Red Tide

by Peg Brantley

  Nick sat back, sipped his cold drink and considered his options. Two minutes of quiet might feel like two hours to a restrained prisoner alone in a room with a fed even if that prisoner spent hour after hour alone. Nick thought, Maybe especially if that prisoner spent hour after hour alone. Nick reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of fingernail clippers. He didn’t really need a manicure, but it would give him something to do while he waited. Weapons weren’t allowed into the interior of the prison, but clippers still passed the innocuous test.

  He pretended not to notice Bonzer trying to twist on his seat, or hear him sucking air between his teeth or even when he hocked a wad of spit and who-knows-what onto the floor near the door. Instead he focused on getting just the right shape on his pinky.

  When Leopold Bonzer’s face reddened, then emptied of color almost as quickly, Nick slowly closed his fingernail clippers, rubbed them free of smudges and tucked them back in his pocket. For the first time in a very long eight minutes, he looked directly at Leopold Bonzer.

  Bonzer narrowed his eyes then arched his back a fraction of an inch. “I might want to talk about relocating.”

  Nick nodded but said nothing. Instead he leaned forward, put both elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands.

  Bonzer said, “I might be ready to give you what you want... for the right hotel.”

  A million questions played through Nick’s head, but he didn’t dare interrupt the process. “I’m listening,” Nick said.

  “Not today. Next week.” Bonzer’s eyes brittled with intensity. You get me the paperwork so I can look at it... let me see you sign it in front of me. I’ll want confirmation from my legal team that it’s a done deal. Then I’ll talk.”

  Chapter Four

  Jamie kicked the door closed. She hurried to the kitchen to drop her grocery bags on the counter before all of her handpicked, fresh ingredients for dinner landed in a heap on the floor. She scolded herself for the zillionth time for trying to carry everything in one trip, knowing the next time would be the same. She tugged off her jacket and threw it over a chair along with her purse. She looked at her dogs. “Are you guys hungry? I bet your bowls are empty.” Three hopeful faces and twelve padded feet followed her to the pantry where she kept the dog food.

  “Dad left a message.”

  A coiled spring released in Jamie’s chest while she processed the fact that someone was in her home. Survival instincts collided with voice recognition. The voice belonged to Jax.

  Jamie’s sister Jackie, whom everyone called Jax, worked as the Medical Examiner for Aspen Falls. Smart and pretty, she’d surprised everyone when she married Phil Sussman. Phil’s life seemed to have peaked back in high school where he quarterbacked the Aspen Falls Wildcats. Marrying Jax had been a definite step up for him and the way he controlled his wife’s life, including her income, remained a definite bone of contention with Jamie. But Jax swore she was happy, and Jamie’s own failed marriage didn’t give her a lot of room to preach.

  Jamie waited for her sister to make her way to the kitchen from the front of the house.

  The dog chow that had popped across the hardwood floor when she’d jumped nanoseconds before disappeared down hungry throats. She set the bag down and shook her head, then continued to fill the three bowls. Dad? Dad called?

  Gretchen, Socks (short for Socrates, but it also happened to describe his markings), and McKenzie all tucked into their dinner.

  “Jeez, Jax. You’re early. I didn’t see your car. Dad called? When? Where is he?”

  “He said he left a message for you too. Have you checked?” Jax pulled her jacket off and went to hang it in the coat closet. Her sister’s ritual would involve lashing her shoulder bag to the hanger in an exact manner then shoving it all into the small space.

  Jamie began unloading the grocery sacks. “I just walked in. I worked a little longer at the bank to make up for the time I took off yesterday for the search. I’ll check my voice mail later. What did he say?”

  “Oh, yum. We are gonna feast tonight. What are you making?”

  “I have a new recipe for sea bass we’re going to try.” Jamie enjoyed the thought of preparing dinner for her sister and her two best friends, Ciara and Ellen. Jax had one night a week free, thanks to Phil and his dogged management of her schedule, and the sisters always spent it together.

  The braised fennel and shallots, along with the chardonnay and costly saffron the recipe called for, promised some good dining. She would make the fish broth from scratch the first time around, then test it with a purchased pre-made broth to see whether the difference would be worth the bother. Often the commercial product won over the homemade.

  They hadn’t heard from their dad for six months. Whatever message Bryce Taylor may have left—even the usual “I’m fine, sorry I missed you, not sure where I’m headed next” crap—ranked as important because it served as the only connection they shared with him. It was tenuous, but they’d learned to take what they were offered.

  Jamie sucked in a breath and steeled her heart. “What did he say?” she asked again.

  Jax shrugged. “Just said he was fine... and close. Both to Aspen Falls and to finding Mom’s murderer.”

  Jamie froze, two leeks held like weapons ready for battle. She backed up a step. Blinked. “Ten years. It’s been ten years since he left.” The words clawed out of her dry throat.

  Jax thrust a glass half-full of water toward her. Jamie pushed her younger sister’s hand away and set the leeks on the counter. She walked to the rough-hewn china cabinet and opened a cupboard. Right now, she didn’t want to add even a splash of water to the glass of scotch she was pouring.

  Ellen scraped food off the last dish into a pail. “I know you compost, Jamie, but don’t you think you’re going a bit overboard?” She handed the cleared plate to Jax to rinse before putting it in the dishwasher. Ellen Grimes taught third grade and remained the only one of the four women who’d never been married.

  Jamie was stunned the first time she’d seen Ellen in front of her class. The blonde, slightly pudgy, sometimes confused-sounding girl Jamie had known for years was a dynamo in the classroom. She played equal parts mom, coach, disciplinarian and best friend to her kids. Ellen became a different person within those four walls, and there was an electric connection between her and her students.

  “That pail isn’t for my compost pile. Garbage disposal needs to be fixed,” Jamie said.

  “Garbage disposal, cracked fireplace grate, iffy oven door... you have officially achieved money-pit status.” Ellen grabbed a new bottle of cabernet and took it over to the elaborate wine bottle opener mounted on the far end of the island.

  “Those things are cosmetic, at least compared to the new roof, plumbing and electrical repairs I’ve made over the last five years.” Jamie pulled some clean wine glasses out of the china cabinet. Cooking a wonderful meal, sitting down to a table surrounded with the most important people in her life to share that meal, and discussing the issue of her dad—and his obsession—with her sister and friends mellowed her mood. “But you’re right. It has eaten away at my savings. If I didn’t love it so much I’d sell it.”

  Jax pulled off the apron tied loosely around her waist and laid it on the counter. “Everyone needs a hobby. Nice you can afford it.”

  “That sounded a little snarky. What’s up?” Jamie pressed a lid on the plastic container, which was not even close to being filled with leftovers, and put it in the refrigerator.

  Jax narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

  “Ladies, I have laid a fire. And before you get all crazed, Jamie, I laid it carefully, taking due note of the weak points in the grate.” Ciara struck a come-hither pose and the three women jostled past her, almost ignoring her strident, shifting hips and batting eyelashes. Almost.

  Ellen brought up the rear. “You know what they say about a butterfly at the equator sending ripples through the air simply by fluttering its wings? Ciara is about to personally be responsibl
e for a typhoon in the West Indies.” She hip-bumped the beautiful model before taking her seat in front of the fire.

  Ciara Burke was drop-dead gorgeous. Smoky gray eyes and café au lait skin gave her an exotic appeal that perfectly matched her attitude. Although she would never admit it, she worked hard at “effortless.” Married three times, her current single status fit her like a glove, or perhaps a really skimpy, form-fitting body glove. On top of her game with men—several men—she smiled a lot, and often commented that having a suspended driver’s license served her well. Available and unavailable males were only too willing to escort her wherever she wanted to go.

  Gretchen and Socks sprawled butt-to-butt in front of the warm blaze, effectively forcing their human counterparts to find their own spots. Gretchen’s face seemed stuck to the area rug that lay on top of the wood floor, but Socks held his head high, alert and watching every move, especially moves that involved food.

  “I love fires that use real wood. In Denver last week everywhere I went I saw gas fireplaces. Makes me totally appreciate an older home even if it is a money pit.” Jamie curled up on the floor with an oversized pillow next to her to lean on. McKenzie, her sweet, twelve-pound, fluffy white bichon, snuggled against her ribs.

  Ellen poured wine into the four glasses. “So how do you two really feel about hearing from your dad today?” She placed the empty bottle on the plank coffee table.

  “You mean after six months of hearing nothing from him?” Jamie punched the pillow and shoved it under her body. The comfortable bichon elicited a groan to make sure everyone knew the sacrifice and adjustments he had to make to resettle once again into Jamie’s side.

  “Dad’s been close to Colorado before.” Jax stuck a socked toe into Jamie’s ribs. “He’s about due to come home for a shower and a shave.”

  Jamie rolled onto her back and pulled McKenzie on top of her stomach. She ran her hands over his fluffy white fur and moved her gaze to the flickering flames, not responding to her sister’s defense of their father. She’d heard it all before.

  Ciara pulled up one of the afghans Star Taylor had crocheted before her abduction and murder. “He never forgave himself, you know.” She nestled the soft woven yarn right under her chin.

  Jax pulled her hair out of its ponytail. “By the time we missed Mom he’d already buried her. Dad couldn’t have done anything to save her.” She massaged her scalp.

  “Headache?” Jamie asked from the floor.

  “Mmmhmm.”

  Ciara tossed the afghan to the side, sat on the edge of her chair and began pulling on her shoes. “I’ve got an early morning shoot in Aspen and really need to get some rest.” She looked pointedly at Ellen. “You ready?”

  After the two left, Jamie sat on the couch and waited for Jax to say something. Gretchen’s loud snores and the pop and hiss of the fire were the only sounds in the room. Finally Jamie said, “Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you? It isn’t Dad.”

  “I hate this.” Jax pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs.

  “Talk to me.”

  “You mentioned not seeing my car earlier, remember?” The words left Jax’s mouth in a quiet rush.

  “Yeah, you didn’t answer me.”

  “I used Dad’s call to get you to move on... to avoid answering you.” Jax touched her forehead to her knees, her face hidden from view. When she pulled her head up again her cheeks were wet with tears.

  Jamie’s brow furrowed. “Damn. I knew it.”

  Chapter Five

  The guard signaled for Nick to pull his car to the side of the road. When he did, the ADX vehicle pulled up behind him but the driver made no move to get out. No doubt confirming my plates. He watched in the rearview mirror as the SUV behind him backed up then pulled forward into the road. It came up next to his car and stopped. The passenger side window slid down. Nick pressed the button on his door, waited for the guard to speak.

  “I need to see some identification.”

  “I’ve been cleared to—”

  “Sir, I need to see some identification.”

  Nick thumbed his credentials open and held the wallet through the adjoined windows. The guard studied it carefully. He glanced twice at Nick, then nodded.

  “Agent Grant, you need to remain where you are until I give you the go-ahead.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t say, Sir.” The window rose.

  The only way Nick could leave his car in an emergency would be through the passenger side into a ditch. Uncomfortable, he pulled out his cell, prepared to find out why he was being detained.

  No signal. Something’s up. He’d always been able to use his phone on the Supermax property. For some reason they were jamming cellular signals. The sound of crazed barking from somewhere in the barren field off to the right seeped through the sealed doors of his car. Nick’s memories took over. The wild clamor drowned out the hum of the air conditioner that pumped cool air onto sweat that appeared without fanfare on his forehead Dogs. The throaty brays and fierce barks signaled a hunt. But not for a rabbit.

  Nick sat back in his car seat, closed his eyes, and attempted to gain control over the nausea rising in his throat. Tears mingled with the sweat running down his face. He wasn’t a seven-year-old kid anymore. Suddenly they were at his door, pounding at it to gain access, to rip his throat out, eat him alive.

  “Agent! Agent Grant!” The guard’s meaty fist shook the glass and left oily prints behind. The ADX vehicle had moved. It was in the road ahead of him.

  Nick wiped his face with his handkerchief. He took a moment to catch his breath, then rolled his window down.

  “You’re cleared to go,” the guard said. “You all right?”

  “Sorry. Late night. I’m fine.” He put the window up and proceeded toward the main entrance of the prison.

  Briefcase in hand, forms awaiting execution, he strode into the facility. A hum of intense activity hung in the air like some kind of weird ectoplasm. Definitely a busier day than usual at Supermax.

  “Agent Grant,” the young guard greeted him with an odd look on his face. “I... we... didn’t someone—”

  “I’ll talk to Agent Grant.” The warden walked up to Nick and extended his hand. “Good to see you, Nicholas. It’s been a while.”

  “That it has, Warden Henderson,” Nick said.

  He put one arm behind Nick’s back as if to guide him along. “Associate Warden Cunningham is in my office. Please join us.”

  Cunningham was in charge of programs within the prison, including medical services and educational opportunities. Nick tried not to think of the potential implications as the two walked down the hall leading to the administrative area of the facility.

  The warden’s office was well appointed but not ostentatious. Cunningham was standing at a bank of windows overlooking the arid grounds, his back to the room. Another man, seated in front of the desk, was dressed in casual clothes, a contrast to the suits worn by both of the prison officials and Nick. He focused on his iPhone, his thumbs flying over the keys. It seemed cellular service was up and running again.

  “FBI Agent Grant, you know Associate Warden Cunningham,” the warden made the quick introduction. The two men nodded and met for a brief handshake in the middle of the room, and the warden gestured toward the man seated in front of the desk. “This is David Parker, our chaplain.”

  Nick hesitated a brief moment before shaking the chaplain’s outstretched hand. He’d seen prison chaplains before, but this guy looked like he belonged in a Starbuck’s somewhere sipping an iced latte. Definitely not standard BoP issue.

  The chaplain held up his iPhone. “Please excuse my brief rudeness.” He shrugged. “When the signal became available again, I took the opportunity to try to catch up on a few messages.”

  “Nicholas, please have a seat,” the warden said.

  “That’s okay, I’ll stand. I’ve got the papers for Leopold Bonzer’s transfer and I want to get start
ed with my interview. It might take a while to get all of the details we need from him.”

  “We’ve had quite an interesting day, Agent,” the warden said.

  “I know. I saw the dogs.”

  “Yes, an attempted escape. Rare for someone to even try at this facility. Word gets around, you know. But still, we house very intelligent criminals, and sometimes one thinks he can beat any system.”

  “You caught him then?”

  “Oh yes. Within minutes.” The warden’s mouth ticked up at one corner.

  The associate warden moved to stand behind the desk next to Warden Henderson. “That wasn’t our only point of interest today, Agent Grant.”

  Nick raised an eyebrow.

  The warden folded his hands. “There’s no good way to tell you this—”

  “Tell it to me straight.”

  “Leopold Bonzer is dead.”

  Chapter Six

  “Dead? How?” Nick choked the words out.

  Associate Warden Cunningham explained. “He’s being autopsied, but since he didn’t have any other prisoner contact we’re assuming he died from natural causes. He’s dealt with heart issues for the last few years.”

  A cell phone rang and everyone except Nick paused to check. It didn’t matter who might be calling him. He didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  “I need to take this call,” the warden said. “Please excuse me.” He exited his office in three quick strides.

  Ten years, Nick thought. Ten long years of dealing with a narcissistic serial killer and losing to him each time we met. Failure. Utter defeat. Dammit! The last seven had been on his own time and up until a moment ago he was going to obtain information that would help bring closure to several families. So many people muddling through life with unanswered questions. Rather than being a hero, he would have to call each of the families personally and let them know they would never have the answers to their questions. He forced himself to speak. “He seemed fine last week. Did something happen?” Denial and anger had no place on the job but he was having a difficult time keeping them under control.