Shadow Man sb-1

by Cody McFadyen

  "As fast as I can."

  He looks down at Charlotte. She is still screaming.

  39

  HOW IS SHE?" I ask. I sound tired, even to myself.

  "She's fine. Woke up in the afternoon, and we watched a little bit of TV. She helped me make dinner. Normal stuff. She's asleep now."

  "Elaina . . ." I hesitate.

  "She can stay here tonight, Smoky. I was going to recommend it. Besides, you sound exhausted, and there's no reason to wake her up."

  Good ol' empathy. I feel guilty, but not enough to turn her offer down.

  "Thanks. I am tired. But I won't make a habit of it, I promise. And I'll call her in the morning."

  "Get some sleep, Smoky."

  Would I have left Alexa with Elaina under the same circumstances, I wonder as I drive? I shove this thought aside. Push it into a closet, lock the door, sell the house the closet's in.

  I arrive home just after eleven. God, it has been a marathon day. Tommy is already here. His timeliness doesn't surprise me. Punctuality isn't a learned trait for him, it's a part of his core personality. He gets out of his car as I pull up, walks over to me. Indicating that I need to roll down my window, which I do.

  "Pull into the garage," he says. "They could be watching. When you're in the garage, don't say anything until I sweep it for bugs."

  "Got it."

  I hit the door opener and pull the car in. He follows me after a moment, carrying a backpack. I turn off the car and get out. I watch in silence as he does an electronic sweep for bugs, using a high-dollar device that can sweep all frequencies up to four gigahertz. He takes his time, slow, methodical, and entirely focused. This takes almost ten minutes. Once he's completed this, he starts a physical inspection. It's not enough to sweep for bugs. You have to look for them as well.

  I lean back and watch him work, give him the once-over. I have not seen Tommy in years. He looks amazing, as always. Tommy's heritage is Latin, and he is handsome in a very Latin way. Black, wavy hair. Deep, dark eyes. He has a slight imperfection, a small scar at his left temple, which somehow makes him more attractive. He's not rugged and he's not pretty. He's somewhere in between, and it looks good on him. He is to men what Callie is to women. He doesn't have the same gusto she has; he is defined more by his comfort with stillness and silence. When he sits, listening to you, he never fidgets, twiddles his thumbs, or taps his feet. It's not that he's stiff. On the contrary, he appears to be relaxed, at ease. It's more that he doesn't feel a need to move. All the motion is in his eyes. Always intent, interested, alert. I assume that this comes from his history as a Secret Service agent. Stillness and watching go hand in hand in that profession.

  Tommy is not forthcoming. I know he's never been married. I don't know if he's had many girlfriends, or just a few. I have no idea why he left the Service. As far as I know, they left him. Nothing came up on his background check, and I didn't feel right prying. I know the things I need to know: He's good at what he does; he has a sister he loves, a mother he supports. These are basic things, revelatory things. Things that tell you a lot about a person's character. I do wonder about those parts not seen, though. I can't help it.

  His voice pulls me from my reverie. "No bugs I can find. Not likely they'd be out here, anyway. They wouldn't think of this as a place you'd spend a lot of time."

  "They'd be right."

  "This is the car you've been driving?"

  "Yes."

  He moves over behind my car and gets down on his back. I watch as he moves farther and farther under it.

  "Found it. Very high-end, very pro, real-time GPS tracker." He crawls back out from under my car. "With that and the right software, they can track you on a laptop. I assume you want to leave it on for now."

  "I don't want them to know that I know it's there. When you're following me, maybe you'll spot one of them."

  "Right. You told me they'd been in your home?"

  "Yes. I had the locks changed."

  "But that means they could have planted bugs anytime before that. You want me to look for those? It could take a few hours."

  "If they're there, I want to know where. But I want to leave them in place."

  He picks up his bag. "Take me inside and I'll get to work."

  Tommy cleared my cell phone first. While he continues on the bug hunt, I make a round of calls to my team.

  "What's happening with tracking the user-pass combos, James?"

  "It's going to take us through the night. We're tracking down the owners of the various companies."

  "Stay on it."

  He hangs up without replying. Still a prick.

  Callie is at the lab with Gene, who, true to his word, is putting the heat on the DNA.

  "He's calling in some favors, Smoky. Some people are getting up out of bed. Our Gene is very focused."

  "Can you blame him?"

  "No. I don't care what she did for a living, honey-love. She was young. She could have changed over time, picked a different profession. He took that opportunity away from her."

  "I know, Callie. That's why we have to get him. Keep on it, and get some sleep if you can."

  "You too, Smoky."

  I reach Alan last. I fill him in on Bonnie staying with them tonight.

  "Sure, that's no problem." He pauses. "Elaina starts chemo next week."

  The lump, quickly becoming a familiar friend, is in my throat again.

  "It's going to turn out fine, Alan."

  "Cup half full, right?"

  "That's right."

  "G'night." He hangs up, leaving me looking at the phone. I can still hear Tommy moving through my house. It is quiet, and empty. I already miss Bonnie. The circumstances of her being here were terrible, and if I could change them, I would. But the truth remains. I miss her. Her absence echoes inside me.

  I realize that I burn to clear this case for more than the usual reasons. Not just to get Jack Jr. and his insanity off the streets. But also to be able to start giving Bonnie a home. I am thinking of the future, and desiring it. Something I have not done since the day I killed Joseph Sands.

  Tommy is still clomping around. I turn on the TV in the living room and settle back to watch as I wait.

  I'm twelve years old, and it is summer. A beautiful summer. My father is still alive, and I have no idea that he will be dead before I turn twentyone. We are at Zuma Beach, sitting on the hot sand. I can feel drops of the cold ocean water evaporating off my skin, can taste the salt on my lips. I am young, at the beach, and my father loves me. It is a perfect moment.

  My father is watching the sky. I look over and see him smile, shaking his head.

  "What, Daddy?"

  "Just thinking about all the different kinds of sun, sweetheart. Every place has its own kind of sun, did you know that?"

  "Really?"

  "Uh-huh. There's Kansas wheat-field sun. There's Bangor, Maine, sun, all peeking through gray clouds, lighting up gray sky. There's Florida sun, kind of like sticky gold." He turns to me. "My all-time favorite is California sun. That dry, hot, no-clouds, all-blue-sky sun. Like today. It says everything is starting, something exciting is going to happen." He turns his head back toward the sky. Closes his eyes and lets the sun he loves best warm his face, while the sea breeze ruffles his hair. It is the first time that I ever thought of my father as beautiful. I didn't understand everything he was saying at the time, but it didn't matter. I understood that he was sharing something with me because he loved me. Whenever I think of my father, try to remember his essence, I think of that moment.

  My dad was an amazing person. Mom died when I was ten. Though he staggered, he never fell. Never left me to myself while he wallowed in his grief. The one thing I never had to doubt, whatever else was happening, was that my father loved me. I wake up to someone touching me, and I spin off the couch, drawing my weapon as I open my eyes. It takes a few moments to register that it is Tommy. He doesn't seem alarmed. Just stands there, hands at his sides. I lower my gun.

 
"Sorry," he says.

  "No, I'm sorry, Tommy."

  "I finished with the sweep. The only thing I found is a tap on your phone. This is probably because you live alone. Unless you talk to yourself, the phone would be the only thing worth listening to."

  "So, it's the phone and the car."

  "Yes. Here's what I propose. I'll sleep down here, on your couch. Tomorrow when you leave, I'll follow you."

  "Are you sure, Tommy? About staying here?"

  "You're my principal now, Smoky. My job is to protect you, around the clock."

  "I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it. Thanks."

  "It's no problem. I owe you."

  I look at him for a long time. "You know, Tommy, you don't really owe me anything. I was just doing my job. I doubt that you feel anyone you guarded in the Service owed you for that."

  He turns his eyes to me. "No. But they felt they did. Because it was about their life. You stuck by me at a bad time. Whether or not you feel I owe you, I do." He's silent for a moment. "I only wish I had been here when Sands came."

  I smile at him. "Me too."

  He nods. "I'm here for you now. Get a good night's sleep. You don't have anything to worry about." He looks at me, and his eyes have changed. They are stone. Ice. Frozen granite. "Anyone who wants you has to come through me."

  I look at Tommy. Really look at him. I think about the dream of my father, about everything that has happened. Everything that could happen. I examine his dark, deep eyes. His handsome face. I feel a longing.

  "What's the matter?" he asks, voice soft.

  I don't reply. Instead, I shock myself to the core by leaning up and kissing him on the lips. I feel him stiffen. He pushes me away.

  "Whoa," he says.

  I look down, unable to meet his eyes. "Am I that ugly, Tommy?"

  There is a long silence. I feel his hand on my chin, lifting it up. I don't want to see his face. Don't want to see the revulsion.

  "Look at me," he demands.

  So I do. And my eyes widen. No revulsion. Just tenderness, mixed with anger.

  "You're not ugly, Smoky. I always thought you were one sexy lady. Still do. You want somebody right now. I understand that. But I don't know that this would lead anywhere."

  I gaze at him, feel the honesty of his words. "Would you think less of me if I didn't care?" I ask him, curious.

  He shakes his head. "No. But that's not the problem."

  "Then--what?"

  He spreads his hands. "Whether or not you would think less of me."

  His words make me pause. And they make me feel good. I lean forward. "You're a good man, Tommy. I trust you. I don't care where it leads, or if it leads anywhere." I reach out a hand, touch his face. "I'm lonely and I was hurt, yes. But that's not why. I just want a man to want me right now. That's all. Is that wrong?"

  His eyes regard me, still revealing nothing. Then he reaches forward and takes my face in his hands. Brings his lips down on mine. They are soft and hard at the same time. His tongue slips into my mouth and my response is instantaneous. My whole body arches into him, and I can feel his hardness through his slacks. He pulls back. His eyes look half hooded in pleasure, and sexy as hell.

  "Upstairs okay?" he asks me.

  I think if he hadn't asked, had just assumed and tried to take me up into the bed that I only ever shared with Matt, my answer would have been no. Part of me still feels like I should say no.

  "Yes, please," I answer.

  He gathers me into his arms in a single motion, carrying me like I'm a feather. I put my face against his neck and smell the smell of man. My longing intensifies at this. It has been missed, that scent. I want to feel someone else's skin against mine. I want to not be alone. I want to feel beautiful.

  We get into the bedroom, and he lays me down, gentle. He proceeds to undress as I watch. And, boy, it's worth watching, my body tells me. He's well-built without being overmuscular, the physique of a dancer. He has chest hair, which I find sexy, but not too much. Just right. When he slips off his pants, followed by his boxers, I gasp. Not at his cock--though I sure can't miss it. I gasp at the sight of a man, naked in front of me again. I feel an energy building inside me, a kind of formless wave, roaring toward some internal shore. He comes over to me, sits down, and moves a hand to unbutton my blouse. I feel the doubts come again. "Tommy, I--the scars . . . they aren't just on my face."

  "Shhh . . ." he says to me, his fingers continuing to unbutton. He has strong hands, I notice. Callused in places, soft in others. Tender and rough, like him.

  He opens my shirt, sits me up to pull it off, and then removes my bra. He lays me back and looks at me. My fear disappears when I see the expression on his face. No revulsion, no pity. All I see is that awe men can have at times when you stand naked in front of them. That kind of

  "Really? All for me?" look.

  He bends forward and kisses me again, and I feel his chest against mine. My nipples harden, turning into pulsing sunbursts of sensation. He kisses my chin, then moves down my neck, to my chest. When he takes one of my nipples into his mouth, I arch and cry out. Jesus Christ, I think. Is that what months without sex will do to you? I grab his head and start speaking unintelligible things to him, feeling an urgency build. He continues kissing me, going from nipple to nipple, making me groan and mewl, while his hands undo my slacks and pull the zipper down. He sits up on his knees to pull them off me, taking my panties with them, and then pauses for a moment, looking down at me, slacks bunched up in one hand. His eyes are dusky, his face partly shadowed, and the look he's giving me is pure desire. Here I am, I think. Naked in front of a more than handsome man. And he wants me bad. Scars and all. Tears come into my eyes. Tommy looks concerned. "You okay?" he asks.

  I smile up at him. "Oh yeah," I say, tears running down my face. "Just happy. You made me feel sexy."

  "You are sexy. God, Smoky." He reaches a finger out and traces the scars on my face. Moves down, circling around the ones on my chest, my belly. "You think these make you ugly." He shakes his head. "To me, they reveal character. They show strength, and survival, and not getting beat. They show that you're a fighter. That you'll fight for life, to the death." His hand comes back up to my face. "They're not defects on the package, Smoky. They're proof of what was always there."

  I reach my arms out to him.

  "Come down here and show me that you feel that way. Show me all night long."

  He does. It goes on for hours, a mix of the dark and the divine, and perception turns into a blend of unbearable emotions combined with sensation. I am insatiable, and I keep demanding, and he keeps providing, until the end, when the world recedes first to a dot, and then explodes into a near-blinding display that has me screaming in pleasure at the top of my lungs.

  "Window rattling," Matt used to call it.

  The sweetest pain of all is the lack of guilt. Because I know that if Matt is watching, he is happy. That he is telling me, a whisper in my ear: Get on with your life. You're still among the living. As I fall asleep I realize that I know I will not dream tonight. The dreams aren't finished yet, but the past and the present are learning to live with each other. The present has hated the past, and the past has been an enemy of the future. Perhaps soon, the past will just be the past again.

  Sleep claims me, and it is not a retreat, but a comfort.

  40

  WHEN I WAKE in the morning, I feel satisfied and sore. Like I slaked a thirst. Tommy isn't here, but when I cock an ear, I hear him downstairs. I stretch, feeling every muscle, and then bound out of bed. I shower, regretful at having to wash his smell off me but feeling refreshed afterward. Great sex can be that way. Like a good marathon run. A shower always feels better if you get really dirty first. I luxuriate in this feeling for a moment and then get dressed and head downstairs, finding Tommy in the kitchen.

  He looks the same as he did before we went to bed, not a wrinkle in his suit. He is fully awake and alert. He has brewed coffee, and he gives me a cup.

&
nbsp; "Thanks," I say.

  "Are you going to be leaving soon?"

  "In about a half hour. I need to make a call first."

  "Let me know." He regards me for a moment, sphinxlike, until a smile plays on the edge of his lips.

  I raise an eyebrow at him. "What?"

  "Just thinking about last night."

  I look at him. "It was great," I say, quiet.

  "Yeah." He cocks his head. "You know, you never asked me if I was seeing anyone already."

  "I figured if you were, last night wouldn't have happened. Was I wrong?"

  "Nope."

  I look down at my coffee cup. "Listen, Tommy, I want to say something about last night. About what you said. About not being sure if it would go anywhere or not. I want you to know I meant what I told you. If it doesn't go anywhere, it really will be okay. But . . ."

  "But if it does, that's okay too," he replies. "Is that what you were going to say?"

  "Yeah."

  "Good. 'Cause I feel the same way." He reaches out a hand, strokes my hair. I lean into it for a second. "I mean that, Smoky. You're a hell of a woman. And I've always thought that."

  "Thanks." I smile at him. "So what do we call it? 'A one-night stand with potential' ?"

  He drops his hand, laughs. "I like that. Let me know when you're ready to go."

  I nod and walk away, feeling not just good, but something even more important: comfortable. However it goes, neither Tommy nor I will have to regret last night. Thank God.

  I go back upstairs, nursing my coffee like it's the elixir of life. Which, with the hours I've been keeping, isn't far from the truth. It's only eight-thirty, but I feel certain that Elaina is an early riser. I dial the number.

  Elaina answers. "Hello?"

  "Hi. It's Smoky. Sorry about last night. How is she?"

  "She seems happy. She's still not talking, but she smiles a lot."

  "How is she doing at night?"

  Silence. "She was screaming in her sleep last night. I woke her up and cuddled her. She was fine after that."

  "Ah, jeez. I'm sorry, Elaina." I feel parent's guilt at this. While I was howling at the moon, Bonnie was screaming at the past. "You have no idea how thankful I am for this."