Behind Blue Eyes

by TL Schaefer

  I sighed, my decision made. “My home is in Dallas now. You know that.” I took a sip of my coffee, trying for nonchalance. I probably would have succeeded if my fingers weren’t trembling.

  “You’re of much greater service to your country than to the police department.” He replied, his voice still bland as tofu.

  “And if I like what I’m doing now? What will you and the government do?”

  “I think you know the answer to that.”

  “Maybe, but I’d like to hear it.” Even though my fingers still shook, in my head I was calm, too calm. I couldn’t believe I was so detached, but what other way was there to be, really?

  “You’re already dead,” he replied, no emotion flickering across his face. “You were assaulted this morning while you were out jogging. Your body has already been identified by Chief Simpson. Even if you were to escape, which is unlikely because of my talent, you’d have nothing to go back to. Your existence, as you knew it, is over.”

  The complete lack of inflection in his voice told me he totally believed what he said. And for an aficionado of the eighties like I was, frighteningly Borg-like. Oh man. I was losing it if I was starting to make Star Trek analogies.

  Then he added, “Go ahead. Use your talent on me if you doubt it.”

  Because he already knew of the Sight, I dropped my glasses and eyeballed him. He was black, so black it was like looking into a lightless void. This man would have no compunction about taking me out if he thought it would better serve his cause. I had no doubt his superiors had given him permission to do just that. Even worse, there was something familiar about him, something I should have recognized, but couldn’t put my finger on. I was too scared to psychoanalyze, at least right this second.

  Chills skated down my spine. God, I really was dead, at least to the rest of the world. I could only hope that Brian, Foudy or Davis would make an opportune appearance.

  That hope died as Pardo slid from his seat and stood. “Now would be best, Christie, before your detective friends show up and have to be taken care of.”

  My chills turned into a full-fledged body shudder, and I rose. There was no way in hell I was going to endanger my friends. And that’s exactly what they’d become, my friends, even if we all had serious issues to work out. The waitress at the counter had already been bought...or threatened, but Brian or Foudy would never be “taken care of” so easily.

  Taking a deep breath, I twisted a strand of hair. I couldn’t close my eyes, but maybe it would work... I concentrated, but all I got was intense, almost fanatical servitude. There was no way in hell I was talking myself out of this. At least not yet.

  I stepped forward, and Pardo settled a proprietary hand at the small of my back. Power surged through me, short-circuiting my nerve endings, and I realized his gift. Coercion through touch.

  I walked forward on wooden legs. I couldn’t have broken away and run if I’d tried. And while Pardo controlled my actions, he couldn’t stop my mind from whirling. It was too late to leave even a note for Brian letting him know I wasn’t a corpse... I’d let that boat sail.

  All I could do was wait...and watch.

  Pardo ushered us out the door into the dawn-streaked morning and into the stereotypical Fed-mobile; American-made, tinted windows, about a gazillion horses under the hood. As a matter of fact, it kind of reminded me of Brian’s Crown Vic.

  At that thought, a wave of yearning swept through me. If nothing else, at least we’d settled things between us last night.

  My longing was quickly followed by a bright, sparking surge of anger. I’d get out of this...and make CASI pay for what they’d done to me a decade ago, and what they were doing to me now.

  I was sick and tired of events controlling me. For God’s sake, I could anticipate people’s actions. Why wasn’t I taking advantage of that...and controlling what I could?

  Because, in the back of my mind, the concept of it reeked of what people like Pardo wanted me to do with my life. What they wanted me to do to people. I couldn’t stomach that concept. I’d do what I had to to get out of this, and figure out a way, somehow, to regain my life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Before

  There were many times during my walk in the storm that I wanted to lie down and die. After all, what did I have to live for? Wes was dead. I had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. But for some reason—survival instinct, probably—I stumbled on, refusing to stay on my knees each time I fell. I was almost frozen through by the time I reached the farmhouse. It was empty, and saved me from making any excuses as to why I was out in the middle of a blizzard.

  I stayed there, alternately crying my eyes out, wishing I’d died outside and stuffing my face full of food. Thank God the house was occupied instead of an abandoned shell. The owners were probably out of town, celebrating a family-filled Thanksgiving. Something I’d never had and wasn’t likely to ever experience. Because I knew, without a doubt, Green would be coming for me. And if he found me, he’d try to kill me again. And this time he’d probably succeed.

  When the storm cleared, it was as if it swept my desolation away with it.

  I would survive. I’d beat fucking Green by living a life that would make Wes proud.

  I would.

  Now—Sunday 7:00 a.m.

  Pardo couldn’t keep the same physical contact with me while he was driving, so at least I had my basic faculties back. All the police department and spook gadgetry in the car prevented him from reaching over the console. Not very good thinking on their part, but I’m quite sure he thought the gun he’d trained on me was an effective deterrent. He was right, to an extent. But he’d been too cocky. He hadn’t locked the doors.

  “So if Sara is dead to the world, who am I supposed to be now?” I didn’t try to stifle the anger in my voice.

  “That’ll be decided once you’ve been debriefed,” was his stone-faced reply.

  I swear. I hadn’t seen him with any expression whatsoever. Then again, I didn’t really want to see him as a human being, now did I? If he continued his automaton role, it would be that much easier to hurt him if I had to. I simply had to figure out a way to get out of the car. Not an easy task when the barrel of his gun looked like a cannon. Never mind that I’d always hated the things. A blade was so much more personal...and easier to get on the street.

  “Where am I going for this ‘debrief’?”

  He glanced at me, a quick, all-encompassing look, before returning his attention to the thickening morning traffic. “Colorado Springs.”

  Great, my old stomping grounds. This goombah wasn’t connected to CASI, unless there’d been a seriously dark undercurrent I’d missed. I couldn’t see it, though, because I’d been looking pretty hard for anything I could hold against them. Pardo must have been a graduate who the NSA picked up, even though we hadn’t seen squat about that in the information Arnie Davis had ferreted out.

  Not only that, but why had they only sent one guy after me? Granted, his talent was close to unstoppable, as long as he could touch you, that is, but didn’t I warrant more serious consideration? Nothing was adding up here, but getting away from Pardo long enough to figure it out had to be my first priority.

  We were passing through the seedier part of Santa Fe now; if I was going to act, it had to be soon. The freeway was just ahead, and once he got up to speed, my chances of escaping serious bodily harm were about nil.

  I closed my eyes and concentrated hard. I might not be able to anticipate Pardo, but maybe I could see the events unfolding rather than the people involved.

  The vision was slow in clarifying, too slow, but as I opened my eyes, I knew what would happen in the next few seconds.

  Then the off ramp was right in front of us, a rattletrap pickup boogieing to make the light before it went red barreling at us from ahead. I edged my hand down and clenched the door handle, waiting for the inevitable.

  The truck swept in front of us, a blur of primer and rust, and as Pardo swerved to avoid him I yanked on
the handle, rolling before the door was even fully open.

  I hit the pavement with a teeth-cracking thud as tires screeched almost directly above my head and the hard bark of a pistol sounded in my ear. Somersaulting as I hit the ground, I came to my feet and dove behind a roadside recycling bin, then ran for all I was worth, down the alley of a second-rate strip mall, weaving through the back yards of a neighborhood of older homes with peeling paint, until I finally came to a crouched, wheezing halt behind a sturdy pinion tree.

  I drew in great gasps of air, trying and failing to keep quiet as the neighborhood dogs barked around me. Maybe it was time to rethink my half-a-pack-a-day habit.

  When my heart rate slowed to a dull thunder in my ears, I quickly assessed myself. I hadn’t been shot, which was a miracle in itself since I had no doubt Pardo knew exactly how to use his weapon, but the road rash on my palms was anything but pretty. My jeans had protected my legs, the windbreaker my arms. I’d live. For at least the next few minutes. What I was going to do now was the bigger question.

  The dogs finally stopped their racket, and I pushed away from the safety of the tree and headed into the anonymity of the streets.

  I was free, but what did I have to go back to? Stupid, futile tears clouded my eyes as I jogged, and I swiped them away with an angry arm. They’d destroyed the life I’d spent over ten years building and along with it went all of my money. Even Xena wasn’t mine anymore.

  That was the capper, the thing that made me killing mad and ripped at my heart in equal measures. They were going to pay for this. Soon. If I did nothing else, I’d get my damned dog back.

  I sidled up to an ATM and pulled my ball cap low, dropping my face so the camera couldn’t catch me. The bulky coat I’d swapped with Frank, the homeless guy I’d befriended with a smile and my last twenty, and the fact I’d swept my hair up under the cap should make my appearance fairly ambiguous. Heck, if I was lucky, the local cops would think I was the “mugger” who’d symbolically taken my life. It wasn’t as if the NSA—or whoever the hell Pardo was representing—could complain, now could they?

  Because I’d left a will and made it readily accessible by giving it to Lisa for safekeeping, it would take time for them to either transfer my accounts to her or freeze them, and I doubted they thought I’d escape Pardo so early, if at all.

  I withdrew the maximum three hundred on my debit card, then rolled through each of my credit cards, until I had over a thousand in cash. It would have to do, at least until I figured out where to go from here. Thank God I’d never been a purse kind of girl—too hard to lug around crime scenes. The thin billfold I’d used for years had served me well.

  I trolled the alleyways for what seemed like hours, falling back into my old, childhood rhythms with an ease I thought long discarded.

  I replaced the blade the warrant guys had taken in their search of my loft, and picked up a gun. As much as I hated the things, given my circumstances right now, it was a necessity. And despite weapon control laws, arming yourself on the street was pitifully easy if you knew where to look.

  At the back of my mind was the question of whether I should call Brian. But wouldn’t I be putting him in more danger than either of us had imagined? That was the absolute last thing I wanted now that we’d decided to give it a real try.

  Then again, I knew Brian, and he’d demand to see my body. Then he, Foudy, Davis and probably anyone who’d ever known me would be a possible target. As much as I’d tried to be a loner over the years, I had people who mattered to me now, people who I wouldn’t see hurt.

  After about two minutes of serious waffling, I bowed to the inevitable and found a pay phone. Because without him by my side, something was missing. I knew it was what we’d talked about earlier, that weird give-and-take between my talent and his Nullness, but given my current situation, it wasn’t something I wanted to dwell on, not when I might never see him again. But I needed to hear his voice one last time and let him know I was all right.

  Of course he wasn’t in his room... I hadn’t expected him to be, but I left a cryptic message, telling him to be in the coffee shop downstairs at seven that evening. After seeing the nifty little gadgets that had been set up in my loft to trace Wes a few short days ago, I didn’t trust regular cell phones as far as I could throw them.

  I faded into the dingy, not-seen-by-the-tourists Santa Fe morning and set about making myself disappear even further.

  “Don’t say my name. Pretend like you’re talking to headquarters,” I said, as soon as Brian picked up the coffee shop phone. “It’s risky enough that you’re calling from an untraceable...for now...phone. When you hang up, you can use your cell, but only for a few minutes. Call me at this number.” I recited it for him.

  “How in the hell did you mix up the coffee shop and the front desk, Henderson, you ass?” he replied, his voice carrying just enough sarcasm to convince anyone listening from the café itself. He couldn’t have picked a better admin weenie to make the scapegoat, either.

  “I’ll call you back from my cell in a second.”

  He disconnected, and I allowed myself to feel the absence of it, of him. Of how safe his words—even though not directed to me—had made me feel in a world gone completely insane.

  I slinked around the corner of a closed and barred music store and crouched behind a stack of pallets. If the afternoon hadn’t been so warm, the crates would be burning right now as fuel. Twilight snugged in around me, shrouding me in shifting shadows, and as it did, the denizens of the night began to creep forth.

  Transient men and women appeared, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have seen them as wraiths of the night.

  I shook my head. Now wasn’t the time for fanciful thoughts, and I’d been in their shoes for far too long to get melancholy over their fate.

  The muted ring of my pre-paid cell sounded from my pocket, and I pulled it out and to my ear. “Hold on a sec,” I whispered, and faded further into the burgeoning darkness. A moment later I was sequestered at the back of the alley, an open line of fire in front of me, and a safe escape route behind. “Brian,” I breathed.

  “Sara,” his voice was concerned, dare I say it, almost anguished. “Are you okay?”

  “Considering you’re talking to a dead woman, I’m better than I was this morning.” Relief, warm, unexpected and overwhelming, swept through me. Just hearing his unguarded voice made me feel safe, even if he was in another world—the “clean” part of Santa Fe. In my mind, I drew in his pure, masculine scent as if it were a lifeline. I yearned for the feel of his arms around me, telling me it would be all right...oh, how I yearned.

  “Where are you?” he asked, “Are you safe?”

  “As safe as I can be when the NSA is hunting me. Talk to me for a second, Brian, about anything but this, okay?” I needed to hear normalcy, even if it didn’t matter in the here and now.

  “Well, Monica managed to piss off Chief Simpson pretty royally this morning,” he chuckled, but I could tell it was forced.

  “Tell me about your childhood.”

  I could tell he was startled to silence for a moment, and I could almost hear him struggle not to begin to interrogate me, to be a cop. Then he began to speak and I could feel the smile in his voice. “My mom, Sunny, was kind of a hippie...spent her early life in San Francisco, then Sedona before it became fashionable. By the time I was born, we were almost suburban, living in northern California. She was a waitress, and it took a lot to make ends meet, but I never doubted that she loved me, and that we’d make it through almost anything.”

  I took a deep breath. “Thank you, I needed that.” I had. More than the nine millimeter Glock gripped tightly in my hand, than the darkness that shrouded me. “A goon from the NSA nabbed me this morning from the coffee shop. Called himself Max Pardo, but who the hell knows if that’s true? He’s talented, Brian, can coerce you through touch. You all need to watch out for him.” I voiced what had been lurking at the back of my mind since Pardo had first touched me. “I
think he may be behind how Wes got his vics to capitulate. There was a kind of, I dunno, shadow, at the second crime scene. It reeked of him, now that I’ve met him in person.”

  “Where are you?” There was such desperation in his voice it made my heart bleed.

  “Hidden, for now. I couldn’t let you believe I was dead. You would have demanded to identify my body at some point.”

  He laughed, but it was forced. “Been there, done that. That’s how Monica pissed of Simpson. She said there was no way a mugger could take out a street fighter like you. We figured it out when they finally let us view the body. We had to bring Simpson in on everything. He doesn’t believe us, not really, but Davis managed to convince him to play it by ear, at least.”

  “Wes?” I dreaded hearing that another body had been found.

  “Nothing yet.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief, even as tension ratcheted up inside. “He must not have found his victim yet.”

  “Or maybe he’s having second thoughts. He hasn’t killed since talking with you, Sara. Maybe that’s the difference.”

  I could only hope so, but somehow I didn’t think we’d be quite so lucky. “So what do we do now? I’m dead, though I’d appreciate it if you could delay the reading of my will for a bit, to give us some breathing room.”

  “I want you to come in. Monica, Davis and I can protect you.”

  “No you can’t,” I said with utter surety, “not against these people. And before you ask, this has nothing to do with the CASI of today. Maybe before, but not now. If this guy is NSA, there’s a whole different governmental thing going on that the current CASI has no idea about. Maybe Meece, but not CASI. Either way, my life as Sara is over. I need to fade away, start over again.”

  “But...” he protested before I cut him off.

  “Don’t you see? They—whoever they are—know I’m alive, know what I’m capable of, especially now that I escaped Pardo.”

  “Let me come to you. We can let Davis, Foudy and Simpson handle it from this end. Monica can use Joe’s relationship with Farrell to dig deeper. I need to be with you, Sara.”