Behind Blue Eyes

by TL Schaefer

  Before we landed, Farrell informed us that the only way we were going in was if we were mic’ed. He and the rest of the gang would be waiting in Canon City, a few miles down the road, and the only way into Royal Gorge State Park.

  As compromises went, it was a good one. We landed in Colorado Springs with the setting sun, welcomed by a small fleet of Suburbans and the obligatory stony-faced, black-suit-wearing drivers. Brian and I climbed into the one containing Farrell and Trang.

  “You know, there’s nothing guaranteeing he’ll be there tomorrow,” I said, almost hoping that would be true. It would mean another night in Brian’s arms.

  Farrell twisted in the copilot’s seat. “He’s already there,” he stated, no inflection in his voice whatsoever. His aura pulsed, and it was like looking into the blizzard I’d used to escape CASI. Cold, with no thought to the damage it could cause.

  “How do you know?” Brian leaned forward, putting his bulk between me and the two men in front.

  “Because my two children are there for a school field trip. They’re well protected, but I can guarantee he’s there, watching them. Sara will still be a bait he can’t resist.”

  “You’ve known all this time, haven’t you?” I growled, appalled.

  “I had a hunch. But until you and Lloyd pinpointed it, no.” His voice was bleak, and he’d dropped his eyes.

  “Look at me,” I commanded.

  He lifted his face automatically, surprise etched on his features. And while his aura remained true to his distanced attitude, his eyes were turbulent, frightened.

  “You son of a bitch,” Brian ground out, his fists flexing and clenching. “You put your own children in danger.”

  I laid a hand on one thigh to calm him, even if only a little bit. “He knows, Brian, he knows.” I leaned back against my seat, suddenly exhausted. “He has an even bigger stake in this than we do.”

  “But your kids... You had time to get not only your kids, but others who might be in danger out.”

  “Do you have any idea of how many Burke has killed?” Farrell’s voice was tortured. “Fifteen. Fifteen people I called friends. You’ve only seen three. It didn’t start in Dallas, but it’s sure as hell going to end here.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Before

  On my twenty-first birthday I signed the papers on a loft in a run-down area of Dallas. The price had been right, and like my camera, it called to me. It was dusty and had the hell beaten out of it, but the second story of the old warehouse was exactly what I was looking for. It was quiet, out of the way and more than a bit rough. But beneath the dirt and grime a real gem could be seen. I’d like to think we had something in common.

  It was my job working as a freelance crime scene photographer for the Dallas Police Department that allowed me to make such a huge investment. DPD had also enabled me to do something I’d waffled for five years over. They put me in touch with a private investigator.

  The report had come in last week, and it was only because of my courses in psychology at the local community college that I was able to understand my response.

  My mother was dead. Had been for almost four years. The PI said it had been chalked up to a drug deal gone bad. Her murder was still unsolved. He’d talked to some acquaintances who said she’d spiraled down the last few years of her life.

  Now, with a good bit of distance and more than a few shots of tequila, I could admit that she’d probably regretted sending me to CASI. In the end, I couldn’t hate her. I couldn’t understand her, but that was okay. That part of my life was now officially over, and I could move on, become the person I needed to be.

  Now—Sunday, 7:00 p.m.

  Canon City was a quaint little town, boasting a huge complement of get-down-to-nature activities and the naturalist-type tourists that went with them. The city was bursting at the seams with people, making it ridiculously easy for both us and Wes to blend in.

  We headquartered in the local equivalent of a four-star hotel for the night, only able to find rooms because Farrell had such deep pockets.

  We met in yet another innocuous conference room, ready to lay all of our cards on the table. Trang opened the game.

  “Pardo isn’t NSA.” He handed each of us an Internet printout. “He’s not connected to the federal government at all, just looks the part. Burke saved his life three years ago in a botched bank robbery in St. Louis. Pardo dropped off the face of the earth after that. We can only surmise that he hooked up with Burke.”

  “What are the odds of that?” I mused. I didn’t even bother asking how Trang had scrounged the information so quickly. I didn’t want to know.

  “Explain.” Foudy’s request was brusque, as always, but I could tell it was because she was curious.

  “That Pardo, someone who has talent, and Wes would hook up in a chance meeting.” Yeah, like I believed that. With Wes, nothing was a coincidence.

  “Nothing we can do about it now.” Brian shrugged it off as not much to ponder, and I had to agree with him. It didn’t make much of a difference now.

  “I guess the chances are pretty good they’re still together.” I didn’t make it a question, but an observation.

  “We can’t discount it, which adds yet another variable to the equation,” Farrell said. “I wish Sara’s talent was developed enough to anticipate how Pardo might play in this.”

  “I think we can make an educated guess,” Trang offered. “They’re going to make a play for your kids.”

  As much as I didn’t care for the little man, he’d had great instincts so far, and we all knew he was right this time.

  “I still can’t believe you used them as bait,” Foudy said bitterly, and I watched her aura go blindingly red.

  “I didn’t,” Farrell bit back, leaning across the table toward her. “They’re not even there with their own class. They’re on a mini-vacation with friends. Supposedly safe, away from all of this. Let’s get this clear right now. I would never use my children in that manner.” His aura pulsed from snow white to a scarlet that matched Foudy’s.

  “Okay kiddies, let’s throttle back a bit here,” Brian said, seemingly at ease in his chair, though I could tell his body was tensed to take on Farrell if he came at Monica.

  Farrell sat back down, visibly settling himself while Monica muttered, “Sorry,” loud enough to be heard, her aura relaxing to orange.

  “So we know Pardo is untrained and has loyalty to Wes. Enough loyalty to turn a blind eye while Wes murdered people?” I asked, bringing us back on topic.

  “Apparently.” Trang nodded in assent. “Or perhaps he doesn’t know what’s happening and is simply Burke’s muscle.”

  “Regardless, we’ve got fifteen bodies in the morgue, a distinct possibility that Burke is going to target your kids tomorrow and no real plan. Do I have it right?” Brian asked, using his tactician’s eye. Right at that moment I could appreciate it.

  “I’ve been thinking of something,” Farrell admitted, “but I’d like to stew on it a bit. My first thought was of snipers.”

  “Won’t work,” I said emphatically. “Wes has already shown he can anticipate you, otherwise you would have caught him already.”

  “I said it was my first thought, not my only one.” Farrell’s voice was laconic. “I said it earlier, and I’ll repeat it now. This needs to end here. Your Amy Singleton is a good example. He grabbed the wrong one. The Singleton family he was targeting moved into seclusion right after Brock Williams, the city councilman and your first vic, was killed. Troy Singleton’s wife was named Amy, and she’s been dead for over a year. Troy moved to Dallas to start over, and Burke, or maybe Pardo, didn’t check their facts closely enough. What happens when he stops caring if it hurts me or not?”

  Damn, the man had a point, and a good one. It was also a bitter relief to know Wes hadn’t crossed the line from his “agenda”...yet.

  “I suggest we all think on this tonight and meet early, say six, and decide on a battle plan,” Davis said, pushing up from
the table. While there was no question that Farrell was funding this endeavor, Davis was our leader, the “official” lead, and we would defer to him in that.

  Even better, I got my wish. Brian and I would be together another night. I could only hope it wouldn’t be our last.

  I woke the next morning as the sunlight was barely breaking the horizon. I was snuggled in Brian’s arms, cocooned in warmth and safety, but that perception was all too tenuous. Today would be the day. I could feel it deep in my bones.

  I allowed myself a brief moment to soak up Brian’s smell, his presence, allowed it to soothe me on an elemental level. I extricated myself slowly, not wanting to wake him, clicked on the in-room coffee pot and headed for the bathroom.

  I was rinsing the shampoo out of my hair when the shower curtain slid back. Brian stood there, wearing a smile and little else.

  “Want me to wash your back?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

  I grinned, as I’m sure he intended me to. “Sure, though this shower isn’t built for two, especially someone as big as you.” I mimicked his eyebrow thing and looked down the length of his body.

  He laughed and stepped in, crowding me from behind. “Wanna know the great thing about hotels?”

  “What’s that?” I was smiling as I asked.

  “Never ending hot water.”

  It was too tight for us to do more than touch and play, slippery hands slicking over each other until we were both gasping. When he carried me from the shower and dropped me on the bed, then covered me with his long, hard body, I knew I was coming home.

  We stood in the center of the conference room, our noses titillated by the scent of fresh coffee and Krispy Kreme and tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

  “I’m not going,” Trang stated, no real inflection to his voice, just calm surety. He took a sip from his coffee and stared us down.

  I nodded, acknowledging his statement. It didn’t disappoint me all that much... He was too much of an unknown factor. I hadn’t trusted him from the beginning, though I wouldn’t have minded having him cover our backs. It wasn’t as if he’d done anything but be himself that garnered my distrust, but still...

  Farrell, however, was another story. “I order you to.”

  “I respectfully decline, sir. If they fail, Burke will be coming for you. Again. It is my primary responsibility to see to your safety. Not to take Burke out of the equation, not to protect their asses. Not even to protect your children. Nothing you can say will change my mind.”

  “Very nice,” Monica jeered. She and Davis had joined our cadre moments before. “That’s a real ballsy bodyguard you’ve got there, Farrell.”

  I looked at her critically and could see Brian was shooting her the evil eye. On her best days, Monica could be a loose cannon, but this was extreme, even for her. Brian took care of it by pulling her into a corner of the room, his words too quiet for us to hear, but the intensity of their conversation was clear.

  I took a hard look at Foudy’s aura, and it bounced wildly from overt anger and misdirected rage to shame as whatever Brian was saying sunk in. Something was going down with her, but we didn’t have the time to deal with it. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I remembered her hushed conversation with her husband back in Santa Fe, the turbulence of her aura on the plane. I was almost certain that whatever was going down was personal, and not something she’d invite questions over. It might involve Farrell, but I doubted it. Whatever was bothering her had to do with her home life.

  Farrell ran a hand through his hair, shot a telling glance at her and deliberately turned his back, his aura swinging from frustration to outright anger. Then it faded to grudging acceptance as Brian headed back our way and Monica stayed in place.

  “Fine.” Farrell ignored Foudy’s outburst as he addressed Trang. “But if you’re going to stay behind, I want you to go over everything, and I mean everything, tactical that they might need. These are my kids on the line, Lloyd. If Burke gets to them...”

  “He won’t,” Trang said, his voice sure, and proceeded to pull up a schematic on his laptop. Brian and I stepped closer.

  “This is the canyon rim. Three thousand feet to the bottom, so don’t go anywhere near it. Our psych profile on Burke says he likes to move within crowds first, then cull his prey.”

  Brian nodded. “That squares with the crime scenes in Dallas, with the exception of Hiram, and I think we can all agree that was a pseudo-set up to cast suspicion on Sara.”

  “Right. The kids are going to be massing at the train station prior to their departure back down the mountain. He’ll be looking for Cullen and Gabrielle there.” Trang flashed to their pictures. “Cullen is twelve, very protective of Gabby, but small for his age.”

  “They’re beautiful,” I told Farrell, and watched as fierce pride and fear chased across his features.

  “They are. My men are in place around the whole group. I wouldn’t put it past Burke to hurt one of the other kids to create a diversion. You have to draw his attention first.”

  “Do your men know we’ll be there?” Brian asked.

  “No. We can’t chance that Burke might pick up on it, even if they don’t have a clue as to what you look like,” Trang answered.

  He stepped to an attaché case and clicked it open, pulling out a tiny aerosol bottle. It would fit nicely under my watchband. “Detective Roney will be carrying his sidearm, of course, although it would be preferable if it were concealed. Same goes with this pepper spray.”

  “Obviously,” Brian said dryly. “Why do you think I dressed like this? Not exactly my everyday work wear.”

  It was true. He wore beat-up cargo shorts, whose pockets would nicely conceal his weapon, and a well-worn San Diego State Aztecs T-shirt. He looked like the father of the year, ready to escort his kids on a field trip.

  “Point taken,” Trang replied, a smirk on his lips. “Miss Covington will take him down with the spray, then you step in and subdue him.”

  “Won’t Wes think it’s wonky if you don’t show?” I asked Farrell. While we had a semi-decent plan—draw Wes out and stun him if possible, shoot his ass if not—there were some holes I wasn’t altogether comfy with. Namely Pardo.

  “Maybe,” he answered slowly, considering, “but I don’t think so. He doesn’t know one very important point. He doesn’t know you have anticipated his presence here, so there’s no earthly reason he’d think I’m around, or that we’ve even joined forces,” Farrell answered. “He might even leave Pardo behind since we don’t know of his level of complicity.”

  “You’re right. Sorry, stupid question.” I felt like banging my head on the desk.

  Farrell caught my arm. “No, it’s not. We need everything out in the open before we go in. We don’t need to be second-guessing ourselves when we’ve entered the fray. Understood?”

  I nodded, a bit surprised at his flesh-to-flesh contact. Until now he’d made it a point to stay as far away from me as he could, physically. Not that it bothered me all that much, but I guess he was willing to sacrifice his sacrosanct “space” to make a point.

  “On that note, is there anything else anyone can think of?”

  Again, it was Foudy who thrust the sharp pointy thing at Farrell. “So they’re going out there like sacrificial sheep? To save your kids? How very convenient.”

  Again, it was Brian who shut her down, even though I could tell it pained him. “Monica, a moment please?” He gestured his head to the only corner of the room not occupied, then ran a hand down my arm. “Give me another minute with her, all right?”

  I nodded, my brow wrinkling. Foudy’s aura was still a mess, a tumult of shades of red and orange that cycled through in an almost nauseating Pink Floyd-esque waterfall of color. And as before, not all of it was directed at Farrell, some of it was being internalized. Monica was seriously screwed up, but I never doubted for one second that her allegiance was squarely with Brian.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Before

/>   The stereo pumped Def Leppard at an ear-popping decibel as I stared at the heavy weight bag hanging suspended from the ceiling. It was my latest purchase and I was determined to figure out how I could use it to my greatest benefit. Turning things to my advantage was my latest obsession. I couldn’t call it a hobby. No, listening to eighties music, watching movies made in that era was my hobby. Kind of a way of reclaiming a stolen youth. It was frivolous, yeah, but dammit, I’d take pleasure where I could get it, and something about goofy comedies and big-hair bands fit the bill quite nicely.

  Nothing about the burgeoning gym in the corner of the loft could be construed as trivial. The bag, the no-frills weight sets, treadmill...each of them implied serious, no-kidding training. The kind of prep that would prepare me for anything the street could unload.

  Yeah, I thought as I fisted my taped hand. No one could screw with me now.

  I threw the first punch.

  Now—Monday, 9:00 a.m.

  We mingled with the crowd at the train depot. It wasn’t only the kids from Cullen and Gabby’s friends’ class, but early-season tourists dressed in all their eye-popping, tropical finery. With so many people around, it was easy to get lost in the melee.

  Brian stayed glued to my side, and both of us scanned the crowd for Wes or Pardo while keeping an eye on Farrell’s kids.

  They joked and gamboled with their friends, obviously at ease. Their “keepers” weren’t exactly undercover. Even though they were dressed in khakis and polos, their bulk and intense concentration was like a beacon. I wouldn’t be surprised if Wes attacked one of them simply for the sport of it.

  “Let’s fade back a bit,” Brian breathed in my ear as he grasped my elbow.

  We melted through the crowd, hanging on the edge, and that’s when I saw him. I nudged Brian, and his gaze narrowed in on our nemesis.