Lewis Security

by Glenna Sinclair

  Lizzie needed me too much for that. I flipped through the files again, sure I had missed something. I got maybe halfway through a stack of real estate documents by the time I realized I wasn’t paying attention to a thing I was reading.

  Why had I never made the connection between the two women in my life? They looked so much alike. No wonder Christa had appealed to me from Day One. It was more than her beauty, however—I couldn’t do her the injustice of pretending it was just her looks. Her whip-smart mind, her sense of humor, the warmth and support that flowed from her like a river. I had felt it right away, just from the strong, clear, steady gaze I’d feel every time she looked at me from the table during one of our meetings. Like she was supporting me without saying a word, without even knowing me all that well. Looking up to me like a leader, believing in me.

  That was during the really painful stage of my divorce, immediately following the signing of the documents after more than a year of separation. Knowing it was all over, that only a judge’s final ruling and a mile of red tape leading up to it stood in the way of my no longer having my wife and baby in my day-to-day life. I didn’t believe in myself then. I wondered sometimes if life was worth living without my family. Who was I without them? I hadn’t even been married all that long and had only been hearing Susie call me “Daddy” for about a year, but it was all a huge part of my identity just the same. And it was gone. I was still a daddy, but to a little girl who would grow up without me. I was an ex-husband. I was nobody real, just that guy who always hung out on the fringes in movies and TV shows. The guy who showed up on weekends with a smile and a hug and a promise not to load the kid up with sweets when Mom—the real parent, the disciplinarian, the one the kid always went home to and settled into “real” life with once the weekend was over—stood in the background with her arms folded and an indulgent smile on her face. If she smiled at all.

  Even so, Christa didn’t know about any of that. She didn’t see me crumbling inside. She only saw Pax the Leader, Pax who had just opened his own agency. She didn’t know why I had opened it back then, not finding out until later that I had to leave the force for the sake of my sanity. I had needed to leave because nobody wanted to work with a basket case who got too far drawn into his cases and took things too personally. The ones who did that inevitably became a danger to themselves and others. They were the ones who went off the deep end and used their service weapons to blow a hole in their heads.

  Like the hole in Suzanne’s head and the hole in Denny’s head and it was all so mixed up, all the strands tangled up together, swirling around in my brain. I couldn’t untangle any of it—when I tried, the knots got tighter.

  Christa. We were so happy in Jamaica. I tried to push the memories out of the way so I could keep looking for my little girl, only my eyes were so tired, everything started to blur. I closed them for a second in the hopes of making things better. When I did, I saw Christa laughing. She was standing in thigh-deep water, water so clear I could see her legs and feet and the sand she stood in. So blue. I didn’t think that color really existed until I saw it with my own eyes. She was laughing and holding her hands out to me so I could join her. And I did, didn’t I? I went to her and wound my arms around her waist and bent my head to hers. I kissed her. I felt her sun-warm body under my hands and the strong, true beat of her heart against my chest. I felt the sweet, plump mouth under mine and felt it the second her body responded to the way I kissed her. I felt it in the way she melted against me, turning into soft clay in my hands.

  Shit.

  The moment I opened my eyes, I pulled out my phone and called her. I had to at least tell her I saw what a dick I was being and that I didn’t mean it, because I didn’t. God knew she hadn’t done anything wrong. She only cared about me, and even though she didn’t know Lizzie I was sure she cared about her, too. That was what Christa did. She cared and she supported and she loved with all her heart. She loved fierce and true. And I was pushing her away just like I had pushed Suzanne away, when I needed her the most.

  Her voicemail picked up. Of course—I wouldn’t have answered if I were her.

  “Hey. It’s me. Listen…I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. You don’t deserve me talking to you like that—or anybody, for that matter.” I looked around the room, at a loss for what to say next. “Please. Understand where I’m coming from. I don’t know what to do. Everything’s a mess in my head. Everything’s upside down. Not that it’s any excuse for how I acted, because it isn’t. I don’t want to make the same mistake with you that I made with Suzanne, though. I know that much. So, please. Give me a call back, or come back, or whatever. I need you. I can admit that.” I stopped short of telling her I loved her, even though it felt like the thing to do—and not just because I wanted to be nice, either. I did love her. I had loved her for a long time.

  For some stupid reason, I left the message there and ended the call.

  I would regret it later.

  Chapter Fifteen – Christa

  I couldn’t believe him sometimes. I couldn’t believe how much he was capable of hurting me, either. I wished I didn’t feel things so deeply, but there I was, crying right out in the open as I walked down the street with my hands in my pockets and my shoulders hunched against the cold, biting wind.

  I had a hard time not believing it was my fault, no matter what Ricardo tried to tell me. He was just being nice. Maybe he was trying to hold Pax’s life together the way I was trying to hold the agency together. He was a good guy, and a good friend. Only he couldn’t do all the work. Some of it was up to Pax, too. He had to be willing to not shut everything out.

  Hell, shutting me out was one thing. He was pushing me away with both hands, actively trying to keep me out of his life. How much more of that could I take before it was time to give up?

  Was I really considering giving up? That wasn’t in my nature, but it was starting to look like the only plausible alternative. I had to take care of myself. I couldn’t keep hoping he would come around.

  What would happen to him if the worst happened to Lizzie? I didn’t even want to consider the idea, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. It had been a week already. I wasn’t a cop, but I knew how precipitously a victim’s chances of survival fell the longer it took to get them back. More time meant less chance of them being found alive, or ever found at all. Pretty soon, the trail would go cold. Sure, Lizzie was a young girl and the daughter of an ex-cop—that would earn her a little more time, a little more manpower. Nobody would want to give up. They would have to, eventually. Everyone but Pax, of course. He would keep going and going until he burned himself out and there would be nothing left but a shell with no life, no soul.

  Would Smythe do that to him? Would he leave Pax hanging until the day he died, knowing how it would torment him? Or would he let us find her? Would that be even more painful? Maybe he was still considering it. That part of his plan might still be in the works.

  Which would mean he’d be watching.

  I stopped walking—I’d only gotten to the corner and was still standing in front of police headquarters, which stretched from one end of the block to the other. The idea hit me like a ton of bricks. He would be watching.

  The street was crowded. No big surprise, it was always crowded even when the wind blew cold and the air felt damp and nasty. There were still people clogging the sidewalk, cars clogging the street. Between that and the tall buildings across from headquarters with all their windows, there were multiple opportunities to watch without being noticed. Just like there was the night of the murders. He could be anywhere.

  I checked my instincts and asked myself if I was being irrational. I couldn’t afford to sink into paranoia. It made sense to me that Smythe would want to survey the situation he’d set up and decide from there which direction he’d go in. In fact, it made more sense the longer I lingered on the idea. It had only been a half-minute or even less, but I was sure. He would want to revel in the pain he’d caused, too. It wouldn’t
be enough to imagine it.

  I put myself in his shoes. He hated Pax. He had gone out of his way to tease and taunt him from prison, knowing it could get him into trouble and maybe even jeopardize his chances of parole. It meant everything to him, knowing he could get inside his head and tinker around. He could make him second-guess himself, doubt himself, hate himself. He had control, because he had Lizzie—and the bodies in the car were a reminder of what he was willing to do, how far he was willing to go to make a point. So how much worse would it be when he had Lizzie all by himself, away from the prying eyes of neighbors who miraculously hadn’t seen a thing while two people were being shot to death in the middle of a Brooklyn street?

  I shivered, and not from the cold breeze. Just trying to get into the man’s head for a little while left me feeling empty inside. What must it be like, I wondered, being so single-minded? So focused on revenge?

  Yes, he’d want to savor every minute of it.

  I had seen a dozen photos of him, maybe more. None of them were taken after he’d been released, however, so I was looking at a man ten years younger when I reviewed them. Pax told me he’d gotten a little thinner—that seemed impossible, since he was already pretty wiry. He wore glasses. He had small, beady eyes of the darkest brown. Almost black. Sometimes Mother Nature tries to tell us things about the people around us. Those black eyes, empty and lifeless, were a dead giveaway to the soul of the person looking out through them. Almost a warning to stay away from him.

  That was all I knew, sadly. He might have grown out his hair since his release, or he might have shaved his head bald. He might have gained weight. He might have gotten contacts. There were so many variables. But one thing would remain true no matter what: his eyes. Their color, their emptiness. I looked for those eyes as I stood on the corner, my head slowly moving back and forth.

  And I saw them. I knew it was him just like I knew it was Friday and I knew it was December and I knew I was wearing jeans and lace-up boots and a jacket I wished was a heavier coat. I knew it like I knew my name was Christa and my birthday was in May. I was looking at Jonathon Smythe, standing at a food cart across from the station, waiting for something to eat. Food and entertainment all wrapped up in one convenient package, I thought in some deep corner of my mind as my thoughts went on at warp speed.

  I didn’t have time to go back inside and tell them he was out there. He’d be gone by the time I even reached Ricardo’s office. I didn’t think he knew who I was or that he had even noticed me out of the twenty people waiting to cross the street. He wasn’t even looking my way—he was reading the menu on the side of the cart, in fact.

  I didn’t take my eyes from him as I slid my phone from the pocket of my jeans and only glanced at it to pick out Ricardo’s number from my contacts. The light turned green, the sign told us it was time to walk, and those of us standing on the corner started moving our feet. Including me. I didn’t want to stand out.

  “Hello?” Ricardo’s voice was brusque. Maybe he had just had a run-in with Pax, too.

  “Hey. I’m on the corner, walking toward the flower shop. Know what I’m talking about?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s out here.”

  “Who?”

  “Who do you think?” I glanced toward the cart. He was still standing there, and I was surer than ever that it was him. He wore a dark blue, puffy jacket. One of those fleecy things that were supposed to keep the person wearing them warm no matter how cold it got. It made him look bulkier than he was—his thin hands and almost skinny legs told me he wasn’t nearly as big as the jacket made him out to be.

  “What?” he almost screamed. I heard noise in the background, probably him springing into action. “Where?”

  “Food cart. Chinese. He’s standing in line.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me!” He shouted orders. His breathing told me he was running.

  “I just happened to see him.” I stood on the corner, looking around like I was lost, holding a hand to my head. “Hurry.”

  “You’re sure it’s him?”

  “Positive,” I whispered. “I would know him anywhere. I just feel it, you know?”

  “I’ll be out there in a minute. Maybe less. Keep eyes on him.”

  “You can’t just come running out that way. He’ll see it.”

  “There are plain clothes cops on the way to you as we speak. They’ll have him surrounded in less time than it’ll take me to get to you. Just stay there, watch him, and don’t give yourself away.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do,” I muttered with a smile, reminding myself to look natural. He was placing his order, meanwhile, smiling at the person in the cart. Only they didn’t smile back—in fact, they looked freaked out. The little old lady who took the orders kept looking back at him over her shoulder. If he noticed, he didn’t act like he did. He had the same bland, flat smile on his face no matter what. Why was she so unnerved?

  “No,” I heard her say, and I jumped a little in surprise. “You leave now. Go.” One thin arm stretched out, and she pointed away from the cart.

  “Fuck. What’s happening?” I whispered. I strained to hear what was being said, but he kept his voice low. What was he saying to her? What could he possibly say to make her refuse him? An old man, not as old as the shaking woman, told him to walk away.

  “What is it?” Ricardo asked.

  “I don’t know. The woman in the cart is freaking out, telling him to go.” He turned after giving the pair in the cart one last smile, then started to walk away with his back to me. “Damn it! He’s moving north.”

  “Follow him! But keep your distance.” I wondered who he thought I was and how stupid he thought I was, since my feet were already moving before he said a word. Like I would ever let that monster out of my sight once I had him in it. I was maybe a half a block away from him, that puffy jacket bobbing up and down as he walked. Or stalked, more like it. I couldn’t think of him as human. I didn’t even try to. He was a monster. What was Lizzie doing while he walked around, getting fresh air?

  “Where are your guys, Ricardo?”

  “They’re nearby, closing in. You’re absolutely sure?”

  I dashed across the street on a changing light just to keep up with Smythe. “Positive. Never surer in my life.” I zigzagged in and out of a few groups of people, jumping on the balls of my feet to make out my target in the middle of a crowd. It reminded me of tracking targets in crowded markets, only that was under a blazing sun. Otherwise, even the foreign tongues and scents meeting my senses weren’t that unlike what I had encountered on the streets of so many desert cities.

  That old adrenaline was pumping, just like before. Only this time, the stakes were even higher. I would never have believed it possible back then, but that was the truth. I was in love, and he needed me, and so did his little girl.

  “He’s turning down the alley between the shoe store and cell phone store,” I whispered as I hauled ass to keep up. “Hurry!”

  “We’ll be there in a second. Don’t get too close,” he warned. Easy for him to say. I had to be sure to keep an eye out for the guy, and the alley was dark. My head swiveled from side to side as I looked around, squinting to see in the dim light. It was hard to believe it was full daylight out on the street, since in the alley it could’ve been night. There was light at the other end, where pedestrians and cars moved past.

  “Shit.” I was barely whispering by then, even though there was no reason to keep my voice down anymore.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t find him. Damn it, I think I lost him.”

  “What?” he nearly shrieked in my ear. I winced.

  “He’s gone. I’m the only one in the alley. Fuck!” I kicked a brick wall. “Damn it! I’m sorry. But he can’t have gotten far! He might have ducked into one of the buildings—he can’t be more than a half-block away if he didn’t.”

  “Or if he didn’t duck into a cab. Son of a bitch.” He fired off instructions into his r
adio, ordering his team to survey the blocks around where I stood.

  “I’m so sorry.” I felt maybe two inches tall. There I was, with the son of a bitch right at the tip of my fingers, and I let him go.

  “Well, we know he was in the area. That tells us a lot. We’ll have to have a set of eyes around the station at all times—maybe he’ll come back.”

  “It was a ballsy move in the first place.” I held the phone between my ear and my shoulder, arms wrapped around my waist. It was freezing in there.

  “True.”

  I felt like a deflated balloon. Just about as useless as one, too. “I’ll keep an eye out around here, too. Maybe I’ll spot him again. I’ll call you back if I do.”

  “All right.” He hung up, and I couldn’t miss his slightly icy tone before he did. I was only trying to help, I wanted to say. I only wanted to be of use. I hung up, too, wishing I had been just a little faster. I must’ve lost my edge—never, in all my missions, had I lost a target. It was just something I didn’t do.

  I turned around to go back out to the sidewalk and found myself face-to-face with Jonathon Smythe.

  “Shit!” I gasped, jumping back a few steps. I hadn’t felt his presence behind me. Why hadn’t I felt his presence behind me?

  “Hello.” His voice wasn’t what I’d imagined. A man like him, I would’ve guessed he had a high, thin voice. It had sounded that way when Pax spoke to him on the phone after the murders. I would never forget that sound, the singsong, teasing quality of his voice when he taunted Pax—and all of us. His voice didn’t sound like that anymore. Instead, it was smooth, rich. Deep. Maybe he made it sound the way he wanted depending on who he was talking to. A chameleon. I wondered if there was a Jonathon at all.

  Everything went through my head in a flash, like a bolt of lightning. We were maybe five feet apart. Only five feet. His beady eyes bored holes in me, but he wore the same smile he’d worn for the old lady in the food cart. I could understand why she’d been unnerved—he didn’t have to say a word to be the most disquieting, unnerving person I’d ever been around.