. “We have henna. As well as several other herbal dyes. My name’s Crystal.” She pinned the cape on Mom and dug in.
“So, Mom, how’s your case going?” I asked, holding my head still as Carl started working.
“Not as well as I’d hoped.”
“Really? What were you hoping for? You should know by now what to expect, since it’s me you’re tailing.”
“I was hoping you were hiding some things from me. Scandalous things. A steamy affair with a married man, something amusing. I’ve come to the conclusion you’re a very boring person.”
I swallowed a laugh. I didn’t want her to think I was amused by her. She might take that as encouragement. “Me? Have an affair with a married man? Never going to happen.”
“Never say never, dear.”
“I totally agree,” Carl said.
“I had an affair with a married man, on and off for three years,” Crystal confessed.
“What about you, Mom?” I asked, not sure how to respond to Crystal’s confession.
Mom’s cheeks went red.
“No. Really? When?” I asked.
“It was a long time ago, before I met your father. I was young then. I’d had a sheltered childhood. Gone to an all-girls school for most of my life. Didn’t know a damn thing about men.”
“Me too!” Crystal said. “I went to an all-girls Catholic school.”
“You were very lucky, then, to find Dad,” I said.
“I was. Very lucky, indeed.” Mom reached across the space between our chairs. Our fingertips barely touched. We all remained silent for a while. It was a sweet moment, the kind I have rarely shared with my mother over the years. The kind I’d craved for most of my childhood. I hated to break it, but I knew I had to.
“Mom, I’m going undercover tomorrow.”
“I know.” She didn’t sound shocked at all.
“How?”
“I told you, I can’t give up my client.” This was getting a little frustrating. “That’s why I’m here. I want to tell you to be careful. There are things out there, evil you can’t imagine. I did all I could to prepare you. I taught you everything you need. When the time comes, I hope you’ll remember.”
This was the kind of nearly incomprehensible logic I was accustomed to hearing from my mother.
I responded with, “I hope so too.”
“It’ll be hard for me to tail you while you’re under surveillance.”
“Don’t try, Mom. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Mom said. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’d feel better if you kept an eye on Katie for me. Maybe you could stay with her until I’m done with this undercover thing? I’m leaving early tomorrow morning. Five-thirty or six at the latest.”
“Okay, Sloan. I’ll be there.”
Five hours later, I dragged myself out of the salon, flung my stiff and sleepy body into my car, and drove toward home with Mom’s headlights glaring in my rearview mirror. I made a quick stop at a Burger King for some fries and a chicken sandwich. And I ran into a CVS and grabbed a cheap prepaid cell phone to get me through the next day or two. She escorted me through the drive-through and to my building’s parking lot. But then she pulled a U-turn and drove home without so much as a word, or a French fry.
I was starving and exhausted, both. I dragged inside, dumped my laptop case next to the door, and set my dinner on the coffee table.
The place was quiet. No bouncy greeting from Katie. No smoke. Nothing. Right now, I was really unsure about leaving Katie to go undercover when she needed me so much. She’d been such a good friend to me all these years.
I decided it could be no coincidence that Katie was so like my mother, brilliant and seemingly mentally ill. There had probably been little clues all along. My subconscious had recognized them, drawn me to her. Kind of like some women are always attracted to men who will abuse them.
I watched the news as I ate. Before I realized it, both French fry containers were empty—I’d ordered an extra, expecting Mom to come in—and my chicken sandwich was gone too. I slurped down the last of my root beer and stumbled into my bedroom.
I didn’t drift off to sleep. I plunged.
“Little mouse.”
It was back again. Dread twisted in her stomach. Her skin puckered, goose bumps prickling her arms and legs. The hair on her nape stiffened.
No more. Please.
“Come out of your hole. I have a treat for you. A special treat, only for you.”
The stench of death hit the back of her throat. Something sharp pierced through the blanket, nicking the skin of her upper arm.
“There you are, little mouse.”
The blanket slipped away. She tried to grasp a corner, but she couldn’t hold on. She opened her eyes and looked up, toward the voice, and saw two glittering eyes in the shadows. A flash of light.
I jerked upright and blindly pawed the empty bed, looking for my blanket. I was sweating and shivering.
“Little mouse,” somebody whispered.
My heart stopped.
That was a real voice, not a dream.
Who was in my room?
My spine stiffened and a fresh coat of goose bumps covered my arms and legs. My upper arm was stinging. I wanted to check it, but the room was dark and I was afraid to turn on the light. I was petrified of what I’d see.
“Little mouse, it’s almost time,” the voice said.
I gagged. Frozen with terror, I sat curled on my bed, wishing the voice would go away. What was happening? Who was hiding in the shadows?
Was it the unsub? Male? Female? I couldn’t tell.
Silence.
Was it here? Or had it left?
Oh, God, tell me it’s gone. Pleasepleaseplease.
Phone. I needed to call 911.
Damn, my cell was out in the living room.
I wasn’t going out there. Not yet. Not until I was certain it was safe.
I heard some rustling in the living room, a dragging sound, like something hard and heavy was sliding across the kitchen’s tile floor. It wasn’t safe. I hoped Katie was in her room. Asleep.
My heart was thumping so hard in my chest, my breastbone hurt. My ears strained, catching every minute sound, the rattle of the refrigerator’s motor, the clatter of the plastic window blinds in the living room blowing in a breeze, the soft thud of heavy footsteps coming down the carpeted hall.
The intruder was coming back.
I flung myself onto the floor and scuttled like a crab into the closet.
“Little mouse, there’s no reason to hide in the dark. I have a lot of surprises for you. You’re going to love them. But not yet. I have to go now.”
Thank God!
I heard the soft click of the front door’s lock. The creak of hinges. Then the sound of the lock sliding home.
Was it gone? Had he or she left? Or was it a ruse, to coax me out of hiding?
A long time later, I crawled out of the closet. I dashed across the bedroom. At the door to the hallway, I listened for any sound that might indicate the intruder was hiding somewhere in our apartment. When I didn’t hear anything, I tiptoed down the hall. I checked the bathroom. Nothing there. I checked Katie’s room. I checked the kitchen and living room. All clear. I checked the front door. Locked. I checked the windows. They were both open a couple of inches, but the wood pieces we’d wedged in the frame—after that note episode—were still in place, keeping the windows from opening any wider. I flipped on every light in our apartment and checked every corner and closet. There was no sign of the visitor. Nothing out of place. And no sign of forced entry.
What did he or she want? And how had he or she gotten into our apartment?
Did he or she have anything to do with my car’s broken window?
Lastly I checked my arm.
There, on my forearm. A fat red droplet of blood had dried, sealing a tiny puncture wound.
Oh, my God, what the hell?
I grabbed the biggest, sharpest knife out of the wood block sitting on the kitchen counter and went back to bed. I set the knife on the nightstand, within easy reach.
Tomorrow I’d ask the property manager for a new lock.
To him that waits all things reveal themselves, provided that he has the courage not to deny, in the darkness, what he has seen in the light.
—Coventry Patmore
15
Five o’clock came very early, much too early. I flung an arm at my alarm clock, smacking the snooze button to silence Technotronic’s “Pump Up the Jam,” playing on my fave morning radio channel. I gradually pushed up to a sitting position and even more slowly climbed to my feet.
Mornings are so not my thing.
I made a beeline for the bathroom, cranked on the hot water, and filled the room with steam. The shower woke me up a little. The blast of the hair dryer woke me up a little more. The three cups of coffee I drank after that did the rest.
After checking out the newly long-haired me in the mirror, I tossed some clothes into a suitcase and added the essentials: toothbrush, makeup, hair dryer, and phone charger. I met Mom outside as I was hauling my load to the car.
“Good morning, honey.” Mom tossed her newly acquired lustrous raven locks, which fell in a tumble of waves to the middle of her back, and beamed.
Sporting some running shorts, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes, I hefted the bag into the trunk and slammed it shut. “Hi, Mom.”
“You look tired again. Why aren’t you getting enough rest?”
“Someone broke into my apartment last night.”
“Oh, no.” Mom gave me a thorough up-and-down inspection. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay. I think. Just shaken up a little.”
“I told you this complex isn’t safe. You should move into mine. It’s much better. The unit across the hall from mine is empty, now that Faith is in jail. She’s doing hard time, I heard. Grand theft auto. Won’t be getting out anytime soon. I could pull some strings to reserve it for you.”
“No, Mom. I’m not ready to move. I like this place. Katie likes it. It’s close to the freeway. Convenient. Cheap... .” And miles away from you.
“And teeming with criminals.”
And her complex wasn’t? Her neighbor was a car thief.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother. We’re very close. But living across from her would make us too close.
“I’m going to call maintenance and ask them to change the lock.” I dropped my laptop case into the passenger seat. “The weird thing is, nothing’s missing or damaged.” Just like my car. “I couldn’t find any sign of a break-in.” Unlike my car. “I don’t know how or why he or she got in. It’s all very strange.”
“I could guess. The lock on your door is crap. I could pop it with a credit card.” Mom gave me a worried-Mom look. “I’m very concerned about you.”
“Don’t be. I’ll be fine.” I slid into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and opened the window. “Besides, I’ll be staying somewhere else for a few days. By the time I get back, the lock’ll be changed. I’ll make sure they put on a better one.” Maybe I should get a gun.
“Be careful.” Mom poked her head in the window to give me a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom. Gotta go. I’m supposed to be jogging no later than seven.”
Mom shuffled to her car and together we drove to my new temporary home, makin
g a quick stop for donuts and more coffee on the way. Mom didn’t stop at the house when I pulled into the driveway; she kept on rolling, heading back to the apartment. JT was already inside, waiting for me. I hauled my suitcase in, then went back out for my laptop and breakfast. I plopped onto a stool at the kitchen’s raised counter/ snack bar.
JT helped himself to one of my donuts. “We need to show you how to wire yourself. Shirt off.”
That was one surefire way to get a girl to take off her clothes.
“Shouldn’t you have a female agent do this for me?” I asked, feeling my cheeks going red.
“I could call one in, but that would waste time. We don’t have a female agent on the team. I’d like to get you out jogging sooner, rather than later. It’s your call.”
I briefly considered asking him to call in the girl agent, but I decided it wouldn’t be necessary. I was wearing a sports bra, which was no more revealing than a bathing suit. I wondered if I could avoid him touching me. Probably not. “I guess it’s okay.” I pulled off my sweatshirt and the T-shirt underneath. JT’s eyes went a little buggy for a split second. After that, he kept his reaction unreadable. That made things a little less awkward as he taped the equipment to me.
“Little less” was the operative term, though. My body had decided to respond to his every touch. My nerves tingled. My skin warmed. My blood flowed to parts that didn’t get a lot of flowage very often. And my breathing went a little wonky. When I dropped my gaze, to avoid meeting JT’s, I noticed JT wasn’t exactly unaffected by our proximity either. His pants were fitting a little snugger than normal in the crotch area.
How tacky was it that I was staring there?
I jerked my gaze up to his face. His very handsome face. His very handsome scarlet face. His gaze met mine. His lips parted ever so slightly. I stopped breathing.
He leaned closer.
My heart rate kicked up to double speed.
“Sloan?” he whispered.
“Yes, JT?” I whispered back.
“I think you’d better put your shirt back on. Or you’re not going jogging this morning.” His teeth sank into his lower lip. I wanted to taste that lip. A whole lot more than I wanted to run six miles.