I went to ask another question when Davidek spoke up, "I told my mom I was too busy in L.A. when she found out you were coming home. You better stick to that story, Bits." He looked at me in the rear view mirror. "I do not want to suffer through another why are you still single lecture. A lecture that will undoubtedly be followed by an arranged date with the Lukas girl from down the road."
I smiled, laughing lightly. Davidek was trying to ease the tension in the car. I shrugged, "Of course. Your mother called me this morning before I showered. Told me to tell you she knows you are full of it and you will be missing her big Sunday dinner this week and the next time you do decide to visit."
Davidek frowned, huffing, "Still not worth the lecture." I laughed harder, Kit also trying not to laugh at his expense.
After saying our goodbyes to Davidek and getting the bags on the plane, I sat across from Kit at the small table in the middle of the plane. She was flipping through a random bridal magazine Sam's oldest daughter had given him to sort through and pick out a Father of the Bride tuxedo.
For a few minutes, I watched her. Glossing over the pictures of bright white bridal gowns and pastel bouquets.
Buckling my seat belt, I let it out. "You went to the crime scene, didn't you?"
The quick flipping of pages slowed, Kit's eyes darting from the pages to the edge of the table. It took her a second to answer, "I made sure Davey was awake and knew where I went." Her hazel eyes slowly met mine. "You were passed out when Sheehnan called me." She picked at a page with Vera Wang's full fall collection layout. "He asked for my help." Kit paused, "How did you know."
I smirked, "In all the times we've shared a bed. You never leave it when I'm naked and returned to it fully clothed." I took my phone out of my jean pocket, setting it on the table. "When you're cold, you usually burrow into me or try to wake me up to indulge in heat producing activities." I raised an eyebrow at the blushing redhead. "That and you were wearing my ducks dressed as Lincoln pajama pants. Another clue you were in a hurry to dress and get back into bed before I woke up."
Kit bit her lip to prevent her shy smile from growing, shaking her head, "Do all of your interns give you pajamas for Christmas?"
I shrugged, "They would probably give me ties if I wore them. Instead I get horrible politically themed cartoon pajama pants."
I watched Kit giggle and turn back to the bridal magazine.
Watching her flip more pages threw another question to the front of my thoughts. One I knew was not at all appropriate for the moment or the near future. Considering the threats against us and me, I had to bite my tongue hard to avoid blurting it out.
I waited until Kit was done flipping through the magazine. My mind now ready to ask the questions I had been dying to all morning. "Kit. I'm not mad that you went to the crime scene, but will you at least tell me what you and Danny saw? If it will give us any clues to go on?"
Kit sighed, tossing the magazine on the empty seat next to her. She took a deep breath, looking over at me, "Sheehnan sent the scene photos earlier. I didn't and don't want you to look at them, but I also won't stop you." She dug in her coat pocket, setting her phone on the table between us. "The scene is gruesome and the only clues we have are the ones Alistair wants us to have."
I went to reach for her phone, Kit's hand covered mine. Stilling it. "Are you sure?"
The hard look in her hazel eyes told me plenty, but not enough to chase away the scientific curiosity. Curiosity that would not allow me to rest until I looked at the scene and picked it apart analytically. I nodded curtly, "I am."
Kit blew out a short breath, releasing my hand to lean back in her seat. I held up her phone, opening the photograph attachments Danny had emailed Kit. The first glimpse and I instantly felt sick. Swiping faster through the images the moment I saw my face staring back at me. The scene was beyond gruesome, it was horrific and my mind would not allow me to look at the clues. Refusing to look past the hard violence before me, it wanted nothing to do with the scene, the photos or any of the evidence.
I kept swiping, swallowing down a dry throat until I found the clean and stark images from the autopsy. Michael’s face was free of mine as well as his own. Nothing but butchered flesh and bone staring up at the camera, his facial muscles and the edges of bone were all that remained.
I took slow, quiet breaths settling my mind out of the raw fear the scene brought out in me and back to the cold science of an autopsy. The autopsy photos showed the incredible amount of damage the poor man had suffered.
His bones broken down into mush. His neck broken and twisted to almost 180 degrees at the C5 and C7 vertebrae. Telling me immediately the amount of force required to turn this man’s neck like it had been.
As I read the coroner notes, my mind clicked. Things were coming together. I set the phone down and grabbed my briefcase. "Kit, do you remember in Dr. Bourne's notebook how she was running trials on her patients to increase their strength to reach super human levels?" I yanked out the bloodstained notebook, flipping to the section I was speaking of.
Kit looked at me over the top of another bridal magazine, "Vaguely. I read that the steroid and hormone trials were making her "patients" lash out at her."
When I found the section I was looking for, I jabbed my forefinger in the middle and pushed it towards Kit. "Here. Dr. Bourne's own handwriting. She was moving her trials to patients 4408/7981/5244/6242. That she had found success in patient 1AA's trials." I reached back into my briefcase, removing the lab accident report. "4408 and 1001 are accounted for in the casualties of the accident. Along with 1AA, aka Honey. Three patients, at the time of the report, remained missing." I looked up at Kit, "The damage to Anderson could only be caused by a machine or someone with super human strength." I jabbed at the patient numbers, "These three missing patients all have that. 7981, 5244, and 6242."
I pushed the files away, "I think if we can find out who these three are, we will find Alistair. He has to be one of them. It makes perfect sense that one of these patients is Alistair or is working for him." Thoughts were pouring in at a rapid rate as I went back over everything I had read. Statements from Alistair's thugs, the accident reports, the motel incident, and Bourne's notebooks.
Kit picked up the literature, setting it on top of her bridal magazine. She scanned and flipped pages, "If only we knew someone in the CIA that could or would want to get us those hidden or missing patient files"
I turned to look out the small plane window, taking in the sight of the capital from thousands of feet in the air. There was someone I knew who could get me into the CIA's vaults, but I wasn't sure I would want them to know that things had grown even more risky.
________________________
Kit and I spent the rest of the short flight trying to decipher Alistair's strange poem. Eventually giving in when it became clear it was meant to be nonsensical and a poor attempt to agitate and uphold his religious fervor.
When Sam announced we would be landing shortly, I collected all of the files and notebooks, tucking them back in my briefcase and looking out the window to see the small airport coming into view, made me smile and a little nervous. I glanced back at Kit, "Welcome to New Haven. My hometown."
Kit grinned at me, her dimple showing, not bothering to look out the window, "It's beautiful, like you."
I blushed and playfully rolled my eyes, pointing at the sleek black town car waiting for us at the family hangar. "You're charming ways will win my father over in a heartbeat." My throat suddenly went dry as the plane hit the ground and taxied, "Kit, you should know that I have never brought anyone home as my...uhm." I looked at my arm rest, taking a sudden interest in the thin lines of stitching.
"As your bodyguard? Your administrative assistant?"
I looked up at the humorous tone in her voice, noting the look in her eyes. Kit knew what I meant, but clearly wanted me to say it. I smiled, laughing lightly, still nervous. "My girlfriend, Kit. I've never brought a girlfriend home." I let out a huge, shaky sigh. "M
y parents might come off...eager." When I met Kit's eyes again, they were glassy, full of emotion.
Her voice cracked a bit when she spoke, "I think I can handle it. After everything we have been through, I think I can handle meeting my girlfriend’s parents."
It was my turn to grin and grab Kit's hand, running my thumb over her knuckles, my heart pounding at the quick commitment we made in that moment. I stood up when the plane finally came to a full stop. "From this moment on, no more shop talk, no more mad men and talk of clues for the next few days." I looked at Kit, taking in the grin on her face and those dimples, both signs of how happy she was, "We are safe here and I want nothing more than to spend a few careless moments with you. Not looking over shoulders or double locking doors. Just awkward conversation with my parents as they tell you horribly embarrassing childhood stories."
Kit leaned forward, kissing me softly, "There's nothing I want more."
I looked deep into her hazel eyes, knowing for certain that in time, Kit would not remain just my girlfriend for long. The thought made me grin stupidly and kiss her back.
Taking her hand, I pulled her towards the exit. The bright early afternoon sun compensating for the cold bite of Connecticut winter air. I smiled, walking down the steps. I was home in more ways than one.
Stepping out of the black town car, I couldn't stop the grin as I saw my mother standing at the front door, waiting for us. She was wearing one of her thick cable knit sweaters, dirty jeans she wore to work in the greenhouse and her ash blonde hair tucked under a pale pink bandanna. Her own grin forming with a wink as she walked to meet us.
"Ah, nice to see you home Senator."
I rolled my eyes, walking to the trunk to help Kit with our bags. Kit gave me a side look, "The staff at your parent’s house call you Senator?"
I laughed, taking a bag from her. I pointed at my mother, "The only person here I allow to call me Senator, is her. And only because she gave birth to me." I looked up from closing the trunk, my mother now standing by the car, "Mom calls me Senator when I haven't been home in far too long."
My mother nodded, "It's my own version of nagging." She looked over at Kit, "My only child seems allergic to her parents." She held out her hand to Kit, "You must be Caitriona."
I visibly watched Kit's nerves shoot off the chart at mother's direct firmness. She shifted the bags to one hand so she could shake my mother's, "Yes Mrs. Avondale, I am. Caitriona Witmer, but please call me Kit. I am uh...Claire's...um."
My mother held Kit's hand for a moment, silently sizing her up, "My daughter's girlfriend. It's perfectly fine to say it, dear. Claire already told me everything." She raised an eyebrow in my direction, "Including the fact that the Neumann’s got to meet her before we got to meet you."
I shook my head, laughing, "Mom hates it when she isn't first in everything." I raised an eyebrow back at her, "It's her competitive nature."
Kit was quiet, looking between my mother and I. "Um, okay." She turned to my mother, "In Claire's defense, I kind of made her meet my parents. Go with me since I haven’t seen them in a few years." Kit smiled tightly as my mother playfully scrutinized her.
She shrugged finally, laughing, "I know. I just love teasing my daughter. For all the intelligence she carries around, she sometimes forgets her manners and where she came from." My mother threw an arm around Kit, "Come, I have lunch waiting for us. And for the love of all that is holy, please call me Ingrid. All formalities are unnecessary here."
I smiled watching my mother escort Kit into the massive house. Hanging back for a moment, I let the silence of my home fill me, chase away the unwanted feelings I didn't want interfering with over the next few days I was here. I was home with the one woman I loved and that was all I really cared about for the moment.
I was nervous. More nervous than I had been in any of my Secret Service interviews. Claire's childhood home was huge. The size of a small castle and looked like one. The house had the art deco look mixed with a medieval design. Claire's mother had told me her great-grandfather had built the house with the first few dollars that came in from his steel mill.
The inside, what I could see from where I was standing in the foyer, was immaculate. Rich colors painted the walls, large comfortable furniture was placed throughout and gave the house a feeling of a cozy English cottage. I peered in doorways to see more, waiting for Claire to take us up to her old room and get settled.
Claire's mother was nothing like I expected. I half expected a stuffy, pretentious and prim woman who had etiquette classes from birth. Ingrid Avondale was nothing like that, she was kind, warm, funny and very carefree.
I could still tell she was sizing me up as she looked at me like Claire did when she was reading me. Picking apart the small details that would tell her a thousand different things I couldn’t hide.
Ingrid had left me in the foyer to take Claire to get the extra set of house keys, leaving me in the foyer to catch my breath and try to push my nerves away. I couldn't believe how nervous I was. This was far worse than meeting any significant others parents, because it was Claire.
Claire who was perfect and amazing and I was more in love with her than I had been with anyone else. I wanted to impress her parents, I wanted to prove to her parents that I was worth having Claire.
I let out a shaky breath as I looked at oil paintings I knew cost more than most of my organs would on the black market.
I stared at paintings of men on horses chasing foxes, paintings that looked a lot like Picasso's and then lastly, a family portrait of the Avondale's. Claire's features sticking out even at an early age as she stood next to her parents in a baby blue dress. I moved closer to look at the painting, smiling as I looked at Claire when she had to be no more than six years old.
"You know, I had to bribe her to sit still for this painting with promises of trips to the science museum?" Ingrid's voice came from behind, "The girl never could sit still unless you gave her a chemistry book or something to take apart."
I turned to see Ingrid and Claire standing in the foyer. Claire was blushing, looking sheepish while Ingrid grinned, enjoying the moment. It was then that I could see how much Claire took after her mother. She had Ingrid's nose and chin, and carried herself with the same grace and elegance. Ingrid's dark hazel eyes even sparkled like Claire's did when she was excited. For a split second I was excited that Claire would still be gorgeous in her early sixties.
Claire cleared her throat, "I was a bit of a tom boy when I was younger."
Ingrid laughed, "And when you were a teenager and all the way until you went to Oxford. Only then did you come home a lady." She nudged Claire with her shoulder, "Go on you two. Get your bags situated and come to the kitchen. Karolina has lunch waiting and your father is on his way home to see you."
Ingrid winked at me, breezing out of the foyer and back down the hallway she came from. Claire sighed, "My room is upstairs. Mom claims she has kept it just like I left it." She bent down and picked up a couple bags.
I smiled, following Claire up the stairs. "Your mom is nothing like I imagined."
Claire glanced over her shoulder, "Oh really? What did you imagine?"
I smiled, "Someone stuffy, boring, rigid, and hard to crack." I stood next to Claire as we both came to the top of the stairs and stopped at a set of double doors. I leaned closer to her, "Kind of like I thought you were that first day I met you."
Claire furrowed her brow with a smile, "Really? You really thought all of that? "
I nodded, "And how hot you were." I giggled, watching Claire's face turn red.
She pushed the doors open, shaking her head, "You and my mom will get along perfectly. You both seem to love embarrassing me."
I chuckled, "It kind of helps with my nerves." I paused, looking in the room. Claire's room was huge, almost the size of half my house back in San Diego. The room had dark green walls and lined with bookshelves, full of books and small knick knacks. There were framed photographs of what I could only assume was Claire
's travels when she was younger. Castles and large aerial photographs of London at night hung on the walls.
Claire walked towards the bed, a huge one that looked like a giant cloud surrounded by a deep dark mahogany headboard. She set the bags on the floor at the end of the bed, "Well, this is my room. Nothing has changed since I was sixteen." She smiled sheepishly at me.
I set my bags next to her, looking around the room. There were small photographs hanging on the wall next to a large antique writing desk that sat against a large picture window. Looking out on the expansive backyard that led all way down to the river. I moved closer to the photographs, smiling as they were of a younger Claire with Davey and their families over the years. There was a periodic table framed on one wall with all of her degrees and diplomas surrounding it. The entire room was Claire to a tee, cozy, nerdy and warm.
I faced Claire, "My room when I was sixteen had nothing but pictures of boy bands mixed with pictures of Mozart and Bach. I had pink walls and a lot of pink things." I looked at the bed, "I had a twin bed until I was twenty one and moved out of the dorms." I moved to press a hand on the mattress, smiling wider at how soft it was, "What is this a king size?
Claire climbed to sit on the edge, "It's a California Queen. I went from a crib to a massive bed." She pointed over at the one far bookshelf, "If you look on the side of that bookshelf, that was my rebellion."
I gave her a look and walked to where she pointed. I laughed when I saw the Johnny Cash posters neatly tacked in a row all down the length. I turned to her, "What is it with you and Johnny Cash?"
Claire held out her hand to me, waving me back over. When I was close, I slid my hand into hers, letting her pull me to the bed to sit next to her. She held my hand in hers, our fingers winding together, "It was his music that got me first. It was unlike anything I had ever heard in my life and I couldn't get enough of it." Claire slowly looked in my eyes, her blue green ones smiling with her, "Then it was the love story of Johnny and June that won me over. How they fought so hard for their love and never, ever left each other until death forced it." She looked up at the ceiling, "For whatever reason that one love story out of the millions was the only one that made sense. It kept my romantic side alive when I buried it under work, science, school, politics and everything else I could find to cover up the idea of ever having a love like that."
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