The back doors opened. Two identically dressed men stepped out. One was tall, well-built and gray-haired with a demeanor of leadership about him. The other was just as tall, but slightly thinner and younger. He was not as dominating in appearance, but he presented a walk and a demeanor that suggested a high rank among the group.
The two men approached Bustos and Morgan. The other pair remained by the car, joined by three others from the second car. They all wore identical black suits. Three wore dark sunglasses.
“Lieutenant Hoover. FBI,” The gray-haired man said without a hint of personality. Morgan couldn’t help wondering if this was how he talked to his wife—come to bed now, that’s an order. “This is Lieutenant Phillips. Which of you is currently in charge of this investigation?”
Morgan glanced over at Bustos. He fixated on the word “currently.”
“I guess you could say we both are, sir. I’m with the state police. Sheriff Morgan is with the local force,” Bustos whipped out a wallet and displayed his identification. Morgan followed Bustos’s lead showing his credentials as well.
“We will be taking over this investigation. Lieutenant Phillips will take whatever information you have already gathered.”
“Now hold on a minute here. What the hell right do you have…” Morgan began, but Bustos stepped in front of him. Morgan didn’t want a confrontation with the Feds, but damn it, the Feds had no right horning in on his investigation.
“This is not a federal or military establishment, Lieutenants,” Bustos said. “Isn’t this out of your area of investigation?”
Hoover gave a nod at his younger partner. Phillips returned the nod, taking a step forward. “Does the name Rick Rasner mean anything to you?” Phillips asked.
“Yes, he was part of all this madness,” Morgan responded, perhaps a bit overzealously. He reined in his emotions by dropping the cigarette on the ground and mashing it under the heel of his shoe.
“We know he was an employee with this facility,” Bustos said, “and he was allegedly part of…whatever this was all about. But I have a hunch you know more about him than we do, is that correct?”
“Rasner is a former military convict,” Phillips said.
“What did he do?” Morgan asked.
“I’m afraid that is classified information.”
“Classified information?” Morgan irritably repeated. “People in my town are dead and I’d like to know why this information is classified to a fellow member of the police.”
“I can only imagine what this Rasner person must have been involved in, considering there are so few public records on him,” Bustos remarked. “So, I guess this investigation is now yours.”
Morgan’s eyes shifted toward Bustos. What was wrong with him? Not even fighting for his case. He couldn’t believe that after all the time spent putting together the pieces of an investigation, they were being so haphazardly dismissed from the case. It seemed he wasn’t even going to be entitled to the background information that would help make sense out of his—he tossed a surreptitious glance at his watch—eighteen hour and seventeen minute investigation.
Bustos threw him a shrug and Morgan sighed. Understand the authority from which this order has come, he seemed to be saying. Don’t question, just accept the decision, because it won’t get you anywhere. Of course, it wasn’t Bustos’s town; he could back off the case without feelings of guilt or remorse. It wasn’t his friends and neighbors affected by this mess.
“Are we at least going to be privy to the findings of your investigation?” Morgan demanded.
“It will be on a need to know basis,” Lieutenant Hoover answered without looking at him. His attention focused on the building. He wanted to get inside and stir things up. Morgan was going to do his damnedest to slow that process down.
“My apologies,” Hoover said, “but it is a matter of public safety.”
“No shit it’s a matter of public safety. My public. I knew those victims. I…” Bustos placed a hand on his shoulder, once again interrupting a tempered tirade. Morgan shut his mouth with an audible snap.
“Lieutenant, with all due respect, I think we deserve better,” Bustos pleaded. “Both of our forces have been on the scene all night. We could be of good use to you.”
Morgan jumped into the fray. “Right, we know the people. We’ve conducted interviews. We can smooth the way for your investigation.”
“We will need all the information you’ve gathered,” Phillips said, ignoring both Bustos’s and Morgan’s requests. “I expect the two of you, as well as your men, to be cooperative in this transition?” Though it was obviously an order, he raised the end of the sentence to sound like a question, and that infuriated Morgan even more. How dare he placate him, treat him like a child?
“Are there any reporters on the scene yet?” Hoover glanced around before either man could respond to his fellow lieutenant.
“We have a local reporter inside with my deputies,” Morgan answered after a long moment of awkward silence. “That’s our policy when there’s an incident in town. Until we know fully what’s going on, we allow the Brookhill Press to send one reporter. Once we give the word, the story is dispatched locally and then nationally.”
“Get your reporter,” Hoover quickly responded. “I want to meet with him and the two of you as soon as you’re done debriefing Lieutenant Philips on your investigation.”
Morgan gave Hoover an infuriated glance. He had spent years moving up the ranks of the police force and holding the top position in both the city of Philadelphia and then, for the sake of his family, in the town of Brookhill. Because of this, he was not accustomed to taking orders. He also was not used to being spoken to or dismissed in such a manner. He clenched his fists behind his back and begrudgingly answered, “Yes sir.”
“Are we to pull our people off the field investigation immediately?” Bustos asked.
“Sooner than that. Send your people home right away. My men will take over where they left off. We will then provide you with the official report so you can close your part of the investigation.”
“Excuse me?” Morgan tossed Bustos another look of shock and surprise.
“We’ll be giving your news reporter the same story for his own use,” Hoover explained. “We’ll need you to make sure the story sticks. Gentlemen, your cooperation in this matter is very much appreciated.”
“Great.” Morgan answered, although he felt the entire situation was anything but.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The master bedroom of the Long Island house was dark except for the light emanating from the sunrise coming through the terrace window. Jen rolled onto her stomach and stretched out her arm. The left side of the bed was empty. She sat up and the covers dropped away, revealing the swell of her breasts beneath the thin pink nightie. Her nipples stiffened in the cold breeze that wafted along her skin. The sliding glass door stood open. She could see Rick standing outside on the terrace. He had his arms out straight, his hands braced on the railing. He stared out beyond the backyard. Jen knew what was out there, a line of trees separating the properties on top of a field of grass and a large oak tree closer to the house. But she didn’t think he gazed at scenery. He appeared to be buried somewhere inside himself.
Jen lay back down to watch him. He wore just his briefs. She could see his ribs etched in the moonlight. His shoulders and back lacked the distinct—and very sexy—musculature he used to have. Of course, years ago, he worked hard keeping in shape, spent hours in the gym at her father’s house, ran two miles morning and night. She didn’t suppose the job at the institution provided for any of that. Rick moved away from the railing and stood erect. He picked up something from the rail in front of him and tapped the banister with it—the gun he took from Derrick earlier that morning.
Part of her wanted to join him out there. Part of her wanted to pummel him with her fists. Seven years apart. Seven years! She thought he’d be all over her, but when they went to bed, he’d fallen asleep and slept lik
e the dead. She’d risen during the night and spent quite some time gazing at herself in the full-length mirror. Sure seven years had passed, but she was still pretty, wasn’t she? Her stomach was still flat, her breasts round and high. No wrinkles.
Damn him.
Jen threw off the sheet, untangled her feet from the spread, left it bunched on the floor and padded barefoot to the balcony. She sidled up on his right, letting the length of her arm graze his. She leaned forward and folded her hands on the railing in front of her as the sun wiped away what was left of the night.
In the trees, a small black bird flew from branch to branch. Rick suddenly spread his feet on the deck, raised his gun, and pointed it at the tree. He fired a shot that echoed down the treeline and back. Three birds flapped away from the tree as Rick let out a loud exhale. “My aim is off. I’m out of practice.”
“And you’re still very angry.”
“I haven’t been able to feel anger of any kind for a very long time. Let me revel in it a while, won’t you?”
“I do miss our conversations, why don’t we talk instead?” She ran her hand up his arm to his shoulder.
“I don’t want to talk.”
“You’ve been avoiding this conversation all day, babe.” Jen gave him her usual sarcastic grin. “But we did say we’d catch up. So why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you, besides the obvious?”
“Well, were you…loyal to me while I was gone?”
So that was why he hadn’t laid a hand on her. Because he thought she’d been with someone else. That was just BS. She knew him better than that.
“Come on, Rick, it was a very long seven years—and you were dead. Well, we thought you were dead. Everybody did.” She unfolded his fingers from around the gun and laid it on the rail. She maneuvered ’til they were face to face and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?” She tilted her head up to peer into his face where a slight smile had formed.
His humor faded as quickly as it arrived. He backed away, unwinding her arms. He picked up the gun again. “Seven years, that’s what’s bothering me.” He banged the gun butt on the wood. “Those fucking assholes stole seven goddamn years from me. From us.”
Rick flipped the gun in the air and caught it by the barrel. Like a Frisbee, he threw it at the glass door behind them. The glass shattered, but did not break. An enormous spider web appeared. Sort of like her life, she thought, going in a million different directions at once.
She moved closer to the door and examined the break. “Well, you’re certainly reveling, now aren’t you?”
“I can still feel this damn chip pressing against my forehead!” Rick growled through gritted teeth. “And worse yet, I still can’t shake those bullshit memories Obenchain put in my head.”
“You will be able to shake them, though, right?”
Rick turned to Jen, eyeing her carefully. He then let out a quick chuckle. “I know where you’re going with this, Jennifer.” He placed his arm around her shoulders. “You don’t have to worry, I am me again. Their experiment failed, they didn’t change me into something I’m not. Maybe when I’ve got new memories—real ones—the artificial ones will go away.”
“It was a concern, to see what you were like before we shorted that thing out…”
“They made me forget my entire life.” He heaved out a long breath that whispered over her head. “And now I wish I could just forget the last seven years. But don’t worry about me. You want to put the Duke Organization back together and I’m with you a thousand percent.”
“Obenchain suggested were you given a choice, you wouldn’t want your old life back. That you were happy the way you were.”
“He’s wrong. I knew that wasn’t really me, none of it ever felt right. I’m glad I now know who I really am and I want it all back.”
“Good.”
“There is something I need to do before anything else, though. I want to track down Straker. I want to kill him.”
“Yes. Straker will be first. And then we take steps to get our name out there again. Jobs will come in so fast there won’t be enough time in the day for all of them.”
“You’re in agreement with me?”
“Why so surprised?”
“You’re not going to tell me we’re better off waiting, business before pleasure and all that?”
“You’re a big boy, Rick. You really want this, and I know if I get in your way, it will consume you. We can’t have that.”
“Thank you.”
Jen straightened her back and raised her head to look up at him. She threw her right hand across her eyebrows in order to block the glare from the bright sun.
“Our first mission should be Straker. In fact, I think it’s a necessity. We have all been in hiding for a long time. In that time, we were forgotten. You know what that means?”
“No one’s afraid of us anymore.”
“Exactly.” She laid her head on his chest and listened to the thump thump of his heart. The thumping triggered her hormones—as if they hadn’t raged enough last night. “And thus,” she continued, “we’re not worth anything on the market. Our return to the field needs to begin with the man who took us off the field in the first place—as a message to everyone that we are players once again.”
Jen looked up at him, but he was staring once again at the trees in the backyard. He’d stopped listening. She nudged him in the stomach with her elbow and he jumped. “Are you still with me in this conversation?”
“Yes, ah, and I look forward to it. I want to jam my gun so far down his throat I can watch the bullet shoot out his ass!”
“That’s a lovely picture.” She eased away from him and went to sit in one of the wicker chairs on the terrace. He followed, taking the other.
“I remember being on that operating table,” he mumbled. “I was tied down and I couldn’t move.”
She knew how much he always hated being pinned down, both physically and emotionally.
“I remember the needle being shoved into my arm.” He held up his left arm and pointed at a spot near his wrist. “It was right here. All this time and I can still feel it.” Rick gritted his teeth; his nose curled up like a snarling dog. “I remember Straker standing over me, making wise-ass comments about how I’d be a new person, perhaps a fucking priest. Then he threw back his head and laughed like it was some kind of new joke.”
Jen ran her finger down his arm. It was an attempt to make him feel better, but Rick was too lost in his memories to even notice.
“That’s the last god damned thing I remember before they…”
She waited several seconds, for him to finish. When he didn’t, she said, “Well, you’re you again. So relax. Soon, you’ll be the one standing over him laughing. We’ll all be there at your side.”
“The sooner, the better.” Rick slid his arm up hers and squeezed her shoulder. They leaned in toward each other, gazing up at the striated sunrise. There was much more that needed to be said, but he’d calmed for now and Jen wasn’t about to break this moment.
She leaned back enjoying the gentle pressure of his fingers kneading her flesh. The pink and purple ripples of sunrise evolved into orange yellow before her eyes. Sunrise wasn’t something she’d paid much attention to—for seven years. Used to be they’d return from a job and stay up to watch the sun come up, comfortable in each other’s arms, no matter which temporary headquarters they called home at the time. Jen let her eyes rove to it. She wondered how he’d react if she invited him there right now.
Instead she said, “So what’s the deal with this kid you brought us?”
Rick inhaled. “You said before, our troops are depleted.”
Jen chuckled. “And she’s the answer to our shortage?”
“We need people. Clara can be trained and she can be trusted.”
“Trusted?” She raised her eyebrows. “She’s a teenager, from the ghetto. I doubt there’s a sense of loyalty instilled in her.”
<
br /> “Well, we were pretty rough when our training began. I think she can be molded.”
“To let you know, around midnight, she climbed out the window of the room we put her in.”
This time it was his eyebrows that rose.
“Don’t worry, I have Kobayashi keeping an eye on her.” When she’d set the man to watching the kid, she’d wondered why. Why not just let her run off? Be done with her. But Rick must’ve had a reason for bringing her in, and Jen at least wanted to hear what it was.
“Did she try to take off?”
“No, she climbed down onto the stoop and fell asleep on one of the lounge chairs.” Jen reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Rick, if she tries to run, our location could be compromised.”
“She won’t run.”
He sounded so certain. His judgment had always been good, at least when he took the time to think things out, but that was a long time ago and he had been through so much. This time she thought he might’ve gone wrong. “You have no doubt about that whatsoever?”
“She has nowhere to go, Jennifer. She has no one to run to. She’ll be back in the house in time for breakfast. Bet on it.”
“Tell me, why this particular kid?”
Rick turned around and leaned against the banister, kicking his feet out wide. “Miller was a heartless bitch, but she was right about at least one thing. Clara Blue is a kid filled with anger, filled with hate. She’s aggressive and violent, yet she was strong enough to fight those instincts. She fought them because she was deluded into believing it was the right thing to do. Left on her own with no training or focus, she’ll end up dead or in jail. Under our guidance, she can be capable of much more than that.”
“She could end up dead or in jail even with us, Rick. In fact, it’s more than likely in our world.”
The Rasner Effect Page 22