Close Enough to Touch (Rylee Hayes Thriller Book 1)

by Cade Brogan

  ***

  Joanna laid down her binoculars, finding Rylee steps away from her car door. With a gasp, she vanished from view like a crab disappears into its sandy burrow. Oh God, she squeaked almost soundlessly. She saw me. I know she saw me. What am I gonna do now?” She gulped air into her lungs. She saw me. Oh God, she saw me. She resisted the urge to rise up—to look—to know what was coming for her. She could hear sounds—all that were around her—better than ever before. Footsteps. Closer. Oh God. She reminded herself to breathe. She’s moving closer. A stone met the pavement sharply, rolling onward until she could hear it no more. Dog tags jingled on a collar, at first barely noticeable, and then with deafening loudness. Oh God. It’ll catch my scent and know. Her heart beat blood against her eardrums as her breathing became uncontrollable. She clamped her palm over her mouth and held her nose. Easy, breathe easy, she told herself. With slower breaths, came clearer thoughts, and options. She slid her fingers down her leg—stretching—stretching—stretching. Got it, she thought, working for a better grasp, and pulling the syringe up. Now, for the pipe, she told herself, sliding her fingers down her calf and around—stretching—stretching—stretching—taking a breath, mouth wide open. Got it, she thought. She pulled it up, biting her lip as she loaded the dart. Her compulsion to look was overwhelming in the first moments of silence. Then, a siren wailed in the distance, a car zipped down the street, and brakes squealed. She waited before lifting an eye to the glass. It had been a close call, but she’d handled it well. As she leaned to return her binoculars to the glove box, she heard footsteps. She flattened, staying low on the seats, and lifting the pipe to her lips…

  ***

  Kenzie uncurled her legs at the sound of Rylee’s footsteps on the porch. “Have a good walk?” she asked. She laid down her most recent copy of Allure and moved toward her.

  “Yeah,” Rylee answered, unclipping Buckshot, and allowing him to roam freely through the house. She caught his eye, saying, “Go lay down.”

  Kenzie put her arms around her neck.

  “Sometimes I just need to walk; you know?” Rylee continued. She swallowed as her gaze drifted mindlessly to Abby’s drum set in the far corner.

  “Yeah, I know,” Kenzie replied, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss. “It’s a lot to deal with.”

  “Yeah,” Rylee said, nodding slowly. “It is a lot, but it’s doable.”

  Kenzie closed her eyes, releasing a quiet exhale. “I’m glad to hear you say that,” she murmured. She smiled, noticing Rylee’s interest in the instrument. “You still play?” she asked softly.

  “Once in a while,” Rylee responded, “when I’m at my grandparents’. Never did take the set with me though.” She moved closer to the drums. “She plays, huh?” She smiled thinly, running her fingers across the skin of the snare. “How’d that come about?”

  Kenzie smiled back, answering in a quiet tone. “I don’t know for sure,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “Maybe from listening to your album. We did that a lot when she was a little girl.”

  Rylee looked up. “I didn’t know you had a copy,” she said, cocking her head as her mouth dropped open. “I think we only made like ten of ‘em.”

  “Your grandma gave me hers,” Kenzie responded, biting her lip. “That last day, you know?” She swallowed hard. “She wanted me to have something to remember you by.” She shook her head, pursing her lips. “But as it turned out, I didn’t need it because everything reminded me of us.”

  “I know what you mean,” Rylee said, clenching her jaw.

  “So, how about dessert?” Kenzie asked, taking another deep breath. “It’s strawberry shortcake, your favorite.”

  “You’ve been fixing my favorites, one right after the other,” Rylee responded, smiling. “Sure, I’d love some.”

  “It’s fun to cook for you,” Kenzie said, holding her eye. “Always has been.” She sliced the white cake into two layers, scooping strawberries into the middle, and dolloping whipped cream on top. Then, she set two servings on the table, the larger one in front of Rylee.

  Rylee looked over, locking gazes before taking her first bite. “I’m sorry about earlier,” she said softly. “I had no right to give you a hard time.”

  “I can’t very well blame you for speaking your mind,” Kenzie responded, turning away.

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did,” Kenzie said, looking back. She pinned her arms to her stomach and exhaled. “And you were absolutely right.” She bit her lip, shaking her head. “You were right,” she added, “but only for a moment.” She took a sip of coffee, and returned her cup to the saucer. They sat in companionable silence for minutes that seemed like hours. “She’s just a kid, Rye,” she continued softly, “my kid…but I don’t know her that well.” She shook her head slowly, peering into her eyes. “I don’t know her well enough to know what she knows…” She swallowed hard. “Or how she’d feel about…us.”

  “And you don’t want to push her away,” Rylee said, moving to hold her. “I get that.” She pursed her lips, smiling thinly. “I’ll go along with whatever you want.”

  “I want to be honest with her,” Kenzie responded, releasing a breath. “It’s just gonna be hard.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Rylee lifted the white cardboard for a better view of the cake donuts. She bit her lip, studying the blueberry and the chocolate, with the blueberry winning the contest. She collected a chocolate éclair for Rich, figuring it’d be gone by the time he got to work. “I started a new pot,” she called out as she stepped off.

  “Thanks, Hayes.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “You’re the best, doll.”

  “Shut up, Comstock,” Rylee shot back with a smile. She couldn’t ask for a better bunch of guys to work with. She set the éclair on Rich’s desk, took a bite of her donut, and sat down. She’d finished reading the autopsy report by the time Rich looked over her shoulder.

  “I thought you already looked those up,” he commented, squinting one eye.

  “These are different ones,” Rylee responded. “Not related to the case. I’m just practicing using my new reference.” She flipped to the next page, adding, “I ordered it online.”

  Rich took a bite, crumbles dropping onto Rylee’s shoulder. “You’ll be the department expert by the time we finish this case,” he commented, swallowing, and taking another. “I’m getting a cup of coffee. Want one?”

  “Yeah,” Rylee nodded, not lifting her eyes.

  Within a couple minutes, Rich was back. “What’s so interesting?” he asked, setting down her mug. “You’re looking at the same seeds you were when I left.”

  “What’s the chance I’d take a random photo of a seed that’d turn out to be like one of ours?” she responded pensively.

  Rich leaned in. “That’s a wolfsbane, right?”

  “Yeah,” Rylee answered, nodding.

  “Then, I’d say it’s a pretty darn good chance,” Rich said. “It’s common as all get out, right?”

  Rylee’s eyes narrowed, saying, “Yeah, but still.”

  Rich pointed to the second seed in her photo. “How about that one?” he asked.

  “I don’t know yet,” Rylee answered. “I’m still figuring it out.” She zeroed in on a particular seed chart. “Ahh, here we go,” she added. “It’s delphinium.” She smiled, lifting her chin. “Also known as larkspur.”

  “I think you have a new hobby,” Rich chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Did you read the new report yet?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I read it,” Rylee answered, looking up. “Nasty way to die.” She shook her head. “Progressive muscle weakness, then paralysis, and then respiratory failure.” She wrinkled her brow. “But no mention of the second puncture.” She pursed her lips. “I’m almost sure she mentioned it when she did the autopsy.” She took a breath and exhaled. “And I’m certain that’s what it was.”

  “Probably just an oversight,” Rich re
sponded.

  Rylee book-marked her place in the reference as her cell rang. “Hi Grams,” she answered, knowing who was calling by the tone. She listened and then responded, “Okay, that sounds good…Let me check with Kenz and get right back to you…” She looked up, saying, “I need to check on dinner, and then I’ll be ready to go.”

  ***

  Joanna perused the business listings in the phone book, checking under the headings, ‘courier’ and ‘delivery service.’ She jotted down the address of the one she thought most suitable and stopped by on her way to work.

  “Yes ma’am,” the young man in the blue uniform responded, “same day delivery throughout the greater Chicago area.”

  “Good,” Joanna said, smiling kindly as she surreptitiously adjusted her blonde wig. “How about notice?” she asked. “How much of that do you need?”

  “Depends what service option you choose,” the clean-cut guy answered. “I mean, if you buy the top one,” he said with a shrug of his shoulder, “we pretty much drop everything and run to wherever you want us to.”

  Joanna stepped to the wall, pointing to a location on a large map of the city.

  The guy stepped from behind the counter, joining her.

  “So, your business is here,” Joanna said, pointing and then moving her finger to a different place, “and I’ll need you to deliver a small package here. Can you do that in less than fifteen minutes?”

  “It’d cost you top dollar,” he answered, “but we can do it.” He returned to his position behind the counter, opening a three-ring binder. “It’d cost—”

  “The cost is insignificant,” Joanna said, “I just need my package delivered exactly as I tell you.” She smiled thinly. “And on time,” she added, cocking her head. “Do that, and I’ll not only pay your top dollar, but I’ll also tip the driver who delivers it more generously than he…or she…has ever been tipped.” She smiled flirtatiously. “Perhaps you’d like to personally handle my delivery,” she suggested, licking her lips. “Perhaps you’d like to standby near my destination to be sure that everything goes just as I’ve requested.” She lifted an eyebrow. “I couldn’t begin to guess what you make,” she added with a lift to her voice, “but I’d wager that my tip could be as much as a week of your wages.”

  “I could do that,” the guy said, shutting the binder as he lifted an eyebrow.

  “Oh…and there’s one more thing,” Joanna said, again adjusting her hair. “When you make my delivery, I’ll need you to say exactly what I tell you to say.”

  “Not a problem,” the guy said.

  ***

  “I feel bad,” Kenzie said, referring to dinner, “not doing my share.”

  “So invite ‘em over here next time,” Rylee responded, kissing her forehead. “Grams likes to cook,” she added, “and I doubt she’s keeping count of who has who over or who brings what to dinner.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But take a dish if it’d make you feel better.”

  “I don’t have time to make anything decent,” Kenzie responded, glancing at the wall clock.

  “Just take a few of your pizzelles then,” Rylee suggested. “Grandpa loves ‘em.” They were wafer-like cookies that usually appeared on Italian tables around the holidays, another of Rylee’s favorites. “I know they’re a pain in the ass to make,” she added, “so that ought to qualify ‘em as a decent contribution to the dinner table.” She smiled, kissing her again. “Whatever’s fine,” she said softly. “They just want to spend some time with us.”

  “Okay,” Kenzie acquiesced, “pizzelles it is then.” She met her gaze firmly. “But I’m inviting them over for dinner next week come hell or high water.”

  “That’s good,” Rylee responded, chuckling before her voice faded off.

  “What?” Kenzie asked, furrowing her brow.

  “Nothing,” Rylee said, shaking her head slowly and looking off. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Kenzie took a quiet breath, touching her arm. “They’ll like her, sweetie,” she said softly. “You don’t have to worry, they’ll like her.”

  “I know,” Rylee responded, nodding with her lips pressed together. “It’s just…”

  “They know, Rye,” Kenzie continued gently. “I told your grandma everything the other night.”

  “I know,” Rylee said, taking a breath, “don’t worry about it.” She met her gaze tenderly. “I’m just coming to terms with things, that’s all.”

  Kenzie peered into her eyes. “I could see if Abby has a friend she wants to eat with that night,” she offered through a quivering smile.

  “Absolutely not,” Rylee responded, shaking her head as their gazes locked. She smiled thinly, gathering her into her arms. “We’re not sending family off to eat with someone else when family comes over.”

  Kenzie hooked her fingers in Rylee’s belt loops, tugging her closer, and murmuring, “I love you, Rye.”

  “I love you too,” Rylee responded, kissing her slowly.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rylee cocked her head, stepping through her grandparents’ back door. “Hear it?” she asked, smiling. “The diesel horn?” Her eyes brightened. “He’s got the Polar Express up and running. “We’ll be up in a little bit,” she called out, already on her way down. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Kenzie by the hand, “you gotta see this streamliner.” She looked back to catch her eye. “It’s got the coolest passenger cars and the track winds through a snowy mountainside.”

  “Just give me a minute to set down my pizzelles,” Kenzie responded, shaking her head.

  “Here, I’ll take ‘em,” Gladys said, wiping her hands on her apron. When she collected the Tupperware container, her eyes sparkled with a familiar smile. “I don’t know who loves those trains more,” she said, “Omar or Rylee.”

  “I’d be hard pressed to decide,” Kenzie responded, smiling back, “but if I had to, I’d say it was a tie.” She kissed her cheek. “I’ll be right back,” she promised.

  “No hurry,” Gladys responded. “Dinner will be in the oven for a good half hour, and everything else is done.”

  “That’s okay,” Kenzie said, meeting her eye. “I was hoping we could talk for a little while.”

  “You bet,” Gladys responded, smiling kindly. “Iced tea or coffee?”

  “Iced tea,” Kenzie decided. She stepped to the basement, watched the train click-clack around two times, and came back up. “Has Rye said anything about Abby?” she asked quietly. “I’m afraid we might have a problem.”

  “You don’t,” Gladys answered. “Just give her time.” She got up to check the status of dinner, pausing at the window before sitting back down. “Same yellow car drives by day and night,” she commented. “Must have a new neighbor I don’t know about.”

  “Yeah, people are always moving in and out of my neighborhood too,” Kenzie responded.

  ***

  The clock consumed minutes as if they were in plentiful supply. It was late and tomorrow was the big day. Joanna exhaled, staring hard at the dash timepiece as she ticked through her preparations, deciding that she didn’t have that much more to do, and could stay a little longer. “Come on,” she growled, “enough already.” As she started her engine, Kenzie emerged on Rylee’s arm through the back gate. She lowered her window, listening.

  “Thanks for everything,” Rylee called out, opening the passenger door and waiting.

  “Your ham loaf was wonderful,” Kenzie chirped, climbing in. “You’ll have to jot down your recipe for me.”

  “I’ll bring it on Wednesday,” Gladys responded cheerfully.

  Sorry, Joanna thought, smiling as she pushed up her glasses, Wednesday will be too late. She trailed, three cars behind, slowing as Rylee turned into Kenzie’s driveway. She was tempted to park but didn’t. By going on home, she’d have time for one last check of the poison’s potency. As she lowered her garage door, she considered that she might’ve made enough of this one for both Kenzie and Chastity.
Until Chastity, no target had ever escaped. She stepped inside, slid her keys down the counter, and settled onto a stool at the end of the breakfast bar. It was where she sat to eat her cereal and punch buttons on her scientific calculator. She recalculated the lethal dose for her most recent designer drug, finding it to be the same as her previous calculation. Then, she changed into sweats and a t-shirt. She hummed a gospel tune on her way to the garage where a stainless steel rack holding twelve rodent breeder cages waited. She reached into the second one on the bottom row, moving her gloved hand from side to side until she latched onto a pink tail. “Congratulations,” she said, staring into the pinkish pair of eyes, “you get to try out number three-fifty-three.” She walked over to a six-foot stainless steel table, complete with drawers and trays. “Here you go,” she said, releasing the albino mouse into a smaller weighing cage. She recalculated the dose based on weight and placed the rodent into a restraint. She held the twenty-five-gauge needle, point up, pulled back the plunger, and filled the syringe with brownish-green liquid. Then, she injected the solution into a lateral tail vein. Hardly a day went by that she didn’t use something she’d learned in her pharmaceutical training. “Perfect,” she murmured, taking off her gloves after dropping the rodent into the waste container.