Capture: A Crime Thriller (CJ Sheridan Thrillers Book 2)

by M. P. McDonald

  Next summer, he'd have to come down here with Blanche. He could imagine her stretched out on a big beach towel. She'd be wearing sunglasses and a green bikini. Emerald green. As a redhead, the color would look fantastic on her. His happy fantasy popped when he imagined her disappointment when she discovered that he was a coward.

  He couldn't let that happen. CJ took a deep breath and looked down at the sand, watching ants scurry across carrying a foraged bread crumb to some destination. The crumb was huge compared to the ant, but it slogged forward, over dips and gullies that must appear like mountains and valleys to the insect. With one more scuff at the sand, he turned to leave. He'd taken a long enough break. It was time to scale his own mountain.

  “Hey, CJ!”

  Mark motioned for him to come closer, so CJ approached ignoring the model who was still trying to flirt with him. He saw her watching him out of the corner of his eye. “What's up?”

  “I'm about finished here. I was wondering if you want to go grab some lunch.”

  “Do you have time?” Didn't he have a save soon? When CJ had one, he watched the clock constantly, all keyed up until it was time to go to work, so to speak, but Mark seemed to take it all in stride, like it was just another part of the work day.

  “Sure, if we go somewhere close. The job didn't take as long as I thought. I just have a few more shots to take and them I'm done.

  CJ shrugged. “Yeah. Sure. I can help you pack up, too. Earn my pay.”

  Mark laughed. “Yeah, that, too.” He turned back to the shoot, directing the last model on what he wanted for the picture.

  When Mark was done, and the models had left, CJ helped Mark pack up the gear and carried it up to the parking lot, putting it in the back of the van. They decided on a place to meet and CJ left to head to the small pub.

  * * *

  Mark parked behind CJ's compact car, surprised they'd found two spaces next to each other. Parking the van was a hassle in Chicago, which was why he usually took his Jeep or public transportation when he had to something important to do. It would suck if he made it to a save and then failed because he couldn't find a place to park, although more than once, he'd double-parked. The tickets had even been worth it. No way could he let someone die because of reluctance to pay a parking ticket.

  CJ entered ahead of Mark and they were seated at a booth near the back. It was quiet and cool. Even though it wasn't warm outside, only high fifties, slogging through all the sand had forced Mark to shed his jacket early in the shoot. It felt good in here.

  After they'd both ordered, Mark sipped his water. He had seen the wary look in CJ's eyes when he'd asked him to lunch and had an idea what it was about. The kid had been avoiding him ever since his last save. Mark didn't know if it was the shock of being fired upon, or the sudden turn of events that had CJ spooked, but whatever it was, Mark wanted to help.

  “So, that was pretty cool watching the shoot.”

  “Thanks.” Cool? Mark hadn't thought of the job in that way. He'd enjoyed it, but found it rather boring. Dealing with a bunch of models, keeping them all in the right frame of mind to get good quality images wasn't his idea of cool. Sometimes he felt like he was working with a bunch of overly sensitive first-graders. Individually, most of the women were nice enough, but in a group, the atmosphere could become toxic fast. He supposed that part of it was competition. Chicago had a lot of commercial modeling available, but it wasn't anything like New York, and competition for the comparatively few jobs was fierce. Sometimes he'd request a certain model who had been easy to work with and delivered great shots, only to find out she'd left for the green pastures of the Big Apple. He felt like he was the manager of a Triple A team and just as his team was heading for the playoffs, all his good players were called up to the majors. Not that Mark complained. Ever since losing it all while he was locked up, he knew he was damned lucky to have any kind of career left at all.

  Thinking about careers, he said, “Did you ever think of becoming a photographer?” Mark sat back as the waitress set their beers in front of them. “Thank-you.”

  “You're welcome. Your meals will be ready in a few minutes.”

  CJ sipped his beer, then shrugged. “Not really. I'm not very artistic.”

  “I've seen some of the shots you've taken. Some were pretty damned good.”

  “Yeah?” He almost smiled, the corners of his mouth twitching, but it was apparent he didn't believe Mark.

  “Seriously. But I'm just asking out of curiosity. It's a tough field to earn a living at and it's even harder now with digital. I'm not sure I'd recommend it to anyone, but I love it.” He sipped his beer, then added, “Most of the time, anyway.”

  “Those ladies sure seemed to like their job today.”

  Mark’s ears heated. He hadn't been oblivious to the attention, but he was at least fifteen years older than most of the models. “Aw, come on, CJ. Are you trying to get me in trouble?” Mark smiled. He knew CJ was just teasing. “It was just a little harmless flirting. I go along with it because it helps the shoot go smoothly.” He shrugged. “Sure, they're beautiful, but so is Jessie, and she has something they don't.”

  “Experience?”

  Mark snorted. “No! A gun.”

  CJ grinned. “And I’ll bet she's not afraid to use it.”

  Chuckling, Mark took a long drink from his stein, then looked at CJ. “Speaking of guns…”

  Mark waited for CJ to respond to the leading comment, but he remained silent and reached for the dessert menu wedged behind the ketchup bottle. He flipped through it.

  Mark raked a hand through his hair. “Listen, CJ. I know what happened the other night with that guy shooting at you. It was scary as hell. There’s no shame in being afraid.”

  CJ glanced up from a photo of brownie sundae. He met Mark’s eyes for a long moment, and then flipped to a photo of turtle cheesecake, studying it like it was a Playboy centerfold.

  Reaching across the table, Mark tugged the menu from CJ’s hands. “I’d go with the brownie sundae.” He returned the menu to its place behind the ketchup.

  “I’m not afraid.”

  Mark lifted an eyebrow. “It would be totally normal if you were.”

  CJ rested his forearms on the edge of the table, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the palm of his opposite hand. He didn’t look at Mark as he said, “It’s sort of like fear, but not quite. I had a gun pointed at me in the ER thing a few months ago. I was scared then, but it didn’t stop me from using the camera after that.” He kept rubbing, using the edge of his thumbnail to scrape some invisible speck of dirt. “This is more like the camera is sending me some kind of warning. Whenever I think about using it, my stomach knots up like a pretzel.” He finally looked at Mark. “You said to listen to my gut.”

  “I did.”

  “Did that ever happen to you? Did you ever get this sick feeling?”

  Mark thought back. “Not quite. Almost, but it was the opposite reason. I felt sick when I stopped using the camera out of fear of what the next image would be.”

  His leg started bouncing, but he couldn’t focus on holding it still and what he had to say, so the leg pumped away under the table. He hoped CJ didn’t notice. “When I saw 9/11 and couldn’t stop it, I threw the camera in a closet and refused to use it for weeks. I felt…betrayed. Why had it shown me the attacks when I couldn’t stop them?”

  CJ barely blinked as he listened. Mark shifted under the scrutiny, his gaze sliding to the bar before landing back on CJ. Dammit. CJ looked like he was teetering on a ledge above a chasm, flailing for a lifeline, and all Mark could dangle in front of him was a thin thread of experience to pull him to safety.

  “What did you do? How did you get past it?”

  Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “Like you, my stomach was so tangled in knots that it felt like someone was twisting rubber bands around it—then plucking them.”

  Nodding, CJ rubbed his abdomen. “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Only mine was like tha
t because I was reluctant to use the camera, not because I wanted to use it. In my case, I had to use the camera again to get rid of the feeling. To feel okay again.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Yeah. Until they locked me up a month later.”

  CJ’s mouth rounded and his eyes widened in shock. “I’m sorry, Mark. I’m an ass for prying.”

  Mark’s leg quieted and he relaxed. He hadn’t spoken much about his post 9/11 experience in a few years and was relieved to discover that the memory had grown scar tissue. It didn’t hurt so badly anymore. “It’s okay. I just wish I could help you.”

  “You did. I think that I need to just keep using the camera. Maybe what I’m feeling is more like what you felt.” He sat back, glancing at the waitress who was approaching their table with their plates. He added just before she reached them, “I know I’m new at this and I failed at saving the guy, so this is what I get, but I think I can work through it.”

  Mark opened his mouth to reply, but clenched his jaw until the waitress was done serving them. Watching to make sure she was out of earshot, Mark leaned forward, jabbing a finger at CJ. “Don’t!”

  CJ looked up from his burger, the top bun in one hand, the bottle of ketchup in the other. He dropped the ketchup as if it was a live grenade. “What? I thought it was hot dogs that carried the ketchup ban?”

  Mark ignored the comment, stabbing his finger in the air again. “Don’t go down that road. I’ve been there. It’s long. It’s dark, and it dead ends in places you don’t ever want to visit.”

  Chapter Six

  CJ drove back to the studio after lunch and handled several calls while Mark was busy taking care of his other business. While he was glad to have the job and knew Mark appreciated having someone who knew the complexities of his life, CJ felt like he wasn't earning his pay, and felt a pang of guilt. Mark had expenses and had to turn down jobs because of his choice to act on the visions he received and when that happened, CJ felt even worse—as if he should somehow take up the slack, but he knew he was no photographer. Even if he wanted to be, it would take years before he reached the skill level needed to fill in for Mark on actual jobs and Mark needed help now. As long as CJ worked in the studio, Mark wouldn't be able to afford a second photographer.

  Done for the day, CJ locked up and headed home. He mulled over what Mark had told him, especially the warning not to think he'd failed, but it was hard to shed the guilt. It was almost as difficult to ignore the gut instinct to set the camera aside, but Mark's story of how he'd overcome his similar issue gave CJ a dose of confidence. He turned into the short driveway and pushed the control button to raise the garage door, but as he watched it roll up, he then immediately pushed the button to make it close again. If he was going to use the camera again, it had to be now, while he had the motivation to overcome his fears. He threw the car into park and raced into the house, grabbed the camera and dashed back to the car.

  He thought about the beach and decided to get some shots down there. It seemed fitting, somehow. There were always a few boats out on the lake even with the cooler weather and he had just enough light left if he hurried. Once on the beach, CJ ignored the churning of his stomach as he held the camera. It was psychological. That was all. One time in a karate tournament, he'd had his ass handed to him by the other guy. He'd been about twelve years old and told his mom he was done with karate. Not only had he been humiliated in his defeat, but he was convinced that he was terrible at the martial art. She looked at him and informed him that she'd paid for lessons for the next month already and he'd have to finish them out, and that the other kids wouldn't even remember the outcome of the tournament by the end of the month. He hadn't believed her and pitched a fit. A few days later, when it was time to go to his lessons, she'd simply stood in the doorway of his room, his gi in her hands. CJ remembered the dread of seeing the other kids in class, but nobody had mentioned his defeat and by the time the class was over, he'd almost forgotten about it himself.

  It took only thirty minutes to run through a roll of film. As he removed it from the camera, he decided to take it to the closest drug store that offered film development. He didn't want to deal with going back to the studio and developing his own film. It wasn't so bad when he was working anyway, and it was a perk of working, but he just wanted to get the prints and head home.

  While he waited for the film to be developed, he called Blanche but got her voicemail. It didn't surprise him because she said her schedule would fluctuate because she was low person on the totem pole now and this month had to work the shifts that were available until they could work her into the rotation.

  After picking up the film, he picked up some Chinese takeout and headed home. He hoped his dad was hungry because he'd bought way more than he should have. Seeing his dad's car in the garage, CJ pulled in beside it and carried the food and his envelope of prints inside.

  His dad was in the kitchen staring into the refrigerator. He was already in a t-shirt and sweats so he was definitely in for the night.

  “Hey, Dad. Hope you're hungry.”

  His dad let the fridge close and smiled as he caught sight of the cartons of food. “Starved. Thanks. I was wondering what we'd have for dinner.” He flipped open a carton, sniffed the contents, and smiled. Then he spotted the envelope. “Anything in there?”

  CJ shook his head. “I don't know yet. I haven't had a chance to look.” He tried to sound casual about it, but there must have been something in his voice because his dad gave him a long look.

  “What's going on? You sound worried.” His dad spooned fried rice onto a plate and handed the container to CJ.

  Taking it, CJ dumped a pile on his own plate. “Nothing.”

  Other than the clink of utensils as they filled their plates, there was silence. Finally, his dad sat at the table and shoved the containers aside and motioned. “Sit.”

  CJ had planned to take his food into his room and look at the images, but he slid onto a chair.

  * * *

  Jim dragged a piece of chicken through some sauce, and ate it as he watched his son. He'd been so busy at work that he hadn't had a chance to touch base with CJ for a few days and wondered what was bugging him. “So I guess your hand is all healed up.”

  CJ flexed his hand, making a fist and nodded. “Yep. Good as new.” His son had already almost cleaned his plate, and Jim knew the second CJ was done eating, he'd bolt for his room.

  “So, how's Blanche?”

  “Fine. I guess. She's been busy working. It's not like we're really going out or anything.”

  Jim had to bite his tongue to keep his fatherly advice firmly in check. This wasn't the time. What he really wanted to know was what was going on with CJ. While Jim had been busy, he wasn't oblivious to the fact that CJ hadn't used the camera. At first he put it down to the injury, but CJ had taken the bandage off the other day. There was no reason he couldn't use his hand now. “I see.” Jim thought for a moment but decided not to beat around the bush. “Level with me. What's going on?”

  CJ didn't react at first, then his eyes narrowed. “Did you speak to Mark or something?”

  “Should I have?”

  His mouth tightened as CJ gave him a sidelong look. “Dad, you know how this thing works better than I do. Sometimes it's confusing, but it's all good now. Mark and I had lunch, we talked and I'm back to using the camera. End of story.”

  Jim studied CJ for a moment before giving a decisive nod. “Got it.” He stood and closed the cartons, stashing them in the fridge.

  “Aw, don't do that, Dad.”

  “Do what?”

  “Get all quiet and pissed off. I told you everything. I'm not holding back.”

  “What gave you the idea I was angry?” Not waiting for an answer, Jim motioned towards the few cartons still out. “You bought the food, so I just thought I'd put it all away.”

  CJ sighed. “I didn't even want to talk to Mark, because it was stupid. I was just a little spooked by the save that turned sour
the other day.”

  “When you hurt your hand?”

  “Yeah.”

  Other than the cut on CJ's hand, he hadn't been aware there had been a problem. “What happened?”

  “I'm sure you saw it on the news. A car almost took out me and another guy—the one I was supposed to save—but the driver missed us. Then he pulled out a gun and shot the other guy, killing him.”

  “You witnessed a murder?” How the hell had he missed something this big?

  CJ shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so, but I didn't see much. I already spoke to the detective. Once right after when I was questioned by one on the scene, then when I went in yesterday and spoke to another one.”

  “Did you get a look at the murderer?” Why hadn't his son told him all this the day it happened?

  “No. Not really. I gave the detective everything I knew, but I still keep wracking my brain searching for something I may have forgotten. Anyway, I didn't use the camera again until today. I guess I was nervous that I'd screwed up and that's why I failed to save the guy, but Mark convinced me I was wrong.”

  Jim felt a stab of emotion that CJ hadn't confided in him, but instead, had discussed his fears with Mark. Why hadn't CJ told him what was bothering him? He was CJ's dad and he could tell him anything. Then Jim thought of his own father. He'd been gruff and almost impossible to talk to even about mundane things, let alone anything important. Feelings were not to be discussed. A real man didn't let anyone know what he was feeling. Not that his dad ever came out and said that, but he didn't have to. Every stony look and brusque reply to any question that might involve showing any emotion beyond a brief twitch of the lips, had virtually broadcast his feelings on the matter as effectively as if they were posted up on a billboard for everyone to read.